But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For he himself is our peace, who has made us both one and has broken down in his flesh the dividing wall of hostility... Eph. 2:13-14

Saturday, March 11

Saturday!!!

Hello, all of you people who are making me happy by reading my blog! So, is this annonymous peroson '[my]biggestfan'? If so, you really don't have to be so secretive. I'd think that it was one of my friends, but it is way too positive for them. I thought that it was this one certain person, but she says that she hasn't posted, which doesn't mean anything, but she isn't one much for sending false emails. So anyway, thank you, Yourbiggestfan, but I really do think that my stuff doesn't focus enough on the really important stuff.
Nextdoorneighbor is online right now, so I'm going to be slightly distracted while I blog. Well, she's going super slow with the email right now, so maybe I won't be that distracted.
So, there's a motorcycle race going on at Daytona right now, and so it's on the television. Whoa, a rider is already down! This could be a really interesting race!
Okay, I guess my grandma wouldn't mind if I gave a preview of my writing by using a short story that I wrote for her for this writing thing I do with her, so here it is.
Wildflowers
I will never forget the time that my father was called to war. I was eight, full of life and happiness, completely unprepared for the shock of my daddy leaving me. In the days leading up to his departure the house was full of people running here and there, people crying, people laughing, and soldiers, so many soldiers. They were once my father's friends, old school-mates and fellow employees, yet now they were different. Their uniform, which they were so proud of, always laughing and showing it off, this uniform changed them somehow. No longer did I see the kind-eyed Mr. Wilson who would bounce me on his knee; he had changed into a harsh, terrifying man that came to take my father away and change him, too.
Through all of the rush, I sat alone in my little window seat, from which place I could see people coming and going, both on the road and inside. I didn't get in the way, and I didn't call attention to myself. But my silence caught my father's attention, he was the only one who noticed. He would smile at me and wink every time he walked past, and I would attempt to smile back. Once, after seeing another soldier out safely, he came over by me and knelt down.
"What's the matter, Baby Girl?" I just shrugged my shoulders. I didn't want to ruin his happiness. My father glanced around the room. Momma was chatting with some women over some tea, besides that the house was empty. "What do you say we go on a walk?" he asked, nudging me in the arm with his elbow. I smiled a little and hugged my doll. Our walks were always fun.
We walked down the street, passing shop windows full of posters advertising war-bonds, and out of town. A large field lay just a little way out, and we would often go there, chasing butterflies and picking some of the many wildflowers that grew there. On days like that one, when the sky was deep blue and the sun shining bright on the spring landscape, the field seemed to come alive with color, as if a careless artist had dropped paint all over the scene.
Somehow, the picture wasn't as bright when my heart was sad. Silently, we made our way through the tall grasses that came up to my shoulders to an enormous oak tree that sat in the middle of the field, acting like a guard against anyone who would dare harm the wildflowers. Sitting down, my father gazed out across the landscape, our little town standing out from the fields and farms. I followed his example, but quickly looked down at my doll's eyes. My father looked over at me.
"It's going to be a good spring, plenty of rain." I quickly brushed the tears that had begun to trickle down my face away.
"How can you tell?" I asked.
"Every time a little girl as sweet as you cries, the whole world wants to cry, too." He leaned over and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. "Do you want to know a secret?" I looked up eagerly. "I'm scared to death of going into this war." I was shocked. How could someone as brave as my father be afraid?
"What are you afraid of?" I asked.
"Well," he paused and looked around, as if making sure that no one was listening, "To be honest, I'm afraid that the generals can't make a good apple pie." I laughed and my father raised his eyebrows. "You think I'm joking? Have you ever tasted a general's apple pie? But it's not only that," he sighed and looked down. I became suddenly serious, wondering if it was worse than bad apple pie.
"What else is there?"
"I'm afraid for your mother. She's awfully afraid of the dark. I don't know who's going to keep her from being scared." I stood up, proud that I could take away my daddy's fears.
"I can keep her from getting scared." My father smiled and gave me a hug.
"I knew I could count on you, Baby Girl," he said as he stood up, "Now let's go see if your mother's apple pie is finished baking yet." He started to walk off, but I stood still.
"Daddy?" I asked, worried. He stopped and turned toward me. "If I'm busy keeping Mother from being afraid, whose going to make me brave?" He came back up to me and squatted down so that we were eye-to-eye. Glancing over, he picked a pure white daisy and held it between us.
"Whenever you see the wildflowers, I'll be thinking of you. When you're afraid, just look at the wildflowers and pray." I took the slender stem from his hand and rubbed the soft petals against my cheek. Smiling suddenly, I threw my arms around his neck.
"I'll be brave, Daddy. You can count on me." Picking me up, he swung me around in a circle and set me back down.
"I knew that I could count on you, Baby Girl," he said as he took my hand in his. Together we walked back to the house, prepared for the future. In my hand I clutched the daisy tightly. My father may have been going to war, but I still had my wildflowers.
So, that's a sample of my writing. It's not very good, but I'm not putting it in any contest or anything, so I guess it doesn't matter. I still haven't gotten to her next installment, I can't think of anything right now. So, I guess I'm done for now. Thank you again for reading!

2 comments:

Nett said...

I love your story, I am glad you added that to your blog, I like reading the things that come from your mind. I really liked the "People are like slinkies" blog. You crack me up.

Rebekkah Lockert (Bekky) said...

Thanks Nett. I got the "People are like slinkies" thing from a friend of mine who got it from...either work or email, can't remember. It was a while ago.