Red Patent Plastic

Red patent plastic
Scuffed at the heel
and the big toe on
the right shoe
A thin layer of dust
along the inside
The pressure of a foot
grinding this compilation
of organic ashes
ever farther into
well-worn fibers
Oh, the dischordant harmony
of man-made materials
and history in a medium of backyard
Dirt
Blending the facets of modern existence
Rendering them inseparable
Nothing remains of the purity.
Twenty-first century dirt, muddied
By hoity toity patent plastic.

Haiku

The fountain is dry
Water fails to trickle from
Concentric Circles

The world is awake
Red-cheeked and dehydrated
Slow down for awhile

The palm trees are still
Staying cool in humid air
Planted, immobile

A boy I know sits
Pondering this world's facade
Something lies deeper

The sun is not high
It scorches epidermis
What power it holds

Looking In

Things I learned about myself today:

I am capable of having a panic attack.

I will shut down after too much stress.

Pursuing a Graduate degree in Religion may not be my calling if it means sacrificing all other interests, passions, as well as intellectual, social, and ministerial pursuits to compete effectively in academia.

Music means more to me than I understand. And being rejected and refused by FSU's music school and its affiliated programs has disappointed me more deeply than I would like to believe.

I just want to change people, live communally, make a difference. But God clearly articulates a message of peace: "My child, you are doing more than you know."

Sufjan Stevens and I are soulmates.

I run away from my problems. I take the easy way out.

I am intimidated by the young men in my life who could spur me on most effectively in my relationship with Christ. I settle and then wonder why I am disappointed.

Life's Color

Today I began my first day of "Poetic Technique." So far, I love its unconventional classroom approach (we sit in a circle of desks) and my professor's emphasis on taking "field trips" to fuel expression. Here's what I wrote today.

Yellow is
The dying leaves on a poster in the hall,
Promising fall's arrival,
Recalling the bliss of cool, dry air.
The hardcover poetry book displayed prominently
in a yellow sea of classroom doors.
It is the sun that streams through the window and into my eyes
after reflecting off rain-drenched, collegiate brick.
The tattered folder that hurries past under arm,
mimicking caution tape and mud-worn tractors
the omens of beauty to come in the midst of chaos
It is mustard, unused this morning, at the hot dog stand.
It is the plaid sweater, unworn, in blistering humidity.
It persists in ugliness, it insists on purity.
It is hope.

What a Life

As I write this, I sit in my posh, apartment-style living quarters in the ghetto of FSU. Two days in Tallahassee, it's already been a whirlwind of unexpected, sometimes startling moments:

My family and I had originally planned on leaving around 9 am Wednesday, but instead we headed out at 6:30 am with my sister and her friend in tow. It seems the hurricane has no respect for travel plans so we thought we'd get an early start. When I got to Rogers and unlocked the door to my room, my soon-to-be roommate promptly and bluntly informed me that there was no possible way I could live there since she had paid for a single room. After seeking aid at the front desk and confronting her problems, I decided (and thankfully the hall supervisor agreed) that I should transfer rooms to avoid my would-be roommate at all costs.

The room isn't new or even clean. But it has a small living/dining area, a kitchenette, bathroom, and large closet in the bedroom. It needs more work, but a little decorating and strenuous scrubbing may make it mildly charming.

I spoke with a man selling posters in the Union about his jail days (he only committed minor infractions, he assured me). I went to see a French Boys' Choir with a friend I randomly met this summer and who just happens to attend the church my favorite teacher, Dr. Shaftel, attends. I met a girl who is quite possibly in my Hebrew class this semester. I got locked out of my residence hall sometime after midnight last night and trekked around the entire building seeking an open door until a confused student let me in. I bought 13 books for my classes and walked cross-campus at least 3 times so far. And I inexplicably found it impossible to get internet in the room. After about an hour of trouble-shooting, a friend recommended I restart the computer.

Voila! Here I am now, enjoying the intrigue of the virtual world.

If my year is anything like the past two days, it's bound to be interesting.

Starting Over

I don't know if its just an aspect of my restless personality or a symptom of living a life of mediocrity, but every so often I feel the intense, desperate need to start over. Delete the cracker crumb paths through this forest of living and searching and expressing myself.

I get the urge to smash my computer to pieces, tear out journal entries, make a clean break. And I wish I could understand myself. But I just want to make a difference. I just want to know truth. I don't need to be brainwashed into a life of contentment, I just need to revel in the glory of the harsh truths of reality. I want to look into people's eyes and see their hearts. But I want to do this without getting myself entangled into messy relationships.

But that's not possible. Life may be simple in its most objective form. But people are not objective and cannot view life through a scope of objectivity and stoic reasoning. That's what makes this living thing worth it, but that's also what makes it so hard.

I am convinced, absolutely and passionately, that God has huge, life-changing things in mind for His church on this earth. It's not at all about me, it's about a global body. And maybe if I could come to terms with that, really understand that, I could really start to live. My efforts don't have to be glorious, I don't have to be altogether competent, because I am not all that matters.

Music

Sometimes I think I could lead a life of perfect contentment as long as I had the chance to pound a few notes out on the piano and pretend to know how to play the guitar, all while singing my heart out, humming unwritten melodies, serenading my cat.

What is it about music that makes all seem magical? How does it yield such power over our hearts and minds? I am convinced that the performing arts are not here so much to entertain, but more to make sense of the abstract entanglement of moments that comprise living. Seeing pain in the form of a dance reveals the beauty in struggle. The soaring notes of a violin are the sounds of nature in its majesty. The constant strum of guitar strings is that rhythm of time we must all succumb to.

What is the connection between God and music? Certainly its a gift He's given us, a glimpse of the joy He provides. Even in Heaven, though, all creatures cry out in song, "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God almighty, who was, and is, and is to come." Is music a part of that heavenly kingdom on earth, here yet not quite tangible? Perfect, yet not fully recognized? I think that music is the song of our souls; it can be used to stir us to action, both positive and negative. Perhaps music on its own is neither good nor bad, but it is a powerful tool: to express, to persuade, to comfort, and to corrupt.

We must listen. Create. Understand that sway and appreciate its magic.

Mother Teresa is smart.

"Everything starts from prayer. Without asking God for love, we cannot possess love and still less are we able to give it to others. Just as people today are speaking so much about the poor but they do not know or talk to the poor, we too cannot talk so much about prayer and yet not know how to pray."

"In Minneapolis, a woman in a wheelchair, suffering continuous convulsions from cerebral palsy asked me what people like her could do for others. I told her: You can do the most. You can do more than any of us because your suffering is united with the suffering of Christ on the Cross and it brings strength to all of us. There is tremendous strength that is growing in the world through this continual sharing, praying together, suffering together and working together."

"There is much suffering in the world - physical, material, mental. The suffering of some can be blamed on the greed of others. The material and physical suffering is suffering from hunger, from homelessness, from all kinds of diseases. But the greatest suffering is being lonely, feeling unloved, having no one. I have come more and more to realize that it is being unwanted that is the worst disease that any human being can ever experience."

"When we have nothing to give, let us give that nothingness. Let us remain as empty as possible, so that God can fill us. Even God cannot fill what is already full. God won't force Himself on us. You are filling the world with the love God has given you."

God has provided us so much wisdom, if we'll only just take it to heart. I want to love because of God's love, and I want to serve Him by serving others, by disappearing.

Everything's Changin'

This past week bears the marks of transition, the growing pains of change. A week without Tuesday Bible study. My last day of work. The last week before one of my best friends headed back to school. And a mini reunion that ended, as all reunions do, with separation and the dull ache of loneliness.

I feel as if I've finally settled back into existence and accepted my life in Jacksonville. I learned to love my coworkers at Blockbuster. I met new people that have become my friends. I've delved into Song of Solomon with the help of God and tremendous spiritual mentors, beautiful men and women of God. I've changed and learned and recovered. I've come to understand so much darkness, but also loveliness. I like where I am in so many ways that leaving it all behind indefinitely feels like a loss and, to some degree, a cop out. But I know (and anticipate) that there will be joys and laughter and pain in Tallahassee that will shape me further. Things that will shake me, stir me, revive me. And I look forward to a time to meet with those friends I've missed this summer.

At the beginning of the summer, God provided encouragement in the form of a verse in John:

Jesus answered, "But a time is coming, and has come, when you will be scattered, each to his own home. You will leave me all alone. Yet I am not alone, for my Father is with me." (Jn 16:32)

College is a transitory period. Nowhere seems quite like home. We are scattered from community and companionship. And we will feel alone. We will yearn for those from which we are separated. But we are not alone. God is with us. God is WITH us. And, when all else fails, when everything's changing, we can know that companionship. We can praise Him in the sorrow, the boredom and confusion, for the tiniest of daily joys.

When we feel the coldness and shame of distance from God's enveloping love and from His awe-inspiring power, we must follow his sheep. We must aim for wisdom and friendship that exposes, rebukes, hopes, and supports.

Beloved: "Tell me, you whom I love, where you graze your flock and where you rest your sheep at midday. Why should I be like a veiled woman beside the flocks of your friends?"

Lover: "If you do not know, most beautiful of women, follow the tracks of the sheep and graze your young goats by the tents of the shepherds." - (Song of Solomon 1:7-8)

Wisdom from the Sisterhood

Due to my apparent inability to think independently or write anything profound these past few days, I decided to leave my dear readers with some wisdom from the The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants book:

"Maybe, she thought as she walked, Brian McBrian was onto something important. Maybe happiness didn't have to be about the big, sweeping circumstances, about having everything in your life in place. Maybe it was about stringing together a bunch of small pleasures. Wearing slippers and watching the Miss Universe contest. Eating a brownie and vanilla ice cream. Getting to level seven in Dragon Master and knowing there were twenty levels to go.

Maybe happiness was just a matter of the little upticks-the traffic signal that said 'Walk' the second you got there-and the downticks-the itchy tag at the back of your collar-that happened to every person in the course of a day. Maybe everybody had the same alotted measure of happiness within each day.

Maybe it didn't matter if you were a world-famous heartthrob or a painful geek. Maybe it didn't matter if your friend was possibly dying.

Maybe you just got through it. Maybe that was all you could ask for." (Page 282)

Forgotten Memories

I just found something I'd written on November 16, 2006 about a previous journal entry. I literally said "Wow!" when I read it. It's always strange to look back on my thoughts, separated by this chasm of time:

Life. It changes you. Look back at 1-1-06. The girl who wrote that is hiding somewhere, I'm just not sure how to get her back. Am I supposed to seek that innocence? I think so. When the world hardens you - when you toughen up to avoid breaking down - something joyous gets pushed back and forgotten. That child-like naivete, the complete faith in Jesus, in his love intangible but so apparent. Am I wiser than I was on January 1, 2006? I hope so. Am I more aware of my role in this world? Hopefully. Bu am I living each day with the happiness of a child in my heart? I long for it. I asked for growth. In many ways, I have been stretched. But just because I am altered does not give me the excuse to scorn the pain and frustration I've undergone. I've learned to endure, when everything is collapsing, endure. This race has some huge mountains to cross, believe me. But my adrenaline's pumping, my heart is still beating, I am alive and living for Christ. I proclaim this for His glory!

Prayer

"I pray also that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and his incomparably great power for us who believe." - Ephesians 1:18-19

I pray that we all experience that. That we all pray that prayer.