The Mailbox Days

     Daisy impatiently rocked up on her toes then back on her heels.
     "Mama, please let me go. I'm big enough now."
     "I don't know, sweetheart." Mama thoughtfully stroked her chin. "This is a really big job. And the driveway is really long. I need someone who is very brave and very quick."
     "I am very brave and quick. Just yesterday I beat Seth in a race down the driveway."
     Mama over-dramatically stroked her chin and squinted her eyes, looking at her eager daughter.
     "Well... I suppose you are big enough, and brave enough, and if you beat Seth in a race you certainly are fast enough. Yes, you may go."
     A wide, gap-toothed grin illuminated Daisy's face. She turned around quickly, blonde pigtails swinging wildly, and bolted out of the kitchen. Mama chuckled and thoughtfully rested her hand on her growing baby belly. She knew Daisy would not always be eager to run down the long driveway to get the mail. Soon the novelty and privilege of the quarter mile walk to the mailbox would wear off, and Daisy would complain about having to get the mail again. But for now, it was a source of innocent joy. As was beating her little brother in a footrace. Mama chuckled again.
------
     Daisy ran down the gravel driveway, her Wellies causing her stride to be an awkward waddle instead of a  graceful run. Her small feet were moving quickly, intent on proving to Mama that she was quick enough for the task.
     In a few minutes she reached the rusted mailbox. It seemed so tall to her small self.
     She stretched up onto her tippy toes, Wellies squeaking. Determination oozed from her tiny being. Her hand reached the top of the mailbox door and she pulled it open.
    Envelopes rained down on Daisy, scattering on the ground around her. She bent down and picked up the envelopes one by one.
    One, two. She tucked them under her arm.
    Three, four. She tucked them under her arm.
    Five and six would not fit under her arm, so she held them in her hand.
    The seventh envelope had a small dirt footprint on it, but she brushed if off and held it in her arms with the rest.
     The little girl carefully made her way back the house, being sure to only use walking feet so she didn't drop the mail again. Daisy stepped right foot first onto the porch step. She paused on this first step, very briefly, to collect herself. Then she proceeded to climb up the remaining steps right foot first, then meeting it with her left foot. Right foot first, then meeting it with her left foot.
     She nudged the screen door open with her back and walked into the kitchen.
     "Mama," she huffed. "I am back." Daisy dumped the mail onto the table.
     "Well done, Daisy!" Mama replied, taking stock of the muddy and creased mail. "Would you like to go play with Seth now?"
     Daisy gave a quick nod, then hurried past her mother to the living room.
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     The old pickup truck roared into the driveway, and Daddy got out of the front seat with a tried groan. He walked up the porch steps and pushed open the screen door.
     "Hi there, Meg," he greeted his wife, with a hug and quick kiss.
     "Howdy, stranger," Mama smiled, returning the kiss.
     Daddy threw the truck keys on the table, and leaned against the counter sifting through the mail.
     "Did Daisy get the mail today?" he asked.
     "Why yes she did. And she was awful proud," chuckled Mama. "How did you know?"
     "I just had a hunch," Daddy paused for a second. "And the open mailbox, still half full of mail was a good hint." Daddy smiled.
     "Daddy, Daddy! Guess what I did today!" Daisy barreled into the kitchen.
      Daddy caught her momentum and swung her up into his arms.
     "I don't know, Daisy, what did you do?" Daddy looked over Daisy's head to Mama and gave a quick wink.
     "Mama let me get the mail all by myself!"
     "You got the mail all by yourself! I'm so proud of you, Daisy." Daddy gently tipped her head towards him and kissed her forehead. "I'm so proud."

second attempt

Hello blog,
no, that's too formal.
Hi,
no, that's too informal.
Lets try this again.

Hey blog,
I missed you.
And by I missed you, I mean I had completely forgotten you existed.
But I have started writing again. And so maybe, just maybe we can pick up where we left off? I know it can't be exactly like old times. Because I've change. I've hopefully become a bit better at weaving words in a somewhat artsy way. You've changed too...well, no. That's not true. You haven't changed. At all.
So maybe, just maybe I'll actually post my doodles. What have I to lose?
Thank you, blog.
Ever yours,
Rachel

Thus begins my second attempt at blogging. Or as I like to call it: doodling. 

Nerves

Nerves.
My heart is beating at an unnatural, sporadic pace; a rhythm reminiscent of a Zumba beat. My hands have an nearly unnoticeable tremor; more a feeling of unsteadiness than visible shaking. My breaths are steady inhale, exhale and yet the air never seems to satisfy my body's thirst for oxygen. A slight nervous sweat makes my underarms rather uncomfortable.
The only thing worse than these physical symptoms are the thoughts that accompany them.
Uncontrollable thoughts.
What if I say something wrong?
What if I don't know how to answer a question?
What if I don't get in?
What if...What if...What if... resounds with the beating of my heart. echoes with the noise of my breaths.

But what if's don't matter.
If I say something wrong, so what? It happens to the best of us
If I don't know the answer to a question, so what? Just be truthful
If I don't get in, so what? It was never written in my story

Why am I so nervous? The plan is already set. I have a God who is constant and loving. I have a Savior who gave himself for me. I have a Champion, I have no need to fear.

Take the world but give me Jesus
 If Jesus is with me, that is all I need. 
Take the world but give me Jesus