"Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole..."

Those of you who read my siblings blogs will know that our family watches It's a Wonderful Life every Christmas Eve, this year was no exception.

Those of you who know me well also know that I am a Jimmy Stewart fan, he's my all time favorite actor, probably because I was routinely exposed to his movies at an early age. Never the less, Stewart isn't the only reason it's one of my favorites, neither is the fact that it's tradition. I love it because every time I watch this scene I tear up. "Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole..." Every time I watch it I want to hug my parents and thank them for bringing me into the world. The story is amazing and so true.

This year I laughed and cried at the same places as before, but this year, 2009, has been different than others. Somehow, the movie I've seen a millions times, and pretty much have memorized, seems different, like I'm looking at it in a different light.

All of us have been born with a handicap, we have only one pair of eyes, and no matter what technology does (camera, video) we will never see life through any other eyes but our own. George Bailey's reeling mind was intent on seeing only self-pity and depression, he had he wanted to build things, make his mark on the world and travel. Instead he was stuck in a small town struggling through the business of "nickels and dimes" he hadn't got what he wanted and he couldn't see all the good he had done. George Bailey saw himself as a failure he felt under appreciated, overwhelmed, and hopeless.

When we watch George stare at the rushing river desperately we want to pull him back and yell at him to stop, to tell him he has friends and purpose, people love him and need him. We wonder why he doesn't see this, and it ends up taking a Heavenly intervention to show George how other people viewed his life, how God viewed George Bailey. For a few moments his handicap was taken off, and it makes for an amazing experience and a wonderful movie.

There are two types of people in this world: A) people who LOVE It's A Wonderful Life and voted it the the #1 Inspirational Movie of all times B) those who think it's a sappy depressing movie and unrealistic, they hate it.
(For the record there is a third group C) Those who couldn't care less. For simplicity's sake we're leaving them out of the equation.)

I think most of the people in group B only remember the part of the movie I was just talking about, they remember George as the hopeless man, the man who we all at some point in our lives have all felt like. We wonder if we've ever done anything right, if our lives will ever improved, if God is really out there, if it was all really worth it, we wonder if maybe... it would have been better it we had never been born.

Now I know I'll never make the wish George did, but this year I surprised myself when I realized I was watching through eyes green with envy. I was envious of George's experience. I want to know how God sees me, I want to know if other people really care that much about me. I certainly am not and thousands of dollars deep in debt and about to be arrested for a crime I did not commit after being set up by the villain of peace and happiness in my town, but lately it's felt like my own little world and my own little life has been falling apart.

I guess I've not been feeling of much worth, I'm just one of Tom's many daughters, I'm just a girl walking a baby by the side of the road, I'm just the girl who shelved that book in your hands so you could find it easily, and when you bring it back, I'll just shelve it again. I am not the type of person who will discover a cure for cancer, or save millions of lives. I don't expect that, but I confess, I'd like to be needed, I'd like to think that if I didn't walk the baby nobody would, but I know someone will. I'd like to think that if I didn't put the book away nobody would be able to find it, but I know someone else will take care of it, it's not hard. And while George Bailey ran the family business because no one else could, I have a lot of family, if I don't do it, someone else will.

Those in group A) remember that at the end of It's a Wonderful Life George Bailey's friends and family come out in an amazing show of love and support, trying to give back to him some of their livelihood, just as he had spent his life helping them. It's a tear-jerker, miraculous and a lovely display of love.

This is where I'm jealous at this fictitious character played by m favorite actor. This is the end of my story so far, I don't have a "Auld Lang Syne" ending... not yet. I'm still stuck on the bridge wondering if my life is worth anything, wondering if I really make an impact on other people's lives. Like I said, I'm not stupid enough to wish I'd never been born, but it still leaves me wondering, how big of a hole would I make?

How big?

"...Dreams are dangerous things - they look solid in your mind, but you just try to reach for them. It's like gathering clouds." ~Hattie Big Sky

I used to be a good blogger, correction, I used to be an amazing blogger.

At least compared to the blogger I am now, which is a lowly, idiotic, lazy, I'll-do-it-next-week-probably blogger.

I am sincerely sorry.

But really I'm not all to blame. The big culprit?

This dude:

I admit, it does steal my time some, but more than that, it uses up my creativity. I prefer my statuses to be a bit on the witty side, or at the very least somewhat amusing, and hopefully never boring. It my fb status is ever as dull as "I'm going to bed now." You have my permission to fine me for dullness. It seems these past few months when ever I would have a creative urge, I would sit down to write a post, (and since it had been so long since I'd updated it would have to be a good long one) I'd eventually run out of time, and rather than publishing a half-finished or fragmented post I'd post the gist of my idea on fb.

For instance, the name of this post is my current fb status, I thought about writing a review about the book I just finished Hattie Big Sky, but I didn't have time, so instead I published one of the my favorite quotes from it. (BTW, I highly recommend the book, it's a Newberry Award winner!)

Since Facebook is daily stealing from my blog I thought it was time for my blog to steal back (considering it's all in the family anyway). Here are some of my status in no order at all since... as far back as I decide to copy/paste before I get tired.

Enjoy!

Lydia Margaret hates getting her hopes up only to have them dashed... :-(

I'm the type of girl who will walk 4 blocks in the pouring rain to avoid parallel parking.

Luke has renamed the Big Pond, it is now the Athletic Ocean.

IMHO middle aged women should NOT have Hannah Montana ring tones.

Sometimes I forget that when I'm talking... people listen to me occasionally.

Our house is currently layered gray over yellow with orange dots with the occasion patches of white. Seriously.

Apparently Grace University thinks I should try out for a music scholarship. ME! The girl who plays piano by ear, and can't carry a tune in a bucket with a handle. *dies laughing*

Sometimes all I want is be ultimately special to someone....

My "oh-so-strong-oh-so-superior" little brother just asked me to open a jar for him. *savors this wonderful moment*

Soup: It's what's for lunch.

A warmed-up car, cute tights and stylish boots, a little coffee in my cream.... I'm ready to start my day! :-)

I pride myself on being a person who can laugh at her own mistakes (and believe me they many and often) but I'm afraid someday soon I'll do something incredibly stupid, something that won't ever be funny, something I can't laugh off. It scares me....

"Do you ever feel like the whole world is a tux and you're a pair of brown shoes?"

I had the whole gas station and the cafe next door laughing at my attempt to back my car to where I could pump gas.... *sigh*

"TEA." = The Jane Austen equivalent of "How about them Cubs?"


"I'm like a facebook flair, little, round, and occasionally goofy."


Seriously, I have the most selfless, strong, caring, loving, understanding, sweet Mother ever. She's the BEST!

EMMA '09!

I've already watched this online, and let me tell you: it is AMAZING! My new favorite Austen Adaption. I can't wait for it to show in the U.S. on TV!

On Avoiding Writing

"Usually, writers will do anything to avoid writing. For instance, the previous sentence was written at one o’clock this afternoon. It is now a quarter to four. I have spent the past two hours and forty-five minutes sorting my neckties by width, looking up the word “paisly” in three dictionaries, attempting to find the town of that name on The New York Times Atlas of the World map of Scotland, sorting my reference books by width, trying to get the bookcase to stop wobbling by stuffing a matchbook cover under its corner, dialing the telephone number on the matchbook cover to see if I should take computer courses at night, looking at the computer ads in the newspaper and deciding to buy a computer because writing seems to be so difficult on my old Remington, reading an interesting article on sorghum farming in Uruguay that was in the newspaper next to the computer ads, cutting that and other interesting articles out of the newspaper, sorting—by width—all the interesting articles I’ve cut out of newspapers recently, fastening them neatly together with paper clips and making a very attractive paper clip necklace and bracelet set, which I will present to my girlfriend as soon as she comes home from the three-hour low-impact aerobic workout that I made her go to so I could have some time alone to write.”
— P. J. O’Rourke
The Wit and Wisdom of P. J. O’Rourke

That Day that Comes But Once a Year...

I am currently in my own personal heaven on earth. Just stepping over the doorstep of the farm house makes me blissfully happy :-)

It's because this big farm house surrounded by never-ending fields is home to some of my favorite people.

And when we all get together once a year we're bound to have at least a little fun.

For these faces, and my friends and family


I am truly Thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Right? Of course right!

"People only think I'm wrong because my path of logic is illogical to every logical person."

New Look

I did this all on my own, so there's bound to be some tech problems... but anyways...

Do ya like it? Hate it?

Hopefully a new look will inspire me to post more... ya never know.

Just to see how pictures look with the new backround...

Maid Marian the Herione

Cloak: Home Made
Scarf: Gift from Israel
Pants: Second Hand
Boots: Payless
Vest: Maurices
Shirt: Wal-Mart
Sword: Civil War Replica

A modern-looking Maid Marian on the look out for evil in her disguise as the nightwatchman.

"Drop Your Sword."

Maid Marian in Purple

Dress: Banquet from Junior Year
Hat: Antique
Scarf:Gift from Israel
Sweater: K-Mart
Cloak: Home Made
Boots: Payless

Maid Marian listens to the evil Sheriff and Sir Guy dastardly plotting the murder of Robin Hood.





Marian sneaks away to warn Robin Hood.

Maid Marian The Lady

Dress: Local Theater's Costume Sale
Head Scarf: Czech Republic
Head Band: Wal-Mart

Me and The Lord of the Rings

I have officially watched The Lord of the Rings. Yes, all three movies, The Fellowship of the Ring, Two Towers and The Return of the King.

It was quite the experience.

What really made LOTR interesting for me was the massive (and at times conflicting) amounts of information I heard about it before actually viewing the movies or reading the books.

Pictures, music, movie posters, interviews, books, snatches of silly conversations discussing who of my friends were biggest fans, and lengthy discussions on whether or not LOTR was a Christian allegory, or even supportive of the Christian faith at all.

I’ll never forget the first time LOTR was “explained” to me. I came upon two teenage male friends of mine discussing Eomer’s cry (or should I say roar?) of anguish when he thinks his sister is dead. Concerned for the poor boys' sanity, I asked what on earth they were talking about. I was then treated to twenty minutes of both boys explaining all three movies, all the characters (by their various names) and all the plot lines in no particular order while interrupting each other to debate which battle was the bloodiest. From this crash course I understood that LOTR contained the following: LOTS of bloody battles, no girls, a ring,the main character reminded me of a dog, and there was a really creepy deformed obsessed ... um, thing that said " MY Preeeecious!!!" constantly.

I would have continued in this misconception if Debi had not succumbed to the ranks of LOTR fandom about a year ago. It didn't take long for her to set me straight on my misgivings. For instance I though the Ring was good.

Debi was appalled, and that's putting it mildly.

I reasoned that anyone could make that mistake, after all they are called "The Lord of the RINGS"! Debi also informed me that there were girls, THREE in fact. I had always thought there were two girls, a blond and a brunette, somehow to me Miranda Ott and Cate Blanchett looked alike, don't ask how.

Also, it was Frodo, not Frofro, thank Goodness.

I do have to admit, my one big bone to pick with J.R.R. Tolkin is is names. What on earth did he mean by naming two out of the only three girls almost the EXACT SAME SOUNDING NAME??? Really! To be honest I'm still not sure which is which... and don't even get me started on Sauron and Saruman.

My favorite part? Hobbits. Hands-down, Merry, Pippin, and Sam will always be my heroes. If I could chose another life, I would be a hobbit. Minus the big feet of course, but plus the adorable houses with the round doors.

Oh and Aragorn is awesome, Gimli maked me laugh until my sides ached, and I think the Rohan horses are beautiful!

When asked, I will say that I like Lord Of the Rings. Decent movies.

But do I LOVE them? Do I think they are most awesome movies ever made? Do I think they are good christian allegories?

I dunno.

Right now, I really have no idea. I'll never really be able to answer that last question. After all it's a lot to take in all at once, after all, all together I probably watched over 20 hours of Middle Earth by watching both the Regular and Extended additions. But I thought by writing all my LOTR-ian thoughts down I might end up somewhere. As long as that somewhere isn't Mount Doom, I'll be happy.


P.S. If you were wondering, no I am not going to read the books, my main reasons being:

a) I really don't have the time.

b) I really don't have the necessary interest.

c) Why bother when I have a walking, talking All-Things-Middle-Earthian

dictionary (a.k.a. Debi) available 24-7?

I think I'm Enjoying Being a Nanny...

Who wouldn't adore taking care of this little sweetheart?

9, Nine, Nueve...

It's 9/09/09

September Ninth Two Thousand and Nine

The 252nd day of the year

2+5+2= 9

I am posting this at 9:09 AM

I remember 01/01/01 like it was yesterday.

And in the 8 years since then I have always enjoyed the days when the month/day/year correspond. I don't know why, I just always have.

It won't be like this again until 01/01/2101.

So I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts :-)

This Weekend

I was going to:
Work Friday afternoon.
Spend the Friday night and Saturday at the home of one of my very dearest friends.
Go to my little brother's baptism on Sunday.
It would be a fun weekend spent with family and friends.

I ended up:
Calling in sick Friday.
Instead I spent the next 3 days doing variations of the following:
Coughing
Blowing my nose
Wishing I could breath normally
Attempting to talk
Not being able to talk
Taking my temperature
Taking it again
Taking vitamins
Drinking honey lemon water
Not really sleeping
Not really eating
Wishing I was at Lillie's
Wishing I could go to Luke's baptism
Wishing I wasn't home alone

Oh the irony of a sudden summer cold.

Women Of Fath

Like
Deborah,

I will serve the Lord in power and speak His Word without fear.


Like
Esther,

I will intercede for God's people before His throne.


Like
Abigail,

I will humble myself to wash the feet of the servants of the Lord.


Like
Sarah,

I will respect my husband and his ministry to the Lord.


Like
Hannah,

I will dedicate my children to the Lord.


Like
Priscilla,

I will explain the way of God more perfectly to those who are seeking.


Like the
Shunamite widow,

I will trust God in the day of adversity.


Like
Lydia,

I will be a worshiper of God and open my home to his ministers.


Like
Tabitha,

I will always do good and help the poor.


Like
Joanna,

I will use my wealth to support the ministry of Jesus.


Like
Mary, the mother of Jesus,

I will hear the word of God to me and answer, "Be it unto me as you have said."


Like
Mary, the sister of Martha,

I will know the voice of Jesus and hear His words.


Like
Mary, the mother of Mark,

I will make my home a haven for the followers of Jesus.


Like
Mary, the Magdalene,

I will keep at the feet of Jesus and love Him unto death.


~ Anonymous

I saw this on The IDD Blog and thought it was lovely and though provoking. I hope you agree!

Very True and Terribly Sad

Hey

How ya doin'?

I'm not bad... nothing to complain about.

A little news but not much:

I won 2nd place in a local writing contest.

I'm starting full time work this week.

As usual, no pictures, sorry!

But I thought I should post because it's been awhile.

So here I am, posting.

That's about it.

Bye.

Oh, just for fun:

Why do We Write? *Evil Laugh*

"Some people assume that authors write books because we have vivid imaginations and want to share our vision. Other people think we write because we are bursting with and therefore must scribble those stories down in moments of propondenty. Both groups are completely wrong. Authors write books for one and only one reason. Because we like to torture people. Now actual torture in frowned upon in civilized society, fortunately the authorial community has discovered in story telling an even more powerful and fulfilling means of causing agony. We write stories, and by doing so we engage in a perfectly legal way of doing all sorts of terrible things to our readers. Take for instance, the word I used above, "propondenty", there is no such word. I made it up. Why? Because it amused me to think of thousands of readers looking up a nonsense word in their dictionaries. Authors also create wonderful loving characters, then proceed to do terrible things to them. This makes the readers feel hurt and worried for the characters. The simple truth is: authors like making people squirm. If this weren't the case, all novels would be full of cute bunnies having birthday parties. So now you know why I would write a book. Ask yourself this: would any kindhearted individual become an author? Of course not. So there.

~Alcatraz Vs. the Evil Librarians
By Brandon Sanderson

NOTE: I am posting this quote purely because it makes me laugh, I do not in any way agree with the statement above and I can't actually recommend this book out right. It mentions magic and can be quite silly. I enjoyed it as a light read, but I can guarantee that not everyone will.

The Distortion of Beauty

I've seen this video a couple of times, every time I get this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. These people are debasing God's greatest creation. Stripping it of it's gorgeous uniqueness and degrading to man's low standard of so called "beauty". Ugh.

I'm off!

Vacation. Boston. Cute Old Towns. Forts. Nigra Falls. Canada. Spending time with my family.

That's what I call fun!!

Driving more than 40 hours with family. Hotel rooms. Eating out of an ice chest.

Not so much.

On the other hand... I'll whittle away the hours with two new books and two old favorites (YEAH!) I'll soften the uncomfortableness of a hotel bed with a few hours in the hotel pool, and eating out of an ice chest isn't so bad when the ice chest is stuffed with goodies :-)

So over all, it'll be a nice vacation.

See you next Monday!

Faces Of Camp 2009

These are a sample of the lovely faces of the wonderful people at camp this year.

WARNING: Picture Heavy!

I Have A Double LIfe

By day, most of you know me as a sweet-tempered Librarian.

But sometimes, at night, when the wind is right (aka, when I'm in the mood) my secret life calls me...

and I travel back to the 1940's and my life....

... as a Vogue model.

John 3:16

"For God so loved the world,
that he gave his only begotten Son,
that whosoever believeth in him
shall not perish,
but have everlasting life."

*Squeal*

Here's a trailer/promo for the new BBC adaption of Jane Austen's Emma. One of my favorite actresses is playing Emma so I'm really looking forward to seeing it!

Eleventh-hour faith What comes when all hedge funds run dry | Amy Henry

WORLD Magazine July 18th 2009

Desperation has a way of forging a greased path from my mouth to God's ear. It is a cable connection, lightning quick: God, help us. We have no job. The house will not sell. The mortgage payments keep coming. The money is running out. Hurry. Please.

His response, however, comes via dial-up, with finger-tapping, stomach-churning slowness. We are the Hebrews, perched on the banks of the Red Sea, camped between Migdol and the water, horses' hooves thundering, doom imminent. We cry out, "Why did you bring us out of Egypt?" That land of abundance where at least the children's bellies were full. Where we, despite occasional beatings, had homes and occupations and some semblance of comfort. Why?

Who needs faith when the checking account tops five digits, the children are healthy, and the job is "recession-proof?" When everyone is covered 80/20 by a head-to-toe health insurance policy? When business is good and clients abound, when the furnace is working and the pantry is stocked? When transmissions work and no one is in the hospital and the 401K is fully vested and all the disks in our backs are unherniated and no one is complaining of mysterious stomach pain? Faith is a frosting. A fringe benefit. An overly abused nicety that we talk about while sitting on padded pews in warm church buildings.

So, we wonder if we have been brought here just to die in the wilderness. A windy, hot prairie of suffering, with absolutely no hope on the wheat-filled horizon. What comfort now are those mutual funds, those stocks, that perfect credit rating? They offer no comfort now, no hedge against disaster. They are a quilt, wrapped around us on an icy day that, as it turns out, is mildewed and chock-full of moth holes.

The extra bedrooms, the fat layer of space between our neighbor's property and ours, the tax bracket of our particular street bring nothing now but mockery of the faith we put in status and excess and a garage full of a year's worth of toilet paper. Life really can't be that bad if the chest freezer is chock-full of briskets and shredded cheese and containers of last year's raspberry freezer jam, can it?

Whilst chomping on the fatted calf, however, the illusion persists, that somehow it all will save us. That the flat screen TV and the Restoration Hardware couches and the hardwood floors will, really, truly be enough. God is our Plan B, the cream, the juicy red maraschino cherry on top of an already delightful sundae. Not the coarse brown bread, the vegetable stew of necessity. He is the expected, the taken for granted. The water flowing effortlessly through our pipes. The electricity humming silently behind walls.

In the eleventh hour, the walls of the sea parted, the path of safety appeared for the Israelites. Perched on the edge of financial ruin, will He do the same for us? He who could have kept Pharaoh's heart soft. He who could have kept us employed. He who could have opened the seawaters a week before.

The way out, the provision, comes cloaked. No­pillar of fire meets us at the front door. Manna does not rain from heaven, nor water from rocks. But odd jobs appear. Meat goes on clearance. Costco sends a $400 rebate. We winter without a single doctor's visit. Donuts mysteriously appear on the front step. All things we are thankful for, but a question remains: If these physical provisions did not appear, would God still be our Jehovah Jirah, our Provider? How can I sit at my children's bedsides at twilight, hearing their sweet lisped prayers of absolute rock-solid confidence that God will take care of them without resorting to cynicism?

They, in their childlike faith, know the answer, and it is embarrassingly simple: He Himself is the provision. He will not leave us nor forsake us. Perhaps being removed from numbing abundance will be the very thing necessary for the adults in the family to seek the Giver rather than His gifts. For us to feast on Him, and for that feast, even in our time of deepest hunger, to fill us.

What this looks like I do not know exactly. But I suspect I will spend the rest of my life finding out.

So, we wonder if we have been brought here just to die in the wilderness. A windy, hot prairie of suffering, with absolutely no hope on the wheat-filled horizon. What comfort now are those mutual funds, those stocks, that perfect credit rating? They offer no comfort now, no hedge against disaster. They are a quilt, wrapped around us on an icy day that, as it turns out, is mildewed and chock-full of moth holes.

The extra bedrooms, the fat layer of space between our neighbor's property and ours, the tax bracket of our particular street bring nothing now but mockery of the faith we put in status and excess and a garage full of a year's worth of toilet paper. Life really can't be that bad if the chest freezer is chock-full of briskets and shredded cheese and containers of last year's raspberry freezer jam, can it?

Whilst chomping on the fatted calf, however, the illusion persists, that somehow it all will save us. That the flat screen TV and the Restoration Hardware couches and the hardwood floors will, really, truly be enough. God is our Plan B, the cream, the juicy red maraschino cherry on top of an already delightful sundae. Not the coarse brown bread, the vegetable stew of necessity. He is the expected, the taken for granted. The water flowing effortlessly through our pipes. The electricity humming silently behind walls.

In the eleventh hour, the walls of the sea parted, the path of safety appeared for the Israelites. Perched on the edge of financial ruin, will He do the same for us? He who could have kept Pharaoh's heart soft. He who could have kept us employed. He who could have opened the seawaters a week before.

The way out, the provision, comes cloaked. No­pillar of fire meets us at the front door. Manna does not rain from heaven, nor water from rocks. But odd jobs appear. Meat goes on clearance. Costco sends a $400 rebate. We winter without a single doctor's visit. Donuts mysteriously appear on the front step. All things we are thankful for, but a question remains: If these physical provisions did not appear, would God still be our Jehovah Jirah, our Provider? How can I sit at my children's bedsides at twilight, hearing their sweet lisped prayers of absolute rock-solid confidence that God will take care of them without resorting to cynicism?

They, in their childlike faith, know the answer, and it is embarrassingly simple: He Himself is the provision. He will not leave us nor forsake us. Perhaps being removed from numbing abundance will be the very thing necessary for the adults in the family to seek the Giver rather than His gifts. For us to feast on Him, and for that feast, even in our time of deepest hunger, to fill us.

What this looks like I do not know exactly. But I suspect I will spend the rest of my life finding out.

This is Pitiful and I Know it

40 words

Typingtest

I Don't Tweet, Twirper or Have Tweeps.

But this article about Twitter made me smile.

The Day I Almost Died

Wait, I am alive, right?

*checks pulse*

Okay, I'm good.

Anyway...

I almost died the day I had to face this.

Scary huh?

To borrow from Fanny Squeers's quotableness "My heart does SO Palpitate!" Only mine was more of the hammer-again-a-steel-wall-I-can't-hear-anything-over-the-noise type of palpitate rather that the pitter-patter of a love sick heart. Personally I would have preferred the latter...

It was a bad morning, (bad being the mildest term I could use here) Try attempting to control your emotions so you don't burst into tears in a so-silent-you-could-hear-a-pin-drop room of 30 kids who look madly smart and confident. During this time also try to imagine being aware that you're whiter than a sheet and struggling how to do simple things like spelling "concentration" (it's a c, right???) and figuring out what on earth what 6 divided by 2 is. (3?? 2?? 12???). Then you'll know how I felt, sort of.

Like I said, it's was bad morning. I left the test building accompanied by a tsunami size wave of despair a headache the size on Montana. I was angered by the injustice of it, just because I'm not a very apt tester (I do NOT work well under pressure) I was going to get the most embarrassing score of my life and I'd have to take the test again this fall. I was just thrilled. (The former sentence is just dripping with sarcasm.)

I got my test scores on Saturday.

I stared hard at the envelope that I was sure held my doom, I wasn't even sure I wanted to open it.

But I did, because among all my faults the greatest is a maddening inclination towards curiosity. It killed the cat, and I was sure it would kill me too.

*reads score*

*re-checks pulse*

*pinches self*

*re-reads the name at the top of the results*

*re-re-reads MY name at the top of the results*

*blinks eyes*

*screams*

*jumps up and down*



This proves that there is a God in Heaven.

This proves miracles to happen.

(FYI the ACT is scored 1-36, 21 is the national average.)