Friday, April 16, 2010
Pit-Stain Professor.
The day had gone by slow. Long and drawn out my attention had since evaported with the morning dew. After my morning classes I walked into English, pulled out my chair from the desk and sat 2nd row, right of the professor. The class had already shuffled in and every desk surrounding me was empty. I was like an island. I watched my teacher as he delved into his theories and analysis of the current novel in discussion. His perception fell short of my eager anticipation of conversation and again my attention was lost. Watching as my Professor stretched his arm out over the class as he continued to explain through chapters, I couldn't help but notice the giant pit-stain under his arm. As hard as I tried my eyes would not veer from the stain that seemed to grow as seconds passed. I scrounged my eyes through papers and other belongings that fell onto my desk out of my black leather bag but still they found their way back to his underarm. It seemed to mock us with each outstretch of his arm. He wore a pink plaid button down, cuffed mid fore-arm and unbuttoned showing the tips of his clavicals. His pants proved more of a contrast, dark and khaki, ending at shoes dark brown and rounded. Still as I watched his foot tap against the floor with each new theory my eyes continued to heed the giant stain. I watched other eyes through the class and wondered if they as well noticed the smuged eyesore but they proved too captivated by the dialogue. The entirety of the class consisted of me trying to advert my eyes from menacing mark under my professors bicep. It was a long and vigorous day in English class to say the least.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Victoria's Garden
It feels as if I have not blogged in ages. That is probably because I haven't. I haven't had the slightest inclination that I should blog, and with my constantly expanding schedule I have not had the time to sit infront of my computer and annotate my life as of late. I am excited to finally have time and inspiration for this blog, more so the time because I have no concrete focus for this blog. I will but let the keyboard take me along with it's square-shaped wind's desire.
Let's start from where I left off, before that let me pull out the history book because it seems so long ago that I last wrote anything. It is so long ago that I don't eve recall what my last blog was about. Let us see, did I tell you about my internship at the Birthing Center at Willamette? Well I was honored to see a C-section in the early morning and a live birth in the latter part of my day. Yesturday I began my second rotation at the hospital in the ER and saw was seemed to be a million IV's done and lounged around for most of the six hours I was there with the slow inflow of patients and the inactive atmosphere of the ER. The clocked went by slower that it has ever before. I felt as if I was done after two hours and once we hit four I knew they had lost me and my focus. I'm hoping Monday, when I return to finish the last of my twelve hours that I will be able to see more exciting things, and actually leave the ER intrigued and with the feeling of accomplishment, because as of right now both those things are void.
I have recently discovered that my braces do not like hard sprinkles. None of them have broken but the sprinkles get stuck inbetween each and every one of my braces, so after finishing off a bowl of vanilla ice-cream with a topping of sprinkles I am forced to wash my mouth out, swishing until every last sprinkle is unharnessed from the prision guards residing in my mouth, better known as braces.
As of late my confidence has been completley diminished and I've found it hard to cope with that. On Wednesday night one of my good friends Nikki approached me and told me that she has been thinking about my lack of self confidence and things in accordance with that, and she told me that it was a demonic assualt. She gave me much needed advice that proved to be most successful. All of what she said really struck a cord in me but one line (or stanza) in peticular stood out to. She told me that because we are children of God we are like royalty in God's eyes. That we are his bride, that "you are like a princess" she said. That one phrase made me feel like a four year old indulging in one big fairytale. But it was true and I think that's why it made me feel so giddy. When we are little we dress up like fairy's and dance at the ball around our room, arms wound around the giant teddy bear or tiger always with a Mister in front of his name, and we pretend that we are royalty, that some day we would have a dress like Diana's or a garden like Victoria's. And after Nikki left, while praying about this demon and casting it off, I thought about how we are royalty, and someday we will dance in Heaven, twirl in elegant dresses, and pick flowers from the most beautiful garden you have ever seen. That is just one tiny part of Heaven and I can hardly wait.
-Toby K.
Let's start from where I left off, before that let me pull out the history book because it seems so long ago that I last wrote anything. It is so long ago that I don't eve recall what my last blog was about. Let us see, did I tell you about my internship at the Birthing Center at Willamette? Well I was honored to see a C-section in the early morning and a live birth in the latter part of my day. Yesturday I began my second rotation at the hospital in the ER and saw was seemed to be a million IV's done and lounged around for most of the six hours I was there with the slow inflow of patients and the inactive atmosphere of the ER. The clocked went by slower that it has ever before. I felt as if I was done after two hours and once we hit four I knew they had lost me and my focus. I'm hoping Monday, when I return to finish the last of my twelve hours that I will be able to see more exciting things, and actually leave the ER intrigued and with the feeling of accomplishment, because as of right now both those things are void.
I have recently discovered that my braces do not like hard sprinkles. None of them have broken but the sprinkles get stuck inbetween each and every one of my braces, so after finishing off a bowl of vanilla ice-cream with a topping of sprinkles I am forced to wash my mouth out, swishing until every last sprinkle is unharnessed from the prision guards residing in my mouth, better known as braces.
As of late my confidence has been completley diminished and I've found it hard to cope with that. On Wednesday night one of my good friends Nikki approached me and told me that she has been thinking about my lack of self confidence and things in accordance with that, and she told me that it was a demonic assualt. She gave me much needed advice that proved to be most successful. All of what she said really struck a cord in me but one line (or stanza) in peticular stood out to. She told me that because we are children of God we are like royalty in God's eyes. That we are his bride, that "you are like a princess" she said. That one phrase made me feel like a four year old indulging in one big fairytale. But it was true and I think that's why it made me feel so giddy. When we are little we dress up like fairy's and dance at the ball around our room, arms wound around the giant teddy bear or tiger always with a Mister in front of his name, and we pretend that we are royalty, that some day we would have a dress like Diana's or a garden like Victoria's. And after Nikki left, while praying about this demon and casting it off, I thought about how we are royalty, and someday we will dance in Heaven, twirl in elegant dresses, and pick flowers from the most beautiful garden you have ever seen. That is just one tiny part of Heaven and I can hardly wait.
-Toby K.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Eventful Days, Eventful Mind.
Many things have happened in that last ten days or so. I've been slacking on my updating my blog and I can defentley feel impact it has had on me.
Where do I begin? Well, let's start from the beginning, that seems logical. On Wednesday I walked into the dentist office anxious and perplexed, and walked out sporting a brane new set of sharp, gum cutting braces. My teeth are still sore despite the fact I had them put on almost a week ago.
That Thursday I did a rotation at the Willamette Hospital and was allowed to witness a C-section and a live birth within one six-hour span. I was blown away by how blessed I was to see these two events played out. It was so amazing that no words can describe how I felt after. Later that day I went to a prayer meeting and after about forty minutes of prayer a group of us went over to Abel's house to celebrate his thiry-forth Birthday. We played a game of scrabble and the noise level rose continually as the game advanced on debates of made-up words and correct spellings.
On Friday I went over to the O'halloran's for dinner and fellowship, later to find out that it was Pastor's birthday and as seeing that only a few party goers were aware of this Pastor left with only minor gifts. I do believe he enjoyed it though. Oh, but I did forget to mention that earlier that Friday morning, I entered into another dentist office and left with two teeth extracted. So medicated and oblivious I delighted in sitting in the O'halloran's living room listening to conversations and laughing with friends.
The next morning I awoke bright and early ready for the all day outreach that we had prepared. Prayer met at ten and outreach started at ten-thirty. We had two guerrilla teams come in from Portland and Beaverton. During outreach I didn't pray with anyone, but I did get some refreshing witnessing out of my system. For the latter half of the day I joined the Portland team during outreach and spent a majority of my day with two of there girls, Emma and Sherstan. They were immensly kind and fun to spend time with. The concert, I felt, was phenomenal and the skit I thought went well. I, myself, played the Christian, but I enjoyed it. I think playing the sinner is a harder task than playing the Christian. Daniel said I did good even though I did forget some of the things he wanted me to say, but he said that I still got all the major points across.
The next day, Sunday, came quick but not quick enough. We began revival with Jerry Fussel and it will go on every night through this Wednesday. God has been giving me some revelations latley, but some have come more clearer than others. Well for the most part, none of them have come in too clearly. Maybe what I'm hearing or seeing is truely what God is speaking to me, but because it is not what I've been wanting to hear I've decided to discredit it. My confliction over the past few days has grown stupendously, and my emotions have seemed to override my entire system. My priorities have changed direction, and that has worried me, not the fact that they have changed but how in such a short amount of time they have. I will keep praying and praying, for I know that God's will will be done despite my ever changing mind.
-Toby K.
Where do I begin? Well, let's start from the beginning, that seems logical. On Wednesday I walked into the dentist office anxious and perplexed, and walked out sporting a brane new set of sharp, gum cutting braces. My teeth are still sore despite the fact I had them put on almost a week ago.
That Thursday I did a rotation at the Willamette Hospital and was allowed to witness a C-section and a live birth within one six-hour span. I was blown away by how blessed I was to see these two events played out. It was so amazing that no words can describe how I felt after. Later that day I went to a prayer meeting and after about forty minutes of prayer a group of us went over to Abel's house to celebrate his thiry-forth Birthday. We played a game of scrabble and the noise level rose continually as the game advanced on debates of made-up words and correct spellings.
On Friday I went over to the O'halloran's for dinner and fellowship, later to find out that it was Pastor's birthday and as seeing that only a few party goers were aware of this Pastor left with only minor gifts. I do believe he enjoyed it though. Oh, but I did forget to mention that earlier that Friday morning, I entered into another dentist office and left with two teeth extracted. So medicated and oblivious I delighted in sitting in the O'halloran's living room listening to conversations and laughing with friends.
The next morning I awoke bright and early ready for the all day outreach that we had prepared. Prayer met at ten and outreach started at ten-thirty. We had two guerrilla teams come in from Portland and Beaverton. During outreach I didn't pray with anyone, but I did get some refreshing witnessing out of my system. For the latter half of the day I joined the Portland team during outreach and spent a majority of my day with two of there girls, Emma and Sherstan. They were immensly kind and fun to spend time with. The concert, I felt, was phenomenal and the skit I thought went well. I, myself, played the Christian, but I enjoyed it. I think playing the sinner is a harder task than playing the Christian. Daniel said I did good even though I did forget some of the things he wanted me to say, but he said that I still got all the major points across.
The next day, Sunday, came quick but not quick enough. We began revival with Jerry Fussel and it will go on every night through this Wednesday. God has been giving me some revelations latley, but some have come more clearer than others. Well for the most part, none of them have come in too clearly. Maybe what I'm hearing or seeing is truely what God is speaking to me, but because it is not what I've been wanting to hear I've decided to discredit it. My confliction over the past few days has grown stupendously, and my emotions have seemed to override my entire system. My priorities have changed direction, and that has worried me, not the fact that they have changed but how in such a short amount of time they have. I will keep praying and praying, for I know that God's will will be done despite my ever changing mind.
-Toby K.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
The Stars Are In My Hands, My hands Are In God's
Today I'm exhibiting traits, that of a cliche teenager. That fact alone send shivers up my back, warm and delicate. That back, made warm with today's wonderous heat. A warmth so sweet and gentle, I can feel it consuming me. Every time I cross by an open window I am blessed with the warm breeze and the sounds of people who have wondered out to enjoy this unfamiliar February day. I want to bask in the sun forever. I want to lay beneath a tree, read a book, talk to someone I love, share a drink while sitting on a bench in the center of town, eat a strawberry. I want to enjoy this day, unlike yesturday, which was a day almost wasted by my emotions and exhaustion. I sat outside with half my feet on the chilled cemet and by rump on the carpet of my house. Leaning against the sliding glass door I hummed to myself and closed my eyes. I saw red as the sun's light still found it's way past my eye-lids. I watched as my cat danced in the overgrown grass, and rolled in the dirt looking back at me after every turn. "Stuart," I called when he decided that our yard was not good enough for him; I don't mind interupting his explorations as long as I am keeping him safe, he'll thank me later.
Today I appeared to be something of a chaser. I wanted to chase my friends all over town just to get their attention, just to make them notice that I had nothing to do. My chasing ended in a void, and I still ended up sitting at my house playing a card game with my Mother. I didn't mind, I was actually suprised when she looked over from the couch, "Let's play cards. Remember that game we played a few weeks back, lets play that?". I smiled and grabbed some snacks, a couple chilled soda's, and two decks of cards. We shuffled the blues and red together, then after left them scattered on the table for later pick-up. I enjoyed winning as well, I made a late comeback, but beat her 120 to 150. A sweet success indeed.
Today prior to playing cards with my mother, I went on outreach. I led to girls in a prayer, and my legs felt like jello when I walked away. Ashley and I engaged in some interesting conversation with a buddhist; we did not get our point's across to say the least, but we walked away with one more person witnessed to.
Last night driving home from bible study, I sang in the car to the song "Kiss me" by the Cranberries and daydreamed about my wedding. I felt thirteen all over again, and wasn't ashamed. Inside I think we are all emotional thirteen year old's, struggling with hormones and emotions. Every now and then we must drift back to that inorder to see how far we've come, even if it's just singing along with a four minute song on the car ride home.
On Thursday I saw the stars, I wanted to grab them and hold them so tight. I wanted to let them trickle through my fingers and I wanted to blow kisses to the moon. If only I could fly, just for the night; only me, God, and the sky, for however long we wanted. Laughing and crying, sharing and telling secret's, talking and listening, nothing more than sitting in a crater staring at the earth, it staring back at us. We would have the advantage, we would have the luxury of watching the greens and blues mix together in a blunder of clouds. But it would end sooner or later, maybe after hours, days, or even weeks, and I would have to float back to earth and not be able to express in words my experience with God and the universe. I would cry, tears of joy, for I know that even after that, I would see him again, standing by his gates shaking hands like a welcoming pastor. I love my God, and I know he loves me. We fly together, we laugh together, we love together; forever, together, all through eternity.
-Toby K.
Today I appeared to be something of a chaser. I wanted to chase my friends all over town just to get their attention, just to make them notice that I had nothing to do. My chasing ended in a void, and I still ended up sitting at my house playing a card game with my Mother. I didn't mind, I was actually suprised when she looked over from the couch, "Let's play cards. Remember that game we played a few weeks back, lets play that?". I smiled and grabbed some snacks, a couple chilled soda's, and two decks of cards. We shuffled the blues and red together, then after left them scattered on the table for later pick-up. I enjoyed winning as well, I made a late comeback, but beat her 120 to 150. A sweet success indeed.
Today prior to playing cards with my mother, I went on outreach. I led to girls in a prayer, and my legs felt like jello when I walked away. Ashley and I engaged in some interesting conversation with a buddhist; we did not get our point's across to say the least, but we walked away with one more person witnessed to.
Last night driving home from bible study, I sang in the car to the song "Kiss me" by the Cranberries and daydreamed about my wedding. I felt thirteen all over again, and wasn't ashamed. Inside I think we are all emotional thirteen year old's, struggling with hormones and emotions. Every now and then we must drift back to that inorder to see how far we've come, even if it's just singing along with a four minute song on the car ride home.
On Thursday I saw the stars, I wanted to grab them and hold them so tight. I wanted to let them trickle through my fingers and I wanted to blow kisses to the moon. If only I could fly, just for the night; only me, God, and the sky, for however long we wanted. Laughing and crying, sharing and telling secret's, talking and listening, nothing more than sitting in a crater staring at the earth, it staring back at us. We would have the advantage, we would have the luxury of watching the greens and blues mix together in a blunder of clouds. But it would end sooner or later, maybe after hours, days, or even weeks, and I would have to float back to earth and not be able to express in words my experience with God and the universe. I would cry, tears of joy, for I know that even after that, I would see him again, standing by his gates shaking hands like a welcoming pastor. I love my God, and I know he loves me. We fly together, we laugh together, we love together; forever, together, all through eternity.
-Toby K.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
A Life Lost To Bad Decisions
Today was a very busy day for me, I was running all over town. My first stop was the hospital where we finally had our orientation. It was nice to take a tour through the hospital, and upon leaving I already knew that I am going to get lost; after a few more times through, I should get the hang of it though. After leaving the hospital I began driving home, debating on whether or not I wanted to go to my afternoon class. Shortly before turning into my neighborhood I decided to head towards the school, despite the only forty minutes of class remaining. I walked into the school wearing a newly wrinkled pair of black scrubs and squeakingly stalked the hallways until I made it into my class and gladly entered seemingly unnoticed. My professor, Madam Zimmerman, made a reference to a man that she once lived with while spending time in France, and she said that the last time she visited France, he had recently bought one peice of land near his residence that would now be coined a ruin which contained an oubliette.
For a bizzare reason this miniscule piece of information really struck me.
I sat in class, jotting notes, sparsely listening, and my mind kept trailing back to this idea of owning a oubliette. Could one imagine, walking through this tunnel sort of enclosing and staring into what appears to be a cell and not attempt to consider the people that once sat inside? This led me to thinking about all the other tragedies that humans have had to endure.
There is a song out, it might have been released a few years back, and one of the lines states "No one's laughing at God on the day they realize the last sight they'll ever see's a pair of hateful eyes". Take that in for a second, absorb the magnitude of that line..."the last sight they'll ever see's a pair of hateful eyes".
Now, I have never been beaten, or abused, or put into a situation that even amounts to anything remotely close to the degree of torture that people on this earth have had to endure, because of simple hate that someone has held against them. I don't want to live a day where I am forced to.
Then that got me thinking about the tortures that await after death. The tortures that await all those who have decided to live a life that goes against God, their creator. How can people be so defiant against the one person who put them into existance, when our one and only purpose on this earth is to serve him?
Then that thought led me to this one; how is that we can let work, and school, and family, and friends, all get in the way of us spending time with God, when spending time with God is all that we are meant to do? Now, I cannot say that I have not let life get in between me and God, because I have, we all have, and we will all continue doing that; I just wanted to put this into perspactive, so that the next time your forced to choose between going to work, or going to church, you will think about your true purpose.
My life seems to weigh down on me more when I am away from God for long periods of a time; I cannot imagine what it would be like to die and be away from him forever, in a place where their sole purpose is to torture you. We all choose our destiny, we all make the decisions, why must you make the ones that will send you to hell?
-Toby K.
For a bizzare reason this miniscule piece of information really struck me.
I sat in class, jotting notes, sparsely listening, and my mind kept trailing back to this idea of owning a oubliette. Could one imagine, walking through this tunnel sort of enclosing and staring into what appears to be a cell and not attempt to consider the people that once sat inside? This led me to thinking about all the other tragedies that humans have had to endure.
There is a song out, it might have been released a few years back, and one of the lines states "No one's laughing at God on the day they realize the last sight they'll ever see's a pair of hateful eyes". Take that in for a second, absorb the magnitude of that line..."the last sight they'll ever see's a pair of hateful eyes".
Now, I have never been beaten, or abused, or put into a situation that even amounts to anything remotely close to the degree of torture that people on this earth have had to endure, because of simple hate that someone has held against them. I don't want to live a day where I am forced to.
Then that got me thinking about the tortures that await after death. The tortures that await all those who have decided to live a life that goes against God, their creator. How can people be so defiant against the one person who put them into existance, when our one and only purpose on this earth is to serve him?
Then that thought led me to this one; how is that we can let work, and school, and family, and friends, all get in the way of us spending time with God, when spending time with God is all that we are meant to do? Now, I cannot say that I have not let life get in between me and God, because I have, we all have, and we will all continue doing that; I just wanted to put this into perspactive, so that the next time your forced to choose between going to work, or going to church, you will think about your true purpose.
My life seems to weigh down on me more when I am away from God for long periods of a time; I cannot imagine what it would be like to die and be away from him forever, in a place where their sole purpose is to torture you. We all choose our destiny, we all make the decisions, why must you make the ones that will send you to hell?
-Toby K.
Monday, February 15, 2010
The Southern Wind's Are Calling
Yesturday Pastor preached his last sermon. It was hard to sit through, all the emotions going through the room made our minds seem moonstruck. The skit team performed for morning service and it was done flawlessly. Rachel and Joe played Susan and Pastor (Joes wig, which was spray-painted 15 minutes before, was the icing on the cake), while Daniel and I played Bobby and Alice (two made up characters from New Mexico). This is the second skit that I have been "Alice" in, I don't know why, the name seems to fit. Rachel played Susan so well, especially her incessant jabber on marriage, which we depicted by having Rachel presume that Daniel and I were a couple and swiftly pulling a white wedding dress from her bag insisting that Daniel and I should marry within the week. The crowd roared, and Pastor sat not three feet from us with a crooked smile. After the skit me and Rachel walked out of the Sactuary and bounced about the church enterance silently giggiling, each sporting a grin that stretched from one ear to the other. We high-fived the guys as they came through the doors about a minute later while they tryed to play down their excitement that they found hard to hide. This is what it is like after every skit and I adore it, I adore being in ministry even more. It feels like a million bloodpumps through your body all at once.
Nothing is equal to the feeling you get the second after the curtain sails close.
That was just the beginning of the day. At the end of service, when Pastor asked Foley to approach the stage all the hearts in the room began to beat with severe intensity, for we knew it was time. Praying for Foley came easy, but when Pastor and Susan took center spot in the front with all hands raised towards them, I found prayer the last thing I was capable of. I found difficulty even speak through the flowing tears that I tried frantically to wipe. When the noise of tongues finally subsided and Luke prophesied, waiting for the translation the only sound heard was the sniffles of the various noses throughout the room. God gave his blessing to Pastor, and service came to a close. It ended, Pastor's last service ended, and the only thing we could do was cry and embrace eachother. Lines formed behind both Pastor and Susan as people waited their turn to hug, cry, and say their goodbyes through cracking voices. I watched as Susan hugged every person that passed her, wipping tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand rather than pulling a tissue from the box sitting on the alter stairs. I took generously from the box, stairing at the vociferous room, tissues in hand held close to my chest, and replayed what felt like Pastor's every service in my mind. His dry humor, his booming voice, his lack of concern for personal space, his always tactful advice, the feeling of saftey that you always get when he's at service, and the insecure feeling that forms when he's away at conference. I didn't want to let go of his hand in our final handshake, and my voice rattled as I thanked him for just being here with us. He smiled and laughed as I talked about crying through every Foley service to come and moving to New Mexico after them.
In the end, after the last wading family left, all us young kids joined Pastor and Susan for one last picture and still Susan with wedding bells ringing in her ears, backed away from the crowd, arms spread out towards us, "Perfect, I can just match you up now...Okay you go over here with him," she laughed. We smiled wide as we all blinked through the final flash and then we left. Pastor walked out the doors, cold air brushing his thin gray hairs, Susan close to his side holding her skirt above the west greening cemet. They will like the New Mexican heat.
I felt nauseous walking back into the sactuary that night (but I think it was a reaction to my perfurm more than overwhelming feelings). I haven't yet addressed Foley, but I will with in the coming days. He is my new Pastor, I can't ignore him forever. Pastor wouldn't want that, he expects more from me. So next Wednesday, I'll walk through the maroon colored doors, not be engaged by Pastor's awkward belated greeting, sit in the second row, and slowly adjust to Foley's manner of speaking. It shouldn't take long; I hope.
-Toby K.
Nothing is equal to the feeling you get the second after the curtain sails close.
That was just the beginning of the day. At the end of service, when Pastor asked Foley to approach the stage all the hearts in the room began to beat with severe intensity, for we knew it was time. Praying for Foley came easy, but when Pastor and Susan took center spot in the front with all hands raised towards them, I found prayer the last thing I was capable of. I found difficulty even speak through the flowing tears that I tried frantically to wipe. When the noise of tongues finally subsided and Luke prophesied, waiting for the translation the only sound heard was the sniffles of the various noses throughout the room. God gave his blessing to Pastor, and service came to a close. It ended, Pastor's last service ended, and the only thing we could do was cry and embrace eachother. Lines formed behind both Pastor and Susan as people waited their turn to hug, cry, and say their goodbyes through cracking voices. I watched as Susan hugged every person that passed her, wipping tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand rather than pulling a tissue from the box sitting on the alter stairs. I took generously from the box, stairing at the vociferous room, tissues in hand held close to my chest, and replayed what felt like Pastor's every service in my mind. His dry humor, his booming voice, his lack of concern for personal space, his always tactful advice, the feeling of saftey that you always get when he's at service, and the insecure feeling that forms when he's away at conference. I didn't want to let go of his hand in our final handshake, and my voice rattled as I thanked him for just being here with us. He smiled and laughed as I talked about crying through every Foley service to come and moving to New Mexico after them.
In the end, after the last wading family left, all us young kids joined Pastor and Susan for one last picture and still Susan with wedding bells ringing in her ears, backed away from the crowd, arms spread out towards us, "Perfect, I can just match you up now...Okay you go over here with him," she laughed. We smiled wide as we all blinked through the final flash and then we left. Pastor walked out the doors, cold air brushing his thin gray hairs, Susan close to his side holding her skirt above the west greening cemet. They will like the New Mexican heat.
I felt nauseous walking back into the sactuary that night (but I think it was a reaction to my perfurm more than overwhelming feelings). I haven't yet addressed Foley, but I will with in the coming days. He is my new Pastor, I can't ignore him forever. Pastor wouldn't want that, he expects more from me. So next Wednesday, I'll walk through the maroon colored doors, not be engaged by Pastor's awkward belated greeting, sit in the second row, and slowly adjust to Foley's manner of speaking. It shouldn't take long; I hope.
-Toby K.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
The Mud On The Hill, The Water In The Well.
I was inspired to write today while reading assorted pieces of work that a few of my friends have written. I haven't yet sat down to write anything, and I am almost compelled to write a short shpeel right now, but I don't know if many of you would like that. For now I will write about my day and if I am to stumble on to some fiction-esc styles, then that will be it.
Today I went to outreach after I helped set up for my Grandfathers 90th birthday party. We had family from all over drive in to celebrate. I was only able to stay for about fifteen minutes after my Gramps arrived. He sure was suprised. He shuffled in holding onto his walker and looked up, eyes wide and pale from shock, as we non-concurrently yelled "surprise". He sat down and hugged his way through family members, shaking hands with distant relatives and a few distant grandchildren who barely knew his name. He made jokes and talked about women, as he usually does. He smiled as we followed his every word. The years show on him, through his wrinkles and bended fingers. His laugh has turned into a bark, and his voice hangs in a husk. Even through his Americanized words you can hear his German accent. It's hard to catch, and comes faint like a butterflies flap but when listening for it, you can find it. He smells of cigarette smoke, sometimes cherry, sometimes chocolate, but no matter the flavor the room is thick with it. When you hug him you can hear the buzzing of his hearing-aid and it feels as if your brain waves are crashing into his like a fighting ocean. He smiles wide like the suspenders draping over his shoulder. I don't remember anytime in my life where he didn't have a cain with him, wooden and rounded at the top. When he's sitting at the old worm table that him and my Grandmother had since forever, he would look down at the surface and run his fingers over the wood wiping away dust that wasn't there, or the ashes that were. His eyes look sad, grey and deep. They were probably once a bright blue, but the years have drained them of their color. His baseball cap sits loosly on his head; I have only seen him without it maybe twice in my entire life. His shoes are brown and heavy, and his coffee cup is stained with years of spilled caffeine. My Grandfather's bird Buddy, squeals sharp and is consistantly heard in the back ground; maybe just to make himself known in the room full of talking people. His green feathers drap down low and red trickles through his tail. He is older than I, and my siblings as well who are fourteen years grander than me. When I begin to think about my Grandfather when he still lived on the hill, in a house hidden in the mountains behind our little town, I cannot help but think of my Grandmother. She was something else. Loud and crazy, a character in the least. When ever company walked through the screen door she would spring to life, telling stories about way back when or the adventure she had just yesturday going to the market. Mud laced our shoes and the rims of her wheelchair. You could tell where she had been based on the marks covering the floor. It was a small dirty place, bugs and dust filled every crevice, and the garden was far overgrown when we finally sold it, but just a few years before, it was something beautiful (still dirty, but beautiful). I do remember her standing in the garden, probably shooing the geese from out of her way. Clothes and draperies hung on the wire lines that ran over the garden, and humingbird feeders lined the walls outside the house. Chicken ran amuck just over the fence leading to the coop that us kids would get eggs from. I know every child down through my nieces and nephew who are now 5 and 9 went out and collected eggs. I do remember collecting eggs with my Grandfather, and my Grandmother shortly before she was wheelchair stricken. All the water that went through the house was from a well that sat a little further up the hill; the water never being clear, but tasted sweet. My Grandmothers laugh, high like mine, mixed in the air like sour and sweet. I've been told I look like her, and have been told even more so that I act like her. She'd throw out her opinions regaurdless of who was in the room or not. She was like the fire on the logs that burned in the furnice, bright and strong, always hot to the touch. She was the thing that held our family together and the thing that sometimes tore us apart, but we would always come back to her, never staying away too long. I pray that I will never forget her, that I will never forget the days sitting on the hill, rain spitting on the windows, smelling chocolate smoke, laughing with my grandparents. They are the past, present, and furture of all of us; may I never omit that from my mind.
-Toby K.
Today I went to outreach after I helped set up for my Grandfathers 90th birthday party. We had family from all over drive in to celebrate. I was only able to stay for about fifteen minutes after my Gramps arrived. He sure was suprised. He shuffled in holding onto his walker and looked up, eyes wide and pale from shock, as we non-concurrently yelled "surprise". He sat down and hugged his way through family members, shaking hands with distant relatives and a few distant grandchildren who barely knew his name. He made jokes and talked about women, as he usually does. He smiled as we followed his every word. The years show on him, through his wrinkles and bended fingers. His laugh has turned into a bark, and his voice hangs in a husk. Even through his Americanized words you can hear his German accent. It's hard to catch, and comes faint like a butterflies flap but when listening for it, you can find it. He smells of cigarette smoke, sometimes cherry, sometimes chocolate, but no matter the flavor the room is thick with it. When you hug him you can hear the buzzing of his hearing-aid and it feels as if your brain waves are crashing into his like a fighting ocean. He smiles wide like the suspenders draping over his shoulder. I don't remember anytime in my life where he didn't have a cain with him, wooden and rounded at the top. When he's sitting at the old worm table that him and my Grandmother had since forever, he would look down at the surface and run his fingers over the wood wiping away dust that wasn't there, or the ashes that were. His eyes look sad, grey and deep. They were probably once a bright blue, but the years have drained them of their color. His baseball cap sits loosly on his head; I have only seen him without it maybe twice in my entire life. His shoes are brown and heavy, and his coffee cup is stained with years of spilled caffeine. My Grandfather's bird Buddy, squeals sharp and is consistantly heard in the back ground; maybe just to make himself known in the room full of talking people. His green feathers drap down low and red trickles through his tail. He is older than I, and my siblings as well who are fourteen years grander than me. When I begin to think about my Grandfather when he still lived on the hill, in a house hidden in the mountains behind our little town, I cannot help but think of my Grandmother. She was something else. Loud and crazy, a character in the least. When ever company walked through the screen door she would spring to life, telling stories about way back when or the adventure she had just yesturday going to the market. Mud laced our shoes and the rims of her wheelchair. You could tell where she had been based on the marks covering the floor. It was a small dirty place, bugs and dust filled every crevice, and the garden was far overgrown when we finally sold it, but just a few years before, it was something beautiful (still dirty, but beautiful). I do remember her standing in the garden, probably shooing the geese from out of her way. Clothes and draperies hung on the wire lines that ran over the garden, and humingbird feeders lined the walls outside the house. Chicken ran amuck just over the fence leading to the coop that us kids would get eggs from. I know every child down through my nieces and nephew who are now 5 and 9 went out and collected eggs. I do remember collecting eggs with my Grandfather, and my Grandmother shortly before she was wheelchair stricken. All the water that went through the house was from a well that sat a little further up the hill; the water never being clear, but tasted sweet. My Grandmothers laugh, high like mine, mixed in the air like sour and sweet. I've been told I look like her, and have been told even more so that I act like her. She'd throw out her opinions regaurdless of who was in the room or not. She was like the fire on the logs that burned in the furnice, bright and strong, always hot to the touch. She was the thing that held our family together and the thing that sometimes tore us apart, but we would always come back to her, never staying away too long. I pray that I will never forget her, that I will never forget the days sitting on the hill, rain spitting on the windows, smelling chocolate smoke, laughing with my grandparents. They are the past, present, and furture of all of us; may I never omit that from my mind.
-Toby K.
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