Tender mercies

So, these kinds of things don't happen to me very often. But this is a story I just have to share.

As you all know, I'm working on my application to go on a mission. My Bishop informed me that all of my financial debt must be taken care of before I can go on a mission. When he told me, I remembered my debt to the school. Because I've been going to college for four semesters without a break, I've taken to charging my textbooks to my student account. Let me tell you, those things add up FAST and HIGH. Slowly, but surely, I've been picking away at that debt. But slowly is the operative word here. Every time I get a check, I think "How much am I going to eat until the next paycheck?", trying to put as much towards my debt as possible.

I never stopped preparing for a mission, however. I just pushed forward, paid my tithing, and hoped that I would somehow make enough to pay it all by December-- yes December. You can't have debt to the school and receive your diploma.

The Financial Aide office has been emailing me for a week. I avoided the emails, certain the "meeting" they wanted to arrange would turn into some "pay your debts to the school!" Auschwitz experience. Finally, I realized I couldn't avoid it any longer. I set up an appointment with a Brother Deming, and prepared myself for the worst.

I showed up early, wanting to make a good impression. I was called into his office and we chatted for about fifteen minutes. The thought "just tell me to pay up so I can go home" ran through my head several times. After practically telling this man my whole life story, he gets to the point.

"I called you in here to tell you that you've been offered a scholarship," he told me.

It started with laughter of disbelief, a few questions of "really? really?" And then I cried. I sobbed. I just couldn't believe this!! I've never applied for a scholarship, and now I'm being OFFERED one? Brother Deming handed me a box of tissues and smiled at me, declaring "this must be a relief."

I said, "yes, because..." and started crying again. It was pretty comical I assume, but all I felt was an immense relief I'd never experienced before in my life.

Brother Deming explained that the scholarship was for half tuiton, which is $800. He asked if I'd already paid all my tuition. I said that no I hadn't, but I only had $500 left, so could I put the extra towards my debt to the bookstore. He said I could use it for whatever, but asked, "How much debt do you have to the school?" I told him the amount, and then the most amazing thing happened. "I'll adjust it so that it covers everything."

What???? Is he SERIOUS?

Apparently. Because now my financial aide statement tells me that I have a $1600 scholarship (which is more than Bro Deming had said) available as soon as I turn in my thank-you letter.

I cried some more and asked, "how? How did I get selected for this."

He smiled and explained that once the funds are in from donors, the school decides who the money goes to."It pretty much comes down to following the spirit." My crying started all over again. "Kacey, I guess this goes to show that the Lord is very aware of you. He knows you are trying to follow His plan and He's trying to help you out."

As soon as Bro Deming said that, I knew that's EXACTLY what this meant. Because NO ONE knows how badly I needed that money. I never told my bishop, and hardly let some roommates know. Tori was a bit aware, but even then I tried to keep it under wraps. No one knew but my parents and the Lord, and there's no way my parents did this. It must be Heavenly Father.

Because of this, I'll be able to go on a mission in January, graduate in December, and survive this semester. And there's no way for me to even begin to express my sincere gratitude and awe at this whole situation.

So there. My miracle.

Allyn

It never really got dark out here when the moon was full. The bright beams floated down and shot off the glassy surface of the pond, illuminating the grounds of the manor. Allyn preferred this type of light. The sun was often too bright for her eyes and skin, blinding her and burning patterns of freckles all over her arms and face. Even though she lived in the heart of California, her skin beneath the many freckles dotted about was a milky white. Norwegians had nothing on the alabastor shade of her legs. She hated the color. It made her sick, reminding her constantly of how he used to love it.

Allyn planted her hands on the damp grass and pushed herself up from a slouch, long blades pushed between her relaxed fingers and made tiny cuts on her skin. She didn't even notice the mildly irritating stings; they were nothing compared to her babies' venom. Even that didn't bother her: she possessed an immunity to them.

Speaking of her babies, she felt the familiar touch of the six legs crawling on her. The honey-girls were safe fliers and never took off in the dark. Instead, they crawled around the hive. Once in a while a young, inexperienced honey-girl wouldn''t make it back to the hive in time. Maybe she'd found a patch of flowers far away and got distracted. Or perhaps she didn't catch the whole dance her sister preformed for her and got lost. Whatever the reason, she was now crawling on the back of Allyn's hand. As soon as she felt the honey-girl's tired abdomen dragging on her flesh, she lifted her hand to eye level.

"Where do you belong, girlie?" she asked with a tenderness that hardly anyone ever whitnessed. She tilted her hand so that the moon's glittery reflection could shine on the girl just right. Three colored dots appeared as if by magic and Allyn knew exactly where she bel0nged.

"You're a long way off, babe." The softly spoken words mirrored the woman's feeling for the insect. Carefully, without using the hand where the barbed visitor perched, she rose to her feet and walked slowly towards the remote white box. It was one of the newer hive boxes, sitting on the edge of the orange grove that took up 12 acres of the property. It was a quiet and calm walk, taking 10 whole minutes to make the 40 yard treck. As soon as she reached the white hive, she lowered her hand onto its warm surface. The honey-girl crawled quickly off her hand and into her home. Allyn smiled, thinking of the one bee she knew lived on.

AND WE'RE OFF!!

DID IT DID IT DID IT!!!

Started MY PAPERS!!!

Hall

I've not written in third person in a very very very long time. This is my first attempt in a long while, so tell me if there are parts that get awkward.
This is, as of right now, the introductory chapter of my newest story.

Enjoy! (hopefully)

Hall stared at the pile of unopened envelopes. For weeks he'd avoided opening them, shoving each one in a different crevice. The large comfy-chair, sitting solitary in the middle of his two room apartment, hid at least 5 under the cushion. He didn't have to read them to know what they said; his electricity got shut off a week earlier, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten anything besides Ramen. His cell phone would stop working any day now, but Hall would deal with that when it happened.

His steps echoed depressingly in the apartment, emphasizing the emptiness of his home. Hall's father tried to call every day, but that annoyance was easily resolved with the "reject call" button. Gosh, he loved that button. Maybe he'll make a six foot sculpture of it. Probably not, though. He couldn't afford the clay for a six foot sculpture. heck, for any sculpture.

This is what it feels like to be a starving artist, he thought to himself. Really and truly. Hall knew he was supposed to feel something akin to self-actualization, but the only thing he noticed was the ever constant gnawing in his stomach. Was it his actual hunger or not knowing how he was going to survive that bothered him more?

Hall walked over to the chair and plopped into the seat. Creaks and moans escaped from under its dusty springs as his body settled in.

"For criminy sakes," he muttered at the poor thing. Hall started in on his familiar routine of wallowing in self-pity. It was a nightly ritual, developing only in the past few weeks. The rationale behind it said something about "brooding is good for the art," but we all know that that's just as bad as "the dog ate my homework."

A steady vibrating under his seat interrupted Hall's thoughts. It was the phone. Reaching down into the chair, he pulled it into view. The number blinked steadily on the front screen as Hall stared, trying to figured out who could possibly be on the other side. the area code meant nothing to him, unfamiliar in all aspects. Finally, the suspense grew too high and he flipped open the phone.

"Holland Pierce speaking." He used his professional voice in case the caller was a potential patron.

"Is this the sculpture, Holland Pierce?" a scratchy female voice, probably belonging to an elderly woman, asked.

Hall hesitated.

"Yes..." he replied. "May I ask who's calling?"

"This is Virginia Black, and I have a proposition for you."

As Hall listened to Virginia, his shoulders relaxed from their constant stressful hunch. He couldn't hide a smile as the conversation progressed.

It may not be tomorrow, he mused, but the sun is definitely coming out.

quelq'une qui m'a dit

So Heavenly Father really REALLY wants me to appreciate going on a mission. Here's how my mission paper process has been going:

It really started the first Sunday of school. I cornered my bishop that first day at church. His response was "Talk to me next Tuesday and we'll set up an appointment."
Okay. Cool.

Next Tuesday, I corner him again and he says, "Why don't we meet a week from today?"
Okay. Cool.

I show up a week from then. Everyone and their Aunt Suzy showed up, so I had to wait in another line. Finally, I get in and have a chat with my Obispo. We talk, and he says, "I'd really like to call your previous Bishop and make sure you are as worthy as you say you are."
Okay. I get that. I know people in Fresno who move from ward to ward to try and escape their unworthiness. And I knew my old bishop would have nothing bad to say.
"When will we meet next, Bishop?"
"October 11."
Nearly 3 weeks.
Okay. Cool.

Yesterday, we meet, I get interviewed, and my bishop gives me the green light, but says, before I start celebrating, that he has to get Stake President approval before he can open my papers. That surprised me. "Why?" I asked. He explained that President McGary is a little gun shy when it comes to sending missionaries out, so he requires that all the bishops in the stake get his approval before starting papers. "You'll probably be fine," he says. "But I'm not going to lie-- President McGary surprises me sometimes; especially when it comes to mission papers."

So, Bishop Hancock has given me the green light, and IF he gets approval, I'll have my papers opened by Sunday.

FINALLY!!

So yes, I'll truly appreciate going on a mission.

Hehehe.

So i can't stop myself, but on my way up to class i end up walking in front of the same two people every day. I feel i shall get to know them better than they know me. Sorry, but that's so funny to me!