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2 February 2012

Don’t Bother Sara!

Posted by Abby under Children, Family, Humor, Memories, stories | Tags: , , , , , , , , |
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This one time when I was six years old, Mom was cleaning the kitchen and asked me to check on my four-year-old sister, Sara, at the other end of the house. I found Sara in the bathroom with the door closed, sitting beside a pile of hair and holding the haircut scissors. I looked at her, closed the door, and went back to the kitchen. Now, I had been learning not to tattletale, so I said carefully, “Mom, I don’t want to be a tattletale but if I were a mom, I’d want to go look in the bathroom.”

The first thing Mom saw when she walked into the bathroom was the pile of hair.

“Oh, my, she must be bald!” she thought.

“Sara, why did you cut your hair?”

Sara calmly pulled her fingers out of her mouth and replied, “It was bodderin’ me.”

 

26 November 2011

Adventures in Sticky Notes

Posted by Abby under stories, Travel | Tags: , , , |
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I spotted this sticky note posted in the bathroom of a fast food restaurant in Hays, Kansas. It says, “You are more than the make up on your face. Your’e beautiful.”

I was in the midst of an eleven-hour road trip and had been awake since 4:30 a.m. but was still in good spirits. Seeing the note made me smile a little brighter, though!

Have you ever heard of Operation Beautiful or seen a note like this?

 

21 March 2010

Princess Pretending

Posted by Abby under Children, Humor, Memories, stories, Writing | Tags: , , , , , , |
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Once upon a time, I wore a sherbet bucket on my head. As I gaze at this childhood photo of myself, I remember the three year-old reasoning behind my outfit. I knew my frilly, flowered dress made me beautiful, the old purse under my arm made me grown up, and the clean sherbet bucket snugly crowning my head made me royal. The combination of accessories made me into a modern version of the Biblical Queen Esther.

I soon left my sherbet-bucket crown behind and realized that an outfit could not turn me into the beautiful, courageous queen whose story I loved to hear. I no longer believed myself a queen and realized that Queen Esther lived long in the past. Undaunted, I set my sights on a more reasonable future, “When I grow up,” I decided, “I’m going to be a princess.”

I loved the idea of a princess. People adore her because she is beautiful and sweet. As an heir to the throne, she is on the verge of greatness. She has some power but few responsibilities. She lives in a castle with lots of servants. If she gets in trouble, a gallant knight or charming prince rescues her. Finally, she always lives happily ever after.

Even at three, my favorite movies and bedtime stories featured princesses: Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, and The Princess and the Pea. I practiced speaking “properly” and begged Mother to let my hair grow into long, flaxen tresses. She said that until I could take care of my tresses myself, they would stay short.

My hairstyle vetoed, I focused on the clothing of a princess. I wore only dresses and skirts, scorning pants and shorts. Not just any skirt or dress would do, they had to meet certain qualifications. Mother tried to hide her laughter every time I judged a skirt based on its twirl factor. I liked almost any color if the long skirt twisted gracefully with me when I twirled and billowed obligingly when I stopped. A princess has elegant speech, natural beauty, and fancy clothes. I had all those but was not a princess. What did I lack?

At age eight, I began to devour story after story in search of clues about my chosen vocation. In Journey for a Princess, by Margaret Carver Leighton, I discovered a brave, gracious, and resourceful princess who went on a pilgrimage and sometimes had to do things she did not like or understand. Mother and Father would never allow me to go on a pilgrimage like the Viking princess, so I tried to treat my brothers kinder and to obey my parents better (two things I neither liked nor understood). The Ordinary Princess, by M.M. Kaye, taught me those perfect, dainty, blonde princesses were boring in real life. The best princesses had problems, went on exciting adventures, took care of themselves, and even got dirty! After pondering these revelations, I slipped on shorts under my skirt and climbed a tree. Nothing happened. Like a princess, I was gracious and strong, obedient and adventurous, but I still lacked something. What was I missing?

Around twelve or thirteen years of age, I discovered the missing element: Princesses are not self-made. Every princess is either the daughter of a king and queen or married to a prince. I asked Mother whether I could have been born a princess but switched at birth. She assured me that the only other baby in the newborn ward had been the son of an Asian couple. Not dissuaded, I inquired whether she or Father had distant royal relatives. She laughed and told me about relatives who had been preachers and farmers and soldiers. Since one does not make herself a princess, I gave up my foolish princess pretending.

While in high school, I came across a passage in an old letter, mentioning my adoption into a royal family as a daughter of the king. Stunned, I reread the paragraph and showed it to Mother. I questioned its authenticity and demanded to know why I never saw it earlier. She confirmed the document’s truth and said, “It’s been there. You just must have missed it.” The letter speaks of what occurred the day I entered this royal family.

Although I knew, “The Lord is King forever and ever” (New American Standard Bible, Psalm 10.16), that day I agreed with God that my past behavior defied who He is and what He says. (I had disobeyed His laws and not cared for the consequences.) I knew the penalty for my rebellion was death, but that Jesus Christ paid my penalty. By dying in my place, He offered to rescue me if I would accept Him and the pardon He offered. I eagerly accepted, not knowing that the pardon included my adoption into the family of God. The passage I found declares, “But as many as received [Christ], to them He gave the right to become children of God, even to those who believe in His name” (John 1.12).

Once upon a time, I wore a sherbet bucket on my head and tried to be a princess. Then I grew up and learned that accessories, behavior, and research do not determine a person’s identity. On one hand, I failed at pretending to be a princess according the standards of society. On the other hand, I began to comprehend my standing as a princess according to the precepts of my faith and the grace of God.

I am a princess because I am a child of God, who is King. Today I wear jeans more often than skirts and no longer choose skirts by their twirl factor; I know my clothes do not determine my identity. I still practice kindness and obedience (most of the time), but only because I know it delights my adopted Father. I still have problems and awkward moments, but I enjoy my adventurous and imperfect life as a princess and look forward to the happily ever after.

 

9 March 2010

Stories of Rules & Princesses

Posted by Abby under Humor, Memories, School, stories, Uncategorized, Writing | Tags: , , , , , , , |
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“I could run away from home someday,” I told Mom contemplatively when I was six years old. (I was not upset, we had just read a book about children who run away from home and live in a museum.) “No,” she replied in a matter-of-fact tone, “You’re not allowed.”

“Oh,” I said disappointedly. That was the end of my plan to run away.

Laugh if you want, but I was born a rule-follower and a perfectionist. I find comfort rather than restriction in rules, criteria, and detailed instructions because they tell me what is expected.

Imagine my trepidation, then, when the professor of my advanced composition class announced that our final paper would have no assigned format, subject, or length! He suggested using a subject, style, or other idea from something we had been reading for another class or for fun and to “make it as long as it needs to be.” The only book I was reading for fun was about the longing that many girls have to be a princess and how that fits into a relationship with Christ. I really did not want to choose a subject so personal for a class where my writing would be critiqued and graded, but none of my class readings sparked any ideas.

The day for subject proposals came and I still had no other ideas, so I cautiously told the professor that I intended to write about the way I always wanted to be a princess when I was little. His response surprised me, “That sounds great! I overheard my four-year-old daughter talking to my son a couple weeks ago and she was saying, “I’m a princess, Colin. No, I really am!“”

My own princess story flowed onto paper, but I got stuck on how to end it. My first idea was something like this:

Somewhere along the way, I grew up and realized that not every girl gets to be a princess. In fact, very few are true princesses. I left the childhood dreams of fairy tales and princesses behind; what I thought could be faded into nothing more than pleasant memories.

My inner editor nearly screeched, “Seriously? That’s depressing, you can’t end it that way! Besides, it isn’t true.”

I tried again:

Years later, I began to understand that the character qualities of a princess were what I admired the most. To my surprise, I found that those same traits of kindness, adventure, and grace were growing in my life, too.

The inner editor rolled her eyes. “Why are you wasting time on this? You know how it’s supposed to end.”

I sighed… and then wrote the end the right way.

On critique day, when the professor critiqued parts of our essays in front of the class, I actually hoped that he would give me something, anything, that I could improve or correct before submitting the final copy. To my chagrin, he only pointed out positive features like the introduction and word choice. “Oh, well,” I thought, “At least he’ll put us into groups and we can give feedback on each other’s drafts.” Then he announced that we should review and edit our own drafts instead of working in groups! (Have I mentioned that I crave structure and instruction?)

I panicked just a little and asked no less than three friends to read and critique the essay. They offered a few minor suggestions, but I was still nervous the day we submitted our essays.

To be continued…

 

8 December 2009

Adventures in China

Posted by Abby under culture, Memories, Observations, stories, Travel | Tags: , , , , , , , , , |
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On a sunny June day several years ago, six friends and I arrived in Heng Yang, China, to teach English and participate in a cultural exchange program for the summer. The next day, an American student took a few of us for a tour of the university grounds. As we walked through one of the courtyards, we saw an oral English class taking photos with their teacher. One of the students who knew our guide came over to greet him and within a few minutes we were surrounded by Chinese students who were eager to meet us and to practice their English.

At first I was surprised and a little intimidated as they peppered us with questions about America, our families, and our hobbies. The students spoke softly and it was sometimes difficult to understand them, so I learned to listen carefully and to repeat part of the question back to them to be sure that I heard correctly and to give myself a moment to phrase my answer.

As their questions slowed, I asked them questions, too. For example, one girl asked, “And what about your family?” I responded, “My family?” and continued after seeing her nod, “I have two brothers and one sister. Do you have brothers or sisters?” Although it was overwhelming at first, that experience was a delightful welcome and helped me be a little more at ease when we went to our first classes a couple days later.

During the nine-week visit, there were times that I felt like a celebrity or an oddity because people would often stare at us across restaurants or stores and would sometimes walk up to introduce themselves and practice their English. Once or twice, small children would see us walking down the street and cling to their mothers, frightened because they had never seen anyone who was not Chinese. At times like those, I felt very conspicuous and awkward for being blonde, fair-skinned, and five inches taller than the average Chinese adult. (When my mom saw photos from the summer, she commented that I looked like “a blonde Amazon girl” standing with the students!) Sometimes I wished that I could blend in as I did at home.

As we visited English classes and helped teach lessons, we were asked all sorts of questions and were expected to be different than the students who were conversing with us. I did not perceive pressure to conform to their attitudes or ideas, but chose to be sensitive to them because I wanted to relate well to the students. Because I learned that they value family highly, I often mentioned my own with sincere fondness. Because honor and “face” are important in their culture, I liked to see the delighted expressions when I told them specifically what I liked about China and about Heng Yang.

The idea of honoring others and always giving them a way to save face is one that made a lasting impression on my behavior. I think that I have been able to cooperate and get along well with others here in the U.S. because I learned that it is more important for us both to save face than for me to win an argument or discussion and embarrass the other person in the process. Furthermore, because I found the students’ friendliness and curiosity so welcoming, I try to do the same when meeting people from other countries in the U.S.

How do you interact with people from cultures that are different from yours? I would love to hear your stories and advice!

 

3 October 2009

The Doughnut Tree

Posted by Abby under Children, Family, Humor, Observations, stories, Writing | Tags: , , , , , , , |
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Sarah crouched in the garden and the summer breeze ruffled her short blonde hair as she scooped out a small hole in the damp dirt with her right hand.  The petite four-year-old opened her left hand and carefully placed a single Cheerio in the hole.  She studied it for a moment before burying the small piece of cereal in the dark soil.  For good measure, she planted two more Cheerios nearby.  She liked to help Daddy in the garden, so planting was nothing new.  These particular seeds were new, though.  Unbeknownst to their father, Sarah’s older sister, Beth, had informed her that Cheerios are actually doughnut seeds and grow into doughnut trees when planted.

Days after the planting, Sarah returned to her future doughnut orchard and saw nothing growing above the ground, so she dug up the Cheerios to look for sprouts.  Sarah’s disappointment and disillusionment at being duped by a devious six-year-old left a lasting impression on her.  She became a little more skeptical and, together with Beth, began to test what they were told.  Since they saw a plethora of claims and promises on television commercials, started trying them out over the course of several years.

First, Sarah and Beth decided to test a paper towel commercial that depicts two rolls of paper towels falling into a swimming pool and absorbing all the water, leaving children sitting on the dry bottom. Since they did not have a pool, the girls filled the bathtub and tossed in two rolls of paper towels. To their disappointment, the rolls just got wet without soaking up much water and Mama scolded them for wasting paper towels.

Then the girls saw a commercial claiming that Vaseline protects baby bottoms from wetness so well that a sieve coated with it will hold water. They coated Mama’s sieve with Vaseline and were thoroughly impressed to find out that it actually did hold water. Sarah and Beth carefully wiped the goop off the sieve, so they never could figure out how Mama knew it was them!

Later, the sisters saw a shampoo commercial where a pearl dropped into a Prell shampoo bottle falls slowly because the fluid is so thick and rich. They did not have any pearls, so Sarah and Beth took turns dropping marbles into the shampoo bottle while the other watched from the side. To their delight, the marbles did fall slowly through their bottle of luxurious Prell. As an added bonus, what was a half-empty shampoo bottle was magically full again when they finished the experiment. Daddy was less impressed, however, and yelled loudly from the shower when he tried to wash his hair with a handful of soapy marbles.

They also watched a fascinating commercial showing that the cotton is attached to Q-tips so tightly that it can hold up a baby in a special carrying harness. The girls did not have a baby or a harness, but Beth came up with an ingenious plan and took her younger siblings to stand on Daddy and Mama’s bed. She ordered their little brother, Perry, to hold onto the end of a Q-tip while Sarah held the other end, then she pushed Perry off the bed. Unfortunately, the results of the experiment were inconclusive – even with repeated attempts – because Perry let go of the Q-tip every time Beth pushed him off the bed.

Decades later, Sarah still tries things out to see if they are true and she has great empathy for the apostle Thomas who did not believe that Jesus came back from the dead. “His name, Thomas (or Didymus), means ‘another one’ or ‘ditto,’ so you know he was a younger brother. His older brothers probably made him plant a doughnut tree, too! Then they say, ‘Hey, we saw Jesus alive’ Do you think he’s going to believe that? I don’t think so!”

Now the Bereans were of more noble character than the Thessalonians, for they received the message with great eagerness and examined the Scriptures every day to see if what Paul said was true. Acts 17:11 NIV

 

23 September 2009

Planned Flexibility

Posted by Abby under Faith, Observations, stories, Writing | Tags: , , , , , , , , , |
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I like lists, I like plans, and I like knowing what is going on. Flexibility and spontaneity are difficult for me, so I usually have to plan to do them. (Yes, I know that’s ironic and contradictory.) This year, God is training me to be more spontaneous and flexible by making me take a bigger leadership role in the campus ministry that I volunteer in. If you didn’t already know, college students rarely follow anyone else’s schedules, plans, or lists!

Case in point, this weekend we are going to an amazing fall conference for Christian Challenge students from all over Kansas and Nebraska. We had five students sign up to go and three “maybes,” but it turned out that none of the maybes could go. We submitted our numbers on Monday and then added another girl at our Monday night Bible study. Early this afternoon, I received a text message, “Hey if it too late for michael to come this weekend? He didnt sign up.” My first thought was, “Of course it isn’t too late, we want people to come!”

I love getting to know these free-spirited, enthusiastic, options-wide-open younger “siblings” that always become dear to me. It seems that most of the time, God teaches me more from them than they could possibly be learning from me. God keeps me on my toes and challenges me to embrace each unplanned opportunity with a similar enthusiasm!

 

7 September 2009

Irrepressible Taylor

Posted by Abby under Children, Family, Humor, stories, Writing | Tags: , , , , , , , |
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It is a chilly March morning outside the McKenna residence. The wind rattles leaves in a corner of the yard and swings a knotted rope that is tied to a tree. Along with two friends, the spunky, green-eyed five-year-old Taylor McKenna is having fantastic adventures in her backyard. They are pirates, explorers, anything that requires boldness, daring and agility. In a burst of thrilling inspiration, Taylor catches the swaying rope and scampers up the tree. Perched nine feet above her friends, Taylor calls, “Matt, Jen, watch this!” Commanding their full attention, she clenches a knot between her teeth and jumps.

Mrs. McKenna has just put away the breakfast dishes when her young daughter bursts through the door, bleeding and crying. After calming Taylor and cleaning her mouth, the unalarmed mother pieces together the events that have transpired.

One of Taylor’s front teeth is now missing and another is very loose, so Mrs. McKenna schedules an emergency dental visit. The “Grandpa Dentist,” as Taylor calls him, talks to her about the importance of teeth and how to use them properly. After setting her mind at ease, he goes on to tell Mrs. McKenna how to detect possible abscesses and infections. Taylor is fairly quiet during the visit.

On the drive home, she finally pipes up. “Mom, I just don’t understand something.”

Expecting a question about what the dentist said, her mother replies, “What’s that, Sugar?”

“Well… this never happened before!”

Flabbergasted, Mrs. McKenna could only say, “Are you going to do it again?”

With an incredulous little laugh, Taylor said, “Well, no, Mom. I don’t have any teef!”

 

20 July 2009

Sisterly Advice

Posted by Abby under Family, Humor, Memories, stories, Writing | Tags: , , , , , , , |
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Dear baby brother,

Now that you have a family of your own, I want to offer some advice. The best thing you could ever do is to tell stories. Throughout our childhood, I loved the stories that we told about our family.

Remember the one Mom and Dad told about Dad dressing Lacy for church when she was about a year old? All smiles, she must have looked adorable in all those ruffles and bows! Nevertheless, she soon began fussing. By the end of the morning, she was crying constantly and Mom and Dad were stymied. They went home and Mom began to change her clothes (not an easy thing to do with a crying baby, let me tell you!). When she took off Lacy’s shoes, she immediately stopped crying. Upon examining her sore, creased feet, our parents realized that Dad had tied her shoes too tightly! Even though you were not yet born, and I was very young, we know the story well. Oft repeated events like this can affect lives forever.

A good example of these life-changing effects is the story about Miss Coretta. She ran the customer service desk at Wal-Mart and was very cranky. She never smiled or talked to anyone beyond what was absolutely necessary. We kids always thought that the Wal-Mart managers must have put Miss Coretta at the service desk to dissuade people from returning things.

Mom had been saving things that needed to be returned, so she had quite a collection. Apprehensively, Mom hauled the five of us, ages three to 10, into Wal-Mart. On the way into the store, she warned all of us to be on our best behavior. “Now look,” she said in a rush, “I don’t know why Miss Coretta is so cross. Maybe she’s stressed or has family problems. We’re just going to be quiet, polite and we will take care of our business as quickly as possible. Put your hands in your pockets and don’t touch anything! Got it?” We kids all stood in and around the cart, waiting patiently, but Jack’s mind was churning. As he intently watched Miss Coretta from his perch in the cart, enlightenment suddenly dawned. In Jack’s eagerness to be helpful, his shrill, three year-old voice piped up, “Miss Coretta, I know what your problem is – your shoes are too tight!”

Mom froze, her open-mouthed children froze, and Miss Coretta blinked. When she recovered, Miss Coretta began laughing. She was laughing! “What’s your name?”

“Jack”.

“Well, you may be right, Jack.”

She was still laughing when we left and from then on, Jack and Miss Coretta were pals. He took her flowers on May Day and Valentine’s Day and just thought she was “the nicest lady.” Her whole face lit up every time he entered the store and when a family member appeared without Jack, she was quick to ask where he was.

One day, with his usual frankness, Jack told her, “You know, Miss Coretta, you are a lot happier now. You don’t have all those sad wrinkles in your forehead anymore.” She laughed and replied good-naturedly, “Jack, how can anyone be sad with you around?” Other Wal-Mart employees noticed the change in her too. One lady was astounded, “I don’t know what you did, but she has completely changed!”

This story has caused much laughter in the years since then. I don’t know where Miss Coretta is today, but I know that she’ll never forget the little boy who lit up her life… and neither will anyone who hears this story.

In conclusion, the best advice I can give you about families is to tell true stories. Someday, tell the two here to your children. If you forget, do not worry. Aunt Taylor will come to visit and to tell numerous tales about a little boy named Jack who grew up to be their father!
Love from your sister,

Taylor

Based on a true story.
 

24 June 2009

Rosa’s First Day

Posted by Abby under Memories, stories | Tags: , , , , |
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Rosa was in my first grade classroom, but she was sitting under her desk by mine and was weeping quietly. Imogene informed Mrs. Bolander of the new girl’s location and we were both puzzled as our teacher continued to explain the day’s arithmetic assignment. Imogene and I knew students weren’t supposed to sit under their desks! I took my paper and pencil and joined Rosa under her desk, while industriously working problems. It took Mrs. Bolander several minutes to notice my new location. “Teri, why are you sitting under that desk?” She sounded annoyed.

“I don’t think she’ll come out ‘til she has a friend!”

By reading time, Rosa had come out, moved her chair near mine, and shared my book.

This is a guest post from tjakamom. Rosa and Imogene were her good friends for many years after this story. How far are you willing to go to be a friend to someone you do not know?

 

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