What makes a Hero? OR My (Un)Glamorous Life

Northanger Abbey Rewrite: Chapter 1

The other day it occurred to me that I really lead a rather dull life.

I mean, the heroes and heroines in the fantasy books I love to read are always off on some grand adventure, saving their beloved from death and treachery, never once thinking of their own gain, only what is best for everyone else.

There are villains and monsters, and all sorts of evildoers who put obstacles in their way and mean to do them harm, but at the end of the day, the hero always gets to save the world, destroy evil and ride off into the sunset with his lady love.

Whether it’s some tragic heritage that makes them special (they grew up never knowing their true parents; but in reality they are the long-lost heir to some great kingdom), or it’s his strength and courage that save the day—the heroes in these stories are always willing to sacrifice themselves for the greater good, and though the obstacles against them seem great, the hero never looses his (or her) faith.

All very romantic, but rather impossible, I know—but a girl can dream, can’t she?

Such tales are wonderfully entertaining and fun to read, taking you to far away lands and places that someone like myself could never possibly dream of visiting in my lifetime, except through the written word.

Oh, how I wish my life were more exciting!

Unfortunately, my life resembles little of anything grandiose like that—I have no tragic past, or royal relations, or even a true love to fight for—all things that seem rather important to the questing hero of old.

I’m not particularly smart, or talented, or even beautiful in order to catch the attention of anyone looking for a heroine, but my dreams are populated with grandiose adventures fighting for my true love and evading terrible monsters.

Of course I know things like that don’t happen in real life, especially not to someone like me—a preacher’s kid with three older brothers and six younger siblings.

Usually, to little girls, their dads are their heroes, but that novelty’s worn off quite some time ago. I love my dad, don’t get me wrong, he’s the sweetest, kindest, most decent guy I know, even though his name is Dick (short for Richard). He’s respected in the community, and his sermons actually don’t suck and aren’t all that boring to listen to on a Sunday morning.

But while I love my dad, and would do anything he asked me to, I really wish I were a little less like him. I wish I hadn’t inherited my bleached skin, straight dark hair and flat-chested stick-frame from him. I know the Good Book says we’re made in God’s image and that we’re precious in His sight, but sometimes I think God was playing a cosmic joke the day I was born.

Even my name, Catherine, is bland and unexciting, and not to mention archaic. Who names their kid Catherine anymore, really? And I don’t even have a cool nickname like Katy or Cat, it’s just plain old Catherine to everyone.

You’d think that with a boring name and my looks against me, I’d have at least deserved some great talent that would make me stand out.

Nope. No such luck.

I suck at everything.

I’ve killed pretty much every plant I’ve ever laid hands on, whether intentionally or otherwise. My memory sucks so bad even my kid sister Sally makes fun of me. I can’t even memorize more than a few verses of scripture correctly.

I seem to be musically-, artistically-, and mathematically-challenged.

I tried piano lessons when I was eight, but gave up after a year of frustratingly little progress—the day the music teacher left for good was one of the happiest of my life.

My drawing skills never progressed past the box-house and stick-figure stage—though not for my lack of trying—and though my dad tried his utmost to teach me creative writing and math (did I mention I was home schooled), I never acquired much of anything that resembled more than a proficiency in either.

Same goes for my mom’s attempt to teach me a second language. The glamour of learning French wore off rather quickly and my mom’s patience was tested to it’s limit when I would come to lessons without having my homework done, constantly giggling at how certain words were supposed to be pronounced. Mercy Buckets.

So, while I may have been healthy and relatively even-tempered, rarely stubborn or quarrelsome, and I love my little siblings and usually let others have their way—my parents thought I was noisy and wild because I hated being confined in one place for too long. I guess you could say I was quite the tomboy growing up.

Tell me, how am I ever supposed to attract anyone’s attention, having all these things going against me?

The Storm

The band of thunderstorms swept through the area, each set more vicious that the one preceding it. Bright lightning split the darkness and making night into day at a rapid, irregular pace not even my frightened heart could hope to follow. the heavens poured down incessant rain as though a leak had sprung in the sky.

Thunder rumbled furious and loud, its high-pitched start rolling over into a deep rumble, racing across one side of the expanse to the next within heartbeats, going on for miles–the sound of a metal board of siding wrestling with the wind– followed by the slightest tremors of the earth. It was as though nature’s fury was trying to shake the heavens and earth from their celestial foundations, waking all those who had dared find peace in this otherwise restless night.

The coming of dawn became something blessed to all those who trembled, like me, as they huddled together in their pittyful shelters–man and beast alike–none daring to brave the fury of the storm; praying for release with a yearning as powerful as a hungry man craves food. Who could sleep when the end was certainly at hand?

And then, as sudden as it had started, it was over. Beginning with a slight change in the wind, barely noticeable, yet still real… decreasing to a faint, barely discernible rumble. Then, moving elsewhere.

Slowly the noises of the night came back to bring normalcy into the previous chaos: crickets chirping their indignation, birds twittering nervously… as though each being wanted to relay its excitement at having survived such horror.

Only the occasional faint rumble of thunder in the far off distance would remind of the fury that was now past…

I Want to be a Martha!

I think Martha’s been getting a bad rap in the church for too long! I’ve been getting little glimpses–insights if you will–into her character lately that have made me appreciate Martha’s personality and heart… and to realize that Mary’s not all she’s cracked up to be.

Remembering the story of Mary and Martha, most people think of the words of chastisement Jesus give Martha in Luke 10:38-42 when, after Martha complains that Mary should be helping out rather than daydreaming at Jesus’ feet, Jesus tells Martha that Mary chose correctly.

Because of those fatal words of Jesus; Christians, myself included, have inadvertently been taught that Mary was the “better” sister. I disagree… a lot!

Let me set up the story for you. Picture the family of Lazarus and his two sisters. No parents are mentioned, so it would have fallen to Lazarus to provide for his two sisters. As he was a close friend of Jesus’, I picture him in his early 30s, same age as Christ–though his actual age isn’t mentioned in the Bible. As to his sisters, I’ve recently come to picture Mary still young… maybe still in her teens–immature and a bit on the emotional side.

Notice how it says, “a woman named Martha opened her home” to Jesus and his crew. So either Martha was the eldest of the family, or she did the inviting.

So here the three siblings are, at home in Bethany, and while Lazarus would naturally be responsible to bring home the proverbial bacon, Martha and Mary are responsible for the chores at home that would naturally fall to women–sewing, cleaning, cooking… you know, “Keeping House 101″ stuff. Now here comes Jesus for a visit… which, as we’ve been told, was by invitation.

However, Jesus is usually accompanied by an entourage of at least 12 disciples, plus who knows how many others that would have been tagging along. Suddenly you’re not only cooking for three, but you’re responsible for feeding a small army! While the extra food needed to feed 13 more people may not have been an issue, the extra WORK definitely would have been. Anyone who’s ever put together a Christmas dinner for 20-plus people can attest to that. As if that weren’t enough, the person who’s supposed to be helping, is daydreaming at the feet of Jesus instead of helping to set the table and peel the potatoes!

Freeze frame for a second.

I so can identify with Martha at this point. I’d be frustrated and annoyed, and all kinds of resentful just about right now. But that’s not even all. Here’s Jesus at her house–the Rabbi who’s become famous for healing the sick and dying, an amazing story-teller and speaker, and she’s the one who invited him–and she’s stuck in the kitchen without help, making food for the whole gang?!?

I keep thinking, maybe Martha would have liked to visit with Jesus and his disciples as well… hear how things are going, what he’s been up to recently, catch up on local news, etc. But being stuck in the kitchen she’s missing out on all that. What a let-down! And here’s the clencher, the person who’s supposed to be helping you–the one who you should be able to complain to and share your misery with–is in there with the rest of the guys, having a good time! (Younger siblings can be such annoyances!)

Yeah, I’d be livid just about now.

So what does Martha–and any sensible female–do? She asks for help!

I wonder, did Martha try to get Mary’s attention before she made her appeal to Jesus? Being the baby in the family, Mary may have gotten some special privileges. We usually tend to spoil our youngest siblings–at least I find that I tend to let more things slide with my “little” brother than with the one who’s closer to my age. But there are times I’d like them to act grown up and help out as well… take on some responsibility and notice that I’m struggling and help without me having to beg every time. And darn it, clean up those dishes when you’re done with them! (Eh, sorry about that, not really part of this story.)

Aaanywaaay… so apparently, Mary wasn’t the perceptive kind–hence my belief that she was a bit of a daydreamer–and Martha appeals to Jesus instead.

But her plea for help falls on deaf ears–and here’s where I want to sob with Martha, because who wouldn’t feel betrayed when someone you revere lets you down like that? My heart breaks for Martha, who’s told, in no uncertain terms, that she’s getting too distracted with the details, and that she should be more like Mary and not get so worked up about things.

If this were any other man saying this to a woman, I could just hear the outcry, “Waaay wrong answer, dude! You did not just diss Martha for working her butt off trying to feed you and your gang!” Luckily for Jesus, he didn’t have women’s lib to worry about, ‘cuz I would have so railed on him for making Martha feel bad.

Okay, so maybe I wouldn’t have told Jesus off, but I sure would have liked to find out what happened next. The Bible conveniently leaves those details out. I’m sure Martha felt all kinds of wronged, but I doubt she dropped everything and sat beside Mary at Jesus’ feet.

If it had been me, I would have gone back into the kitchen and had a huge self-pitty fest about the injustice of it all, then shed some more tears because I realized that Jesus was probably right telling me that I worry too much–’cuz, frankly, I do worry too much and these things can be distracting. But eventually I’d heave a sigh of reluctance and continue peeling the potatoes since the cooking still has to be done by someone.

But this isn’t the end of Martha and Mary’s story.

Flash forward to Lazarus’ sudden illness and death. Both sisters are devastated to have lost their brother, and have been mourning for four days. The neighbours are trying to console them, but it’s not helping.

So when the news reaches them that Jesus is on the way–too late to be of any use to Lazarus now, but still he came–Martha goes out to meet their family friend. She seems so full of faith, telling Jesus that if he’d been there, Lazarus would not have died (John 11:21-22). Maybe there’s a bit of an accusation in there, but it’s her other words to Jesus that blow me away. She says, “I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask.”

Pause here for a moment. Here’s Martha, who got told by Jesus that she was worrying too much about “things,” telling Jesus she believes in him! And when Jesus asks her whether she believes that anyone who believes in him will never die, Martha’s the one whose eyes are opened to acknowledge him as the Son of God. And she goes back to get Mary…

No begging, no pleading, no breakdown. This Martha is waaay cooler than the emotional wreck that is her sister; who, we’re shown, is a total basket case. Rushing heedlessly out to meet Jesus, Mary falls at his feet, and accuses Jesus of the same thing her sister did through heart-wrenching tears. Even though she uses the same words Martha did, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died” (John 11:32), her actions seem to say that she’s not as forgiving as her sister. She’s lost in her own sorrow, and her sobs are so gut-wrenching, even Jesus starts weeping–He who knows that God wants to raise Lazarus from the dead (John 11:11)!

I don’t know about you, but Martha strikes me as the more sympathetic of the two here. While Mary got Jesus to weep, Martha’s the one who recognized his purpose. And though her rational side had difficulty wrapping her head around the fact that Jesus had come to raise her brother from the dead, she also trusted Jesus enough to let him perform the miracle without standing in his way.

So I want to be a Martha. I want to invite Jesus to come over to my place and prepare a meal for him, even if he points out the things in my life that I need to paying less attention while I’m doing it. I want to recognize Jesus as he reveals himself to me, whether it be through his Word or through the miracles he performs in my life. And I want to love my Christian brothers and sisters without judging them for the way they interact with God.

Can I really do all things?

I can do all things through Him who gives me strength

This means that My God is never

too busy,

too exhausted,

or too annoyed to help me out.

All I need do is ask Him.

He rises above every challenge,

every confusion,

every change in my life.

Every single burden

that would keep me crippled or cringing.

Distress, burden, worry – they’re not in His vocabulary!

Unless it is to tell me

I won’t feel these things if I’m relying on Him.

God makes the impossible, possible,

Miracles DID,

still DO

and WILL happen.

Where I say “I can’t,” He’s dared to challenge me

Until it’s “Yes, Lord, with You, I CAN and I WILL!”

Even though I can’t remember everything,

He does! And

He reminds me gently of the things that need to get done.

God never gets frazzled by the little things that drive me crazy.

In tense situations, He’s the calm,

the transcending,

the peace that passes all understanding.

So I rely on Him to get me through this day.

He knows about pain, heartache, and betrayal.

He was human like me, yet more!

He’s never mean, never spiteful, and never keeps a grudge.

Because of Him, I will never have to be afraid.

It’s because He came,

He lived,

and He conquered death for all time,

I now am the overcomer, instead of the underachiever.

Above all, he knows all things about and within me;

plus He knows what He’s talking about.

He’s had an eternity to get educated; I am to learn and practise.

I wrote this probably about 4 to 5 years ago now and recently dug it up from my computer archives. When I originally wrote it, I was at a spiritual high in my life. My then-boss was so thrilled, she requested a copy and even urged me frame my own copy so I could have it at my desk at work so it would inspire me each day.

My previous employer was like that. Her spiritual gifts were to encourage and mentor other women. I learned so much in the five years I worked under her and I look back at that time as a huge spiritual-building experience.

But, as with so many things in our lives we start taking for granted; they come to an end. For me it was an idea God planted in my head… to move on to something better he had for me. I followed His call… and am still waiting for that “better thing.”

I so much miss that spiritually uplifting time–being able to work in a Christian environment, with a Christian mentor as an employer, being able to see the fruits of my daily efforts. Each hurdle at work she helped me through would make feel more and more confident of myself and of who I am as a woman of “beauty, worth and dignity”–as she used to say.

At my current work, I do not see these fruits. I feel like I am out of place there, like I shouldn’t be there, and somewhere along the way, I’ve lost that closeness to God that I felt in my previous job… and I don’t quite know how to re-gain it. Because a huge part of that relationship with God was my work environment and my relationship with my boss. So when I lost that close relationship, I lost a part of myself that I’ve never quite been able to re-gain.

Sounds a bit melodramatic,  I know, but I’ve recently discovered that I have a tendency to latch on to people that mean a lot to me, and when they leave my life–because, as we all know, life happens while we’re busy making other plans… that, and people have a tendency to “move on”–so I haven’t only lost that close relationship, but part of myself as well.

Because, for some reason, these people who’ve been giants in my faith-building and learning experiences, tend to not be in contact very much, if at all. And it’s like they take a part of myself with them when they leave. Which also means that each time I get to know a new person who becomes important in my life, I end up re-inventing myself–learning to re-invent myself in a new way.

I still mourn my other “selves” at times, because if I’m honest, each person that has been such an inspiration to me, has brought out something good inside me that I’ve felt almost proud of… in a non-selfish way, of course. (I am Mennonite after all, and “pride” just isn’t one of our top-ten wanted traits list. But I digress.)

So recently, I’ve been feeling frustrated with trying to discover my purpose in life. I ask myself “what do I want to do with my life?” I haven’t really accomplished anything great for God… and by “great” I mean something that would make me feel like God is proud of me, like a Father would be of his daughter who did something good.

I’m told that isn’t really what God is all about. He’s not about having us do things to make ourselves look good for him, because He already accepts us the way we are. But I still want to do something that He’d be proud of. Does that make sense at all?

Anyway, I’m still searching for the answer, but sometimes it would be nice to know things ahead of time… since I am a planner and all.

Writing is such hard work!

About 15 months ago, I was all gung-ho on this distance writing course I signed up for, by the end of which, it said, I will have written my own novel. Well, I’m still not finished the course and haven’t even started my first chapter!

Thank God it’s a course I can take 3 years to complete, otherwise I’d feel even more miserable! Why, because it’s all my fault.

I am such a procrastinator, it’s not even funny. I mean, yeah, moving in that time kinda put a hitch in my “plans” for a good 3 months or so… though it’s not like I was doing any homework for the course before or after that. I got through the first assignment okay. It was writing a profile on yourself. Easy enough, right? But the next assignment is reading five books in the genre I want to write in. Aaarghhh!!! Five books is sooo much when your favourite genre is alternate-reality fantasy with average page numbers of a minimum 400+ pages.

Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE reading… usually. But for some reason, I haven’t been able to pick up a book to read all the way through in almost two years… TWO YEARS! And just when I need it the most. I don’t understand it at all. Why is it that you can be so passionate about books and reading, but you can’t force yourself to read a whole book anymore?

And it’s not just the reading that’s become a chore, the writing also. Hence this blog, really. I’m trying to force myself to do some kind of writing at least once a week as a minimum. I’m hoping to regain some of that love of writing that I lost somewhere on the way — hey, if you find it, please lemme know, I wanna have some serious words with that deserter!

So one of my pastors kinda kept on spurning me on to write anyway. Gave me deadlines and all, a chapter a month, that doesn’t sound so hard does it? I was supposed to have the first chapter done in May… of 2009! Hahah. It’s almost the end of January 2010 and that chapter is still not done.

To my defence, I did start the chapter. Even had this great spurt of inspiration about how to start the opening sequence with this frightening dream my main character has that’s kind of signifying where she’s at spiritually — I thought the opening was pretty great, if I do say so myself — but then the ideas just… “fizzled” out after the dream sequence. What do
people do when they wake up and finally manage to shake loose from the
aftereffects  from a scary dream?

It really didn’t help that a couple weeks or so later,  I got my monthly email from Writer’s Digest and it just so happened to be on 4 or 5 of the most common mistakes authors make in their first chapters… guess what, the dream sequence was one of them!

That balloon of enthusiasm deflated pretty darn fast. It was quite pitiful, really.

So here I am, back to square one, not a clue of how to even begin to start my story.

Well, I’ll keep plugging away at it. I think I just have to force myself to read those five books by sitting down reading a chapter a day. Aaarghhh, this is sooo not what I wanted when I signed up for that writing course! It was supposed to be fun and exciting. I guess I wasn’t listening when they warned me that writing is hard work.

Hello world!

I guess first of all I should introduce myself. Only polite, right?

So, where to start…

Considering that I am a 33-year-old single woman, my favourite book-shopping-buddy is my pastor’s 16-year-old teenage daughter. Eighty percent of my co-workers are barely out of puberty (low to mid 20s), and they act like it! I absolutely have no clue how to talk to anyone who doesn’t like movies or share at least one of my passions, namely the love of the written word. So I quite feel like an “outsider” most of the time. Which suits me just fine, I guess. Crowds are so draining on the energy!

In short, I really don’t hang around adults my age.

Frankly, I believe I don’t qualify to be a 33-year-old. Some days I think I’m just a kid stuck in an adult body, my brain just never really caught up with my body. Other days, I think I should have been a man. I just can’t understand chicks, uh women, who actually want to watch stuff like soup films (sorry, “daytime dramas”) or any kind of dramas at all. Or the going to the bathroom in a group thing, or… well, let’s just say I don’t do “girly” things that often, and only if I’m forced to.

I guess you could say I’m kind of like the person who got stuck in the twilight zone; it’s all my life, sure, but it just doesn’t feel like anything fits into a neat little box. In older people these things are adorable; we call them eccentrics. Me, I guess I’m just an oddball.

My favourite thing to do on a weekend used to be curling up in front of my laptop in my blanket, watching the newest episode of my favourite Asian Drama. But ever since I moved this past summer I’ve been missing my high speed internet — dial-up is such a brain-melting process! I miss my dramas, but do try to keep up by reading episode recaps online, when they’re available.

I love action, sci-fi and fantasy TV; none of that Reality TV crap for me. I hate everything they stand for, and are — cheap TV that may be entertaining for ten minutes, but no real emotional investment. I absolutely HATE talk shows like Oprah. I LOATHE Survivor. I NEVER watch American Idol, and just listening to my co-workers talk about Big Brother makes me shiver. Whoever came up with this drivel to entertain the masses may have been a genius at cutting costs, but he (or she) definitely lacked imagination. It’s the SAME thing over, and over, and over… for years, decades even!

Sorry about the rant.

On to my other passion: I read Fantasy and Sci-Fi, and also write it. I often say, “Life is serious enough without having to read or watch it.”

I hang out at a bookstore at least one hour every few weeks, if I don’t I get withdrawal symptoms (I kid you not!). Doesn’t matter what kind of bookstore — Chapters, Mom & Pop type bookstores, used bookstores… As long as it’s got a large fiction section, I’m in heaven! I don’t even have to buy a book, just as long as there are lots of books to TOUCH and get engrossed in, I’m happy.

Recently my 16-year-old-friend got me into manga, which make me feel like I’m back in high school. I just wish those things weren’t so bloody expensive!

I listen to music because it moves me. Mostly alternative rock, the heavier the drums the better, but also enjoy a good instrumental movie soundtrack on occasion.

I got into graphic arts a while back, playing around with creating some 3D art, which is kinda fun, but takes waaay too much time and patience. (Which is a virtue, unfortunately, not one of mine.)  Thought it might be fun to illustrate some of the story Ideas or dreams I have. We’ll see.

I’m kinda quiet, don’t hang out with lots of people, or go out much… unless I’m with close friends — where I turn into a complete chatterbox, especially when the conversation’s about movies or TV shows. Can’t get me to shut up! I kid you not.

As to my employment accomplishments, it’s nothing to get excited over. I’ve been a data entry clerk, a mail sorter, a receptionist, a school newspaper editor, a church librarian-advisor, and an internet content “filter”, just to name a few.

I’ve typed numbers and letters and speeds that would make Superman proud. Sorted mail into tidy little bundles until I thought I’d go numb. Answered phones while managing to screw up a two-line system that, to anyone else, of course, seemed a simple and easy procedure. Researched, interviewed for, wrote, edited and oversaw the process of college newspaper articles. Tried to get my head back on straight by attempting some education of the computer kind. Bought hundreds of books just to put a smile on someone’s face; and most recently, I’ve been wasting most of my daytime looking at German websites trying to sort them into categories and make some sort of sense of the madness that is called the internet. Oh, and did I mention that I was in charge of a team of writers to put on the Easter play at my church last year?

I’ve done a lot of different things, and I’ve learned that the only real certainty is that you have to keep learning. I know that numerical data entry is the most mind-numbing job in the world, followed by a close second mail sorting, and a not to distant third, creating queries for websites.

So what DO I enjoy working at? Well, I’m a projects oriented person. I like to see things come to their completion. There’s nothing as frustrating as having a dozen things on the go, none of them finished. So the most fulfilling work for me has been working on projects from start to finish, preferably in a team, because it’s just too hard to have a good laugh by yourself. Plus, people tend to think you’re nuts. LOL

Okay, ran out of inspiration.

Anyway, I guess my goal in starting this blog is to write down some of my thoughts, story ideas and dreams I have. Firstly, because I want to practice my writing; and secondly, because it seemed like the thing to do at the time. hahaha