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Imagination

~ Joy ~ Leave a comment

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I love toddlers. One of the things I love the most about them is their great imagination. They view the world so differently from us more mature folks, and I enjoy discovering their whimsical world–full of imagination and far-fetched ideas.

I got a glimpse into this imaginary world the other day when I was visiting my brother’s family. We were eating breakfast when my two-year-old nephew Isaac looked over at me and said between spoonfuls of oatmeal, “Aunt Joy, have you seen my airplane?”

I couldn’t remember him showing me any toy airplanes, so I told him I hadn’t and that he would have to show it to me after we finished breakfast.

I was soon following Isaac as he took me to see his airplane. His little feet pounded on the floor until we were standing in front of his crib. He pointed at it and said, “That’s my airplane.” He went on to explain that that it was blue, and that it flies fast.

I couldn’t help but giggle. Imagination is an amazing thing. All I saw was a brown wooden crib, but Isaac saw a speedy blue airplane that flies during his naps.

I know that someday Isaac will no longer imagine that his crib is an airplane. In fact, he’ll forget that he ever had. Someday his calculator will no longer be his smartphone and the mound of rocks that he made will no longer be a fire. He’ll grow up, but I hope that he will always carry a spark of that childhood imagination with him wherever he goes.

An Anniversary

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Today is the one year anniversary of my first Krav Maga class. Little did I know one year ago that Krav Maga was going to become one of my favorite activities, propelling me into an active lifestyle of running obstacle races and 5Ks. As I shared in my “Blood, Sweat & Burpees” post, learning Krav Maga has been a fun and challenging experience for me this year. Today I was reminded of a story I wrote a few months back about my first class. After some revising (it’s always easier to improve a story after it’s sat for a while), here is the account of my first class:

My First Krav Maga Class

My brother had been pestering me for months, telling me that I needed to come to a Krav Maga self-defense class with him sometime. I had secretly been wanting to attend a class, but was too shy to admit it, so when my dad joined him in encouraging me to go, I figured it was safe to admit it–I’d go to one class, and if I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t have to go back.

With mixed feelings of excitement and apprehension, I arrived at the class. It began with a work-out portion that was full of surprises. I was instructed to run with my hands in front of my face to “protect myself” and had to punch an imaginary attacker during sit-ups. I also learned what walking lunges were, and I did my very first Burpees.

Once the exercise portion was over, the instructor taught us how to escape from a front choke. We were told to find a partner and practice the technique. I chose the only other girl in the group, who was a fellow homeschooler that I knew. I felt horrible choking her. When it was her turn to choke me, I gently plucked her hands off my neck and gingerly threw a front groin kick, but I forgot to bring my hands up to protect my head. Suddenly, the instructor choked me from behind. I let out a startled gasp. “You’ve got to keep your hands up,” he told me. I nodded, my eyes bulging.

The class continued with more choke defenses. Although I felt terribly out of place, I had enjoyed it a bit. After the class ended, my brother came up to me and said, “Well, Joy, now you have two hobbies–piano and Krav Maga.” I shook my head and replied, “I’m not sure they go together.” He insisted they did. I guess he was right.

A World Without Music (Short Story)

~ Joy ~ 2 Comments

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I awakened to the obnoxious beep of my alarm clock instead of the usual cheery wake-up song. I could tell it was an odd morning. Not only was my alarm clock beeping, but I also couldn’t hear the customary sound of my sister playing piano in the other room. I stumbled out of my bedroom and glanced in the direction of the piano. It was gone. Panicked, I inspected where the piano had stood and found not a single music book laying around. I dashed back to my bedroom and discovered that my guitar was gone and my CD’s were missing.

I ran upstairs and found my mom in the kitchen. “Mom! There was a music thief in our house!”

She stared at me blankly. “What?”

“A music thief! He stole the piano and my guitar and the songbooks and–and–we’ve got to call the police!” I exclaimed.

“Alli, maybe you should go back to bed. There was no thief in our house, and I don’t even know what music is or piano or guitar. You need more sleep.”

“What do you mean you don’t know what music is? We had a piano downstairs, and I had a guitar in my room, and–Oh, I almost forgot!–I have a guitar lesson today, and I don’t even have my guitar.”

“Guitar lesson? What’s that?” she queried with a concerned look on her face. ”Alli, I think you need to go back to bed. You aren’t making any sense.”

I was convinced there had not only been a music thief in the house but also a brain thief. I ran to the living room where I found my dad watching TV.

“Dad, the piano, guitar, songbooks, and everything musical is gone.”

He gave me a puzzled look, “Well, I’ve never heard of those things before, so they must not be too important. Probably time we got rid of them anyway.”

I was not in the mood for a joke. “Oh, don’t tell me the thief took your brain too,” I muttered under my breath.

“What’d you say?” he asked.

“Come on, Dad, is this some big joke or something? Where’s the piano?”

He chuckled and said, “Honey, I’ve never heard of a piano before in my life, so I can’t tell you where it is. Why don’t you go back to bed? I think you need some more sleep.”

This was pathetic. I went on a search for my older sister, Kara. I knew she would have an answer for me. “Kara, do you know where the piano is?”

“The what?” she asked.

“The piano,” I said emphatically.

“Huh? What’s a piano?” she asked, giving me a puzzled look.

I stared back at her. She was an amazing pianist. She played piano for hours each day. But this was no joke! She was being serious.

“Kara, I don’t know what’s going on. I think I might be–well–I don’t know–I–“

“Alli,” she stopped and looked me in the eyes. “I think you should get out of the house. I’m about to head out shopping. Why don’t you join me?”

“Maybe I do need to get out. Are you shopping for a dress for your recital?”

“For my what?” she asked.

“Never mind,” I replied as I went to grab a snack and hurriedly got ready to leave.

We had almost reached the store when I realized that Kara didn’t have the radio on like normal. “Kara, it is not like you to be driving somewhere without music,” I teased.

“Huh?” she said, giving me that puzzled look again.

Had everyone else lost their minds, or was I going crazy? I wasn’t sure, but I definitely needed to hear some music. I turned on the radio. No music. I switched through all the stations. No music. “There’s nothing but talk shows on here,” I complained.

“Yeah, that’s what’s on a radio,” Kara retorted in that older sister you-should-know-that-by-now voice.

I stared at her, then the radio. Something was seriously wrong. When we finally arrived at the store, I leaped out of the car and bolted inside. Just as I had feared, no music was playing. I asked an employee, “Do you know what music is?”

After some thought the lady replied, “No, I’m sorry, but I don’t believe we have that here.”

“Well, have you at least heard of music?” I pleaded.

“No, I can’t say that I have. What is it?” she asked.

Describe music? Was this lady crazy? “Well,” I began, “music is made with instruments and it sounds really cool. There are lots of different styles of music and lots of different instruments. Music is something you can dance to and sing along with. Music can be happy or sad or loud or quiet and–and–” I was running out of descriptions, “it’s an art.”

“Hmm. That sounds really amazing. I wonder why I’ve never heard of that before,” the lady said.

By then, Kara had entered the store, and I needed some fresh air. “Kara, I’m going to stay outside.”

“Okay,”she said, looking about as puzzled as I felt, but there’s no way that was possible.

I sat down outside the building, pulled out my phone, and scoured the internet for any trace of music. Nothing. I searched for my favorite songs. Nothing. Music didn’t exist.

I had never felt so frustrated and confused in my life. I needed to hear something besides voices and beeps and car noises. I needed to hear music. I tried to sing a song, but I couldn’t sing. I tried to clap my hands, but I couldn’t keep a rhythm. I tried to imagine living the rest of my life in a world without music. What would my life be like without playing my guitar or listening to my sister’s elegant piano pieces or hearing my mom’s cheerful humming in the kitchen? What would movies be like without the music? What would football games be like without the bands? The more I thought about music, the more I realized how special and important it was and how much I had taken it for granted.

Suddenly, I heard the distant sound of a song playing. I opened my eyes and found myself staring at my alarm clock. I closed my eyes, and then I opened them again. Yes, it was playing my wake-up song.  I leaped out of bed and started to sing. I glanced around the room. Sure enough, my guitar was in the corner by my CD’s. I walked into the other room where Kara was playing one of her stunning piano pieces. “Sounds beautiful as always, Kara!” I called over my shoulder.

I dashed upstairs and stood in the kitchen reveling in the sound of my mom humming. “Good morning, Alli,” she greeted me.

“Good morning, Mom. I have a guitar lesson today, right? I asked.

“Yes, you do,” she responded.

“Okay, good, just checking,” I said and then I began to chuckle. Mom looked at me quizzically. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing. I just had the craziest dream last night. That’s all.”

The Thunderstorm

~ Joy ~ 1 Comment

Thunderstorm

The thunderstorm awakened me in the middle of the night. Lightning flashed and strong gusts of wind battered our tent from all directions, causing the sides to collapse on us and then spring back. My parents and my four siblings were all awake and wondered if we should evacuate the tent. As the storm continued to rage, we decided to escape to my aunt and uncle’s garage.

My mom unzipped the tent, and the wind beat against us as we sprinted across the wet lawn to the garage. Disoriented, my siblings and I stood inside as my parents ran back to the tent to collect our sleeping bags and air mattresses. Before long, we were settled on the floor of the garage. Despite our weariness, none of us could fall asleep.  My aunt and uncle discovered us in their garage and explained that the wind was carrying away their canopies in the backyard. My dad and uncle ran to retrieve the canopies and brought them into the garage. The commotion ensued as hail began to fall. In my dazed state, I saw my aunt with a towel wrapped around her head dash outside to move the cars. With hail clinking on the metal roof overhead,  I was eventually able to drift off to sleep.

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

~ Joy ~ 2 Comments

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