What Being a Writer Taught Me About God

If I said "Tell me what happened in your life in September 2001," most people would tell you all about September 11th and the impact it had on them.  Maybe some people would talk about how they got married that month and others would talk about how that was the day their child was born.  However, for the average person, we associate that month with one event.

However, I am one of those that is an exception.  September 2001, indeed, brings to my mind the images of smoke billowing from the Twin Towers in New York City.  I was eleven years old, and I remember many things clearly.  However, one other big life event happened to me that month:  that was the month I began to write.

The stories had been floating around in my head for years and years, ever since I can remember, but for me, the time had now come where gel pen must be applied to notebook, and the story must begin to take shape.

Approximately six drafts and over twelve years later, I'm still not any closer to publishing the first book of that series, but that's okay.  Over time, I have grown as a writer, and I've grown closer to God through my writing.  Believe it or not, writing fiction and inventing things has actually taught me more about God than I would have ever thought.

1.  God's Will vs. What God Allows to Happen--This is kind of an unusual one, but I learned it while writing.  If you are as close to your characters as I am, you become their friend.  You created them out of your own head, and you are in charge of your little world.  If you decide to move an entire town to another state, then you are free to do that.  You are free to kill off characters, and you are free to decide certain characters are unnecessary and delete them before anyone ever sees anything.  No one will ever know a certain character existed if you never admit you created them.  You choose which stories about your characters are important enough to print.  In short, a fiction writer is the god of his/her own world.  But at the same time, your characters (and please do not think I am insane as other writers have experienced this) have their own personalities and sometimes make their own decisions.  I kid you not, I have argued with fictional characters over what I want them to do.  Sometimes, in the end, no matter how much I want them to do the right thing, they'll end up doing the wrong thing, and I am then left with a huge mess to help them sort out, which could have been completely avoided if they had just listened to me in the first place!  Now, am I in control of my characters?  Yes, just as God is in control of all that happens to me.  But must I sometimes let my characters do what they want?  Yes, I have to, just like God lets me do stupid things sometimes so that I learn what is best.  If my characters always did it the way I wanted them too, they would never grow.  Either way, I am in control.

2.  An Increased Appreciation for God's Creative Ability--I mean, seriously, God has made a wonderful world, and He seriously is always going to be a dozen times more creative than me because He's Almighty God, and I'm just ordinary human Katrina.  But, seriously, I have to pour hours upon hours (days upon days, years upon years) into creating a character, trying to decide what he will look like, develop a personality, figure out family dynamics, create his house/school, arrange friendships among other characters in the story, etc.  It is an exhausting process, and you know how much time it takes God to do all that for me?  I mean, from before time began, He knew all this about me, about every person on this planet.  He created a world out of nothing--a real, physical world.  I'm trying to create a mental world, which I can only use words to describe (due to the fact I couldn't draw a picture to save my life), and it drives me insane sometimes.

3.  God's Perfect Plan--Occasionally, I am called to a very difficult and delicate task in writing:  namely that of killing off a character.  I usually know when I create a character whether they will die or not, although within the past six months, I have killed off two characters that I didn't think I would kill when I invented them.  However, killing off characters is never something that leaves your other characters untouched.  In some cases, because I write Christian fiction, they begin to question if God even cares about them.  They wonder why things happen sometimes, even if they are upset about something not related to death.  They cry and become upset, and I as the author can't come to them and say, "It's okay.  I'm going to make things better.  Wonderful things are coming, but I need to get you through this first."  Even though I have the ability to jump ahead to several years in their future when everything comes together, and they see how life is okay, when I am writing that scene, I cannot let them know that.  (Once again, please do not think I am insane because I have this sort of relationship with my characters.  Other authors have experienced this same connection.)  In this same way, God has always known exactly what will happen in my life.  He has planned it all.  In a certain way, my characters trust me to know what is best.  When I "talk" to them, I sometimes have to assure them, "Don't worry.  I have a plan.  Trust me."  Is this not the same thing God frequently has to tell us as Christians?  That He has planned it all and that we just need to trust Him to get us through?  He has seen the end, and He knows how he will guide us.

4.  Gratitude That God Is Never Surprised--Honestly, no matter how much I tell my characters, "I have a plan," there are times when I seriously don't know what's going on.  I know Point A and Point Z, but it's B through Y that's all a little fuzzy.  Furthermore, there are times when all of a sudden an idea will hit me, and I'm like, "Oh, yes, this is wonderful!"  Then I go and plunge my characters into a situation, and after I come out of my "This is awesome!" reverie, I all of a sudden realize I have no idea how in the world I'm going to get them out of this or how this even relates to the greater story.  Hey, I've even had revelations about certain characters not being saved, which usually results in me popping open the laptop or putting myself into the "Do Not Disturb" thinking mode until I can come up with a salvation story for them.  But, you know what?  God is never shocked by anything that happens in my life.  He never has moments where He says, "What in the world am I going to do?"  As an author who can barely be god of her own characters some days, the fact that I am constantly in the care of a God who can never be surprised by anything is utterly amazing.  The freakouts I have that leave me wanting to pull my hair out are something He never has to experience because He is perfectly in control.

Do Not Pity

I just wrote this poem expressing the way MKs are sometimes made to feel, especially over the holiday season.

Do Not Pity

by Katrina P. Zemke

Do not pity me

And moan over how far away I am.

I already know.

I’m already aware.

And your sympathy sounds like nothing

But words.

Do not claim to understand

That you know what I’m going through

Because you left your child

At a camp five hundred miles away

For a whole summer.

Do not tell me how you cried

The day you left your child

At college in another state.

My parents left me

And flew away

A thousand

Five thousand

Ten thousand

Miles.

I thank you for your prayers.

I thank you for your concern.

But understand:

You cannot know;

You do not know;

Until you have truly lived

This life.

I don’t cry tears.

I don’t mourn all day.

I came to terms

With the reality of my life

Many years ago;

And I am not heartless

Because of that.

Don’t ask me when I will see

My parents again.

If I asked you that question,

Would you really be able to answer?

Maybe I can answer,

But even if I can’t,

Do not respond,

“Oh, that must be so hard.”

This is my life.

This is all I know.

So next time you see me

And ask about my family:

Do not think I am heartless.

Do not claim to understand.

Do not pity.

What I Learned In Four Years Thanks To the Daily Grind

I was poking around on my computer, and I found this.  Apparently, I wrote this about six weeks before graduating college, and I honestly still believe every word I wrote.  Some of these are humorous; some are serious, but all reflect my absolute love for a little coffee shop at a little college in a little town in Wisconsin. :)

1. No matter how tired you are, do not drink a large latte right before chapel.
2. If you plan on getting a good night’s sleep, do not drink a latte after 9:00 p.m.
3. Lemon syrup + café au lait = not a good idea
4. The same goes for lime
5. Each Grind worker is amazing in their own special way; talk to them 
6.  Be where you are. 
7.  If you wear glasses, remove them before entering the Grind if the temperature is below freezing.
8. I no longer have a blood stream.  I have a caffeine stream that occasionally is too full of blood.
9. This place is a thousand times better than Starbucks.
10. Sometimes a walk to the Grind, even for something non-coffee, is the best way to clear your head when you have a lot of homework.  It’s not so much the drink, but the fresh air between your dorm room and the Grind and also just talking with maybe a person there, that can get you refocused.
11. Be spontaneous and mix flavors.
12. Show up at least half an hour before Masque, grab a cup of coffee, and chat with some friends while you wait.
13. Ask the Grind worker for a recommendation.
14. Thank the Grind workers.  Don’t take them for granted.
15. God can provide for even seemingly silly little things like a cup of coffee.
16. No matter where I travel in life, a college coffee shop in Dunbar, WI, will always hold a special place in my heart.

(Yes, I totally stole this pic from their Facebook page.)

Dining Etiquette: The MK Edition

As soon as an MK disembarks the plane back "home" in America (or gets out of the car in the case of the Mexican and Canadian breeds), he is expected to start behaving American again, despite whatever he has experienced in the last however many years.  Before you get embarrassed about what they just did, you have to think of the challenges they have to overcome:  getting over jet lag (unless they just arrived from, like, South America), relearning how to Ameri-properly greet people (no kissing, no bowing, etc.), making sure their parents drive on the right side of the road (in some cases), and remastering Ameri-proper table manners.  Today, in light of the upcoming Thanksgiving weekend, we will examine the last item on the list.  I have made some generalizations here, but, in my experience, there are four types of MKs at dinnertime.

#1:  The Fork and Knife Aficionado
No, seriously.  Is that fried chicken?  Cut it up with a fork and knife!  Is that pizza?  Use a fork and knife!  Bacon?  FORK AND KNIFE!  Meanwhile, the Americans are over at their spots barbarically getting their fingers dirty.  Yuck.  Who can stand for such behavior?  Well, actually, let me tell you:  after some exposure to this fork and knife culture, I did discover that eating chicken with a fork and knife did actually save me some finger licking.  However, this phase got completely destroyed by college, and I'm sure some Australian might read this someday and silently weep that I got corrupted all over again.

Seriously, though.  Have you eaten at this place?  Ain't nobody got time to use a fork and knife!

#2:  The Chopstick Guru
You gazed at this MK in wonder at the Chinese restaurant as they gracefully handled every noodle and rice dish proficiently with chopsticks.  "You must teach me," you said.  However, one day, you show up at their house, and there they are, sitting at the table, eating mashed potatoes with chopsticks.  You immediately curl up in the fetal position muttering, "It's not possible!  It's not possible!" while they offer you some mashed potatoes and begin to dig around for a spoon.  I mean, you asked about soup, and they explained how they fish out the big bits with their chopsticks and then proceed to drink the broth, but mashed potatoes?  As you spend more time with them, you realize it only gets worse as they then proceed to eat pudding and Jello with chopsticks.  They claim they can eat faster with chopsticks than you can with a fork and knife and then go on and prove their point.  You believed those two bamboo sticks were ridiculous, but now you have a feeling the Asians might be on to something.

Hello, my precious real ramen!

#3:  The Etiquette Barbarian
This is actually a very broad category.  Maybe this person believes it is okay to burp loudly.  Or reach across the table rather than asking for something.  Or to put their elbows on the table.  Or slurp their soup/noodles.  Or pick up their bowl/eat with their head about two inches from the dish.  They licked their plate.  Or, worst of all, wants to eat everything with their *gasp* FINGERS!  Oh the terrible, germ-sharing habit this poor MK has inherited.  Sure, the others are behaving rudely, but this...this person is acting like he's some sort of barbarian from a third world country!  Third-world country, probable.  Barbarian, no.  In fact, if you must know "barbarian" means "non-city dweller," and he actually came from the capital city, so...  Okay, I know what you mean, but, basically, what you should know is that if you eat pizza out of the same box as everyone else at a party, you are practicing the exact same table manners this person does.  And there are still etiquette rules that govern every single "breach of etiquette" mentioned in this paragraph.  In fact, to not do these would be a breach of etiquette in this MK's culture.  So, please, approach this MK with an open mind...or gently and patiently try to train them in the American way.  (However, it took me four years of college to learn to eat soup Ameri-properly, so if you're going to train, please be very patient!)

Evidence that there are rules on how to eat rice with fingers

#4:  The Guy Who Actual Does It All Properly
I imagine this MK is very rare indeed, but it's the one whose country actually follows all of the American rules.  I don't know where it springs from, but I'm guessing the average one who actually manages to remain Ameri-proper all the time either a) is home missions, b) was extremely well-trained in American manners by their parents, or c) has never really been exposed to much of their "other" culture.  Seriously, I don't know how they do it.

This MK will never be given a judging look by Americans.  Lucky guy.

In conclusion, I would like to point out that MKs can be a mix of the above.  I'm definitely a mix of "Chopstick Guru" and "Etiquette Barbarian."  Whatever MK you end up eating a meal with though, respect their table manners and just remember that your table manners are as weird to them as theirs are to you.

(And, one final note:  this Thanksgiving, try eating the rinds of your squash.  That stuff is delicious.)

I Am Alive

I wish I could make the claim the day of November 21, 2010, started out ordinarily enough.  Well, I guess it did at first.  I got up, did my devotions, ate a quick breakfast (probably a Pop-Tart), and went down to the lobby to wait for the guys to show up in Bertha Sophia.  For the record, Bertha Sophia was a gigantic maroon fifteen passenger van that looked like it was a candidate for spare parts on Junkyard Wars (man, I miss that show).  As usual, the guys were late.  Normal morning so far.  We girls piled in, and I noticed something was weird already.

"Where's Thomas?"  It wasn't his week to travel with the Northern Lights, so where was he?  Yes, Seth and Betsey were gone too, but it was their week.

Oh, something about him pet-sitting for a staff member.  We were going to go pick him up.  Great, more delays.  I hated being delayed.  I just wanted to get to church and spend time with my adorable two and three year olds in Sunday school, listen to some awesome preaching, eat some great non-campus food, shop at Wal-Mart, and be back to campus early because we had an afternoon service.  Maybe I'd have a sub request waiting for me even.  I could really use some work hours.

We finally found Thomas, and he climbed in the van into the back row with Sharee.  I was in the second to back row with Heather.  In front of me was Amanda, Chris, and Becca.  In front of them was Katie, Shannon, and Stephen.  Brendon was driving, and Abi was in the passenger seat.

Three years later, and I still remember where we all sat.

The roads had the lightest dusting of snow on them, so we elected to drive down Holmes Junction instead of County L.  I already was hating the fact we had to use Bertha this week because she was so cold.  I hoped this would be our last trip ever in her and we could use the white van Ernestine from that moment on.

As we drove down the curves of Holmes Junction, my extension team (a group of college students who goes to minister at a local church together) began praying as we always did on our hour long trip to Marinette.  I think all of us prayed for safety among all our other things because we knew we needed it.  You always do in winter at Northland.  Or anytime.  Especially with all the deer on the roads.

Finally, we made it off Holmes Junction onto the highway and could breathe a sigh of relief.  The road was straight and wide, and deer didn't cross nearly as often here.  The roads still had a bit of snow here, but, hey, it was November in northern Wisconsin.  What did you expect?

We had just passed where County L intersects the highway when our van began to fishtail.  I remember panicking because there was an ambulance coming the other way, and I began to wonder what the penalties were for hitting an ambulance.  I never got to find out because almost before I could complete that thought, the van swung the other way, and we were facing the ditch.

Great, we're going to drive straight into the ditch, I thought.  I mean, that would be unpleasant, but at least we could get it towed out.

Even before that thought could be completed, though, I found myself sideways and then upside down.

"Oh my word!  Oh my word!  Oh my word!" I screamed.  I thought I was going to die.  Or all of us were going to die.  Or some of us were going to die.

It felt like we rolled twice, but they say it was only once.  Next thing I knew, the van was sitting upright on the side of the road.  I paused for a moment and blinked.  I can't remember what I noticed first:  Amanda in pain, the fact my purse was missing, or the fact Sharee had been thrown to somewhere between the second and third rows because she hadn't been wearing her seat belt, despite the fact we'd been reminded to.

I chose to worry about my missing purse first.

Meanwhile, Sharee was asking, "Where's Thomas?  Where's Thomas?" not realizing, she'd been the one that had been thrown.

Sharee finally got sorted out about what had happened.

Thomas reminded me to calm down and that our lives were more important than my purse and the alien registration card inside it (Forget the fact I'm in America, I still didn't want to lose that card.).

I finally found my purse and called my parents to let them know what had happened so they could tell my church back at home in southeast Wisconsin.  I assured them I was fine and that everyone was alive.  And also that I hadn't brought my computer that day, so it was fine too (like I said, priorities--mine need straightening).

In my defense, Heather was worried about the copy of Paradise Lost she'd been reading because it belonged to someone else.  I probably was staring at it for a good several minutes before I made a connection between Heather's "Where's my book?" and the paperback I was mindlessly staring at.

By this time, the drivers of the ambulance, whose names were Todd and Lisa, had come over to help us.  Eventually, we were told to get out of the van.  I remember just kind of wandering around outside of it for who knows how long.  I took a picture but forgot to properly save it to my phone (Hence, the lack of pictures in this post).  I remember two hunters (It was deer season) emerging from the woods to ask if we needed help but leaving not too long afterwards.

We were told to go wait inside the police car or the ambulance, but I didn't at first.  I just kept standing and walking around, not even really feeling the cold.  I knew I was cold, but at the same time I didn't.

"So we're not going to get to go to church today?" Sharee asked.

No, we weren't.

She was disappointed because she was so excited about teaching children's church.

At least she had her priorities straight.

Finally, we girls all got in the back of the ambulance and sat there for a few minutes while we waited for the security van to come pick us up.  Only once we were inside that ambulance getting warm did I realize how cold I'd let myself get.

"Shannon, Shannon," Stephen called, his normal energetic self, rushing up to the ambulance to talk with his pregnant wife.  He held up a seat belt and buckle, "Momento.  Momento."

The security vans picked us up across the street from the accident site.  By this time, the tow truck had already started hauling the van back to campus.  The ambulance had determined none of us needed to go to the hospital.

As we pulled away, my cellphone went off, playing "Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy."

"Someone's ready for Christmas early," the security guard joked.

"It's that year round," I replied as I responded to a text.  The van had arrived back on campus.  Since the name of our church was printed on the van, people were now worried about us.

Back on campus, we were all immediately sent to the nurse's station to be checked out.  Shannon was told to go to the hospital immediately to get the baby checked out.  Amanda was also sent to get her neck looked at.  Sharee ended up going later that day.  Did Katie end up going too?  I don't remember.

I remember going in and telling the nurse my right shoulder hurt.  I was told to ice it for the rest of the day and come back if it felt worse.

The next day, I was in so much pain, I'm surprised I survived classes.  I even sneaked behind the maintenance shed to go cut off a seat belt buckle for myself.  My boss caught me doing it and asked if I'd been "on that crazy ride."  I told him I had.  Everyone was amazed we were alive and not seriously injured.

I ended up back in the nurse's station later that day, saying that I thought I needed to go to Iron Mountain to get checked out.  For someone who hates doctors, that was a huge admission.

I would be going with my friend Becca that night, but first I had to attend the required Thanksgiving banquet.  I remember nothing of that night other than sitting across from my friend Hillary, occasionally gripping the table and breathing deeply in pain.  Ibuprofen and Tylenol were not cutting it.  I can't remember a single skit or slideshow from that night or a single thing I ate.  All I remember is pain and being so blessed that someone else I was sitting near would be able to take my work shift since I felt I wouldn't make it back from the hospital in time.

I was right.  And I probably shouldn't have been at work that night anyway, considering how much pain I was in.

A staff member drove Becca and me to Don't Come Here Dickinson County Hospital, where my muscles were X-rayed (What in the world?), and I was given a prescription for thirty Vicodin.

After struggles with Walgreens accepting my insurance, I finally just payed for the precious pills out of pocket and gratefully took one that night.  Man, that stuff is wonderful.  And by that, I mean, only when you are supposed to be taking it for real medical problems.

In the end, our injuries really weren't that bad.  Most of us just had cuts and bruises.  I still experience occasional shoulder pain, but it's nothing popping an ibuprofen won't fix.  Those of us who went to the hospital all seem to have recovered just fine with no lasting effects.  And speaking of no lasting effects, several months later, Stephen and Shannon gave birth to a healthy baby girl who is absolutely adorable.

So, looking back three years later, what did I learn most that day?  I learned how extremely grateful I am to be alive.  I could have died that day.  Any of us could have.  But we were kept alive because there is a plan for each and every one of us.  We don't know it yet, but even though Bertha Sophia's ministry for Twin City was done, ours was not.  And our ministry will not be done until our time on earth has passed.

Gettysburg Address

"Fourscore and seven years ago..."
87 years.  Really, had it only been eighty-seven years since fifty-six men had pledged their lives, fortunes, and sacred honor?  Was it really possible that there were men and women whose first memories were that of muskets firing at Redcoats had some of their last be of cannons firing at Rebels?

"...our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation..."
A new country.  A republic, unlike the monarchies, principalities, and empires of Europe and Asia.  This was a republic in a New World

"...conceived in Liberty..."
A country whose goal was freedom from a European power.  Free to be represented in the government.  Free to choose their leaders.  Free to travel where they wanted.  Freedom!

"...and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal."
All men?  Powerful words to be written by a slave owner such as Jefferson.  But now, maybe, just maybe, the bloody conflict raging from Virginia to New Mexico would create a path for all men in this country to be seen as equal.  Yes, all men had been created equal, but this country did not yet treat them as such.

"Now we are engaged in a great civil war..."
Father against son, brother against brother, neighbor against neighbor.  The house was divided, and this way it could not stand.  And who would win?

"...testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure."
Oh, how Europe watched in interest as the American conflict raged.  Would this experiment in a republic last?  Or, like Rome, would the civil war cause it to fall?

"We are met on a great battle-field of that war."
A great battlefield.  This would become the great battlefield.  Those three early July days  cost the lives of over 50,000 men.  It was the bloodiest battle of the war.  Big Round Top.  Little Round Top.  Seminary Ridge.  Cemetery Ridge.  Devil's Den.  Peach Orchard.  Wheatfield.

Gettysburg Battlefield

My friend Cody and I at Gettysburg

"We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place..."
And such a small portion that is.  You walk the battlefield, see the memorials, tour the museum, imagine the carnage.  And then the cemetery is such a small part, almost insignificant in comparison to the expanse of the Gettysburg Battlefield.

"...for those who here gave their lives that this nation might live."
And the nation has lived.  The lives of these Union soldiers were not spent in vain.

"It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this."
And thank you for doing this.  Some may take it as a mere tourist attraction, but for a few, this battlefield represents a war that divided a nation so it could be united stronger than before.  No longer would the United States be plural but singular.  The war took the country from being an "are" to being an "is."

Pennsylvania Memorial

"But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate--we can not consecrate--we can not hallow--this ground."
We are setting it aside, but why is this even possible?  Who did already dedicate this ground?

Iron Brigade Memorial

"The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract."
 Those thousands of lives had already dedicated this ground.  They proved the North would fight when invaded.  Not all the men had chosen to fight, some had been drafted, but they had still accepted their lot in life and fought, and as such became part of the great struggle to preserve or destroy the Union.

Edward Everett's Speech

"The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here..."
Oh sweet precious irony!  These words are still memorized by schoolchildren one hundred fifty years later.  Mr. Edward Everett's two hour speech lies largely forgotten, but Lincoln's two minute speech (or as much as we could piece together) is forever preserved and recited.  We remembered what was said there that November day.

Devil's Den

"...but it can never forget what they did here."
We cannot forget.  We must not forget.  If we forget history, we are doomed to repeat similar circumstances.  As history is pushed more and more aside in American education, will one day the sacrifices of Gettysburg, of the whole Civil War, of all wars, be forgotten to satisfy some legislation's vision of what children should learn?  NEVER forget the past.

"It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced."
How much war was left at this point?  No one could know.  The victories at Gettysburg and Vicksburg had turned the tide in the Union's favor, but the South still fought.

"It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us..."
A task that would drag on for another two years and thousands more lives

"...that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion..."
America was to fight in memory and honor of those who served at Gettysburg, who had fought until their last breath or the final bugle called them off the field.  They fought until the battle was over.

"...that we here highly resolved that these dead shall not have died in vain..."
These lives were not to have been useless wastes.  Many could have had decades ahead of them, but had their lives cut short.  But they had fought for a cause--that the United States was one, and that no man needed be a slave.

"...that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom..."
And America would rise after four years of conflict as a united country under one flag.  The Revolutionary War had granted America its freedom from Britain, but this war would create a nation to see the need to work as a unit--North and South, East and West, black and white, rural and urban, factory and farm.  Their diversity would become their strength.  E pluribus unum.  And this nation would not be able to endure if it were not for the all-powerful God, Sovereign over all nations, choosing to keep it together.  "In God We Trust."

"...and that the government of the people, by the people, for the people..."
The people make a democracy.  We, although often deceived by empty promises and flashy campaigns, choose the leaders.  We call on these men and women to make the decisions we desire.  We can write and lobby them with what we feel as important.  We have a voice.

"...shall not perish from the earth."
Oh, all things will end, but a republic does not end unless the people want it to.  It is your job, my job, every American citizen's job, to keep our country running.  And this cannot be done without a reliance upon God to guide the country.  God creates and destroys nations, and the only way to make this nation endure is to rely upon Him--not upon politicians and petitions and protests, but upon the Prince of Peace.

Lincoln leaving stage after giving Gettysburg Address

Abraham Lincoln gave the Gettysburg Address on November 19, 1863, at the dedication of the National Cemetery in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.  He did not actually write hurriedly it on the back of an envelope on the train the night before but wrote several drafts.  The exact wording Lincoln used that day is lost to history.  Five copies exist in Mr. Lincoln's handwriting, each slightly differing.  His invitation to speak "a few appropriate remarks" at the event was almost an afterthought, but even Edward Everett acknowledged that Lincoln said more in his two minutes than Everett had said in his whole speech.  In fact, Lincoln's speech was so short that the photographer at the event had no time to take a picture before Mr. Lincoln began walking down the steps to leave the stage.

Benjamin Franklin, I Hate You!

Once upon a time, there was a remarkable man who came up with a whole bunch of brilliant ideas:

Bifocals

Rocking Chairs

A bucket fire brigade

Poor Richard's Almanack

His name was Benjamin Franklin, and he was a genius.  Enough of a genius to know to not go out in a thunderstorm with a key and a kite.  Despite all the legends.

There are three legends I must debunk:
1.  Benjamin Franklin did not fly a kite with a key on it to discover electricity.
2.  George Washington did not chop down the cherry tree.
3.  Daniel Boone did not wear coonskin caps.

Okay, but George Washington and Daniel Boone are but sidenotes in this rant.  Because I see a rabbit trail and I follow it.  It's not my fault bunnies are so fluffy.

ARRGH!!!! TOO FLUFFY!  TOO FLUFFY!

Okay, seriously, that bunny was so fluffy, I nearly died of fright!  Note to self:  Never Google "fluffy bunny" ever again.

Now where was I?  Oh right, Benjamin Franklin.

I mean, like I said, the man was a genius.  But just because a man is a genius does not mean you should listen to everything he says.  I mean, first of all, he was a Deist, so his view of God is going to be messed up, but beyond that.

I'm talking about what he did to our lives!  He is the reason every year, people across the world who decided to listen to this man have to go and adjust their clocks for almost no reason!

Yes, Benjamin Franklin is the one who came up with Daylight Savings Time!  What a terrible idea!

Now, I know there are going to be defenders of his idea all over me, but allow me to point something out:

Once upon a time, the world woke up with the sun, did their work, and went to bed when they couldn't see by their candles anymore.  If they could afford candles.  You get my point?  We had a system, and it worked.  If you were a farmer, you did as much as you could in a day.  And then someone came along and was like, "Hey, let's play with our clocks to get extra daylight!"

Uh...how are we saving daylight by changing our clocks?  God controls the sun rising, not my stinking alarm clock!  I mean, this is pointless.  If you want to be up to see the sunrise, then set your alarm clock to see the sunrise.

Okay, so I guess I'm writing this in Daylight Savings Time right now and that at 2:00 in the morning, it ends.  Whose idea was that?  Who chooses 2:00 in the morning?  Until recently, no one was up until 2:00 in the morning regularly, which proves my point that we don't need it!

I mean, what is the purpose?  What have I been saving daylight for?  It's there whether I want it or not!  Mr. Franklin, I blame you for this most ridiculous of developments that seriously affect my life, and I would like to thank the country of Japan for not observing it.  Other countries should follow their lead and discontinue it.  With the amount of technology we possess in the modern time, we have no need to save daylight.

You know the best way to save your daylight?  Wake up an hour earlier.  Stop inflicting us non-daylight-needing people with your need for daylight.  Congress, please do something productive and repeal Daylight Savings Time.

Thank you.