Monday

I have never in my life seen so much stupidness! My thoughts after watching the news channel for about 20 seconds. I hate the way that the anchormen present stories and try to get people all riled up into thinking that something awful could happen at any moment. The gun crisis of late especially, the media has been trying to breed fear with it— if I want to be scared, I read Poe. What's on the news is not only boring but depressing.

Most of what is reported on is utterly stupid. It is a lot of people scurrying around trying to gather info as quickly as possible, with out a care for the whether or not the information is valid and then just spewing it everywhere! I doesn't make much sense to me.

Other aspects of autumn break are going well, I have been working on a new language. It is based on Greek and if I ever finish my book, it will be featured there. But at present, I need more information to continue. I need to know interrogative and exclamatory sentence structure, and other things of that nature.

I feel that I may have gotten to know my brother Joshua a bit better to day. He is very interested in the symbolism in LOTR, we watched the movie already 6 times and he al ways has different questions. To night we discussed the fall of Saruman. I am very impressed at his reasoning abilities, and his curiosity. In my search for answers for Josh, I am learning quite a bit about some of Tolkien's work that I hadn't even noticed before. Anyway I think that's enough said for tonight. Ta!

*sigh* sisters...

Today at about 6:00, I heard a slight tapping, ever so slight a rapping on my bedroom door. I was working on one of my end-of-term exams (I'll bet you can't guess which one). I was annoyed because I'd been distracted all-day long and I just wanted to be done with it. "Enter." I commanded the knocker in the stereotypical bored teenager voice.

I had been prepared to either rip the head off of the knocker, or pretend to act so distant as to make who ever it was wonder if I was even on the same planet and then eventually leave me to my exams . Lazily turned my head as the door was opening and saw to my chagrin that it was my youngest sister, Rebecca. She stood in front of me, about the size of a Hobbit. She looked up at me with her huge hazel eyes, a hesitant smile exposing her front teeth, which her face has yet to grow into. "Chris," she said. "Do you have a leash?"

I just couldn't be that heartless. She was dripping with cuteness (at least I think it was cuteness, it could have been brownie mix) and just couldn't help myself. I looked down next to my feet, directly at the leash. "Oh," she giggled, "I didn't see that..." She trailed off.

I had walked over to my desk and sat bent over my books. Although I knew that her request for the leash was in fact, an invitation to walk with her; I had planed to get back to my work and I had. But it was not 2 minutes later that I heard her ask my dad if I could stop working to walk with her.

My dad agreed, he said "that makes sense, after all; you need a big person to go walking and Chris is the biggest person in our family." I was shocked that he used such non sequitur logic, that just wasn't like him.

So Becca and I went walking. I had decided to use the time to think through a scene that trying to write in my book, and Becca spent most of the walk trying to get Bole to stay on her left side which if you have read my earlier entries you would know is rather difficult.

I was very caught up in my thoughts, trying to decide weather one of the characters in my novel should beg the son of his recently deceased employer for the remaining amount he needed to pay off the debt of one of his friends or not, when Becca asked me; "Do people litter?"

I looked down and said "some people, yes."—

"Why do people litter?" She asked, but it was the way she asked that really got me thinking. She was genuinely concerned about the idea that a person would litter.

"Well," I thought for a moment, "I think tha they litter because they're too selfish to put the trash into a rubbish bin." I said this in the least condemning voice I have. But when I looked at her again her little brow was knit in though.

"Hmm," she grunted, "Or maybe, it's because they don't have a rubbish bin."

I never replied to her remark, it was too cute and too innocent. I can only sit here typing and wonder, what am innocent world she must live in. She always seems to be able to look for a solution to any problem that doesn't put someone in the wrong. I just wish her world stay so pure, but the fact of the matter is that sooner or later, she will see how wrong the world really is and I wish that she wouldn't have to. But what kind of vain hope is that?

For now I will enjoy her ideas and try not to discourage her too much. As Yoda once said, "How wonderful the mind of a child is.…"

How good is good enough?

I just don't understand. What have I done to deserve this? She keeps giving the same old "I'm too busy right now," answer that she always gives me.

Have I taken a great deal of your time? Did I cause you a loss? I work independently, when you asked me for help, I did. When you called me to do chores, I admit that I argued, but I did them. I took joy in cutting the grass, I fed and watered and walked both dogs, I vacuum the house every other day, how many hours of work did that give you? How long did you toil to do the things that I do?

In the times that I asked you to teach me an art, you say that you are too busy? Is it because I don't work where I can be seen? Do you suppose that I am lazy? If I had three weeks, I might finish my works and move on to another endeavor. Is it because I find fault in the foolishness that abounds in my peers? Do you suppose I am a hypocrite? Their stupidity drives me mad at meals alone, why should I not be adversely inclined at it? Perhaps it is my sister. Perhaps the fact that I dislike her mockery of me has angered you.

Perhaps I've been too impatient. Perhaps I have been moved to anger to easily. And I have not apologized, although I had every intention to. Perhaps I have not loved you enough. Perhaps I was too arrogant. Perhaps I have not suffered you enough out ward remorse.

Whatever the case may be, I will not cause you further trouble. I will not speak. I will not hear. I will not feel. I will not see. I will remain a shell, empty and devoid of want or need, and I hope this will appease you.

Thoughts on friends

I looked at my email just a few minutes ago and saw that my friend Thomas from Texas wrote a reply to me. He had gotten sick between the last time he wrote and now and his dad was still having trouble at work. He was very grateful that I was praying for him and I told him that I would continue to, but I just feel stuck.

Along time ago I resolved that I would try to be there for my friends when they need help or were feeling down. I just don’t know if there is anything more that I can do beside that. I haven’t found myself here often as most of my friends are “happy go lucky” Americans, or if they’re  feeling down I send them a little note or something—the point is, I think it’s safe to say that to the best of my abilities, I'm there for my friends. But what makes this particular friend so important to me is that he is also an M.K.

His family had been working in Mexico for a really long time, like most of his life. Coming back to the U.S, was a big culture shock to me, and I had only been out for three years—imagine what it would be like for someone who grew up outside the U.S, for the most part. The only people who understand what you’re going through are other missionaries and M.K.s.

Now I don’t mean to make mission work seem traumatizing, although it does take a certain type of persistence to do it; it is fun to be a missionary kid. I would never for the whole universe have chosen a different life. I had come back to the U.S, not changed, but strengthened. I brought back amazing and funny stories; the kind that most people dream about having. I am almost certain that if you asked any M.K, they would tell you the same, that every year of their life outside the U.S, (even with its comforts and conveniences) is worth ten years in the U.S.

So any way I’ll have to think on this, probably try to find a way to reach out to him more personally, or something.

I feel stupid.

I can't believe myself. The dog came back. I looked at him, sjambok in hand and I just couldn't bring my self to do it.

I had the purest intention of beating him to a pulp, but he was so submissive and so subdued that it would have hurt me more than him. But now I understand how it works-- he escapes, I mean to punish him, and then he figures that he can cutesy himself out of trouble. And why not? Hasn't it worked in the past?

This is my weakness. But not anymore. I intend to put him in chains till the end of his days. But between 13 & 16 years is a long time. My parents will be forced to deal with him once I leave for collage? Will they want to deal with the problem that I could only treat the symptoms of? I think not. My parents have the same feelings as I do in this matter. What do I do?

Detour.

I have tried very hard to convince myself that Bole’s “amazing escape acts” were done out of ignorance and not out of defiance. However I have found myself with infallible proof against my dearest hopes.

 A few days ago I learned that I had not been kept as “in the loop” as I had previously thought. I learned that not only had Bole escaped during our last furlough, but that he had actually killed over twenty chickens. He had been caught escaping the yard in Kang numerous times and what’s more, when he was caught he and they called him out on it, he didn’t even look back to see who was calling him.

How could they?!? My parents had actually conspired to keep me in the dark! There are no words for this. What did they hope to spare me? Did they actually think that I wouldn’t find out?! Or was it that they thought that he would “shape up” after we moved. This is betrayal! This meant that when I’d asked all those times if Uncle John had said anything about him, that they had lied to me. It means that they sat down and talked about it and decided willfully to hide the truth from me, and to deceive me!

I will not have it. Any of it! That dog will either learn to live by the rules, or he will not live as my pet. I cannot have an insubordinate guard dog! “A house divided against itself cannot stand.” He can learn, or choose not to. But this I know; if he does not learn I will punish him most cruelly.

Even today I second guessed the notion that he was indeed evil. How cute he looks. He sits there where we chained him to keep him bound, his pleading eyes asking, “wont you let me off so that I can play with you?” all day he pleaded like this. Every time I left the yard his piteous yips and howls came not far after. And every time I returned he cried and wagged his tail so hard that his entire body shook. I can’t believe that I was actually suckered into it! I let him off. He had broken my resolve. He ran and played with Buster.  But the very moment that I turned my back! IN BROAD DAY LIGHT! HE LEFT!

I can no longer deny it even to myself—my dog is evil, a conniving, and designing, insubordinate, unreliable, untrustworthy, lusting, greedy, unfaithful cur! And I will personally see to it that he knows the definition of “a swift beating” upon his return.