Picture Time!

This is us outside of our RV. (I'm really disregarding everything I've ever learned about Internet safety, huh?) From left to right, you see: Dad, Mom, Justin, me, Jimmy, and Emily. (That thing on my foot is a cast. You know, because my toe is broken. It feels much better now, though, thank for asking. :P )

Take Nothing For The Journey

This post has nothing to do with New Orleans, by the way, but it certainly involves travel.

In an earlier post, I claimed I could run from my house to Kelly and Dallas's house without breaking a sweat. When I got home from 'Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince' at 4 o'clock, I thought I'd take a nap and get up at 6, in plenty of time to get a ride to Young Life. I woke up at 7:54, stared at my alarm clock in incomprehension, cursed the world and everything in it, then got up to call a neighbor to see if I could get a ride from them. I misdialed and got some lady named Anita. Our conversation went as follows:

Sarah: Hey, it's Sarah Johnson. I was wondering if I could get a ride to Young Life.
(indiscriminate background noise)
Anita: Um, okay, sure.
(more indiscriminate background noise, this time with an overlay of awkward silence)
Sarah: So, are you leaving soon?
Anita: ...
Sarah: May I ask who I'm speaking to?
Anita: This is Anita.
Sarah: Oh, I'm sorry, I have the wrong number.
Anita: Okay.
Sarah: Um, bye. (thinking: you creepy freak)

I called my neighbors, and they had apparently already left. Cursing the world, everything in it, and Anita, I put on my shoes and polished off the last of my water. I thought briefly about calling Kelly, but I was afraid that she would think my parents neglected me or that I was homeless because I always wait outside and so she's never actually seen me come out of my house. Plus, I had made a bold statement. I had to back it up. It was time to run. I left my Bible and study book at home, figuring that they'd slow me down.

The running only lasted to about the bottom of the driveway before I gave up on it. I didn't want to stay on the road too long, because I thought I knew a great shortcut to get to their house. I walked down a little lane full of McMansions and cut across one of the gigantic lawns. Some Jack Russel Terriers barked at me, almost drowning out what sounded like the moo of a cow in the distance.

"No way," I thought. "No one keeps cows around here. Horses, maybe. No cows."

Yes, cows. If it sounds like a cow, it's a cow. I got to the top of a rise only to see that most of the valley before me was fenced off and filled with horses and cows. I tried going around the cow corral only to find out that all the corrals shared some fences, so unless I was willing to cut across them and put myself at the cows' mercy, I was going to have to go around through a forest. I chose the forest, heading in a vaguely southwesterly direction.

So there I was, hugging the fenceline, following what I can only assume was a deer trail, being watched intently by three brown cows, wondering what I had gotten myself into. The trees and brush were pretty thick, and a couple of times I had to stamp on prickler vines to get them out of the way. About then was when I started praying. I got neared the cow barn and decided that if I didn't want to be caught trespassing, I should steer clear of the barn. The trees thinned out and I headed uphill to what looked like a meadow full of Queen Anne's Lace. Wonders of wonders, it was a meadow full of Queen Anne's Lace. There were a few houses around, one with a slatted wooden fence, which looked far more inviting than the barbed-wire fence seperating the meadow from the next field over. I decided to duck through the wooden fence, soujourn briefly in the person's yard, and head over to the next field. It was then that I glanced southeast through a gap in the trees.

I saw the soccer complex. For those of you who know anything about the layout of my town, the soccer complex is the LAST thing you want to see while you're trying to get to Kelly and Dallas's house. The soccer complex is in the complete opposite direction. I readjusted my course and started heading northwest-ish across the grass field. I made it to the next treeline and, wonder of wonders, I beheld Kelly and Dallas's housing development. I was almost there! All I had to do was find a gap in the barbed-wire fence, navigate a hill, and cross a field of potatoes!

My first (and only) lucky break was that there was a place where the fence had been completely beat down by trespassers who had gone before me. I got across the rusty barbed wire without so much as a scrape. I walked along the edge of the potato field and cut across one of Kelly's neighbors' lawns to get to the little road that winds around the development. By this point, all bets were off. I was flicking beads of sweat off my face, and I could tell by the amount of light still left in the sky that I was minutes, if not hours, late. But, being so close, there was no way I was turning back now.

I got to their house, walked in (you're supposed to, I wasn't adding 'breaking and entering' to my list of misdemeanors by wandering into their home), and took off my shoes. Everybody else had already gone downstairs, so I got a paper towel and wiped off my face. Then I went down to the basement, apologized for being 10 minutes late, and gladly poured myself a big glass of water. Home sweet home.



'He told them: "Take nothing for the journey—no staff, no bag, no bread, no money, no extra tunic." ' Luke 9:3

44 fluid ounces and counting.

We're supposed to starting drinking eight glasses of water a day now, the week before, so we go to Louisanna completely hydrated and used to drinking so much water in a day. The ELCA even sent us water bottles with the event logo on one side and fluid ounce tick marks on the other. It's a good idea, in principle. In practice, though, not so much.

It is seventy degrees in sunny Pennsyltucky. It is not hot. My body has no use for the water. I have drank 44 fluid ounces in the last five hours and summarily discarded 44 fluid ounces in the last five hours. Do you know how much water 44 fluid ounces is? A lot, my friends. A lot.

The weirdest thing is, even though my body has rejected all 44 fluid ounces, I'm still really thirsty. The back of my throat is nigh unbearably dry. I'm even getting a slight thirst headache. I would like to tell my body, 'if you're thirsty, for heaven's sake, stop sending me to the bathroom every ten minutes!'

In fact, the more I drink, the thirstier I get. There must be salt in this water. Tasteless salt. Or maybe there's some weird chemical in these bottles. The ELCA is trying to poison us. Maybe fumes from the Sharpie I used to write my name, address, and church on it.

I think that perhaps I am desperately ill and there's something terribly wrong with my kidneys and I'll start shriveling away from dehydration and they'll put me on IV but it won't help and I'll die of thirst surrounded by fluids and my last words will be "water, water, everywhere but not a drop to drink."

Wow. I really need to stop watching House. A few nights ago, I had a dream that Cuddy and I were being chased around a historical landmark by a lunatic. That should have been my first sign that it was time to cut back. (Although it would be kind of cool to have a wasting dehyrdation disease if it meant I got be be on House.)

Can you believe this crazy talk? I've had a good five more fluid ounces since the start of this post and the sanity of the writing is only decreasing. Take it from me, guys--water is not your friend.

What can I say, the guy writes a good thriller. So he doesn't like the Pope. What am we supposed to do, flog the guy?

I have been working on an awesome new idea for a book for about two weeks now. (It doesn't have a title yet... I've just been calling it Mambo Number Five because it's my fifth novel. Aaaaand that little tidbit right there seems to me to be more revealing than any Rorschach test could ever be. OH NO, MY SOUL IS BARE TO YOU.) I've written 10,000 words so far without even noticing. For my non-writing friends, that never ever happens. Usually, every word after the first scene has a little bit of drudgery about it, sometimes more, sometimes less. Never is it so fun and painless than you don't even notice that you've written 10,000 words. Never. On top of that, the idea is very promising. It has everything I could ever want out of a book--romance, nerdy main characters, epic-osity, and a coup in the very near future.

I didn't think much of it until now, but perhaps this is the way God is blessing my life via the youth gathering. If I was going to a camp, I'd be focusing whatever that camp was about--tae kwon do, writing, the beach, whatever. Instead, I'm thinking about religion a lot. Did I mention the main character of Mambo Number Five is a theologian?

Some would say it's silly or trivial to attribute literary inspiration to God, and others would say it's ridiculous because bad people get good ideas, too, just look at Dan Brown (who I actually kinda like, sorry, Pastor Craig). I say, the rain falls on the Jews and the Gentiles alike.

Thank heavens for that, or America would be suffering a very severe drought right about ow.

Never mind. The point is, I was totally wrong in my last post. Strike it from the record. God is awesome after all.

Whining, Complaining, and Bitterness-Everything You've Come To Expect From A Vacation With Sarah Johnson

It was not my idea to attend this conference. I had several places I would rather be. Six, actually. Let me list them for you.

• Going to the Governor's Honors Program, a FREE six-week-camp available to rising juniors and seniors in which promising students from around the state are packed off to a college campus to learn about writing with like-minded peers. I've dreamed about doing this since I found about it in 5th grade. I couldn't go because one of the weeks was during the conference. It will probably be cancelled next year because the state of Pennsylvania is in massive debt.*
• Alpha Fantasy/Sci-Fi Writer's Camp. Once again, couldn't go because it was scheduled for the same week as the conference.
• Young Life Camp. Young Life is this awesome Bible study thing that I've been involved with for the past few months. Young Life Camp is guaranteed to be the best week of your life or your money back. It was on the same week. I had to sit through three months of talk and pictures about how awesome Young Life Camp is while Kelly and Dallas tried to entice everybody else to go.
  
• Black-belt camp. I went once two years ago and loved it. I wanted to go again. Guess what weekend it fell on.
• A trip to Rehobath Beach with Elijah. This one hasn't yet come to pass--they leave for the beach a few days after the end of the conference--but Mom said we probably won't make it back to the North before they leave.

Embittered? Me? No. But wait--it gets better.

Elijah and I are both pretty high up in tae kwon do. I'm a black belt, he's some convoluted belt that he assured me was pretty close to the top. So, to see who was superior, we decided to have a no-contact sparring match.

Bad idea, as it turns out. No-contact sparring is very safe in most aspects, but there is the danger that both of you will kick at the same time. We both kicked at the same time. Crunch. It didn't hurt so bad at first (remember, I made it out of black belt camp with only light contusions) but by the next morning, my entire pinkie toe was bruised black and red and swollen and most definitely broken. Because I am stupid, this did not stop me from going to a carnival the next night and walking around for an hour, then walking the two and a half miles to the car. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

All I'm going to say is, God is in control. He knows everything I ever wanted to do in the summer would fall onto the one week it could never happen. He knows I'm going to go into a service project with a limp and a broken toe. He knows I am not looking forward to this trip. So He must have something really awesome in store for me on this trip. If not, I will seriously doubt the benevolence of God.

Just kidding. Don't have a heart attack, Pastor Craig.

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*Fun fact--my best friend got accepted and had no ELCA obligation to hold her back. Every time I've talked to her in the last four weeks, she's regaled me with tales of how amazing the classes have been, how cool the people are, and how surrealistically awesome the whole experince is.

The Cast

Last time, it was only my family going on the trip. This year, it's a little more complicated. I thought I'd provide a list of the personas dramatis for your reading ease.

• Sarah Johnson--Our Intrepid Reporter, your eyes and ears on the front.
• Dad (né Kurt)--Our Fearless Leader and RV-driver.
• Mom (née MaryBeth)--Our manager, chef, and spiritual elder. Will not be driving the RV, except to inspire the rest of us to pray.
• Emily--my 14-year-old sister, tall, blond, and beautiful--all things that can only be an obstacle our ELCA assignment, manual labor.
• Justin--16-year-old aspiring pro wrestler and Shinedown fan.
• Jimmy--17-year-old Thurmont Thespian and family friend.
• Jesus-- the Messiah, Prince of Peace, the Christ, Son of God, Emmanuel, Savior, Lord of Heaven and Earth, etc.

The following aren't coming with us, but may be mentioned:

• Rachel--at eleven, too young to attend the Youth Gathering, but not too young to wish she was going. She is staying with Grandma Piggy and Elijah for the duration of our trip.
• Elijah--Sarah, Emily, and Rachel's awesome cousin who visits every summer from Florida.
• Jeanie--Justin's mom, possibly the coolest mom ever (after my mom, of course.)
• Sally--Jimmy's mom, currently challenging Jeanie for the title, aided by her excellent culinary skills.
• Pastor Craig--Oh, Pastor, my pastor. Yeah. Pretty much says it all.
• Dallas and Kelly--a married couple who run this awesome Bible study/youth group I go to called Young Life. Coincidentally, we're practically neighbors. I could run to their house without breaking a sweat (which I probably will do some Wednesday when I can't scrounge up a ride.)
• Grandma Piggy*--my maternal grandmother, founder of the Thurmont Thespians, currently trying to wrangle 50 children into performing a high-quality version of The Hobbit by July 16th. Sarah believes that said children would be more aptly suited to a musical version of Lord of the Flies, and Grandma Piggy is in far more need of your prayers than anyone attending the conference.

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*If you don't know, don't ask.

Introduction

Hey, all it's been awhile. First of all, let me say that it blows me away that people still remember my first travel-blog, Adventurer. When Grammie said one of her friends (somebody whose never even met me, much less someone who donated 1/4 of my DNA and is therefore obligated to fawn over me) asked if I was going to do another blog for the New Orleans trip and the New England trip, 'amazed' would be too mild a word. Suffice to say, it really warms my heart that you all still care.

Secondly, let me also say that since the fateful 2006 trip, I've written four novels and sundry shorter pieces. So my writing style has improved a lot (at least, I hope so). I can promise that this time around, my grammar will be correct, the boring digressions will be excised, and the sentence structure will be intelligible. It's a tall order, I know, but I'll rise to the occasion.

Last, I totally failed at making this blog in a timely fashion, so a lot of trip-related stuff has already happened. To catch up, I'm posting a bunch of anecdotes that occurred a while ago. The time-stamps on the entries will say it all happened within an hour, but really a lot of these things happened weeks ago. Just don't think about it too hard and you'll be fine.

Hope you like it!
--Sarah