Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Jus Sanguinis - A Character and a Story

I'm writing, and have been writing for four years, a book. After edits galore, countless restarts and probably hundreds of scrapped pages, I have come to a final decision on the main story and characters. Now, at one point or another you will all learn exactly what the book is about, but for now, I would like to give you a very small dash of history into one of the races of this world. As well as a character piece for the main character.

A Story:

Sepulchery and those who work in the field are essentially the equivalent of assassins. Seps are the only Kulornes in Terra Exsules that frequently visit the outside world. Being a Sep is not a choice, should a child show the ability to cover his or her own real form, and instead be mistaken as something else, they are taken on immediately: For the skill is a rare one indeed. Seps have given up all magical capabilities beyond their innate abilities to hide their true identity. A Kulorne's horn encompasses and isolates their magikal abilities, without it, A Kulorne has no magikal inclination or ability. In payment for their full camouflage capabilities as a Sepulcher, a Kulorne will give their horn by having it ripped from their head by an Elder. It is believed that the honor of this ritual is of the highest degree, and to live through it is to have the grace of both Erro and Como Siscut shining on your life. This ritual was adapted early on in Kulorne history when the first Sep, Karre, was chosen by Erro; the goddess of dusk, dawn, and death - who was rumored to take the physical form of a most beautiful hornless Kulorne; and she said unto Karre;

“Hide your face, for it shows no beauty in the eyes of other men. Instead, become them, win their trust, and then strike them down like the dogs they are.”

“But how?” Karre pleaded to the goddess. And, derived from his few reports still legible after thousands of years rotting in ruins, it was read that when Erro smiled upon Karre; dusk and dawn glowed from her eyes and carried with it the sweet peace of death that eased Karre's turmoil.

“Give to me your whole self; that which your ancestors gave you and which your race is known by. Give me your horn.” Karre, being young, naïve and influenced by Erro's goddess like beauty, was neither reluctant nor apprehensive; instead he solemnly nodded to Erro and bent on a knee as she pulled the horn from his skull, showing Karre no quarter. For Erro was a devious, traitorous being and longed to be the strongest goddess of all, she gave Karre the power he sought only for that which it was said a Kulorne cannot survive without. And acquiring that magik kept in a Kulorne’s horn would give her exactly what she sought.

Most Kulornes tell the tale differently from person to person from then on; different families saying different things. But most claim that Karre’s cry of pain was so loud and garish that he became a beacon. Informing every god and goddess that Erro now held the ancient magic of three races in her hands. It is told that Karre only survived the fatal injury because, in giving up his horn, Como Siscut; god of luck and good fortune felt respect for the mere Müller, or man, and graced him with survival. From then on, and this point is agreed upon by all Kulorne, Karre spent his days searching for others to follow in his path. To become the ending blow to any who opposed the Kulorne race, and that he worshiped Erro, who he still thanked, despite her actions. Until one day he disappeared, never to be heard from or sought after again.



The Kulorne are a very dark race. Their history is full of sacrifices, small wars and bloodshed. Though internal wars have never happened with the Kulorne; as they have learned better than to waste their precious few resources on fighting one another after years of exaltation from the rest of the world.

A Character:
 

'Terror struck every chord in his mind as the woman's heart was punctured. The bullet tore through her skin and exploded out of her back in a shower of tissue and skin. Blood from the wound dripped quickly down her delicate frame. The love of his life, his only reason for being all those years, had died at the hand of his worst enemy; at the hand of God.'


▬▬▬Xigganin choked back his tears as he closed his favorite novel; "Lucifer's Beginnings" for the third time. The ending was just too much for him to bear, it made him bawl every time he read the ending. No one deserved the fate that Lucifer had been given, in his opinion, not even the devil himself. Though that was the novel's situation, with the setting taking place in the lower levels of hell, which got Xigganin thinking.            “What would hell look like?" He muttered to himself, tapping his foot to an invisible beat no one else heard. Just a tick he did while thinking, but to his advantage it irked Cauder, so he found himself doing it while taking part in the activity often. Normally this ended up in Cauder gallivanting off to his room in order to avoid the noise, and left Xigganin free of his annoying 'friend'. But not this time. Not when a knock echoed from Xigganin's door across the room, an all too familiar voice on the other side of it.

           “Hey Xiggy, what’s up?” It was Cauder, Xigganin’s - self-proclaimed - best friend and mortal annoyance that never seemed to let him be. The knocking continued for another minute or so, Xigganin ignoring it with ease. It was one of those things that became easier to tune out with practice; something he had had a lot of. At least, it was normally easy, just like tapping his foot normally deterred Cauder, but today was a persistent day apparently. “C’mon Xiggy, I’m bored here! Help me out, I know you’re in there!” Xigganin sighed, setting his book on the table as Cauder pounded on the door once again, louder this time.

           “Alright, I’m coming Cauder, just please stop before my door gives out. You’re giving the thing quite the pounding.” Xigganin hauled himself up from his comfortable spot on his windowsill chair, the green drapes hanging over swaying gently as he moved; the light seeping through performed a waltz on his royal blue walls. For a moment it mesmerized Xigganin, until once again the incessant hammering of his oak door began. Xigganin rambled to the door and apprehensively opened it, expecting to be either mauled or dragged to whatever frightening activity Cauder had prepared for them that day. Instead, he found himself looking at a confused expression on Cauder’s face; a nice change from the normal over excitement that filled it. “What?” Xigganin asked, though he didn’t recall himself giving his body the command ‘speak so the belligerent fool can ramble some more’.

           “Where’s your hat? Never seen you without it before.” Cauder’s face returned back to its normal appearance when he must have come to the decision Xigganin had finally decided to go without it; which was not the case. He grabbed at his head, hands overlapping each other, scraping at their sea foam painted nails at the spot where he normally wore his small top hat. His eyes widened and frightened tears welled up in them, making the ice blue reflects almost white in the twinkling streams of light still dancing around Xigganin’s room. Cauder flushed at Xigganin’s reaction, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Xiggy, what’s wrong?” Obviously he had taken the hint, but Cauder finally acquiring common sense didn’t help him right then.

           “I-it’s gone… My hat…” Xigganin choked back tears again, this time for his hat which was his best friend. Who else would he talk to if it had disappeared to never be seen again? Desperately he searched through his room, tearing at places it could have fallen, and digging at crevices that could have tried to eat it. Nowhere he looked did the hat appear, this was one of the days he wished his hat was larger than the size of a woman’s mourning hat. The thought of never seeing his poor hat again made him cry, tears that were held at the brink of emotion fell down his cheeks in a waterfall of sorrow. Cauder ran over to hug him, both men surprised to see Xigganin expressing such emotion.
          

           “Hey, shush. Calm down, we’ll find it.” Cauder whispered, patting Xigganin’s back, he supposed it was scary to see someone generally composed degraded with such gloom and sadness.

           “How do you know? What if I never find it!? Dammit Cauder that hat is my prized possession!” Xigganin grasped Cauder’s hand, looking up to his face, a painful look in his eyes. Cauder gave him an empathetic glance, and then shot his eyes around to make sure no one was around. He leaned down to whisper in Xigganin’s ear.

           “I know someone. Meet me outside the grounds later tonight.” Cauder stood up, rubbing his hand on Xigganin’s hair and giving him a quirky grin and a letter, and then walked out the door, his stride proud and exultant as always. Xigganin grimaced at the touch after Cauder turned about and returned to his windowsill.

           “I don’t know about this…” He heard himself whisper nervously. No one at the mansion ‘knew someone’, they didn’t get out much. If at all.




           Around ten or eleven that night Xigganin shimmied down the grate next to his room on the outside of the house, in hopes no one would catch him going outside at night, or at all. It wasn’t the sort of thing Raiken allowed or that Xigganin did, but the curiosity aroused at the idea of this acquaintance of Cauder’s actually existing had him doing crazy things: Like climbing a grate down the side of a house for instance. The nice thing about the descent was that the dull white of the house glowed silver in the moonlight outside, a clear night.

           “What a perfect night for sneaking around with the shadiest person in this place. This must have been what the term; ‘Curiosity killed the cat’, meant.” He whispered to himself, gripping each edge tight as he continued his decline. Never once did Xigganin catch himself on talking to himself, though normally it was because he was deep in some sort of conversation with his hat, his poor hat. Xigganin’s eyes welled with tears again as he took a light, quiet step onto the cement patio out back of the mansion. The tears fell, silently, and shimmered like a lake in the moonlight, reflecting the many colors of the flowers in the garden Raiken kept a few yards from the patio. Xigganin then read the letter Cauder had given him, advising him to meet him where they could easily leave. “Only one place I know of around here Raiken wouldn’t notice.” He grumbled.

           Farther down the patio was a cobblestone walk, obviously aged from either years of use that lead into the wood trails and out to a desolate dirt road; the meeting place. Xigganin took an anxious step onto the dirt trail off of the cobblestone and set off into the wood. Wind howled in the wood surrounding the mansion, shifting from light breezes to raging screeches of air in seconds. It was no wonder not a soul ever came to the mansion. Xigganin found himself jogging, not his normal way to get around, through the wood, then running, until finally he appeared at the road, sweat beading on his forehead. A tapping came a few moments later; there stood Cauder, keys in hand, car at the ready.

           “Took ya long enough to get here Xiggy! I figured you’d have gotten here an hour ago, I already went and got our ride!”

           “Where did you get a car Cauder?” Xigganin asked, not sure whether or not this was to be expected.

           “Made it drop from the sky.”

           “I’m pretty sure that’s my department.” Xigganin stated sarcastically, for once enjoying a conversation with Cauder. Cauder made a half laugh, half scoff kind of noise and pressed a button on the keys, causing the car lights to blink twice, then opened his door and climbed in. The sheen black of the car and clean cut style of the body interested Xigganin as he climbed into. “What kind of car is this?” He blurted out.

           Cauder grinned.
          
           Xigganin had a bad feeling about it.          
           “It’s called an Audi, Xiggy, got her cheap, been storin’ her at a warehouse down in town.” Cauder put on his seatbelt, put the car in drive, and took off in the opposite direction of the mansion.
           “So this is what you do all night, no wonder you wake up at two every day.” Xigganin too equipped his seatbelt around him, leaning back in the black leather seat. He white knuckled the arm rest, Cauder drove like a mad man.

           “I’m flattered you know my schedule, Xig.” Cauder took a few sharp turns here and there. It had to have been four hours in the car together, idle chit chat, mostly on Cauder’s part, all along the way. Until they pulled up to a bleak, abandoned, field in the middle of nowhere. Green grass grew up to Xigganin’s ankles, teasing and tickling them for entertainment. He hindered his steps as his eyes adjusted to the area in the dark, a man standing by a door appearing rapidly in his vision.




           It all happened so fast after that; Cauder shoving Xigganin up to the man, running off, and driving away in his car. That was the biggest downside to Cauder, his ability to control time in small areas tended to leave Xigganin vulnerable, as he rarely was. But now the door and its doorman stood in front of him, menacing in their own special ways, even when the man bowed to Xigganin, he still felt the chill wrap around his spine and freeze it to the core.

           “Welcome,” Said the man, his waistcoat folding with the bow, his hand holding his top hat to his chest. Xigganin eyed the hat, making sure it wasn’t his; he couldn’t be sure in the dim light. "Welcome, dear guest, to the Infinite Corridor, the world between wake and slumber. I am The Doorman, a humble denizen of this plane." His body then shifted towards the door; plain and yet unnatural, no supports, but nothing someone at the mansion couldn’t pull off. Xigganin shrugged it off, his eyes heavy from the long trip and Cauder’s use of his powers, he ignored the doorman’s words, whatever they were, and went to take a closer look at the door. It called to him, enticing him to open and walk through.

           Something seemed to be dragging him to sleep right there in the field, a dangerous feeling of need overcame Xigganin, and he fought to control himself. He didn’t need - it wasn't a part of his genetics - he didn’t entirely want anything either, except to get some rest. The doorman said a few more words, grasping Xigganin’s shoulder as he approached the door, but he didn’t listen much, he just wanted to get behind the door, and maybe get some rest and find his hat.

           “Look sir, I understand your plight, may I just please enter?” The man’s face reflected something related to surprise, but Xigganin assumed he was playing a role of some sort, probably a prank of Cauder's devices. As the Doorman let him pass, not another word was uttered as Xigganin opened the door that had learned to stand on its own and took his first, unknowing, steps into the Infinite Corridor.

Xigganin is the main character of Jus Sanguinis. He has a bit of an issue with socializing, and talks to a hat. We all should really be quite worried.

Monday, December 17, 2012

Faeries, Friends, and the End of the World

I've always been one to think that anything is possible. I love to believe in some childish crevice in my heart that Fae dance in the parks just on the outside veil of human vision and play, rather terrible, pranks on the unsuspecting. That wizards sit in the back alleys of our lives, casting spells and performing magic. Or that inhuman wonders sit under our oblivious noses. Sure, I know the logical standpoint that they don't really exist, but sometimes as I walk, or sit on the bus I see those things in my mind's eye. Inhumanely beautiful things winking and calling my imagination away from reality for a time. I have always loves those things, and have an especially large admiration for faeries, the ones that trick humans and steal children, not Tinkerbell. (I never said I was a normal child.) When I first attended church, a man who I had never met turned to me as I doodled a woman and asked me, "Do you believe in Faeries?" I never answered him, but at that time, I had just become very enamored in the Fae stories. It took me so by surprise that Fae were mentioned in church that I was speechless. He ended up speaking at my baptism; almost-tears choked his throat and hazed his eyes. He retold the story of turning to this girl he had never seen in the pew behind him during Sacrament. This man detailed the drawing I was in the process of then and quoted his question. It was beautiful, and those words stuck to me like very few things have. He moved not very long ago to Virginia. I do believe in Faeries, in my own way, and I hope that one day I see him again so that I can finally, and properly, answer his question.

Thinking of that I realize that, to some people, I only have four days to tell this man about how his words effected me, and that I have that belief. Because in four days the Mayan calendar ends and the world [as we know it] will supposedly end. My brothers plan on a bon fire where we will sit with weapons to defend ourselves from the crazy people who we just know are going to be prowling that day. It's really quite exciting, two of them will be home from the Coast Guard, and seeing them will be wonderful. Hopefully there won't be too much bickering, I'm sure everyone can agree with me when I say siblings who live together after the fact of living separately tend to argue relentlessly. But should the world end, I hope it happens in a pseudo end. One that only kills a portion of the planet and leaves the rest to survive the "post apocalypse". Does anyone else feel like that would be completely fun? I mean, obviously only if you lived to see it...

It's been a few weeks now, approaching a month, and I'm beginning to feel a bit better. I still don't hold down food, but I force myself to eat daily. But I think the reason for my recent trying so hard is because I have a few great friends who have supported me more than I ever could have asked or hoped for. One in particular has developed and wedged his way into my life sort of unexpectedly. I didn't expect it, but he's the first and last person I hear from every day, and the most accepting person I've ever met. Nothing can phase him about a person, he cares for everyone he meets, no matter who they are. He worries about me incessantly, and sometimes I feel terrible because I don't mean to worry anyone. But in the end I probably would be in a lot worse condition without him around every day. And my other friends, I love them and they too are absolutely perfect as far as friends go. One even makes swords! Well... blades, but still. They are all wonderful, and I thought in this little post they should get a dedication. Thanks Ryan, Robert, and especially you Danny. I love you guys.

Next post will be a piece of the book I'm writing. Not sure if it will be a historical piece, character piece, or excerpt from the book itself, we'll see.

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Dissapointing

I like to scour other blogs dedicated to waiting and I don't know why. Probably to make myself want to kill someone. Most of the time the blogs I find by googling haven't been updated for months, and tended to taper out with the girl deciding to date and finding a nice guy. That's really great for them, but not so much for their missionary. I have heard directly from an RM I know that every time he saw missionary get a "Dear John", they responded to the girl happily, congratulating her, and hoping for the best. But he says the moment the letter was written and sent off, the missionary was distracted for weeks, often months for missionaries who had a year or longer before their mission. Much more so than when he was under the impression he was returning to her. This happened to missionaries who had come to an agreement to write as best friends and not a couple, missionaries who were written to lovingly, but attempted to be not-so-loving, and missionaries who were just into it.

It doesn't matter what label you and your missionary put on your manner of writing, you aren't going to get rid of those feelings of attachment that way. They will still be there, and trust me when I tell you all: The human body is incapable of ending a long relationship in less than a few months with someone without a face to face split. Your best bet is to try and stay true to the agreement you made when he left. To wait and be faithful. Instead of dating, try making a step in your career. Or go to college. You made a promise to this boy to wait, the least we can all do is busy ourselves without romantic relationships. It's really not terribly fair to anyone.

That's all for today people, the other missionary girlfriends distracted me and I lost my train of thought. I love you all, even the people I spoke about today. Each and every one of you.

Friday, November 30, 2012

Let's Turn it Around for a Minute

Yesterday I got to have the rare experience as a missionary girlfriend to hear how my missionary took his Setting Apart. And The moment I heard the story, I felt an immediate sense of guilt. Now I'm sure this is perking a few ears from people who are either "waiter haters" or missionary girlfriends themselves. But the thing is, and I'll be honest here, I never heard my missionary tell me he wanted to go on a mission. Needed, yes. Felt the pressure, yes. But wanted? Never. In fact I had heard "I'm not ready," and "I don't want to go." more than once the day before he left. And when I heard from two separate people who were at his setting apart that he "didn't seem at all excited." I started feeling bothered. But when It was explained to me he almost purposely tried to miss his flight, outwardly told his friend he didn't want to leave, and all around just moped the entire night, I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt.

Because I sat there and only thought of one side. I ignored every sign of him not wanting to go and only supported the church pressure on him to leave on a mission. I even told him I wouldn't stay with him if he didn't serve a mission. Why? Because I sat there and thought he needed to go. But now I'm seeing the reality; that he didn't all out want to go. His heart wasn't in it. I sent this man off with a lot of extra pressure from me to be apart from not only his friends and I, but from his family for two entire years. And now that I have been thinking, that was wrong of me. Because, even though he said he 'needed' to go, I shouldn't have ever supported something that he didn't want to do. Something that will hurt him before it helps him. I followed a path that was wrong, and I'm understanding that, now, maybe, my wait will be one of deep thought and prayer on how to support him. Including sending him a letter I did today outlining the fact that I was here whether he stayed or came home, because I felt such a prompting to reassure him, it was almost frightening.

I think we need to remember that our some of these men don't want to be on missions, and we should support them in what they want. Because there are certain things that require love and compassion, and breaking a mold such as a mission is definitely one of them. If we don't support them, tell them that the Lord still loves them, then the life long pressure is sure to destroy them.

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Let The Games Begin

So Derek is officially at the MTC. Good thing for me letters there from Dearelder.com to the Provo MTC are free, because I talk a lot, especially to him, and I plan on sending him a letter containing scriptures I picked out that I think are inspirational every day, along with an update from over here. Weather and that sort of thing. Funny enough, the weather here is so unpredictable that it actually warrants a conversation piece.

Anyway, right out of the gate I'm having some serious issues. I woke up last night screaming bloody murder because I was having a massive panic attack. Apparently, Derek was the only thing holding back this massive relapse. And the rest of the day I was shaking really badly because, as my doctor told me, my blood sugar is dangerously low, my heart rate (I have a heart condition) was and still is 95-103 bpm consistently and if I don't eat every few hours my body is liable to eat itself. I had told her I hadn't been feeling hungry and she told me it was some sort of issue where my brain isn't telling my body it needs food. All of this the day he leaves. And, really, I hope this medication helps because I'm not even worried about it, I'm more worried about not freaking talking to him all the time.

And for that along with my panic disorder my doctor is sending me to a psychiatrist. She plans on having me attend until Derek is finished with his mission because she doesn't know how the medication will effect my moods, including if it will make it more difficult for me to be without someone she insists was the only thing stopping the attacks. Truth be told guys, I think I'm scared. But I just can't seem to feel anything about it besides grief he's gone and irritation I have to eat so dang much. I'm going to try and update twice a week the entire time, and I will let you all know what my psychiatrist tells me.

Also! I have a new page! It's called "Getting in Contact with Me". I'm not sure if you guys can comment on this blog, so if you ever have anything to say, or if you have missionaries out there too and want someone to talk to, you can always get a hold of me from the two places linked there.

Until next time, have a great day!

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

This Is It

Today is the last day I will physically see or touch him for two years. It is surreal, like, he's actually doing this. Derek is leaving to serve the lord in Guam for two entire years. And because I think the Lord has decided I need more trials in this time, I have recently been thinking of my mother, and growing increasingly sad that I won't have her, or any family support save my grandmother and my sister for that matter, during this extremely difficult time in my life.

My mother isn't dead, but she has some major issues with herself and substances that has inhibited her way of life for a long time now. Since I was about eleven, she has been near constantly absent in my life. Until now, I have never felt such an empty, longing space in my heart for my mother's love and support. I never fathomed that I would commit to something so massive and completely unsure. It's just not who I am. I am obsessed with stability in all things in my life, because really of the things I went through as a child and teen. Now, I am alone in that aspect. I have no mother to call and cry to when I am missing my missionary. No one who will tell me daily that everything will be okay because she knows him and I. And that, in so many ways, is why I am scared of waiting for him.

But I will, mother or not, I will.

That's all for today ladies, sorry about the short post. You may get a second after he leaves.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Just a dash of pepper... And support.

So a few things today --

1:

 Derek leaves on Wednesday. The absolute most awesome thing about it? His mom outed to his family and I his estimated return date! Dec. 3 2014! Less than a week after his two year. Waiting is going to be so much easier having a deadline from the start.

2: [this is for all you girls out there debating about telling your mish you miss him]

I think it is important to stress in every letter that you are proud of his serving of the Lord. I've never read or seen anything that DOESN'T state that fact. But everything I have read also stresses not ever mentioning your state of being, like missing him, which seems like absolute bullpoopie to me.

Girls we are doing something that our Father in heaven has willed us to do. It is extremely difficult for us to be away from them because they are our prospective eternal companion. Much more so than their difficulty, because really they don't have the TIME to miss us. Lord willing.

So if you want to write "P.S. I miss you, your hugs, and your voice. And I love you more everyday." DO IT. It is just bad for you to think you are not allowed to write that. You feel pain just as anyone else. Despite what the pain will result in. As a missionary he is serving God. As a missionary he should be able to handle the fact that the woman waiting for him is missing him without veering off track.

Just... Don't expect him to always reciprocate your lovey dovey notes at the end of letters. Expect to hear spiritual stories and - if your missionary is anything like mine - crazy tales of the things him and his companion do on P-Days. Don't expect him to be the constant support you so desperately need. The Lord should come first to him. Then his family. Then you. Then friends.

You are a daughter of God, and he loves you, and he gives you a choice in all things. And he understands your need to love your missionary in all times, and in all he does, or else you wouldn't have found him. Just remember that free choice means you have to persevere to reap what you and your missionary have sewn.

Friday, November 9, 2012

Our Story

Be my knight in battered armor.
Be my one and true disguise. 
Hide me from both pain and beauty. 
Guard me from unholy demise. 

For in you I hold faith.
I hold hope, and I hold love. 

I hold the word of you in heart. 
My one, my true, my God.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ever have one of those days where you just really, really have no idea exactly how you write, or draw what you do? That's what that was. I looked at a picture of my friend in a suit of old, rustic knight's armor and that piece just spilled into my head and then onto this digital paper. I haven't written a poem for a while; long enough that I actually forgot the rhythm to iambic pentameter. (Not okay for me, I like thinking I know the basics of most poetry.) Then with that little glance my muse gland was like: bam! Have a topic to write about.

But seriously, awesome spiritually induced poetry aside, I'm having a really hard time dealing with the idea of Derek leaving soon. I've spent most nights praying and reading my scriptures until I finally feel more calm and manage to fall asleep. Because of this insomnia, I have been pondering a few things. One of them being the ability to overlook people you've met face-to-face. And because of this pondering, you all (assuming anyone is actually are out there) get to hear Derek and I's story:
Derek and I "met" about a year and a half ago through my ex boyfriend. My ex frequently hung out with a very small, select, group of people. None of whom I knew beforehand. One of them was Derek. More often than not, I would show up to my ex's house and would find out that we were going to be hanging out with all of these people here or there. After a month I noticed that we were consistently missing a person on Sundays: Derek. It took them all of "Well it's 'cause he's Mormon and-" for me to understand what was happening. After all, I was catholic, respectively, at the time and understood the sabbath day and the importance of keeping it holy.

That doesn't necessarily mean I did.

In fact, I had fallen so far away from Catholicism, that I viewed it more as an education form of study, rather than spiritual. I mean, I could tell you anything about the happenings of the catholic church, and a good lot of the history too, but I couldn't tell you of any revelations or guidance he had given me over the years. I had been having a really hard few years, and hearing of Derek's faith made me feel almost lacking in a part of myself. As if I was just walking around waiting for a blessing, without actually putting forth any effort to receive one. Really, it was just selfish.

Not too long later, Derek and I actually pulled off getting each other's cell phone numbers, and texted one another everyday. Nothing gushy or romantic; there was no sense of immediately falling in some sort of crazy, stupid love. Just that fresh feeling of getting to know a new friend personally, instead of socially. I remember the first day I was the one to invite him to hang out, he had been moving huge stones to make a pathway at his house with his dad the day before and insisted on taking a hot shower before coming to meet my ex (who I was still with at the time) and I. By the time he had left his house my ex had decided he didn't want to hang out and left suddenly. About 5 minutes later, Derek pulled in my driveway and, against my normal relationship standards of not being alone with another man, we hung out. I felt bad, he had drove 11 miles to meet us, and I didn't want to send him back because my ex was being hormonal.

This ended up causing a rift in my relationship. One that obliterated my ex's trust in me and ultimately began the waning of my feelings for him. And the escalation of the one's I began gaining for Derek. A month passed of hanging out with Derek, alone, because we kept having others cancel on us. And being two people who are not ones to miss solid plans we followed through. This chain of events had led to numerous arguments with my ex, and resolutely was the main reason I ended our relationship. That, and he was leaving for the military, I didn't want to be with a man who would be gone all the time. A few weeks later Derek and I attended a Halloween party together in our sort of mock-dating way. Next thing I know I get a picture message that reads: "I ended liking you more than I meant to." It was the most amazing picture I have ever seen. And I think somewhere between then and Christmas I was hooked.

And I have been ever since.

The reason I brought that story up is because of the first line. The one where I put met in quotations. Because Derek and I actually met in my sophomore year of high school, when I was 15. (I'll be twenty soon)We hung around the same people, sat at the same lunch table, and even played video games together, with a group of people, in the same room on a fairly regular basis. We even attended the same Junior High School. Derek and I actually spoke to each other too. But we never remembered each other. Not one of those times. So we say we "met" almost two years ago, but in reality it was almost five. And we agree with full confidence that we finally met for real after we had gone through the trials that the Lord had prepared for us. So that we were ready for one another. 

And I think there are many people with stories like that. Whether it be a friend or a lover, I wholly believe that the Lord chooses these very special people to undergo this amazing fruition so that they may have a sort of absolute understanding of the meaning behind their relationship. That they are not just a passerby in that person's life, but someone so absolutely special and linked to that person, that they first had to prepare.

Saturday, November 3, 2012

An Explanation of Sorts

A widow's walk; also known as a "widow's watch" is a railed rooftop platform - often with a small enclosed cupola frequently found on 19th-century North American coastal houses. A popular romantic myth holds that the platform was used to observe vessels at sea. The name is said to come from the wives of mariners, who would watch for their spouses' return.



Now, because I'm a morbid person, I found a Widow's Walk to be a proper item of comparison to use in this blog: A blog documenting my wait for my missionary. All of my goals, successes, failures and everything else should be here.

Elder Derek Peterson is my missionary. A great man who really has been through a lot in his life and deserves as much as anyone to go on a mission. He leaves November 28th to Guam and is scheduled to have a regulatory 2 year mission, and I couldn't be more proud. Or sad. It's never an easy thing to say goodbye to someone you love, ask any spouse of a soldier. But, like the spouse of a soldier - minus the being a spouse part - I know he is worth the wait: Every single second. He will be out serving God and benefiting all those who could not hear his word in any other way. Not to mention, I need the time to prepare for being with him for the rest of forever. (deep breaths now...)

Elder Peterson the day he got his mission call.
It's basically impossible to get a good picture of him.


 
 As far as I'm concerned, waiting two years is nothing. And not dating? Piece of cake. I'm not much of a people person anyway. (This blog is more for me to vent than anything) I'm just hoping my Widow's Walk days aren't quite as... Fruitless, as the women's whose experiences coined the terms. I have a month before he leaves, and I hope you all are praying for us, and for Elder Peterson's success in his mission.
 
 
I'll make my best attempt to write again before he leaves.