Hey everbody,I am asking you to pray for a certain family at my nana and papa's church, they have a little boy name Kendrick and he is 4 years old he has a brian tumer in the back of his head he is suppose to have sergery on Wednesday I am praying that God would give the doctors wisdom and I am praying for the little boy and his Family I am hoping that you will pray too.

Thank You 

Allison Cameron Gaddy

Hey everyone! Here is one of my assignments for my Composition class. I had to do a diary/letter written by a fictious person about any event. You will understand the event I chose when you read this letter. =)

A Letter from India 

My Dear Family:

I have arrived safely in India. By the time this letter reaches you, I will probably already be home, but I wanted to send this anyway. Spoken words cannot express the things I have seen and done here already after just two weeks.

            As you know, I am working with missionaries here in India that are with Gospel for Asia. GFA has touched so many people’s lives here, and I am honored to be a part of such a wonderful plan to bring God’s amazing and abounding love to what many call the “least of these”.

            I have been serving in the slum of Bombay. The Bombay slum is the biggest, dirtiest, smelliest, and most distasteful slum in India, and the families and individuals that live there are the lowest of the low. They are called the Untouchables, or Dalits. Of the 4 castes of people that live in India, the Dalits have none. And it is these people that I have come to serve, specifically the children.

            The children here are utterly miserable, dirty, unkempt, and unfed. They yearn to know that there is a better future ahead of them, or that someone cares about them. The news that Jesus loves them lights up their dark, sad eyes. They unashamedly beg for money and food on street corners, not realizing that it is not the only way of life. Each tear that rolls down their dirt-smeared cheek breaks your heart anew. So it is the least that I can do to help teach these poverty-stricken children in the one-room schoolhouse that GFA has built especially for them.

            Each child comes to school dressed in clothes and shoes that the organization has provided for them. They wear bright, cheerful smiles on their faces, knowing that they are going to learn more about God’s beautiful creation and His fantastic promises to them. Their parents’ faces glow with a rare pride and joy when they hear their child reading a Bible passage aloud to them. Through this ministry that reaches out to the “least of these”, Jesus has touched many people with his love and kindness, and moved them to become a part of His family of believers.

            I urge you, my dear family, to pray for these needy and poor people that are, nevertheless, rich in the joy of the Lord. Remember that with prayer, mountains can be moved!

            I love and miss you all, and hope you are doing well!

                        In Christ,

                                    Zoey Carlyle  

*comes in happily skipping and humming* What, you don't believe that a Monday, a struggle against the alarm clock (sadly void, but I will work on it) and 277 words over the daily wordcount would have this effect??? OK, so maybe not skipping...more like dragging my feet and looking blearlily at the computer screen...

Yet seriously, I did Day 1 in my Advent novel (for it is to be a novel now) and it wasn't that bad. Albeit it took a while, mostly because I'm still straightening the lumps, having no plot at all to go on at first, and thinking up names, junk loik thet. It can't take so long tomorrow, I wanna spend more time wid da Girls and Mom, just enjoying each other's company! But if this is Day 1, I jist might do NaNoWriMo next year. I don't believe what I wrote was twaddle, of course you must decide for yourself and read Day 1, yet all in all I did not have to come in here screaming about stoopid kids (characters, Mom, not Katsy and G.B.!) and ridiculous plots with no meaning whatsoever. *refuses stubbornly to think about Day 8 or Day 15* God-willing my inspiration will flow steadily and already December seems too short. I may get long-winded and not finish it. But no! I musn't...

Right now, my fingers are frozen curled over the keyboard and the spicy winter air outside is calling me to gather some wood stove kindling from the forest. That all sounds horribly dramatic, but we do live on top of a hill surrounded by sloping woods. I've also vowed to cook or bake at least one goodie for Mom every day...I came to the conclusion during Thanksgiving that I am a dreadful bachelor and, come the holidays when, also God-willing, I an married to a Godly man, and IF I actually manage to cook the turkey, we will eat half and then I shall stand staring stoopidly at it.

Wellp, Dad's home because he must work tonight, so I must away. Now, if I come storming in here tomorrow, blame it on Rhody and the black rider! They're Renegades, I think. It's good to know I always have molespeech to lapse into if the Advent book gets too rebellious

God bless,

~PIP~

LATER:

Tonight at six o'clock eastern time, Venus, Jupiter and the moon will be the closest near each other than they will be for another 44 years! Mom, Dad, the Girls and I all went outside with the binoculars and danced around laughing at our shadows (and hahaha, that last part was us, not Mom and Dad!). It was great fun so if you have a chance, see it! It won't occur again for 44 years!!!!

"FANTASY IS A NECESSARY INGREDIENT IN LIVING, IT'S A WAY OF LOOKING AT LIFE THROUGH THE WRONG END OF A TELESCOPE."~Dr. Seuss

Good grief, it actually wasn't that bad! It took about two hours, but to my utter amazement, I wrote 277 words over the daily wordcount. I'll haveta not be so long-winded or write faster, it took too long in my opinion. I feel optimistic about it, however, and hope you will like whatcha see. The genre is Christian fantasy/allegory, and it's based somewhat on Christ's birth (although that isn't revelent until later). I can't give you a nutshell summary cuz *whispers* I'm making it up as I go!!! So here's the labor of day 1:

The clouds were red. Red like blood. The mist arose from the river like some terrible apparition, seeking to strangle the spicy winter air. Ice-coated branches clacked together like morbid hands keeping time to a death-song. Far across the foggy heaths came the wailing, mournful cry of a wounded child. Then a horrible growl shook the snow lying on the forest floor, and all was silent. Silent save for the brush of the zephyrs in the frozen grass.

“All is lost!” shouted the sterling-eyed king. His long rich purple robes dragged along the cherry wood floor of his private chambers. “How will we gain salvation from our foes now? The heir to the Warwick throne is dead. Dead, I tell you!” The king stopped pacing to slam his fist on the small dragon-leg table, upsetting a silver goblet of rich red drink. His advisor, the tall, thin gray man with brilliant blue eyes, tapped his foot nervously in the shadowed corner where he stood. Long had he aided his king to rule Crescent and the surrounding kingdoms…but lately turmoil had erupted in the adjacent heath-province of Warwick, the kingdom of fierce warriors and brave women. Rumors of the Yule, the dreaded tree-beasts of some far northern mountain range, had spread like wildfire throughout the lands. Crescent’s king, good Wenceslas, had spent many a fitful night mulling over the fate of his dear people. The villagers, living scattered instead of companionably together, were forced to tear down their wattle and daub houses and move closer to each other, creating friction over farmland and field possession. The daily strife caused much pain to Wenceslas and already his smooth pale forehead was becoming creased. How long would these frightening rumors bring the Crescentfolk to his drawbridge, demanding restitution? The Yule had long since died out…had they not?

Wenceslas sighed and sat wearily down on his fur-covered bed. “Melchior…I am nearly spent of all my love for the Crescentfolk. How long will these tales persist to torment my once-peaceful mind?” Melchior, sitting down beside his king, rubbed his spindly hands together and enjoyed the rasping sound.

“Good majesty.” His voice was smooth and deep. “Why is it that you are troubled so by your people? Why not merely bar them from your presence and leave them to sort their own truth from the Yule rumors, hmm?” Wenceslas started and stared at his advisor.

“Melchior, are you suggesting that I abandon my people?” The king’s mighty voice shook with surprise. “I am pledged to love and serve the Crescentfolk like my father before me, and his father before him and all the way back to the Fairies who spawned us within their dew-laden cliff dwellings. To pay no heed to the cries of my suffering fellowmen would be an outrage not only to my ancestors…but also to the Fairies. We must not enrage them, must we?” Melchior sighed heavily; the gesture seemed almost forced.

“I suppose not, great one. Yet remember, to live a life of dull care and constant worry is not to live.”

Wenceslas gazed in confusion at the tall narrow shadow as his advisor walked from the chamber.

“She must be part Fairy. No other girl her age would care so for the well-being of her friends.” The warm, smoky voice came from a gossipy old woman sitting amid a voluminous dress of fine silk and furs upon a long red bench next to her friend. Cheerful music drifted across the shiny marble hallways and tickled the ears of rosy-cheeked children playing rambunctiously near the hearth. Murmured conversation reverberated through the big bright room and twisted around the columns to meet the two old biddies snickering over the guests.

“Yes indeed, she MUST be!” the other woman said. The two women watched the tall girl move gently through the crowd, her raven black hair catching the hearth firelight. “Can you see her ears? Maybe they are pointed!” The old lady gave a thrilled shiver and sipped her strong punch.

“Oh dear, her hair’s covering them. Well, if she is a Fairy’s child, we will hear about it soon enough.”

The girl did not hear their conversation. She was kneeling beside a little boy who had bruised his shin on a jagged corner. “There there,” she whispered as a tear rolled sparkling from the boy’s bright green eye. “It will not hurt for long.” The girl kissed his pink skin and took a damp cloth from her thick leather belt, and pressed it to the bruise. “Does that feel tingly?” The boy’s lips shaped an O and he laughed softly. “It feel like tasting peppermint!”

“Ah yes, peppermint, the herb of the winter,” the girl said. “That is good. You know, to feel something that has peppermint-taste is a very rare thing indeed.” The boy grew sober. “Really?”

“Oh yes! You must pay attention to that delicious cold feeling, for you never know when next you shall feel it.” The boy squinted up his eyes and held his breath. The girl laughed and stood up. “Thank you, Rhody,” the boy said in a pinched voice. Rhody ruffled his hair and moved silently around dancing couples. What a pleasant party! The duke had indeed outdone himself this Greenleaftime. Shrill bagpipes trilled and fiddles gave their high, swirling thrum. A young lad played with enthusiasm on a little drum and Rhody waved her hand to the beat. The boy nodded back and gave her a fond grin. Skerry was a nice brother, with his ruddy face and crooked smile. His thick thatch of hair was as black as hers and fell in his eyes as he bent once more over his drum. Rhody’s tan face darkened briefly as she recalled voices who said her and her brother were odd. Indeed, they were different, but not insane. Skerry had built their little home into the hollow trunk of a giant pine tree and kept the soup pot filled with good rabbit meat and pigeon. Rhody knew every plant and herb in the forest and on the heaths, and could sew masterfully. She ran a hand over her warm maroon cloak and smiled to herself as she sat down in a chilly window seat. Just because Skerry and she lived outside of the paranoid community of Crescentfolk, who had been pushed at each other by the Yule rumors, did not mean they were mentally ill or deliberately disobeyed the duke’s commands, which came directly from king Wenceslas. Crescentfolk, over the past several years, had learned to scorn those who did not conform to authoritative ruling. Rhody, in counter, scorned helpless fear that trained not the mind but the doubts. Skerry was a skilled swordsman, too young to be drafted in the duke’s regiment but a talented squire nonetheless. He taught Rhody the art of wielding the broadsword and Rhody in turn taught him to recognize vital herbs. Together they felt prepared to battle and aid as best they could should the Yule cross the eastern rapids.

Rhody leaned her head against the frosty windowpane as the music changed tunes and a clear pipe came into hearing. Her eyes slowly closed as the lilting sound carried her to sunny fields and cold streams, plump berries bursting with goodness and joyous laughter that floated on a slight breeze. Yes, this was where she’d come from. Long garments of materials she had never been able to find, graceful peace that evaded the most troubled soul and made it sleep. Thick, sweet water and bright dappled leaves whispering to each other. This was her home. Her real home…

You must pay the piper, two must dance along;

three should glean the grass and one will sing this song.

The merry tune was carried on the wind to the ears of several shepherds watching their sedate creatures.

“Ho, minstrel!” shouted one of them. The slender man carrying a gaily-painted lute strode over on long legs and sat before the shepherd’s small fire. “What will you have this cold noon?” he asked. His voice was happy and lazy. The cold seemed not to bother him. “Something suited to the day,” one shepherd grumbled. He pulled his fleece jacket closer about his sinewy shoulders and tore into his bread and cheese. The minstrel scratched his chin as the others nodded their agreement.

“A winter song, eh?” he said. “One would think you would wish a hot summer ditty to warm your stern bones!” One shepherd laughed mutedly but the leader turned austere blue eyes on him.

“I did not call for a jester, I called for a song in keeping with my miserable life.”

Why would you not want a song about joy? thought the minstrel. Surely it would do you some good! He did not say this aloud but stood up, his height towering and blocking out the sick gray sun.

“I fear I do not know any songs of those sort. I can sing only cheery tunes this noon, for I am going to be minstrel to king Wenceslas himself!” The shepherds, though discontented, whistled and let him on his way.

The minstrel walked on along the rude muddy road. He swung his arms in a wide arc and did not heed the sudden freezing blast of wind that danced inside his clumsily-sewn tunic. Slinging his lute over his shoulder, the minstrel hummed a washerwoman’s lay as the heaths came into view. The forests were behind him now; Wenceslas’s castle must not be far away now. With good blessing he could make it by supper time if he pushed his long legs to cover the distance. His gentle mother’s words rang through his head once more: “Now, my dear Conan, you must bring honor to your poor dead father and play well for the king. Wenceslas has been very kind to us here in Kentle, you must strive to play your very best for him.” Conan had given his word but with tears he had parted with his little mother. He’d protected her many a stormy night from drunken men and savage beasts, and his heart had grown tender towards her. His mother did promise to travel to a nearby village and seek shelter with another old widow, so Conan’s heart could be put at ease.

Conan’s voice drove away the chilling fingers of heath-winter as he sang of brave warriors defeating dragons to save beautiful ladies locked in high towers overlooking magical ponds. For amusement he twisted one tale and made it the lay of a woman sword-wielder who saved a wounded knight during a bloody foxhunt. The new story pleased him and he wove it into a well-known song. Once he had the words right, Conan ran his fingers through his curly brown hair and felt content. The heaths were now upon him; his cloak was soon damp with the purple fog and his the laces on his leather boots dragged in the squelching mud. Conan sang his tale over and over, but eventually the sad cry of marsh birds and the wind whipping off the mountain peaks surrounding the heath muted his joy. He began to feel weary and his steps slowed.

“This truly is a downtrodden land, with the very essence of melancholy,” Conan muttered as a briar bush wrapped stickled arms around him. He tore free and looked about him. The trees were strung with moss like grim decorations and the frogs croaked softly. As the sky darkened, the minstrel began to feel a creeping panic. What if he broke right at the height of his journey? Wenceslas’s castle was surely just over those few ridges! Yet on and on he traveled and there was no sight of the sprawling stone dwelling. The heaths grew silent and the wind bit at Conan’s buckling lute until he covered it hastily inside his dirty cloak. The screams of angry memories seemed to haunt the heaths and hidden marshes. Conan felt his happiness slowly ebb away and his fingers froze stiff, curled around his belt. He wished the king had provided him with an escort. The most there was had been a summons from a pimple-faced page, excited with his first duty, telling him the king’s decision to make him minstrel. Conan recalled the years spent studying at Kentle’s art school, the bleeding fingers and aching head, the hours away from his mother as he grew up mastering the lute. Thankfully, Conan was a quick learner and was soon able to spend more time with his mother, playing for her instead of steel-eyed instructors who cared nothing for depth or beauty, but only the true ring of the lute strings and wail of the pipe. And then the blessed day, the summons day.

Conan tried to think on these things as a delicious warmth overcame his cold limbs. No, no, he mustn’t give up! Not so close, not so close…

The black rider, his cape sweeping the dusty stars, galloped upon his frothing steed across the greenish gray heath hills. His eyes smoldered. How dare that king tell him what he must and mustn’t do! The rider shouted again in rage as his horse slipped slightly and he nearly fell off.

“Stupid animal!” The man dug his sharp boots into the horse’s flank. “We must make it to the woods in whole pieces!”

As the moon rose pale and thin over the heathlands, it saw a strange sight. The black rider and his horse has stopped before a lanky shadow stretched out in a marsh. The man tipped his head back and laughed. The moon leaned closer and heard his evil voice say, “What have we here!”

Hey guys, how's it going!!! I'm good, my foot is a lot better!!! Right now, I'm in m dad's box truck making a delivery!! We had to get up at  like 6:00 AM!!!! I'm so tired! lol!!! We left at 7:30!!!! It's nearly 4:00, and I haven't even had luch yet!!!! Well I don't have much to say... Oh yeah, Ella, my niece, has RSV, and when my nephew Kaleb had it, he nearly died, so if you remember, please pray for her.

TTYL

here is a link to the new lego theme coming out January 1. 2009

http://powerminers.lego.com/en-us/default.aspx

hi this is my first post on this blog check it out all the time because i have a lot of things to right about

 bye

I haven't blogged since last month! hahaha. It's the first of December already... the year has gone by fast! Like, seriously, it seems like summer was a week ago. The year's almost over, and I can't wait for 2009. Especially the Summer of 2009. I love summers. =P

It's snowing today. Not a whole lot, but still. It's the first snow we've gotten this year. It was falling fast a couple hours ago, but now it's lazily drifting down. As soon as it touches the ground, however, it melts. Dang it! We hardly ever get good snow here in Georgia. All we get is unbearable cold. grr.

Isn't he just the cutest kitty ever?! Rascal has the right idea for a day like this... curl up on a sofa covered in clothes (that's where Mom sorts them), relax, and take a good, long nap. He almost blends in, so little kids won't come and bother him. He's so adorable!

-Brianna

In the great darkness a voice call’s to me, how…how does it know my name? How I know my name? What am I, who am I, where am I? The voice calls to me again. “Lucifer, awaken and open your eyes come and stand before your creator.” My creator…why would I stand before him? And yet how can I not?  

The being called again, Lucifer stands and go’s before the one called his creator; he opens his eyes and falls to the ground slightly blinded. But how can that be, it’s in the darkness there is nothing that can blind you here, is there? He opens his eyes again but looks not towards his creator, his eyes stair down where he lays. He can see the ground and his trembling hands, but how, there is no light. This causes him to ask, to speak to his creator. “How is it you know me? And why can my eyes not look upon you without pain there is no light and still I see, but You I cannot look upon?” His creator answered him “You are my creation; I made you and gave you your gifts. You are to be the leader of your brothers and sister, who I am about to make. You will be the one who sees me create all things. You will be the leader of the great hosts of my Angels. Are you ready to see the light?”

The words he said hit my ears and my mind rang with pleaser, to know that I was to be the creator number two man was more then I could dream of. I hesitated for instant and heard the creator say “Let there be Light!” and the darkness was gone and I looked upon my creator, and he was beautiful. Everything about him was magnificent, holy and perfect. He looked down at me and said “You can look upon me now for the light has touched you. Know that there is no darkness where I am and I am everywhere. You could see before you saw light because I am here. No matter where you go I am there and you will see.” The words went to not only my mind but also entered my heart and soul. These words I knew would be with me forever.

The creator spoke again and said “come Lucifer, come see the creation I am about to make.” So I his first creation went to him, he put an arm on my shoulder I was filed great excitement but at the same time I was terrified for I knew his power was great. The creator spoke again “The light I have made comes from me and I will also let there be darkness, not the darkness there was before, for there now can be not that darkness as long as I am where things are. But this darkness will be the absence of the light that comes from me.” The light went away but still I could see perfectly fine. This is the end of the day the creator began his creation.

I spoke to my creator again asking “So I am Lucifer…and I am to be the leader of what, for there is nothing but you and me?” “You will see your brothers and sisters when the light, the light that is day comes again. For the darkness is night and it will come after the light to bring forth the light again.” The creator paused, then contended “at the beginning of the next day you will see the ones you will lead, and you will name them and I give it to you to tell them what their jobs will be.”  These words my creator said hit me so hard I fell to the ground. I lay there staring up at the creator open mouthed, wide eyed with a tingeing sensation running through my whole body. The creator was giving me such a great responsibility, how…how could I live up to what he has planned for me? I stumbled for words “I…I….I don’t know what to say, how am I to know how to complete this great task? What if I give one the wrong job and destroy your great plans? How can I do such a thing?” The creator knelt down put one hand a on my shoulder and the other under my chin, and he spoke so softly and lovingly with the greatest hope in his eyes. “You will know for I have made you for this, when you are with me you will do great things. I will work through your hands and from your mouth will come my wisdom and authority, and all will know that you are mine. In me you can do no wrong, you will lead the way for all my creation, from your example they will follow.  I have faith in you; all you need is to have faith in me.”

As He ended I found that He had lifted me from the ground and He was carrying me through the vast space that was to be His creation. We talked for the longest time though it seemed like just an instant, but as we finished the night was over and the new day had begun. So the creator looked at the vast space, and said “Let there be a firmament between the waters to divide the waters from the waters.” And as he spoke the waters divided, “what shall we call this space between the waters?” I asked the creator. He smiled and said “what would you call it?” My heart leaped and my soul was lifted so high, a felling of pride came over me. The creator wanted to know what I would call his creation…then another feeling swept over me; how could I name something so great, something the great creator has made? “I can’t think of any word to tell how great your creation is…you bless me so much by even asking what I would call something of yours.” The creators smile widened and he began to laugh. “Perhaps I have asked more than you think you can handle, but soon you will really know what you can do. Remember I have faith in you, all you need is to have your faith in me.”

Again those words that fill me with such hope and encouragement, I really do feel as though I can do all things through Him, my creator. This time when He says it I feel as though I have let Him down, that He thinks I don’t trust what He has told me, but do I?

My creator looked at me, as if what I was thinking was plainly visible to Him. He said to me;”Why are you fearful that you disappoint me? I have given you all you need to fulfill all that is planned for you. There is nothings I want you to do that you aren’t ready for. The only thing you need now is to believe that yourself. You will not let me down if you try to do what I set before you, for when you try to do my will you will secede. You have all you need to complete all your works in you, for I am in and with you.”

These words lifted me yet high then I’ve been. Knowing that He is here helping me do His works makes me wonder how I ever doubted I could do it. With Him in me and working through me how can I fail, for there is no frailer in the creator of all things. “I am ready for the task you lay before me, tell me what is to be done, and for you I will complete it.” My creators look was so soothing, and his words still more; “You are ready for your task, and I know you will make me prod. Here look as I create you brothers and sisters.”

It seemed as though he was waiting for me to see his persons in me to start this new creation. As if He wanted me to know I was ready before letting me do my work. He of course knew I was ready and could do it, but He still let me see it before having me do it. I know I will not fail, He is my guide, I can’t.