Graduate

Do not follow where the path may lead. Go, instead, where there is no path and leave a trail. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

My little sister's High School graduation was on Saturday.

It was a day of emotion, family, and the passing of the baton from one generation to another...watching the graduation of my baby sister flooded me with pride.

As I watched her and a small cluster of my younger friends walk across the stage and receive their diplomas from their fathers, it was quite the flashback of my own graduation two years ago.

I remember standing against the wall with my closest friends as we prepared for the processional, slowly realizing that my life was about to change forever.

I remember the commencement speech and the mountains of advice given that day from teachers, parents, family, and friends to the class of 2009.

I remember giving my speech, fidgeting with my tassel, crying as I hugged my dad while my diploma passed from his hands to mine.

I remember smiling for endless photos and laughing through my tears as I shared final moments with the people who had shaped my life for the past five years.

But above all else, I remember being gripped by a combination of terror and passionate excitement.

It was the first day of my future, and I had no idea what I was going to do with my life. At that moment, all my dreams seemed so huge...so wonderfully wide and frightening massive.

So this is my word to you -- to HHSW's Class of 2011...to every graduate who has turned their tassel this year...

Be.

Be a man of God. Be a woman of grace.

Be a radical changer of the world.

Be strong and of courage, for the Lord is with you.

Be mighty men and women of valor and love.

Be dreamers. Be faithful. Be passionate.

Be yourself.

But above all,

Be His.

Congratulations Class of 2011.

To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting. ~e.e. cummings

Précieux (Precious)

Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival. ~C.S. Lewis

What makes something precious?

What is it that gives something such inestimable value that it is lauded enough to place upon a special pedestal for the world to gaze upon in wonder?

What gives someone such value?

Is it shared experience...the catch of mutual laughter, or the bond of a deep unfettered grief?

Is it the miracle of unity...the way that two people can look across a room, catch an eye, and feel the same little rush from head to toe and back again, without a single word shared?

What is it that brings simple, everyday objects to such a place of requirement in our souls...in our hearts...?

Is it the whisper of legacy behind a father's tarnished pocketwatch?

Is it the memory drawn forth in honor of a friend who made his way to heaven before us?

Things of value are few and far between anymore.

Everything is now. Everything is needed right at this moment.

Legacies are fading fast. The need for things that are precious...the sweet pain of memory and recollection...it is melting into the woodwork faster than we can hope to catch it in fleeting fingers.

But I refuse.

I refuse to let memory fade. To let things become commonplace. To let the mundane overtake the remarkable.

More than ever, we need our precious.

Precious friends.

Precious memories.

Precious joys, precious pain.

Life is precious....

...don't let it slip.

God gave us memories that we might have roses in December. ~J.M. Barrie

Primavera

If I had my life to live over, I would start barefoot earlier in the spring and stay that way later in the fall. ~Nadine Stair

I adore spring.

If I had my way, we would skip all other seasons and live in a perpetual state of freshly budding flowers and 75-degree days.

Spring is beauty personified. Everything is springing up from death into life.

It is nature's greatest art form...God's most precious masterpiece.

It is fresh strawberries and bare feet buried in soft grass.

It is gentle breezes and holding hands by the lake, wind-swept waves caressing over lover's toes.

Spring is strawberry lemonade and frozen treats, just enough to send a tiny shiver up my spine.

It's driving with the windows down and my sunglasses resting on the bridge of my nose, the A Fine Frenzy playing just loud enough to make me shout and the wind warm as it musses my hair.

It's as if God poured all of His love, elegance, and passion into this perfect season...three beautiful months of serenity, whispering rain, and teasing breezes.

This is the season of Holiness...the season where death's sting became a distant memory and its power was lost forever.

The season of blood, splintered wood, and iron nails.

The season of empty tombs and "He is not here, for He is risen."

Spring is the season of life. Renewal. Redemption. Resurrection. Restoration.

Spring is my bliss...

...and I can't wait to find it again.

And [the angel] said to them, "Do not be amazed; you are looking for Jesus the Nazarene, who has been crucified He has risen; He is not here; behold, here is the place where they laid Him. ~Mark 16:6

Soundtrack

Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent. ~Victor Hugo

I breathe music.

It's been something that I've lived on since I was a tiny girl.

With a professionally-trained musician father and a mother with the singing voice of an angel, I was steeped in musical notes and treble clefs from the time I could walk.

I credit my parents with teaching me the value of putting my life to a soundtrack.

Every great movie has a soundtrack -- a score of music, a compilation of songs, a haunting melody. These notes speak more to the drama, strength, passion, and bloodlust of each pivotal moment than any detailed explanation ever could.

My life is no exception.

Maybe this is exposing more of my own quirks than I actually want to, but even still...

My life has a soundtrack.

My mood and my iPod run on very similar veins.

The rich, earthy tones of Imogene Heap and Joshua Radin speak to the mellowness...the twinges of romantic darkness that cling to the edges of my heart.

The light daisy-petal notes of Mika, Lenka, or Yiruma speak to the brightness and melodic tone of my spirit.

The powerpunch of Skillet, Anberlin, HIM, or Plumb generally refer to a bit of leftover angst lingering after a particularly strong moment of dark emotion.

The bouncy snap of some popular Top40 hit or the swish of a Michael Buble melody generally speaks to my growing need to move my body and dance like either a mad lunatic or a measured artist -- all mood-based.

The flooding rush of Brit Nicole, Brooke Fraser, Chris Tomlin, or Aaron Shust remind me for Whom I live...a musical way to remind me that I live for the One who broke my chains and set me free.

I could go on, but I think I've conveyed the idea.

Music runs through my veins like blood, scores cover my skin like invisible tattoos, and notes flood my head like flocks of brilliantly-hued butterflies over a dew-dusted meadow.

Music says what I can't. It screams when I have to be silent. It laughs for me when all I can do is cry, and it unveils those hidden corners of my soul that hurt too much to reveal.

So at the moments, when the echoes are screaming and the pain is flooding my lungs, threatening to drown me...

...I let the music breathe for me.

“'Sing and rejoice, O daughter of Zion! For behold, I am coming and I will dwell in your midst,'” says the LORD." ~Zechariah 2:10

Obsession (The Narnian Rant)

...there I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there."~Aslan, Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Everyone has an obsession. Something from their very earliest of days that has captured them...captivated them more than any other thing.

For me, it wasn't so much a "thing" as it was a place. A special, secret place only accessible to those who were chosen...chosen to slip from the wooden confines of an apple-wood wardrobe into a snow-covered pine forest with a lamp-post burning eternally at its center. A place where fauns dance, ordinary youths can become royalty, and a mighty Lion rules with Love.

When I was ten years old, my brother brought us a VHS tape of The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. From the very first moments of the movie, my heart was captivated. I remember vividly sitting on that couch with my sister, hardly daring myself to breathe in case the magical spell of Narnia would break and life would once again be dull and ordinary.

From that moment on, I was obsessed. Narnia became an addition that my youthful mind could simply not release. I devoured the books, watched every film, and spent hours perusing commentaries written by others regarding this magical world that had woven its spell over me. In fact, I was so convinced that the world was real that I opened myself up to much humiliation and ridicule by my peers, often to the point of tears.

I am now twenty years old. The spell of Narnia has yet to break.

So tonight, when I went out (despite being sick) to see the brand-new movie version of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, I had wavering yet high hopes. I should have set the bar a slight bit lower, knowing what I do of Hollywood and the tendency to take a beautiful thing and fit it into a less than stellar mold. And after reading the interview on Yahoo!Movies (link: http://movies.yahoo.com/news/movies.reuters.com/plot-needed-big-changes-new-narnia-filmmakers-say-reuters), I should have prepared myself for disappointment.

And yet, the innocent Narnian child dwelling in my heart was far too excited to pay my grown-up fears too much heed.

...flash to the end of the film.

As the credits rolled, I found myself sitting next to my husband in the darkened theater, my mind in a bit of a quandary. Honestly, I didn't exactly know what to think about the film that I had just seen. If I had not been an avid fan...or rather, a long-lost citizen of the Narnian realms...I might have left that film with an air of wonder and enchantment. For I will not deny, the movie was powerful and emotional enough to ring something deep in the heart of any viewer. However, knowing what I know and loving Narnia the way I do, I felt a bit muddled up in my heart.

There were so many things that I did not agree with...however, I will limit my observations in this rant to keep from sounding like a spoiled child or an overzealous fan with too much of an opinion.

1.) Eustace called his parents "Father" and "Mother." I almost leapt from my chair. Lewis wrote within the first six lines of the book that "...Eustace did not call his parents 'Father and Mother,' but 'Harold and Alberta.'" This might seem like a very trivial matter; however, it is something that Lewis specifically wrote within the first paragraph of the book. This means it was, for some reason, excruciatingly important to him as the author, and therefore, it should just as important to us as the reader. It bothered me.

2.) The Lone Islands were nearly unrecognizable. With the exception of the name and the barest shell of the events that actually were written to have occurred there, nothing was the same! The fact that Lord Bern was in a jail cell, the purpose of the slaves, the fact that Reepicheep was not taken captive...almost everything about that particular section was so discombobulated and so distant from the original that there was not even a whisper of familiarity.

3.) On the same note as the Lone Islands...when the youths are captured by the slavers, Caspian struggles against his bonds and cries out, "I am your King!" This irritated me to no end. In the book, Caspian SPECIFICALLY tells Edmund and Lucy to tell no one that they are Narnian royalty until the political status of the islands has been determined. In fact, when they are captured, Lucy desperately attempts to tell their captors who she is, but Caspian swiftly silences her with a shout and a look of warning.

4.) The romance between the Ladystar and Prince Caspian was tremendously underplayed. For the sake of piquing the interest of the tweenie-girl element, it was made to look like both Prince Caspian and Edmund were falling for the Ladystar. However, C.S. Lewis specifically wrote Caspian and the Ladystar to fall dramatically in love the moment they met...at least, Caspian was supposed to. The Ladystar was to remain aloof for a bit before sending the prince on his way to finalize the last details of his quest.

There is more...so much more...but I feel as though I have whined enough. I will, though, add a few positive notes that I found along with the negatives.

1. Eustace was SENSATIONAL. I was immediately impressed by their choice of casting, and he will most definately make a welcome addition to the cast. His acting was wonderful -- he truly had me convinced that he was the most foul boy to ever walk the earth, and his change from fiend to fierce and valiant warrior truly touched me. In fact, he was responsible for my two favorite moments:

a) The change from dragon back to a human boy. The connection, sorrow, and shame that Eustace shared with Aslan was truly amazing, and struck a chord with me deeply. Watching the love that radiated from the Lion to the boy truly reminded me of the way my Savior views me, even in my sin. It was a dramatic and touching moment, indeed.

b) At the very end of the movie, Eustace picks up the painting and moves to hang it back on the wall. In the same motion, Lucy and Edmund slowly step out of the frame, leaving just Eustace to remount the painting. It was a very beautiful and powerful moment, almost "passing the baton" from the final two Pevensie royals to the new warrior who will usher in the end. It was truly a moment that brought me to a flood of tears.

2.) The sea serpent. Breathtakingly epic and extremely frightening for a PG-rated movie. It was truly a mark of sweet genius on the director's part. To say I loved it would be an understatement, to be sure.

3.) Aslan. Need I say any more on this one?

All in all, I have not yet given up hope on these new renditions of my favorite tales. There is still a chance for The Silver Chair, The Horse and His Boy, The Magician's Nephew, and The Last Battle to rock my world and remind me of why this land holds me in such a tight captivity. The spell is not yet broken...and I pray it never does.

Never forget -- further up and further in.

FOR NARNIA, AND FOR ASLAN!

Composer

Ink on paper is as beautiful to me as flowers on the mountains; God composes, why shouldn't we? ~Terri Guillemets

There are so many things I love about being a writer.

People ask me all the time why I'm drawn to the idea of being a professional authoress.

It's hard to pick just one reason.

...I have so many.

There is something so profound about writing. Among the pages of your own hand-written worlds, you can seek and destroy life's most excruciating hurts.

The written word can be wielded like a sword in the hand of a mighty warrior, or whispered in one's ear like a lover's private secret. It has such incredible power -- to lift up and to cast down, to bring healing or to rip into shreds.

A writer is one who has been entrusted with the care of one of the world's most beautiful and deadly gifts. It takes great discernment and a holy kind of wisdom to know exactly what to do with this gift.

The written word wove a spell over my soul in the 3rd grade; it's not something I've been able to break free from since. And honestly, I'm glad.

Writing is more than just allowing a pen to dance over a page, or fingers to fly over an eagerly waiting computer keyboard.

Hours are spent, pouring over lines of inky scribblings on scraps of paper. Ideas flit in one's head like a seemingly endless flock of butterflies, only resting in one place for a moment before spreading their wings and moving on to a new idea.

It can bring on so many emotions, so many wide-spread frustrations that those who are not writers do not fully understand. In fact, it can make you a bit crazy.

But then there comes that moment, when all is finally silent. The voices have slipped away, the ramblings have ceased. It's then that the conductor lifts his baton and the writer lifts her pen...and the dream begins anew.