“I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis. I was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead. I was the lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept. I was the lion who gave the Horses the new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach King Lune in time. And I was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a man sat, wakeful at midnight, to receive you.”
“Then it was you who wounded Aravis?”
“It was I.”
“But what for?”
“Child,” said the Voice, “I am telling you your story, not hers. I tell no one any story but his own.”
- The Horse and His Boy

A Guide to Proper Hand-Washing Technique

Did you know that your hands are loaded with bacteria and other contaminants? They’re filthy! They spread disease! Oh, it’s just awful. And it’s not scientifically possible to sterilize your hands. You can, however, get them really, really clean. Here’s how!

1. First, you need to get some water going. We want it hot, hot, hot! The hot-water tap is contaminated, but that’s okay, because you’re about to wash. Touch it again, just to show how brave you are. Touch it one more time. Three taps wards off bad things. Now we’re ready to wash!

2. Next, choose your poison. What kind of soap is for you? Bar soap is out; other people have probably used it (a possibility too horrible to contemplate), and even if it’s unopened it’s made from animal fats, which is revolting. The whole thing just seems so dirty. Liquid soap it is! Choose an antibacterial formula if you’re worried about contamination from germs. If you’re worried about contamination from death, choose dishwashing liquid. It’s so death-free it’s safe to use on plates and flatware! But only if it’s BRAND-NEW. Even then, you never know. Okay, let’s skip the soap altogether. Plain water will be fine.

3. Rub your hands together vigorously and scrub, scrub, scrub. The Centers for Disease Control recommend you wash your hands for ten seconds, but what do they know? If they’re such geniuses why do people still get hepatitis? A full minute, minimum. How about this: you keep your hands under that tap until you answer the philosophical question “Is water clean?”

4. I don’t know if water is clean. What if water isn’t clean? What if water just makes you dirtier?

5. You’ll wash and wash and wash but you’ll never be safe.

6. Okay, try not to think about it. Let’s just say water is clean and move on.

7. But what if it’s not clean?

8. We’re moving on. This next part is tricky. Your hands are clean-but they’re wet. How to get them dry without getting them dirty again? The air-dry technique is best. Sure, it’s slow, but it’s safe. Simply hold your hands in the air until they’re completely dry. Be sure not to touch anything! If you touch something, or if for some reason you think you maybe touched something, go back to Step 1. Yes, let’s go back to Step 1 just to be safe.

9. Now we’re in a hurry. You’re going to have to dry your hands with paper napkins. That’s fine. Just make sure it’s a new package. Did you touch the part of the package that was sealed with glue? Is that glue? Glue is dirty. Wash again, just to be safe, then dry your hands on a napkin that absolutely for sure didn’t touch the glue.

10. Use a napkin to turn off the tap and another napkin to open the door on the way out. Some people won’t even touch the door with a napkin; they’ll just wait until somebody comes to open the door for them. But they’re crazy!

- Jennifer Traig

I found this in my book for Composition. Obviously, it’s an example of a Process Essay. Pretty funny!

Narration Essay…

My head snaps up, and I realize that I must have fallen asleep again. Rubbing my dry eyes, I begin reading the chapter on bone tissue. A friend told me once, “When people ask me why I’m always tired, I just answer, ‘I’m a nursing student.’ And you know what? I’ve never had to explain that answer. Believe me, girl. It all just gets harder.” Of course she was right, but experiencing it for myself seemed to put what she said into perspective. Thinking back to why I decided to do this, I know that every last struggle is worth it.

Like any other junior in high school, I thought that I knew what I wanted to do with my life. For years, the idea of doing anything other than music had never crossed my mind. My piano teacher, Mrs. N, was working me harder than ever and planning my audition pieces for different colleges. Then there was my flute teacher, Mrs. W, who was still rejoicing at my much-needed upgrade to a professional flute. Practice- time requirements grew longer, and flute sonatas became purer and faster. I was all too sure that there was nothing stopping me from achieving a major in piano with a minor in flute-performance.

During that summer, I was encouraged to be more active in the community. I decided to volunteer at our local hospital, Unity. I would not have minded the position they offered me in the gift shop, but I knew that the best way for me to meet people and reach out would be where care was given. I cringed and shuddered at the thought of being exposed to the smallest abnormal or unhealthy thing.

But before I could even take the next step and nail down which wing I wished to volunteer in, my cousin N fell sick. (Being that we are so close in age, it was natural that we had become the closest of friends.) After some questioning of whether or not she was sick enough to go to the doctor, her condition took a turn for the worse. Later that day, I heard that the appointment had turned into a visit to the operating table. Her appendix had ruptured, and she was fortunate that the doctor was able to get it out before it killed her. I begged my parents for a ride, bought flowers on the way, and rushed to her hospital room.

For the next few days, I was with her as much as I was able to be. The doctor made it very clear that had she not gotten in when she had, we would have lost her. (It was so hard to imagine that my teenage cousin could have been lost!) Anytime that she needed help, she asked for me. She hated to be this vulnerable, and continuously mourned her need for things like a catheter. It felt so new for me to be someone wanted as a caregiver. But during this new delight of being needed, something else felt like it was clicking into place.

One afternoon, as I sat on her bed with her and watched a movie she had picked out; a nurse came in and emptied what her catheter bag. Usually, I had to turn away from this. My cousin thanked the nurse and sighed. Looking at me, she asked, “Jenny, when you volunteer at the hospital, will you empty other people’s bags?” I told her that I didn’t think so, since volunteers were not involved in direct medical procedures or things like that.

I got up and patted the pillows into place after handing her ice chips to her. She studied me for a moment and said, “You know, Jenny… I was thinking how there are so many people out there sicker than I am. I need this much care, and I’m sure they need even more. To think, emptying a bag like that makes a huge difference. It’s so small, but it’s a step that’s needed for me to get better.”

I slowly sat down again. She soon fell asleep, and I watched her as I thought about what she had said. Little things like emptying that bag, washing her face, even braiding her hair – they were all simple things that meant so much. Each action showed care for her. I thought of all the other N’s that were in the world. Each one needed love and care in order to become whole again. There were children who were sick, teenagers in the prime of youth, elderly with wisdom that is only obtained from experience. Each one needed care, and sometimes that care was more than a mother or friend could offer.

N’s IV clicked on interval as the morphine drip steadily provided her with some small relief from her discomfort. I grabbed her hand and held it. It was because of the doctors and nurses that we still had her. It was because of them that we had her on her road to full recovery. These people were counted on. These nurses were not only expected to provide medical care, but were also needed to provide each patient with tenderness and emotional stability.

At that moment, as she opened her eyes and smiled at me, I knew what I really and truly wanted to do with my life. I wanted to be the person that she could depend on for her care, love, and physical needs. I wanted to do that for any person that needed it. There were times, I knew, that would require me to grow in immeasurable ways. I would see things that would make me light headed. Playing the flute with calluses? Sore wrists from hours at the piano? They were nothing compared to what I knew I would have to overcome. Being a nurse required more work and motivation from me than any concerto or prelude.

Warmth filled me as I realized that what I wanted to do had changed. Now, it was not even just a want. It was a desire that filled me. It was a desire to help people. It was the desire to be there and give people the treatment that they needed to live a normal and healthy life.

N yawned and asked, “So where do you want to volunteer at Unity Hospital?” I smiled back and said, “I think I’ll check out the Emergency Room. They probably need some help there.” She beamed at me and said something that I will never forget, “I always thought you would make a good nurse.”

She had realized it before I had.

For those of you who read this before, yes it has obviously been edited. With the help and recommendations of a friend, the majority of the icky mistakes have been taken care of. My Professor recommended that I add something (or replace) to the introduction to let people know that I have gone through with what I learned.

Blake’s Introductions

Piping down the valleys wild,
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he laughing said to me:

“Pipe a song about a Lamb!”
So I piped with a merry chear.
“Piper, pipe that song again;”
So I piped: he wept to hear.

“Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
Sing thy songs of happy chear:”
So I sung the same again,
While he wept with joy to hear.

“Piper, sit thee down and write
In a book, that all may read.”
So he vanish’d from my sight,
And I pluck’d a hollow reed,

And I made a rural pen,
And I stain’d the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs,
Every child may joy to hear.
Songs of Innocence
_________

Hear the voice of the Bard!
Who Present, Past, & Future sees;
Whose ears have heard
The Holy Word
That walk’d among the ancient trees,

Calling the lapsed Soul,
And weeping in the evening dew;
That might controll
The starry pole,
And fallen, fallen light renew!

“O Earth, O Earth, return!
Arise from out the dewy grass;
Night is worn,
And the morn
Rises from the slumberous mass.

“Turn away no more;
Why wilt thou turn away?
The starry floor,
The wat’ry shore,
Is giv’n thee till the break of day.”
Songs of Experience

A puzzling project

My apologies to those of you who are cringing at the lack of a walking foot. I read that if I was really careful, it would work just fine. And it did. The fabric bunched once, but only on the crazy pattern on back where it’s very hard to see it. Lesson learned here? A nice, usable for all things practical machine doesn’t work the best for quilting. Ah well. This was just a practice to see if I could do it. It’s not too big, and it is slightly wild, so I think that it being my first quilting experience was a good idea. The binding’s next.

Growing

The spring semester is looming. I got all of my books ordered tonight, and wouldn’t blame my parents if they decided the amount paid on the books was enough for an inheritance. Well, it’s done – and now we have to get all the other expenses paid off.

But until the day that classes open, I have valuable time to do things that I otherwise would not have much time to do. Hopefully I’ll finish the few books that I started over the summer and (unfortunately) had a hard time finishing.

As far as resolutions go, well – I decided awhile ago that it wasn’t worth it. I hope that with each day, I’ll become someone better than who I was the day before. Years shouldn’t be the only mark for change toward something good.

It’s hard to believe that the decade’s coming to an end. Ten years ago, I was nine. We watched that huge ball on TV, and everyone cheered as it finally came down. I remember thinking that 2010 seemed like such a long time away. And good grief, but I would be old. Now, I realize what the older, wiser people have meant by the little saying “time flies.” Soon it will be 2020, and I’ll chuckle about now. The troubles, excitements, disappointments, etc. will seem quite small to me then. I hope that I’ll grow wiser – and that I’ll have used even the things that I am learning now in order to be a better person.

And who knows. Maybe everything will fall apart – or come together with small effort. I could live to grow old, or could die tomorrow. These things are not my decision. I just hope that I live so that I can appreciate each day given to me.

…

It was cold. Cold enough that I noticed that the rain was turning to snow. The flakes glided gently down, lightly brushing my cheeks. Standing on the top of the hill, I stared out over the vast sea of rolling green. Soon it would all be white.

I tightly folded my arms across my chest, trying very hard to warm up my clenched fists. I knew that this would only work for a short period of time. Shivering, I let myself move with the biting wind. I should have dressed warmer, but of course I had carelessly thought that I would have no need for the extra layers. When I closed my eyes, listening to the silent snow and occasional bird, I knew that even being this cold was worth it.

I generally didn’t like to be all alone. I appreciated the company of other good people. But here, at this moment, it seemed fitting that I should be alone. My state of mind was at such a point – that should anyone be with me, it would have to be someone who knew that silence was needed when words were not enough.

I stood there for an unmeasurable moment. Could it have been an hour? Perhaps it was only a few more minutes. Eventually the cold temperature and the long walk home brought me out of my reverie. Careful not to trip over my skirts, I headed down the hill. It was a smooth descent as there were very few rocks, and no trees in sight. Seeing that the clouds appeared to be getting thicker, I hurried my pace.

Past the hills, I hit the edge of the village. One of the neighbors called out a greeting as he brought the livestock to the shed. I waved and continued on. I passed many more houses and farms before reaching the Inn. There was a homey glow from the fires and lamps, and a clear sound of a group of people singing. I stopped to stare through the window at the happy people. Great mugs were set aside on a table that had been pushed out of the way. The large dog howled right along with the singing. Smiling, I turned away and started up the hill that lead to the estate.

I could hear the sound of the sea now. The wind was tossing the waves about, crashing them into the shore. Standing on the hill between the village and the estate, I saw the white cliffs shining. Even in this cloudy and dark weather they gleamed like giant pearls against the horizon. I stopped here as a million thoughts flew through my head. There were ships docked with glowing lamps on each. I knew that one was missing, that it would never come back. Somewhere out in the middle of the vast black sea, it had sunk. We did not know what the problem was, for the night that it happened had been a calm one. Everyone had been shocked. For we had lost everyone on board. The young men, and also the older experienced ones.The day that it happened, we knew that nothing could be done.That day, I lost something that could never be replaced. Tears froze to my cheeks, and I hastily brushed them off. I pressed on.

When I was within site of my home, the grey seemed very cold and uninviting compared to the warm tones of clay and wood I had just seen. Looking harder, I could see that a few fires had been started. I imagined that I was probably quite late for supper. But cook was always patient, and I knew I could count on her to be understanding.

As I thought, she opened the door with a great smile on her face, shouting out happily to me. She led me in and sat me by the fire. People were buzzing about as the evening meal was being prepared. She put her hand on my arm.

Looking up into her warm eyes, I smiled.

Lo, how a Rose e’er blooming

Lo, how a Rose e’er blooming from tender stem hath sprung!
Of Jesse’s lineage coming, as men of old have sung.
It came, a floweret bright, amid the cold of winter,
When half spent was the night.

Isaiah ’twas foretold it, the Rose I have in mind;
Mary we behold it, the Virgin Mother kind.
To show God’s love aright, she bore to us a Savior,
When half spent was the night.

The shepherds heard the story proclaimed by angels bright,
How Christ, the Lord of glory was born on earth this night.
To Bethlehem they sped and in the manger they found Him,
As angel heralds said.

This Flower, whose fragrance tender with sweetness fills the air,
Dispels with glorious splendor the darkness everywhere;
True man, yet very God, from sin and death He saves us,
And lightens every load.

…perplexed, but not in despair

Therefore, since through God’s mercy we have this ministry, we do not lose heart. Rather, we have renounced secret and shameful ways; we do not use deception, nor do we distort the word of God. On the contrary, by setting forth the truth plainly we commend ourselves to every man’s conscience in the sight of God. And even if our gospel is veiled, it is veiled to those who are perishing. The god of this age has blinded the minds of unbelievers, so that they cannot see the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God. For we do not preach ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake. For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,”made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ.
But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body. So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.

It is written: “I believed; therefore I have spoken.”With that same spirit of faith we also believe and therefore speak, because we know that the one who raised the Lord Jesus from the dead will also raise us with Jesus and present us with you in his presence. All this is for your benefit, so that the grace that is reaching more and more people may cause thanksgiving to overflow to the glory of God.

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

~ 2 Chorinthians 4, NIV

On blogging

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on the usefulness of “blogs”. You can find just about any kind of blog out there – journals, articles, book reviews, angry (rather disappointing reads, I’ll tell you), silly ones, weird ones, music, and the most important and only worthwhile : edifying. If you think about it, how often do you really run across one like that? Every blog is usually just pictures, a journal post of one’s day, and often silly rants about something that isn’t even worth looking at twice.

Now, I’m noticing that the only time I really have something edifying to say on this blog, it’s when I copy and paste a favorite quote or poem. This is rather unfortunate. I very often find myself starting a post that is all about me. Not about God, His word, good examples of the Christian life that I meet from day to day. When I notice that, I delete it and start over, but even then I find myself disappointed in the quality of this blog.

Essentially, a blog these days is really just a soap box for the whole world to see. You can tell them what you think about anything you want at any time of the day.

But should you? I don’t think so.

This may sting, but I’m talking to myself more than anybody. It was because of this sort of thing that I decided to delete my facebook account. I was wasting too much time on something that was completely self-centered. Telling the world little sayings and quotes that weren’t worth reading – usually. But – we must beware. Just because you don’t have a facebook, but keep a blog doesn’t mean that you’re better off. I’ve run across many blogs that were thousands of times worse than most of the facebook pages that I saw. You know the little statistic map down on the right here? I’m going to delete that. Why should I be so proud of the number of visitors on here that I want everyone to know where they come from? It’s something to think about.

A blog should have worthwhile content. When you open up a blog, you don’t want to be smacked in the face with silly, trivial things. I’m not saying that all pictures, stories, or personal experiences aren’t worthwhile. What I’m saying is, make sure they are.

Thus – I shall try harder to present the readers (even though they be few) of this blog with more worthwhile posts.

“Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it.”

- C.S. Lewis