Jubilate

I am going to take a moment to diverge from the exciting California adventures to go into something a little more pertinent. For that, I'm going to have to explain what a Jubilate is. It's a song that is sometimes based upon Psalm 100. It refers to a "song of praise." I find that exceptionally fitting for today.

Psalm 100 is called a psalm "for giving grateful praise," and it reads as follows:

Shout for joy to the LORD, all the earth. 
Worship the LORD with gladness;
come before him with jorful songs. 
Know that the LORD is God. 
It is he who made us, and we are his;
we are his people, the sheep of his pasture. 

Enter his gates with thanksgiving
and his courts with praise,
give thanks to him and praise his name.
For the LORD is good and his love endures forever;
his faithfulness continues through all generations. 

Today is my brother's one year "heart anniversary." Exactly one year ago today he had his heart transplant. If that isn't a reason to give praise, than I'm really not sure what is. Today is a day for Jubilate. For giving thanks to God for the gift of my brother, for the gift that we have been given on his life.

Of course, there is another side to the story, one that brings much grief, and mourning. That is the story of the donor family, to whom we are forever indebted. I don't know them, nor are we even allowed to know whether their child was a boy or a girl at this point and time. But their child saved the life of my brother.

I don't know how to go about praising God with my Jubilate, and knowing by the same token that more of a dirge is being sung by them. I just pray that they know the goodness of God, and the appreciation that we have for them. My Mom constantly says that in the midst of their pain they gave a beautiful gift, and I just pray that they are blessed beyond measure for that.

I feel weird trying to continue on with my story from California, though I suppose it is not just my story, but my brother's as well. And my family's. It's a story of what he was able to experience because of what the family was able to do. But I can't bring myself. I am just thankful today. Just playing a Jubilate and a Dirge. Mourning and Praising.

That's all for today. Please remember the donor family with me in prayer, and please known the depth of my thankfulness. God is so good.

--Trumpet Player

    

G.P

The G.P is the Grand Pause. This indication serves the same function as a rest, or fermata--sort of. When written the G.P indicates that there is to be a Grand, General, or Grosse Pause, wherein the instruments fall silent for a period of time that is to the Conductors discretion. A Grand Pause generally is a direction for the entire band, and creates a very dramatic effect where all music suddenly stops...and then proceeds once again.

I am going to take a moment here to diverge from my "typical form", where I would proceed to explain the details of my life and how they pertain to the G.P, and I am going to tell you a story that my Conductor once told me.

Once upon a time, within the bass section of the concert band where my Conductor plays, there was a man who played (I believe it was) a Euphonium. Written onto his score was the dramatic, G.P, and he found himself asking the person beside him what the G.P meant. Of course, he had not seen it written in his score before, and why should he? A Grand Pause is not to be used on a whim, it is to be used sparingly so that the jarring, shock value of it, should not be attributed to routine.

This Euphonium's partner was all to quick to inform him that the G.P stood for "Guns and Pistols" and was a direction to play as loud as humanly possible, with no particular pattern or order.

Shall I say that when the Euphonium reached this G.P he was surprised to find that he was the only one who blasted out his notes, at the top of his "Euphonium lungs." It was a humorous moment for the rest of the band, indeed, but one that likely marked that Euphonium with embarrassment for the rest of his career!

Okay, so maybe that's taking it a little to far. It was a good natured prank, and it serves as a story they my Conductor will no doubt tell for years to come.

Perhaps you believe that this is some sort of lead in to my life story, and the reason why I have attributed the title of G.P to today's post.

You would be mistaken.

The reason I chose the G.P as the musical term for today is because of the long, Conductor imposed G.P, that has dominated my blogging experience for the past week and a half.

Of course, exciting this have happened, planes, and dragons, people with the ability to manifest Starbucks at will; dramatic encounters with warriors from mythical lands, and artists with the flair for the socially awkward and adorable.

That will have to wait though.

The G.P. Oh yes, the reason why I have been unable to share with you these experiences! It seems rather mundane in the scheme of things, but still, I have decided to give it the title of my blog post because it has been so darn frustrating that I am unable to overlook it until I have told you about it!

I left on a plane on December fifteenth for California. This, in and of itself, became a reason that accessing the internet was difficult. That, followed by a week long stay in the sunny state, caused a Grand Pause in my blogging endeavour. Now, I know what you're thinking. "You have left much longer lapses in time between posts, and you're expecting me to believe that you would have been blogging on a vacation to California?" Well no, I was not anticipating to blog while on my trip, but I had every intention of writing down every exciting adventure all but the second we touched down back in the blustery neighbourhood of mine. And what did I find, the day I turned on my wonderful Chromebook, and prepared to detail my account?

A Grand Pause, imposed by the great Conductor of our internet provider. Our internet has been down for the past few days, and to my great frustration! I checked, again and again, if I could blog. All of the excitement, welling up inside of me, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Dramatic. I know.

But today I checked, and lo and behold! Internet! I don't know what happened that I can now use it, but I have been checking my school website for updates and marks, checking my Facebook account for messages and important notifications (if there are such things), and then, BLOG! I am frantically typing to try and get it done before the internet decides that it does not want to work any more, and I am left with a half finished blog post, and an immense amount of aggravation.

So okay, here we go. The Grand Pause is finished, the silence is broken! No I can share with you the exciting adventure that has been the International Trumpet Player's Family Vacation! (Anyone. Anyone?)

As I told you before, my little brother, roughly a year ago, had a heart transplant. While he was in critical condition with the Left Ventricle Assist Device, and shortly after his stroke I believe, he was given a "wish." There is a foundation that offers children who are sick, and in need, a "wish." Want to meet your favourite hockey player, or travel across the world? Want to own the newest video game system and all of it's games? This foundation will get it done, and make sure they go above and beyond to make the wish come true. It's really an amazing thing, and I am in awe of what they do.

Well my brother's wish was to go to Disneyland (which partnered with the Children's Wish Foundation more than two decades ago, because so many children's wishes were to go to Disneyland). Not only did the foundation send him, but the entire family as well, even the adult child who still lives inside the house. Me!

I'm going to level with you for a second. I had never been to Disneyland before, and I was of the mind that it was for little kids, and I had missed my chance. I did not understand! I did not know! It's so amazing, so magical, it made me feel like a kid! I will promptly eat my hat, because it was one of the most incredible experiences I have possibly ever had. And the thing was, it wasn't even my trip! It was my brother's, and still I am blown away, awed, and amazed!

Okay okay, let's just start at the beginning and let the story happen in a chronological order so that perhaps it will be somewhat coherent for you.

December fifteenth, two am. The alarm clock goes off, and me and my sister spring (or perhaps more accurately, roll) out of bed after an early night the day before. We were already dressed in the clothes that we needed to be in, hair already (sort of) done, and make-up already smudged from the night before. We grabbed our carry on luggage, and found our way upstairs.

Freezing rain covered the roads, and we very slowly made our way towards the airport so that we could get ready for our flight.

A lot of waiting, security, and a Starbucks Chai Latte later, we were on the plane! We left freezing rain, and arrived in beautiful weather, with palm trees swaying in the wind. It was a drastic contrast, but one that none of us were complaining about in the slightest!

We grabbed a rental car, with a bit of confusion, and me and my sister sang the opening theme to "The OC" and squealed with delight at every street sign, or billboard that mentioned "Newport."

We went looking for Newport beach at first, because we didn't have any plans set up for the first day in California, but that turned out to be a bit of a bust. We got lost, confused, and found ourselves staring at a port full of yachts and not any kind of large body of water, or beach like area. That didn't dampen our spirits though! We got on the Interstate and headed to our hotel! Our rooms weren't ready when we got there, so we milled about, the kids watched TV, me and my sister got a tea. When we got out room, we hit the bed, and lazed around, and didn't do a whole lot of anything. We had pizza for supper, and then showered, and got ready to say "Hello Disneyland" the next day!

I have to say, the first day at Disneyland was overwhelming. That made it no less amazing, it was just a lot to take in. There were so many people, and so many things to do. We rode the train probably twenty times (because my brother loves trains, and that was basically what he wanted to do.) We checked out some stores, I bought some buttons because I love buttons (like pin on buttons, not the kind you find on your shirt) and we went on the Finding Nemo ride. It was pretty darn cool!

We found TomorrowLand, and my brother did the "Jedi Training Academy" attraction that they had there. It was so cool! I mean, at first, it seemed alright. The kids get to swing around a toy lightsaber, directed by some people who were dressed up pretty fantastically as Jedi masters. But then, I couldn't believe my eyes, but Storm Troopers came blazing out of the crowd, waving their guns as the stage in the middle of the Jedi arena began to rise out of the ground! It was Darth Vader! Then, Darth Mal jumps out of nowhere and the kids have to use the skills they learned to battle them!

Darth Mal was so scary! Me and my sister (being nineteen and seventeen) were too scared to even take pictures of him because he kept looking at us when he walked by and it was terrifying! Honestly, they did the make-up so good that I am utterly convinced that Darth Mal must actually be real. Except not. But you know what I'm trying to get at.

I must take a moment and apologize for my poor story telling capability today. I am overwhelmed with the amount of information that there is to relay to you and I am trying to breeze through it as fast as humanely possible, and it's hard to accurately describe detail to you while I'm blazing through my story. I fear that if I slow down though, one of two things will happen. I will have a thirty seven page blog post that no one ever will be willing to read, or the internet will quit working and I'll be left sputtering in front of my laptop with another unwanted Grand Pause on my hands.

But alas, on I must trudge. This is a harder task than I had imagined it would be, and while it is still fun and exciting to relay to you, it also is beginning to feel a bit like a daunting chore. I was gone for a week and I haven't even relayed the whole first day to you! Perhaps I will have to divide an conquer, telling you as much as I can now, and cross my fingers and hope that the internet will work tomorrow for me to finish my tale off. We shall have to see what happens I suppose.

Alright. Onwards!

My brother then got to meet Darth Mal, Darth Vader, and the Jedi Masters because of the amazing work of the Children's Wish foundation! And we all got to go with him.

He got amazing pictures taken, and a signature in each of our homemade Mickey Mouse shaped autograph books. (My mom is a creative person and made each of us one in our favourite colour before we left for our trip.)

While in TomorrowLand I saw a banner with "meet Thor" hanging from a large dome shaped building called the Inventorium or something like that. I wished beyond wishing that I would be able to meet Thor, but alas. My brother would not be convinced that going into the Inventorium was something that he really really wanted to do. I was a little bit sad, but who can complain while at Disneyland, right?

From there, a private meeting was set up for our whole family, and Mickey and Minnie Mouse. At first, I think my brother was a little bit scared, but he soon warmed up to them and kept looking over at them as if he was thinking "is this for real?" I think we all developed a new love of Mickey and Minnie.

I know I sound like a child, gawking at the bright attractions, and the people in costume, but it's so magical in Disneyland I felt like a child again! It seems so real, like anything is possible there! It's a place where dreams come true. At least, with our wish pass, it certainly was a place where a couple of kids at heart, and a whole slew of siblings, got to have their dreams come true.

More on that later.

In fact, perhaps I may have to take another Grand Pause (hopefully not one as long of one) and blog the rest of the amazing trip later. I am finding that I just cannot describe it properly, and things are coming out sounding kind of--funny. Not eloquent, or exciting, or entertaining as I would like it to be. Perhaps I am just off my "A game" right now. I would rather wait another week and a half and have an exciting tale to tell, than continue describing this to you in a rushed a hurried fashion where you are lost and left behind, confused, or worse, bored.

I bid you farewell for now, and hope that my adventures can be more accurately, and more excitingly recounted later.

--Trumpet Player

Allegro

I wasn't sure which musical term to put today. I really wanted to put something pertaining to Swing music, but to be honest, I'm not entirely sure that Swing music has a whole lot of "classical" Italian music terms that I could use. I thought about using "Swing Timing", which is a way to note a certain rhythm that the music should be given. I read it somewhere that Swing timing has a ratio of 2:1 whereas a "Straight Timed" song would have a ratio of 1:1 (that pertains to the notes that are being played). This "Swing timing" is what can give any melody it's "Swingy" feel.

But it's not necessarily that the normal "Straight rhythm" of my life has been somehow invaded by "Swing Timing." In fact, I'd almost say that I've been playing the part of my life that's supposed to be in "Swing timing" in "Straight Timing" instead. Trust me, it makes a difference. The same score can sound entirely different if only you've changed the "timing." 

Okay okay, things are getting a little bit lost and confused, aren't they? You're left behind, and I keep chugging ahead like you know exactly what I'm talking about.  

Shall I start from the beginning? 

It all started yesterday--except--not really.

Scratch that. 

It all started in September 2013...

I had just began my schooling, and I didn't know a whole lot of anybody. I had this friend--let's call her the Soprano Saxophone.* We got a long pretty well, and she was about the only person that I really talked to. 

*A Soprano Saxophone looks kind of like a Clarinet, except it's gold and more Saxophone like. My friend sort of seems like she would be a Clarinet, and then you really get to talking to her and she's very social and actually kind of--saxophone like. 

Anyways! My and The Soprano Sax were walking around after our eight am lab class once we had finished our project early. There were all these boards and tables set up everywhere around the school, with people pushing their clubs like they were the coolest things since sliced bread. I didn't know much about "Club Days"--which is when everyone who runs a club in the University sets up their table and pushes their clubs on you like they are the coolest thing since sliced bread--but I had nothing better to do so I glanced into the faces of all the club pushers and examined their boards. 

Christian Clubs, Humanitarian Clubs, Movie Clubs, Anime Clubs, Book Clubs, there was everything for every kind of person! 

I felt like maybe I, like all those ambitious people out there before me, should perhaps join a club. Some noteworthy advice had been given me earlier, at my student orientation, and that was "get involved." AKA, join a club. 

There were a few that caught my eye. A "hey maybe" sort of thing occurred. But nothing really reached out and grabbed my by the soul, beckoning me to be a part of the amazingness that would no doubt ensue if I joined. 

And then--something weird happened. 

I was just about ready to give up, to head on over to my Education Class and forget the whole thing. At least, forget the whole thing for a little while. If I didn't join a club, it wouldn't be the end of the world. I would just focus on my studies and I would make friends somehow. Perhaps it wouldn't be easy (most people in class are pretty focused on being "in class", myself included) but it would happen. It had with the Soprano Sax hadn't it? 

But wait! Something caught my eye. A video playing on a table of some really neat people Swing Dancing. 

Well hey, whoa, what was that? I stopped, I looked, I exclaimed that it actually looked pretty cool, and the Club Pusher must've urged me to sign up my email on their list, because that's what I found myself doing.

It wasn't a commitment yet, it was just something to think about. I was on a email list--that was all. 

The Club Pusher informed me that they were having a kick-off dance and that I should really come. It was going to be great, there would be a lesson and then some social dancing afterwards. I didn't like the idea of "social dancing", it sounded kind of strange to me. What I imagined was that I would be standing on the side of some room while other people danced with each other. Perhaps I would be talking to some other awkward "non-participant" or perhaps I would be a solo. Standing in the corner bouncing on my toes. 

A little while later, after all but forgetting about the club that I had signed up to hear about, I received an email. The kick-off was happening at the end of the month! I was pretty excited to see what this whole thing was about, even though I had some inhibitions about it.

Oh but wait--we were going to Transplant Camp that weekend. There was no way that I was going to be able to make it to the Swing Dance Club kick-off. I emailed the Club Pusher asking if this was an integral lesson, and if I didn't make it if I could still join the club.

By this point I had decided that Swing Dance was something that I wanted to figure out how to do. It seemed like it would be quite a bit of fun.

The Club Pusher never did answer my question, so I figured I would just show up the next week, on Friday at 4:00, when the lessons started.

I would be lying to you if I said that I wasn't kind of hesitant at first. I had a class that ended at noon and I had to wait around the school until four before I could actually go to the lesson. I contemplated just going home.

But I stuck around, and though time dragged on for those four hours, I found myself standing in the fitness room over the gym, with a group of other random people that were milling about. I knew a girl from one of my Ed classes, and I had managed to convince one of my friends to join the club too. But for the most part, I had struck out to do this thing on my own. I wasn't sure if I would know anybody when I started, and I didn't know very many people when I actually stepped out to do it.

But you know what? It was amazing! We started by learning how to triple step, and get into "closed position" with your lead. That was weird at first. I mean, I knew you had a partner when you Swing Dance but I wasn't--you know--too keen on dancing with some strange guy I had just met.

It seems silly that it mattered now.

But anyways, week after week I kept going back. The Instructor (who also happened to be the Club Pusher) was great at teaching and his Follow had amazing technique! She had a good way of explaining to the rest of us Follows as well, how to properly listen to what you're Lead tells you to do. Because, of course, the Lead doesn't normally say "hey, we're going to do this now." Oh no! Through subtle gestures and the position of his hand, or the amount of pressure he give you, you have to interpret what he's about to do next.

It's not only a good workout, but it's intellectually stimulating too! You're always on your brain's toes (okay, that was stupid, I apologize).

But where does that bring us? That brings us to yesterday, the Swing Dance Club Winter Party!

I can't tell you how amazing it was! We had a larger turnout than we expected, because the party was open to all members of the University, and we actually needed to break up the beginner lesson into two groups because they wouldn't all fit in the same room.

There was good food, good company, a lot of people were dressed up in vintage wear (myself included). Honestly, it was fantastic, amazing, fabulous, stupendous, Allegro!

Okay, Allegro. What does that mean? Well cheerful or brisk is what it actually means, but generally it is read as being a lively/fast tempo. My night last night, was both. It was lively and brisk for sure! I Charleston-ed all night long! I got told by one of the guys in my club that I am the Charleston Master, and that definitely inflated my ego.

It was also super joyful though! I feel like Swing is my niche. It's where I'm supposed to be, because I feel so confident now. Even though I'm not as good as some people I know it doesn't matter! Everyone will dance with anybody, and they'll be nice about it. Though you may suck, they won't tell you that you suck, they'll just smile, laugh, and keep dancing with you until the song is over.

The "Social Dance" I was so scared about, became the coolest thing I've ever experienced. There is a place here in the city where people go to Swing on the weekend, and I'm dying to go. Only problem--dancing is from nine to midnight and while I know that I would be there until midnight, I also know that I don't drive and couldn't find my way home on the not running bus at midnight.

Nevertheless! Where there is a will, there is a way, and one time before the new semester starts up I will be dancing until midnight!

I've always loved Big Band Music (yah yah, I know what you're thinking but it's not just because I'm a Trumpet), but now I have an even deeper appreciation for it. It's just--there's something about it that gets into you. I can't stop thinking about what an amazing time I had!

I also had a chance to dance with my Instructor, and he's just about the coolest person I've ever met, so even though I butchered the dance I had so much fun that it doesn't even matter! Seriously! My Lacrimoso was turned into an Allegro so fast that I think my head is spinning just a little bit! Swing Dance does that to a person I suppose.

Alright folks! That's all I can say for now! I have a trip to pack for, a fantastic night to dwell on, and a dream to nurse! I hope that, if anything, my story is proof that a sad song doesn't have to stay that way for long. Our amazing God can find a way to flip the page of your score, and change your sad soulful wail, into a brisk, effervescent Allegro. It just--it comes with knowing that the movement behind the Lacrimoso is in God's hands, and He's going to take care of it all. Somehow, someway, He'll direct you to Allegro. You just have to wait for it. Maybe it'll be within days (like mine) and maybe it wont. Maybe it'll be a temporary thing, something that exists outside the realm of your issues (like mine) and it wont resolve the thing that was causing Lacrimoso in the first place. But maybe it wont be like that! Maybe it'll be the answer to the question that has been causing you so much sorrow, and you're Allegro can be a lasting way of life.

I'm just babbling here now. Basically, don't let that sad song last long! There is so much more in life for you, there's so much better than living Lacrimoso!

Live life Allegro!

--Trumpet Player  

Lacrimoso

Okay, so Lacrimoso. That means sad. And that's really how I'm feeling today, which is such a shame because today was supposed to be a really super duper awesome day.

Alright. Here we go.

It started off really good. I got up at five, ate some oatmeal, did my devotions, and hopped on the bus to get me to school to write my FINAL final exam.

(Remember how scrammed in, crammed in, crushed, and rushed everything seemed? Yah, well, it doesn't feel like that anymore. And I really love it! I mean, LOVE University. It's something that I feel like I WOULD let characterize the rest of my life if I could. Anyway! That's totally besides the point.)

I got to my school, sat down, ate some veggies, and threw in some last minute studying. I was READY for this exam, ready to totally destroy it! And here's the part where you're expecting me to say that I walked into that test and it was terrible, end of sorry, Lacrimoso.

Not quite.

I got into the exam and was BUZZING because I was totally ready to take that thing by the horns, and get it over with! My FINAL final. I was so ready for it! And it was set down in front of me, and the first question was kind of weird. But half an hour later I was finished my two hour test, and I wasn't sure what to do. So I read it over, and then handed it in. I feel pretty good about it.

I then meandered over to the bookstore, and searched through the textbooks to find a couple of the ones that I need for my courses next semester. Lo and behold I managed to get one USED which means that it's cheaper! I was thrilled. I only spent a hundred and seventeen dollars for four textbooks! I couldn't have been much happier, except maybe if I had gotten them for free.

From there, I hopped on the bus to the mall that my friend works at, and I bought her Christmas present without her even knowing! Then I found myself in the drugstore where I got a steal of a deal for some bright red lipstick!

Whoa wait, bright red lipstick? That doesn't sound very flattering, nor very Trumpet like, you must be thinking to yourself. It's not, I agree, but that's not why I bought it. Different story for a different time.

I went over to the coffee place where my friend works and she gave me a FREE Chai Tea Latte. Over the moon excited was I! I hung around until her lunch break, and we checked out a couple stores in the mall before deciding that we were going to get together for a pre-Christmas "Christmas dinner" after she was done her shift.

So--where's Lacrimoso coming from then? It sounds like a fabulous day!

Yes, well it was pretty fabulous for the first little portion. Like I said. But then, things started to happen. And they weren't terrible things. Not the direction to play Lacrimoso for sure, not unless I'm a baby who can't handle the heat. Erm--well--snow.

See, I got stuck waiting outside for like twenty minutes in the snow! And it was cold, but I was fine. Then I missed my other bus and had to walk home for twenty minutes in the snow. And that was cold too. But again, besides my nose dripping like a faucet, I was fine.

I even bought my sister a purple headband while I was out, and I got to give it to her, and that was nice! She was happy, and I was happy. Then I set up my workout, and worked out pretty hard! And then I got ready to go visit my friend.

Except wait, she says, she had to babysit. And we couldn't get together unless I went over to her house while she babysat, and that always seems kind of not cool to me. I shouldn't be distracting the babysitter. I feel like I'm making an irresponsible decision if I do that.

But not a HUGE deal. Sort of sad. Slightly Lacrimoso. But whatever. I just used it as my resolve to have an even bigger, even better get together with my friend after Christmas. (You see, I'm leaving for the Christmas holidays, which is pretty exciting in and of itself.)

Alright Trumpet Player. You're beating around the bush here. You're telling me that you're playing your poor me, pity party, Lacrimoso song, and everything is "no big deal"? What is making you Lacrimoso.

Alright, you twisted my arm. I'll tell you.

My parents have been fighting, a lot, lately. And when I say fight I don't mean that they're playfully bantering about leaving the toilet seat up, or legitimately getting mad about the dishes not being put away. I'm talking about anger, through and through. The words "divorce" get thrown around, or at least, implied. Last night at the supper table was miserable, and today, round two.

The thing is, they're not angry people, nor are they abusive. They aren't the kind of people who like to yell, or fight, or swear, or any of those kinds of things. You wouldn't find them in a bar fight is what I'm saying. But I haven't been able to tell who they are lately. It's really scary. And there's this issue, one I don't really feel like coming out loud any telling you straight up (because when do I ever really tell you anything straight up anyway?). I'm just going to call it the issue of faulty instruments.

So there are these faulty instruments, okay? And the people that play them aren't so bad, they just have these instruments that don't seem to want to play properly. And if my parents are the conductors, then the conductors have been trying to make these instruments work. But these conductors, they're not necessarily instrument repair people okay? Not bad people, but not made to deal with the problems that these instruments pose. It's not just that the Trumpet Valves are sticking, or that the Reeds are cracked. No, there's issues with the mechanics of the thing. Things are bent, holes aren't being covered properly. It makes it really hard for us family band to play properly. And lately everything has just been coming out angry, or in my case, Lacrimoso.

My Dad, he's a good conductor, but he's not the one who likes to try and fix instruments. That's my Mom. And so she does her best to fix these instruments, and when she can't, she gets frustrated. And then she gets mad at her co-conductor for not helping her fix the instruments that these other band members are playing. And everything just sounds bad. The conductors are too busy trying to fix the instruments that they aren't conducting in a manner that would be conducive for the rest of us band members to play.

And this isn't the cosmic band of life, where everyone is an instrument, this is our tiny quartet (except I guess it's a quartet of seven--however that works) of family. My family quartet. Septet.

Are you kind of following my train of thought here? Like--you don't have to understand what these broken instruments mean or whatever, but just understand that something isn't right, and it's causing lots of strain in my Septet. And that's making me Lacrimoso. And Stressed-i-moso. (I just made that up in case you weren't quite sure.)

And things are supposed to be so exciting right now! But they're not. Instead, people are angry, conductors are fighting, band members are being treated poorly, instruments are copping out. Everything is in shambles! We sound terrible! No one wants anything to do with this Septet, or our performances because we're terribly out of tune. With each other, with God. It's so hard to deal with! And I'm not exempt. My song isn't sounding the best. And I'd be lying if I said that I didn't get mad at those band members who have messed up instruments. I'm angry that they don't try and fix it. I'm frustrated and don't quite act the way I should. And sometimes I feel like if only we had different band members. If only we were a quartet. Maybe a pentatet. Maybe thing would be better.

I don't know how to fix the instruments, but I know who can! God can. He's the instrument repair guy. He's the go-to for every screw up. And yet, I don't know how to get those instruments to the repair guy.

I just wish things were simpler. I wish I knew what was going on. I wish I was a better person, one that could figure out the answer to this mess and who would be able to bring the suggestion to the conductors. But I can't. So I let them duke it out. And I wonder to myself, how long we're going to last.

I can't help but feeling that this Septet is going to be a very Lacrimoso solo soon.

I don't want to speak that into my life, I don't want to speak that over my family, I just want results. I pray for peace. The Shalom kind of peace. All encompassing, every facet of life kind of peace. I want that for our little Septet.

Please God. Help.

--Trumpet Player  

Acciaccatura

A jammed in, crushed, crammed, stuffed note played as quickly as possible on the beat. 

That's my life right now. Everything is crammed, stuffed, "scrammed" as my mom says, into the closest proximity possible. It's like there's this proverbial "note" and everything has to be done in this one note, and I have to try and keep it on the beat too!

Though it's not necessarily a bad thing. An Acciaccatura isn't necessarily a bad thing. It wouldn't be a musical term if it were, right? There would be no direction to play Acciaccatura if it were something you wanted to avoid. That being said, you certainly wouldn't want to do it all the time! And this is certainly a season of time that I wouldn't want to characterize my entire life. 
At least, I don't think that I would.
 
So college life! That's the main source of my Acciaccatura. My jammed in, scrammed in, crushed in (crushed is the actual word, I added the rest) Acciaccatura. 
I always heard that University is hard, but I mean, high school was supposed to be hard too, right? And I had the right attitude, motivation, and determination (okay maybe that's going a little far), I had the right study habits to get through with flying colors. And then I got to University and got slapped with my first under eighty marks and I felt like I was going to just freak out and break down.
 
Oh yah! There's something else that I neglected to mention. 


That whole teacher thing? Well I started my Education degree (I can't remember if I mentioned that I was taking my Education degree) but I've changed my mind. I want to finish my education degree and then go to med school. I've been enthralled with this idea of being a doctor. I can imagine myself rushing around a hospital, and getting a Starbucks at the cafeteria, and 
answering a page, and all those crazy things!

Except I'm not actually sure that I can, I just really want to be able to see myself doing that because I can really see myself taking med school, and loving med school. 

Yah I know I'm indecisive. But there are so many things out there that are amazing and fun and would be a great way to spend my life! There are things I want to do to impact people. 
But there's one thing that I really want to do. Like-really really want to do. 

Okay so I have to backtrack a pretty long ways before I can tell you what I really want to do in this crammed up, jammed up, crushed in, forced in, slammed, life. 

So that really huge, awesome, amazing church that I went too? Well it's still huge, awesome, and amazing, but I'm just not going there anymore. And not because of anything bad. Just because me and my family accidentally stumbled upon this other, quite a bit smaller church, that we're needed at right now. 

I'm a youth leader there. And I love it. I really really love it. 

We've been doing youth alpha there, which is this program meant to question things and delve into the heart of Christianity. It's about learning the truth, and not just accepting what you hear, and making sure you know the facts about what you believe if believing in God is something you want to do. 

That's what I get from it anyway. 

And there are these leaders on the videos who do the coolest thing ever! They just travel and preach and talk to people about God, and that's what I want to do! I want to get in planes, and backpack through forests, and preach the gospel, and do it the way they do it. To reach young people, and to be cool and engaging, and to use all this cool technology but to incorporate the wilderness and stuff. 

I don't know how to explain it properly, and I'm going to go watch Criminal Minds with my family anyways. 

I just wanted to let you folks know that I haven't forgotten about you! 

I'll have to explain things in some better detail later. 

Anyways! There you go!

-Trumpet Player 

Enharmonic Interval

An Enharmonic Interval is when there are two notes that differ in name, but that are actually, the exact same note (C sharp and D flat.) They have the same fingerings, the same sound, they are on the same place on the staff. They are the same thing just with a different title. 

I'm going to get pretty honest with you here today. Probably because I realize that nobody reads this anyways and that it's pretty much for myself more than anyone else.

I have become an Enharmonic Interval, without even realizing it. I thought that I changed notes, even changed my title, but my life hasn't really followed suit. 

What do I mean by that?

I have given myself this title of Christian, and now I find myself wondering if I've really changed anything at all, or just what I've named myself. 

I've never really understood the enharmonic interval. I've always thought it was a little weird, and a little stupid. Why would somebody give one note another name? It just complicated matters, and makes me second guess myself when trying to play my sheet music. 

I don't really understood why I've changed my title and not my life either. 

I feel kind of like I'm going to throw up because I realize what I'm about to get into right here, and I've added some music that reminds me of my past to add to the dramatic effect. And it's working. 

Well--here goes I suppose. 

I write this blog behind a persona. I'm "The Trumpet Player". I glamorize my life so that none of my secrets leak through to the internet and some predator comes and takes me away, and so that I can seem like I'm something I'm not. Which I'm actually really good at. 

Do I play the Trumpet? Sure. Are all the stories I tell true? Absolutely. But do I know any of the music terms I title my posts with without looking them up in a musical dictionary? No. Did the "Bible College" I go to consist of more than fourteen people in my church and half days for eight months? No. Am I as recklessly zealous for God like I try and convince you that I am? 

Definitely not. 

And that's probably one of the scariest things for me to admit. 

Here's who I really am. 

I'm a nineteen year old who lives with my parents and is hopelessly afraid to go to college because I think I'm making the wrong decision. I'm extremely insecure and have no real friends outside of my seventeen year old "Flute Player", younger sister, who I'm actually wildly competitive with. I come from what anybody would describe as a "broken  home". My Mom raised me as a seventeen year old in University, and my biological dad left when I was probably three. I don't really know the details of it, don't really care. He's back in my life now but is grew up Catholic and seems anything but open to the idea of God, and I'm too freaked out to really talk to him about Jesus. 

Great Christian hunh?

Oh, but it doesn't stop there. 

I used to be completely enraptured in role playing  Me and my best friend gave ourselves up to it and concocted warped stories that I would explain in a little more detail if I weren't deathly afraid that somebody I know might stumble upon this blog. We acted them out day after day after day, with--and without--each other. The reality I had made became more appealing to me than the reality I inhabited. 

And I'm still kind of like that. Not in the same way, but I recede into my head to turn over stories I'm writing on a regular basis, and my reality bores me. I daydream, I watch movies, I read books, I write, I draw. Anything to escape this boredom. Nothing is particularly wrong with my life, I have a family that loves me and food on the table, a good church, and stuff. My problems are all my fault. My problems. 

The role play thing has made me really good at telling stories, and really good at pretending. And so I pretend. I think I even fool myself. 

I get up and read my Bible, listen to Mark Clarke podcasts, pray, every morning for an hour. I go to church, I tithe, I know the appropriate place to shout "Amen" in a sermon, and I studied under all the Pastors for eight months so I know them, in a sense. 

I'm also extremely introverted and shy, so they don't really know me. 

I know the things not to include in my testimony (I just allude to the role playing, the swearing, the denial of God, the immorality), I know the music I shouldn't listen to (and I don't listen to it), I know the shows I shouldn't watch, the games I shouldn't play, the drinks I shouldn't drink, the people I shouldn't associate with. 

And I follow every stipulation to a 'T'. I don't have any tattoos, I haven't smoked, drank, my ear piercings have even gotten infected from every piece of jewelry I've tried to put in so those have grown over. 

I've brought a couple people to Christ, though I haven't discipled them so I have no idea what their walk with Jesus is like because it doesn't show outwardly. (Though mine does and that doesn't mean my heart is changed so take from that what you will.) 

I am prideful, and I judge other people because they don't do the things that I do that make me seem Christianly. 

"You only read your Bible five minutes every couple days? Well--looks whose a heathen now."

I'm mean to people when they make me uncomfortable, and stupid around the people that I want to like me. I'm shallow, I'm selfish. I want other people to fail so that I look better. And for a little while, I feel better when other people aren't as good as me at something. 

My sister is my biggest rival. She's extremely nice, people like her, she's smart, she's talented, she knows where's she's going with her life. (EMR, on her way to being a paramedic. How noble is that?) She doesn't like school, which has always been my one-up on her, but with her course now she's doing extremely well and I feel like my identity is being robbed because that's what I found myself in. How smart I am, how good I am at everything I put my hand to. If I don't have that, I don't have anything. 

Except Jesus. And that doesn't seem to be enough for me. Because here I am wondering, do I really have Him? He would be enough if I did. I know that, because all the knowledge I have of the Bible lets me know that Jesus was enough for the people that were whipped, beheaded, put in prison, because of Him. He was enough for Paul, the Pharisee who was converted on the road to Damascus, and was put in prison, persecuted, stoned, and eventually killed for the message of Christ. He was enough for Gideon who took three hundred men into battle in the dead of the night, and for Elijah the Prophet, who called down fire from heaven to challenge hundreds of worshipers of Baal. 

Some of that information might be inaccurate. I know my Bible but not perfectly, and apparently not enough for it to change me. 

I mean--I changed. At first. I feel like it was real at first. Or at least--maybe it was?

I don't know what my decision was motivated out of. Here's the readers digest version of my conversion. (How'd you like that little rhyme thing I did there?)

I grew up in a Christian household, like a thousand other people out there, and had a relationship with God. Pasting memory verses on foam castles in children's church, and raising my hands during worship. But then something happened and I decided that I thought this whole schtick was stupid. I didn't want to be a Christian. It was a myth, a fictitious tale, much like the story I was writing with my friend about our role play characters. And then that myth became more real to me than God did. I used new age philosophies like "the secret" to try and manifest those characters into reality. I almost cut holes into the back of my shirt so that when my wings sprouted, I could slip them through the fabric. (Have you ever read Maximum Ride? Yah, I wanted to be genetically engineered to have wings just like the flock.) 

I know there was demonic activity working in my life, and if you think demons are something Christians make up to scare people into this "Jesus stuff" I'm going to tell you you're wrong and I don't care what you think if I talk about them. They're real. 

I wanted to run away from home, just so that I could get picked up off the street in the black Lamborghini of my main character. 

And the crazy thing? I was so good at lying, so good at pretending, that my mom and step dad didn't even realize that I wasn't the good Christian girl I was putting on the mask of. Smile, bat your eyelashes, say things like "fellowship", "Redeemed" and "Our Heavenly Father", and you're fine. 

Then we moved. My step dad was posted because he's in the military and I had to freaking go with him. What the heck was with that?

I rallied against the idea, and still continued to role play with my friend over the internet. Then I found people just like me. 

See that's the thing, you'll always find someone to participate in your sin, so you can't ever run from it. You have to give it to God, and that's what I'm so desperately wanting to be able to do now. 

But back to the story. 

I kind of role played at school, though of course, not with the characters me and my best friend had created. No, I did other things. Conformed to their patterns, while always pretending to be some character or another. If it wasn't the immortal teenager with drinking problems from my stories, it was the good girl at home, or the person who didn't care that they were drowning in the confusion of moving while I was at school.

I had this journal thing that I wrote in. That's always kind of been a consistent in my life. Not that I consistently write in a journal, but I always seem to come back to one method or another of journaling because writing seems to be a good way for me to process stuff.

Well my Mom found this journal, and in it I berated her, I swore, I talked about my characters, I ranted about how I hated everything--life itself. 

She didn't realize I was so messed up, and when she flipped out on me, something inside of me broke. 

Sort of. 

The rest of me balked. I decided that she couldn't control me, and that I was going to do whatever I was going to do anyways. 

And she read my journal again, weeks later!

And that time was the first time I ever really considered killing myself. 

You see, I'm going to get a bit psychologist on myself here, but I think because my Mom has always been the only consistent authority figure in my life, I value her opinion more highly than anyone else's. So when she said how badly I had hurt her, threatened to send me away, stuff like that, I felt more cut to the heart than ever before. I crumpled on my floor, and sobbed after she had left. 

I don't know why I suddenly cared what I did to her. I certainly didn't before, when she had first gotten angry. I didn't when I critiqued her, and said terrible things about her in my journal, and otherwise. But I did, and then I got scared. 

Her brother had gotten run over by a truck when she was young, and died during surgery for a couple of minutes. And he explained this scenario about going to Hell and having Satan standing in his hospital room, puking and saying "I've got you now," or something like that. And Mom had told me that story before and I suddenly felt convicted and like Hell was waiting for me. 

Turn or Burn philosophy, right?

I have to interrupt the story here for a second to say that I know it sounds weird. I'm not naive, I don't think that it's normal for people to have this idea in their head. I don't know how it works, but I know that it's real. Whether that's some kind of distorted, drug induced idea of dark, supernatural activity or a legitimate encounter with the devil, I don't know, nor do I particularly intellectualize about it. Something evil is out there, and don't pretend it's not. You know, deep down inside, that people that torture individuals for pleasure, and burn babies, and kill people of a different race because they are "inferior", are doing something wrong. 

Well that something, that darkness, freaked me out. And so did Hell. And I knew that Jesus was this ticket out, and so I asked Him for a "Get Out of Hell Free Card." Which--isn't being a Christian, and maybe that's a shock. Being a Christian means giving yourself to Christ, not asking to be saved from Hell. See, Hell isn't for people, it's not this incentive to be a Christian. It's punishment for the powers of darkness, and was never intended for us. But when we decide that we don't want God, then that's what we get. Separated from Him. 

And you're like "Oh well, if God's good then why wouldn't He just let us exist in this 'so called' afterlife, without Him? Why this Hell place?"

BECAUSE GOD IS GOOD! SO YOU'RE EXISTING OUTSIDE THE PRESENCE OF GOOD! YOU'RE LEFT IN THE PRESENCE OF EVIL! 

I'm sorry. Except that I'm really not. I'm finally saying (typing) what I feel like typing without freaking caring about what other people are going to say or think! I'm not perfect! I get it! I don't deserve heaven, and I'm not claiming to. I'm saying that Jesus allows us to enter heaven when we say "Take me!" And that's what being a Christian is. It's loving God, not because you're afraid of Hell, but because you're in love with Jesus. You don't love you're spouse because you're afraid of being alone. You love you're spouse because you love them, and that should be enough. 

Which brings me to a point I haven't made yet, but should have. 

I don't know if I was really *saved when I became a Christian because I was afraid of Hell. 

*Being "saved" is just the Christianese word for the moment you decided to accept this Jesus stuff as being worth giving your life to. 

I started to do this behavior modification stuff. I had this big thick binder filled with pictures (albeit poor ones) that I had drawn of my characters, torn up, bloodied and bruised from their encounters with tortuous experiences I had decided to "put them through". Pictures of them with weapons, with needles, with sharp teeth and fangs. It was screwed up, and so, I ripped them up. And I started to read my Bible, and pray, and stuff like that. And whenever I tell this part of my testimony  everyone gets really excited. That's because this testimony is a lot different than the one I tell other people (and it has ended up not really being the readers digest version anyways.) And when I tell my story to other Christians, this seems to be the turning point of my life. I started living for God. 

And maybe I did, I don't know. But where I am right now tells me that I was just changing behaviors  Pulling up my moral bootstraps by myself, and deciding that I was good enough for God now. 

But we never are good enough for God, it's by His grace that He chooses us to come to Him. And He says "Hey, by the way. I died so that you could be saved from how messed up you are." I'll never be perfect, but Jesus always was, and He stands in front of all my failures so that all God sees is His perfectness, not my lack of it. 

It's hard to explain, and hard to understand, and I want to understand it but I don't really know that I do. Because here I am doing the same stuff I was doing four years ago, and no one is any better for it. 

I follow all these religious rules, and say "Hey! Doesn't that make me a Christian?"

Except that's stupid. Because Christianity isn't even supposed to be a religion. It's supposed to be a relationship with God. A friendship, a marriage, a father and child, a servant and master, all rolled into one. So here I am doing religious things for a not religion. It's like me saying that I should be married because I can cook. Maybe I can do something that's in some roundabout way involved in a marriage, but it's not the central aspect and it doesn't have anything to do with having a relationship with someone!

Okay, so praying and reading your Bible and going to church all bring you closer to God. If you already have a relationship with Him. If I'm doing all of this and I don't love Him with my whole heart, and am not doing it to know Him better but to be good enough to get into heaven--well. That's like calling someone you don't know everyday and saying that you know them because you call them everyday. 

What you fail to mention is that you're leaving a message on their answering machine everyday, not talking to them. 

That's what it's like. 

And I want to get out of this place! I want to stop leaving a message and I want to go over to God's house, knock on the door, and come sit down for supper. GET TO KNOW HIM! Not know about Him. Not read His magazines, and memorize his stats, brush up on the latest gossip on God. I can know the Bible inside, outside, upside-down, and have know idea what the person that authored it (God) is really like. 

I'm reading this booked called "Not a Fan" right now, and every chapter I read just reinforces that I'm a fan of God, not a follower. I know a lot about Him, but I don't really know Him. I wouldn't give up everything for the creator of the universe, even though He gave everything for me. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid! 

I can't do it on my own. I can't do it at all. I just need God to take over, and I don't even know how to go about asking Him to do that. 

I don't want to obsess over my weight, trying to find my identity in those stupid numbers on the scale, getting frustrated to the point of eating disorder when they're too high. I don't want to sabotage my sister to feel better about myself, or die internally every time someone says something bad about me because I'm so dang insecure that a word of rebuke send me spiraling out of control. I don't want to care so much about what other people think about me and what kind of "Christian" that I am, that I don't share the gospel, God's good news, word about Jesus, with others!

I have became this fake, plastic, porcelain, Christian doll. Nobody sees what God does in my life because I don't let Him do anything. And I'm fake. When something happens I spew out all these Christian-isms, I give them the "right answers" so they don't think I'm a bad Christian. "All things work together for good", "I just need to trust in God", "Pray for me." None of these things are false, none of these things are bad, but they just become so ritualized that they don't come from the heart and we don't mean them. 

Fake. Plastic. Doll. Who am I going to bring to Christ? Who wants to be like that? I don't even, and I'm trying to convince others they should join me in a pew to pretend everything is okay?

No. I'd say that this changes now, but I'm not even in control of that. God needs to do it, and you'll know it when He does. I pray He does. 

-I am the Trumpet Player and I want to be a Christian. A real one. A follower of Christ, no holds barred, love with abandon, don't care what others think, Christian.   

  

      

Dolore

To play con dolore is to play with sadness, and I suppose that would have to sum up what my post is about.

I'll start with the less obvious of the two things that have been causing me to play my tune con dolore lately. I've been reflecting, just on life, and I'm not entirely sure I'm happy with it. Not that there's anything particularly wrong in my life, don't get me wrong, I'm just not satisfied. I want to be living a fulfilling life, one that spends itself for God and for the other people He has put in my life. I want to venture on evangelistic endeavors, and see hearts and lives changed for Jesus Christ.

But I don't.

And I thought to myself, isn't that the most important thing? What have I been doing with my life? If I were to die today, what would people say about me. Sure I'm ambitious, dedicated, hardworking, whatever. I get good grades, I excel at stuff. But would they say that I'm hospitable, that I love God, that peoples lives were changed by me? Not even by me. By God working through me?

I doubt it.

And then I got to thinking about people in my life, and the people that I don't really know. Don't really spend time with. And the list is extensive. I spend time with the people that are immediately around me at the particular time. And then they all fall away and I'm left--this island unto myself.

Maybe I'm just being dramatic, but it's made me sad. Con dolore.

I also went to my Auntie's funeral today. It was actually a celebration of life, so a lot better than a funeral, but still. It's really weird that she's gone, and I never really spent a lot of time with her. She invited me out to her acreage to spend a couple days and whatever, and I never went. Which sucks. Because now I can't. And I feel like some kind of impostor, grieving that she's gone. Her sisters can grieve, her husband can grieve, her children can grieve. Who am I that I'm sad that she's gone? I didn't know her like everyone else did. And even though I wish that I did, I didn't, so how can I be sad? I feel like I'm pretending, even though I'm not.

I don't know.

But to add to the depth of the instruction to play Con Dolore today, I learned that my great grandma died. It's weird, I feel like it's not going to stop there. This sadness, the death. I feel like we're starting some kind of weird phase, and I'm scared about it.

I'm just--not so much myself right now and I wanted to vent a little bit. Get it out there. Play my song with as much dolore as possible, and share it with the world. It's this catharsis of sorts. Purging of emotion.

I know it probably doesn't make much sense, but I just want to change. Be someone better. Be someone different.

I don't know if that even makes any sense.

Well--hopefully God just uses this feeling to break me, change me. Turn my meaningless string of sad notes into a song that will impact others. That's all a Trumpet can ask for, right? That their song reaches somebody else? Or are we supposed to play with the intent to be heard by one?

--Trumpet Player

Piu

Piu is simply a musical term for more. And there has been so much more that has happened in my life since I've last posted that I think 'more' is the appropriate term for today's post.

Let's start with the most crazy, radical thing that I can think of since my last post.

I went to Kenya!

That's right, Africa my friends. Your little blogger is now a world traveler, a missionary, a nineteen year old, fresh out of college, person who has been to Africa.

Yah--I thought that was building to something a little more creative too. But it didn't.

It was an amazing experience, one that I know has changed me, and shaped me, and made me somebody different. I'll level with you for a second here, I didn't really want to go to Africa. I knew that we would have a missions trip at the end of our year, and I was excited about where we would be going. When it was revealed that we would be going to Kenya, I wasn't sure what to think.

Great--Africa. I've never wanted to go to Africa. I kept picturing these mud huts, and bugs, and the desert. I knew I wouldn't be prepared for the culture shock I would experience upon going there. But I knew that God was in control of the whole thing and that whatever He had for my class in Africa, it would be good. I didn't have to stress or worry, I just had to go and know that He would work.

Everyone that I told I was going to Kenya exclaimed excitedly that whoever has been to Kenya always wants to go back. My thought process was "okay, sure. But those people who go to Kenya generally want to go there in the first place and that's why they want to go back."

Nope. I definitely want to go back. I want to take everyone I know with me so they can experience the life-changing thing that is a trip to Kenya.

So much happened and I would like to tell you all about it, but at the same time, I feel like that will take a very, very long time, so I should just mention that I've been to Kenya and then expand on it later.

Keep you wanting Piu.

I thought that was clever.

I came back from our trip and graduated from Bible college. I said goodbye to some of my friends, but not for very long. I knew I would see them again at Church and that we would all be closer for the trip that we shared with each other.

Something interesting, turns out B Flat is a Trumpet, and one who has been put in my band for maybe a little bit more than a couple of songs. Me and her are very much alike, and she is actually an incredible person. She's super sweet, and has a great heart. She has had some rough times with guys in the past though, and I really think she deserves Amoroso, not me.

Perhaps that's selfless of me, and perhaps me and Amoroso were just never meant to be, you know? I'm at the point now where I just wish I hadn't wasted so much time talking about him. But I'm not going to make the same mistake, and continue talking about him. I'm just going to say that I'm glad him and B Flat are so compatible, and I hope they make each other happy.

I also got accepted to University, I'm all enrolled in classes for the Fall, and I'm going to take my Bachelor of Education. Mold young minds, as I always say. I've always loved school, and even now am feeling the tug of academics. Sitting around playing the Sims all day is hardly my idea of intellectually stimulating. (Though it is fun.)

I moved back in with my parents, and my family, and barring any unforeseen circumstances, am going to be staying with them until I complete my degree. Rent free baby! That's the way to do it!

I mulled around the house for the first three weeks that I was here, and it's a good thing I helped with dishes and stuff, otherwise I might have been kicked out. Just kidding, my parents are pretty tolerant. They realized I was kind of trying to find a job. I had applied and was just waiting to hear back from a couple.

I got hired at the fitness centre as a recreation leader, and am now molding young minds to play sports. Fitness is one of my favorite things, so it's pretty sweet that I get to teach kids sports and fitness.

It was actually really cool. I had just finished reading this book about confessing with your tongue God's promises, and speaking life into situations. So I spoke in faith (not really believing that it would work) that I was sick and tired of not having a job. "Tomorrow I'm going to hear about a job. I might not have a job tomorrow but I'm going to know about when I'm going to get one."

The next day I got a phone call to schedule an interview for the job I now have. Way to be! God's actually really cool, and has put into place a spiritual principle about reaping what you say. Which is cool. Why would He do that? Why would He give us that creative power and potential? Just because He's awesome I guess.

I have also been to the movies with my friend from school. She's a hairdresser, but I feel like she's in the creative scope of Oboe. Some people can't stand her, and you only really need one of her, but she's amazing. I've pretty much loved her like a family member since I started getting to know her. She has this great heart, and this complexity in the simplicity. She might be mistaken for a Clarinet, but you only need to spend a few seconds with her to see the difference. She's not afraid to make herself heard, or to make her opinions known, but that's part of what she brings to the table. She has so much to add, she has so much to be. She's just awesome, that's all I can say.

I've also been to Iron Man 3 with my Uncle and my sister, the Flute. I'd say my Uncle is a Guitar, because he plays the Guitar, but he's actually pretty shy and quiet. I'd say he's more like a bassoon or something. He's one of a kind, and when he makes a noise, it's a characteristic sound. You can't mistake him for anyone else. The bassoon, though big, deep, and intimidating, has a softness about it. There is an almost soothing quality to its rumbly sound. And you know the weird thing? I've always kind of associated the Oboe and the Bassoon. And I kind of hope the two of them could associate themselves too. They're the same age and everything.

Anyways.

I also went to an indoor amusement park with my sister, saw The Great Gatsby with her, ate in the food court, did some shopping.

Tomorrow I have a CPR and First Aid course for work, which actually brings up another funny story.

When talking to my Dad I have been doing this thing where everytime he needs an example for a name, I tell him 'Bradford.' Well when I called to book my CPR course the guy said "Hello, thank you for calling, this is Bradford."

I almost freaked out! I was so happy.

Simple minds perhaps?

Anyways, I suppose that brings us to here. I'm sitting at my computer, blogging again despite my long absence. But that's the thing I guess. Blogging doesn't have to be rigid and restrictive, and I like that.

Well, I'll be back with Piu, soon I would anticipate. But it doesn't matter if I am or not. This is my blog.

I love it.

--Trumpet Player

Da Capo

Happy (belated) New Year everyone! So much has been happening, and I apologize, but blogging has kind of been the last thing on my mind. But today, here I am. And I'm going to start Da Capo. From the beggining.

It was about a month ago I'd say, December 13th or so, when things went awry with my brother. It was finals week, a thursday morning, when we received the call. I was getting ready, and had time to look at the phone with a confused look on my face before picking it up. My Gradnma had picked it up at the same time and it was a shocking, gut wrenching, terrifying thing when my Mom said to pray, that my precious brother had a stroke.

I'll be honest, it didn't really make any sense to me. I didn't know what that meant, I didn't know what to do about it. I continued to get ready for school, my whole world kind of fuzzy, dream-like. I told my friend from school, and she said she would drive me and my Grandma to the hospital. I went.

It's hard to remember, but I don't think I saw him that day. He was in for surgery, a life-threatening surgery that hadn't been done on someone as young as him before. I waited in the PICU waiting room, where he had been when it had first been determined that he had a heart condition, before he got the surgery for his artifical heart. I stayed with Mom who was crying on and off. She told me the tragic story, kept saying how terrible it was.

He had called for Dad around six thirty or seven in the morning and then he started to whimper and breathe hard. Mom told him that Dad was sleeping but she could help him, and what did he need? Did he have to go to the bathroom? He just continued to whimper and suck back laboured breaths. Mom told him he couldn't do that, he was scaring her.

In the dark she said it was hard to tell, but the side of his face looked like it was drooping. She flicked on the light, and it was. She called for the nurses, said she doesn't remember exactly what she said but something about there being 'something wrong,' and that my brother 'was having a stroke'.

The doctors later said that 'the stars had aligned' and that there was 'good luck in the bad luck' with how everything afterwards had transpired.

The anethesiologist wasn't currently occupied, and was ready for them when they wheeled my brother in. In addition, they had managed to catch the stroke within a four hour period. That window apparently helps to make the chances of recovery that much better if you can deal with the clot in that time period. The surgery went super well, they got nintey eight percent of the clot out, and were able to have my brother in the PICU again within probably five hours of the stroke.

The bad news? He was taken off the transplant list because in the state he was in, he wouldn't be able to support a new heart, even if one came. But, he was on his way to recovering from the stroke. Even though there had been a massive step backwards, he could start taking tiny steps forward again.

I went back to school on Friday, and finished the final exam on my class on the book of Joshua, as well as the test on the book of Acts that I had missed. That night, I do beleive, I went to the house near the hospital where my Mom was staying. It is a facility that is specifically designed for parents, and the families of pediatric patients who need to have access to the hospital at any moment. There are huge kitchen areas, a kids room, a gym, entertainment rooms, a library. It's an amazing facility, truly.

I stayed for the first week of my Christmas break, stopping off at home occasionally to grab a few new outfits, or workout. Now, I would be lying if I said that I totally enjoyed staying there. It was good to have that time with my Mom, but it was hard too. She wasn't herself, and was suffering from the trauma of having found my brother while he was having a stroke. She would wake up in the middle of the night while having a panic attack, or would start crying out of nowhere. She would be fine one moment, and a complete mess the next. She would say that she didn't understand, she would say that her kids were her life, how could this happen? She would say over and over that she just wanted God to heal him. She would ask me, again and again, if I really thought he was going to be okay.

What could I do, but tell her yes, I really believed that. And I did, but I was just as scared as anyone after his stroke. What if I was wrong? What if that feeling I had, that certainty that he would be okay, was just a different form of denial?

We received some good news a couple days later. My brother would be put back on the list for a transplant, at a higher status. That meant he could recveive a heart from anywhere in North America, not just from our country. But, it was a catch twenty two. Unless a perfect heart came in the next two weeks, they didn't want to do a transplant. They figured it would pose more risks to my brother than anything. At the same time, the doctors thought that it was risky for my brother to be on the heatware now because there was the possibility of another clot forming/being in the decive and it could go to his brain and cause another stroke.

We were all a little on edge.

Then, he started to throw up, and throw up a lot. Then he started to vomit blood. To be honest, I got mad at God. Wondered why He would let this happen. Wondered if He cared. Wondered if He really could just heal my brother's heart in a miraculous turn of events. And if He could, why didn't He? But, it wasn't my place to question God, or doubt Him, or ask why He wasn't doing things the way I thought they should be done. I heard it said once that asking God why contains an arrogance and pride that implies that you somehow deserve and answer. Who are we to God that we should ask Him why He does what He does? He knows better than we ever will, and we just have to trust Him, even when it doesn't make sense.

My brother went in for a scope, and they discovered that he had a contagious bacteria called CDIF. That was what was causing him to throw up so much, and the throwing up caused some superficial cuts on the walls of his stomach. But, that was the best news we could have gotten. It wasn't fatal, it wasn't tragic, it was good news. They knew how to treat him now, and he could start getting even better. He was put into isolation, and we had to wear gloves and gowns to see him, but it was a small price to pay. I am a bit of hypocondriac, so I must admit that I washed my hands rigerously after seeing him, and I didn't bring in a whole lot to his room, just incase. But that didn't mean I didn't see him, and certainly didn't mean I didn't love him. I visited him one morning, just me, while my Mom and Dad went to go check the house that they would be moving into in a month and a half. He slept most of the time, but I watched him, my heart swelling in my chest. I tousled his hair, pulled his blanket up around his shoulders, grabbed his left hand, which stayed clenched a lot after his stroke. I just knew he was going to make it. God would take care of him.

He was taken upstairs again, back to his old room, and a whole bunch of his old nurses were there to say hello, and welcome him back. He was still in isolation, but that was almost a blessing in disguise. It meant that he needed a nurse to be with him at all times, and that helped put everyone a little more at ease. He was well taken care of.

At the end of the week I went home to pretend that things were somewhat normal. My other sibilings were coming to the city to stay with me and my Grandparents for their Christmas holidays. I couldn't wait. To have the busy-ness, the hustle and bustle, my family, around me? That would be wonderful. A great distraction. Something good in the midst of the bad.

When Christmas Eve rolled around, my siblings went to 'The House', to be with Mom and open up some presents. I had invited my biological Dad (we'll call him The Drummer, for ease of understanding), his mom and my step-mom to the Christmas Eve service at my church. It was fantastic! I couldn't help but watch The Drummer, and my other family to see how they liked it. The Drummer and my step-mom aren't saved, and it's kind of hard to know about my Grandma on that side. She used to be Roman Catholic, but kind of is more holistic than anything now. I so desperatly want them all to see that God is amazing! That He doesn't have to be boring, sit, stand, pray, kneel, the way we try and make Him. And the Christmas Eve servie was a good way to introduce them to my church, and the exciting God we worship there, without being too 'in your face this is church yo!'

They said they enjoyed it, which was great, and then they drove me to 'The House' to be with my Mom and siblings for the rest of the night. I opened up my presents, distrubuted those I had bought to my siblings, and then crawled into bed. It was a strange kind of experience. Different, I suppose, is the best word to describe it. My Dad wasn't there (not The Drummer, but my step-dad), and neither was my youngest brother. It was strange not having Christmas with my whole family.

But, in the morning we went to the hospital to be with the rest of the family. My littlest sister couldn't come though, because she was sick and my little brother was really suseptable to sickness. If he even caught a cold it could be not good. Like--really not good.

So Christmas was spent with most of the family, in a hospital room, in gowns, gloves, and masks, because my Mom was paranoid that we were carrying sick germs. It became a joke later, that she was being over-protective and that we would be masking up because we had been around people who had been around people who were sick. It made her laugh when we later told her one of the nurses asked us why we were wearing masks, because we didn't need too. But we were happy to oblige, and it was for the best anyways.

My Auntie had dropped off some homemade perogies, smoked turkey, and cabbage rolls for Christmas dinner for my parents at the hospital. We all ate some, though my brother couldn't hold down that food, so we ate outside his room while he was sleeping. In the evening we went home because he was falling asleep, and me and my sister ate some of the dinner my Grandma had made, and we watched the Avengers with my Uncle, my Grandma, my Grandpa, and our two younger siblings.*

*I have four siblings. My youngest sibling, in the hospital, a nine year old sister, an eleven year old brother, and a sixteen year old sister who also happens to be my best friend ever and the Flute player.

Me and my sister, the Flute, spent so much time together while she was here. She really, REALLY, loves Anime, so we watched a fair bit. We also drew some pictures, wrote, talked, walked to the store about a hundred different times, drank some Starbucks, watched movies with the family. It was fun. One of my favourite things though was definitely Thursday. I have a best friend who I've known since I was in kindergarden, and she's probably a Tuba player. I know the Tuba has a negative connotation, like the nerdy kid plays the Tuba, but I'd like to kill that stereotype now. The Tuba players I know are all very self assured, confident, don't care what other people think about them, and very skilled. They are gutsy, strong, and an essential part of the band. That's my friend.

Now, it doesn't seem like a Trumpet, a Tuba, and a Flute, would go together that well, but they do. Me and my sister walked over to the Starbucks near my house and met up with the Tuba. I got a Chai Tea Latte, my sister got a Caramel Machiatto, and the Tuba got a Double Chocolate Chip Frapaccino. We walked over to a bus terminal with our drinks in tow, and bussed it to the biggest mall in the city. We bought ourselves some frozen yogurt, and walked all around the mall, talking, laughing, joking, making jabs at eachother, and all around having a good time. When we had finished looking at everything there was to see, we bussed over to the Olive Garden and had some of the best pasta ever. We laughed so hard when I looked out the window and said that when we were done we should go to the coffee place across the street.

We hit her house afterwards, sitting around and just talking for a bit before me and my sister bussed back to my place and continued to stay up for the rest of the night, watching anime and laughing hard with eachother. It was a good day, for sure.

My siblings went back just yesterday, and I have to admit I was really sad to see them go. They will be moving to the city in about three weeks, but I almost feel as though I can't make it that long. Spending that much concentrated time with them makes me realize how much I missed having them around. Not that it hasn't been a fun, amazing adventure, but I'm a family girl for sure. I think once there here I'll be there, or they'll be here probably every weekend.

Oh yah, and the best part of ever! The Friday before my Thursday almost quartet adventure, I got a call from my Mom.

"Your brother is getting a heart!"

So now, my little brother is the proud owner of a brand new heart! And he's doing amazing on it. He's out of the PICU, the fastest to ever get moved onto the forth floor after transplant, and he's going to be discharged from the hospital to 'The House' on Wednesday!

The crazy thing is, the doctors wanted him to get a heart two weeks after his stroke, because they figured he'd be stable enough to support it by then. Sixteen days after his stroke he got his heart, and had he not been a status 4 on the list from his stroke, he wouldn't have gotten the heart because it came from the international status.

Looking back, it's easy to see God's hand in it all. Had he not had a stroke, he wouldn't have been bumped up, and wouldn't have gotten the heart he did, when he did. It's a blessing in disguise, really. And now he's doing so good. I'm so happy I could cry.

He gets to start Da Capo. A new life, a new heart. It's amazing, and I couldn't be happier.

Praise God!

--Trumpet Player.