Facing My Giants

It's Saturday and I'm writing a post. That's because I am sitting in my bed, still bundled beneath the covers at ten thirty in the morning watching the movie Facing the Giants. And about forty eight minutes into it, I am struck in such a powerful way I thought of so many of us precious friends on this journey of life. And I knew this was worth sharing.

So here's the scene: Losing football team. Little confidence left in themselves. A football coach who many are wanting out of his job. He's just found out he can't have children. And his team is falling apart at the seams. They have just finished practicing and one of his players is cutting up. He calls him over to the front of the team and below is the conversation. The coach's words are in brown and the players words are in blue. But remember this before you begin. Up until that moment the players have only ever done ten yard "death crawls". A death crawl is when one player is crawling on all fours while carrying another player on his back. Also remember, for those of you who are football challenged, the length of a football field is a hundred yards.

"I want you to do the death crawl."
"What you want me to go to the thirty yard line?"
"I think you to go to the fifty."
"I can do it if no one's on my back."
"I think you can do it with Jeremy on your back. But I want your best."
"Alright." he shrugs.
"Your best." the coach says more firmly
"Ok." "You’re going to give me your best?"
"I’m going to give you my best." he finally says with true conviction.
"Okay, but I want you to do it blindfolded."
"Why?"
"Because I don’t want you giving up when you can go farther."

The boy starts out at the one yard line. The coach is standing above him, talking confidently. "Show me good effort."
"A little bit left."
"That a way Brock."
"There you go."
"It’s a good start."
"A little bit left."

Brock stops and takes a rest.
"Don't give up on me Brock."
"I'm not coach. I'm just resting."

Brock starts back up.
The coaches encouragement grows louder.
"Your very best."
"Don't quit on me."
"There you go."
"Don't quit until you've got nothing left."
"That's it."
"That's it."

Brock's pace slows.
"It hurts. It hurts. He’s heavy. I’m almost out of strength."
The coach drops to his knees and begins to crawl next to him. Now he is screaming his encouragement in his ear and crawling along beside him.
"Then you negotiated with your body. It’s all heart from here!"
"It burns!" Brock says his struggle growing.
Coach screams louder. "Let it burn!"
"It’s all heart!"
"My arms are burning!" He's slowing more now.
"You promised me your best!"
"Your best!"
"It’s too hard!"
"It’s not too hard!"
"You give me your best!"
"Don’t quit! No!"
"Keep Going!"
"Don’t Quit!"
"Don’t Quit!"
"Give me more!"
"Give me your best!"
"Don’t Quit!"
"Don’t Quit!"
"Brock Kelly you don’t quit on me!"
"You keep Going!"
"Ten more steps!"
"Ten More!"
"Ten More!"
"I can’t do it!"
"You can! Just five more!"
"Five More!"
"Don’t Quit!"
"Two More!"
"One More!"

Brock collapses to the ground. The coach falls to the ground in front of him.
"I can’t make it to the sixty. I don’t have anymore." Brock whispers his face buried into the turf. The coach removes his blindfold.
"Look up Brock. You're in the end zone."
"Brock you are the most influential man on this team. If you walk around defeated so will they. You just carried a hundred and forty pound man across the field. And God has gifted you with the ability of leadership. Don’t waste it."

The young man who Brock has been carrying steps in and says, "Uh, Coach."
"Yeah, Jeremy. What is it?"
“I weigh one sixty.”

I stopped the movie and then rewound it and watched it again, and then rewound it and watched it again. It was so powerful. But since you don't have it to watch right now, how about scroll back up and read this one more time. But this time, put the voice of God in the place where the coach's words are and put your name in the place of Brock's. And then place whoever you need to in the place of Jeremy. Then come back to this place...

I don't know what your giants may be today. But I know what mine are. I don't know what you may be carrying on your back either. Maybe it's your children. Maybe it's your marriage. Maybe it's the people you're called to lead at work, or church, or at your school. And you're screaming about now, "I can't do it! It hurts!"

But someone is screaming louder. I've said it before, but I love C.S. Lewis' quote, "God shouts to us in our pain." And He is shouting at you and I. "You can do it! You promised me your best! Keep going! That's it! Keep going!"

But we often limit ourselves. We think we're making real ground if we make it ten yards. But heaven wants us going all the way. So, God blindfolds us. He removes all ability to see where we're headed and leaves us with nothing but blind trust in the voice screaming at us that we can do it! We can make it!

But it is our own fears , our own unbelief in ourselves. Our own desires to want life worked out on our timetable and in our own way. But God's measure of time and distance are not ours. His ways aren't our ways. So He only asks for one thing. Belief in Him. Belief in the fact that if He says we can do it we can do it. Belief in the fact that He is a faithful companion. And belief in the fact that He is more than able of defeating our giants.

He also blindfolds us for another reason. Because being blindfolded removes our focus on how far we have to go. Some of us are so fearful of how long something will take that we're more focused on the distance then what can be learned and gained during the journey.

About two years ago I started a boot camp class. I call it "Body by Bill". Because Bill is our instructor. And for an hour and fifteen minutes he does nothing but scream at us. And when I get tired Bill tells me there is more in me. He always says, "Don't let a rep beat you." Meaning don't let one more push-up, one more lifting of the weight, one more squat, one more jumping jack, have the final victory. You have the final victory.

Use to, all I did was keep my eyes on the clock, just wanting it to get over. But now, I focus on the burning of my muscles. Because I know every time those muscles burn something is happening. My muscle is being sculpted, my body is changing.

The same is true with our lives. Every time something burns, every time something is painful, our lives are being sculpted. Our body is changing. Progress is being made. We can't give up in the land of the giants.

I'm not sure what your giants may be today. All I can focus on is the ones that I face myself. But what I do know is that God expects nothing of me that He hasn't already fortified me with the strength to accomplish. It's in you too. He knows it because He put it there.

So, no matter the giant, be it infertility, be it financial loss, be it the death of dream, be it a broken marriage, the strength needed for that situation is in us.

But why does it matter? Why does it matter if we make it to the end zone? What happens if we give up halfway? Because we're carrying people. Whether we're in a position of leadership in our home or leadership in a ministry or leadership on a job, someone is depending on us. Be it our children, our spouse, our co-workers, our neighbors. And how we face our giants may very well determine how they face theirs. How are we facing them? Are we mumbling? Complaining? Ridiculing? Whining? Disrespecting those who are actually on our team? Or are we speaking life? Hope? Faith? Confidence in the one who is confident in us?

Every trial we face affords us the opportunity to bring people up to the heights we are willing to climb or down to the depths we choose to wallow in. Every trial affords us the opportunity to cross the finish line carrying someone with us. And I have a feeling when we get there, if we trust the voice of our coach, we will have traveled a distance far greater than we thought we could travel and carried a much greater weight than we thought we were capable of.

Worth the Wait

Well, she's still not here. I know she's coming, but she obviously isn't in any hurry. I'm sure my sister-in-law has had thoughts of just pulling her out at times, but when the time comes, the perfect time, my awaited niece, Georgia will make her entrance.

I don't know about you, but I have to remind myself of that quite often. It seems I've spent a lot of years in God's waiting room. Fortunately He has better magazines! But He has even more than that if I'm willing to look. Even today I had to remind myself that God has perfect timing. It was right after I got the e-mail that my non-fiction book had been rejected. Many of you may not know but teaching is my greatest passion. And for the last four years I've been teaching a series based on the Sermon on the Mount, called Storm Proof. It talks about how the one certainty we have in this life is that of storms. In Jesus' longest recorded sermon, The Sermon on the Mount that begins in Matthew Chapter five and ends with chapter seven, He ends it by saying that no matter how we build, whether like wise men or foolish men, we can be sure of three things: rains will fall, floods will rise, winds will blow.

I pitched this book a few years back thinking it was the right time for its release. Thinking the message was ready, surely someone would want it now. No one did. After years of reworking it, teaching it and taking it to a different level, I have decided to risk rejection again and put it out there. And today it received its first no. A very pleasant no, I might add. I was told that the men identified with it more than women. (Not necessarily a bad thing, except they plan on marketing it to women.) But once again I felt the "wait" button pushed.

I can tell you that I'm better at these moments then I use to be. Use to, God's "no", or His "wait", would send me into a tail spin. Have me trying to figure out how in the world I was going to get it accomplished without Him if necessary. Want to know how that worked out? I've had quite a few aborted dreams. Ever been there? Ever tried to help God out? Ever found life wasn't moving fast enough for you or happening the way you thought it should and found yourself deciding to make it happen anyway?

How do you think that would work with a pregnancy? And isn't that what dreams really are? Aren't dreams really babies so to speak living inside our soul? Aren't they things God has birthed inside of us so that one day our lives will be the conduit for them to impact the worlds we live in? I think they are. I think resting inside the soul of each one of us are dreams we are expectant with. Here is the perfect opportunity for men to give birth!
This is my first book in the window of Barnes and Noble-It was four years from the time of conception until delivery. The road was long, but worth the wait...
The danger is giving birth prematurely. And what does premature birth accomplish? One of two things. It either produces an aborted dream or an unhealthy dream. And of what value do either one of those have to God? I've always heard it said "God is never in a hurry." Hard to come to terms with that in this "hurried" life we now live in. Everything is expected immediately. He also has no concept of time. Remember this is the fella who said, "A thousand years is like a day and a day is like a thousand years." If I'm being honest, I find Him painfully slow. But if I'm also being honest. He has never been late.

I don't know what dream you may be holding inside of you today. Maybe it's been a dream for years. Maybe you've just discovered its even inside of you. But however longs it's been there, to rush it, to help it out, could possibly destroy it all together.

I also want to tell you this. I've learned something else in my years of waiting. I've learned that closed doors are as much God as opened doors. He promises us that "all things", not "some things", not "most things", not "a few things", but "all things work together for my good." So, that means even the doors that close on my dreams, are God simply saying, "Oh, I'm just not ready yet. I'm still developing lungs, and forming valves. I'm still finalizing fingernails and putting the finishing touches on your nose. I wanted to give you one that looks like your Father's." And when I see a closed door now, I simply see it as God making this dream inside of me even better. There can be no disappointment in that. Georgia is coming. But she's coming at God's appointed time. And to make her come any earlier than He has planned would be to mess with a divine order. The same is true with the dreams in your life.

And to those of you who have simply decided to hope no more because the waiting has been excruciating. May I encourage you today to hope one more time. When Sarah was told that she would give birth it was past even Viagra's power to help. The only thing at that point that could have helped would have been God. Maybe that is where He has been trying to get you and I. To a place where we know that only He can accomplish it. Sarah believed you know. She brought the hope back out, dusted it off and believed. She believed so much that she gave birth to her son, "even when she was long past the age for it". Why? "Because she considered [God] who had given her the promise, reliable and trustworthy and true to His Word."

If I can assure you of anything, I can assure you of this. God can be found trustworthy to His word. He is also trustworthy to His children. And He is trustworthy to the promises He has planted inside of us. May we be trustworthy in carrying them until He is ready for their delivery.

As I close, I wanted to share something with you. I was reading in Psalms 27 this afternoon and one of my favorite verses is in there, verse 13, which reads: "I would have lost hope, if I had not believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living." And that is very true. There have been many times that I would have simply given up if I hadn't known in my "knower" that God had good for me planned in this life I'm living right now. But today I went farther to verse 14 and it reads: "Wait and hope for and expect the Lord: be brave and of good courage, and let your heart be stout and enduring. Yes, wait and hope for and expect the Lord."

What three better things to combine than these: Waiting, Hoping, Expecting.
I can't imagine God not showing up in the middle of that!

Expecting...Song/People Get Ready

I have now taken to leaving my cell phone on during dinner with a friend. Something I never do. I let it sit on my lap Sunday with it on vibrate as I watched Prince Caspian, while eating popcorn and drinking a Coca-Cola. Another thing I never do. I have not however kept it out during church, but not for reasons that you might think. No, honestly, if my sister-in-law didn't sit next to me during church, I'd have it on my lap during church too. Why? Because any day now my new niece Georgia is going to make her appearance. So, I've been trying to work really hard and now I've got to get my dogs a bath and get the house cleaned up, and I've got to get the upstairs bedroom ready for my mom and dad because any day now I'm going to be called to meet Damon and Sarah at the hospital and await the arrival of a new part of our family.

I told my mother the other day it's like waiting on Christmas, except you have no idea when Christmas actually is! I remember those December months as a little girl trying to wish away 25 days so Santa Clause could arrive. And) now, I'm wishing away the entire month of May so Baby Georgia can show up. I have two other nephews and three nieces. I was in the room for the birth of two nieces holding the video camera. I'm the only one you can hear when you play back the video. Through my crying you can briefly make out a, "She's so beautiful!"

(Christmas 1976-Me and my older brother Darren- yes boys wore those shirts back then...


I was thinking this week though as I was driving in my car how God wants me to be just as excited expecting Him. I've been doing a study on the Book of Daniel and also reading a great new book called Dead Heat about end time events and all of it has my mind thumbing through the events were living in and wondering when Jesus may come back.

When I was little I use to go to the altar every Sunday night at my dad's church and pray that Jesus would come back before I had to go to school on Monday morning. But he never did. Back then if you would have told me that I would have lived this long I wouldn't have believed you. I was certain he'd come back before I could get married and have sex. And even though I wanted him to come back before school on Monday I didn't want him coming back before those two events. Not sure how I expected all of that to happen.

As I look now at the "groanings" of a tired earth, I think back on that scripture that says, "The earth groans for his return." And I think of how they haven't forgotten their Creator. Like the old hymn, Be Still My Soul says, "the waves and winds still know, they still know, His voice who ruled them, while He dwelt below." The earth is tired. They are ready for their Creator to return and make them new again, so they groan. They groan with earthquakes and tremblings. And they ask Him to return.

And on days my heart groans too. On the days when I see a brilliant sunset, my eyes began to fill with tears and I wonder if this could be the moment? Will He step out on that? And some days I'm doing nothing but the normal. I may be sitting on the sofa, or putting dishes in the dishwasher and my heart groans. Asking, "When are you coming back?"

But expecting...do I live expecting? Do I make the most of every moment as I'm waiting for that which my heart knows will come? Am I getting my own house in order so that when He comes back for a Bride without spot or blemish, will I be spic and span? Am I living preparing myself and others for this moment that I've longed for since I left heaven the day I arrived here on earth.

I honestly believe that right before Georgia makes her entry she'll have one last talk with her Father in Heaven. And He'll ask her to not quit expecting Him. That even though she has to leave him for a time, be expecting because He's going to come back and get her. Maybe it is that knowledge and that knowledge alone that even gets us here. Why would we want to leave heaven to come to the confines of a chaotic earth? The only reason I think that would do is that written on our hearts is the knowledge that He's coming back for us...and with that kind of expectation we can get through our season here.

I'll let you know when she arrives. And when she does I'm going to ask her how things were back at home. Hopefully since she just left she'll have a pretty good memory of it.

A Little Higher/Song-My Wish

I found myself this weekend speaking on Mother's Day. Sometimes when you do a message around a holiday there is a little pressure to include it in some way in what you're speaking about. Thankfully, my cousin who pastor's the church in Murfreesboro, Tennessee rid me of that responsibility. However, as I began studying the message for that morning, I realized that it held an element of parent and child within it.

I've always been a huge admirer of my mother. (My father too, but have never said this about him because, well, he's a man.) I've always thought if I could turn out remotely like her, I would be fortunate and so would those who knew me. I've worked on filling her shoes since I could slip my feet into them, literally. This is a picture of me with her red pumps on from 1976.

But as I was studying the life of a King named Jehoshaphat from 2 Chronicles, I realized I was called to do even more than that. My paternal grandfather was a minister with his brother Louie. In my dad's generation there were three ministers. In my generation there are nine of us in the ministry in some regard. (This is where the half as good as my father comes in.) See, King Jehoshaphat's father King Asa took a step beyond his father and decided he was going to rid his country of idols. But he didn't get all of them. Because scripture says that when King Jehoshaphat began to reign he removed the idols from the "high" places.

As I thought of this in regard to my own life I realized that I'm not called to be half the woman my mother is. I'm called to go even farther. I thought of how many times we just want to deal with the issues that people see, kind of like King Asa. But Jeho-was willing to go to the places that people didn't see. Probably not real different from a lot of us. Maybe we're not the alcoholic our parents were, or maybe we haven't had an affair or something, but we've grown accustomed to our temper. Or being a little manipulative or controlling every now and then to get our way has never bothered us much.

Ever since that day that I got dunked, I knew Jesus had my heart. But even through this last year, I've realized there are a few places He has never had. Maybe those are my high places. I have to be honest with you, scaling what I've had to scale to get there has stunk. I've found myself battered, left pretty bruised at times and even been bloodied. But the amazing thing about going to the high places is the view of God when you get there. I've never seen Him the way I've seen Him this year. Of course, I've never depended on Him the way I have this year either. Of one thing I'm certain, the journey could have been a lot worse. I could have broken something. Oh, I did break something, my heart. I'm even learning to break my selfishness. But thank God He hasn't broken my will. In fact, I think I've found that to be fortified.

I've been reading a book that I got a few years ago called "Blue Like Jazz." My book "Savannah Comes Undone" had just come out and I was going to be signing free copies to give to book sellers at a book convention my Publishing house was at. Donald Miller, the author of "Blue Like Jazz" must have been coming after me, because he had a huge display of books in the center of the booth. So, I took one home with me and stuck it on my shelf with all the other books I have that I will one day read. Almost three years later I finally picked it up.

It is more of a musings on life kind of book. I really didn't know what to expect, but I didn't expect that. I also didn't expect the range of emotions it would conjure up in me. One minute I'm furious at him, the next I'm laughing hysterically, like when he talks about a friend who said he once had a three hour conversation with Abraham Lincoln and found him very "delightful". The next minute, I'm checking my gut, checking my motives, rummaging through my own garbage and realizing all the places inside of me that still stink. All the broken places that still are sitting there in their little pile waiting for me to give them some attention. And I'm climbing once again. Realizing there is another high place I haven't tended to.

And I get jealous of Donald's complete transparency and then realize if I'm jealous of that, then what is keeping me from it? The need to simply sound religious? Like the fact that earlier in this blog I changed the word to "stunk" when I wanted to say, "sucked" because that's what I would say if you were my mother or my father or my friend sitting across the table from me. But I was afraid I would offend someone. And if I have, then I'm sorry, but there are some things in life that do more than stink.

If you asked my parents they would tell you how immensely proud they are of me. They would honestly probably say I had gone farther than they have gone. But everyday I see another place yet to go. I think the challenge in this is realizing that there will always be a high place to tend to and not to let that overwhelm us. Because if I think about it too long it could make me not want to bother. But what I try to focus on is how I've seen God when I've gotten to those high places and I wouldn't trade that for all the bloody knees I've had on this journey.

(This is my favorite picture of my mom and dad. If I'm ever blessed with children one day maybe they'll post a picture of me. But more than that, maybe they'll go higher still.)

It's my pleasure to introduce......

When I wrote Savannah from Savannah, my very first attempt into the world of fiction, I never dreamed where this road would take me. But what it did take were people that believed in me along the way.
The first person was my close friend and agent at the time Esther Fedorkevich. After reading the first couple hundred pages of what would become my own personal attempt at a Gone With the Wind epic, finally coming in at over 600 pages...she said, "I think this is good!"
"You're not serious." I told her.
"Yes, I am. Let me pitch it and see what happens."
And she did.
The other person that took a chance on me and believed in my ability to tell a story was my Editor, Ami McConnell. I'll never forget the first day we sat across from each other over salads at The Tin Angel restaurant on West End Avenue here in Nashville. We had so much in common. We had both lived in Charleston. And we both loved cokes. McDonald cokes. She even knew about their calibration system! And she loved my story. And she helped create it into a dream allowing me to walk into a bookstore and see it on the shelf.

There have also been two moments in my life where people have basically called me into my destiny. The first was Nancy Alcorn, founder and president of Mercy Ministries of America, who called me on the phone about six months after I moved to Nashville. Only the night before I had been sitting in the floor of my apartment crying and telling my parents over the phone that if something didn't happen I was coming home. Two days later I was in Nancy's office helping her finish her book Echoes of Mercy. When she called me that night to ask for my help I said, "Nancy, I'm not a writer."
She said, "Oh, yes you are."
And from that day forward I was. Because one woman believed I could be.

The second time came when my friend David Spring asked me to help him teach a college and career class at the church we attended at the time. I said, "David, I don't teach." (You think I'd learn to quit saying what I don't do.) And he said, "But I really think you are and I think this is something you should do." That statement started what has now been ten years of traveling and teaching.

Today, it is my privilege to call four young people into their destiny. I introduce you to four writers. I say that, because they simply are. They are incredibly talented individuals and it is my privilege to have read their stories. I honestly wish I could have posted all one hundred and fifteen stories I received. They were amazing! I was overwhelmed by the enthusiasm and heart of these young people. But more than that at their incredible gift to tell a story. May you enjoy this preview of what will possibly be some of our future's finest story-tellers....


The Music Box
Meredith S.

“Sam, what are we gonna do?” Alex asked worry filled her expression.

“I have no idea Alex.” Sam replied sadly disappointed.

“Well?” Alex paused, thinking. “What do you think Kayla?”

“Uh.” I searched my mind for a reasonable answer, but there wasn’t one. “That music box belonged to our great grandma. She’s dead. Where could it have gone if no one else knew about it?”

“Well, it’s gone so obviously someone does.” Sam retorted almost angry.
“Why would someone want an old silver music box with an ‘L’ on it?” Alex practically thought out loud.
“It doesn’t make sense!” I was frustrated. I was the youngest of the family. Samantha, Sam, was the oldest, and Alexandria, or Alex, was just older than me. I guess you could say that we were the least proud family in our town. The only family without a boy, to help Pa work on the farm. That’s why he left us.
Mom is still sad even though that was years ago. She works all day in the village square, selling handmade trinkets. Me and my sisters would stay home all day because schooling was not offered to girls. I think that is just stupid! We are just as smart as the men may be smarter. I have gotten over that though, I had been wishing for this since I was five when all my real playmates had gone off to school, eight years ago.
“It doesn’t even work well.” I stated the fact as if it was part of a mystery, cause it was. This was a Sanders’ family mystery, and if no one else helped me I would solve it myself.
“But remember what value it held for Louisa. It was gold to her.” Alex added considering this to be a clue in the mystery of the music box.
“Shy does it matter? It’s gone and we’re never going to see it again!” Sam angrily said as she shut the trunk of the family heirlooms, where the music box once laid.
“Sam!” I nearly yelled. This was the most exciting thing that ever happened to me. I wasn’t going to let it slide. “Although mom wouldn’t care if it was gone, she’s probably happy about it. But this belonged to dad’s mother and her mother! We have to get it back!” I was fuming! “This was our mystery to solve and trust me I will!””
“Well don’t plan on me giving you any help.” Sam said as she stood and left the room.
“Why does it matter so much McKayla?” Alex asked as she too stood.
I was the only one left kneeling on the floor. I stared up at her. She had called me by my full name. Only my mother had ever really called me that. Alex was actually the one that had started to call me that when I was little.
“Because-I don’t want to sit around stitching all day! I want to have fun!” Mother would have yelled at me for that. Me, Sam and Alex were her employees, we help make what she sells.
“Well,” Alex paused again. She had to decide. “I am going to do my chores, but if you need my help or ever need to talk, I am here.” After saying this she too left the room. Alex was always the sister I liked more, because she was so stick-to-the-rules type of person like Sam. She was my friend.
I couldn’t blame Sam though. She was sixteen and legal for marriage. No one had asked her yet and she was nearing seventeen years. She had courted a few men but no one said she was the right one. It would ruin her reputation running around figuring out a mystery.
“Thank you Alex. I owe you something for this.” I said. I knew she couldn’t hear me, cause she had left, but it made me feel better to say it.
I opened the trunk again. No better place to look for clues, then the place that once held the stolen music box. I removed a few old quilts and some old men’s clothing. They used to be dads but he left most of his possessions. That is mostly how we got the music box. He gave it to her when they married. She put it in the trunk with everything that was a reminder of dad. She put it in the attic where she thought we wouldn’t find it, but when she’s gone we come up anyway.
I then emptied other little trinkets onto the floor. There were paintings, necklaces, baby outfits, and even some wooden toys. They must have been mine when I was little.
My hand reached into the trunk to retrieve the last item. It was a little pink bag with designs stitched on it. I had never seen this in all the years I had looked at and played with the items in the trunk. There was no way I had overlooked it. This was new.
“What in the world?” I said aloud, even though no one could hear me. I undid the button that held the purse closed. I paused before I put my hand in the purse and pulled two items out.
I set the purse down and looked at the items from the purse. There was a locket, nicer than anything that we had a purple gem locked into a steel circle. It was on a silver chain. Inside the gem was a letter “M.”
“Whose name starts with a ‘M’ other than mine?” I asked aloud. “M…M…” I searched my mind for a good explanation. “Madelyn!”
I realized after a moment, that was my mother’s name. I didn’t know her by that name because she went by Lynn. Her parents spelled her name like that because that’s what one of their friend’s name was. They had always liked it.”
My attention then turned to the slip of paper that was also in the purse. It read:
Lynn,
I am sorry. I am only doing what I think is right.
The throne awaits me and you said you wanted nothing
to do with it! So you implied that you did want anything to do with me. This necklace is yours now.
Matthew S.

My mouth dropped open. Is my dad really going to be king? I flipped the paper over again to make sure there wasn’t more. This is my biggest clue yet. Had my own father stolen the music box? Something caught my eye:

Inn, left
Market, right
black smith, right
3rd right house, it
It was squabbled handwriting but it may be more of a clue. I looked farther down the page and found what I was looking for:

5:00 pm
Inn
Don’t be late

I read it again. He was meeting somewhere, at the inn at 5pm. It must be about 4:20. I have to go- now! I took the necklace and put it on. I couldn’t leave it. I stuffed the note in my apron pocket. I grabbed what I knew was dad’s cloak and put it on, leaving the hood down. I ran down the stairs extremely grateful that no one saw me. I ran out the door.
It wasn’t uncommon for people to wear cloaks this time of year. It was fall. Dusk wouldn’t be in too long. It would signal that I was late. I kept to the outskirts of town. I wouldn’t want to meet up with my mother.
I had lived in this town my whole life and I knew it very well. I came to a place I knew I was safe to enter into. It was nearest to the inn, and a place I wouldn’t meet my mother.
I let out a sigh as the inn came into sight. There were lots of horses and carriages up front, because it was the only inn in town. I pulled the hood of my cloak over my head to cover my hair. Women didn’t really come into this part of town, but I had to.
It was silly to be so attached to this music box and to get into this much trouble for it, but I really wanted to see my father again. He left when I was four, nine years ago and I vaguely remember him at all.
Then the sound was so clear that I knew it was near, the music box’s song. The tune would sing me to sleep every night when he still lived with us, and for a little after he left. It was music to my ears then, now it was a haunting sound, I knew my father was near. A branch broke and I whipped around. There was a boy in the street, about my age but no younger. I recognized him, but knew he couldn’t be my father.
“My music box!” I whimpered as I saw him turning the handle allowing it to play on.
“Actually-I think it is my father’s music box.” The voice was menacing.
What does he mean his father? Are we related? “What are you talking about your… my voice trailed off when I saw him, my very own father walking toward us.
The young man flipped around to face the man too. Only I spoke, “Father?”
He looked at me in surprise. He studied me, but showed no emotion in his eyes. My hands shot up and pushed my hood back to show him who I was. He stared in the dusk at me. I stared back. This wasn’t how I thought it would be.
“McKayla?” He asked astonished.
“Yes-dad.” I managed to answer.
“Eric run- hurry!”
My mouth dropped open. What had my father just said? “Wait dad!” I began to run after them but found it hopeless to keep up with them “My music box!” I tried to reach for it but it was a helpless cause. They were running away, far away from me now.
Although it was helpless, I stepped toward them. My foot stepped on something small. I bent down and picked it up.
It was my music box.


Jordan N.

As he drove past miles and miles of countryside, Jacob couldn’t help but wonder what awaited him. He was traveling to his great uncle’s house, whom he had never met before in his life. His uncle was the president of a major road-building company, and had gained millions of dollars throughout his lifetime. Jacob was nervous about his destination.
“What if he’s mean?” He would ask himself. He was in a way, pessimistic about meeting his great uncle.
Jacob loved to listen to music. He loved all types of jazz, Latin, classical, contemporary. There wasn’t anything he didn’t like. For this reason, rarely would you see him without his IPod headphones bolted into his ears, when he wasn’t in school of course. As much as Jacob enjoyed listening to music, he never seemed to develop any talent for a musical instrument. Over the years, he had tried piano, guitar, drums, even going so far as the vibraphone when he developed a taste for jazz. It just didn’t come naturally. He could read music, just not play it.
As he entered the gates, he was amazed at what he saw. He had been closing his eyes; mesmerized by the new Radiohead album he had bought, and had missed driving through Montgomery. For the first time in several hours, he removed his earbuds. His uncle’s house sat on at least two acres of land, with clear deer and ducks everywhere.
“When we enter the house, I want you to take off your shoes right away.” His mom demanded.
Jacob looked down at his worn-out Converse.
“How long do we plan to stay?” Jacob was unsure about the whole trip.
“I’m not sure. We might make it a day trip, or spend the night if he offers. Is your hair okay?”
“Yeah.” Jacob ran his fingers through his brown hair as the butler walked out of the ten-foot tall wooden doors. He trodded with such perfection over to the minivan it appeared he was floating. While he and his mom talked, Jacob plugged in his headphones once again.
“He’s quite the music lover, is he not?” the butler asked, referring to Jacob sitting in the car.
“Yes,” Jacob’s mom said with a laugh, “He was born with a love for music.”
“Does he play an instrument?”
“We’ve tried many times to find him something, but he doesn’t seem to have a knack for anything. Jacob?” He was resuming his Radiohead album. When he saw his mom waving to him. He paused the song, and scurried out of the van and over to his mother. “Jacob, this is Mr. Blear, he will be showing us in.”
“Ah, yes of course, a pleasure to meet you, master Jacob.” Mr. Blear said with an affectionate smile.
“Follow me please.” As they walked along the path up to the front door, Mr. Blear noticed the earbud hanging out of Jacob’s left pocket. “I see you are always prepared for a concert?” Mr. Blear asked with a touch of humor. Jacob immediately put his hand in his IPod pocket. His face flushed. “Never a wrong time for music, I suppose.” Mr. Blear chuckled. Jacob’s mom stared him down scornfully.
“Welcome to the mansion.” Mr. Blear said as he opened one of the large, stained mahogany doors. As Jacob took off his shoes, his mom pleased, he saw a man in a wheelchair inch towards them. He smiled.
“Hello Jacob! It’s so nice to finally meet you. You’re quite taller than I expected you to be.”
“Master Jacob, my I show you to the music room?” Mr. Blear gestured to the winding stairs.
“You go have fun. I’m sure there’s something in there you’ll like.” His great uncle said. As Jacob and Mr. Blear walked down a large corridor, he couldn’t help but ask. “Why is he in a wheelchair?”
“He was in an accident many years ago, and it damaged his spine. He can no longer walk. It’s very unfortunate.” Mr. Blear said. Jacob looked at the green-carpeted floor. “Here is the music room.” Mr. Blear bellowed as he opened another mahogany door, a few feet shorter than the front one. Jacob was tingling all over with excitement.
“What he saw amazed him. Everywhere, every single corner of the room was covered with instruments, some of which he didn’t even recognize. In the very center of the room, elevated above the rest, was a grand piano, black and shining. “Wow, “ he whispered.
“A Steinway, the best in the world,” Mr. Blear said. “It’s his favorite to play, mainly because he has to sit when he plays it.”
“Do you play piano, Jacob?” Jacob turned around to see his great uncle entering the room. He wondered how he managed to get up the stairs.
“Elevator,” Mr. Blear whispered, noticing Jacob’s quizzical expression.
“Yep, this one’s my baby, I play it everyday.” his great uncle said, staring at the piano the whole time. Jacob was looking around the room, his eyes moving from a French horn, a bassoon, and a small piano-looking thing he recognized as a harpsichord. Finally, in the far left corner of the room, he saw a big, wooden instrument, like a bloated violin. “What is that?” Jacob said, pointing to the monstrous instrument.
“Oh, that’s a contrabass.” his uncle said. Jacob recognized the term. “Or a double bass, stand-up bass, take your pick.”
“It’s huge!” Jacob exclaimed.
“Would you like to play it?” his great uncle asked.
“Well, I don’t know…” Jacob didn’t want to embarrass himself.
“Mr. Blear, fetch him something to read.”
“Right away.” Mr. Blear said with a bow and exited the room.
Jacob stood in front of the giant. “Is it heavy?” he asked.
“You’d be surprised,” his great uncle responded.
Jacob lifted the contrabass from its stand, amazed at how light it was. “Do you know how it’s tuned?” his great uncle asked.
“No, I don’t.” Jacob responded.
“EADG. Top four strings of a guitar.”
Jacob plucked each string. “Oh, okay. That makes it easier.” He pounded out a basic 1 3 5 progression, amazed at how easy it was to locate the notes, considering there were no frets. Just then Mr. Blair re-entered the room. “Sir, I have selected a J.S. Back piece.”
“Excellent. Help me to my stool.” He was helped over to his piano stool.
“Here you are.” Mr. Blair handed Jacob his sheet, which he noticed was entitled. “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.” He knew the contrabass was a bass instrument, and began reading the notes and placing his fingers in the correct positions. “G,G,D,G…” he whispered to himself.
“Are you ready?” his great uncle asked him.
“Yep. I’m ready.”
“One, two, three, two, two, three,” his great uncle counted in. Jacob became locked into the music, his fingers automatically moving as he read the notes. His mom walked into the room, her mouth agape at the sight of Jacob playing the large instrument. Jacob looked up from his music, glad he had landed on a three-measure G, to see a tear running down his mother’s cheek. He was happy. He had found his instrument.


Tori H.

It was a brisk fall morning. The clouds were billowing over the orb of light that was the sun. I can’t say that I was glad to be inside, John L. Finnigan Middle School, but that’s where I was and at least it was warm. I glanced through the window and longed to throw on my jacket and sprint through that sweet-smelling, emerald grass.
I tuned out the extremely boring science lecture that I was getting from my extremely annoying teacher. I then turned to look at the empty seat next to mine I sighed. That’s how things always were with me- alone. It’s not that I don’t want to have friends, but nobody likes me. I was abruptly brought back to the dull classroom by a loud knock on the door. In walked our principal, not so closely followed by a rather small girl with blue jeans and a button-down, red sweater.
The girl had blonde hair that was almost white and curious, almond-shaped blue eyes. She bowed her head and stared at the floor. The principal’s demanding voice boomed off the walls. “Class,” he said, or otherwise yelled, “This is McKenna McPherson. She’ll be joining you from now on.”
He gave McKenna a hard clap on the back, almost sending her sprawling into the front row of desks. He chuckled nervously as he quickly exited the room. “McKenna,” my science teacher droned in his usual flat tone, “you can seat yourself next to Ellie.” He pointed in my direction.
McKenna nodded silently and practically ran to that empty chair. She sat down and the extremely boring science lecture resumed. I leaned over to her and whispered to her. “So…where are you from?”
McKenna grabbed both the pencil and the paper that I was supposed to be using for notes. She wrote something on the paper and then handed it to me. This was the oddest girl I’d ever seen. I looked nervously at the paper, not knowing what to expect:
Florida.
That’s all it said. I gave her a weird look. McKenna took the paper back and wrote something else. I grabbed it eagerly this time:
I can’t talk. I’m sorry.
Well, that was strange. Was she afraid of the science teacher catching her? I told her that there was no possible way this could happen because the science teacher could talk through a semi-truck crashing into the school building. But, yet again, she scribbled something on the sheet:
It’s not like that. I really can’t talk.
I tried to hide my shock, but I have a feeling it didn’t work. She was a mute! Oh, the horror! How did she live? I felt the paper brush against my open palm. I looked at it:
Do you like classical music? I do. I play piano.
She really turned that thing around. I love classical music. I play the clarinet. I told her all this and more with great enthusiasm. We conversed in our special way animatedly for the rest of the period. Afterward, I invited her to sit with me at lunch. We discovered that both shared enjoyment of reading and writing as well as our passion for classical music.
As the days, weeks, and months passed by, McKenna and I became best of friends. We were scarcely ever seen apart. Soon the time came for students to begin auditioning for the school talent show. I was not going to try out. I love playing my clarinet-without people watching. McKenna was going to try though. On the day of auditions, I climbed onto the almost-empty bleachers and waited for McKenna’s turn. I was very worried about her because McKenna has huge confidence issues.
If she made the show her confidence level would raise a mile; but if she didn’t, she would shrink back into herself. When McKenna walked onto the “stage” and sat down or the piano bench, my hands were already sweating from nervousness. What if she did horrible? I had never heard her play before. She might stink! All of my anxious thoughts drifted away as McKenna began to play. Her fingers flew across the black and white keys at a mile a minute. It went from sad to joyous to majestic and other sounds and emotions too beautiful to explain.
I met her outside and we began to walk home. “McKenna,” I started, but could not find the words to finish. She flashed her amazingly happy smile at me and the right thing to say popped into my mind. “I loved it, McKenna. I really loved it.”
The next day, I arrived at school first. I sprinted to the audition results, feeling positively sure that McKenna had made it. My face turned grim when I realized that she had not. I couldn’t understand how she had not met their standards; she was a musical prodigy. I then remembered that the judges had been three teenage boys. Of course, they wouldn’t have quite enjoyed McKenna’s performance as much as I had.
I watched McKenna’s face for disappointment, but none showed. She took a pen out of her pocket and wrote something on her hand. She held it out to me:
Life goes on.



The Guy on the Corner of 32 and West
Michael W.

“Mike get up!” yelled my mom from the bottom of the stairs, “Today’s the day!”
I rolled over in bed and thought to myself. That’s what she’s been saying for five months. Life was hard for a twenty-four year old living with his parents. Apparently, this was the lucky day for me to get a job. “Lucky number 153 I think.” I mumbled as I trudged across the hall to the bathroom.
I couldn’t help but be depressed about the day. Some old house, same old parents, same old guy on the corner pointing and laughing at “Mike the guy that live with his mom.”
I walked out to the car and thought. No, today is the day. I ran upstairs and put on my dad’s blue and black dress suit, then I grabbed my mom’s set of keys and ran out to the garage. I opened the door to the Mercedes-Benz C-Class and started it up. The engine purred and laughed at the 99’ Jeep Wrangler that was mine, and I drove out into a brisk Illinois morning.
I drove about fifteen miles into Chicago and began to browse my options. Burger King, American Eagle, all too low-class for me today. Then I saw the brand new BMW factory billboard saying: New assistant plant manager wanted. I drove to the outskirts of town and found it. I parked in the Assistant Manager space. Nothing like a little confidence, I thought.
I walked in through the crystal-clear glass doors and sought out the front desk. I asked the receptionist where I could get a job application. She smiled and handed me a slip of paper and a heavy silver pen.
I began filling out the application when she asked, “Is that your car over there?”
I replied smugly, “Why, yes it is.”
She whispered, “I’d park it out back. Mr. Parks doesn’t like other European cars. It might help you get the job.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll do that now.”
When I returned, she ushered me into a back room where I was seated in front of a serious looking man. He eyed me once then held out his hand. I handed him my application. He looked at it briefly, then said, “Welcome to Chicago BMW, Mr. Crews, I’ll show you your office.”
A week later, I drove through Chicago in my BMW 735 CI and stopped on the corner of 32 and West Street and rolled down the window. I pointed at the guy and said, “Hey, isn’t that the guy who needs to get a job?” He looked up as I sped off chuckling to myself.