Picture of the Day: 

My cat, Buddy--a critic of literary works. 

Quote of the Day: 

"Your life is what your thoughts make it." 

-Marcus Aurelius 

Hello, dearest readers! (I am not sure how many of you there are, but I appreciate your loyalty nonetheless.) I am quite eager to kick-start this blog into life one more time, and plan on updating quite a bit more often than I have been recently. (One post is more than what I have been doing recently, but I do plan on trying harder than that.) 

I am not sure what to put in here today. I have not made any literary strides, I have not dreamt up some great new novel that I am going to be pursuing. I have done nothing but be in a certain shade of frenzy--you see, I have decided to step way out of my comfort zone and try a mission trip.

Not just any mission trip.

A month long stay in El Salvador and Honduras. 

Am I crazy? Maybe. But you all should be aware of this already. 

I do not know, quite honestly, what I am thinking. I have panicked more than once to a friend who has been way more patient than she needs to be. In fact, I count her as one of the most stable and gentle people in my life right now, and I doubt she even realizes how much she is changing me already. 

In this past year (or so) I have met some amazing people. One of whom is a fellow writer. He spends a lot of his time on missions out of country, and one of the ones he does is in Nigeria. I admire this young man, and despite the fact I took a very long break from writing (nearly three or four months, I'd say), when he asked me to write something about his trip in Nigeria, I felt obligated to try. 

So, today, I am going to share this story--I won't explain anything. I want to see if you can tell me what it is about. I cannot say I am happy with it, but I can say I did my best. 

Here it is--I call it "Three Hundred Candles". It is a short-short-story. 

A single crater was left behind to stand in testament of hate and misunderstanding, but there were three hundred candles shining out against the darkness.

The air stood still, as if the city itself held its breath. After such a deafening explosion of sound and debris, the crowded street seemed silent. Horror painted the faces of those who still stood, in the same way red now streaked across the colorless stone of the earth. Tears fell to mix with the blood upon the ground; faces turned upward to a sky that was so clear, so blue, it could have mocked what it had witnessed.

The attack had been meant to level their spirits with the same force it had leveled their walls, but not a single person stood alone. Hands were locked together in a living, breathing chain, a tangible link from one body to the next. Not only did it share the burden of fear and surprise, but joined together hope and love, spirit and heart, and shared the strength of a promise.

That promise kept trembling legs from caving in defeat. That promise caught the tears of weeping women, men and children. That promise offered the only sustaining comfort that the afflicted could handle—it promised life. Life beyond physical pain, a life beyond the challenges of this world. A life where Love truly reigns.

It offered peace, a promise so sweet, that some had tried to find peace of their own in twisted, gnarled lies that ensnared them like thorny vines. The crater was testament to the trap’s danger; but what they found was nothing like that sweet promise at all. It was not peace, but it was dark. What the misguided sought came at the price of brown stains on the street, on the rock of a broken wall, in the dirt of the earth. It came at the price of life and wholeness.

Bent in silence, bowed in prayer, hopeful hands began to clear away the rubble. Terror met its match. Work was as steady as the tears, and slowly, brick by leveled brick, the street began to heal. No one spoke, but there was light in their silence.

It was something no bomb could extinguish; it was something so beautiful, so stark in contrast to the tumult, that even those who had not come, those who did not believe, stood and watched in marvel—and they found their eyes strained against the brightness.

A single crater was left behind to stand in testament of hate and misunderstanding, but there were three hundred candles shining out against the darkness.

There you have it, folks. A short-short-story about my friend's trip to Nigeria. Please let me know what you think. I am eager to know.

Also, if you are interested in donating to help my friends and I make it to El Salvador and Honduras for a month, check out this blog. It has a page for donations using paypal. Quick, easy, and so helpful you won't even know how much we are thankful.

I thank you for your time, reader.
Happy writing.
God bless.