a calling and vignettes

I feel like God's calling me to do something with my life. I'm not sure what though. For the past year, things like donating to orphans have been popping up in my life in the most random places. Everytime someone talks about doing something, I feel like they're talking to me. But I'm 14, almost 15, what can I do? I feel the need to make a difference in someone's life through Christ. And not just a small difference, I feel called to do something much bigger, much larger than what I've ever done before. I can't tell what I'm supposed to do though. I WANT to do something big, be a life changer, make a difference in the world. I'll pray for wisdom and what He wants me to do, please pray for me too. I'll save money because knowing this world, it will probable be expensive, whatever I do/

 So for school. we have to write vignettes, which are basically short stories describing something. I'm going to put what I have so far in this post and if you guys could read them and tell me how to make them better, that would be amaazing!(:

My Name

Treeless. It appears to be a great boundless plain. My label is nothing inspiring, unlike ones that mean hope or grace. There’s no purpose for naming me this. Out of the plethora of names, my parents chose the name that means treeless. The word brings forth the lonely sense I get in my gut when I’m sitting in a class and I know not one person. Visualizing the world passing me by, I lie in the safari, star gazing, as the tall grasses gently brush my legs and send trembles up my spine. I am a misunderstood hyena wailing toward the Milky Way, wishing for more.

It’s a title with many emotions. Like sniffing fresh pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving, strong with spices and the taste of fall, then recalling there’s no one to share it with. There’s no faith left. My name; the sentiment when the last bit of hope is taken and all I’m left with is the bitter tang of what used to be. Treeless. Nothing left. Nothing for billions of miles but the dry, dirt earth staring back at me. Forever I remain Savannah. Forever, I stay treeless.

                                                        

The Window in the Classroom

            A portal to another world. Forever around for you to stare at. Never to escape but always to be taunted as freedom flies by. Sunlight filters through the old musty crystal, dappling the slab in front of me.  Constantly pondering what else in actuality there is; a domain outside of the Box Room. Dainty leaves become scarlet, auburn and brown all around me, and I exist just to sit and watch. They quiver at the breeze and are swept away with the current of air.

I gaze out at the smiling expressions below me, jealousy mounting up inside me. My eyes trail them with such a longing; I can smell the autumn fragrance of the new cold winds. I am a bird, soaring high to migrate south for the winter. I am free and nothing can stop me. The glass may block what I can do, but it can’t stop my dreams.

 Falling from Grace

Adrift in the atmosphere.  Suspended in air. Falling, falling, plunging toward the welcoming utopia below. The split second before I submerse into darkness, time freezes and my senses come alive. Aware of the cliff behind me, the open space before me, and my hair spread wide all around me like eagle’s wings. Mind quieting, the icy tendrils engulfing me, embracing my form.

 I am only immersed for a moment, but it seems like eternity. At first I am frozen, but then peace rolls over me in waves. I am part of the abyss. For an instant I am like the rise and fall of the tide, washing in and out of every crevice and nook of the bedrock. I can feel the pressure around me recede as I drift back toward reality. I don’t want to break the surface, for I know I will miss the serenity of the marine. My head bobs above the water, and I am blinded by curls plastered across my face, and water in my mouth and eyes. I am moving with the course of life, just a part of the drift, floating along with the current.

 Break my Bones

            Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me. In reality, it should be sticks and stones may break my bones but words will hurt me more. I always remember them with every breath I take and every footstep. They’re there gnawing at the corner of your mind, making you contemplate, “Am I not good enough?” Every label they stick to my back, I still sense like they’re being said over and over again, being repeated directly in your face. The insults tug at the ends of my heart and make it grow weary, slowly tearing shards away.

            They hurt more than they are meant to. People fling sayings around carelessly, like they’re an old sack of potatoes they can just toss around. In real life, they hurt and sting. Words are razor sharp arrows. Their taunts cut my skin and leave morbid scars. It tastes like salt and smells like venom. Sometimes peers think it’s funny, but it’s really not. Sometimes I wonder why “friends” say what they do. Sometimes the truth hurts.

Puyallup Fair

            Swirl of fairy lights. Collage of pigment. Sticky sweet scents waft by and loiter around my nostrils. Illuminations captivate my eyes and beckon me. I am hypnotized by the whirl of movement all around me, each soul oblivious to the crowds around them. As I stand in the middle of the carnival, the world moves on past me and without me. Laughter surrounds me and smiles shine everywhere I look. Cotton candy and funnel cakes flavor these recollections.

            Happiness dwells here. A small speck of the universe where darkness cannot shine and hate cannot spoil it. For the few magical hours I’m there, the haunted memories disappear and I belong in the moment. Nothing can bring me down. I am alive and that is all that matters.

Tell me how you like them and which one is your favorite!(:

Love, savannah