A Merry Christmas To You

Like any poor college student, I've spent a fair amount of this holiday season just scrambling around for gifts that my loved ones might appreciate. I feel like I have so much that I wish to give to people that I love, but I lack the financial means to accomplish this goal. On every run, at every meal, I've been trying to figure out what I could get people.

And I finally realized that for so long I have not been giving myself to people lately. For so long, I've been off in my own world, and now I'm back home and faced with the realization that I've displaced myself from many relationships that I treasured with radiant pride. It kills me that I've left so much unsaid. I want to apologize for all the lost calls. For all the unsent letters. For the missed shows. For innumerable blank stares. For skipped meals. And especially for unspoken prayers.

I promise that it's not that I've lost emotion or heart towards you. It's just that I was so worried about finding myself that I knew I'd compromise who I was if I bent too heavily to other people during this imperative growing period. But I miss you now. I feel like I've found myself, and I wish to share it with you. I want to know your hidden mysteries with a stronger conviction and sense of wonder than ever before. I'm sorry for seeming so withdrawn, but it's just because I've been shaking the snow from my hair and warming by the fire. But now, I promise you, I desperately want to sit on our familiar couch and share life with you.

So I hope this finds you sitting in a circle of friends, watching old re-runs of A Christmas Story. Or maybe you're sitting at your worn, wooden desk checking up on the world while your dog lays her head comfortingly across your feet. I hope this Christmas season you see past the cartoons on T.V.and through the commercialized wrapping paper. And lastly, I hope you might be kind enough to receive me and my heart for Christmas. Albeit nothing impressive, it's all I have to give.

Not In Love With The Modern World

In my world

I'll draw people

As a collective branch

Clipping away any

Pluralistic, divided sects

I'll slip past

The waves breaking on my knees

And take the long way round

My sleeping Calypso

Because I've lost my straining need

For an enemy

My world, my globe

Formed by no other's fancy

Will blink and yawn

Scattering stardust on the

Restless dreamers in feathered beds

Of warm memories and distant futures

And here I leave you, world

Spinning and steady in my love

Stoically knowing you'll never love me in return

For I only meant to create

And watch as your heart

Tends to its people

How sweet is the smell of

Raindrops pattering on rolling harmonies

If We're Not Careful, We'll Bring You Down

Did you know that he lives among us?

Walking with a clipped stride

Through crowds of people, crowds of thoughts

Lying stiffly on his back, he winks at Orion

Recounting with repeated ease

Requests followed by stares, ill wishes, and pitied avoidance

I like to watch him

As I sip coffee

In a café

In the warmth

He paces the same sqaures

Over and over

And I beg him

With my eyes

To join his brother

My eyes watch

His rhythmic pace

I feel his fallen arches

I feel his heart of stone

Tears swell

And my eyes flutter

"Just come inside"

Eyes on the door

Waiting to see myself walk through

But you and I both know

That we won't ever meet

In a clean well lighted place

Sing Along to Songs You Don't Know

Lately I've been really bothered by things like Facebook and other easy accesses to finding things out about people. It's so easy to quickly accumulate all the knowledge one needs to know about another person. I could easily and painlessly find out about a person's actions and involvements by rifling through their pictures or asking others about that person. These new forms of social networking have frozen my people skills and fostered a selfish desire to know others almost in order for them to know me. Maybe this is all stirred by insecurities found from a new college experience. But either way, I'm not having the fellowship like I used to.

This understanding has slowly hit me over the past couple of weeks. I was feeling different and my interactions with people were colder and only full of words. I do miss people. I miss staying up late and sharing stories and dreams with Aaron. I miss your confirming smiles. I miss my heart.

Then it all started to make a little more sense. The plot took a back seat and the attention to detail flourished. Lately, I haven't been seeing peoples' lives; I've been trying to hold their hearts, after I offer mine, of course. I love sharing a walk with Gabby or Alec because I forget that I have a cell phone. All I know is that people are wonderful songs that I can't get out of my head. I wish I could explain my joy when Howard, Jake, and I go exploring. I wish I could describe the colors that poured out of the phone when my sister called the other night. But then I'd be perpetuating the impersonal data swapping that has people shackled to their computers within their colorless walls. So please, go on and let your stories pour out of you; people are waiting to catch them.

I Remember Running Through the Wet Grass

I ran like a kid again today. For the first time in many years, I wasn't afraid to scream and jump without worry. And, of course, I ran, eyes closed, through the rain because my heart was on fire.

That Western Skyline

On the day he woke me up

I stumbled out of my father's head

Squinting and stretching

It seems my shadow's grown taller

Than I last remembered

And so I ran

Chasing it's answers

Through headphones

Through libraries

I wanted to find the difference

Between the love of a brothel

And the love of a sunset

Can I find a way to give the people

Uniforms with buttons shined

And still escape from

The folds of bodies

Humming and twisting

In convulsed obedience

Solutions so hard to find

After years of being buried

Under old photographs

Yet I hear the ascending choir

Marching through

The death of my sins

I'm walking now

Walking into my diaspora

And stumbling upon a fallen sunrise

Grandfather, Gentle Soul, You'll Fly

Today, my grandfather is going into surgery for his third knee replacement. It might sound like a common place thing, but today is a moment where the world holds its breath as one of its greatest adventurers makes one final attempt, one final excursion over war-torn water, through blood-stained skies. I've never seen John Ficklen as a man to simply accept something. For him to achieve or receive anything it must be through a crucible of unsurmountable distress. He was the Indiana Jones of my childhood. He's the archetypal symbol of undomesticated vitality and raw creativity.

I'm not sure if this disease is something that God has designed for my hero, or if it is something that my grandfather must decide to go through in order to see His face with sparkling clarity. He could easily have chosen to not get this surgery and just have that leg immobilized. Because if this surgery isn't successful, he will lose the leg. But you continue to grit your teeth, Papa. And the beauty of it all is that soon none of us will need legs to stand.

A boy threw a ball into the air

With all urgency and strength

He was not there

When it came down

If it came down

Concern never tripped him

As he walked back to the house

All he ever wanted

Was the chicken noodle soup

That his mother stirred

In her warm, red kitchen

What good is a ball in chicken noodle soup, anyway?

Is That Marionette Real Enough Yet?

If numbers were to go to a dinner party, what would they talk about? "Remember that time we teamed up and multiplied ourselves to 1,125? Man, those were the good ole days." Or perhaps it' more similar to, "I just don't understand the youth anymore. All they do now is play with logarithms, related rates, and other frivolous stuff. Where's the respect these days? No one cares for basic arithmetic anymore."

Honestly, I don't understand math. I wish I did. I sit in class, pupils dilated, trying to absorb the information. But all I can picture is this dinner party. What if I'm supposed to go to this dinner party and introduce the numbers to words. How might they be received? As long, over-stated necessities that never solve problems in life, but, rather, they encourage and complicate issues? What might the words see in the numbers? That they're just simplified cop-outs dumbing down the world's keys to prosperity and vitality? Aren't they just drones leaving vagrant footprints in a world they believe to black and white?

Amidst the bickering and heated tension, I'd like to drop an autumn leaf. Nothing crafty, nothing complex. Just a leaf. Do you think they'd stop jabbering and chewing? Do you think they'd swarm with a realization of shared pain and fleeting mortality?

I'd like to, then, go outside and lean against the creaking oak tree as we silently watch the reunion of two old souls.

With Just Our Flashlights and Our Love We Must Plunge

A smile is on the way

Seen through the window

Reflected in the asphalt

Long nights stretched by

In a strobed fashion

But the crescent moon rises

Spilling laughter on the city

All winter, a picture of it

Was held in front of my face

Showing nothing more than a memory

The photo falls and is forgotten

Because a smile is on the way

It's funny how a picture of a fire

Is quickly consumed in the flames

The Velocity of Saul at the Time of His Conversion

Sway on, my shattered pendulum

Let your hands rest

Weighted and anchored

They're safe in your pockets

The world doesn't need to see the scars

Let fall your story

Its darkness has draped you for too long

Let Love capsize and overflow

He can preserve

He can sustain

Life of real merit

The life of Stephen in his rock-shredded speech

The life of Job in his shattered and shaven praise

Warm hands around the room

Mend out of instinct, out of love

Flowing with time

Synchronized in meter and song

I, too, am a pendulum

I, too, am loved

While You Were Sleeping

Go on, shut those eyes

Sleep through the winter

Grey's never been much for cheer

Roll on into dream now, my boy

No snow to shovel, no heart to mend

You've escaped,and it's time to reap the benefits

Just know that you'll never wake up,

Never take that euphoric long stretch of restfulness,

And certainly never remember the dream

Your wife, she's married

Your home, they found a new hero

Your life, it's a nightmare

Alas, REM calls and who am I to compete?

I'm so very sorry

I wish we could be here when you wake

Badges and Badges

Brawny Brent: a Man

If I've ever seen one

Strides of Confidence drift over you

The two spotlights lazily drift

Over potential victims

Suddenly, the lights turn in

Leaves me staring at tear-swelled eyes

Lips pursed, conflicted

I beg you,

Save my life

And he poses a question

The thought is formed

Brawny Brent: a person, a human being

If I've ever seen one

Wardance

Invert your heart

Reveal to me what is always too loud to whisper

We'll wash their feet as they find us

But never will we be heard

You pack alone and travel with many

Carrying the weight of a nation, a memory, a word

Feel the misty stares as dew and silence settle

Mourning and dawn awake together

And a beauty has risen from the bush

Raise your arms towards the past

And sing, my child, sing...

"This is the bush. It's not safe to cry so loud here."- Ugandan mother

There's a Battle in my Head, But I'm not a Soldier

I've been trying to write this blog for about two weeks now. I am in such a rut academically, socially, and spiritually. I want to comfort others and express a sense of hope. But the ironic thing is my dysfunctional brain warps what I need most into what I feel the world needs from me. Quick to give and slow to ask.

This was initially started to mourn the loss of a friend of a friend. It's been a heartbreaking experience for me to see one of my best friends go through such an epochal and emotional experience. I wanted to be there for him. I wanted to show him that Comfort is constant, warm, and consoling. More than anything I want him to feel the strong embrace of Love when the spirits of the night dance around his dying fire.

I also decided I'd intertwine my emotions of going home for the first time in two months. I wanted to lift up the sweet scent of my mom's perfume when I hugged her. I wanted to let the world hear the beauty of my sister's laugh when life's simplicity becomes too much to hold inside. I wanted the back patio talks with Dad to be heralded as the "great council of men" that it truly is. I even want to share my adoration of the quiet, gentle hum of the refrigerator. I wanted to have my loves twirled around this page with genuine celebration. I went home and was happy.

But the creativity wouldn't come. I want to give the people something they can treasure, something they can relate to. But sadly, right now I don't have it to give. For too long I've starved myself from what I really need. And I'm ready to be full again.

Sorry this isn't of the same vein of my previous posts. This time I don't come bearing art. This time it's just me.

Wordless Chorus

It's a very, very well known fact that I don't have a good singing voice. I love music, but I'm not quite sure it loves me. The other night I was singing at a worship service, and I dropped my head and was suddenly flooded with embarrassment. It's so stupid to get caught up in such a trivial thing like that. Why can't I come to terms with imperfections?

Life is a song that must be sung. Why else are there stereos in cars? Why else would people go to concerts? Why else would people fall in love? Why else would I leave home and all the people I've ever know? Life can't be glorified in monotonous dribbles, in lifeless repetition. Life can't be professed as the vibrant pulse that causes my heart to rise and the drums to pound if I'm awkwardly lip syncing, desperately desiring it all to be over. When was the last time i sat on the curb, head in my hands, licking my wounds and singing joy to the world? So I want to open the hymnal of my heart. I want to be bold for once.

Let this song resound. Let it be the clanking of crystal, the silent dripping of tears. This is my sound check; this is how I know life is being recorded.

Icarus Flew Too Close To The Sun

We lift people up on our shoulders; we parade them with pride because they're our beloved. We see a greatness in them, beaming from their magnanimity and exploding from their groveling humility. The only problem with carrying these archetypes around their domain is that if they fall, their support buckles under the weight.

So many times in history we've seen great men, men with tridents and men with doves, allow themselves to be frightened by darkness. Whether it be a fear of potential loss of the peoples' favor or a surfacing of some deep monster within that person's psyche, fear creeps in. That shadow can engulf the prominent figure causing him to lose his footing and stumble. A sight my eyes can't bear to see.

We lift them up not expecting their fall. We raise them above us because they're our heroes. They're great because we trust them without really knowing them. A heart connection is made with a savior. These worldly rescuers are here to rescue those of us that desperately and limply raise our hands for help. And they give because they were created to. God implants attributes of Himself so that we can have a tiny glimpse of His glory. He would lift up the destitute, right?

The heartbreak comes when those selected for greatness fall. It's under the world's scrutiny because the world depends on its heroes. The ground shakes with sadness over the loss. My bones lose their density. My heart loses its chipper beat.

But my downtrodden eyes are missing the point. These "heroes" are only human. Kryptonite is real; pride will bring anyone to their knees. The problem is we are so dumbfounded that our beloved hero is on the ground that we don't do anything about it. We have hands. We've obviously been lifting him up for so long. What's keeping me from getting on my knees and lowering my hand to pull his back up. I loved him and all he stood for once. Just because he's not hoisted above my head, outside my realm of vision, doesn't mean my feelings towards him have changed.

We all fidget and contort ourselves as best as we know how to complete our purpose. Some days I feel like I'm tasting the finest ambrosia. Others I feel like I'm spitting out the dirt pasted between my teeth. I know I can't always be up. So, it's far too much pressure to believe that someone allegedly great can do the same. I hope that I'll never be too timid to help my hero. The crowd may scatter, but we can't leave him behind. He may have done wrong, and we can't overlook it. But God places bits of His glory inside all of us, not just the heroes. Let's bring out the stretcher and hoist him up again.

"There is no fear in love..." 1 John 4:18

Bright Lights

Shadow. Light. Shadow. Light.

Or so the motel neons flash the Greyhound passengers

Wheels rolling west, hearts scattered in their travels

Seasoned loners curse the night

Shivering in its vastness, shrinking from its hollow whistle

Destinations unset, minds lingering at the starting point

Few are purposely driven

Bent on a mission, harnessed by a single prayer

Eyes constantly scanning for glimmering palisades: the journey's end

Silence tucks the dreamers gently in for repair and revival

Silence claws at the worldly vagabonds, stripping their dignity

I scream and I itch

Complacency has tightened over me like fine wax

Let me wipe the soot from their cheeks

They're my final peak to climb

They are my Everest, my personal legend, my love

Bright Lights you guide me

You move my hands in tune with my heart

Shoulders smoothed like delicately worn stones

Shadow is not mourning: only a recollection of your touch

Blinkers click, fingers tap, eyes flutter

Foreign feet touch the rubber aisle and carry me towards them

Breathlessly gripping faith and trust in open hands

Shadow... Light... Light... Light...

"For small creatures such as we the vastness is bearable only through love."
-Carl Sagan

"Life moves pretty fast, if you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it"
-Ferris Bueller

Quotations provided by guest contributor Chris Lyle.

If Chris's quotes are true, I can only think of one thing. Can one ever take a day off? If I'm tired of being such a small pawn with nothing to give but a white flag, am I ever allowed to attempt to be the big player, the one who sacrifices everything to be known. If I'm tired of plodding along observing the same flowers, am I ever allowed to let my legs go and feel my hair flap freely on top of my head?

But as I've sat in my lounge for a couple of hours shrinking myself to the petite soldier that trots through memories in the same consistent manner, I feel like I've come to an understanding. Love isn't an actual portal through which I travel to bear the enormity of the world. Being stagnant in order to perceive the entire world isn't logical or full of life. Instead, I choose to bath myself in the cleanliness of love each morning to protect me from all the earth and mud that can be flung at one so small discovering something so grand. Instead, I choose to understand that it's all about caressing the warm fingertips of love. Sometimes it's best to soak in life's beauty on a rooftop where you tell time simply by the position of constellation, or sometimes it's best to roar through life's heart racing ferocity at seventy-five miles an hour on the roller coaster that you finally gather the strength to tame.

Love and life are not video games that you try and conquer only to be rewarded with an anticlimactic "game over". They're friends that you never get sick of. They're the movie stars from your hometown. They're a swirling collection of people, places, and experiences. They're us. Stripped and peeled down to our purest expressions and motives.

“Pressure always seems to be around when things begin, but pressure never seems to be around when things end.”

I'm sure somewhere in blogging school, they tell you not to write ridiculously long posts such as this one. But I decided that it didn't matter to me if no one else read this. I just want it to be out there for someone who's desperately clawing for light as I am. Today I was sharing this with someone who is very dear to me. It's something that I wrote last year. I'm not trying to lift something I wrote up; I'm expanding on a brilliant point made about relief from a pitiless, unrelenting world. Hopefully it will help someone like it helped me.

Pressure is a proven enemy of man. There is nothing man can do to halt pressure in any situation: pressure on tectonic plates, pressure on gears in a machine, pressure on a family to make ends meet. One could spread the pressure out over a larger surface area or to the greater masses. While this will alleviate the pressure, it will not create an absence of pressure. Pressure never decides to stop pressing; it inflicts pain on its victim coldly, without care. The pain and suffering inflicted by strenuous pressure is unavoidable, but that does not mean it is unnecessary.

The Dispossessed is a novel that attempts to sculpt out the reasoning or potential madness behind brotherhood. Man appears to have an incessant need to involve himself in his neighbor’s life. He wishes to seek companionship in others; man tends to have an innate desire to be a part of a collective group. He may sacrifice exorbitant amounts of his abilities and time in order to achieve agreement from his selected group. Therefore, he must first choose the group that he wishes to be a part of. He, then, must choose to find a means of contribution to the group in order to make it better than when he entered it. In the novel, Shevek makes the claim that man’s reason for searching for this alluring fellowship is, ironically, the same thing that he should return to the group (LeGuin 60-62). He believes that man is trying to find a place to dump all of his baggage and suffering so that others can lend helping hands and support a fellow struggler. Once in the group, he will recognize how the group saved him from an inevitable smoldering of isolated pain and return the gift of offering support for another. It creates an interconnected cycle of support. It is not slave-master relationship but a relationship created by brotherly equals.

It makes logical sense that people should rally together in support of one another as they each face certain various forms of suffering. It is as if someone were trying to break a rock by applying pressure and high temperatures to an isolated portion of the rock. Eventually, that small section of the rock is going to crack or diminish in some sense. However, if that high temperature and pressure were distributed equally across the rock, it would simply cram the particles into a more compact shape; the rock would not break because all its surrounding sides are supporting it.

This is virtually what brotherhood founded in suffering is. Man knows that if he tries to carry his own suffering by himself, then the pressure will eventually become too great. The pressure of suffering would also bring the group closer together, strengthening its bond. Without any help from the outside, the solitary individual could not withstand the pressure; it would chisel him away, obliterating him from existence. There is hope for the individual if he grabs hold of another.

The Dispossessed is a clear description of the difference between the acceptance and understanding of suffering and the rejection and fear of suffering. On Urras, people live similar to those in the Western civilization. They try to drape themselves with lavish things that will distract them from life’s reality. They do not understand that they have been living a lie behind all of their fancy comforts. Their suffering is unavoidable. They will soon find that the beauty of their possessions will outlive the memory of their lives due to their inability to contribute anything except to perpetuate a need to hide from the reality of life. They are solely focused on their own individual reputations and well-being; they are absent of legitimate brotherhood. These people spend their whole lives trying to make everything look beautiful on the outside. The problem with this gilded society is that there is no support on the inside. While these individuals may look great on the outside, they will crumble easily when pressed with ample amounts of suffering. They have no foundation in what Shevek considers to be “the condition in which we live” (LeGuin 59). The people on Anarres act as the foil of Urras because they do not have much aesthetic beauty but are deeply rooted in brotherhood. Shevek openly tells the Urrasti that Anarres is not a very pretty, pleasant place. He simply states that the Anarresti are beautiful because you can actually see their faces, the faces both marked with pain and wrinkled with joy (LeGuin 228).

The fellowship founded in shared pain and suffering forges precious stones of brotherhood. Equality is the foundation of this purest form of comradery. All members come to one another broken and without anything to offer except for their pain. Everyone is on the same level; therefore, there is a unique level of equality. No one is above another casting out rations of suffering. No one is commanding another to suffer a certain amount. They all know that if they all suffer the same amount, then no one has to suffer the most. They are only brothers banning together to find comfort in a world that wishes its inhabitants to be as least comfortable as possible. There are no masters. There are no slaves. No longer will the slave’s back suffer the whip, and no longer will the rock crumble chip by chip.

Once one communes in this deeply rooted sense of brotherhood, he/she knows that there is a strong bond connecting him/her to his/her neighbor. This deep spiritual link between a brother and sister is indisputably what makes this concept of brotherhood so strong. People constantly search for the epicenter of this bond. They want to know why suffering with others makes them feel like they know these strangers very intimately. Some choose to tag this connecting adhesive as some sort of divine fusing. There are patterns supporting this in Christian and Buddhist theology and writings. In Philippians, Paul tells his audience that his most recent suffering due to imprisonment has brought him closer to his fellow inmates and empowered his other friends to fight for the Lord’s cause. The four noble truths of Buddhism are all founded on principles of understanding, dealing, and conquering suffering. Many people choose to interpret their close connection to their suffering companions as a spiritual connection because both parties experienced some form of divine enlightenment. Whether the brotherhood is spiritual or not, it is assuredly a deep, heart-felt bond.

There is enormous beauty in a rock that distributes pressure all around in order to stay wholly intact. Its particles simply come closer and closer, strengthening their connection. Shevek firmly believed that suffering, above all else including love, brought brothers together. One man decides to support another’s suffering because he, too, knows the weight of suffering. Shevek said that brotherhood begins there with suffering: Adam by Adam, atom by atom.

Shevek also believed that “true voyage is in the return” (LeGuin 84). So if brotherhood begins in shared pain, then it must have an end. That end comes in the memory. It is similar to a piece of coal that undergoes extremely high levels of pressure and temperature. That piece of coal is under intense duress for a long period of time, but then something majestic happens. That piece of common, ugly coal becomes a diamond. One no longer thinks of the ugly piece of coal that underwent the treacherous conditions; he/she now sees it as a beautiful, timeless gem.

Brotherhood can be seen in the same sense. It begins in the shared suffering of oppressive pressure. The transformation of the brotherhood of pain takes place after the brothers are all gone. They become an everlasting memory. Future generations will remember this group of brothers as a group that cared for and loved one another with extreme compassion. Observers will recognize the members’ individual love for the group, not the pressure and suffering of life that caused this group to come together. The future generations will not remember the initial suffering of the group in the same way that a person does not remember the straining piece of coal after seeing a diamond. This memory, like a diamond, will last forever and encourage others to assimilate in brotherhood in order to make the world a more beautiful place amongst the suffering.

No Shame

Yesterday I saw two little girls dancing during worship at church. The spunky one was spinning, shaking, and celebrating. She ran all around hugging and loving on those that she knew. Her grandmother beamed at the joyous sprite; her heart may have come in to the chapel laden with strife and imagine her surprise to be supported and encouraged by one whose idea of sadness is a commercial interruption during her favorite cartoon. What was she celebrating? Did her mom let her wear her favorite dress? Was she going over to her best friend's house as soon as the song was over? I have no idea, but it made me want to spin, shake, and celebrate in my own worship.

The other dancing queen was slightly taller and less expressive with her movements. Like a pendulum, she swayed back and forth with consistency and conviction. If only I could know what rocked her from left to right. My hips were rigid, unmoving. I uncomfortably shifted my weight from one foot to the other due to the fact that my legs were fatigued from running that morning. i raised my hands, but it was only to wipe the sweat that slid slowly down my nose.

Those two girls were beautiful. They knew what made their hearts beat, and their feet showed that. It may be the fact that they're young that they have no shame to show their love for life and its Creator in front of stoic faces blankly reading the words off the screen. In my heart, I'm slipping on my green shoes and cartwheeling around life unabashed and uncontained.

Comme ci comme ca

Once hoisted upon shoulders

To be paraded around town

Air tasted better from the throne

Vision is clearer

Life went by faster

With colors streaming in the peripherals

Now another head turned in the crowd

Straining all senses to capture the moment

Because life drifts by so slowly in the waste land

Seamen sink under the weight of despair in the doldrums

With tears streaming in the peripherals

If we're always moving, always spinning

Dizzying our minds with distorted monsters of the truth

can perspective be achieved?

Trace the line and see

That I'm just twirling in circles

Mag-tastic

As a friend of mine here at college profoundly stated one day, "There are two types of people here at Wake: the Pit eaters and the Mag diners." At Wake Forest, there are two primary places to eat. The Pit is the main cafeteria; it is a huge smorgasbord of hearty vittles. The Mag Room serves primarily the same sort of food, however, it is presented in a much nicer fashion. There are white table cloths, endless supplies of sweet tea and orange juice, and an omelet line where one never looses interest due to a painfully long line. The only down sides to the Mag Room is that it is only open from 10:30 to 2:00 and is slightly more out of the way to reach.

Personally, I'm a Mag guy. I've eaten there everyday this week for lunch and still continue to rub my belly and sigh contently after each plateful of eclectic delectables. I catch a fair amount of flack because some people say it just seems too fancy when it's really nothing different at all. I beg to differ. Chris and I love eating there because we always focus on enjoying the atmosphere and diving deep into interesting conversations. We discuss everything from Wes Anderson films to Chris's adventures in New Zealand. We laugh hard and enjoy the company of the different people that come and join us on different days. It's a joyous place where life is shared, dreams are whispered, and friendship roams freely from student to staff. That's why I'm a Mag guy.

The more I think about the Mag Room I realize that's the type of place I want to live my life. I want to be willing to go out of my way to share time and experiences with people. The trivial inconveniences should just be viewed as tiny obstacles that require passing in order to reach the heralded treasure. And that treasure is beautiful. It's pure and innocent like a child's gleeful realization that she can walk, a person's heartfelt understanding that Christ lovingly lives with him everyday, or a simple white table cloth.

I desperately want to make my main mission of the day to eat in God's Mag Room. I may have to go out of my way to get there; i might have to say "no" to a slightly more convenient and immediate substitute. I want to seek relationships in His Mag Room. Oh and I almost forgot to mention the best part. The Mag Room offers desserts I've never seen in the Pit! Can you say chocolate eclair pudding?? "Bless the Lord... who redeems your life from the Pit." Psalm 103: 2-4

*(I would like to say that this post is not an actual attack on the Pit dining hall. I just used it as a metaphor. I am actually quite fond of it. Ironically, I finished a nice Pit sit with Sam a couple of hours ago. Everyone loves that cold chocolate milk.)

Green Shoes

I often wonder what secrets people choose to fortify behind the high walls of insecurity. People keep so many of their scars and ambitions in time capsules buried far below conscious thought or average conversations. But sometimes there are cracks. And little blips leak out of these defenses. Every so often you can peer inside and see what makes some one's heart run even when the rest of the body is so ready to fall on its face and quit.

I got a glimpse of one today. I was sitting in one of my classes this afternoon preparing to listen to my teacher talk about destroying art as a form of catharsis and release from the world. I was doing my best to get into a scholarly mindset because it takes a fair amount of concentration for me to stay involved in the class. Then, I looked down and saw my teacher's shoes: a pair of emerald green Vans slip-ons. I must explain that this professor is nothing less than, well, professional. He wears a sharp suit and is succinct in everything he says.

So I lost all foundation of concentration and scanned through all my potential thoughts as to why this learned gentlemen would have such a wickedly awesome display of youth and vitality. Was it some playful affinity for the children's book The Leaf Men, or perhaps it was that he could regress back to his first love whose eyes were a glimmering green sitting on the dock late into a summer night. Whatever the reason for this unpredictable display of character may be, I was able to see into the crack in the walls of his academic exterior.

I wonder if this happens often. If it's some divine way of briefly intriguing people into creating fellowship with others just to see what else is trapped behind the tall unscalable bricks of social defense mechanisms. Maybe someone looks at me and wonders if I bite my nails due to some seriously traumatic childhood event. Who knows? But I'll continue to search for these cracks. And maybe I'll get my own pair of green slip-ons...

Family Reunion

Life has picked up to a roaring pace ever since I left home. The act of leaving was painful. The act of being away is just tiring. During the last few days at home, I felt as if people around me had already donned their mourning veils to watch me float down the river Styx. It was so hard to leave because it seemed like I could never come back. So I packed up and moved in hopes of tasting life once more.

After reaching college, I was so worried that thoughts of my loved ones and friends would eventually come flooding into my mind and the sorrow and remorse would be endless. So I've kept on the move. As soon as I climbed one mountain, I'd peer across the valley and pick out the next peak to conquer. As soon I got out of class, I'd put something else on the queue. I was so afraid to let the memories of the incredible people in my life take hold of my conscious thought because I assumed I wouldn't be able to move on and adjust to my new environment. It's imperative that I settle in here. I can't grow if I'm submerging myself in the past. Dorian Gray never changed until he faced the frightening image of the present.

And then I realized... I can't laugh without sharing Ashley with my friends. I can't eat food without the sweet aroma of Gina's cooking. I can't write without Rynn's words spilling onto the page. I can't swirl with passion and love without picturing Sarah dance through life. I can't give advice without first getting counsel from Dad and Papa. I can't live here without all the people that I've known and loved. They have all made their own personal stamps on my heart.

So please strip off the veils and lift your hands high. Each day I'm away isn't another sentence tacked on to my exile; each day is a family reunion. I can be with the people that I love simply because they're a part of me. And the greatest thing is that I can share them with the new faces and places along this new adventure.