Mother Teresa

"We shall never know all the good that a simple smile can do."

Albert Einstein

"It is the supreme art of the teacher to awaken joy in creative expression and knowledge."

Delay

Sorry guys,

The next part is going to come out next Monday. This week is crazy for me.
 Have an awesome week!
- Lynsi

Anonymous

"The more you push, the harder we'll push back, and we'll win."

Albert Einstein

"The difference between stupidity and genius is that genius has its limits."

Al Capone

"A smile will get you pretty far... but a smile and a gun will get you farther."

Napoleon Hill

"Great achievement is usually born of great sacrifice, and is never the result of selfishness."

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Thank you, Veterans for your great sacrifice. God bless you all!

- Lynsi

Anneka King

"They died for something rather than live for nothing."

Western Harems?

I recently read Fatema Mernissi's article called Size 6: The Western Women's Harem. For my college class, we had to analyze it. So I did. I was hoping to find a link to a free copy on the internet, but apparently it is copyrighted. So, the gist is, Mernissi was born and raised in a Muslim Harem in Morocco. She has since left the country and lived abroad. She is a feminist and a sociologist, I think. I am more certain on the first one. She is certain that the Western women is kept in a harem, too, just like some Muslim women, so she seeks to find it and concludes with a largely flawed article. I would say that it inspired me to write an essay in response, but actually it was a college assignment, and this is what I came up with in evaluation.
I hope you find it interesting.

Holey Thesis

It is a good tactic to use a new perspective to introduce a startling topic; however, to convolute the truth is a major fault that can cause a thesis to falter. Fatema Mernissi states in her article “Size 6: The Western Women’s Harem” that “the image of beauty in the West can hurt and humiliate women as much as the veil does when enforced by state police in extremist nations” (282) equating the Western image of beauty with the Middle-Eastern Muslim harem. Her Western audience is attracted by her use of a familiar social paradigm and her correlation of it to the Islamic harem she earlier defined as a place where “Muslim men and women both acknowledge the inequality of the harem and women resist men in any way they can.” After this, she attempts to prove her points with examples, parallels, and conclusions. She does not seem to realize she has blown them out of proportion. While Mernissi brings up an interesting position from a culturally different angle, her down-right skewing of facts, contrasting incompatible social aspects, and reflecting inaccurate reality of true issues causes her article to collapse inexcusably for lack of credibility.

Mernissi makes many errant broad assertions in her article. She ironically claims that she is oblivious to all fashion designers right before she identifies the exact fashion designers of a saleswoman’s clothing. She proceeds to say that Western men, like Islam, control what women wear, although women designers are a significant force in the fashion industry. Readers are perforced to conclude that she is either excessively ignorant of American culture or deliberately leaving out the data that includes the extensive list of female designers. Either way, neither the facts nor her own statements support her allegation.

A common theme throughout her essay is a heavy blame upon men. It is her idea that men are the reason women put themselves through the loops to measure up. Using a personal example, Mernissi recalls an experience in a department store with a clerk. The clerk practically calls her fat before admitting to be under a beauty harem. This interchange leaves the audience stunned and skeptical. Anyone familiar with American culture knows that a clerk who desires to keep her job wouldn’t dare treat a customer so rudely. True, if one were to ask a group of girls why they dress the way they dress, a number would answer, “for all the cute guys.” After some exploration on the topic, though, they would all admit it is also because girls judge and determine how they treat people based on appearance. The confirming head nods and admissions of this latter truth will be nearly uniform (English 101 & City Central girls, 2013). Mernissi seems to take for granted her belief that it is all man’s fault and not even consider that a judgmental culture of both men and woman might be the issue. She reveals a bias against the male gender and an inability to provide the reader valid evidence in regard to her support.

Mernissi references Chinese foot bindings for her evidential support. The originality of the tradition is unknown. According to her, “Chinese men did not force women to bandage their feet… all they did was to define the beauty ideal… a beautiful woman was one who voluntarily sacrificed” (285) her comfort to please a man. This is a popular theory among feminists as well as the least supported story. Another of the many legends says that the daughter of the empress had club feet so the queen declared that the deformity was beautiful and all women should have club feet. Another legend claims that is was for social standing. If a family could afford to keep a member at home, the family must have been wealthy, and the daughters would marry well. According to Harvard’s research on the subject, though, the idea that bound feet would give girls a better chance at wealthier marriages is an illusion. The data the researchers gathered revealed that bound feet had no impact on the social status of a marriage. In regard to the originality, it appears to them that the “practice was directly linked to the use of young girls and women in the hand-labor force” (Walsh, 2011, 1). Handwork was more lucrative for women than the labor men and boys did. At present, there is no fully verifiable story and Mernissi’s reference to her theory of the Chinese foot binding as though it were fact is misleading.

While fashion in the US is a major influence of the social norm, it is not forced. In extreme Islamic countries, a girl can be detained, interrogated, and punished for not dressing appropriately. Punishments include “up to two months in prison or even [a] lashing.” (as cited in Bolton, 2013, para. 4 ) In countries like Afghanistan, unlike Morrocco where Mernissi is from, “roving police physically punish any woman who calls attention to herself even by wearing shoes that squeak or click on the pavement.” (Cooper, 1) There are videos posted on YouTube of modesty police in the capital of Iran stopping women and lecturing them about their clothes (infolive, YouTube). One girl was coaxed into a police van when they told her they, “just wanted to talk to her.” (as cited in Bolton, para. 19) Once inside, they reprimanded her so harshly she began to cry. After being released she expressed to her father, “as soon as I finish high school, I’m leaving this country forever.” (as cited in Bolton, para. 20) In 2008, a secret cell phone video was taken and posted on YouTube and was unfortunately recently removed about a young woman who’s head scarf did not satisfy the modesty police resulting in an arrest. Infuriated and frightened, the young woman fought back. A nearby crowd became angry and surrounded the officers causing all but one to flee. The ill-weighed comparison of Muslim’s approach to fashion and America’s attitude is disproportioned.

In the US, people can choose what they want to wear or weigh. The US government spends thousands of dollars attempting to support the healing of those who might be in situations where they are condemned for their appearance. Even in the media “there have been some signs of a backlash against the prevailing body image… so-called full-figured models like the popular Emme are increasingly showing up on magazine covers. ‘I stand for accepting your body size, whether you are a size 2 or a size 14,’” Emme says (as cited in Masci, Body Image). There are places for victims of eating disorders ranging from anorexia to compulsive eating disorders to find encouragement and people to rally behind their journey to healthy living. Unlike under Muslim law, in the United States there is a choice and there are no penal consequences.

In Mernissi’s article, she falsely claims that the majority of women are the size of her “fourteen year old niece” or an “adolescent girl”. According to statistics, “more than one-third of U.S. adults (35.7%) are obese” (Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, 2013, Adult Obesity Facts). Additionally, “women have been getting heavier. Today the average adult American woman weighs 152 pounds, up from 144 pounds in the 1970s” (Masci, Body Image). “This is already causing a lot of problems for women, and all indicators are that it's going to get worse in the future, not better,” the University of Cincinnati's Gass informs (as cited in Masci, New Threats). It is evident according to statistics that the majority of woman in the United States are not the size of an “adolescent girl.”

Mernissi quotes the clerk as saying, “Many women working highly paid fashion-related jobs could lose their positions if they didn’t keep to a strict diet” (284) as though all careers are similarly affected. There is only one major career affected by size on face-value. That is the fashion career, which has the singular focus on appearances. There are thousands of careers with people who couldn’t care less  about what a person looks like as long as she can get the job done professionally. Despite the evidence otherwise, Mernissi describes dieting as a “fast” that lasts twelve months in order for a woman to fit into what she call the beauty expectations (286). Again the reality does not align with Mernissi’s perception. For most Americans, dieting is an attempt to lose unhealthy fat, not a way to keep a job or to measure up to a physical standard.

The essay is not without its merits, but its lack of consistency leaves the reader frustrated and offended. Mernissi does not portray the West culture accurately. She does not value the reader enough to give accurate facts. In addition she contradicts herself throughout the essay. In the end, the reader begins to feel Mernissi is an emotional, insecure woman with a bone to pick with men and the West leading her to write an unsupportable article. It is very disappointing because she had the potential to write a very profound and inspiring article, but instead allowed her own clouded experience to get in the way.

Works Cited:

Bolton, Kent. “Struggle Over What to Wear in Iran.” Hydrablog. Hydrablog. 22 July 2012. Web.             24 Oct. 2013

Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. (2013.) Adult Obesity Facts. CDC. Retrieved from http://www.cdc.gov/obesity/data/adult.html

Cooper, Mary H. (1999, April 30). Women and Human Rights. CQ Researcher, 9, 353-376.

English 101 & City Central girls. (2013) Personal interview. September and October.        

Infolive, Youtube. “Modesty Police Cracks Down on Women.”

Masci, David. (2003, November 7). Women's health. CQ Researcher, 13, 941-964.           

Mernissi, Fatema. “Size 6: The Western Women’s Harem.” The Bedford Reader. 11^th Edition.       X.J. Kennedy, Dorothy M. Kennedy, and Jane Aaron, eds. Bedford/St. Martin’s Press.     Boston. 2012. Print 226-229. Pages 282-287

Walsh, Colleen. “Unraveling a Brutal Custom.” Harvard Gazette. Arts and Culture. History,         Language, & Culture. 2013, Dec 9.


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I actually wrote this last year, almost exactly. I thought I might post it since I enjoyed it.

Patrick Henry

"I know of no way of judging the future but by the past."

Not a Hero

I am not a superhero,

I have no powers,

I've never saved a life,

not even a soul.

I'm just an ordinary human,

but I know how to love.

I can't save the world,

destroy all your pain,

I can't read your mind,

or be the perfect friend

but I can understand,

or understand that I don't.

Because I am just like you,

not anything special,

and I won't leave you,

or judge you, either.

While I can't be everything,

I can be something,

and I'll be something for you. 

Walt Disney

"Why worry? If you've done the very best you can, worrying won't make it any better."

The Mother

How does she do it?

Smiling everyday,

How does she do it,

the mother of one, two, or more?

Her love is evident,

all can see,

no burden are her children,

no, not to she.

She watches them with joy,

loving them every moment,

growing, teaching, caring,

letting no moment pass away.

No other place she'd rather be,

than teaching her children all the way,

and it is evident for all to see,

the glories and joy of motherhood.

------------------------------------------------------------------
Inspired by a mother I see with her two children at the place I work. - Lynsi

Mark Twain

"The secret of getting ahead is getting started."

Give In or Give All

Now is the time,

it's do or die,

the stage is set,

Am I going right or left?

I can't hold back,

I don't have anything left,

it's time to decide,

do I give in or give all?

It's the end of bliss,

childhood's gone,

Prairies have past,

fall has come.

Here lies my path,

Here lies the valleys,

the mountains, the roaring rivers,

and the ocean's deeps.

I see a star overhead,

my star to Bethlehem,

Illuminating my journey's end,

where all before shall be past.

So here I am,

Time ticking by,

Here I stand,

ready to decide,

Now, give in or give all.

Dr. Seuss

"Today you are you! That is truer than true! There is no one alive who is you-er than you!

Reaching for the Stars

We all have hopes,

we all have dreams,

we reach for stars,

maybe land on the moon.

But down they come,

like falling stars, one by one,

into a sea of heartbreak, to which we succumb.

When will my day come,

to reach the stars,

touch the moon,

and wander far?

Or will I always be reaching,

never grasping,

to the skies above,

are they too far gone?

We all have hopes,

we all have dreams,

we reach for the stars,

maybe land on the moon.

William Shakespeare

"We know what we are, but know not what we may be."

The Empty Swing

An empty swing,

times gone by,

an empty swing,

memories in mind.

That empty swing,

sad and sweet,

so happy and lonely,

remembering old times.

The wind gusts by,

swirling autumn leaves,

around that empty, lonesome swing,

where my memories again find me.

Bitter sweet, soft and near,

I smile, I cry, by that swing,

as childhood and youth slip by,

and on goes forever the routine so dear to life.

C.S. Lewis

"I didn't go to religion to make me "happy." I always knew a bottle of Port would do that. If you want a religion to make you feel really comfortable, I certainly don't recommend Christianity."

Stand Up!!!

 "Growing up rather sheltered, you wouldn't think I would have run into any need to fight. And I didn't... much. But throughout my childhood, there was a reoccurring incident in which another child would attack me and I ran every time. I wasn't a coward. I even recall times when I did some things particularly dumb to prove I wasn't, including jumping into a yard with a really mean rottweiler in it to retrieve a toy that belonged to my friend that ended up in that yard. Luckily the dog wasn't there. (I was young!) For some reason I never understood and still don't, I had to apologize. Maybe it was for trespassing. I guess that was it. But that's besides the point. The point is, running away was the appropriate and right thing to do at that time. It kept my hands clean and blameless while the other got into huge trouble. Besides, I was small and not particularly strong, affectations my opponent claimed for herself. I did have one talent, though, and that was getting away without getting hurt. I guess I just developed an intuition that told me when it was going to happen. By the time I was nine, those incidents died away and were passed off as passions of a child. Fine by me, but the memory of never even once standing up for myself haunted me. In my opponent's eyes, I was weak, a pushover. I could ignore her passive aggressive remarks just fine - which took the place of physical aggression. She could push and push and try to make me respond and I wouldn't budge, but neither would I push back. I wasn't afraid! But it just didn't occur to me that that could possibly be the right thing to do. No one told me that, no one manipulated me into believing that I couldn't stand up for myself. As a young child, however, "standing up for myself" and "getting into a fight" got mixed up in my mind. Ever after, I'd fantasize stopping her. Fighting back. Not letting her tread on me ever again! Now, I was bigger, I was stronger, I was smarter. Whether all those statements were truthful or not, they were what I told myself. The anger festered and grew without my even realizing it was there. But if it ever happened again... if it ever happened again. And it did happen again. I didn't even know I was angry until I realized she was jumping at me with her hand outstretched to slap me. Who could have thought that the whispered word NOW could be so stock full of meaning.  It didn't matter whose fault it was or what I should have done, that less than a millisecond told me more about myself than hours of thought could. NOW you can prove yourself. NOW you can put into reality all your fantasies. NOW you can have revenge. NOW is the time. It was most likely the shortest fight into the world, if it even counts as one. I countered her and she ended up on the ground - I never was quite sure if I pushed her there or if she fell - and then I shouted, 'Stop it! I can hurt you. I can hurt you now!' Her older sister stepped in, then the parents. No one was in trouble. I don't really know why. You'd think a fourteen year old attacking her fifteen year old friend for irritating her and being "uncontrollable" (and I quote) over the weekend was a bit more worthy of a good talking to than when a four, six, or eight year old did it. But that's not for me to say, it was quite enough for me to decide I no longer wanted to live under this. I may not be allowing her to bully me into doing things, but that's still not the same as not letting her bully me at all. My mind was made up, I needed to respect myself and stand-up for myself. I consulted my parents and a mentor, explaining what I wanted to do, and asking for the best way to do it. Two weeks later, I gently broke the news that it was time to go our separate ways. I wasn't angry when I told her. I was sad. We had many great memories and in a way, I knew I could spend the rest of my life putting up with it. But that was stunting my growth and hers.
Am I proud of myself for fighting back? You know, not really. The satisfaction I thought I'd feel wasn't there at all. I reacted out of anger and the past. But my choices afterwards to respect myself I am fully proud of. I made the hard decision to stand up for myself. And you know what, we had many mutual friends, and I know that between me and her, many of them are going to choose her. But now I've had a chance to grow, build new friendships I couldn't before, and respect myself.
I know it sounds selfish to say you need to put your health first, but it's not. How can you grow into the person God has made you to be if you are letting someone suck it away from you? And how does that benefit the other person at all? It's true they may decide to go down the tube and blame you for it, but now, they are taking you with them unless you let them go. Who knows, they may realize the consequences of their actions and turn around. Whatever the case, fighting because you don't want to be weak or a coward is weak, but standing up for yourself - even if it requires some fighting - is healthy and good!"

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You're worth it!

-Lynsi Keye

Alice Walker

"No person is your friend who demands your silence, or denies your right to grow."

Oops... Quote!!!

So, I realized I missed the quote of the week. Oops... so,to foreshadow the upcoming blogpost on Monday, here is this quote (and the one on Friday, will do the same.):

"Friendship isn't about whom you have known the longest... it's about who came and never left your side." - Anonymous

9-11

Two Towers came tumbling down,

the billowing black ash fell all around.

Cries raised, tears hit the ground,

but above it all was another sound.

A sound of a nation together,

raising prayer up to God,

a sound of heroes to remember,

none of whom the other way did run.

But into the black smoke they ran,

into the chasm of death ,

because their hearts were bigger than their fears,

now in honor and peace they rest.

9-11 we'll remember,

9-11 heroes forever

Veterans, citizens, and family members,

This is one nation under God together.

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In honor of the heroes who gave their lives fourteen years ago and three days ago.

- Lynsi

Cool Kids - by Echosmith

Not sure if you've heard the song "Cool Kids" by Echosmith. She has a very pretty voice and the tune is pretty awesome, too. The lyrics... eh... the lyrics.

Chorus:
"And she/he/they say/s,
I wish that I could be like the cool kids,
'Cause all the cool kids, they seem to fit in.
I wish that I could be like the cool kids, like the cool kids.
I wish that I could be like the cool kids,
'Cause all the cool kids they seem to get it.
I wish that I could be like the cool kids, like the cool kids."

     It makes me sad to see that many of my peers fall into one of two categories: 1) Kids who think they're it and all that matters. 2) Kids who don't think they're it, but are obsessed with those who are.

     There are, however, obvious "secrets" that are often overlooked and I do have sympathy for.
1) A large percentage of the "it" kids suffer from the same insecurities and self-hate the "not-it" kids suffer from and feel like they are walking on a tight-rope, always on the brink of falling out of the "in" crowd.
2) Both the "it" crowd and the "not-it" crowd are being lied to. They're whole world revolves around their social lives and status, so naturally, it seems to them to be everything that matters. That's their world! People - children and adults alike - are notorious for being simple thinkers and having terrible foresight. It always feels like life is a destination and now is it, rather than a journey and every place is transitory. They don't realize that in a couple years, no one is going to give two cents about it.

Verse 1:
"She sees them walking in a straight line, that's not really her style.
And they all got the same heartbeat, but hers is falling behind.
Nothing in this world could ever bring them down.
Yeah, they're invincible, and she's just in the background."

    From this verse I learn several things. One, this verse could mean a thousand things. Two, from what I gather, "she" sees a contrast between her style and the "cool kids" style. Because their style is not her style, naturally she is dying on the inside when she tries to be like them, which is why her heartbeat is falling behind, because she's not being who she's supposed to be. I'll get back to the last two lines.

Verse 2:
"He sees them talking with a big smile, but they haven't got a clue.
Yeah, they're living the good life, can't see what he is going through.
They're driving fast cars, but they don't know where they're going.
In the fast lane, living life without knowing."

     Just take "they haven't got a clue" completely out of context and Boom! A little bit of truth! Truth that the "not-in" kids don't see and that many of the "in" kids feel acutely, but don't understand. They do not have a clue. Take the last two lines, and Ba-bang, some more truth! They may just be in the fast lane, but if they don't know where they are going life's going to take them places they don't want to go. Tough luck.
     This verse demonstrates a very prominent lie that has partial roots in wrong perspective. "Not-in" kids think that the "in" kids have it great. "They're living the good life." From the stories I've heard to my own life to my friend's lives, this is not true! I have a friend, she is an extreme extrovert and comes across as happy and secure. She seems to know everybody and have a great social life. She seems "in" in a nerdy, home-school way. When I got to know her a bit, I learned - to my shock - that she suffered from a lot of insecurity and belief that she was not "in" at all and that she was being rejected.
     I think a lot of kids suffer from this. She was comparing herself to the other "cool kids" who I am sure from indirect observation and stories I've heard suffer from insecurities as bad, perhaps worse, than her's including self-harm, self-hate, vanity, materialism, and trivialism.
     A personal example. In the past, I came across as the girl who's got everything together, totally secure, and blah-blah-blah. I still come across so much like I've got it all going, that when I fall apart and tell my sisters how broken I've been feeling, they are stunned and tell me they thought I had it all together. I think that a lot of other kids who appear to have it going don't really and they know it.

"Nothing in this world could ever bring them down.
Yeah, they're invincible, and she's just in the background."

     About that... no one in the real world is going to care if you were popular for the first seventeen/eighteen years of your life. Let me clarify, for the next 50,60,70 years of your life, no one cares if you were a "cool kid," an "in" kid, or a "not in" kid. They do however care about the education more than half put on the line to be "in" - successfully or not - for the first twenty years of their life, after which it's obsolete. They do care if you can work hard, work as a team, and have life skills. And, believe it or not, they care if you know yourself, because if you know yourself, it's easier to give the best you can give. If the first seventeen years of your life were spent pushing who you are away so you could be somebody "acceptable" for the "in" crowd, then you will be struggling during the very important years of your young-adult life trying to figure that out and what you will do in the future.
     The kids who took their education seriously and cared more about becoming who God wanted them to be and learning how to be secure in their identity and not be swayed by everyone else will be legions ahead! And most likely, they'll be successful. I can't tell you how many adults have told me they wish they had realized this and had foresight when they were young and how different their lives would have been.

     Before I close, I want to say that I don't hate "in" kids nor do I hate kids "looking in". In fact, some kids are "in" on accident or just happen to be good at it. And it's natural to want to be what seems to be the "thing" the "it". It is human nature, but it does have a cost whether it's normal or not!
That's what bothers me; the cost. Don't sell your youth, your self-esteem, and your identity to be "in"! Be yourself. "In" is constantly changing and in the next few years, no one is going to care, and you'll be left with the scars of everything you did to be "in". The obsession of being "in" from "in" kids or "not in" kids is what is my big pet peeve, because it's such a waste of oneself and the scars and hurt never go away from believing the lies. People are taught to invest in now only forgetting that now only last for now and they have a long future coming.

     It is quite a bit of a bummer, because I really do like her voice and I love the beat of the song and the instrumental just doesn't cut it. Even the lyrics were done with talent. It sincerely captures the emotions of many youth today. Oh well.

Anonymous

"Anxiety happens when you think you have to figure everything out. Turn to God. He has a plan."

Airport Inspiration

If you are looking for writing inspiration, pause the next time you take a flight. I know you're in a rush to be on time to your plane and that irritated, begrudged feel towards all the hassle easily overtakes. But take a moment and let the thrill of adventure flow through your veins even if you've done this a thousand times before. Open your eyes and observe. Acknowledge the hundreds of stories, the protagonists, antagonists, and supporters walking by. Observe the little girl running off the plane, squealing with delight to embrace her sister. Wonder how long they've been apart and why. Observe the mother with her daughters, walking wearily off. Watch the father rolling his baggage, carrying his young son on one. Observe the young man exit confidently and the young couple lovingly. Ask yourself who they are. Ask from where they come and to where they go and why. Observe the greetings and partings. Note whether they seem to be familiar or foreign. See some come off with loads of baggage and some that come with none. Ask if, why, where, and when. Perhaps you'll find a story waiting for you. Even if you never do, remember what you see and hear, because maybe if your character finds themselves here like you, they can experience all of it, too.

John Newton (Amazing Grace Movie)

"Although my memory's fading, I remember two things very clearly. I'm a great sinner and Christ is a great Savior."

Nature's Party

Little leaves dance with swirls of wind,

the trees heave, keeping time,

The thunder claps a drumming beat,

and the lightning flashes like party lights,

Pitter, patter, joins the rain,

Nature's party, storm's the name,

Safe inside, warm and sound,

Watching the drops fall to the ground.

Drip, drip, rainy music,

Leaves dance to the pattern,

The wind joins in the chorus song,

This storm might last all night long.

Anne Frank

"How true Daddy's words were when he said: all children must look after their own upbringing. Parents can only give good advice or put them on the right paths, but the final forming of a person's character lies in their own hands."

The Legend of the Rivar

Written here is the account Andris Rydar of Tiaos told the girl he called his daughter, over whom he stood guardian, of the history of the festival he brought her to see when he took her across the mountain range to the East to see the many kingdoms there. The girl was still very young and it was many years before she wrote this account down.

"At the foot of the mountains called Altaiku is a country called Hesereth where my guardian, Andris of Tiaos, took me when it became necessary for the safety of all for me to leave the girl I was companion to, to whom I was as close as a sister, for a time. This was on our way to a farther east country called Kumray, ruled by a dear friend of my guardian. In Hesereth, we stayed with the Rivar, a race of thinking creatures who are of the river and are related to humans. My guardian informed me that they were once of the Ocean; distant and land-and-river-dwelling relatives of the now legend Eauto, who lived in the Sea all around our world. It was a time of celebration and festivities, all of which to me were ethereal and wonderful. Night fell and my guardian urged me not to grow tired yet, for a performance I would remember to my dying day was about to begin. He had no need for concern, it would be many hours before I would even begin to weary. On one bank of the river, where the grass is a deep green, were many seats ascending in a stairlike manner. The sandy area was clear. On the opposite side on the grass there was a stage, with curtains and light tricks that the Rivar learned to master. The river, both sandy banks, and the built stage were all used in the performance. The violins and drums and wind-instruments began to play, the lights were wielded like swords, and dancers and singers came forth. Their feet moved like water and fire, my eyes and ears struggled to keep what I saw and what I heard together. I was awed. That night, my venerable guardian carried me to bed, but I pleaded him to tell me what I had just seen. This is what he told me:

The performance is of two love stories. One of the Daughter of the Mountain, Rivera (Riv-veer-uh), and the Son of the Ocean, Cea (See-uh). The other is of Deverella and Tallu, the elder Daughter of the Mountain, Lady of the Land and and her lover, the Sea, Nephew of the Ocean. Rivera lived with her ladies, Daughters of the River they were called, on these very banks. They lived peacefully and happily alone. The daughters oft came and danced and made merry on the riverbank while finishing their work. Later Rivera herself would come and dance among the grass and water. Sometimes the Lords of Night would come and try to steal her away, bringing alluring gifts like Stars and once they even brought the Moon herself, promising that she and her ladies would serve her, but Rivera knew that the Moon served no one but the Sun and the Stars were too far away to listen to a mere river princess. She would shake her head and flee away returning with her ladies to be sure the Lords of Night had gone.  If not, she and the Daughters of the River would fight them off, for the Lords of Night were very weak when they were not in their own realm. Meanwhile, Rivera knew that Cea was coming. Everyday drew him deeper and deeper into land as she would travel closer and closer to the Mountain of her Mother. She was to marry Cea, though she had never met him. But first he would have to come to her and she wanted to know how far he was willing to go for her? Would he be willing to come to the foot of her mother, so far from his father, to find her? He must if he wanted to bring her back to his father's house were they would live in happiness forever. The Moon, still mistress of the night, rose and fell many times and the Sun, governess of the day, governed many times. The Lords of Night returned and fled time and time again, but the Ladies of the River chased them away. At last they had arrived at the village of the Rivar where girls and boys hoped to find their love lest they remain single forever. It was also the place where Rivera would either meet and marry the Ocean's son or return to her home in the riverlands to remain a maiden to the end of her days like her sister, Deverella, who's late lover died by the Lords of Night when he was tempted to their realm by their daughters while on his journey. Her lover and love, Tallu, was not of stature enough to marry a Daughter of the Mountain, who's glaciers, of which Deverella was once lady of, are from which the water pours. Rivera went often to the river banks, where she dipped her feet into the river, waiting for her lover's arrival. She dreamed often of his face, waiting, waiting to feel his arms around her, promising her a home in the vast, beautiful ocean where she longed to go. She imagined the celebration that would be held, the weddings soon to be announced, and she pleaded for Cea's safety, that she would be among the brides receiving loving husbands that blessed season of spring, so that the summer can be brought. She was pleased the village was so far from the Ocean, it would make her time with him all the longer before they reached their home. How sweet that sounded. Their home. The Lords of Night would send their handsome sons to her to claim to be Prince Cea come for her and they would woo her and enchant her with all soft words, empty promises, and gifts. Rivera would only flee returning with the men of the village to defend her, for the Lords of Night's sons had grown stronger since their assaults down the river. This happened again and again and Rivera's heart began to sink. No one had seen Cea, nor any of those who belong to the ocean. As the Moon took the place of the Sun, Rivera wept bitterly, her salty tears contaminating the freshwater river, whose sandy banks she sat upon, dipping her feet and calves into the water. Her distressed face was covered by her long, sandy-blonde hair. The tears in her eyes caused her silver-blue eyes to turn glassy and to shine when the light hit them. It was too late when she raised her head to find herself surrounded by the Lords of Night. The Moon was hidden behind trees and darkness surrounded her, how quickly night had fallen. Rivera lept up and backed into the river, breathing deeply, calling in her soul upon her mother to order the Ruler of the Glaciers to send down his waters to swallow her. Suddenly something like lightning flashed and many men came out or the surrounding vegetation and fought back the Lords of Night. A sword was handed to the daughter of the mountain and she, too, joined the fray. The Lords and their sons fled. When Rivera turned to thank her rescuers, there was only one man still there. His eyes were as deep as the ocean blue and his hair as dark as the sunless ocean deeps. She allowed her weapon to drop to the sand, and he his. She expressed her gratefulness and he assured her he was honored to do so. Without speaking their names, they spent the night talking and learning of one another, until, as the Sun's rays peaked over the mountain, they rose to return to the village hand in hand. There was no doubt that this was Cea. He had come at last. Yet farther up the river, Deverella and her love, Tallu, also sat lovingly by the riverside. They watched the Moon shine and sang softly to each other, promising to love each other to the end of their days. Tallu told Deverella that he thought that if he could bring the Skies and Seas to meet, her mother might look more kindly upon their devotion, for at this time, only she from land touched the Skies. Deverella pressed her face into his chest and asked him if it were not dangerous? He would have to find the entrances into the kingdoms that would lead him there, for there was no map to the Sky. Only the Lords of Night knew how to come to and fro, surely he would have to pass through their realm. Tallu replied that he would face a world of dangers to be able to be with her. The lady, though deeply disturbed at the thought of losing her love, agreed. So Tallu left her to approach the Mountain and speak to her mother, Lady Altaiku. She wept when nights later, the mountain seemed to roar and tremble and lightning and swirling winds were seen, fearing for Tallu. The preparations for the lovely weddings only deepened the hole in her heart and though she knew it would not be in this season or perhaps the next reasonable for her to expect his return, she waited by the riverside every day, haunted it at night. She lifted her voice in song, low and sweet of the sorrows of love, the long waits, the disappointing hearts, and finally the fulfilled promises of life together in marriage. And all who heard it felt it's heart and realized the gravity of love. Ladies and Men entering matrimony could not hear the song, but come away more solemn but content. For love is patient, love is kind, it keeps no records of wrong, and it always waits. The wedding festival arrived and all the girls and boys danced. Rivera and Cea danced together all night long, until dawn, when, one by one, they all gave their vows. Rivera returned with Cea to the Ocean, but Deverella stayed in the village of the Rivar. Seasons came and season passed with no sign of her lover. Near spring of the third year, the Lords of Night would send their sons to her. They would haunt her steps, urge to to return with them to their kingdom. They whispered to her that he was unfaithful and a married a girl in their realm, then when that failed, they were assure her that he was dead. But, even with tears running down her cheeks, Deverella only turned away, sometimes without heart enough to order them on their way. The Lords of Night themselves came to her and tried to wind their darkness around her, confusing her into coming with them. But she would cry out and the Moon, taking pity, would shine a ray through the darkness and allow her a light path to the village; or the Sun would realize with rage that Darkness invaded her kingdom, and send down her light to dispel them back to the realm from which they came. Deverella would pray, then, that Tallu had found his way through the realm of the sun to the sky and not the lords of night. Spring approached and very soon the Rivar would gather again for celebration. The Lady of Mourning, the Lady of Land, lifted her voice in song once again. This time a shadow came out from the moon's rays and as Deverella stared, she realized it was her Tallu. He had come back! Running to him she embraced him. He whispered to her, 'Let us join the celebration and take our vows, but first, I must tell you something.' She listened. He told her how he made his way through the realm of the Lords of Night and reached the Sky. He told her that he created the ends of the Earth. 'They are beautiful,' he told her, 'where Sky and Ocean meet in a cloud always shining like the Sun is just beneath it. That is the ends of the earth. It is my kingdom. I am lord of the sky and all it's water. But you are Lady of the Land. I can only come to you with the Rain, before I must return to my own kingdom.' Deverella only smiled and said that if she could not come with him to his kingdom, that must suit. So Deverella and Tallu took their vows.
And that is the legend of why it rains and why all rivers lead to the ocean.

And as I closed my eyes that night to dream of the ends of the earth, I whispered, 'Is it true?' To which my guardian only replied, 'Sweet dreams, my dear. I'll wake you in the morning.' I have heard  many myths and legends, but this one is by far my favorite, for in my childlike mind, reality mixed with fantasy, making it the more wonderful for me and even though now I know it for what it is, I have never forgotten the sweet wonder I felt when watching the portrayal and hearing the story from my dear papa's lips."

Note: It is supposed that the majority of the marriages in this story were arranged and that these girls had met their future spouse many times before during the festivals. Either party had every right to refuse if they so pleased. Rivera and Cea were the only ones who had not met, for Cea lived so far away and the journey inland was perilous .

(Inspired by the Riverdance)

-Lynsi Keye

Rachel Wolchin

"Don't die before you're dead."

We Are Authors

We don't see a person
without an entire life
We don't see a life
without seeing the thousands of adventures within

We are authors

We understand the complex, intricacies
The web of meetings and effects
We know the power of a word
We can see the outcome of a smile
We are authors

We put your pain into words
We feel the pain acutely
We understand each heart knows its own,
How can we judge too harshly
We are authors

We see the epics in your life
We see your victories,
We commend you your battles,
We congratulate you your wins
We understand your losses and your wounds,
We understand how deep they go,
Because they hurt us, too
We are authors

It's you our characters are modeled after,
it's you who inspire their adventures and trials,
it's you who make it possible,
We are authors

We know how mountains make men,
We know how storms make women,
We see tears make strength,
We see shattered hearts glued together to make villains,
We see broken pieces pieced together to make heroes,
We see the choices affect the lives that are lead,
We are authors

We know pain comes before joy,
We know hardship before success,
We know iron sharpens iron,
It's hard to see, inside that story,
but we take a larger view,
We are authors

We understand a story is not about the adventure,

A story is not about the circumstances,

it’s about the people,

who they were, who they are, and what they choose to become

It’s about their responses to the many trials they have

Because in the end, who we choose to be, isn’t that all we really control?

We are authors

We know that heroes are not born,

Greatness is never thrust upon,

we understand the importance of a single choice,

in a single person’s life

We are authors

A great author does not create infallible characters,

a great author does not birth heroes,

a great author develops their completely ordinary characters,

into extraordinary people,

We are authors

We understand the potential of passion,

the purpose of each person,

the ripple effect of love,

the storm that hate creates,

we understand the intricacies of life,

We are authors

And so is God

Obesity????

Okay, it's not Monday and it's not Friday, either, but I told you this vacation would cause things to be a bit on and off. Anyway, I was on Yahoo search or something and I saw one of those "Eat this one thing and you'll have this body" advertizement thing. I never click on them, besides the "eat this" picture looks nasty all the time. But on this particular one, the headless female with her shirt up to show her "enviable" body looked like she was dying of starvation. I paused and read the caption. "This one food to stop obesity dead in it's tracks." Or something up that line. I couldn't help but think, really? If that is what everyone is supposed to look like, what do they consider obesity, because I am pretty sure I do not agree. On top of that, I know many overweight girls who are my friends and are gorgeous. In fact, some of them make me have to embark on a mad adventure to slay the green-eyed dragon monster thing before it ruins a friendship, I think they are so pretty. So basically, it's not weight that matters, it's health, and even that doesn't make a mark on how valuable or desirable a person is. Really, I think it's character that makes a person pretty or not. I know that sounds really, really no-duh or politically correct, but seriously. I am going to go out on a limb here, but take Benedict Cumberbatch. I am not sure if you've heard of him. He plays Sherlock, Khan, Smaug, and a whole bunch of other characters that he portrys with wonderful talent. People love him. Girls fangirl over him, even though he is likely over twice their age! And - here's where I take a chance - he's not exactly handsome. What? Let's be honest, if he wan't so famous for his talent and he didn't play such lovable and not so lovable characters, would you look twice if you saw him at the store? Well maybe, because he does look unique. My personal thoughts on why people consider him so attractive is because of his persona and his persona compliments his unique appearance. He's not the perfect looking guy, which is perfect! If he was, I don't think people could appreciate his singular talents. It's sort of like having a unique name causing the person to stand out (which he has, too!) But his persona compliment his looks, and his looks compliments his persona. That is an example of how character can really change how peope look at how a person looks. And this is very far away from where I started. How'd I get here? It's a good point, anyway. So, in all, even though nice looks can hide a horrid character, a good character can shine and take a unique and not necessarily "perfect" body and make it perfect, like a trademark. You don't have to be like everyone else or what they say you are supposed to be or look like, you be who you were made to be, and you'll rock whatever look you look like! Really, your gorgeous! Why try to compete with a thousand other people to be someone that you are not, lose yourself, and fail (because no one wins) when you can be your perfect self?

Edith Head

"Your dresses should be tight enough to show you're a woman and loose enough show you're a lady."

See ya later!

Alright, I'm heading off on vacation, so I won't be around for about a month. Have an awesome summer and see you when I get back!

Ps. I may post pictures.

- Lynsi Briela Keye

Sunshine Award

So, I've been nominated for this before and it is always an honor. :D I've run out of bloggers to tag, however, because I am still relatively new. So this time I am going to only answer the questions asked by the three nominators:

By nominator Sarah of Sarah'Sword:

1. What's your middle name? Lynsi Briela Keye is my full pen name. The initials are in fact my real initials.

2. What's your favorite animal? On the Earth, I am going to go with Tigers. In the Sea, I love Dolphins. And in the Sky, I love Eagles!

3. What color are your eyes? My eyes are blue-ish, sometimes a bit green-ish.

4. What color is your hair? It's a variation of blonde-brown.

By nominator Megan McKeel of Rustic Remains (pitchforkprincessforhim):

1. Which do you prefer: Iced coffee or regular? I don't like coffee very much at all.

2. Would you rather ride a horse or a subway? Horse, of course!

3. What is your favorite type of music? I don't have a specific genre, I just pick and choose from all sorts of genres.

4. Sweaters or leather jacket? Leather is cool, but I think sweaters are more comfortable. If I had to choose, I'd go with sweaters.

5. Favorite fictional character? This is impossible, but I am going to say Robin Hood.

 By nominator Abbie Boots:

1. If you could invite any ONE of your characters over for a day, who would it be and why? As in one I created? I think I'd invite... Andris of Tiaos because I think he would be able to give me wisdom and teach me a lot!

2. When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up? I wanted to be a missionary.

3. If you could read only one book for the rest of your life, which one would you choose and why? The Bible because you can never stop learning from it.

4. Just because I liked answering this question: Sherlock's blogger or Doctor's companion? Ummm... I don't really have an answer.

5. If you could have any superpower, what would it be? I'd either want to fly or to breath under water.

William Wilberforce

You may choose to look the other way but you can never again say that you did not know.

Pen and Paper

Pick up a pen, pick up a paper

To once again try your best to beat your best,

but that wicked whisper in you rhead bids you to remember,

that of them all, you are the biggest failure

Close your eyes, plug your ears,

try as you might, it does not go disappear,

It cuts at your heart like self-esteem clipping shears,

but whatever you do, whatever you say,

it just won't obey as it stirs up your fears,

So look forward, not behind,

look forward, not left or right,

If you do, peace you will find,

when you glimpse morning's first light,

Because night nerver stays unless invited,

and lies cannot stand where truth is believed,

Night flees, when morn's rays are sighted,

and you of your oppressive lies will be relieved.

Wayne Gretzky

You miss 100% of the shots you don't take

The Star-Spangled Banner (6 days late)

Oh, say can you see by the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars thru the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines in the stream:
'Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion,
A home and a country should leave us no more!
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved home and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust."
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Franklin D. Roosevelt

Freedom cannot be given; it must be achieved.

Masters

The masters fight

some to rule, some to right

So slaves rise up

to take their place

standing by the judgement cup.

Fools by nature, the fall of man,

They pressed too hard, bit the hand,

to wrong the ones who righted them.

Angered by this turn of tables,

the masters rise to retake their place,

and the slaves return from whence they were,

for their betrayal and vengeful table turns.

No inherent good,

from top to bottom, you have to choose,

wolves will rise, wolves will fall,

but lambs survive, protected through and through.

Morris Mandel

"The darkest hour has only sixty minutes."

When All is Said and Done

When all is said and done

When faint hearts flee from under the sun

When all fates their courses run

All that shakes shall tumble down

All that can be felled shall fall to the ground

All that breathes air so sweet shall drown

if naught to save can be found

Then what's true will show it's strength

Whose hope founded firmly shall not falter

While hope falsly grounded will flounder

For hope tried and true

Will be a shining refuge,

a sign of promise and of faith

to all who in it remain

But hope of falsity comes to naught

for only truth withstands in trial

and those who stood on sand flee in terror

So to ruin crumbles the hope they past sought

Benjamin Franklin

"Dost thou love Life? Then do not squander Time; for that's the stuff Life is made of."

Double Feature: Ahab's Jezebel/The Lone Man

Ahab's Jezebel

Like a spoiled child he wept

In his wicked grief he had not slept

So mother of all vile and theft

This wicked temptress went

While her child whined and moaned

His mother, Ahab's Jezebel,

would have his desire home.

Blood was spilled that night

At the Beauty's shameless word

Her prize was now in sight

but of its price no one ever heard

for Jezebel acted dead of night

When only owls are in flight

------------------------------

The Lone Man

They cried upon their stone

They called upon their wood,

but stone-faced and ready wood to burn

they were

Then up stepped the lone man,

up he stepped to his stones,

but he did not cry,

not to wood or human craftman's work,

his voice to heaven lifted,

to the true Lord he called,

and fire fell, fire answered,

for the Lord God is True

Home Quote

"Fantasy makes my dreams, but reality shapes them," - Lynsi Keye

Human Friend

I've seen you fall

I've seen them mock

I've heard them laugh

and push you back

I'm not an angel from above

not even a hero sent from God

I'm only human, just like them,

but if you want, I'll be your friend

I'll help you up when you hit the ground,

When you hurt, I'll be around,

What I can is what I'll do

I'm your friend and I love you

But I'm only human,

remember that,

I can only do what humans can

So I'll mess up, by and by,

And when I do, lean on God,

I am your friend, but can't do it all

Yet, God is always there

to love, to save, to hear

As your friend, I want your best

So to God, I pray you're led

because He loves more than I can possibly try

So much that for you He would die,

Everyday,

for you I pray,

it's this crazy love,

Jesus made

-------

Happy Memorial Day!
-Lynsi Keye

Henry Ford

"Thinking is the hardest work there is, which is probably why so few people engage in it."

The Toy-Makers

Far away, in a valley tucked away up in the mountains, there stood a toy-making village. All children young and old took pride in their village trade and learned well the crafts of their fathers and mothers. Throughout the entire world, no one could build toys as fine as theirs. Growing up, boys and girls would make toys and give them to each other to play. As the children grew older, however, they wished to exchange and play with something finer. So the children would go into their homes and dig out their precious little box and pull out the loveliest toy they had. For years they had been adding embellishments and colour to the wooden structure and they grew tired of keeping it locked away in a box. Very soon into their young adult years, these fine toys would be brought to be played with. Some children would give their special toy to anyone, others only gave it to people they cared specially about. Still, one by one, year by year, the toys would wear and break. The children would do what they could to fix it, but it would never be the same. In this village there lived a girl of sweet nature. Unlike the other girls her age, she kept her toy safely in its locked box. Sometimes boys would come up to her and encourage her to play with their toys, hoping for hers in return. Sometimes, when she was lonely or the toy looked specially fun, she didn't feel as though she could help herself, and would take up the toy and play with it. Sometimes, but very rarely, she would open her box and bring out her toy, but it was never long before she quickly took it back and locked it safely in its case. Afterwards she would open it up and gaze at it, then she would cry. It never looked as nice as it did before she took it out and gave it to someone to play with. The village girls and boys and adults all told her the toy was hers and that she should bring it out to play with before it was old and ugly and no one wanted it anymore. They told her she should add embellishments, because, though hers was plain and pretty, it was still too plain. She wondered why she didn't feel that way. Maybe it was because it was her only connection too her parents. She never remembered them treating it like a toy, they treated it like a treasure and gift. She wished she could take her toy out and play with it, but it was always too precious and she was too afraid it would break and soil. One days while walking the length of the valley she looked up to see smoke floating into the air. She thought it looked like smoke from a chimney. There was a legend, she recalled, about a toy maker who lived farther up in the mountains. He made the finest toys and it was by him that the first villagers learned their art. Maybe he could tell her about her toy. Maybe he could fix it! And make it the most beautiful toy ever! The girl ran back to the village, grabbed her box, holding it close, and followed the smoke cloud. It was not long before she appeared in a clearing. At the centre was a log cabin. There was also a garden. In it an old man was working. The girl smiled. There was something friendly and grandfatherly about this elderly man. 

"Hello, young lady, how can I help you?" He said, turning around. 

"Are you the grand toy maker?" She asked.

"I don't make toys," he said, "I make treasures." He couldn't be referring to what had always been called their toys, she thought and hoped. How dreadful if what they played with was really a gift from this man. If that were true, how many hours he must have laboured over each one, she thought. "I see you have my gift for you in that box you carry. Do you bring it with you everywhere?" He remarked, to her surprise. Without saying a word, she held it out to him, even though everything inside of her wanted to hold it closer so he couldn't see, there was some stronger force that wanted desperately to give it to him. With a gentle smile, he took the box. "It needs a key," he mentioned. 

She searched her pockets and clothes, but realised to her despair that she had left it at home. "I don't have it," she exclaimed. 

"Do you wish I could see it?" He asked. The girl nodded. To her surprise, the man opened the box as though there were no lock. "Lovely," he exclaimed to her. 

She did not know what to say. All she could think of was all the times she had let it be played with and all the times the villagers told her that her treasure was plain and not  pleasing. "It is chipped right there," she mentioned. 

"Don't think about that," he told her, "my son will be home soon and he can fix it for you. I think it is beautiful."

"Do you really?" She asked. 

"Of course I do!" The friendly man cried, "what is not to love about this wonderful gift." 

"It is terribly plain, despite the colour," observed the girl.
"It is tastefully embellished, see how your own decor adds to the structure rather than distracts it," he extolled her workmanship, "it compliments each other very nicely." 

Never before had the girl's heart soared like it did now. She had only always known that whatever she did, her treasure was never good enough for long. "So it is a gift," she spoke up. The man nodded. "Did you make all those precious things?" she asked. 

"I did," he nodded. 

"Why?" 

He looked at her quietly then said, "I give each person a piece of my craftsmanship so they can then share it with whoever they choose. It was meant to resemble the beauty and uniqueness of each person and to be shared with the one they chose to spend the rest of their lives with. There is a difference, however. While the treasure can be damaged and can not be mended by anyone but my son, for to him I passed on my art, your value can not so much as be dented." 

The girl had never heard something so wonderful. "Has anyone else been to see you?" she asked.

"Yes, a little boy, but he isn't so little anymore. He still comes and visits me quite frequently. I think he is out with my son." 

The hours ticked by and by, and the old man and the village girl talked and talked. She confessed and cried over her little treasure and apologized for being careless with it. He did not condemn nor excuse her, but it was such a relief to have someone listen. He encouraged her not to listen to the villagers who did not know their own hearts and minds, let alone her's. Then they spoke of wonderful things, happy things, and sad things. It was growing dark when they heard the front door open and two voices coming in. One was saying good-bye to the other. 

"That would be my son," the man told her. "Immanuel," he called, "a village girl has brought us her treasure and needs it to be mended." 

"Yes, Father," the young man said brightly, coming over, "Hello, my name is Immanuel. Would you like me to renew your treasure?" 

The girl nodded, wondering why he asked her, when his father already said so."Where is it?" The father handed the box to the girl, who timidly handed it to the son. Immanuel took the box over to the table and gingerly opened it, bringing out the treasure. The girl's face flushed when she saw it, but it flushed even more when she saw Immanuel take out his own treasure. Her eyes widened at how beautiful it was. His hands moved skillfully over both treasures, until at last, to her horror, he seemed to break his. 

"What are you doing," she nearly cried, then she saw he was using the pieces from his own to mend hers. "That was not worth it," she felt like saying, but the caring look in the father's eyes and the peaceful look in the son's convinced her that they believed it was. 

It was not long before her treasure was shining brighter than she had ever seen it. Immanuel lifted it up and gave it to her, "Now you have a piece of my treasure in yours. I hope it will stay safe, but never be afraid to come back to me to fix it for you."

"Thank you," the girl gasped, tears filling her eyes. She could hardly believe he thought that her treasure was precious enough to take from his own, but now her heart believed it too, and her soul soared with joy.

He smiled, "May I walk you back to the village?"

"Yes, please," she answered.

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Sorry it's late!

- Lynsi Keye