This morning--Saturday morning, at 7:30AM my beeping alarm startled me awake.  Today was the church workday.  Still half asleep, I begrudgingly dressed in my most unattractive clothes and prepared to get dirty. 

Flashback to a year and a half ago: church workday for a different church. 

Ethan and I were rather excited to get to do some work because inevitably, work is the best way to get to know people.  As we arrived, however, something seemed to be missing.  Oh yeah, other women--that's what was missing.  I was the only woman there from the entire church (not a small church either).  So working alongside men was strangely awkward because no one knew what to say to me.  I learned that some of the unspoken rules there were that women had their place in the kitchen and inside the home--that's it.  One man said, "You're a great worker.  Can you cook?"  I was rather taken aback by this, but I actually cook rather well.  Let's just say, I didn't fit in there at all.  I think they must have thought I was a total feminist.  I'd say 3/4 feminist is more like it.

Flash forward to this year: current workday at Wheatland.

How refreshing.  Men and women working alongside each other doing all sorts or yard work, chopping things down, etc...  It was a wonderful time getting dirty and getting to know people.  My enjoyment of church workdays is now restored :)

It all began and ended with an empty tank of gas.  I was taking my brothers to the airport yesterday morning when the little gas light came on.  I knew through prior experimentation that I had approximately 40 miles to go before I'd run out of gas.  We were a bit behind on our trip, so I only stopped to get enough gas to get me to the airport and back to the cheaper gas station. 

When we arrived at the airport, parking was non-existent, save for the farthest lot from the airport.  So, we waited for the bus that was running late. Upon arriving at the airport ticket counter, I was informed that because we were only 40 minutes early (with only carry-ons), we would not be allowed on the flight.  I requested the gate pass that I had already spoken to a representative about, she refused to give me one because whoever I had previously spoken with had given me bad information.  (sigh) She was nice though and said that since I was misinformed and the boys would now have to fly standby, I could go through.

We watched as the last passengers board the flight that my siblings were supposed to be on.  So, we waited for the next flight, and the next one after that.  Thanks to the kind airline rep at the desk, they finally got a flight.  We left at 9AM and would be arriving home at 8PM. 

Boring story so far, right?  Yeah, well it gets interesting after I leave the airport.  I'm stuck in traffic and the gas light comes on again.  Again, I calculate about 40 miles.  Unfortunately, my calculations did not include a large hill 2 miles from the gas station I was trying to reach.  Going up that large hill, the truck died.  I knew I was close to the station, but I wasn't sure how close.  Thus, I started walking.  It wasn't long until I saw a nice looking family outside.  After asking how far it was and would it be possible for me to walk there, they frowned, kindly lent me an empty gas can, and drove me to the gas station.  It was so close (about 2 1/2 miles)!  If I had made it the rest of the way up the hill, I could have coasted down to the station.  Oh well. 

All that to say, it was the kindness of others that turned my day from a really annoying one into a memorable one.  Thanks for the lemonade!

“She looked at him with her languid brown eyes.  She thought about how handsome he was in his younger days with his mahogany brown hair and boyish dimples.  It made her heart beat faster at every thought of him…”

Admit it—you’ve read plenty of books like this.  I know I have.  In some ways, it’s unavoidable.  Today, after going on a 5 year fast from modern women novelists, I decided to give one a try.  Now I remember why I was convicted to shun female novelists in the first place. Here are a few observations in the form of questions I might ask these authors.

1)    Why is it that women novelists have the innate desire to explain details that are either irrelevant or clichéd?  Unless your paragraph-long description of someone’s physique is going to come in handy later or reveals a part of their character that we could not otherwise grasp, would it be so difficult to leave some things unsaid?
 
2)    Why must we always know a person’s thoughts or in particular, what the heroine is thinking?  We don’t always need the God perspective.  There’s always the first person perspective.  Can’t dialogue tell us enough? 

3)    Can you come up with a plot that doesn’t involve a beach-side love story, a tragic past, or a perfect man that can tame the free-spirited woman?

So here is a salute to the women who broke the mold: (one of my favorite authors) Klaran Blixen (aka. Isak Denison), Mary Shelley, Zora Neale Hurston, Flannery O’Connor, The Bronte Sisters (even if I didn’t care their works) and women writers of fantasy books: A Wrinkle in Time, and (I’m taking this one on faith) Harry Potter.

A hearty “Hazah” to my favorite authors: Ernest Hemingway, Alexander Solzhenytsen, Alexandre Dumas, C.S. Lewis, Edgar Allen Poe, Fyodor Dovstoevsky, William Golding, Tolkien, and Oscar Wilde.