Lock it In, Keep Them Out

As a leader in the children's church department at my church, I prepared and hosted a Lock-In for all my boys and girls this past Saturday. There was pizza, cupcakes, sleeping, dress-up, indoor sports, water games, tiedye, movies, and Bible studies. We had a blast. Here are an assortment of photographs from the day.

Sticky Hot Summer

As the summer began, the hot sun dried up the inspiration I was receiving from all around me. While it brought warm colors and sleepy days, it brought nothing to replenish the fountain of words that usually flows from within me. In more simple terms, I suppose I have become too lazy to search for a topic that makes me speak my mind. I have allowed myself to be one of the commons who take each day at a time and don’t gain anything from basic experiences. I have let my vocabulary dwindle to the point of not knowing how to use the words I do comprehend. I have become nothing less than a regular high school student on her last summer break before she meets the big world face to face.
I will beg to differ with this cliché, I am no average student for I am hardly an average human being. I will not let the summer days be eaten away with aimless texting and tanning by the poolside. If that was the way God had intended for me to live, he would have created me with a cell phone in hand and less sensitive skin. No I will spend my days arguing with a five year old about the fact that her Mary Jane shoes are not to be worn with socks, that oatmeal is supposed to be lumpy, and issuing false threats of leaving her behind if she doesn’t hurry and get her butt in the car. I will spend my days pressure washing the seven puppies worth of poop off the concrete and constantly filling up the three food bowls on the back porch. I will spend my days wishing I had something meaningful to do with my time. Really, who am I kidding thinking that I will one day be a successful photographer.
Summer is bidding me a bitter sweet farewell as it rides away in the back of the car on its way to the beach. It waves and says, “Sorry you couldn’t enjoy your time with me like the rest of the world does. It really is pathetic that you hate the summer the way that you do. I will try not to take offense the way you have treated me.” And I honestly can’t blame the summer for leaving. I was unappreciative of the time I had with it. Then I suddenly realize that I am only half a month into this sticky hot season. Oh joy, oh sweet rapture, it is almost halfway over.

Explaining the Death

This is an excert from my novel which is currently still a work in progress. I am at that stage where I am not quite sure if i should continue on.

Henry Wilkes took to flying at age 19, while my mother was still pregnant with me. I had been an accident that was followed by the mistake of their marriage. My father and mother got along swimmingly during my first years of life. I started remembering when I was three, and all I could remember were fights. Broken dishes lying in the kitchen floor, overturned hampers in the living room, shattered picture frames, all because my dad wouldn’t let Mom leave him while I was so young. I was four when he went for a flight and never came back. He had crashed into the field thirty miles from our house because he had experienced engine failure. I secretly knew in my heart that it was a suicide, for the sake of me.
I was so young that I didn’t quite understand the concept of death. I understood that Daddy’s big truck had squashed my puppy, Scooper. I understood that Mommy’s parents didn’t exist, but I didn’t understand what those things meant. So when my mom dropped to one knee with false tears in her eyes and said, “Anne Marie, Daddy went for a ride in his plane and he liked the sky so much that he decided to stay forever,” I told her to tell him that I would miss him. When I was five, I realized that he was dead because his plane couldn’t fly forever without gas. I had run down the street as far as I could. I stumbled and scraped my knee right in front of Daniel while he was riding around on his bike. He jumped off and ran over to help me up. He and his dad helped me get a band-aid and took me home to my mom, who wasn’t the least bit concerned. Daniel and I had been friends ever since.

Anne Marie Wilkes

Its Was Written All Over Your Face

Hair, make-up and photography by: JD Hunt

model: Enily Luellen