The Jackal

This song is in honor of Bastille day.  Inspired by (and sometimes directly quoting) A Tale of Two Cities, I wrote this song a few years ago about the character Sydney Carton, one of the best redemption stories I’ve ever read.

I drift day to day,
like a piece of trash in the ocean
and it’s been the same way all my life,
night to day, day to night,
night to day, day to night.

Until you touched my life,
and you left an indelible mark,
but you were too late.

And the tears streaming down your face are like healing balms,
I’ve never had a soul to care for me,
but the fact you just don’t understand is I’m too far gone.

So you can have my heart,
each beat is for you,
you don’t feel the same way,
and I wouldn’t want you to.
You can have my life,
if you need a spare,
because I owe you everything,
because you almost made me care.

And you’re stirring old shadows,
somewhere deep inside of me.
I thought that they died so long ago,
but they’re shaken awake
by this love you radiate.

Oh and you lit the spark,
though heap of ashes I may be,
and the fire’s burning.

And I’m dreaming new dreams of starting life afresh…
but the waking leaves the dreamer empty,
and I idly burn away to a heap of ash.

So you can have my heart,
each beat is for you,
you don’t feel the same way,
and I wouldn’t want you to.
You can have my life,
if you need a spare,
because I owe you everything,
because you almost made me care.

…and the footsteps are echoing closer and closer…
…oh my love! Be not destroyed…

But I care now!
Eyes set and furrowed brow,
I know the reason I’m alive:
the life you love must not yet die.

And like the thief my life has been a waste.
And like the thief I die alone disgraced.
And like the thief I bear this cross tonight.
But like the thief I see a new sunrise!

I am the Resurrection,
I am the Resurrection,
I am the Resurrection,
and the Life!

Mobigirl919

My senior year of college I took a creative writing class.  I tried to stretch myself a bit and experimented with different voices.  This story is written as the blog of a girl from Arkansas about to go off to college, with a little twist.  I’m still surprisingly proud of it, so here it is unedited:

Mobigirl919

August 17th, 2005

Growing up here in Brookstone, AR, my friends were pretty much built into birth.  We went to the same daycare, preschool, elementary, middle, high school and church for fifteen years.  Sure, there were those who moved into the picture somewhere in the middle and caused a stir, but at best they joined the supporting cast.  Most were just added to the scenery.

Every time a new family moved in, a self-appointed ambassador would show them some good ole’ Southern hospitality.  The tour would be short:  city hall, the ancient library, the high school, usually ending with a trip to the shiny new Sonic where they would be treated to lunch.  Half the town is proud of it, believing that fast-food is the first step to respectability.  The other half sees it as a slippery slope, paving the way for Wal-Mart and the eradication of the Brookstone way of life.  Inevitably, somewhere between the burgers and shakes, conversation will drift to the town freak.

Oh, they’ll delay the obvious to avoid seeming like insensitive jerks.  They’ll talk about my wonderful family or my gorgeous jet black hair or my charming sense of humor about it all.  It’s all just a show so they won’t seem shallow.  Outside of my family and about ten close friends I have one prevailing characteristic, one reason to remember me, one reason to even bring me up in conversation.  They start off with all those positive traits and then they make the transition, a bridge to the reason they were talking about me in the first place.  “and she’s really overcome so much…”  It reminds me of when I’d tell my parents I loved them before handing them a big fat F on my report card.  It’s not like I feel sorry for myself though, I’ve had eighteen years to get used to it.  You know, I really think people are surprised that I’ve made it this long, like I’m retarded or something.  But look, now I’m doing it too, delaying the obvious…

I have Mobius syndrome.  Shocked?  You’ve probably never even heard of it.  There aren’t very many of us.  Most are worse off than me.  A doctor would call it bilateral facial palsy.  If you ask my dad, it’s that my face is so exquisite its only fair to the other girls that I not smile.  But really, what it means is that Anna Gibbs comes in only one flavor: Vanilla.  Happy and Sad and Scared and Excited and Ticked Off all look about the same.  My face is just like wrapping paper for my skull.

All I have are words.  My whole life I’ve tried to show you the smile that is hiding under my lips.  That’s probably the main reason I’m going to be an English major.

My bags are packed and waiting by the door.  They’ve been sitting there for two weeks while I wear the clothes from the back of my now empty closet.  My room is a shell, all my posters in tubes, ready to leave with me tommorow.  This strange breed of terror, excitement, dread, lonliness, and impatience has plagued my sleep.  I’m ready to go.

Goodbye Brookstone.

September 2nd, 2005

So Sue Me

I’ve been catching a lot of flack from everybody back home lately, but what did you expect?  I caved.  Yes, yes I know.  I was the girl who lambasted all of you “bloggers” over the last couple years.  But really, who needs a blog when you’re in high school?  The people who are reading it are the same people you see at school every day, youth group twice a week, and every hour of the weekend.  What isn’t there to know?  You write about how much Bio sucked today, how much fun you had at the homecoming dance with so and so.  Yeah, I know.  I was there.  I saw you.  And all those excruciating “shout-outs” to your “five bestest friends” because we all get that sense of warmth when we see our name on the computer screen.  Brb, ttyl, lol, lylas, a touch of melancholy here, a cry for help here, nobody loves me… blah blah blah.  Basically it’s about getting other people to notice you and give you attention.  It’s all about putting on a face (and that’s something I’m obviously not very good at (pun intended)).

Anyway, I think that’s just about enough for tonight, but before I go to bed I think I should lay down one ground rule for this blog:

NO SMILEY’S.  That includes :-< or any form therein.  Use your own judgment.  I think the reason should be obvious enough.

September 3rd, 2005

I didn’t mean to sound like a jerk last night.  To be honest it’s been a little harder than I expected here.  Don’t get me wrong, this is what I wanted.  I just had to get away.  That place was too small for me, the gossip and the town hall meetings and the football games.  The Southern belles and the cheerleaders and their juicy plastic smiles.  My parents have shown me so much love and cared for me so much, and I felt like I had exceeded my capacity to return their love.  You don’t understand how excruciating it is when your face can’t express how you feel.  Through it all my parents kept loving me.

Honestly, I felt smothered.  I just couldn’t stay home.

NYU seemed like the perfect place for a girl like me.  I’ve been here for almost a month now, and not once has a stranger smiled at me.  No pressure.

But change is tough.  It’s hard to swim when you’re dropped midstream in a ferocious river like New York.  Back home, everybody talked about me.  Here, nobody seems to notice or care.

My roommate is pleasant enough though.  Her name is Michelle and she’s Korean.  She mostly keeps to herself and works on her Physics homework.  It’s inconceivable to me how she can be passionate enough about that nonsense to make it her major, but I haven’t had the courage to ask.  I think she’s still scared of me.  She’s sweet though.  Every time I come home from class, she nods in my direction and starts to smile, quickly morphing to a blank stare, as if she might offend me.  It reminds me of the confused looks on my elementary school teachers when we would sing “The Smile Song”.  I would come home gushing, my eyes incapable of holding back the tears.  I don’t know if Michelle has made any friends here either.  We spend most of the weekends sitting at our desks with our backs to each other, studying or surfing the internet.  Occasionally, I’ll check to see if she is asleep so I can relax.

I miss you all and I really do love you guys, and I hope you already knew that.  The only reason I decided to keep this thing going is that I need a link to the past.  Visits home will be few and far between.

I just read this entry over again, and I’m feeling a little hypocritical.  Maybe we do need a cry for help every once in awhile.

September 11th, 2005

There is a different feel in the atmosphere today.  The apparitions of that day four years ago seem to haunt the faces of every person I pass.  The wounds are still deep and it seems time has only allowed them to fester.  Each person reasons that the time for mourning has passed but each still has mourning within.  I can see it in their eyes.  Their faces are masks.

I feel a kindredship with them.

September 18th, 2005

It’s already butt cold so I had to take the subway into town to buy a scarf.  I wandered around aimlessly in and out of mammoth stores I could barely afford to walk in.  I wasn’t really in any hurry.  I just wanted to take in all the spectacle and glamour of the Big City, including the pizza cart on Broadway, which was only slightly better than the New York style pepperoni at the pizzeria back home.  But it was worth it just for the atmosphere.  I finally settled on a “handwoven” scarf from a street vendor.  I also bought some huge Foakleys because my eyes have been crusting up from all this blustery wind.  They might as well be aviator goggles, but you take what you can get when you’re unable to squint.

Anyway, sorry it’s been so long between posts.  School has kept me pretty busy.  I’d like to say it’s getting better.  At least I have study buddies now, but that’s about it.  We unite in our hatred of the university’s science requirement and labor through our homework, but once we are finished we retreat back to our rooms.

Tomorrow is my birthday and nobody in this entire state knows it, but it seems a little pretentious to tell anyone.  Looks like I’ll be spending tomorrow night like any other.  Alone.

September 19th, 2005

I don’t even know what to say.

When I came back to the dorm room today, mopey as ever, Michelle scurried over to meet me at the door.

“Anna, your parents called the room and said it was your birthday, so I made you this.”  She presented a gorgeous carrot cake, complete with little orange and green frosting carrots.  “Your mom said it’s your favorite.”

I looked past her to see a huge package sitting on my bed.  It must’ve cost a fortune in postage alone.

I was speechless, so I gave her a big hug.  She looked back at me, and I could tell she was trying so hard to contain her smile.

“Don’t worry.  You can smile for both of us, Michelle.”

She exhaled and gave me the biggest, most genuine smile I’d seen since I left home.

“You have no idea how much this means to me”

I was utterly powerless to stop the torrent of tears.

Ain’t Afraid

I ain’t afraid to try a new thing
and I ain’t afraid to fail,
and when I get the opportunity,
you know that I ain’t afraid to bail.

Cause I have seen the prettiest things,
as I drift from town to town.
But girl, it’s the most frightening thing,
the way you make me want to settle down.

Cause your blue eyes
chase me through my nights,
and when morning breaks,
just want to see your face.

Now I’ve been known to break some hearts,
I’m just that kind of man.
I ain’t done a thing yet to hurt you babe,
but I might’ve had a couple planned.

But the fact that you would bounce right back
is what makes me wanna hold you tight.
I never thought I’d grow roots some place,
but you make me start to think that I might.

Cause your blue eyes
chase me through my nights,
and when morning breaks,
just want to see your face.

And I’m promisin’ the whole wide world
when I barely own the clothes on my back.
But I’m tryin’ hard, girl, to follow through.
If you’ll take me, I will be your man.

Cause your blue eyes
chase me through my nights,
and when morning breaks,
just want to see your face.

The Greatest Day of My Life

On May 27th, 1994 Mom and Dad woke me up for school singing Happy Birthday.  Dad made pancakes while Jordan and I got ready.  I put on my gray short sleeve Bugle Boy hoodie with white stripes across the middle.  While we were eating, Mom brought out my first present, a new Walkman so I could listen to Mom’s tapes. 

I walked outside and there was a sign in our yard that said “DANGER 10 – year old inside.”  Jamie jumped out of the car and we took a picture with the sign and then Joan drove us to school.  Mom came to school at lunch and had cupcakes for my whole class.  We didn’t have to learn anything new that day because it was the last week of school.  At the end of the day we got to play “Heads up - Seven up.”  Since it was my birthday I got to be one of the first seven.

I made sure not to pick Jamie because that would be too obvious, but he still guessed that it was me who picked him twice in a row.  Mrs. Miesner said, “Jamie, just because he’s your best friend doesn’t mean he’s going to pick you every time.”   The very next turn I picked Jamie.  He guessed it was Kenny Ponitz.  I threw my head back and laughed hard.

In that exact moment, I distinctly remember thinking, “This is the greatest day of my life.”

I can’t wait to see what’s next.

Whys, Hows, and Rainbows that Read

Butterfly in the sky.   I can fly twice as high.  Take a look.  It’s in a book.  Reading Rainbow.  Reeeading Raaaainbowww!

On my way to work this morning NPR told me that Reading Rainbow is ending its 26 year run today.  26 years!  That means that when this show first came on the air, I was crusing around in my Mom’s belly.  LeVar Burton was fresh off of Roots, and I’m not even sure if he was “Geordi LeForge” on Star Trek yet.  But there he was, teaching my generation to love books on PBS.

I had no idea Reading Rainbow was still on the air, but I have fond memories of the show.  I remember watching it with my Mom as a kid, and later on with my little brother (though he was always partial to Barney).  I loved the way the camera would pan around inside the book, and make each little two-dimensional drawing feel like a Disney movie.  The voices and music would swirl together to bring the story to life in a way I never experienced from my local librarian, try as she may (bless her heart).  Thinking back, I’m confident that this show played a role in my love for reading that continues to this day.

So that’s why I’m disturbed about this shows cancellation and what it may mean for our society.

According to the NPR report (link here), there were a few factors for the show’s cancellation.  On the one hand, it took hundreds of thousands of dollars to fund the show’s broadcast rights, but even with the state of the economy and budget shortfalls at PBS, that’s not necessarily the primary reason.  According to John Grant, fron the Buffalo station which was home to Reading Rainbow, the educational philosophy of public broadcasting has taken a shift in the last several years.  Now the Coorporation of Public Broadcasting is pouring all its money into programs that teach the basic tools of reading, like phonics, grammar and spelling.  In other words, the How. 

But that was never the focus of this show.  “Reading Rainbow taught kids why to read,” Grant says. “You know, the love of reading — [the show] encouraged kids to pick up a book and to read.”  But apparently, with this generation of kids, we can no longer assume that they know how to read.  Shows like Reading Rainbow have become a luxury, and it seems that there is no longer a place for programming that simply fosters a love of reading.

As I re-enter the teaching profession, I am beginning to see the profound effect that this line of thinking has had on a generation of students.  I can’t shake the feeling that so much of a student’s education must be molded around the Hows to the bereft of the Whys.  When the focus of a student’s high school career becomes passing the TAKS test, we have a serious problem.

I see it most in my Math classes.  I think more then any other subject, students hate math because there is no Why.  There is no reason for them to learn it.  They just learn How to pass the TAKS test.  I don’t claim to have all the answers… or even any good ones.  I just know that my goal is to show the students why they should learn math in addition to how they can use it.  To show them the possibilities exist out there if they can learn and enjoy math.

But as I heard the report about Reading Rainbow, I couldn’t help but apply this line of reasoning to how a lot of us live as Christians.  So very many of us are taught how to live “moral, Christian lives” consistently through out our childhood.  This seems to be the focus of so much Sunday School material and sermons, as well as the main thrust of the so called “Religious Right” in its political engagement.  The expectation is a nice, clean cut religious family, full of children who don’t smoke, cuss, drink, have sex or party. 

But what is the Why?  Why should I live this way?  Why should I love my brother?  Why should I do all these things in the “good” column and reject all these things in the “bad” column?

And of course, the answer is Love.  We live in obedience to God because He loves us.  Love and Honor for God and for our fellow man must be at the center of our actions, not the actions themselves!

When How replaces Why, or (even more dangerously) Who, we replace Christ with Moralistic Therapeutic Warm Comfortable Feeling…  Nothing.

So teach the child to read.  Teach him how to sound out the words, how to spell, how to use correct grammar, how to string the letters and words together into meaningful sentences.

But for the love of all that is good and holy, don’t fail to teach the child why he should read. 

Don’t fail to remember why you should live!

Wannabe Artist

I am a wannabe artist.

When I say this I don’t mean that I wish I could be an artist, but I just couldn’t cut it.  I’m not saying that I envy those with artistic abilities vastly superior to my own and know I can never live up to their standard.  It doesn’t matter to me that I can’t do what they do, how they do it.  That’s all irrelevant.

I’m a wannabe artist because I love to create.  Movies.  Graphic Design.  Photos.  Stories.  Songs.  Strategies.  Ideas.  It doesn’t matter what it is, I long to grab a shovel and turn over the soil to see what’s hiding underneath.  I want to uncover what nobody else in history has ever seen or thought to show others.  I want to find that connection between 2 or 3 or 10 things that were once so foreign to one another, and yet  when brought into parallel with each other make complete and perfect sense.  I want to grab a ladder and climb up and down and peek through the crevices, straining to see things from a unique perspective.  I want to see and experience and exhibit something different, something that has never been seen ever before… something different, and yet meaningful.

I’m a wannabe artist because I always want to be creating something new.  Whether I’m making a movie or teaching a Math class.

I’m a wannabe artist because of the times in my life that I forgot.  When I was content to follow the same tired path day after day after day and collapse into monotony.  When I forgot who I was.

But when I am creating I feel the joy of my Creator.  And He saw that it was good.

When I am Surprised by Joy

C.S. Lewis’ book Surprised by Joy, retraces the author’s life through a series of encounters with the mystery, terror, and love of God.  At the time, he did not attribute these phenomena to any specific deity, but when he came to know Christ as an adult, he began to recognize these fleeting experiences of his past as a precursor to the joy he found in Christ, and a foretaste of the joys of heaven.

 Now I want to take some time to highlight a random assortment of times in my life when I have felt this joy.  It seems that I experience this overwhelming joy at the most unexpected times when I did nothing of my own to cultivate such an experience.  I share these memories, because I need to remind myself of God’s faithfulness.  I’m at a crossroads in my life and I couldn’t tell you in which city I’ll be living in a month, what my next job will be, or even where I’m going to get the money to pay rent next week.  But I was reminded today (once again) that God is faithful.

So, here are just a few experiences that come to mind in no particular order when I have experienced the joy of my Creator.

1. The excitement I felt this June as I caught sight of the Bosphorous in Istanbul for the first time in a year.  Any description I can give will fail to describe the experience, and I doubt it even showed on my face at the time, but as my eyes absorbed the bluest blue of the sea, and I filled my lungs with the air as it bounced off the water, my heart was full as well.  For the first time I considered that my love for Turkey was more than a passing infatuation.

2. Memories of my Dad laying in my brother’s bed in the little room that my brother and I shared until I was 16, reading Hardy Boys or Little House on the Prarie night after night, while I lay in the top bunk listening intently even if I was years older than the book’s intended audience.  Every night, Laura Ingalls would let out a huge fart or the Hardy Boys would get into a fistfight with each other as Dad would change up the story to see if we were still awake.

3. Memories of the summers, with Mom taking us to camps and museum schools all over the city while Dad was at work, cultivating in us a love of creative expression that has no doubt led to my brother and I becoming the performers we are (with or without an audience).  A few years ago I berated my Mom for enrolling us in gymnastics as kids, but she told me she just wanted us to have the opportunity to find something we loved.  I remember days when it was so fun for my brother and I to annoy my Mom, but I remember stopping short before driving her insane, not because I was afraid of the discipline, but because I was aware of how much my Mom loved us and even at a young age I respected that.

4. The feeling of failure I felt that Sunday night in the summer of 2007, being out of school for a full year and never finding a full-time job, even after getting my teaching certificate and floundering through no less than 12 failed interviews.  I remember that night at church, singing “Savior, He can move the mountains, my God is Mighty to Save!  Mighty to Save!” and really meaning it, letting loose and believing and trusting that the God who moves the mountains is not powerless to give me a job, and that all the failure I was experiencing was building my character, because I’d never had to really try for anything in my life.  That night in bed I prayed out loud “God, if I get a job this school year, it’s only because of You, don’t let it be anything that I do, don’t let it be for my glory, but please make it obvious that you are directly in control of it.”  The very next morning I got a call from an assistant principal in Round Rock out of the blue.  I hadn’t called a single school there, hadn’t passed out my resumes anywhere or anything like I had been doing for months at other schools in other districts.  He asked me to come in for an interview that afternoon!  When I got there, it was obvious that I had no idea what I was talking about, but the reason they were even considering me was my youth ministry experience of all things.  (They were betting that someone who worked in youth ministry would have the patience to work with middle schoolers with emotional distrubance.)  The called me back two days later for an interview with the principal and they offered me the job right then!

5. An unexpected call to catch up with a good friend on the phone or sharing a bottle of wine with close friends late into the night.

6. Waking up early and reading my Bible at a coffeeshop.

7. Hearing another sermon about singleness and singing “I’ll stand, with arms high and heart abandoned.  In awe of the One who gave it all.  I’ll stand, my soul, Lord to You surrendered.  All I am is Yours.”  Trusting God again that it’ll work out one of these days.

8. Picking up a random book and falling into it.  Tuning out all distractions until I can finish one more amazing chapter.

9. Preparing a sermon for House Church until 3 or 4 the next morning, having the Truth arrest me and make itself utterly real to me.

10. The last time our house church met as a group, before we all went our seperate ways.  Remembering what God had done in our group, what He had done in the lives of our friends, what He had done in each of us.  Being overcome with tears at the thought of worshipping around the Throne of God with His people from every tribe, tongue and nation of all the earth.  Singing praises to the Lamb slaughtered for us with all the martyred saints.

These are the memories and I cling to when I don’t know what the future holds.  I cling to the Truth that God is making His name great through all the earth.  That God will glorify Himself through my life.  Will I just trust Him?

When have you experienced joy in your Creator?

The Story is in their Faces: Photos from an Egyptian Village

Ever since I bought my camera last year (Canon XT) and started taking pictures, my favorites have been extreme close ups of people, trying to capture whatever little idiosyncracy it is that makes them unique.  However, since most of my trips have been in the Middle East, I don’t usually get the chance to whip out my camera and take a picture of an absolute stranger.

That’s what made my trip to a tiny Egyptian village last May so special.  I got to follow around a professional photographer as she took pictures of the villagers for some promotional materials. (I guess that makes me a 2nd unit photographer right?)  Rather than in the past, when I would have to ask permission of each person before taking their picture, we were given free reign on the village.  We actually had armed guards guiding us through the village and everytime we walked up, we had dozens of people posing for us!  Pretty much a budding photographers dream.  Special thanks to Laura for the tips along the way, and to Bush for letting me borrow his 50mm lens for the trip.

Our job was to highlight the poverty and suffering of these people, so that people back home would contribute towards free clinics in their village.  Instead, for whatever reason, I found most everyone to be full of joy, as you will see.

I never got to know the people in each of these photographs, but what I love about photography is how it captures a person’s personality, and maybe a bit of their story.  I’m just going to post a few of my favorites without explanation, because your guess is as good as mine:

Roadkill

saw a roadkill squirrel and i drove on by
saw a roadkill deer and i drove on by
saw a dead cocker spaniel and i looked and i sighed
and said, “well isn’t that a shame”

the tornado took the lights out

but our house was ok
that night we had to do our homework
at the pizza buffett

next morning read the paper
breathed a sigh of relief
it said the only two that died
were men that lived on the street

saw a roadkill squirrel and i drove on by
saw a roadkill deer and i drove on by
saw a dead cocker spaniel and i looked and i sighed
and said, “well isn’t that a shame”
because it meant he had a name

when the airplanes hit the towers
the nation fell to its knees
sunday you had to get up early
if you wanted a seat

but when our missles missed their target
and the innocents died
was there anybody praying
for the other side?

saw a roadkill squirrel and i drove on by
saw a roadkill deer and i drove on by
saw a dead cocker spaniel and i looked and i sighed
and said, “well isn’t that a shame”
but i drove by just the same

no matter your bloodline…
or your pedigree…
no matter your realm of nationality…

no matter your riches…
or your potency…
no matter your place in high society…

no matter religion…
or orthodoxy…
no matter how good you think that you must be…

we’re all just whores
and bastard souls
digging ourselves
into hell holes

but praise the Lord
the Father’s got a shovel
He’s scraping new life
out of the rubble

and for His harlot bride
nails through His wrists
and a spear in His side

now lame are sprinting down the streets of gold!
and now the naked are getting robes!
and now the nameless are welcomed home!

i see the least of these…
i see the least of these…
around the Throne of God.