Brilliantly Ordinary

Dull.  Ordinary.  Just like everything else.  Yet, when it is seen in the right light; through the right eyes, the ordinary suddenly becomes something brilliant.  This concept is evident in photography.  It is when something considered to be plain, captured in just the right way, leaps from the picture and leaves us speechless.

Sometimes the day to day drone of life is nearly crushing with its “sameness.”  The struggles, prayers, work, and failures keep up their repetition in 4/4 time.  However, there is someone who sees us in just the right light.  The great orchestrator of our lives, the conductor of our time, sees us through the right eyes.  When he is invited in, the beat of our lives may stay the same, but now there is a miraculously woven symphony therein.  The ordinary suddenly becomes something brilliant!  Do not grow weary in the ordinary.  Ask, and he will show you how remarkable it can be.

Pine Hollow Chronicles: Ch. 3

Chapter 3

“You can have my cheese stick.”  Em looked up from the seat in her new math class to see a boy standing beside her holding out one of those white cheese logs that came in a package.  The cheese looked…wilted.

                “Oh,” replied Em.  She was quickly realizing that this class was too small to get lost in.  It had only taken her 10 minutes to fill out the paperwork given to her by Principal Tuttle, and then the school secretary had walked her down to class.  Pine Hollow was apparently shaped like a huge square, with the middle schoolers assigned one hallway, and the rest of the elementary assigned another one.

 “The school only goes to eighth grade,” Mrs. Montrose had explained as they walked.  “Next year we are thinking about expanding to ninth grade!   The kids seem to like us that much!”  She paused and then said, “And we like them too.”  Em thought that last part seemed forced, like something school secretaries had to say or be fired.  Em  pictured Mr. Tuttle actually trying to fire someone.  His eyebrows would form huge upside-down V’s over his angry eyes.  Disturbing.

                After the short walk, she had been deposited into a small classroom with large windows on one side, making up the furthest wall.  The room didn’t have desks, but rather long white tables with folding chairs. A teacher’s desk sat in the corner, and a whiteboard graced the front wall.  Em did her best to not make eye contact as she was introduced to the group and shown where to put her supplies.  She found herself sitting at the end of one of the tables, near the window.  The sun was finally starting to shine, but the world outside was frosted and dead looking.  The highway could be seen running along the edge of the school grounds, with an occasional car zipping by. 

     Next was nearly a whole hour of math class, and she was honestly not paying too much attention until the boy had thrust his floppy looking cheese at her.

         “Don’t do it!” shrieked the curly headed girl Em had met before school started.  Even though she sat across the room, her voice was loud enough for the room next door to hear.  She came scampering over.  “You just pulled that thing out of your pocket,” she accused the boy, pointing at the big front pocket of the boy’s hoodie.  “Have you had that in their all morning?”

                The boy just started at her.  Then slowly, he opened the cheese stick and took a huge bite, smiling at her.  “Yep,” he said.  He then turned and held it out to Em.  “You can still have the rest,” he said seriously.   “GROSS,” shrieked Curly.  By then, the tall girl from the morning and another boy had walked up.  The tall girl started laughing, and the other boy shook his head. 

                “Conner, that is kind of disgusting,” he said.  His voice was low, and he clearly enjoying the scene.  He smiled shyly at Em.  The tall girl stopped laughing, and glancing at Em said, “Yeah, Conner.  You’re scaring the new girl.”

                It took Emily a second to realize that the entire class was up, walking around, and most of them had food of some kind.   Whoops.  It must have been some sort of designated break time that she’d missed the teacher announcing.  Emily really didn’t know what to say in response, so she stared dumbly up at the kids surrounding her.

                The girl with the curly hair spoke up ignoring her silence, “Do you have a snack?  It is snack time and Mrs. Phillips is actually letting us take a break to eat.”

                “Um.  No,” replied Em.

                “See!  That’s why I offered her mine,” said Connor matter-of-factly.

                Curly shuddered.  “I have an extra granola bar in my backpack.  Let me get it.”  Without waiting for a response, she flew out the room.

                The teacher, who’d been staring at her computer, immediately looked up and watched the fleeting teen run out of the room .  She sighed, and got up to follow her out the door calling, “Savannah!!” in a stern voice.

                “Oops,” said Conner. 

                “Is she going to get in trouble?” asked Em, feeling sort of embarrassed.  After all, Curly did run into the hall to help her, the “poor new kid.”

                “Nope,” said Tall girl.  “Savannah runs out of the class almost everyday.  She is kinda high octane.”  Emily must have looked puzzled because she went on to explain, “We’re supposed to sign out.”

“Oh.”

The girl smiled, “I’m Anna by the way.  We kind of met this morning.”

                “Em,” replied Em.

                “HUH?” interjected Conner. 

Anna pushed him on the shoulder.  “That’s her NAME.”

                “OH,” replied Conner laughing at himself.  ‘Sorry, EM,” he said, placing too much emphasis on the M.  “Conner.”  He wiped his cheesy hands on his shirt and held it out to like he was going to shake her hand.

                Em just stared at him, and Anna and the other boy burst out laughing.

                “Good call,” said the boy after he calmed down.  “I’m Sam.”

                Curly, or Savannah, was walking back into the room by that time, granola bar in hand, followed by a tired looking Mrs. Phillips.  Savannah must not have gotten into any trouble because she immediately came over to the group and said breathlessly, “Here.”  She handed the bar to Em, who took it like it was some sort of poison.

                The kids didn’t seem to notice.  “So, did you just move here?” asked Sam.   Em nodded. 

“That’s nice,” said the Tall girl, or Anna.  “I’ve lived here my whole life.”  She made it sound like it was the worst thing ever.

                “I think we all have!” said Savannah enthusiastically. She gave Anna a mock glare “Maple Heights isn’t that bad, Anna.”

                “Nope.  Moved here from Nam,” added Connor in a strange accent.  Everyone kind of paused and stared at him.    Sam and Savannah started laughing, but Anna shook her head.  “Why is that funny?” she asked.  Em even had to smile.   The kid was so strange it was almost funny, but Anna was right-she didn’t know why he was funny.

                Connor kept up the strange accent, “Where deed you come froom?” he inquired of Em.  His country impression (if that’s what it was) was terrible.

                “We moved here from Arizona,” Em said quietly.  She was surprised that it was so easy to speak after the months she’d spend in silence. 

                “Not fair!” said Savannah.

                “Hey, you just said Maple Heights wasn’t so bad,” Sam reminded her.

                Savannah thought for a moment, “Well, we do have that Potato Parade,”  she finally said.

                “Yay,” said Anna with zero emotion.

                “Arizona!” breathed Savannah with her usual enthusiasm.  “Are there really cactuses there?”

                “Cacti!” broke in Connor’s weird accent.  Everyone laughed this time, except Em, who did smile a little.

                “Um, yeah,” she said.

 The teacher chose that moment to interrupt the conversation and end break time.  “30 minutes left of math, and then you’re out of here,” she told them.  “Let’s focus and finish strong!”  The class groaned, and Anna whispered, “She always says that,” before heading back to her seat.    “You’ll like next hour,” said Savannah before she walked away. “ It’s English.  Ms. Andrews is fun.”

                Em was grateful that the group of kids surrounding her were going to their seats, sparing her from answering any more questions.  She was annoyed that her mom had been right about the small class thing.  It was way too hard to disappear here.  She sighed and stared out the window again, wishing she was in one of those cars flying down the frozen highway.

The Contest Story (I lost..but it's still an entertaining read!!)

“Why do you have locks on your refrigerator?” The question held a hint of sarcasm laced with genuine curiosity.  Ellie looked up from the smoothie she was blending for the girl and laughed.  “Oh, they were for Jakey.  A few years ago he used to wake up super early in the morning and steal junk food.” 

Ellie turned back to the blender and pulsed it a few more times.  Even though it had been nearly two years ago, she remembered it like it was yesterday.  Right after she and her husband had brought home the new baby, three year old Jacob had begun his early morning “experiments”.  One morning he had stolen ice cream and chocolate syrup from the freezer and turned his bedroom into an ice cream sundae.  Hence the locks.

Ellie took the lid from the blender and sloppily poured the thick purplish liquid into a neon cup.  Every time the girl came over, she always requested smoothies.  Ellie liked this because it gave her a chance to sneak some vegetables into her diet.

The girl, a dark haired pre-teenager, laughed at the story and sipped from the cup.  She made a face.  “Straw?” she requested.

“Oh sorry,” exclaimed Ellie.  She supposed the straw was half the experience, so she grabbed one quickly from the cupboard and handed it to the girl.  The girl sipped again then said, “We used to have locks on our refrigerator too.  But it was because we weren’t allowed to eat.”  She sipped again, with a little more vigor, like she might actually be afraid Ellie would take the drink away.

“What?!” exclaimed Ellie.  “Not allowed to eat?”

The girl treated it like it was a little thing.  “Nope.  My sister and I had to sneak food when they were sleeping.  I used to get so thirsty I’d go outside and eat snow.”

Ellie stepped over and hugged the girl tightly.  She was at a loss for words.  “I-I’m sorry,” was all she could muster.

“Ehh,” said the girl, like it wasn’t a big deal.  Ellie squeezed her shoulders again.  “Praise God it isn’t like that now.”  

The girl sighed, “Yeah,” she said.  “I’m glad I don’t live there anymore.”

Ellie was saddened by this exchange, but she wasn’t surprised. “There” was a place called “The Community.” The Community was a HUD housing project located in the city.   It was a hotbed of drugs, gangs, and anger.  In the midst of it, The Community was crawling with children; the innocents who always seemed to be in the way.   In fact, this past year alone there had been three shootings where minors had been wounded.  There were even reports of a 14 year old wielding one of the weapons during the last.

Ellie had a hard time believing places like this existed in America.  She wondered if her friends believed her when she told them the stories of brokenness and heartbreak.   She and her husband had encountered much in their 12 year ministry to The Community.  Like how, on their second Sunday at church, they had met a mother and her teenage son.  The boy was silent with arms crossed, staring at the ground.  Ellie just assumed he was another rebellious teen.  Later that afternoon he went home and shot himself in the head.  She sang at the funeral.

There was another time a woman they’d been ministering to had called her up at 1 A.M, higher than a kite, threatening to kill her.  Ellie had called the police to do a well-check on the woman the previous morning, when she hadn’t shown up for church.  It turned out the woman had been using, with a child in the home.  The police had removed the child into protective custody, and the woman was obviously upset.  Ellie and her husband acquired the family dog after that incident.

Ellie and the girl finished their smoothies.  Ellie was thankful that she had the opportunity to be a blessing to this young lady.  She reflected inwardly about the numerous times she’d wanted to give up the ministry.  Admittedly, in her prayer times, Ellie had often begged God to let them quit.  She was often afraid, and people in The Community weren’t interested in church.  Yet she never felt like God had given them the green light to stop.  Lots of people quit when it came to The Community, or worse, refused to acknowledge its existence. 

“Trust.”  That word from the Lord came back to her again and again when she would pray.  Ellie had a hard time with that.  It was easier to give in to her anxieties when she saw darkness every day.   But even in her own failings she could not deny that God had always been faithful.  The times God had protected her family and provided for them were permanently stamped in her memory.

And then again, two years ago, the whisper echoed back into her heart.   “Trust.”    She realized, in fact, that the Lord was still not allowing them to quit. He reminded her that he was her rock when was afraid, and he wanted to be theirs too.  The Lord was asking them to stop their full time jobs in the church and expand their youth discipleship program in The Community.  He had given them a vision to mentor kids, take them into their home, bring them to healthy churches, and even pilot a literacy program.  It was insane, and Ellie had no idea where the money would come from.   But still…”Trust.”

And now, here she was.  Ellie snapped out of her thoughts and looked at the girl.  She drew in a breath.  “I know the past is hard sometimes, isn’t it.”  The girl didn’t look at her, but nodded.  “You know,” said Ellie with conviction, “you can really trust the Lord.  He loves you, hon.  He’ll never ever let you go.”

  “And God help us, we won’t either.”   That last part was a thought and a prayer.  The girl looked at Ellie and smiled.  “Thank you.”  She said softly.

The Parable of the Pear Tree

“I almost remember the year my grandparents moved in next door.  It’s a little hazy in my mind’s eye, because I was still young.  I remember my grandmother bringing her collection of seeds and, what I thought to be, tiny sticks.  I recall my grandfather shaking his head.  ‘Maude,’ he would say.  ‘Those cuttings won’t grow here!  The climate is all wrong.”    My grandmother would just shake her head and smile.

‘You never know until you try,’ she replied brightly, undeterred. 

Year after year, she would work in her garden, feeding and nurturing her seeds.  Laboriously, she proved my grandfather wrong.  One day I watched her as she watered what appeared to be a small, but strong growing tree.  Yet, as the garden bloomed every spring, flowers blossomed, and vegetables ripened, the stubborn tree never seemed to do anything.  It just existed.  All around it was brilliant life, and fruit.  To my inexperienced eyes, the tree was neither beautiful nor useful.  The odd thing, however, was that it was on this tree that my grandmother poured the majority of her time and attention.

As a child I enjoyed the summer tomatoes and fall raspberries.  We carved the garden’s pumpkins in the fall.  And the tree still stood.  Finally, around the garden’s fourth year, when I was old enough to voice my opinion in the intelligent way early teenagers often do, I asked her, ‘Why do you spend so much time on that boring tree?  It just stands there.  You should just take it out and plant something fun there.  Maybe an apple tree!’

My grandmother stopped her work and smiled at me.  ‘Amelia,” she said.  “I know this tree doesn’t look like much now, but it has a surprise hidden deep inside of it.  If I give up now, we’d never see the amazing things it has to produce!’

Little did I know just how long it would take.  After nearly twelve years, the tree finally began to fruit.  Tiny, pearly pears began to grow.  The pears were, by far, the most delicious and famous of all the fruit in my grandmother’s garden.  And although she is gone, those pears are her legacy to this day.  Every spring her garden still blooms and the pears delight both children and adults alike in my parent’s neighborhood.  Her life lesson to me?  Never give up.  Great things may take time, but they are well worth it.”

The Pine Hollow Chronicles- ch 2

Chapter 2

                “WHOA!”  Em heard the loud warning call too late as she plowed head first into someone just inside the door.  The person she’d run into took a few steps back to avoid falling over.  Emily, embarrassed, untangled herself from the stranger. 

                “Can I help you?” asked a man’s voice.  Em looked up into the face of her human road block, surprised to see laughing eyes under abnormally huge eyebrows.  They were so funny, it caught her off guard and she actually smiled.

                “Um…maybe…” she managed to get out before catching her breath.  “Sorry!  I mean…” she faltered.  Her mind went blank and she realized that these might have been the most words she’d spoken to anyone outside of her family in months.

                “Well-“ said the stranger, sensing her discomfort.  “Let’s start with names.  Mine’s Mr. Tuttle.  I’m the Principal here at Pine Hollow.  And you are…?“

                Emily felt the familiar sinking feeling in her stomach.  Oh great.  The principal.

                “Emily Preston,” she mumbled.  “I’m-“

                “The new eighth grader!” a springy voice perked up from somewhere behind her.  Em swung around and saw two other girls who looked her age.  One, with tight curls and bright eyes smiled at her.  The other, taller and athletic, smiled cautiously and looked Emily up and down.  Before Emily could refuse to acknowledge them, like normal, Curly grabbed her hand and pulled her closer.

                “I’m so glad you’re here!” she said, talking unbelievably fast.  “Our class is so small.  AND it’s full of BOYS!  Anna and I are the only eighth grade girls and can you imagine dealing with that every day?  AND…” 

                “Savannah!”  Mr. Tuttle’s voice broke through the girl’s cascade of words.  “Hold on just a second, please.”

                The girl froze in mid-sentence and slowly turned on her toes, smiling.  “Oh.  Sorry Mr. T.  What?”

Em couldn’t help but laugh in her head.  Huge Eyebrow Man’s nickname was Mr. T.  That was the name of a character in an old show her dad used to watch.  Only in that show, Mr. T was a big scary guy with a tough attitude.  Mr. Tuttle seemed the exact opposite of that.   The principal put his hand on lightly Em’s shoulder.  “Let’s head into the office so we can get you settled in,” he said to her.    “Girls,” he said glancing at the other two eighth graders.  “Why don’t you head to class?  I’ll have Mrs. Montrose bring her down when we’re ready.”

Curly, or Savannah, sighed dramatically.  Anna, the tall girl, rolled her eyes at her, and smiled cautiously at Em.  Then both girls disappeared down the narrow hallway, with Curly nearly pulling the other girl out of her shoes.

Em felt the principal’s hand on her shoulder as it guided her through a large green door with a huge glass window on it. “Office” was printed in white block letters across the window.  Mr. T turned to the right and led her into another room.  It must have been his personal office.  It was complete with a mini fridge and picture frames of his two grown children.    At least, Em thought they were his children.  They had giant, matching eyebrows.

The principal motioned for Emily to sit on a stiff looking love seat, situated in the corner of the little room.  Em eyed it for a second.  It seemed a bit odd for a principal to have a sofa in his office.  Maybe he lounged around on it and watched movies on his phone during the day?  Mr. Tuttle must have noticed Em’s confused look because he said,” That old love seat belonged to my Grandma Alice.  It was my inheritance present, and I thought it might make my office seem more homey.”  He paused.  “It IS a little old and stiff, but good memories…” he smiled and repeated himself again as if to emphasize his point…”good memories.”  Em nodded like she knew exactly what those good memories were.  However, in reality, she was starting to be concerned that her new principal might be crazy.  She sat down on the sofa and looked at her hands.

                “Emily,” the principal said after taking a moment to look at some papers on his desk.  “It is a little unusual for a student to come to school on the first day without a parent accompanying her.”

                “Oh?” She responded intelligently.  She felt herself getting angrier at her mom for putting her into this awkward spot.  Now, not only did she come from a broken home, she also came from one with an absent parent.  “I really am a charity case,” she thought.  Immediately she quieted the shame from that thought with the familiar refrain she’d taught herself to repeat when she couldn’t handle the pain: “Who cares?  It doesn’t matter anyway.”  If she told that to herself enough, it really didn’t matter.  Nothing did.

                Mr. Tuttle sensed Em tightening up, and smiled at her.  His enormous eyebrows almost touched together.  “Don’t worry though!” he said.  “It says in my paperwork that you’re 14 years old!  4 more years until adulthood.  I’m sure you can answer these questions as well as your mom.  Here-“ he said handing her a packet of papers.  “I just need you to fill out some of these for the enrollment paperwork.”  He glanced up at an apple shaped clock on his wall.   “I have to go check on class 219 before the bell rings.  Just finish up in here and bring the forms to Mrs. Montrose.  She is our school secretary, nurse, teacher’s aid, notary, and recess teacher.”   Mr. Tuttle looked at her, as if to see her reaction to the long list of jobs given the poor Mrs. Montrose.  Em just stared at him.

                “When you teach at a private school, my dear, you have at least seven other jobs than your own!”  Mr. Tuttle laughed too hard at his own joke.  He then left, still chuckling to himself.  “Seven  other jobs…maybe eight!” she heard him reemphasize as he headed down the hallway, laughing again.

Em sighed.  Maybe she could take to six hours fill out the paper work, and miss the whole school day.  She rifled through the first few papers.  They looked pretty easy.  Basic questions, such as her name and birthday were simple enough.  She frowned as she continued to look.  She didn’t know any of the insurance information that the school was asking for, nor the name of a doctor in case of an emergency.  She would have to force her mom to come in tomorrow and fill that stuff out.

The last page, however, was the most perplexing of all.  The entire page was nearly blank except for a short blip of writing at the top.  It was a question. “Who are you?” it read.  Em groaned inwardly.  Essay questions were the worst, and this was a weird one.  Em sat for a minute thinking.  “What a dumb question,” she said aloud to herself.  “This entire packet is about who I am.”  The more she thought about the question, the more annoyed she became.   This was what she didn’t like about school, or counselors.  Everyone was always trying to get her to think deeply about everything, and it was getting old.   Her dad didn’t want her, she was far away from anything familiar, and she was convinced that life was just a series of painful things, blending into more pain.  “And eventually you die,” she thought darkly to herself.

She grabbed the pencil, and started filling out the packet, tackling that ridiculous question first.  “Who am I?” she thought to herself, half angry and half hurting.  With one stray tear rolling down her cheek, she wrote the only words that brought her comfort, “It doesn’t matter. “