<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770</id><updated>2012-02-06T14:27:29.549-05:00</updated><category term='angels'/><category term='pictures'/><category term='Reflections on 2008'/><category term='Quotes'/><category term='Short Story'/><category term='Musings'/><category term='Pieces of Prose'/><category term='photography'/><category term='Brothers'/><category term='spring'/><category term='Free Verse'/><category term='Christmas'/><category term='Boarding'/><category term='Poetry'/><category term='guitars'/><category term='Update'/><category term='music'/><category term='Fiction'/><category term='love'/><category term='snow'/><category term='mackintosh'/><category term='Bible Verse'/><category term='the future'/><category term='friends'/><title type='text'>Unboxed</title><subtitle type='html'>My random writings, new poems, thoughts, and favorite quotes and verses that can't be boxed in and hidden.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>93</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-2475446519379612079</id><published>2011-03-17T20:41:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2011-03-17T20:43:24.418-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Your insincerity troubles my mind&lt;div&gt;Your inner beauty is too hard to find&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The attitude you show turns me away&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;All your life is only one big display&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;blarg.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-2475446519379612079?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/2475446519379612079/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=2475446519379612079' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/2475446519379612079'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/2475446519379612079'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2011/03/your-insincerity-troubles-my-mind-your.html' title=''/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-6933382954163696176</id><published>2010-08-17T14:54:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2011-05-03T12:09:20.159-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Walk.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-6933382954163696176?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/6933382954163696176/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=6933382954163696176' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/6933382954163696176'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/6933382954163696176'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2010/08/walk.html' title='The Walk.'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-5845436629992561822</id><published>2010-07-20T14:41:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-20T14:43:18.375-04:00</updated><title type='text'>misguided ghosts.</title><content type='html'>Do you ever listen to a song and think "WOW, this is me, this is what I feel like." But its almost like it has a secret meaning just for you.. and others won't really be able to figure it out.. well here is a song that seems to be for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;{Verse 1}&lt;br /&gt;I am going away for a while&lt;br /&gt;But I'll be back, don't try and follow me&lt;br /&gt;'Cause I'll return as soon as possible&lt;br /&gt;See I'm trying to find my place&lt;br /&gt;But it might not be here where I feel safe&lt;br /&gt;We all learn to make mistakes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;{Chorus}&lt;br /&gt;And run&lt;br /&gt;From them, from them&lt;br /&gt;With no direction&lt;br /&gt;We'll run from them, from them&lt;br /&gt;With no conviction&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Cause I'm just one of those ghosts&lt;br /&gt;Traveling endlessly&lt;br /&gt;Don't need no roads&lt;br /&gt;In fact they follow me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And we just go in circles&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;{Verse 2}&lt;br /&gt;Well Now I'm told that this is life&lt;br /&gt;And pain is just a simple compromise&lt;br /&gt;So we can get what we want out of it&lt;br /&gt;Would someone care to classify,&lt;br /&gt;Of broken hearts and twisted minds&lt;br /&gt;So I can find someone to rely on&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;{Chorus}&lt;br /&gt;And run&lt;br /&gt;To them, to them&lt;br /&gt;Full speed ahead&lt;br /&gt;Oh you are not useless&lt;br /&gt;We are just&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Misguided ghosts&lt;br /&gt;Traveling endlessly&lt;br /&gt;The ones we trusted the most&lt;br /&gt;Pushed us far away&lt;br /&gt;And there's no one road&lt;br /&gt;We should not be the same&lt;br /&gt;But I'm just a ghost&lt;br /&gt;And still they echo me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They echo me in circles&lt;div style="overflow: hidden; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; border: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Misguided Ghosts - Paramore.&lt;br /&gt;Listen to the song sometime, the guitar is absolutely fantabulous!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-5845436629992561822?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/5845436629992561822/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=5845436629992561822' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/5845436629992561822'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/5845436629992561822'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2010/07/misguided-ghosts.html' title='misguided ghosts.'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-3640729635469362464</id><published>2010-07-19T09:06:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-19T09:17:39.224-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Mere creativity&lt;br /&gt;portrayed with negativity&lt;br /&gt;the mind in captivity.&lt;br /&gt;Declaring  a need&lt;br /&gt;to be freed&lt;br /&gt;before I bleed.&lt;br /&gt;Turn it brighter&lt;br /&gt;not  dim, lighter&lt;br /&gt;breath into the writer.&lt;br /&gt;Creativity should ring&lt;br /&gt;life  it has to bring&lt;br /&gt;to make you want to sing.&lt;br /&gt;Negative connotation&lt;br /&gt;a  mere creation&lt;br /&gt;without solid foundation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Works of art are to  scream&lt;br /&gt;of beauty, or a dream&lt;br /&gt;maybe pain extreme.&lt;br /&gt;But it speaks  to your heart&lt;br /&gt;to the whole, not just part&lt;br /&gt;and that.. is what we  call art.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-3640729635469362464?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/3640729635469362464/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=3640729635469362464' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3640729635469362464'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3640729635469362464'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2010/07/mere-creativity-portrayed-with.html' title=''/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-3851270946677432843</id><published>2010-03-10T10:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-10T10:06:11.574-05:00</updated><title type='text'>bring me there.</title><content type='html'>Tell me, tell me.&lt;br /&gt;What are you feeling?&lt;br /&gt;Your face is hard&lt;br /&gt;your eyes, uncaring.&lt;br /&gt;Its like you're made of stone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tell me, show me.&lt;br /&gt;The life you have&lt;br /&gt;Your heart is soft&lt;br /&gt;your eyes hold back tears.&lt;br /&gt;I know you're not happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bring me into&lt;br /&gt;this life you have&lt;br /&gt;share this burden&lt;br /&gt;lighten your load&lt;br /&gt;release the pain&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tell me tell me&lt;br /&gt;what are you feeling?&lt;br /&gt;let me come inside&lt;br /&gt;your face shows no emotion&lt;br /&gt;but soon enough&lt;br /&gt;you'll burst.&lt;br /&gt;bb&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-3851270946677432843?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/3851270946677432843/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=3851270946677432843' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3851270946677432843'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3851270946677432843'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2010/03/bring-me-there.html' title='bring me there.'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-7302549953755439629</id><published>2010-03-07T18:34:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-07T18:35:37.651-05:00</updated><title type='text'>*gasp*</title><content type='html'>This blog is rather lacking in posts. I'll have to update it sometime soon! Stay tuned!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-7302549953755439629?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/7302549953755439629/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=7302549953755439629' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/7302549953755439629'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/7302549953755439629'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2010/03/gasp.html' title='*gasp*'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-7859158279860090419</id><published>2010-01-25T22:11:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-23T09:20:56.210-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Finding Faith</title><content type='html'>*edited February 8 at 10:50am*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;I need some fresh air&lt;/i&gt; I thought as I glanced down at my watch. &lt;i&gt;9:58.&lt;/i&gt; This whole scene, the flirty girls, the drinks, everything; it all made me uncomfortable. I had to get outside, even if only for a couple minutes. I looked up from my shoes to locate an exit. I started walking and shuffled between huddles of girls and guys. They were so cliché, it almost made me sick. All the girls had globs of dark makeup around their eyes, skin tight low shirts, and shorts almost short enough to be belts or skinny jeans that seemed to be spray-painted onto their legs. Most of the girls had fake blond pin straight hair. Guys and girls alike could be seen with plastic red cups or bottles of beer. Some were getting a bit loud, which meant that they probably had too much already. I shook my head trying to drown out the noise.&lt;br /&gt;Me? Well, minimum makeup was more my style. I didn't really see any reason to slop it on, it made me look worse, not better. I was wearing my Converse sneakers and faded jeans. Sure they were skinny jeans, but they weren't skin tight. On top I wore a simple black tee with a white Burton logo displayed across the front. It was probably a size or two too big, but it was comfortable. My hair was a natural dark brown with a slight curl, which I thought looked pretty good sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;As I passed a small group of people, two of them being Danni and Alyssa, the girls who brought me here, Danni stopped, smiled at me and handed me a plastic red cup.&lt;br /&gt;"Hey Faith, where you goin'? Have a little something to drink." I peered inside and saw what looked to be an orange cooler. The three girls and one guy all looked at me expectantly. They must have noticed I hadn't drunken anything like all the rest that night and I wasn't getting tipsy. I smiled at them, politely refused the drink and continued on my way to the door. On the counter beside the door there were some cans of pop. I picked out a Sprite and opened it, heading out.&lt;br /&gt;Once outside, I was alone. With the door closed behind me the loud chatter, high giggles, and background music evaporated into the night. There weren't enough people there to make it super loud, but it grated on me all the same. I closed my eyes and breathed in the cool night air and listened to the night sounds around me. Crickets could be heard from the field, a lone owl was somewhere in the distance, and every so often I'd hear a car crawling by on the gravel road.&lt;br /&gt;I took a long swig of my Sprite then checked my watch for the sixth time that night. &lt;i&gt;Its only 10:04. I've only been here for an hour; this is supposed to be fun, not some stupid obligation.&lt;/i&gt; But in truth, it felt more like an obligation then anything else. I definitely wasn't into the party scene. Sure, it wasn't a wild party with a hundred people and music so loud you can't hear yourself think and everybody pressed together, but still, this wasn't my scene. I still felt a strange obligation though. I had just moved to the area and those two girls from my class invited me. I didn't think it was going be like this though. I remembered their words earlier when they'd told me that they wanted to hang out. They said they'd pick me up at seven, we'd hang out at Danni’s place for a while, get ready and then we'd come here to watch a movie with just a couple other people. There were only supposed to be five of us, not twenty-five. &lt;i&gt;"Come on Faith, it'll be fun. You can just stay at my place that night. I thought you wanted to make friends?"&lt;/i&gt; It was hard making friends as it was. It smelled kind of fishy though, you could always tell when Danni and Alyssa were hiding something, like they knew this was gonna happen. And this was definitely one of those times. But for the sake of making friends, even girls like them, I decided I'd take the chance and go with them.&lt;br /&gt;I checked my watch again and sighed when the numbers glowed 10:08. I leaned on the rail and put my chin in my hands.&lt;br /&gt;I heard the door open and close behind me. By the sound of the shoes it wasn't Danni or Alyssa. I turned around to see who it was and saw a guy from my school I'd never talked to before. I'd seen him, but we didn't share any classes together as he was grade 12 and I was grade 11.&lt;br /&gt;"Enjoying the night air?" He was beside me now and peering down at me with soft brown eyes. He had brown hair and his face was slightly tan. He grasped the rail with large hands that looked calloused from work. He was wearing a simple white tee with blue jeans and worn out shoes. I didn't realize I expected him to be tipsy or drunk till I realized that I was surprised that he wasn't.&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah..." I didn't really know this guy too well, just what I saw of him at school, so I didn't try to keep up a conversation. He just stood there in silence, gazing out into the night as I had been. It became sort of a companionable silence. I felt a connection to him. Maybe it was because of the fact that he didn't fit the stereotype of the guys back in the house just like I hadn't fit in with the other girls. Maybe it was because of the fact that he seemed to dislike the whole party scene just as much as I did, and maybe it was something else. I couldn't quite put my finger on it.&lt;br /&gt;I checked my watch again.&lt;i&gt; 10:13.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What time?" I looked at him quickly when he spoke. For some reason the intrusion into the silence had surprised me.&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, it’s almost quarter after ten." I lowered my eyes to my now half empty can of sprite so that our gaze wouldn't meet again.&lt;br /&gt;"Only?" He joked. "By the way, my name's Chase." Out of the corner of my eye I could see him turn towards me and hold out his hand. I looked at him then put my hand in his and shook it.&lt;br /&gt;"I'm Faith. Nice to meet you Chase." I attempted a smile without seeming to be shy, which is what I felt at that moment. I had to admit it to myself, Chase was pretty cute.&lt;br /&gt;"So you as bummed about this party as I am?" He looked hopeful.&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, I wasn't really expecting it. I was told it was just gonna be a couple people watching a movie. I think I might call my mom to come pick me up soon, I don't think I'm gonna be staying here much longer." I leaned my elbows on the railing again and Chase followed suit beside me.&lt;br /&gt;"I was told the same thing. I think that it was a last minute party, a couple girls and guys invited an extra twenty people, and Tim didn't say no to having so many extra people come over. And his parents let him do whatever he wants." He said with a disapproving shrug, and then there was silence once again.&lt;br /&gt;I could hear the laughter inside get a bit louder. It was times like these I wish I had a cell phone, it would be so easy to just call my mom, have her pick me up. She'd understand.&lt;br /&gt;"Do you have a cell phone I could borrow for a minute?" I broke the silence and looked up at Chase expectantly.&lt;br /&gt;Without answering he pulled a cell phone from his pocket and handed it to me, smiling. I murmured thanks and flipped it open to dial home. I heard the phone ring once. Twice. Right after the third ring I heard a voice on the other end.&lt;br /&gt;"Hello?" It was my older brother James. He was just two years older then me, and I adored him.&lt;br /&gt;"James! Hey, can you get mom on the phone real quick for me?" I heard muffled voices on the other end as he handed the phone over.&lt;br /&gt;"Hello? Faith, what’s the matter?" My moms' voice sounded worried.&lt;br /&gt;"Hey mom, I'm at Tim's house with Danni and Alyssa like I said I was gonna be, but there are alot of people here. They're drinking and stuff and I'm not comfortable, can you come pick me up?"&lt;br /&gt;"Sure, I'll be there in about ten minutes, ok hun?" I looked at my watch. &lt;i&gt;10:21.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ok."&lt;br /&gt;"And Faith?"&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah?"&lt;br /&gt;"Thanks for calling. I'm glad you called. I love you and see you soon." I could almost hear her smile, if it was even possible to hear a smile.&lt;br /&gt;"I love you too mom." I flipped the cell closed and handed it back to Chase.&lt;br /&gt;"Faith?" I turned my blue eyes on Chase as he spoke, "I just want to say... for the past three weeks, since you started school, I've really admired you. I've noticed how you're different. You're not afraid to be yourself. When you're surrounded by girls who all are in some sort of unspoken contest to see who can wear the tightest clothes or wear the most makeup, you wear what you like, and not what others want. You try to fit in with everyone, but you don't compromise who you are to do that. Like right now, you came to hang out with some girls, but it ended up being a party and you're not drinking when they offer you drinks, and you're not even staying. I totally admire that." He looked slightly nervous as he spoke, and it came out in almost a rush. Like he had wanted to say it for a while.&lt;br /&gt;I quickly realized my mouth was gaping open. I quickly shut it and smiled instead.&lt;br /&gt;"If you don't mind, do you want to maybe hang out sometime? I'd like to get to know you better."&lt;br /&gt;At that point my heart was doing some crazy flips and for a bit I didn't really know what to say. Then I quietly said, "I'd like that very much."&lt;br /&gt;We began to talk, just some small talk about school and a bit about our families, but it was good. It felt refreshing to talk to him. Time passed more quickly then it had all evening. When I heard a car pull up to the house I looked from the red Hyundai to my watch in almost disbelief. 10:32. &lt;i&gt;Already? &lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I turned to Chase to say goodbye and he held out his hand. I shook his hand gently as he said "I'm glad I met you Faith. I'll see you on Monday at school right?"&lt;br /&gt;I smiled and nodded my head. "G'bye, see you Monday!" I flashed him a smile then darted for the car waiting in the driveway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I watched Faith as she half ran towards the waiting car. Right before she sat down she looked over at me to smile and wave another goodbye. Her smile was gorgeous. I grabbed my cell phone from my pocket and flipped it open. &lt;i&gt;10:34.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There wasn't much point in staying anymore. Faith had left, and everyone else inside didn't think of much else then the alcohol and self-centered fun that was only for their own gain. I turned to the house, the only reason I was going in was to grab my keys from the table where I left them. I closed the door behind me then walked to the table, which happened to be in the middle of the room. I grabbed my keys then just stood there for a couple minutes, taking it all in. I shook my head slightly and made my way outside again.&lt;br /&gt;I was now driving down the gravel road in my old Honda, Faith's big warm smile and her bright blue eyes in my head. She was beautiful, unique, and simply amazing! I hardly noticed the two cars till I was almost at them. In horror I pulled off to the side of the road and fumbled at the door of my car. Once out, I ran towards the cars and at the same time I was dialling 9-1-1.&lt;br /&gt;The red Hyundai was there. A faded old green car had T-boned the red car... on the passenger side.&lt;br /&gt;"Hello, 9-1-1 what's your emergency?"&lt;br /&gt;"Please! Help! There's been an accident!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I watched Faith's immediate family walk down the center aisle of the church then they all sat in the front row. Her mother's face had a couple bruises and scratches in it, and her right arm was in a cast. Her eyes were red and puffy as well. I could tell she was Faith's mom though. They had the same color hair, and same blue eyes. Then there was her father, it looked as though his face was made of stone. If it wasn't for the rim of red around his eyes I would have thought he had no emotion. He had the same chin as Faith. And what looked to be her older brother sat beside Faith's father. He had to be James. Faith had mentioned him in that brief time we had to talk. Except for the fact that he was older, they could have been twins.&lt;br /&gt;I clenched my jaw and tried to make my face void of emotion as sorrow filled me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Ironic isn't it?&lt;/i&gt; I thought. &lt;i&gt;She chooses to be different then the crowd, to not drink... but she's dead because someone else chose to be stupid.&lt;/i&gt; Just like that. It happened so suddenly. I had no idea the night that I finally found her, I would also lose her.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-7859158279860090419?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/7859158279860090419/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=7859158279860090419' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/7859158279860090419'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/7859158279860090419'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2010/01/unnamed.html' title='Finding Faith'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-1871382273700549558</id><published>2010-01-20T22:15:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-20T22:16:16.533-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Thoughts Determined.</title><content type='html'>As I race&lt;br /&gt;my mind is engulfed&lt;br /&gt;in the separation&lt;br /&gt;of time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like cherry's&lt;br /&gt;you fall to the ground&lt;br /&gt;persuasiveness entangles&lt;br /&gt;the limits&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;seven times&lt;br /&gt;you reach out and go back&lt;br /&gt;to the complacency&lt;br /&gt;of a former life&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I sing&lt;br /&gt;my thoughts are determined&lt;br /&gt;by the rationality&lt;br /&gt;of existence&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like the past&lt;br /&gt;you try to resuscitate&lt;br /&gt;after drowning&lt;br /&gt;in memory&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;thrice again&lt;br /&gt;you haunt my existence&lt;br /&gt;in the classification&lt;br /&gt;of tomorrow.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-1871382273700549558?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/1871382273700549558/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=1871382273700549558' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/1871382273700549558'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/1871382273700549558'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2010/01/thoughts-determined.html' title='Thoughts Determined.'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-1943692864771497738</id><published>2009-12-18T10:54:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-18T11:00:23.159-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ramblings.</title><content type='html'>In darkness&lt;br /&gt;its silent.&lt;br /&gt;You're all alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does the darkness really devour?&lt;br /&gt;The coals before you glow&lt;br /&gt;with a small flicker here and there.&lt;br /&gt;The stars in the heaven&lt;br /&gt;shine with brightness&lt;br /&gt;a myriad of lights.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is it really noiseless?&lt;br /&gt;Can it be so void as to have no sound?&lt;br /&gt;A slight rustle&lt;br /&gt;as the wind catches the grass&lt;br /&gt;just slightly.&lt;br /&gt;A small crackle from the coals&lt;br /&gt;every now and then&lt;br /&gt;making its presence known.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So alone?&lt;br /&gt;Yet look around you&lt;br /&gt;and be reminded&lt;br /&gt;of who's right there.&lt;br /&gt;Beside you.&lt;br /&gt;The Creator&lt;br /&gt;Who you talk to&lt;br /&gt;in prayer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For lack of anything better to do and because my blog needs some updating.. here's something I kinda wrote off the top of my head. Enjoy! (if possible :P)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-1943692864771497738?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/1943692864771497738/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=1943692864771497738' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/1943692864771497738'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/1943692864771497738'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/12/ramblings.html' title='Ramblings.'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-2611263487439052855</id><published>2009-12-07T12:01:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-07T12:01:33.495-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A prayer for the unborn.</title><content type='html'>The one who has no voice&lt;br /&gt;the one without a choice&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They never get to know a full life&lt;br /&gt;all they get to feel is the knife.&lt;br /&gt;To never see the light of day&lt;br /&gt;for those souls, I now pray.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They really are alive&lt;br /&gt;they're growing, they thrive&lt;br /&gt;God made them all&lt;br /&gt;no matter how small&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How can a mother feel the baby inside&lt;br /&gt;and yet be too full of pride&lt;br /&gt;to admit they feel a life&lt;br /&gt;and so they use a knife&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-2611263487439052855?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/2611263487439052855/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=2611263487439052855' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/2611263487439052855'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/2611263487439052855'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/12/prayer-for-unborn.html' title='A prayer for the unborn.'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-71252085691320296</id><published>2009-12-05T00:38:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-05T00:44:54.522-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Gods time.</title><content type='html'>All in Gods time.&lt;br /&gt;I tell myself again&lt;br /&gt;and again.&lt;br /&gt;But insecurity creeps inside&lt;br /&gt;whispering thoughts in my ear&lt;br /&gt;telling me things I don't want to hear.&lt;br /&gt;All in Gods time.&lt;br /&gt;I tell myself again&lt;br /&gt;and again.&lt;br /&gt;Will these thoughts ever leave me?&lt;br /&gt;Will I ever stop wanting,&lt;br /&gt;wanting to take it all in my own hands.&lt;br /&gt;It will come,&lt;br /&gt;I have a promise.&lt;br /&gt;My life has been planned for me&lt;br /&gt;before time began&lt;br /&gt;before the foundations of earth were layed.&lt;br /&gt;All in Gods time.&lt;br /&gt;I tell myself again&lt;br /&gt;and again.&lt;br /&gt;Do I really believe it?&lt;br /&gt;Lord, help me always believe it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-71252085691320296?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/71252085691320296/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=71252085691320296' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/71252085691320296'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/71252085691320296'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/12/gods-time.html' title='Gods time.'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-3399556614244404553</id><published>2009-11-21T19:27:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-21T20:43:48.503-05:00</updated><title type='text'>memories, once again.</title><content type='html'>Long ago and forgotten.&lt;br /&gt;Memories settled in dust&lt;br /&gt;once again.&lt;br /&gt;Like an old guitar&lt;br /&gt;worn out with old strings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blow the dust off the top&lt;br /&gt;make the old look new,&lt;br /&gt;once again.&lt;br /&gt;Replace the strings&lt;br /&gt;strum the chords&lt;br /&gt;once again.&lt;br /&gt;Hear the music that wants to be heard&lt;br /&gt;lift your voice and sing&lt;br /&gt;once again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Clear notes ringing.&lt;br /&gt;You've heard it before.&lt;br /&gt;Something in the back of your mind&lt;br /&gt;remembers.&lt;br /&gt;Like a picture frozen in time&lt;br /&gt;distant, dim.&lt;br /&gt;But its there.&lt;br /&gt;Such a sweet sound&lt;br /&gt;resounding in the darkness&lt;br /&gt;ringing &lt;br /&gt;to even the abandoned corners of your mind.&lt;br /&gt;Clearing the dust from your thoughts,&lt;br /&gt;making you remember&lt;br /&gt;once again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-3399556614244404553?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/3399556614244404553/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=3399556614244404553' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3399556614244404553'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3399556614244404553'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/11/memories-once-again.html' title='memories, once again.'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-36638669046260553</id><published>2009-11-19T11:27:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-26T12:47:02.556-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Call *By Regina Spektor*</title><content type='html'>It started out as a feeling&lt;br /&gt;which then grew into a hope&lt;br /&gt;which then turned into a quiet thought&lt;br /&gt;which then turned into a quiet word&lt;br /&gt;And then that word grew louder and louder&lt;br /&gt;'Til it was a battle cry.&lt;br /&gt;I'll come back&lt;br /&gt;When you call me&lt;br /&gt;No need to say goodbye.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just because everything's changing&lt;br /&gt;doesn't mean it's never&lt;br /&gt;been this way before.&lt;br /&gt;All you can do is try to know&lt;br /&gt;who your friends are&lt;br /&gt;as you head off to the war.&lt;br /&gt;Pick a star on the dark horizon&lt;br /&gt;and follow the light&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You'll come back&lt;br /&gt;When it's over&lt;br /&gt;No need to say goodbye.&lt;br /&gt;You'll come back&lt;br /&gt;When it's over&lt;br /&gt;No need to say goodbye&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now we're back to the beginning.&lt;br /&gt;It's just a feeling and no one knows yet.&lt;br /&gt;But just because they can't feel it too&lt;br /&gt;doesn't mean that you have to forget.&lt;br /&gt;Let your memories grow stronger and stronger&lt;br /&gt;'Til they're before your eyes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You'll come back&lt;br /&gt;When they call you&lt;br /&gt;No need to say goodbye.&lt;br /&gt;You'll come back&lt;br /&gt;When they call you&lt;br /&gt;No need to say goodbye.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-36638669046260553?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/36638669046260553/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=36638669046260553' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/36638669046260553'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/36638669046260553'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/11/call.html' title='The Call *By Regina Spektor*'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-6287454475230467141</id><published>2009-11-17T20:18:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-17T20:26:28.308-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Time After Time.</title><content type='html'>Moving so quickly,&lt;br /&gt;dragging so slowly.&lt;br /&gt;Time after time&lt;br /&gt;happening again.&lt;br /&gt;Waiting&lt;br /&gt;wishing.&lt;br /&gt;Sunshine brings contentment&lt;br /&gt;but the clouds come.&lt;br /&gt;Trying to be content,&lt;br /&gt;always.&lt;br /&gt;But the dark times&lt;br /&gt;making it hard.&lt;br /&gt;Time goes on&lt;br /&gt;not stopping for me.&lt;br /&gt;When my life shatters&lt;br /&gt;the world keeps turning.&lt;br /&gt;Time after time.&lt;br /&gt;There's more than me.&lt;br /&gt;The night comes&lt;br /&gt;after day.&lt;br /&gt;Moving so quickly,&lt;br /&gt;dragging so slowly.&lt;br /&gt;Time after time&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-6287454475230467141?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/6287454475230467141/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=6287454475230467141' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/6287454475230467141'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/6287454475230467141'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/11/time-after-time.html' title='Time After Time.'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-1486789587549064809</id><published>2009-11-05T21:50:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-05T21:58:01.018-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>And now today is something different. Today is like a whirlwind of emotions, sweeping up bits and pieces and scattering them everywhere. But nobody can see the whirlwind, for it seems everyone is on a totally different planet.&lt;br /&gt;Today is mass confusion. Like a giant crowd of people, all shout different things. They even change what they shout. Nothing is coherent anymore, its just noise that threatens to deafen.&lt;br /&gt;Today is like a roller coaster ride, up, down, and around. Except your eyes are closed, and after being thrown up and down for so long you don't even know where you are, what is even up, what is down.&lt;br /&gt;Today is like having a heavy heart. Not just the small sadness, but it physically is heavy. Its like a weight pushing inside. Today is like being on the verge of tears, but not really knowing why.&lt;br /&gt;Today is like asking questions, but not knowing if you really want the answers. Or even what questions to ask.&lt;br /&gt;This is today.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-1486789587549064809?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/1486789587549064809/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=1486789587549064809' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/1486789587549064809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/1486789587549064809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/11/and-now-today-is-something-different.html' title=''/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-2157710993392290332</id><published>2009-10-07T12:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-07T12:21:07.350-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I've never heard before.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/Ssy_wrONJdI/AAAAAAAAAEs/EC7FooO7LP4/s1600-h/music.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/Ssy_wrONJdI/AAAAAAAAAEs/EC7FooO7LP4/s400/music.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389893697012573650" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-2157710993392290332?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/2157710993392290332/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=2157710993392290332' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/2157710993392290332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/2157710993392290332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/10/ive-never-heard-before.html' title='I&apos;ve never heard before.'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/Ssy_wrONJdI/AAAAAAAAAEs/EC7FooO7LP4/s72-c/music.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-5735379501285017249</id><published>2009-10-07T11:58:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-07T12:01:37.516-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Falling Forever.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/Ssy6vmYDsoI/AAAAAAAAAEk/HDj4zHpLCl8/s1600-h/angel2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/Ssy6vmYDsoI/AAAAAAAAAEk/HDj4zHpLCl8/s400/angel2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389888180973712002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is something I wrote a while back and found it in an old(ish) notebook. (Depends on your view of old ;) )&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-5735379501285017249?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/5735379501285017249/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=5735379501285017249' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/5735379501285017249'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/5735379501285017249'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/10/blog-post.html' title='Falling Forever.'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/Ssy6vmYDsoI/AAAAAAAAAEk/HDj4zHpLCl8/s72-c/angel2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-7772257927808925476</id><published>2009-10-02T09:32:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-02T09:41:32.828-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Anthology: Whispers on the Wind</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;I know I've posted a version of this poem before, but this time I'm posting it again with the news that its going to be published in "Anthology: Whispers on the Wind". I entered it in a contest a couple months ago. (I pretty much picked at random a poem from my blog here to enter into the contest and came with this one.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;"Mismatched Beauty"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;pre style="font-family: arial;"&gt;This strange beauty,&lt;br /&gt;Creates serenity.&lt;br /&gt;Like memories hidden&lt;br /&gt;that come up unbidden.&lt;br /&gt;Taking small pleasure&lt;br /&gt;to a certain measure.&lt;br /&gt;Colors mixed&lt;br /&gt;strangely fixed.&lt;br /&gt;Like music combined&lt;br /&gt;that shouldn't sound kind&lt;br /&gt;creates in me peace&lt;br /&gt;without cease.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wide open spaces&lt;br /&gt;beauty with graces.&lt;br /&gt;The feeling of being alive&lt;br /&gt;to jump for joy, to thrive.&lt;br /&gt;Crystal clear nights&lt;br /&gt;staring into the heights.&lt;br /&gt;The stars shining in vast wonder&lt;br /&gt;always making me ponder.&lt;br /&gt;The hush doesn't last long&lt;br /&gt;when you hear the nature throng.&lt;br /&gt;Small noises everywhere&lt;br /&gt;symphonies made with care.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/pre&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-7772257927808925476?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/7772257927808925476/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=7772257927808925476' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/7772257927808925476'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/7772257927808925476'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/10/anthology-whispers-on-wind.html' title='Anthology: Whispers on the Wind'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-2941652985244546612</id><published>2009-09-28T11:00:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-28T11:03:33.575-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Today is like...</title><content type='html'>Its hard figuring out what today is like. Today is kind of like a stone vase, which looks the same today, as it did yesterday, except for the fact that there's more inside. No one can see how much is inside it, unless they take the time to look into it, which none do. If they looked they might see how close to overflowing it is, maybe they'd help, maybe they'd take some water out to spare it from breaking.&lt;br /&gt;Today is like wanting chocolate, just to make it better.&lt;br /&gt;Today is also sort of like waiting. Like standing on the side of the road waiting for a friend to pick you up, except you don't know what time they're coming, or what they're driving, or even what friend it is that is coming. Your dad made the plans for you, and its a surprise, one he knows you'll love. And you wait there, but you're waiting unhappily. You see a car coming and you begin to think that it might be the one, but its not the right person, the car keeps on going past. You end up becoming despondent because of it. And today is like you're still there waiting. And one of your closest friends in a nice car just drove on past. Maybe they'll be back, but it doesn't look like they're turning around.&lt;br /&gt;Today is also like walking in the rain. Oddly you're still happy, but just not as much. It has been raining for a while, but it has only just soaked into all your layers. But you can also see the house you've been walking to, and you know soon you'll be dry.&lt;br /&gt;Today is like a blender inside my brain. Mixing the good memories and the bad. Except there aren't really any that are bad.&lt;br /&gt;Today is like being joyful, and depressed at the same time.&lt;br /&gt;Today is like being thankful for a brand new week, something new, fresh, good. But today is also like feeling let down that the weekend is so far away, and with it friends.&lt;br /&gt;And yet.. I still don't know what today is like.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-2941652985244546612?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/2941652985244546612/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=2941652985244546612' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/2941652985244546612'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/2941652985244546612'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/09/today-is-like.html' title='Today is like...'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-3244641162342852522</id><published>2009-09-14T22:31:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-14T23:00:54.988-04:00</updated><title type='text'>His Truth, His Light.</title><content type='html'>Unhappy man is he.&lt;br /&gt;Cowering in deceit.&lt;br /&gt;But how can he see the light&lt;br /&gt;when he covers his eyes?&lt;br /&gt;He says "This is light enough for me-&lt;br /&gt;Its my own reality."&lt;br /&gt;When really deep inside&lt;br /&gt;all he wants to do is hide.&lt;br /&gt;'&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Just take a look&lt;/span&gt;'&lt;br /&gt;I want to say&lt;br /&gt;because I know&lt;br /&gt;he won't be the same.&lt;br /&gt;Once the light&lt;br /&gt;is in your sight&lt;br /&gt;you're forever changed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I look to my own life&lt;br /&gt;and how I was before.&lt;br /&gt;The Truth opened my eyes&lt;br /&gt;It wasn't anything I did&lt;br /&gt;that saved my sinful soul.&lt;br /&gt;Darkness reigned inside&lt;br /&gt;till the Holy Spirit shone light.&lt;br /&gt;It penetrated the deepest recessed of my soul.&lt;br /&gt;It held up a mirror&lt;br /&gt;not of the world&lt;br /&gt;but of the Truth&lt;br /&gt;showing me how wretched I am.&lt;br /&gt;But showing me His mercy.&lt;br /&gt;His Truth.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-3244641162342852522?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/3244641162342852522/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=3244641162342852522' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3244641162342852522'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3244641162342852522'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/09/his-truth-his-light.html' title='His Truth, His Light.'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-8267840347430925964</id><published>2009-09-09T10:24:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-09T10:29:45.206-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I Stand In Awe</title><content type='html'>The silent shivers&lt;br /&gt;in the early morning air.&lt;br /&gt;Sitting huddled on a bench&lt;br /&gt;and hard wood beneath my feet.&lt;br /&gt;The morning is peaceful&lt;br /&gt;as the birds chatter all around.&lt;br /&gt;The mist rises off the lake&lt;br /&gt;making the scene before me beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;I bow my head in prayer&lt;br /&gt;and words echo in my head of thankfulness.&lt;br /&gt;My heart swells with joy&lt;br /&gt;as the sun peaks over the tree's.&lt;br /&gt;A reflection on the lake making it brighter&lt;br /&gt;making it picture perfect.&lt;br /&gt;Everything is beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;Everything is awesome.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-8267840347430925964?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/8267840347430925964/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=8267840347430925964' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/8267840347430925964'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/8267840347430925964'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-stand-in-awe.html' title='I Stand In Awe'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-8908713128907734516</id><published>2009-08-05T21:31:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-09T20:21:30.858-04:00</updated><title type='text'>...</title><content type='html'>The slow chatter around me droned in my ears like all the other times. The uselessness seemed to be so tangible I could almost feel it. Everything was almost going in slow motion. Some did not even talk at all but just stood there almost seemingly thinking about nothing at all. Their eyes were glazed with fatigue and their eyes distant, but not the kind of distant you'd see on someone dreaming, no it was more of a close far away look. Like they had nothing else to do but stare till their eyes just lost the will to focus on anything at all. Not that there was anything at all to focus on except perhaps the other people there.&lt;br /&gt; I'm sure the people would be despondent, except there was nothing to despair about, for they all knew no better. No one here had a past, they have no present, and they for certain had no future.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-8908713128907734516?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/8908713128907734516/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=8908713128907734516' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/8908713128907734516'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/8908713128907734516'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/08/blog-post.html' title='...'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-3600822040146546421</id><published>2009-07-23T21:39:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-23T21:45:57.318-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Salvation Intervened</title><content type='html'>Something old&lt;br /&gt;decrepit with mold&lt;br /&gt;Salvation intervened&lt;br /&gt;now washed and cleaned&lt;br /&gt;something white&lt;br /&gt;radiating light&lt;br /&gt;once being lost&lt;br /&gt;brings the cost&lt;br /&gt;of a death for one&lt;br /&gt;my Savior has come.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-3600822040146546421?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/3600822040146546421/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=3600822040146546421' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3600822040146546421'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3600822040146546421'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/07/salvation-intervened.html' title='Salvation Intervened'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-3517777089644510431</id><published>2009-07-22T21:26:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-22T22:08:01.887-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My First Breath.</title><content type='html'>I want to be&lt;br /&gt;a new person.&lt;br /&gt;But how can I&lt;br /&gt;without a ransom?&lt;br /&gt;This old man&lt;br /&gt;shadows me.&lt;br /&gt;Can I ever&lt;br /&gt;be set free?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He grabs at my ankles&lt;br /&gt;to make me stumble&lt;br /&gt;he covers my eyes&lt;br /&gt;in the dark I fumble.&lt;br /&gt;The only way&lt;br /&gt;for night to be done&lt;br /&gt;is to bring the light&lt;br /&gt;from His kingdom come.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This old man&lt;br /&gt;is to finally rest&lt;br /&gt;only on the day&lt;br /&gt;I have confessed.&lt;br /&gt;On that last day&lt;br /&gt;he'll be fully put to death&lt;br /&gt;and it will be that day&lt;br /&gt;I'll breath my first breath.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-3517777089644510431?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/3517777089644510431/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=3517777089644510431' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3517777089644510431'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3517777089644510431'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/07/my-first-breath.html' title='My First Breath.'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-7075053634293353130</id><published>2009-07-11T17:45:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-11T18:34:07.581-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Wanderings</title><content type='html'>Ok, so I'm pretty sure no one reads my blog anymore.. but its still fun to sometimes write on :P.&lt;br /&gt;At the cottage everyone was swimming, and I was very much waterlogged.. so I just wandered along the path in the sun.. heehee.. the sun got to me I think..&lt;br /&gt;I forgot pretty much the whole thing.. but kinda remember one of the verses I thought up (man, I wish I remembered more... It was quite amusing at the time.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wander along this path aimlessly&lt;br /&gt;the stones make it none too painlessly&lt;br /&gt;my thoughts evade&lt;br /&gt;in one long tirade&lt;br /&gt;and yet I walk along endlessly&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-7075053634293353130?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/7075053634293353130/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=7075053634293353130' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/7075053634293353130'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/7075053634293353130'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/07/wanderings.html' title='Wanderings'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-4134805978948749853</id><published>2009-06-28T19:43:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-28T19:59:11.851-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Sunset</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;The last light on the horizon&lt;br /&gt;burnt orange display from the sun&lt;br /&gt;dark blue clouds separate the colors&lt;br /&gt;light blue echoing the wonders.&lt;br /&gt;This scene made by the One&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lake is smooth, like glass&lt;br /&gt;the activity done as the light fades fast&lt;br /&gt;trees silhouetted black against the sky&lt;br /&gt;the lake mirroring from up high&lt;br /&gt;the light gone, we're in darkness cast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Clear cool air bringing peace with night&lt;br /&gt;all is calm, no need for fright&lt;br /&gt;a settling peace comes over me&lt;br /&gt;I feel like I'm set free&lt;br /&gt;and still guarded by God's might.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SkgDb2KrYxI/AAAAAAAAAD8/L5M2HJ6WXVw/s1600-h/IMG_0822.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SkgDb2KrYxI/AAAAAAAAAD8/L5M2HJ6WXVw/s400/IMG_0822.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352531934061486866" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-4134805978948749853?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/4134805978948749853/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=4134805978948749853' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/4134805978948749853'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/4134805978948749853'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/06/sunset.html' title='Sunset'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SkgDb2KrYxI/AAAAAAAAAD8/L5M2HJ6WXVw/s72-c/IMG_0822.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-140659091494920642</id><published>2009-06-27T19:33:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-27T19:42:16.358-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"If we hit a deer with the car, we'd be fine...&lt;br /&gt;"If we hit a moose... depending on what speed, we're more than likely goners!" Jeff&lt;br /&gt;"What if a bear climbed up into the flimsy tree's and then jumped on the car?!" Marissa&lt;br /&gt;"... we'd be destined to die...." Jeff.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-140659091494920642?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/140659091494920642/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=140659091494920642' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/140659091494920642'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/140659091494920642'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/06/if-we-hit-deer-with-car-wed-be-fine.html' title=''/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-3644670888121926232</id><published>2009-06-12T15:03:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-12T15:12:39.671-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Familiarity</title><content type='html'>Contemplation.&lt;br /&gt;Each one unique.&lt;br /&gt;Beauty,&lt;br /&gt;in a familiar way.&lt;br /&gt;Can it become more beautiful&lt;br /&gt;in less a familiarity?&lt;br /&gt;Confusion.&lt;br /&gt;As the light within changes.&lt;br /&gt;Will it grow stronger&lt;br /&gt;or is risking its light&lt;br /&gt;is what will dim it&lt;br /&gt;forever.&lt;br /&gt;Concentration.&lt;br /&gt;Only one chance&lt;br /&gt;and if it fails,&lt;br /&gt;the unique beauty&lt;br /&gt;shatters.&lt;br /&gt;All familiarity lost.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-3644670888121926232?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/3644670888121926232/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=3644670888121926232' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3644670888121926232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3644670888121926232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/06/familiarity.html' title='Familiarity'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-8105902501978579212</id><published>2009-06-03T11:12:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-03T11:19:51.160-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Wild Olive Tee's</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.wildolivetees.com"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 182px; height: 250px;" src="http://i42.tinypic.com/11ttxzq.png" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey all you girls out there. I saw this site posted on a friends blog, and decided to check it out. You should too! They have some really cool tee's that glorify God! Don't you hate it when you're shopping for tee's in walmart or something and you come across tee shirts that have very inappropriate things printed on them? Yeah... I hate that too.&lt;br /&gt;I'm for sure going to get one of the tee's! (all I have to decide is which one.. they're all really cool!)&lt;br /&gt;Just click the picture to get to the site. :D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-8105902501978579212?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/8105902501978579212/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=8105902501978579212' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/8105902501978579212'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/8105902501978579212'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/06/wild-olive-tees.html' title='Wild Olive Tee&apos;s'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://i42.tinypic.com/11ttxzq_th.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-5948892297918829343</id><published>2009-06-03T10:55:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-03T11:01:20.020-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Summer</title><content type='html'>The days are now longer, the sun is brighter, the air is warmer, the plants are greener, and the birds are singing.&lt;br /&gt;Its definitely starting to feel like summer! Those long days in the warm sun... some of them spent inside the library working, or doing various tasks that seem to pull me away from the outdoors, but alot of those days are spent outside enjoying the warmth! Give me a beach or a pool, a blanket and a good book, maybe some lemonade, and I'll stay out there alll day. :-)&lt;br /&gt;Just thinking about summer is nice... well, mostly thinking about our yearly summer vacations! Now that is the epitome of summer relaxation. There's no work to be done. Your main goal there is to swim, be lazy, read books, relax in front of a campfire, hang out with friends... and the list goes on :-)&lt;br /&gt;Only ten more days till we leave for the cottage!! :-D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-5948892297918829343?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/5948892297918829343/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=5948892297918829343' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/5948892297918829343'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/5948892297918829343'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/06/summer.html' title='Summer'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-3828147486798550294</id><published>2009-05-24T21:29:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-24T22:31:08.855-04:00</updated><title type='text'>hypocrites prayer</title><content type='html'>"Thy will be done&lt;br /&gt;on earth as well as heaven"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Each day I pray this&lt;br /&gt;before my meal at night&lt;br /&gt;but I still want my own will&lt;br /&gt;and for that I'll fight.&lt;br /&gt;I pick my own job&lt;br /&gt;because the Sundays pay well.&lt;br /&gt;It started out good,&lt;br /&gt;but then that job fell.&lt;br /&gt;I chose also to date&lt;br /&gt;someone that God didn't choose&lt;br /&gt;and in that scenario&lt;br /&gt;I really did lose.&lt;br /&gt;I was looking for homes&lt;br /&gt;and I found one that was nice&lt;br /&gt;it wasn't near a church though&lt;br /&gt;and I moved against my parents advice.&lt;br /&gt;It was soon after I noticed&lt;br /&gt;how things were always so wrong&lt;br /&gt;It confused me sings I've been&lt;br /&gt;doing Your will for so long.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey, this is my sad attempt at doing poetry while being bored tonight. I'm actually really tired... too many late nights in a row.&lt;br /&gt;This poem doesn't really flow at all, but you can kinda get what I'm trying to say... I hope. lol&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-3828147486798550294?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/3828147486798550294/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=3828147486798550294' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3828147486798550294'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3828147486798550294'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/05/hypocrites-prayer.html' title='hypocrites prayer'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-1130075523751729410</id><published>2009-05-20T11:08:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-20T12:47:42.694-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Beauty.</title><content type='html'>Struggling&lt;br /&gt;and falling&lt;br /&gt;inside.&lt;br /&gt;The mirror taunts&lt;br /&gt;with insecurities&lt;br /&gt;The magazines&lt;br /&gt;they mock,&lt;br /&gt;showing the world&lt;br /&gt;what they should be.&lt;br /&gt;The scale,&lt;br /&gt;always haunts.&lt;br /&gt;I see a dark world&lt;br /&gt;where beauty matters&lt;br /&gt;and if you're not beautiful&lt;br /&gt;you're not worth something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I look away&lt;br /&gt;from the sinfulness&lt;br /&gt;and decide for once&lt;br /&gt;that it doesn't matter.&lt;br /&gt;Deep inside&lt;br /&gt;they're not happy.&lt;br /&gt;No reason to live.&lt;br /&gt;But I have hope&lt;br /&gt;and in Christ,&lt;br /&gt;I'm beautiful.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-1130075523751729410?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/1130075523751729410/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=1130075523751729410' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/1130075523751729410'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/1130075523751729410'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/05/beauty.html' title='Beauty.'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-3850071723143171724</id><published>2009-05-20T10:45:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-20T11:01:29.844-04:00</updated><title type='text'>...</title><content type='html'>Cold winds around me&lt;br /&gt;grey clouds swirling,&lt;br /&gt;tree's billow round&lt;br /&gt;that set their leaves twirling.&lt;br /&gt;The first drop on my arm&lt;br /&gt;making a cold proclamation&lt;br /&gt;many follow after&lt;br /&gt;my clothes in wet saturation.&lt;br /&gt;The cold seeps in slowly&lt;br /&gt;and the rain runs off my face&lt;br /&gt;I hurry my steps onward&lt;br /&gt;to get out of this place&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-3850071723143171724?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/3850071723143171724/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=3850071723143171724' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3850071723143171724'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3850071723143171724'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/05/blog-post.html' title='...'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-6520468522572025867</id><published>2009-05-15T11:11:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-20T11:01:51.772-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Looking to Jesus.</title><content type='html'>Slowly crawling by&lt;br /&gt;looking all around&lt;br /&gt;seeing the color pass&lt;br /&gt;the world spinning round.&lt;br /&gt;Their lives are shades of black and white&lt;br /&gt;their voices hold no tune&lt;br /&gt;their eyes shine with no glimmer&lt;br /&gt;and to joy, they are immune.&lt;br /&gt;Screeching piercing cries ring&lt;br /&gt;are heard by one and all&lt;br /&gt;they don't know what to stand for&lt;br /&gt;so to anything, they will fall.&lt;br /&gt;They hold stone and wood&lt;br /&gt;which is also black and white&lt;br /&gt;and even when no response comes&lt;br /&gt;they worship with spite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Colors walk on past the grey&lt;br /&gt;but do they stop to listen?&lt;br /&gt;To the echo's of the hurt and pain&lt;br /&gt;and see the eyes that glisten.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hands that come to pick them up&lt;br /&gt;are rejected with a hate&lt;br /&gt;and still the echo's resound&lt;br /&gt;of their everlasting fate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other grey come alive&lt;br /&gt;as they reply the song&lt;br /&gt;and with the other colored ones&lt;br /&gt;they walk in joy along.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It means something, you have to tell&lt;br /&gt;sometimes in a whisper, others a yell&lt;br /&gt;Its all one big mystery to those who can't see the picture&lt;br /&gt;We can only see the colors beneath, in a tangle and mixture.&lt;br /&gt;You're being used, to pass it on to the grey&lt;br /&gt;to become color, we always hope and pray.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-6520468522572025867?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/6520468522572025867/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=6520468522572025867' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/6520468522572025867'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/6520468522572025867'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/05/looking-to-jesus.html' title='Looking to Jesus.'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-3726965196183519929</id><published>2009-05-04T10:09:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-04T10:22:39.672-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Our Father</title><content type='html'>First off, sorry that I haven't posted much in a while... I got some comments that my blog has been lacking. Hopefully that'll change and I'll be posting more in the next little while.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This past weekend at AOC was amazing! I made tons of new friends (who I'll always remember!) I was able to see a whole bunch of my friends from before, we had an amazing time with the songs that were picked out, the discussions and our groups were great! (Amazing leaders! Justine and Graham! :-D)&lt;br /&gt;For the last discussion, we were asked to write on a piece of paper, our version of the Lord's prayer. Here is mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our Father,&lt;br /&gt;who watches over us,&lt;br /&gt;holy be Your name.&lt;br /&gt;May Your kingdom come&lt;br /&gt;and only You have the fame.&lt;br /&gt;May what you want&lt;br /&gt;play out in my life&lt;br /&gt;being thankful in good times&lt;br /&gt;and humble with strife.&lt;br /&gt;Give us what we need,&lt;br /&gt;to get through each day.&lt;br /&gt;Please help us to forgive others&lt;br /&gt;and even for them pray&lt;br /&gt;When temptations come&lt;br /&gt;help us not fall.&lt;br /&gt;But we know You'll be here&lt;br /&gt;and with us through it all.&lt;br /&gt;You reign over the universe&lt;br /&gt;may all the glory be for You.&lt;br /&gt;In every single thing we say&lt;br /&gt;and in all that we do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-3726965196183519929?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/3726965196183519929/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=3726965196183519929' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3726965196183519929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3726965196183519929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/05/our-father.html' title='Our Father'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-7845872007232989604</id><published>2009-03-26T22:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-26T22:03:06.830-04:00</updated><title type='text'>♥</title><content type='html'>There is a friend of mine&lt;br /&gt;that I love tons for sure&lt;br /&gt;because sometimes when I'm down&lt;br /&gt;she has the perfect cure.&lt;br /&gt;I can tell her lots of things&lt;br /&gt;and I know she'll be here&lt;br /&gt;to make me feel better&lt;br /&gt;and to dispel my fear.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes laughter's a medicine&lt;br /&gt;but serious talk is too&lt;br /&gt;if you ask me what kind of friend she is&lt;br /&gt;I'll tell you "this one's true."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-7845872007232989604?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/7845872007232989604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=7845872007232989604' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/7845872007232989604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/7845872007232989604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/03/there-is-friend-of-mine-that-i-love.html' title='&amp;hearts;'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-4362139285093708804</id><published>2009-03-26T21:55:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-26T22:00:49.385-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Set Apart Girl</title><content type='html'>Check out this site girls! Great site!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://setapartgirl.com/home.html"&gt;http://setapartgirl.com/home.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-4362139285093708804?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/4362139285093708804/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=4362139285093708804' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/4362139285093708804'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/4362139285093708804'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/03/set-apart-girl.html' title='Set Apart Girl'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-4124210178722674670</id><published>2009-03-25T10:21:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-25T10:28:31.893-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Dreams</title><content type='html'>Based on a true story. lol ;-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I lay on my bed&lt;br /&gt;and my thoughts grow,&lt;br /&gt;from something small&lt;br /&gt;to something more.&lt;br /&gt;I drift off to sleep&lt;br /&gt;with a smile on my face,&lt;br /&gt;because I'm returning&lt;br /&gt;to that special place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm on top of a hill&lt;br /&gt;with wings by my side&lt;br /&gt;a board under my feet&lt;br /&gt;I begin to fly.&lt;br /&gt;below my snowboard&lt;br /&gt;the earth whizzes past&lt;br /&gt;and I just want this moment&lt;br /&gt;to forever last.&lt;br /&gt;I fly off the jump&lt;br /&gt;and the board is gone&lt;br /&gt;I'm soaring with my wings&lt;br /&gt;in the heavens alone.&lt;br /&gt;But something brings me&lt;br /&gt;back down again&lt;br /&gt;a scream in the throat&lt;br /&gt;I try to refrain.&lt;br /&gt;Something large and monstrous&lt;br /&gt;tries to catch me&lt;br /&gt;as I try hard&lt;br /&gt;to just stay free.&lt;br /&gt;The light from the heavens&lt;br /&gt;dim and go black,&lt;br /&gt;I can hardly see where I'm running&lt;br /&gt;with the monster at my back.&lt;br /&gt;My feet grow heavy&lt;br /&gt;its too hard to run&lt;br /&gt;all i want now&lt;br /&gt;is to be safely home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One dream turns to another&lt;br /&gt;and suddenly I'm alone&lt;br /&gt;I turn to see&lt;br /&gt;a house so forlorn.&lt;br /&gt;I would go in&lt;br /&gt;but I know its in my dreams&lt;br /&gt;it could turn sour&lt;br /&gt;nothings as it seems.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wake with a start&lt;br /&gt;my dreams now a haze&lt;br /&gt;already drifting from memory&lt;br /&gt;hardly a daze.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-4124210178722674670?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/4124210178722674670/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=4124210178722674670' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/4124210178722674670'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/4124210178722674670'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/03/dreams.html' title='Dreams'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-4157200668165915615</id><published>2009-03-11T22:39:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-12T12:38:43.986-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Glass Doll</title><content type='html'>Today my insides feel almost as hollow as the useless and invisible glass doll that sits outside all on its lonesome. Its not dirty, or broken, but it just doesn't get noticed.&lt;br /&gt;Since its not yet spring really, its still cold. Well, it wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't so windy, or if she had a jacket on, but it is windy, and she has no jacket. She just has to wait till someone will find her from this temporary place she's sitting and takes her somewhere warmer.&lt;br /&gt;Fragile and empty she watches as people mill about her, not really noticing. Some people look at her from the corner of their eye, but go away almost before they even came.&lt;br /&gt;It kind of reminds her of the people that left her there. She wasn't quite sure what had happened. One moment she was with all the other glass dolls, all lined up and on display on the shelf in the warm house, and the next moment she was alone and cold.&lt;br /&gt;Finally, someone noticed her, it was a young girl. She had many dolls in her hand, which made her jealous almost. But the girl was paying attention to her. She played with the doll for a bit, then she could tell the little girl grew tired of her. The girl swung her dangerously along heedless and careless to the poor glass dolls fragility.&lt;br /&gt;A park garbage was all the doll saw before she was swung into darkness. She could feel herself breaking a little as the drop hurt the glass doll terribly.&lt;br /&gt;It wasn't long though, till another girl came by the garbage can, she took the doll out and looked at her with soft kind eyes. She had noticed a couple cracks. The glass on the doll had not fully broken, but it would take alot to heal her fully to the former state of the white smoothness she had.&lt;br /&gt;Almost like magic she took out some glue, and started gluing the cracks  together. But before she had even finished she turned her back and ran.&lt;br /&gt;If the doll had felt invisible before, it was tenfold now. If she had felt useless before, the poor doll  was more so now.&lt;br /&gt;None looked at the doll now, except the occasional person who only looked at her sad state with pity.&lt;br /&gt;The glass doll wondered if she was not good enough to be noticed, or if she was in some way useless, so much so that none wanted her.&lt;br /&gt;I'm pretty sure she would cry, but being only a doll, her insides were hollow. She felt nothing at all except the cold hollow ache inside.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-4157200668165915615?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/4157200668165915615/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=4157200668165915615' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/4157200668165915615'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/4157200668165915615'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/03/glass-doll.html' title='The Glass Doll'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-7058460741252766446</id><published>2009-03-06T09:55:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-11T09:24:57.482-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Perseverance.</title><content type='html'>Random verse and rhymes me and Alyssa wrote together on msn. We speak in rhymes alot now.. its great fun. Sometimes we'll just start writing something that is actually going somewhere.. We did this a couple nights ago, and then I copied it from our chat history and edited it. Now its here on my blog.. :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brit:&lt;br /&gt;Getting through it all, keep looking ahead&lt;br /&gt;to the one who holds your hand, and through these trials led.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's there beside you, the whole journey through.&lt;br /&gt;So you can keep onwards, and be always true.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alys:&lt;br /&gt;Beside you He will always stay,&lt;br /&gt;and for you He'll pave the way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He'll test you no more than you can bear,&lt;br /&gt;and will see you through, He'll always be there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alys:&lt;br /&gt;God knows all,&lt;br /&gt;everything big and small,&lt;br /&gt;He has an ultimate plan,&lt;br /&gt;Brit: with every single man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brit:&lt;br /&gt;So keep forever onwards,&lt;br /&gt;with confidence in our Lord&lt;br /&gt;that He will give us strength&lt;br /&gt;to ever move us forward.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He knows what will happen&lt;br /&gt;and that's a comfort to me,&lt;br /&gt;that I can plunge onward&lt;br /&gt;and its His plan to set me free.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alys:&lt;br /&gt;Persevere till the end and pray&lt;br /&gt;He's with you, and in you all the way.&lt;br /&gt;And though times seem dark and black&lt;br /&gt;His love is there for us and there's nothing we lack.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brit:&lt;br /&gt;Each and every day, you can talk to Him in prayer,&lt;br /&gt;He'll be merciful and just, but not always fair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But its to our favor,&lt;br /&gt;for we need a Savior.&lt;br /&gt;To redeem us to life&lt;br /&gt;and end all our strife.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We don't deserve whats given.&lt;br /&gt;And how we've been forgiven.&lt;br /&gt;So strive on, for He will hold you&lt;br /&gt;and through it all He'll bring you through.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God sometimes lets us fall, so that we can have the perseverance&lt;br /&gt;to get up and try again, for we know that He is near us&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-7058460741252766446?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/7058460741252766446/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=7058460741252766446' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/7058460741252766446'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/7058460741252766446'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/03/perseverance.html' title='Perseverance.'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-3455989951627295168</id><published>2009-03-05T18:10:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-05T18:13:54.590-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Opa</title><content type='html'>Hold him in your arms&lt;br /&gt;and show him you care.&lt;br /&gt;Surround him with peace&lt;br /&gt;and let him know You're there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Give him comfort&lt;br /&gt;in his last days here.&lt;br /&gt;Lord, keep him close to you&lt;br /&gt;please keep him near.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Praying ever more for my Opa. &lt;3&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-3455989951627295168?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/3455989951627295168/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=3455989951627295168' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3455989951627295168'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3455989951627295168'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/03/opa.html' title='Opa'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-6676839313239932734</id><published>2009-03-04T21:37:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-04T21:39:32.436-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Peace..</title><content type='html'>The righteous perish, and no one ponders it in his heart; devout men are taken away, and no one understands that the righteous are taken away to be spared from evil.&lt;br /&gt;Those who walk uprightly enter into peace; they find rest as they lie in death.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Isaiah 57:1,2.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-6676839313239932734?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/6676839313239932734/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=6676839313239932734' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/6676839313239932734'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/6676839313239932734'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/03/peace.html' title='Peace..'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-1933894993168340665</id><published>2009-03-03T22:38:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-03T22:52:31.404-05:00</updated><title type='text'>just me again. silly me...</title><content type='html'>How come I can't write good enough to satisfy my mind?&lt;br /&gt;I search through my brains and nothing I find&lt;br /&gt;is worth talking about or letting anyone know&lt;br /&gt;I wish I could get my brain to work and go.&lt;br /&gt;My poetry makes no sense to anyone but me&lt;br /&gt;How is that supposed to set my writing free?&lt;br /&gt;I can't think up anything worthwhile to write&lt;br /&gt;Nothing I think of comes out contrite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish there was some way that I could improve&lt;br /&gt;something to do to me, something to move&lt;br /&gt;I need some inspiration, but I just can't grasp&lt;br /&gt;anything worthwhile anything to clasp&lt;br /&gt;I need something to hold onto but no matter how hard I try&lt;br /&gt;I can't seem to reach it. It makes me want to cry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel sometimes down, and confusing thoughts fill my head.&lt;br /&gt;It comes with me where'er I go, till I lay down in bed&lt;br /&gt;even then it still haunts me as minutes turn to more&lt;br /&gt;my head is so filled, there's no more room to store.&lt;br /&gt;Dispel all my fears and put my anxieties to rest&lt;br /&gt;and maybe my poetry, will turn out to be the best&lt;br /&gt;I wish I was special, I wish people noticed me&lt;br /&gt;I wish I were visible, then it'd be me they'd see.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-1933894993168340665?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/1933894993168340665/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=1933894993168340665' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/1933894993168340665'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/1933894993168340665'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/03/just-me-again-silly-me.html' title='just me again. silly me...'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-7759717311236736215</id><published>2009-03-02T23:44:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-02T23:46:51.913-05:00</updated><title type='text'>beauty in the small things</title><content type='html'>There's beauty in the simple things&lt;br /&gt;the things we walk on past&lt;br /&gt;we never take the time&lt;br /&gt;and make each moment last&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We just run out of the rain&lt;br /&gt;instead of watching it glitter&lt;br /&gt;as it dances to the music&lt;br /&gt;of its tune pitter patter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We don't listen to the birds&lt;br /&gt;high in their place&lt;br /&gt;their beautiful chatter&lt;br /&gt;brings joy to my face&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An intake of breath&lt;br /&gt;in the fresh outdoor air&lt;br /&gt;from being inside to outdoors&lt;br /&gt;in weather so fair&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To hear the laughter&lt;br /&gt;and to see her face shine&lt;br /&gt;as she looks upon him&lt;br /&gt;being in love divine&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;seeing the simple shoots&lt;br /&gt;of green sprouting from the ground&lt;br /&gt;and the triumphant breakthrough&lt;br /&gt;during spring all around&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever stopped to wonder&lt;br /&gt;why the sky is so blue?&lt;br /&gt;Its so beautiful and vast&lt;br /&gt;but acknowledged by few&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beauty in simple trust&lt;br /&gt;of a child not many years&lt;br /&gt;that can make him feel better&lt;br /&gt;and dispel all his fears&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A small flower peeking&lt;br /&gt;through a bed of thorns an weeds&lt;br /&gt;there's beauty everywhere&lt;br /&gt;and shows us our needs&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;we need to see the beauty&lt;br /&gt;so that we can glorify more&lt;br /&gt;the one who has made them&lt;br /&gt;and what He's made them for&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-7759717311236736215?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/7759717311236736215/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=7759717311236736215' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/7759717311236736215'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/7759717311236736215'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/03/beauty-in-small-things.html' title='beauty in the small things'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-2352476365208094387</id><published>2009-03-02T23:40:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-02T23:44:10.006-05:00</updated><title type='text'>trust</title><content type='html'>A small hand reaching,&lt;br /&gt;for what he knows is there&lt;br /&gt;a mothers hand to respond&lt;br /&gt;not just thin air.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Closing your eyes&lt;br /&gt;and to be led&lt;br /&gt;with only your guide&lt;br /&gt;to watch where you tread&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I only have a small amount of time to post these days... But just some random things that I have been writing (once again) off the top of my head in my spare time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-2352476365208094387?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/2352476365208094387/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=2352476365208094387' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/2352476365208094387'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/2352476365208094387'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/03/trust.html' title='trust'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-1279906246201449141</id><published>2009-03-02T11:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-02T11:20:14.632-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-1279906246201449141?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/1279906246201449141/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=1279906246201449141' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/1279906246201449141'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/1279906246201449141'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/03/for-where-your-treasure-is-there-your.html' title=''/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-1889564289418441798</id><published>2009-02-27T20:29:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-27T20:53:56.383-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Plastic Faces.</title><content type='html'>For the sake of a post, since none have been published in a while...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Plastic faces&lt;br /&gt;fancy graces&lt;br /&gt;its all an act.&lt;br /&gt;Pretend life&lt;br /&gt;without strife&lt;br /&gt;nothings fact.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So you paint your appearance&lt;br /&gt;colors, with no coherence.&lt;br /&gt;Bright colors to conceal&lt;br /&gt;what doesn't appeal.&lt;br /&gt;Your face doesn't shine&lt;br /&gt;but you think its fine&lt;br /&gt;all you need to do is cover&lt;br /&gt;and the ugliness is over&lt;br /&gt;but someday that mask will be taken&lt;br /&gt;and for beauty you will not be mistaken.&lt;br /&gt;Your true colors will show&lt;br /&gt;all your sins He shall know.&lt;br /&gt;You need Him to clean you,&lt;br /&gt;to teach you what is true.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-1889564289418441798?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/1889564289418441798/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=1889564289418441798' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/1889564289418441798'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/1889564289418441798'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/02/plastic-faces.html' title='Plastic Faces.'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-1750533804107005639</id><published>2009-02-19T18:49:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-19T18:49:51.215-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The death of Common Sense</title><content type='html'>An Obituary printed in the London Times...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Interesting and sadly true.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as: knowing when to come in out of the rain; why the early bird gets the worm; life isn't always fair; and maybe it was my fault.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in charge).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a 6 -year -old boy charged with ****** harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children. It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer sun lotion or an aspirin to a student; but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Common Sense lost the will to live as the churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Common Sense took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar could sue you for assault.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Common Sense was preceded in death, by his parents, Truth and Trust,&lt;br /&gt;his wife, Discretion his daughter, Responsibility his son, Reason.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He is survived by his 4 stepbrothers: I Know My Rights, I Want It Now, Someone Else Is To Blame, and I'm A Victim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you still remember him, pass this on. If not, join the majority and do nothing&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-1750533804107005639?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/1750533804107005639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=1750533804107005639' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/1750533804107005639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/1750533804107005639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/02/death-of-common-sense.html' title='The death of Common Sense'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-8825658300521617405</id><published>2009-02-14T19:17:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-14T21:04:06.865-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Poetry'/><title type='text'>Mismatching...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="status-body"&gt;&lt;span class="entry-content"&gt;Mismatching.&lt;br /&gt;Creative writing.&lt;br /&gt;Pieces that don't belong,&lt;br /&gt;Somehow don't seem wrong.&lt;br /&gt;Flowing with unfamiliar graces.&lt;br /&gt;In my heart preserve special places.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The strange beauty,&lt;br /&gt;Creates serenity.&lt;br /&gt;Like memories hidden&lt;br /&gt;that come up forbidden.&lt;br /&gt;Taking small pleasure&lt;br /&gt;to a certain measure.&lt;br /&gt;Colors mixed&lt;br /&gt;strangely fixed.&lt;br /&gt;Like music combined&lt;br /&gt;that shouldn't sound kind&lt;br /&gt;but it has a sound&lt;br /&gt;which I have found&lt;br /&gt;makes me feel peace&lt;br /&gt;without cease.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wide open spaces&lt;br /&gt;beauty with graces&lt;br /&gt;The feeling of being alive&lt;br /&gt;to jump for joy, to thrive.&lt;br /&gt;Crystal clear nights&lt;br /&gt;staring into the heights.&lt;br /&gt;The stars shining in vast wonder&lt;br /&gt;always making me ponder.&lt;br /&gt;The hush doesn't last long&lt;br /&gt;when you hear the nature throng.&lt;br /&gt;Small noises everywhere&lt;br /&gt;symphonies made with care.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-8825658300521617405?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/8825658300521617405/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=8825658300521617405' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/8825658300521617405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/8825658300521617405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/02/mismatching.html' title='Mismatching...'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-6230276390613388541</id><published>2009-02-14T19:05:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-14T21:04:06.866-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Poetry'/><title type='text'>When I look at the stars....</title><content type='html'>When I think about myself&lt;br /&gt;and how my life turns out,&lt;br /&gt;I wonder what I'm doing&lt;br /&gt;and I just want to shout.&lt;br /&gt;but then I stop and think&lt;br /&gt;and turn myself around,&lt;br /&gt;I think about how my life isn't my own&lt;br /&gt;and that my blessings abound.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I look to the heavens&lt;br /&gt;and see the vastness of it all,&lt;br /&gt;I see the stars in their beauty&lt;br /&gt;and I suddenly feel so small.&lt;br /&gt;I think of their creator&lt;br /&gt;and how I'm in His hand,&lt;br /&gt;I'm in a foreign country&lt;br /&gt;ever going towards His land.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everything around me is strange&lt;br /&gt;but its been bought as normal,&lt;br /&gt;Things that shouldn't be&lt;br /&gt;are everyday and formal.&lt;br /&gt;Everyone strives for the American dream&lt;br /&gt;working only for their self,&lt;br /&gt;They put the needs of others&lt;br /&gt;neatly on the shelf.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The problems not taking the time&lt;br /&gt;to look around you,&lt;br /&gt;to see something other than yourself&lt;br /&gt;and who you belong to.&lt;br /&gt;You're in a foreign country&lt;br /&gt;not your homeland&lt;br /&gt;we're ever journeying forward&lt;br /&gt;to before Jesus stand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I look to the heavens&lt;br /&gt; and see the vastness of it all,&lt;br /&gt; I see the stars in their beauty&lt;br /&gt; and I suddenly feel so small.&lt;br /&gt; I think of their creator&lt;br /&gt; and how I'm in His hand,&lt;br /&gt; I'm in a foreign country&lt;br /&gt; ever going towards His land.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-6230276390613388541?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/6230276390613388541/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=6230276390613388541' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/6230276390613388541'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/6230276390613388541'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/02/when-i-look-at-stars.html' title='When I look at the stars....'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-7763755653182554953</id><published>2009-02-09T22:18:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-11T19:32:17.948-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Random Post</title><content type='html'>I haven't exactly written much this past little while... ok, for the past longish while. Last two conferences I went to... honestly, the best ever! I loved this past weekends at Woodstock, hearing Pastor Bylsma speak on gaining the attitude of Job was amazing! He's an awesome speaker! The weekend before that, hearing about Fighting Spiritual Depression by Rev Bouwers was really encouraging. Its not a topic that gets adressed too much. And as always, it was awesome seeing friends again, and even making new friends!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Random Quotes;&lt;br /&gt;"I have enough money to last me the rest of my life!... unless I buy something."&lt;br /&gt;"A wise man once told me 'I don't know, go ask a girl!'"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-7763755653182554953?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/7763755653182554953/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=7763755653182554953' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/7763755653182554953'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/7763755653182554953'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/02/random-post.html' title='Random Post'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-8971792027770114117</id><published>2009-01-31T22:01:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-31T22:11:57.076-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friends'/><title type='text'>Friends</title><content type='html'>I would write a poem or something on friends... BUT, I'll save that for later. The conference was really great at Immanuel today and last night.  I liked the speeches on depression. All of it is true!&lt;br /&gt; One of the best antidotes for depression that God gives us are friends. Not friends that will say what you want to hear, but they'll say what you need to hear. They're there for you when you're confused, they're there to make you smile. Some of my friends are wise. (Honestly!) I can ask them any question, and you know you'll get an answer you'd probably not think of, AND it will make sense! They're the kind of people I want to always brighten their day. Even if I can't brighten my own. I can be honest with them, I can be myself and not try to act like someone else. Its too hard to try to conform to someone elses opinion and their tastes. I sometimes feel sorry for all those other girls and guys who don't know my friends. Poor people, they don't know what they're missing out on!&lt;br /&gt; I thank God in prayer daily for the blessings he has given me. God is good. :-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-8971792027770114117?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/8971792027770114117/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=8971792027770114117' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/8971792027770114117'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/8971792027770114117'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/01/friends.html' title='Friends'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-6083210054886200499</id><published>2009-01-31T21:58:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-31T22:01:00.790-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mackintosh'/><title type='text'>Apple's</title><content type='html'>I once went out to a mackintosh orchard, the owner said we an apple if we wished to. It was still early in the season, and hardly any looked ripe enough to eat. The orchard was overrun with weeds and insects, making this quest of finding a good apple even harder! Some had been picked too early, and instead of still becoming ripe and beautiful, they went from being sour, to being rotten. As much as I looked, I couldn't find a single ripe one, most of them were hidden from the sunlight in the dark, and not growing as much as they should. But then, something caught my eye as I looked up, there was the biggest, shiniest, ripest apple I could ever hope for! It was well out of reach, but I wasn't afraid to work hard and climb up to get it.&lt;br /&gt;  I climbed, higher and higher, over branches that weren't very sturdy. I fought my way to the branch, and gently plucked the bright apple. I brought it back down to the safety of the sturdy, hard ground. What came next was satisfying and delicious. It was the best apple I had ever tasted! I was glad I didn't settle for a half-ripe one, but kept on searching till I found the perfect one. Mmmm...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-6083210054886200499?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/6083210054886200499/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=6083210054886200499' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/6083210054886200499'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/6083210054886200499'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/01/apples.html' title='Apple&apos;s'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-8362700706241629593</id><published>2009-01-23T22:15:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-23T22:25:34.625-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Piano</title><content type='html'>Smooth notes&lt;br /&gt;drifting around.&lt;br /&gt;Ringing from the piano,&lt;br /&gt;a melodious sound&lt;br /&gt;Soothing lullabies,&lt;br /&gt;whispering pleasant tunes in my ears.&lt;br /&gt;Gently washing over me,&lt;br /&gt;subsiding my fears.&lt;br /&gt;My heart tugs&lt;br /&gt;towards the tune.&lt;br /&gt;Simple beautiful melodies&lt;br /&gt;making me swoon.&lt;br /&gt;As I listen to the music&lt;br /&gt;I see images in my mind.&lt;br /&gt;Heavenly beauty,&lt;br /&gt;on this earth I'll never find.&lt;br /&gt;But I'm sure in heaven,&lt;br /&gt;the angels will play&lt;br /&gt;sweet piano songs to glorify&lt;br /&gt;our Savior all day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-8362700706241629593?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/8362700706241629593/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=8362700706241629593' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/8362700706241629593'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/8362700706241629593'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/01/piano.html' title='Piano'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-8145265237711406101</id><published>2009-01-20T09:40:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-20T14:17:00.310-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Boarding'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='snow'/><title type='text'>Boarding</title><content type='html'>A rush of adrenaline hits you&lt;br /&gt;as you rush down the hill.&lt;br /&gt;Speed quickly gaining&lt;br /&gt;faster and faster.&lt;br /&gt;You lose yourself in the feeling&lt;br /&gt;of being alive.&lt;br /&gt;The wind hits your face&lt;br /&gt;the cold seeps in&lt;br /&gt;but you don't feel it&lt;br /&gt;all you can feel is the pull of gravity&lt;br /&gt;bringing you ever downwards.&lt;br /&gt;A jump looms closer and closer,&lt;br /&gt;you steer your board towards it.&lt;br /&gt;Your courage almost fails you&lt;br /&gt;watching yourself come to it.&lt;br /&gt;You've never felt it before&lt;br /&gt;as you launch into the air.&lt;br /&gt;And for only a second&lt;br /&gt;you feel free.&lt;br /&gt;Those dreams of flying high in the sky&lt;br /&gt;become real.&lt;br /&gt;As your board makes contact once again&lt;br /&gt;with the pure white snow&lt;br /&gt;your heart stays up&lt;br /&gt;high in the clouds.&lt;br /&gt;You stop at the bottom of the hill&lt;br /&gt;and you're itching to go back up&lt;br /&gt;and repeat it all again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know I've written alot about snow and boarding... but I couldn't resist to write another one after my last time boarding. It was alot of fun! I'm glad I went off of the jumps... even if it was only a couple times. I landed two, barely made another one, and fell when going off two.&lt;br /&gt;Sorry if my verse isn't the greatest... but I needed to get it out before I could concentrate on my science. lol. Hope you enjoy it, even if its not too well written.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-8145265237711406101?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/8145265237711406101/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=8145265237711406101' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/8145265237711406101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/8145265237711406101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/01/boarding_20.html' title='Boarding'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-13516444815941239</id><published>2009-01-19T09:51:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-19T09:54:22.443-05:00</updated><title type='text'>You know you're dutch when...</title><content type='html'>I saw this the other day when my cousin put it in his notes on facebook... I laughed alot because so much of it is true!! (Go stroop wafles and dutch mints!!) lol&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You Know You're Dutch When.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The temperature is so low in your house that 2 sweaters is a bare minimum if you want to be remotely warm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;During the winter it's warmer outside than it is inside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You open the freezer and are excited to find a container of ice- cream,only to open it and discover it's full of homemade soup or stamppot..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When looking in the fridge, you never trust that the yogurt or margarine containers contain what the label says.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You were green before it was popular. Why recycle when you can just reuse!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have a pair a wooden shoes in your house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your china cabinet is filled with Delft.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You like pickled herring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've eaten oliebollen at New Years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You enjoy chocolate sprinkle (hagelslag) sandwiches.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have cousins who wear size 14 shoes and are over 6'4"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You wash and reuse plastic cups and plastic cutlery.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have soup and open-faced sandwiches for Sunday lunch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The most frequent phrase uttered growing up was "Turn off the lights!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You get a chocolate letter every year for Christmas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All the tables in your house are covered in tablecloths.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You like krokets.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know that Vla is better than regular old pudding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You drink tea with breakfast, coffee at 10 am, tea at 3 pm, and coffee again at 8 pm (with cookies or biscuits of course!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have an afghan knitted by your Oma.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You collect coupons like they're going out of style.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your Oma had a calendar with everyone's birthdays &amp;amp; anniversaries spelled out in capital letters (bonus points if it hung in the bathroom!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've been known to recycle aluminum foil. And ziploc bags.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You own a special utensil that is only used for cutting cheese.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know that Gouda is the best cheese ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have at least 5 relatives with the same name (and somehow you always know which one is being talked about).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You reuse teabags.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you hear all the "new ways to save energy" you yawn and say "I've been doing that all my life!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You eat your sandwiches open-faced. "What?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You want another slice of bread? I'll make you another sandwich."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You rarely have both meat and cheese on the same sandwich.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have never met half the relatives at your family reunion&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have 100 roles of toilet paper in your house because they were on sale.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You put a little water into the jar of tomato sauce and shake it to make sure you got it all out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have trouble shopping for hats. There should be at least two sizes: 'one size fits all' and 'dutch'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You wipe the last of the butter out of the container with your bun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All your cookies taste like almonds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You make the bed in your hotel room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have lace on your windows but not on your underwear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You like dubbel zout drops, and have occasionally tricked a friend into trying one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've put mayonnaise on your french fries.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your kitchen is filled with milk bags drying, waiting to be reused in the freezer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You drink Heineken out of pride.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have a front room but nobody sits in it (or it's only used for special occasions).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have a spoon collection.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your favourite mustard comes in jars that can be reused as drinking glasses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You leave a window open year round to get fresh air.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You eat stroop waffles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You love the colour orange.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have a vegetable garden because there's no way you're paying that much for veggies at the grocery store.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your fridge is always stocked with leftovers. Throw out food? Never!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You go to the "Dutch Store" because the smell brings back so many childhood memories.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have pictures of windmills around your house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everything is Do-It-Yourself - it's cheaper than hiring someone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You use "washandjes" (facecloths that you can put your hand into).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have to explain what 'om' and 'tante' means when you're discussing your relatives with non-Dutch people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You own tea towels and oven mitts patterned with windmills and dancing women in clogs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You call it "MELK" not "milk".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All your cousins have the same names as your brothers and sisters,because everyone is named after Oma and Opa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And finally, you know you're Dutch when..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're laughing along with this list because you can relate to most it&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-13516444815941239?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/13516444815941239/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=13516444815941239' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/13516444815941239'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/13516444815941239'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/01/you-know-youre-dutch-when.html' title='You know you&apos;re dutch when...'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-3473038140483989339</id><published>2009-01-10T21:59:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-10T22:06:53.564-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Free Verse'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='snow'/><title type='text'>Winter Beach</title><content type='html'>Water spraying&lt;br /&gt;from the violent waves&lt;br /&gt;crashing against rocks.&lt;br /&gt;The mist is freezing&lt;br /&gt;bone chilling&lt;br /&gt;and the wind seems to go through me.&lt;br /&gt;I shiver uncontrollably&lt;br /&gt;I huddle inside my jacket closely.&lt;br /&gt;And still,&lt;br /&gt;the wind blows on&lt;br /&gt;the mist still covers me.&lt;br /&gt;A thin layer of ice encompasses me,&lt;br /&gt;and I'm cold.&lt;br /&gt;Like I've never been before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love going to the beach in the winter... even if it is a tad bit cold. :-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-3473038140483989339?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/3473038140483989339/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=3473038140483989339' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3473038140483989339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3473038140483989339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/01/winter-beach.html' title='Winter Beach'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-2757003284460877092</id><published>2009-01-02T22:34:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-02T23:17:48.757-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Psalm 117:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Praise the LORD, all you nations;&lt;br /&gt;extol him, all you peoples.&lt;br /&gt;For great is His love toward us,&lt;br /&gt;and the faithfulness of the LORD&lt;br /&gt;endures forever.&lt;br /&gt;Praise the LORD.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was the text for our New Years eve meditation for our church service. I love this psalm.. :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ecclesiastes 3:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a time for everything,&lt;br /&gt;and a season for ever activity under heaven:&lt;br /&gt;a time to be born and a time to die,&lt;br /&gt;a time to plant and a time to uproot,&lt;br /&gt;a time to kill and a time to heal,&lt;br /&gt;a time to tear down and a time to build,&lt;br /&gt;a time to weep and a time to laugh,&lt;br /&gt;a time to mourn and a time to dance,&lt;br /&gt;a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,&lt;br /&gt;a time to embrace and a time to refrain,&lt;br /&gt;a time to keep and a time to throw away,&lt;br /&gt;a time to tear and a time to mend,&lt;br /&gt;a time to be silent and a time to speak,&lt;br /&gt;a time to love and a time to hate,&lt;br /&gt;a time for war and a time for peace.&lt;br /&gt;What does the worker gain from his toil? I have seen the burden God has laid on men. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of me; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end. I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. That every man may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil- this is the gift of God. I know that everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it. God does it so men will revere Him.&lt;br /&gt;Whatever is has already been,&lt;br /&gt;and what will be has been before;&lt;br /&gt;and God will call the past to account.&lt;br /&gt;And I saw something else under the sun:&lt;br /&gt;In the place of judgment-wickedness was there,&lt;br /&gt;in the place of justice -wickedness was there.&lt;br /&gt;I thought in my heart,&lt;br /&gt;"God will bring to judgment&lt;br /&gt;both the righteous and the wicked,&lt;br /&gt;for there will be a time for every activity&lt;br /&gt;a time for every deed."&lt;br /&gt;I also thought, "As for men, God tests them so that they may see that they are like the animals Man's fate is like that of the animals; the same fate awaits them both: As one dies, so dies the other. All have the same breath man has no advantage over the animal. Everything is meaningless. All go to the same place; all come from dust, and to dust return. Who knows if the spirit of man rises upward and if the spirit of the animal goes down into the earth?"&lt;br /&gt;So I saw that there is nothing better for a man than to enjoy his work, because that is his lot. For who can bring him to see what will happen after him?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a good sermon for both these texts... (this last one was new years day service's text..)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-2757003284460877092?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/2757003284460877092/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=2757003284460877092' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/2757003284460877092'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/2757003284460877092'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2009/01/psalm-117-prais-lord-all-you-nations.html' title=''/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-4413555488782951799</id><published>2008-12-28T23:05:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T21:45:12.969-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Reflections on 2008'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Update'/><title type='text'>Reflections on 'o8</title><content type='html'>New years eve is approaching fast... it really seems as though this past year went by much too quickly. Last year's new years eve party doesn't seem too far away... before I knew it, it was spring. Finishing up school, working the busy season at the greenhouse... Spring then whizzed on to summer. Summer was great. At the beginning early June we went to the cottage with Lemstra's. Thats always great fun! (except when Derek scared me so bad I honestly thought I was going to die -even if it was only for a split second- I thought he was a bear (it was dark... dont blame me :-P) I worked two days a week at the greenhouse, and two days at the Library a week. There were some really good times at the greenhouse... working with Marissa and Kelsey was actually pretty fun. Unless of course there were those days that never seemed to end. The songs that played on the radio were usually ones that we were sick of.. then there was that time when that song played when we were all tired and the clock wasn't moving (honestly... time was standing still!) The lyrics were "Time goes by... so slowly" and then it repeated itself over and over again. On one of the hottest days too, they had to torture us with playing a Christmas song. Then the bell rang for break and we all ran to the lake and had enough time for a dip before break was over. (The lake was awesome! We always jumped in on the hot days...)&lt;br /&gt;The end of summer came way too fast. But, I was happy when it was nearing its end because thats when Tamarack was! I had so much fun there this past year! The speakers were awesome, I loved the discussions (in the cabins, after the seminars) It was great meeting all new people! I took home so many new friends. I loved volleyball! What can I say? Its an awesome sport! Oh, and soccer... and I liked hockey too. Basketball though?? I'm not saying its because we lost... but its not the greatest sport :-P. Ok, maybe I am saying that because we lost.. but still, it taught us "humbleness" lol.&lt;br /&gt;The Sunday right after tamarack was the 31'st of August... does that day mean anything to you? Well, that was the day I turned 16! (and no, I still haven't gone for my beginner's yet... ) Fall came, and with it school, evening library shifts, jujitsu, skating, guitar lessons, kingdom seekers (of which I'm a jr councilor), and also hymnsings... (of which I miss alot!!)&lt;br /&gt;Fall turned into Winter... not really so fast seeing as we didn't get snow. We didn't get anything that stayed before last week's storm really. Soon enough though, without the snow, the Christmas music began, the shopping started, and the fancy dinners came. I was now allowed to sing my favorite Christmas songs without being out of season (YAY!) And since my guitar teacher taught me a whole bunch of Christmas songs I was able to play along with them! :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This past year I've changed alot. I find that I've grown spiritually alot more, I've made new friends, found out who really matters, done things I've never tried before, and heard many things that have changed me (in ways of seminar's and great things from speakers.) I've started guitar, which is one of the things I'd never tried before. I find that I really like it! Another thing that I tried and found out I liked was writing free verse and poetry which I hope you all like as much as I like writing it! :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm really looking forward to 2009 and all the new things that will be happening for me then! Lord willing in 2009 I'll be taking my profession of faith before the congregation of Trinity ORC, I'll be starting grade 12 (my last year of school!) I'll turn 17. Hopefully I'll become better at guitar and my writing. I'm looking forward to everything that God has in His plans for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what is your highlights of 2008? How has God been good to you this past year? And what are you looking forward to in the coming year? :-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-4413555488782951799?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/4413555488782951799/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=4413555488782951799' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/4413555488782951799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/4413555488782951799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/12/reflections-on-o8.html' title='Reflections on &apos;o8'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-4374971301596050228</id><published>2008-12-26T21:08:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T21:46:43.697-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the future'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Free Verse'/><title type='text'>The Unknown Future....</title><content type='html'>Staring at my reflection&lt;br /&gt;I wonder&lt;br /&gt;who am I?&lt;br /&gt;What am I meant to do?&lt;br /&gt;Where am I going?&lt;br /&gt;Those eyes stare back at me&lt;br /&gt;through the mirror.&lt;br /&gt;That face which is my own&lt;br /&gt;is searching for something.&lt;br /&gt;Was I meant for more?&lt;br /&gt;How can I live an average life&lt;br /&gt;when I feel like I was meant&lt;br /&gt;meant for something more&lt;br /&gt;for something bigger.&lt;br /&gt;Who am I?&lt;br /&gt;I want to live and die&lt;br /&gt;for bigger things.&lt;br /&gt;I want to live for more than just me.&lt;br /&gt;Where am I going?&lt;br /&gt;Which path is the one for me?&lt;br /&gt;How am I to travel on it?&lt;br /&gt;Who will be there for me,&lt;br /&gt;and who won't?&lt;br /&gt;Am I to go alone,&lt;br /&gt;is my path a lonely one?&lt;br /&gt;There's so many ways.&lt;br /&gt;I need help knowing&lt;br /&gt;which way was chosen for me.&lt;br /&gt;Those blue eyes looking back at me.&lt;br /&gt;That young face which is my own.&lt;br /&gt;The life I am to lead&lt;br /&gt;is not for me,&lt;br /&gt;but for God alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope you like my short free verse that was from the top of my head... Its always a mystery to us what God's plan for us is. Sometimes it can be really confusing as to what we will do, who we will be, and what life we'll lead in the future. At least I have the comfort of knowing that everything is in God's hands, and that he has a plan for me. :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For those that have tried to post comments before, but couldn't, I figured out that I had to change a setting so that anonymous people can comment. So now if you haven't fed my blog some comment love before, feel free to do so now.  :-)&lt;br /&gt;I wish I was able to post more... but sometimes its hard to have passable things from the top of my head daily.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-4374971301596050228?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/4374971301596050228/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=4374971301596050228' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/4374971301596050228'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/4374971301596050228'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/12/unknown-future.html' title='The Unknown Future....'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-5410769869289563978</id><published>2008-12-25T14:08:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-26T12:21:39.221-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='photography'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pictures'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Christmas'/><title type='text'>Merry Christmas!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SVPfwIZS22I/AAAAAAAAADM/XLf1ScFVa7c/s1600-h/DSC02494.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SVPfwIZS22I/AAAAAAAAADM/XLf1ScFVa7c/s320/DSC02494.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283812805816015714" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SVPfvsC_VxI/AAAAAAAAADE/3pUIIQb0NFM/s1600-h/DSC02516.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SVPfvsC_VxI/AAAAAAAAADE/3pUIIQb0NFM/s320/DSC02516.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283812798206269202" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SVPfvQ2T5PI/AAAAAAAAAC8/lI1lqTll2Vo/s1600-h/DSC02521.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SVPfvQ2T5PI/AAAAAAAAAC8/lI1lqTll2Vo/s320/DSC02521.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283812790905332978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SVPfvDZEKsI/AAAAAAAAAC0/OipvyBCadpI/s1600-h/DSC02530.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SVPfvDZEKsI/AAAAAAAAAC0/OipvyBCadpI/s320/DSC02530.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283812787293006530" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-5410769869289563978?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/5410769869289563978/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=5410769869289563978' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/5410769869289563978'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/5410769869289563978'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/12/merry-christmas.html' title='Merry Christmas!'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SVPfwIZS22I/AAAAAAAAADM/XLf1ScFVa7c/s72-c/DSC02494.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-8426957633988449694</id><published>2008-12-23T15:37:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T21:46:25.394-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='guitars'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='photography'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='angels'/><title type='text'>Angel/Guitar</title><content type='html'>So, I decided that I'm not going to post daily. Partly because its hard to keep up... but mostly because its hard to write something good that often. And as you can see, some of my earlier posts were definitely only posted because of lack of time and better work. Its somewhat hard to be inspired with anything other than the snow, the coldness, and Christmas at this time of year. And I don't want to have like a bajillion posts on those three things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought I'd try to take a few photo's with my brother's camera... since I don't have many pictures on my blog I'll post one or two of them...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SVFUYpGy0cI/AAAAAAAAACk/P53VfP5sh6s/s1600-h/IMG_1516.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SVFUYpGy0cI/AAAAAAAAACk/P53VfP5sh6s/s320/IMG_1516.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283096620210246082" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SVFUY2rELtI/AAAAAAAAACs/uYKFXVS9AsM/s1600-h/IMG_1269.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SVFUY2rELtI/AAAAAAAAACs/uYKFXVS9AsM/s320/IMG_1269.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283096623852039890" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So thats my attempt at photography... I'm sure I got most of it wrong, but... I kinda like them. I don't think I'd ever go anywhere with photography, so it doesn't really matter ;-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-8426957633988449694?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/8426957633988449694/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=8426957633988449694' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/8426957633988449694'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/8426957633988449694'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/12/angelguitar.html' title='Angel/Guitar'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SVFUYpGy0cI/AAAAAAAAACk/P53VfP5sh6s/s72-c/IMG_1516.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-4687131966203230449</id><published>2008-12-20T10:49:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T21:47:16.724-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Free Verse'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='snow'/><title type='text'>Snowed In</title><content type='html'>So the snow has been piling up... and blowing around... and its days like today and yesterday that you don't want to be out and about driving anywhere! Which also meant that no one could make it to this area, and the christmas program I had been looking forward to had been canceled. Christmas time there are so many plans, and so many times that they're canceled. It just goes to show us that it doesn't matter how much we plan and get ready for something, God is in control.&lt;br /&gt;I did still have a good day though, being hunkered down in the house baking, reading, watching Christmas movies and doing a 1000 piece puzzle with my dad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Swirling snow&lt;br /&gt;whistling winds&lt;br /&gt;all around the house.&lt;br /&gt;Roads impossible&lt;br /&gt;to drive in.&lt;br /&gt;Driveways deepen&lt;br /&gt;making work for those bundled inside&lt;br /&gt;The winds beat on&lt;br /&gt;the snow still falls&lt;br /&gt;and inside, I'm warm and cozy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Butter, sugar&lt;br /&gt;flour, eggs.&lt;br /&gt;Chocolate chips...&lt;br /&gt;yum, maybe just one&lt;br /&gt;or two.&lt;br /&gt;Stirring&lt;br /&gt;mixing into cookie batter.&lt;br /&gt;Oven heating&lt;br /&gt;cookies baking.&lt;br /&gt;Sweet smells of cookies&lt;br /&gt;when they're done.&lt;br /&gt;And yet... I'm too full&lt;br /&gt;from the batter&lt;br /&gt;to eat any.&lt;br /&gt;Until later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Curling up&lt;br /&gt;under blankets.&lt;br /&gt;Cozy warmth&lt;br /&gt;as I'm reading.&lt;br /&gt;Flipping through the pages&lt;br /&gt;silently.&lt;br /&gt;Stillness around me&lt;br /&gt;quiet serenity.&lt;br /&gt;The wind can be heard&lt;br /&gt;only dully&lt;br /&gt;in the background.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I felt bad because I haven't posted since Wednesday... so I wrote three... although they're all in the same context of being snowed in. Hope you like them... they're all off the top of my head which I think is the only way to write them. lol. Anyways, I'm off to get ready for the Bakker Christmas dinner with all my cousins and relatives.  :-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-4687131966203230449?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/4687131966203230449/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=4687131966203230449' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/4687131966203230449'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/4687131966203230449'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/12/snowed-in.html' title='Snowed In'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-5664519181082062055</id><published>2008-12-17T21:55:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T21:49:15.866-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='photography'/><title type='text'>The fool says in his heart "There is no God."</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SUnEQXJljmI/AAAAAAAAACc/OsYZyEzGdhc/s1600-h/DSC01985.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SUnEQXJljmI/AAAAAAAAACc/OsYZyEzGdhc/s320/DSC01985.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280967823439793762" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SUnEP87fgOI/AAAAAAAAACU/ZSmNr38v2M8/s1600-h/DSC01987.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SUnEP87fgOI/AAAAAAAAACU/ZSmNr38v2M8/s320/DSC01987.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280967816401354978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SUnEPkLgCJI/AAAAAAAAACM/YsbLaDYdWGA/s1600-h/DSC01975.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SUnEPkLgCJI/AAAAAAAAACM/YsbLaDYdWGA/s320/DSC01975.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280967809757612178" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SUnDdSDbdgI/AAAAAAAAACE/BpnPLy7Y6hk/s1600-h/DSC01979.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SUnDdSDbdgI/AAAAAAAAACE/BpnPLy7Y6hk/s320/DSC01979.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280966945898460674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SUnDcwVzbeI/AAAAAAAAAB8/LoEzWxMz5j8/s1600-h/DSC01977.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SUnDcwVzbeI/AAAAAAAAAB8/LoEzWxMz5j8/s320/DSC01977.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280966936848723426" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SUnDaYwALKI/AAAAAAAAABk/bbPOpIVOpgM/s1600-h/DSC02080.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SUnDaYwALKI/AAAAAAAAABk/bbPOpIVOpgM/s320/DSC02080.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280966896156421282" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I can say is that a man who in his heart denies God, and yet can see before him God's creation.. that man is truly a fool like the bible says.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-5664519181082062055?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/5664519181082062055/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=5664519181082062055' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/5664519181082062055'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/5664519181082062055'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/12/fool-says-in-his-heart-there-is-no-god.html' title='The fool says in his heart &quot;There is no God.&quot;'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/SUnEQXJljmI/AAAAAAAAACc/OsYZyEzGdhc/s72-c/DSC01985.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-7637317139489832623</id><published>2008-12-16T14:54:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T21:53:48.364-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='spring'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Free Verse'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Update'/><title type='text'>Spring</title><content type='html'>Ok, so I realized I didn't even mention the t-shirt run in my boarding post! Well... it was cold. And if you're a beginner boarder like me, it also involves falling into the cold wet snow, and being painfully slow going down the slopes. So, if you want to know how cold it was, scroll down to friday's post that's titled "Cold". lol, and maybe change it from night, to day, from bare hands poking out of a warm coat to bare arms in only a t-shirt.&lt;br /&gt;To change it up a bit, I want to write something a little bit warmer... lets fast forward to spring for a little while...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Slightly chilly breezes,&lt;br /&gt;warm rays from the sun&lt;br /&gt;on my skin&lt;br /&gt;making me feel alive.&lt;br /&gt;The freshness of the earth&lt;br /&gt;is invigorating.&lt;br /&gt;Small green shoots&lt;br /&gt;poking out of the soggy soil&lt;br /&gt;making their attempts to reach the sun&lt;br /&gt;the warmth&lt;br /&gt;the energy.&lt;br /&gt;The heavens are blue,&lt;br /&gt;the birds are singing&lt;br /&gt;my heart feels joy&lt;br /&gt;to be alive.&lt;br /&gt;I see God's hand&lt;br /&gt;in everything alive&lt;br /&gt;in everything beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;I see the mighty works&lt;br /&gt;of His goodness&lt;br /&gt;and I sing for the joy&lt;br /&gt;that He gives me&lt;br /&gt;in my heart.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-7637317139489832623?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/7637317139489832623/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=7637317139489832623' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/7637317139489832623'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/7637317139489832623'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/12/spring.html' title='Spring'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-2628607264151504302</id><published>2008-12-16T14:52:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T21:54:19.685-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Free Verse'/><title type='text'>Music - By Chandler Violette</title><content type='html'>This is an awesome verse that one of my friends wrote. I love it alot! (Thanks Chan for letting me post this!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Drifting out of apartment windows,&lt;br /&gt;Filling the air with its sweet melody.&lt;br /&gt;Flowing from instruments,&lt;br /&gt;Spilling from voices,&lt;br /&gt;Stopping the thoughts that torment.&lt;br /&gt;The mind -&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly at ease,&lt;br /&gt;Muscles relaxing,&lt;br /&gt;Just listening to the beat of drums,&lt;br /&gt;The chords the guitar strums,&lt;br /&gt;Echoing the voices,&lt;br /&gt;Singing the words you don’t dare speak,&lt;br /&gt;Not out loud.&lt;br /&gt;Not to anyone.&lt;br /&gt;So much feeling resounds,&lt;br /&gt;From each and every song,&lt;br /&gt;Blaring from earphones,&lt;br /&gt;Blasting through speakers,&lt;br /&gt;Conveying emotion unspoken,&lt;br /&gt;Love,&lt;br /&gt;Anger,&lt;br /&gt;Heartbreak,&lt;br /&gt;Each it’s own,&lt;br /&gt;Showing others they aren’t alone,&lt;br /&gt;Connecting with the music,&lt;br /&gt;Hitting the repeat button,&lt;br /&gt;Over,&lt;br /&gt;And over,&lt;br /&gt;Just to here it once more,&lt;br /&gt;This gift from God:&lt;br /&gt;Music.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-2628607264151504302?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/2628607264151504302/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=2628607264151504302' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/2628607264151504302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/2628607264151504302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/12/music-by-chandler-violette.html' title='Music - By Chandler Violette'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-2471137541576379935</id><published>2008-12-16T09:58:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T21:56:32.269-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Pieces of Prose'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Boarding'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='snow'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Update'/><title type='text'>Downhill... Boarding</title><content type='html'>I'm gonna start off by saying that yesturday was AWESOME! I had alot of fun :-). At the beginning of the day I reeeally sucked... but then, something clicked, and then I had alot more fun because I got it. Ok, I fell alot, but not as much, and I had a bunch of straight runs without falling. Ok, I'm not sure where to start this... but I'll just start typing and see where it ends up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was at the top of the snow covered hill, below me where scattered skiers and boardings making their way down, some more slowly than others. I let myself start down the hill, slowly at first, but then I started to gain some speed... if you could call it that. The cold wind blew all around me as I fought for control of the board. A few wisps of my hair escaped the confines of my loose ponytail and blew into my face. Just when I thought I had control of the board, I unexpectedly fell. My head banged the ground hard, and my board spun around taking my body with it. Only feeling a bit sore, I got right back up on my board and tried to make my way to the bottom of the hill again.&lt;br /&gt;I fell a few more times before I finally made it to the lift. I was really excited to see one of my best friends there.&lt;br /&gt;I tried again, on a different hill and made it down most of the way, then I saw my brother on the ground a little ways ahead of me. For a little while I wasn't concentrating on what I was doing, and the edge of my board had caught on the snow. I flew forward, my arms extended, I slid on my stomach for a few seconds before I finally stopped. I looked over to my brother to see him laughing at me and heard him say something along the lines of "superman flip out". I rolled over onto my back and sat up. Snow found its way to the back of my neck and was slowly melting down my back. I cringed as it dripped leaving me chilled.&lt;br /&gt;Soon enough I was back at the top of the hill. So far I loved boarding... but it hadn't quite clicked yet. There she was, my friend beside me showing me something on her board, I tried to do what she did, but ended up face planting instead. I got up, and went down the hill for a bit and tried it again... still, it didn't quite click. After a few more runs, and my friend teaching me and giving me help, I did it! Finally, but then, my joy was cut short as I fell forward. Once again, it didn't hurt enough for me to stop, so I got back on my board, and tried again.&lt;br /&gt;After that, it was almost like something clicked. I went down various other hills with some friends and practiced, and I actually didn't fall about half of those runs!&lt;br /&gt;It was getting close to the closing time, and only one hill was open, I tried to get on that hill as many times as possible before we were unable to anymore.&lt;br /&gt;The crisp fresh air felt good in my lungs and the board felt almost comfortable. I had a small amount of speed (and yet probably the most I had that day) and the wind in my face felt good. I fell down once that run, but I was back up almost before I even fell.&lt;br /&gt;I had loved that day, but, at the end of the day I was tired, sore, and ready for it to be over... almost.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-2471137541576379935?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/2471137541576379935/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=2471137541576379935' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/2471137541576379935'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/2471137541576379935'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/12/downhill-boarding.html' title='Downhill... Boarding'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-704167387611291068</id><published>2008-12-14T20:59:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T21:56:05.664-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Brothers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Free Verse'/><title type='text'>A Big Brother's Love</title><content type='html'>A brothers love&lt;br /&gt;is big bear hugs,&lt;br /&gt;a protective arm&lt;br /&gt;on my shoulder&lt;br /&gt;a constant shelter&lt;br /&gt;in tough times.&lt;br /&gt;And older brother&lt;br /&gt;is strong,&lt;br /&gt;for you.&lt;br /&gt;He is worthy of trust,&lt;br /&gt;of love.&lt;br /&gt;Big brother watching&lt;br /&gt;like my conscience&lt;br /&gt;but bigger.&lt;br /&gt;I love to be around him,&lt;br /&gt;I want to show him&lt;br /&gt;that I trust him&lt;br /&gt;and love him.&lt;br /&gt;My big brother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, so I promised to post something every day... and since its past ten, and I had nothing, I went to my notebook and found this inside! So I'm glad I have something to post(even if its somewhat poorly written... as in I don't feel like I said everything that needed to be said about big brother's and I don't feel it was written well enough. Lets hope Jeff doesn't read it, lol.)&lt;br /&gt;I'm SO excited about tomorrow!&lt;br /&gt;And thats all I'm going to say for now... g'night, and you'll hear from me tomorrow! :-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-704167387611291068?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/704167387611291068/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=704167387611291068' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/704167387611291068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/704167387611291068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/12/big-brothers-love.html' title='A Big Brother&apos;s Love'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-743931599039364379</id><published>2008-12-13T16:57:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T18:06:24.209-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Free Verse'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Update'/><title type='text'>Unboxed</title><content type='html'>So I'm trying to publish one post a day... lets hope I can actually do that... I'll try to brainstorm enough.&lt;br /&gt;I'm trying out different templates... I kinda thought the other one was somewhat boring. This one's kind of cool. Lets see how long this one stays until I decide I want a new one, lol.&lt;br /&gt;I'm SO excited for Monday :-). Snowboarding is going to be awesome! (Or at least I hope... lol) I'm pretty sure I'll like it! I know I'll be falling almost the whole time... but maybe towards the end of the day I'll be able to stay up for a bit. Like I promised earlier when I wrote a small bit on skiing, I'm going to write something about boarding. Maybe I'll have the energy to write it on the way home monday and then post it that same day (or the next day).&lt;br /&gt;Hm... so I'm not totally sure what to write about, so I'm going to write one on not being boxed in. Its my current title for my blog. (Who knows, I might change it sometime...) It might not be the greatest since like most of my other posts its off the top off my head. Anyways... so I'll try to do my best, hope you like it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thoughts&lt;br /&gt;ideas&lt;br /&gt;views&lt;br /&gt;can't be hidden inside&lt;br /&gt;if its something to fight for.&lt;br /&gt;How can you feel passionate about something&lt;br /&gt;then hide it?&lt;br /&gt;How can you box it in&lt;br /&gt;if its important?&lt;br /&gt;If you have the Good News&lt;br /&gt;how can you not tell others?&lt;br /&gt;How can you not act&lt;br /&gt;like you have it&lt;br /&gt;in your heart?&lt;br /&gt;Be open.&lt;br /&gt;Don't box it in.&lt;br /&gt;Unboxed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-743931599039364379?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/743931599039364379/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=743931599039364379' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/743931599039364379'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/743931599039364379'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/12/unboxed.html' title='Unboxed'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-7786528467732156253</id><published>2008-12-12T22:28:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T18:06:39.653-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Musings'/><title type='text'>Heaven</title><content type='html'>I was just trying to write a verse on heaven, and all God's angel's and hosts in them. For once not much came to mind... I honestly can hardly imagine it. I read through revelations and what is described in there is mind boggling. The most common view of heaven is that its going to be all pure angels singing in one big white choir with gold instruments and heavenly melodies. It might not all be white, but the bible tells us how we will be praising Christ for an eternity. Wow... imagine what it will be like? The Christmas story of when God's heavenly hosts come to the shepherds... imagine how great and terrible they seemed. God's hosts, saying in all loud voices "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace on men to whom His favor rests"&lt;br /&gt;I love the song "By the Sea of Crystal". Whenever we sing it at church, I always think of heaven, and all the angels and saints in heaven.&lt;br /&gt;Its going to take alot of thought and work to write a passable verse on heaven. Maybe one day I'll be able to write something. But I don't think I'd ever be able to describe God's majesty and His kingdom on paper...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-7786528467732156253?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/7786528467732156253/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=7786528467732156253' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/7786528467732156253'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/7786528467732156253'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/12/heaven.html' title='Heaven'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-802572918417869191</id><published>2008-12-12T21:48:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T21:57:04.355-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Free Verse'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='snow'/><title type='text'>Cold</title><content type='html'>Instant cold&lt;br /&gt;tingling on my face&lt;br /&gt;the bare skin on my hands&lt;br /&gt;I can feel them start to numb&lt;br /&gt;My breath comes out in small clouds&lt;br /&gt;The night air seems so clear&lt;br /&gt;I can sharpness of it&lt;br /&gt;is almost tangible.&lt;br /&gt;An icy grip&lt;br /&gt;is grabbing at me&lt;br /&gt;My bones start to become chilled&lt;br /&gt;straight through me.&lt;br /&gt;I look up to the heavens on this clear night&lt;br /&gt;to see the moon bright and pale.&lt;br /&gt;Even the moon looks cold.&lt;br /&gt;This cold winter's night&lt;br /&gt;is so beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;But devastatingly so.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-802572918417869191?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/802572918417869191/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=802572918417869191' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/802572918417869191'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/802572918417869191'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/12/cold.html' title='Cold'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-3364303319621084726</id><published>2008-12-11T21:07:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T16:00:41.552-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Christmas'/><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The true meaning of Christmas&lt;br /&gt;isn't in fireside stories,&lt;br /&gt;gifts received and given&lt;br /&gt;of a jolly man from the north pole&lt;br /&gt;giving gifts to those who are good&lt;br /&gt;and none to those who aren't&lt;br /&gt;Christmas isn't parties of fancy dinners&lt;br /&gt;of turkey and chocolate desserts&lt;br /&gt;seeing friends is sure a plus,&lt;br /&gt;but is that the meaning?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Isn't Christmas about Christ?&lt;br /&gt;Being born in the stable of an inn,&lt;br /&gt;when no doors were open for Him.&lt;br /&gt;Christmas is about the shepherds who came&lt;br /&gt;and bowed down with awe&lt;br /&gt;Its about the One the wise men gave the gifts to&lt;br /&gt;gold, frankincense, myrrh.&lt;br /&gt;Christmas is for the one who the angels glorified.&lt;br /&gt;The heavenly host of God saying&lt;br /&gt;"Glory to God in the highest&lt;br /&gt;and on earth peace to men on whom His favor rests."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The true amazing love&lt;br /&gt;of being in the humbled state of man.&lt;br /&gt;Jesus is the meaning of Christmas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I posted this for lack of anything else to post, and because I feel bad that I haven't posted anything in a while. Its just a little something I typed up on the computer just now. I hope I wrote it well enough. I kinda like it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-3364303319621084726?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/3364303319621084726/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=3364303319621084726' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3364303319621084726'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3364303319621084726'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/12/true-meaning-of-christmas-isnt-in.html' title=''/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-6278999089862941342</id><published>2008-12-11T20:57:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T18:03:41.645-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Bible Verse'/><title type='text'>Colossians 3:12-17</title><content type='html'>Therefor, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, put on tender mercies, kindness, humility, meekness, long suffering; bearing with one another, and forgiving one another, if anyone has a complaint against another; even as Christ forgave you, so you also must do. But above all these things put on love, which is the bond of perfection. And let the peace of God rule in your hearts, to which also you were called in one body; and be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom, and as you sing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thats to God the Father through Him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-6278999089862941342?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/6278999089862941342/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=6278999089862941342' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/6278999089862941342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/6278999089862941342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/12/colossians-312-17.html' title='Colossians 3:12-17'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-4667928298790062587</id><published>2008-12-04T22:05:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T21:57:46.410-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Free Verse'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><title type='text'>What is Love?</title><content type='html'>What is love?&lt;br /&gt;An old man&lt;br /&gt;and a young boy.&lt;br /&gt;A smile lights the old mans face&lt;br /&gt;the boys face is tilted upwards&lt;br /&gt;adoration&lt;br /&gt;trust&lt;br /&gt;love.&lt;br /&gt;A girl is standing there.&lt;br /&gt;All alone&lt;br /&gt;she's scared,&lt;br /&gt;its dark all around her.&lt;br /&gt;Her brother steps towards her&lt;br /&gt;he puts his arm around her.&lt;br /&gt;A brother and sister.&lt;br /&gt;Love.&lt;br /&gt;A mother and child.&lt;br /&gt;Her face is serene and glowing&lt;br /&gt;a newborn child lays in her arms&lt;br /&gt;asleep and quiet.&lt;br /&gt;She smiles at the small perfect fingers&lt;br /&gt;the wonderfully formed face&lt;br /&gt;every detail&lt;br /&gt;brings joy to this mothers eyes.&lt;br /&gt;A small child,&lt;br /&gt;kneeling by her bedside.&lt;br /&gt;Her hands are folded&lt;br /&gt;her eyes are closed&lt;br /&gt;her face tilted upwards.&lt;br /&gt;She gives her unfailing childlike faith to Christ&lt;br /&gt;She doesn't ask why,&lt;br /&gt;she follows his lead&lt;br /&gt;with her trust.&lt;br /&gt;A man and his bride.&lt;br /&gt;Standing face to face&lt;br /&gt;hand in hand&lt;br /&gt;saying I do.&lt;br /&gt;Forever and always&lt;br /&gt;I want you by my side.&lt;br /&gt;Her face could light up the church&lt;br /&gt;And his smile the world.&lt;br /&gt;Is that true love?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is no greater love&lt;br /&gt;than the love Christ gave to us.&lt;br /&gt;He sent his Son to die&lt;br /&gt;to call us His own.&lt;br /&gt;We are unworthy,&lt;br /&gt;But Christ is full of mercy and love.&lt;br /&gt;Love that surpasses all else.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-4667928298790062587?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/4667928298790062587/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=4667928298790062587' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/4667928298790062587'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/4667928298790062587'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/12/what-is-love.html' title='What is Love?'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-1108446079488779756</id><published>2008-12-04T21:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T18:06:55.106-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Poetry'/><title type='text'>Elephant masks</title><content type='html'>So, this is for a friend. :-) I'm making it up as I go... because I don't have much time and I promised this poem for her...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of elephant masks&lt;br /&gt;and counselor tasks.&lt;br /&gt;I girl you alot&lt;br /&gt;though some people do not.&lt;br /&gt;Of honeydew melon&lt;br /&gt;and strawberry n cranberry smellin&lt;br /&gt;Cabin overnights&lt;br /&gt;with jellybean fights&lt;br /&gt;of hide and seek&lt;br /&gt;and not sleeping for a week&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-1108446079488779756?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/1108446079488779756/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=1108446079488779756' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/1108446079488779756'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/1108446079488779756'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/12/elephant-masks.html' title='Elephant masks'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-5314482481366581116</id><published>2008-12-02T21:47:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T18:08:57.571-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Free Verse'/><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I've been writing alot more free verse and poems lately... Some of them I've been posting here on my blog. But I'm starting to like writing them alot more. I wonder where all my writing will take me in the future. I thought for sure I would be writing stories, since I love them and all, but now I'm leaning towards verse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was just talking to someone. I asked for idea's for a verse, he said about how scary it would be to fall away from Jesus. I just wrote something not too long ago about a world without Christ. Maybe I'll be able to write something new with a somewhat similar theme.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have joy.&lt;br /&gt;My heart feels peace.&lt;br /&gt;I rest my worries,&lt;br /&gt;into Christ's care.&lt;br /&gt;I might not be rich,&lt;br /&gt;with money.&lt;br /&gt;Or I might not have good health,&lt;br /&gt;physically,&lt;br /&gt;but I am rich&lt;br /&gt;with grace&lt;br /&gt;I have health&lt;br /&gt;in my spirit&lt;br /&gt;and Christ is there&lt;br /&gt;for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now take it away.&lt;br /&gt;pretend I've fallen&lt;br /&gt;If I'm not wealthy,&lt;br /&gt;If I'm not healthy&lt;br /&gt;I have nothing.&lt;br /&gt;No reason to live,&lt;br /&gt;yes scared.&lt;br /&gt;Scared of death,&lt;br /&gt;of the unknown&lt;br /&gt;without the all knowing Jesus&lt;br /&gt;my Savior.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-5314482481366581116?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/5314482481366581116/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=5314482481366581116' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/5314482481366581116'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/5314482481366581116'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/12/ive-been-writing-alot-more-free-verse.html' title=''/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-24560397499565579</id><published>2008-12-01T21:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T18:09:10.940-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Free Verse'/><title type='text'>Dreams</title><content type='html'>Its dark,&lt;br /&gt;I cannot see.&lt;br /&gt;There is no light&lt;br /&gt;I turn and everything has changed.&lt;br /&gt;Am I me?&lt;br /&gt;Or a bystander?&lt;br /&gt;I try to run&lt;br /&gt;My feet feel like lead&lt;br /&gt;closer and closer...&lt;br /&gt;slower and heavier&lt;br /&gt;I can not move&lt;br /&gt;I can't escape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I bolt up.&lt;br /&gt;Cold sweat on my brow&lt;br /&gt;It was only a dream,&lt;br /&gt;so I close my eyes again...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-24560397499565579?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/24560397499565579/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=24560397499565579' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/24560397499565579'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/24560397499565579'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/12/dreams.html' title='Dreams'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-1879524960609154853</id><published>2008-11-26T19:23:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T18:09:23.904-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Free Verse'/><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Try to imagine&lt;br /&gt;a world without our Lord&lt;br /&gt;dark&lt;br /&gt;desolate&lt;br /&gt;empty.&lt;br /&gt;How can they live?&lt;br /&gt;What is the point in life if none in Christ?&lt;br /&gt;They have their twisted little worlds&lt;br /&gt;in their dark hopeless minds.&lt;br /&gt;Have they no hope?&lt;br /&gt;Without You-&lt;br /&gt;none.&lt;br /&gt;You're a light&lt;br /&gt;in this world.&lt;br /&gt;You bring meaning&lt;br /&gt;in my life.&lt;br /&gt;A life with You&lt;br /&gt;a life of joy and peace.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-1879524960609154853?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/1879524960609154853/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=1879524960609154853' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/1879524960609154853'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/1879524960609154853'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/11/try-to-imagine-world-without-our-lord.html' title=''/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-6636831564781665896</id><published>2008-11-25T21:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T18:09:38.231-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Free Verse'/><title type='text'>Fairy Tales...</title><content type='html'>Enchanted frogs&lt;br /&gt;golden maidens&lt;br /&gt;fierce dragons&lt;br /&gt;knights in shining armor&lt;br /&gt;to rescue me&lt;br /&gt;chivalry&lt;br /&gt;secretive glades of pastures green&lt;br /&gt;fairies dancing&lt;br /&gt;flying&lt;br /&gt;laughing&lt;br /&gt;glittering&lt;br /&gt;spiraling up&lt;br /&gt;shooting stars&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-6636831564781665896?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/6636831564781665896/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=6636831564781665896' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/6636831564781665896'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/6636831564781665896'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/11/fairy-tales.html' title='Fairy Tales...'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-798564164513185188</id><published>2008-11-19T18:30:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T22:00:47.919-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='snow'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Poetry'/><title type='text'>Snow</title><content type='html'>Downward drifting&lt;br /&gt;gently sifting&lt;br /&gt;pure white flakes&lt;br /&gt;cold and crisp&lt;br /&gt;soft and brisk&lt;br /&gt;this snow makes;&lt;br /&gt;glittering castles&lt;br /&gt;wonderland tassels&lt;br /&gt;ice and snow&lt;br /&gt;forever falling&lt;br /&gt;gently calling&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope you like my first pitiful attempt at poetry and free verse. I don't think I'd be able to ever compare my best with heidi's worst (if she has any)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-798564164513185188?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/798564164513185188/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=798564164513185188' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/798564164513185188'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/798564164513185188'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/11/snow.html' title='Snow'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-4656806513221343570</id><published>2008-11-13T21:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T18:15:28.629-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Pieces of Prose'/><title type='text'>Downhill</title><content type='html'>Just to let you all know, this isn't about boarding, because... I've never been boarding before. BUT, it is about blading, which is super cool too. I'm sure I'll be able to write another one after my first time boarding... except probably alot slower, lol.  Just to let you know, I haven't edited anything on it yet, because I'm basically really bored right now, so its another quickly write and post thing. Which is what this blog consists of... so if it sucks, then... its because I didn't get too much time to write it, and its late ;-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The icy cold wind sent my hair streaming behind me. The sleek white snow beneath my snow blades sent me speeding down the steep hill. The exhilaration of the feeling made my heart beat faster. I slowed down for a moment and took in a deep breath of the fresh crisp air around me. The tree's all around me glittered in the sunlight as the snow and ice reflected off of their bare branches. I felt as though I was in a winter wonderland. A skier came down the trail behind me silently, and me after having slowed down, watched as he whizzed past. I smiled slowly and put my blades straight again and sped down the hill once more. My fingers were half frozen, my face almost numb, and I was sore from numerous falls, but none of that mattered when I felt the wind and sun in my face and the adrenaline in my veins.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-4656806513221343570?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/4656806513221343570/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=4656806513221343570' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/4656806513221343570'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/4656806513221343570'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/11/downhill.html' title='Downhill'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-5496319691026905521</id><published>2008-11-06T21:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T18:15:58.948-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Pieces of Prose'/><title type='text'>Amnesia</title><content type='html'>There I was. I was staring at myself in the mirror... trying to recognize the reflection that stared back at me. Her midnight black hair shimmered in the short shoulder length that it fell to. My icy blue eyes searched for something, anything. I remembered nothing. My complexion was flawless and light. My dainty nose held no freckle or blemish, but only pale skin, like the rest of me. My slightly arching eyebrows suited my petite, mature face. If I had to guess at the age of the reflection before me, I might have guessed 17 or 18.&lt;br /&gt; I propped myself up on the dingy sink and let my head drop from the questioningly gaze from my image in the mirror. One stray thought kept on coming into my head, over and over. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Who am I?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I stood back up straight, and without looking back to the cracked mirror, I turned around and sat in the corner of the small bathroom. I hugged my knee's to my chest and sat there, staring. The off-white tiles in my line of vision had smudges of dirt and residue on them, the corners between the poorly tiled walls and the linoleum flooring had dust, dirt, and who knows what else in them.&lt;br /&gt; I had no idea why I was here, what I was doing, and most importantly, who I was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please excuse this. It had to come out... bad thing for me (and those who read it) That its coming out at the end of day... past the time I usually go to bed... when I write my worst. Maybe one day I'll edit it. But for now, this is what you get ;-)&lt;br /&gt;I'm off to sleep, and my dreams. G'night!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-5496319691026905521?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/5496319691026905521/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=5496319691026905521' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/5496319691026905521'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/5496319691026905521'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/11/amnesia.html' title='Amnesia'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-3274858444305402531</id><published>2008-11-05T22:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T18:16:09.274-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Pieces of Prose'/><title type='text'>Sunshine and darkness.</title><content type='html'>There they were, they were almost identical, but both of them also could not be more different. There they stood face to face. One was blonde, her natural light hair shimmered in the light of the sun, her blue eyes held hope, promise, and love. Her smile went past her thin lips, past her lightly freckled cheeks, and radiated from even her eyes. Her figure was slight, and petite.&lt;br /&gt;Across from her stood her twin, dark and shadowed. She reflected her sister like a sick reflection of a mirror. Her hair was dry and obviously dyed. It gleamed a dull black, her lifeless blue eyes had dark shadows beneath them as she sneered at her joyful sister. Her pale face looked shallow and starved. Her frame was slighter, thinner, more petite than that of her sister. She looked unhealthy, almost too frail to be able to stand. Her black ragged clothing made her look worse.&lt;br /&gt;How did it get that way? One so full of life, another, so hopeless. The first made a decision. She gave her life to God. The second... she gave her life to the evil lusts of the world. She chose to be what the world wanted, and the world rejected her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, that was somewhat pitiful. But, for lack of anything to write, I started rambling on what nonsense was in my head. By the way, none of it was edited. I decided since not many people read my blog, I might as well not bother editing. Its supposed to be a good exercise in writing.. or so they say.&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, cheers and g'night all my adoring fans! (which amount to... one or two people? lol)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-3274858444305402531?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/3274858444305402531/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=3274858444305402531' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3274858444305402531'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3274858444305402531'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/11/sunshine-and-darkness.html' title='Sunshine and darkness.'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-6722930002216273922</id><published>2008-11-05T21:43:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T21:45:49.976-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Quotes'/><title type='text'>Quotes</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);"&gt;Here are some quotes that I like about sisters...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);font-family:georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;" &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;   Having a sister is like having a best friend you can't get rid of.  You know whatever you do, they'll still be there.  ~Amy Li&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);font-family:georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;" &gt; A sister is a little bit of childhood that can never be lost.  ~Marion C. Garretty&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);font-family:georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;" &gt; If you don't understand how a woman could both love her sister dearly and want to wring her neck at the same time, then you were probably an only child.  ~Linda Sunshine&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);font-family:georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;" &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);font-family:georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;" &gt; You can kid the world.  But not your sister.  ~Charlotte Gray&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);font-family:georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;" &gt; A sister can be seen as someone who is both ourselves and very much not ourselves - a special kind of double.  ~Toni Morrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);font-family:georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;" &gt; If your sister is in a tearing hurry to go out and cannot catch your eye, she's wearing your best sweater.  ~Pam Brown&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;lol, all of these quotes are true... especially that last one. Ok, so what if I'm the one who is wearing the sweater... lol.&lt;br /&gt;Here are some friendship quotes. I dedicate them to my best friends (you girls know who you are!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);font-family:georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;" &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);"&gt;  A friend is one of the nicest things you can have, and one of the best things you can be.  ~Douglas Pagels&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friendship isn't a big thing - it's a million little things.  ~Author Unknown&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);font-family:georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;" &gt; You can always tell a real friend:  when you've made a fool of yourself she doesn't feel you've done a permanent job.  ~Laurence J. Peter&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);font-family:georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;" &gt; Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art.... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival.  ~C.S. Lewis&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);"&gt;A friend is a person with whom I may be sincere. Before him, I may think aloud.  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);"&gt;Friendship is born at the moment when one person says to another "What! You too? I thought that of no one but myself.” ~C.S. Lewis&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hope you guys like these... I know I do. :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-family:georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-6722930002216273922?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/6722930002216273922/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=6722930002216273922' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/6722930002216273922'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/6722930002216273922'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/11/quotes.html' title='Quotes'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-5103189827443236721</id><published>2008-10-29T15:17:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T18:11:19.778-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Free Verse'/><title type='text'>Music - By Heidi Luimes</title><content type='html'>This is a poem Heidi wrote. I LOVE it! Without music, life would be flat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A string&lt;br /&gt;gently plucked&lt;br /&gt;hammered in a whirl&lt;br /&gt;of thunder&lt;br /&gt;painting pictures&lt;br /&gt;with horsehair&lt;br /&gt;and a thousand tiny vibrations&lt;br /&gt;voices&lt;br /&gt;from a realm&lt;br /&gt;known only by our souls&lt;br /&gt;and the Creator&lt;br /&gt;calling&lt;br /&gt;screaming&lt;br /&gt;whispering&lt;br /&gt;to those who listen.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-5103189827443236721?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/5103189827443236721/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=5103189827443236721' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/5103189827443236721'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/5103189827443236721'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/10/music-by-heidi-luimes.html' title='Music - By Heidi Luimes'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-6603769024274136796</id><published>2008-10-28T12:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T18:16:22.655-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Fiction'/><title type='text'>Kailei</title><content type='html'>I'm starting to write another short (or many longer) story. I have more that I've already worked on, but here's the first couple paragraphs. Its probably going to be changed and edited alot before the end, so here's the roughest draft of the beginning (I know Heidi wants to read the final draft of this story and another I'm working on :-) )&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; The two of us lay there staring at the sky. Two sisters who could not be more different. She was fourteen, I was five. The elder girl lay on the soft grass with her hands behind her head. Her eyelids drooped over her bright blue eyes, and her golden hair that shone in the sunlight was fanned all about her. She looked to be tall, and slenderly built. She looked carefree and happy. As though she had no worries in the world.&lt;br /&gt; "Doesn't that one look like a bird?" She looked at me and pointed to some clouds which did look like a bird. I continued staring at the sky without speaking. Out of the two of us, I was the more silent one. "My little silent shadow," is what Aideen had sometimes called me with a smile brightening her face.&lt;br /&gt; The slow ever changing clouds whirled in white shapes and forms above me with the sky blue behind them. I lay there in silent serenity as my sister got up and wandered aimlessly through the field in search of flowers.&lt;br /&gt; The grass was soft beneath my slight figure, and the sun was warm on my clear light skin. The wind blew my dark loose curls around my face as the tree's in the near distance whispered their sweet secrets to one another. A brown bird darted through my view of the sky and captured my attention. The small brown creature darted into the first tree on the edge of the forest and joined in its small chirps with the countless other birds of the forest.&lt;br /&gt;I looked up and saw my sister with a small bunch of lilies walking towards me. "Come now, we should be heading back dear one." She gave me a warm smile as her dainty hand closed around my small childish one.&lt;br /&gt; "Why don't we walk through the forest Deeny?" Aideen looked down at me mildly surprised that I had spoken.&lt;br /&gt; "We have our reasons, little one. Why should you wish to walk through there anyways?" A silence stretched out as I looked up through my small dark eyes to her bright blue ones.&lt;br /&gt; I whispered so that Aideen could not hear me, "Because the tree's feel like home."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-6603769024274136796?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/6603769024274136796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=6603769024274136796' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/6603769024274136796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/6603769024274136796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/10/kailei.html' title='Kailei'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-4764575559155560415</id><published>2008-10-23T22:35:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T18:11:01.749-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Update'/><title type='text'>Random Thoughts</title><content type='html'>Its not really late at night, but late enough that I'm not really tired, and have alot of thoughts going through my head with nothing much to do.&lt;br /&gt;Tonight I helped out at our church's girls club, usually I'm in the class with my grade six girls. Its somewhat hard for me because I want to add to the discussion, but I don't know what questions to ask the girls without being too simple, or too hard for them. I sometimes know the answers, but its a different thing altogether asking the questions.&lt;br /&gt;This evening though I was the only jr councellor that showed up, we usually have four of us, one for each group. So this evening I did the tasks for all four groups, so I didn't have a chance to be with my group for the bible study.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmm, this time of night my thoughts are usually the craziest. I don't know if I'm the only one, but sometimes I have this reeeally random thought in my head, then it changes, and then it changes some more, and before I know it there's a whole story in my head trying to get out. Most of the time I can't let it get out on paper.. too bad.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes its really weird, but I'd be thinking of something to do with a trampoline, and before you know it I have this whole science fiction story in my head. (its weird, because that is what happened before... and I'm not even a fan of science fiction)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My brother is still out in Alberta. I miss him tons! On Sunday I talked to him and he said that he might be back in maybe one to two weeks, then I just talked to him tonight and he said about a month... :-(&lt;br /&gt;I miss him lots! But, he's doing good up there, and getting lots of good work done.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-4764575559155560415?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/4764575559155560415/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=4764575559155560415' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/4764575559155560415'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/4764575559155560415'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/10/random-thoughts.html' title='Random Thoughts'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-6129135010221758071</id><published>2008-10-23T22:10:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-23T22:11:59.769-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Comments</title><content type='html'>Hey everyone!&lt;br /&gt;It'd be great to get some feedback on some of my posts so I know what you all think of it so far!&lt;br /&gt;(I haven't gotten a single comment yet!) So feel free to comment however you want to on any of my posts!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-6129135010221758071?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/6129135010221758071/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=6129135010221758071' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/6129135010221758071'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/6129135010221758071'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/10/comments.html' title='Comments'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-1203058214780020253</id><published>2008-10-23T12:43:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T18:15:45.778-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Pieces of Prose'/><title type='text'>Cottage Life</title><content type='html'>I wrote this one evening during our stay at Limberlost Point (In early June) I kinda liked it, maybe you guys will too...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The breeze tugs at my short brown hair as I bask in a burning hot sun. Gently, the waves lap against the side of the raft. Up, down, up, down the rhythm gently lulls my mind into a lazy daze. My once wet skin is rapidly drying, and the towel beneath me becomes damp.&lt;br /&gt;Voices in the distance slowly bring me out of my peaceful daze. I look up from the spot where I lay to se a man and a boy climbing into a small motor boat. Small wisps of my hair screen my vision.&lt;br /&gt;The wind dies down a bit as I lay my head back down to the towel and once again return to my idle thoughts and sleepy state of mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its not very good, but I was bored when I wrote it. I still have my journal from the cottage, and I have many more random paragraphs, but this time not about me and my lazy vacation afternoon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-1203058214780020253?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/1203058214780020253/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=1203058214780020253' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/1203058214780020253'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/1203058214780020253'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/10/cottage-life.html' title='Cottage Life'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-8791107227537214336</id><published>2008-10-22T12:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T18:03:26.168-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Bible Verse'/><title type='text'>1 Corinthians - Love</title><content type='html'>This is one of my favorite chapters. Me and Megan were talking about it on the last night at tamarack (and some other verses such as 1 Peter 3:2-4)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal, If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.&lt;br /&gt;Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres.&lt;br /&gt;Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophecy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part' then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.&lt;br /&gt;And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-8791107227537214336?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/8791107227537214336/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=8791107227537214336' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/8791107227537214336'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/8791107227537214336'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/10/1-corinthians-love.html' title='1 Corinthians - Love'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-3686514377603060881</id><published>2008-10-20T13:55:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T18:10:42.888-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Update'/><title type='text'>Starting New...</title><content type='html'>The old blog site I had didn't work for some odd reason. I had a hotmail account for the username and it wouldn't accept that when I tried to log in with either of my accounts (hotmail or gmail)&lt;br /&gt;So now I'll have to start over, no big deal though, since I only had a couple of posts that I easily could copy and paste.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-3686514377603060881?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/3686514377603060881/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=3686514377603060881' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3686514377603060881'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/3686514377603060881'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/10/starting-new.html' title='Starting New...'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-8346953225492089965</id><published>2008-10-20T13:54:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T18:03:10.947-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Short Story'/><title type='text'>The Stone Figure</title><content type='html'>&lt;p id="dlsx0" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;This is a story that I sent into an adult short story contest, I tied for second place. The funny thing about it though was I was able to send up to three entries, so I sent another one before this. The other one had so much thought and time put into it, and this one I wrote in an hour (starting from scratch, to sending it in, in one hour) and this was the one that I got a placing with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p id="dlsx0" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p id="dlsx0" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;The Stone Figure&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p id="dlsx0" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p id="dlsx0" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;   Deirdre&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx1" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx3" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; &lt;i id="dlsx4"&gt;The pain seared through my whole body as I was rooted to the spot. Every part of me screamed to run away, to hide from her, but I couldn't move. The agony seeped into every corner of my body and my mind screamed silent pleas.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx5" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx7" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; &lt;i id="dlsx8"&gt;It had been too many years to count since the enchantment fell on me. I still remembered that day as though it had happened yesterday. I could almost still feel the searing pain race through my veins when memory of it came. But, of coarse I no longer had veins. &lt;/i&gt; &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx9" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; &lt;i id="dlsx10"&gt;I was stone.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx11" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; &lt;i id="dlsx12"&gt;I held the same position while seasons came and went for many years. Deep in the forest I sat, always watching, always waiting. My deep brown hair, long and wild, my pale beautiful skin, my curious brown eyes, and even my long flowing skirt was now stone. &lt;/i&gt; &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx13" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; &lt;i id="dlsx14"&gt;All on me was stone, all but the red scarf around my neck.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx15" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; &lt;i id="dlsx16"&gt;I could not turn to look at it, no, but others have. Sometimes a young girl or boy would wander into the small clearing and stare at me with wonder. None of them knew me I suppose, for it had been many years that I'd been here. Most of them just walked up and looked at my shoulders at the strange scarf. Some of them would try to pull on it to take it, but it wouldn't move. And the curious thing was though, whenever one tried to take it, a crow would come and chase them off. This crow seemed to be a guardian of sorts.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx17" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; &lt;i id="dlsx18"&gt;I knew the scarf held the clue to releasing me, for I had never owned a red scarf in my life. The biggest mystery was not how it came to be there, but why none could lift it.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx19" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; &lt;i id="dlsx20"&gt;None could, till he came along.&lt;/i&gt;  &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx21" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx23" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;   Tomas&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx24" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx26" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; “Tomas, get your nose out of that book of yours and come help me.” My older brother Rowan startled me. I looked up at him from my spot at the base of the tree. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx27" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; “What do you want now Rowan?” I asked with a small sigh. Because he was older, I always seemed to have to be his shadow helping him all the time. I didn't mind most of the time though. Being as shy and hesitant as I was I could not do much without him.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx28" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; “We are supposed to start on the wood pile. Its not going to be long before we will be needing it.” He walked towards me and handed me an ax. Without another word I followed him into the woods.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx30" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;  &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx31" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; The tree's near our cottage produced wood that burnt too fast. This was now to be our second winter away from court, and we wouldn't make the same mistake again.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx32" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; We went further into the forest looking for good wood. It wasn't long until we came to a grove of strong solid trees.  &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx33" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; We then started to work on the hard task of chopping down some these large trees.  &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx34" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; “Put your back into it Tomas!” Rowan said angrily. Then he mumbled, “I bet your mind is off into one of those books of yours. The boy more than likely would not know an ax from a tree if his precious books did not tell him.”&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx35" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; His words stung, but as usual, I tried to ignored them. I wasn't as strong as he was, so it stood to reason that I could not do as much as him.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx36" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; Today though, I felt a bit of anger well up in me, but not enough to do something. I just mumbled under my breath about how I, at least was not a simpleton and could read.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx37" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; “What was that?” Rowan peered at me questioningly&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx38" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; “Nothing.” I had to let it go. There was nothing I could do but continue to ignore his hurtful comments. “I am going to take a break for a little while. I will come back soon.”&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx39" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; Without waiting to hear his reply, I turned on my heels and walked quickly towards what seemed to be a clearing.  &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx40" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; My father, mother, and even my older brother always were disappointed in me for not being what they had wanted me to be. I was always expected to be either a fighter or a farmer. My father was once a knight of the king, but after many years of faithful service, and a newly made wound to his knee, the king granted him a small lot of land in which to farm with his sons. My eldest brother was not Rowan, no,there was another older yet than him. My eldest brother was now away taking up the place of his father as a knight. Rowan was always more a settled one though, so he chose to take up farming his fathers lands. My grandfather was also a farmer, and my parents found no shame in the hard labor of the large task of farming lands.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx41" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; I was different though, I had not shown qualities of either.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx42" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; Life back in court held many opportunities to read, write, and learn from scribes and learned men. There were libraries filled with stacks of books in which to learn more from. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx43" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; My favorite books to read always had something to do with history of these lands, or the legends of the former people who dwelt in them. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx44" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; I continued on, not being far from where my brother was still chopping wood. A small clearing seemed to be ahead, so I walked on a little longer.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx45" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; I snapped back into the present as I walked into the clearing. There, in the middle of the clearing was a statue of a fair young maiden. So intricate were the details of this statue, it looked as though she could, at any moment, get up and walk towards me. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx46" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; Small creeping plants twined around her, and moss also grew on her. Though, as old as it seemed, the stone in no way was crumbling or cracking. The strangest part of this statue though, was the vibrant blood red scarf laying on her shoulders. Not a single stain or blemish was upon the scarf.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx47" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; I heard someone coming up from behind me in the woods.   &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx48" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; “Tomas, look, I'm sorry. You need not get so upset about it!” When I didn't respond for a long time, he let out a small exasperated sigh, and sat on the ground near the statue. “Might as well eat now, good time as ever...” He mumbled.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx49" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; “Rowan, look.” I pointed towards the statue. My brother had paid no mind to it. Clearly he didn't think anything unusual about it.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx50" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; “Yes Tomas, its very nice.” He spoke as if I was a young boy showing him something simple.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx51" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; “Do you not think it odd? Look, it surely must have been here many years, and yet on the statue itself shows no sign of age or blemish.And look at the red scarf on her. It is without any stain.”&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx52" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; My brother looked mildly annoyed with me now. “I'm betting that the scarf was just placed there by a wayward child.” To prove his point he walked up to the statue and reached for the scarf. Suddenly, a crow darted out of the nearest tree, and stood defensively on the scarf. Every time Rowan reached and got near it, the bird let out another screech.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx53" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; Even with the bird there, Rowan still tried to take the scarf. The scarf did not come off, it was as if the scarf too was stone.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx55" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; I walked up to the statue too, and after Rowan decided to give up on trying to retrieve the scarf, I reached up and touched it.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx56" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; “Its no use Tomas, the thing is stone too. Besides, the bird will probably give you something to think about.”&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx57" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; When I got near the statue, the crow took one good look at me, then flew away. Rowan's eyes must have mirrored my own shock, for upon my touch, the scarf fell to the ground. It was as if my touch released it from the statue.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx58" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; “I must have loosed it when I tried to take it off,” Rowan stood up and snatched the scarf off the ground. “Mother will be happy to have something to keep her warm this winter.”&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx59" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; “Rowan, give it back.” Something in my voice must have shocked Rowan, for immediately he obeyed. I did not know why I had reacted the way I just had. It confused me more than Rowan.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx60" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; The scarf was blood red, with intricate patterns on the side that we had seen. I turned it over to inspect the other side. This had a riddle on it, and it read like this:&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx61" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx63" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;The scarf has been taken, the guardian you passed  &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx64" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;To break this spell, I give you one last task.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx65" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;For stone I was, and stone I will be.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx66" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;Until the day, when you can release me.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx67" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx69" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; The verse was confusing. A spell? What was this about a guardian? Then I thought of the crow that had given my brother such a hard time.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx70" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; I continued reading message on the scarf.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx71" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx73" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;Travel over lands you've never seen before,&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx74" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;travel over hills, through forests and more.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx75" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;Retrieve my sister scarf, and put her on stone,&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx76" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;still though, my dear brother, your task is not done.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx77" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;Though questions come in many a call,&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx78" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;to break this spell, do not answer at all.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx79" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;When you've kept your secret, I promise to you,&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx80" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;this girl will be released, and all will be true.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx81" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;Happiness you will have and joy a plenty,&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx82" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;but not, my dear sir, if you come back home empty.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx83" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx85" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; My mind whirled with the enormity of what had just happened. This was no statue, no, it was a fair young maiden trapped in stone. I looked at the figure again, it was no wonder she seemed so lifelike. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx86" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; I had a decision to make, would I do what was asked of me? Would I go searching over hills, through forest, and in foreign countries to free her? Would I be able to keep this secret? And would the promise that was given me that this figure of a maiden would become flesh be true?&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx87" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; I turned to look at Rowan who was lazily asleep in the shade of a tall oak. I would leave them, I would leave them all and make my own fortune in traveling, and in breaking the spell set upon her.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx88" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; I would leave at first light tomorrow.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx89" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx91" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;   Deirdre&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx92" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx94" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; &lt;i id="dlsx95"&gt;And so, he came. He spoke not of it to his companion, which I later found out to be his elder brother. &lt;/i&gt; &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx96" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; &lt;i id="dlsx97"&gt;All through the long days of waiting after that, I always thought of his dark brown hair. I thought of his bright, kind blue eyes that looked upon me with awe. The same eyes that read the scarf with understanding, became full of fierce determination.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx98" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; &lt;i id="dlsx99"&gt;I also remembered how his brother looked down on him and ordered around like that of a servant, and how the one with dark hair always obeyed.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx100" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; &lt;i id="dlsx101"&gt;My fate now rested in the hands of the one that was called Tomas. With all my heart I wished him to succeed.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx102" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx104" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;   Tomas&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx105" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx107" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; It had been hard to leave without any explanations. My mother was distraught, and my brother confused. But I was sure that soon they would forget me. I would be gone a long time, for I had not much basis on where to go to search for this twin red scarf.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx109" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; I had read alot in my youth about legends and myths, and one of them contained a magical red scarf. The storyteller swore that it was true. I remembered little to none of this story, but it was what I had based my journey on. I had to, for there was nothing else I could do.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx111" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;  &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx112" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;   Rowan -2 years later-&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx114" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx116" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; “Is that dear Tomas?” Asked my mother getting up from the seat by the window. “Oh, Rowan! Rejoice, for my son has come back home!”&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx118" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; I looked up bewildered from where I was by the table. Tomas? Back here home? Why, that fellow had been gone almost two years now. It couldn't be him. He'd vanished without any explanation.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx120" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; I remembered how my heart had been heavy with guilt, for I thought it had been because of me that he had left. I always played over and over in my mind all things I had said to him, and all the times I looked down on him because of who he was. The day he left was the day I found out how much I really loved him. He was my brother, and had always been there for me, whether it was to help with chores, for advice, or if it was to get out of trouble when we were young.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx122" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; I hastily went to the window to see an older version of my brother walking towards the cottage. I broke into a big smile, and my brown eyes misted over. I ran towards him, shouting his name.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx124" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; Time seemed to slow down as he looked up at me. His eyes seemed to be filled with new knowledge, and his once akward smile was now confident. The rolled up sleeves of his tunic revealed a new large scar. I could only imagine what a journey he had to have changed from an insecure youth eight of ten to a young confident man of twenty.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx126" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; As soon as I reached him I pulled him in a fierce hug, I held onto him tight, not wanting to let him go.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx128" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; “I thought you were dead. When you left and we had no news of you, we thought you had died.”&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx130" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; “Oh Rowan, I missed you all so much.” As I pulled away I saw Tomas's eyes mist up.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx132" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; Just then I noticed that behind my brother was the figure in the forest. She was not stone though, no, she was breathing and alive. Her deep brown hair that was once locked in stone, now fanned around her in a wild way and framed her beautiful face. Her large brown eyes looked curiously up at me from the spot behind my brother. She was a young woman, and looked about seven of ten. Her long flowing dress was the color of the stone she had been imprisoned in. And the scarf that seemed to only be fit for a queen rested upon her graceful shoulders. She wore it well, and with pride.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx134" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; “This is Deirdre, the statue in the forest,” his eyes grew brighter and his his smile lit up as he looked back at her and winked. Deirdre blushed and smiled shyly back, her eyes full of adoration and trust. “There is plenty of time for explanations and stories later, but right now I think I can smell some of mother's good cooking from over here. And trust me, I've waited a long time to eat that good food again.”&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx136" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; I could not help but notice as we were walking towards our home how different Tomas was, and how his eyes always softened when he looked at Deirdre. They looked at each other as though there was no one else in the world but them two. I didn't know what had happened, and how Tomas had released her, but I knew from then on that they would always be together.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx138" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx140" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;   Tomas&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx142" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx144" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; It had been many years since the long journey. And now me and my wife, Deirdre, had two children, and a third on the way. I never forgot the magical way she had turned from stone to flesh when I placed the much sought after scarf around her shoulders.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx146" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; The moment she looked at me for the first time, and I at her, I knew the promise that was made was fulfilled. I had not known such happiness and joy as I had since then.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx148" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; I would always remember what Deirdre told me of the long years of waiting for someone to come along that could lift the scarf, and so lift the spell. She told me of many who had tried to take the scarf, but always the crow would scare them off, for they were not the right one.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx150" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; I also had many memories that I kept to myself of the long, hard journey. Most of it still at times made me wake in the night with terrors. Things had happened that I would always be scarred with. Deirdre helped me heal some of the wounds. And now I once again could say I was a happier man because of her.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx152" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; When I came home though, not everything was as happy as I had wished it to be. My father's chair by the hearth was empty, and so it had been for a not even a month before I came home.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p id="dlsx154" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"&gt; I had known sorrow that day, and I did grieve over my father, but I had my whole life ahead of me. And I was sharing it with with my angel.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-8346953225492089965?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/8346953225492089965/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=8346953225492089965' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/8346953225492089965'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/8346953225492089965'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/10/stone-figure.html' title='The Stone Figure'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3552955717855369770.post-1551534272698533636</id><published>2008-10-20T13:54:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T18:10:29.317-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Update'/><title type='text'>First Post!</title><content type='html'>Ok, so basically in this blog all I'll be having is my short stories or random poems and stuff I feel like posting. I must warn you though, sometimes its going to be really random. lol. There are also a bunch of poems and short stories that I have read from other places and really liked, so if I post something that isn't my own work, there will be credits at the bottom of the post.&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, enjoy!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3552955717855369770-1551534272698533636?l=writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/feeds/1551534272698533636/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3552955717855369770&amp;postID=1551534272698533636' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/1551534272698533636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3552955717855369770/posts/default/1551534272698533636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writingsofbrittany.blogspot.com/2008/10/first-post.html' title='First Post!'/><author><name>Brittany Bakker</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15353261842547384743</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='22' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JDYWoSRHwmM/TCigC2o7lXI/AAAAAAAAAG8/9W03fzgA8Rw/S220/26571_379568755495_692825495_4280723_8300448_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
