Things For Which I am Thankful

 

I am so very thankful for the people in my life who are always there for me: my family and best friends. My parents have provided me with so much opportunity and love as they've raised me. My sister has (sometimes forcibly) helped me learn and mature as we've grown up together. Tyler has been my best friend since the second grade and through him moving to Idaho. He has influenced me in so many ways that I could not even imagine my life without him. Bryce has been my best friend since the sixth grade, and she is just the best friend a girl could ask for.


 I am also very thankful for books because they have taught me so much that I would never have learned. I can go on adventures in far off times and places or even in the imaginations of other people without ever leaving my house. They have been such an integral part of my life that I don't know what I would do without them.

A Sonnet About the Last Two Weeks

I wish that I could find a way to stop

The pain and suffering she feels today.

If only there was any way to swap

No price would be too much for me to pay.

Her gray hospital room, so cold and drab

From healthiness she seems to be immune.

Enduring all the pokes and prods and stabs

With hope that she could go home very soon.

But I cannot do more than this for her:

To sit here, and just hold her hand, and smile,

And praying that nothing grave should occur,

Emotions having to be versatile.

I know that God must have a plan for this,

But for my grandma, pain’s hard to dismiss.

Antigone's Agonizing Decision

All I desired to do was bury my brother-my own flesh and blood. I know that he died attacking the city, but that did not make him any less my brother! I had already been through so much heartbreak already, especially the death of both of my parents (I would rather not talk about this part; I am still dealing with the fact that my mother was also my grandmother...), and then both of my brothers died in the same day, fighting each other. Polynices was a part of my parents the same as me, the same as Eteocles who received a proper burial, and I could not handle the disrespect shown towards him by Creon and his ridiculous command. I even claimed that "I would not have done the forbidden thing/ For any husband or for any son" (150). If it had been my husband or child who had died and a command was issued not to bury him, I would have hardened my heart against it and acquired a new husband or given birth to another child. But since my parents died, there would be no way for me to have another brother. I would have thought Ismene to feel the same way, but when I discussed it with her she showed herself to be spineless and weak. I asked her, "Is he not my brother, and yours, whether you like it/ Or not?" (128), and she replied to me with "O think, Antigone; we are women; it is not for us/ To fight against men; our rulers are stronger than we" (128). As if I cared about what Creon said or what he would do to me if I disobeyed! I cared not that I was a woman or that I did not possess the same political or physical power as Creon. I did what I thought was right for my brother and myself.

I was only able to succeed in the most paltry of burials, but I succeeded also in giving honor to my brother. As I told Ismene, "I shall never desert him, never" (128). When the sentries found me, I was not at all frightened of what I knew would happen. I had done my duty to my brother, my duty to the dead. I was almost glad to have been caught, so that my wretched uncle could see that it was I who defied him. He seemed quite shocked to see that it was I who dared defy the orders of the king. I assume that his response was due to my womanhood and my relation to him. For, of course, a female, specifically a female relative, would never dream of going against the orders of her lord and king. However, I know that he has since learned that neither of those traits could stop me.

And although my actions stemmed mostly from my love for my brother and the desire to give him deserved respect and honor, I did care also for fulfilling the will of the mighty gods. When Creon confronted me about what I had done, I told him outright that his "order did not come from God. Justice,/ That dwells from the gods below, knows no such law./ I did not think [his] edicts strong enough/ To overrule the unwritten unalterable laws/ of God and heaven" (138). Creon was only a mortal man who had not the right to spit in the face of the gods. How could I allow a divine law go unheeded, especially when the forsaken man was my own beloved brother? And now I am dead, a result of the terrible hubris of my uncle. Dead and able to be with my parents, brothers, and fiance in the afterlife. I have conversed with the soul of Eteocles and he has told me that he is glad that I honored our brother. Creon may suffer for the rest of his desolate life without his wife or son; I care not at all that his choices now cause him pain. He deserves all that has befallen him for daring to defy the gods and myself. I must now return to Hades where my actions are honored and celebrated.

A Broken World in Need of Fixing

She’s here again today. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone sit so silently for such a long time, and I’d spent my fair share of time at the library even before I began to work here. I walk past her as she sits in the large cozy chair hidden behind the corner on my way to reshelve some books. She doesn’t even look up. I’m not surprised though; she never looks up. On my way back to the front desk, I notice that her hands are clenching the book as if it were her only lifeline. Something exciting must be happening. I stoop to “tie my shoes” so I can get a better look at what she’s reading. Ah yes, Pride and Prejudice, a favorite of hers. As I finish my journey to the front desk, I muse about how all I know about this girl is which books she likes, and yet I feel as though she were a good friend of mine.

“You’re crazy,” I mumble to myself as I refill my cart with books to put back. “You don’t even know her name. You’ve never even heard her speak!”

I quickly glance around to make sure no one heard my ramblings. Phew. No one’s around. I hastily finish piling my cart full of returns and set out again. Without thinking, I glance over at her. Her hands have relaxed their grip on the hardback. I wish once again that her hair was not hanging down like a curtain around her face so I could see what her eyes were saying. Almost as if she had heard my thoughts, she suddenly looks up, seemingly right at me. Startled, I almost drop a stack of books. She hurriedly shoves the book in her bag and begins to walk towards the door. I remember that the library’s clock would be right above my head from her perspective. I push back the disappointment as I return to shelving books. Maybe I’ll talk to her tomorrow. Or not.

A few hours later my shift ends. I punch out and head west to meet my friend at his favorite coffee shop for a poetry slam. I’m not all that excited, but he was so hopeful when he asked me that I couldn’t say no.

I arrive a few minutes late and quickly find my friend at his table.

“Thanks for coming,” he grins, turning towards me. “I know this isn’t really your thing. But I do think you’ll like this next girl. She really has a passion for…”

Before he can finish, the emcee announces that the next poem will be called “The Silent Suffering.” I cannot believe my eyes as the girl from the library walks up onto the stage. Her eyes betray her nervousness, but she sets her jaw and begins to speak. And speak she does, about many things. How women almost always get paid less than men for the same job. How Mexican-Americans face taunts and jeers every day about how they are illegal immigrants. How rape victims feel that they must live their lives without telling anyone about their assault. How African-Americans are turned down for jobs because they aren’t considered capable, even when they have the exact qualifications. How the world is a broken place in need of fixing. She has a small quaver in her voice, but her eyes are vibrant and fiery. When she is done, the snaps are copious. She shakes her head a little, as if she were returning to reality. Flashing a quick smile, she rushes off the stage. Before I even know what I’m doing, I am out of my chair and following her. I find her backstage in a small alcove. She turns to me, a flicker of recognition in her eyes.

“Hi,” I stammer. “That poem was really great. You’re really good at… um… saying words.” Wow, smooth. “You go to the library pretty often don’t you? I work there. But you probably noticed that, since you’re there all the time. Not to say that you’ve been watching me.” Get to the point, man. “So… um… I was wondering… What’s your name?”

The girl looks up at me, smiles, and says, “Hannah.”

**Disclaimer: This is not even remotely a true story. It's more like a metaphor than anything else.**

A Revelation Born of Sorrow

As I stood in the middle of a raging storm, I could not tell which drops on my face were rain and which were tears. The hundreds of gravestones surrounding me began to blur as I fully realized the horrors that had occurred nearby on an ordinary beach in France. However, my heavyhearted melancholy did not begin there. It truly started a few days prior, very soon after I had arrived in Germany for a school trip. Exhausted from my 14 hour flight and feeling the cold nip of snow around me, I was not prepared for what I was about to see and feel. Shivering from the frozen air, I took in the sight of the rigid steel gate with a terrible lie forged into it: ARBEIT MACHT FREI, work makes you free. The Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp, the very first stop on my trip to Europe to study World War II, was one of the first camps built in Germany during the war, and was mostly used for political prisoners. I was unable to speak as the tour guide took us around the camp turned memorial and explained the suffering of its prisoners. Snow gently drifted down onto the massive and ugly remains of the crematorium, and, as I looked upon the mountain of ashes that was all that remained of the murdered, I realized that my emotions were just as numb from shock as my hands were from the cold. A few days later, my group arrived at the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial in the midst of powerful wind and pounding rain. I could not believe how many graves there were. I could not believe how many people had died because of just one campaign of many in the war. How many sons, brothers, husbands, fathers, friends, war buddies never got to see their loved ones again. My mind was an infinite loop of “You were a person. A person who had family and friends. Family and friends who never got to say a final goodbye.” I felt like my heart was being torn into pieces, especially when I saw how many of the stones had only the inscription “Here rests in honored glory a comrade in arms known but to God.” My emotions churned as wildly as the storm around me. 

I have always been the one who listens to peoples’ problems in order to try to make them feel better in any way possible. I absolutely love being able to put myself into another person’s shoes to help him or her carry the burden of his or her troubles. If necessary, I will make myself look foolish or feel intense anguish, or whatever it takes to help another person. Although I will not ever meet the people who were directly affected by these specific atrocities, I felt in these moments a gut-wrenching desire to give each and every one of them a hug. Every victim of hate and murder. Every widow. Every fatherless child. Every sonless mother. Every war comrade who lived to watch his friend die. Every single one of them I wanted to comfort and help in any way that I could, even though the occasion had long since passed. In those moments of absolute despair, I realized that what I want to do with my life is keep as many people from suffering as I possibly can. I do not know exactly how I will do it, but I know that my path in life is to bring happiness to those who need it most. 

My Personality, Strengths, and Weaknesses

My Myers-Briggs Personality Type: INFJ
Introverted: 100%
iNtuitive: 62%
Feeling: 62%
Judging: 22%

INFJs are deeply concerned about their relations with individuals as well as the state of humanity at large. They are, in fact, sometimes mistaken for extroverts because they appear so outgoing and are so genuinely interested in people -- a product of the Feeling function they most readily show to the world. On the contrary, INFJs are true introverts, who can only be emotionally intimate and fulfilled with a chosen few from among their long-term friends, family, or obvious "soul mates." While instinctively courting the personal and organizational demands continually made upon them by others, at intervals INFJs will suddenly withdraw into themselves, sometimes shutting out even their intimates. This apparent paradox is a necessary escape valve for them, providing both time to rebuild their depleted resources and a filter to prevent the emotional overload to which they are so susceptible as inherent "givers." As a pattern of behavior, it is perhaps the most confusing aspect of the enigmatic INFJ character to outsiders, and hence the most often misunderstood -- particularly by those who have little experience with this rare type.
As evidenced by the fact that I scored 100% for introversion, I definitely feel that I need significant time alone to think about and process the events of the day, my thoughts, world peace, etc. Also, the more stressed out I get, the more alone time I need. I also identify quite a bit with the idea of having a few intimate friends who are privy to much more than everyone else. While I have many good friends, I have two very BEST friends and my sister, whom I confide in significantly more than other people. Thought it is rare, I do sometimes retreat away from even my closest three people, even though I wish I didn't. And speaking of rare, the INFJ type is actually the rarest of the 16 types, describing only 1-3% of the population!

INFJs are champions of the oppressed and downtrodden. They often are found in the wake of an emergency, rescuing those who are in acute distress. INFJs may fantasize about getting revenge on those who victimize the defenseless. The concept of 'poetic justice' is appealing to the INFJ. Although they want to get along with others and support them in their goals, they are fiercely loyal to their own system of values and will not follow others down a path that does not feel authentic to them. When they sense that their values are not being respected, or when their intuition tells them that someone’s intentions are not pure, they are likely to withdraw. Because Counselors initially appear so gentle and reserved, they may surprise others with their intensity when one of their values is threatened or called into question. Their calm exterior belies the complexity of their inner worlds.
Thought it is not exactly the most productive way of thinking about things, I definitely see my affinity for wanting to avenge those who are mistreated, ESPECIALLY if it happens to be about one of my close three friends. I have said on more than one occasion that I just wish I could shake the person until they see why what he or she is doing is WRONG, and I have fantasized at times about getting revenge against people who disgust me most. I have a very decided set of values and when people unabashedly deny my values, I will not tolerate it. This has become more and more evident lately, as certain parts of my life have repeatedly forced me into situations where people in authority not only disagree with my values, but outright call them evil.

When engaged in conversation with an INFJ, pay attention! INFJs abhor small talk, and seek deep, meaningful conversations with someone who is willing to set aside all distractions and fully devote himself to the discussion at hand. So, turn off the T.V. or radio, sit down, listen thoughtfully, speak truthfully, and take an active interest in the conversation. When an INFJ is speaking with you, his attention is fully devoted to you. She expects nothing less in return.I absolutely detest when I feel like people aren't listening when I am trying to have a deep conversation with him or her. For example, I am a sports-passive kind of person living in a house of people who adore sports. Sometimes when I am trying to say something, even just a passing thought, I become frustrated because I know that they are not listening to what I am saying.

INFJs are “old souls.” Many grow up feeling wiser than would be predicted by their chronological age. Having discovered the benefits of their Introverted Intuition (Ni) quite early in life, INFJs grow to trust its judgments and insights. They may take on the role of counseling and advising their friends and siblings, or even adult family members, from a fairly young age. Their gift for providing wise counsel often continues into adulthood. INFJs often feel happiest and most fulfilled when helping others understand themselves and their problems.Ever since I was very young, many people have felt very open with sharing secrets or problems with me, even just to have someone to listen. My personality type apparently leads people to, without really thinking about it, know that I am someone who is willing to listen and discuss important issues. I want so deeply for people to be happy and to get along with each other, so I help that along as much as I possibly can.

Because of their strength of intuition, many INFJs report feeling like aliens in the world. One INFJ described her experience as a constant feeling of deja vu. Others report feelings of disembodiment. The fact is that many INFJs seem to experience the world and their bodies differently than other types do. It is therefore not uncommon for INFJs or others to occasionally question their sanity. INJFs are also likely to be caught "staring off into space." This is a direct result of the introverted thinking, in which the INFJ begins thinking so deeply within her mind that she forgets that she is living in the physical world as well. If you see an INFJ doing this, there is a good chance that she is contemplating ideas, abstract theories, the human condition, as well as the implications of all of the above. Do not disturb unless absolutely necessary, as she may be formulating the plan for world peace.
I find myself feeling this way all the time. I have found that I have uncommonly frequent instances of deja vu, and very often have a sense of disembodiment. I start thinking about something in my head and tune out everything that may be happening around me while I stare off into space. After a while, I "come to" and almost every time I have a sort of realization that, oh yeah, I'm living in a physical world, not just a mental one. This, of course, sounds absolutely absurd, but I can't really help it.

The INFJ empathy can serve as a classic example of the two-edged nature of certain INFJ talents, as it can be strong enough to cause discomfort or pain in negative or stressful situations. More explicit inner conflicts are also not uncommon in INFJs; it is possible to speculate that the causes for some of these may lie in the specific combinations of preferences which define this complex type. For instance, there can sometimes be a "tug-of-war" between NF vision and idealism and the J practicality that urges compromise for the sake of achieving the highest priority goals. And the I and J combination, while perhaps enhancing self-awareness, may make it difficult for INFJs to articulate their deepest and most convoluted feelings.

This is one of the hardest things about my personality type. When I know that someone feels uncomfortable or awkward or sad, I also start to feel those things, whether I want to or not. One of the most obvious manifestations of this is the fact that I am a sympathetic crier like no one I've ever met before. If someone else starts to cry, within 5 minutes, I will be crying too. Sometimes I become very upset to the point where I just can't handle being around people anymore. There are also certain feelings and thoughts that I have that I don't think I could ever express to anyone for fear of being misunderstood or judged.

INFJs are concerned for people’s feelings, and try to be gentle to avoid hurting anyone. They are very sensitive to conflict, and cannot tolerate it very well. They may seem passive in instances of conflict, but that is just how they respond to their discomfort.

I have always hated conflict. No question. I absolutely hate when people are mean to each other, when people yell at each other, when I'm asked to take sides. It makes me feel so uncomfortable when people can't get along, and especially when people can't find it in themselves to compromise.

Usually self-expression comes more easily to INFJs on paper, as they tend to have strong writing skills.

I definitely see this in myself, as I sometimes feel that the only way to say what I want to say is to think it out while writing it down. I never show anyone those things that I write down (see above note), but it helps me process what I feel and think better than any other way I can think of. However, this has led to me needing quite a bit of time to write, no matter what it is I'm writing for. Whether it be a personal thought or a timed write, I crave having time to say what I want to say, no more, no less.

None of the descriptions specifically did not describe me, but some were less noticeable in my life.

Special extra note: One of the famous individuals listed as an INFJ happens to be Fyodor Dostoyevsky.

      

Affirmation Solicitation- Mr. Gritter
1.) Smart
2.) Thoughtful
3.) Honest
4.) Diligent
5.) Humble

Perhaps the greatest compliment I can pay Hannah is that she is my daughter's tutor. Asking someone to mentor my daughter academically is a daunting task, but I know Hannah has the intelligence, patience, and intellectual acumen to do the job well.
Hannah is thoughtful, conscientious ad generally kind. She has a hunger for learning that is genuinely admirable and her enthusiasm is infectious. As a student in my AP class, I saw Hannah challenge herself, struggle, and persevere. In total, Hannah has the characteristics that make her not only an excellent student and teacher, but an impressive, well-rounded individual as well.

Mere Christianity: Hope

"Hope is one of the Theological virtues. This means that a continual looking forward to the eternal world is not (as some modern people think) a form of escapism or wishful thinking, but one of the things a Christian is meant to do. It does not mean we have to leave the present world as it is. If you read history you will find that the Christians who did most for the present world were just those who thought most of the next... It is since Christians have largely ceased to think of the other world that they have become so ineffective in this. Aim at Heaven and you will get earth 'thrown in': aim at earth and you will get neither" (Lewis 134).

This quote impacted me quite a bit when I first read it because I realized that I very rarely consider my thoughts and actions in the context of the eternal world. While I know that eternal life is what I am looking forward to, the fact that what I do now has very real implications in that eternal life just does not cross my mind very often. Looking back, I know that I have made decisions that aim at earth instead of Heaven. For example, sometimes I work so hard at getting good grades to the point of real anxiety, even though that means nothing important in the long run. Many people on Earth value the concept of a 4.0, but what good does it do to me to spend my time freaking out over a test when I could be doing something else that glorifies God. I spend hours and hours of my time on schoolwork and homework, and even more on worrying about it all, to ensure that I maintain my title as Someone Who Gets Good Grades. I quickly burn out from this and avoid work when possible, but still force myself to get all of it done. In the end I'm left with paralyzing anxiety and a migraine to match. Many people have told me that God tells us not to be anxious about anything, so I know in my head that I'm not doing what God wants, but I find it so hard to let this go and trust in God.

I also find that thinking about eternal life makes my brain hurt. The most obvious reason for this is that, as a human, I cannot fathom the concept of eternity, which in turn would make my brain hurt. But there are a couple of other reasons as well. For one, the eternal life that comes after the death of my earthly body is so absolutely and utterly unknown and unknowable until the soul arrives there that it freaks me out. I am a person who likes to know things. One of the reasons I love reading so much is that I learn from it both about the world and the people who live in it. The fact that I cannot know for sure what eternal life will be like, or even, I suppose, that I will be spending it in Heaven, gives me a weird feeling in my stomach. The other aspect of eternal life that scares me is that I know for sure that many, many people die each day without turning to Christ which means that they will go to Hell. I crave deep down in my heart to be able to help as many people as I can, but I almost always let something stop me. "I have social anxiety" or "that person doesn't look like someone who wants to hear me speak about Christ" or "this person will probably reject me so why bother?" are just some of the excuses I've used. I know in my head that I need to help people see the Way, the Truth, and the Life, but I still have a long way to go before I force myself to act on that knowledge.

As I bounce this section of the book around in my head I realize how much I do what God wants when it's easy or convenient for me, but certainly not all of the time. Really, what's the worst that would happen if I did get a B? God would still love me, my friends and family would still love me, I would still get into college, everything would be just fine. However, what's the worst that would happen if I stop myself from leading others to Christ? They end up going to Hell to be eternally separated from God. While I still want to keep my 4.0, I have started putting its importance into perspective. I know that I have something to look forward to that isn't just escapism, but too many people have no such future, so it is my duty to make the number of those people decrease.

Myself

I just so happen to be very much like one of my favorite things in the world: a book. Many people pass by a book without so much as a second glance; very few take the time to pick it up and read it, and even fewer truly understand what the book is about. Sometimes I am open, and sometimes I am closed, but a closer inspection is always necessary to fully understand my story. Some parts are humorous, some parts are sad, some parts are boring, or scary, or weird, or joyful, but every line contributes to the tale of who I am. This book contains knowledge and wisdom and beautiful truths, but the protagonist is not always perfect. And sure, there might be some scuffs on my cover and some creases in my pages, but all that means to me is that my story has been well loved by some, and has become all the better for the next person who cares to see what's inside.

And this book is still being written, by the most perfect author imaginable. Someday He will write the final page and my book will come to an end, but for now I must learn to remember, while I think I know the best storyline for myself, that the author has an even better one for me. His version will have plenty of plot twists, but what good story doesn't have them? The chapter called "High School" will be over very soon, and I cannot wait to see what the author has planned for me next.

Litany Rewrite

Hannah's Litany

You are the fire and the grate,

the harvest and the moon.

You are the final fantasy of an Idaho evening,

and the dizzying spin of the Tilt-a-Whirl.

You are the timely phone call,

and the laughter under a bed at 4 AM.

However, you are not the road to the East,

the socks paired with sandals,

or the poisonous whisper of gossip.

And I can assure you that you are not a green leaf in a valley.
You could never be a green leaf in a valley.

You might be a knife with no sheath,
and possibly a clay pot full of rupees,
but you will never be the queen of spades.

And a look at yourself will quickly reveal
that you are neither the arm around the back of a chair,
or the last day of school.

And just in case you were wondering,

while we are on the subject,
that I am the squeeze of a hug.

I am also the splash of water in a lake,
the benefactress of an Italian plumber,
and the slap of feet during a dry thunderstorm.

I am the Oregon seaside
and the book taken from its shelf.
But never fret, for I am not the fire and the grate.
You are still the fire and the grate.
You will always be the fire and the grate,
and don't forget that you are the harvest and, of course, the moon.