"Drat," she said aloud in her empty bedroom.
"NaNoWriMo is upon me, and I have not a single decent story idea or a way to alleviate myself from the stress of school, homework, and tests! Whatever will I do?!" she cried.
"Hmmm. Maybe you should go write a post on your blog!" her alter ego (who just so happens to be a strikingly good-looking guy for some strange reason) logicized.
Hold on. Is 'logicized' even a word?
Blog.
Blog blog.
Blog blog blog.
Blog blog blog blog.
Blog.
Ah. That's better.
Anyway, upon checking her blog and her past posts, the blogger realized she LEFT YOU HANGING ABOUT HER MEMOIR PROJECT!!!
The model is somewhere lying on the ground, I believe. I'm sorry. I wanted to take a picture and show you because it was totally abstract and amazing and lovely, but I have no idea where the heck it is. SADFACE TIMES INFINITY.
I didn't get to show you the intermediate process of writing either! SADFACE TIMES INFINITY PLUS ONE.
So, as I (sort of) promised, here's the conclusion of my memoir unit (which happens to be a different version of something you've already read). Sadly, we finished this unit weeks ago. I'm sorry I haven't been here. *wallows in self-pity*
Here goes:
A strong aftertaste of salty-sweet Buc-ee's beef jerky lingered on my tongue. Pulling out a stick of gum, my thoughts began to drift from my inability to control my rancid breath to the upcoming events of the week. "Re. Re. Re," I continued to silently repeat on the van ride to Denton, Texas, surrounded by other sleeping girls and soothing alternative rock music. Re. Re. 'Re' what? Rejected? Regurgitate? Relapse? Sarcasm dripping in my voice, I sighed to myself, "This is going to be a GREAT week." Student Life Camp was finally upon the students at First Methodist Church, and I was less than thrilled.
During the summer preceding my junior year of high school, I went to my third Student Life Camp with my church and thousands of other students across the southern region of the country. Sophomore year was particularly disgusting to me and resulted in me being an emotionless, soulless freak, so I needed to experience a reawakening and relocate myself. Camp was supposed to be a place where I would have the chance to retreat, but this year's theme was impossibly ridiculous: "Re". "Re. Re. Re," I mouthed, hoping the theme would catch on in my mind.
During the week, I was very reclusive. A newly transformed--yet closeted--cynic, I deluded myself into thinking I served absolutely no purpose at camp. It took little work to convince myself that I was merely a dead soul taking up space. In my wildly contrasting family group (which were the assigned small groups randomly assembled of students from different churches) formed of loudmouthed kids from my church and upper-middle class students from Kansas City, I was the overweight, reserved outcast who was constantly searching for all of life's answers on her own. Luckily, my searching did not result in me losing myself at all.
Tuesday, the second day of camp, held a particularly 'interesting' experience for me. After the family group session had ended, I was a burbling ball of sunshine emanating love, laughter, and happiness to everyone I had conversed with. If anyone would have come into physical contact with me, I believe I could probably have singed them with the warmth of a thousand suns--or possibly that of a feverish four year old. Merely five minutes later, nightly worship had begun. The camp pastor, Ben, was teaching a series on the life of James, Jesus' brother. As if from nowhere, Ben asked us to rejoice when met with trials. The radiant sunshine-ball instantly lost its spark, dimming rapidly into a confused black hole. Obviously, I assumed mentally, he meant to say that pain is a terrible thing to have to encounter, and we should take out our pain on the most innocent bystander possible, belligerently using a slew of profanity and obscene hand gestures to emphasize our inflated distrust of God and hatred towards Him for putting us in such a horrible situation. "Oh, wait; this is Christian camp," I recalled internally. "Remove the profanity and hand gestures, and we have Ben's REAL message. Right?" A pause from my conscience, who I presumed had been hiding for the past year, warned me otherwise. "No?" I questioned in response to the silence. "Was that not Ben's point? Gosh-dang, I'm wrong again!"
My Good and Evil personas perched themselves on my shoulders--invisibly, similar to the way they do to others in the movies--and began to banter back and forth. Suddenly, the two were interrupted by Ben's second point. Ben went on to say that locked into every painful experience were hope and potential for the future. "Through pain, we gain wisdom," he continued. My thoughts were steeped in disbelief. Ben added, "Pascal once said that no one has ever complained because he only has one mouth. Why complain, then, that you are experiencing pain if everyone else goes through it? In the instants that followed, the gears in my brain started churning, and the synapses between my neurons started to send more and more electrical impulses to each other. I could feel a bubble of new, positive ideas forming and rising to the surface of my mind.
Ben finished his message, and our worship band was about to lead us in our final song for the night. The air in the room was tense, and everyone was still. Eventually, the keyboard finally broke the silence, and two thousand voices surrounding me began to sing. One of the band's well-known singles, Hold My Heart, struck a chord within my soul. My tough exterior collapsed, and my adamantly defiant attitude, exhausted and defeated, quickly resigned. Vulnerability shone through all the cracks. The song lyrics were chock-full of passion and confusion and anger and hope, all of which were clouding my heart. Amazed, I continued to sing along:
One tear in the driving rain / One voice in a sea of pain / Could the Maker of the stars / Hear the sound of my breaking heart? / One life; that's all I am / Right now I can barely stand / If You're everything You say You are / Would You come close and hold my heart?
These words were my cry for help. Desperately, I realized I needed to rely on God, and I noticed that looking at my camp experience from a completely different perspective has changed my outlook on life. As salty tears streamed down my face, my heart rejoiced, for I had seen a light at the end of the dark tunnel I was in. My sobbing restricted my breathing, and I could feel God wrapping His arms around me, comforting me and letting me know that it was okay.
Reflecting on my week Friday morning, the last day of camp, my Tuesday night experience seemed rather clichéd. However, none of that mattered to me anymore. Receiving that reassuring feeling made any skeptical feelings resign and cease to doubt anything. On the way to Six Flags in Arlington, my thoughts drifted once again. How strange is it that a cynical, self-deprecating girl like me could feel something so seemingly miraculous? How strange is it that the tough-girl exterior instantly washed away like waves on a beach wrecking a poorly-built sand castle? How strange is it that allowing my heart and mind to be free and open ended up saving me from my internal hell and changing me forever?
How strange is it? In retrospective, “Re” may very well be really strange.
Well, I'll hopefully be back very soon. I have to tell you about two majorly amazing events, The Junior UP Experience and Region Choir. :) I had so much FUUUUUUUUUUN.
Love you (and see you soon -- hopefully!),
Lisa
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