Chemicals

I’m in a coffee shop. It was a particularly good day to be in a coffee shop because it was a snow day. Good coffee, good food, and a good book. High school is a good place to be in life sometimes because there still are snow days. You don’t have to go to work on those days yet because you don’t need money.

I was deep into the book I was reading when I heard a voice. It was an energetic kind of voice that seemed to demand one’s attention. I looked up. I found myself immediately attracted to the girl who belonged to the voice. I had that feeling when a little flutter begins in your heart and an unsettling in your stomach begins.

Don’t get me wrong; it was not “love at first sight” as some call it. I don’t believe in any initial feeling being called love. Love is more of a long term, self-sacrificing thing. I think people that believe in love at first sight over-indulge in their sentimental nature.

As this girl ordered her drink and sat down, I could not help but steal the occasional glance. She was, in fact, beautiful. She was short with dark hair. She looked almost Italian.

 What was strange is that there was nothing in particular to attract me to her. She was pretty. But, I see a number of pretty girls on any particular day. Maybe if she came in on a different day, or in a different way, I would not have noticed her. I wonder, sometimes, if people’s chemicals can just match at the glance of an eye. It really makes no other sense. I don’t know her, she doesn’t know me. But when I look at her, something leaps that demands my attention, and demands my action. Maybe the same thing happens when she looks at me. That can happens sometimes. Sometimes the chemicals are one sided, but sometimes they aren’t. That’s magic, if you ask me.

The girl got up and walked out the door with her friends. Maybe one day I will see her again under different circumstances. A circumstance where I can easily talk to her or find out about her. Maybe I will never see her again. For some reason, I think I will.

College Prep

“Hey! Logan right? Have a seat.” The lady motioned to a chair next to her desk.

“You probably know why I called you down. I just wanted to take some time today, talk about future plans and colleges you might be interested in. It shouldn’t take that long. Let me just find a copy of your transcript.” She shuffled through some files in a drawer by the desk.

“Here it is.” She said, handing it to me.

I focused my eyes in and out of the paper. I didn’t know what a transcript meant. Then I realized I was holding a copy of my grades in each class for every year I’ve been in high school. At the end of each year’s grade was my GPA. At the very end of the paper was my total GPA for my 9^th, 10^th, and 11^th grade years. It said I made an eighty three point five GPA. Not terrible.

“What do you want to major in?”

“Well…I want to be a writer,” I mumbled.

“What?”

“I want to be a writer.”

She seemed to mull that statement over in her mind for a bit. “Well I’m sure we can find something for you.”

She reached under her desk and grabbed a huge volume with both her hands, picked it up, and slammed it down on the desk.

“If you like to write, you will probably want to major in something like journalism or communications, and minor in writing. That will broaden your scope with potential jobs coming out of college and into the job field. Also, not many colleges around here offer writing as a major. Do you have any specific area you want to go to college?”

“Ummm, Oregon? Or maybe I’ll stay around here. I don’t know if I could pay for the tuition if I go out of the state.”

“Ok. Let me see here.”

She opened the volume, and ran her finger down a page with a large list of majors on it. She got to Journalism/ Communications, and flipped the volume to the page number it said. I saw her pass the “Writing” section of the volume while getting to Journalism/ Communications. She started writing on a slip of paper, with her finger still running up and down the page.

“With that GPA, here are some potential colleges you can get in to that offer the major you want. Oh, and the one there on the bottom is in Oregon, if you want to look in to it.”

I looked at the slip. They were average colleges. For my average grades. My sister actually went to one of them.

I walked out of the office, saying thank you with patronizing smiles she wasn’t aware of. She shut her office door, and all the papers she gave me found their way into the nearest waste basket.

Monologue

I am the good kid. The one that never gets in trouble. The one that studies late into the night. I am the kid that drives the speed limit, who only drinks alcohol when his dad lets him take a sip. I grew up in a cookie cutter suburban neighborhood. All the kids played together in those days. At least the kids in my neighborhood.

The kid across the street is my friend, or, was my friend. When I was little, I mean. Stamped on the forehead as a rebel now. When did that start? Was it in fifth grade when he told Mrs. McLanahan to go to hell? Was it in middle school, when he crushed up smarties and pretended to snort them like cocaine, and got suspended for two days? He’s a real smart, bright kid. Even if he has a bad attitude, he never harmed a soul. Hilarious too. Just all around fun guy to be around. I couldn’t have found a better person to grow up with, if I tried. And he lived right across the street before I moved to that bigger house. He's about ten minutes away now. Buuuut we stopped hanging out. Why is that? It’s not like he’s a different person. In fact, he probably changes the least out of anybody I’ve ever met. He doesn’t strive, if you know what I mean. He merely is. Who has that kind of ability? Just to be, when the world is telling you to be more. I’ve gotten caught up in that, I’d say, the “be more.” But he doesn’t. When I think about it, in my sixteen years of knowing him, have I ever actually seen him smoke pot? Why does everyone tell me that he does? If I ask him, he would most likely just chuckle and write it off as to say, “Would you be my friend anyway? Be my friend just to be my friend, even if the label and rumors came with it?” He definitely doesn’t need me though. He has far more friends than I, and I don’t need him either. I don’t fit in with his friends. He doesn’t fit in with mine; but he would take me in. He would let me hang out with him and his more popular friends, because he knows me, and likes me for who I am. How often do you find someone that truly knows you? If I meet someone tomorrow, will they, or can they, ever know me like a person I grew up with? Someone who has been with me through all the stages leading up to adulthood? We used to always find interesting things to do together. We don’t need friends, but life is better with them. And that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it? We can choose our friends, not because we need them but because we like them. I don’t want to miss my chance for a friend. I’m going to call him. Tomorrow maybe. After school. We can walk to the pharmacy down the street for a candy bar like old times. We have a lot to catch up on. Wouldn’t that be nice. Yeah I’ll text him. I’ll text him “Hi.”

In The Gray

Black and white my world was drawn
Black and white the world began
Or was it just white?
No knowledge of black

Black and white
Are oil and water
Black and white
Are fire and ice

But the bane of man
Cooked deep in the bowls of earth
By the dark one
Unnatural it crawled
From the depths

And older I grew
Confused I became

When I discovered
The Gray

If I Were To Be Honest

If I were to be honest with you

I don’t know what I’m doing

My prayer is non- existent

I do what I hate, suppress what I love

I’m one person to some people

Different to others

And this is involuntary

Though I’m sure I’m guilty

In some way

Even If I were to tell you I did

Know what I was doing

That I had a plan

If I was put together

I wouldn’t know if it was right

If it was what I was meant to do

Or if there even is something

I was meant to do

Like there was

Some sort of fate

Guiding us

But you can’t see it,

If there is fate.

What do I sacrifice my life to?

What do I decide

To get lost

In the everyday of

And be able to say

I’m satisfied in this.

There is nothing to life

But the living of it

Which is a sobering thought

But a freeing one, none the less

Because then you know

To experience

However much you can

Be it good and pure, fulfilling

I guess

But by god

At least choose and live

The great charter

Of mankind.

Letter Gifts

“Are we doing letter gifts this year?”
            It’s December and a bit late in the season to be going out to buy more presents. If we remember, than we remember, If we don’t, we don’t.

“Of course!” My mom exclaimed. She enjoys family traditions the most.

My sister, Heidi, went to work. She is the practical one.

Heidi grabbed paper, pencil, scissors, and two hats. She wrote the alphabet on the paper. She cut out each individual letter, and sprinkled them into the hat. She wrote down the names of everyone in the immediate family; Jess, Joe, Mom, Dad, and Heidi. She cut these out also, and then sprinkled them in hat number two.

She danced around the house, “Pick your names! Pick your names!” Mom was in the kitchen, mulling over a cookie recipe. Dad was in the living room watching a show on his laptop. I sat on the couch reading a book. Jess was on her laptop also, doing “college stuff.”

We all picked our names as Heidi came up to us. Jess and I rolled our eyes at each other as Heidi hopped from one person to another, overly excited.

“Now pick your letters!” Heidi pronounced, grabbing the other hat and giving the letters one last mix.

We picked our letters. My person was Dad, and my letters were “S” and “T.” I had to make sure nobody knew who I had. Jess always found out somehow. I had to make sure this year she didn’t. I put the letters in my wallet so I would remember which ones I picked.

Throughout the next couple of weeks everyone shopped presents. The presents had to start with the letters they picked. It’s hard to maneuver when and where to go shopping, especially when I can’t drive yet. I can’t go with my dad, for obvious reasons, and I don’t want Jess to know either, because she always finds out somehow. That leaves my mom and Heidi. Heidi can’t keep a secret. I end up telling my mom. She won’t tell anyone.

I say, “Can you take me to the mall? I need to shop for my letter present.”

“Sure, Sure. Who do you have? I won’t tell.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I just want to help.”

“Okay fine, but don’t tell anyone. I have dad, and my letters are ‘S’ and ‘T.’ What should I get him?”

“Oh don’t worry I won’t, and I don’t know that’s a tough one. We’ll figure something out.”

Christmas Eve comes fast. My Grandma comes over and the smell of welsh cookies on the skillet fills the air. The fire is going in the fire place. My dad is putting the finishing touches on the Christmas tree. My two sisters and I are sitting on the couch ready to open our letter presents.

“Are you guys ready yet?” One of us yells out every couple of minutes. We are growing impatient. Our letter presents we open tonight, and tomorrow we open the rest. It helps to curb the excitement for the Christmas morning presents. We sleep a lot better this way.

The adults filter in one at a time and give us our presents, but we don’t open them yet. Jess guesses who we all had to buy presents for. We reveal that she was right one by one. Then my mom says to go ahead and open them, and we do. We all tell each other what letters we had, and the presents are goofy because they had to start with letters like “X” and “Q.” It’s all so much fun.

We sit on the couch into the late hours of the night watching Christmas movies and eating fudge and welsh cookies. Then we all fall asleep when our fatigue overcomes our anxiousness for Christmas.

Car Story

The various outcomes a human life can have amazes me. I think of it as funny. Not really a funny like “ha-ha that’s funny” but funny as in peculiar. A decision to go to the grocery store on a Tuesday instead of on a Wednesday can effect whether or not you become an ambassador or a garbage man. A second pause will mean you pass different people on the road, whether or not you run into an old friend, or, also, whether it is the day you die or not.

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I was pulling out of the bank with my mom in the passenger seat. I had just gotten my permit and driving was still exciting. The old Volvo wasn’t a fast or classy car, but it was a tank. My parents bought it because it was so safe.

“Put your seat belt on, Joe!” my mom exclaimed as she noticed I was driving away from the bank unfastened. I buckled it reluctantly. We were stopped at busy four-way. I was on my way to a movie store across the intersection. I watched as the light turned from red to green, and then proceeded.

What happened next was sort of a blur. I remember looking left, a white light, or was it a green blur? The scene was in slow motion, but also a split second. The blur bore down on me. There was nothing I could do, so it consumed me.

The car was totaled. No one was hurt. I remember after the crash pretty well. We were hit on the driver’s side, where I was. I was sitting there, a rush of adrenaline pulsing through my veins. My mom’s arm was pressed up against my chest. 

“Are you alright? Joe! Are you all right?” My mom said.

“Yeah, yeah… I’m fine! Are you okay?” I replied.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

I tried opening my door but it wouldn’t budge, being completely smashed in. I ended up crawling out the passenger side door. The car, we saw, was leaking fluid so we walked away fast. A man stopped his car to help the lady that crashed into us out of her car. She seemed pretty shaken up and a little pissed. She was older, probably in her seventies. She thought the light was green when she went through. Her daughter just bought the car. 

There were no injuries, except my sore neck and my mom’s bruised arm. 

Later on our way home when my dad picked us up, my mom thoughtfully said, “This will be part of your story someday, Joe.”

“Your right,” I said.

Dry Bones

Indifference.
A whole world
Void of passion
Or anything worth dying for
To pursue-
The section of soul carved
By our Creator
To live
Was stolen
Not by oppression
A government, work, or sleep
But an artificial replacement
For adrenaline, joy, or intimacy
I scream at their faces
Blank and locked in hypnosis
Its not real!
Your wasting given time!
Time is a gift
They're wasting useful restlessness
But instead I sit down
And do the same as them
Become a desert soul
Dry bones

Last Night

We played and danced

The stars our witness

Fog settled on the field

But we broke through

As we ran in chaos

We drank in deep the night air

Our only narcotic

Except for the beat

That ran and lifted, lifted us

What is foolish?

What is fun?

We made fools of ourselves

Whatever the meaning of the word

Like only kids can

The curse of adulthood

Might one day end

But not today

We looked up at the stars and spun

Our world finally one beautiful kaleidoscope carousel

The Greater Joy

The want me to roll in the mud

They say its fun

To be encompassed in dirt

Then we can all look the same

But greener pastures call

A cushion for my bare feet

Higher hills for me to dance

Sweeter waters cool on my tongue 

Enough

Thirsty souls are at war
They need objects of their hate
Even though they are killing people
That are just like themselves

People fight for many things
For resources
An idea
A belief

But when the mother gets news
Of her four dead sons
She cries

"Enough!" she cries, she screams
Enough boys dead
Enough friends gone

But the grave is never satisfied

A young girl gets married
Waiting for this day her whole life
Anxious to start a family
Children of her own flesh and bone

She hopes and hopes
For a pure and holy object
Of her love
She waits.

They never come.

But a young girl
Kills her precious child
Growing inside of her
It would be bad for her career

"Enough!" Cries the barren womb
Enough children without a chance to live
Enough good families who can't raise a child

But it is never satisfied

A preacher sits
Preparing a sermon
No one will hear

A young man he once was
Just a hope and a dream
Is all that he had
But it died

He got out of college
His church went from fifty to none
He sells cars for a living
He is plagued with a thirsty soul

When looking out the window
He yearns to tell people
Of the hope that lays dormant
Desperately built up inside him

"Enough!" He cries, at the desert within
But he has responsibility now
His children he can effect

To do what he couldn't
This is his hope

But he is never satisfied

A fire burns somewhere
A fit of rage and passion
Which is a young man's life
A confusion and chaos

Hate, Lust,
Greed, Pride,
Adventure, Passion
All beheld in his eyes

But a blazing fire must consume
Or it is snuffed out forever
So have your fun

Homework takes up time
So do sports and school
Friends to fill up space in between that

But you cant escape your thoughts
No matter how hard you try
At night before you fall asleep
At two in the morning

The fire of your life blazes
It consumes who you are
Morals are compromised
Choices are made
To feed it

Until you go up in smoke
Any dream you had is gone
Because you went too far

"Enough!" I scream at the all-consuming fire of my sin

It is never satisfied

Harmony

One day we'll live together, and work together
A man and his son
No mad bashing, evil cursing
We'll be together as one

We can see what we've accomplished
Stand atop it proud
Nothing we'll see anywhere can be more beautiful
Then the fresh tilled ground

We'll be tired but satisfied, you and me
At the end of the day.
I know what it means
Love and harmony

But not today-
Your stuck where you are

Sun in the Rain

Have you ridden a bus

Full of your friends

The windows down

The wind blowing through everyone’s hair?

Have you ever seen snow?

Lightly falling

Burying an old rusty car in the woods

A car frozen in time when deemed unusable

Sitting as the young forest grew around it

The land renewing itself, after it was also deemed unusable

It was all so beautiful

A tear fell down my cheek

I woke in the morning

Well rested

After welcomed home

From a long time away

The sun shone through my window

Shadows green and white

The light reflecting through the leaves

Onto my wall

I was gently awoken by the light

And birds

Particles I saw, in the beam of light

Floating there

Only visible with the help of light

They floated in the vast nothingness

Just like us

And it was all so beautiful

Out of Control

I was in my bed when I heard our alarm system go off. I jumped up and ran downstairs. I found the control box to the security system. I pressed it on. The security system question my mom designated a few years ago popped up.

“WHAT DO THEY CALL THE BOUNTY HUNTER CLONES IN STAR WARS?”

I typed in “Storm Troopers.”

It blinked red then the statement, “MUST BE FEMALE TO OPERATE” popped up.

I proceeded to try and tell the machine I was female so I could disable the alarm. The fuse suddenly blew. The lights in the house turned off and it was complete black. At least the alarm was off.

Then, wait, I could hear the T.V. on in the other room. I saw the dull light glowing against the walls. I slowly walked over to it.

The man on the T.V. reported, “Alien invasion plagues Western United States. National Guard and all military forces have been mobilized…” I was so confused.

It was suddenly daylight outside. Lights shone in the window and I squinted at the bright rays. I sprinted up the stairs to get to my attic. The attic had the highest window in my house where I could overlook the neighborhood and see what was going on. My hands were sweating and my heart was pounding. When I crested at the top of my stairs I saw a small toddler at the single window in my dusty, wooden attic. He held a television remote out toward the window. Tears were running down his face.

“Who is this kid?” I thought.

“Why won’t the channel change?” he cried.

I took him in my arms and looked out the window.

Out on my suburban street stood what looked like a man, but eight feet tall. It was pale. Ghostly pale. It had short white hair, a little whiter than its skin. And its eyes. Its eyes…

The alien stood still; so still that the earth seemed to sway underneath it. Neighbors stood on the edge of their lawns, staring at it.

The toddler suddenly jumped out of my arms. It ran across the attic and down the stairs. I followed after him. The toddler burst out my front door.

“WAIT!” I cried.

He was running straight for the alien! The “thing” turned toward the toddler. Before the toddler reached the alien, two of my neighbors ran and tackled the eight foot beast. Both my neighbors and the creature lay on the ground, motionless. The toddler stood over them, crying. I was shocked. My feet felt like led. I tried to scream but my throat was stuck. Finally, I was able to slowly walk toward the bodies. I rolled over the bodies to see which of my neighbors had saved this young boy. It was my mom and my dad.

“NOOOO!” I yelled. I fell on my knees crying bitterly. Then I took up a stick and struck the beast. Then I hit it again. I beat it until all my strength was gone. Nothing on the creature changed no matter how hard I hit it. It facial expression was the same as it was alive, but its eyes were closed. It suddenly looked beautiful, even intoxicating. I was still afraid, but a type of wonder rose in me. I bent in close to its face. The eyes opened.

I awoke with a gasp in my fox hole, and drew my knife. I sorted through my brain what was dream and what was reality. I leaned back again and closed my eyes. I knew I wouldn’t sleep again that night. I heard the sounds of the jungle around me. The rain poured on me and there was no escape. The thunder rumbled in the distance; or was that mortar rounds? I couldn’t help but feel the chaos and fear of my dream felt a lot like reality.

Idols

Ashtoreths
That were raised by my friend
Innocent at age thirteen
Her hand felt good in his
Love was foreign
Since a child he has known none
Hysteria led him to the slaughter
I'm with you in the city
Roaming the streets on lonely nights
The only company the man on the moon
One lonelier than him
Moloch
Lain beautifully by the hands of the innocent
The blood ran pure till the days of dark
Your eyes still sparkle
Through the security of the mask
But dark places you control
The blade brings comfort
I'm with you in the corner
Where words can't pierce the night
To cry would be joy
Because I feel once again
Baal
He was planted and grew
Socially, with a friend you grew up with
Confidence returned with a sip of the bottle
Your warm chest numbed the pain
It was easier to sleep with your past forgotten
Guilt was only real if felt
I'm with you on your deathbed, alone
Your children gone
Etching lives out of the pieces you created
gods,gods,gods
Built tirelessly
Our calloused hands build, build, build
We're trying to reach the floor of heaven
Only to find we're digging instead

As the Rocks Gave Way

I existed. I woke up. I guess there was a funeral. I’m assuming they buried him. The last two weeks must have been there, but I didn’t remember it. My dad is dead, and all I feel is his absence. Everyone talked, the pastor preached, I wore a suit, then I ate a bagel, but I didn’t move. I sat while everything changed around me. Now that everything is said and done, the traditions finished, I just am.

           My mom and I are sitting in a car. We’re donating some clothes at the local clothes drop. My sister is getting rid of some old stuff and cleaning out her room.

            “I’m going to have to go back to work again,” my mom says. “But don’t you worry about any of that. We will be just fine. God always provides. You’ll see. When Grandma was a kid her dad died….”

           - She keeps talking, but I let it reside as a humming in my ear, while my mind wanders elsewhere.

            “You know he’s really not worried,” my dad says to my mom.       

I almost jump right out of my seat.

            “You okay?” my mom asks.

            “Yeah I’m fine.” I say. “Just thought I heard something.”

            My mom continues talking while all I hear is the humming in my ear.

             My dad chuckles. “We all have different ways of coping with things. Your mother just likes to talk.”

            I realize I’m the only one that can hear him, but he’s there. My dad is in the backseat, commenting on my mom’s ramblings like he always does; or did. But, in another second, he disappears. Am I crazy? Have I reached my breaking point? I don’t really care. I get to see my dad.

            I wake up early the next morning. I’m always the first one up now. It used to be my dad. I’m groggy, half asleep in the bathroom brushing my teeth. I spit, rinse, and shut the sink off. I hear a soft “clink, clink, clink” in the kitchen. It’s the sound of a spoon in a coffee cup. I make my way into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My dad is sitting at the table, arms folded and head slouched, mixing his coffee slowly while watching the dark, thick, liquid twirl in the cup. He’s a real morning person, which is something we share. It’s still dark out. I pour myself a cup and sit across the table from him.

            “Want some eggs?” He asks.

            “Sure,” I reply.

            I wake up slow, while he seems to be fully alive right when his feet hit the floor. He enjoys making us breakfast and lifting us out of the fog of morning. He goes to the fridge and grabs the eggs, butter, and cheese. He brings the frying pan out of the cupboard and turns the burner on. He scoops some butter out of the tub and I listen to it sizzle on the pan. Two eggs are cracked and placed in the pan. He cracks the yolks and lets it sizzle, then gets some bread. He’s making me an egg sandwich instead, no dialogue is needed, he knows they are my favorite.

            “Morning,” my sister says, opening the fridge and getting out some juice.

            I look to her and look back, and he is gone; the stove with nothing cooking and all the ingredients back in their place.

            “Morning,” I say after a long pause.

            Days pass into weeks and weeks into months. The earth still revolves and the world changes around me. I’m back in school, playing volleyball, and bussing at a diner on the weekends. He’s always there. I see him. I feel him. I hear him.

****

            It’s been a year and a half, I realize as I sit on my couch at home alone. I don’t know what triggered it, but I am sobbing. I can’t control it. I’m rocking back and forth with tears streaming down my cheeks. After a while, the tears stop coming, but I’m still sobbing. Something in my soul twists and chokes me.

             My mom comes home. She opens the door and starts to say something— then she sees me. She drops her groceries, runs over and embraces me.

            “What’s wrong, honey, what’s wrong?”

            “He’s gone! Don’t you see?! He’s gone and he’s not coming back! He works his whole damn life and it means nothing! Nothing!” I yell. “He can’t see his kids get married, he can’t take that trip to Yellowstone, he’ll never see his grandchildren, nothing!”

            “I know, I know, honey,” she whispers reassuringly as I sob some more on her shoulder.

            After a while, though, I calm down. She leaves to make a call. I lie there still, curled up in a ball with a blanket she put over me.

            That’s when I see him for the last time.         

            He walks around the couch, grabs a pillow, and leans against the lazy boy, lying on the floor, watching TV with me. He always lies on the floor instead of in a chair. I never understood it. It’s a commercial break, and he grabs me by the wrist playfully, like he would when we were kids. He used to wrestle around with us during commercial breaks.

 Usually dads come home at night from a long day of work, sit in the lazy boy, and watch TV. Not my dad. As I got older, though, I stopped horsing around with him. I was the guy coming home from a long day of work, not wanting to do anything. But, he never stopped trying. A commercial break would come up and he would grab me by the foot or wrist.

            “Dad, stop it.” I would say.

            He would continue to drag me off the couch.

            “No seriously stop it. I had a really long day. Can’t I just sit here and not be bothered?”

            He would then retreat, never saying a word.

            But this time, I let him drag me off the couch. We wrestle for a little while. I sit on his, stomach as he lay down. He looks into my eyes. He sees the sorrow.

            “What’s wrong, son?” He says, looking concerned.

            “I’m afraid I won’t see you anymore.”

            He smiles the kind of smile you see when a parent is so proud of you, they smile, but their eyes well up in tears. You can tell you’ve reached their soul.

            My mom walks in, and, just as quickly as he appeared, he’s gone forever.

****

As the time passes, I still think of him, but I don’t see him. I think he would have liked it this way, I realize; he will live on forever, through us. That’s enough for me.

Thoughts in the Night

            I looked out in the night sky and down the long lonely street; trees bending toward the road, the night suffocating. My hands fumbled into my pockets grabbing for my match book. Some comfort came in the lighting of my pipe, but I couldn't help the sinking feeling of being alone. You see, I snuck out of my window earlier. It was about eleven-fifteen, my parents conk out at about 9:30 so I knew they would be dead asleep by the time I went out. The problem was that no one knew where I was or where I was going. If I vanished my friends would just think I didn't show up. My parents wouldn't realize till morning. The warm yet suffocating blanket of my parent’s protection was off of me. At least for a couple hours.

            The adrenaline surged through my veins even though it wasn't too big of a deal. I mean I've done it many times before. Every time it feels the same.

            I got to the corner of the suburban street, sitting and waiting for my friend to come out. The lights were off in the houses, and I let my mind wander to the people inhabiting the cookie-cutter dwellings. Most of them were likely to be warm in their bed, anticipating the next day of work, even before they got up in the morning. They were probably even thinking of paying off their college loans. Thinking of job security, living in homes they don’t own, driving cars they don’t own, and eating out of a fridge that is on layaway.

            I chuckled thinking of how suffocated they are. Then I frowned thinking of how suffocated they are. Like I normally do, I sat back and dreamed of my future. How I was going to be different.

             Life can sometimes just be pain, and anyone who tells you differently is selling you something. I am seventeen and broke poor, and am fine with being that way for the rest of my life. I knew something that person in the house with the big T.V. and the dog didn't. Joy is freedom and friends. That’s it. 

Look Up

Look up, young man, look up

Dragging, dragging on your belly all day long

Sisyphus, oh Sisyphus! Throw off your stone

Foot-dragger, bottom-feeder, axe-grinder

Look up, young man, look up

Reaching, reaching, further than ever before

Return, oh return! Pure white as days past

Mud-slosher, alley-way-walker, evil-tempter

Look up, young man, look up

Burning, burning with restless, maddening desire

Chaos, oh chaos! Animals with no soul

Fence-jumper, track-traveler, woman-luster

Eden, oh Eden! My days reincarnate within your gates

Madness-healer, utopian-keeper, soul-fulfiller  

Woods and Wonder

            UFO’s fly through the air while a T-Rex roars on earth below. The T-Rex grabs the spaceship in his mouth and starts to tear it to pieces. Just in time a knight arrives to fight the T-Rex for the spaceship. The knight wins but the ship is destroyed beyond repair. He hops in his getaway car and drives to the coast, where the pirates are waiting for him.

            Ever play with toys as a kid? You play and play with them and it seems to never get old. Your imagination soars and you’re in your own little world and no one can destroy it. Wonder fills your heart as you play out the bad guy or the good guy.

             One day it gets old. It’s that birthday or that friend that makes you say “I’m grown up now” making the toys start to lose their wonder. Imagination decays, until the toys in the closet are just a replicas collecting dust.

              Being in the woods fills me with wonder how toys fill kids with wonder, but the feeling never went away.

We're All Different

“How’d the SAT’s go?” my dad asked.

            I was getting out of my car and walking towards him as he leaned against his car, waiting for me. It was my sister’s graduation from college, and I just drove three hours to get there separate from my family because I had to take the stupid SAT’s.

            I started to shrug off my shirt while my dad grabbed the nicer shirt Mom had for me in the car. It was pressed and still on a hanger.

            “The system was made for monkeys,” I replied.

            “Huh?”

            “It’s like telling the animal kingdom to take a test to see how smart they are, but the test is to climb a tree. The monkeys have the advantage. I’m a fish.”

            “Now, look, everyone has to work hard and do their best.”

            “Yeah, yeah” I replied as I buttoned the last button on my shirt.

My dad closed the door to the car and locked it, and we started walking toward the gymnasium. The graduation started in a couple minutes.

“I’m sure there’s water somewhere,” I said.

“What?” asked Dad.

“For a fish to swim in.”

He chuckled as we opened the doors and walked inside.

Time Well Spent: A Personal Narrative

 “The most I can do for my friend is simply be his friend.” – Henry David Thoreau

It was a beautiful day, though it was still early, making one want to put a long sleeve shirt on when one waken in the morning. The dew was still on the ground, but one knew around two o’clock they would be replacing that long sleeve shirt for a cut-off during the afternoon chores. A man woke his son particularly early this morning, just as the sun was poking through the trees. The son woke with a jump after remembering what he was waking up for in the first place. His grandfather was taking him squirrel hunting.

“Be careful, Joe! And remember to wear Orange so other hunters can see you!” his mother called after him.

“I know!” He replied, while starting the walk off the front porch and down towards his grandfather’s pickup.

“How’s doin’ Joe,” said Grandpa.

“Pretty good, how ‘bout you” Joe said.

“Good”

They rode out of the suburbs and into the winding roads of the country. There wasn’t much talk except a ‘beautiful morning’ and ‘how is the family.’ Meanwhile Joe sat in the front seat, looking at the camouflage, the orange attire, and the 16. Gauge shotgun, and trying really hard to look cool and contain his excitement. After all, he was 11, and it was his first time actually going on a formal hunt. He had shot many squirrels off bird feeders in the backyard, and the chipmunks that enjoy taking refuge in gutters had grown to fear him, but he has never really been roaming the mountains, just two guys and their thoughts. The grandfather never really talked much. That’s one reason he loved hunting.

They parked on the side of the road and hopped out of the truck. The grandfather grabbed the shotgun out of the back and started loading it. The boy jumped a little when his grandfather cocked it, but then they continued on their way.

They did a lot of quiet walking along the mountain, but didn’t see much. It didn’t matter to the boy, he was in his element; the woods.

“This is strange” Grandpa said. “When I’m hunting deer, all’s I see is squirrels. Now there’s none. Maybe we should sit for awhile.”

So they sat real quietly and then the boy spotted something. It was a squirrel sitting in its nest high up in a tree! Grandpa handed him the gun and the boy started to take aim. He put the bead right on the animal. He got nervous when it came time to pull the trigger. After all, he only shot a shotgun once before, two years ago.

Joe asked, “Do you want to shoot the first one?”

Grandpa asked “Why?”

“Oh never mind” Joe said. So he brought the gun up to his shoulder and aimed again. He could feel the adrenaline from his toes to his fingertips.

BOOM! The gun went off.

“That wasn’t that bad” Joe thought. “Did you see where it went?” he said to his Grandpa. The truth was, he had his eyes closed.

“I think so” Grandpa said.

They walked over to the place they thought they saw it drop. After walking around for about ten minutes with no luck, finally Grandpa found it in a gopher hole.

“It’s a blue jay,” he said, lifting it up.

“Wow, that’s weird. Looked like a squirrel to me,” said Joe.

It was getting later in the day so they decided to call it quits. They went to the grandfather’s house down the street, had a cup of tea, and then he drove his grandson back home. He couldn’t wait to tell his parents all about it.

Joe blasted the radio as he drove down the highway, windows rolled down, tapping the steering wheel to the beat of the song. It was a beautiful morning, around seventy-two degrees out already. His mom gave him the job of picking up his sister from college three hours away. The funeral was the next day, and she didn’t have any other way of getting back home. As he drove along with the wind blowing through his hair and the morning dew just starting to burn off, he thought of his grandpa. He thought of the memories he’s had with his grandpa, and knew he will think of him from now on when he’s enjoying a beautiful morning like this one.

Timshel

There is this one song I always loved by Mumford and Sons called “Timshel.” I never knew why it was called “Timshel” until recently. One line reads “And you have your choices/ And these are what make man great/ His ladder to the stars.” I always thought that those lyrics were rather profound. All we really have as human beings is our choices. Love would not exist without our power of choice. If Adam and Eve did not have the choice to eat the fruit of the Tree of Life then we would all just be God’s robots and any love we had for him would not be real. We wouldn't be able to be separated from God even if we wanted to. So we are left with our choices; To follow God or not to follow God; To love or not to love; To be at that party and not sleep with that girl even though you could have.

I was down at Liberty University in Virginia attending College for a Weekend, which is for highschoolers who are looking for a college and want to try Liberty out. I found myself in bookstore browsing around while my friends were looking at T-shirts and Flat- Brims in the other section of the store. I saw this book “East of Eden” by John Steinbeck and decided to try it out.

I started reading it once I got home. It seemed to progress rather slowly, but I liked the language and the stories so I kept reading. Halfway through I lent it out to one of my friends, but got it back and picked it up again. There is one part when they discuss chapter 4 of Genesis. This is the chapter that tells the story of Cain and Abel. Roughly the book discusses three different translations of chapter 4 verse 7 of Genesis. Now bear with me here, because I’m going to go into scripture but I believe there is something real important in this.

After God asks Cain why he is angry about is sacrifice not being looked on with favor, God declares with this verse. The King James Version says, “If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him.” Pay attention to the “thou shalt rule.” This is a promise to Cain that he will conquer sin.

The American Standard Version says, “If thou doest well, shall it not be lifted up? and if thou doest not well, sin coucheth at the door: and unto thee shall be its desire, but do thou rule over it.”  Now pay attention to the “do thou.” This is very different. It is not a promise, but an order.

Now to the original Hebrew. The Hebrew word for that part of the verse is Timshel. The true translation, or what most likely the author meant, was “thou mayest.” “Thou mayest rule over sin.” This “thou mayest” gives man a choice. Thou mayest conquer sin or thou mayest not. You may or may not conquer sin.

So God gives us this choice. Francis Chan once said, “Its crazy, if you think about it. The God of the universe - the Creator of nitrogen and pine needles, galaxies and E-minor - loves us with a radical, unconditional, self sacrificing love.” This God who loves us, loves us enough to give us a choice; to enter into a life of joy, real deep down joy, or not to. Not happiness but joy. I've been lost so many times in my life, but God is always there and ready for me when I’m ready for him. God is just waiting for you to choose him.

Fear

Fear limits us. Let's face it. It's a significant restraint. I'm one of the worst people at doing things that make me afraid. I love my comfort. I love taking the back seat. Things very easily make me uncomfortable.

        My one friend seems to be the opposite and jumps at a chance to do anything for a dollar or a laugh. I guess its one thing that makes it good for me to be around him. One time I was at a coffee shop with him and my dad said he would give him twenty dollars to talk to any girl in the coffee shop for five minutes. Well he first offered the bet to me, but when I refused he asked my friend. Five minutes is a long time! But he gave a quick glance over both shoulders and said, "OK." There were two girls sitting at a table in the corner, and he held a conversation for five minutes. It was pretty funny, but mostly just made me squirm in my seat.
        If fear is a problem in your life, I would consider facing it. The important thing is not to be afraid of failing. Failing most of the time does not cost anything significant. If you have a fear of girls, ask the next girl you see on the street to marry you. If your afraid of being in front of people, get up there and sing a solo. Life is better spent that way. Everyone loves and respects people who try. Find out that you are allowed to fail. Then you will be able to live life with less limiting you.

Go

Let me share a part of a book with you that I recently read in a book called "Radical" written by David Platt.

               "I remember when I was first preparing to go to Sudan, a nation impoverished by years of civil war. The trip was going to cost me around three thousand dollars. It wasn't easy to travel into Sedan since they were still at war, and we would have to charter a plane and spend a few extra days to make that happen. I remember one dear lady in the church coming up to me and asking, 'Why don't you just send the three thousand dollars to the people in Sudan? Wouldn't that be a better use of money than you spending a week and a half with them? Think of how far that money will go.'

                I wrestled with that question. Was I wasting these funds in order to go when I could simply give the money instead? Should I even be going? I continued wrestling with that question until I got to Sudan. There I had a conversation with Andrew that shed some light on the question.

                 Andrew was sharing with me about his life in Sudan over the last twenty years. He had known war since he was born, and he described facets of the suffering and persecution his people had been through.  He described various groups, most of them government or secular organizations, who had brought supplies to them during that time, and he expressed thanks for the generosity of so many people.

                 But then he looked at me and asked, 'Even in light of all these things that people have given to us, do you want to know how you can tell who a true brother is?'

                I leaned forward and asked, 'How?'

                He responded, 'A true brother comes to be with you in your time of need.' Then he looked me in the eye and said, 'David, you are a true brother. Thank you for coming to be with us.'"

                This story hit all the right notes for me. Human beings were not created to sit, make money, and give tax deductible donations to specific causes. It's a great notion, but not for me. I am obsessed with the real, the raw, the dangerous. I am a firm believer that the deepest need in human beings isn't tangible but spiritual. Above all I want to understand. To share others grief. To learn true struggle. To find true joy. My life has to mean something when I die. When I'm in heaven a jacket I gave won't mean as much as a life I touched. To "go and make disciples of all nations" is a command, not an option to be debated upon. When I go and serve, it changes my heart, my priorities, and accesses my soul. That is something that's laid up as treasure in heaven. 

                 Commit a goal to support an international injustice. Whether that means to go, to donate, to encourage, or to raise awareness, it's something God meant for you to do. If done with a glad heart, it will be rewarded. I promise. God promises.

Winter

I stop and stare
Breathe in the sharp glass air
Pale face, warm lips
The wind hits

Trees bending with weight
Cracking and popping in hate
Pins in my toes and fingers
The mist of my exhale lingers

It's Not For Nothing

I once knew a guy. He was just a friend's friend. But he had an incredible story. I met him only twice, but he was the friendliest guy you would ever meet. I shook hands with him, and you could see his smile as he said "whats up mah brother" and cracked a smart remark to ease the awkwardness of meeting someone for the first time. He had an effect that made you feel like you knew him for a long time. Once he left, naturally curious, I asked my friend about him. "He lived on the streets for a very long time, homeless. He has some kind of past, I'm not sure. Might of had an abusive father. He somehow got on his feet, and started a flagging business, of all things."
"Whats that?" I asked.
"Its people that signal for construction on highways, roads and the sort. Anyways it really took off and now he does really well. He employs mostly people that were homeless, trains them, and gives them a chance at a job."
I thought that it was a very inspiring story. A few months later I asked my friend about him, and learned he was dead. "Why? How?" were my immediate questions. "He attempted suicide a couple of times, and one time it worked."
I was taken back. Someone that was so happy, so full of life, and overcame so much. I couldn't believe it.

Sometimes I wonder why we're all here. Why does God not just bag the whole thing and start over. He doesn't have to send anyone to heaven or hell, just have us cease to exist, like animals or something. But then I realize that its not for me to decide. Is the story God's writing really worth all the pain and heartbreak? But He tells me there is a purpose. One day this will all resolve. And how the world should end is not up to me, and I'm glad its not. The only thing I have to decide is to be a part of that story or not. When the sun rises, and I stand on the shores of eternity, I will finally fully understand the answer to the ultimate question.Why?

Thoughts on Love

I was listening to the Sigh No More Mumford and Sons album today and the song Awake My Soul came on. This is by no means the first time I heard this song. Its one of my favorites, and never seems to get old. One of lines of the lyrics always catches me. The line is "The way you invest you love you invest your life." When I first heard this it hit me in a moment of clarity. It seemed so simple. Whatever I choose to love, and whatever I choose to pursue, will be my legacy when I leave this earth. If I choose to love myself, and please myself, that will become what my life revolves around, and is defined by. If I love others, my neighbors and brothers, that is what my life will be invested in. I try to ask myself this question routinely, so I'm not getting off track to where God wants me to invest my life. Am I investing in things that will make a difference? Or am I investing in a Playstation? Am I investing in the God's church? or am investing in movie tickets? I encourage you to chew this question over for yourself, and ask what you want your life to mean.

Most of Humanity Has No Hope

I recently had a conversation with a friend. It was night time and I was driving through town to drop him off at his house. Music was playing softly but we were sitting mostly in silence. “Doesn’t life seem simple to you?” he asked. “What do you mean?” I responded. He said “I have a friend who recently made a bet with a guy from the mob. He bet five thousand dollars on a game and he lost. He now owes the guy ten thousand dollars that he doesn’t have. They’ll kill him or break something if he doesn’t pay. How can you actually get yourself in that situation? Can’t you just not bet?”

 “When something like that happens, I’m usually not surprised” I answered. “Yeah I guess it’s a sickness” He returned. “Life’s a sickness” I said. “Then what’s the escape?”

“Death.”

Unstoppable

The bible makes it clear that nothing can touch us. You can't torture us. "...present sufferings are not worth comparing to our future glory..." (Romans 8:18) You can't kill us. "For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. "(Phillipians 1:21) And you cant stop us. "...you will not be able to stop these men; you will only find yourselves fighting against God." (Acts 5:39) Not only that, but he gives us everything we ever wanted. (He knows what we want better than we do). "He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all--how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?" (Romans 8:32) I'm pretty sure I can trust Him.