Holy are you, Lord God, Father of Heaven, Author of Life.
Your ways are good, pleasing and perfect.
Your plans provide a future and a hope.
I thank you for all you’ve given me.
And how far you’ve helped me come.
Thank you for my family and the little blessings everyday.
Thank you for your that light shines in the darkness
And the darkness can never extinguish it.
So let your light shine upon my fear, my sorrows, and my doubt.
Let your light reveal truth.
Be my rock, my fortress, and my savior.
My rock in whom I find protection
Be my shield, the power that saves me, and my place of safety.
Safety from the shame and fears that haunt me.
For your mercies are new every morning.
Lord, renew my hope and spirit.
Grant me one of power, love, and self-discipline.
For if you be for me, who can be against me?
Put the words in my heart to honor you.
I place my dream in your hands.
For apart from you, I can do nothing.
Your will be done.
Your timing is perfect.
Reignite the fires you placed in me.
Let all doubt be cast to the sea.
In Jesus name, I pray,
Amen
Love of a Cat
I love you so much
Though you’re just a little ball of fur
You always make me smile,
Every time you purr
The morning starts
With you waking me up
Your meows won’t cease
Until I fill your cup
You take a few bites
Then we run around and play
Hiding behind your toys
You could pounce on things all day
When I have to go to work
You hang out by yourself
I always wonder what you’re up to
When everything’s knocked over on itself
Yet, when I come home
You’re right there at the door
You try to get your love in
While rolling around on the floor
These special moments
That I have with you
Remind me I’m okay
And whisk away my blue
If you keep purring
While coming to me
Keep pouncing and chasing
And kneading your paws on me
Then I know I’m doing something right
By one animal on this earth
The days you’re by my side
My heart is filled with mirth
Enough
This to do and that to complete
Read that update, every day repeat
Same things to clean
Little time for projects
Now work where you know little of the subject
Everyday the pressure is on
You have to work hard.
You have to measure up
You can’t let anyone know you’re not enough
Yet, the mist glows like silver upon the lake
The eagle flies over, calm winds in it’s wake
There’s a deer grazing just off the path
And the spring flowers wave to say it’s okay to relax.
Just a moment with nature
A moment to see the truth
That’s all it takes to help you feel new.
So when life gets busy and tasks pile up
Take a moment to breath and remember
You’re enough
Oh, THAT Question
If you don’t hear this question in school, you hear it at work. Maybe you hear it from your family. Regardless, we all hear this question. What do you want to do in ten years? Where do you want to be? What kind of person do you want to be? It’s to prompt you to plan for the future. Have goals. Give yourself a purpose. I was recently asked this, and…
Honestly? I hate this question.
While I understand the prompting and purpose of this question, I don’t want to think about where I’ll be in ten years. Why? Because, a lot can happen in ten years. I could change jobs. I could move cities or states. I could get sick or suffer an accident or even be dead. The future cannot be planned for, so I want my focus on the now. Yes. I do have dreams that I hope to come true in the next ten years, but the timing isn’t mine to decide. I can only make things happen a day at a time. I don’t do well under time limits anyway.
Another reason as to why I’m not a big fan of this question is because I was asked it throughout school. In elementary school, they ask you want you want to be and help you make a plan, same with middle school and high school. My answer was always: vet school. I was going to grow up and become a veterinarian. I remember in middle grade, my class was assigned to write a poem about where we’d be in five to ten years and my poem had me working as a vet tech at an animal hospital as I was trying to make my way through vet school.
Even in college I planned on vet school. All my classes were geared toward it. My clubs were focused on it. I was even at the point of figuring out the steps and funds I’d need to get into the vet school at my college. I remember how anxious I was about the whole process. I wasn’t excited. I wasn’t inspired. I wasn’t ready for the challenge. I was scared and I was keeping the prospect of vet school at arm’s length.
My last semester of getting my bachelor’s degree, I made the decision not to go to vet school. It was a huge weight off my chest, but I no longer had a plan. All those times I answered that ten year question with vet school, now I had to figure out what I was going to do next.
Ten years ago, I was finishing up my associates degree and planning on moving to a bigger college to get into their pre-vet program. Now, I’m a zookeeper.
Wing Beats
We hear the wing beats in the distance and everyone stops. The soldiers turn to their horses to quiet them down. One shoots a glare at our cart to warn us into silence. The glare wasn’t needed. I knew better and from the looks on their faces my other two cart companions know better to. We don’t dare to rattle our chains. The iron cuffs dig into my wrists, but I’ll endure the pain a thousand times over than risk any noise now.
I can’t see it. My back is to the wing beats. It must be somewhere beyond the trees as I see a soldier point. Some of them move toward the underbrush to hide amongst the foliage. The prisoner beside me hisses “hey, what about us?” and the wooden handle of a halbred meets the back of his head as a warning.
You can feel the forest shake from the power behind the wing beats. Loud whoomps and whooshes. A slow and steady rhythm to drive a sane man mad. My heart thunders as I feel them drawing closer. The cart is abandoned aside from us three prisoners. The reins to the horses dangle on the driver’s seat. Whoomp. Whoomp. My breath trembles. My back is locked. All I can do is stare at the plate on the base of the kart where my chains connect. Whoomp. Whoomp.
The prisoner across from me shifts. I see his eyes flirting with the reins. My mouth goes dry. Whoomp. Whoomp. I don’t know whether to deter him or not. If he goes for it, we could escape, but we’d catch the attention of the wing beats. If he doesn’t go for it and beats fade away, we’ll be right back on track for our execution. Whoomp. Whoomp.
I think I’d rather face execution.
It’s the prisoner next to me that stops the other. His hiss was enough of a start to put the other guy back in his seat. We keep our heads down and the guy besides me whispers a prayer. Whoomp. Whoomp.
The roar of the greatest beast to tread the earth sounds over our heads. I gasp a breath I didn’t know know I was holding. My body goes frigid like I’m suddenly made of ice. Whoomp. Whoomp.
Powerful gusts of air blast down upon us. I meet the eyes of the other prisoners. The look of dead pales their skin. Whoomp. Whoomp. I dare to look up.
Black slits in radiant gold eyes stare down at me from a long muzzle of plated scales. The rhythmic beats. The blasts of air bring water to my eyes. Wings as long as oaks are tall. Shimmering scales like jewels of green and blue. A long tail that broke the tops of trees. I would be awed if I wasn’t so terrified. Whoomp. Whoomp.
Through the breaks of the gusts, I hear one of the prisoners bawling. The other shouts loudly in prayer. I keep my eyes fixed on the dragon. The long, silver line of throat remains just that. Will it not burn us? Will it land to destroy us? Whoomp. Whoomp.
It hovers in the sky. It’s moment pause bringing years of agonistic anticipation. Would it take just the horses? Is there any way we’ll survive? I meet the beast’s golden eyes once more in hopes to read its motives.
It’s about time. The voice in my head brings a new level of terror, and somehow, I know it comes from the dragon. I’ve been looking for you.
Pg 32
Pick up the book that is closest to you and choose the first full sentence that appears at the top of page 32. Use this line to create a scene, a character, or even a full world.
“The fighter in your work may not be a professional fighter, bodyguard, law enforcement officer, or soldier.”
These are the words left to me by my grandfather. Words left unfinished and without meaning, but I have made of them a purpose. I was never a fighter, he knew that. I was the scrawny kid with glasses. My bullies used my ponytail to pull me to the ground, so I cut it off. I changed myself and built upon my grandfather’s words. My fighter isn’t professional. It doesn’t care about laws or winning wars. My fighter protects the little guy like me. I built it. Using the most advanced technologies and child-like imagination–yes, it can fly–I’ll be able to beat more than bullies. My fighter is my work and no one is going to pull me down again because of it.
I am the queen of science and my fighter is my champion. And, we’ll fight to make my grandfather proud.
Sentence quote from the top of page 32 of “Fight Write” by Carla Hoch
College Recollection
What do you remember from your days in college? Everyone has a different experience. Some people love college, some people dread it, some people got a lot out of it, and some people didn’t. When you look back, what’s the first thing you see? Your classes? Your teachers? A college job? Maybe you think of the friends you hung out with or that one time at a bar?
My college experience wasn’t anything to write home about. Admittedly, I hardly enjoyed it. My first couple weeks were rough. I spent my weekends visiting the nearby zoo. I couldn’t tell you–without looking–what classes I took. And, I have no idea what the names of my professors were. When I think back, I think about the times I spent in my dorm or apartment. I think about the shows I watched and the games my friends and I played together. Whether it was nearing midnight and we’re playing Pokemon Go in the pouring down rain on campus or we’re all huddled in the dorm surviving Call of Duty Zombies.
When my friends weren’t around, I spent my time watching TV shows. I can tell you the exact series that I–might have–obsessed over. Star Trek Voyager, The Flash, Arrow, DC’s Legends of Tomorrow. They were all shows that helped me escape from the homework and testing and stressful anxiety of college life. Some people go on benders. College life is known for frat and sorority parties. Get that college experience by getting drunk. I preferred hanging out in my room and being inspired by the impossible happening in the shows I watched. There were a lot of days where college felt impossible.
I’ll always be grateful to the creators and everyone else who made those shows possible. I’m grateful for the memorable characters and the high stakes plot lines. For the laughs and the lightheartedness. For the hope and light that they brought.
It’s not your traditional college experience, but it was still a good one.
The Fight to Write
I listen to an audiobook or read a story and I feel encouraged to write my own. To craft as the wordsmith, build a fantastic world and adventure with characters of my own.
Yet, when the time comes that I can write, I only feel small. How can I write a story as wonderful as the ones I listen to and read? What clever ways could I describe setting while blending it with dialogue and plot? How do I get my story from something plain to something that inspires?
These giant questions surround like black towers with sentries on top like mad dogs keeping guard. They obsess for the moments when I dare to rise. When I lift my fingers and believe I can type. The moment I move, they react like machines, firing their arrows down at me.
“You’ll never be good enough.”
“This task is too great.”
“That sentence you just wrote is pathetic.”
“You? Getting published? With that story? Yeah, right.”
Down and down, the arrows rain. Until I’m pinned to the ground, no hope remains. To type one word, to lift my hand. It’s all too heavy. How can I make anyone understand? How can I write something wonderful and grand?
But, then comes a whisper, a still, small voice. Reminding me that I have a choice. There’s power I can access to be strong enough. To face the arrows and towers and show that I’m tough. A spirit of discipline. A reminder of future hope. There is one who is for me and with me in the fight. Who gives me the strength to be able to write. A scene I had thought was too hard to handle, now has a draft–the flame’s found a candle.
So, when the battle gets tough and the pen feels heavy, I know there is someone holding me steady.
What If…
“What if…”
Such famous and dangerous words–at least they are for me. They can be applied to a lot of scenarios. They can lead into thousands of different sentences. Yet, the main way I use them often gets me in trouble. Not actual physical or illegal trouble, but more along the lines of getting me in trouble with my characters.
Every major revision I’ve done to my manuscript has always started with these two words.
“What if we got the word count down?”
“What if we changed the characters around? Gave this guy a more important part and let these two be background heroes?”
“What if these characters had big secrets?”
“What if we changed the beginning? What if we did it again?”
“What if the main character had one of my bad habits?”
“What if this city had even bigger trees?”
I often hate when “what if…” comes around. I’ll gripe and groan because I know they mean another rewrite and I don’t want to put myself through that again. For weeks, I’ll wrestle with it, try and decide if the story really needs it. The “what if” doesn’t necessarily win to start. I’ll begin a new draft just to entertain the idea and see if I like it. Then, the reluctance that this actually a good idea sinks in. I’ll roll with it for the rest of the story.
Thankfully, with each new draft I feel better about my manuscript and I always believe it’s closer than ever to becoming what it needs to be. I just hope there isn’t too many more “what ifs” to cause even more major revisions. It’s a daunting thought to think that my story is still far from what it needs to be, but it has come a long way already. Whenever it feels too heavy, I try to invite “what if” to come back around again. Because…
What if I actually did get published and I got to hold my own book in my hands?
We Are Our Animals
Which animal would you compare yourself to and why?
A fun thing about zoo keepers is that each person has their preferences when it comes to the animals they take care of. Some keepers prefer primates, some prefer hoofstock, or carnivores, or birds. I’m a big felid/carnivore keeper, myself.
In meeting these different types of keepers, you start to notice that they take after the animals they care for. Primate people can be social and pay attention to group dynamics, hoofstock people keep to their own “herd” so to speak, and bird people aren’t afraid to use their voice.
I like to think I take after cats, more specifically, the cheetah. Female cheetahs are solidarity. They raise their cubs on their own and hunt on their own. They’re independent animals and what I hope to see in myself. I feel like my work life reflects this. I like handling tasks on my own and keeping to myself.
This independence is one of the reasons I really like cheetahs. The female handles everything on her own when she reaches maturity. It’s a hard life when facing predators or trying to take down prey to feed a family of 4-6, but she does it. She makes it work. I believe it shows how tough a girl can be when she’s put to the test.
Everyone knows that more hands lighten the load. Same goes for paws in the cheetah world. Males form coalitions and work together to survive, but the female stands alone. This is why these cats need our help. Females can’t always defend themselves or their cubs from lions, hyenas, or disease and even starvation. They face habitat loss, poaching, and the ignorance of the human race blaming them for crimes they didn’t commit.
The good news is that there’s people out there fighting for these animals, these amazing, fast cats. The Cheetah Conservation Fund is at the head front and I hope to help them myself by educating the public that comes through my zoo on how important these cats are. You can help too. Just check out http://www.cheetah.org.
Maybe you’ll find you can relate to the cheetah too?
nikki diekemper 