Happiness is a choice you must make at the beginning of each day. Sometimes your dreams determine it, sometimes it’s a recent or coming event. Whatever the case, make sure that choice is to be the most pleasant person to be around in your home.
Let all we do be done in love,
In kindness, in good of heart.
Let all we say be said with gentleness,
For words can tear people apart.
Let all we think be good and pure,
For bad thoughts will get us nowhere.
When we base actions on thoughts,
Let them be positive and pure.
I’m not saying you have to be perfect,
For most see good as innocent as a dove.
All I am saying is when you do something,
When you think, or say something,
Do or say it, or think it for love.
Sometimes we feel alone,
Sometimes we feel lost,
Sometimes we vow to make it through,
No matter the cost.
Then again sometimes we stop,
We stop and think it through,
And sometimes, against the odds,
The desision falls on you.
Sometimes we don’t know,
Sometimes we get scared,
Even though we feel these things.
We do not need repaired.
We all get hurt, we all get burned,
We all know the feeling of pain,
It does not mean we’re faulty,
It does not mean we’re through,
Sometimes the pain will drive us forward,
Don’t let it get to you.
I, Ashley Willer, walk up the steps to my family’s log house. The house is one story, chocolate brown and has a shaded front porch with an old, sturdy porch swing. I open the door and swing my two ton backpack off my shoulder and onto the floor.
“Hello everybody! I’m home!” I call. My little brother Timothy runs up to me and jumps into my open arms.
“Hi Ashley!” I pick him up and look him in the eyes.
“What have you been up to today?” I put him down, he grabs my hand and pulls me into his bedroom. Blue walls plastered with drawings and glow-in-the-dark star stickers frame every little boy’s dream room. Shelves with toys go floor to ceiling on one wall and on the opposite side of the room a space-ship bedspread covers a toddler sized bed.
I bend down beside Timothy, who is explaining all the different parts of his foam-block house. All of the sudden he loses interest and jumps up.
“Piggy-back ride?” He grins at me.
“Sure.” I reply. He runs around me and climbs on my back. I get up and start zooming around the house, pretending to be his space-ship. This usually goes on for a while.
I turn over once again and stare at my clock. 11:40 P.M.. I have to get to sleep if I want any chance of not going to sleep in class tomorrow. I jump out of bed, grabbing my flashlight and my robe. My parents had gone to bed about 30 minutes ago, so I step quietly; trying not to wake them.
When I can’t sleep I go and walk outside, in the dark, in the quiet, listening to the night around me. We live out in the middle of nowhere, so the silence is incredibly soothing. I quietly open the back door and slip out into the cool night air. A mist rises from the lake behind our property, the moon tinting it silver. My dog, Bubba, a Newfoundland, runs up to me and whines.
“What’s the matter boy?” I ask him in a hushed whisper, scratching him behind the ear. He paws at my robe and darts away. I follow him for several feet, until he heads out into the field. “Bubba! I can’t go out there! I only have flip-flops on!” He dashes back toward me and whines, pawing at my knee, leaving a smear of mud on it. “You’ve been out in the lake again, haven’t you?” He paws at me again. Remembering the stories of dogs helping people find injured or lost people, I suddenly feel his sense of urgency. All right boy, give me a minute. I run into the house and grab the first aid kit we keep under the sink. I grab an orange from the fruit bowl in case they are hungry, or in case I get stuck out there somehow. I stuff it all in my favorite pink shoulder bag, along with a blanket and several bottles of water.
I hurry back outside and call for Bubba. “Go on, show me what’s the matter.” As if he understands he runs off into the mist. I have to run to keep him in sight. He stops at the back fence, which is about ten feet tall. “What now?” He sniffs along the barrier and disappears under the fence, popping up again on the other side. And how am I supposed to do that? I look up at the ten foot tall fence bathed in moonlight. There are 4×4 diamonds from the top to the bottom. I tighten my bag’s strap and start climbing. About halfway up I slip and end up hanging just by my fingers. I scramble to get the tip of my foot in a hole, which I do. I look down at Bubba pacing on the other side of the fence, “This better be worth it.” I reach the top and remove my bag, nerves on the back of my spine tingling with the thought of falling.
I heave the bag over, and watch it fall to the ground at the other side.
Carefully I lift one leg over the top of the fence and stick it in a hole, I then swing the other leg over and lean perilously back. I catch my balance and climb down to the other side, starting to think it would have been a good idea to tell my parents where I was going, but not even considering turning back. Bubba trots off, looking behind him to make sure I was following.
And off into the mist we go, at midnight, in the middle of October, in the middle of nowhere.
To stand strong in what you believe,
To stand fast in what you think to be right,
To forgive another when you are wrong,
To be kind when it is hard,
To be brave when you are scared,
That is what it means to be a Christian.
Abstract tiger, rainbow pelt,
Under your gaze, humanity melts,
Your all seeing purple eyes, so beautiful, so knowing,
Look upon the lost and sad with violet gaze a glowing,
And curl around their shivering bodies, licking up the silent tears,
Listening to their unending troubles with pricked, listening ears.
Over the sad, the lost, the hurt,
Comes your warm, kind, comfort.
Abstract tiger rainbow pelt,
Thanks for curling up on my quilt,
For my troubles seemed so hopeless,
Before you came, and gave me bliss.
A thought can be written, a thought can be paired,
A thought can be given, a thought can be spared,
A thought can be forgotten, a thought can be rare,
But of all the things a thought can be, the following is true:
A thought of mine cannot be stopped, by him or her or you.
Life is important. Life is beautiful. Life is wonderful.
Life is amazing, you must learn to love it.
Life is incredible. Life is sensatianal.
There’s so much to learn, there’s so much to do,
Don’t you forget that.
When Sarah Simmon came home from school on August 21st, 2010, little did she know that here life would be changed.
Little did she know of the mysterious things time sometimes does, things that are never recorded, things that will never be spoken of in a book, newspaper, or blog.
Things that only happen once or twice in a lifetime, on one side of the world or another. Only two or three people in the world know what these things are, or how to explain them, and even then, to make that knowledge worth anything they must live to a very exceptional old age. A very, very exceptional old age.
For you see, they would have to live to be as old as they’re future/past selves. It’s all very complicated, that is why it has never been written of, until now. And since I am fairly confident that I will not live to be one hundred and thirty years old, despite my constant running and over-all healthy diet. And I know that I will not live to be one hundred and forty years old, which would mean future/past me would be ten, and more or less understand what I need to tell her.
Oh, goodness me, I forgot to introduce myself!
My name is Sarah Simmon, I am forty three years old and today’s date is; June 1st, 1933. I am here to tell you a story. Nothing more. Time would not allow anything more.
(This is a website exclusive book, chapters will be published weekly.)