Author: Joy

The Window Shade

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Sunshine

I was standing in my room, looking at the window shade that wouldn’t rise higher than halfway up my window. For many months, the shade had needed an adjustment. Since I wasn’t tall enough to do the job myself, I had decided I would ask my dad to fix it, but I had never gotten around to asking him. Suddenly, it dawned on me–If I stood on a chair, I would be tall enough to fix it myself. I was amused by the fact that I had not thought of that before. It only took me a couple of minutes to fix the problem. As the blind lifted up to the top of the window, the afternoon sunlight streamed in and brightened up my entire room. I stood there amazed at the transformation. I could now see the full view outside my window. I couldn’t believe I had put off fixing it for so long.

So often in life, we ignore the little things that need attention. We focus on the big problems, the glaring needs, when it’s sometimes the simple tasks, such as fixing a window shade, that can do so much to brighten our lives. Do you have something in your life shading you from seeing beauty? May I encourage you to lift up the shade today, and let the light brighten your life.

 

Their Anthem

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Jerusalem Sunrise

Meeting Holocaust survivors in Israel was an experience that I will never forget. Dad, Mom, Amy Grace, and I were volunteering at Ichlu Re’im, a soup kitchen in Jerusalem, when the director came up to me and said something in Hebrew, waving his hands in an attempt to explain. Since I spoke minimal Hebrew, and he spoke even less English, an English-speaking employee translated, “He wants you and your sister to come along with him to deliver the meals to the Holocaust survivors.” I was shocked and excited. He extended the invitation to Mom, and soon we were seated in the backseat of his car and riding through the hectic streets of Jerusalem.

After arriving, we grabbed the packaged meals and hauled them up the flights of steps to a room where the Holocaust survivors were seated at tables. I was surprised to see only one man among a dozen ladies. They were all delighted to see young people, and exclaimed over Amy Grace and me as we stood there shyly listening to the Hebrew banter. I introduced myself as “Gila,” which is “joy” in Hebrew. They asked my age, and I replied in Hebrew that I was fifteen. They declared that Mom did not look old enough to be our mother.

“Ayfo ot garah? (Where do you live?)” They queried.

“Bey America (In America),”  I answered, “Bey Alabama.”

“Oh! Alabama,” they told each other with heavy accents.

The soup kitchen director remembered that Amy Grace and I were pianists, and motioned toward the upright piano in the room, insisting that we play a song. Amy Grace sat down first, her fingers deftly playing by memory the beginning of “Invention Number 13,” a classical composition by Bach. They were impressed and nodded their approval, remarking to each other, “Bach! Bach!”

Next was my turn. I began to play one of the only songs I knew by memory, “River Flows in You” by Yiruma. I played along rather smoothly until the end when my fingers forgot their part and I improvised some sort of ending. I wished I could have given them a better performance, but they were a receptive audience and cheered anyway.

Presently, a lady sat down at the piano, and her fingers began to soar across the keys, playing the majestic strains of “Hatikvah,” Israel’s national anthem. I recognized the patriotic tune, and reveled in the sound of the Holocaust survivors singing along heartily in Hebrew. Their faithful voices swelled on the chorus:

“So long as the heart of the Jew beats
And his eye is turned to the East
So long does our ancient hope
Of returning to Zion still live”

It was a priceless moment–a glimpse at the faith that lies within the Jewish heart. “Hatikvah”  was no longer a hopeful song for these courageous souls. It was reality. They had endured the Holocaust and returned to the soil promised to their forefathers. Hatikvah was their anthem.

 

White Water Rafting

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White Water Rafting

It was an excited crowd of high school and college age students that climbed off the buses at the white water rafting location in Tennessee. We divided into groups of five and donned life vests and helmets. Jeremy, our group’s guide, instructed us how to hold our paddles properly and how to wedge our feet into the rim around the bottom of the raft. He explained that the key to not falling out was keeping your legs tight and your feet secured in the raft. We climbed into the raft and paddled around in the water, practicing our forward and backward strokes as Jeremy called, “One forward!” or “Two backwards!” When he called “Hit the deck!” we were instructed to lift our paddles up vertically and to sit down on the floor of the raft. Jeremy seemed pleased with our efforts, and we soon paddled back to shore and climbed out. After a few minutes, we carried our raft down the cement launching pad, placed it on the water, and climbed in. Jeremy took his station in the back, joined by the smallest member of our group, Lindsey. Alex and Samantha sat in the middle, and Tyler and I sat in the front.

We paddled along the river for a little while before encountering our first rapids. The first few waves that crashed over us were powerful and chilling to the bone. Since Tyler and I were situated at the front, we faced the brunt of the waves. One plummeting wave caused us to smash into each other, which was both humorous and painful at the same time.

As we paddled to the following rapids, we had to pay close attention to Jeremy’s stroke calls. I was frustrated when I occasionally bumped paddles with Samantha behind me. I guess I dreamed of us having uniform strides like oarsmen on row boats, but alas, we were hardly seasoned paddlers.

The subsequent rapids were varying in degrees of intensity. We were thrashed around quite a bit, but none of us fell out of the raft. One of my favorite experiences on the river was making doughnuts in the rapids. At Jeremy’s command, one side of the raft paddled backward, and the other side paddled forward, twirling us in circles.

Once, when the river was calm, Jeremy allowed us to climb out of the raft and swim for a bit in the chilly water. I floated on my back, my life vest buoying to the surface and my neck craning to stay above the water. I naturally floated away from the raft and had to struggle to get back to it after a few minutes. Next came the task of climbing back into the raft. I held onto the raft as Alex grabbed my life vest and tugged to little avail. He tugged again, and I slid up the edge a little more. Now half of my body was out of the water and draped over the raft. With some effort from me and another yank from Alex, I finally tumbled into the raft.

Near the end, Jeremy warned us that we were going to “hit the deck” soon. I was nervous, but also a bit invigorated at the thought. We were swirling in the rapids and bounding up and down on the waves when Jeremy yelled, “Hit the deck!” Instantly, we lifted our paddles to the sky and slid onto the floor of the raft to ride out the remainder of the rapids.

Eventually, we reached the end of our trip. After paddling toward the shore, we stepped into the shallow water, and pulled the raft on land. Unbuckling our helmets and life vests, we joined the other rafters basking in the sun and shared our experiences before boarding the buses.

Barbarian Challenge

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Barbarian Challenge

The Barbarian Challenge obstacle race was definitely a challenge, although I didn’t feel very barbaric doing it. I don’t consider climbing over cars, crawling through mud, and running in between electrically charged wires as being barbaric. I consider it fun, but maybe that’s because I’m crazy, just like the other eight hundred people running the race that day in late June.

The midmorning sun beamed down on me as I joined my group of friends that I was running with in the race. We stretched and waited at the back of the group of runners assembling. After taking the comical barbarian oathe, the race began, and we all bolted over the starting line.

The first challenge was climbing over several stacks of old vehicles. In my excitement, I foolishly leaped onto the slippery hood of one of the cars, lost my balance, and almost succeeded in knocking myself and one of my teammates off, which resulted in plenty of playful jesting from my teammates. Yes, I was off to a rousing start.

Barbarian Challenge

With the haphazard cars behind us, we ran at a good pace until we reached a standstill at the second obstacle which consisted of a series of barbed wire to crawl under and four foot tall walls to hoist over. After waiting our turn, we completed the obstacle and ran to the next one, only to be brought to another halt. This time though, we had to stand in a cold creek while waiting to ascend the rope ladder scaling the side of the next hill.  We stumbled over the tree roots hidden under the water and splashed each other as it got deeper. Before reaching the ladder, I dunked under water and the warm summer day suddenly felt much cooler. With my hair dripping and my saturated clothes sticking to me, I finally reached the unstable ladder and climbed out of the brush enshrouded creek to the trail ahead.

The next trek was the most difficult. Hundreds of runners with soggy shoes had transformed the dirt trail into slippery mud. We grasped trees, roots, weeds, anything besides each other as we tottered down the winding path and ascended up the next hill. I feared I might slip on the steep hill and fall back on my teammates; I also worried that the runners ahead of me might do the same. Near the top, I lost my footing. Hanging on by a puny root, I reached with my free hand for something substantial to grasp, my feet struggling to find a hold, but to no avail. Thankfully, one of my teammates somehow managed to wend past me, grab my free hand, and pull me onto solid ground. I was quite pleased to leave behind that treacherous hill and start running again.

More obstacles ensued, including hefting tires, running in between dangling electrically charged wires, and crossing another creek. One of my favorite obstacles was the tarp water slide positioned on one of the hills. The race attendant sprayed a fresh solution of soapy water on it before we slid down at an alarming pace. Fearing that I was going to land in the thicket to the left of the tarp, I veered to the right and almost collided with one of my teammates, my screechy “Watch out!” averting the collision. Another favorite obstacle was the pool of gritty, smelly, black mud. I struggled to keep my head out of the muck and avoid catching the barbed wire overhead as I slithered through it.

Muddy Buddies

We were definitely a sight to behold, all decked in mud and staring at our next obstacle, a tall wooden wall that we were supposed to climb over by grabbing the slanted narrow ledges randomly spaced up it. After deeming the wall too muddy to climb, we joined the other runners who couldn’t complete the obstacle and did our allotted punishment–fifty push-ups. Plenty of gasping and groaning resounded from that tired crowd. Okay, I’ll admit it, it was tough, and I was even doing girly push-ups.

Me all Muddy

The race continued with more creeks to cross, more mud to crawl through, and more hills to conquer than I’d rather recount. Finally, after two hours of barbarian life, we reached the last obstacle, a triangle shaped ramp built over an old school bus. Yes, a school bus. I’m not sure why it was there, but at least it looked cool. Thankfully, it only took me two tries to run up the ramp, grab the snarly rope,  and scale the wall. After two and a half long, challenging, and fun hours, we placed our arms around each other’s shoulders and triumphantly crossed the finish line, clad in mud and pride. Maybe I did feel a little bit like a barbarian.

June, 2013

Optimists

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Optimists

No matter how bleak a situation may appear, an optimist always discovers the positive side of it. On rainy days, for instance, he is not depressed by its gloominess, but his positive outlook on life causes him to think of the bountiful blessings that rain showers bring. Neither is he  opposed to challenges or hardships, for he knows the benefits of overcoming them. Even when his plans crumble, an optimist does not lose heart, but trusts that Yahweh must have  better plans for him. His cheery view of life makes him happier than most people, uplifts everyone he meets, and causes him to be loved and respected wherever he goes.

March 2012

 

The Motor Home

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Papa and RV

Some of my favorite memories were made within the narrow walls of the old motor home parked in the side yard of my childhood home in Florida. I remember climbing the small  tree directly in front of the RV and peering through the tinted windshield at my grandpa sitting inside, classical music emanating from his radio. It wasn’t exactly the motor home itself, but the delightful residents who lived in it for part of each year—my grandparents– that transformed the motor home into something glorious.

The old RV was cream colored with a sky blue streak running across it.The inside was narrow, even to my youthful estimation. It was sparsely decorated, but quite crowded due to the close quarters. I can still hear the constant ticking of the blue flower shaped clock in the kitchenette portion, and I remember the sparkling purple candle that I had bought for Grandma poised on a shelf.

It was in the motor home that my grandma helped me stumble through one of my first chapter books, “Surprise Island,” the second book in the Boxcar Children series. I remember her giving me a page marker and instructing me with reading tips, such as, how to move my finger across the page as I read.

Another favorite memory from the beloved motor home is the game nights I shared there with my grandparents. Before bedtime, I would slip away to the RV and we would sit around the small kitchen table and play Boggle. Time sped away as we enjoyed each other’s company.

As the years went by, my relationship with the motor home and its residents changed. I no longer ran over there to show off my new winter jacket, or to take reading lessons, but for more serious things. I remember escaping to the motor home to pray with my grandparents over a troubling issue.

Life has changed since those motorhome days. I have moved from Florida, the RV has been sold, and my dear grandma has passed away. The motorhome days seem so far away, and definitely locked away. I can never have them back, yet the memories made within those narrow walls will always hold a special place in my heart.

June, 2013

Spring

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Peach Tree Blossom

I love the energy, warmth, and beauty of spring. As the biting, winter winds blow away and the balmy days of spring begin to reside, the whole world comes alive. Slowly, the dead winter soil resurrects green and lush; bushes protrude their foliage, and daffodils and tulips burst forth their faithful blossoms. Wafting through the fresh air, the sweet scent of roses infuses the senses. Mockingbirds sing from the blossoming branches of trees. Chattering squirrels leap from branch to branch, and buzzing bees dutifully pollinate the rejuvenating world. The dogwood produces its dainty, yellow blossoms, the tulip tree its dark purple tulips, and the cherry its snow white clusters, all heralding the arrival of spring.

 June, 2013