We Are All Grass

There are people that never reflect on their life before they pass. in your life you constantly hear people say things like, "we take life for granted." 'We just let time pass us by" "We have to make every second count" or the most powerful one, "When you are gone how will people remember you?"

I think for me the scariest statement out of all of them is, how will the people around me remember me? How quickly will my memory fade from their minds? Will I leave behind something worth anything of value? Like so many people before me i have desired to leave my mark on this world. I have wanted to make a difference and change the world for the better. Even if it was but a tiny drop in the big sea called life. I know that the ripples that cascade from my actions would far exceed my lifetime and I have always wanted to do something worth being remembered by.

Today I looked about the room. I looked at the pictures on my walls, the photos purposely placed about my room. These pictures of faces that I dearly love. my family and friends that have loved me unconditionally. Then I looked at my belongings, and the colors, my books, my writings, and art and I realized just how quickly those things fade. would my family read my writings when I was gone? Would they feel me there, see my face in my words, feel my heart in the phrases I wrote? Would they feel me alive and breathing once again in the words I left behind? I know people probably don't think of these things at my age, but the reflective part of me imagines what it is like to see the world through the eyes of someone that lost a loved one.

It is a hollow emptiness. A pain so far exceeding anything. It's finality is brash and cruel, and has no mercy on the weak, sick, strong or prideful. How would you be remembered when you are gone? Will you be remembered for your cruelty to others, or your generous and kind heart? Would you be remembered for the bruise on someone's cheek or the gentle touch when someone is broken? Would you be remembered for giving your shirt and shoes to the homeless or the one who purposely drove over the puddle to soak them in mud for a good laugh? Or perhaps are you the worst kind of all, the person that did nothing? The person that simply did not care? how will you be remembered?

Lets look to the Word. Did not God say that if a soldier asked you to carry his stuff a mile that you should carry it another? Did it not say that the truest ministry was to the poor and widowed? To love your brother as you would love yourself? To forgive not seven times but seventy times seven. The boy gave his lunch to feed thousands. Jesus gave His life for your salvation. All twelve apostles were martyred to preach the gospel. These are just a few examples found in the Word of God. The Bible is full of endless stories, parables, laws, guidelines, and reprimands for humanity to live by.

So what can I do to leave my mark in this world? What can I do to be Christlike in a world that is so hungry for kindness and love? Millions yearn for love but are ignorant on how to give it. Perhaps it is because it is a world that has rejected the greatest and purest love... Jesus Christ. I pray I am a light to the broken. A generous hand to the needy. Love to the hungry soul. Christ to a lonely world! But most of all I pray that I can die knowing that I served the Lord with all my heart and I did all that I could do to be a witness of His Gospel message. I think that is all we can expect from ourselves. Ask yourself, is that how I am living today? Am I living for God and His purpose or for my own? It is a sobering question.

We are all grass. It fades and withers away but the Word of the Lord... Now that lasts forever. (Ashley interpretation :)
Isaiah 40:6-8

Be blessed!

Most cherished memory (Matthew Bradyn)

I have always told my mom that home is where my family is. It was never the house we lived in, or the childhood room that i always lived in, or the yard i experienced my first scraped knee in. No, it was the first hug i experienced in my mothers warm arms, it was the day of graduation when my father told me he was proud to call me his daughter, it was all the moments Anja would wake me up in the wee hours of the morning to talk with me, and the random hugs and kisses i shared with Ams. It was all the moments Trey protected me as a little girl. those moments were when i was home. So how do you define what home is? do you define it monetarily or do you define it by the love of those that are in your life?

now how i define love has changed of late. a new kind of love has entered my life. it is the truly pure and undefinable love. And though i feel this love towards my parents and siblings this love is so much more intense with the new addition that has entered our lives. His name is Matthew Bradyn! He is my nephew.

in a couple months he will be one year old and it seems like just yesterday when i held him for the first time as only about three months. He has grown so much and as he matures each day his personality seems to bloom even more! He is so beautiful.

this past Christmas was one of those moments when i realized just how blessed i was in my life to have such a little angel in my life. He truly is a blessing to us. i always say he is the only boy that ever made my heart feel this way!

i live out of state because i go to college and while i am gone i miss some pivotal moments of Matthew's life however my twin keeps me and Ams up to date. For instance Matthew had one of his teeth crown last week, and though he hasn't started to crawl he has learned the valuable skill of rolling his way to his destination.

with this past Christmas i was restless to get home to see my handsome little man and after the couple hours of  the plane trip we made it home and i entered the apartment. i went straight to Anja and Ryan's room. I didn't even care that the baby was asleep. i just wanted to see his face. As i snuck into the room. withholding even my breath, and quietly and slowly opening the creaky door. the small table lamplight was on with a baby rag draped over it. as i neared the crib and came to the edge and began to look over. my heart was over come with an irrational and incomparable love for this child. this was a feeling i had never imagined i would feel.

it was a feeling of such extreme love that as it swept over me, it seemed to blast past my very body and swarm around the room with its potency. i noticed his amazingly handsome little lips pucker as he sucked on the inside of his mouth. i noticed his amazingly beautiful almond shaped eyes turn into two long moon crescents on his face as he slept. i noticed his angel soft and perfect blonde hair messily fall against his forehead and pillow. He was perfect and beautiful, and as i noticed these things, i sighed in awe and in that moment i woke him up.

of course i felt terrible until the moment he looked up with that adorably cloudy sleepy look in his eyes to look into my face. And as he saw me, he smirked that handsome half smile and my heart melted. i picked him up and as his arms held straight out from him to balance himself he smiled at me. it was in that moment when we looked at each other that my life was complete.

that was the happiest moment i had for the longest time. seeing my nephew, feeling him in my arms and realizing what a beautiful creation God bestowed in our lives. And though he is not my child i love him so much. i love taking care of him (not changing diapers) hugging him, talking to him, and loving him.

i loved giving him baths, and watching him laugh as he splashed  his feet in the water and playing with his little sea creatures i got him for Christmas in his ducky tub. there is no greater joy than watching the innocent experience and discover the world in their time. Matthew is growing into a beautiful individual and i love that it is in his own rhythm and pace and i wouldn't have it any other way. my most cherished moment is when i am home and the people that love me beyond my flaws and insecurities are around me. They love me for who i am. But i think my most cherished moment ever was the look in Matthew's eyes when i realized he loved me beyond that. He doesn't know why he loves me, he doesn't even question it. he just loves and he doesn't need a reason to love either. the purest and truest love was in his eyes, the eyes of an innocent.

Lesson #2 - Creative Writing: Description

As i read more and more about what it takes to be a great writer i become excited and fearful all in the same moment! it simply is the most exhilarating thing that i have ever endeavored to become! i am taking a chance with life! i am literally unable to take a leap for love but is all to willing to leap into the unknown and grasp authorship by the horns! there is a fierce abandon to my desires and i love it.

but the steps to publication is wrought with pitfalls and chances. its SCARY! but i am willing to try my luck.

in my class i have to teach 5 teaching labs. and i thought that it would be a great opportunity for me to teach on creative writing.  and so as a result i made the five labs a sequence of subsequent lessons on creative writing and with each lesson different aspects of creative writing would be taught. so that in the fifth week the students will have successfully written their own short story or parable.

i am super excited because i want to see if through these five weeks the students will favorably respond to my teaching. for tomorrow's lesson i am teaching on description in creative writing. what the definition of description is and what that entails. i as usual am going to begin by defining it and then through asking questions am going to get the students input. then i am going to give the students an idea of what description is not and how it many times it is misinterpreted.

i will have random objects like a candle, mittens, a stuffed hippo and other things and i am going to ask the students to describe to me what they are through description instead of actually using the objects name itself. and then as the final project i am going to take three of my sisters painting with different settings and i am going to ask the students to write for five minutes straight without stopping and describe all that they see in the painting. what it reminds them of, what emotions they get from the painting, what objects are in the painting, who they are, what they look like. it is going to be great! i am excited!

hopefully i will be able to awaken creative juices within the minds of my students and let them have an opportunity to see the world of writing in a different light. for writing is only an expression of how you view life , and life itself through your words. it really is an amazing thing to witness the world through another's eyes. and i cant wait to see what my students see

Exercise #2 - Truest enemy of my pen

"To do: Guided iamgery - close your eyes, take a few deep, measured breath, and think about what keeps you from writing. Imagine it as an object. Give this thing that keeps you from writing a color, a shape, a texture, a temperature, a sound - the voice of a parent or a teacher. pay attention to how this object or voice makes you feel. then write about it. . ." -Barbara  Abercrombie

. . .

i think on this object that holds me back from writing and i think of rejection. rejection if it was manifested as a monetary object would subject itself to hardness and coldness. there is a finality to its cruel words and a fear that permeates your pores when you get to close to its hate. it leaves a nasty and putrefying scent in the air and makes your skin feel grimy if you allow the words of rejection to enter your mind.

it is irrational and crazy and has not an inkling of logic behinds its bite. but when it does bite, the mark does pierce your hearts membrane and leave an open wound to fester. its that bite that leaves you hesitant in the wake of jumping into the decision. putting your words on paper and letting the world see those words is like letting the world see who you really are. and the idea that the world would reject my words would be the world rejecting the very essence of who i am. and that would break me more than any other passion i would use and practice in this world. for my minds imagination and expression is the very core of my being.

rejection even though it is not a literal road block that can stub your toe or break your neck can break your spirit and break your motivation. rejection is the worst enemy i have faced. and it knows it all to well that is why at night when i lay to sleep he's right there by my ear loudly screaming profanity. reminding me of everything in my life that i failed at slightly, completely and utterly. he is the truest enemy against my pen.

First steps into the literary arena

Setting: I am sitting in my adorably earthy dorm room in my wonderfully pink round chair. I am reading a book from a tall pile of similar books concerning how to be an affective and great creative writer. and part of the reading involves creativity on my part as i read. i am adorable right now with my maroon glasses perched on my nose, my hair in a side ponytail (reflective of the 80's) and wearing a L-O-V-E shirt with Old Navy purple plaid pajama pants. What i am basically saying is i am in my zone and ready to roll with my first creative writing assignment. yay!

i hear the incessant noise of both Ams and Bex in my room arguing about food and Lou. Words like, "I am hungry!" "Eh!" and "We need Lou" float all around me as i ponder the muses i have in my life and why they are my inspiration for my writing.

This is my first blog activity. it is an activity from a book i am reading to help me expand my writing skills. "Courage and Craft: Writing your life into story" by Barbara Abercrombie. and the assignment is: "Who or what is your muse? Write what he or she is telling you."

Now i have taken some serious consideration as to who would be my muse and i have narrowed it down to a theme rather than an actual person or book. i have narrowed it down to classic works such as Jane Austen's works, Wuthering Heights, Shakespeare (Hamlet) and The importance of being Earnest.

Why do you ask? i love the complexities of these writings! i love the style, the plots, the symbolism, the parallelism of time and characters, and of course the vocabulary! everything about these classical writers are beautiful! and there is a serious depth and perception to the books characters that i feel todays writings lack.

just recently i read wuthering heights and i LOVED the book. there was a surrealism to the book that made me feel as if i had slipped into a dream as read the book. a vague memory drifts across my mind as i think of Heathcliff and Catherine. but the style of the book and everything else about it inspired me so deeply. i instantly wanted to write a novel that had the same parallelism of the characters as wuthering heights.

My muse is more than just one thing. i think the center of my muse is passionate depth i find in these classic writings. there is a remnant of undying love that exists in these writing to attract me to them and i cant get enough.

and so i must conclude that my muse are the writings of the past that remind me of where we came from and apart of me seeks to revive that depth and bring it back to the world with a passion.

i don't mean this disrespectfully at all. but i feel like todays writings of any type are missing a depth to their words. though these words bring forth emotional responses but the soul within does not cry out for more or even feel a sense of completion when the books last page has turned. the classics always give a deeper sense of completion than any modern book has, and i simply cannot pin down where it is stemmed from. maybe it is just the nostalgia of the writings that births a deeper response but i think that it is so much more.

and so i stand firm in my conviction that my muse are the classics because my heart feels so much happiness when i read them.

Rule #1: Write what you know

As a writer, the first rule that is knocked into your head is the thought: write what you know. What a broad and generalized statement for there is so much that I could possibly know and ultimately write about. I can write about love that once was and then was lost, I can write about family and its frailty, I could write about the struggle into adulthood and finances that deem themselves your friend but really are the devil incarnate. I could write on science, history, holidays, friends, public school, pajama pants! Oh the list goes on and on.

What is amazing however is how you can take what you know and then branch out even further to those things in which you have not a clue. Not an inkling and create a world from the pedestal of knowledge.

Because I have loved and I have lost. I know that it is painful and can rouse the sincerest of angry emotions within me. I can explain the feeling of being a daughter and watching the divorce of my family redefine what it is to be a familial unit. I know what it is to fail in even a profession that I love and I know what it is to fear rejection in the deepest way. These are all feelings in life that I am well acquainted with. So how do I begin to write what I know? Where do I begin?

Furthermore, what can I write that is original rather than cliché? How do I define the line that I cross that gives me an idea that I am ‘talented’ worth my pound in gold? Or am I just another “wannabe,” “run of the mill,” “kill me now,” “gag me with a spork” writer from down the road? How do I make my voice on paper a distinct voice from all the noise that flows in and out of people’s hearts every single day? How do I get the world to hear me?

I will give you a piece of my small world and maybe then you will hear my voice above the static for the first time in your life. And hopefully when you hear my tone, you will like what little world I have created for you to see.

Or maybe you will hear it and disapprove, dislike, reject, or completely crush all my hopes of distinction. But in no way can you crush my voice for it has had its constant hum of existence for as long as I have breathed life and until I die this hum will drum on. And so will I constantly strive to divide myself from the hectic noise of everyday just so the world can get a taste of who I am. And maybe then the world will zero in and see me clearly. Maybe.

So creative writing starts with writing what I know. This is what I know. I am a small ant in a big hill. Walking the same paved out direction everyone else takes. But what makes me distinct from the rest is not how strong I am, or what I have done, or even that I paved a new and different way in which to walk but that when I walked down the same walkway I recorded it all along. And people that walk the same way can relate to me and understand the world I live in through the emotion and experiences I have felt and this was accomplished when they read it from me the very fingers that wrote it.

I know this to be a universal truth that a person can’t live alone. But even a person that has no one at least has books, magazines, television, entertainments, statues, knickknacks, games, and other things and all these media are but just emblems of humanity. They are a synthetic representation of what it is to be human (To live and breathe). Writing takes this and gives a person the ability to move past their present reality and transport themselves to another reality. And in that reality they can experience a different more comforting truth beyond their circumstance. Writing can change a life, and even save a life. For it is the doorway for a person bound by stress, pain, and circumstance to reach out to a place in which those chains can no longer bind them. How beautiful it would be that someone would read my work and free themselves from the day to day hum of reality. If they but just tasted the distinct hum of my voice maybe they could see a different reality and live free.

So I will write what I know, because writing what I know will help someone else see a different world of possibility. Writing is so much more than words; it is a different world of possibilities. And it always takes you on a different journey.