You may now find me pressing words on Word Press:
http://snailsseethebenefits.wordpress.com/
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
Kentucky Avenue
It has been a week and one day since I had been in Joplin, Missouri. A week and one day since leaving my fingerprints on the utter destruction that had laid before me. A week and one day since I had met Josephine and Gary and had asked if we could help them scour through Josephine's once-standing house on Kentucky Avenue. It was in her joyful response of a yes that we began to dig and discover all that an F-5 tornado destroyed and left behind. Finding her favorite dolls and balls of yarn seemed to bring about the responses specifically reserved for Christmas. But, I suppose, in discovering the valuables that mean the most to you after such destruction, you can't help but rediscover its worth and its meaning as a whole.
And these are the thoughts that I caught myself in. I was standing between a vanity set and a large cabinet and making eye contact with my surroundings: a bathtub in the front yard, the house with exposed insides that once held private stories, layers of tarp attempting to cover goods that were probably always covered and stored anyway. I can ever-so-slightly hear the creaking and rocking of a large piece of aluminum that had been tangled into the tree above. These thoughts and these sounds are sticking and protruding themselves into a part of myself that I have yet to discover; the part of me that sits separately in its corner. Perhaps it is the altruistic state of mind that sits so quietly and distant before it is poked out of place. Whatever it has been, it is teaching me that much of what I put my money and what I consider valuable truly contains no weight of value whatsoever.
I looked around at not only Josephine's once-called home, but also at the entirety of Kentucky Avenue, and I could not picture what this neighborhood had looked like prior to the tornado. I saw trees that once stood strong, tall and powerful, tragically uprooted and turned onto their side. And I cried. I cried a lot, actually. I kept asking that pesky, rhetorical, over-repeated "Why?" that seems to come after such a scene, and if this was all real. I could not fathom how an act of nature made a city its playground. Nature not only expelled mayhem on humans, families and homes, but on nature itself. I had no words to really form (hence the week-and-one-day-late blog); I was word-frozen. I could only form one conclusion, and it is the same conclusion one gets to at the end of every missions trip or after encountering such a tragedy - I take everything for granted.
That statement alone can shift your world on its axis - its corrective axis, at that - and it makes you see, feel and touch life differently. It makes you appreciate the loving, overwhelming family that you still tangibly have, the bed that you sleep in, the closet full of clothing, the shoes that you wear and the buildings that you see while driving back into a still-standing city. It can be in these moments of the utter reality of your surroundings that life makes sense. One of those acknowledgments in how God created the Earth with a mere breath and human beings from the dirt. It's these simplistic things that I have time and time again, over-complicated and, subconsciously, tried to understand them by taking my next paycheck and spending it on empty, unfulfilling valuables that serve no purpose in my life.
I am beginning to think - it is in its process of full understanding - that I have gotten a lot of things wrong. I've taken situations in an overdramatic tone or have underestimated them and missed the picture entirely. I pray and I hope that this doesn't cease too quickly nor that it stops poking that part of me that cries to be truly altruistic or God's hands and feet without question; not needing or searching for some form of praise.
I also pray that I not too quickly walk away from Kentucky Avenue, ravaged and sitting in its debris, because honestly, that is where I felt real for the first time in my life.
And these are the thoughts that I caught myself in. I was standing between a vanity set and a large cabinet and making eye contact with my surroundings: a bathtub in the front yard, the house with exposed insides that once held private stories, layers of tarp attempting to cover goods that were probably always covered and stored anyway. I can ever-so-slightly hear the creaking and rocking of a large piece of aluminum that had been tangled into the tree above. These thoughts and these sounds are sticking and protruding themselves into a part of myself that I have yet to discover; the part of me that sits separately in its corner. Perhaps it is the altruistic state of mind that sits so quietly and distant before it is poked out of place. Whatever it has been, it is teaching me that much of what I put my money and what I consider valuable truly contains no weight of value whatsoever.
I looked around at not only Josephine's once-called home, but also at the entirety of Kentucky Avenue, and I could not picture what this neighborhood had looked like prior to the tornado. I saw trees that once stood strong, tall and powerful, tragically uprooted and turned onto their side. And I cried. I cried a lot, actually. I kept asking that pesky, rhetorical, over-repeated "Why?" that seems to come after such a scene, and if this was all real. I could not fathom how an act of nature made a city its playground. Nature not only expelled mayhem on humans, families and homes, but on nature itself. I had no words to really form (hence the week-and-one-day-late blog); I was word-frozen. I could only form one conclusion, and it is the same conclusion one gets to at the end of every missions trip or after encountering such a tragedy - I take everything for granted.
I am beginning to think - it is in its process of full understanding - that I have gotten a lot of things wrong. I've taken situations in an overdramatic tone or have underestimated them and missed the picture entirely. I pray and I hope that this doesn't cease too quickly nor that it stops poking that part of me that cries to be truly altruistic or God's hands and feet without question; not needing or searching for some form of praise.
I also pray that I not too quickly walk away from Kentucky Avenue, ravaged and sitting in its debris, because honestly, that is where I felt real for the first time in my life.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
"Cubism Dream"
I fear that it has been in the moments that I reach this blank page, with this blinking cursor cursing my thoughts and me, that I draw question marks in place of what I would have hoped to have been writing. My words cease to be eloquent as they leave my mind. It's like leaving the your sleeping bag at home for a camping trip; you're stuck outside, sleeping beneath the countless stars without that cushion of knowing that if you rolled over, you would still be in your little bag, and safe from an ant pile.
But.. here I am, wallowing in my figurative ant pile. It's dreadful to have to feel as if I am purging thoughts from my cerebrum. My brain should only have to work this hard whilst sitting behind a desk and computing numbers too large to make sense. Perhaps it would be easier to write about how difficult life has been lately, but I would rather save those thoughts for some later post or maybe come to realize that life really has not been as difficult as I've made it out to be.
Oh, I could possibly delve into how I have found new music to tickle my ears - Local Natives, The Last Royals, Manchester Orchestra, Sleeping At Last... but see, you don't really care. So, is that what it all comes down to? The little pieces of thought to this jigsaw-ish writing that question themselves to the point of death?
This insecure dilemma has left my writing feeling like a scene from Fight Club. I read another's thoughts on life, love and the sorts, and I realize how incredibly elementary-like my words form themselves. I then draw the conclusion that it is, probably, because I have yet to read a piece of literature that will spark my mind. The only novel that gets me to write like my mind is leaking creativity is The Special Topics in Calamity Physics, which typically leaves me walking, talking, writing, and living in a metaphoric state. It's slightly scary, honestly.
I think I just need a vacation. One of those vacations where you forget that there is such a thing as humanity, but eventually miss human contact at some point. Yes. Good thing that is what I am getting to do at the beginning of June. I'll reconnect myself with the Atlantic Ocean, the sun and its warmth - Illinois does not understand that concept - and sand hot enough to scorch my tiny toes. I plan on taking my leather bound journal (of course I have one, courtesy of Chelsea) in order that I may store my leaking thoughts.
Maybe then, just maybe, I will have rolled out of the figurative ant pile and have nice, secure thoughts to plant and to entertain.
But.. here I am, wallowing in my figurative ant pile. It's dreadful to have to feel as if I am purging thoughts from my cerebrum. My brain should only have to work this hard whilst sitting behind a desk and computing numbers too large to make sense. Perhaps it would be easier to write about how difficult life has been lately, but I would rather save those thoughts for some later post or maybe come to realize that life really has not been as difficult as I've made it out to be.
Oh, I could possibly delve into how I have found new music to tickle my ears - Local Natives, The Last Royals, Manchester Orchestra, Sleeping At Last... but see, you don't really care. So, is that what it all comes down to? The little pieces of thought to this jigsaw-ish writing that question themselves to the point of death?
This insecure dilemma has left my writing feeling like a scene from Fight Club. I read another's thoughts on life, love and the sorts, and I realize how incredibly elementary-like my words form themselves. I then draw the conclusion that it is, probably, because I have yet to read a piece of literature that will spark my mind. The only novel that gets me to write like my mind is leaking creativity is The Special Topics in Calamity Physics, which typically leaves me walking, talking, writing, and living in a metaphoric state. It's slightly scary, honestly.
I think I just need a vacation. One of those vacations where you forget that there is such a thing as humanity, but eventually miss human contact at some point. Yes. Good thing that is what I am getting to do at the beginning of June. I'll reconnect myself with the Atlantic Ocean, the sun and its warmth - Illinois does not understand that concept - and sand hot enough to scorch my tiny toes. I plan on taking my leather bound journal (of course I have one, courtesy of Chelsea) in order that I may store my leaking thoughts.
Maybe then, just maybe, I will have rolled out of the figurative ant pile and have nice, secure thoughts to plant and to entertain.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
This is our ring around the trunk.
When we wiggle ourselves out of the truth that has been imparted unto us, we find ourselves in the hardest jigsaw puzzle of our lives. Life becomes this outrageous enigma, full of mirrors reflecting lies. The worst thing about this enigma, that in our mindless circling about, we begin to believe these reflected things. Nothing short of lies to push us further from who we are and who we were created to be.
The strings that had been cut so long ago begin to throw themselves down . Wiry and frail, much like our state of mind, they reattach to old hooks that had long ago disappeared. The reattachment first shows no pain, but it is soon that we feel the pull and the tug from the power of these strings. The scissors to release us feel high and too far out of reach, so we muzzle our questions and ride the pull.
Yet, once our feet are tired of the drag and our calloused knuckles take their grip to what is going on around them, we take a deep breath. The inhale brings a refreshed life long awaited for; one that brings a charge to reach for the scissors that once seemed too far. And see, see this is where the maze begins a new opening. Our new charge pulls against the strings; a tug-of-war to see who wins. Just as the last step is about to give into the pull, our once battered fingers reach the fine point of scissors. The grip of these scissors feel as if we were trained for this already, so we cut and feel the release of tragedy.
Reaching the end of it all, with shattered mirrors and sliced feet, it is all too much to look back. Taking a seat and feeling the bones within us surrendering themselves to the ground around us, we sit beneath a tree that has taken bloom. We find comfort in relating, because just as we have felt death all over, this tree, too, had to die to give bring about new life. And each time... it's so much more beautiful than last.
This is our bloom. This is our ring around the trunk. This is life without strings, and this is beautiful.
The strings that had been cut so long ago begin to throw themselves down . Wiry and frail, much like our state of mind, they reattach to old hooks that had long ago disappeared. The reattachment first shows no pain, but it is soon that we feel the pull and the tug from the power of these strings. The scissors to release us feel high and too far out of reach, so we muzzle our questions and ride the pull.
Yet, once our feet are tired of the drag and our calloused knuckles take their grip to what is going on around them, we take a deep breath. The inhale brings a refreshed life long awaited for; one that brings a charge to reach for the scissors that once seemed too far. And see, see this is where the maze begins a new opening. Our new charge pulls against the strings; a tug-of-war to see who wins. Just as the last step is about to give into the pull, our once battered fingers reach the fine point of scissors. The grip of these scissors feel as if we were trained for this already, so we cut and feel the release of tragedy.
This is our bloom. This is our ring around the trunk. This is life without strings, and this is beautiful.
e.e. cummings
Via Christopher Conley Tumblr:
i thank You God for most this amazing
i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any—lifted from the no
of all nothing—human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any—lifted from the no
of all nothing—human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
-e e cummings
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Not even a million price tags
You know what I hate? I hate that we have turned Jesus into a homeboy; an image plastered onto a shirt and sold at a shoe store. I hate that the majority of crosses that hang around necks serve no significant purpose. To some it is a symbol of "luck" - whatever that is - and to some it is the gift that their grandmother gave them. I hate that Jesus is a Sunday-morning-brunch-talk Jesus to most. But, more than anything, the distaste reaches its peak in the fact that we are okay with these things.
I would rather speak on behalf of American's in stating that we have grown completely accustomed to these images and these mottos regarding Jesus. So much so, that we have missed the overall picture two quotes ago. To be blatantly honest, I fall into this category so often. I felt my conviction one night in church with a guest speaker who spate out the words "Why are we always looking for the next best sermon, the next best worship band and the next best conference to attend?" I left asking myself those questions, because that's me. Now with Easter here and the reality of it all making its appearance, I sat in a Good Friday service at church, dressed in black and putting my best somber face on, all per the request of Pastor James. Quite different this all was, as most years prior my Good Friday's were spent, well, not acknowledging it was indeed Good Friday.
So, somberly I sat and service began. I had a good time in worship, thought the bits of acting that came through were done very well and, gosh, we had really awesome worship leaders. Golden voices. Just as I thought it was a wrap, the last act was up and it came to the part where Jesus was to be crucified. On pops this video of this man's backside, only showing his right shoulder, badly beaten with flesh torn and mangled tissue so vivid that I felt sick. The gashes on His body were minute compared to the sound of His breathing; it was so faint and so fatal. This was Jesus dying. This was the reality of His crucifixion. It wasn't a picture above a mantle or a universal symbol for Christianity, it was reality for the first time to me. I sat there, silently crying because it felt like I finally reached the end of this enigma I had traced through for so long. The only thing that kept going through my head was "That's my Lover." and that's all I kept telling myself. I heard his faint breaths and knew He was dying for me. And I know, I know this sounds so repetitive to some, but for me it was my basement light clicking on. I know I will never fully understand it, but it felt like a gust of wind to finally have a taste to understand what He did for me, for us, just so I could have a second chance at all of this. I grabbed the wooden cross that hangs on my neck and it felt so different for the first time.
And now I sit in bed with all of these images of what we have made Jesus out to be. How we've turned this tragic, yet beautiful deed into a marketing campaign. All He wanted to do was show us how much He loves us and we take it and turn it into a market place. We all know what Jesus thinks about that ("My house will be called a house of prayer, but you are making it a 'den of robbers'" Matthew 21:13) and I don't want to be okay with this. In discovering a sacrifice that is real and has weight, we have to refuse to turn it around to glorify us. What He did for us could hold not even a million price tags, and even if they did, they would all have names written on them. You, me and everyone else.
I guess the question is what do I do from here? I cannot physically stop the unconscious believer from wearing their WWJD bracelet while flipping me off. I think I would rather take this as a challenge to myself, even when I want to flip the tables like Jesus. In due time, though, in due time. Overall, I truly am grateful now... the cross around my neck feels heavier with meaning.
I would rather speak on behalf of American's in stating that we have grown completely accustomed to these images and these mottos regarding Jesus. So much so, that we have missed the overall picture two quotes ago. To be blatantly honest, I fall into this category so often. I felt my conviction one night in church with a guest speaker who spate out the words "Why are we always looking for the next best sermon, the next best worship band and the next best conference to attend?" I left asking myself those questions, because that's me. Now with Easter here and the reality of it all making its appearance, I sat in a Good Friday service at church, dressed in black and putting my best somber face on, all per the request of Pastor James. Quite different this all was, as most years prior my Good Friday's were spent, well, not acknowledging it was indeed Good Friday.
So, somberly I sat and service began. I had a good time in worship, thought the bits of acting that came through were done very well and, gosh, we had really awesome worship leaders. Golden voices. Just as I thought it was a wrap, the last act was up and it came to the part where Jesus was to be crucified. On pops this video of this man's backside, only showing his right shoulder, badly beaten with flesh torn and mangled tissue so vivid that I felt sick. The gashes on His body were minute compared to the sound of His breathing; it was so faint and so fatal. This was Jesus dying. This was the reality of His crucifixion. It wasn't a picture above a mantle or a universal symbol for Christianity, it was reality for the first time to me. I sat there, silently crying because it felt like I finally reached the end of this enigma I had traced through for so long. The only thing that kept going through my head was "That's my Lover." and that's all I kept telling myself. I heard his faint breaths and knew He was dying for me. And I know, I know this sounds so repetitive to some, but for me it was my basement light clicking on. I know I will never fully understand it, but it felt like a gust of wind to finally have a taste to understand what He did for me, for us, just so I could have a second chance at all of this. I grabbed the wooden cross that hangs on my neck and it felt so different for the first time.
And now I sit in bed with all of these images of what we have made Jesus out to be. How we've turned this tragic, yet beautiful deed into a marketing campaign. All He wanted to do was show us how much He loves us and we take it and turn it into a market place. We all know what Jesus thinks about that ("My house will be called a house of prayer, but you are making it a 'den of robbers'" Matthew 21:13) and I don't want to be okay with this. In discovering a sacrifice that is real and has weight, we have to refuse to turn it around to glorify us. What He did for us could hold not even a million price tags, and even if they did, they would all have names written on them. You, me and everyone else.
I guess the question is what do I do from here? I cannot physically stop the unconscious believer from wearing their WWJD bracelet while flipping me off. I think I would rather take this as a challenge to myself, even when I want to flip the tables like Jesus. In due time, though, in due time. Overall, I truly am grateful now... the cross around my neck feels heavier with meaning.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
It's going to be beautiful, brother.
It has still been since June 15th that you decided to take the scissors to all that was around you. And I don't know why today in particular it is extremely hard for me to even think about. This may even come out quite nonsensical in the end, but at this point I don't even care much.
I have been so selfish lately. My own selfishness has gotten in the way and now it's the point of pride vs. pride in this game. It has to stop now, because the enemy likes it far too much and he is just dragging you further, and my cold shoulder to this situation like a helping shove into those valleys. I think the things that I have tried to tell you have grown stale and tasteless to you, but I don't care. I will never stop telling you how sorry I am to have been such a crappy sister to you. I wish I could take back every degrading thing I've ever told you before and I wish I never participated in the things that did not build you up.
While God was building you up, your own family was taking a hammer to it.
I think the thing that surprises me the most is how I was growing closer to God as you were loosening the strings to your relationship with Him... all at the same exact time. But again, I was too selfish to even notice. Slowly, you were making an exit and slowly I was beginning to see His glory. Now that you've taken your exit and now that you have decided to live this life that isn't close to the way you know you should be living makes me so weary. I think it is because you know... like, you KNOW how you should be living but you decided that your rebellion needed to get out. Again, that is a lie that is picked up far too often. I already know that if something horrific were to happen, in a heartbeat you would ask for forgiveness from God and you would want back right then, because you could never doubt Him (I know this because you did agree). But still... you continue.
It's to this point now where I have to put off my pride in this and continue to love you; love you until there are bruises and there is bleeding, because that is how much I love you. Even if I did not show it before. I will fight for you, because I cannot be another helping hand in this. You were created for so much more. Even my old birthday cards tell these stories. Your written scriptures, trying to encourage ME, the old unbeliever, to come to know God, because He knew His plans for me. I suppose now it is your turn... no matter how much I hate that, but God works out everything for His purpose. So one day, one very beautiful day, God will turn this around to glorify Him. You know what will be said?
"You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done. The saving of many lives." Genesis 50:20
And it's going to be beautiful, brother. And then the angels will rejoice... because you are back.
I have been so selfish lately. My own selfishness has gotten in the way and now it's the point of pride vs. pride in this game. It has to stop now, because the enemy likes it far too much and he is just dragging you further, and my cold shoulder to this situation like a helping shove into those valleys. I think the things that I have tried to tell you have grown stale and tasteless to you, but I don't care. I will never stop telling you how sorry I am to have been such a crappy sister to you. I wish I could take back every degrading thing I've ever told you before and I wish I never participated in the things that did not build you up.
While God was building you up, your own family was taking a hammer to it.
I think the thing that surprises me the most is how I was growing closer to God as you were loosening the strings to your relationship with Him... all at the same exact time. But again, I was too selfish to even notice. Slowly, you were making an exit and slowly I was beginning to see His glory. Now that you've taken your exit and now that you have decided to live this life that isn't close to the way you know you should be living makes me so weary. I think it is because you know... like, you KNOW how you should be living but you decided that your rebellion needed to get out. Again, that is a lie that is picked up far too often. I already know that if something horrific were to happen, in a heartbeat you would ask for forgiveness from God and you would want back right then, because you could never doubt Him (I know this because you did agree). But still... you continue.
It's to this point now where I have to put off my pride in this and continue to love you; love you until there are bruises and there is bleeding, because that is how much I love you. Even if I did not show it before. I will fight for you, because I cannot be another helping hand in this. You were created for so much more. Even my old birthday cards tell these stories. Your written scriptures, trying to encourage ME, the old unbeliever, to come to know God, because He knew His plans for me. I suppose now it is your turn... no matter how much I hate that, but God works out everything for His purpose. So one day, one very beautiful day, God will turn this around to glorify Him. You know what will be said?
"You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done. The saving of many lives." Genesis 50:20
And it's going to be beautiful, brother. And then the angels will rejoice... because you are back.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Strawberry Swing
"More and more groups of people at this 'level' are real with one another, but nobody is changing. Nobody is growing. Nobody is maturing. We've almost made the end goal of friendship to be authenticity instead of transformation. What good is a friend to [just] be open and honest? That's not the whole goal. The goal is to be in relationship with people who would challenge you and inspire you to not stay the same." - Josh Loveless
I have really been thinking about the deep meaning of friendship lately. I have been thinking about the reasons and the importance behind friendship. As I type this, there is a woman who is hysterically laughing with her girl friends in a coffee shop. There are six of them gathered around a table, giving the attention each deserve, sharing stories and that infectious laughter between one another. It really is encouraging to see this in older women, because I come to the conclusion that friendship is unceasing and does not get old as you get older. On the contrary, it would seem that it increases as one gets older.
It is friendship like this that ignites the very thing within you that is either hidden or stale due to life. Friendship comes along and shoves it out of you; to bring you either to tears or to pure laughter. Both equally healthy. And I think (know, actually) that the healthiest types of friendship are those between Christian's. True Christ followers who would so humbly lay down their best cardigan or favorite jacket in order for you to cross the puddle. This doesn't just happen between boyfriends and girlfriends, it is completely, 100% applicable in friendships. I truly believe that you are taught a portion of how to be humble and how to be selfless through friendships before marriage. I also believe that the greatest quality a friend can hold is one that is challenges the other friend; always pushing them outside of their comfort zone when it comes to their relationship with God.
In this, I have been seeing that God is making such a beautiful opening for friendships in my life. From the friends that I have in Florida - who, ultimately, gave me a standard for real friendship - to my newfound friends in Illinois. They are so wonderful, encouraging and more than anything, true friends through Christ. I am challenged by them and through them, I see how much I still have to work on. My amazing friend Eva portrayed just this last night. She just flew back from a five week missions trip in New Zealand and last night, she sat down with our group and was so blunt in wanting us to get out of our comfort zones. She encouraged us to get out and evangelize and connect with people we don't even know. We then had a time of praying and fellowship. This girl challenges me so much without even realizing it. I see the spark in her eye to strive to be the person that God calls her to be, whether it's quitting both of her jobs and taking off to another country for five weeks or her literal way of being the connection between every single person in our group - she makes it happen. She was the first person to come up to me and make that connection. I don't know what kind of friendships I would have if God did not introduce me to her on the first night of college group.
And it is funny, too, that my best friend Chelsea was the first person to make the connection with me one night at church. From there, the friendships between amazing people and myself grew. So many times those same groups of people had to hold my hand above water and they helped me up to the surface through their humility, challenging and love. Friendship is such a beautiful, beautiful thing and God had every right and noble intention with it, and it is such a shame when we couple ourselves with the wrong crowds that aren't helping us grow spiritually. It's crippling, actually. Through God and friendships, we recognize our broken bones and through these relationships, we get back to the health He has intended.
Who knows how these women in front of me have met, they're making their friendship work in such a beautiful way. It is friendship like this that can bring light to a room and a smile to the soul.
I have really been thinking about the deep meaning of friendship lately. I have been thinking about the reasons and the importance behind friendship. As I type this, there is a woman who is hysterically laughing with her girl friends in a coffee shop. There are six of them gathered around a table, giving the attention each deserve, sharing stories and that infectious laughter between one another. It really is encouraging to see this in older women, because I come to the conclusion that friendship is unceasing and does not get old as you get older. On the contrary, it would seem that it increases as one gets older.
It is friendship like this that ignites the very thing within you that is either hidden or stale due to life. Friendship comes along and shoves it out of you; to bring you either to tears or to pure laughter. Both equally healthy. And I think (know, actually) that the healthiest types of friendship are those between Christian's. True Christ followers who would so humbly lay down their best cardigan or favorite jacket in order for you to cross the puddle. This doesn't just happen between boyfriends and girlfriends, it is completely, 100% applicable in friendships. I truly believe that you are taught a portion of how to be humble and how to be selfless through friendships before marriage. I also believe that the greatest quality a friend can hold is one that is challenges the other friend; always pushing them outside of their comfort zone when it comes to their relationship with God.In this, I have been seeing that God is making such a beautiful opening for friendships in my life. From the friends that I have in Florida - who, ultimately, gave me a standard for real friendship - to my newfound friends in Illinois. They are so wonderful, encouraging and more than anything, true friends through Christ. I am challenged by them and through them, I see how much I still have to work on. My amazing friend Eva portrayed just this last night. She just flew back from a five week missions trip in New Zealand and last night, she sat down with our group and was so blunt in wanting us to get out of our comfort zones. She encouraged us to get out and evangelize and connect with people we don't even know. We then had a time of praying and fellowship. This girl challenges me so much without even realizing it. I see the spark in her eye to strive to be the person that God calls her to be, whether it's quitting both of her jobs and taking off to another country for five weeks or her literal way of being the connection between every single person in our group - she makes it happen. She was the first person to come up to me and make that connection. I don't know what kind of friendships I would have if God did not introduce me to her on the first night of college group.
And it is funny, too, that my best friend Chelsea was the first person to make the connection with me one night at church. From there, the friendships between amazing people and myself grew. So many times those same groups of people had to hold my hand above water and they helped me up to the surface through their humility, challenging and love. Friendship is such a beautiful, beautiful thing and God had every right and noble intention with it, and it is such a shame when we couple ourselves with the wrong crowds that aren't helping us grow spiritually. It's crippling, actually. Through God and friendships, we recognize our broken bones and through these relationships, we get back to the health He has intended.
Who knows how these women in front of me have met, they're making their friendship work in such a beautiful way. It is friendship like this that can bring light to a room and a smile to the soul.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
His work is good.
Oh, the road with its marvelous spectacles - like that of a circus - it is always so appealing to the eye. So we say, "Forget the soul! Heart, lead the way. Mere mind, you may only think when the decisions are in agreement with this heart."
We begin the path, feeling its grooves and its beats. We decide that this is right where we belong, because the craving for such an adventure has gone on for far too long. The craving must be met, and since the lights and the beats reach for our attention, we assume this must be the missing puzzle piece. It is not long afterwards that we've reached the road, where the lights are fading and the music seems distant. Forgetful we were in the beginning; the road always leads downward.
Oh, oh, but that's right... we've held onto that rope "just in case", and we have also left bread crumbs along the trail. So we tug, He pulls and we begin the journey up. Becoming distracted by the attractions again, remembering the fun we had, we let go. Forgetful again, the road ends and no longer do we have the rope to grab and pull. So we follow those bread crumbs we dropped along the way last time.
Along the path, we find the friends we traveled the road with. Too far gone to even see us and our call to travel this new path, they reach for us, but we refuse... we know the bottom, its freezing temperatures and its echos of desperation. The breadcrumbs are the only thing left to help us get back this time, so we say goodbye to the people we brought down with us, knowing we cannot face the bottom again. The wind seems battering closer to the top, but we push through.
Once to the top, we begin to see the scars and the bruises we acquired along the way down. The weight of our decisions sets in and just as we feel them overpowering, the slightest whisper has them flee. "You are mine." we hear. The soul begins its awakening. The Sewer begins His work. While painful, we know it cannot happen any other way. The scars have faded and the bruises brushed away, there is a newness; a freedom felt. Our longing to belong, the adventure we craved, this is where we begin.
One day we will be made into perfection; one day His work will be done. The thread will feed through one last time and He will place us down, and He will say His work is good.
We begin the path, feeling its grooves and its beats. We decide that this is right where we belong, because the craving for such an adventure has gone on for far too long. The craving must be met, and since the lights and the beats reach for our attention, we assume this must be the missing puzzle piece. It is not long afterwards that we've reached the road, where the lights are fading and the music seems distant. Forgetful we were in the beginning; the road always leads downward.
Oh, oh, but that's right... we've held onto that rope "just in case", and we have also left bread crumbs along the trail. So we tug, He pulls and we begin the journey up. Becoming distracted by the attractions again, remembering the fun we had, we let go. Forgetful again, the road ends and no longer do we have the rope to grab and pull. So we follow those bread crumbs we dropped along the way last time.
Along the path, we find the friends we traveled the road with. Too far gone to even see us and our call to travel this new path, they reach for us, but we refuse... we know the bottom, its freezing temperatures and its echos of desperation. The breadcrumbs are the only thing left to help us get back this time, so we say goodbye to the people we brought down with us, knowing we cannot face the bottom again. The wind seems battering closer to the top, but we push through.
Once to the top, we begin to see the scars and the bruises we acquired along the way down. The weight of our decisions sets in and just as we feel them overpowering, the slightest whisper has them flee. "You are mine." we hear. The soul begins its awakening. The Sewer begins His work. While painful, we know it cannot happen any other way. The scars have faded and the bruises brushed away, there is a newness; a freedom felt. Our longing to belong, the adventure we craved, this is where we begin.
One day we will be made into perfection; one day His work will be done. The thread will feed through one last time and He will place us down, and He will say His work is good.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
"I've got a hunger twisting my stomach into knots."
Distractions can be so incredibly deadly. Whether it is Facebook, a relationship or my personal time, my distractions have become so burdensome that I recently pulled the cords. Facebook had to go. My relationship had to be put on hold. My personal time needed to be reevaluated and managed correctly. My relationship with God was teetering and I felt the weight of a thunderstorm looming. In moving to a new city, I fear that I have taken on new challenges. At every end, my mind is in constant battle with these new, yet-to-be-surveyed surroundings. I can feel the cracks of so many foundations right now that my relationship with even myself is at risk. I am beginning to wonder what road I chose to take or even when the decision to take a different road was given to me.
When I am saying that these cracks are forming, it's nothing massive. I'm not partying and drinking or even remotely touching that side of the 'cracked foundation' spectrum. Instead, I am beginning to discover that my previously fought battles are starting up again. The soldiers were never dead; the darkness only went away for a mere vacation. I suppose I began to think that because a battle was won, the war was over, but that is never the case. It is a lie, to be honest.
It seems that the only easy thing to repeat right now is: "I know that I am here for a reason" - but to feel the weight of this reason is becoming greatly exasperating. The Director of this film called "My Life" has already told me to expect this season to be a "season of change", but to charge head on is like walking on raging waters. I sometimes still feel on top, but then sometimes I feel like I'm sinking (I don't think one could understand how hard it was to write that sentence - it was like chopping the head of Pride off).
My season of change has resurrected old battles, and I know it is done in order to make me a stronger fighter and more aware of what my weaknesses really are. In this awareness, I have, have, have to understand that while I am saying one thing, my heart and mind can still be elsewhere; thus proving my weakness and my speechless longing to have Him understand my weaknesses and compensate with His strength. He is the stand to my frame, after all.
In realizing that I cannot fight these battles alone is making itself clear. Somedays I feel filled and ready to take on the soldiers. Then the battle begins, they fire and I am down and drained. Fighting out of pride in thinking "I've done this one before" is keeping me in a stale, unmoved place. To take it as a lesson learned and to have God take the lead in these battles needs to register in my heart, my soul and my mind. Here we go.
When I am saying that these cracks are forming, it's nothing massive. I'm not partying and drinking or even remotely touching that side of the 'cracked foundation' spectrum. Instead, I am beginning to discover that my previously fought battles are starting up again. The soldiers were never dead; the darkness only went away for a mere vacation. I suppose I began to think that because a battle was won, the war was over, but that is never the case. It is a lie, to be honest.
It seems that the only easy thing to repeat right now is: "I know that I am here for a reason" - but to feel the weight of this reason is becoming greatly exasperating. The Director of this film called "My Life" has already told me to expect this season to be a "season of change", but to charge head on is like walking on raging waters. I sometimes still feel on top, but then sometimes I feel like I'm sinking (I don't think one could understand how hard it was to write that sentence - it was like chopping the head of Pride off).
My season of change has resurrected old battles, and I know it is done in order to make me a stronger fighter and more aware of what my weaknesses really are. In this awareness, I have, have, have to understand that while I am saying one thing, my heart and mind can still be elsewhere; thus proving my weakness and my speechless longing to have Him understand my weaknesses and compensate with His strength. He is the stand to my frame, after all.
In realizing that I cannot fight these battles alone is making itself clear. Somedays I feel filled and ready to take on the soldiers. Then the battle begins, they fire and I am down and drained. Fighting out of pride in thinking "I've done this one before" is keeping me in a stale, unmoved place. To take it as a lesson learned and to have God take the lead in these battles needs to register in my heart, my soul and my mind. Here we go.
We Remain
the daydreaming mind
what a dangerous thing
bringing us to tangents and forks
in the already twisted roads
forced to a decision:
good or bad
chosen is the one
that points to fulfillment
all the while
its curves get sharp and wide
"dreadful, dreadful" we say
"how did i mistake this?" we ask
lonely and unaccompanied we began
and as lonely and unaccompanied
we begin to leave
the road seems longer than taken
but the distance feels lighter
we know only that the trek must be made
soles rubbed thin
souls feeling the last drip of water
we arrive
moonlit shadows fading
contradicting air we begin to breath
the new soul begins to gasp
spared we feel
lonely and unaccompanied we began
wholly filled and guided we remain
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Chris showed me this band and their video on Vimeo the other day. Quite creative and toe tapping. I hope you enjoy it as much as I loved it.
Mt Desolation - Departure from BABANUKI films on Vimeo.
Mt Desolation - Departure from BABANUKI films on Vimeo.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Coffee shops and unpurchased books
It is still in the chaos of absolute nothing-ness that I find myself sitting in a Borders and reading one of their books that I have not purchased, and I do not plan on purchasing, drinking a cup of coffee and enjoying the silence of their coffee shop. Though, I have had better coffee. My unpurchased book and I share a world together for about two hours and I finish in order to go home to a dinner. I return the next day to finish the same unpurchased book. I find it in its place and begin where I left off.
The Fates Will Find Their Way truly was a great novel. Quite raunchy at some parts, but great writing nonetheless. The review I did read on the novel revealed its similarity to The Virgin Suicides, which now ignites my curiosity of this novel. However, I have already started the 700 page The Hour I First Believed by Wally Lamb... but it seems to be losing me in the first one hundred pages. I read his two other novels, which were strange, yet nice, so I suppose I can't give up on him too soon.
As one can see, my "free" time (which is all the time at this point) is wrapped warmly into novels that take me to other worlds and charge the battery of my imagination. Great novels give my mind something new to think about, and it refreshes me. The novel, if written well, makes me think in metaphors and makes me articulate my words and sentences even better. It is the strangest of things. I begin to look at clouds and make up stories of how the weather man lied and now we are sitting here with clouds that tease their audience.
What the heck is wrong with me? I'm not Mary Shelley. But maybe there are some days that I wish I was. I wish I was this writer who wrote out of experience from passing street signs and from the beauty of what is around me. I wish I wrote pages and pages of these things, and these pages turned into novels and these novels would end up in someones hand at a bookstore, at a table with coffee and classical music, and it is being felt and it is being read. Purchased or unpurchased, it is read.
This dream is full of spandex, such a stretch, so until then, I will continue to be the reader; the other mover to this dance and live in other worlds of fictionalized characters.
The Fates Will Find Their Way truly was a great novel. Quite raunchy at some parts, but great writing nonetheless. The review I did read on the novel revealed its similarity to The Virgin Suicides, which now ignites my curiosity of this novel. However, I have already started the 700 page The Hour I First Believed by Wally Lamb... but it seems to be losing me in the first one hundred pages. I read his two other novels, which were strange, yet nice, so I suppose I can't give up on him too soon.
As one can see, my "free" time (which is all the time at this point) is wrapped warmly into novels that take me to other worlds and charge the battery of my imagination. Great novels give my mind something new to think about, and it refreshes me. The novel, if written well, makes me think in metaphors and makes me articulate my words and sentences even better. It is the strangest of things. I begin to look at clouds and make up stories of how the weather man lied and now we are sitting here with clouds that tease their audience.
What the heck is wrong with me? I'm not Mary Shelley. But maybe there are some days that I wish I was. I wish I was this writer who wrote out of experience from passing street signs and from the beauty of what is around me. I wish I wrote pages and pages of these things, and these pages turned into novels and these novels would end up in someones hand at a bookstore, at a table with coffee and classical music, and it is being felt and it is being read. Purchased or unpurchased, it is read.
This dream is full of spandex, such a stretch, so until then, I will continue to be the reader; the other mover to this dance and live in other worlds of fictionalized characters.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Habba... no.. Habakuk.. no... Habakkuk.
"I am jobless and in 22 days, I will be 22. Wait, is it 22? I don't know. I hate the subject of Math and, well, I haven't been in school in two semesters, so two semesters without Math is almost the equivalent of a year to doing nothing, zero, nada in relation to Math. I should get back into school. Elgin Community College. I still need to research it. Guess I'm taking summer classes. But first, a job... continue to submit my resume like it is on fire in my hands and in my hard drive."
This seems to be my mindset on, at least, an every-other-daily basis. I mean, it is this mindset that is driving more and more of my Bible reading, talking and listening to God more, so I guess it is not so bad. It is the mindset that leads me to different coffee shops around the area of my house and makes me realize that Starbucks is not all it is cracked up to be - Caribou Coffee blows them out of the water - and that "[i]roning out faithless creases is toilsome." (Quote taken from Donald Miller's "Through Painted Deserts").
I am coming to see the reason why this season is taking place. God is speaking and He is ever-moving around me and in me. Just the other day, I had this feeling that I just needed to spend time with Him, because it had been a neglect on my part. I got off of the phone with Chris, turned on worship music and let the darkness of my room envelope me. I closed my eyes and just listened... something I had not done in a long time, and by the grace of God, it came through Olivia as a reminder.
So I sat there and then Kim Walker's version of "How He Loves" came on. I almost got up to turn it, when God said, "No. I need to to hear this. I need you to understand how much I love you." So I closed my eyes again, quite afraid of what would happen and the next thing I knew, I was crying. I felt like a child. I felt all of the holes that had been making their way inside of me start to peel away and heal again. I felt Him loving me. It was the most beautiful, most amazing feeling one could ever encounter and He was letting me, the impatient, imperfect human being feel just a part of His heart for me.
Slowly, there were a lot of things that were starting to make perfect sense. I understood why He told me "Not yet" for missions in this season and why He took me away from everyone I love. I won't go into great detail, but I will say that I know for sure that this is a season of change and I am so excited for what He has in store along the way. I kept thinking of this great revelation I had and the word "revelation" kept replaying in my head. I wrote down the things He told me and tacked them to my board to serve as reminders. I then wanted to open the Bible for a second to get a scripture when it just fell open to Habakkuk. Now, I have never actually read the book of Habakkuk and I don't even know how to pronounce it. In fact, I just spelled it wrong until I Googled the correct spelling. But I was drawn to chapter 2. I then read these words:
"Then the LORD replied:
“Write down the revelation and make it plain on tablets so that a herald may run with it. For the revelation awaits an appointed time; it speaks of the end and will not prove false. Though it linger, wait for it; it will certainly come and will not delay."
"UM!" That was my initial reaction. I felt myself finally breathe and it felt like the wall of guilt and shame was broken down. He truly loves us and wants to see us succeed in this life under His will. What a beautiful, kind and loving God He is, and what a season of change this will be. Who knows what he is up to now. I have seen what He has done thus far in my almost 22 years of life -through my own redemption and through my high schoolers own redemptions.
I know that I have written a lot, so kudos to the one who actually reads this or any of my blogging rants. I truly hope you know and come to realize how much you're loved, how much listening is just as important to reading your Bible or praying, and how Caribou Coffee is so much better than Starbucks.
This seems to be my mindset on, at least, an every-other-daily basis. I mean, it is this mindset that is driving more and more of my Bible reading, talking and listening to God more, so I guess it is not so bad. It is the mindset that leads me to different coffee shops around the area of my house and makes me realize that Starbucks is not all it is cracked up to be - Caribou Coffee blows them out of the water - and that "[i]roning out faithless creases is toilsome." (Quote taken from Donald Miller's "Through Painted Deserts").
I am coming to see the reason why this season is taking place. God is speaking and He is ever-moving around me and in me. Just the other day, I had this feeling that I just needed to spend time with Him, because it had been a neglect on my part. I got off of the phone with Chris, turned on worship music and let the darkness of my room envelope me. I closed my eyes and just listened... something I had not done in a long time, and by the grace of God, it came through Olivia as a reminder.
So I sat there and then Kim Walker's version of "How He Loves" came on. I almost got up to turn it, when God said, "No. I need to to hear this. I need you to understand how much I love you." So I closed my eyes again, quite afraid of what would happen and the next thing I knew, I was crying. I felt like a child. I felt all of the holes that had been making their way inside of me start to peel away and heal again. I felt Him loving me. It was the most beautiful, most amazing feeling one could ever encounter and He was letting me, the impatient, imperfect human being feel just a part of His heart for me.
Slowly, there were a lot of things that were starting to make perfect sense. I understood why He told me "Not yet" for missions in this season and why He took me away from everyone I love. I won't go into great detail, but I will say that I know for sure that this is a season of change and I am so excited for what He has in store along the way. I kept thinking of this great revelation I had and the word "revelation" kept replaying in my head. I wrote down the things He told me and tacked them to my board to serve as reminders. I then wanted to open the Bible for a second to get a scripture when it just fell open to Habakkuk. Now, I have never actually read the book of Habakkuk and I don't even know how to pronounce it. In fact, I just spelled it wrong until I Googled the correct spelling. But I was drawn to chapter 2. I then read these words:
"Then the LORD replied:
“Write down the revelation and make it plain on tablets so that a herald may run with it. For the revelation awaits an appointed time; it speaks of the end and will not prove false. Though it linger, wait for it; it will certainly come and will not delay."
"UM!" That was my initial reaction. I felt myself finally breathe and it felt like the wall of guilt and shame was broken down. He truly loves us and wants to see us succeed in this life under His will. What a beautiful, kind and loving God He is, and what a season of change this will be. Who knows what he is up to now. I have seen what He has done thus far in my almost 22 years of life -through my own redemption and through my high schoolers own redemptions.
I know that I have written a lot, so kudos to the one who actually reads this or any of my blogging rants. I truly hope you know and come to realize how much you're loved, how much listening is just as important to reading your Bible or praying, and how Caribou Coffee is so much better than Starbucks.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Roots
I'm standing in the shuttle back to the parking lot, holding on for dear life to the strap that binds itself to a metal bar, making me friends with gravity on this insanely fast shuttle. There is an older couple in front of me, who seem to have just come back from some time in Cancun or Madrid; I can't decipher through his "I <3 Madrid" and "I <3 Cancun" keychains that dangle from his backpack.
I start to ponder their life. Married for more than a century, retired, always dreamt of traveling and now they're living that very dream. Wherever they're from, I have this increasing jealousy running through my bones. It is because they are together and they are doing these things together. What a rush. Well, who knows, maybe they just got back from Uncle Bob's funeral in Utah.
What ever it is, they're not in my point of life. The point in my life where I packed up my 21 years of living into boxes and began... again. I began again in a new state, beginning with new little roots and new pages to a new book. Sure, exciting and exhilarating as it may seem, I feel the hole eating at me. The hole where my friends used to be, the hole where my kids were, the hole where Little Road connected Spring Hill and Trinity together - the incredibly, unnecessary hole that hurts at the thought of anything pertaining to "home". Strange, I never thought that I would call New Port Nowhere "home". It seems that it has come to that, though.
I am not complaining. I would feel selfish and wrong for complaining, because God wants me here. I know for sure He does, and who knows why, but He does. I don't want to question His ability to turn holes and nothingness into something-ness. Because He can. So, I am sitting here with these little micro-holes in my chest (how Dashboard Confessional of me) just trusting and waiting on His timing and His surprise to bring that new community that I am so antsy for. He knows how much I need it.
I mean, my gosh, what would I have done without Chelsea? Holly? Olivia? Andrea? Liz? Natalie? Nicollette? I do not know. They were my best cheerleaders and still are. So, I am trusting Him in that.
God, it's just hard. It's hard because I am not the age of the travelers I see; the ones who wear their travels on their backpacks. I am merely 21, following your will for my life and I am finding out that taking up my cross and following you daily is sometimes going to require sacrifice, heartache and leaving people I love. My travels will be marked through blogging and through pages of my journal that Chelsea bought me. While I know I am not those travelers, I am on a journey that is far more exciting than the beaches of Cancun and the mountains in Madrid. I trust in You, and that is all I know to do at this point. Bring it on.
I start to ponder their life. Married for more than a century, retired, always dreamt of traveling and now they're living that very dream. Wherever they're from, I have this increasing jealousy running through my bones. It is because they are together and they are doing these things together. What a rush. Well, who knows, maybe they just got back from Uncle Bob's funeral in Utah.
I am not complaining. I would feel selfish and wrong for complaining, because God wants me here. I know for sure He does, and who knows why, but He does. I don't want to question His ability to turn holes and nothingness into something-ness. Because He can. So, I am sitting here with these little micro-holes in my chest (how Dashboard Confessional of me) just trusting and waiting on His timing and His surprise to bring that new community that I am so antsy for. He knows how much I need it.
I mean, my gosh, what would I have done without Chelsea? Holly? Olivia? Andrea? Liz? Natalie? Nicollette? I do not know. They were my best cheerleaders and still are. So, I am trusting Him in that.
God, it's just hard. It's hard because I am not the age of the travelers I see; the ones who wear their travels on their backpacks. I am merely 21, following your will for my life and I am finding out that taking up my cross and following you daily is sometimes going to require sacrifice, heartache and leaving people I love. My travels will be marked through blogging and through pages of my journal that Chelsea bought me. While I know I am not those travelers, I am on a journey that is far more exciting than the beaches of Cancun and the mountains in Madrid. I trust in You, and that is all I know to do at this point. Bring it on.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
15 Minute Empathy
They all seem to be the same. Proudly toting guns like toys and toting ideas that are just as venomous. They blend into the melting pot of society, just waiting to go off. When the blast finally takes place, those affected seem to multiply. Soon enough, we are one mass-blob of comfort in all the chaos. It is as if the blast set off every empathy button in every human being across one nation.
And I think that is the idea that buries itself deep into my skin and has an irritable itch. The idea that it takes a person who is a ticking time bomb to finally let lose their rage in some massacre and then, and only then, can people feel something for other people. And you know those people; they're the unknown faces across the nation that, even if you don't know them personally, you somehow feel connected to them because you saw what happened on the news or read their story in the paper. But once the news is done with the story and the story itself is done with its 15 minutes of unintentional-fame, the empathy button is no longer clicked to its "On" position.
So I wonder... I wonder why it takes earthquakes in Haiti or Spain, hijacked planes, deranged human beings, or any other of Mother Nature's pains to awaken the compassion within us. None can deny that it's truly there, because without it we would be soulless. I'm not kidding. If you go to onto Thesaurus.com and put in "Empathy" a synonym shown is "soul". So does that mean when the breaking news of the week has faded and our monotonous routine of life continues on - we have all become soulless... again? I don't know.
However, I do know that I cannot jump the bandwagon of 15 minute empathy, because the bandwagon always comes to a stopping point. If it takes these great calamities to unite us for a brief moment and that's when we realize we are not alone, then there is a lot of work to be done. Work that is not going to involve the flash of breaking news bulletins. It has to be every single day, even for the things that go unseen or unheard. I can't tell you what horrible tragedy will happen next, but I can say that my soul has already been awakened to the compassion within me. Surely, it is not of me at all and I take no credit, but I do say that if we can understand that there is wrong in this world, then we can unite every single day; not once-every-tragedy.
And I think that is the idea that buries itself deep into my skin and has an irritable itch. The idea that it takes a person who is a ticking time bomb to finally let lose their rage in some massacre and then, and only then, can people feel something for other people. And you know those people; they're the unknown faces across the nation that, even if you don't know them personally, you somehow feel connected to them because you saw what happened on the news or read their story in the paper. But once the news is done with the story and the story itself is done with its 15 minutes of unintentional-fame, the empathy button is no longer clicked to its "On" position.
So I wonder... I wonder why it takes earthquakes in Haiti or Spain, hijacked planes, deranged human beings, or any other of Mother Nature's pains to awaken the compassion within us. None can deny that it's truly there, because without it we would be soulless. I'm not kidding. If you go to onto Thesaurus.com and put in "Empathy" a synonym shown is "soul". So does that mean when the breaking news of the week has faded and our monotonous routine of life continues on - we have all become soulless... again? I don't know.
However, I do know that I cannot jump the bandwagon of 15 minute empathy, because the bandwagon always comes to a stopping point. If it takes these great calamities to unite us for a brief moment and that's when we realize we are not alone, then there is a lot of work to be done. Work that is not going to involve the flash of breaking news bulletins. It has to be every single day, even for the things that go unseen or unheard. I can't tell you what horrible tragedy will happen next, but I can say that my soul has already been awakened to the compassion within me. Surely, it is not of me at all and I take no credit, but I do say that if we can understand that there is wrong in this world, then we can unite every single day; not once-every-tragedy.
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