What is in a Book?

Wanna know a secret?

I love books. No, that's an understatement. I ADORE books. Seriously. There is a book in my purse, hand, and on my bedside table at all times.

People who hate reading make no sense to me. What is not to love about entering into the world of somebody else and living life with them? Really?

One of my favorite authors is Francine Rivers. She is dramatic, but serious and captures the attention of her audience from the very first sentence. I have read all but two of her books and loved every one differently. My favorite is Redeeming Love. As a matter of fact, Redeeming Love is my all-time favorite book. It is the story of Hosea and his wife from the Bible that she took and placed in the nineteenth century. While reading, I find myself hating certain characters, coming to love others, and wanting to marry the main male character, Michael Hosea. You ladies will agree with me if you read it, I guarantee it.

When reading this phenomenal book, the characters come to life. I cry with them, I laugh with them, I become a character in the story watching silently from the sidelines.

Even if you don't like weepy, wonderfully amazing stories like Redeeming Love, you can still become a silent character in any sort of book. You're watching General Washington lead the war against the Red Coats. Or perhaps you are a magician watching a battle between good and evil. Maybe you are watching Mr. Darcy dance with Elizabeth Bennet.

What is it that you love? There's a book for that.

I am currently re-reading another Francine Rivers book, a book for my FANTASTIC literature/history/government/Bible class that C.S Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien started, and The Scarlet Pimpernel. All of these are amazing books and I love them all.

One more thing I love about books apart from the book itself: the smell. Oh, yes. The scent of a new book is reminiscent of past adventures I've had with the Mad Hatter, Jonathan Edwards, David, Micheal Hosea, Sheldon Vanauken, Frodo Baggins, Jean Valjean, Anne Shirley, Emma Woodhouse, and all my other fictional or nonfictional friends.

When I have to return to my world and go to school, or sleep, or go to work, part of me wants to go back and see what happens to Robin Hood as he robbes the rich to feed to poor.

What of this is not to love?

Pictures Speak Louder Than Words

Look at this.

What does it do to you? What strikes you? How do you feel?

The first time I looked at this, I almost couldn't breathe. It took me about ten minutes to finally soak it all in.

Look at the striking colors of his eyes. Now look at the very intricate design of the face paint. The countries are separated, the rivers are there, and things like plains and mountains are even there!

Just looking at this gorgeous and obviously African person, my heart almost cries. What is he saying?

Now look back at his eyes. What do they say, specifically?

His eyes write a complete and detailed story that is nearly impossible to forget. Through his eyes, I see hardship and grief.

Look at his lips. They build off the eyes' story. It seems to be to be somewhat of an almost sad, but very serious expression.

It's been almost a month since I saw this picture for the first time. I can't get it off my mind. It's so beautiful, so emotional, and completely impossible to forget.

Girl on a Mission

There are very few words that can get my attention no matter what is going on. A couple of them being "church", "worship", "racism", "MARGIE!!!", and "Africa". Although, I do love all those topics (save my name being shouted, that could potentially mean trouble), the topic of Africa is one of my favorites.

A friend of mine just came back from a trip to Ethiopia. I would have done nearly anything to have been able to have gone. They went with a group sixty-seven people consisting mostly of dentists, but there were a few other doctors that went too, and a group of Toms shoes distributers.

Another friend of mine visits Kenya quite frequently. She actually took a group of students from Mariners with her last summer.

I am just dying to go on a trip like either one (or both) of these! Why? Well, I have a few reasons.

One, my precious sister Ray Ray is from Ethiopia. I, sadly, did not go when my parents went to pick her up, but would love to go to the orphanage she was in. The orphanage is just outside Addis Abba, the capital of Ethiopia. I would love to go serve at the (or any, for that matter) orphanage; cooking, cleaning, playing with kids, basically doing whatever I could to be helpful.

Two, there are so many things about this country that I am almost rediculously passionate about. A few of those include racism and human trafficking. There may be nothing more upsetting to me than either of those things.

Three, I love being a servant. I just love being able to help those who need it. I've been down to the Door of Faith Orphanage in Mexico twice and it is just amazing to be able to do manual work in service. Building a nursery; cooking pizza or pancakes for the kids; playing with the kids; praying for people in the surrounding area; removing branches, bark, and leaves that may be a fire hazard; and playing soccer with the kids is just so fun for me. Not only is it fun, it also opens my eyes to the need in third world countries.

As an OC kid, I could very easily say that I've been spoiled. I sometimes complain that I don't have the new Francine Rivers book, or my driver license, or a car, or that perfect grade, or a Mac, but I have never complained about not eating for days at a time. I still live at home; I did not move out on the streets at age seven because my parents did not have the money for food. I don't have to sell myself to get maybe just a little bit of money for a tiny bit of food; I just have to open my pantry and I have my pick of food. I have mutiple pairs of shoes instead of maybe one pair IF I'm lucky that may not even fit me. If I want a drink, I can walk five steps to my fridge, or to my sink, or the hose; I don't have to spend the whole day walking for miles upon miles just for one small jar of water only to do it again tomorrow.

Four, I have always been passionate about anything related to Africa at all. Even pre-Ray Ray. Why? I have no idea, but I always have.

So what do I do about this want-no, scratch that-need to go to Africa?

I go.

Pretty simple, right?

Nope. Wrong. DEAD wrong.

Unfortunately, I don't have a spare $5,000 layin' around. I don't have even a spare $100. (College, you see, seems to be a smidgy pricey. Someone should say something.) I have one, maybe two, potential opportunities to go to either Ethiopia or Kenya this coming summer.

The ONLY way I can go is if God practically hands me five grand. This means TONS of fund-raisers, donation letters, and other such things. But I'm ready. I'm on a mission. Africa is calling. I'm going.

Red and Yellow, Black and White

Racism.

This is one concept/word that boils my blood within seconds. Although hating people because of the color of their skin is completely objectionable, I have a strong distaste for people who have a problem with black people because of their skin for three specific reasons. One, it is a historical problem with people having black slaves. Two, my sister is from Ethiopia and has very beautiful caramel colored skin. And the third reason is embarrassing, but it is a reason, so...I read the American Girl series when I was like eight (Okay fine, thirteen) and one of my favorites was Addy.

Addy is a little girl who grew up in slavery on a plantation in South Carolina. As an avid reader from the beginning, I completely absorbed these books (especially Addy's stories and Felicity's, for those of you who know the books), but I got really passionate about this series because of the slave master's rough treatment (rough for a naive thirteen year-old; I hadn't read Mansfield Park by Jane Austin or done too much research on the topic at that point)and her escape to Philadelphia and freedom that waited there.

Now I have done extensive research (and read Mansfield Park, let it be known) and have a VERY solid opinion on racism.

For example, words like "nigger" , "negro", "kaffir", "monkey", and MANY other racist terms will make me get so mad, that I could be violent. Our family has had many interactions with RUDE people who have the AUDACITY to call my sister one of those names. At one point, my mother had to actually grab me and hold my arm to keep me from storming over to a lady and slapping her. She couldn't, however, stop me from giving the lady a tongue-lashing. I know I shouldn't have, but I'd do it again in a second.

Do you know why black people are considered inferior? Evolution is a common reason. Josiah C. Nott and George Gliddon wrote a book, Indigenous Races of the Earth, and in said book, it is suggested that black people are a "step up" from a primate and is between a human and a primate on the "Evolution Chart". Another reason is that black people have smaller brains. Really? Which gender has a bigger brain male or female? The correct answer is male. So if men have a bigger brain, why do women sometimes get a higher SAT score? Or any test score? Another question to consider is "Does brain size actually have ANYTHING to do at ALL with intelligence? This has been debated between many a scientist and still is not definite, but I think not.

Let's just SAY that black people ARE inferior for just a minute, okay? (They are not, but we are going to look through the eyes of a racist person for a paragraph or two.) Then, if they are, why did South Carolina's first district elect a black person into the House of Representatives? Then, later, why did his fellow representatives elect him speaker? The man to whom I'm referring is Joseph Hayne Rainey, the first black speaker in the House of Representatives elected in 1870 and served until 1879. Personally, I wouldn't want a person with little intelligence to be a speaker in the House lest represent me and my district. No way.

Or what about the freed slave who is the hero of the Battle of Bunker Hill and received a medal of honor? Oh, that's not in your history book? I wonder...how about the black double agent who practically caused the Yorktown victory for General Cornwallis and worked alongside General George Washington? He's there, right? No? Could it be that history was slightly rewritten?

Okay, back to your normal mindset. These men are all honorable and were given honor at the time, but remain written out of most history books. Why? Because they are "inferior"!

Honestly, with everything I have said, have I not made it clear that there is NO difference between two different

colored people? NONE! Zero, zip, zilch, nada! NO difference. So what if we have different sized brains (that is still up for debate, but just in case we do...)? DO we have the same intelligence level? Yep. NO difference. NONE!

Does this not boil you blood as well? Cause if not....

Just kidding.

Unless you say something negative about my sister...then you're in for it.

My Creative Project

For my creative project for the Essentials in Worship Leading Online Course with Dan Wilt.

For my final project, I chose to write a song for the class. Please forgive the quality of the sound...I am just now learning how to record things and it is not really as easy as it looks. I would love any constructive criticism you may want to give me. So here is a link to it:

http://docs.google.com/leaf?id=0B5XZKnc1zy3zMjhmOTAyOGQtZDYxMC00OTg4LWJlYWUtYWQzZjYxMDAxYmVl&hl=en

(I couldn't figure out how to make this a link, so you'll have to copy and paste it. Sorry!)

For my class, I had multiple options for my creative project. The one that stuck out to me was one that told me to write "a rough mp3 and PDF chord chart for an original contemporary worship song written for your local congregation based on one of the values ideas presented during the course.”

Here is the explanation:

In my class, we were required to read a book by Andy Park called "To Know You More". In the chapter called "The Gift and Craft of Songwriting" (page 227), Andy writes about the inspiration for a song. One of these inspirational ideas was writing straight from scripture and I jumped all over it. My song is from Isaiah 25:1, 4, and 9. Now this verse has always struck me as interesting and generally means something entirely different to me each time I read it (as the Bible tends to do to the reader). When I was reading it and thinking about using it for a song, it meant to me that I can always trust God.

Trust is something I have always struggled with. It is very hard for me to trust people because of many, many bad experiences I had when I was younger. You know the game when you let yourself fall backwards into your friend’s arms to demonstrate trust? Yeah, I always hated that game with a deep and abiding passion and would refuse to do it. I would only fall into my parents’s arms and that was IT. So the idea that I can let myself fall backwards and God will catch me, never letting me anywhere near the ground and that I can run to Him and tell Him anything without it being turned into gossip was/is a hard concept for me to grasp. These songs lyrics mean a lot to me because of this.

O Lord, you are my God; I will exalt you and praise your name, for in perfect faithfulness You have done marvelous things, things planned long ago. -Isaiah 25:1

You have been a refuge for the poor, a refuge for the needy in his distress, a shelter from the storm, and a shade from the heat. -Isaiah 25:4a

Surely, this is our God; we trusted in Him, and He saved us. This is the Lord; we trusted in Him; let us rejoice and be glad in His salvation." -Isaiah 25:9

The "I Wish Syndrome"

For: The Essentials in Worship Leading Online Course with Dan Wilt

As I have been slowly learning the ropes of worship leading, I have discovered a weakness of mine. This weakness probably should be categorized as a highly dangerous disease, actually. It would be called the "I Wish Syndrome". Oh yes, you know the one-the "I wish I could sing like she can.", I wish I could write songs as 'easily' as he can.", "I wish I could play the keys (or whatever instrument you can imagine) as well as he can", or maybe even the infamous "I wish I were she (or he, of course)." disposition. Well, I have caught it and am trying to rid myself of it (not an easy task)!

I am sure that most people would say that I have caught this dreaded disease because I am beginning my journey to becoming a worship leader and I am a newish guitar player and with those come many insecurities, but those are only excuses. Trust me, I could write out a loooong list of excuses, but that would be a waste of a blog post, I think.

As I have been thinking much about how to get out of this mindset recently, I remembered something my worship leader/highschool pastor told me, "Give everything to God, even your mistakes." Wow, what a thought! Does God really care if our voices are or are not on key, or if we can't or can play the guitar well, or if we are able to sing harmony? I don't think so.

(Now, I am fully aware that as both a musician and as a worship leader-albeit a beginner-that it IS important to those around us that their worship leader not be a terrible musician and be able to sing on key, but I am specifically referring to our personal worship times with the Lord. I'll cover leading worship for a group of people later.)

God made us the way we are and he is pleased with His work. Is it glorifying to Him when we look at ourselves and say "I wish this." or "I wish that."? Nope. Not even close. He made us to be able to sing the way we do and/or to be able to play the way we can. However, I do NOT mean that it is wrong in any way to learn more about your instrument or vocal abilities or pray that He would increase your vocal range or what-have-you. In fact, I think that that is the exact thing to do.

Now back to the topic of leading others in worship. I think that it is important that the leader be a good or even great musician and that he (or she) be able to sing in key, but even then, as my youth pastor pointed out, it is very important that they be able to give their mistakes to God. As worship leaders, it is essential that we not only focus on the technical side of worship. There are things way more important (such as worshipping Christ!) than how well the keyboardist plays or how gorgeous the voice of the backup singer is.

After pondering this and putting my thoughts down on paper (and the internet), I think I have found the cure to the "I Wish Syndrome": merely the thought that we are made by our Heavenly Father the way He intended us to be.

This is what I think. What about you?

What Sam Did

Recently, a friend of mine from church asked me what I want to do with my life. What a question! If he had asked me this a year and a half ago, I would have only been able to tell him what every girl would-I want to be a wife and a mother. A lot has happened since then.

Last January, I met a boy. Surprising, right? A girl met a boy and he "changed her life". Heard that one before? Well, my story is a little bit different.

Sam was so handsome. He had long, platinum-blond hair and blue eyes that could make any girl's heart stop (even if they liked hazel, green, or grey eyes better). Sam was special and different from any other boy I have met. He loved to listen to me and was never rude. If I was having a bad day, I knew I could tell him anything and he would listen with sympathy in his gorgeous eyes. Sammy loved to go long walks together with me and listen to the sound of the birds chirping and and the small brook running. He and I would get together almost every day for almost eight months. I would bring his favorite snack, freeze-dried apples, and we would either talk, go for a walk, or do chores together. Sam was always there for me when I needed him and I was always there for him when he needed me.

He was only thirteen when he died.

Sam had a common eye disease called ERU that made him blind and caused him tremendous pain in his eyes. The pain become so intense that it was decided that a doctor must come and handle the situation. One of Sam's caretakers called me and told me of the heartwrenching decision that was made-Sam was to be put down.

See, Sam was a horse. (I am sure that is really surprising to those of you who know me even a little. Margie? Falling in love with a horse and spending every single spare minute with him? To be expected.)

This news was so overwhelming to me that the only thing that could help me settle down was hard manual work. So I shoveled dirt out of an old, abandoned stall and pulled weeds for about two hours before I was able to think clearly and pull myself together once again.

The next day I came over to be with Sam for a few last hours. I had decided that it was best for me not to be present while he was being put down. As hard as this was for me, I realized that it was the right decision for Sam and that was most important. He did not need to spend his last minutes hearing me cry.

Even though I did not know Sammy for very long, he made a huge impact on my life. He gave me a little taste of what it was like to be blind. I had to watch carefully for anything that could possible cause him to fall or hurt him and either guide him around it or let him know where it was. I had to be constantly stroking him or talking to him to let him know where I was so I didn't accidentally startle him.

Sam also redefined my definition of trust. Before I began to work with Sammy, he would barely allow his owner to take him out of his stall because nobody had ever really taken the time to slow down and keep an eye out for things that could hurt him. They treated him as if he was not blind and could see that root on the ground that he needed to step over. He used to jump at every little noise and shuffle his hooves to keep from tripping.

After months of working with him every day for hours at a time, he was like a totally different horse. No longer did he shuffle his hooves, not want to leave his stall, or freak out at every sound. No, now he would walk with his head held high adn would even be excited to out in the arena. He eventually let me ride him, although I did have to ride him bareback so he knew I was there. He would start to prance excitedly if he heard the sound of his bridle coming out of the shed. Before long, Sam learned to trust me so much that, as long as I rode him bareback, he would run at any pace I wished withought any fear at all.

After working with Sam for so long, I developed a want to work with abused or disabled horses. My hope is to get these horses so well rehabilited that I can offer a place to disabled or abused children to come be with, tend to, care for, love on, and ride these horses. Over the past eight and a half years of my working wit horses in general, I have discovered a creature that can somehow calm people down with ease, is incredible loyal (for the most part), will listen to whatever you may say to it, and if you look and listen properly, will respond. I want to share what I have seen to those who cannot see. I want to give a friend to those who have none because of their disabilities.

So, that is what Sammy did for me. Not bad, huh?