Day 2, June 27th, 2010

I peered out of the window at the fast-approaching ground soaring upwards to meet the wheels of the plane. The darkened skies gave way to twinkling city lights. Amazed, I looked down at them, drinking in the wonderful sight of a city I had spent so much time waiting to see, to live in, and to explore. And now, here it was before my very eyes and almost beneath my very feet.

Applause rose from the crowd as we touched the ground. After 15 long hours, we could finally depart the enclosed four walls and walk upon solid earth again! Eagerness burst over me as I realized this was it...we were in Africa!

Allow me to back-tradck a bit. On the previous day, I arrived at Washington/Dulles airport. Unfortunately, United Airlines dropped me off at gate A2, and when I went to find my departure gate on the big screen, I couldn't see it, so I called Mom and Dad. Thankfully, they were able to inform me that I was departing from gte D23. D.C., however, has one of the most complicated transportation system I have ever seen; I got in at 3:42 and didn't get to my gate until 4:28 at least. Luckily, one of my team members, Sam, noticed I was wearing the shirt that Adam, another team member had designed and falgged me down.

We had a 4 hour layover in D.C., in which time Jesse, Donnie, and Chris checked us all in. Ethiopian Airlines, however, ordered that we only have one piece of 15 lb carry-on luggage, so everyone had to check his or her larger carry-on.

Thankfully, the long trip was quite uneventful, even though it was very long. God granted a few of us emergency exit seats, so me, Sam, and Tamara had all the room we needed.

First, we stopped to refuel in Rome. They didn't let us off the aircraft, however, so we had to be content with gathering around the open doors for some fresh, Roman air. Although everything spectacular was too far away to see, we did get a glimpse of huge but beautiful Italian villas.

We left for Addis Ababa at about 1:30 p.m. and, thankfully, my body shouted, "Enough, you crazy girl! Get some sleep!" I slept through a good chunk of that flight.

Oh! And one neat thing that happened was I happened to be seated next to a guy who was also going on a missions' trip to Ethiopia, and when I told him I was from San Antonio, he said he was from Houston!

Once we had landed, we went immediately to get our visas (you get your Ethiopian visa once you land in the country), and claimed our baggage. Between 30 people, we had 120 bags filled with personal belongings and orphanage donations! God is truly good!

We had our first realization that we were in Africa when we stepped out of the baggage area. Lined up against the railing, men, women, and children stared at us as they all tried to process the sight of 30 white people and their 119 bags (Emma's got lost and has yet to be found)!

After that, we met some of our guides and loaded our bags into (and on top of!) a bus and a van and crammed as many people as we could into both. We all just fit, and soon were rolling on our way to our lodging home- the Ethiopian Guest House. Currently, there is one other family lodging with us who have three little boys. They just moved ehre from the States 3 weeks ago, and the mom had actually been on this trip in January and had decided to move here.

I am staying in room number 34 with Emma and Kim. Last night, we had quite the scare because we went to bed only to discover there was a mosquito in our bedroom! Now, of course we would never be afraid of a regular mosquito, but of course in Africa we always link them to malaria. So we got up at like 2:30, rubbed bug spray on our faces, covered ourselves up to our shoulders, and went to sleep.*

Well, that's all for today!

In Christ,
Brittany Goodrich

*I was writing this the next day because I didn't have time to finish it.

Day 1, June 26th, 2010

Note: This is my trip to Africa as I experienced it day-by-day. This entry (and the series of them to follow) are as transcribed in my journal during the actual trip.

"For I know the plans I have for you..." Jeremiah 29:11.

How great our God is! To allow us such opportunities while serving Him...just that is simply amazing!

As you might guess, my dear diary, I am on my way to another missions' trip; this time, to Ethiopia and Uganda to visit orphans. I am tremendously excited to see what God will do through me and my team as we minister to His fatherless loved ones.

So...so far? Right now, I am on a plane bound for Washington/Dulles airport, where I will meet my fellow teammates at the Ethipian Airlines Gate. At 4:30 a.m., Mom woke me up and we all got ready to take me to the airport. When we got there, however, we had quite the blessing in disguise...my flight to Charlotte was canceled! This provided a momentary shock, but thankfully (as He always does) God worked it out for the better. Instead of laying over in Charlote, I was able to get on a direct flight to D.C....the D.C. layover time even got cut by 20 minutes! I was very pleased by this, as the flight didn't leave until 11:13, as opposed to the 7:00 departure I would've taken. So, Mom, Dad, and I went to Magnolia Pancake Haus to get breakfast and went to the car dealersip (Dad's idea) and then went home for an hour and a half. Brielle, Brant, and Brock were all very surprised to see me!

Soon enough, though, we had to leave. As I was hugging my dad goodbye, I almost started to cry, but Brielle and I didn't have such a grievous parting as last year. I also nearly cried when I hugged my mom at security, and couldn't talk for a few seconds without my voice quivering.

But even with all of my grief at leaving loved ones, I am filled with excitement and love for those I am about to serve. Only God could bring about the amount of peace I am feeling. He is my comfort and my strength, and my Father even when my parents are not physically there.

God, please give me the strength, energy, and love I need for these next two weeks. Knit us together as a family, for a family we are in You. Bind Satan over any part of this trip or our lives.

In Jesus' Name I pray, Amen.

In Christ,

Brittany N. Goodrich

So Why Are We Here, Anyway?

Have you ever wondered how such a just God could seem so unfair sometimes? Why does He platce some people in wealth while others grovel in the dirt, hunger gnawing away at their wasted flesh? Why are some children placed in loving families while others cling to exhausted, over-worked orphanage nannies, whose loving efforts are never enough to nurture each child with a sliver of affection?

Surely, Christianity provides many questions! In the Bible times, people accused either the parents of a suffering person or the individual himself of a great sin. But now that we know our sins are pardoned, what is our purpose on this earth? If wealth is temporary and our family members die-if our whole existence, as we know it, passes away- what makes life worth living?

Jesus would sum this answer up in two words "Go ye...." In this we find a wonderful promise...in this we find a wonderful truth! Matthew 16:24-28 says "Then Jesus said to His disciples, 'If anyone would come after Me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow Me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for Me will find it. What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul? Or what can a man give in exchange for his soul? For the Son of Man is going to come in His Father's glory with His angels, and then He will reward each person according to what he has done. I tell you the truth, some who are standing here will not taste death before they see the Son of Man coming in His kingdom."

See? Jesus commands us to give up our "kingdoms" for His! We are living to follow Jesus, and following Jesus involves crucifying ("taking up our cross") ourselves and our fleshly possessions!

In addition, God has a purpose for everything. None of us are accidents. None of us surprised Him by our presence, appearance, or personalities. He made us, and I believe placed us in environments where He could best grow us. For instance, if He placed someone in a rich home that had strong Christian morals, and then commanded him to give up everything and go be a missionary in the jungle, that person would, in the process, learn to rely on God instead of material possessions. In turn, God could bless other, perhaps less fortunate individuals, through the missionary. That way, the poor either financially, emotionally, or spiritually would become rich in God, and then be prepared to bless others as they have been blessed.

As you can see, God is not at all unfair. Contrarily, He blesses certain people so that through them He can bless! Whether the financial, emotional, or spiritual needs of someone is being met, He calls everyone to give what He has given so that His Name might be proclaimed throughout the nations! Keep this in mind, dear reader: We must give our lives to Him, and His work will become something worth living for.

Casting Two Shillings- Creating Characters

To every well-crafted plot there is a secret ingredient that is at once both subtle and evident. It peruses nearly every page of the book, yet is so common place the reader hardly notes its presence with any diffidence. The name of this mysterious ingredient? Character.

Authors must take much care to craft their characters very uniquely. The goal is to produce a fully replete human being who, to a degree, imitates the complexity of our own persons. As the epitomes of human vices and virtues, a single conglomeration of characters must represent right and wrong, good and evil, in ways both inward and outward that we may relate to.

But the difficulty in crafting a character is making him both recognizable and unique so as to keep the reader engaged. Charles Dickens was a master with this technique. In A Christmas Carol his lead character is an unusual choice. Instead of representing right, Ebenezer Scrooge represents the wrong in this world and throughout the tale comes to realize right. Even though very few readers can relate to the extent of Scrooge's miserly ways, we can still identify with perhaps more base feelings of selfishness. His life tale actually turns out to be not unlike our own life stories or that of those around us. The extent of his hardenedness, however, has intrigued readers for over a century now, even though it is unlikely that very many of us will ever attain that level of blinded unfeelingness. Thus, Dickens gives us a touchstone of sorts when telling Scrooge's tale so that we may easily relate to enough of his character in order to follow his full personality throughout the tale.

In essence, this is what I am trying to do with my latest work, Two Shillings. Set in London in 1848, Two Shillings is about a ring of kids with criminal backgrounds who have escaped their confinements and are intent upon doing good and possibly righting their wrongs. They search for mysteries in hopes of reconciling themselves to the government by solving them. I have decided on the ring having five members (three girls and two boys), whose individual personalities and talents both work to aid each other and cause further complication in the plot. One is a gentle keeper of the home, one a mastermind, one a sophisticated young lady, one an acclaimed actor, and one an Irish child with a daring side. Sounds simple enough, huh? Well, tack onto each of those a criminal background with the reasons that lead to that action, and you've got pretty complex individuals on your hands!

As I write these characters, however, I am building a touchstone with each of the characters that both I and my readers might easily refer to. I accomplish this by putting little pieces of myself into their inward being. Perhaps it is some preference, such as writing or acting, or maybe it's a personality trait, such as being deeply romantic. Whatever little thing it is, I put it in the character so that he or she might savor of genuine humanity while having a life of his or her own within the pages of my book.

Struggle for State- Two Hotly Competitive Teams Take to the Ice

For years, the State championship had been an unattainable dream that I held for my brother and his teammates. Looking back now, it's almost unbelievable. I can still see me and Brant, at the respective ages of seven and five, taking our first wobbly steps out onto the ice. At that time, my young mind had no idea that the sport I would come to adore so much could be played at a local team level. In my world, hockey was suiting up and being given a puck, taught how to skate, stop, and reach for the high and mighty goal of being an oh-so-skilled-and-powerful Blue Dot (the highest level in our First Ice learn-to-skate class).If you were super-talented, they might even upgrade you to the suave-skating mob of six and seven year olds known to us as the amazing Mighty Mites.

Back then, I never would have guessed that we could play on a team. Until the year Brant turned eight. That's when I fell in love. Every weekend I had the pleasure of filing into a cold rink cheering on my brother and his teammates with my faithful friend Maddison. Even though our coach made it very clear that he did NOT want the boys under the pressure of playing a State championship, I still harbored the hope that someday, somehow, we'd make it there.

I couldn't help but think over our hockey past, which now spans a full nine years, almost ten, of my life. It has been thrilled with highs and lows, long travels, and a thousand other things we could complain of, but me and my family have never lost the love of the game. Surprisingly, I was not nervous during the hours before the games, even though I knew that the little dream that had been born in Wisconsin and followed all the way to Texas was on the line.

We were the underdogs in the competition: Odessa was the division's number one team nationwide and second in North America. We, on the other hand, had lost to them twice and beaten them once. Mentally, Dad prepared Brant for 110% aggressive battle packed with determination and raw nerve.

We never could've expected what would happen next....

The first game arrived, and my dad and I filed into the rink. Seating area outside of the warm rooms are sparse in a Texas rink, and many prefer to stand, so we made our way to an open place up against the side of the glass.

Now, I'm a teen, so you know when music is too loud for my ears, it really is too loud.We were right next to a huge speaker that was pumping rock tunes in its old, raspy voice. I told Dad I'd probably go deaf, but he said, "It's okay." Since I saw I was getting nowhere, I decided to ignore the noise and concentrate on the game.

Sometimes, so much of a game can depend on the first score. For a few minutes, we held our breath, silently waiting for the first score. Well, maybe not silently, but hey, our hockey games are never silent.

We were down on our opponent's end of the ice. A shot....

Our players held their sticks aloft. Cowbells (a traditional hockey accessory...started in Wisconsin, maybe?) painted and stickered with our team name, the Thunder, rang out in full celebration. Dad and I screamed for joy and pounded on the glass, the latter of which hockey families are very familiar with because we use it to convey our ardent approval.

We ended up winning that game by one point, but the championship tournament was set to determine the champions by the best of three games. One down; one, possibly two, to go.

Since Odessa was our fiercest competitor, and since anything can happen in our league, Dad told Brant to prepare himself for two games. And I totally agreed. Odessa now had more to loose than we did, and since frustration had now doubtlessly topped their skill, I doubted we could win twice in a row.

The second game, we actually did have a considerable amount of seating, and the bleechers were really steep. Even when on bleechers, however, Dad and I prefer to stand, which is a perfectly good thing. I'd much rather stand than sit at hockey games. The bad news? With all do respect, my dad subconsciously rocks the bleecher with his feet, and so I had to struggle not to topple over and have to be rushed to the ER.

The skaters came out onto the ice...and the crowd erupted. Each team's fans screamed, stomped, rang their bells, hit the glass (and something much louder than the glass that I couldn't see), competing over each other to relay our enthusiastic, fight-to-the-death support to our players. It was, and I'm pretty sure I don't exaggerate, one of the loudest beginnings to a hockey game I've ever experienced.

For nearly all three periods, we battled back and forth, neither team being able to hold a dominating for an extremely lengthy time. Only minutes remained, and the crowd had not lost the enthusiasm. It was 4-4. Were these two teams destined to clash heads one final time the next day? Or would we, a team who barely mustered enough players year-after-year to play, walk away victorious?

We didn't know. And, although we love a good game, overtime is every bit as scary as it is fun.

But, wait...Eddie, our defender was skating it up ice. He shot...and a score! We went nuts...if we could only hold them a few more minutes!

The minutes passed. The countdown turned to seconds. 59...40...30...20...10...5....

0!

Those on our bench leapt the walls to join those out on the ice. The air rained helmets and gloves as our players tossed them up before diving onto our goalie in a huge doggie-pile. In the stands, we went crazy. I turned to my dad, who clapped his arms around me in an overjoyed bear-hug as we screamed our rejoicings. It seemed surreal...we had just taken State! My girlhood dream had been realized! And now, I see how appropriate the timing was, since Brant only has a few years of hockey left. It just seems right that we should have such a memorable success to top off one of his twilight years in the sport. I am truly thankful that God gave me both a brother and hockey, so that I might be privy to such a special moment for my brother, my family, the team, and all of San Antonio hockey.

We walked down from the bleechers and stood near the glass to watch the ceremonies. Mom met us there with the two kids, and I wrapped her in big hug. As Odessa's trophies were distributed to the players one-by-one, Brielle stepped up on her container of Littlest Pet Shop and banged her small hand against the glass, smiling as she imitated those around her.

"...champions of the North Texas Hockey League, the San Antonio Thunder!"

We cried out in victorious shouts and filed onto the ice with our cameras. After the individual trophies had been given out, our team captain was presented with the most massive trophy I have ever personally witnessed a junior hockey team win. He skated towards his teammates, and they gathered about it and held it high above their heads. We shouted again, and continued to do so throughout the next twenty minutes or so until my voice was pretty much gone.

Allow me to end by saying that hockey has been a crazy yet remarkable journey for me. I couldn't be prouder of the Thunder, and God has truly blessed me with the opportunity to be there at their every game and watch how they have progressed through the years. I'm sorry if this is a bit lengthy...it took me over an hour to write ;), and I know the emotions might feel a little fabricated. I want you to know that they're not, and I truly have a deep love for the sport of hockey.

Is American Culture Endangering Your Spiritual Life?

"Jeshurun grew fat and kicked; filled with food, he became heavy and sleek. He abandoned the God who made him and rejected the Rock his Savior." Deuteronomy 32:15
Allow me to begin by introducing to you a young woman from Brentwood, Tennessee by the name of Katie. Katie, according to American standards, had everything a teen could want; she had rich parents, lived in a nice house, drove a cute car, and got dates. But it was not what God wanted. When she was seventeen years old, Katie felt called to go to Uganda. Knowing that she was only thinking short-term, her dad dropped her off at a safe mission institution, where his daughter could fulfill her call in Uganda and return home in one piece. When she did return, however, Katie horrified him with the news that God had called her to Uganda to live perhaps permanently! Thus, this courageous young woman set out for the impoverished country of Uganda with God as her compass, striding into whatever adventure there awaited her.

And what an adventure it has been! Still in her early twenties and not yet married, she is raising 12 or 13 (I forgot which it was) children she adopted as her own and feeding about 300 other little ones twice daily. In many different ways, God has already used her young life to bring Himself to the people of Uganda. She gets frustrated sometimes, yes, but keeps in close touch with God, Who, through signs of his approval, has shown her that she is exactly where He would have her be.

When asked if she ever feels threatened in a place such as Uganda, Katie answers blatantly that she believes America is the more dangerous place, with the souls of sinners masquerading behind our never-ending cycle of strive to obtain, obtain, become unsatisfied, and strive to obtain again. She thinks it suffocating to live in a country which so hypocritically seems to gain happiness through material items instead of God.

Many Christian Americans would protest to the aforementioned remarks, arguing that it is equally difficult to follow God no matter where one is, and perhaps also that God is the number-one Thing on their to-do list, so they are finding the most happiness and satisfaction from Him that they can. But if we truly examine ourselves, do we find this to be true?

When I was in Guatemala, many "trials" worthy of a modern American freak-out occurred: it rained all the time, I was almost never warm, the roads were slushy and made my feet dirty, one of our hotels didn't have water daily for almost the full day (which meant no showers), my outfits got washed twice over three weeks' time, full vanloads of us nearly died several times driving on the mountain passes (which really taught us to pray), had to wash our hands in the same water the church-dwelling families brushed their teeth, washed their clothes, and did the dishes in (hand-sanitizer serving as our only soap), and I could go on.

And yet I consider that trip the best experience of my life. From Ester's hearth-side meals to K'anjob'al lessons, the little girls in the pew behind me singing out to their heavenly Father to the joyous singing we enjoyed within our own circle. We never argued, and, in a short span of time, we became a family to make up for the ones we had left behind. We were given a tri-cultural experience (Jamaicans joined up with our team in Guatemala City). And, surprisingly, though I had left nearly all my earthly treasures at home, I found myself spiritually blossoming as I relied on God for the necessities I lacked.

You see, as the verse mentioned at the top of this post says, we become spiritually obese if we allow ourselves to chase after the things of this world. No matter what we might think, theybecome our gods, not God Himself. It is an interesting "coincidence" that I grew closer to God than I have ever been while still deprived of modern American household posessions, is it not? Or perhaps Katie is right, and America's self-absorbed habits are spiritually stagnating the growth of believers.

Where is God?

I can see them now, trapped beneath the rubble. Conscious for days but unable to move. All around them, they hear the noises of others being pulled from similar predicaments. They try to scream, but the sound is silenced by the wreckage. In breathless patience, they hope that they won't have to be under there for much longer. They think of their families and wonder whether they survived. Some cry out to God. Others doubt His presence even more.

In view of the amount of attention Haiti has received these past few weeks due to the devastating earthquake that ravaged Port-au-Prince on January 12th, perhaps it is a little cliche of me to speak of it now. But for the present, it provides a great example of God's great hands quietly working in the background of such razement.

Yes, it's a bit hard to believe that God was involved in something as terrible as the Haitian disaster, but we must remember that the whole world is His, and He has a plan for everyone in it. I think that whether we recognize it or not, most American Christians have settled for belief in a fair-weather God. When everything is going great for us, halelujah! God must care! But as soon as our sheltered lives demand us to step out upon the raging waves, we rush to the helm, knock God out of our way, and quickly steer ourselves as far from the storm as possible, not realizing that we are missing some of the greatest chances to let God shine through us.

When people look at situations such as Haiti, it is not uncommon for them to ask themselves where God was. As Christians, we must understand enough about God's dealings with mankind to recognize His will playing out in the earth. God most likely was saddened for those thousands that lost their lives and loved ones. But He never tooks His eyes off the big picture He has envisioned for the world's redemption. He knew that, in the end, we would be better off because of it. Already, many people are hearing the Gospel as Christian survivors worship and pray. One congregation even placed benches outside of the church building for those affected by the earthquake. It is said that the glorious noise was wonderful, the wounded singing to the Savior along with those who remained relatively unscathed. In a land of death and darkness, a torch of life and light still burned strongly. In the blur of confusion, God is making Himself clear to the world.

Also, with the sudden inflow of personnel from developed countries, attention is at last being given to the financial state of Haiti, which is the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere. God, while drawing the world to Himself, might also be drawing us out of our comfortable slumber and awakening us to the needs of others.

We are children of God. Since the Bible commands us that we are supposed to strive to be like Him, we are obligated to carry out His qualities in every area of our life. This does not exclude looking at the big picture, or, in our case, looking for the big picture. Only then will we be able to answer non-Christians (and ourselves!) with truth when confronted with the question "Where is God?"

Excerpt from The Blood of the Lamb

Note: So I thought it was about time I posted another one of my excerpts. The book is still the same one as I previously posting from. This one is slightly lengthy and probably a little rough in spots, but it'll be in shape soon enough! Anyway, enjoy!

The scent of roasting deer steamed from the carcass simmering on the spit. Smoke curled into the air, marring the starry, flawless presence with its black eminence. Stomach growling as he turned the juicy hunk of meat, Castor glanced through the flames at his companion. She sat, hand tucked neatly beneath her chin, leaning forward eagerly.

Slowly, the boy released his breath, rubbing his red, chaffed hands near the hearth. Casting his eyes away from hers, he concentrated absently upon a diminishing branch, watching its once-vibrant life perish completely beneath the merciless fire.

The juicy fat of the deer hissed as it simmered down its side. Jerking, Castor pricked the darkening hide with the tip of his sword. Like butter, it slipped into the innards, releasing a steady stream of smoke. The scent of fresh, sizzling meat steamed out with it, permeating the air with its mouth-watering temptation as Castor peeled back the skin. Healthy, brown flesh grinned back at him with faint glow.

Withdrawing his weapon from the animal’s side, he removed the spit from over the hearth and braced it between his legs. As he rummaged along his belt in search of his knife, he caught Arrenia’s expectant gaze. Quickly, he averted his attention.

Gahh! Cut himself on that stupid blade again!

Smearing his bloodied finger upon the hem of his shirt, he extracted the bothersome knife from around his waist and set it upon the waiting meal-to-be. Shaved hastily off the bone, chunky slices of meat tumbled one-by-one into the young hunter’s callused hand.

With a haphazard toss over the flames, he threw one to Arrenia. “Here. Eat. It might be a while before we have a good meal again.”

Sinking her teeth into the recesses of the fleshy dinner, Arrenia allowed the delicious tenderness to erupt in flavor upon her tongue, chewing mechanically. Not for a second did her eyes leave her companion. She set her portion aside. “You know, Castor, there’s no reason for us to hide anything from each other.”

He continued to saw away at the carcass. “What do you mean?”

She leaned forward. “We are on this journey together, Castor, whatever it is. I told you my dream.”

He sighed, resting the half-hacked hunk of meat gently against his leg. Slowly, the knife slipped from its cleaving grip and hung limply in the mid air, reflecting in its blood-stained sheen the spitting, cackling flames. Rising and sagging with breadth of a sigh, his body wrestled with the weariness threatening to overtake him. He ran his thumb and middle finger over his eyebrows, methodically massaging his tumultuous thoughts into order.

Why, oh why, now?! he wondered.
“Castor?” Arrenia said, her voice riddled with concern.

The boy sighed again. “Hmmm?”

“Is everything all right?”

Mustering whatever courage he could salvage from the wreckage of his mind, he dragged himself to a more erect posture. Arrenia’s lips parted slightly as she saw sleeplessness’s indelible lines encircling his eyes. For the first time in the entire night, he held her gaze. “You must understand, Arrenia, that many things have changed this night. Our future is uncertain. Nothing may ever be right again.”

He held his breath, watching her smooth, delicate face for some indication of emotion. Illumined by the fire, it surfaced softly from the dark abyss, shining in its fragile innocence yet strengthened by a courage beyond compare. No expression of happiness adorned her features, yet neither did oppression nor discouragement. The vulnerability of a woman graced her every move, yet the determination of a man palpitated in her heart. Even now, her jaw dangled slightly agape, as if she was already drinking the cup fate had placed in her hand.

He burrowed his brows. “You are not afraid?”

Running a dry tongue over her lips, she hung her head, employing her hands in the mindless caress of her food. “We must make the best of the future.”

His heart skipped a beat. Had the world ever seen a girl with so much tender resolve? With so much reserve and yet so much passion? With so much of the essence of life itself? Even enough to throw it into this journey, without even thinking twice! His arms ached to hold her. His heart longed for her own.

But sweet serenades and expressions of his growing adoration would have to wait. She was a princess of Lydacia. He, a prince of Sleyvink.

What an ironic coincidence, he beamed to himself, that we, politically sworn enemies, should here be unified by such unusual circumstances.

Bending down, he tossed another stick into the flames, trying to redeem its dwindling embers enough to warm the chill shivering within him. The night wrapped about his being like a cold blanket as a slight breeze rustled the peace of the glade. Jumping sharply back into life, the fire first embraced, then consumed the new source of life sacrificed to it.

Releasing his pent-up breath, Castor abandoned his seat. Arrenia sat up, confusion knitting her brows as she observed him. Darkness hid him as he walked farther away from the glow of the hearth, shrouding his actions in a black veil of mystery. As the seconds drew on, her pulse accelerated.
“What are you doing?”

No answer.

A small tingle tantalized her spine. Her skin prickled with premonitions as the boughs of the trees began to slowly dance in the wind’s hypnotic sway. Clamorously, half-formed hypotheses churned in her brain, each raising its vociferous cry above the others. She covered her ears, but the rain of incessant suppositions only drummed louder upon her mind.

Oh,, why am I here? Why did I come?

The mare was slumbering blissfully when Castor approached her. Inserting his hand carefully into the sack she carried, he groped his way around the vast recesses of the canvas bag, his touch alighting upon one unseen object after another. Disturbed, the creature shifted her weight around and snorted. Tenderly, Castor ran his fingers down her soft, silky neck, whispering comfortingly to her in fluent Sleyvinkian.

“Nytok sino nar, yin lint unik. Ogek ta peel.” The night is fair, my little one. Go to sleep.

Blinking, the animal stared back at him before bringing her head to rest upon her hooves once again. Castor patted her back, saying to her as he returned his attention to his previous search, “There’s my little lady.”

Moments passed by, the precious minutes of the night beginning to slip beneath his fingertips. The boy risked a glance up into the recesses of the zenith. How much longer did they have until dawn? Merrily, the starry hosts winked down at him, giggling at his imploring wonder. Flaunting their glistening, silver robes, they snickered between themselves, as if they received gratification for keeping the answer just out his reach.

Deftly, Castor yanked ajar the mouth of the bag, allowing these playful children of the sky to be of some use and cast at least one enlightening ray into the depths of his confusion. A glimmer caught his eye. Reaching into the sack once more, he followed the canvas wall downward just a bit until elation seared up his arm. He grabbed the two halves of the medallion, returned quickly to the fire, and lowered himself upon the arboreal stub.

“So?” Arrenia pestered. “What were you doing?”

He held up the separate objects, so that the light of the hearth would fall upon them. Gasping, she jumped backward, gripping her seat until caps of white hallooed her knuckles. The color drained from her countenance, turning her lovely, vibrant cheeks into gray, ashen wastelands.

Without uttering a single sound, she rose. Taking short, tentative steps, she approached her partner, the two golden objects never leaving her sight. She kneeled to the ground, bringing them at eye-level with herself. The words coherent enough to escape being snagged in her throat perished upon her tongue as her mouth dropped open. Cautiously, she stroked their shiny, flawless surfaces. She shook her head.

Two medallions, almost identical in every way. Two halves of the same medallion. Seemingly made for one another, the jagged lines corresponded directly. Where one ended, the other began.

Two halves of the same mystery, she thought, sliding the pieces into each other. A perfect Lamb. Two halves of the same puzzle.

She looked at Castor. “Where did you get this?”

“In Sleyvink, we have an annual sparring tournament. It is a rigorous test; a true test of manhood....”

“And you won?”

He nodded. “ ‘I was informed in a dream to give it to the one who conquers,’ the man told me. ‘Run and find the girl. The prophecy…is you.”

Arrenia grasped his knee. “But what does it mean?”

Slowly, he turned his head towards her. Eagerness waltzed with fear upon the radiant ballroom of her expression. Moonlight gently flooded the glade, lighting every object with a fragile glow. As if about to snap beneath the pressure of the nearing future, the whole earth seemed to tremble.

Embracing her dainty hands with his caressing grip, he looked affectionately down at her. She started slightly at his touch, but then relaxed under his gentle care. In one moment, he smiled. For this last instant in time, everything seemed perfect.

But only seemed. There were still a thousand woes to be crossed, a thousand atrocities left to tell. And all in the breadth of a single night.

His smile vanished.

Arrenia tightened her grasp around his own. “Something’s bothering you. What is it?”

He tapped his foot. Finally, he said, “Oh, Arrenia, how can I tell you this? It will change everything you’ve ever known. It-”

She laid a hand over his. “I’m ready for it, I promise.”

Gulping, he sucked the oxygen into his lungs. “It’s about the medallions. You and I are…well…fated to be together.”
Little furrows ran into her brow as she cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

The fire tossed estranged rays of light upon the boy’s countenance, his features dancing in and out of the shadows. Lapping at the air, the tongues of flame drank the atmosphere into a breathless silence. As soon as it surfaced, cold sweat tingled Arrenia’s skin, bathing her in its aroused waters. She shivered.

Dragging the precious oxygen deep into his lungs, Castor said, “Arrenia, what if we’re more than we think we are? What if someone, generations before the birth of our grandfathers, foresaw our being and foretold our futures?”

Her fingers coiled themselves around his, the cold sweat of her palms bleeding onto his own. “Castor, don’t frighten me.”

Sweeping a stray piece of hair away from her countenance, his fingers lingered, caught in the thickets of her lovely tresses. “It’s the truth, little maiden. Like it or not, someone has predicted our existence…and installed our fate.” He searched her face. “You have a thousand questions. I see them in your eyes, and I wish I could answer them…Oh, Arrenia, so much is left unsaid! It troubles me greatly. I want to protect you, yet the road is perilous, and the world is against us. I am only one man. How can I live up to the responsibility?”

Her lips vanished in a thin white line as her brain slowly gnawed upon this information. Removing her grasp from his own, she laid her hand on his cheek, wooing his gaze back into hers. “No man can stop a warrior who sets his mind to the task before him.”

The stress burdening his countenance evaporated like a veil of mist shrouding his face. Water droplets glistened in his eyes almost as quickly as he could blink them away. One or two even cut meandering paths on his soil-laden cheeks. Sniffing, he smeared them away, struggling to maintain the stability of his voice. “Thank you, Arrenia.”

Without replying, the girl took up his half of the medallion, watching the light snag different facets of it as she turned it slowly. The golden surface shone with a brazen polish; not a spot marred its beautiful complexion. The glowing illumination emanating from the hearth playfully extracted the tiniest details from the shadows of intricacy, revealing their hiding places.

She allowed her fingers to gently brush its fine mounds and valleys, tracing every element in speechless wonder. In the center, the face of a lamb stared back at her. It’s shallow, sculpted eyes stared back at her with a depth that escaped the skill of any artist she had ever seen. Certainly, they seemed to truly seek her own. To capture her with the spirit of their penetrating gaze. To draw her in and hold her fast, perhaps never letting her go. She stared at it, marveling at the mystery set before her.

“So delicate and lovely,” she said, almost to herself. Then, turning to Castor, “What do you think is the meaning of it?”
Castor braced his elbows upon his knees. Distance glazed his eyes as he stared off into the flames. Rocking slowly, he rubbed his coarse clothing gently, subconsciously trying to ward off the chill that was settling in. A breathless moment passed….

Like standing upon a precipice, about to fall, thought Arrenia. Though she had no tangible proof, the sickening knot of premonition wrenched her stomach. Already, she could feel herself falling through thin air, hurtled from the cliff by a cruel hoax of fate. Already, the water below drummed in her ears. And then…the impact. Cold liquid rushed over her, filling her mouth, her nostrils, saturating her very being as it enveloped her in the cool clutches of darkness. And rest. Rest forevermore from this world that had wronged her so. No more Lucrious, Isabel, and step-mothers. No more hurt, no more loss, no more pain. Only darkness.

Finally, Castor wedded his gaze with hers. Solemnly, he began to speak. “Arrenia, this may not be what you want to hear, but listen. The fate of our countries, the fate of the world, rests on our shoulders. You and I will be embarking on a journey. I do not know the details, but I do know that we will be hunted, perhaps even killed in the process…You tremble.”

“I’m scared.”

Her voice cracked into the deadly silence which surrounded them. Castor sighed, leaning in closer and trying to keep her steady gaze. “We can’t shy away from fate, Arrenia. Look,” he cupped his hands about hers. “These medallions bind us together, and together we will stay. I will make sure of it. On my honor as a warrior, I will make sure of it!”

For a long minute, she looked into his eyes, the words wiped from her mouth. True sincerity ran through his fingertips, electrifying her with its simple purity. She sat back, smiling to herself, content to be in his embracive presence. Suddenly, she threw her arms about his neck and felt with sheer joy his arms slowly wrapping about her.

“Thank you, Castor,” she said.

Pushing her softly away, he glanced upwards. “Ahh, but look how the sky grows light!” He rose. “We must hurry little maiden, if we are to reach our destination before sundown.”

Picking herself up, Arrenia scooped up the dirty plates. “Where are we going?”

Castor went over to the mare and gently dragged her to her feet. “To the home of an old and wise friend. If anyone will be able to tell us the full secret of the medallions, it’s him.”

Wait for the Sun- a Tribute to Haiti

Weeks ago, the small island of Haiti was hit with a disaster that shook the world...a 9.1 earthquake, centered at Port-au-Prince, the nation's capital. In a single day buildings crumbled, the national palace, and, in the words of the first lady, Port-au-Prince was "...completely destroyed."

More devastating than the loss of the city, however, was the loss of life. Conscious and unconscious, living, breathing people are trapped beneath the rubble. Amputations of trapped limbs is becoming a common practice. 200,000 people are suspected dead, thousands are wounded, and with the collapse of a hospital? The Haitians are in need of much medical help.

Thankfully, the world rose to their rescue.From all over the world, doctors are flying into the country with medical supplies, orphan children received expedited passports to come to the United States and either meet their families or be put in foster care, and even ordinary people leapt at any chance they got to raid their medicine cabinets for anything they didn't use and/or donate money.

And yet, because of her previous financial afflictions, Haiti will take a long time to rehabilitate. We must remember to always keep the Haitians in prayer, that God would protect them and be with them, and shine brightly in the midst in their darkness.

It was with this mindset that I wrote Wait for the Sun, which emphasizes our need to hold out for the better times ahead during hard times, and the assurance that God will be there for us. Enjoy!

When the earth shakes,
And your whole world breaks,
Will you be crushed by the insanity?

When the bright day ends,
And the darkness begins,
Will you surrender to reality?

Well, don't give in,
At least not now.

There's a day ahead,
Without any clouds.

Chorus

Just wait for the sun,
For it will shine,
Upon the earth anew.

And it will smile,
With the sweet sign,
That God has not forgotten you.

So hold on now,
Though the day is done,

Hold on now,
And wait for the sun.

When the four walls,
You're livin in,
Slowly give way,
Will you cave on in?

When the way's unclear,
Will you live in fear?
Or will you take your life,
In stride?

Chorus

When you can't see,
Your destiny,
Will faith be your only guide?

Or in your despair,
Will you not see it there?
In the darkness will you hide?

Chorus

'Cause this day ain't done,
Wait for the sun.