Lost in the World~ Rachell Allen

Kaylee was a bright girl, smart and funny and very pretty. She got straight A's and was nice to everybody. She was popular.

Then her dad started drinking.

At first things were fine. She could still focus in school and did fine. But after a couple of weeks, things changed. He started drinking more and more, going out late at night and coming back early in the morning. He couldn't cook, couldn't go for bike rides anymore, couldn't function. He was out of it. Kaylee would catch him staring into space with a blank look on his face, oblivious to everything around him. Kaylee talked to her mom about it sometimes, and she would call her best friend once in a while and ask her to hang on, saying, "I need to get out of the house."

But things got worse. Her dad's temper was worse than before. A slip-up, a mistake, a comment taken the wrong way, he blew it, yelling and screaming and cursing the heavens. Kaylee would sit in her room and cry for hours, talking to her friend about how angry he was and how she couldn't do anything without being afraid.

At last, the final step. He started abusing her and her mother. They tripped or spilled something, he kicked them. If he was in a foul mood, he would throw plates at them and slap their faces. When Kaylee was late coming home from school because she was asking her teacher for help, he beat her and called her "stupid" over and over again. Slowly, it showed. Her grades went down. She smiled less and frowned more. Gone was her happy laughter. Sometimes she would cry in class, but she wouldn't tell anyone. She loved her dad too much.

Her teachers didn't miss it. She would show up to class late, her eyes red and puffy, her cheek bruised or her neck scratched. But when they asked, she would just say she tripped and fell in the hall or walking home from school. The teachers would call home, but Kaylee's mother would answer and say everything was fine, "Kaylee just had a little accident." Then there would be yelling in the background and she would hang up. They did their best to help her and encourage her, but she would throw her hands up in the air and say, "It doesn't matter, I'm too stupid." Her teachers would tell her that it wasn't so, that she was very intelligent, but she refused to believe them.

Her father had told her that she was worthless, stupid, ugly and weak, and ever so slowly, she had started to believe it.

On September 19, 2003, Kaylee committed suicide. She couldn't stand herself anymore. If I'm not good enough for my father or anyone else, she thought as she choked down a handful of pills, I might as well die. And as she fell into darkness, she muttered, "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm sorry I was never good enough."

*This is not a true story; this is pure fiction. But the one thing that could've saved Kaylee from her father and her death was the one thing she didn't have: God.

Did you know that Rachel would want to be Ferb from Phineas and Ferb?!?!

The Difference~ Rachel Allen

Smile and they think you're happy.

You say "I'm fine" and they believe you.

If you don't let them look into your eyes

No one will know the difference.

They're all too blind to see your pain

Or the inner turmoil churning inside.

You are at war with yourself

But no one knows the difference.

You tell yourself that you'll tell someone.

"I'll talk about it. I'll get help."

You swear you will but you don't

And no one knows the difference.

Sometimes you wonder if you're not invisible.

If you vanished, would anyone notice?

You think that you could disappear into thin air

And no one would know the difference.

Did you know that Rachel only likes birds of prey?! Say bye bye birdie!

A Sneaky Little Lie Part 1~ Rachel Allen

"What do you mean, 'She's got a boyfriend?!'"

"Is it true?"

"Angela, how could you?"

"I don't want to see you ever again!!!"

What had started out as the first day of school- a day of new beginnings, new adventures, and new fashion statements- had quickly turned into the Scandal of Junior Year.

It began three days before school started with a sneaky little lie. Strictly speaking, it started with a truth that ended in a promise, a promise that ended in a lie, and a lie that ended with betrayal. Lies, as our three heroines will soon learn, have a sneaky way of hurting people.

Angela, Rebecca, and Audrianna had been best friends since they met in 5th grade. Often called "The Three Musketeers" by their classmates, they did everything together, from homework to shopping to dancing in the rain. They were always together during school, and summer had always been a time of fun and friendship.

As the girls grew older, they bonded even more, but continued to develop their own interests. The summer before Junior Year, each girl had gone their separate ways for different reasons. In June, Rebecca had flown to Europe with her family for seventeen days, Angela had gone to see her uncle in New York for three weeks, and Audrianna had been at a legislative seminar in the capital for two. When they all came back, their friendship was stronger than ever.

The last weekend before school started, they went to the local shopping mall for back-to-school clothes, haircuts, and manicures. It had become a tradition over the years. Labor day weekend was the girls' last chance for summer fun before the new school year.

After lunch, Ange and Audri were waiting for Becky to come out of the bathroom. Ange was flipping through a TEEN magazine, oblivious to Audri nervously biting her thumb nervously.

"I was thinking about doing my hair like that on Tuesday," Ange said, pointing to a picture of a teen pop star. "What do you think?"

"Can I tell you something?" Audri blurted.

"Sure," Ange said with a shrug as she flipped the page.

"You remember Chad, right?"

"Chad Bradick? Sure, he's that cure guy that works at Smoothie Surf, right?"

"Right. And you remember how Becky told us how she really, really likes him?"

Angela nodded. "Yes..."

Audri winced as if she was in pain and blurted, "He asked me out last night."

Ange's head snapped up, the spell finally broken. "Chad Bradick asked you OUT?!"

"Ssshhh!" Audri hissed. "Yes, he asked me out. Last night."

"Like, on a date?" Angela whispered. "Like, boyfriend and girlfriend?"

"Yes!" Audri snapped, exasperated.

"Oh, Audri, this is great! This is fantastic!"

Audri grabbed Ange's shoulders and shook. "No! NOT great! NOT fantastic! If Becky finds out that the guy of her dreams fell for one of her best friends, she's going to be heartbroken! It'll crush her! It'll destroy our friendship and she'll hate me forever and it'll be a disaster!"

Hesitantly, Ange muttered, "No more Three Musketeers?"

"No more Three Musketeers! No more shopping on weekends! No more study buddies! No more nothing!" Angela looked hurt, but Audrianna plowed on. "You have to promise me that you won't tell Becky about any of this, okay?"

"But we're best friends. We tell each other everything..."

"I know, but we can't tell her this thing. Promise?"

"I promise."

"Swear you won't tell."

Ange glared at her. Then- "I swear."

"Swear what?" a voice said a few feet away. Ange and Audri both looked up, startled. Becky was just walking out of the bathroom, hands still wet. She smiled kindly at her friends. Her best friends who had just made a secret promise... without her.

Without missing a beat, Ange smiled sheepishly. "I had to swear that I wouldn't dye my hair blonde when we go to get our haircuts."

Becky linked arms with them, Ange on her left and Audri on her right. "Blonde?! Do you have any idea what you'd look like with blonde hair? You would look like that bubblegum pop star, what's-her-name..."

As Becky blabbered on about pop starts and haircuts and common sense, Audri leaned back and mouthed "Thank you" to Angela, behind Rebecca's back.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Did you know that Rachel LOVES NCIS?!

I Shall Serve~ by Rachel Allen

My master kneeled down before me holding a damp washcloth in his hands. He reached out to touch me, but I stopped him. "Are you going to wash my feet?" I asked, astounded.

He replied, "You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand."

I stood hastily and exclaimed, ""No, you shall never wash my feet!" Did he not understand that I was just a lowly servant? He was my master, my king, and he wanted to serve me? I did not deserve it.

"Unless I wash you, you have no part with me."

My heart leapt into my throat. I could not allow him to desert me only because I refused him. "Then, Lord, not just my feet buy my hands and my head as well!" If he saw fit to cleanse me, why shouldn't he cleanse all of me? He wished to wash me, so be it.

"A person who has had a bath needs only to wash his feet; his whole body is clean." I understood his position. The streets of Israel were dusty and dry, and our sandals were not ample protection against the dirt of the roads. "And you are clean, though not everyone of you." My eyes flicked up to the other around the table. What was he talking about? I sat, confused and confounded as my King knelt before me and washed my feet. Should I not be washing his? I did not deserve his service, though he had every right to mine. One by one, our King went around the table, washing the feet of every one of his followers. Were they as astounded as I was?

When he was finished, our master stood before us and spoke. "Do you understand what I have done for you? You call me 'teacher' and 'lord,' and rightly so, for that is what I am. Not that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another's feet."

And then I understood. I saw what our teacher was trying to teach us. I saw what out master wanted us to learn from him. If our Master, our Savior, our Teacher, our Shepherd; If the King of Kings, the Lord of Lords, the Beginning, the End; if the Son of GOD could service us and get down on his knees to serve others... why couldn't we?

Did you know that Rachel only like Wintergreen Tic Tac?!

Coffee Shop~ by Rachel Allen

People have done something special for you, right? Maybe they've given you an amazing gift. Maybe they took you out for lunch. Or maybe they just helped you through a difficult time. But didn't you want to do something in return? Didn't you feel like saying "Thank you" just wasn't enough?

Now imagine: You're walking down a busy city street, and you're crossing the traffic-jammed avenue. Imagine that you're not paying attention. Imagine that somebody, someone you didn't know, maybe someone you've never seen before in your life, jumps in front of a speeding taxi cab to keep you from getting hit. And imagine that the person died. How would you feel? What could you do for them? For their friends? For their family?

Now imagine that it's a few months later, or just a few days, or maybe even a few years, you're walking down the street. You've moved on with your life, but you've never forgotten the stranger that saved your life. Imagine that you go to your favorite coffee shop, a little family place on the corner, just like you do every day. Imagine that you go to get your usual, and all of a sudden, you see the stranger that gave his life for yours. (I know what you're thinking: "But he's DEAD." "Last time I saw him, he was six feet under." "But... but... but... but..." But once you get PAST all of that...) What do you say? What could you possibly do for the man that paid the ultimate price for you? Now, I know what you wouldn't do. I KNOW that you are not going to walk out of the coffee shop and move on. You wouldn't just forget about him and go on with your life without a second thought. You wouldn't leave behind the perfect opportunity to properly thank the man that sacrificed himself for you. But you couldn't just walk up to him and say, "Hey, weren't you that guy that ducked in front of that cab? Yeah, sorry about that. That probably hurt, right? So, thanks. See you around, okay?" You couldn't just buy him coffee and leave it at that. The only words that might even come close to doing justice might be, "Thank you for saving my bloody LIFE and for SACRIFICING YOURSELF and for PAYING THE ULTIMATE PRICE for a complete stranger that you've never even seen before and suffering for them when you didn't even know their name and for allowing that stranger to keep their life by giving yours. Because, yes, that stranger was me." And that's STILLnot enough. You beg them, "Take me, use me. Whatever you need, whatever you want, ask of me. Your word is my command."

And somehow, no matter how impossible it may seem, it's still not enough. It will NEVERbe enough, because the stranger that lived was you, and the stranger that saved your life by giving theirs was Jesus Christ.

So, what are you doing? Are you serving him whole-heartedly? Or are you buying him coffee? Are you begging him to take you and use you for good? Or are you passing up the perfect opportunity to sacrifice yourself to the PerfectSacrifice, the Son of God, the Savior? Think about. And don't walk out of the coffee shop.

Did you know that Rachel absolutely LOVES messenger bags?!

Photograph Property of Lilies Among Thorns Magazine. Photograph taken by Tara Willinger.

The Jumper~ By Rachel Allen

I'm sitting on the roof of the rec center. I'm looking down at the people looking up at me, a staring contest. Despite the fact that I'm three stories off the ground, I can see the fear and surprise on their faces. I can imagine the whispers rushing through the gathering crow. "It's Rachel." "Rachel Sidowski?" "What's SHE doing up there?" I smirk because I know exactly what they're thinking. They would never expect to see me on the rook. I'm a straight-A student with a lot going for me who smiles at everyone and acts totally normal. They might expect the see the emo kid from my world history class up here, or the cutter from English or the gay kid who always gets teased in algebra, but they never suspected me because I'm not the jumping type.
The cops are here. The flashing red and blue lights add a nice ambience to the scene of panic and chaos and fear. They remind me of the flashing strobe lights at the school dance. I hate dances. My last dance was the Valentine's Day Ball, and I didn't want to go but Cassidy begged and begged and begged, so I went. But as soon as we got there, Cassidy ditched me for some blond dude in a polo shirt and nobody would dance with me. I was absolutely miserable, and even though Cassidy was my ride, I just left. I had to walk home carrying my heels in my hand. I scowl. The lights are suddenly very irritating.

The police are asking around for confirmation that Rachel Sidowski is actually on the roof. A boy from my biology class nods when the a cop points at me. The kid looks like he's about to cry, and I feel kind of sorry for him.

Kind of.

So now they know. Now they're going to call my parents and tell them that their daughter is sitting on the roof of the rec center and my mom and dad are going to jump in the 2008 blazer and race over to join the growing crowd of stunned on-lookers.

I hear the door to the roof top click open behind me. It must be a cop who came up to convince me not to jump. "Mind if I join you?" a male voice asks cautiously.

"Not at all."

The cop comes and sits down next to me, looking nervous. It's the officer that talked to the boy from my science class. He has big, blue eyes, and scruffy blonde hair stick out everywhere from under his cap. "Hey," he says quietly. "What are you doing up here?" He seems young for a cop, and much too young to handle a jumper. I can tell this is his first by the way he bites his lip and keeps glancing over the edge. "My name's Steven," he says, forcing a nervous smile. "What's yours?"

"Rachel," I say in a no-nonsense way.

"What are you doing, Rachel?"

"Thinking," I reply.

"About what?" He seems sincerely interested, like he really wants to know. And maybe he does.

"Not a lot. About how funny it is that all those people down there are panicking about me sitting on a roof."

"Why is that funny to you?" He doesn't sound mad or horrified, but simply curious. I'm surprised. He's handling the situation pretty well for such a young officer.

"Because none of them really care. Well, maybe the teachers, and Bobbi for sure, but that's probably it."

"That's not true," he hastens to assure me.

"Psssh," I scoff. "It is, too. There's not a single person down there who cares heads or tails if I jump. Except Bobbi. And my parents when they get here."

Steven switches tactics and changes the subject. "Which one's Bobbi?"

I point at Bobbi and wave. "The Spanish kid in the black tee. He's in my Ceramics class. We went to the gallery in Denver together."

"Are you two dating?"

I laugh sarcastically. "Oh, please. We're the best of friends and we stand up for each other, but it could never work. We fight like an old married couple." I pause for effect. "So, actually, we're already halfway there!"

He smiles a little. "What do you want to do when you graduate high school?"

"I want to go to an actors' community college in upstate New York so I can be an actress on Broadway."

"How good are you?"

"Well, apparently good enough to get the lead in the school play. The teacher says I've got 'real potential.'"

Steven nods his approval. "You've got so much going for you. Why are you up here, Rachel?"

I think about it. "I'm up here to get away. I'm up here so I can look down on people, not vice versa. I'm up here because I can see the whole town and no one knows I'm watching." I pause. "I don't belong down there."

"What do you mean?" He's watching me and listening, really listening to what I have to say.

"I'm not exactly what you'd call 'popular,'" I say as I make quotation marks with my hands. "I'm a teacher's pet. A geek. A nerd. My only real friend is Bobbi. All the other kids think I'm crazy." I chuckle bitterly. "This probably doesn't help."

"You know," Steven says carefully, "Taking your own life isn't thie only way out."

I can't help but laugh. "Oh please. I'm much too smart for that."

I stand and roll my shoulders, stiff from sitting in the same position for half an hour. A startled cry comes from below. "She's gonna jump!" There are a few screams. One person even faints. I resist the urge to laugh out loud as Steven stands up ever so slowly so he won't scare me over the edge (or fall off himself, I can't be sure). Instead, I turn around and go back inside. Bewildered, Steven follows me to the stairs and watches me start to descend. I pause about halfway down. "I wasn't up there to jump, Steven."

"What?"

"I wasn't going to jump. I go up there to think, to get away from it all. When I'm up there, I feel free, powerful. I go up there to be alone. Most days, no one sees me up there. But today, the lighting was just right and one of the teachers saw me. I guess I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I guess you'd better be a little more careful next time," he said.

"I don't think there's going to be a next time." I paused. "One more thing; There's going to be press down there. When we get out there, you get full credit for preventing a suicide and saving a life."

It takes a minute for this to register. "But I didn't! I didn't prevent anything! And if they think you're suicidal, they'll send you to a shrink. They'll make you go to therapy, even if you don't need it."

I put my hands on his shoulders. "It's not just about me, Steven. You're a part of this, too. Besides, therapy might actually do me some good. And you deserve all the credit. Just because you listened."

He pauses. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times.

"And Steven?" I add.

"Yes, Rachel?"

"Thanks." With that, I walk out the door and put on the best performance of my life.

The Storm~ A Short Story by Rachel Allen

It’s late, almost 10:00 pm. I glance out my window at the brewing storm. The town is covered in a wispy haze, like fog. Frost covers the window, frozen steam clinging to the glass. The sky is marbled and, if possible, the gathering clouds make the night sky even darker. I can hear the wind howling, tearing at the trees. I watch the sky throw a hissy fit until I drift off…

…into a nightmare. I’m surrounded by chaos. Lightning flashes all around me, and thunder crashes in my ears. The wind is blowing so hard the walls of the house seem to bend to its will. Trees are toppling over all around me, torn from the solid ground they’ve stood I for many years. Lightning flashes again, thunder rumbles across the sky, and it starts to rain. The water falls in ice-cold torrents, and I gasp as it chills me straight to the bone. I look up into the sheets of liquid ice. The clouds are an angry, swirling mass, and the eye of the storm is focused on me.

I blink, and suddenly they are there. They’re all there. My boyfriend, asking me why I was cheating on him. My two best friends, asking me which one of them I like more. My parents, asking me why I’m failing three of my classes. My track coach, asking me why I’ve been late for practice. All of them are yelling at me at once. I try to scream, but the sound is ripped from my throat by the roaring wind. There’s a flash of lightning behind me. I turn around to the sound of thunder just in time to see the lightning strike at the base of a tree. There’s a tortured groan, a hideous cracking noise, and it begins to fall, straight towards me. I open my mouth to scream as loud as I can…

…and wake up, breathing hard, heart pounding. I look around the room and hug a pillow to my chest like a frightened child, assuring myself that I am, in fact, awake. I tentatively reach at and push the curtain over my window aside. Lightning strikes in the distance and rain hits the window pane angrily. The storm is still outside, and outside it remains.

For now.

Photograph Property of 'Lilies Among Thorns Magazine'. Photograph taken by Jess Mc.

The Princess and the Stable Biy~ A Poem by Rachel Allen

'Twas custom for the knight in armor

To save the damsel in distress

Trapped inside a dark stone tower

With not to wear but maiden's dress

Waiting for a dashing prince

A' riding on a valiant steed

Sword in hand and clad in steel

To slay the witch who did the deed.

Or possibly, a duel was held

Of jousting, swordsmanship, or bow

To win the hand and heart of princess

In which two suitors then would show

Skill with weapons against each other

Until the best man won the bride

'Twas not a matter of love divine,

But of which man was stronger and which man died.

Inside the castle a maiden fair,

And a stable boy of charm and honor.

Two hearts trapped in forbidden love

Seeking the approval of her father.

A gentle hint, a quiet question.

A firm refusal, turned away.

Anger, wrath, and hatred all.

Banished both, sent far away.

My Salvation Stands~ A Poem by Rachel Allen

When my heart fails me and strength escapes me,

My salvation stands.

When night finds me all alone with no one else to turn to,

My salvation stands.

 And when the darkness closes in and all other lights go out,

My salvation stands.

For when the light goes out, and darkness overcomes all things

God is the light. He does not falter, He does not sway, and He cannot be extinguished.

He is my light, my lamp, my path.

He leads me through dark passes,

And He guides me in the light of day.

No place is too light for Him to be present

And no place is too dark for Him to shine.

When I cannot bear to see the suffering of others,

My salvation stands.

When I am weighed down by doubts and worries,

My salvation stands.

And when my feet grow weary and I cannot hold myself upright.

My salvation stands.

For when all others fail me, all mortal men are weakened by desire, and all other kingdoms are brought to their knees,

God is strong. He does not fall, He does not forsake me, and He is not weak.

He is my rock, my strength, my shield.

He protects me from the toils and trouble of everyday life,

And He protects me from the giants that makes the battlefield to tremble.

Nothing is too small for Him to care about,

And nothing is too big for Him to take upon his shoulders.

When I am weak, when I am tired, when I am brought down by those around me, and when everything in the mortal world is not worth living for,

My salvation will always stand.

Daybreak For Langston Hughes~ A Poem by Rachel Allen

DaybreakFor Langston Hughes
When I get to be a hawk,
I'm going to sing a song of the sky,
And I'll put my wings in it.
And the endless sunset orange of dawn
Endless sky blue
Of high noon
And the endless indigo of the evening sky.
With each pure white star shines a new possibility.
A compass rose with eight directions.
North, South, East, West.
And four in between.
But do I heed the map of the land,
Of mountains and deserts, lakes and oceans, sand and trees?
No.
My wings are my guides.
I follow them, they take me,
Far away.
There is so North or South
Or East or West
Or Southeast, Northwest, Southwest, or Northeast.
Each feather on my wings is a new direction,
A new place, endless possibilities.
And when I get to be a hawk,
I'm going to sing a song of the sky,
And I'll put my wings in it.

Dedicated to my wings

Apple-Raining Season~ A Short Story by Rachel Allen

  I have a lot of memories from my childhood. I remember my dog Rio, and my annoying little sister Mel. I remember late nights in the summer and late mornings in the winter. But the things I remember most are Grammy, the apple orchard, and apple-raining season.
   It was the fall of 1998 when I experienced my first apple-raining season. I was 12 years old. We lived out in the county on a little farm. We had sheep and horses and corn fields. But Papa's pride and joy was the apple orchard. Papa had planted each individual tree and nurtured it and cared for it until it was big and tall and healthy like all the rest. Then, in spring, the trees would all be in bloom, and the orchards would be pastel pink, and all the treetops looked like tufts of cotton candy or fluffy clouds just before sunset. Soon, it was summer, then early fall. Pink petals would litter the ground, and then bright orange leaves. Bright red bulbs hung from the branches, dotting the trees. When the first apple touched by the breeze fell to the ground, it was apple-raining season.
   Everyone within a mile of our farm would come with their baskets and bags and crates. My papa would hand out construction helmets. One year, an apple came down and hit my sister. She cried for three hours (I think she just wanted attention). From that day forward, we used helmets when harvesting.
   After the people were split into teams, the strong men shook the trees to loose all the apples that were hanging by a thread. The little children would pick up the apples and take them inside.
   Then came the picking. Ladders were hauled in and set up. Everyone was busy plucking the apples from the trees, while Grammy washed the apples that the children brought in.
   Sometimes I would join Grammy in the kitchen. Crates and buckets covered the floor, and the smell of apples and fall wafted through the air. Grammy would teach me about life and kindness while she scrubbed each fruit. She would talk about love and relationships while she dried them off. I will always remember my time spent in the kitchen with Grammy while the apples rained.
   At the end of the day, everyone would come in from the orchards to enjoy the meal that Grammy and Mama had made. The little dining room was filled with the sound of laughter and clinking silverware.
   The next week was spent preserving apples, cutting and slicing apples, making applesauce, baking apple pies, and planting apple seeds in the orchard. On Friday, everyone would gather at our house with sauce and pies and preserves. Grammy and Mama would cook all day for our friends. One by one, everybody showed up and started trading the fruits of our labor (no pun intended). The night was full of laughter, games, and singing. The lights of our house were on and the kettle was boiling until three in the morning. It was a special gathering of friends, family, and neighbors.
   I learned a lot from apple-raining season. I learned patience by waiting for the first "rain." I learned to work hard when the harvest came. I learned love and kindness from my Grammy, and I learned friendship, happiness, laughter and joy from the celebration night, the gathering, the last night of apple-raining season.

From Autumn to Winter~ A Poem by Rachel Allen

Leaves, bright golds and reds
Treetops, aflame
The smell of smoke and the season's harvest
Jackets and mittens sometimes
Fuzzy sweaters, crackling bonfires
A chilling breeze
And, in the soon coming months, winter
Snow and frost
But for now, autumn, crisp and brisk
Fall, out of all the seasons.

"The Girl Bound in Silk"~ A Short Story by Rachel Allen

Note to the reader: This story is best if it's read like a fairytale.

Once upon a time, a beautiful baby girl was born. She was the apple of her father's eye. The poor child's mother died in childbirth. Her father was heartbroken, but he knew that his daughter was his first responsibility. He fed her well and cared for her and loved her. But before he did any of that, he tied her wrists together with her mother's old silk scarf, one end tied to each wrist securely. His friends and family asked him why, but he just shook his head and told them, "In due time."
As the girl grew, her bonds grew tighter. He loosened them, of course, so she wouldn't be in pain, but he made sure that she could not take them off. He was still very kind to her, and she grew up with the silk scarf always present.

When she turned 10 years old, she began to question her father's intent, picking at the scarf and asking him why it was there. He always smiled, kissed the top of her head, and told her, "In due time."
Three short years later, the girl was growing impatient. She asked her father kindly to take the bonds off, but the answer was the same. She resorted to yelling and screaming at him, calling him names and telling him he was a cruel father. He would calmly send her to her room and told her, "In due time."
Finally, on her 16th birthday, she was sitting calmly eating breakfast. The scarf had grown almost too short to fit her, but she had stopped fighting it, accepting the fact that she would be bound until her father's word.
At that moment, her father walked in and told her "Happy Birthday." They ate breakfast in silence. When they were finished, he said, "I have a present for you. Hold out your hands and close your eyes." She obeyed, expecting to feel the cold metal of a locket, or perhaps the square corners of a wrapped box. She felt nothing.

Her father told her she could open her eyes. She opened them, but there was nothing to see. "Father, what is my present?" she asked.

He smiled, a smile that reached his eyes and went from ear to ear. He held up the scarf that had held her for sixteen whole years and said, "Freedom." Slowly, the scarf fluttered to the floor and lay in a crumpled heap. The girl stared at her hands for a moment, then threw out her arms and twirled. She danced around the room and swung her arms with all her might. Finally, the girl gave her father the biggest hug of his life. After a moment, she leaned back, looked him in the eye and asked him, "Why?"

He smiled, took her by the shoulders, and spoke. "When your mother died, you became mine and my own. I knew that here would be no one else to help me raise you. I could teach you what you needed to know, like how to read and write and cook and ride a horse and take care of it. But your mother wasn't there to teach you the rest. I bound you so you would learn to be strong, patient, loving no matter what, and know that there would always be something fighting you, holding you back. I love you, and I just wanted you to be the woman I knew you could be."

The daughter stood for a moment, then threw her arms around her father and cried. "I love you too, daddy."

The point is, God will use discipline to teach us strength, patience, kindness and love. But no matter what method He chooses, whether it's silk or a testimony or a someone fighting you, He does it because He loves you. And that's the truth.