the dawn

and this is the dawn they speak of
the dawn steadily coming over midnight's hill.
the dawn that came to someone else's rescue.
i have never felt this dawn;
never felt its warmth
or seen its brightness.
but i have watched it rise on others' hills.
never mine.
but is dawn now come for me?
that midnight's hill would've soon consumed me
if foot holds and hand holds stayed hidden any longer.

warm, bright dawn.
you've come my way.
or was it that you always shone on me
but i never saw
because i had my head down.

work in progress.

Dear God,
   A lot more people are proud of me--more than I expected. But I guess if I should have no pride others should have it for me in case I need to take out a loan of pride.
   Thank you for them. Without many of friendships and family I'd be nothing more than pitiless heap of BLAH.
   And I finally got my TB test done yesterday. Excellent. Took long enough.
   And thank you yesterday that I was finally able to take a picture of this piece of graffiti. You let me take a picture of it just the day I needed to. **

I need to meet this graffiti artists. I dig his/her work. 

   I love you, God.

** back story >> I work a little ways away from home. I often get stuck in traffic to and from work. Stuck in a car the only thing I can do is look around outside; that, or have a private jam session [; Anyway, anyway, I came upon this piece of graffiti first:

I don't remember my initial reaction to it, but I appreciated it. Another day in the same area, I came across this piece by the same artist:

I kept my eye out for others like it, hoping to notice his/her signature (first: underneath 'evol'; second: after 'moment'). 

I finally did, but after a few months I doubted I'd ever get a picture of it. I could never hit the stoplight on time. Then I did. On the day I needed to read it most. 

Planted or Eaten

I haven't blogged the past four days. Because I keep hearing about people living life and I wanted to try it.

Actually, that wasn't my intention at all. I just wanted to escape reality with other people. Because reading and writing is naturally isolating. Every time I read and write I escape by myself. This time 'round, I really needed fellow escapees though I didn't know I needed them.

Just so you know, my life compared to (I'm sure) thousands, millions of lives is spoiled. I know. I know. But if I was mourning the death of someone in my family, it's hardly reassuring or comforting for someone to say to me, "Oh, but people die every day."

...thank you. Not really. But thank you.

It's the same thing with hard days- hard weeks. I'm not trying to compare my pain to others. I already shouldn't compare my happiness to others. How much unhealthier if I compare my pain?

If pain and happiness were meant to be compared I don't think we as humans would feel anything at all. We'd become this numb mass of nerves and fat, however ripped you are. Because pain and happiness is meant to be shared- empathy. It's how pity transforms into compassion: all you need is a little action.

All these feelings are seedlings. I can hold that seedlings in my hand all I want and show people what I'm holding, but it'll just be a seedling full of unused potential. What good is a seed if it's not planted? If it's not eaten for nourishment, even? I don't want to be just a seedling. I don't want to hide behind the excuse of escaping- LET ME ACTUALLY ESCAPE.

I should like to run away from all this free trade and chaffing thighs and blistering feet and smoking tongues and ill-timed humor and burned books and burned people and people who burn, debilitating debt and broken pencils and confusing art and meaningless lyrics and tea without honey and coffee substitute and arrogance and ignorance and-.

I just want to escape. Whether its right or wrong is beyond me. And always will be. Methods of escape are as gray as the way people live their lives: too many ways. Too many ways. Forgoing the fact that I am eternally grateful for all that the Trinity has done for me, I also think I stay with Christianity/Catholicism/religion/whateveritiscalled because what an unnecessary fear not to know which life it is that I need to live. There are too many ways; too many options.

A new way of 'You live your life and I live mine': WHO ELSE'S LIFE AM I SUPPOSED TO LIVE?

It's enough to have many lives in my mind- these many lives in my head that often blur the line between reality and fantasy anyway. I don't need anymore confusion. My one life already does too much of that- I don't need to help it.

I didn't offer blog posts the past four days because I didn't want to. I wanted to attend a church I've never before attended. I wanted to walk down sidewalks I vaguely remembered. Eat a better cheeseburger. Make new friends (ish). Forget I'm dehydrated. People watch. I just wanted to...

That's it, I just wanted to.

"Wanted to what?"

"I just wanted to."

Perhaps this is a generation of incomplete sentences because completing them is overrated. (LOLJK, complete your sentences. You can't-eveners. Don't be the seedling full of unused potential. Be planted! Be eaten!)

I should be planted. I should be eaten.

Then consume me, God.

----

You probably still want my Zentangle, huh? Okay [:

My grandpa drew in one of these squares. Can you guess which?

Permanent

one lonely night - 25 January 2012 (first night of student teaching)

i desire the temporary because it is a reflection of the permanent.
so though i fall in love with shadows, and my hunger never ceases;
so though every street has an end, and the oceans have a bottom;
and though my height is not to the heavens, nor my reach across the canyons, and my vision cannot penetrate walls
i desire the temporary because it is a reflection of the permanent.
and the permanent waits for the temporary's end,
patient not for its death, but for its rebirth that it may never die again.
so though every morning has an evening
--every moon its stars, and every sun its clouds--
i desire the temporary not for its reflection but because of its reflection.
i am a reflection.
and i desire to be permanent.

----

So, I am a troublemaker. I am that teacher that makes exceptions. Well, more than a teacher, I am that person that makes exceptions. I am the queen of exceptions. I bend the rules all the time. All the time. Rules are not made to be broken, not really, but then they are not so rock-solid that a little flexibility is out of order.

This is difficult, but a catch comes with this: not everyone agrees with me.

It's just that...you do agree with me.

You change your rules all the time. You do. You change your rules according to situation and person. Years ago it may've been all right to take pictures of students, but now it's not. Years before, you might've been able to drive a student home, but now it's not. But exceptions can still be made. Where do you think all those phenomenal inspiring teachers came from?

Rule benders.

But that's enough of my high horse. I'll just have to keep doing what I do to stay where I am. The status quo is not meant to be broken. ...yet.

Muahahaha. Okay.

Laugh at me, go ahead!

Dear God,

   I want to thank you for your sense of humor. Truly, you are hilarious. I'll have to be careful next time what I complain about else you turn it into a joke.

   You'll have to keep surprising me apparently.

   Love you.

Between Stalks

pencil and crayon

Eight Hours

"Hello," she said to the secretary. "Hi. My name is Heart. And this is my brother, Pulsus."

"I'm sorry?"

Heart swallowed her nervousness. Next to her, her little brother, Pulsus clenched his fists. Heart couldn't think of a way to calm him down. But if she didn't calm him down soon he'd pop a vein. And not his own vein, but the vein of the secretary.

Heart repeated, "My name is Heart. And this is brother, Pulsus."

"Last name?"

"Mine or his? But I guess that wouldn't matter. We have the same last name." Heart laughed, butt he secretary's facial muscles must be malfunctioning because his indifference morphed into annoyance. He hadn't thought Heart funny. Heart picked up the pace and answered, "Sishon. Our last name is-."

"Spell that for me, please?"

Heart got the feeling the secretary rarely said 'please' but instead of commenting on that, she spelled her last name.

Pulsus pulled at her jacket. He shook his head. "No," he whispered. She shushed him, and did her best to ignore his sad, scared eyes. He has to go to school, Heart reminded herself.

The secretary found Pulsus' name and information. He confirmed the information with the stack of papers Heart brought. Then with a smile that would've deterred an attacking polar bear said, "Welcome to kindergarten, Pulsus. This way."

"But he's scary!" Pulsus barely whispered. Heart agreed, but fearing another of the secretary's smile corrected, "He's dairy-free! He's- he's dairy-free. Free of dairy. Dairy gives him-."

But the secretary did not hear. He'd led them down the corridor and disappeared into a classroom shutting the door behind him. Heart wasn't sure whether or not she should follow so she turned to Pulsus. He could've looked sadder if he tried, but he was too scared to try.

"Pully," she said to him, "you can't say stuff like that out loud." She wished he would ask 'Why?' She wished he would fight for his American-given right to freedom of speech, but he just looked at the floor, trembling. She knelt to look him in the eye. "Look, Pull, I know. School's hard. Neither of us like school, but for now we have to do what's required of us."

Pulsus rolled his eyes but nodded, obliging to his *ate's desperation.

Just as she stood to her feet the secretary opened the door inviting them in. "Thank you for your patience. Come in." Heart got the same feeling the secretary also rarely said 'thank you', or 'patience' for that matter.

He led them toward the classroom teacher who stood at her desk, hands neatly folded in front of her. The students were quiet. Not even whispering rumors (that would become facts) about the new kid. Heart preferred rumors to their silence. At least if they were talking she could shut them up. She likes shutting people up. Proving them wrong. They were always wrong about her and her brother.

The teacher, whose name Heart would never learn to pronounce, announced to the class, "Class, attention. This is your new classmate, Pulsus Sishon."

Heart was surprised not to hear a snicker reverberate through the students. They continued to sit in silence.

"Class," continued the teacher, "say 'Hello' to Pulsus."

"Hello."

Pulsus glowered.

"And this is Pulsus' mother."

"Sister," Heart corrected. "Sister. Just a sister. Guardian. Sister. My name's Heart." She smiled.

"Well, Heart. Would you like to take your brother to his seat?"

Pulsus grabbed Heart's hand and dragged her to the only free desk in the room. He plopped down, pulling her down with him. She had to kneel next to him. "Hey," she whispered to him. "I'll be here five minutes before I have to pick you up. How's that?"

He nodded.

"You- you have a great day, Pull, and then we can have ice cream after, okay? You'll be fine."

He shook his head, but let go of her hand and pushed her away. He stared at the desk.

"Okay!" Heart said. "I guess I'm out of here. Thank you. Lovely classroom. Great decorations. Well. Have fun class. Okay. Thank you," Heart quickly bowed out of the room.

She'd told Pulsus she'd be five minutes early to pick him up, but Heart had nowhere to go. She could only loiter around the area. What would she do for eight hours? She had a book with her, but didn't feel relaxed enough to read. If she opened it she would just stare at one word.

The last time she did that, she ended up not reading the book at all for with every attempt to read that book, she could only see the one word she stared at. That word was 'elusive'. She looked up its **definition: difficult to find, catch, or achieve; early 18th century: from Latin elus- 'eluded' (from the verb eludere) + ive. Later she told Pulsus a new word she'd learned.

Even later, Pulsus tried to tell their parents, but they were unresponsive.

Heart didn't have the heart to tell Pulsus they would never respond, but she also didn't want Pulsus to stop trying.

Pulsus stopped trying to do a lot of other things.

Heart raced down the street looking for an open store to loiter in. She'd have to fill eight hours. She figured she'd best fill those hours with ways to keep Pulsus trying.




*Tagalog for 'older sister'- term of respect.
**http://www.oxforddictionaries.com/us/definition/american_english/elusive

O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing

(1)
O for a thousand tongues to sing
my Great Redeemer's praise;
the glories of my God and King,
the triumphs of his grace.

(5)
He speaks, and listening to his voice
new life the dead receive!
The mournful, broken hearts rejoice;
the humble poor believe.

(6)
Hear him, ye deaf; his praise, ye dumb,
your loosened tongues employ;
ye blind, behold your Savior come;
and leap, ye lame, for joy.

(9)
On this glad day the glorious sun
of righteousness arose;
on my benighted soul he shone
and filled it with repose.

(10)
Sudden expired the legal strife,
twas then I ceased to grieve.
My second, real, living life
I then began to live.

(12)
I felt my Lord's atoning blood
close to my soul applied.
Me, me he loved, the Son of God-
for me, for me he died!

words by Charles Wesley (1739)
music by Carl G. Glaser (1828)

Perseverance and Inheritance

I think Nehemiah and I would've been good friends. How do I know this? Because 5.7a reads, "I took counsel with myself..." He was his own best friend. He thrived on self-reflection and hard work. Sure he had counselors but ultimately, he was confident in his own knowledge of God's word- his promises.

...maybe we wouldn't have been friends. Nehemiah wouldn't appreciate that I've only got self-reflection- very little hard work. Or at least, not hard enough work to rebuild a wall. I might talk a lot about rebuilding walls (like the equivalent of talking about changing present day injustices)...

Yet more than self-reflection and hard work, Nehemiah asks God twice (5.19; 13.31) "Remember for my good...all that I have done for this [your] people."

In the first chapter, Nehemiah writes, "(8) Remember the word that you commanded Moses saying, 'If you are unfaithful, I will scatter you among the peoples, (9) but if you return to me and keep my commandments and do them, though your outcasts are in the uttermost parts of heaven, from there I will gather them and bring them to the place I have chosen, to make my name dwell there."

Verse 6b, Nehemiah writes/prays, "Even I and my father's house have sinned."

I'm pretty sure Nehemiah is looking back on the sins of his ancestors (and obviously his own sins) because they've yet to be forgiven. Now he acknowledges them (even on behalf of his people: scattered, outcasts) to say, "We know to do better. We will do better. We will keep our half of the covenant. So that you will keep your half, God. Please." 

That was the original deal. 

They don't return to the Promised Land to rebuild the walls to boost morale and thwart enemies' threats, but to keep on the promises made to their ancestors.

Of course, that's a lot of pressure: to keep up a promise you inherited. How is that fair? It certainly wasn't your decision to partake in that promise- to want that promise; to reap the benefits or consequences of that promise. I don't want it. 

Yeah, I don't want to be an adult anymore, but my not wanting it doesn't change a thing. I'm still an adult. You're still in that promise. (That's as far as that comparison goes.)

Still, why should you suffer the consequences of your father's choices?

Well, yes and no. Certainly, you can hardly be imprisoned for a robbery that your great-grandfather committed, but then if your great-grandfather worked hard, and became successful, only to die for you to take on a Fortune 500 company... Both are consequences, one is 'bad' and the other is 'good'- but they're still both consequences, and you still reap something from both of them: either a bad reputation, or a lot of money- both still entail a lot of pressure. 

Nehemiah is asking God to uphold a promise God made to Moses. Nehemiah is not Moses. Moses didn't even get to see the promised land. Actually, let's go even further back! Abraham didn't get to see the promised land. He didn't even get enough children to outnumber the stars- he just got the one kid. And yet, the promise God made to each of these forefather's- the promise was made to be inherited by future generations. 

Because that's what an inheritance is: a promise to future generations. Nehemiah inherited negative consequences because of the poor choices of his father. He's giving his future positive consequences--blessings, in fact. 

"Here, future. God remembers the evil we've done, but much more, he remembers the good. Take it. Take the good. Keep doing good. Thrive behind the proud walls of this, the Promised Land. Remember where our ancestors once were- don't go back into slavery and exile."

Maybe further still, when Nehemiah asks God to remember him for his good, "Look, I've done this for you because you were true to your word: you sent us into exile until we kept our word. Now I'm keeping my word. Please. Preserve my nation. Preserve your nation." 

Tell Me Why!

last wednesday i watched Jeopardy! one of the contestants on the show was a teacher (i forget his name). alex trebeck asked the teacher if his students knew he was on Jeopardy!

"they do know. actually, they cheer for me. they're probably watching right now."

   "do the students who cheer for you get better grades?"

   "weeeeell, all my students get good grades- correllation is not necessarily causation."

or the dialogue went something like that. 

frankly, i can't remember the last time i had to grade something, but i work with, play with, and hang out with enough kids to know that they never run out of questions. ever.

but it isn't something for which they recieve a low of high mark, no matter how much they may try to flatter the teacher. 

it might be easier to grade based on flattery, though...

but why don't we 'grade' based upon curiosity? 

"why do we have to learn adverbs and adjectives."

   "so you don't confuse then with nouns and verbs."

   "why do i have to know those things, too?"

   "because you speak. if you're going to speak, you are going to have to speak well?"

   "but why do i have to speak well?"

   "because you want to be heard. you want people to know that you matter; that what you say matters."

   "i don't care about what people think of me."

   "do you have friends?"

   "yeah."

   "do you want your friends to stay your friends."

   "yeah."

   "then you care. now- adverbs and adjectives."

okay, okay. that scenario is idealized, yes. on the spot, a student asking me "why" might put a little more pressure on me just to answer, "just because." and everyone hates that answer. i don't want to be that teacher- that adult- that condescends. 

it may be annoying to ask "why?" because going back to the correlation/causation thing: the student may not even be particularly sincere in asking. he may just be trying to get me off track and waste time. (i know i did that.)

but he asked. 

don't ask if you don't want to know. you may or may not be ready for my answer. and don't be worried if i don't know either. that's one of the main points of being human: asking and growing.

"no, seriously. why do i have to know about adverbs and adjectives?"

   "well, let's figure it out together shall we?"

   "brownie points for interest!"

   "but we'll see about that higher letter grade."

enough waste.

for lack of words, i should refrain from speaking.
i speak too often only to say nothing
worth hearing.

"but you matter!"
i know i matter.
i take up space just as you do.
but i've called enough people WASTE
to know that's not at all what i want to be.

"you're not a waste! not a waste of space! no matter what you say!"
thank you.
you are kind.
but if my opinion of myself doesn't matter-
your opinion of me matters more-
then surely i am waste either way.
because i don't need you to live.
you don't need me.
not really.

"but people who need people are the luckiest people in the world!"
then you have a fundamental misunderstanding of need.
i don't mean to take your breath away
anymore than i mean to run away...from you.

i know enough of my own value to know
i deserve neither limos nor mud.
i know enough of my own value to know
for how much you'd buy me.

"i'd never buy you!"
no, indeed.
i'm too expensive.

"see, you are priceless!"
price-less.
without price is as good as worthless.
but thank you.
you are kind.

no need to imagine too much worth.
it's just me.

perhaps one day i'll see things from your point of view.
it'll probably be the day you see from mine.

Bring back that LOVELY feeling!

Dear God,
   So, I have this problem with bitterness. And right now, it's worse. Or at least, it's been bad this past hour. How do I get over it? Because trying to look on the bright side makes it worse.
   I understand you want me to learn all these things in these experiences that I am going through, but honestly...  I can't believe I'm asking this. I've never asked this before but, (oh, geez) when is it my turn?
   This is coming from someone who's barely old enough to merit a quarter-life crisis.
   I know. You're right. You're right.
   What's two years to the rest of my life?
   Nothing. Nothing. Tomorrow will always be better.
   So, yeah, don't bring back that lovely feeling. Give me something new.
   Like your blessings renewed every day.
   Okay. I got this.
   Or...you got this. Okay. It's all good.
   Tomorrow will be kinder.
   Though I've hardly experienced yesterdays that are horrid.
   I love you, God.

wire jewelry

i ran out of crayon. sorry. 

On the Other Side

I remember the first time I told someone that the world on which I live is flat. He just kind of looked at me then laughed at me, and said, "Oh, good one." I decided I didn't need to talk to him anymore. So I left him and wandered around for a bit. 

   I do come from a flat world. I don't know why that's any stranger than living on the side of a ball. I understand their physics. I do wonder why they didn't understand the physics of my world. It's not as though the physics of a flat world is impossible. 

   Maybe it requires more numbers- less simple addition and more...chemistry. Yes. Chemistry. Much more chemistry. 

   Walking through the park, I meant to find more people to talk to but they were all preoccupied with flying kites or playing tag. None of them looked like they wanted to be bothered. Of course, they deserved this all this sunshine after two weeks of rain. I could always come back later to ask them questions. They like answering questions. Especially about themselves. Like any human would. World's flat or not.

   I sat at a bench intending to write down my observations (and a comic strip or two), and I did for a few minutes until I felt eyes. I knew I felt eyes because the way I felt is the exact same way I make people feel when I watch them: paranoid. I looked over both my shoulders, but no one was watching. I looked in the sky, at a few security cameras. Still nothing. I started to put my notebook and pencil back in my bag when I found the watching eyes. I jumped, surprised. A little girl's face looked up at me. Her eyes as curious as me. "Hi? Hi." I said. 

   "Hi," said the little girl. She held a teddy bear, and waved its arm at me. I waved back. The little girl continued, "I heard you talk with that man. You come from a flat world?"

   I smiled. "Yes. I do. Do you?"

   The little girl squinted her eyes and rubbed her teddy bear's chin. "No. I don't think I do."

   "Good. Because you don't."

   "Why do you come from a flat world?"

   "Why? Well, I don't know why. I know that I do. I-."

   The little girl got out from underneath the bench and sat cross-legged at my feet. "Can I see this flat world? What's it look like?"

   "It looks a bit like an island but floating in space instead of water."

   "An island?"

   "Yeah, like the island we're on now."

   "Is there a China underneath your world?"

   "We have different names for our countries."

   "But is there China underneath?" The little girl looked determined to have an answer.

   I thought about ways of telling her what's 'underneath' my country. "Think of it like- like a book! Yes! Like- like a book." I closed my journal and pressed my hands on its covers. "Technically, my world has a top and a bottom. No. You can't fall into space. Not technically. Not unless you really tried. Trying to jump off the edge of my world- first you have to get to its edge- you'll have died before you get there." The little girl's brow furrowed. 

   "Never mind. Back to the book analogy. If this is the top of the world," I motioned to the front cover. "And this is the bottom of the world," I motioned to the bottom cover. "The pages are the middle part of the world. It's layered. Your world is layered. You can't see it, but underground there are layers of dirt-."

   "Like caves? Caves are underground."

   "Right. Yeah. I guess. Caves can be between the layers. But don't think of a flat world as a double sided picture. It's not. It's like-."

   "An island."

   "Yeah! Oh! No!" I jumped up excitedly. The little girl jumped with me. We jumped as I spoke: "Like, like an apartment building. Floating. In space." I stopped jumping. "Is that really what my world is like?"

   "So, where do the rich people live?"

   "Anywhere. On every layer. Depends on what kind of riches they have. Or want." 

   "What are you doing here? On a round world?"

   "It's- it's my job." 

   "Can it be my job to explore your world?"

Come Thou Fount

Come, thou Fount of every blessing,
tune my heart to sing thy grace;
streams of mercy, never ceasing,
call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount! I'm fixed upon it,
mount of thy redeeming love.

Here I raise mine Ebenezer;
hither by thy help I'm come;
and I hope, by thy good pleasure,
safely to arrive at home.
Jesus sought me when a stranger,
wandering from the fold of God;
he, to rescue me from danger,
interposed his precious blood.

O to grace how great a debtor
daily I'm constrained to be!
Let thy goodness, like a fetter,
bind my wandering heart to thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
prone to leave the God I love;
here's my heart, O take and seal it,
seal it for thy courts above.

Sorry I know it's been a while since I've sung for you. But here it is.

Job hunts are like relationships. Bad relationships.

Dear Justine,
   Thank you very much for your interest in ----. We appreciate your time and effort. Although your background and experience is extensive, we have decided to move forward with other candidates that best fit the position. We wish you great success in your career search.

You wish me 'great success'? My 'background and experience is extensive' but apparently, I'm still lacking. Generally, every candidate will lack something, but I obviously lacked that one thing. That one thing!

You know that movie He's Just Not that Into You?

There's this part of the film where two women talk about the different lines guys use to break up.:

"He'll tell me 'Oh. You're too good for me.' Or!- 'You'll make someone else really happy. He'll be lucky to have you."
   "Yeah, yeah, yeah, and you feel good about yourself. But then you realize, 'That could've been you!"

This is how job hunting feels like- I'm good enough, but for someone else. I'll get a job, I will. Because I'm a hard worker, competent, and intelligent. I just...okay. I'll wait. I can keep waiting. You're right.

Whoever will hire me will be lucky to have me.

...I wish you wanted to be the lucky one. I must have bad taste, or something.

How is this a teaching tidbit (TTB)? Aren't TTBs on Fridays? It's Saturday today.

Because wanting a job that seems 'perfect' for me, well, it may not be. I don't have to learn why I'm fit for the job. I just have to learn to move on. To keep looking. Maybe it'll find me. Maybe it won't. Still, a couple bad experiences don't dictate every other experience I'll ever have.

There's still reason to hope.

I'm only two years into job hunting. The way I see it, I'm a sophomore in job hunting. So...two more years.

Yay.

----

I'm not going to pretend. I didn't read my Bible at all this week. Actually, no- I take that back. I read my Bible last Monday. I don't remember what I read though. Admittedly, I have been preoccupied, obviously meditating on thoughts I shouldn't entertain.

I guess that's another thing I have to learn. If I expect to do this every Saturday, I need to be prepared to do it. I have to prepare throughout the week. I need to plan better. Okay. I can do that. It's a new week tomorrow. I got this.

Tomorrow, too, you'll get your song [:

little things

little things done here.

little things done there.

little things tear at seams;

little things wear down thick wooden beams.

little things, my heart does not want you.

little things, my heart did not mean to buy you. 

still, i collected you so easily,

i didn't think to save space.

you took up so little

having more did not seem like much.

little things wear down thick wooden beams.

eating through supports;

rushing out reports-

whispering to the devils who transport 

little things

into hearts

whose spaces seem inviting- eager to be filled.

but are more vacuous, ignorant; stubborn and still. 

little things done here.

little things done there.

little things breach across poorly drawn lines

making me have to care.

little things. i did not mean to buy you.

Tomorrow Will Be Kinder

Dear God,
   Thank you so much for these warmer months! I mean, I know I say I like cold weather, but I still have my limits- not being able to wear the cute outfits I want to wear wears me down.
   Funny the things that keep my moods good.
   Books.
   Classy outfits.
   Food and drink.
   Comfy chairs.
   Music.
   So, anyway, today was a good. Didn't have to pay the meter for parking, thank you. Little things, right? What else happened today? Got a lot of writing done today. Yesterday, I started reading 'Apt Pupil'- the second novel/novella of Stephen King's Different Seasons. I was so horribly thrilled, God, that I am now extremely grateful for King's writing prowess. I'm almost afraid of finishing 'Apt Pupil' not because I don't want it to end, but I'm afraid of what will progress.
   So...today wasn't mean to me, it was just...another day. So, (my readers can't hear me) God, when I sing 'Tomorrow Will Be Kinder' to you...I guess I'm asking for a particularly special surprise. I don't know what surprise. I just-. This whole 'active waiting' thing is making me anxious. It's almost summer- I'll have all that time to vegetate, but I really don't want to vegetate. What should I do? I don't want to vegetate. I want to do something. ...something that will earn me money. Preferably. But, you know, whatever.
   Fields of flowers don't worry. I shouldn't worry. Nope.

   You got it, God. No worrying. Just...you'll forgive me if I keep singing 'Tomorrow Will Be Kinder'. It's such a melancholy tune, and my throat likes the feel of it.
   Thank you for everything God. Meter-less parking spots. A voice that sounds decent when it sings. Caring friends and family. A sense of purpose.
   Thanks.
   I love you.

contained.

Cat & Deen: Name Names

His name was so strange, she had to become his best friend: the only guy she could never marry. Done deal. She approached him quickly, and certainly not as suavely as she intended but he didn't seem to notice. "Hi," she smiled at him, "uh, I'm Jane. I hear you're...new."
   He wasn't sure whether he should smile or walk away, but he liked the gap between her teeth so he said, "Hi Jane. I'm-."
   "Cera Agustin Tomlin."
   Cera nodded and smiled, but scooted a couple centimeters away.
   Jane continued, "I'm just Jane. Jane Dodeen."
   "Nice to meet you."
   "Can I call you Cat?"
   Cera was so surprised, he answered, "Only if I can call you Deen."
   They shook on it.

Cat had made several new friends at school, all of whom had names he considered strange, but he never said so out loud. He didn't want to hurt his new friends' feelings. He knew exactly what it was like being made fun of for having a weird name. A girl's name, but even weirder because it wasn't even spelled normally. But at this new school everyone had such different, strange names that they weren't so strange after all.
   He liked to write their names to practice his handwriting (his teachers' gave out gold stars for the students with the best handwriting). Soon, he realized that his name was nothing short of ordinary compared to his classmates' names.
   Some of his classmates' names meant something in different languages.
   Other kids were named after great heroes or events.
   Other only went by initials.
   As far as Cat knew, he was the only one who went by an animal.
   One day he tried to call (his new best friend) Deen, Dog, but a teacher scolded him for that. His teacher didn't explain why; he'd only said, "Don't call girls dogs." Cat never did again.

"I!" Deen declared during recess one day, "Have an! Idea!" She raised her arms high. "You are all! Going to! Love! My idea!"
   Most of the kids didn't pay attention. Cat did, but he had no choice, he was in the middle of playing Go Fish (which they endearingly call 'Go Cat') when she interrupted their game with this announcement. But Deen was undeterred, determined to get everyone's attention. "Excuse me!" she yelled. When they still didn't pay attention she recruited the help of a teacher.
   The teacher, amused, decided to help. She hollered, "If you can hear my voice, put your hands on your head!" All the children put their hands on their heads. "If you can hear my voice, put your hands on your shoulders!" Shoulders. "If you can hear my voice-!"
   "It's okay," Deen interrupted. "They can hear me now, Mrs. Hoven." She hemmed and knitted her fingers together. "I! I have! An idea! You are all! Going to love! My idea." Her classmates' looked at her absently, eager to return to their games and play. "We should all exchange names! Because we can't exchange shoes! That's gross. If we exchange names, we can know what it's like to be someone else!"

Tenth Avenue North's "Grace"

sorry i haven't sung you a song in a while, but i haven't sung any hymns in church that i like enough to sing, but please enjoy this lyric video. 

tenth avenue north is great! 

Grace! Only Grace, can move your dead heart's stone away...

Hopeful

Apparently, this month is also not going to be a month of full of blogs. It's like, have you ever mentally answered a text but you never sent it? That's what my blog is like now. Gah.

what should have been yesterday (Friday):
A couple weeks ago I read Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption by Stephen King. A novella. Read it in a day. Loved it. Even if you've seen the 1994 movie, the main character, Andy Dufresne, is just as endearing. So you know that while he is imprisoned, Andy builds a library and from that, helps people earn their GEDs/high school equivalencies. Don't ask me when Andy said this, or to whom he said this, but he at one point talks about what makes or breaks a man- frankly, what it is that makes a person:

But it isn't just a piece of paper that makes a man. And it isn't just a prison that breaks one, either.

Even two years out of college, it's easy to still think of my success and failures in terms of percentages and letters. And, no, I've never been in prison, but if it's anything like what Brooks Hadley (from the movie) experienced, it's sad: a poor definition that limits him as a human being. Or, as Red would say, institutionalized.

What makes or breaks a person is not as easy to point out. To each his own weakness, but also to each his own strength, and unfortunately, the two are often intertwined making it harder to understand and know what we need to do in order to develop and improve.

If only I arrived the moment I graduated. If only he were completely torn down when he was imprisoned. But either way, that's not how it works. We read stories like the Shawshank because of the hope it gives. Hope that there is more to me than papers and stone.

Speaking of hope...

what is today (Saturday):
I decided I want to reread Nehemiah, one of my favorite books of the Bible. So much so that I want to name future daughter after him. Daughter, you ask? Uh, yeah! So I can call her Miah (MYa) for short! Anyway, anyway.

I only reread the first two chapters, which brought a question to my mind: Why does Nehemiah have to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem? No, no. I totally get what walls meant back then. I mean, have you seen the blue walls of Babylon?! The walls of a city are its pride- the first wave of protection. A city without walls is a vulnerable city, susceptible to any attack. No city wants that.

But still... Why Nehemiah? You're not even living in Jerusalem anymore. You're cup bearer to Artaxerxes, King of Persia. Why go back? Because it's where he belongs: it's still home.

But then I ask, why was it destroyed in the first place? If we believe in the same God that means Nehemiah and I both know that God allowed the walls to be destroyed. But why, God?

Nehemiah answers, ...even I and my father's house have sinner (7) We have acted very corruptly against you and have not kept the commandments, the statues, and the rules that you commanded your servant Moses.

From what I've read and studied so far, God's relationship with his chosen people is short-term conditional. Before the Messiah comes, they have to follow all those rules. (8) Remember the word that you commanded your servant Moses, saying, "If you are unfaithful, I will scatter you among the peoples- Nehemiah is cup bearer in Persia- far from home- (9) but if you return to me and keep my commandments and do them, though your outcasts are in the uttermost parts of heaven, from there I will gather them and bring them to the place I have chosen, to make my name dwell there. (emphasis mine)

Generally, God will act with or without his people, but I sense that he prefers to work with his people.

So, it looks as though, Nehemiah doesn't just rebuild the walls to restore safety and honor to his homeland and people, but also to restore his people's relationship with God. "God you promised this and have upheld your end. Now it's my turn to uphold my end of the promise."

Huh, that is a lot of pressure.

please don't brighten at the sight of me

please don't brighten at the sight of me,

you don't know who i am. 

i'm glad you appreciate my face

and probably my other features...

BUT you haven't given yourself a chance to meet me. 

really, you've only see me

stand here.

what if you don't like the way i walk or run? 

or the way i brush back my hair with my hands? 

what if you hate my other outfits? 

especially how indecisive i am when i shop?

i guarantee i'll re-construct your sentences; i'll probably diagram them.

complain about a writer's cliches.

i'm glad you appreciate my face,

but you have yet to look under my leather bound covers 

to shuffle through worn, willing vanilla-scented pages. 

what if you find vanilla too boring? 

please don't brighten at the sight of me because 

you're inciting me to do the same.

frankly, i might be more willing to peruse your pages, than you would mine: 

that's what really scares me.