Monday, October 28, 2013

M1 Student

so, we learned about taking patient histories this week...and then we each went and took a patient history.
it was good. 

if you'd like to see what an M1 student's first patient-history taking looks below. 

my class has been going around quoting this to each other every day. 
we thought it was funny. XD


Friday, October 18, 2013


click above to see more snippets!
Thank you, Katie! :) 

You asked for more Time Travel snippets...I am happy to oblige. XD Though only one of these was actually written since school started. :P

“You are late, my leader,” Kang-Dae said, glancing across at him as they fought, the reckless smile that meant he was fully enjoying himself clear upon his face.   “Do not forgive me,” Ja-Il said shortly, catching a poorly aimed blow with the hilt of his kardas and bringing his foot up to kick the man who had aimed it, sending him backwards into the patrol behind him.

"He may already be gone, but you must go, now.”
“Why?” It was a stupid question, but he was honestly confused.
Echo slammed something like a tin can down on the table and turned to face him, shaking hands folding into fists. “Because Rui will kill you! Threatening worked this time; it is not going to work next time because they will have a plan. And if we had left you in the alley, maybe they never would have seen you—Amon wanting you is my fault too. So just leave! I will not have another innocent person taken because of me!” 
She whirled away from him, and there was suddenly an echo of laughter in Ellian’s ears, a memory’s whisper.
“They have your sister.” He said it aloud before he thought, a kinship with the girl before him suddenly there, vast and unmistakable. 

“Rise, Ja-Il.” 
The command was clipped with anger, and though Hae-Jin dared not look up, the sound of his leader rising to his feet and the brutal thud of iron on flesh needed no explanation of sight to understand. Within his line of vision, Hae-Jin saw Ja-Il stagger at the blow, heard his muffled breath of pain, though his leader made no other sign.

“I have to get home, as soon as possible.”
“You can’t.” She felt drunk, or how she imagined being drunk would feel. Except if she were, she should not feel so hurt. “The only person who could figure out how to send you home is my sister…and Amon has her…she could send you home in a heartbeat…she’s brilliant, my sister. But she’s gone. So there is no one to help you.”
“You know for a fact that she could get me home?” His voice hurt her head, and she flinched at the sharpness of it.
“She broke into a laser-locked warehouse…hacked into the history database…deleted files from Amon’s secret web…She could do anything…but she’s gone.” 
“Is she dead?” he demanded, and she winced as the throbbing in her head increased. 
“She is gone…” she repeated, then whimpered as she remembered Ja-Il’s words.
Ellian must have remembered them too, because suddenly he was kneeling beside her, his eyes locking with her blurring gaze. “Then we’re just going to have to get her back.”

Let death win. Stop resisting.
But how did one force oneself to stop wanting life, to live, to be alive? It sounded sweeter every moment, even as death crept steadily nearer. 
He did not want to die.

And...just for fun...I thought I would properly introduce the story I threw into this snippets post.  :) 

Chaos Allegra

The Girl came first. 
A girl with a voice in a country where women have little say.
An orphan in a culture where to be without family is to be cursed.
A child of Gypsy descent in a civilization where to bear the blood of the Wanderers is to be an outcast forever, and made nameless by law.

The girl spun back to face him, black hair lashing about her face. But there was that calm upon her face that marked the center of a hurricane, and something more frozen than ice within her voice.
“Do not speak to me again.”
All fa├žade of gentility dropped from the man’s face like the mask it was. “Don’t get high and mighty with me, witch. They’re orphan girls. This is good work for them.”
She did not hesitate. “They are my orphan girls, and I say your louts shall not sully the air they breathe. Begone with you, sir.”
The order seemed to leave the man dumfounded, and for an instant he simply stared at her. She stared directly back, her gaze unwavering. Anger seemed to bring back his voice, and it returned with a rush, his tangled tongue flinging an ugly curse at her. His hand drew back to strike her, yet still she did not flinch. Hesitation seemed to catch him then, and he pulled back, his hand returning to his side as a fist.
“I’ll not be touching such as you,” he ground out. “Not with my bare hands, at least.”
The ice that chilled her voice seemed to crack, and there was fire scarce restrained in her words. “You have made me angry. It were better you left before you knew how angry.”

The child Emmett....whether he is
more or less of a man when he returns
from the capitol remains to be seen...
Then came Emmett Kynaston.
Privileged child of the Elite, future carved in stone by his father and the others of the high class to which he was born.
He possesses all he could ever want...and yet when his father is given charge of the ships and his family returns to the harbor home of his childhood, he cannot help but wonder about the black-haired girl he once knew. The girl who refused to tell him her name. 

“What’s your name?”
It was a boy’s voice that asked, and she turned for that reason alone. There were no boys at the orphanage. Not because boys were not orphaned, but because they were never left. She had not talked to a boy in six months. A cousin’s uncle had come for Lethe on his first birthday and she had kissed him and cried when he was taken. Lethe had screamed for her all the way down the street. She had not been allowed to eat the rest of the day.
This boy was older. As old as she perhaps. He was still looking at her, swinging slowly on the iron-swirled gate between them.
“I am Emmett. What’s your name?” he repeated.
She wondered if he knew his eyes were like the sky, swiftly changing blues that held both shadow and sun. His jacket was burnt orange and silver moonlight, and his hair was that shade of brown that streaked gold in summer.
“I am a girl,” she said at last.
He looked at her still. “Girls have names.”
“I am an orphan.”
Lines of puzzlement appeared between the blue that was his eyes. “Orphan girls have names.”
“I am a gypsy.”
The gate creaked.
“Oh,” he said, when there was nothing else to say. 

Then was Jericho Chand. 
It was the day before his sixth birthday that his father stepped forward at the request of the Council, to tell what he knew. Before the sun had set, the honest name of Chand had been changed to that of Traitor. The ones who had ordered it stepped into their desired place as Council leaders, while the Chands died at the hands of the executioner or in the slave camps. 
Almost fifteen years have passed, and yet his steps do not lead him to what was once his home, to the blackened thing left standing as a monument to the fate of traitors, or even to that house which bears the name that hatred has branded upon his soul.
Instead he finds himself in the alley where he first met her.

His father was weeping. Jericho wished he would stop. The baby, clutched in his mother’s chained arms, was not crying. Even his sister, clinging to his grandmother’s skirts, who always cried, was silent.
He wished he could cling to her skirts. It was too hard to stand. So he sat, the chains on his wrists crumpling against the stone beneath him. It was too hard still to look at the others, and he closed his eyes.
 They knew they were going to die. It was the rule of three. Those who had raised the traitor to do as he had done must pay with their lives, and those who he himself had raised, who would do after him as they had learned of him, must also die. His father's father and mother...his own mother...and the rest of them, all to die for the sake of his father.
“You cannot let them kill you.”
There was command in the voice, and Jericho raised his head, feelings too far spent for surprise to enter him.
It was a girl. Black eyes boring into him as if she would see his very thoughts within, she crouched down beside him.
“Do you understand?” she asked.
“No,” he whispered.      She reached out, warm fingers touching his chilled hands. “Just live,” she said. “All you must do is live.”

Thursday, October 17, 2013

It Reeks.

Over on the blog of The Inkpen Authoress, aforesaid Authoress had the delightful idea to write a conversation regarding coffee!

Though I continue to be the aberration that is a writer and a medical student who does not drink coffee (some of my classmates drink 6 cups a day. I am an aberration), I do have some characters who drink it...and who even mention it in their stories. 

And to make up for my absentishness lately, here is a bit longish of a snippet. Also to make up for the fact that you've seen pieces of it before. I like the fact that it shows all four of my Meyrick boys, though, and it was a particular morning of theirs that I had fun typing up...I hope you enjoy reading it. XD

 Coffee was already made, and [Tristan] poured himself a cup, drowning it in cream and sugar before heading for the dining room.
As he had half expected, Derek was there, sprawled in the window seat with the old journal in his lap, reading intently with a slight frown upon his face. He did not glance up, and Tristan did not interrupt him, sitting down silently at the dining room table instead.
He was on his second cup of coffee when Blair came down the stairs, looking as if he had not slept all night. He stumbled out of the kitchen, coming out with a mug and the pot of coffee.
“Morning,” he said, and Tristan nodded to him.
Derek sat up straight then, as if realizing for the first time he was not the only one up. “Morning, guys,” he said, yawning as he said it.
 Tristan glanced between his two brothers. “Either one of you go to bed last night?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
Derek shook his head. “I have to work today… and I kind of forgot I had a paper due. Well, I didn’t quite forget… Anyway, it’s done now… so as soon as I’m actually awake – I did go to bed at like five or something – I’m heading out.”
He set the journal on the cushions beside him and stood up, stretching. “I thought that would help me wake up… I don’t think it did.”
Tristan rolled his eyes. “You could have just slept another half hour instead.”
Yawning again, Derek laughed. “Not everybody rolls out of bed and hits the ground running like you do.”
He glanced at Blair. “You look about as tired as I feel. That can’t be a good way to study for med school.”
Blair shook his head. “I wasn’t studying. I just couldn’t fall asleep for some reason.”
“It wouldn’t kill you to sleep in,” Tristan said, looking back down at his coffee. Why he even said it he did not know. It certainly was not his problem. But sometimes he could not help but think that Blair was going to drive himself straight into the ground and collapse from nervous exhaustion. Sure, Derek was double-majoring and working at the same time, but there was never the sheer intensity in him that somehow seemed to cling to Blair. If something happened and Blair had to leave medical school… well, Tristan did not want to be around to see that happen. The boy was born to be a doctor – some kind of brilliant specialist.
But Blaire merely smiled, rather tiredly. “I’ll sleep in when you do,” he said.
Tristan rolled his eyes again, getting to his feet. “I went to bed and actually slept last night. Which is good for all of you, because today I’m going to wash the stupid windows and mow the lawn and clean the bathrooms– hopefully for the last time this year – all after I go pick up a check so we can all continue living in the grand style we have been.”
“I could help with cleaning!” Blair called after him as he started for the kitchen. “Especially if this is the last time you’re cleaning the bathrooms this year! It’s only October.”
“I meant the lawn, not the bathrooms, you idiot! And yeah right. I can take care of one house on my own.” If Blair did anything, it should be take a nap. Not that he ever would, but he and Derek both were doing plenty without having to clean the house. Jaime, on the other hand… yeah, Jaime was going to help him with the windows.
He opened one of the cupboards and reached for a bowl. A sudden memory caught him, and slowly he took down four bowls, thinking of one morning long ago when he had set four bowls down on the kitchen table, trying to pretend the day was no different than any other day.
But it had been, and they’d all known it, even seven-year-old Jaime, standing next to the counter in his hand-me-down red truck pajamas, asking how come Dad’s car and all his stuff was gone.
Tristan had almost forgotten the mess of the night before, and when he came into the dining room with the bowls and spoons in one hand and an unopened bottle of milk in the other, he felt a sudden stab of guilt as Jaime came in the other dining room door, glancing quickly away as soon as he saw him, as if expecting that Tristan was still mad at him.
He set the bowls down in the center of the table, flipping a spoon into each one and dumping the rest of the coffee in the pot into Blair’s mug before glancing at a silent Jaime, who had slumped into a chair at the opposite end of the table.
“What, aren’t you going to say this stuff reeks?” he asked, gesturing towards the steam rising from Blair’s cup. Not complaining about the smell of the coffee he woke up to every morning usually meant the boy was sick.
“It reeks.” Jaime’s voice was flat, and he laid his head down on the table, burying his face in his arms.

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Seven Weeks of Story Sparks

~random story knowledge gained in the past few weeks...or just interesting facts...or...y'know. :D
the sad thing is, I don't exactly have time to DO anything with these story sparks...but hey, maybe someday. XD And if you use any of them in a story  (or to freak anyone out at the dinner table) let me know. 

~Rifampin side effects include red tears (red enough to stain contact lenses) and red saliva. Or orange. This could be used to astonishing effect in the right story...

The child that tastes salty when kissed will soon die. European Folklore, Spain 1606 (origin of this saying: Cystic Fibrosis results in salty skin.)

~Homeostasis: it's a thing...or it's the title of a  novel. The outside world is constantly impinging on us...always trying for our destruction. And yet, though all the world be changing, I am always the same.

~ Want a super-dramatic and totally weird death for a villain? Feed him fava beans, which can destroy 50% of an apparently normal and completely healthy person's red blood cells ridiculously quickly. Glucose 6-phosphate dehydrogenase deficiency is a hidden condition that manifests dramatically after ingestion of a certain substances, one of which is fava beans. Actually, even sniffing the pollen of a fava bean plant can cause a reaction. Anyway, you can make your villain turn yellow and die overnight, after consumption of a perfectly normal meal...

~ The drama that drove me insane with its heart-smashing story of a child born to be an assassin, and one of the most awesome and epically painful friendships ever (until the ending destroyed it) also frustrated me to no end with its its poor handling of female characters and random utterly ridiculous details. Like warriors drinking puffer-fish poison to gain immunity. I asked one of my professors, though, and he said he could see that actually being a possibility. Guess that tells what I know. 
Show, I forgive you for the ridiculous details. 
I do not forgive you for the ending.

~ apoptosis comes from something meaning leaves falling from tree. That's actually kind of pretty....

~ So is Lamina Lucida. Or maybe Lucida Lamina. I kinda want a character with that name now... XD

~ Demilune. Also kinda pretty...probably just because Luna-names have always intrigued me. Lune and Demilune would be an interesting pair...

~ I've always liked the NK lymphocytes…it would be kind of funny to have an assassin nicknamed NK – though I suppose only biology people would get the “Natural Killer” connection...(It's always just cracked me up that Natural Killer Lymphocytes is really the name of the cells. Never say biologists don't have a sense of humor. Even if it's a bit twisted.)

~ Now I want to write a story about Lune and Demilune, the Lucida Lamina, and the NK... XD And I should title it Apoptosis...a tale of the town of Homeostasis...  XD  

~ Wow. DISC stands for death-inducing signaling's the name of a scaffold in your cells...I'm not making this stuff up. Your cells have "death receptors" - and closely grouped death domains that recruit other proteins with death domains...which together form this DISC scaffold...Something called caspases then bind to the scaffold...after which they then self-activate and cut apart other caspases...which they send off on a mission of mass destruction, killing the cell that surrounds them. (And you can guess what those cut up caspases are called right? Executioner caspases, of course. Remember what I said about biologists.)

~ Even creepier, tumor cells send out signals to neighboring fibroblasts...what they say, I don't know, but they make the fibroblasts eat themselves. This releases substances that the tumor cells then use as fuel to grow larger and ever more invasive. 

~ Moving away from the creepy...heard a fascinating story about a cancer researcher who ended up with the very cancer he was researching (how's that for irony?) and his research group immediately dropped everything they were doing, sequenced the man's entire genome, actually found the mutation driving that particular form of cancer, and then managed to figure out which drug would act on that mutation. The man is cured and still researching. 
I can see a pretty cool movie being made off that...High stakes, epic friendships...I'd watch it. XD 

~ Situs inversus. Absolutely fascinating. Authors better than me have used this in their stories, but someday, one of my characters will have situs inversus. And they will be an epic character. XD Tell me if you have heard of this condition before and if you have, how have you resisted writing about it??

Sunday, October 13, 2013

Seven is the perfect number...

There's so many words I want to many things I want to talk about...I don't know where to start or how to say it all. 

But I guess I could start by saying Thank you so incredibly much for your prayers this past week. Your comments and emails were such a huge, huge, encouragement as I was studying, and your support meant so much to me. 

These have probably been close to the 7 hardest weeks of my life. So many things were amazingly put in place to direct me to this place and to allow me to be here...but I've been really struggling. I know people say nothing worth doing is easy...and I certainly wasn't expecting medical school of all things to easy...but I don't think I was entirely ready for exactly how difficult it was going to be. 

only midnight...surely I can get through the rest--WHAT
OF IT??? Now I'm not gonna be able to fall asleep until 2am...
And it wasn't just the material, though things like biochem and microbiology were never my favorite subjects in school, and spending 6 hours a day in lecture and then 4pm to ~1am every evening trying to learn everything from the lecture was not exactly pleasant.

if it were not for the awesome people I'm living with...
I'm not sure how I would have been able to manage.

My family, who I'm used to talking to at any point in the day, sharing all manner of random things with, discussing everything under the sun--i.e. living with, is no longer here. I've actually seen them almost every week, and talked on the phone for hours the rest of the week...but it's different. I had no idea I was going to miss them so much, especially with the amount of times I've seen them. 

Add to that the fact that the things that I love doing - reading and writing being the two main ones, with k-drama and kpop also right up there - I just didn't have time to do...(I tried listening to kpop while was generally distracting. I did listen to a fair amount of Japanese music the first few weeks - it was the only way I could focus long enough to get through the material I needed to each day - but even that was too distracting for the kind of studying I needed to do as time went by.) It was hard. Simply trying to concentrate for that long was a challenge. Sure, I studied in undergrad, but there was almost always time to take a break. Now...I was studying for hours straight, and still not getting through the material I needed to.

Still, it was more than that. I think I've cried more in the past 7 weeks than I have in perhaps the past 7 years. (I don't tend to cry a lot. I just don't. Until the past few weeks, apparently.) Anything set me off, from talking to/emails from my family, to my test scores, to thinking about the future or the past. I would go to bed when I was too miserably tired to function and wake up feeling exhausted and entirely unprepared for another incredibly long day of doing it all over again.

Homesickness, depression, spiritual attack...whatever it was, it just got worse and worse. I kept banging my head against this feeling of absolute miserableness just going God, WHY is this so hard? I thought you wanted me to be here! Why can't I just be good at this stuff! Why is EVERYTHING I try to do here so difficult? Why is nothing simple? 

And then came test 6. I hadn't been getting in any time to study for the upcoming final, and I really, really wanted to do well on this test, so I could focus on the final and put week 6's material in the back and hopefully not worry so much about week 7's test. 

I failed it. 

And I was driving home, feeling completely overwhelmed, the usual refrain of What were they thinking to let me in here, I'm going to kill all my patients, that's assuming I get that far, I'll probably flunk out of medical school and then what will I do with my life, why did God ask me to do something I am so completely unable to do...that had been bothering me more and more lately started up again. And I turned on the radio and started flipping through channels. Suddenly a song started playing, not the kind I usually listen to (same reason I don't read a ton of mainstream Christian fiction), but the words caught my attention so I left it on.

Got so much on your mind
Nothing's really going right...
Whatever it is you may be going through
I know He's not gonna let it get the best of you

Stay in the fight ‘til the final round
You're not going under
‘Cause God is holding you right now
You might be down for a moment
Feeling like it's hopeless
That's when He reminds You
That you're an overcomer

The same Man, the Great I am
The one who overcame death
Is living inside of You
So just hold tight, fix your eyes
On the one who holds your life
There's nothing He can't do
He's telling You

and suddenly I wanted to cry for rather different reasons than before. It was exactly what I needed to hear. The final round was not yet here, I needed to keep working, and He who calls is faithful also to do it. I knew this stuff, but it was His merciful lovingkindness that reminded me of it when I was feeling worst. 
So I failed the test. So God told Gideon it was by the 300 men that lapped He would save Israel. It was to show how great His power was. My next week would be like that, because He'd just sent home the rest of my chances. 

And then week 7...I started getting sick. Okay, well, now I really was down to Gideon's 300 men, if that, given that me feeling sick = pretty much death sentence for studying or test-taking. I felt completely wretched. Tuesday my family drove through town and I saw them for an hour or so and spent the rest of the evening fighting tears. Again. 

And one of my friends sent me a song. The translation is a bit rough, but I think that only made it catch my attention more.

You ask me again today, if I love you
I only laugh and ask why you say that again
You cry again today, saying I’m too much
Always the same question, always the same answer...

Do I need to say it for you to know? I love you the same as always

Is my heart not enough?
You really don't understand...

Hey, I won't change my ways
Actually showing love is better...
I’ll promise you one thing, I’ll do better than anyone else

I'll..whisper in your ear that I'll never let you down...
Always by your side
I'll do it better, because I'm the one who knows you best.

And I cringed to see myself, crying again, asking for more proof of my Lord's overwhelming and everlasting indescribable love. Had He not already made His will for me abundantly clear? People have died for their faith, and I was freaking out because my life was currently a little difficult? Should I be carried to the skies on flowery beds of ease, while others fought to win the prize and sailed through bloody seas? Seriously. 

It might have been somewhere around there that I realized I probably was dealing with some depression, given that I was feeling so entirely not myself, but it was also a huge reminder that I needed to be okay with however the final went. What if God did want me to re-take this entire class? Start over next fall? What if that was His plan? Was not His heart enough? Was not the unchangeable love of the One who knew me best and who knew the future and had already planned the best for me enough that I could trust Him? 

And then I went back to being Gideon and hoped it wasn't too much to ask that I be given a teeny bit of hope that my 300 men could beat the entire Midianite army. Something like the bread dream? Something like doing okay on test 7, the day before the final? And then I reminded myself that He'd already given me 2 songs and hadn't that last one kinda said all I needed to know? :P 

So I took test 7, feeling quite sick and score appeared...and I'd just barely passed. Not exactly what I wanted...but hey, at least I hadn't failed. Then the course directors made some announcements and some of the questions were adjusted...and suddenly my score was almost better than I'd had on any previous exams. 

And then I talked to the course directors, and not only were they willing to allow me to take the final later, to give me a chance to get well and to make up the study time that simply had not been happening because I was sick, they actually agreed to come in on the weekend and give me the test then, so that I wouldn't have to push it into the second course, which starts on Monday. 

Pretty good as far as bread dreams go.

And I started getting emails, comments on my blog, random classmates telling me I was going to pass...whatever emotional mess was trying to drown me, I am in awe at how patient God has been with me, and how many times He was willing to remind me of His love for me, when I shouldn't have needed reminded. 

Anywayz...I thought never in my life would I study harder for something than I studied for my private pilot's test when I was 17...pretty sure I managed to pass it this week. (I studied harder for this final than I did for the MCAT, I'm pretty sure.) If I hadn't been feeling sick and and on top of that finding a migrating flock of butterflies in my stomach every time the test entered my mind, it would have been fascinating. So many things finally connected for me, so many details coming together, so much that matched and was just super amazing to know (because everything I've learned in the past 2 months has been incredibly interesting, don't get me wrong) actually was really cool. 

Not that I particularly was able to enjoy it...but I was quite aware that I could have enjoyed it had I not been preparing for a test. :)
Anyway...then it was test day for real...and I woke up actually able to breathe and not coughing every few minutes...and yes, the course directors were right and the different lecturers did save their hardest questions for the final, and yes, 3 hours was really a long time to be taking a test, and yes, I barely got a chance to read through each question in the time given, and yes, maybe it was too many hours spent studying the day before but I was flat-out guessing on way too many of the questions, and yes, I was scared to death when I had a minute left, and yes, I just about died of relief when the course director came up to me and said You just reached the passing marker - be reallllllly careful about changing any of your answers from this point out, and no, I don't ever have to take Foundations again, and I don't know if you have any idea how happy I am about that fact.   

Maybe it's because I'm a writer, maybe it's because I'm introspective, but I always ask the what-ifs, and something minor (like a test) can so quickly turn into my entire life. Being that doctor who isn't competent is definitely something I don't want to be...but this class is not the next 7 years. I already have a better idea for what I'll need to do as far as studying habits, note taking, etc. that I had no idea about before. I have learned soooo much in the past 7 weeks...

And not just about school. I realized how often I take the easy way...and how poorly that serves me, when there is no easy way to take. I realized how much I depend on my family...and how amazing they are, even when I don't get to see them every day. I realized somewhat more how much the doctors I know went through to get where they are today...and my respect for them went through the roof. I realized how incredibly weak I am...and how strong God is willing to prove Himself. 

If I were naturally gifted in the sciences, it wouldn't be so incredible that I'm actually in med school. That I actually passed my first course. I wouldn't realize how much I had to depend on Him...and honestly, NOT that I plan on being a bad doctor, but I'd rather be one who understood how much there was to know and how much I didn't know, than one who could do it all on my own and forgot how much there was beyond my knowledge and control. 

And good grief, that was a lot of case you can't tell, I haven't been doing a lot of it lately...I was dying to write this week and it was almost physically painful to force myself to sleep and study instead. :P But seriously...thank you all SO MUCH for being amazing this past week...I wanted to kind of update you on where I was and how it was all going... ;) If you'd rather I not go the massive post route (and if you had time to read all this, I'm impressed), feel free to tell me to journal it. ;) At some point I'm probably gonna wish I'd stayed anonymous... I'll have to start a new blog, as an unknown anonymous med student, where I can say all manner of things that should probably not be tied to an actual person where places and events could be traced... :P HIPPA, y'know...but okay, I'll stop now. XD It's just that I've missed blogging... XD I have a few posts in my head that I hope I'll get a chance to write soon, and I hope I'll actually get to read some blogs this next week also. 

The next course is supposed to be slightly easier for a short time, and simply having passed this one makes me feel much better (plus the fact that I'm getting over whatever was making me sick), so...



Friday, October 11, 2013

Foundations Test Day

Miss Melody posted this a while ago...I thought it a good reminder for today. :)

Henry Van Dyke

 Not to the swift, the race:
         Not to the strong, the fight:
         Not to the righteous, perfect grace:
         Not to the wise, the light.

         But often faltering feet
         Come surest to the goal;
         And they who walk in darkness meet
         The sunrise of the soul.

         A thousand times by night
         The Syrian hosts have died;
         A thousand times the vanquished right
         Hath risen, glorified.

         The truth the wise men sought
         Was spoken by a child;
         The alabaster box was brought
         In trembling hands defiled.

         Not from my torch, the gleam,
         But from the stars above:
         Not from my heart, life's crystal stream,
         But from the depths of Love


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