~~~~~~~Earthly Gods~~~~~~

Part one of two; Based on Psalms eighty-two

They have assembled, the gods of the earth. There are many of them, and how proudly they bare their symbols of power. Although there are many, five in the Assembly strike an interest. A senator, a cop, a queen, a judge, and a pastor.

The senator is a sharply dressed woman. Her hair is dyed, her makeup is done. Her face is hard and cynical, her lips heavy with ready lies.

The police man is heavy set. He is balding, and a thick mustache quivers above his lips. Nobody gets in his way, and if they do, he runs them over. A thick cigar hangs unlit from his lips.

The queen lounges on pillows she complains are too hard. Her dress is made from the finest materials, and precious stones glitter all over. She always is saying she has a horrible crick in her neck do to the tremendous weight of her crown.

The judge is proud, and his lip is in a constant sneer. His head is held high. He is judge to the tribe of Gadites, and he felt there was no man better for the job.

The pastor never stops talking. He talks about forgiveness, and sins, repentance, and salvation. he is charismatic. The others listen to him. He is energetic and young. His face is pleasing and so is his voice. He makes the others feel welcomed and they feel the man is kind.

God presides in the great assembly;

He gives judgment among the

gods.

God: How long will you defend the

                   unjust

        and show partiality to the

              wicked?

Senator: Defend the unjust? Partiality to the wicked? I never do such things. As you should well know, since you are God after all, that I am all for equal rights. I am a woman after all.

God: Could you please explain how being a woman makes it so you don't defend the unjust, show partiality to the wicked?

Senator: Well, since I am a woman I know what it feels like to be discriminated against.

God: I still don't see the point.

Senator: Being a man, I wouldn't expect you to.

God: First of all, I am an entity of three separate consciences with neither physical body, or gender. Second, being discriminated against doesn't prevent you from discrimination. Someone who is often hurt by others typically lashes out more because of being hurt, not becoming unable to hurt others.

Senator: Very well put God, but I have to disagree. After all, it was I who wan this year's election for senate, not you. So obviously the people think my way is better than yours.

God: Maybe because you lie to them?

Senator: I do not!

God: you promise them everything and give them nothing.

Senator: I give them exactly what I tell them. It certainly isn't my fault if they don't notice certain truths I made hard to find.

God: That in order to get what you promised them, they need to pay a ridiculous amount of taxes? And that only an extremely small percentage of people are able to qualify for your relief plans?

Senator: It is much more complex than that, but basically yes.

God: Come again?

Senator: Listen, I am voted in by the people. It is impossible to please all the people. All I can do is appeal to the largest crowed, and say I will help with he largest problems the largest crowd believes in. It doesn't matter if this crowd is right, or even know what they really want, or if giving them what they want will hurt hundreds, thousands more people, or if I can even provide what they want.  What matters is that they think I will help with what they want help with, and that I am the type of person they like

God: Do you mind if I ask you a series of some what leading question?

Senator: I'm not a lawyer, go ahead.

God: What is your definition of unjust?

Senator: Not giving punishment to those who deserve it, and giving punishment to people who don't.

God: What is your definition of wicked?

Senator: Without scruples. Cruel and uncaring to anyone but yourself.

God: Could you deny that many of the people you try to appeal to by fighting for their cause are cruel and uncaring?

Senator: Of course I could deny it.....

God: And be completely honest?

Senator: Well, um, that might be a bit harder.

God: Do you defend them?

Senator: Yes.

God: Do you show partiality to them?

Senator: Yes.

God: Wouldn't you consider that defending the unjust and showing partially to the wicked?

Senator:.....

God: Well?

Senator: I'm trying to think of a convincing lie. Don't rush me.

God: If I had eyes...I would be rolling them
  
Will you defend the cause of the weak and
                                  fatherless?
           Maintain the rights of the poor
                         and oppressed?

Cop: Depends.

God. On what exactly?

Cop: On how I feel towards them. Mind if a smoke? I know some Christians who feel smoking is the eighth detestable sin.

God: It is more the atmosphere, company, and addiction I don't like about smoking. As for the actually action? Go ahead.

Cop: Thanks.

God: Earlier you said weather or not you defended someone was based on how you feel at the time. Explain please.

Cop: Let's say, hypo-thetic-cally speaking, I had, had a really bad day. I spilled my coffee, got every red light, ran out of gas before I got toe the gas station, they didn't have my favorite type of doughnut when I got to work. By that time I'd be ticked. I might pull over any old sucker who looked at me funny, and find something wrong with his driving just to give him a ticket.

God: So hypothetically speaking, you defend the weak and the fatherless if you're in a good mood?

Cop: Depends.

God: Depends! On what?

Cop: Forgive me if I sound cynical here, but on what from it. I know a lot of my co-workers go out of their way to be gentle and help nervous women, pansy males and kids, but I do what'll get me an adrenaline rush and recognition. I like the feel of a gun heavy in my hands, and the way it sounds when I fire it, and the room began to quit as everyone realizes I'm the one with real power. Not that joke of a Senator.....

Senator: Well I never.....

Cop:.....but me. All the senator's power comes by them threatening people with people like me. Most are persuaded easily when the barrel of my gun is in their face. Don't you love guns?

God: Not really, I view them as a necessary evil. Like any weapon. Now let me get this straight, who you defend depends on two things. your mood, and the feeling of power it gives you.

Cop: Depends.

God: Do tell, what now?

Cop: How much I like the person. I'd sooner give a ticket to someone who ticks me off when I pull him over even though he didn't do anything, than some babe who did do something, but sweet talks me. I tend not to help guys out who I don't like very much.

God: Next time you're being attacked by some sort of vicious animal, remind me I don't like you.

Cop: Why.

God: So I won't fell obliged to help you.

Desires of my Heart

Lord I'm on my knees,

To cast up all my cares.

Through the burning pain,

I always know you're there.

So hear my one and desperate plea.

Answer my pray my wish,

End all of my anguish,

As long as You don't set me free.

For I'm not ready yet to part,

With all my earth things.

Please give my everything,

But the desires of my heart.

What I pray for now,

Are the desires of my mind.

With Your will or Lord,

They don't always coincide.

What my heart longs for,

Is to be only in Your light,

And offer myself,

As a living sacrifice.

For I'm not ready yet to part,

With all my earth things.

Please give me everything,

But the desires of my heart.

The Seer~Part Four

When I walked into the living room that evening, Daddy was sitting on the couch, hugging a sobbing Cindy. His eyes were glazed over and dead.

"Daddy," I said gently, coming slowly into the room.

Daddy blinked and he slowly dragged his eyes to look at me. "She's dead," he croaked.

I knew with a sudden and terrible dread he meant Laura.

"I-I'm sorry Daddy," I said chewing my lip.

My dad stiffened. "You're sorry," his voice was clipped. "Sorry doesn't bring her back." His voice was accusing and bitter.

I should have kept my temper. Daddy was understandably upset. He was upset and angry and wanted a target for his anger. But when he chose me as his target, I felt a swell of self justification rise up in me.

"Nothing is going to get her back," I said, my voice just as bitter, "even if I had told you she was going to die. How would that have made things any better?"

My father glared daggers at me. "I could have prepared myself. I thought for sure she was going to live. When the hospital called to tell us Laura had......I didn't believe them at first."

"Well, I'm sorry I was too selfish to be able to break your heart before," I said crossly. "I shouldn't have thought of myself or Laura but only of you."

My father rose from the couch. "You promised me something, and you broke that promise. Don't take that tone with me young lady."

"Did you ever think about how hard it is for me!" I cried. "I had to see Lara die, and a part of myself, and I was suppose to willingly do that to you? You may think I am indifferent to the death of others, but I'm not."

"It's hard to tell sometimes."

My face turned bright hot and my eyes fogged with tears and read anger. "Do you think I like being the way I am? I hate it! I would do anything to change myself. But do I ever get any support from you? No! You just want to use my ability for your own advantage!"

"That isn't true," my father yelled at me. "How many countless hours did I hold you while you cried. How many different things we've done, and that I've paid for to fix you."

"I'm not broken!" I screamed. "And if you really cared that much, you wouldn't have married that woman." I pointed a finger at Cindy.

"Don't you talk about my wife that way." he shook with rage. Despite this, I continued. "If you really cared about me you wouldn't have married someone who thinks I'm an abomination. Someone who fears me like the devil. Someone who crosses herself when I walk in the room. Someone who thinks I kill the people I see die....."

"Maybe you do," my father cut in, his face a dark mask.

His words froze me, stabbing a fresh wound in my heart.

My father turned away from me and went back to Cindy.

'Fine,' I though as I turned away myself. He had chosen Cindy over me. And I could not help but hope that one day he would wake up and wish he had chosen me.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I ignored Cindy's calling my name and stared at the screen of my laptop. I hadn't realized what a good deal my parents had been giving me. Renting was expensive. I was planning on moving out. I was doing nothing but causing myself and my parents unneeded angst.

I had given up. I no longer tired anymore. I sill went through life, but with an air of routine. I had completely stopped feeling, simply because I couldn't stand the pain anymore. I didn't wear gloves and I didn't care how many people I touched.

"Sarah, you come here right this minute!"

"Fine!" I yelled back. I hastily got out of my jeans and blouse, replacing them with a shapeless black dress. I ran a brush through my hair before meeting Cindy in the living room.

Our drive to the church was silent. Cindy attempted once or twice to start conversation, but I stared sulkily out the window.

"Where's Dad?" I asked as I got out of the car.

"He went to the church early," Cindy answered as we made our way to the sidewalk.

"Why?"

"To talk with Pastor Dan."

I froze. It occurred to me only then that Pastor Dan would be the one praying over Laura. With my recent episode with him, knowing he thought my sin had killed Laura, it made me sick to know he would even be there.

"Sarah," Cindy said shortly. "Come on, let's go."

"Don't make me," I pleaded. "Please don't make me."

"Sarah stop it. You're acting like a two year old."

"I don't want to go!" I yelled. "Everyone there will be looking at me as if I killed her."

Cindy sighed and shook her head. "I wish I could tell you they weren't but I would be lying. I'm sorry this is so hard for you but you need to come." She took me softly be the hand and gently pulled me across the street to the church.

I was in too much mental turmoil to do anything but let Cindy lead me. At first my mind couldn't comprehend the information. My mother, my brother, my sister, this was too much.

In a snap decision, I grabbed tightly to Cindy's arm. "Tell Daddy I'm sorry," I said.

Before Cindy had the chance to ask my why, I flung her away. She fell heavily to her knees, cursing violently. She craned her neck at me to scold me but then her face became a mask of horror. Romanticizing the moment, I imagined she knew that the speeding car headed right for me had been originally meant for her.

It was the first time any of my visions had ever been wrong. I do not believe my ability had changed, or that the rules were any different. I simply had finally found what it took to change them.

The Seer~Part Three

I positively stormed through the church. Who did that pastor think he is?

I had just gotten done with a meeting with the Pastor Dan to talk about my life. He did it routinely with members of the church who had been struggling. I was sure I had never heard so crazy a theory for my ability than what I had heard from the pastor. According to him, when I was good and sinless no one around me died, but when I was wicked, people around me died as "punishment."

"God has given you an advantage though," Pastor Rick had said. "You can see when the people in your life are going to die. You can literally see when you have upset God! Considering the many deaths you have foreseen then witnessed, you must be doing something particularly bad. I would recommend you search yourself and ask forgiveness for whatever it is you have done."

'The only things I need to ask forgiveness for is what I called that man in my head while he was talking!' I was in a rage. A stranger fell off a bus, and my little sister got cancer, and that supposed "man of God" says it is my fault. God! I wanted to scream.

Surrendering to the tantrum throwing two year old inside of me I kicked the wall. It was in a hardly used hallway and no one was looking. I kicked again, feeling pleasure at the crumbling dry wall give under my foot.

"Any particular reason you're destroying church property?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard him. I whirled around and saw it was a man, probably late fifties, wearing a pair of old jeans, a tee shirt tucked into them, and a blue baseball cap.

"Hope you realize you will be paying for that," the man said walking closer.

I was numb with shock. It took me several moments to comprehend what he had said, and several more to articulate an answer.

"Oh yea," I responded sluggishly, "sorry."

"Name's Jim by the way," the man said, toeing the white stuff on the floor which had once been part of the wall.

"Sarah," I said, accepting Jim's hand.

Jim looked me up and down. "Now where I come from, young women didn't go around kicking walls for no reason. What's wrong honey?"

I couldn't hold it in any longer. "My pastor is a jackass."

Jim nodded. "That's why I left his church, so I could join a church," he said this while he walked down the hall, motioning for me to follow.

"I'm going to inform you I am in idiot," I said walking besides the man. "I don't follow."

"I'm this church's janitor," Jim said, "but I don't come here anymore. What the majority of this church believes and what I believe are too.....different. So, I quit being a janitor and left the church. The staff tried to find someone to replace me, but couldn't find anyone who did my job half as well as I did. So here I am. I clean this building but I don't come Sundays."

"Isn't that a bit...unorthodox?" I asked, struggling to find the right word.

Jim cast me a wily glance. "Do you share your boss's beliefs?"

"No, what..."

"Does your world view match your co-workers'."

"No."

"This is no worse."

Jim and I continued on our way to the janitor's closet/Jim's office. There, there was supplies to fix the wall. Jim grabbed a dry wall patch, spackling, and one of those scrapey metal things I can't remember the name of. During the walk back to the hole I had kicked in the wall I was asked by Jim why I had done so.

In a few words as possible I explained. I typically wouldn't have shared about my ability to someone I had met ten minutes previous, but it was clear Jim wasn't simply making small talk. He was one of those people who when they asked, "How are you doing?" he meant how are you doing. If you told him life sucks right now, he would nod his head and ask why. Funny, but I could tell he was like this within the ten minutes I had known him.

Jim fixed the hole as I told my story. Silent and meditative on the words I was saying. He finished patching the wall around the same time I finished my story. Jim leaned back on his hunches.

"So," he said.

"So what?"

"You tell me?"

I flopped onto the floor. "Why would God do this to me?"

"Make you see how people are going to die?"

"Well, that too, but why make everyone around me die on top of that. You can't deny that I have been surrounded by an uncommon amount of deaths."

Jim had taken his cap off and was fiddling with it. "Honey, that's like asking why God kills all those children in Africa. That's like asking why He gave your sister cancer, why he caused your mama to give birth to a child that killed her, and why He caused that baby to die three months later."

Tears formed in my eyes. "Well, He did to those things, didn't He? If He really is in control, yea, He did."

Jim sighed. "Now, I'm not saying I don't believe in a personal God, I do. My strongest relationship is with God, but did it ever occur to you He doesn't move us all around like pieces on a chess board. He lets us make the choices, and there's another player Sarah. And he's got just as much right as God does to make up rules, and to order his half of the pieces around."

I shook my head. "I thought God was in control."

"Oh, He is, make no mistake. As in control of your soul as you let Him. God could overturn the board any time He wanted to and Satan couldn't do a thing about it. Even if he could he wouldn't."

He paused, and when I looked at him curiously he continued.

"Satan would win then. Oh yes, if God made us robots so we would love God no matter what, Satan would win. The whole point is that in order for us to truly love God and by good, there needs to be a choice. Now in the beginning God stacked the odds in our favor. Yep, hundreds of good things to do, and only one bad. By doing that one bad thing, man opened God's creation up to the destruction of Satan. All the bad stuff in the world is the result of Adam giving Satan permission to play. The fall isn't as much a punishment as a natural consequences from making a stupid decision."

"So God really isn't watching over us," I said cynically. "Now that we've let Satan in God really doesn't care?"

"It's not like that," Jim said with more force than I had heard him use yet. "Casting your cares on God doesn't mean He will take care of those problem so you don't have to do those things. It means He will give you the strength to face those thing. He will give you comfort in the way only He can. He's fighting all the time in the most important battle field of all. You."

I blinked. "Me?"

Jim nodded. "Every day God and Satan are both throwing all they can at you to try to make you choose them. But as much as either one of them try to win you, in the end it is your choice. You can either choose to let your ability make you bitter and a servant of Satan, or you could let God use it. It's your choice."

Jim put his cap on and got up, collecting the spackling and the scrapy thingy. He left without another word. I let all that he had said sink in. A few minutes later I realized I was late for work. So getting up I left as well.

The Seer~Part Two

When I got home the house was dark and the door locked. From my purse I took out my keys, found the right one, and inserted it into the lock.

Before you ask, I lived with my parents still. I know, odd for a twenty-one year old, but I was doing community and online college . Plus I pay my parents rent so it wasn't like I was free loading or anything. If you think about it, the only odd thing about it was that I loved home so much I wasn't hot to leave it as soon as I had graduated.

I paused in front of the recently taken picture of my family before going to my room. It featured Daddy and my stepmother, Cindy, standing in the back. My half sister Laura and I were seated in the front.

I sighed, both my parents were probably with Laura right now. She was supposed to have chemo today. I would have gone too but I had needed to go to work as a bank teller, excuse me, customer service representative.

In my room I peeled my wet clothes off. I considered taking a shower but decided against it. Slowly warming up snuggled in a blanket with some cocoa and a trashy book sounded more pleasant than a shower.

First I put on underwear and a sports bra. I couldn't decide on comfy loose sweats, or a slightly more attractive pair of jeans. I put on a kaki skirt which I felt gave me the best of both worlds. Next came a light blue tee. I paused when my hand grabbed the knob of the top drawer. Earlier that day flashed into mind. Ironically, if my hands had been covered, I wouldn't have tried to talk the man out of dying. Which means, because how and when he got on the bus could have changed, he might have lived.

With a painful sigh, I opened the drawer. Dozens of gloves neatly folded up in pairs greeted me. I picked a pair that matched my outfit and slipped them on. They were beige with blue embroidery and went halfway up my forearm.

With a cup of instant hot cocoa in one hand and a Nora Roberts book in the other I curled up on the couch and zoned out. I didn't come out of that position until I heard someone call my name. I looked up from my book, dog earring the page.

"Yes," I answered back.

Daddy appeared in the hall that led from the front door to the living room.

"Just wanted to know if you where home sweetie." He came and sat down beside me. He seemed tired. When he moved, it was like watching a man struggle to move through a thick swamp. His voice had the strained quality all voices have that are forced to sound perky when the person talking is headed towards a mental breakdown.

"I take it, it didn't go so well," I inched close to Daddy and leaned against him.

He rubbed his forehead with his hand. "Laura had to stay in the hospital. They're not sure if she's going to make it." Daddy looked at me, his eyes haggard. From the way they were blood shot, I could guess he had been crying. "I don't know if I could stand if she died too."

I sighed. I knew the feeling.

"The worst part is the uncertainty." Daddy continued. "A part of me feels I should mentally prepare myself for Laura's death, but the other part tells me I should keep hope....." he reached out and grabbed my hands, rubbing them thoughtfully. His brow creased. "Why are you wearing gloves again?"

"I had an accident this afternoon," I said sharply while pulling my hands away. "I won't touch her. She is probably the only person I'm close to who I don't know how she is going to die."

"What about your mother?" my father insisted.

"She's dead."

"I meant you stepmother."

"I said close to."

"Sarah please," Daddy begged. "Even if you see she is to die the next minute, it would be a blessing to know."

I tried to swallow a rising lump in my throat. "No."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I lied.

The next day I found myself in the hospital, talking to Laura. Dear God! how frail a thing she looked. I felt like taking the bandanna off her head, telling her, her lack of hair was a badge of honor. I would compare it with my ability while flexing my bare hands at her. It was something we both had to overcome that was hard for us, but we overcame it any way.

Only I knew that would crush her, and my hands were safely encased in a pair of gloves.

I talked with Laura a good long while, trying the whole time to take one of my gloves off and touch her. I would always make up an excuse, or simply not have the guts to do it.

I jerked with surprise when the alarm from my cell phone went off. Laura smiled while I dug for it frantically.

"One would think they would design a special cell phone space in a purse," I grumbled.

"That's way the pocket on the outside is for," Laura oh-so-kindly informed me.

"This pocket? Well yes, but it is put there so thieves have an easier time stealing you cell phone." I finally found the blasted thing and turned it off.

Laura sighed, her face fallen. "Now you have to go?"

"Yes," I said with a sigh of my own. "I don't want to though." I stayed a moment in my chair, realizing I hadn't touched her. I knew that if I peeled my glove off now and touched Laura she would suspect what I was doing.

On a sudden impulse, I leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. Just a simple peck. Done quickly and nonchalantly enough Laura probably wouldn't even think about it.

I broke something sacred.

When I got home, I had planned to go straight to work on an essay I had to write but Daddy stopped me.

"Did you touch Laura?" he asked.

"Yes," I answered.

"So..."

"She lives," my voice choked up and tears formed in my eyes.

Daddy hugged me fiercely. "Praise God!" he cried. He left, looking as if the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders.

I crawled into my bed and sobbed.

I had lied again.

The Seer~Part One

They say I have a gift. They being, as you have probably already assumed, the ambiguous everybody. When it comes to them, and "they" referring to people talking about my gift, there are actually several groups.


There are those who think it's a natural phenomenon. They believe something about my brain is different, but in a natural way. Simply a matter of the neurons of my brain being wired differently, or an extra lump of cells somewhere, that allows me to perceive things on a higher/lower level than others.

Then there are the mystics. Some of them say I've been blessed by God, others say I'm demon possessed, then still others say vague powers of the universe have given me this perception. Vague powers include intelligent life forms from other planets. While they would classify themselves with the scientists, I group the alien nuts with the mystics. 

Last but not least, there are those who think it's all a load of crap. Sometimes I honestly wonder how they could think it. To me it seemed ludicrous to deny the evidence. But I have had people tell me things they believe irrefutable because of the evidence, and I fight the urge to politely ask them which insane asylum they escaped from.

Me personally? I think God is a jerk who likes to torture me.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The bus was late, and it was raining. I sat fuming on the bench, thinking to myself that I had the worst luck ever.

"You look wet."

I looked up at the voice. It belonged to a man whom I hadn't notice walk up. He wasn't too particularly tall, five foot nine. He was dressed in loafers, slacks, a button down and a pea coat. His decent looking face was half covered by a hat. I felt like tearing his umbrella from his hand and hitting him over the head with it.

I responded in typical me fashion.

"No shit Sherlock."

The man sat down beside me, covering me with his umbrella. "Would you like to share?"

"I'm already soaked, but sure, if you want."

"My name is Isaac," the man said holding out his hand for me shake.

"Sarah," I said, not taking the man's hand.

Isaac waited for an almost embarrassing long time for me to take his hand. When he finally realized I wasn't going to take it, he slowly let it drop. His hand brushed up against my own, which was folding in my lap.

I gasped. "So soon."

Isaac looked at me. "What was that?"

I forced a fake smile on my face. "Nothing. Just commenting on the wonderful weather we're having."

Isaac's lips twitched, as if he wasn't sure if he should frown or smile.

"It's not just you," I said looking the man in the eye. "I'm like this with everyone."

Isaac smiled. "What a relief," he said dryly.

"I'm not sure what type of man you wer...are, but what I know of you, you wer...are very good," I said in a rush. I stared at my lap, my cheeks growing hot as I felt the man's eyes bore into me.

"So, you're like this with everyone, huh?" Isaac said after a long while.

"Pretty much," I said with a sigh. After a few moments of silence I spoke again. "If you knew someone was going to get hurt, and you knew how and when, but you knew if you tried to save them nothing would change, would you still try to save them?"

"That's a rather hard question," Isaac said shifting his weight uncomfortably. "It would depend on the person who was in trouble, how I knew what was going to happen to them, et cetera, et cetera."

"I'll use right now as an example."

Isaac opened his mouth as if to protest, but I continued right on talking.

"You know how and when someone is going to die just by touching them. Let's pretend that when our hands brushed against each other, you saw I was going to die because I slipped while getting onto the bus. Would you try to save me?"

Isaac shook his head. "I suppose I might try. But couldn't I just not let you go on the bus?"

"It doesn't work like that," I said hurriedly as I saw the bus come into view. "You have tried to stop so many deaths you lost count, but your visions were always right on how and when they died."

Isaac got up, obviously unnerved by the sudden desperate tone in my voice.

"And you keep hoping," I continued nonetheless, "that they next one will be the one who's future you change."

Isaac had completely turned his back to me. The bus slowly pulled up, and the doors slowly opened. Each second was agony.

"Don't go," I said, trying not to choke on the sob stuck in my throat, "please don't go."

Isaac ignored me. As he stepped onto the bus, he fumbled to shut his umbrella. Messing with the umbrella made him loose his balance on the wet step. He fell, his head smacking against the sidewalk.

People from inside the bus rushed out to try to help the man. They were checking his pulse, trying to revive him. Others called 911 on their cell phones.

But they were all too late. Even me, who had known of his death before it had happened, had been too late.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

My mother knew something was different about me when I was little. Whenever her or my dad touched me, I cried. Mostly with Mom though. It wasn't until my first winter that she realized I didn't mind contact as long as it wasn't skin to skin. She always wore gloves and long sleeves while handling me. So did Daddy.

They kept it a secret, said I had allergies. Only two other people knew about my "odd" behavior. Dr. Jacobs and Rev. Cohen.

Dr. Jacobs was basically a shrink. he said I needed to be carefully watched over. Young children who show aversion to touch were typically psychopathic killers. Mum and Daddy stopped going to Dr. Jacobs after that.

Rev. Cohen encouraged my parents at first. Every Tuesday evening he had a special prayer meeting just with them. Several times he had my parents leave the room so he could "pray" for God to heal me better. When Mum and Daddy found out he used these times to exorcize me they left that church.

I was two and a half when Mum finally asked me why I hated being touched so much.

"I see you dying," I had said. "A baby comes out of your body and you die."

Mum never fully believed me, and Daddy didn't believe me until Mum died giving birth to my little brother. Still, he wasn't sure of my abilities.

I remember the first time I touched my little brother.

My hands reached for him eagerly.

"No, Sarah," Daddy had said holding my baby brother out of my reach, "you can't hold Isaac."

"Please," I begged. "I love him Daddy. I'll be his Mommy."

My father could not say no. His lips turned into a hard line and his eyes filled with tears. "Be careful," he instructed as he handed Isaac to me.

Neither of us were thinking. I was four, and my father was depressed and stressed. I touched Isaac on the face with my bare hand. I suddenly started to cry.

Two months later Isaac died of SIDS.

Day Thirty~A motto or a philosophy

Wow, is it day thirty already? Seems like this thirty day challenge has gone by really quick. I remember at the beginning thinking it was a month worth of posts and should last me a good long while. It was fun, and sometimes surprisingly frustrating to think up answers of the questions.

It served its purpose though. Not only was it fun and frustrating, it also helped me work through my dry spell. I now have two stories, two poems, and actually the ideas for four more short stories on their way.

Now to come to what this blog post is supposed to be about. Here is a motto said by a good friend of mine.

Originality is only accepted weirdness.~Jack Kormen

In case you are wondering, Jack is a fictional character I made up. Even though I made him up, I still need to work him out. He is just one characters.  I talk to him a lot, and love the world I made for him to live in, even though I do not like the story he is in, and I am not going to let anyone read it. Jack, (and his world) simply need a better plot to exist in than the one I wrote. So to the back burner for them! 

Day Twenty-Nine~Hopes, dreams, and plans you have for the next 365 days

There are several things I would like to do with my life. Some are things which I can actually see myself doing, others are things I would probably never do in real life, even if given the chance.  I could list all those things and bore you to death, or I can do what I have seen other people do and list one hope, one dream, and one plan.

A hope of mine is to travel a bit more. I doubt this will happen as I do not have the funds to really travel that much. It was absolutely amazing to have the chance to go to Latvia on a mission trip. One of my favorite things about was even though I did get to do tourist things, I went there to actually do something productive. Even if I had the funds, I would be hard pressed to justify so much time and money spent on tourism alone.

A dream of mine is to get published. If not to already have the book on the shelf this time next year, then to be in the process of becoming so.

Most likely this story  is the one that
will be published. If I am
published at all. It is a children's
western called,
The Liquorice Whip Gang.

This is the picture that inspired the story.
The cool thing is that this is a pic of my
little siblings.

I actually have a couple plans I would like to mention. The first is graduating high school.

I know most teenagers at this point would say go to collage, but I actually plan to get a job, (as long as I am not a famous author yet.) I am thinking about working at a bank, it seems like the job would fit me well.

Last I plan on living every moment of my life to its fullest.  That means taking risk, getting closer to God, closer to friends and family, and making this the most awesome blog ever.

Day Twenty-Eight~A scar you have and its story

I am one of those people who seem to scar fairly easily. I have dozens that I can point out. Some more impressive than others. The only thing is that I cannot remember where the majority of them came from. There are very, very faint ones on my hands and arms, mostly from a feisty cat my family once had called Friend Micky, (or Satan.) There are also several on my legs, mostly from random cuts I have received over the years. I do not remember the specific situation for any of these scars. I do have one on my upper arm that I distinctly remember getting.

It was The Fourth of July, (should that be capitalized?) and I was standing out on the porch. It wasn't a very smart thing to do, but I accidental dragged my arm across a rusty nail head. It didn't hurt that much, but it bled for what seemed like a long time because the cut had been rather ragged.

Day Twenty-Seven~A physical feature you love

I don't know. I don't really have any I love on myself, there are ones a like better than others, but none that I love. On other people it really depends on who the person is. I don't think I particularly lean towards one feature that I like the most on other people.

Soooooooo, I don't want to leave it at just that. I have with me a bowl of which names of body parts are written on slips of paper. I am going to draw one at random, and use that. Oooookay, here we go, the physical feature is......................................................................HANDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Day Twenty-Six~A childhood memory

I have several funny and memorable childhood memories, most of the from when I was five. The one that came instantly to mind though was one that happened when I was a bit older. I am not exactly sure how old I was, I think I was around seven or eight.

A friend and I were playing out in the front yard. My friend started complaining about how hot it was and how sweaty she was, that she would need to take a shower when she got home. I forget whose brilliant idea it was, but one of us thought instead of bothering our family by making them bathe us, we could wash ourselves.......with blowing bubble solution. With our small child logic it made perfect sense. Soap was soap after all, wasn't it?  Plus we could still be outside and use the garden hose, which was a plus and made the whole thing seem more fun somehow.

Well, both my friend and I washed our hair with bubble solution. We were having a swell time, until an adult came and saw what we were doing. We were so excited and we tripped over our to tell him our great idea and did he agree with us? Apparently he didn't, considering by the time the next minutes rolled around I was taking a real shower with regular soap.

Day Twenty-Five~A recipe

This one is coming a little late in the day, mostly because I couldn't think of a recipe I wanted to put up. I don't bake or cook very often so nothing came to me right at first. I was going to pick one of my favorite dishes, (to eat,) and use that, but earlier today I was talking about what recipe I should use, and I said I thought about putting up a recipe for disaster. My mother and sister said I should do just that, and have the "disaster" be a video I took on Friday at Family Camp.

Recipe for Disaster

3 teenagers (two in the video, one filming)

2 instruments (one conga drum and one bass guitar)

1 old man

Approx. time 1 min. 40 s.

Pre. set camera to video recording.

Give one teenager a conga drum, and the old man a bass guitar, both must know the song Stand by Me. Next take the second teenager, making sure he does not know the song Stand by Me, and tell him to dance when he hears music. Last give the third teenager the camera and tell her to film the resulting scene of the above situation.

Makes one, that can serve up to several people.

Day Twenty-Four~A movie no one would expect you to like

Any one who knows me, knows when it comes to books, or movies, I don't have much patients for girly romantic comedies, and that I would pick an action flick over a chick flick any day of the week. For those people, the movie no one would expect me to love is BBC's North and South.

The thing with most several hour BBC movies is that I can watch them and enjoy them, only once. The second time it is a little tedious, and the third time it is torture. Not so with this movie. I have watched it three or four times and I love it just as much. Imagine Pride and Prejudice, but way better and with better actors.

But there are those who don't know me, and at first glance I seem like one of those girls who could watch Ann of Green Gables a million times and still cry at the ending. For those people, the movie they wouldn't expect me to love is Minority Report.

Totally action packed, suspenseful, original plot and idea, fascination and unique yet oddly believable world. It has all the things I look for in a  good movie.

Day Twenty-Three~A way you want to be remembered

I want to be remembered as God fearing, and full of the Holey Spirit. I want to be remembered as fun and even though a bit shy, a really weird person to be around. It would be cool if people remembered me as perfect and great, but I would prefer if they remembered me as I actually was, with all my faults, and my strengths. 

Day Twenty-Four~A website

Well, there were several different websites I wanted to put up for this one, put this one took the cake. http://www.beccapillsbury.blogspot.com/

Day Twenty-One~Something you know you do differently than most people

There are several things in my life that I know I do differently than most people. Most of them are life style choices, and a few of them aren't. The most obvious one though, the one I do the most often, and that the rest of my family talks about is how I outline my stories.

I know what you must be thinking. What could I possibly be doing that makes outlining my stories so different than how the rest of the world does it. I will tell you.

Instead of just writing down the outline, or write down character sketches, (which for my are just as impotent as an outline,) I talk about it. I usually pick a character, and talk to him about what should happen to the story that he is in. I usually pace and move a lot as I do this, even if the character and I are having a calm discussion, I have been known to jump around. This not only helps me better visualise the story, and get to know the character better, (not really as if he is a person, I simply add to his personality and firm it up a bit,) but it is quicker, and more fun than writing it all down.

Day Twenty~A hobby of yours

Surprise! I decided to schedual my blog post.

One hobby of mine is playing the piano.

 I mean for this to be a more serious hobby, but it never does. Oh well.

Day Nineteen~A talent of yours

I, as you all know, have several talents. So many, in fact, I had to spend several days thinking about which one I should brag about. Then I thought, why not choose the talent that most shows who I am. What my life is all about, and that I will pursue  in so that I may be the best at it that I can be?

So I thought, why not post my talent of bragging!

No seriously. I do have a few talents, but who doesn't? I wouldn't say I had more than most people, unless you count bragging as a talent, in thaaaaaaaaaaat case.....

But I don't count bragging as a talent, so I will have to go with something else. I eventually picked something that I do feel mach up with the list above. A talent that says who I am, what my life is all about, etc. etc. I feel that talent is writing for me. It is probably the one talent of mine that I hope to pursue more than any other.  I love it and I hope I always get to do it.

By the way, you have probably notice the fact that my blog is naked now. That is my sister's doing. I wanted to change my blog around soon, so I asked my sister is she could show my how to get rid of the Shabby Blog background. She finished showing me how, she got all the way to the last step where if one more button was pressed the background would be deleted. I said thank you, and was about to say, I don't want to get rid of it now so if you could just leave it up.....she clicked the one last button and now my blog is naked because I don't want to bother changing it now, or putting the background back on.

I will be gone on Family Camp with my church for the next five days and won't post again until next Monday.

Day Eighteen~A time you felt passionate and alive

Just recently in fact. The first two weeks in July I had the chance to go on a mission trip to Latvia. Not only did a feel passionate and alive because I felt myself growing closer to God while doing His work, but also closer with His children. Some of the people I grew closer to were the Latvians, but some of the others were actually the other youth that came on the mission trip as well. I do not make friends easily and I am extremely shy. I finally felt myself open up in front of the other youth and I can officially call them really good friends. Do not be deceived. I have carried some of the mission home with me, and I still feel passionate, trying to make being HERE part of the whole mission experience.

Day Seventeen~A piece of art

This is a sculptor I took a picture of in Latvia. Random I know. That was what I was going for. I do not really have a favorite piece of art, so I did the most random thing I could think of.

Day Sixteen~A song that makes you cry

What?! Seriously? A song that makes me cry. I typically don't cry at songs. Never. really. Once or twice in my life time, but I can't remember them right now.  So not never, but hardly ever. In my family I am probably the last to cry in my family. Typically I do not cry at things that a straight sad, or straight happy either. I am the type of person who only cries when the situation is poignant and bitter sweet, and when I am in the right mood. I find I better enjoy movies or books with the type of ending I just described. When it comes to songs there are the ones that make me feel sad, but as much as I love music, I tend not to get emotionally attached to it. If you told me to pick a song that inspired me, I would be hard pressed to find one like that as well. Or one that made me happy, once again, I would be hard pressed.

There are songs though, that are soooooooo bad they make me want to cry. This includes Whisky Lullaby, (sorry KatySue, but I simply find this song stupid,) Don't Take the Girl, Trap Doors in the Floor of Heaven, (all these songs are suppose to be poignant but I just find them funny,) and Before He Cheats, (honestly, were they going for ridicules and tacky in the music video?)Then pretty much any Lady Gaga song, (the name of the artist makes me want to cry,) or Katy Perry.

Oh, and You are my Sunshine. I bet you are thinking, that song makes you cry? Look it up. Make sure it is the Johnny Cash version. Once again, suppose to be sad, but I don't find it as such.

Day Fifteen~A person you admire

There are several people I admire. Some of the people are people I know, some are not. Some are still living, some are not. I feel for this one I would like to do someone fit the former of both statements. That narrows it down quite a bit, but not entirely, but I am only going to choose one sooo....

My mother takes the cake.

Day Fourteen~A vacation you want to take

This may sound really strange but the place in the world I would like to have a vacation is Australia. The rest of my family, (at least the females) that is the last place they would want to go. Mostly because it is home to the most poisonous and biggest bugs in existence. No joke. In a book talking about venomous bugs or animals more times than not it lives in Australia. Yet something about Australia has always fascinated me. The accent there is one of my favorites, and it seems like it would be a fun place to visit. I would also like to see how the actual people and culture is different than the obviously wrong stereotype.

Thank you KatySue

We've all had those type of stories or ideas. The ones that are half formed and no matter how hard we work at them they are never complete. I actually have had several ideas for full length novels that have been like that. Frankly, I don't have enough time to write all the novels I have ideas for, so most of them usually fade from my mind and never become more that a half form concept.

Recently, I had an idea for a short story. The idea, the characters, the plot, they all grabbed me and demanded that I write them. The only problem was I could not think of an ending. The rest of the plot just came to me, and typically I have to think about it. I guess the rest of the story was just so forceful and easy that the ending on purposely stayed aloof. Even though I didn't have an ending, I wrote the story anyway. I knew that if I didn't it would end up fading away and never being written. After trying a week to come up with a suitable ending, I did the only thing I could. I went to my family in help. I charged them with finding an ending for this story of mine. In the end KatySue came up with an idea that I think fits the rest of the story perfectly.

Thank you KatySue.

Day Thirteen~A guilty pleasure

Well, sure I have "guilty pleasures." There are several things I like in life that sometimes, depending on the type of people who ask me, I feel somewhat bad for liking. This mostly includes unhealthy food, shows, and books I like. I only really feel bad about these things though, when I know the person will look down on them. Once I had a friend of mine glare at me when I said that I had read, and liked the book The Golden Compass. I explained to him at the time I didn't know that the series was bashing religion, and that it really didn't become clear till the last half of the last book, and by then it was too late to turn back. He still glared at me and said that the author made it clear what he meant by the books and that I shouldn't have read them. Sheesh, if I had known beforehand I probably wouldn't have read them, but I still thought it an extreme reaction.

Day Twelve~A song you want played at your wedding

Since it is day twelve, I have the opportunity to ramble about one of those subject I could go on forever about, that really don't mean anything. I have had several people tell me they can never spell the word twelve right, because it isn't spelled like is sounds. I have found though, that twelve is one of the few words I can spell right, and I usually end up pronouncing it out to remember how to spell it, and the spelling is "rule" consistent.  If I had to make up how to spell all the words in the English language, twelve  probably would have ended up twelv, but the fact that words in the English language don't end in the letter v, is one of the more consistent rules of spelling (the only exception I have found are long words that no one uses unless they are medical doctors,) I would have put an e at the end.

Okay, that should have made you log off, and go do better things with you life. No? Drat I thought that for sure would work. That usually works in real life. Well, in case you are wondering, the above paragraph was a ploy to make you go away. Personally, I have not really thought about my wedding that much. There are a couple details here and there that I have planed, like the colors I want used, how I want my dress to look,  and what will be thrown at me instead of rice, (butterflies, butterfly confetti, or bubbles,) but other than that I have no clue what my wedding will be like.

There is one song though, that I loved when I was a little kid and that I might want played during the father-daughter dance, if there is going to be dancing. It is Butterfly Kisses by Bob Carlisle.

Day Eleven~A photo of you taken recently

Once again, KatySue took this picture.

Day Ten~A photo of you taken over four years ago

Technically, this picture might have been taken as soon as nine or eight years, but I figured since ten years is over fifty percent of my life, I could get away with it without being arrested. The cool thing about this pictue is that my sister KatySue entered it in the county fair, and it won first place! As odd as this sounds this makes me feel as if I won first place as well, since I am the one the pictue is of.