The Spider Slayer

There is nothing more horrifying than picking up your shampoo bottle during a shower and discovering a spider clinging to the wall with perhaps a sheer terror that the Great Allison found him out. If I were a spider, I would quake in fear as well having my hide-out destroyed in a matter of seconds by me. Well I think we can agree that the spider and I were both equally surprised.

But it's come to my attention since last night's duel-to-the-death that...I am the Spider Slayer. It's as if I am the only soul in the family burdened to slay the foul beasts within our home. I keep our territory safe. If it wasn't for me, our floors would be crawling with these eight-legged freaks of nature.

So I am here to bestow advice upon the weak, who have not the talent I possess in slaying spiders. Hear my words, O' weakling! For they might very well save your life one day.

Slaying spiders not only requires the focus of one's mind, but also the knowledge as to which weapon one must equip in any sort of terrain a sudden battle might break out. Here are your weapon options when suddenly coming face to face with a Bathroom Spider:

The Shampoo Bottle - the most common choice of weapon. Also great for hair.

The Towel - whip that demon back into Hades.

The Plunger - one of the most versatile weapons. Easy to slay spiders hiding behind the toilet fortress.

The Soap Dispenser - an easily breakable weapon, but used out of desperation. Can get the job done but continue with extreme caution.

When coming face to face with a common House Spider, the following weapons may be used as directed:

The Giant's Shoe - you know that one sibling who's feet are twice as large as yours? Go find that shoe. And use it. Use it with all your might, for this weapon is the mightiest weapon of all. It will never break, it will never betray your aim, it will never spare a spider's meager life. The Giant's Shoe is the Ultimate Weapon.

The Flip Flop - though a flip flop is not as large and mighty as the Giant's Shoe, it is as fast as lightning and gets the job done before you can even release a battle cry.

The Book of Never-Letting-Go - this weapon can only be found in households carrying bookcases. Though a book might be a bit difficult to wield, once it hits it's target at full force, it never has to hit it again.

These are some of the most common weapons a beginner spider slayer must learn to equip. Once the spider has fallen in battle and no longer can recoil itself from the corners of death and despair, now is the time to dispose of it's body. 

Rip out a giant's handful of kleenax/tissue, paper towels or most commonly a roll of toilet paper and grasp the black scribble left before you. A giant's handful will prevent you from even feeling that it is betwixt your fingers!

Next, cast it into the chasm for whence it came. Toss it into the fiery depths of Mordor. Dispose the demon into the toilet of Hades and flush it's sins out of your righteous sight. Then at last, you have successfully defeated your adversary. 

And that, my friends, is how to slay a spider properly. Perhaps one day you will be as great of a spider slayer as myself *chuckles*...but until then, I wish you a fine life!

A fine, fine life, indeed. One without spiders hiding behind your shampoo bottles.

The Perfector

There's something that happens to the human soul when a family member dies. There is a part of you that has disappeared and you know it can never be replaced. But you have to do your best to somehow move on in this world that hasn't even stopped turning for your loss. Allow me to share my story, from the eyes of a distant niece.

On November 24th at 2:25am, my uncle Bernie passed away. He bravely fought cancer for two years and Jesus came to take him home earlier than any of us expected, but I suppose Jesus was too excited for such a jolly good man to be with him that he just couldn't wait any longer!

Uncle Bernie lived in Canada, where my brother and I lived for 8 months. We are insanely close to his sons, so we happened to come over every single Saturday, Monday or Tuesday, and Thursday--on average, 3 days a week, to hang out with them! We loved coming over, and my aunt would cook up that farmer sausage lasagna, which was probably a recipe she borrowed from the kitchens of heaven. We would eat with our cousins' whole family and so we got to know Uncle Bernie really well. One thing I will always remember about him was the way he let out a hefty chuckle that made his whole belly shake every time he told a joke! I am so thankful that God wanted us to live in Canada during that time, because then I wouldn't know just how great of an uncle I really had.

Because of his passing, my whole family quickly packed our bags and drove 25 hours straight through the night to be with his family and see him at the funeral. The drive was totally worth it, to be able to hug my cousins so tightly that it felt like I could hold some of their breaking pieces together. I could be there for them in person and do my best to make them smile and laugh at least for a moment.

On the day of his funeral, it happened to be Thanksgiving for the Americans. This holiday is a big deal for most of us, and so it was a very strange experience to have it in Canada at a funeral. But, as I sat there and listened to uncle Bernie's sons and daughters speak about him, I realized how thankful I really was to have known him. I cried so hard listening to their words and watching them naturally break down. And so Thanksgiving was painfully and yet preciously spent.

I will never forget the sight of the burial afterward. I stood there in a foot or two of the fluffiest snow I've ever seen. It glittered at me, and fell off the evergreen trees in slow motion. My breath flowed unevenly from my mouth as I cried watching my cousins and aunt take flowers from uncle Bernie's casket before lowering him down. I was allowed to take a flower of my own, so I mustered up my courage and stepped out to take the beautiful red flower that had my attention all afternoon long. Uncle Bernie gave me that flower, at least that's what I told myself, and I clung to it the rest of the night.

Being back home now and thinking over all the things (and yes, with the flower by my side) that have happened in only a week has brought back to my attention a powerful song that has helped me mull over the loss of my irreplaceable uncle. If you've ever lost a family member and are still hurting from it, pay attention to these lyrics because they can help put in perspective for you what death really is:

I'm still a young man so I think very little of death,

but who really does till it's coming for them?

And I know with each breath I come one closer,

but death is just a hook behind the door where I'll leave my dirty clothes

They may dump my body in the sea

or spread my ashes miles wide, but it won't matter,

all my parts will realign

They will rush to find each other when they hear their Lover's cry

and death will be abandoned when He comes back for His bride

Saints are never buried,

they are seeds planted who bring about a greater harvest

when they burst forth from the earth that needed their fruits,

but it could never hope to make enough room for their roots

Death is swallowed up,

it owns nothing in me

Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His faithful ones

The Monsters Inside My Nose

Today...I am going to tell you a story. A story so intense that your nose might start bleeding while reading it. Grab a box or two of Kleenax because things are about to get SERIOUS.

It was a good two years ago when I worked at a drive-in restaurant named Sonic. I was a carhop, where I ran in and out of the store giving orders to people waiting in their cars. Typically my days working there were full of odd customers and strange occurrences, but the strangest of all turned out to be quite the story to tell...

You see, it all began at the end of my four-hour shift. It was already 9 o'clock in the evening when my manager told me it was okay to leave, but I felt a sudden urge to blow my nose before I saddled my dragon for departure.

I hopped, skipped and jumped to the back of the store, clearing the nostrils of any monsters that happened to nest themselves deep withing the caverns of my soul. But to my dismay, instead the monsters revolted and tore open a hole inside my face that suddenly poured out a stream of blood straight out of my nose.

Dang you, monsters! I will get you back! I thought to myself as I grabbed a giant's handful of tissues.

"Allison, are you okay?" Asked my manager as he walked by.

"Oh yeah!" My voice was muffled by the tissues covering my face. I flicked my wrist twice so he could see my casual certainty. "I always have nosebleeds. Just give me like 15 minutes!"

-45 minutes later-

This part of the story may seem exaggerated to you but trust me, my fellow readers, all of which I'm about to type is made from the very essence of Truth.

After bleeding straight out of my face for 45 minutes, I had given up holding a tissue to my nose because the blood kept seeping through it no matter how many I had and so instead I hung my head over a sink. I just wanted to bleed out. Literally. But because I did this, blood got all over the sink, and so I tried to clean it up while my nose was still competing with Old Faithful. But because I did this, blood got all over my arms, so I tried to clean that up. And because I did that, I somehow got blood on the walls and on the floor...EVERYWHERE. I officially looked like a victim of a zombie attack.

At this point I was defeated. I rested my forehead against the faucet of the sink, letting the blood run over my mouth because I didn't care anymore. Where did this vile nosebleed come from?! I thought to myself. I could taste the iron in my throat--because the blood couldn't escape out of my nose fast enough, so it ran down into my insides in search for things to destroy. This nosebleed was seriously that bad.

"ALLISON, ARE YOU OKAY?! ALLISON!!!" I looked up at my manager who was freaking at the site of what he thought was an unconscious Allison hanging over the sink, half-dead of blood loss (which was probably true by now, anyway). After reassuring him I was fine, gurgling over the excessive amount of liquids in my mouth, he called my mom to tell her of my situation. What was really funny was that my mom didn't believe the nosebleed was that bad and that he was just over-reacting. Oh, what deceit!

So the story continues when my mom picked me up from work (it would've taken serious skills to drive a stick-shift while Niagara falls was running out my face). After trying remedies at home for another hour (let's take into consideration that I've been bleeding for pretty much 2 hours), my mom took me to the emergency room.

"What's wrong?" Asked the nurse.

"Oh, I dunno. Just been bleeding out of my nose for a thousand years. What's up with you?" I felt like asking.

She ended up taking 2 vials of blood samples which she could have just put under my nose, gave me a CT scan and stuck medical cotton-wads up my nose like it should be a part of Dirty Jobs.

WELL, KIDS...after having a nosebleed for 2 and a half hours straight, it finally stopped. I don't know how. Maybe all the monsters died inside my body by some radioactive Jesusing. Who knows. But what I do know is what the nurse told me in the final end:

"Girl!" She said with a serious Texan accent, "Did you know you have really, really bad allergies?"





...Yes. Yes I did.

The Astronaut Who Cried Cries

Contrary to popular belief, just because Taran and I are twins does not mean we're indestructible.

Yes, I know. This truth is like unveiling a horror story between a turkey and Thanksgiving. It took us a couple of tries when we were younger to figure out that we weren't superman or superwoman. We learned we couldn't fly, walk through walls, skate to the moon or pull a double mctwist 1260 (this upsets me the most). So then we tried doing things normal people would do, like jumping on trampolines and skateboarding horizontally. Unfortunately that didn't turn out so well for us either.

You see, when Taran and I were but wee churros (we were like 6), we were frolicking around on our ginormous trampoline playing an innocent game of Teacher and Student. I have no idea where we found a giant cardboard box, but Taran had a long twig in his hand thwacking the wall and blabbering on and on about something we probably didn't even understand, but I was nodding as if I had a 4.0 Grade Point Average.

"Okay, Allison!" Taran said as he scooted the box to the very edge of the trampoline. "Are you ready for take off?!" He shouted in pure excitement. All of a sudden I realized, I went from being a prodigy student to becoming an Armstrong-professional astronaut in 3 seconds flat.

"Actually, no, wait--" Before I had a chance to look over my scribbled astronaut notes, my world shifted in a weird vertical-like fashion, and time slowed into an anti-gravitational sensation.

When the space shuttle landed onto planet earth, the Armstrong-professional astronaut and the prodigy student vacated from me, where only what was left was a little 6-year-old sprawled out in the grass in the backyard wailing as loud as she could.

To this day, I can still only imagine how Taran felt. He naturally has a kind and considerate heart, and so for him to see his student astronaut crying for like two hours straight, he did the best he could to cheer her up. He let me hold his balloon. He asked if I wanted anything to drink (probably chocolate milk). He let me pick whichever cartoon I wanted to watch. All of this would go on and on until I was feeling better again.

But here's the twist to the story! Apparently I broke a bone, but nobody knew it--not even my parents--for two days. Did I know it? Of course not. To me, it was just a battle wound of my astronomic 10-second adventure.

But for those two days, I couldn't move my right arm. I kept it in a bent position as if I was Captain America holding his patriotic shield of 'Murica-ness, and whenever somebody touched my shoulder, I would scream like a ring wraith or banshee (it was very appalling).

After those two painfully excruciating days of being a wounded student/astronaut/superhero/banshee, my parents took all us kiddos to some sort of choir-concert thing in a huge auditorium, and all I could do was cry (people must have thought I was touched, but my shoulder was out to get me). So, my dad kind of kidnapped me to the hospital (my mom had no idea where we went, and I thought that was funny), and the doctor was all like,

"Yeah, man. She's got a broken collarbone." My dad was all like,

"Oh. Crap."

Course that's just what I was hearing, and in the end I got a cool Snoopy sling that I wore around in kindergarten for like a month and even though I figured out I wasn't indestructible, I got all the attention I ever wanted.

The End.

Also Taran broke his wrist once when some guy pantsed him while jumping on the trampoline.

The THE End.

The Mischievous Adventures of Mr. Dog

On one fateful day (like two days ago), I found it suddenly desirable to buy a new bicycle, for I longed to get outside more often and in a more delightful manor. You see, all the bicycles we have in the archives of my dad's shop evidently wore scars of previous battles with my brothers and I when we were all young, reckless little derps. They were impossible to ride on, and impossible to look cool riding on. So, a new bicycle it was!

I ventured into Walmart and bought me exactly the bike I was looking for: a pure black one. As I checked out with it (and a new toothbrush), I decided to call my bike Ninja, because it was cool and sneaky and black.

And so the story begins of my bicycling adventures, of epic journeys through tar and dust and fire and dragons.

But today's journey took a different route.

I was biking with Ninja down my neighborhood street, dodging ninja stars and flaming shurikens of death like I was eating a piece of cake, when all of a sudden...I met a dog near the end of the road.

"What are you doing here?" I said aloud, not giving a care in the world if anyone was outside hearing me communicating with a canine (I secretly have the ability to talk Dog, but I can't understand Dog. I know: weird. It should be the other way around).

The dog stared at me vacantly. He was a fat one, like one of my own dogs. Maybe he would like to jog beside me to lose some of that doggy fat! I thought to myself. Sure enough, the dog followed me. In fact, he followed me all the way back down the neighborhood to my house, where I awarded him with treats and water (he was only interested in the treats).

"What's your name, doggy?" I asked him, obviously expecting an answer. When I received none (I was quite disappointed), I heard my mom calling through the door, "Who are you talking to?"

"Mr. Dog," I instantly named him and said it as if it should be obvious. You see, my mom should already be used to her daughter wandering back to the house with dogs. Dogs love me. I love dogs. And the dogs want to stay with me, so I ask if they can. And then Mom says no and I throw a fit and cry. At least that's how the system used to be.

But this time I was smart! I knew the gameplay before I even asked my mom. She would say no, most definitely, because "we already have three dogs" or "I don't want to make you clean up more poop in the backyard" or "his owner is probably looking for him right now!" So I gave up before the battle even started.

When I walked back outside to see how Mr. Dog was doing, I found him chewing on a used diaper.

Don't ask me how he even got one, and why he ate it in our front yard, but at that moment I decided it was time for him to take another pleasant jog with Ninja and I.

He was a lot slower than last time, probably because the ninja stars and flaming shurikens of death were freaking him out.

Eventually we made it back to where I found him. He clearly didn't want me to go because he sat on my foot. But I told him my farewells aloud as I would any other human or dog.

"Mr. Dog," I began. "It's been nice getting to know you, but I must leave now. The Black Ninja Dynasty calls for their imperial queen to come back home (that's me). I will most assuredly miss you, my dear Mr. Dog."

I thought it would be easy biking back home (really fast, so he couldn't catch up), but when I turned around to see if he was wandering away, he was jogging back for me.

"No, Mr. Doggy!" I shouted back. "Go back home! Don't follow me!" I paddled faster and made the distance between us farther. I turned around again.

He was still jogging (very slowly, but he was doing the best a fat dog could do).

At that moment, it felt like a flaming shuriken of death pierced my heart (maybe one did).

"Don't make this any harder than it has to be!" I shouted over the pain of the tragedy. It felt like my life was in slow motion, as if it were a clip out of a dog movie where everyone in the theater is crying because the dog keeps waiting for the deceased owner to come back home but he obviously never will.

...And so eventually I made it home and figured it'd make for a good story to share (it's a true story too. All of it).

Because a good story makes for a fine life! The End!


P.S: Maybe somebody will make a dog movie of my story. I would be so freaking pumped.

The Reimer Clan

One year and a day ago, I went on the most exciting adventure of my life. It was my first day attending School of Ministers, an infamous bible school held in the Southland Church in Steinbach, Manitoba, Canada. I remember waking up that day, a crispy 6:10am (because waking up at 6am is too close to 5:59am, and nobody wants to wake up at a 5am minute...So 6:10am.).

As I arrived in the parking lot at 6:57am, I walked through the door into the SOM classroom and immediately began my search for my brother Taran and my two very close cousins Dale and Calen. There was nothing more comforting than to have 3 of my favorite bros waiting for me to join them at a table at the far corner of the room that would soon be known as the "Reimer Clan" table!

I believe the most exciting part about that day was being pointed out that Taran and I were the ones from Texas. Our teacher asked, and so we stood up and were then stared at intensely by all the Canadians (which is to be expected, right? We Texans are a rare breed!).

Throughout the entire day, Taran and I were constantly accompanied by one or more people asking us about Texas, why we came to Canada, how we heard of SOM, and why we didn't have strong Texan accents or carried guns in our boots with spurs.

Later that day, or maybe it was a few weeks later, the Reimer Clan stumbled across a fellow student who seemed to fit right into the group. He was funny, quick-witted, a video game junkie and evidently a strong Christian--the perfect poster child of a Reimer! So inevitably, we Reimers took interest of this fellow, whose name was none other than The Trevor Andrews. But one day I was displeased with his last name.

I stood with my fists on the table and loudly proclaimed, "YOU ARE OUR COUSIN NOW." And thus, Trevor Andrews suddenly became a Trevor Reimer, and stayed faithfully by our sides through the entire year.

There were plenty more of these friends made during our year at SOM. These friends made it so easy for me to love waking up at 6:10am and running through three feet of snow to turn on my car and break the ice off my windshield wipers and drive through ice and tundras.

I miss School of Ministers, the people and the potlucks, the robot dance-offs and the small group studies, the retreats in Pinawa and drawing on the whiteboard. But I will never forget the amazing growth I had there in God, and each and every friend I made. I will always come back to Canada, just for them, because they made my life awesome. And so, even though I'm not attending SOM this year, I pray the students now will be able to make friends just like we did, grow even more than we did, and build an even finer life than mine!

So good luck with that. I've got a pretty dang fine life thanks to all of you!

The Twin Complex

One day, way back in the days of VHS tapes and the Magic School Bus, the days of the Backstreet Boys and NSYNC... I was born.

It was a fateful August 10th of 1994 when I emerged into the world, which was a place hardly ready to accept my existence! No other planet would accept me because my awesomeness apparently surpassed their Awesome Capacity Meter.

So the Almighty Awesome (the One who is the Most Awesome in all the universe), decreed Earth as my residence (despite their lack of space for awesomeness). I plummeted into the atmosphere with sparks and flames of glory, and crash-landed right in a hospital room.

But what many people don't know about this story is that another plummeted into the world with me. You see, as the smoke and debri faded from the room, I saw who was already there before me. He was another awesomely rare species as I... His species name is... Taran.

"You must be an Allison," he blabbered to me in a young tongue only I could understand.

"You must be on the wrong planet," I blabbered back.

"I don't think so," the Taran giggled maniacally. "I was here a minute before you!"

I realized then, that the world was not big enough for the both of us.

For many years following, we battled each other. We brawled to the ends of the earth, with big swords and magic and cool-looking guns, creating riffs in the space/time continuum because of our sheer, raw awesomeness.

And then one day, the Almighty Awesome paid note to our cataclysmic destruction and froze us in epic motion. He was so upset with our endless, pointless dueling that He stripped us our Awesome Powers and reversed time back to the day we plummeted to earth.

"Taran was born first," the Almighty Awesome decreed. "By one minute. Therefore he will be a year older than you, Allison. But only by a minute."

And so it was, that since August 10th, 1994 (the second time), the awesome Taran and Allison came into existence as normal human beings with a little bit more awesomeness than the next guy, and Taran was only a yute older than Allison.

A year-minute.

The End.

Allison's Declassified Wanna-be-Texan Survival Guide

If there is one thing that is harder than a Texan living in Canada, it's for a Canadian living in Texas. I would conjure up studies and statistics of the Canadians that choose to live in the deathly heat of the American south, but unfortunately there are none. Either the Canadians have spontaneously combusted, evaporated, fallen into a pit of lava while going for a walk or got stuck in a cactus and never got to be properly interviewed because they couldn't un-stuck their hand to answer the phone calls and thus were stuck there. Forever.

As you well know or have been sleeping under rocks/giant tortoises, I lived in Canada for 8 months; and as a Texan, I nearly died had I not created my own Survival Guide! It was only 2 and a half months ago that I moved back to my home state of Texas, and it seems my Canadian skin I grew in the north is forced to peel away underneath this cruel, Mordor-birthed sun.

So, this helpful list I made is for all those Canadians thinking of moving to Texas one day, or perhaps to visit to escape your cold, soul-eating, Frost-Giant winters. Heed my words, Canadians. What I have learned may save your very life.



As stated in my last survival guide, the first rule also applies in Texas: When going for a walk, don't go for a walk. The chances of falling into a sudden lava pit on your neighborhood sidewalk is a likely 93%.

Again, when going for hopefully not a walk, sometimes the more clothes you wear, the less the Mordor-birthed sun will be able to scorch your skin right off like a banana peel. So forget the short-shorts idea. Nobody likes to see your cheeks hangin out anyway.

If you ever decide to hopefully not go outside, never, ever walk barefoot. Soft grass doesn't exist here. Nor does cold cement. That's only in the fairy tales.

If you somehow ignore my advice above and go for a walk barefoot anyway, you'll end up getting a sticker (thistle) straight up your foot, invading your skin walls and injecting a temporary poisonous itch right where it stabbed you. When this happens, quickly pull it out and slap a band-aid on that sucker like you just had the best dang chicken tenders, and wait an hour or two for the itch to leave.

Also, when hopefully not outside, be aware of all the other poisonous things sitting, crawling and flying about, such as tarantulas, rattlesnakes, vampire rabbits and bugs you wished you never saw. If you happen to come across these things, the best thing you can do is enjoy yourself with them while you're still alive for a couple more minutes. Maybe have a tea-party. Play some football with the rattlesnake. Maybe a friendly game of Texas Hold 'Em with the tarantula.

Don't ever touch a cactus. Just...don't.

Driving in Texas may be easier than driving in Canada in the winter, but there are some things you must be aware of. When it's too hot outside (which is all the time), the tar on the roads will begin to melt. When the tar melts, it'll cling to your car like a koala. I don't know about you, but I don't want to be driving around with koala's attached to my rims.

Also when driving, be sure to dodge the dead animals on the road. Usually there's one or two fine platters of roadkill for every couple miles. These platters consist of: coyote, jackrabbits, local dogs and cats who thought they could beat the system, skunks and maybe a vampire raccoon.

When it gets hazy-brown outside in the distance...run. Run as far away as you can. Bunker down the fort. Strap down the dogs outside and hide in the basement. It's a sandstorm, and those sick puppies don't give way to nobody.

Every Texan man with a truck most likely owns a gun. It's common sense, folks. Don't make them angry.

Everything really is bigger in Texas. This includes several things you would consider normal size, but are in reality much larger in Texas: burgers, weiner dogs, pigskins, cupcakes, weeds, spiders, the sun, and everything else.

Lastly, and most importantly, if you ever want to survive, heed these words: Don't ever, ever...mess with Texas.



And that's all the advice I have for you Wanna-be-Texan Canadians. After reading all of this, I hope you feel discouraged and horrified by the thought of moving to Texas. If you don't feel discouraged and horrified, you may actually have the guts to live here. If you ever plan to do such a dumb thing, be reassured...Allison's Declassified Wanna-be-Texan Survival Guide will always be right here for you. Always.

The Case of the Missing Frost Giants

As you can tell by the picture above, there is something terribly wrong with the seasons in the Land of the Frost Giants.

You see, where I come from, we only have one season: Summer. Although I'm not even sure if Summer is the correct seasonal word. In fact, I should just make up a new season to describe how it's really like in Texas all year round.

Fllumer. It's like...Fall and Summer. But...Fllumer. You know that stage where all the green grass turns yellow and the trees get all ugly and almost-naked, and everything just looks all brown? But, it's also hot outside all the time. That's the only season west Texas has. Fllumer.

And so I have drawn my certain conclusion that Canada's seasons are all out of wack. Their winter (also known as their most common season) lasts over half a year. Half a year. And if it's not winter, somehow it's Summer. There is hardly anything in-between other than a few seconds of mud or orange leaves.

As I was briefly back in the Land of the Frost Giants during their season of Summer, I was beguiled by the fact that there were no frost giants to be seen! I searched and searched for them, those Eskimo-like creatures with their skin made purely of ice and their eyes like shards of sapphire (I dare say that the common eye color in their land is blue. Whereas in Texas to our surprise, our eyes match the dirty south: brown. Maybe a dark brown, if you get lucky.)

Anyway, when I searched in Canadian pastures, I found nothing but healthy fruits and green vegetables (which I fled from immediately). I looked inside their vast valleys of grass and found nothing but wild flowers and ticks. I looked under rocks and over hills and beyond the expanse of the Land of the Frost Giants, but all I could find were armies of mosquitoes and horse flies.

I was soon about to label my hopeless investigation a lost cause, until suddenly I realized...What if Frost Giants metamorphosize into a different species during the summer? What if all this time, the Frost Giants have been right under my nose?!

Ecstatic and a wee bit frightened, I ran all the way back to Texas, huffling and buffling straight down into my front yard and pummeling through my house and into my secret office down a secret flight of stairs found behind a secret trapdoor, and I whipped out my handy-dandy notebook. I opened my case file for the Missing Frost Giants and reported my findings as fast as I could.

"Dear Diary, Declassified File #1: The Case of the Missing Frost Giants

Frost Giants are a rare species, and so at the sight of their sudden disappearance, I have endured deadly journeys to find them once again. After wrestling with mosquitoes the size of bears and bears the size of mosquitoes and losing several arms in the midst, I looked at the land the Frost Giants once roamed. There I laid eyes upon green pastures and flowing water.

It hit me then. I stumbled upon the answer to their rash disappearance.

You might not believe me, dear reader (how did you find my secret office?), but I've seen it with my very own two dark brown eyes (I got lucky). ...Frost Giants...metamorphosize into a different species during the summer! Yes, I truly discovered a new species! Therefore I shall give them a new name that will properly fit them in their summer shifts. In honor of my own kind and theirs, I shall call them...

Fllumer Giants.

Case Closed."

Where Did All the Frost Giants Go?

It was the first time for me to ever fly on my own. I had my tiny, leopard-print suitcase my mom had bought for me one Christmas long ago, my brand new Fox backpack (bought just for the occasion), and my two boarding passes: Odessa, Texas to Denver, Colorado. Denver, Colorado to Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada.

The feeling of climbing up the escalators and leaving my mom behind was a whole lot harder than I had imagined it'd be, probably because this time I didn't have my twin brother Taran with me to be my companion and help us figure out where to go next.

My brother and I lived in Canada for 8 months to attend bible school, and during Thanksgiving in November, we flew back to Texas to visit our family. On our way back to Canada, we made the forever-remembered and extremely hilarious mistake of eating breakfast tacos while our names were called for last-minute boarding on our plane to Denver. The story came to be: we accidentally watched our flight leave while we ate breakfast tacos. I'm not even sure if the taste was worth the extra six or seven hours it took to get back to Canada, but hey--it makes for a great story!

So it happened to be now that I was all on my own. Taran has a job lined up in Texas, and I have two very important people in my life graduating in the Land of the Frost Giants. So I bought me some tickets and ended up at the airport with my terribly-clashing suitcase and backpack.

I stepped through the Customs, where the official at the desk was kind enough to ask me if it was my first time flying by myself (He probably caught the hint with how wide my eyes peered at everything around us). He lead me through the machines and all that weird alien stuff and wished me safe travels. As I took a seat at my first gate, I immediately made friends (which a lot of people would say is to be expected from me!). They told me of their endeavors to reach Edmonton, Alberta, Canada and spoke to me in French when I asked if they could, which I had never heard in person before! They reassured me that flying on my own isn't as scary as it looks, and helped me find my way through boarding.

After only seven hours, I already landed in Canada! It was such a strange feeling because normally it would take about 22 hours to get there (if we drive). But when I walked outside, all my strange feelings materialized...and festered into something far stranger.

It's warm outside. And the grass is green.

I had only remembered this place as 8 months of winter. The frost giants only ever thrived in their tundras. But now, where have they all gone? Butterflies are fluttering, flowers are blooming, mosquitoes are singing the songs of their people...And now I am faced with a case of missing frost giants. I still have a few weeks left to look in to the freakish matter, and so perhaps I will keep you updated.

So, my fellow readers, as I continue to investigate the strange phenomenon of the disappearance of the frost giants, I will turn your attention back to the kindness I was shown on my brave journey through the airports I faced by myself.

I am very grateful that there were friendly people there to help ease my nerves, and to talk to me in French (because it was really cool!). They made my journey a fine one!

And most of all, I must conclude that going on a new journey is something every human heart needs every once in a while. And who knows? Maybe you are the person sitting in the airport who's flown a thousand times, but the person sitting next to you is afraid because it is their first. Get out of your comfort zone. Say hello in French if you can, or show them how to get through the boarding process without falling straight off the bridge into the plane. Whatever you can do to help!

But first, go on your own journey to show them how to not eat breakfast tacos before a flight.

Because it's stories like these that make an interesting life. And an interesting life is a fine life indeed!

The Flight of the Fortune Cookie

Oh fortunes cookies...How sometimes eerily accurate you are. I feel a need to express my recent journeys and feelings through...poem.


TWAS JUST ANOTHER DAY...as any other day,
my good friend Maggie and I went out to eat the Chinese way.
(You see I bothered her when my cravings were due that I longed to eat some tasty, foreign food!)

We laughed and giggled and choked on said food
just like any other good friends just happened to do,
schpieling here and there about our journeys we shared,
and the journeys we ventured that others don't dare.

I shared of tales of snow and ice,
how I slept with my thermostat on "Extremely High" every night.
I shared how I learned to speak a foreign tongue,
Like "Bienvenue au Canada!"

I shared how Frost Giants drink there tea,
Something that had to do with whiskey or bees.
I shared how their favorite sport was also like football,
Just with a little less yelling and a lot more brawl.

As I went on to share my long journey's tale,
Maggie must have wondered how I didn't look so pale.
Of course it was because I had already been in Texas for a few days,
And one second outside would either tan your skin or simply peel it away.

I smiled and laughed when I noticed how far I've come,
not just with my skin color but all the things in eight months I've done.
I've mastered the art of driving in the snow,
And hot-tubbing outside when it's negative thirty below.

I've fallen in love and made new friends,
But now I began to wonder how the journey all ends.
As Maggie and I took our fortune cookies out the door,
I broke the shell and read words I may or may not have heard before.

These words hit close to home as I sat in Maggie's car,
Knowing that God, Armando and my friends are never too far!
As the fortune cookie read, the journey never ends
Because a part of us remains wherever we have been.

For the Love of Money

I took this picture after one fine evening of work as a waitress at one of my former jobs last year. This, my dear friends, is two "francs". That is what they call a dollar in Switzerland. An old buddy of mine who was a foreign exchange student at our school back in 2010 came back to visit and tipped me this beautiful coin I never knew existed. I just figured I'd share that tidbit of information with you as I am about to tell you one of the coolest things God has shown me about money since I moved back home. Hold on to your bums, 'cause it's story time.

When I moved back home to Texas recently, I temporarily got a job as a waitress again just to earn some extra cash before moving on to becoming an unofficially official interior designer. Anywho, it was just another day of work as any other day, when all of a sudden...one of my fellow waiters realized that a fifty-dollar bill that he received from a customer was in fact a fraud. It had no watermark--no legal legitimacy at all! And you see, when a waiter at this workplace loses money, he has to pay back the company with the tips he worked very hard to earn. You know what that means, don't you? Right. Because of this unforeseen and very unfortunate fraud, this innocent employee's pocket just got robbed fifty dollars.

Now the story takes a bit of turn, you see. As I was watching this unfold, I felt so sorry for my fellow waiter that I thought to myself, "I will work extra hard my last few hours so I can give him some of my tips." Yes, yes...it was a very kind-hearted thought. But something happened, and I found myself in one of the hardest tests I've ever taken.

This waiter and another man with authority over me advised me that if I received a fifty or hundred-dollar bill from a customer, that I should come to them before I gave the change away. So I did what I was told. Several minutes later, I came to them with a hundred from one of my customers because I thought they would check it for fraud. But that wasn't the case.

"Here," said the waiter and the other. "Take this change to your customer." I looked at it, counted it, and realized the change was twenty dollars short.

"This isn't the correct change," I quickly justified.

"Yeah I know," said the other man. "I just feel bad for this guy losing his tip money like that so we're trying to help him out."

It certainly didn't take me long to respond, "That's not right at all."

"It wasn't right that I lost fifty dollars!" Said the waiter.

I realized that I was standing in a very, very sticky situation. "Yucky", as I would call it. Because it just made me feel yucky. But I knew the right answer.

"I know it wasn't right," I said calmly. "But it's not right to cheat a customer. My customer. I'm not going to do that to him."

"Do you know him?" Said the other.

"No."

"Then why do you care?"

"Because he's my customer and I care about my customers."

"Okay, I understand," said the waiter. "I'll just do it for you then."

"No." I sternly rejected, but tried to remain compassionate. "I'm sorry, but I am taking the correct change to my customer." And so I did. My customer was completely and entirely unaware of anything that had just taken place. He looked so innocent, and though to some people a twenty-dollar bill is a small sacrifice, to me at that moment it meant the whole world. I even counted the change for him, which I don't ever take time doing. It's just, I felt my heart grow so big for this innocent man that it overwhelmed me as I was walking back to the desk.

Then God brought something back to mind, a prayer I had said on the way to work that afternoon that I had never prayed before: "God, I want to bless my customers as if You were the one blessing them."

And then God spoke to me as clear as day, "Allison, you passed a huge test. I am so proud of you."


Dear friends, I'm sharing this story with you as a testimony so that you can learn what I did and run with it.

Wherever you're at, whoever is watching you or not...always, ALWAYS...do the right thing.

And you will never say you've never lived a fine, fine life.

Dreams Don't Turn to Dust

There's not much to look at in Texas. So there's not much to say about it, other than it's a little warmer than Canada, and a little more dry, as told by the picture above.

So I haven't posted a blog in a long while because for the past two or three weeks I've moved back home, taking a long detour from Manitoba all the way west to Alberta, and then down south to Texas from there, and am still settling down. Normally I could unpack all my things in a day, but it seems I've still got piles of stuff all over my room and outside my door like I packed all of Manitoba inside my suitcase.

I know people who keep up with my blog and desire to know more about me are curious as to how life's been going back in Texas again since I've been here for a whole week already, so now I am going to attempt to explain.

The very first day I arrived back home (May 9th), I was called for jury duty the next day. Those of you who are not entirely aware of what jury duty is, it's where about 120 random people are ordered into a courtroom where only 12 are picked to be real juries in a real court case. But to explain it simply, this is about as American as it gets.

I'm explaining this because I found it absolutely hilarious that I have been Canadian for so long, and as soon as I get back home, I am bound to be more American than I have ever been in my entire life! In fact, I had to recite the American Pledge of Allegiance  in which I found it hard to remember already! So in my head, it went a little something like this...

"I pledge allegiance, to the flag, of the United Provinces of Canada, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and hockey for all."

...To make a long story short, I was rarely chosen to be one of the 12 in a real jury box for a real court case where I was the youngest (by a longshot). I learned a lot of things the next two days and, as the foreman (the leader of the jury) told me, I grew up pretty fast.

Aside from being on jury, I was finally able to reconnect with one of my closest friends, Maggie. This is a friend who has witnessed me in my worst, in my best, in attack and in defense. This is a friend who has built me up, edified me and spurred me on--who allows me to be the same for her. It is a beautiful encouragement to come such a far ways on a journey like mine and to still have her faithfully by my side.

Also I am able to be remembered by my 2-and-a-half-year-old niece and 8-month-old nephew, which is beyond a blessing. I am developing deeper relationships with my family and pursuing discipleship within my home church.

Through all of these new things that I've only just begun scratching the surface of this passed week, I can tell that I am hearing God's voice clearer and clearer. Because now I am truly depending on Him to show me where to go and how to get there. This is one of the first times in my life where I don't know how my future looks like. Am I going to go back to Canada? Am I going to stay in Texas and get a fulltime job? Am I going to pursue a degree in art or ministry or something completely different? I don't know.

All I know for sure is that every dream I've ever had doesn't just turn to dust! God has a plan for me, and it's gunna be a fine, fine life!

Foreign Language

"Can I get anything for you to drink?" Asked the waitress.

"Uh...yeah! I'll take a--" I stared at my menu. Aha! "I'll take tea, please!"

"Iced tea or tea?"

...What.

What's with this "iced" tea. Is it tea with ice? Then what is regular "tea"? What does it have that the other doesn't? Is it made from powder? Which one is brewed?

You see, in Texas, all I would have had to say was the magic word: Tea. And then I'd get tea. The normal, brewed, cold tea. With ice and maybe a lemon wedged on the side. Sweet or unsweet, you choose.

But no. Not in Canada. It's complicated to order tea here, I'm telling you. They've got all this fancy stuff like "Earl Grey" or "Chai Tea" or "Honey Lemon Cinnamon Earl Chai Grey White Blue Green Tea". And then on top of that, you can add sugar or milk or cream or honey...By golly, I want my normal tea! I don't need this complicated puzzle of tea options made for the rocket scientists. Just: sweet or unsweet. That's all but a humble Texan needs to be asked.

Now that I've got that off my chest, I can introduce that there are a few things that I've learned about Canada since moving here that are very different than Texas, or southern America in general. Some of you may be aware of some of these things, and others would be shocked to learn. Oh trust me, if anyone's going to see the differences, it's going to be me. I come from both sides of the map. So here's a [generalized] list of [general] differences I've [generally] discovered the passed 7 and a half months living in the [general] land of the Frost Giants.

Other than the insane tea problem between southerns and northerns, Canadians have a tendency to call bathrooms washrooms. Now you can be reassured, my fellow Texans, that I have not fallen into the frowned-upon habit of calling any bathroom a washroom.

If the definition of winter means snowfall and temperatures lower than 32'F (0'C), winter in Texas lasts maybe 6 days. Winter in Canada lasts 6 months. For a better perspective--half a year. This simple difference makes 1,000 miles of our distance turn into what may look like 4.9 million miles. We understand nothing of each other after this fact. But I'll just keep going, for laughs.

Canadians have different accents than the average American accent. Let's practice what the word "About" sounds like between both nationalities. Canadian: What's that all aboot, eh? ... American: What the heck was that all abOWt?! I'm gunna nuke that grin right off your face, punk!

I've also learned that, when driving, Canadians never pass people unless in dyer emergencies. I may be over-exaggerating, but I do have a quote from a fellow Canadian: "It's generous to let other people pass you." Well. If this just doesn't say enough about their attitude, I don't know what does. But Americans pass people like nobody's business. Like they get paid to pass. Like it's the only thing they've got left--passing people at high velocities and ludicrous speeds. Americans don't give a darned hoot about being "generous" on the road! Pish posh!

And, to follow through with that, Canadians and Americans have entirely different attitudes! Now of course there will be the odd ball or two in the bunch, and I don't mean to rudely categorize, but if I were to speak of these two nationalities in general (which I am), then I must point out that Canadians are passive-aggressive, and Americans are...well...aggressive. Canadians say, "Thank you" and "Please" and "Excuse me", whereas the general American would simply...not.

But contrary to popular generalization, Americans haven't seen how horrifying Canadians can be at a cash register at Tim Hortons--their beloved coffee shop. It seems that while walking through the doors from the snowy world outside into the coffee aroma of Tim Hortons, Canadians transform into what one might believe to be an American. "I want a white hot chocolate with a chai tea bag inside it, double cupped, 2 sugar, 1 cream, 1/3 milk and 3.14 inches of whipped cream on top. I want the tea bag thrown out after sitting for 1 minute and 47 seconds and don't you make that any more or less. And I want this done in 5 seconds. If you don't, I will nuke the name tag right off your shirt. Go."


As you can see, the [general] differences I have listed about [general] Canadians and [general] southern Americans clearly mean one thing. That we are of entirely different species. Our accents are different. Our eating habits are different. Our responses to society are different. Even our skin is different. One can withstand burning temperatures up to 127'F (53'C) like Frodo in Mount Doom. The other can withstand freezing temperatures below -49'F (-45'C) like the Frost Giants of Jotunheim, neighbors of the great Thor of Asgard.

Therefore we must tread carefully between our neighboring countries, my fellow Americans and Canadians. We speak a foreign language to one another. We must come to terms with this fact. But you need not worry! I, as a humble Canadian-Texan, am willing to lay down my life to help those of you who need interpretations of the other kind, all but for one thing.

The right tea, please.

The Empire that was Made of Bacon

So many of you may wonder, "What do Allison and Taran do in Canada? Do they have jobs? Do they sleep in igloos? Do they ride on polar bears to school?" Well, my dear readers, allow me to answer that.

You see, Taran and I go to School of Ministers (in cars) twice every week, from 7am to 5pm, and unfortunately we do not have jobs to sustain our free time (not in igloos) between those days. So for the passed 7 months, Taran and I have occupied basically 90% or more of our time hanging out with our closest cousins of the Frost Giant species. They have taught us the mighty ways of the polar bear, the strength of the native people, and the laugh of the jolly abominable snowmen (who aren't as frightening as the old tales may speak of).

Often we go to the parks, which are actually nice, because it's always green or always snowy, unlike in Texas, where the parks have some dirt and maybe a new rock, or a baby cactus. Good luck rolling down a hill at one of those parks...but these parks are soft and made for rolls of a thousand men. Snowy or not!

But what we love to do together is make videos. Oh yes. Home-made, original, not extremely professional but ridiculously funny videos. These videos welcome only the Reimer Clan Cousins, where we have dubbed ourselves...

Bacon Strip Empire.

You, fellow reader, may or may not have seen these videos before. Nonetheless, BSE was created to catch the Reimer humor, our natural habitat, and our sometimes-lame sometimes-hilarious creativity. Here, take a gander at a few of our videos. You may call it advertising Bacon Strip Empire, but I call it, "This is what Taran and I do with our free time in Canada, so if you wanna know, then watch it."

If you like Adele, watch this.

If you don't like pickles on your burger, watch this.

If you own an expensive microwave, watch this.

If you want to watch more videos that Taran and I are a part of, check out Bacon Strip Empire's Youtube page right here!

Those videos are a small portion of what we really do out here in Canada when we're not riding polar bears to school. I hope you enjoy watching our randomness as much as we enjoy being it!

15 Seconds Left to Live

"For you to move from Texas all the way to Seminole must be a complete and total God-thing. There's no other way you would have ended up here, except that God alone brought you here."

What a bold statement. Out of all the responses I've heard from people after hearing my moving-to-Canada story, not once has someone responded quite like this, though many elude to it. I studied this comment, as if God had just told me, "Look at you now!", once again. Almost every day, He's told me those four encouraging, intimately beautiful, pleasing and Fatherly words, "Look at you now!" It's as if I was a little girl again, and I'm heading off to my first day of kindergarten, and my dad is smiling down at me saying, "Look at my little girl now!"

These words mean more to me than what you, the reader, may begin to think. Though maybe, those that are extremely close to me will know a piece of it's impact.

I've come so far since a year ago. Almost exactly to the date, I was perhaps at my worst spiritually. Those people on the outside wouldn't have noticed. My heart was in a compromising state. I didn't take into account the hurt I was causing my parents by my random acts of rebellion (it's not like I was toilet-papering people's houses! Just the smallest remarks still count as hurtful disobedience to your parents, and this I didn't quite realize), and the compromises that began to eat away my spiritual strength and waywardness at my workplace.

It doesn't feel so good writing about how someone like me, a huge influence in my youth group at that time and to my friends and family, could have had such a spiritual low. But, from the deepest, darkest corners of my heart, I thank God for that season. Because of my spiritual low, I am now able to live in a completely opposite spiritual high.

I know who I am. I am confident in what I believe and I am candidly honest with myself. Therefore, I know that what I am going to say is absolutely true. There is no "I am feeling like this right now so I'll just say it for the time-being till my feelings change". There is no "I'm not sure I feel this way, but I'll write it anyway to make others believe me." And there certainly is no "I'm going to lie to myself to feel better." No, what I'm going to say is the core, candid, honest truth within myself.

I. Have. Changed.

I am a completely different person than who I was a year ago. I feel as if a fire is shut up in my bones, that when given the chance, I will never be able to say everything I want to tell people about what God has taught me, changed about me and revealed to me because there is too much.

This fact of my heart and spiritual change has been confirmed by many people this passed month, and confirmation through other people is the key to knowing God really has done something real to you. A girl from my school told me, "I know I don't really know you as much as others do, but I've seen how you've changed since the beginning of the school year and now, at the end of it."

I'm sharing my heart change with you, the reader, because I want you to be deeply encouraged by my own story. Know that your trials are making way for a fine, fine life, just as mine did.

Because you see, there must be darkness if God were to ever bring light, right? For God to ever redeem us, there has to be slavery to sin. For God to ever save us, there has to be a life-threatening danger. Praise God for the trials you are in! And I will leave you with a profound verse.

"Dear Friends, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal that has come on you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice inasmuch as you participate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when his glory is revealed." (1 Peter 4:12-13 NIV)

There and Back Again; A Texan's Tale

...In case you haven't caught the drift yet, this is the map in which my brother and I moved, from point A (Seminole, Texas, US-of-the-great-A) to point B (Steinbach, Manitoba, Canada), approximately 1,521 miles North. It took us, and my mom escorting, 2 and a half days to reach our destination, driving a total of about 9 hours each full day we were on the road. We just graduated 4 months prior, and now were headed off to some far, far away lands to attend a small, infamous bible school nobody really knows about at a church we've never really gone to. This is what my brother and I both believe God wanted us to do.

I last left off in my previous blog (Click Here if you haven't read it yet!) that I wasn't sure where God wanted me to go after Taran and I soon graduate from School of Ministers on April 26th, 2013. After living in Canada for about 7 months (that's over half a year. Holy smokes!), God gave me an answer.

"You've got what you came for. Now it's time to go back and share it."

GREAT!! ...and great...YES!! ...and nuhu. Nodding frantically!!! ...and pouting with every stubborn molecule in my body.

*Sigh* I've never felt such a split in my inner Texan-Canadianness in my entire life. So, I shall take the liberty of creating a visual for you, my fellow reader, to show you why such cataclysmic forces are erupting within my heart.


                      TEXAS                                            CANADA

Frequent scorching, warm weather	Frequent freezing snow to frolic in
Being with close, immediate family	Bonding with close, extended family
Dust storms	Blizzards
Family Harvest Church	Southland Community Church
Dirtbiking is actually possible all year round	Snowmobiling is actually possible all year round
Taking Maggie and Stephanie to amateur hockey games	Opportunities to see real hockey played by real men
Rattlesnakes	Maybe an apologetic bear
Freakishly close friends	Boyfriend (yeah, I said it.)

So as you can see, my heart is split between these two places, as small and insignificant as some of those reasons are. Where would I rather be, people always ask me? Well, I'm not sure. I've always loved Canada, but living here for about 7 months makes me realize how much I want to be with my immediate family and close friends. And then when I begin to think about all the things and people I'll miss in Canada, I get very sad and feel as if I can't pull this off.

But someone told me that wherever God takes you, He will always equip your heart for it. So I've made up my mind already.

I'm moving back to Texas this May.

But I'll always come back to Canada, because it's here where I've discovered what a fine life really looks like on your own.

The Technicolor Phase

So. Everyone has quirks. Rather it be chewing gum every Friday after 6 o'clock or knitting during church to stay focused, everyone's got their weird, quirky little quirks.

After living with my roommate and cousin, Sherise, for 6 months, we have both discovered our own little quirks that we both find interesting about each other. We agreed that having these quirky-like quirks in our personalities only make us more human (and attractive!).

So, to flaunt my humanness (or... attractiveness?), I'm going to talk about my quirks, rather you've noticed them or not or don't even know who I am (you're weird).

I brush my teeth, eat a mint or use mouthwash after every single meal I have everyday, because I hate to think I have bad breath. Some people have noticed how white my teeth are. It's because of my crystalite breath. At least that's what I imagine in my head. Shards of crystals jutting out my mouth every time I breathe. ...Like...like an ice dragon...with nice breath.

When I stand and play guitar, I sway. Apparently a lot. I wouldn't think so, but the guy I play with on stage at church always tells me he feels like I'm gunna push him off and overthrow the entire stage for myself...just by my "sweet, innocent swaying". Ha! ...It's not that innocent, Phil.

When I go to sleep, first I gotta lay on my back, and then on my right side, and then on my stomach. And then on my left side, then on my back, and then on my stomach again. ...And then I'll fall asleep. Like a tired pancake.

Okay, okay...This is a very...very special quirk of mine. In the picture above, you will see just how cheesy my face is. It is, alas, the infamous Cheese Face. Some of you may have witnessed it, taken a picture with it or perhaps dreamed of it. This face is a precious rarity, I believe. It flashes upon my expression whenever I've made an oopsie or lost my common sense (which is common). This face has been passed down through the Reimer family for many generations upon generations...Perhaps this is the same face Eve made when she realized she shouldn't have given the fruit to Adam.

Another thing, I love to dance like a cheester with no shame. Pure, David-undignified dancing. I do this even in public, just to bring a new atmosphere of something odd and quirky. And attractive humanness.

I wear my lime green ski pants like jeans because I love them. They look cool. So...I'll just wear them, even indoors. Apparently that's weird in Canada. Can't handle the color, then don't look at the color, Canadians.

I mess with my bottom lip when I'm thinking or trying to focus, which commonly looks like I'm about to whistle. But...I'm not. I'm trying to think. Please understand this misconception. I am taken, like Gollum's one ring in a dark, dark cavern. Absolutely taken. And my whistling sounds more like a horse wheezing from second-hand smoking.

My final quirk is that...I have many quirks. And you might know some. Add 'em to the list! Because the more quirks, the more human (and attractive) you are! See, this is a simple list of reasons why being a little different is good for the human soul. In the end, these little quirks give everyone around you a fine, fine life. What's so wrong with a quirky (and attractive) variety of people?

Hercules, You've got Nothing to Say to Me

It started with a question, "God, where do you want me to go?"

"Well," I could hear Him respond, "What is the desire of your heart?" I stood before my seat in my youth room, and stared at the stage in front of me. He was asking me, Can you feel which desires I have put in your heart? If you can...then pursue them.

My heart almost exploded with joy, as if finally getting permission to do something so incredibly great and daring that I expected a No, not this time, Sweetie. But God said, Go for it, Darling. 

Two weeks into my Grade 12 year, I knew God was calling me to Canada. I wasn't sure where specifically, or for what, but all I knew was that my heart burned for that country, and I was going to follow that burning feeling until God would tell me No. But He didn't. He reminded me of Psalm 37:4, "Take delight in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart."

Ever since I could remember, every summer my family and I would go to Canada to see our family for several weeks at a time. Passing the border from the States into Canada, I would squeal and jump all over my seat in our stuffed car (no matter how old I was and still am). I bonded with my cousins to the extreme--it felt like I lived my other half of my life in Canada and yet I somehow lived in Texas. My dream, my desire, ever since I could remember, was to live in Canada and live that other half as long as I could. And now God finally confirmed to me where I was to go after I graduated.

Sometime around January of last year, one of my closest cousins, Calen, told me all about the small bible school he was attending there in Canada--School of Ministers. He told me so many great things about it, and how much he's changed because of it. But he didn't need to tell me. I knew how much he's changed during his course in this school, and I wanted that, too, because quite honestly, I was slipping backwards. Suddenly, there was my answer. School of Ministers, Allison. Go to School of Ministers in Steinbach, Manitoba, Canada!

"What are you going to do after you graduate?" Asked my English teacher several months after I found my calling, only a few weeks before my class would walk the stage wearing a cap and gown. Several said they were going to colleges nearby, only an hour or three of a drive from home. One or two said they'd attend a college outside of Texas in a nearby state. And then when it came to me, I simply said, "I'm going to Canada."

My whole class stared at me, or at least that's what it felt like. I just had a huge grin on my face, the kind that read, "My Dad finally gave me permission to skydive through five rings of untamable fire over a pit of poisonous snakes and angry sharks. I can't wait!!"

It's sad to say that there really were those people out there who would discourage me from following my life-long dream to live in Canada. Maybe they weren't aware of their pessimistic words, but for someone like me and for an adventure like this would take nothing but optimism and encouragement. The more people discouraged me, the more I was going to prove them wrong. The more I wanted to leave for Canada and the sooner. My parents could testify that it felt like I wanted to run away from home--because they had the right to believe so, of course they did! I would graduate in May and take off for Canada 4 months later! But through some hard work, heavy burdens and endless, unanswerable questions, my parents finally supported me. And not only me, but my twin brother, Taran, decided to join me as well!

It's needless to say, though there were many discouragements and excruciatingly painful goodbyes, Taran and I moved to Canada September 3rd, 2012 and started attending School of Ministers.

It's been 5 months and 2 days since then. Taran and I can both say that going to School of Ministers was not a waste of time, money and heartache, and God has confirmed to me several times that this is where He wants me to be. What I've come for, I've gotten. Intense spiritual growth and knowledge, much stronger spiritual confidence and definitely a spiritually fresh start!

The only question left remaining is...What next?

Maybe God will let me skydive through 6 rings of untamable fire over a pool of lava and poisonous snake-sharks and angry bear-dinosaurs. What can I say? It's a fine, fine life no matter what the answer will be!