We sat out by the fire literally in the middle of the woods. No buildings, no platform tents within sight. The trees opened to the stars illuminating the autumn sky. The babbling brook down the hill accompanied our singing. We did a mix of acoustic and a capella worship songs to our God, the Creator of this beautiful moment.
Listening to Mindy's rockstar voice, I'll admit, I got a bit jealous. I enjoy singing; I do a decent job. I don't sound like Mindy. At all.
I watched an eight year old pick and play in the fire. I'm not sure if it's my history of burns or my natural inclination towards safety but I've never been a fire picker. I'm barely brave enough to roast a marshmallow.
I watched Kurt rhythmically strum his guitar. Despite the smoke in his face, his fingers found the frets. Allyson's slowly teaching me guitar. But I only know four chords.
A high schooler cuddled with the camp dog. I've always been more of a cat person, an idea reinforced when I was attacked by dogs a few weeks ago.
A chaperone faithfully kept the fire burning. Not so big that we all had to scoot back. Not so small that we needed additional blankets for heat. Just perfect.
God, I said in my head, You've given Mindy the gift of singing. She sounds wonderful. You've given Kurt the gift to play guitar. It's peaceful. You've given these other folks bravery and fire-building abilities. It's so great that we can all be here together amidst Your beautiful creation to enjoy this moment.
Katie, God responded, not in an audible voice, You're jealous that you can't sing like Mindy, play guitar like Kurt, find a cuddle-buddy in a limping, four-legged friend, and build a fire like the one we've got here. But you know what you can do? Make twenty s'mores in less than five minutes. Ready, set, go.
"I'm ready for some chocolate and graham crackers..."
"Me, too."
Chaos. And I only broke one half of a cracker.
<>< Katie
"Now if the foot should say, 'Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,' it would not for that reason stop being part of the body. And if the ear should say, 'Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body,' it would not for that reason stop being part of the body. If the whole body were an eye, where would the sense of hearing be? If the whole body were an ear, where would the sense of smell be? But in fact God has placed the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be. If they were all one part, where would the body be? As it is, there are many parts, but one body. The eye cannot say to the hand, 'I don’t need you!' And the head cannot say to the feet, 'I don’t need you!' On the contrary, those parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, and the parts that we think are less honorable we treat with special honor. And the parts that are unpresentable are treated with special modesty, while our presentable parts need no special treatment. But God has put the body together, giving greater honor to the parts that lacked it, so that there should be no division in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other. If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it. Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it." 1 Corinthians 12:15-27
Showing posts with label burn. Show all posts
Showing posts with label burn. Show all posts
Monday, November 8, 2010
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Tractor on Fire; Katie on Tractor
When it comes to household jobs, cutting the grass is my favorite. I get to fly around the yard, write, and get paid for it. Sweet!
I'm quite a sight when I cut the grass. Today I am wearing a blaze orange shirt, not quite matching the orange of my tractor, and brown shorts with black Chacos (I'm looking to enhance the Zorro-like tanlines on my feet). To top it off, I'm wearing my notorious cowboy hat, I have a blue Off! fan latched to my shorts, and my iPod is strapped to my thigh using the elastic band intended for a runner's arm. Yeah, really pretty.
I'm lost deep in thought, memories, and stories that may someday be blog-worthy when all of the sudden I hear this nasty noise. It kind of sounds like I ran over something, but I haven't. I keep going and there is a second noise, not as loud as the first. At the third noise, I stop the tractor. I see Mom inside the house walking towards me as I turn it off.
"Did you hear that?" I ask.
She assures me she has and asks what it was. Like I know. Then she tells me the tractor was smoking.
I hop off the tractor. "It's on fire," I say. "Yes, I see a flame." Keep in mind, I hate fire. Been there; done that. Lived to tell the tale; have the scars to prove it.
Mom runs to get the fire extinguisher, her trademark move. From a reasonable distance, I watch the grass burn. There is only one flame, but it is bigger than you would see on a candle.
"Do I even know how to work this?" She asks as she pulled the pin out of the fire extinguisher. She pushes the levers together and it blows a fog-like gas. Well, the wind take it and it showers me with fire extinguisher fluid.
The flame goes out, our tractor needs to be serviced, our fire extinguisher needs to be inspected, and the grass still needs to be cut. Oh, and I smell like Off!, grease, freshly cut grass, forget me nots, smoke, and fire extinguisher.
When we tell Dad what happened, he just laughs. And laughs. And laughs. He's now outside trying to fix the poor piece of flaming machinery. I told him to scream if he needs me to call 911. All quiet in the front.
I'm fine, by the way. A little traumatized and just as pyro-phobic as ever, but it's just another day in the life...
<>< Katie
I'm quite a sight when I cut the grass. Today I am wearing a blaze orange shirt, not quite matching the orange of my tractor, and brown shorts with black Chacos (I'm looking to enhance the Zorro-like tanlines on my feet). To top it off, I'm wearing my notorious cowboy hat, I have a blue Off! fan latched to my shorts, and my iPod is strapped to my thigh using the elastic band intended for a runner's arm. Yeah, really pretty.
I'm lost deep in thought, memories, and stories that may someday be blog-worthy when all of the sudden I hear this nasty noise. It kind of sounds like I ran over something, but I haven't. I keep going and there is a second noise, not as loud as the first. At the third noise, I stop the tractor. I see Mom inside the house walking towards me as I turn it off.
"Did you hear that?" I ask.
She assures me she has and asks what it was. Like I know. Then she tells me the tractor was smoking.
I hop off the tractor. "It's on fire," I say. "Yes, I see a flame." Keep in mind, I hate fire. Been there; done that. Lived to tell the tale; have the scars to prove it.
Mom runs to get the fire extinguisher, her trademark move. From a reasonable distance, I watch the grass burn. There is only one flame, but it is bigger than you would see on a candle.
"Do I even know how to work this?" She asks as she pulled the pin out of the fire extinguisher. She pushes the levers together and it blows a fog-like gas. Well, the wind take it and it showers me with fire extinguisher fluid.
The flame goes out, our tractor needs to be serviced, our fire extinguisher needs to be inspected, and the grass still needs to be cut. Oh, and I smell like Off!, grease, freshly cut grass, forget me nots, smoke, and fire extinguisher.
When we tell Dad what happened, he just laughs. And laughs. And laughs. He's now outside trying to fix the poor piece of flaming machinery. I told him to scream if he needs me to call 911. All quiet in the front.
I'm fine, by the way. A little traumatized and just as pyro-phobic as ever, but it's just another day in the life...
<>< Katie
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Campfire
Earlier this semester I read a blog about a little boy with burns that reminded me of my own burn story. The resonance hit me hard and after two days of dwelling finally I decided to take my own classic advice and "write about it." I've written about it a million times before, but it was time to do it again and a little differently.
On the first day of my Human Biology class the professor said, "This is the non-science majors class. I realize all of you are only here because you have to be. You're not science people and that's ok, but for me to remember that I'm going to think of you all as my father. My father was a poet. In my brain, you are all poets."
I remember thinking to myself, I'm not a poet, but I am closer to a poet than a scientist.
I'm still not a poet, but I wrote a poem explaining why I once told Andy I'm allergic to fire.
<>< Katie
"Campfire"On the first day of my Human Biology class the professor said, "This is the non-science majors class. I realize all of you are only here because you have to be. You're not science people and that's ok, but for me to remember that I'm going to think of you all as my father. My father was a poet. In my brain, you are all poets."
I remember thinking to myself, I'm not a poet, but I am closer to a poet than a scientist.
I'm still not a poet, but I wrote a poem explaining why I once told Andy I'm allergic to fire.
<>< Katie
She ran her fingers over
discolored imperfections on her forearms
before pulling down her sleeves to hide
the scars of a clumsy childhood.
She didn’t remember
tripping over the pesky shoelace,
the metal safety rim bruising her leg.
But all too well she remembered
failing to choke back the tears
as smoldering coals gripped her forearms,
the firm grasp on the back of her shirt,
her rescuer, her mother,
dragging her to the a perfectly-placed water pump,
as if it had been awaiting her misfortune.
She remembered the
pain as her skin burned,
embarrassment of her own misstep,
fear and unknown in the Emergency Room
the doctor poking incessantly asking if she felt it.
Yes. It hurt.
She remembered the rules
no pool, no sun.
A bird was told not to fly.
She tried to argue but
her voice had vanished,
the verdict not negotiable.
She remembered
devastation,
summer lasting an eternity
bandages over both arms,
trying in vain to dry one hand,
always refusing to explain why.
Years later the bandages are gone,
but the scars remain like
she tanned while wearing fishnets,
even if only for her to see
and still she avoids explaining.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Burnt Popcorn
This week in my creative writing class we're been discussing point of view (pov) and tense. Personally, it's a bit basic because I know my preferred pov and tense. I know that if I'm writing creative non-fiction it's almost always in past tense, first person. Sure, the first person protagonist isn't always me but it's how I tend to write. My fiction pov of choice is bit more complicated. Almost always third person but beyond that I cannot/could not be more specific. Last week, I would have said omniscient. This week I'm not so sure. Senior year in high school, a classmate read one my writing assignments and commented, "This is written in third person limited. That's what Mrs. Martin said was the hardest to write, wasn't it?" I took that as a complement but brushed it off because, well, he wasn't the best student in our class. I regret not going back and investigating whether he was right in his judgment or not because now I'm quite a ways into a novel and I realized it's the wrong point of view. Sure, some parts can stay but most of it needs major revisions. I have my work cut out for me, and I realize this four days after spring break. Oh snap.
As a class exercise, I've rewritten this same scene multiple times from multiple povs.
<>< Katie
I first knew Chuck was over when I noticed his car in the parking lot as I walked back to my apartment as I late after class on Monday night. This meant I would not be accomplishing much in the hour and a half I had left of my day. As I walked up the stairs the smell of burnt popcorn was almost overwhelming. Of course, I wondered who did it, if the fire alarm had gone off, and how long the stench had had to clear. I turned the corner and had my answers before I pulled out my keys.
"Are we the ones who burnt the popcorn?" I asked as I walked through the open door. Bad choice. I regret opening my big mouth. Clearly the answer was yes. As soon as I made it through the foyer I saw Mandy curled up in a chair, her face buried in her knees. Chuck knelt beside her trying--and failing miserable--to console her.
"I set the fire alarm off," Mandy said looking up at me. Mascara and tears seemed to be hosting a marathon on her cheeks.
"Let me put my stuff down and I'll give you a hug," I said doing just that. When it comes to rectifying situations involving my roommates, a hug is always step one. Step two was biting my tongue and not complaining about the frigid temperature and awful odor.
"We were going to watch a movie, do you want to watch it, too?" Chuck offered.
Who could think about a movie at a time like that? Sir, your girlfriend is clearly upset, our apartment will soon reach subzero temperatures, and I doubt the aroma of burnt-popcorn will ever dissipate, I wanted to say, but I didn't. Instead I ignored him.
"I don't want to watch that movie now," Mandy confessed quietly. I went into the bathroom and grabbed the air freshener. I could still hear them talking in the kitchen.
"Where'd you find that?" Chuck asked when I returned armed with Oust.
"My secret stash," I said covering up the burnt popcorn with strawberries and cream.
"Heidi, I wish you'd have been here," Mandy cried.
"Me, too," I said hugging her again. It was only half of a lie. I would have rather been here with Mandy and her fire alarm than taking notes in class at 10pm. I wish I had been here for her sake, not my own.
"I was here," Chuck interjected. I smiled at him. He's trying; he really is.
"Everyone knew it was my fault. I forced everyone out of the building," she groaned. Even my story about Emily burning popcorn during business hours and forcing an administrative building to evacuate didn't really help. It was time for Plan B: comic relief.
"Did you try waving the towel in front of the smoke detector?" I asked; she nodded.
"As soon as we stopped the alarm went off. I thought about blocking the detector, but I didn't think that would work," Chuck explained.
"Have you used a wet towel to clear the smell?" They doubted it would be beneficial, but I wanted to try anyway. At the very least, it might cheer Mandy up a bit. I put a fresh towel under the faucet, rang it out, and began to swirl it above my head.
Success! Well, I don't know if it really helped with the smell, but Liz smiled. In fact, I think I heard a giggle! And right then, that giggle was more important to me than the overwhelming burnt popcorn smell. Mission accomplished, Heidi. Well done.
Oh, but next time I try to cheer someone up with the helicopter-like towel maneuver, I might remember to close the blinds first. I think we had an audience in the parking lot.
As a class exercise, I've rewritten this same scene multiple times from multiple povs.
<>< Katie
I first knew Chuck was over when I noticed his car in the parking lot as I walked back to my apartment as I late after class on Monday night. This meant I would not be accomplishing much in the hour and a half I had left of my day. As I walked up the stairs the smell of burnt popcorn was almost overwhelming. Of course, I wondered who did it, if the fire alarm had gone off, and how long the stench had had to clear. I turned the corner and had my answers before I pulled out my keys.
"Are we the ones who burnt the popcorn?" I asked as I walked through the open door. Bad choice. I regret opening my big mouth. Clearly the answer was yes. As soon as I made it through the foyer I saw Mandy curled up in a chair, her face buried in her knees. Chuck knelt beside her trying--and failing miserable--to console her.
"I set the fire alarm off," Mandy said looking up at me. Mascara and tears seemed to be hosting a marathon on her cheeks.
"Let me put my stuff down and I'll give you a hug," I said doing just that. When it comes to rectifying situations involving my roommates, a hug is always step one. Step two was biting my tongue and not complaining about the frigid temperature and awful odor.
"We were going to watch a movie, do you want to watch it, too?" Chuck offered.
Who could think about a movie at a time like that? Sir, your girlfriend is clearly upset, our apartment will soon reach subzero temperatures, and I doubt the aroma of burnt-popcorn will ever dissipate, I wanted to say, but I didn't. Instead I ignored him.
"I don't want to watch that movie now," Mandy confessed quietly. I went into the bathroom and grabbed the air freshener. I could still hear them talking in the kitchen.
"Where'd you find that?" Chuck asked when I returned armed with Oust.
"My secret stash," I said covering up the burnt popcorn with strawberries and cream.
"Heidi, I wish you'd have been here," Mandy cried.
"Me, too," I said hugging her again. It was only half of a lie. I would have rather been here with Mandy and her fire alarm than taking notes in class at 10pm. I wish I had been here for her sake, not my own.
"I was here," Chuck interjected. I smiled at him. He's trying; he really is.
"Everyone knew it was my fault. I forced everyone out of the building," she groaned. Even my story about Emily burning popcorn during business hours and forcing an administrative building to evacuate didn't really help. It was time for Plan B: comic relief.
"Did you try waving the towel in front of the smoke detector?" I asked; she nodded.
"As soon as we stopped the alarm went off. I thought about blocking the detector, but I didn't think that would work," Chuck explained.
"Have you used a wet towel to clear the smell?" They doubted it would be beneficial, but I wanted to try anyway. At the very least, it might cheer Mandy up a bit. I put a fresh towel under the faucet, rang it out, and began to swirl it above my head.
Success! Well, I don't know if it really helped with the smell, but Liz smiled. In fact, I think I heard a giggle! And right then, that giggle was more important to me than the overwhelming burnt popcorn smell. Mission accomplished, Heidi. Well done.
Oh, but next time I try to cheer someone up with the helicopter-like towel maneuver, I might remember to close the blinds first. I think we had an audience in the parking lot.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Bonfire
I've had this song stuck in my head all day. I don't know what it's called, but it goes, "Lord, I wanna burn for you, I wanna yearn with passion. Lord, I wanna burn." (Or something like that). I don't really like that song because I don't really like fire (for understandable reasons to be expressed at some other time), yet what did God speak to me through today?
I hung out with Brianne again today, and, unlike on Monday, we had a bonfire. This was an atypical bonfire because it was in the middle of the day. Brianne, however, had a blast, and now her summer can officially start. :-) She's not the best fire-building, but she's an amazing fire-player. As I was watching her (from a significant distance, might I add) play with the fire, God spoke to me. Sort of twice.
Brianne loves to have a stick in the fire at all times. No matter what she's doing, she has to be playing with the fire. Well, she kept throwing small branches on the fire. She threw a plethora of small branches on the fire. Enough small branches on the fire and she almost smothered the fire. Branches are good for building up the fire, but too many and the fire is put out.
God's work in our lives is kind of like that. Small changes are good, but too many small changes at once and we turn away from Him. (Maybe that's the Lutheran in me talking...)
Another way God spoke to me through the fire was through the ashes on the bottom of the fire pit. At one time the ashes were good, solid wood that was helpful in fueling the fire. However, later on they became less helpful and even bothersome. If the ashes weren't forgotten about and were turned over, they once again became helpful in providing oxygen to the fire.
Some of our experiences are helpful at the time in growing us closer to Christ. Yet, if we just leave them in the past and move on, they are no longer helpful. If we look back on them and revisit them, we can continue to grow from the good and bad times.
Ok, so that sounded a lot cooler in my head.
<>< Katie
"I the LORD do not change. So you, O descendants of Jacob, are not destroyed." Malachi 3:6
I hung out with Brianne again today, and, unlike on Monday, we had a bonfire. This was an atypical bonfire because it was in the middle of the day. Brianne, however, had a blast, and now her summer can officially start. :-) She's not the best fire-building, but she's an amazing fire-player. As I was watching her (from a significant distance, might I add) play with the fire, God spoke to me. Sort of twice.
Brianne loves to have a stick in the fire at all times. No matter what she's doing, she has to be playing with the fire. Well, she kept throwing small branches on the fire. She threw a plethora of small branches on the fire. Enough small branches on the fire and she almost smothered the fire. Branches are good for building up the fire, but too many and the fire is put out.
God's work in our lives is kind of like that. Small changes are good, but too many small changes at once and we turn away from Him. (Maybe that's the Lutheran in me talking...)
Another way God spoke to me through the fire was through the ashes on the bottom of the fire pit. At one time the ashes were good, solid wood that was helpful in fueling the fire. However, later on they became less helpful and even bothersome. If the ashes weren't forgotten about and were turned over, they once again became helpful in providing oxygen to the fire.
Some of our experiences are helpful at the time in growing us closer to Christ. Yet, if we just leave them in the past and move on, they are no longer helpful. If we look back on them and revisit them, we can continue to grow from the good and bad times.
Ok, so that sounded a lot cooler in my head.
<>< Katie
"I the LORD do not change. So you, O descendants of Jacob, are not destroyed." Malachi 3:6
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