Ten Pieces
Introduction
My name is Elizabeth Powell.
I am a high school student with a passion for music, a love of writing, and a desire to follow Jesus with all that I am.
I grew up as the youngest of four siblings - my parents homeschooled all of us and we each have competed in speech and debate. Though I have always endeavored to give my best for every assignment, perhaps one of the greatest turning points in my life was when I took a logic class my sophomore year in high school. It must have been my teacher's patience, excellence, and enthusiasm that caught me; but by the end of the course, learning had become to me not merely a requirement to "get a good grade," but a pathway to understanding, utilizing, and better appreciating my Creator's world.
I am also the daughter of an American dad and a Japanese mom, and both of their cultures have heavily influenced who I am. Living between two cultures has been interesting, albeit a difficult experience. But learning over the years to adapt to the different ways of life and thinking in both cultural contexts has given me a strong interest in intercultural communications. My desire for the future is to work in missions to further the Gospel among the people who have not heard its good news. My life goal is to bring glory to my Creator and Savior, and my hope and my joy is knowing that he is transforming me into the image of his Son with every passing day.
Description ~ The Power of Music
What should I write? The prompt glares at me in bolded letters from the screen, daring me to pick just one thing that I can describe for the assignment. A weight grows on my chest as the clock ticks and my deadline approaches. All is quiet on this Saturday afternoon, so quiet that the silence seems to whisper to me “Be still! Stop a moment and listen!” Hesitantly, I lay aside my pen and wait.
As if in answer, a soft melody steals through the open window, kissing my ears with its gentle voice. I tilt my head as a sigh escapes my lips. The music rolls on, as whisper turns into soothing murmur, murmur swells into mournful singing; and still I sit – captivated by the golden sensation that touches my soul. It is a piece I know well – the story of Scheherazade told through Rimsky-Korsakov’s enchanting tune. The tears of the weeping violin wash over me and I shudder. It is only now that I realize I am no longer in my quiet house, transported on waves of music to the colorful marketplace of Arabia. I close my eyes, and taste the spice of turmeric and masala on my tongue, breathe in the pungent scent of raw fish and sweat.
The action fades into a dull murmur as I approach a kneeling figure, young and slight. From the depth of her sorrow springs a fountain of tears that fall to the ground, seeping into the cracked soil. The violin voice rises, a wail, a mourning of the torment of a thousand and one endless nights. A tingle of admiration rolls through my skin as I behold this woman, knowing she lives under threat of death from the one man who should care for her. Yet she loves him. This woman is the epitome of fortitude and kindness even in her desperation. The melody wanes, subsiding once more into its calming rhythm. A gleam of light touches the dirt in front of her. She looks up with a sigh; day has come again. Yet tender peace lights her eyes once more as the dawn is announced with a final ringing chord; and once more she rises, ready to hope and wait for her husband’s love.
Silence returns. I climb out of reverie into the reality of my approaching deadline. Yet my mind lingers on Scheherazade’s song. Music has power – the power to tell stories. One dancing ditty can sweep a man off his feet to a land of joyful laughter, where an innocent couple discovers love at a first ball. One soulful strain can weave a tale of a maiden’s sorrow, her husband’s cruelty, and the tender love that fills her for his hardened heart. I take a deep breath and look at the screen. The same bold letters glare out at me, the same question demands to be satisfied. What shall I describe? Perhaps in the silence that brought me music, I have found my answer. I pick up my pen, take a deep breath, and begin to write.
Definition ~ What is Family?
People in America seem to have the idea that a family is a unit comprised of a mom, a dad, and children (or a child) in the same household. To speak truthfully, that is the traditional definition of the word “family,” and it is not wrong to speak of family in these terms. Yet, I would argue that family is far more than the mere existence of a parents and their offspring. Though this is the common understanding, it leaves the word largely empty of meaning. Nothing in that definition qualifies whether the relationships between members are close-knit, detached, or even dictatorial. The distinction between a family and a business community might only be the legal and blood relations of the children to their parents, and vice versa. Ultimately, a family in the truest sense of the word is characterized by its members’ efforts to live well with one another.
A family is a group of people bound to each other by the fact that they attempt to live the most meaningful life together. This kind of living involves each member’s effort to overcome the obstacles of selfishness and indifference in order to pursue the richest relationships with each other. And is this not a true picture of a family? – where individuals intentionally strive to hold each other up, bear each other’s burdens, and point each other to Christ? Indeed, this family is not confined to close blood-relatives. If one or more friends live closely with each other, and if their relationship is not indifferent but pursued more deeply and more fully, surely those friends could be rightfully called a family.
Family was meant to be so much more than just a household of blood-relatives. Families live together – this concept is found even in the technical definition of the word – and in living together, they are designed to know and understand each other, and to make the most out of this gift of community. Yes, differences will exist; conflicts will arise between members, especially because they share the same living space. Yet true living is found not in letting these barriers these break people apart, but in striving to love and forgive despite them, to build stronger bonds that are centered around Christ, the Rock. May this be the renewed desire of all who follow Him, that our families would not grow weary of this pursuit, but would strive all the more to reflect his grace to a broken world.
Memoir ~ In Death, in Life
To the girl at fourteen with a fractured skull and bleeding brain who lies smothered in a blue hospital gown, unable to walk or sit up, staring at the tiled ceiling wondering if she will ever fully recover - what is life? Perhaps I should have been more frightened than I was when my nurse-sister commanded me not to fall asleep, or else... I understood. I remember, as we sped along the mountain road, my brother trying to reach cell-service, time seemed to stop; I asked myself, as the blurred tree branches fled past, did I really want to live? Would living maimed, disabled, not fully in control of my mind be worse than dying? Or would closing my eyes send me into a coma instead of kill me? I had no way of knowing how severe my injury was, or if this all of this was just an overreaction. All I wanted was sleep. My eyes began to shut, my mind started to numb. In that moment was perfect peace, like a blanket of stillness lay over my mind. I knew that I longed for death. I was not afraid - my hope after death was sure. I was just falling asleep when a wave of fear suddenly swept through me as I thought of what my life would be like if I did not die. Exaggerated visions of myself sitting in my bed, spoon-fed by my parents and unable to do anything in life electrified me - shocked me into opening my eyelids so wide I thought they would tear. Anything to avoid a life like that! I thought. I don't know how I stayed awake, it was certainly by no work of mine. The next thing I knew, strange men in fiery red polos were pinning me down. I am told that I screamed, twisted, struck out at them in my efforts to escape. But I have no memory of this. Within seconds, their sedatives turned me from a ragged maniac into a limp rag doll.
After months of headaches and impatient resting, I did recover. Time, some would say, has healed me. Others would argue that the almost immediate care I received from a highly certified hospital did the trick. While I agree that these were definitely part of the healing process, I remain convinced that it was only by the grace and faithfulness of God that I survived - not only physically, but also spiritually. The fear that had flooded my being, my question of whether life was worth living with disabilities rankled in my mind long after that day in the woods. If I had had assurance in the face of death, it had fled at the thought of great pain. Was Jesus enough only at my death? Could I not be confident in living as well as in dying? It was only through the weeks and months after my accident that I began to truly experience the fullness that comes in depending entirely on Christ. Day after day, as soon as I could write, I scribbled in my brown leather journal, crying out to God for strength because I had none, patience because I was desperate, joy because I was depressed. Day after day, he humbled my heart, and through the tears that mottled the creamy pages I came to understand that my God would be faithful, in death or in life, whatever the circumstances. This blessed assurance became mine.
Literacy Narrative ~ Press On
When I was fourteen, my whole world was rocked when my first poem was accepted for publication on Story Embers (a Christian writing website). Publishing a book had been my childhood dream, and here as a young teenager I felt as if I had suddenly stepped over the line from dream to reality. More submissions followed, each leading me deeper into the magical land of word-building. I was entrenched in poetry and novel ideas - they flooded my desktop and spilled out of my notebooks; they absorbed me until I nearly became one with my writing. With each new publication, satisfaction washed me in its warm wave. I knew I had talent and that others liked my work. Yet in my newfound craze, I pushed away the thought that if I were to pursue writing fulltime, my skills would need to drastically improve. Content with the easy gain my knack with words brought, I rode on the wings of self-satisfaction, too complacent to become serious. Then it happened.
I still remember that day - when my favorite poem was rejected. I stared at the screen in shock as I had when I received my first acceptance, only this time a heavy weight smothered the breath from my lungs. Worthless. Rejected. My eyes stung as these thoughts pulsed through my brain. Who was I, now only fifteen, to assume my work would always be accepted? I had reasoned that since my friends and family liked this dear poem, surely it could be published. Yet it was luck, I told myself, beginner's luck and a smidge of talent that had gotten me so far. I was so thoroughly convinced my work was hopeless that after that day, I scarcely wrote anything else that year save in my journal and for school. I did revise the poem the next year and sent it in hoping it would be deemed fit for publication. It was not.
For two years my apathy to writing only grew - until one day, I stumbled across another journal, Radiate Literary, and shot them an email with a piece I had written at thirteen. It was a small joy, but this newly begun website accepted my work, and so began my relationship with one of the editors. I submitted yet another piece, but this time she challenged me to make it better. I stretched myself until I felt I could revise no farther before finally admitting to her my fears. I will never forget what she wrote back: "The potential to learn is never something to be ashamed of; only unwillingness to learn would be." Tears come to my eyes as I write this - tears of gratefulness that she did not shy away from telling me these words straight-out. As I read them, so firm and yet full of kind encouragement, it was as if something inside me loosened. The barrier I had erected between myself and my writing came down and I knew I could write again.
Contrast ~ Flighty or Firm
Two girls a year apart, one a sensible artist, the other a sentimental scholar – how did they become best friends? “Only by the grace and wisdom of God,” says the sentimental scholar who has wondered the same many a day. My friend, Keziah, has been a constant joy and steady friend since I was six and she was seven. She is, perhaps, one of the people who knows me best. Yet while we have several similarities, our differences in personality and posture cause me to stand in awe of the God who brought these two friends together in his great love.
While Keziah and I both have our fun-loving sides and our serious sides, our individual ways of living would hardly seem to fit together. Keziah has a steady build, one that denotes confidence and firmness of character. If my friend has anything to say, she says it outright – clearly and without wasting words. With her feet planted solidly on the ground, hugging her is like hugging a boulder (so says her mother) and I affectionately borrow that term in describing my friend because it so truly portrays the steady, thoughtful, sensible aura that she owns. On the other hand, I myself have often been described as timid and shrinking in posture. My shoulders tend to shrivel and my neck juts out in the comical position that turns me into a turtle (so my own mother says). My stature is slight, and from experience I have been told that the timid way I stand and the slow, rambling way I speak makes it seem as though I have very little confidence in myself. Yes, indeed, it seems odd that the turtle and the boulder found each other one day and made a pact of friendship. Yet the beautiful reality is that our differences seem to complement each other. Her steady nature keeps me straight, her confidence pulls me on when I would rather play it safe. My sensitive nature speaks to her in a special way. And through it all, we both recognize how gracious God has been in reconciling our differences to reflect his own grace and goodness.
Effects ~ Technology's Role in Shaping GenZ
I was born in 2003, into a generation commonly called Generation Z, Gen Z, or the iGen because of its immersion in technology from its beginning. I have noticed that older generations tend to look at Gen Zers behind rolled eyes. They like to think that Gen Z is the most selfish generation by far, one with too much desire for instant gratification and entitlement - an age group that needs to "grow up." This is probably true, there are many ways in which I am not proud of the habits my generation have fallen into. Yet maybe people should start seeing Gen Zers not as "the selfish generation," but as a generation that expresses itself differently because of its different context. Truly what sets Gen Z apart is its immersion in conveniences and technology which have influenced the ways they live and pursue their desires.
Unlike other generations, many Gen Zers, myself included, cannot remember a day when cellphones, laptops, and the internet did not exist. Referred to as "digital natives," people in my generation have grown up with almost instant gratification – Google and YouTube provide the means to look up anything and everything in a mere matter of seconds. Laptops and cellphones that are carried everywhere place all the internet has to offer practically at every person’s fingertips. It has become easier to research and learn, to pursue ambitions and gain understanding more quickly. On the other hand, access to television shows or movies has also increased, offering welcome escapes from the weight of reality.
Additionally, the popularization of social media has given my age group another means of defining individual identities. These platforms have become the common mediums through which people tell the world who they are. Posting is the way to express oneself – emotions, personality, lifestyle, political views, virtually everything. As a result, it certainly seems that Gen Z is more self-centered simply because of increased publicity. Access to technology and the internet has opened doors for people give outlet to their different desires, whether to learn or to gratify selfishness. Yet perhaps Gen Zers are not more selfish than other generations - perhaps it is their unlimited access to technology that makes it seem so, yet in truth, if any other generation had been given such amenities, surely they would have abused them as well. Technology has shaped many Gen Zers into today's stereotypical teenagers. Yet I believe it is up to individual Gen Zers to determine how to approach these convenient tools and whether or not to follow after the current trends of their generation.
Ethnography ~ COVID Church Culture
It is Sunday morning as a group of warmly dressed believers spread out over the Church's covered outdoor court. Masks stretch across almost every face - mainly black or blue or white, yet some wear different patterns over their noses and mouths. The sermon is over and many people have already stood up and left for home. The majority of these are the elderly women who sit in the back and try to leave quickly, wanting to escape both the cold and the threat of catching the Coronavirus. Yet a few of these brave ladies stop by my seat for a brief exchange of greetings before trudging to their sedans.
I turn my gaze once more to the people still remaining, only to notice that little groups have formed here and there across the court. There in the corner congregates the youth, surrounding the youth pastors. Theirs' is a more boisterous group - I catch phrases here and there from their conversation about the latest TV show or the next event planned. They do not seem to be a very approachable group, for when an quiet girl joins the circle, there is silence for a time before the conversation turns back to the former topic. Similarly situated, yet across the court is the young adults' group. They talk less loudly, yet appear to be enjoying their interaction with one another. There are the ladies from the women's Bible study, there are the older men and women from another class. Occasionally two or three will meet and talk who are not from the same group, yet overall there is a sense of great isolation.
Before the masks prevented people from seeing each other's faces, before six-feet social distancing existed, people could and did mingle freely with one another. There certainly was the tendency for cliques or small groups to form, yet there was no excuse for staying distant from a fellow believer. Now, the face-coverings provide a barrier behind which a person can hide - a safe zone to stay with one's friends and family without reaching out to other believers. The atmosphere, while not restraining, is not comfortable or free, riddled with doubt and some fear, or else punctuated occasionally with the opposite attitude. Where isolation behind the mask of human skin was once, a new and perhaps more effective barrier is formed between members of my church. Yet as the body of Christ, it is important to stay unified in his Gospel, to encourage one another in the walking in God's will. His people must not stay silent or comfortable in such times as these, and in the discomfort or awkward nature of life believers must turn to him to bring them together.
Process Analysis ~ Learning to Write Consistently
Recently, I have struggled with writing consistently and keeping a schedule. Old habits die hard and I have the habit of procrastinating when I have no deadline. Consequently, my attempts to write dependably have often failed and left me dangling in depression. Recently, however, I have come up with a plan to overcome my inconsistent production, which seems to rely mainly on lazy tendencies and forgetfulness.
It is first important to set achievable, yet ambitious goals that motivate me to stay on top of my work. Being specific with these goals will make it more likely that I will live up to them. A goal to finish writing a novel by the end of the year might be achievable, but it is very easy to become weary with my slow progress and the weight of such a dream. Thus, I have tailored this resolution to be more focused: write for fifteen minutes every day for a month. During these fifteen minutes, it is crucial that I write without stopping every sentence to polish it to perfection. This approach is key to producing consistently. At the end of this month will then come the task of evaluating how far I have come and how much more I think I can feasibly attempt for the next month. This pattern of continuous goal-setting, with less weighty and more long-term ideas of what I want to accomplish, will provide goals that seem far more achievable and far less intimidating.
It is helpful next to tie the goal to a daily habit. It can be difficult to form a habit from scratch and persistently pursue it. I can tell myself at the start of each day that I need to find time to write for fifteen minutes, but as a forgetful girl, I often end up in bed without accomplishing this. However, if I take my writing goal and connect it to a previously established habit, the struggle lightens because I no longer work from scratch. Consequently, it is important to attach the fifteen-minute writing session to a specific occurrence in the day, such as drinking a daily cup of tea or having a lunch break. This incorporates writing into one's routine, easing one’s ability to write consistently with the schedule.
Finally, it is beneficial to look for an accountability partner to work with. Having this accountability spurs one on to do his best instead of giving in to laziness. People naturally do not like to fail their goals in front of others, so this move provides greater motivation to get the job done. Even if one has no in person friends who write, online communities can be just as beneficial. Certain groups Christian authors may want to investigate include Kingdom Pen and Story Embers. Actively look for accountability, and it should lead to more motivation to write. Ultimately, in implementing the steps above, consistent production should become natural. Although keeping schedule may be difficult at first, it is well worth it in the end.
Inquiry ~ To Lighthammer Piano Company
Dear Lighthammer Piano Company,
My family owns a hundred-year-old piano which has several keys that are broken. While we have tried to have them fixed and the piano tuned, the piano tuner told us it was not worth the price and suggested we purchase a new piano. We have heard from my piano teacher that your company produces quality pianos. As such, we wanted to inquire as to the pianos your company has for sale.
First of all, although you are officially a grand piano company, do you sell any upright grands or smaller pianos? If so, are these pianos as durable and do they produce as quality sound as the grands? Which piano would produce sound that is appropriate for a small, low-ceilinged house? Also - while this is not as important as the other questions - do you sell any pianos that are a dark, woody brown? What colors of pianos would you have that might contrast with white walls and white shelves?
Regarding the cost, what is the typical price range when buying one of your pianos - for both grand pianos and for upright grands? Do you sell all your products completely new, or are some of the pianos previously used? Is there any discount for secondhand pianos, or does this depend on the type of piano?
Thank you so much for being willing to answer our questions. Our family may have a few more to ask before making the final decision to purchase from your company.
Sincerely,
Elizabeth N. Powell
