invest

Investment in anything is expensive. Investment needn't be money or time, but it can be both. Although money invested can change the way you budget, time requires much more heart investment.

Be wise where you place your investments--especially your life investments. But, don't take this warning as reason to not invest. Just because ice cream can make you fat doesn't mean you shouldn't eat it. To not eat ice cream occasionally is to lose the sweet flavor melting across your tongue. And that experience should be traded for none!

Investment enriches life. And the risky ones sharpen the flavor of success. So choose. And invest your life into something worthwhile.

thoughts

All of this week, I feel that I have walked around with a permanent crease in my forehead. I have been thinking about what joy is and how it could ever factor into suffering. I don't even know where to begin in all of this.

Recently, I have been musing over blessings and what God's blessing looks like which brings me to the song "Blessings" by Laura Story. Truly, it requires me to redefine what I consider to be blessing.

Another thought bouncing around in my head has to do with Job. A speaker yesterday said, "I've heard other preachers say that it's okay for us to be angry with God because HE can take it. Oh, He CAN take it. Of course, have you ever read Job? God sits him down and takes him to task."

God can taking our yelling. Oh, yes. But, can we take HIS? I don't think so.

Job 40

Enlightenment

A small pinprick of light burst through the heavy curtain hanging across the window. The beam firmly landed upon Justin, who curled around his knees with his hands locked in front of his shins. The star of light drilled into the fabric of his shirt. Eyes shut. He felt the slow, incessant warmth of the light on his chest.

Justin’s eyes burst open and zeroed in on the light that glowed on his shirt. His hands tightened and then let go. Uncontained by these clasped hands, Justin exploded into a spasm of movement. Like a gawk-ish and injured adolescent, he leapt towards the window. His breath grunted forth from his lungs. Justin’s hands shook as he gripped the thick blackness overwhelming the window.

Jerking the fabric, Justin tried desperately to pull the curtain back over the pinprick of light that spewed forth. His arms bowed and his back curved making it difficult for him to adjust the blackness. His breath wailed from his lungs and hissed through his teeth. With one mighty pull, Justin tried to shut out the light.

The black fabric gave. A terrible tearing ricocheted throughout the room. Light spilled through the shredded curtain into the blackness of Justin’s created cave. Justin fell to his knees covering his eyes with his hands. His mouth moved frantically but no sound came forth.

The warmth of the light illuminated the piles of crap and puddles of urine that covered the floor. The walls, smeared with excrement, glowed an eerie green-brown. Justin in the presence of the light shivered in a cowering huddle on the floor. Although clothed, Justin’s clothes and skin seemed to be as one.

Eyes clamped firmly shut, Justin reached out desperately for the thick black fabric. A strip languished by the window barely holding on. The rest lay in a heap on the floor near Justin. His wandering fingertips brushed the fabric and like a striking viper, Justin quickly grasped the curtain. Pulling it to himself, Justin rocked onto his heels comforting himself with this thick blackness.

Rising to his feet with his eyes still shut, Justin felt for the pegs that held the fabric. Finding one, Justin looped the curtain onto it. Shuddering, He tried to stretch the fabric to the other side of the window. It did not reach.

Justin squeaked in agony. Hands gripping his shirt, Justin tore the thin fabric. It came apart like tissue paper. He flung the shirt over the other peg. Light speckled through the tattered shirt. Justin moaned. Clawing at his skin, Justin’s nails tore away layer upon layer of dirt and flesh.

With renewed desperation, Justin stumbled into the piles of crap that littered the floor about him. Softening the excrement with the fresh urine, Justin piled bit after bit into the window. He worked methodically. Layer after layer, the room filled again with darkness. Yanking the scrap of dark curtain across the top sliver of light cutting through the excrement, Justin banished the light.

Eyes shut. Justin dragged himself back to the place across from the entrance of light. Crumpling down, Justin locked his hands around his shins. His chin fell to his chest. ........................................

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A Short Story: Tears

Once upon a time, there was a girl who hated to cry. Bad things happened in life, but she refused to cry. When her heart broke, tears refused to surface.

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"I cry in my heart." Her plaintive, but pathetic voice excused her lack of tears.
Then times would come when she knew that she ought to cry. The girl wanted to cry, but couldn't seem to. In the quiet of an empty room, the girl whispered to herself, "It's okay. Now, you can cry." No tears ever came.

To this girl, tears portrayed weakness. Tears were for those who could not take care of themselves or who wanted to manipulate others to their own desires. And for vanity's sake, tears made one's skin motley, red, and puffy.

As this girl journeyed through life and continued to refuse to cry, she met many people. A curious thing happened. Some of these people were not afraid to cry and some shared the girl's own feeling of distaste toward tears. Yet, this girl found herself drawn to those who shed tears openly. They seemed freer somehow. These tear-shedders walked lightly and were not ashamed of their vulnerability.

In time, the-girl-who-could-not-cry discovered that she had begun to respect these others who felt no shame in crying.

"You must learn to cry." These told her.
"I hate crying?" The girl tried to say emphatically but ended in a question. With the passing of time, tears began to entice her. Crying seemed to hold such freedom and release.

Life brought this girl pain after pain. Never did a tear slid down her face or fog her eye. She went staunchly on; yet, out of the corner of her eye, the girl wistfully caught sight of those who freely shed tears on her behalf.

She wanted that.

The girl desired to cry.

On rainy days, the girl sprinted out to meet the teardrops of the sky. As these fresh water tears splashed on her face, the girl pretended that these drops of water came from her own heart. The rain danced down her cheeks as the girl spun in the rain with arms opened wide finally accepting the crying of the sky. Her pain seemed best expressed through this sky encapsulating cry. Yet, only the fresh water of clouds cascaded down her face.

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Still, salt droplets did not come from the girl's own eyes.

Life continued bringing the girl both new pains and renewing old ones. And yet, things had changed somehow. No longer did she face these hurts in the same way that she had before. Before, she had chosen to be strong and show no weakness. Now, the girl wanted to embrace the freedom that she saw in the tear-shedders.

Even with this desire, no tears came.

On a day with no rain but lots of wind, the girl climbed a hill and considered her life. Abruptly, she sat amongst the tall grass. Looking at her hands, the girl noticed a small yellow bud of a flower by her knee. The flower's petals were crushed, bruised, and ripped. Yet, the flower still sought the sunshine. Just like she did.

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The girl's throat tightened as she stared at the flower. Her mind raced. Surely, she would choke and die. Breathing seemed difficult with this strange tightening of the throat. Emotion rushed to her eyes and a liquid warmth filled her eyes and spilled over. The girl let the tears come. She did not wipe them away. She did not laugh in embarrassment. She cried freely. Her skin became blotchy and red. Snot dripped from her nose. And you know what? This girl was beautiful in her tears.

...

"A princess's tears are prized the world over. For centuries, caravans and traders traveled across sand and sea looking for this rare find. Like invisible ink, they are used to compose the sweetest of songs, the most beautiful poetry, and the most adoring love letters. For break-up letters or insults, use crocodile tears."
The Secret Lives of Princesses

A Girl's Perspective on Rambo

A couple of nights ago, I had a date with John Rambo. Sitting in the guest bedroom that I’ve called home for the past three months, I sat riveted to the television as I watched Sylvester Stallone in First Blood. Truly, I’m a chick flick kind of girl when it comes to movies. However, I asked my cousin recently for his favorite movies. He proffered The Hunt for Red October, First Blood, and First Blood part II. I found The Hunt for Red October to be right up my alley (I like to think) – it was described as a giant game of chess with the chess pieces being the navies of the United States and the Soviet Union. First Blood, on the other hand, chilled my blood. As I told my cousin later, my stuffed elephant, Horton, ended up in my lap for the latter half of the movie because he was scared. Yes, this is my creative way of saying that I might have been a tad nervous – maybe scared.

For the past couple of years, I have noticed that my friends have a propensity to compare different people to Rambo. For example, “Dude! Did you see that girl? She’s crazy like Rambo.” Now, I had no idea who this Rambo was. Apparently, he is crazy. Obviously, he’s got great fighting skills and a bit rough around the edges. I didn’t know this. I was just assuming from the comparisons that had been made.

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After watching First Blood, it all becomes clear. Rambo is a manly man. We’re talking muscles, deep voice, scars, a mysterious history, a decorated past, etc. Did I mention the muscles - as in Rambo has more muscle in his one muscle than I do in my entire body? He’s America’s favorite type of hero. He’s misunderstood. Rambo chooses to place himself against the world or perhaps it’s America that put Rambo in that position. We sympathize with this brooding, muscular man.

Will Teasle, the sheriff who awakens the inner beast of Rambo, is also a man. He’s a man with a family, a town, deputies, and a respected position. He wants to protect what he has. The sheriff hates drifters for the trouble they could stir up so he moves them right along. Although more common in America than Rambos, the movie displays Will as ignorant, discriminatory, and frankly just plain dumb. We don’t sympathize with this domineering, angry man.

Both Rambo and Will are overwhelmed by blood lust and pride. Their dispute with each other does not begin so much in words as it does with action. Rambo requests a meal and Will drives him right out of town. Will strips Rambo of all dignity and in return Rambo does the same to Will. Neither one is willing to let go of their blood lust and their pride. Throughout the entire movie, I kept thinking to myself, “Will is a dead man.” Rather than follow the advice of people who were familiar with Rambo and his nature, Will refused to back down (I suppose this is a quality that would make him a good sheriff). However, it marked him as dead and foolish for not following wise advice.

At the end of the movie, Rambo breaks down and speaks more than he did in the entire first hour and fifteen minutes of the film. His iron exterior hid a broken individual. I cannot help but feel awe for this character that showed extreme ingenuity and strength throughout the film. It is appealing. However, a lot of trouble, death, explosions could have been saved if Rambo had simply started the movie with vulnerability and humbleness.

I suppose this would not have made much of a movie, though. Rambo is the epitome of masculine inspiration. The less talking, the more explosions, the better! Rambo might be able to go through his movie existence like this, but I sure hope men aren’t taking their cues from Rambo. Life will be less difficult if they share a bit more and drop the iron exterior more often. As a girl, I definitely found Rambo pretty amazing. No, I don’t wish to have his muscles nor do I want his voice (neither do I find super-muscle men very attractive - ever heard the phrase "all brawn, no brains?"). However, that savvy nature knowledge I could go for. Yet, I think Rambo and Will reminded me the snares of pride, judging by appearance, and the necessity of vulnerability.

Don’t worry about my stuffed elephant, Horton! Although he got nervous at parts, I know he’s excited about watching First Blood part II. I, on the other hand, might be hiding under the covers of my bed.

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A Wild Flower Walk

Feet in hot pink mud boots with a basket on her arm, my cousin set out with me on a walk. We went in search of wild flowers. For days, we'd been driving down these country roads watching black-eyed susans nod their heads at us. For days, queen anne's lace sophisticatedly taunted us from the windy freedom of the side of the road.

Yesterday afternoon, we went in search of beauty.

As the hot sunshine made sweat slide down our backs and our mud boots plodded along the road, our eyes searched out bright bits of colors. Like children (for we are children sometimes), we hunted out these treasures of color.

Long before our walk had ended, our basket brimmed with flowers. My cousin walking beside me sighs and says to me, "I feel so relaxed right now. I don't really know why I wasn't relaxed before, but now I am."

I looked at her oddly. Musing on her words, I could only thing that sunshine, flowers, buzzing flies, sweat, and a comfortable camaraderie are therapeutic. More than that, we were participating in an activity that girls had done for decades. We sought beauty.

Summer begs for idyllic adventures and simple activities with those one loves. It's so easy to appreciate pictures of nature from the view of our couch and computer, but there is nothing like a personal snapshot of nature that one sees in the midst of the bugs, sweat, and sunshine. Perhaps a personal snapshot won't last as long as paper and ink; however, a personal snapshot is like a slideshow that never stops. Keep creating these moments for yourself and others.

In twenty years, I might not remember this wildflower walk. But, I will remember this summer spent with my cousins. And who knows, my cousin might recall this walk.

Go pick some wild flowers and revel in the beauty that has been granted us on this earth. And have a lovely Independence Day!

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Fear As We Know It

Clad in a large t-shirt
Hair swooped out of face
Toothpaste on toothbrush
Rug under bare feet
Hip bones pressed against sink
Leaning in towards the mirror
One light bulb
Illuminates the girl in reflection
Pretty of eye and ear

Shadows shift
The reflected eyes peer fearfully
Into the world behind the breathing

Nothing
Only Shadows
Both girls breathe deeply
girl
and
reflected girl

One staring into the face of the other
The other staring into shadows
never parted
always together

Picture found here
and there's also a story called A Parable of a Lightbulb if you want to go check it out.

Bittersweet Day

“Happy Valentine’s Day…or are you celebrating anti-valentine’s?” A friend asked me via text after I had sent her a quote about love.

“No. I celebrate love. I’ve come full circle. I used to hate it, but honestly, today is just another day for me.” I responded.

Valentine’s Day is a bitter day for singles. On this day of the year, their loneliness is amplified as they spend hours pitying their sorrow. My friend has been happily married for almost three years. In all the time that I have known her, I have never gone a date. I suppose that I have reason to be bitter against this holiday where romantic love is celebrated.

In my high school days, I hated Valentine’s Day. I dreamed of receiving red roses and having a boy shower me in attentions – that’s what I wanted. My friends talked about how their boyfriends were going to do all these things for them. I listened. I had nothing to say. I did not have a boyfriend or even a prospective boyfriend.

Since those days of toxic bitterness, my heart has changed. No longer do I tirade against the holiday of cupids and hearts. I celebrate love. Valentine’s Day might be a great time for stores to advertise silky red lingerie and chocolates; but for me, the day is about showing love to those that I love or who need to be shown love. Valentine’s Day commemorates the importance of love in our lives.

Love has no desire but to fulfill itself. To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night. To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving. ~Kahlil Gibran

Birthday Thoughts

“How has your birthday been?” One of my friends asks. I smile softly because I know that my 21st birthday has not been like any that others would expect. It wasn’t wild. It wasn’t crazy. It was and it is still currently. In reply to my friend’s question, I say, “It was pleasant. My day went along happily.” Although this isn’t the answer they are expecting, it is perfect.

To any other, this day is just another January 20th. It’s a date that shows the month is almost over. Some have work. Some have school. I have school! Actually, I had a lot of classes. The monotony of life continues. Yet, there is an exception.

This morning when I awoke, I slipped a suit of moon dust on under my skin. No one sees it. However, I feel it. The glow permeates my being. In the quiet moments of my day and there have been many, I feel the tickle of the moon dust and I remember that twenty-one years ago today I was born. My heart swells with gratitude that I am alive - that I can feel the crisp wind cut through my coat.

My birthday has been spent in the presence of God. When I woke in the morning, I chose to wake about an hour and half earlier than I would usually wake so I could be with Jesus. To me, mornings are a holy time. He deserves my beginnings as well as my endings with everything in between. When I walked to class, I gazed in awe at the silhouette of the trees against the early morning sky.

This day, I have appreciated the little things of life. I have gloried in the wind when it races through my hair. The sprinkling of snow on me as I walked across campus with a caramel steamer clasped between my mittens brought a feeling of fantasy to my evening. Never did I question that I was loved. When people have expressly approached me to only wish me a happy birthday, I have felt loved. It seemed to me that God was whispering through their well-wishings His love for me. My heart is full.

I have no patience for birthdays when they scream, “Look at me! I am the Birthday Girl and I deserve your attention.” Honestly, I deserve nothing. My day has been fulfilling because I was able to serve others. Those moments of service are made holy in the quiet places of my heart because I served happily.

Light a Candle

Even amongst the commercialism of Christmas, this time of the year is holy to me. I feel as though I walk on holy ground always as snow covers the blemishes of the world. Music is holy. It sets the tone of the heart. The lyrics below are from my favorite Christmas song "Light a Candle" by Avalon.


light a candle
for the woman who is lonely
and every Christmas is the same

for the children who need
more than presents can bring

light a candle
light the dark
light the world
light a heart or two
light a candle for me
I'll light a candle for you

light a candle
for the homeless and the hungry
a little shelter from the cold

light a candle
for the broken and forgotten
may the season warm their souls

can we open our eyes
to shine through the dark

light a candle
light the dark
light the world
light a heart or two
light a candle for me
I'll light a candle for you

and in this special time of year
may peace on earth surround us here
and teach us there's a better way to live
and with every (every) flame that burns
we must somehow learn
that love's the greatest gift
that we could ever give.....

light a candle
light the dark
(light the world)
light the world
(light a heart or two)
light a heart or two
light a candle for me
i'll light a candle for you
light a candle (oh yea)
light the dark (everybody needs a light)
light the world
light a heart or two
light a candle for me )
I'll light a candle for you
light candle for me
I'll light a candle for you
light a candle for me
I'll light a candle for you

Will You Love Me?

“Mommy, pick me up.”
The child looked up with wide pleading eyes. It was adorable.
How could a parent ignore this plea?
“Daddy, I’m hungry.”
The rumbling of the small tummy harmonized to the child’s plea.
How could a parent not feed this sweet child?
“Sissy, play with me.”
The desire in the shining eye could not be ignored.
How could a sister not play with that eager heart?
“Mommy, do you love me?”
“Daddy, do you love me?”
“Sissy, do you love me?”
And we know that they love this small child because they care for her every desire.

“Mommy, I need a new backpack.”
So they go to the store and buy one.
How could a mother not fulfill her child’s need?
“Daddy, will you help me with my homework?”
They spend hours working together on this homework.
How could a father deny his child help?
“Sissy, why do boys act so weird?”
The sisters giggle together for hours as they chatter.
How could a sister refuse to give advice?
“Mommy, do you love me?”
“Daddy, do you love me?”
“Sister, do you love me?”
And we know that they love this girl because they give her time.

“Mommy, I want a boyfriend.”
The mother smiles worriedly.
What will this turbulence look like?
“Daddy, can I have the car?”
The father proffers the keys in exchange for a promised return by the set time.
How could he refuse his baby?
“Sister, let’s go shopping.”
But, friends come.
How could she be forgotten?
“Mommy, love me.”
“Daddy, you have to love me.”
“Sister, will you love me still?”
And they love her still.

“Mommy, how can I love you?”
Shock rushes across Mommy’s face.
When did this growth happen?
“Daddy, how can I love you?”
And the father is surprised.
How did this growth happen?
“Sister, how can I love you?”
Forgiveness is exchanged.
What changed?
“Mommy, I love you.”
“Daddy, I love you.”
“Sissy, I love you.”
And their love for each other was greater.

A Present Thought

It was Thursday of Fall break. I spent the entire day studying with one of my roommates who I generally don’t see because she is so busy. It was a good day. I was productive. We ate lunch together and it was like a long day date. When we got home, we rejoined another of our roommates and rewarded ourselves with the movie An Affair To Remember. Old movies just have a certain sophisticated ambiance about them. It was divine and it was lovely. And then, the movie ended. I had a sense of loss. Oh, yes. It was quite connected to the movie. However, my sense of missing was because I had not seen my fourth roommate, Alysha, since the night before. She and I share a particular bond having survived a number of difficulties together. For a while, I wandered around my room a bit forlorn. I tried to distract myself with facebook. It was no use. Finally, I gave up.

With the petulance of a child, I stomped out of my dorm room and went to the entrance of my building. For about ten minutes, I pressed my face against the glass of the window peering out into the inky night. My heart screamed, “Alysha, come back to me!” After leaving quite the nose mark on this window, I finally marched outside. I stood smack dab in front of my building in the middle of the sidewalk and unceremoniously plopped myself down on the pavement. I was resolved to sit there until Alysha came home. Did I mention that it was a chilly autumn evening? I got pelted with raindrops and leaves. I wouldn’t move. I was resolute.

For a while, I got distracted by the way that the parking lot lights shown on the leaves of the trees. For a moment or two, the iridescent moon sparkling softly through the clouds intrigued me. Probably for more than a moment, I became very interested in the sounds of the night. And then, I became enthralled with the sound of my voice harmonizing with those night sounds. If you had been sitting near my dorm, you would have been treated to a free concert of my heart chords. The concert may have lasted for the greater part of an hour. It was attended by rain, leaves, and wind. There were a couple of intermissions that occurred upon the sighting of a passerby. I must say that the rain that came fell like sparkling diamonds but thankfully these diamond raindrops were soft and melted into liquid silver. It became a time of enchantment.

Finally, Alysha came. The smile that spread across her face upon the sighting of me sitting in the middle of the sidewalk at such a late hour warmed my heart. I was relieved because honestly I was getting a bit chilled. You would think that I would have immediately glued myself to Alysha’s side, but I didn’t. Now, that she was back, I felt no urgency to be with her. I was contented because I knew she was back. Alysha and I ended up hanging out with some other people. It was good.

Later on, I sat next to Alysha on the couch while we worked on separate things. I was confused because I knew that I had missed Alysha a lot. However, when she was actually there, I didn’t feel the need to be actively interacting with her. I could not understand it in my head. It just wasn’t making sense. And then, I realized it. I turned to Alysha and piped up, “Alysha, I missed your presence.”

Like an avalanche, my thoughts all slid into place. I love interacting with Alysha. Yet, my favorite thing is living next to Alysha day by day not necessarily talking or doing anything. I just like being next to her, knowing that she’s there, and knowing that we don’t have to interact. I never really understood the idea of presence. I mean, obviously, one is present in class or we live in the present time. The idea of presence has and had confused me. I have heard that the Holy Spirit is God’s presence. What in the world does that mean? God’s presence is something that should never leave you because He is everywhere. And yet, we are not always aware of His presence. The presence of friends is much easier to miss because it is a very visible and tangible thing. Of course, we don’t have to be aware of God’s presence. There is a choice involved. I am in the presence of Alysha because I want to be. I’m sitting next to her right now. God’s presence is with me because He wants to be with me and I want Him to be with me. Presence.

Lockets

A heart-shaped locket cherishes memories, pictures, or locks of hair. Lockets are necklaces kept close to the heart. They are history and future sewn together. The locket is carried into the future on the bearer's neck and it is a window to the past at the unclasping of the sides. Every person has a locket whether or not it is worn around the neck or draped about the heart. It is a safe place for secret thoughts, hopeful dreams, childhood happiness, memorable faces, or remorseful memory. A locket is carried close to the heart.

I'll open my locket for you. Although tiny and not often visible, it is packed with frozen moments that breath in my memory. Some have become living prayers.

A picture in my locket that I have revisited often in the past couple of days is of a couple riding the train. Judging by their clothing, I would say that they were marginally young. The man had dark hair, a tired face, and a black eye. In his hand, he clasped a wide-tooth comb with strands of blonde hair stuck in it. These strands of blonde hair belonged to the woman who sat beside him on the train. There was something not quite right about the woman's eyes and skin. Her skin was sallow and her eyes distant. The woman's hair had a horrific ponytail dent and had been combed through. When the couple had situated themselves in their seats, the woman lay her head in the man's lap and he began to methodically comb her hair. I glanced away from this couple in time to catch a young man across the aisle whispering in repulsion to his friend, "That's disgusting." I looked back at the couple and realized that the man was searching out lice.

At first, I was angry at this disgusted man who chose to only look at the physical circumstances of this couple. Of course, I understood how easy it was to judge by appearance. After all, I was judging that whispering man. If any observer were to glance at this man, they could assume by his clothing that he had lived a posh existence.

This couple captivated me. Obviously, life or circumstance had dealt them a heavy blow. Why did that man have such a black eye? People don't just randomly wake up with black eyes. How did the woman get lice? How did they have money for public transportation if they obviously were in such dire circumstance? This couple also showed deep commitment. Perhaps a man might find it a joy to comb his significant other's hair, but probably only if it is clean and bug-free. What brought this couple to such a deep commitment to each other?

I got off at the next stop. My questions remain unanswered.

dragon skin

The transformation would begin at my elbows. I mean haven't you ever touched your elbows. They are so very strange. To the touch, they are a bit leathery, dry, and bumpy. It seems like the perfect place for magic to begin since elbows are so often forgotten. Magic seems to begin on the edge of being. You don't realize it happened until suddenly the transformation is almost completed.

When I shape shift into a dragon, it always begins at the elbows. The thin leathery skin of humans hardens to a thick bullet-proof scale. My pale coloring begins to appear mildly bluish. The change is so gradually rapid that is unnoticeable in a multitude of blinks. However, the brain of an observer suddenly registers a confusion. The transformation was so subtle that it leaves that observer blinking quickly trying to understand what just happened. Of course, before this observer gains the ability to speak, I am off.

Perhaps, I am a small dragon after all I was contained in a small fragile human body. Being half human and half dragon is a difficult position to be in. Humanly, I am so weak. Dragonly, I have got immeasurable strength. This existence is a lonely one. However, there are others. Yes, there are others. We are a family of mythical things that are scientifically unrecognized and humanly feared.

I most definitely struggled when I first found out this strange existence with which I could participate. Dragons were of fairytale and story. They were killing machines with a taste for human flesh. Honestly, I didn't understand how dragon and man could possibly peaceably dwell within the same body. Occasionally, they do war with each other. I, myself, have seen my dragon head try to gnaw on my human foot that is still in process of transformation. Sometimes, my human mind will start to come up with ways to control the world. However, most days, these two separate but united parts work together.

The transformation begins at my elbows, but it started in the inner core of my being. It was an acceptance and a surrender to something greater than my own desire. I had to let go of my human control and give myself over to the transformation of something wild and untameable.

Pistevo: Why Do You Believe?

Why do you believe? It’s another haunting question. What is the root of your thoughts and beliefs in the world? Do you believe that all men are evil because of some past experience? Or that all women are inevitably control freaks because you have met one too many who exude this characteristic? What drives thought? Why do you believe what you believe? Why do you believe that people will always disappoint you so much so that you aren’t willing to trust? Why are you always waiting to be hit and you expect it? How is it that this has become the norm?

We live what we believe. One can say as much as you want, but one’s true beliefs and closely held values shall bleed out into one’s actions. Allow me to use myself as an example. About a month ago, I chatted with a friend and he told me that I believed that men could not be trusted. This surprised me because I do not vocalize that belief. However, he knew already just by living life beside me over the past two years. I know I do not trust easily. Yet, I thought I was decent. I never had to tell my friend that I have a hard time trusting men. He just knew from life. Now, I cannot explain quite yet why I have difficulties trusting men. That’s an entirely other journey for me to explore solo and in time I may share it. However, this thought that men are not trustworthy permeates the way that I live and navigate through life. Somewhere along the way this idea has cemented itself as some sort of value in my life. Values are the root of one’s action.

I believe that socks belong on feet. This is a value that I cling to. Therefore, I wear my socks upon my feet. Perhaps it is because this was taught to me by not only my mother but it is also culturally and socially acceptable. However, I have worn socks on my hands and I find this to be quite comfortable especially in the winter when my fingers resemble icicles in temperature.

A wild momentary belief of mine is that apples actually fall up. However, we would not know this because we are confused in our perspective of the world. You see, we humans actually are individually suspended to the earth by invisible cables. These cables are designed in such a way that they make everything appear to be falling down. Yet, in fact, things are falling up. In this way, an apple falls up from the tree branches to the ground. In time, the seeds take root. These roots provide life. Although not visible to the human eye, these roots are the values of the tree. Why do I believe all of this? Simply because this whimsical idea caught my fancy and I like the idea.

Why do I believe that a relationship with Jesus Christ is crucial in life? Once upon a time, I tried to imagine my life without Him. I could. I did. It was purposeless. Oh, don’t get me wrong. Life would be fun. I would still be a deep thinker, but I’d probably be a bit of a skank. I would be a feminist. I would control everything shamelessly. And I might be dead.

“Wait.” You say. “But, you are such a good person! That can’t be true.”

Let me assure you that the above is very possible. Oh, it may seem extreme, but life is full of extremity. My innate self does not desire goodness. I would much rather run wild or live in an eternal pathetic party than surrender my life and my control over to this higher being that has been considered fictional by others. What is the purpose of life? Well, it could just be one huge party. However, that would not satiate this desire to have purpose and leave a legacy. After all, death is inevitable. If death is our final destination and the only purpose of life is to please self, then let’s just escalate the process and die.

This past week, I was talking to a friend about the upcoming musical auditions. She was proclaiming her intense desire to be in the musical because it was the very pulse of her heart. Her intensity scared me because I wanted her to not be disappointed. When she asked me if I was audition, I replied, “Yes, I am auditioning. If I don’t get in, that’s fine with me. You see, I’ll help out with it anyways. I just want to be a part of something that is bigger than myself.”

If I live my life solo for my own pleasure and the pleasing of my friends, I am a part of nothing - only a cycle of mutual pleasing. I want more in life. Dear friends, I love you greatly but there must be more to life than just trying to be a people pleaser. I have been offered the opportunity to participate in a family that has been growing, struggling, and learning for the past 2000 or so years. Not only does that make me a part of a legacy, it gives me an opportunity to be a part of a continuing legacy. We are most definitely dysfunctional, but that doesn’t make me stop loving this family any less. It may seem corny to say that I am a part of God’s family, but it’s the very core of my life purpose.

“There are pictures of the people in my family where we look like the most awkward and desperate folk you ever saw, poster children for the human condition. But I like that, when you get to see something real and human. I think that's why most of us stay close to our families, no matter how neurotic the members, how deeply annoying or dull - because when people have seen you at your worst, you don't have to put on the masks as much. And that gives us license to try on that radical hat of liberation, the hat of self-acceptance; we're allowed to escape from underneath one of the fatwas.”
Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott

I believe in the importance of family, the body of Christ. I believe that my relationship with God is the best thing that I have to offer the world. I believe that I will continue to screw things up, but that I will always yearn after God’s ways. I believe that God has saved me from myself multiple times. Why do I believe this? It’s personal, you see, I have seen the evident hand of God in my life. It’s been in small ways and big ways. One day, God might choose to spare me from a multitude of ticks and mosquitoes while all my other companions were plagued by them. Another day, God completely and totally removes a huge struggle and shame-filled activity from my life. Oh, don’t you dare tell me that the ticks don’t like me or that I was able in my own self to spare myself from that previously mentioned activity. After all, I have likeable blood. I’m 0+. Oh, and that activity. I tried to stop. I couldn’t.

“People see God every day, they just don't recognize him.” ~Pearl Bailey

When I dance with the wind because I do dance with the wind, I know that God has a grin across His face. I believe He and I are great friends. Why do I believe that He is so intimately involved in my life? Once when this woman was in Panama, a rugby ball was being tossed around. I was a bit angry, cynical, and tired of people. I growled between terse lips to my friends, “If that ball hits me, I will kill somebody.” I hadn’t even gotten the words fully out of my mouth before this ball hit me square in the back. I could feel God smirking and laughing. Guess what. I didn’t kill them. Instead, I shook my head at God’s sense of humor and accepted their rushed apologies.

Why do you believe?

what if

"'What' and ‘if’ two words as nonthreatening
as words come. But put
them together side-by-side and they
have the power to haunt you for the
rest of your life: ‘What if?'..." ~ Letters to Juliet.

What if I had been born a boy
What if I had wings
What if instead of snow, we had flamingoes falling from the sky
What if the night was the day and day was the night
What if there was no facebook
What if fingernails were petals
What if curls grew on my head
what if I had gone to prom with a date
what if i had chosen my parent's college
what if the dominican republic had never been my home
what if a sock fell in love with me
what if the sky opened and the ocean poured out
what if these two small repetitive words haunted my life
what if jeans were hats and hats were pants

what if a blanket had the ability to eat a person (we'd have some lumpy blankets)

what if popcorn didn't pop but laughed instead
what if this list lasted forever, would you read it?
what if walking on ceilings was possible
what if shape-shifting was a reality
what if stars could be captured for jewelry. (Stars are a girl's bestfriend)
what if life were a fairytale and not referred to as reality
what if Calvin (& Hobbes) was my little brother

what if farts were of perfume and burps bubbled

what if a church could reflect Jesus in every minute detail
what if homelessness was a thing of myth

what if abuse was obsolete

what if one could live without regret
what if life could not be lost
what if my roommates were crazy
what if rain were candy
what if money were not an issue
what if kindness
what if sprinkles turned into butterflies
what if generosity happened

what if people lived genuine lives

what if apples ate worms
what if sunshine made everyone sparkly
what if this actually stimulates thought
what if people filled needs of others as they saw them
what if
what if
what if
what if
what if
what if trust was not so difficult
what if
what if
what if

what if histories didn't influence futures

what if
what if a kiss were a thimble

what if

what if
what if
what if the imaginative worlds of children did exist
what if the world did not harden person
what if
WHAT IF
what if
what if
what if
what if
what if
what if

what if

what if
what if
what if

to be something or nothing?

noth·ing   
[nuhth-ing] –noun
1.no thing; not anything; naught: to say nothing.
2.no part, share, or trace (usually fol. by of ): The house showed nothing of its former magnificence.
3.something that is nonexistent.
4.nonexistence; nothingness: The sound faded to nothing.
5.something or someone of no importance or significance: Money is nothing when you're without health.
6.a trivial action, matter, circumstance, thing, or remark: to exchange a few nothings when being introduced.
7.a person of little or no importance; a nobody.
8.something that is without quantity or magnitude.
9.a cipher or naught: Nothing from nine leaves nine.
10.(used in conventional responses to expressions of thanks): Think nothing of it. It's nothing. Nothing to it.

It's rather interesting to me that there would be ten different definitions for the word 'nothing'. It must be the fact that to know 'nothing' is to have been 'nothing.' What is nothing? How does one be nothing? Do we want to be nothing or would we rather be something.

Oh, yes. Nothing is also the word that is commonly yelled when caught in some action that might be disapproved by parents. I often find myself squeaking the word 'nothing' as well when caught by a friend looking at things that I find comical but would not be generally considered funny. I feel that children learn the word 'nothing' very soon in life to be excused from questionable activities.

Psalm 13

How long, O LORD ? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and every day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?

Look on me and answer, O LORD my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death;

my enemy will say, "I have overcome him,"
and my foes will rejoice when I fall.

But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation.

I will sing to the LORD,
for he has been good to me.

This has been a prayer on my heart.

of winds and things

The sunrise had a stalker this morning so did the stork that visits the pond. The sun courageously rose and the stork flew away bashfully. The sun painted the sky in oranges and pinks to the symphony of the wind while the stork sat upon the roof of the library and unceremoniously pooped (If you see a white drool across the roof, it was the stork).

Life is certain for the sun. It comes and it goes. It's like clockwork, but this clock will never break nor stop. However, the stork is jumpy expecting death around the corner. Although he has become a part of the scenery of this campus, life could easily cut him out of the picture. Who would miss him? Would any notice? His presence is always noted. Yet, the stork's appearances are uncertain and sporadic. He comes and goes as he will.

Uncertainty is a major part of my life. Like the stork finds comfort in the constancy of the sun, I find comfort in the certainty of the one who created the sun. He must be much more constant than the sun which is one of the most constant things on this planet. Certainty is found in the love of Jesus.

What is a real man?

Lately, a question has plagued me like no other question. It has settled in the depths of my stomach and has festered there. This pestering thought was actually stimulated by a conversation with a friend. However, it has been a couple of weeks since that initial conversation and my thoughts have fermented into, hopefully, a wise wine. This question was first asked to a group of us across the meal table. What makes a real man?

I was deeply disappointed in our ability to answer that question. The general consensus was simply "I don't know." Disappointment occasionally motivates me and so I began to think. I realized that there were many questions connected to that single question. What makes a real man? As a woman, how can I inspire men around me to be the best man that they can be? What characteristics are needed here? Is there actually a recipe to this question?

First of all, no man is equal. Therefore, each man has his own unique 'real man' qualities to discover and strengthen. However, that does not mean a man cannot learn patience if patience is not already his gift. We must realize if one were to try to name all the characteristics a man "should have," one would discover that they had just described God. Also, it's doubtful that a woman could inspire a man to true masculinity on her own. Sex might be inspiring, but it wouldn't inspire a true masculinity just a carnal response. It's easy to live a good life, but to live an inspirational life can only be acquired with the aid of Jesus.

Finally, during the length of a conversation with another friend, we talked about this 'real man' question. We came to a conclusion. Each of us already had men that we respected so we looked at them and asked, "why do we respect them?" Suddenly, the answer to this mind-boggling question seemed to be in grasp. There is no cookie cutter recipe for a real man. However, on the basis of this realization, a 'real' man is a reality. Namely, a real man is someone that can be respected in all areas of his life and lives above reproach.

Also, in my search for what a real man is, I googled the question like any true person of my generation would. I was both impressed and disappointed with what I found. What is a real man? Ten traits were listed. I would now like to take the liberty to add a bit of thought to these ten.

Trait #1 says, "A real man is strong." There is nothing wrong with this statement. And yet, I disagree with the print that backs up this phrase. Largely, I disagree with the statement, "A real man doesn't cry." Allow me to say that from a woman's perspective, I believe the biggest sign of strength is a man who can and does cry. This shows me that he is secure in who he is and is not afraid to show his true emotion. As this quote aptly states, "There is nothing so strong as gentleness, and nothing so gentle as real strength." Vulnerability is strength.

I would also like to respond to Trait #2 which states, "A real man is focused." Recently, I have noticed that a lot of men have no idea what they want in life. Not only are they confused, but they confuse those around them - namely, girls. Like butterflies, these men flit about from girl to girl. This is entirely unattractive unless the man actually embodies this insect. Yes, there are many beautiful flowers - I mean - girls in the world. However, why don't you save yourself and those gazillion girls from heartache by finding focus? If you don't know what you want, wait. You will surely figure it out.

"A real man can defend himself." aka Trait #10. I cannot agree more thoroughly with this one. I see plenty of potential leaders in the men about me. However, I don't see many who are willing to buck up and to take on a challenge. Hey, mistakes are scary. Yet, they are so very worth it. Those who are willing to fall on their faces a couple of times are so much more worthy of admiration especially when success comes because it will. So in the words of Mrs. Frizzle, "Take chances, make mistakes, get messy!" Also, a real man not only defends himself but he defends others. The latter part of that statement actually may be more important than the former so take note. Defend others, men.

It's time. It's time for men to rise up. We have all grown weary of these poor examples of masculinity. Men being emasculated and women losing belief that real men do exist in the world is a sad reality. This is a reality that must be discarded. "Real" men do exist in the world. I have seen them.