"Now it is a strange thing, but things that are good to have and days that are good to spend are soon told about, and not much to listen to; while things that are uncomfortable, palpitating, and even gruesome, may make a good tale, and take a deal of telling anyway."~J. R. R. Tolkien (in The Hobbit)
Showing posts with label stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stories. Show all posts
uncomfortable, palpitating, and gruesome
At least you have goals...
If you were a fly on the wall in my classroom yesterday, this is what you would have heard:
Me: "So, what happened to (student's name)?"
Student 1: "Oh, he dropped out."
Me: "Oh really, how do you know that, did he tell you?"
Student 2: "No. I saw him in the office filling out his paper work."
Me: "Paperwork?" *intrigued look on my face* "You mean there is paperwork for dropping out? I thought it was just 'dropping out.'"
Student 2: "No. There is this paperwork you need to fill out... your parents just sign it and you can drop out. You have to be 17."
Me: "Hmmm. Did not know that."
Student 2: "Oh yeah. I am planning on dropping out as soon as I turn 17. I am going to be emancipated and then drop out."
silence
Me: "So, how many of you are planning on dropping out?"
More than half of the hands go up.
Student 1: (Who didn't have their hand raised.) "Well, at least you have goals."
Six Dollars and Eighty-Three Cents
During the weeks leading up to the closing on my house, I felt like I was getting slammed left and right by different... somewhat significant... expenses. I wasn't too worried about it because I had done some figuring with my realtor and we had estimated that I was going to get about $1400. I was fine with this amount because the market was down and also because we hadn't owned the house for very long. To walk away with something when I was hearing all sorts of horror stories about people losing thousands... well, my little bit of something didn't sound too bad.
Before I even started fixing my house the fuel pump went out on the van. You can read a little about that by clicking here. After the first few trips to Advanced Auto Parts I was starting to feel the pinch. I told myself, "...God, this is your money. I am trying to be a good steward of this money, but it is yours. If you want me to spend it on a fuel pump, that's OK with me."
Then I broke a shock on the truck so I had to replace that. It was God's money though, I was just the steward.
Then I started on the house: Vents needed installing, there was electrical work that needed to be done, and a cracked window replaced. I tackled the vents and the cracked window myself, but I needed a licensed electrician for the rest. God was so good to me and allowed me to get the work done quickly and efficiently. There was even a guy at the church that did the electrical work for free! (I am seriously endebted to that guy!) But even with the graciousness of friends I still had to shell out a little cash. Each time that I had to make another trip to Lowes, I kept saying, "That's OK... It's God's money." But the total was getting higher and higher and somewhere in the back of my head I kept thinking about how that $1400 was quickly dwindling away to nothing.
I drove the van home... money required. I then flew back... money required. I rented a Penske truck for the actual move... money required. This wasn't looking good.
Then came the day before closing...
I was loading my moving truck and it wasn't looking like it was all going to fit. I was giving things away left and right: frozen food, dry goods, canned goods, old baby stuff... I sold an old jogging stroller for $6. This mom came up and asked how much I wanted.
"How much do you have?" I say.
"I only have six bucks, but I can get more if you need it!"
"Don't worry about it," I tell her, "it pulls a little to the right anyway." So I pocket the $6.
Just moments later the realtor shows up. It was bad news. Our estimates were wrong and it was looking like we were going to have to pay. The first tally sheet came back with me owing $1,993! Whoa! But she tells me that was wrong and the new numbers were being worked by the attorney. It looked like it was going to be around $6 that I owed.
Talk about discouragement. I thought that it was interesting that I had just received $6, but I was still discouraged. As the night progressed, it just got worse. The truck was almost full, and it wasn't going to all fit. I started putting things in the back of my pickup and trying to decide what I could leave behind... the extra mower, the swingset... then my wife reminded me of my little shed that I hadn't emptied yet. I almost cried.
My friend Lee showed up and helped me throw the final items into the pickup truck and tie down a tarp over the top. Since I had to be out the next day, I drove that truck over to his house to park it until I could come back and get it. His family then graciously listened to my bad news and my discouragement, then they prayed for me and... against my wishes... booked us a hotel room and bought us supper. I didn't have the strength to fight it, so I accepted.
Once we were at the hotel and our bellies were filled with Outback Steakhouse Chicken Quesadillas I began to empty my pockets. I dug deep into the one pocket and pulled out the six dollars from the stroller and some change that I had picked up while moving the furniture into the truck. (Every time some little bit of coinage had rolled out, I simply pocketed it.) I counted it out, and left it there on the hotel room table: six dollars and eighty-three cents.
I turned to my wife and said, "Well, I hope that I don't have to owe more than $6.83. That's all I have." We laughed (a little) then silently I prayed to myself, "Well Lord, I really do hope it isn't more than $6.83."
The next morning I drove up to the attorney's office for the closing. I arrived a little early because I wanted to make sure that there wasn't some other mistake and I was actually going to get more money. They worked over the numbers again and it was still not in my favor, but then I looked down at the bottom of the sheet and saw the actual amount that I was going to have to pay.
Six Dollars and Eighty-Three Cents.
I couldn't believe it. I told my wife immediately, but I couldn't stop there. I ended up sharing this with the attorney, both realtors, and the lady buying my house. They were all Christians, so we rejoiced together over the goodness of God! When we got to the end of the closing where I had to pay, I said, "Here you go. This is the money that God gave to me, now I am giving it to you. It's His."
I have to be honest... I needed that $6.83. I was feeling so discouraged, but it was almost like God said, "Matt, I am going to give you everything you need. Not a penny more, but not a penny less. It is your daily bread that I will supply."
In my heart, I would still like to have the $1400, but I wouldn't take it if I had to trade in my six dollars and eighty-three cents story.
Before I even started fixing my house the fuel pump went out on the van. You can read a little about that by clicking here. After the first few trips to Advanced Auto Parts I was starting to feel the pinch. I told myself, "...God, this is your money. I am trying to be a good steward of this money, but it is yours. If you want me to spend it on a fuel pump, that's OK with me."
Then I broke a shock on the truck so I had to replace that. It was God's money though, I was just the steward.
Then I started on the house: Vents needed installing, there was electrical work that needed to be done, and a cracked window replaced. I tackled the vents and the cracked window myself, but I needed a licensed electrician for the rest. God was so good to me and allowed me to get the work done quickly and efficiently. There was even a guy at the church that did the electrical work for free! (I am seriously endebted to that guy!) But even with the graciousness of friends I still had to shell out a little cash. Each time that I had to make another trip to Lowes, I kept saying, "That's OK... It's God's money." But the total was getting higher and higher and somewhere in the back of my head I kept thinking about how that $1400 was quickly dwindling away to nothing.
I drove the van home... money required. I then flew back... money required. I rented a Penske truck for the actual move... money required. This wasn't looking good.
Then came the day before closing...
I was loading my moving truck and it wasn't looking like it was all going to fit. I was giving things away left and right: frozen food, dry goods, canned goods, old baby stuff... I sold an old jogging stroller for $6. This mom came up and asked how much I wanted.
"How much do you have?" I say.
"I only have six bucks, but I can get more if you need it!"
"Don't worry about it," I tell her, "it pulls a little to the right anyway." So I pocket the $6.
Just moments later the realtor shows up. It was bad news. Our estimates were wrong and it was looking like we were going to have to pay. The first tally sheet came back with me owing $1,993! Whoa! But she tells me that was wrong and the new numbers were being worked by the attorney. It looked like it was going to be around $6 that I owed.
Talk about discouragement. I thought that it was interesting that I had just received $6, but I was still discouraged. As the night progressed, it just got worse. The truck was almost full, and it wasn't going to all fit. I started putting things in the back of my pickup and trying to decide what I could leave behind... the extra mower, the swingset... then my wife reminded me of my little shed that I hadn't emptied yet. I almost cried.
My friend Lee showed up and helped me throw the final items into the pickup truck and tie down a tarp over the top. Since I had to be out the next day, I drove that truck over to his house to park it until I could come back and get it. His family then graciously listened to my bad news and my discouragement, then they prayed for me and... against my wishes... booked us a hotel room and bought us supper. I didn't have the strength to fight it, so I accepted.
Once we were at the hotel and our bellies were filled with Outback Steakhouse Chicken Quesadillas I began to empty my pockets. I dug deep into the one pocket and pulled out the six dollars from the stroller and some change that I had picked up while moving the furniture into the truck. (Every time some little bit of coinage had rolled out, I simply pocketed it.) I counted it out, and left it there on the hotel room table: six dollars and eighty-three cents.
I turned to my wife and said, "Well, I hope that I don't have to owe more than $6.83. That's all I have." We laughed (a little) then silently I prayed to myself, "Well Lord, I really do hope it isn't more than $6.83."
The next morning I drove up to the attorney's office for the closing. I arrived a little early because I wanted to make sure that there wasn't some other mistake and I was actually going to get more money. They worked over the numbers again and it was still not in my favor, but then I looked down at the bottom of the sheet and saw the actual amount that I was going to have to pay.
Six Dollars and Eighty-Three Cents.
I couldn't believe it. I told my wife immediately, but I couldn't stop there. I ended up sharing this with the attorney, both realtors, and the lady buying my house. They were all Christians, so we rejoiced together over the goodness of God! When we got to the end of the closing where I had to pay, I said, "Here you go. This is the money that God gave to me, now I am giving it to you. It's His."
I have to be honest... I needed that $6.83. I was feeling so discouraged, but it was almost like God said, "Matt, I am going to give you everything you need. Not a penny more, but not a penny less. It is your daily bread that I will supply."
In my heart, I would still like to have the $1400, but I wouldn't take it if I had to trade in my six dollars and eighty-three cents story.
impressionable
I was talking in class the other day and strayed into a mini-soapbox-rant about effort and grades. (I couldn't be a teacher if I didn't do that every so often.) I was saying something about how those students who are doing well were really working for it, as opposed to those students who were not doing well... There is actually quite a bit more to this speech, so please don't take me out of context...
When I reached my first lull in my rant, one of my students, with a smile on his face, says, "...maybe we could take some extra points off the top of those high grade students and give them to those students who don't have as many points. In my neighborhood, that's called fair."
He's a sophomore.
When I reached my first lull in my rant, one of my students, with a smile on his face, says, "...maybe we could take some extra points off the top of those high grade students and give them to those students who don't have as many points. In my neighborhood, that's called fair."
He's a sophomore.
bloody heck
I went to work last night at the church. Thursday night is office cleaning night, so I hit that first and wrapped it up pretty quickly. In one of the back rooms they where hosting a blood drive, so I was kinda waiting for that to get over so I could mop afterwards. I was on my way to work on one of the other projects on my to do list, just to pass the time, when one of the nurses invited me back to have a cookie. I can't resist a cookie invitation, so I figured I would at least go back and see what they had.
I walked back to the room they were using, and while I was browsing through the cookies I overheard the guy in charge talking about how many people hadn't shown up. They figured that they would show up before the end, but they were getting a little worried. So, being the guy that I am I volunteered right then and there to donate some of my blood.
I had toyed around with the idea a little bit in my head, but didn't really want to do it because of my dread of the needle. I absolutely fear needles, just ask my mom, but the older I get, the more I like to face my fears whenever possible. So I signed up, went through the questionnaire, then sat down in one of those fancy lawn chairs.
My nurse was really nice, and found my vein without any trouble. And even though she used an abnormally large needle, she must have been out of the regular ones, I didn't even flinch when she plunged it into the depths of my arm. I was feeling pretty good about myself as I clenched and unclenched my fist. The large quantities of blood were flowing steadily through that tube and down to the bag at the bottom. I watched that bag of blood rock back and forth, back and forth, keeping it from coagulating. Back and forth, back and forth it rocked. Wow, that looks like a lot of blood coming out of my body. I wonder how much blood a person can have taken out of their body.
I asked the nurse that, but I can't remember what she said.
I was feeling pretty good. Tired, but good as the blood kept filling my donation bag. In fact, I was feeling a little too good. The room seemed a little fuzzy and people started sounding a little like Charlie Brown's teacher. My nurse looked over at me and asked if I was OK. "Fine, good..." I tell her, then she walks away to check on one of the other donors.
A few moments later I start to feel a little light-headed. Not too much, just a little. I lay back and try to focus on the ceiling, instead of my bag of blood. There's no way that I am going to be that guy that has trouble giving blood. Just not gonna happen.
But then it starts to get worse. I started feeling a little fluttery in my chest, like I was trying to convince my heart that, "...no they are not taking too much blood. You're feeling ok. Just keep beating." My heart seemed like it was wavering a little in its trust in me. The air in the room started getting even thicker than it already was, so I finally swallowed my pride, and said, "ma'am... um... I am feeling a little light headed."
Next thing I remember, I am in the midst of the most vivid dream. I know it was vivid, but I couldn't tell you a thing that happened in that dream. What I do remember is looking up and having every nurse in the room around my bed, and for at least four seconds, I had no idea where I was and no clue why these people were staring at me. Then it came flooding back to me: church... offices... cookies... blood... oh yeah...
crap.
"Did I just pass out?"
Nurse reply: "Um, yeah. You could say that."
I guess that not only did I completely lose consciousness, I also seized up. The nurse told me later that she couldn't uncurl my arms to get the needle out. She had called everyone over just because of that. They even had to break the stuff under my nose just to wake me up. I can still remember that burning in my nose as I was exiting that vivid dream.
But the story isn't over yet. Oh no.
Right after I was revived, I started to feel a little nauseous. Thinking that I just needed something to eat I asked for some crackers. I thought that was going to help for a few moments, but then about halfway through the second cracker, I started having trouble chewing it up. The cracker was getting thicker in my mouth as every moment passed. No, no, this isn't happening. I am not going to be the guy who gets sick while donating blood!
I kept fighting it and kept fighting it, but it was getting more and more intense. The urge to hurl was almost all the way up to the back of my throat when I finally caved in and said something to my nurse. "Ma'am. I am not feeling so well."
"Your Stomach?" She says. "Good, if you get that up, you will feel much better. Let me get you a bag."
"A bag? Umm. I think I will be OK. I think it is passing already."
"Well here, why don't you hold this bag, just to make sure. It is really ok. We are all used to this happening."
hmm... "Well, I am not exactly used to puking in front of people. I don't know if I am ok with this. Do you mind if I just walk down to the bathroom real quick?"
"No. I am sorry, but we can't let you leave until your vitals get back up to normal."
Vitals!?! Did she say vitals?! "Alright, let me hold the bag. I probably won't..."
Then it happened. As discretely as possible, from my little donation bed I hurled out of the corner of my mouth. Not once, mind you, four times. Me trying to act like I hadn't just done that between each of the regurgitations. Then I had to pass
the bag off and have one of the nurses say in her sweetest, most nursy voice, "You all done now? You feeling better? Here's a little wet paper towel for ya.. There now." And each of my responses was a whimpering, "mm...hmm..."
It is really hard to act tough when you just passed out, upchucked, and now a nurse is patting your head.
After all of that happened, I found out that I didn't even donate enough blood for them to keep. But they did give me two t-shirts and I got an extra cookie.
I walked back to the room they were using, and while I was browsing through the cookies I overheard the guy in charge talking about how many people hadn't shown up. They figured that they would show up before the end, but they were getting a little worried. So, being the guy that I am I volunteered right then and there to donate some of my blood.
I had toyed around with the idea a little bit in my head, but didn't really want to do it because of my dread of the needle. I absolutely fear needles, just ask my mom, but the older I get, the more I like to face my fears whenever possible. So I signed up, went through the questionnaire, then sat down in one of those fancy lawn chairs.
My nurse was really nice, and found my vein without any trouble. And even though she used an abnormally large needle, she must have been out of the regular ones, I didn't even flinch when she plunged it into the depths of my arm. I was feeling pretty good about myself as I clenched and unclenched my fist. The large quantities of blood were flowing steadily through that tube and down to the bag at the bottom. I watched that bag of blood rock back and forth, back and forth, keeping it from coagulating. Back and forth, back and forth it rocked. Wow, that looks like a lot of blood coming out of my body. I wonder how much blood a person can have taken out of their body.
I asked the nurse that, but I can't remember what she said.
I was feeling pretty good. Tired, but good as the blood kept filling my donation bag. In fact, I was feeling a little too good. The room seemed a little fuzzy and people started sounding a little like Charlie Brown's teacher. My nurse looked over at me and asked if I was OK. "Fine, good..." I tell her, then she walks away to check on one of the other donors.
A few moments later I start to feel a little light-headed. Not too much, just a little. I lay back and try to focus on the ceiling, instead of my bag of blood. There's no way that I am going to be that guy that has trouble giving blood. Just not gonna happen.
But then it starts to get worse. I started feeling a little fluttery in my chest, like I was trying to convince my heart that, "...no they are not taking too much blood. You're feeling ok. Just keep beating." My heart seemed like it was wavering a little in its trust in me. The air in the room started getting even thicker than it already was, so I finally swallowed my pride, and said, "ma'am... um... I am feeling a little light headed."
Next thing I remember, I am in the midst of the most vivid dream. I know it was vivid, but I couldn't tell you a thing that happened in that dream. What I do remember is looking up and having every nurse in the room around my bed, and for at least four seconds, I had no idea where I was and no clue why these people were staring at me. Then it came flooding back to me: church... offices... cookies... blood... oh yeah...
crap.
"Did I just pass out?"
Nurse reply: "Um, yeah. You could say that."
I guess that not only did I completely lose consciousness, I also seized up. The nurse told me later that she couldn't uncurl my arms to get the needle out. She had called everyone over just because of that. They even had to break the stuff under my nose just to wake me up. I can still remember that burning in my nose as I was exiting that vivid dream.
But the story isn't over yet. Oh no.
Right after I was revived, I started to feel a little nauseous. Thinking that I just needed something to eat I asked for some crackers. I thought that was going to help for a few moments, but then about halfway through the second cracker, I started having trouble chewing it up. The cracker was getting thicker in my mouth as every moment passed. No, no, this isn't happening. I am not going to be the guy who gets sick while donating blood!
I kept fighting it and kept fighting it, but it was getting more and more intense. The urge to hurl was almost all the way up to the back of my throat when I finally caved in and said something to my nurse. "Ma'am. I am not feeling so well."
"Your Stomach?" She says. "Good, if you get that up, you will feel much better. Let me get you a bag."
"A bag? Umm. I think I will be OK. I think it is passing already."
"Well here, why don't you hold this bag, just to make sure. It is really ok. We are all used to this happening."
hmm... "Well, I am not exactly used to puking in front of people. I don't know if I am ok with this. Do you mind if I just walk down to the bathroom real quick?"
"No. I am sorry, but we can't let you leave until your vitals get back up to normal."
Vitals!?! Did she say vitals?! "Alright, let me hold the bag. I probably won't..."
Then it happened. As discretely as possible, from my little donation bed I hurled out of the corner of my mouth. Not once, mind you, four times. Me trying to act like I hadn't just done that between each of the regurgitations. Then I had to pass
the bag off and have one of the nurses say in her sweetest, most nursy voice, "You all done now? You feeling better? Here's a little wet paper towel for ya.. There now." And each of my responses was a whimpering, "mm...hmm..."It is really hard to act tough when you just passed out, upchucked, and now a nurse is patting your head.
After all of that happened, I found out that I didn't even donate enough blood for them to keep. But they did give me two t-shirts and I got an extra cookie.
The Post I Have to Write
This is the post that I have to write before I can get back to blogging. It is not going to be an eloquent post; I just have some things that I need to say before I can get back to the blog world. It might be a little long, I am not sure yet, I just sat down to type it. So, bear with me, if you like.
This last year has been a hard year. I have had other hard years in my life, none of which I have discussed on my blog. In fact, I started this blog at the beginning of one of those tough years, but I am not discussing those years now. I need to talk about this year.
It all started around Christmas of 2005. I had decided to leave my job at Shannon Forest Christian School (for reasons that I will not discuss right now, because they have little to do with this post), and I was now in the market for a new job.
I began the job search, the first of many job searches, and was coming up short. I almost went to another Christian School, but decided against it at the last minute. I even had the contract in my hands but decided that it would be best not to do this (also for reasons that I will not discuss right now...).
I ended up deciding to stick with my summer job at the moving company, because it paid very well most of the time. In fact, it paid so well that I could make in a week what I was making in a month at the school. I took this job and felt so confident that I bought a house and took a vacation.
When I got back from the vacation, that is when things started to slide. They were having trouble finding moving jobs for me to do over the road, so I spent some time doing some local moves. It was ok at first, but not enough to pay the bills. This began my second job search. A job search that I had never completely abandoned from the first time.
I began to have a whole new compassion for the jobless. Oh, there are plenty of jobs out there, if you want to make $10/hr. and have no benefits. Oh yeah, there are a hundred jobs like that, but that just won't cut it if you are trying to take care of a family and pay a mortgage.
I was getting desperate. I was coming up with all kinds of ways that I could take two of those mediocre jobs and just work all of the time. I told my boss at the moving company that I needed work. Lots of it, but it was one of the slowest winters that they had experienced in 15 years or so. There just weren't any jobs, and the ones that they found had been discounted so much that by the time I paid for fuel and labor (and slept in the cab of my truck to save on hotel expenses), I was not getting any money. Once I got back from Buffalo, NY, moving someone up there and picking someone up and taking them back down south, and my paycheck was only about $100. More than a week's worth of hard labor, 15 to 20 hour days, sleeping in the cab of a truck at rest stops, and all I got was $100. Not worth it.
It is very challenging as a man to not be able to provide for your family. I was in the middle of a third job hunt in December. We had not missed any bills, but our savings was trickling down to nothing. I had already gone for two weeks of December with no paycheck, but it was looking like I might get one the Friday before Christmas. I had just gotten back from a trip that took me from home to Wilmington, NC to New Jersey to a town near Boston, Massachusetts to New Paltz, NY and then back to North Carolina. I had spent most of the time working and sleeping in my truck. I had not wasted any money, so I thought for sure I would make something on this one. The moving company had made an error on my insurance though, and had not been taking enough out of each paycheck. They decided to take the rest out the Friday before Christmas. My paycheck that week... $0.
I knew I had to do whatever it took to survive, but before I started selling my blood or one of my kidneys, I decided to try the Public School System. They gave me a job right away. And after a full semester here, I know why. (I won't go into my public school experiences right now, because it also doesn't have a lot to do with the story.)
Anyway, if you are still with me, I took the job and started January 3rd. Unfortunately, if things weren't bad enough already, it just so happens that the way payroll worked out, I wouldn't get my first paycheck from the school until the end of January. Frustrating.
Now, here I am. Last month I took a job at the Christian School that I almost went to last year. I just replaced my septic system. (Which was an absolute miracle how we got the money for that one. We were able to pay in cash, and I would love to tell the donor, but I don't think that they want to be mentioned.) and my wife is going in for surgery next week.
I have told you all of this to tell you that through it all, God has been good. I have seen Him work in many ways to provide for us, but more importantly I have seen Him grow me and my wife in faith.
That is what this is really all about anyway. And when I say "this" what I really mean is all of this. The whole thing, not just my situation or my post. In the book of Romans, we get a glimpse of what God's goal is in everything. It says, "we know that God works all things together for good ... (for those of us who are truly Christians) to be conformed to the image of His son." Everything that God does (or allows) is all to be worked towards making you like Jesus.
This last year has been a hard year. I have had other hard years in my life, none of which I have discussed on my blog. In fact, I started this blog at the beginning of one of those tough years, but I am not discussing those years now. I need to talk about this year.
It all started around Christmas of 2005. I had decided to leave my job at Shannon Forest Christian School (for reasons that I will not discuss right now, because they have little to do with this post), and I was now in the market for a new job.
I began the job search, the first of many job searches, and was coming up short. I almost went to another Christian School, but decided against it at the last minute. I even had the contract in my hands but decided that it would be best not to do this (also for reasons that I will not discuss right now...).
I ended up deciding to stick with my summer job at the moving company, because it paid very well most of the time. In fact, it paid so well that I could make in a week what I was making in a month at the school. I took this job and felt so confident that I bought a house and took a vacation.
When I got back from the vacation, that is when things started to slide. They were having trouble finding moving jobs for me to do over the road, so I spent some time doing some local moves. It was ok at first, but not enough to pay the bills. This began my second job search. A job search that I had never completely abandoned from the first time.
I began to have a whole new compassion for the jobless. Oh, there are plenty of jobs out there, if you want to make $10/hr. and have no benefits. Oh yeah, there are a hundred jobs like that, but that just won't cut it if you are trying to take care of a family and pay a mortgage.
I was getting desperate. I was coming up with all kinds of ways that I could take two of those mediocre jobs and just work all of the time. I told my boss at the moving company that I needed work. Lots of it, but it was one of the slowest winters that they had experienced in 15 years or so. There just weren't any jobs, and the ones that they found had been discounted so much that by the time I paid for fuel and labor (and slept in the cab of my truck to save on hotel expenses), I was not getting any money. Once I got back from Buffalo, NY, moving someone up there and picking someone up and taking them back down south, and my paycheck was only about $100. More than a week's worth of hard labor, 15 to 20 hour days, sleeping in the cab of a truck at rest stops, and all I got was $100. Not worth it.
It is very challenging as a man to not be able to provide for your family. I was in the middle of a third job hunt in December. We had not missed any bills, but our savings was trickling down to nothing. I had already gone for two weeks of December with no paycheck, but it was looking like I might get one the Friday before Christmas. I had just gotten back from a trip that took me from home to Wilmington, NC to New Jersey to a town near Boston, Massachusetts to New Paltz, NY and then back to North Carolina. I had spent most of the time working and sleeping in my truck. I had not wasted any money, so I thought for sure I would make something on this one. The moving company had made an error on my insurance though, and had not been taking enough out of each paycheck. They decided to take the rest out the Friday before Christmas. My paycheck that week... $0.
I knew I had to do whatever it took to survive, but before I started selling my blood or one of my kidneys, I decided to try the Public School System. They gave me a job right away. And after a full semester here, I know why. (I won't go into my public school experiences right now, because it also doesn't have a lot to do with the story.)
Anyway, if you are still with me, I took the job and started January 3rd. Unfortunately, if things weren't bad enough already, it just so happens that the way payroll worked out, I wouldn't get my first paycheck from the school until the end of January. Frustrating.
Now, here I am. Last month I took a job at the Christian School that I almost went to last year. I just replaced my septic system. (Which was an absolute miracle how we got the money for that one. We were able to pay in cash, and I would love to tell the donor, but I don't think that they want to be mentioned.) and my wife is going in for surgery next week.
I have told you all of this to tell you that through it all, God has been good. I have seen Him work in many ways to provide for us, but more importantly I have seen Him grow me and my wife in faith.
That is what this is really all about anyway. And when I say "this" what I really mean is all of this. The whole thing, not just my situation or my post. In the book of Romans, we get a glimpse of what God's goal is in everything. It says, "we know that God works all things together for good ... (for those of us who are truly Christians) to be conformed to the image of His son." Everything that God does (or allows) is all to be worked towards making you like Jesus.
dang
Well, I was on my way home the other day, and I just so happened to run into somebody new. Quite Literally. About four cars up these two kids ran out into the road, and caused someone to slam on their brakes. Well, then the next three cars slammed on their brakes, and mathematically the reaction times will inevitably get a little more delayed with each person. Unfortunately the person in front of me had a much newer vehicle, with much better brakes. When they hit it, they stopped on a dime. My truck, as much as I love it, doesn't quite stop on a dime. I am not even sure it stops on a quarter.
The thing that surprised me most was that the officer (when he arrived almost 2 hours later) gave me a ticket. I guess that the circumstances don't matter that much, if you are the unfortunate guy in the back, you will get blamed.
There isn't that much damage to either vehicle, and we are will an insurance company that has accident forgiveness (thank you to my wife for signing us up for that). So, it isn't going to hurt us that bad. Other than the fact that I still have to pay this ticket and my truck is dinged up now. Oh Well.
Here is another picture, from a different view.
I fell.
I fell down today.
Normally that wouldn't be such a big deal, but I landed on a wardrobe bar. (Pictured to the right.) When I stood up, I didn't think that I had hurt myself that bad, but then I started seeing drops of blood all over everything in my truck. After I bled down the hallway in the office where I work, I soon realized that the office staff had come to the consensus that I needed to have it looked at.
I fought against it for awhile, but when I couldn't get it to stop bleeding, I knew that I had to go. So, my 8-year-old son may have gotten stitches at a younger age, but now we are both part of the stitches club. I even got stitched up in the same room that he did.
Unfortunately I also had to get a tetanus shot. (Yes, that is how you spell tetanus! Look it up if you don't believe me!) The shot was rather painful, especially for a guy who doesn't like shots, and they say that my arm is going to be really sore for the next few days.
Mostly I am posting about this because I am a blogger. And bloggers think about blogging at all times and in all situations. We also keep our camera phones with us so we can illustrate all of these situations. So, I couldn't wait to post the pre-stitched photos. Here they are: Gash Picture #1 and
Gash Picture #2
Normally that wouldn't be such a big deal, but I landed on a wardrobe bar. (Pictured to the right.) When I stood up, I didn't think that I had hurt myself that bad, but then I started seeing drops of blood all over everything in my truck. After I bled down the hallway in the office where I work, I soon realized that the office staff had come to the consensus that I needed to have it looked at.I fought against it for awhile, but when I couldn't get it to stop bleeding, I knew that I had to go. So, my 8-year-old son may have gotten stitches at a younger age, but now we are both part of the stitches club. I even got stitched up in the same room that he did.
Unfortunately I also had to get a tetanus shot. (Yes, that is how you spell tetanus! Look it up if you don't believe me!) The shot was rather painful, especially for a guy who doesn't like shots, and they say that my arm is going to be really sore for the next few days.Mostly I am posting about this because I am a blogger. And bloggers think about blogging at all times and in all situations. We also keep our camera phones with us so we can illustrate all of these situations. So, I couldn't wait to post the pre-stitched photos. Here they are: Gash Picture #1 and
Gash Picture #2
The Lawn Mower Man
(It is a "moving" story...)
I was in Jacksonville, MS. I was almost done unloading a 10,000 lb. shipment (which is a story in itself), when my boss calls me. He tells me that there is another driver that has an overflow. (For you non-truck drivers, an overflow is when everything that is supposed to fit on the truck, doesn't fit.)
The other driver had relayed to my boss that there were just a few items left over, nothing that one person couldn't get by himself. He also said that everything was moved to the garage. Sounded easy.
And it would have been easy if this other driver had actually been telling the truth.
I didn't arrive at the residence, which was way down near the coast, not too far from New Orleans, until about ten at night. Now remember, I had already unloaded an entire shipment of stuff, then I had spent nearly five hours driving to this location. To be completely honest, I was pretty tired before I had even arrived, but I kept telling myself that it was just a little bit of stuff. Nothing too difficult for a mover like me!
So, like I said, I pulled in about ten that night. Oh sure, everything was in the garage, but it was a three car garage! And it was full! There were a couple of dressers and an entertainment center, two entire lawn furniture sets, several pieces of exercise equipment, etc., etc., tons of stuff! I couldn't even begin to tell you how much stuff was there. The picture that I have here barely does it justice. All I can say is that it ended up being 4,500 lbs. worth. (That is about a half a truck load.)
I couldn't believe it. Right after I pulled up to the house, the owner came out and said, "Well, I gotta get to bed. Good luck. See you later."
Umm, yeah. Sure. I'll get all of this up here.
So, I started working. One piece at time I moved all of that stuff up there. I called upon all of my many moving skills to tote, drag, and roll everything up that ramp. Until...
It was about one in the morning. I had been ignoring it the entire time, glancing at it out of the corner of my eye, but ineveitably I had to deal with it. It wasn't a little riding mower, it was one of the big ones -- heavy duty stuff here. I thought that I could push it up the ramp. I have done that before with much smaller mowers. Didn't work. Then I thought that I might be able to pull it up the ramp, so I tied a strap onto it and I was able to get it about half way up, but then I had visions of it rolling back down the ramp and crashing through the back of the garage. I quickly rolled it back down.
Then I said to myself, "I am smart guy. I know geometry, calculus, advanced mathematics... I can figure this out." I stood there for about 10 minutes, and right before I dozed off in that standing position, the solution hit me.
I want you to know that I am posting this video, knowing that I will be made fun of for this. Please take into consideration that I had been awake since about 5:50 that morning, and it was now about 1:30 the next morning. I tied two straps onto the mower, and as I tightened the straps, it gradually pulled the mower up the ramp.
All I can say is that the mower made it up there. After it was in the truck, I quickly strapped it off and drove to the nearest hotel.
I was in Jacksonville, MS. I was almost done unloading a 10,000 lb. shipment (which is a story in itself), when my boss calls me. He tells me that there is another driver that has an overflow. (For you non-truck drivers, an overflow is when everything that is supposed to fit on the truck, doesn't fit.)
The other driver had relayed to my boss that there were just a few items left over, nothing that one person couldn't get by himself. He also said that everything was moved to the garage. Sounded easy.
And it would have been easy if this other driver had actually been telling the truth.
I didn't arrive at the residence, which was way down near the coast, not too far from New Orleans, until about ten at night. Now remember, I had already unloaded an entire shipment of stuff, then I had spent nearly five hours driving to this location. To be completely honest, I was pretty tired before I had even arrived, but I kept telling myself that it was just a little bit of stuff. Nothing too difficult for a mover like me!
So, like I said, I pulled in about ten that night. Oh sure, everything was in the garage, but it was a three car garage! And it was full! There were a couple of dressers and an entertainment center, two entire lawn furniture sets, several pieces of exercise equipment, etc., etc., tons of stuff! I couldn't even begin to tell you how much stuff was there. The picture that I have here barely does it justice. All I can say is that it ended up being 4,500 lbs. worth. (That is about a half a truck load.)I couldn't believe it. Right after I pulled up to the house, the owner came out and said, "Well, I gotta get to bed. Good luck. See you later."
Umm, yeah. Sure. I'll get all of this up here.
So, I started working. One piece at time I moved all of that stuff up there. I called upon all of my many moving skills to tote, drag, and roll everything up that ramp. Until...
It was about one in the morning. I had been ignoring it the entire time, glancing at it out of the corner of my eye, but ineveitably I had to deal with it. It wasn't a little riding mower, it was one of the big ones -- heavy duty stuff here. I thought that I could push it up the ramp. I have done that before with much smaller mowers. Didn't work. Then I thought that I might be able to pull it up the ramp, so I tied a strap onto it and I was able to get it about half way up, but then I had visions of it rolling back down the ramp and crashing through the back of the garage. I quickly rolled it back down.
Then I said to myself, "I am smart guy. I know geometry, calculus, advanced mathematics... I can figure this out." I stood there for about 10 minutes, and right before I dozed off in that standing position, the solution hit me.
I want you to know that I am posting this video, knowing that I will be made fun of for this. Please take into consideration that I had been awake since about 5:50 that morning, and it was now about 1:30 the next morning. I tied two straps onto the mower, and as I tightened the straps, it gradually pulled the mower up the ramp.
All I can say is that the mower made it up there. After it was in the truck, I quickly strapped it off and drove to the nearest hotel.
hatchet boy
So I have this giant tree in my back yard.
It wasn't looking too healthy, so I had this guy come over and cut it down.
I thought to myself, "Great. This works out good for me, I have a fireplace in my new house, I ought to be able to use all of this wood. No need to have it hauled off. I will just split it, stack it, and this winter, life will be golden."
So, today I went off and with a little bit of my birthday money and my handy-dandy Lowe's card, I purchased some of the tools that I thought I would need to start splitting this wood. One of the tools that I purchased was a small one-handed hatchet.
(I didn't know if I would actually need this tool or not, but it seemed like a smart choice at the time, so I added it to the cart.)
Once I got home, I immediately set to work on the wood. I was feeling pretty manly and all, I was splitting wood with my axe, I had a fire going in the fire pit, I was profusely sweating, and drinking a (non-diet) coke. Oh yeah... A real man.
My sons watched me splinter through a couple of logs as if I had been doing this my whole life, but they weren't as impressed or as interested as I thought they would be. My 4-year old immediately went off to look at bugs or something, but the 8-year old spyed the little hatchet.
His keen, intuitive mind immediately deduced that this smaller version of the axe that I was using, must be for him...
Ok. So giving a hatchet to an 8-year old is never a good idea, no matter how manly you are feeling.
Don't worry. The injury was minor, it only required a trip to an urgent care clinic and some stitches. That isn't that big of a deal, right? I mean, every kid has to stick a hatchet in his big toe at least once in his lifetime. Sam just got it out of the way early.
I have to say, he was very brave through the whole process. Mommy wasn't there to be with him (...which, her being out of town, might have something to do with how we got ourselves into this mess to begin with...), but he took it like a man. The only time he started to cry was when they gave him the shot to numb it. He is a tough kid when he needs to be.
Right now I think that he is actually enjoying the attention that he is getting. He is all propped up on the couch, watching a movie and eating Double Stuff Oreos with some milk.
His official new nickname is hatchet-boy. At least that is what he will be called until he becomes hammer-boy or bike-wreck-boy.
(If you are really interested, click
here to see the pre-stitched toe, and here to see the post-stitched toe.)
It wasn't looking too healthy, so I had this guy come over and cut it down.
I thought to myself, "Great. This works out good for me, I have a fireplace in my new house, I ought to be able to use all of this wood. No need to have it hauled off. I will just split it, stack it, and this winter, life will be golden."
So, today I went off and with a little bit of my birthday money and my handy-dandy Lowe's card, I purchased some of the tools that I thought I would need to start splitting this wood. One of the tools that I purchased was a small one-handed hatchet. (I didn't know if I would actually need this tool or not, but it seemed like a smart choice at the time, so I added it to the cart.)
Once I got home, I immediately set to work on the wood. I was feeling pretty manly and all, I was splitting wood with my axe, I had a fire going in the fire pit, I was profusely sweating, and drinking a (non-diet) coke. Oh yeah... A real man.
My sons watched me splinter through a couple of logs as if I had been doing this my whole life, but they weren't as impressed or as interested as I thought they would be. My 4-year old immediately went off to look at bugs or something, but the 8-year old spyed the little hatchet.
His keen, intuitive mind immediately deduced that this smaller version of the axe that I was using, must be for him...
Ok. So giving a hatchet to an 8-year old is never a good idea, no matter how manly you are feeling.
Don't worry. The injury was minor, it only required a trip to an urgent care clinic and some stitches. That isn't that big of a deal, right? I mean, every kid has to stick a hatchet in his big toe at least once in his lifetime. Sam just got it out of the way early.
I have to say, he was very brave through the whole process. Mommy wasn't there to be with him (...which, her being out of town, might have something to do with how we got ourselves into this mess to begin with...), but he took it like a man. The only time he started to cry was when they gave him the shot to numb it. He is a tough kid when he needs to be.
Right now I think that he is actually enjoying the attention that he is getting. He is all propped up on the couch, watching a movie and eating Double Stuff Oreos with some milk.
His official new nickname is hatchet-boy. At least that is what he will be called until he becomes hammer-boy or bike-wreck-boy.
(If you are really interested, click
here to see the pre-stitched toe, and here to see the post-stitched toe.)
the question
We were on the shores once again. The fire was going, the fish were cooking, it was almost like it had never happened, but we all knew that it had happened. They had killed him, we had seen it. But there he was, just sitting there in front of the fire, conversing with us about our families, the weather, and our futures. And on top of everything else, he had cooked us breakfast!
After the meal, I hung around the fire just to be close to him. I just wanted to hear his voice. It was a voice that was filled with confidence, and could fill with confidence. It was a voice that made me think that I could go to the ends of the earth for him. It was a voice that could make me tremble when my heart was filled with pride. And it was a voice that could soothe my shaking heart when it was loaded with doubt. I wanted to dwell in that voice and have its sole attention. But right now his eye was on someone else. And I knew that before long that voice would be directed toward Simon.
I listened in.
Peter knew this word, this LOVE. This unconditional LOVE that he had claimed to have for the Christ. This LOVE that Jesus had demonstrated to us time and again in his life and ultimately through his death. Oh yeah, Peter knew that word for LOVE.
I almost went over there at Peter's response. A simple statement of a warm brotherly love was all that he could come up with. I wanted to grab him and say, "c'mon, Peter, you know you have more passion about him than any of the rest of us." But Peter didn't even look up to meet his gaze. He was ashamed of what had happened, and we all knew it. I wish that he had just glanced up into the face of Christ. Jesus' face was filled with compassion, and his reply, though quiet, shouted volumes.
Peter shifted uneasily. I wasn't sure if he understood what was happening. Jesus wasn't done with him yet. Oh, Peter thought that he had blown it for good, but like usual, Jesus just didn't see things that way. There was a place for him. A job to be done.
This time Peter flinched. Then he said,
But his expression said, "Yes, Lord, you know that there is an affection there... But I'm useless! I denied you. How could you..." But before he could utter another sound, Jesus puts it out there again:
Jesus leaned in a little toward Peter. The tone of his voice was reassuring. It whispered, "The job is still here, Peter, my rock. The job is still here."
I felt like my heart would break, and I could see the hurt in Peter's eyes. This time Jesus had changed his word. No longer asking for the unconditional love, now a simple request for a warm tenderness. It was almost as if Jesus had said, "alright... I know where you are. But I also know that I still LOVE you and want to use you." His compassion is overwhelming.
The rest of the time that I knew Peter, I would hear him mumble under his breath, so lightly I could barely hear it, "Yes, Lord, I love you." Never with the unconditional love, but always with the brotherly love. But I have heard tell that from his cross, his last words were, "Yes, Lord, I LOVE you."
Since that day, the question has continued to come. Not only to Peter, but to all of us who are now called Christians. It comes when we are being persecuted for our faith. It comes loud and clear when we are being tried and convicted. It comes quietly when things just don't go our way.
He asks us again and again,
After the meal, I hung around the fire just to be close to him. I just wanted to hear his voice. It was a voice that was filled with confidence, and could fill with confidence. It was a voice that made me think that I could go to the ends of the earth for him. It was a voice that could make me tremble when my heart was filled with pride. And it was a voice that could soothe my shaking heart when it was loaded with doubt. I wanted to dwell in that voice and have its sole attention. But right now his eye was on someone else. And I knew that before long that voice would be directed toward Simon.
I listened in.
"Simon son of John, do you truly LOVE me more than these?"
Peter knew this word, this LOVE. This unconditional LOVE that he had claimed to have for the Christ. This LOVE that Jesus had demonstrated to us time and again in his life and ultimately through his death. Oh yeah, Peter knew that word for LOVE.
"Yes, Lord, you know that I love you."
I almost went over there at Peter's response. A simple statement of a warm brotherly love was all that he could come up with. I wanted to grab him and say, "c'mon, Peter, you know you have more passion about him than any of the rest of us." But Peter didn't even look up to meet his gaze. He was ashamed of what had happened, and we all knew it. I wish that he had just glanced up into the face of Christ. Jesus' face was filled with compassion, and his reply, though quiet, shouted volumes.
"Feed my lambs."
Peter shifted uneasily. I wasn't sure if he understood what was happening. Jesus wasn't done with him yet. Oh, Peter thought that he had blown it for good, but like usual, Jesus just didn't see things that way. There was a place for him. A job to be done.
"Simon son of John, do you truly LOVE me?"
This time Peter flinched. Then he said,
"Yes, Lord, you know that I love you."
But his expression said, "Yes, Lord, you know that there is an affection there... But I'm useless! I denied you. How could you..." But before he could utter another sound, Jesus puts it out there again:
"Take care of my sheep."
Jesus leaned in a little toward Peter. The tone of his voice was reassuring. It whispered, "The job is still here, Peter, my rock. The job is still here."
"Simon son of John, do you love me?"
I felt like my heart would break, and I could see the hurt in Peter's eyes. This time Jesus had changed his word. No longer asking for the unconditional love, now a simple request for a warm tenderness. It was almost as if Jesus had said, "alright... I know where you are. But I also know that I still LOVE you and want to use you." His compassion is overwhelming.
"Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you."
"Feed my sheep."
The rest of the time that I knew Peter, I would hear him mumble under his breath, so lightly I could barely hear it, "Yes, Lord, I love you." Never with the unconditional love, but always with the brotherly love. But I have heard tell that from his cross, his last words were, "Yes, Lord, I LOVE you."
Since that day, the question has continued to come. Not only to Peter, but to all of us who are now called Christians. It comes when we are being persecuted for our faith. It comes loud and clear when we are being tried and convicted. It comes quietly when things just don't go our way.
He asks us again and again,
"do you LOVE me?"
Sick Joke -- Sick Kid
Last Friday was my wife's birthday.
And being her 30th birthday, I really wanted to make it special. Now, I know what special means for me, but for her it is a slightly different story. She loves the party. The get-together. The social event. So I began to plan.
At first I didn't think that I was going to be able to pull it together. I am not much of a party-planner. But then I called upon her good friend, Julie, a.k.a. the youth Pastor's Wife. Everybody that was going to go to the party was going to rsvp to Julie, and she would then tell them what to bring. Nicole also volunteered to help by organizing the child care. And I convinced my good friend Jonathan to pick up the tables and chairs for me. Things were going good.
The day of the party came and I left the school to go buy some last minute items. Because of the traffic it took me longer than I anticipated. I made it home about 20 minutes later than I expected. I called the babysitter and asked her to pick up some McDonalds on the way to the house to feed the kids. We finally got on the road about 25 minutes later than the plan.
All of the guests were going to meet at the Church just down the road and wait for the van to drive by. Once we drove past the church, I knew that my whole goal was to take my time. I started by getting some gas at the friendly neighborhood Meijer Gas Station. I took as long as I could. I then began to weave my way to through the town, slowly but surely. At every turn my wife thought that I was going to this restaurant or that one.
Finally the call came. The babysitter says, "Son 1 just threw up." Through the course of the deception that I was weaving, we turned the van around and started heading back. The atmosphere in the van was full of concern, frustration, and depression. And slowly we weaved our way back through the town.
When we finally get to the house, my wife goes inside and and nobody is there. The babysitter calls from the basement, saying that Son 1 is down there. And even though my wife thinks that it is weird that her sick child is in the basement, she heads down there. As she rounds the corner, she sees a table with balloons, and thinks that is weird, but still she is looking for her sick child. She turns the other way and right there in front of her are several of her best friends saying, "surprise!"
Everything turned out great. The surprise was successful. The party was fun. My wife was pleased. But then it happened...
The trick to get my wife back to the house backfired. Saturday, Son 1 got sick. Sunday morning at 3:30 am I found myself in the van driving Son 1 to the E.R. He ended up needing an I.V. (which he was very brave during that process). And by Monday we found out that he had Mono. Today we also realized that he has a cold on top of everything else.
Last night I went in to see him. He was curled up in a little ball, his legs bent up underneath him. I thought he was asleep until I saw that his eyes were open. I bent over and said, "how you feeling, buddy?" Without changing his gaze, he said in a his shaky little voice, "...bad."
Oh, my heart sank. That's what I get for making my wife think that he was sick all the way back through the traffic of Lafayette!
And being her 30th birthday, I really wanted to make it special. Now, I know what special means for me, but for her it is a slightly different story. She loves the party. The get-together. The social event. So I began to plan.
At first I didn't think that I was going to be able to pull it together. I am not much of a party-planner. But then I called upon her good friend, Julie, a.k.a. the youth Pastor's Wife. Everybody that was going to go to the party was going to rsvp to Julie, and she would then tell them what to bring. Nicole also volunteered to help by organizing the child care. And I convinced my good friend Jonathan to pick up the tables and chairs for me. Things were going good.
The day of the party came and I left the school to go buy some last minute items. Because of the traffic it took me longer than I anticipated. I made it home about 20 minutes later than I expected. I called the babysitter and asked her to pick up some McDonalds on the way to the house to feed the kids. We finally got on the road about 25 minutes later than the plan.
All of the guests were going to meet at the Church just down the road and wait for the van to drive by. Once we drove past the church, I knew that my whole goal was to take my time. I started by getting some gas at the friendly neighborhood Meijer Gas Station. I took as long as I could. I then began to weave my way to through the town, slowly but surely. At every turn my wife thought that I was going to this restaurant or that one.
Finally the call came. The babysitter says, "Son 1 just threw up." Through the course of the deception that I was weaving, we turned the van around and started heading back. The atmosphere in the van was full of concern, frustration, and depression. And slowly we weaved our way back through the town.
When we finally get to the house, my wife goes inside and and nobody is there. The babysitter calls from the basement, saying that Son 1 is down there. And even though my wife thinks that it is weird that her sick child is in the basement, she heads down there. As she rounds the corner, she sees a table with balloons, and thinks that is weird, but still she is looking for her sick child. She turns the other way and right there in front of her are several of her best friends saying, "surprise!"
Everything turned out great. The surprise was successful. The party was fun. My wife was pleased. But then it happened...
The trick to get my wife back to the house backfired. Saturday, Son 1 got sick. Sunday morning at 3:30 am I found myself in the van driving Son 1 to the E.R. He ended up needing an I.V. (which he was very brave during that process). And by Monday we found out that he had Mono. Today we also realized that he has a cold on top of everything else.
Last night I went in to see him. He was curled up in a little ball, his legs bent up underneath him. I thought he was asleep until I saw that his eyes were open. I bent over and said, "how you feeling, buddy?" Without changing his gaze, he said in a his shaky little voice, "...bad."
Oh, my heart sank. That's what I get for making my wife think that he was sick all the way back through the traffic of Lafayette!
fallen
The soldier slumped to one knee. He was wounded and he was tired. But he was not just tired from the day's battle, which was far from over, but from the war itself. It seemed that his whole life he had been about this war. Don't misunderstand, it was a war that he knew needed to be fought, there was no doubt about that, but this war had enveloped his whole life. And he was tired of it, soul-tired.
There was a lull in the battle, the main excursion had moved to other parts of the field, which had given the soldier a moment to contemplate. But he knew it was worthless to contemplate for long. The enemy would be back, they were strong and fierce, and without fear.
He attempted to rise, using his sword as a cane. He knew that he needed to get back on his feet because the ground was beginning to tremble from the onrush of the barbarian horde. Once he was standing, he straightened his back, and popped his neck a couple of times. There was the smell of death in the air. For the first time in this war he wasn't so sure that he was going to survive.
The first of the barbarians came over the hilltop. It was still some distance away, so he took this last moment to briefly examine his wounds. He wasn't sure why he was doing this, he knew there was no possibility of leaving the front lines and heading for the physician's tents. There were a few nicks and cuts along his arms and legs. He knew those would heal, he had the scars to prove it. There was one long slash across his chest. That one happened when he let his guard down to assist a fallen sword-brother. If it had been just a little bit deeper, he knew that he wouldn't be examining it now.
The enemy let loose an onslaught of arrows. Without thinking, he kneeled down and raised his large shield over his head as they rained down. He had been in battle enough that every movement was performed with near perfect precision, without hesitation. He heard the arrows falling like large hailstones, all around him, and a couple on top of his shield. He heard a scream from one young soldier, where an arrow had undoubtedly found its mark.
As the last of the arrows fell, the soldier rose again. He prepared his mind and his soul to rush, once again, into near certain death. He heard a 'woosh' from behind him as the bows of his own archers released their deadly missiles. As soon as the arrows had passed, he took that first step to rush headlong into the enemy. His men instinctively followed. As one force they flowed down the hill like an avalanche to meet their foes, maybe for the last time. He could see the details of their faces now, rushing at a maddening pace towards him. Many of them fell because of the accuracy of his archers. And when the forces met, there was a sound like thunder and the sound of metal on metal filled the air.
He adjusted his course slightly so that he was headed straight toward their chief. He had already slew two of the enemy, but he knew that he needed to make it to the chief. He had seen an enemy scatter because of the loss of their leader enough times to know that this was their greatest hope. He fought his way to the chieftain, working his arms with precision, like a reaper, mowing his way through a field. It was exhilarating! He set himself to the task with a slight smile on his face. He hacked and hewed his way closer and closer. He approached so quickly that he even thought that the chieftain was making his way towards him!
The soldier met him on the top of a small hill, and there they fought. No other soldier or barbarian dared to step too close to this battle within the battle. With everything going on around them, they fought. Both grinning at the other, they fought. But the soldier was stronger. He had a power that the other lacked.
The soldier stood over the fallen foe. He was preparing to finish him off, when he was suddenly knocked off balance. He whirled around to face this attacker, but there was none there, only a sharp pain from where he had been hit. He turned back and attempted to raise his sword, but was unable to lift it high.
The soldier knew it then. He had been struck with an arrow. One deadly marker had found its spot, neatly between his shoulder blades... He had been shot in the back. One zealous archer had continued to release the deadly projectiles, felling both friend and foe alike. The soldier brought down his sword, swiftly finishing his job, his purpose.
He slumped down again, fallen in battle.
There was a lull in the battle, the main excursion had moved to other parts of the field, which had given the soldier a moment to contemplate. But he knew it was worthless to contemplate for long. The enemy would be back, they were strong and fierce, and without fear.
He attempted to rise, using his sword as a cane. He knew that he needed to get back on his feet because the ground was beginning to tremble from the onrush of the barbarian horde. Once he was standing, he straightened his back, and popped his neck a couple of times. There was the smell of death in the air. For the first time in this war he wasn't so sure that he was going to survive.
The first of the barbarians came over the hilltop. It was still some distance away, so he took this last moment to briefly examine his wounds. He wasn't sure why he was doing this, he knew there was no possibility of leaving the front lines and heading for the physician's tents. There were a few nicks and cuts along his arms and legs. He knew those would heal, he had the scars to prove it. There was one long slash across his chest. That one happened when he let his guard down to assist a fallen sword-brother. If it had been just a little bit deeper, he knew that he wouldn't be examining it now.
The enemy let loose an onslaught of arrows. Without thinking, he kneeled down and raised his large shield over his head as they rained down. He had been in battle enough that every movement was performed with near perfect precision, without hesitation. He heard the arrows falling like large hailstones, all around him, and a couple on top of his shield. He heard a scream from one young soldier, where an arrow had undoubtedly found its mark.
As the last of the arrows fell, the soldier rose again. He prepared his mind and his soul to rush, once again, into near certain death. He heard a 'woosh' from behind him as the bows of his own archers released their deadly missiles. As soon as the arrows had passed, he took that first step to rush headlong into the enemy. His men instinctively followed. As one force they flowed down the hill like an avalanche to meet their foes, maybe for the last time. He could see the details of their faces now, rushing at a maddening pace towards him. Many of them fell because of the accuracy of his archers. And when the forces met, there was a sound like thunder and the sound of metal on metal filled the air.
He adjusted his course slightly so that he was headed straight toward their chief. He had already slew two of the enemy, but he knew that he needed to make it to the chief. He had seen an enemy scatter because of the loss of their leader enough times to know that this was their greatest hope. He fought his way to the chieftain, working his arms with precision, like a reaper, mowing his way through a field. It was exhilarating! He set himself to the task with a slight smile on his face. He hacked and hewed his way closer and closer. He approached so quickly that he even thought that the chieftain was making his way towards him!
The soldier met him on the top of a small hill, and there they fought. No other soldier or barbarian dared to step too close to this battle within the battle. With everything going on around them, they fought. Both grinning at the other, they fought. But the soldier was stronger. He had a power that the other lacked.
The soldier stood over the fallen foe. He was preparing to finish him off, when he was suddenly knocked off balance. He whirled around to face this attacker, but there was none there, only a sharp pain from where he had been hit. He turned back and attempted to raise his sword, but was unable to lift it high.
The soldier knew it then. He had been struck with an arrow. One deadly marker had found its spot, neatly between his shoulder blades... He had been shot in the back. One zealous archer had continued to release the deadly projectiles, felling both friend and foe alike. The soldier brought down his sword, swiftly finishing his job, his purpose.
He slumped down again, fallen in battle.
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