A long time ago, in a galaxy
far, far away…
Well, actually, it was West Virginia which is only a couple hundred miles. To me, it seems like an eternity ago.
When I was living there, my brothers and I attended a martial arts class hosted by our YMCA. We were taught by a very distinguished sensei and his friend. Our sensei, Sensei Humphreys was a level five black belt and, therefore, was disciplined, tough, and adept in several forms of karate. Learning from him was, without a doubt, a tremendous blessing. My two brothers and I reached green belt through his tutelage, but our course was suddenly ended when Sensei Humphreys had knee surgery.
Of course the greatest impact sensei had on my life was Ryokoshinkan (or however the heck you spell it), a martial art form he developed mixing basic teachings of several karate styles. He taught me confidence and responsibility and succeeded in keeping three teenage boys entertained two nights a week. There were times I lost interest in karate, but I never lost my respect for my teacher. Sensei Humphreys is tough, disciplined, and patient—all good characteristics for any teacher.
That's all the minor characters for now.
Would all the minor characters please stand up?
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
THE TOP TEN LIST (for the ideal wife)
1. Faith
I am a person who values faith. In the Bible (the precise reference eludes me, so I will refer to Paul's excuse: "somewhere it is written...") the text says that it is sinful for a believer to be unequally yoked to an unbeliever. For me, this leaves no other option but that the ideal wife be a believer.
2. Honesty
Trust is an integral part of any relationship, romantic or otherwise. When each member of the relationship can place trust on the other(s), it strengthens bonds and also builds a very complex structure: honesty. Honesty and trust thrive together; therefore, it is wise to have a wife that is honest. The ideal spouse will be bound to truth even when that truth is undesirable.
3. Patience
No one is perfect. Not event he old folks call the "good, ole days" perfect and especially not the people in those old days. Looking at the past, it can be assumed that both gross and slight mistakes will be made in the future. We all need a mate that has patience when these occurs, who is diligent in forgiveness.
4. Loving
Affection is the basis for romance (allow me to simplify it this once). The loving wife will, without a doubt, have all of the needed qualities for the ideal wife.
5. Humorous
Comic relief is something not only for literature. Life that is devoted wholly to sobermindedness will be drab and will deplete energy from both parties. Besides, they say that laughter is the best medicine. It worked in Zombieland.
6. Unique/extraordinary
My personal belief is that there is no normalicy in society. People are so unique that we can only state several unifying features even in a group of friends. This group will always have traits that set a certain member apart from his comrades. Diversity is important in spouses. An age-old principle says that opposites attract even in mating. Where this may not be true, the opposite is also false. The ideal wife will not be exactly like her husband. She will assuredly have similar interests, but not the exact same interests. Otherwise, she would, in affect, bring nothing to the relationship.
7. Tolerant
This trait goes along with patience. Tolerance is no excuse to ignore the wrongdoings or infedilities of the husband. But tolerance to an extent promotes harmony.
8. Joyful
Joy and enjoy do not coincide universally. Where it is nice to enjoy an experience because it gives us direct pleasure, joy is an elusive contentment with one's circumstances. Martyrs find joy in their dying breath as they give up their lives for their beliefs. Joy is essential to the ideal wife. A joyful mate will find contentment even in the recession of circumstances, strengthening her spouse dutifully.
9. Devoted
I believe that a quick glance at the above list would expand this word adequately. The ideal wife will always be faithful to her husband.
10. Respectful of tradition
This last part is my own idea. I do honor tradition, but I am not bound to it. Just as it is important to "respect your elders," it's also a decent principle to respect traditions. If a certain archetype that your parents advocate is distasteful to you, by all means, throw it away. However, understand the reasoning behind the tradition before doing so.
Note: Something I've learned over the course of my life is that the so-called "ideal" mate is not always the one that is most similar to you.
I am a person who values faith. In the Bible (the precise reference eludes me, so I will refer to Paul's excuse: "somewhere it is written...") the text says that it is sinful for a believer to be unequally yoked to an unbeliever. For me, this leaves no other option but that the ideal wife be a believer.
2. Honesty
Trust is an integral part of any relationship, romantic or otherwise. When each member of the relationship can place trust on the other(s), it strengthens bonds and also builds a very complex structure: honesty. Honesty and trust thrive together; therefore, it is wise to have a wife that is honest. The ideal spouse will be bound to truth even when that truth is undesirable.
3. Patience
No one is perfect. Not event he old folks call the "good, ole days" perfect and especially not the people in those old days. Looking at the past, it can be assumed that both gross and slight mistakes will be made in the future. We all need a mate that has patience when these occurs, who is diligent in forgiveness.
4. Loving
Affection is the basis for romance (allow me to simplify it this once). The loving wife will, without a doubt, have all of the needed qualities for the ideal wife.
5. Humorous
Comic relief is something not only for literature. Life that is devoted wholly to sobermindedness will be drab and will deplete energy from both parties. Besides, they say that laughter is the best medicine. It worked in Zombieland.
6. Unique/extraordinary
My personal belief is that there is no normalicy in society. People are so unique that we can only state several unifying features even in a group of friends. This group will always have traits that set a certain member apart from his comrades. Diversity is important in spouses. An age-old principle says that opposites attract even in mating. Where this may not be true, the opposite is also false. The ideal wife will not be exactly like her husband. She will assuredly have similar interests, but not the exact same interests. Otherwise, she would, in affect, bring nothing to the relationship.
7. Tolerant
This trait goes along with patience. Tolerance is no excuse to ignore the wrongdoings or infedilities of the husband. But tolerance to an extent promotes harmony.
8. Joyful
Joy and enjoy do not coincide universally. Where it is nice to enjoy an experience because it gives us direct pleasure, joy is an elusive contentment with one's circumstances. Martyrs find joy in their dying breath as they give up their lives for their beliefs. Joy is essential to the ideal wife. A joyful mate will find contentment even in the recession of circumstances, strengthening her spouse dutifully.
9. Devoted
I believe that a quick glance at the above list would expand this word adequately. The ideal wife will always be faithful to her husband.
10. Respectful of tradition
This last part is my own idea. I do honor tradition, but I am not bound to it. Just as it is important to "respect your elders," it's also a decent principle to respect traditions. If a certain archetype that your parents advocate is distasteful to you, by all means, throw it away. However, understand the reasoning behind the tradition before doing so.
Note: Something I've learned over the course of my life is that the so-called "ideal" mate is not always the one that is most similar to you.
Fighting With My Parents
I don't argue with my parents. Spiritual and political discussions are just that: discussions. Especially between my father and I, we are very nearly in complete accord constantly. Most of the times that I find myself on the opposite side, my father can generally persuade me to his side. I can't help that he is always right.
So, arguments...I've never raised my voice at my parents. The idea of yelling at them is foreign and awful to me. They trust me with the use of my time, my car, my social life, and much more.The closest thing that I could write on this blog would be my mother's intermittent intrusions. Now, let me be clear, she is more than justified when she does so. They usually revolve around my failure to "help out" around the house. My mother is a machine. She works night shift, comes home, sleeps, wakes up, does it again--for generally a stretch of five days. Then she has several days of free time. What does she do with herself? She works at home.
My mother expects the same from me when I return from work or school. It's not unreasonable, but I don't feel the urge to do so. That's my folly in reality. I just need to get off my lazy butt and get to work.
So, arguments...I've never raised my voice at my parents. The idea of yelling at them is foreign and awful to me. They trust me with the use of my time, my car, my social life, and much more.The closest thing that I could write on this blog would be my mother's intermittent intrusions. Now, let me be clear, she is more than justified when she does so. They usually revolve around my failure to "help out" around the house. My mother is a machine. She works night shift, comes home, sleeps, wakes up, does it again--for generally a stretch of five days. Then she has several days of free time. What does she do with herself? She works at home.
My mother expects the same from me when I return from work or school. It's not unreasonable, but I don't feel the urge to do so. That's my folly in reality. I just need to get off my lazy butt and get to work.
The Sun's Love
A little piece of dreadfully serious, melodramatic poetry I concocted. Read, if you are brave enough for the emotion.
The Sun's Love
The sun comes out.
Sooner, sooner, may she come.
Awash in her light, I have no doubt.
She belongs to me, and not to some.
She is my life and love.
I cannot do without.
Her caress is the wings of a dove.
The sun, she sends my fears in rout.
She brings life to the rose.
New life is in her furnace warm.
With her, I no longer have woes.
Remove from me all my thorns.
To the West, flees my sun.
But in the night, I await upon time.
I am the sun's love.
And she is mine.
A Top Ten...perhaps?
I know that everyone--and I mean everyone--must be tired of hearing it. But...be your own person.That's really what struggle I wish to conquer. Because becoming one's self truly is a great trial, and requires diligent insight, care, and desire to accomplish. I only think recently that I have reached the point where I am nearly comfortable with just being odd. There is no such thing as normalcy in this world; all people are weird in their own right (which of course means that oddity is normality...how's that for a slice of fried gold?)
As a Christian, I am a strong believer that the World is vile and corrupt, full of sin and tribulation. High school really was my first experience of this. I think that (for the most part) I have conquered the World for the time being. But I do know that it is a struggle that will never depart from me. I just pray that I will be given the grace I need to meet it.
Okay, enough of that! Leave on a lighter note:
I want to... Sing like Freddie Mercury,
Do as many pushups as Jean-Claude Van Damme,
Pull off royal blue, knee-length socks like Brian,
Be a superhero,
Operate Twitter,
Climb boulders like Chris Sharma,
Eat what Bear Grylls eats,
Own a Mac like the cool kids (and Miss Pittman),
And wear a red leather jacket the rest of my life...
Top that, Dre (self-claimed extraordinaire)
Dad's Bucket of Joy
“Good cigar, good beer, good fellowship, equals good life.”
Yes, that was my father. It was several years ago when we were sitting on the front porch, and he was passing on his genuine wisdom upon his youngest son. He told me to write it done—and I did.
All this talk of cigars and beer from who many would consider a very faithful minister and wise advisor. And, apparently, his life revolves around drinking and smoking, plus, he wants to thrust those habits onto his own son. Maybe it is all child abuse. Or maybe it is wisdom after all.
My father has never been an advocate for absentminded frivolity or gluttony. What he was trying to tell me those years ago on that tranquil evening was simply this: enjoy life.
Warning signals may have already flagged me down. Is it not an awful idea to tell a teenager to enjoy life? My father’s advice has provided me with an enriched life.
Too often, we are drawn in by our busy schedules that we forget to enjoy our lives. We tie our world together by our next meeting or by our next paycheck. We are so desperate to succeed that we, in fact, fail. Success is not measured in the money we make or the prestige we reap, but in the happiness we find in ourselves and the joy we create in others. I hope to rest peacefully in my grave when me epitaph is inscribed, “He found joy in his life, and, in others, brought forth joy.”
Yes, that was my father. It was several years ago when we were sitting on the front porch, and he was passing on his genuine wisdom upon his youngest son. He told me to write it done—and I did.
All this talk of cigars and beer from who many would consider a very faithful minister and wise advisor. And, apparently, his life revolves around drinking and smoking, plus, he wants to thrust those habits onto his own son. Maybe it is all child abuse. Or maybe it is wisdom after all.
My father has never been an advocate for absentminded frivolity or gluttony. What he was trying to tell me those years ago on that tranquil evening was simply this: enjoy life.
Warning signals may have already flagged me down. Is it not an awful idea to tell a teenager to enjoy life? My father’s advice has provided me with an enriched life.
Too often, we are drawn in by our busy schedules that we forget to enjoy our lives. We tie our world together by our next meeting or by our next paycheck. We are so desperate to succeed that we, in fact, fail. Success is not measured in the money we make or the prestige we reap, but in the happiness we find in ourselves and the joy we create in others. I hope to rest peacefully in my grave when me epitaph is inscribed, “He found joy in his life, and, in others, brought forth joy.”
Diary of a Cool Kid
Diary of a Cool Kid
I
I’m from the West Side.
No, really, I was born on the west side of St. Louis, Missouri. My father was attending seminary at the time—Covenant Theological Seminary to be precise. It was 1992, March 21. My family lived in St. Louis for another two years as my father completed schooling and graduated with a Master of Divinity.
Very soon there afterward, the Wilkies arrived in the new house in Evansville, Indiana. That’s situated in southern part of the state which, even though it’s still above the Mason-Dixon Line, is never claimed by its central and northern counterparts.
I was young then; preschool was my social empire.
The house was two stories and was planted squarely upon the basement which sported the boy’s den. Lair. Cage. Any of those words would do. In any case, Brock, Jacob, and I were given nearly free reign over that territory. It was a colony that even sported salutary neglect. What parent would want to go down there anyways? I’m sure my mother appreciated scooting away to her twelve hour shifts at the emergency room. My sisters lived in the upper world—on the surface if you will.
Who knows horrible acts three very adolescent boys performed in the underworld?
II
When I tell people how many times my family has uprooted and moved to a new location, I usually get a sympathetic nod, or “that must have been tough.” In reality, the move from Evansville wasn’t marked by any sorrow. Excitement accompanied, instead. Charleston, West Virginia (Nope, I’ve never journeyed to Charleston, South Carolina. I hope it’s better than its hillbilly equivalent) was a new place for adventure for a boy about to enter Kindergarten.
We lived on a manse. For those who don’t know what that is, a manse can also be called a parsonage; it’s a house built on church property to house its pastor. Because my dad was the newly ordained pastor, we made ourselves cozy in our new abode.
Again, those family members who possessed both a y-chromosome and no maturity were sent to the den. I can recall untold hours and hours standing at the table we had set up down there playing with my forever-favorite childhood toy: LEGO. I had a particularly nasty habit too. Brock, my oldest brother, was a master engineer of LEGO blocks. He wasn’t even in middle school mind you, and he would construct machines and structures that he saw on movies and television. His skills at that age were honed to creating Power Ranger zords (yes, I watched Power Rangers), space-faring vessels from Star Wars, and any other thing that popped in his head.
I, being an ideal youngest brother, broke as many as I could. Sometimes it was on accident; other times…not so much.
The first Wilkie computer was purchased while in West Virginia. Before that time, my brothers and I were rarely subjected to the “brain-rotting” of game systems. Sure, we had a Sega Genesis at one time, but Sonic has long worn out its welcome in society. Our computer opened the door for video games in my life for years to come. Now, I have the new Halo: ODST on preorder at Gamestop. It has been a considerable change to be sure.
We lived in Cross Lanes (a small, unincorporated town outside Charleston) for ten years; therefore, it encompasses most of my life. So much happened during that time. My parents were strict in believing that all of their five children should receive a good education. In my second through fourth grade years myself and my siblings attended a Christian, private, classical school called Covenant. I hypothesize that such a great education at an early age helped me garner skills that I have now—I am using one of them at this very moment. Just to understand to what degree Mom and Dad wanted a great education for us, I’ll say that the commute from Cross Lanes to Huntington where the school was consumed a full forty-five minutes of our lives every trip.
I learned years later that my sisters had nicknamed Covenant as the Convent. Why? Well, it was a good classical school: uniforms, Latin courses in elementary school, harsh rules and punishment based on language and conduct, etcetera. Janelle and Lorin both graduated from Covenant in the same year. Their class was comprised of four graduates.
When they scurried off to college, my brothers and I also left. For a year, we were home schooled. Then Jake and I were taught by Mom, and Brock went to a nearby public school, where he became a member of the ROTC which would later lead him to a career in the United States Marines.
Let me take a moment to describe myself.
At the time, I was a little kid with glasses and braces, and my personality fit them. Well, it did unless you factor in my attitude. I was a hothead to be sure. I couldn’t take a joke or a tease no matter how genial or well intentioned it was which only fueled the prodding of Brock and Jake.
In short, I wasn’t exactly a pleasant little angel to know personally.
III
Eighth grade year, I was enrolled in another private, Christian establishment that, thank the Lord, was a mile down the road. Its standards for learning were not quite as steep as Covenant, but Cross Lanes Christian School was far stricter in other areas.
The administration at the school fully believed that it was the sole authority over every sphere in the lives of the students. Rules regarding behavior were stretched to the home life. They would enact discipline if gossip leaked of any “immoral” activity. And guess who decided what was moral?
Alcohol was viewed as an abomination which sat very coolly with my very German family. If only they knew…but, to promote plausible deniability, I won’t go there.
The school’s breed of Christianity was called dispensationalism. I began to ask Dad theological questions when they began to force their beliefs on me. In a way, their zeal to mold me into one of them pushed me further into my family’s own theology: Reformed theology. I don’t want to bore anyone by listing the points written by John Calvin for Covenantal beliefs, but I will say that I am now a firm follower.
My real persona began to emerge during this time. I started to shed my irritability as I simply lost interest in it. I indulged myself in heavy reading, art, video games, and personal writing. All three somehow contributed into the birth my current self. I sang in the church choir, noted the opposite sex, took guitar lessons for a time, and, in short, was exploring life.
It wasn’t until the final odyssey that I really became who I am today.
IV
For several years previously (it’s 2006 by now), we would visit my grandmother in North Carolina. Her name is Giselle, but everyone just calls her Oma, which is the intimate German term for grandmother. She owns a bed and breakfast in Lake Lure called The Lodge on Lake Lure. Every summer, we would camp down there and work for her, but more of this later.
This year was a momentous one for the Wilkie family. Janelle and Lorin graduated from college, Brock graduated from high school and had his face set towards boot camp, and my grandmother Jane Wilkie died. And it all happened on the same day too.
Faith Presbyterian had never been a church for my father. The congregation, over the ten years Dad preached there, dwindled through rampant gossip and slander. In short, he was tired of them, and it was a good time to leave. All of the family except for him was already living in Lake Lure for the summer; we merely made the transplant permanent.
What I said above was partly incorrect. This move was difficult for me to accept. After ten years among the Appalachian Mountains, I was attached to the place in a myriad of different ways. But the word of the parents was final.
Jake and I were rather unsure about ourselves when we walked into RS Central high school for the first time nearly four years ago. Jake was becoming into a fit, proud, good-looking, may I say, typical teenager. I was…something else. After a life of private school, I was unprepared for public pandemonium. Still, I adapted somewhat quickly.
I like to believe that high school was the final step in becoming me. However, it was far from easy. Freshman year I remained much the same: introverted at school, active at home. To me, my four siblings were always my best friends; now, I had one brother who, I regret to say, had other friends.
Janelle was engaged that fall. Her wedding in May of 2007 will always remain in my mind as one of the happiest days I have lived. One of the happiest, mind you. My brother-in-law Tyler is a true delight to have close. I am glad that he is a part of this family.
Moving forward: as a sophomore, I was challenged most fiercely by the World. I cannot give specifics into this, but I can say that I emerged forged in faith as a better person and Christian through God’s grace.
I remember thinking that junior year was the greatest year I had ever experienced. I had some fairly close friends, and I was comfortable with myself in many ways. To say that the spiritual hardships were over would be false however. This time, God was a little craftier in how he rescued me. Unfortunately, I can’t be very specific; I’ll just state that romance is a very powerful thing.
V
Our new house was set in place on March 1 2008. I use “set in place” because it was a modular. However, it wasn’t until fall of my junior year that I was able to take up residence.
By now, my family has altered members. Janelle and Tyler moved to Harrisonburg, Virginia, Brock was deployed to Afghanistan, Jake would soon be married (his baby was born the very day that I wrote this), and Lorin would also be wedded on the fifth of September. However, my grandfather Opa moved over here from California after the death of my step-grandmother.
“I can’t believe my youngest child is a senior,” was all my mom could say one day was we were running errands. Truthfully, it took me some amount of time to accustom to the title. I can’t wait to see where I go next on this road of life (cliché, I know). I hope that it is different, and new. But I hope that my future is just as fun and exciting, and, indeed, challenging as the road I’ve already traveled
I
I’m from the West Side.
No, really, I was born on the west side of St. Louis, Missouri. My father was attending seminary at the time—Covenant Theological Seminary to be precise. It was 1992, March 21. My family lived in St. Louis for another two years as my father completed schooling and graduated with a Master of Divinity.
Very soon there afterward, the Wilkies arrived in the new house in Evansville, Indiana. That’s situated in southern part of the state which, even though it’s still above the Mason-Dixon Line, is never claimed by its central and northern counterparts.
I was young then; preschool was my social empire.
The house was two stories and was planted squarely upon the basement which sported the boy’s den. Lair. Cage. Any of those words would do. In any case, Brock, Jacob, and I were given nearly free reign over that territory. It was a colony that even sported salutary neglect. What parent would want to go down there anyways? I’m sure my mother appreciated scooting away to her twelve hour shifts at the emergency room. My sisters lived in the upper world—on the surface if you will.
Who knows horrible acts three very adolescent boys performed in the underworld?
II
When I tell people how many times my family has uprooted and moved to a new location, I usually get a sympathetic nod, or “that must have been tough.” In reality, the move from Evansville wasn’t marked by any sorrow. Excitement accompanied, instead. Charleston, West Virginia (Nope, I’ve never journeyed to Charleston, South Carolina. I hope it’s better than its hillbilly equivalent) was a new place for adventure for a boy about to enter Kindergarten.
We lived on a manse. For those who don’t know what that is, a manse can also be called a parsonage; it’s a house built on church property to house its pastor. Because my dad was the newly ordained pastor, we made ourselves cozy in our new abode.
Again, those family members who possessed both a y-chromosome and no maturity were sent to the den. I can recall untold hours and hours standing at the table we had set up down there playing with my forever-favorite childhood toy: LEGO. I had a particularly nasty habit too. Brock, my oldest brother, was a master engineer of LEGO blocks. He wasn’t even in middle school mind you, and he would construct machines and structures that he saw on movies and television. His skills at that age were honed to creating Power Ranger zords (yes, I watched Power Rangers), space-faring vessels from Star Wars, and any other thing that popped in his head.
I, being an ideal youngest brother, broke as many as I could. Sometimes it was on accident; other times…not so much.
The first Wilkie computer was purchased while in West Virginia. Before that time, my brothers and I were rarely subjected to the “brain-rotting” of game systems. Sure, we had a Sega Genesis at one time, but Sonic has long worn out its welcome in society. Our computer opened the door for video games in my life for years to come. Now, I have the new Halo: ODST on preorder at Gamestop. It has been a considerable change to be sure.
We lived in Cross Lanes (a small, unincorporated town outside Charleston) for ten years; therefore, it encompasses most of my life. So much happened during that time. My parents were strict in believing that all of their five children should receive a good education. In my second through fourth grade years myself and my siblings attended a Christian, private, classical school called Covenant. I hypothesize that such a great education at an early age helped me garner skills that I have now—I am using one of them at this very moment. Just to understand to what degree Mom and Dad wanted a great education for us, I’ll say that the commute from Cross Lanes to Huntington where the school was consumed a full forty-five minutes of our lives every trip.
I learned years later that my sisters had nicknamed Covenant as the Convent. Why? Well, it was a good classical school: uniforms, Latin courses in elementary school, harsh rules and punishment based on language and conduct, etcetera. Janelle and Lorin both graduated from Covenant in the same year. Their class was comprised of four graduates.
When they scurried off to college, my brothers and I also left. For a year, we were home schooled. Then Jake and I were taught by Mom, and Brock went to a nearby public school, where he became a member of the ROTC which would later lead him to a career in the United States Marines.
Let me take a moment to describe myself.
At the time, I was a little kid with glasses and braces, and my personality fit them. Well, it did unless you factor in my attitude. I was a hothead to be sure. I couldn’t take a joke or a tease no matter how genial or well intentioned it was which only fueled the prodding of Brock and Jake.
In short, I wasn’t exactly a pleasant little angel to know personally.
III
Eighth grade year, I was enrolled in another private, Christian establishment that, thank the Lord, was a mile down the road. Its standards for learning were not quite as steep as Covenant, but Cross Lanes Christian School was far stricter in other areas.
The administration at the school fully believed that it was the sole authority over every sphere in the lives of the students. Rules regarding behavior were stretched to the home life. They would enact discipline if gossip leaked of any “immoral” activity. And guess who decided what was moral?
Alcohol was viewed as an abomination which sat very coolly with my very German family. If only they knew…but, to promote plausible deniability, I won’t go there.
The school’s breed of Christianity was called dispensationalism. I began to ask Dad theological questions when they began to force their beliefs on me. In a way, their zeal to mold me into one of them pushed me further into my family’s own theology: Reformed theology. I don’t want to bore anyone by listing the points written by John Calvin for Covenantal beliefs, but I will say that I am now a firm follower.
My real persona began to emerge during this time. I started to shed my irritability as I simply lost interest in it. I indulged myself in heavy reading, art, video games, and personal writing. All three somehow contributed into the birth my current self. I sang in the church choir, noted the opposite sex, took guitar lessons for a time, and, in short, was exploring life.
It wasn’t until the final odyssey that I really became who I am today.
IV
For several years previously (it’s 2006 by now), we would visit my grandmother in North Carolina. Her name is Giselle, but everyone just calls her Oma, which is the intimate German term for grandmother. She owns a bed and breakfast in Lake Lure called The Lodge on Lake Lure. Every summer, we would camp down there and work for her, but more of this later.
This year was a momentous one for the Wilkie family. Janelle and Lorin graduated from college, Brock graduated from high school and had his face set towards boot camp, and my grandmother Jane Wilkie died. And it all happened on the same day too.
Faith Presbyterian had never been a church for my father. The congregation, over the ten years Dad preached there, dwindled through rampant gossip and slander. In short, he was tired of them, and it was a good time to leave. All of the family except for him was already living in Lake Lure for the summer; we merely made the transplant permanent.
What I said above was partly incorrect. This move was difficult for me to accept. After ten years among the Appalachian Mountains, I was attached to the place in a myriad of different ways. But the word of the parents was final.
Jake and I were rather unsure about ourselves when we walked into RS Central high school for the first time nearly four years ago. Jake was becoming into a fit, proud, good-looking, may I say, typical teenager. I was…something else. After a life of private school, I was unprepared for public pandemonium. Still, I adapted somewhat quickly.
I like to believe that high school was the final step in becoming me. However, it was far from easy. Freshman year I remained much the same: introverted at school, active at home. To me, my four siblings were always my best friends; now, I had one brother who, I regret to say, had other friends.
Janelle was engaged that fall. Her wedding in May of 2007 will always remain in my mind as one of the happiest days I have lived. One of the happiest, mind you. My brother-in-law Tyler is a true delight to have close. I am glad that he is a part of this family.
Moving forward: as a sophomore, I was challenged most fiercely by the World. I cannot give specifics into this, but I can say that I emerged forged in faith as a better person and Christian through God’s grace.
I remember thinking that junior year was the greatest year I had ever experienced. I had some fairly close friends, and I was comfortable with myself in many ways. To say that the spiritual hardships were over would be false however. This time, God was a little craftier in how he rescued me. Unfortunately, I can’t be very specific; I’ll just state that romance is a very powerful thing.
V
Our new house was set in place on March 1 2008. I use “set in place” because it was a modular. However, it wasn’t until fall of my junior year that I was able to take up residence.
By now, my family has altered members. Janelle and Tyler moved to Harrisonburg, Virginia, Brock was deployed to Afghanistan, Jake would soon be married (his baby was born the very day that I wrote this), and Lorin would also be wedded on the fifth of September. However, my grandfather Opa moved over here from California after the death of my step-grandmother.
“I can’t believe my youngest child is a senior,” was all my mom could say one day was we were running errands. Truthfully, it took me some amount of time to accustom to the title. I can’t wait to see where I go next on this road of life (cliché, I know). I hope that it is different, and new. But I hope that my future is just as fun and exciting, and, indeed, challenging as the road I’ve already traveled
Yammerings About Myself
This is a stream of consciousness work about myself. So if you really want to know what I'm all about...read it up.
Only rock climbers and conservatives may attain the rank of implacable magnificence in this caste system of a social standard. I’m redoing this assignment because the internet is a rather insidious invention. What is not? Rock’n’roll. Greatest invention after cheese and another substance that will remain anonymous. Anonymity is boring. Forget what other people think. Be yourself. Like Steve.
Stephen Lawhead < Steve Lawhead. Fantasy and science fiction infiltrate my brain with pointless expertise. Lasers. Monsters. And Warp drives!
But it’s an art.
Art is a guilty pleasure of mine. It in truth incurs absolutely no guilt. Myself, being an artist, relates with the work of other men and women that perform such miracles. I’m not Michelangelo.
Call me Caleb.
Call me German.
Grandmother. Mother. Uncle. Grandfather. All German. Anything with “German” in it deserves a medal. Germany. Germans. Germanic. German. Germanesque. Germ. Man.
Man, created by God a couple thousand years ago, is such a drag. Pathetic even.
Man, not woman, is given a complex and tenuous situation with his counterpart. Communion with said opposite sex is essential for world peace. Otherwise it has dramatic, malicious repercussions.
World War II commenced when Eleanor Roosevelt broke up with Hitler. Allegedly.
I love a good story.
Like science fiction. Or a small piece of stream of conscienceness about me.
Or anything with implacable magnificence.
Or about rock climbers or conservatives.
Or…me.
Only rock climbers and conservatives may attain the rank of implacable magnificence in this caste system of a social standard. I’m redoing this assignment because the internet is a rather insidious invention. What is not? Rock’n’roll. Greatest invention after cheese and another substance that will remain anonymous. Anonymity is boring. Forget what other people think. Be yourself. Like Steve.
Stephen Lawhead < Steve Lawhead. Fantasy and science fiction infiltrate my brain with pointless expertise. Lasers. Monsters. And Warp drives!
But it’s an art.
Art is a guilty pleasure of mine. It in truth incurs absolutely no guilt. Myself, being an artist, relates with the work of other men and women that perform such miracles. I’m not Michelangelo.
Call me Caleb.
Call me German.
Grandmother. Mother. Uncle. Grandfather. All German. Anything with “German” in it deserves a medal. Germany. Germans. Germanic. German. Germanesque. Germ. Man.
Man, created by God a couple thousand years ago, is such a drag. Pathetic even.
Man, not woman, is given a complex and tenuous situation with his counterpart. Communion with said opposite sex is essential for world peace. Otherwise it has dramatic, malicious repercussions.
World War II commenced when Eleanor Roosevelt broke up with Hitler. Allegedly.
I love a good story.
Like science fiction. Or a small piece of stream of conscienceness about me.
Or anything with implacable magnificence.
Or about rock climbers or conservatives.
Or…me.
The Things I Carry
The Things Within
Only liars move without burden.
We all carry.
I carry my backpack
And the the things within it.
I carry my clothes
And my life within them.
My books weigh on my back.
My pens and pencils and papers.
I carry them allAnd the knowledge within them.
I carry them allAnd I use every one of them.
I wear, without fail, a necklace about my throat.
It probably cost nothing.
But it means everything.
I carry itAnd the love within it.
I loveAnd I feel its wonderful load.
Smile.Even when it's not bright.
It's the weight made of seventeen muscles.
And the happiness within them.
Share the burden with others
And the joy within it.
We all live.
I live.
Eventually, we all die.
Live like you die tomorrow
Love like you have no tomorrow
Carry your burdens faithfully
And the things within them.
Only liars move without burden.
We all carry.
I carry my backpack
And the the things within it.
I carry my clothes
And my life within them.
My books weigh on my back.
My pens and pencils and papers.
I carry them allAnd the knowledge within them.
I carry them allAnd I use every one of them.
I wear, without fail, a necklace about my throat.
It probably cost nothing.
But it means everything.
I carry itAnd the love within it.
I loveAnd I feel its wonderful load.
Smile.Even when it's not bright.
It's the weight made of seventeen muscles.
And the happiness within them.
Share the burden with others
And the joy within it.
We all live.
I live.
Eventually, we all die.
Live like you die tomorrow
Love like you have no tomorrow
Carry your burdens faithfully
And the things within them.
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