Two ‘T’s and Two ‘L’s:
The (Abridged) Autobiography of Sarah Kittell
Some want to live within the sound of church or chapel bell; I want to run a rescue shop within a yard of hell. – C. T. Studd
At seventeen and a half years of age, it is practically impossible to write a comprehensive autobiographical account of one’s life. This is due in part to one’s generally not having lived quite long enough to have accomplished anything worth writing about—unless one is Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, in which case such a tome would most likely be far over-due by the age of 13. But I am not Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, and as such, I do not have much to say on the subject of my life. Therefore, what little I do have to say, I will attempt to say in such a manner as to be entertaining and, hopefully, somewhat comedic.
My life began at the Bethesda Naval Hospital on January 19, 1993. I arrived two weeks late and have never caught up. My family, at the time composed only of my mother, my father, and myself, lived in a small town called Damascus, which was approximately an hour outside of Washington, D.C. This pleasant simplicity lasted only so long: nineteen months later, my younger sister Jessica came into the world. Before I had the chance to adjust to this interruption, large brown boxes began the stealthy infiltration of my house, accompanied by cohorts disguised as packing paper. Due to my father’s position in the United States Army, we were being re-located to a new position in Cairo, Egypt. Dad began working at the Naval Medical Research Unit, NAMRU-3, and we stayed for three and a half years. As I was barely 3 myself when we first moved, and only 6 by the time we left, I don’t remember much of what happened there. I wish I did, as I’m sure I had many fantastic escapades. My parents took us to all the incredible places in Egypt, as well as on a Kenyan safari and on a trip to Israel, where I was baptized in the Jordan River. Of all these things, I remember in detail only random and bizarre events of little or no significance. For example, instead of memories of snorkeling in the Red Sea, I can only recall the swimming pool at the hotel where we stayed. I do not remember clearly the pyramids of Giza, but I can tell you about the old man who tried to sell tourist-y post cards to my family. And what comes to mind when I think of Israel is not the Garden of Gethsemane, not Golgotha, not the Wailing Wall—no, what I remember is the water park in Ariel.
Following the adventures of living in the largest city in Africa, we were again re-located, this time to Fort Hood near Killeen, Texas. Being slightly older, my memories of Texas are noticeably clearer; however, barely anything happened worth noting. We expanded our pet collection to include four cats and two dogs, plus several fire-bellied toads and a few fish. I prematurely discovered the opposite sex when I kissed my best friend in first grade. Afterwards, I always wondered why Stephen wasn’t allowed to speak to me anymore. My sister and I attended a public school while in Texas, and also came to the conclusion that we would never, ever like each other. In fact, we decided, we hated each other, and we attempted to spend as little time as possible in the other’s company. This decision was somewhat impeded by our living in the same bedroom, but we were determined (read: pig-headed) enough to make each other miserable on a regular basis.
Two years later found us once again invaded by large, cardboard moving boxes. This time, though, Jessi and I had discovered the immense versatility of said boxes, and put them to great use as play houses, much to the chagrin of my mother. After everything was finally packed away, the Kittell family embarked on a cross-country road trip to Maryland. This three-day journey was executed with two young children, four unhappy and restrained felines, two excitable dogs, and a box of cacti. Needless to say, though the trip was eventually successful, it was considerably more difficult than my parents anticipated. The highlight came when, while attempting to slap my sister for what I’m sure was a heinous and combat-worthy insult, I missed and instead hit a cactus. We arrived back in Maryland exhausted, scratched, and aggravated but in one piece—or rather, in ten individual pieces. The move had again been instigated by Dad’s job, though it would be the last before he retired and we came to Georgia. Maryland part two was much more interesting than Maryland part one, at least as far as I was concerned. I was approaching teenage-dom, and the concept fascinated me. As Mom had decided to remove us from the public education system, we began our formative years depending on three neighborhood girls to explain everything we needed to know about growing up. Their advice, though well-intentioned, created in me a desire to “fit in” and be popular. I have since abandoned this desire for the easier and more enjoyable goal of being weird.
After another two years, my father retired from the military, rudely uprooted us, and dragged us all down to the backwoods of Nowhere, Georgia (This town is also commonly referred to as “Colbert”). For a while, I made very few friends, mostly because the only place I went outside of my home was Sunday school. This changed when Mom discovered the Master’s Academy of Fine Arts. I spent a summer debating whether or not I really wanted to attend this strange, private-school-type “academy” before finally deciding to give it a try. The first day left me convinced that nothing in the world could be more fun, more interesting, more amazing than Master’s Academy. In short, I was in love. As someone who had always loved art and frequently indulged in attempts at creativity, MAFA was a dream come true. I adored it. Thursdays became my favorite day of the week. Soon I had cultivated a love for theater and history, even going so far as staging diagramed battle presentations to my history class for extra credit. While a few of the students found my enthusiasm somewhat abnormal, I was ecstatic to discover that I was no longer the odd one out. It was during this time that I met some of those people who became my closest friends. The impact that they have had on my life is astounding, and I quite literally would not be the person that I am today if it were not for their friendship and support.
Some time later, Dad took an interest in learning Biblical Hebrew for the purpose of studying the Old Testament. This lead to his discovery of Messianic Judaism, a minority denomination of Christianity comprised of people, both Gentiles and Jews, who believe in keeping Torah. Dad liked it. Upon further examination, he decided, rather abruptly, that their doctrine was correct. As a former Marine who was lacking in patience, Dad tends to operate under the rule that a bad decision is better than no decision at all. He began to follow the laws of the Old Testament. Because he never really understood the meaning of tact, he did not do a very good job of introducing the concept to the rest of us. Mom and Jessi were initially against the whole idea, but I saw it as an opportunity to get closer to Dad. Always the two who never got along, this was my way of showing him that I really did want to please him. It didn’t go according to plan, but then, most things never do. What it did accomplish was opening the door for my mother and sister, and eventually we were all regularly attending Shabbat service.
The unfortunate flip-side of the Promised Land Messianic Fellowship was that I met a young man named E___, who I found to be highly entertaining and, later, attractive. Being a naïve 14-year-old, I believed everything he said, and entered into a decidedly unintelligent relationship with him. It was unintelligent for a number of reasons; namely, that he was considerably older than I, and also because E___ was emotionally unbalanced and struggled with depression. Though most of our communication was electronic, and we only saw each other once a week, he became a central part of my life and had a lasting impact on who I am. I feel it is important to emphasize that, as I would much rather leave out this particular account if it hadn’t been so important and influential. The details are hardly necessary, so I will suffice it to say that the relationship lasted longer than it should have, ended badly, and resulted in the loss of two of my friends—fortunately, however, my heart remained intact. I learned rather quickly that I couldn’t trust everyone and that God needed to be a much greater part of my life than He was. Despite emotional scarring, the experience set me on a patch towards discovering a true and fulfilling relationship with my Abba YHWH, and for that I cannot regret what happened.
Between that time and the present day, myriad incidents have occurred that have shaped me as a person. Too many to list completely, in fact. Among other things, I furthered my artistic talents, forged new friendships, began writing a book, had my heart broken for the first time (and finally understood the emotions behind post-breakup songs), and started the process of mending my familial relationships, all the while attempting to draw closer to God. I would like to write a conclusion that includes my goals and plans for the future, but as of right now, I have very few. My main goal at the moment is to set proper goals for myself. Aside from that, all I wish to strive for is more of Yah and less of me. I want whatever His will for my life happens to be, and I want to follow Him with all the passion and enthusiasm that I can. In that way, I believe, I have set for myself a goal that is far better than deciding what I want to do after I graduate or the type of job that I wish to secure.
So. That is all I have to say about myself. I hope that the reader has found this informative and at least somewhat enjoyable to read. If one takes away nothing else about me than this, I would like one to remember that YHWH is my everything, and that my name is spelled with an ‘h’.
No comments:
Post a Comment