A snippetty snippett...

My readers will have to forgive me, because my book is still in the "extremely rough" stage. Also, please keep in my mind, that this is only a snippett...so events may be slightly unclear.

Start of a new chapter (the thoughts of Lori Russell, age 14)
September 3, 1993
I'm beginning high school. I never thought I would make it this far. Who am I? What am I? What am I to become? It's so large compared to our little Green Meadows Elementary. Karen is, as expected, very excited. She's so boy crazy...geez. Well, the boys don't interest me. I have too much studying to do, and if I want to be a lawyer, will I have time to be a wife and mother? Besides, I don't think I want to get married. Maybe if mom were still here...maybe I would want to. No, my mission has now...no, to call it a mission sounds too...charitable. My DESTINY is to overthrow the rule of the Kensington family. Gross, destiny sounds romantic. Ah...yes...this is my REVOLUTION. "I want to be change, change for the truth, the better good, the people." -to use Daniel Kensington's own words. He is change not for truth, but for falsehood! Maura's father has become insufferable. He has ruined so many families with his dirty schemes. And now...he wants to run for state governor? What is to become of our town...our state? Is there no justice? I seem to be the only person my age who sees this, except for Karen, and maybe the infamous Ty Waters, whose family has been bankrupt by the Kensingtons. Everyone else thinks Mr. Kensington is just dandy! They have been so blinded by his superb acting skills. I have seen him for what he really is...And I cannot tell anyone, not even Karen. No, I must not even write it. It is too terrible a truth...for now it must continue to haunt my dreams, along with the lady in the strange veil and robes. Mom would have known what to do...

September 5, 1993
Although I may hate Maura Kensington, I cannot help but pity her. I walked by Kensington Manor today and heard screams. I rushed by, wishing not to see more than I already have. Oh God, if there is one, what do I do? I cannot hide in the shadows forever.

***

The day had been a bleak one. Foggy, rainy-but not the good kind of rain, the kind of rain that only spits, frizzes one's hair, and makes you feel like a dirty wet dog all day. Lori was tired...she had had another dream about the lady again.

"Lori, would you please answer my question?" Mr. Slater had called on her. Oh Christ, what were we learning? Lori thought frantically coming out of her doze. "Geometry, please, Ms. Russell...not daydreams." Mr. Slater reprimanded.

Ty Waters and his chronies sniggered behind Lori. She didn't care about Ty, she was used to it by now, but offending Mr. Slater was the last thing she wanted to do. Shamed, she sat up straight and bent over her notes trying to concentrate.

After class, she apologized to Mr. Slater and he had been understanding...even worried. "Lori, I've noticed you looking very tired all the time. Maybe less studying and more sleeping?" "Right," she said, "more sleeping." If only I could sleep, she thought. Would Mr. Slater understand a mysterious woman visiting her dreams? No, it was best not to let on you were crazy, especially in a small town.

She walked out of the classroom, thankful it was Friday, and bumped into Ty in the hallway. "Excuse me, Ms. Daydream...I mean Ms. Russell," Tyler tipped an invisible hat. "Ugh...very funny Ty," Lori grunted, bending to pick up her books. "Very original, really." Tyler bent to help her. "Here you go, Ms. Daydream," Ty said, slipping the last book into Lori's already full arms. "Yeah, whatever, thanks Ty," Lori said disgruntled. Tyler walked away laughing.

Lori rolled her eyes at Tyler's back and turned down the hall toward Literature class. They had been reading Anthem. It was an interesting read and Lori, of course, had finished it before everyone. But there had been something wrong with the ideas in the book. Was it really all about individualism? Lori had wondered. She had voiced her skepticism in class one day only to be met with stares from her classmates who clearly did not understand. The teacher, Mrs. Keating, although kind, had given Lori quite an unsatifactory answer. "Ms. Russell, I do believe you have read ahead, and we will have to address this later," Mrs. Keating had said.

When Lori had asked her father about it later, he had asked to see the book. Mr. Russell flipped through the last few pages of the book and dismissed it as a "horrible philosophy that left no room for charity." Lori wasn't sure about charity, she thought that sounded terribly religious. But she had agreed that it was a horribel philosophy. The author was clearly off her rocker. How could a world survive with people only thinking of themselves? Their "I"?

So this was why on this particular day Lori was slightly apprehensive about Literature class. Lori hated disagreeing with teachers, but what she hated even more was not voicing her opinion. Clearly, today's final book discussion was going to be heated.

However, it so happened that Mrs. Keating failed to see Lori Russell's hand waving frantically in the air for the entire fifty-minute class period. Thus, the dear Mrs. Keating had succeeded in convincing almost everyone in the classroom that the way of the "ego" was the best path through life. Lori, determined to right this serious miscarriage of justice, decided to "have words" with Mrs. Keating after class.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Keating," Lori began politely, "but I do want to tell you that I strongly disagree with your opinion on the book."
"Opinion?" Mrs. Keating said, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, opinion."
"My dear Ms. Russell, I understand that you are a highly gifted child, but perhaps this time you have allowed your pride to blind your intelligence."
"I'm sorry?" Lori replied, highly confused.
"You see, Lori. May I call you Lori? What I taught today was not my 'opinion.' It is a philosophy which everyone must strive to live. There is no absolute right or wrong. Our conscience must be shaped by our "I." Who are we to judge if what someone does is right or wrong?"
"Mrs. Keating, how can you--"
"Lori, I know this is difficult to understand for someone your age, but the Board of Education has sent me and several other teachers now residing in nearby towns to help correct your smalltown upbringing. The modern world is moving on from these so-called 'Christian morals' and you must learn to move on too."
"But, Mrs. Keating, I--"
"Lori, dear, I know how much you enjoy questioning and discussing, but you must not do so much of that in my class. You might put ideas that are contrary to the New Age into your fellow classmates' heads hmmm?"
Lori stared at Mrs. Keating in shock. A teacher encouraging her not to ask questions? Lori frowned. Maybe Mrs. Keating had won this battle, but the semester had only begun.
"Thank you for your time, Mrs. Keating," Lori finally said. "Of course," Mrs. Keating replied cordially, and she picked up a book and began to read indicating that Lori was free to leave. Lori left, but not before noticing what Mrs. Keating was reading...Starhawk.

I Couldn't Help But Notice

This is a short little diddy I wrote for my own amusement, and, as usual, it turned into something waaay too deep. Nonetheless, Enjoy!

Oh, P.S. if I get more than 10 comments on this story, I'll post a snippett of my book this weekend.

I couldn't help but notice that your eyes bore right into mine. That was my first clue that you were more than you appeared. "My name is Clark," I said, not really expecting you to answer or even care. But you looked up at me, eyes shining, smile radiant. "I'm Emily," you said. I couldn't help but notice that you blushed when I shook your hand. My heart leapt with hope.

We talked for hours at that party. Was it a party? I hardly remember other people there. I walked you to your car, utterly fascinated by the way your hands moved and your eyebrows rose whenever you talked about something important to you. I didn't want you to stop talking, but you had a curfew. As you drove away, I realized I didn't get your number. What chance would I have with you anyway? Well, you held me spellbound, and I simply had to find you.

I found you. You were walking hand in hand with another man. Oh how I wished I was he! You were talking together, but I could tell you were unhappy, because your hands were still and you didn't smile. As I drew closer I couldn't help but notice the way your face reddened as you saw me and let go of his hand. The boy was not happy about my unexpected presence there. You didn't seem to mind at all. Eventually, you left, out of pity for the boy, but not before you said, "It's Emily. Emily Dunham." Emily Dunham. My salvation. You handed me a small slip of paper, unnoticed by your escort. I hope that poor unlucky lad will forgive me one day. I watched you walk away. The boy tried to hold your hand again, but you didn't let him. I couldn't help but notice.

Our first date, I had respectfully asked your father's permission, because you deserved it. A picnic. A little cliché, I'll admit it, but I wanted to see you in the sunlight, not in the dark of a movie theatre. You wore a sky blue sun dress, and your hair was pulled back to stay out of your eyes, and it fell down your back and shoulders. There were small pearl earrings in your ears, and your feet were bare except for some white flip-flops. You were perfect, and I told you so. Your cheeks glowed the way I love. I couldn't help but notice.

You let me do most of the talking this time, and I couldn't help but notice that I was completely comfortable. I stopped talking. I was talking too much. "No," you said, taking my hand, "Please tell me more." So I did, but I couldn't help but notice how your hand fit perfectly in mine, and the way your hair smelled as the breeze gently blew it off your shoulders.

I brought you home, wishing, hoping, it wouldn't end. I put my hand gently on your cheek. I couldn't help but notice how soft and warm it felt. You looked right into my eyes, and I felt completely vulnerable, like the first day I met you. My heart was beating so loudly I was sure you'd hear it. I leaned in, kissed you softly, and said one word, "Emily." You looked at me as you slowly closed the door, and when you could not hear I said, "I love you."

We were in love. It's true. Why you would love me was still impossible to discern. But you did. We were back at the park where you first took my hand. Underneath a magnificent oak, your face was so full of love, it made my heart near to bursting. I knelt on one knee, praying to God that you would have me. I barely choked out the words that would make you mine forever. Before I knew it, your arms were around my neck, and your lips were on my head, my face, my hands, my lips... Finally...could my heart handle the joy I beheld in your face? Could it be true? "Yes," you said. And my life was changed forever.

There were moments I thought I couldn't possibly love you more. But everyday my heart would swell larger and larger--I loved you so much, it hurt. But I didn't mind the pain. I no longer mattered, there was only you. The days until our wedding could not have come any slower, but I simply enjoyed the anticipation. Nothing could possibly make me unhappy.

Our wedding day finally came. God must love me so much. As you walked down that aisle, there was not a fiber of doubt in my body that you were the most beautiful woman in the world and I would love you until the day I died. I could see us growing old together, and there was no fear. Now I understood. Now, in this moment, I grasped Love Eternal.

Our baby girl! She gasped and screamed, her tiny chest heaving, as I held her for the first time. Her little fists were clenched, and she had your eyes and mouth. I stared at her in absolute wonder. A new life in my hands--so delicate and beautiful. And...she was ours. Our love created her. Could there be anything more miraculous? I gently placed her in your arms. I couldn't help but notice that your face was white from pain and exhaustion, but you had the most joyful glow in your eyes. Our daughter immediately stopped crying as you held her. She opened her fist and curled it around your finger and began to nurse. You looked up at me and smiled. I slowly slid into the hospital bed next to you. You fell asleep on my shoulder while stroked Therese's soft head.

25 years, and I still love you as much and infinitely more as on the day I met you. Our anniversary isn't fancy, just a typical dinner with the kids, and I love every minute of it. Joey, as always, makes everyone laugh with his ridiculous 10-year-old humor. Therese is blossoming into a beautiful young woman--she has your spirit. Kevin is making faces at Mary, and you're helping Thomas cut his meat. When everyone is finished, you bring out our "anniversary cake." The kids helped decorate it, and it looks more like a 5-year-old's finger painting than a decadent dessert. Nonetheless, we eat and enjoy with only minor icing casualties--Mary somehow got icing in her ear, and Kevin is looking at you with his best innocent face. You simply shake your head and scold Kevin as you clean out Mary's ear. You finally look up at me and mouth "Happy Anniversary." I get up and kiss you, despite the "Dad!"'s and "Ew, gross!"

I'm walking our trembling daughter down the aisle. Wasn't it just yesterday that I held her tiny body in my arms and rocked her to sleep? As I look at her husband to be, I can't help wondering if he feels the same about her as I do about you. I hope so. He is a good man. Therese deserves nobody less. She kisses my cheek and steps up to the Altar. She is no longer mine. A single tear runs down my face. If I did not have your hand to hold, I would feel like a lesser man.

The kids are all gone. Thomas just left for college and it's just you and me again. We hold hands as we take a turn around our empty home. You look at me sadly, and I hold you tight while you cry. "You have given five new people to the world," I said, "You should be proud." "No," you replied, "We have brought five beautiful children into the world, and stayed together. We should be proud." We went to the park and fell asleep under our tree.

My time has come. We have had 75 beautiful years together. I wish we could have more, but He is calling me home. You hold my hand and stroke my face. The soft "bleep, bleep" of my heart on the monitor is barely audible. "Clark," you say, "I love you." "I love you too, darling. I'll be waiting." Some time slips by. It's become more difficult for me to stay. Finally, my soul is free. I have been anointed. I am leaving you now. I pray that our two souls may become one in Paradise.

For the Love of My Life

As my faithful followers will notice, I changed the title of my blog...it was inspired by my good friends Karen and Monty, and, I think, it captures more of the essence of me.

I haven't been writing lately, because I simply haven't had time, and I haven't felt inspired. I don't feel particularly inspired today either, except that I noticed I've been a slacker, and I should probably write something. So, I'm going to write about...MYSELF.

It's a bit of a selfish topic, but it's what I've been learning the most about lately. I have had an amazing summer, filled with reunions, laughs, epic failures, many many "Meryl Moments", and just a few frustrations. I've done everything from sitting on my bed doing absolutely nothing, going to weddings, shooting NERF guns in downtown San Francisco, laughing until it hurts, drinking to the point of hilarity, to finally sitting here writing the most boring blog ever known to man.

I've learned to appreciate friendships, parents, my faith, and surprisingly, my job. But most of all....I have learned to appreciate good music. I'm actually going through a huge classical phase at the moment. All of this sounds good, right? Right. Except I am missing one very important thing...a husband...someone to grow old with, raise children with, and....::heavy sigh::. Which is why I have decided to make a list of the top ten requirements for my ideal husband....let me know if you're interested.

1. You must sleep in every day, and never get a job.

2. You must have at least ten tattoos, and five body piercings...otherwise, my Dad WILL NOT approve.

3. You must enjoy heavy metal music and blast it at odd hours of the night, so that the neighbors have to call the cops....we have to keep our life exciting you know?

4. You must scream at our 2.5 children every day so that they learn to hate us, because duh....they just wouldn't grow up to be normal, if we were nice to them.

5. You must NEVER shower...mmmmm...I just love that cornchip smell.

6. Oh yes, religion, Athiest is preferable, but Agnostic will suffice. We need opposite opinions in our household to keep everything PC for our kids.

7. You must treat my like dung on the heel of your shoe, because I just DON'T want to get jealous and clingy. Treating me like crap will help me keep my distance.

8. You must have SUPER annoying parents that make me want to kill myself...it just wouldn't be right if I liked them.

9. Go out and get drunk with your old garage band buddies every night. This is just so I KNOW that you've been out getting drunk, and I don't have to ask. It will save a lot of time and frustration.

10. If you MUST show me affection, do it in the most embarrassing way possible...like calling me a really disgusting name like "my gooey googley honey muffin cake" and then flatulate really loudly. This will make me extremely happy and keep our marriage in tip top shape.

***Bonus (not required, but it will give you extra brownie points) if you have a super awesome name like Billy-Joe Bob, or Pookey, or Hal, or Butch....and even more brownie points if you have a beer belly!

These are just some of the requirements for a young Catholic girl's future husband, but they ARE the most important. I honestly just can't think of anyone dreamier than that person I've just described.

I've included a picture, just as an example:

The Tear

This a short story I wrote my Senior year of high school. It's a little melodramatic, but I like it :) and I hope you do too!

Lily gazed across the clear blue sea that she had known for so long, her dark hair sailing in the wind. The ocean had been her only true friend. It would always calm her whenever she dared caress its course skin of sand with her feet. Lily could speak to the ocean without speaking, and it would always understand. It would always soothe her with its haunting chant. She would sometimes let it carry her far away so they could contemplate together even more privately. Other times Lily would simply let the ocean massage her tan skin as it lapped gently up and down her body. The ocean was the one thing Lily truly loved and the only thing that truly loved her back. The ocean would never complain, whine, or reject her.

A cold hand suddenly touched Lily’s shoulder and rudely awakened her from her meditation of solitude. Lily did not react or turn her head. “Lily,” her mother said, quietly. Lily did not move. “Lily, it’s time to go now,” her mother said more loudly. Lily didn’t budge. Her mother sighed. “Lily, I know this is hard, but we really need to leave now,” she said again. Lily slowly tilted her head to one side, still looking straight ahead, to indicate she had heard. She heard her mother’s feet stride easily away through the sand.

Then, she heard a crunch of a shell and felt another presence behind her. This time she turned around. “Hi,” she said unemotionally to her childhood friend, Bobby. Bobby sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. Bobby looked into Lily’s face and dark brown eyes. All the sadness in the world resided in those eyes. Lily turned away. She couldn’t bear to look at Bobby like that, especially at a time like this. Bobby admired the ocean, their home, with Lily a few minutes before speaking. “New York can’t be that bad. I mean, you’ll meet a lot of cool city kids and get to see some of the tallest buildings in the world. Of course, the other kids won’t be as cool as me, but what can I say?” Bobby chided. Lily scoffed and nudged Bobby in the ribs. “Ow! How can you hurt me like that?” Bobby said sarcastically. “I’m gonna miss her,” Lily choked. “Yeah, we had some great times on that boat of ours didn’t we?” Bobby replied quietly. “Remember how long it took us to build her?” Bobby asked. “Mmhm. I remember. Three months, two weeks, one day, four hours, and 32 minutes,” Lily said chuckling. “I still can’t believe you timed us,” Bobby smiled.

Lily had always liked Bobby’s smile. He had the most perfect teeth, and they went great with his green eyes. His eyes always reminded Lily of the ocean after that big hurricane when they were both three. So deep a green, it was the most beautiful thing Lily thought she had ever seen or would ever see. His hair was bleached by the sun, and his face was always a little pink from forgetting to put on more sunscreen after surfing for five hours. Yes, she always thought, he has to be related to the mermaids. Now as she looked at him, she was absolutely positive he had mermaid blood coursing through his veins. Little Mermaid had always been her and Bobby’s favorite movie. She had always wanted to be Ariel, but knew she looked more like Prince Eric. Yes, she was definitely human, and Bobby was definitely merman material.

“It’s just not fair,” she said. “I know,” Bobby replied. Lily laughed, glad that Bobby could not read her thoughts. “What?” Bobby asked confused. “Nothing that concerns you,” Lily said grinning. Bobby sighed and rolled his eyes and took his arm from around her. Lily shot back once again to reality; this was the end. This wasn’t just another day on the beach with Bobby; this was goodbye. “I can’t do it, Bobby,” Lily whispered. “I can’t leave here. Everything I knew and grew up with is here. This is my heart and soul right here, Bobby,” Lily said trying desperately to restrain her tears. “I can’t…” Lily trailed off. Bobby looked at her. “I can’t leave you,” Lily blurted. Bobby looked at the ground and said something Lily would never forget, “Take The Tear with you...and never forget me.” “No, Bobby, I couldn’t do that to you,” she said finding it harder to stop the tears from flowing. “Where could I sail her? Where could I set her free?” she asked desperately. “You’ll be in Manhattan, you know. She’ll be able to see Lady Liberty,” Bobby replied.

The Tear, the one drop that remained afloat in the millions of tears of the ocean. Lily and Bobby had been pretty darn proud of themselves inventing that name for their creation, their pride, their joy. Many times it had safely and faithfully carried them to their secret isle about four miles off the coast. She had held together rather nicely and sailed faster than Bobby and Lily had thought she would. “Wow, we’re actually going two knots with this thing,” Lily had said stopping the measuring rope with her fingers after Bobby hit the stopwatch. “It’s because I’m manning the sails,” Bobby had said jokingly. The Tear was…home.

“No, Bobby,” Lily said, “You need her as much as I do.” Bobby remained silent. Lily knew he wouldn’t keep her. She heard the start of her family van somewhere behind her and the clunking of the pick up truck as it connected with The Tear. Lily realized Bobby had already made the decision a long time ago to let the ship go. Lily looked into Bobby’s face, a single tear running down her cheek. “Please don’t do that,” Bobby whispered. He reached up to wipe the tear from her face, but the tear ran quickly down her skin and into his open palm. Lily gasped mournfully and Bobby looked at his hand. Lilly got up and walked briskly away, leaving Bobby and the ocean behind her. Bobby got up and watched her figure walk determinedly away, his hand still wet with her tear.

Love

Love's painful sting envelopes me
   whole and entire
But there is no one there
   No, not even Thee
They say absence makes the heart
   grow fonder.
But they forget to mention
   the pain and torture
When? When whilst thou come
   to ease this bleeding wound?
I cannot but hope that your
   answer is soon . . . soon.
Save me! Save me from this Cross
   that kills!
The yoke is too heavy and my
   heart has cracked.
The dove's woeful cooing
   shrills!
And over my heart scabbed is
   blacked.
Then comes Your Holy Mother
   in Mercy shrined.
And with arms outstretched
   her brightness blind.
She takes my heart and
   makes it whole.
And with her love
   She makes me Thine.
Oh! Thou Blessed Mother
   Take me to He!
For I am heavy burdened
   and sickly grieved.
She smiles joyfully with
   sad eyes teared.
And points to her heart
   where Thine sword pierced.
Again my heart fails and
   I fall toward the dark.
But She catches me before
   all hope is lost.
I cannot! I am nothing.
   I am unable to pay the cost.
My Lord and my God
   Why hast Thou forsaken me?
She pulls me up a ragged hill
   and there I see
You have already carried my Cross
   and for that
They hung You on a Tree.

A Warning

The New York Times has done it again... If you haven't read it, you should, just so you can see how their latest article on Pope Benedict XVI/Cardinal Ratzinger is completely ludicrous, ridiculous, infuriating, and ignorant.

Click here to read it now, but you may want to read this first.

This article only encouraged me to write what I am about to say, and what I have been wanting to say for a long time:

The Church has been corrupt since its foundation. Remember Judas? But we are still One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church founded by Christ and in Christ. Christ knew we were sinners, and in His infinite wisdom, mercy, and love, He established a Divine institution made of imperfect people. Christ was able to take the sin of Judas and use it for the Salvation of the entire world.

Indeed, priests and bishops alike have abused children, teens, and even adults, but that is THEIR own sin. It is NOT the fault of the Pope, or the Catholic Church as a whole. Yes, more action should have been taken early on; the Bishops had all the power they needed in order to handle it. Even the New York Times says so:

"Bishops had a variety of disciplinary tools at their disposal — including the power to remove accused priests from contact with children and to suspend them from ministry altogether — that they could use without the Vatican’s direct approval."

"Some used this authority to sideline abusive priests, minimizing the damage inflicted on their victims. Other bishops clearly made things worse, by shuffling abusers from one assignment to the next, never telling parishioners or reporting priests to the police."

So why isn't the media focusing on the lax and corrupt bishops? Why must they place the sin of others on one man's shoulders? Clearly, one man could fix the mental problems of hundreds of abuser priests and their victims quickly...How can they expect that?

Have they examined how slow our own justice system is, or how corrupt? Many victims lose their livelihood due to our own slow and corrupt court system. Does the media blame Obama? Certainly not...he's a saint!

Pope Benedict XVI has been nothing but humble and sincere throughout these entire scandal proceedings. Has anyone heard him (I mean him, and not some "representative") deny these accusations of the press, even when he knows himself to be innocent? No. He is doing everything in his power to speed this process along, and he asks for forgiveness of all things! How dare he! Come on folks, wake up and smell the incense!

Furthermore, an ordinance from 1922 does not make an innocent man guilty! Talk about staying with the times people...

It is indeed a tragedy that so many priests and religious would stray from the Way. And just as the Pope said, "Mercy does not mean the lack of justice." Their sin is inexcusable, and the effect on their victims is unchangeable. These men will be brough to justice, whether they are dead or alive. However, blaming one man for their transgressions only highlights our fallen human nature and shows that Man has not changed since the time of Christ. We must remove the beam from our own eye, so that we may see clearly to pluck the splinter out of our neighbor's eye.

A message to my fellow Catholics: If the world justice system does bring this to court, it could undermine the entire Church...but only on the surface. The Catholic Church shines most when it is persecuted. Christ on the Cross shows us this simple fact. As members of the Body of Christ, including the Pope, we will continue to suffer until the end of this world and the beginning of the New. So, this time of persecution is a call to arms...spiritual arms. Continue to pray for our Pope and our Priests, and for those who persecute them. Do not lose faith.

A message to those who oppose Christ and and His Church: I want to warn those that wrongly accuse and persecute the Church, because it is more than an institution. It is more than a hierarchy composed of laymen, priests, Bishops, Cardinals, and one Pope. It is the Body of Christ.

YOU WILL NEVER DESTROY THE CHURCH. WE ARE AN ETERNAL BODY. THE POPE MAY BE STRIPPED OF HIS TITLE, BUT HE WILL ALWAYS REMAIN THE POPE. HE WILL CONTINUE TO LEAD US, EVEN IF WE MUST GO UNDERGROUND. YOU CAN DESTROY EVERY CHURCH BUILDING, BUT YOU WILL NEVER DESTROY CHRIST'S BODY. IF YOU SPILL OUR BLOOD, YOU SPILL CHRIST'S BLOOD, BUT WE KNOW THAT THIS BLOOD IS OUR SALVATION. FOR A TIME, IT MAY SEEM AS IF YOU HAVE WON THE BATTLE, BUT YOU WILL NEVER WIN THE WAR. CHRIST HAS ALREADY WON! CHRIST IS RISEN! ALLELUIA!

"Go to Your Room!!!"

For the past few days, I have had the great privilege of playing the role of "Mom" to my three younger siblings, while my parents enjoy five days on a "business" cruise...Of course I have babysat before, but this particular experience has made me rethink the phrase "Go to your room!" When one is still a child, the phrase can have several different meanings. I will number them from least severe to the worst punishment of your young life:

1. You really need to sit on your bed and think about what you just did/said. (What actually happens: The child closes their door sulkily, proceeds to find a book or a toy to play with whilst sitting on said bed, and never actually "thinks" about what they did. In fact, by the time the parent or parental figure arrives to "talk about it", the child has completely forgotten why they were sent there in the first place, and the book/toy is now safely hidden.)

2. Sitting on your bed doing absolutely nothing will render you so miserable that you will never want to do what you just did/said again, and you will be completely repentant. (What actually happens: The scenario from number one is repeated, or the child broods about it for several minutes and is most definitely NOT repentant by the time the parent shows up.)

3. Going to your room and waiting for the parental figure to show up should scare you out of your mind, because you KNOW that you are in big trouble now. [This is the normal meaning for older children.] (What actually happens: Yes, the child is probably scared, because he/she knows they will get a shouting of a lifetime, and maybe some privileges taken away. However, the fear is not half so meaningful as the pride of actually having talked back to the parent and know that the future missing privileges will soon be restored.)

4. This is the ultimate punishment of your life and there is absolutely nothing you can do or say about it. [This is the traditional meaning for most teens.](What actually happens: The teen whose life is now "ruined" must endure the time it takes for the parent to show up and "ruin" their life some more. Most likely, the car, license, or that incredibly awesome party you were supposed to go to will be taken away. It sucks when you're old enough to drive...bigger things can be taken away. Therefore, the teen will most likely have such thoughts as "I can't wait to get out of here," "My parents don't know anything/don't understand me/can't possibly know what I'm going through," or something similar to these.

Now that we have these four basic definitions, I would like to argue that all of these are entirely FALSE! Although, what actually happens DOES happen, but the definitions themselves are misinterpreted by young selfish ears. I realized today when I screamed at my brother, "GO TO YOUR ROOM!" that I didn't mean any of those things I have just listed. In fact, what I meant was: "You are so frustrating that you need to leave before I do something physically violent!" So, I have come to the conclusion that my parents never hated me, misunderstood me, or just wanted to torture me. They were protecting me from themselves. So, kids, when you hear "Go to your room!" don't ask questions or talk back, just do it. Your life may depend on it.