Fountains 2020—Refocus
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1 0 6 m m . Copyright © 2020 Pensacola Christian College, Inc. All rights reserved. Made in U.S.A. Sharing and transmission of this digital work for personal use is permitted. However, this publication may not be commercially sold, altered, or reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, or by license from any collective or licensing body, without permission in writing from the publisher and individual authors. Cover Designer Atticus Van De Brake FOUNTAINS 2O2O Introduction Life is busy. As college students, we know and experience this daily! Amid the exams, projects, papers, and homework, we’re also expected to balance a social life—oh, and responsibly do laundry every week! In this hectic digital world, it’s easy to lose focus. We’re overwhelmed by the problems, struggles, and even tragedies of life. Sometimes we feel as if we can’t keep up with it all. But we need to remember to pause. Breathe. Take a step back. Refocus. What really matters? How will our short life affect eternity? When we refocus, we’re able to grow and change by learning from the negatives in our lives. We develop from both our own experiences and those of others. Just as a photographer focuses his camera lens on a beautiful subject, so must we also focus our hearts and minds on the loving mercy of Christ. When we refocus our eyes on Him, our perspective changes. And when troubles and failures seem to overwhelm us, His mercy renews us. This 31st edition of Fountains will give you the chance to see life from a new perspective. We hope that these stories and poems will encourage, inspire, and motivate you. Janise Anderson Jenneth Dyck ii | Contents flashback The Door to Room 311 � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � 2 Hannah Bryan Anvil Cave � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � 12 Gage Crowder Hands � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � 23 Brittany Weaver The Keys My Father Kept � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � 25 Rebecca Ramsey Joy of Checkers � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � 29 Jenneth Dyck Hint of Fall � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � 40 Aaron Kemme Fearing the Future � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � 42 Jenneth Dyck | iii develop To Be a Stutterer � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � 52 Shannon Connolly House #44b � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � 59 Sarah Jordan Comforting Angel � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � 70 Sarah Ermerins The Angels’ Grief � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � 79 C. J. Murray More Than a Dreamer � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � 81 Blair Lane Blessed by Social Anxiety � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � 90 Lauren Jacques The Huntress � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � 96 Carrie Cochran iv | retake A Double Life � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � 98 Hannah Bryan As Far as the East Is from the West � � � � � � � �110 Shannon Connolly The Second Adam � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �121 Jessie Griggs Facing the Storm � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � 123 Anna Brooks The Finest Rose � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � 133 C. J. Murray The Promise of a Ring � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � 134 Carrie Cochran Along the Way � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � 144 Brittany Weaver | v The Door to Room 311 by Hannah Bryan In loving memory of Mrs. Walker. Thank you for your influence. The back desk was where students were sent when they had to visit the principal. The secretary had them wait on the scratchy, blue-cushioned bench that sagged in the middle while she sat at her desk and peered through telescopic glasses, making sure no one talked to anyone or tried to make a run for it. Emilia slouched in the middle of the bench, her back resting on the bare white walls. Her hands, clasped together, rested on her stomach. She wasn’t in trouble. She just needed to be alone. The bench sat directly across from a dark classroom door. Emilia stared unseeingly into the small window of the door to room 311. Down the hall, the sound of the kitchen workers laughing and knocking pans together drifted from the cafeteria. The AC unit hummed and chased little dust bunnies across the tile. A bell rang, signaling the end of class, but Emilia showed no sign of getting up. A stream of students filed down the hall, went to their lockers, and meandered to their next class. “Emilia?” Sean stopped by Emilia’s feet. “Emilia, are you going to class?” Emilia looked up at him blankly. 2 | refocus His forehead creased slightly, and the corner of his mouth twitched down. “You’ve got to get up eventually. You’ve been here all morning.” He extended his hand and helped Emilia to her feet. Slowly, they walked together down the east hall. The crowd of students thinned except for a few stragglers running to their lockers. A bell rang again, marking the beginning of the next class, but Sean and Emilia didn’t hurry. “I know it’s a stupid question, but are you doing okay?” Sean asked. “I shouldn’t have come to school today,” Emilia said. “I thought that maybe, maybe seeing the room would—I don’t know—help.” “She only died yesterday.” Sean put a comforting arm around Emilia’s shoulder. “You’re not okay. That’s fine.” “She always told us to be tough.” She wasn’t “I really don’t think that counts this in trouble. time.” They paused at the fourth door on the left. Sean gave her a quick hug. “It’s okay to be sad. We all are, and you were the closest to her.” He opened the door, and they went in. The teacher had his back to them. He scribbled something on the chalkboard that only he could read and dusted the chalk off his hands onto his sweater. He turned at the sound of the door. “Sean, what have I told you about being la—” the teacher stopped abruptly when he saw Emilia. “Okay. Just go sit down.” flashback | 3 Emilia felt her classmates’ eyes on her as she took a seat at the desk situated in the front right corner against the wall. She kept her eyes firmly on the floor. “Where was I?” the teacher asked. “Right, Industrial Revolution. So, pre-steamboat era transportation was slow . .” Emilia tuned him out and unzipped her backpack in search of her history book. As she pulled it out, three stapled pieces of paper came with it. It was her persuasive essay for English. Large, familiar red-inked handwriting decorated the margins and spotted the double-spaced lines in dramatic swirls and loops. Emilia could still hear the voice that used to accompany it. “You can do a lot better than this,” said Miss Stewart. “Okay, maybe—but I don’t have the time.” “Emilia,” Miss Stewart slid her oversized red glasses down onto her face. She firmly believed in having dramatic flare. “We both know that is no excuse for poor arguments. As this stands, I have no idea why I should want the Electoral College to remain intact.” “Yes, you do! Look, I said it right here, ‘Due to the dangers of a direct democracy, the Founders felt it necessary to—’” “Keep going with that.” Miss Stewart emphasized her words with a tap of her pen. “You need to put the same amount of passion you just spoke with into this paper. Right now, this sounds like you’re reciting memorized facts, and maybe 4 | refocus you are, but I don’t need to know that.” Miss Stewart handed the paper back to Emilia. “Maybe being good at forming arguments will help you in your future.” “I don’t know what I want to do with my future,” Emilia said. She stuffed the paper into her backpack and slouched in her chair. Miss Stewart, the high school English teacher, was her unofficial guidance counselor—more accurately, her friend. “That’s okay. A lot of high school seniors feel that way.” “Yeah, but they at least have some vague idea. I have none. Not even a general area or plan. Maybe I’ll just work nearby and live here for the rest of my life.” “You could, if you really wanted to do that,” Miss Stewart said thoughtfully. “But I think you’re capable of a lot more than that, even if you don’t.” “Do you actually think so? Do you think I’m good at— well, at anything?” “I think you’re good at this.” Miss Stewart tapped her grammar book with her index finger. “Who knows, maybe you’ll turn out to be an English teacher.” “Oh, gross, no way!” “Hey now! I’ve been teaching for fifteen years! Don’t judge it too harshly,” Miss Stewart laughed. “But really, Emilia, you can do whatever you put your mind to. Have you prayed about it?” “Are any of you even paying attention?” Mr. James’s voice brought Emilia back to the present. “Cory.” He snapped his fingers to get the student’s attention. “Cory, tell me who invented the steamboat?” flashback | 5 Poor Cory had been absentmindedly pulling at his red curls, trying to straighten them out. He had no idea what Mr. James was talking about. “Um, was it, I think it was—Booker T. Washington?” “No, Cory, it—I literally just said it. It’s not like this is the first time any of you have taken American History either.” Mr. James sighed heavily and leaned on the desk. He thoughtfully scanned the senior class. They all looked at him expectantly. “You know— let’s just not do this today. They shouldn’t have made you all come in.” Mr. James pulled up a three-legged stool that didn’t rest evenly and sat down. “You all lost Miss Stewart yesterday. Something sudden—car wreck like that—can be hard to deal with. As small as this school is, a lot of you probably knew her in elementary, didn’t you?” A few students nodded. “Let’s talk it out then. I’ve only been here a year; I didn’t know her that well.