Awake

Last night, after a long day of being sick and then Dad's wreck, I was thinking about quite a few things. As usual, I was thinking about music, and my thoughts brought me back to my last choir concert in Ogallala. (My thoughts tend to bring me to a lot of places, events, people, and things. Sometimes I think my mind has a mind of it's own.) Our Mass Choir song still brings tears to my eyes.

Awake! Awake my soul and sing the time for praise has come. The silence of the night has passed a new day has begun. Let music never die in me, forever let my spirit sing.

That night there was so much emotion, it was the last concert with the seniors, it was the last concert with the Baldman, but it was also my last concert with all of the wonderful people who encouraged me and comforted me. It was taking every ounce of strength in my body not to cry while I was singing. During the last song, The Lord Bless You and Keep You, I completely lost it. Holding hands with two of my best friends helped ease my sadness, but there was nothing I could do to keep those tears in. I was even told, "It's going to be okay. We'll all be just fine. I'm not going to cry." as said person let a couple of tears break free. Emotions were flowing like crazy that night. After that, I would ask myself, what did I do to deserve such amazing people in my life? We are all truely blessed. God has put one or more person in each of our lives to be there for us, to encourage us, and most importantly, to whip us into shape everyonce and awhile. (No, that is not concerning my present state of not doing anything physical at all. Although, I really should be doing at least something.) Thank those people often; don't take anything for granted.

Family Gathering

Today we had a "family gathering". It was to celebrate my cousin graduating from this job college thing and to celebrate my great-aunt's birthday. By the way, this is my Daddy's side of the family. I love my family dearly, but there are some qualities about them that make me want to pull my hair out...

1. They always get my sister and I mixed up. Today I walked into my grandma's house and everyone said. "Hey Izzy, you're getting so tall!" I simply responded with, "Just wait until you see the real Izzy!" Then Izzy walked in and they all expressed how much we look alike. Her wearing my clothes didn't help our cause either. Sooner or later, I'm going to be getting her "hand-me-downs".
2. They always ask me if I have a boyfriend! It drives me crazy! I am a sophomore! Why do they assume I'm on a man-hunt? As we were eating, my uncle asked me if there were any cute boys in Syracuse. I responded with, "Only Rudy!" They all thought that was funny.
3. Despite being fairly aware of my asthma and reactive airway issues, they seem to think it is okay to just smoke whenever and wherever they want, which really makes me mad. This didn't even cross my mind at home, so naturally, I didn't bring my inhaler along. Fortunetly, they were kind enough to go outside to smoke, but when they came back in, I still had coughing fits because of the smoke that remained on their clothes.
4. There is so much food! I end up eating so much that I almost feel sick! How can I turn away Aunt Shyrlls's chocolate bars, or Grandma's Cinnomon Rolls, or Aunt Laurie's Chili, or Aunt Ruth's Jello-Salad. Holy food! I really should be working out or something now that softball is over... sigh.
5. They all make fun of me for having to call the fire department when I was babysitting Drake adn Brea! Would they rather have had the house catch fire??? Holy annoying, it drives me crazy!

Well, as much as they drive me crazy I love them all! Some of the fondest memories are made during the times that they drive me crazy the most! It's just  strange because when we go to these gatherings, my parents, my siblings, and I are the ones that look the most normal, which is odd because, well, we are odd!

Journal

Last year during our English 9 class, our wonderful teacher gave us the opportunity to write in our journals everyday. She always gave us a prompt, but we were allowed to write what we wanted to. She was the only other person that was able to read the journal, which gave us a sense of privacy as well as a sense of security. I absolutely loved journaling. I told myself that I would keep a journal over the summer, but failed to do so. We journal everyday in World Cultures, but that is different, we are forced to write about an article in the newspaper. Do you know how difficult it is to put a creative spin on a paraphrased article about the presidential debate, tax raises, or the recent Lincoln scam/scandal? VERY DIFFICULT! My teacher even told me that my journals were too opinionated. THAT IS THE PURPOSE OF A JOURNAL! (end rant... anyway, back on planet earth)

Recently I reread my English journal; I laughed and cried along as the journal told the story of my freshman year all over again. I cried over the entries that described recent arguments/tensions between me and my friends; as much as I wanted to punch them in the face sometimes, I would gladly take their annoying/insulting comments and actions over being separated from them. I cried over the entries about moving; I laughed at the entries that described funny situations that happened. I laughed about one of my pathetic poems that I only showed Syd. (She knows exactly which one I am talking about...). Most of all, I saw change over the year, I went from being a dumb, dramatic, immature blonde freshman to a... oh wait... never mind nothing changed.

I have decided to start journaling again, I will do it before I go to bed, so I can describe the events of the day in utmost detail. I won't give myself any sort of prompt; I will just describe what is on my mind. Knowing me and my lack of attention to things like this, it probably won't get done every night, but I will try hard to make sure it happens.

Melva Carolina Dreessen

A couple days ago, as we were eating supper, Momma brought up a topic that none of us have dared to bring up in a long time. Our great-grandma Dreessen. She passed away almost 3 years ago; she was one month shy of 100 years old. She died peacefully, and surrounded by her family.

It was a Wednesday night, basically my whole extended family was at Grandma's house. (If you know anything about the size my family, you know that there is A LOT of people.) Great-Grandma had her own separate wing of the house all to herself. We were all sitting around the room, her two sons (my grandpa and my great-uncle) and her daughter (my great-aunt) were sitting right next to her. They could see that she was struggling. She knew it was time, but she was waiting for the perfect moment. My grandpa looked up at her and said, "Mom, it's okay. You can let go. We're all here." And with that she passed moments later peacefully. I ran out of the room crying; my mom followed me and told me to take my siblings and all of my younger cousin down to the basement. I did. I have no idea what went on while we were down there, but soon enough Momma came down to tell us to load up in the truck. We had driven two separate vehicles, so Rudy rode with Dad  in the Vibe and the girls and I got in the truck with Momma. We were only 5 miles outside of Elkhorn when Momma looked at me and told me that Grandma and Grandpa wanted me to sing at the funeral. She said that Great-Grandma loved the sound of my voice and would give anything to hear it again. Momma said I could choose any arrangement of Amazing Grace that I wanted, so I chose "Amazing Grace: My Chains are Gone". After practicing a couple of times, I realized that I wasn't going to be able to do it by myself, so I asked my siblings to sing it with me. The funeral was held a week later in Pipestone Minnesota. After sitting through multiple speeches, including one spoken by Momma, it was our turn to sing. The piano started, but when my entrance came up, I was frozen. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Izzy started singing my solo and after catching my breath I was able to join her. The song sounded absolutely terrible: it's not easy to cry and sing at the same time. After the song I looked up to see that everyone in the congregation was crying. There was not a dry eye in the entire church. We took our seats and remained quiet through the rest of the service. As we were walking out, my grandpa came up to me, hugged me and said, "She heard you, Annastazia Caroline, I know she did. She loved the sound of children's voices." I lost it, I completely let go and started bawling like a baby. Neglecting all of my proper Girls of Grace training, I cried hysterically, revealing my emotions to everyone.

That was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I don't regret doing it; I know it meant the world to my suffering family. I got so down on my self, thinking I was the most selfish brat in the world for feeling sorry for myself during that entire situation.

To clarify, my middle name was supposed to be the same as Great-Grandma's middle name, but when I was born, she was terribly confused and told my mother that her middle name was Caroline rather than what it really was, Carolina. Momma has wanted to change my middle name to Carolina for a long time, but I don't want her to. As much as I would love to carry the middle name of Carolina like my great-grandma, but there is something special about my family messing up my name. I want to remember that and keep it like that. When I have a daughter, I will probably incorporate Carolina somehow into her name, so that Melva's legacy will live on.

"The Apothecary's Daughter"

I am currently reading an amazing book, "The Apothecary's Daughter". My mom bought it for me a LONG time ago, and I thought it was just the most awesome thing ever because I actually am an 'apothecary's daughter'. (Apothecary is an old-fashion term for pharmacist.) I read the book at least 3 times in 5th grade, but because of my limited vocabulary at that age, I did not understand the book very well. As we prepared to move back here, I found it in my box full of books. I gave it to Syd to read and now I have decided to reread it myself. I am so captivated by this book, and not just because of it's close resemblance.

The main character in the book, Lillian Haswell, goes off to study in London, leaving her small town life for big city glamour. She is there only 18 months and then is summoned back to her small town because of reasons out of her control. Sound familiar?

There is something else that is quite strange about this book. Before every chapter there is a quote the foreshadows what will happen in the proceeding chapter. I came across a peculiar quote today as I was reading:

I will not dwell upon ragouts or roasts, albeit all human history attests that happiness for man--the hungry sinner-- since Eve ate apples, much depends on the dinner.

--Lord Byron

 

I thought the name was strangely familiar... :) I have no idea what the quote is referring to, obviously it is in reference to Eve eating the fruit of the tree that was forbidden, but I'm not sure what "Lord Byron" meant about much depending on dinner.

This book also talks about how Lillian (I absolutely LOVE that name) is in training to become a proper young Christian lady. Being raised almost motherless, Lillian is learning from her aunt how to become such a lady. It is almost surreal how different our present day culture is different from theirs. For example, in the book, Christian women were not allowed to run, at all, and they were to never be seen with their hair down. Christian ladies were also always expected to be escorted (like the old fashion arm-link escort) by a man. Can you imagine not walking with out having to have a man treat you like a glass china doll? Chivalry doesn't bother me at all, it is encouraged in the bible, but I think it is so peculiar how much our "Christian Culture" has changed from what it used to be.



Enduring Promises

By definition, a promise is a declaration that something will or will not be done, given, achieved, etc. by one. What would be considered the common era definition of a promise? Empty words and sayings, an easy way out, a lie, a false statement... More and more frequently people are over using and abusing promises. In the Bible, it is made evident, that a promise is a promise and it should be kept. God kept all of his promises to us, so why can't we keep our promises to Him and amungst each other?

(Just another one of those thoughts that randomly popped in my head as I was driving to school....)

Simple Hallelujah

This week I have had a lot on my mind. Especially how I praise the Lord. Does the way I act and talk reflect in a positive way? Is every word that comes out of my mouth glorifying to Him? For example, in the van on the way to All-State Auditions, a few of the girls were gossiping about a girl that I particularly did not care for very much. I was in mid-gossip story before I realized what I was doing. I was being very disrespectful. I quickly finished the sentence with "but she has very pretty hair.", and then kept my mouth shut the rest of the way.

Maybe this has everything to do with the people I surround myself with. Obviously, no one is perfectly perfect, but shouldn't I strive for that? I would hope that my friends would strive for that too. In Girls of Grace, we are teaching my little 1st graders to glorify God in all that they do and say. This concept is a little surreal for a little 1st grader, but it makes sense to me. One of the reasons I love being a Girls of Grace junior leader is the fact that I get to relearn all of this stuff along with the girls. Sure, it's a little simplistic, but simplicity should be embraced, not shunned. There are so many of the adult leaders in Girls of Grace that make it look so easy. They are loved by everyone, care enough to comfort yet discipline, they have sooo many verses memorized, they have a true passion and love for the Lord, they fake perfection at it's finest, they display a positive attitude even when there are seven crying children tugging on them, they display all of the qualities of the "perfect wife/mother", and I can't help but notice that they are wholly devoted to what they do and the purpose they serve. What must one do to achieve such perfection?

All I can do is offer my simple hallelujah; although, it is not as simple as it seems.

"I will serve the Lord with all of my heart, soul, mind, body, and strength."
 

This verse is commonly quoted and memorized, but it is far more complex. Every ounce of me must be completely devoted to Lord. I  have know this for a VERY long time, but it is just now sinking in. I have a lot of work to do if I am to strive for perfection (although it is unattainable) and be like all of the wonderful ladies that influence me.

A Scary Night

Saturday, before the Lincoln High Marching Competition, my (bare with me here) Dad's cousin's daughter-in-law and son called me and asked if I wanted to babysit their two adorable kids Drake (4 years old) and Brea (4 months old). I happily agreed and told them that I would be over at their house as soon as I was done with the Links Marching Competition. (The competition went terrible, by the way, we got a 2.)

It started out like a normal babysitting job, I fed Drake his supper, and then bottle fed the warm, BLONDE, ball of sunshine. Brea is a very happy baby during the day, but at night she cries constantly because she tries to fight off sleep for some reason.

It was about 10:30. Drake had fallen asleep watching Open Season in his room, and the baby was sleeping soundly in her portable crib set up in the dinning room. I was sitting against the wall right next to the crib and slowly drifted off to sleep. I was awoken by the shrill sounds of  baby Brea needed her diaper changed. I lifted her out of her crib and changed the poop-infested diaper. I was about to put Brea back in her crib when a wave of smoke hit me. It was dark in the room, so I couldn't see the smoke, but  I could smell it. I hastily put the screaming baby back in her crib and rushed all around the house looking for the one thing that scares me the most. Fire. I searched the house, but could not find any evidence of a fire. I went back to the dinning room only to discover that the sent had gotten worse. I grabbed the kids and ran out the door. It never crossed my mind to call the fire department, I called the one person who I trust the most when a situation involves smoke and fire, my Dad. He told me that I needed to call 911 immediately. I did.

 

"Gage County 911 dispatch center, what is your emergency?"

Shaking, I answered the man, "Hello, my name is Annastazia Stofer, and I have no idea where I am at, and I think the house is on fire."

"Ma'am, is everyone out of the house? Are you a safe distance from the house?"

 

 

He had many more questions and I answered them all to the best of my ability. I was crying, and so where both of the kids. Then he asked me if I had the kids bundled up. I looked down at the two screaming kids. Drake was in my right arm, with his arm tightly around my neck, and in my left arm was Baby Brea. It then hit me, it was 35 degrees out side and those kids were out there wearing only their pajamas, and none of us had shoes on. I quickly took off my Syracuse Softball sweatshirt and put it on Drake trying the best I could to wrap him up. Then, I took off my sweatpants and wrapped baby Brea up in them to try to keep her warm. Now I was standing out there wearing only a tee-shirt and shorts. My whole body was shaking, I couldn't tell if I was just cold or having some sort of nervous breakdown. I noticed that I could barely breathe, I frantically reached for my inhaler in the pocket of my sweatshirt that was wrapped around Drake.

 

Finally I could hear sirens, the dispatcher hung up, and a police officer pulled up and was yelling at me to get the kids into the back of his car where it was warm. Soon after the kids where placed safely in the car, a firetruck came racing up the hill. Six firemen, suited up in full gear, ran into the house. I started crying harder when I thought of my Dad and how disappointed he would be with my inability to handle this situation calmly. The police officer asked me several questions, many of which I didn't have answers for.

 

After 20 minutes, the six firemen, protruded from the house. By this time I was calm, but still shaking. They explained to me that there was a layer of dust somewhere on/in the heat pump that burned, and that was why the smell intensified as it got colder outside. They said that they had taken care of everything and that it was okay to go back into the house. I grabbed the bundled kids and walked back into the house, still shaking.

 

I carefully laid Drake in his bed and he fell asleep right away. I grabbed an extra baby blanket and paced around the family room carefully rocking Brea to sleep. I placed her in her crib after she fell asleep, and then called Dad. As I suspected, he was disappointed in my inability to keep calm. I learned a few things from this experience. (More like I got yelled at by an angry over protective father about these things.

1. Call 911 immediately, don't call Dad first.
2. Make sure I have shoes and adequate clothing for me and all people under my care.
3. Know the address of where I am at.
4. Keep calm.
5. Always tell the firefighters/police officers that my Dad is a firefighter.

As a firefighter's daughter, anyone would expect me to handle this situation more calmly, but I'm not sure what happened. I knew that I should have done all of those things on that list with out even thinking about it, but I didn't. I hesitated, and someone could have gotten hurt. This incident has been giving me nightmeres ever since it happened, and last night I even woke up screaming. It's really hard to forget about.