This might take the form of a rant of sorts so I apologize in advance.
Last night when we were at the bible study I sat there looking around asking myself,
“What am I doing here?” The truth of the matter is I shouldn’t be here; I’m the last person who should be in mission. The truth is that I don’t like being a missionary; I don’t like having to give up my school schedule to help people. I don’t like having a shower that’s just a pipe in a wall. I don’t like living without some comforts. The truth is I complain and I get disagreeable when these things happen.
The truth is I get mad at God for asking me to do things like this. The truth is some days I just want to ignore him. The truth is my life gets messed up.
A missionary should be perfect right? They should be a saint, a shining example of Jesus Christ.
That’s not me. A missionary should pray every single day and read the Bible for hours on end right? Well I don’t do that, I try, but some days I forget to pray, some days I don’t want to pray.
But the truth is also that I am here in the Philippines. And I am a missionary at this time in my life. So there must be an answer to my question.
“What am I doing here?”
Something interesting happened last night at the Bible study. The building that we go to is called the Barangay Hall, behind and around it are the houses of people who live in this Barangay, which are basically different sections of land where people live. As we are white we stick out A LOT here in the Philippines. So of course some people came out to watch us just because of that fact, but by the time the meeting started they had gone back inside their house. Soon it got dark and we started the meeting with singing. And I saw someone creep out of the house and hide behind a tree to watch us. But this person, I think it was a woman, wasn’t standing in a place where she could see us Americans very well. She could hear us though. I saw in her not a curiosity of white people, but of what we were doing here.
Who are these white people who sing?
I don’t know the full answer to the question, “Why am I here.” But I have an idea, and I have a story. The story is about my family, who according to a lot of people are crazy. We have ten children, we moved from our home, our farm, our family and our job to live with the poor in the Philippines.
They sing these white people with guitars. They dance with us, these white people. They act like fools and they don’t mind. These white people, they tell us of a man who says He loves us. These white people. They are different.
I’m going to start to tell my stories; every week at least I’m going to plan on finding a story. Not because you need to hear them, but because I need to remind myself why I’m here.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
I post!
Isaiah 49:1 Listen to me, you islands; hear this, you distant nations: Before I was born the LORD called me; from my birth he has made mention of my name.
We are here in the Philippines! It still seems kinda crazy that I'm on the other side of the world. As of yet I don't have very many pictures or stories, but those will come soon. The weather here is really nice, and the people are so friendly and excited to see us. And the food is good too. ;)
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Tommy Philips
Then Jamie comes, and he sees that she can use some extra help. He becomes someone whom Jamie can talk to, someone whom she feels she can be normal around.
At first I didn't really like him as much as Stephan and Jamie, but in the last few days he's really been a help to me. I'm getting in a lot of scenes with him and Jamie, and then him and Stephan. He's a perfect middle man. Which is unfortunate since he's in love with Jamie. I feel sorry for him, but it can't be helped.
Friday, November 9, 2012
Snippets of Nano
Hey peoples! Yes nano has made me disappear for awhile, sorry about that. But here I am, here to tell you that my writing is going...okay. I won't say great because I've been stuck a lot. I knew Historical Fiction was going to be harder, because when you're stuck in Fantasy all you have to do to get ''un-stuck'' is through in monsters, or ninjas or something like that. :) So it's been going okay, I'm to 13k and I should be at 15k. At least its only day 9. ;) And I love my characters, Jamie is amazing and I need to do more scenes with her acting. Stephan is...well he's a bit of a jerk but that's only because he can only think about himself and his movies. Tommy is a darling, his heart is going to be broken, I'm sorry Tommy.
Before I leave again here is a snippet of chapter 1.
Chapter 1
He sat morosely playing the piano, his black suit spotless and without wrinkle, his beautifully sculptured hands moving along the black and white keys with perfect grace. The scene was a pleasant one, on top of the black piano was a lamp, under the man’s feet was a Persian rug. The cottage house was quite, the keeper of the house; an old woman in her early sixties rocked in her chair with cat on her lap and knitting in her hands, she smiled at the sounds coming out of the piano.
The man had a dreamy look in his honey brown eyes; he had a touch of a smile on his face. He was a handsome man, with a dark melancholy face, high eyebrows, chiseled nose, and a mouth that endeared one to it; he was in his early thirties but he looked not older than twenty.
The music stopped abruptly, the man pulled out a cigarette and lit it, then began where he left off.
“That’s a nice tune dear, what is it?” The woman asked, her voice pure British English.
He sighed and said, “Oh just a jingle I made up.” He was clearly American.
“Well it’s still nice.”
The man glanced over at her with a smile, she was a silly old thing, but he didn’t mind her, she was after all his great aunt. He didn’t know her very well, only seen her once or twice at family gatherings, but he was a busy man so he paid little attention to old Aunt Jemina who knitted and talked in a high pitched voice and lived in the English country side of Dalwood.
Why had he left America? For the last twenty years of his life he had been working, first as an actor and now mostly as a director, he composed music, wrote plays and scripts, and was even working on a novel. The fact was he was tired. He was tired of the people, he was tired of the movies, he was tired of the paparazzi, he was just tired. One day in his office when every page of his novel was wrong, and all his actors idiots, he decided to leave. And leave he did, the next morning he bought a ticket to Dalwood, Devonshire England. He arrived on the door step of his aunt’s cottage with no warning and even less baggage. But she was happy to have him, and he soon bought more clothes. He had been in England for three days.
Before I leave again here is a snippet of chapter 1.
Chapter 1
He sat morosely playing the piano, his black suit spotless and without wrinkle, his beautifully sculptured hands moving along the black and white keys with perfect grace. The scene was a pleasant one, on top of the black piano was a lamp, under the man’s feet was a Persian rug. The cottage house was quite, the keeper of the house; an old woman in her early sixties rocked in her chair with cat on her lap and knitting in her hands, she smiled at the sounds coming out of the piano.
The man had a dreamy look in his honey brown eyes; he had a touch of a smile on his face. He was a handsome man, with a dark melancholy face, high eyebrows, chiseled nose, and a mouth that endeared one to it; he was in his early thirties but he looked not older than twenty.
The music stopped abruptly, the man pulled out a cigarette and lit it, then began where he left off.
“That’s a nice tune dear, what is it?” The woman asked, her voice pure British English.
He sighed and said, “Oh just a jingle I made up.” He was clearly American.
“Well it’s still nice.”
The man glanced over at her with a smile, she was a silly old thing, but he didn’t mind her, she was after all his great aunt. He didn’t know her very well, only seen her once or twice at family gatherings, but he was a busy man so he paid little attention to old Aunt Jemina who knitted and talked in a high pitched voice and lived in the English country side of Dalwood.
Why had he left America? For the last twenty years of his life he had been working, first as an actor and now mostly as a director, he composed music, wrote plays and scripts, and was even working on a novel. The fact was he was tired. He was tired of the people, he was tired of the movies, he was tired of the paparazzi, he was just tired. One day in his office when every page of his novel was wrong, and all his actors idiots, he decided to leave. And leave he did, the next morning he bought a ticket to Dalwood, Devonshire England. He arrived on the door step of his aunt’s cottage with no warning and even less baggage. But she was happy to have him, and he soon bought more clothes. He had been in England for three days.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
The Man Himself
His name is Stephan Lewis.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Idea change
So...I kinda changed my idea for Nano. Today I was thinking of a number of things, the movie "Holiday" among them, and a new plot invited itself into my head.
My novel is going to be called, The PianoMan. It seems like I've heard that title before, but it won't leave and the novel won't name itself anything else. I have no character names, save Aunt Jemina who is a minor character, only characters.
The man: He's been acting since he was 10, now he's 30 and famous and tired. He goes to visit his aunt in the English country side and meets a girl.
His nickname for her is Gypsy, and he knows she can be one the greatest actress if only she wanted to be. He also knows she can make him a lot of money.
She will agree to play in his newest movie, she will become famous. She will also be desperately unhappy. And although he doesn't know it yet, he is too.
Riches = Happiness. Not always.
And that's what my novel is about.
My novel is going to be called, The PianoMan. It seems like I've heard that title before, but it won't leave and the novel won't name itself anything else. I have no character names, save Aunt Jemina who is a minor character, only characters.
The man: He's been acting since he was 10, now he's 30 and famous and tired. He goes to visit his aunt in the English country side and meets a girl.
His nickname for her is Gypsy, and he knows she can be one the greatest actress if only she wanted to be. He also knows she can make him a lot of money.
She will agree to play in his newest movie, she will become famous. She will also be desperately unhappy. And although he doesn't know it yet, he is too.
Riches = Happiness. Not always.
And that's what my novel is about.
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