Playing War to Pass the Time

This is a poem I wrote for a literature class in response to a story by James Joyce using the themes "escape" and "the passing of time." The story is about a boy who reads Detective and Wild West stories and plays Indians wars with his friend but still feels that he is lacking something. He finally decides to play truant from school and explore a nearby city. In case you are wondering how that turned out, he saw the sites, bought sweets,  but then he met a crazy stranger and came away from the encounter rather shaken, having learned his lesson.

Playing War to Pass the Time

He played at war to pass time,
but  time lead him to believe
he heard a call, a distant chime:
“For true excitement, you must leave.”

For he was trapped within routine
and the dulling colors of life;
pretend adventures lost their sheen:
A boy's no warrior! A stick's no knife!

He sits inside a shrinking room
hour after ponderous hour.
Facts and figures, this tedious doom
would crush his dream while still in flower.

To be a traveler-oh what glory-
in his land the sharpest mind,
quick and dangerous like in stories:
there's not one outlaw he can't find.

He thinks that he might risk a scrape.
He quells the thought, but he still finds
he cannot find a real escape
in playing war to pass the time.

24 Reasons Why I'm Actually a Cat

(Some reasons are better than others.)

1.  I prefer to work independently.
2. I literally jump at sudden noises (the more aware I am that they could happen the jumpier I get).
3. I spontaneously dash through the house, occasionally coming close to bowling somebody over (sorry, guys).
4.   I am honest about how I feel about what you're doing. And expressive.
5. I wish I had a high-up place where no one else could go where I could withdraw and people-watch (a treehouse in the living room would be nice).
6. I L-O-V-E the idea of cat naps, though I'm still trying to figure them out.
7. I love warmth.
8. I'm an impeccable groomer (I brush my hair about 10 times a day just because it feels mussed up)
9. Cats recognize me as an equal, which they couldn't do if I was human.
10. "I am the cat who walks by himherself." I like time alone.
11. I need to take social cat naps because being out and about drains me.
12. I scratch my ear with my foot.
13. Just kidding! :)
14. I'm always right (not really, of course). I don't always have an opinion, but, when I do, you know about it.
15. I'm picky about food...sort of. Okay, so I basically just hate peppers. 
16. I have to do it myself: you can't ever help me. Unless you're making me food...in that case, go for it. I'll be reading a book.
17. I love water.
18. Wait a minute...
19. I'm hard to impress. Try to impress a cat. It's hard. I mean, think about it: remaining calm is an excellent way to conserve energy. Unless you give me something I absolutely L-O-V-E, I won't be turning cartwheels. 
20. I can't turn cartwheels.
21. I go easy during the day so that I end up staying awake for hours at night, and for absolutely no reason, which is what makes this so cat-like.
22. I fake sleep, and I'm sure that cats do too just so you don't bother them. But I don't act like I'm sleeping when I'm not trying to actually go to sleep.
23. I collect weird things, and they become my toys.
24. I meow, hiss, and caterwaul fluently--you wouldn't be able to tell the difference between me and the real thing! True story, everyone. I've literally had years of practice at it. It’s kind of embarrassing.

And I know that "everybody wants to be a cat," but, unfortunately, we can't all be!

1. Are you more like your cat or your dog? Why?

This is the Real World

This is the real world

where thunder reels the world.

The wild wind steals the world.

The huge sky fits the world.

The lightning splits the world.

The ocean tips the world.

The earthquake rips the world.

The mountains top the world

And wartime rocks the world.

But they can't burn the world

'cause God's hand turns the world.

And it won't end 'till he wants it to.

Even so...come, Lord Jesus, come.

As beautiful as earth can be,

the better world needs not the sun.

Only the Son.

Homesick Heidi

I cannot see the mountains

I've looked through every window:

rooftops block the horizon-

I can't shut my hope in, though.

It seems I want for nothing,

but something's eating up my soul;

Lock a free thing in a prison

and time will surely take its toll.

My feet wear shoes I don't need;

I walk on heartless cobblestone.

I've never seen so many people,

nor have I felt so alone.

I've looked for things I know about

but everything here's strange.

The swirling crowds are driven on-

I cannot bear this change.

Where is green rocky freedom?

And where the wild rains?

They stare like I'm a heathen,

but they're the ones in chains.

I ran to climb the tower,

but nothing of it came:

my mountains, they were nowhere.

The city looked the same.

Live colors fade from mem'ry

Saphire, gold, and indigo.

The mountains seem worlds away.

I can't shut my hope in though.

Thanks, Discouragement, for Asking!

I imagined one day I met two of Me,
and I pictured them sitting side by side.
The Me on the right was writing frantically.
the Me on the left dared ask why she tried.

While the Right Me wrote, the Left Me sat still
as if she was working for an opposite will.
She sat idly, her hands folded in her lap,
her eyes closed, creativity taking a nap.

Left Me asked Right Me, "Aren't you discouraged?"
The poet continued to write.
"Not being like you is reason to be encouraged."
But her grasp on her pencil grew tight.

"I guess you're not like me, 'cause I would give up now,"
said the slacker, trying once more:
"You don't like what you've written, you think it is worthless,
and your penmanship's almost as poor!"

"If I don't keep trying, I'll never get better;
now please let me finish this verse!"
Left scoffed, "Please, the meter's barely holding together:
if anything, this piece just gets worse!"

Left continued: "Forgive me, I don't understand--
you scribble and scrawl until pain cramps your hand.
I really don't know how this comes over you.
Writing poetry's silly, so why do what you do?"

Right Me slammed down her pencil,
looked Left straight in the eye.
"Okay, so you asked for it--
I'll tell you why!'

"It's structured and satisfying,
easy to write;
When things do fall into place
the poem glows in the light!"

"Furthermore, poetry, by nature, must be concise.
No long-winded sentences! (My incorrigible vice:
when I read over them later, I think I might as well keep
my thoughts to myself since my reader's asleep!)

"The balance and rules
give the words symmetry;
When I find rhymes and count syllables
 It's like composing a symphony."

Then, Right Me looked at her pencil
as if she'd come home.
She turned the page,
knuckled down,
and
she
wrote
you
this
poem.

Come Further Up. Come Further In.

(Unfortunately, I don't have a picture of a hotel pool, so just pretend that this is one.)

It was about a ten years ago when a typical hotel pool seemed enormous to me. I was playing in the water with some new friends.We were ducking under the surface to retrieve the weighted toys (colored and easy to spot above water) that had sunk to the bottom. I shut my eyes and pinched my nose to keep the water out each time I went under. So, I searched blind and with one hand. Not the best system. Still, I found the challenge fun and would doggedly pursue any available target, although I was met with limited success. I was honestly much worse at the sport than anyone else. My swimming abilities were quite limited...

I couldn't swim. I transversed the pool by dragging myself along the side.

My mistake was in taking it to far.

I went to the deep end. Eyes squeezed shut, I pushed down under the chlorinated liquid by the number that marked in feet the water's depth...or height, and it was far higher than I was tall. But I didn't look at the warning. I tried to push myself down even further. I still couldn't reach my goal, the weight at the bottom. The pool floor was too far below me, so I would never be able to locate it by touch when I couldn't even reach it! I let go of the side, and the hand that had gripped it disappeared under the water. 

Submerged and lost in darkness, I had lost all physical contact with anything but the sense of the water surrounding me. It took only a few moments for me to realize that I'd had enough of the feeling. The water was too deep. My own lungs, the only oxygen tank I had, sounded a deafening alarm in my head. My brain sent the warning signal to every nerve in my body. Low air. The determination to reach the bottom instantly reversed into a desperate need to resurface and breathe. 


I had to get up and out. The only trouble was that I had somehow brilliantly lost where up was. I was flailing underwater for something to catch hold of, a point of reference, a means of deliverance, something to pull myself up by. But my blind bumps in the dark against hard surfaces did nothing to give me direction. They only served to further confuse me. The edge of the pool which I had sunk below was too far away from me now. I was impossibly stuck. I couldn't see, and I couldn't open my eyes. As young as I was I knew. I remember thinking it. I can't get back up. Help, please help me! I'M DROWNING!


I honestly don't know how long it lasted. It doesn't take long to panic. And when your panicing it's like time stops in an eternity of knowing that there's no time left.

I don't need to tell you how I felt when someone grabbed me and pulled me up and into the light. 

Of course, the first thing I did was breathe.
Gasp.
Choke for air.
I could barely thank the older girl who had saved me. She was just another kid like me except she had been safe and I  had been in danger. She had seen that I was in trouble and she acted. She showed me the right way to go.

I can't remember what happened afterward. I remember three things in this order: my mistake, my terror, and my extreme relief. 

Foolish. Desiring. Distracted. 

Lost. Doomed. Blind.

Found. Saved. Seeing.

In the final book of the Chronicles of Narnia, the survivors of the Last Battle find themselves in Aslan's country. The mysterious yet thrilling cry "Further up and further in!" is repeated throughout the company. They all run as if flying, and when they finally reach the tumultuous water at the end, they plunge forward with a power not their own, shoot straight up the gigantic waterfall and find themselves at last at the golden gateway. (Here's a song based on that story. )

A Greater Cause

Every Little Thing

Every little thing I do

Is the serving of a greater cause

Whether it’s the fueling of a fruitless feud

Or furthering the work of God.

Now isn’t it odd

That it’s the big things we focus on

When we know the larger matters are founded

On the smaller stuff they’re built upon.

Do you really know where you need to go?

Do you see the smaller things in working harmony?

Do you perceive all of the parts that fit just right

and move together to form your life?

And just how much were you shown of

the greater plan you did not write? 

What is this that you would change?

And, by contrast, look at things that have passed:

See how the greater things become small

Compared to him who is Lord over them all,

Who knows the future as well as the past,

And all of the things that will truly last. 

With whom and what do you exchange?

It hurts to stretch, stretch, stretch

My soul

In places I don’t want to admit exist.

 I don’t want to acknowledge

The hole

That is still there

When I’m making money hand over fist,

or when I’m on top of the world
thinking I'm the one in control.
In essence,

when I have my way

I plan the day

and throw it away,

and then

I get up

and do it again

without thinking about my story’s end.

But it isn’t as far off as it would seem,

and I don’t have as much power as I would deem.
It's all pretend.

Every little thing I do

is the serving of a greater cause

whether it’s the fueling of a fruitless feud

or furthering the work of God.

Get a handle on your dreams,

make your priorities the ones that last.

no matter how busy life seems,

don’t forget the bigger picture

because you’re kind of in it.

You’ve been appointed an eternal life:

wake up, shake off the dust,

begin it.

Our State is Freezing

Okay so technically I wrote this in the Fall, but I actually did ride my bike this week (which was crazy). Last line added today.

                                 

Freezing air sucked into searing lungs, blocked by the burning ball of ice just inside my closing throat....I can't get enough. The pain to breath is frightful.

Straining forward into the cold wind, knees rising, feet forcing down, blood and muscles pumping. Everything burning, burning, burning in the powerful gusts, the forceful frost invisible. Pushing homeward, struggling homeward.....leaden weight pulling down through the earth instead of straight ahead. Inching impossibly, battered body, moaning mind.

Minnesota bike ride.

Whhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Influences of Books

My first original speech.

Why do you read fiction? Some of the reasons could be for entertainment, relaxation, to de-stress, or just to take a break.

But can your favorite fictional character have any effect on your decidedly un-fictional self? Is a mere story able to reach beyond simple amusement and touch your day to day life? I think that it can. What's more, I think that it does.

The purpose of this speech is to show how an author's writing is influenced, how the author's writing can in turn influence you, and how you should respond to this.

One question to ask while reading a book is: "Why did the author write this?" it's a simple question; the answer might not be.

I. What influences an author to write what he or she does?

A. The author's experiences:

Charlotte Bronte, though a talented author, had a very dismal style of writing. When I read her book, Jane Eyre, I felt as if there was a constant storm cloud hanging over the story, getting heavier and darker with every description. The book is an interesting, well-written classic, but you can't read it and not ask the question...why? Why would anybody write about such depressing things?

The answer: Charlotte Bronte had a pretty depressing life. When Charlotte was only about five years old, her mother died. When she was nine, Charlotte's two older sisters, Maria and Elizabeth, also passed away. At about thirty-two, she lost her siblings, Patrick and Emily. They were followed just a few months later by Anne, the youngest of the Bronte children, leaving Charlotte alone to care for her ailing father as his last surviving child.

Charlotte's writing was heavily influenced by what she experienced, and she experienced much death.

Another thing that can have an effect on the way that an author writes is another person, or persons plural.

B. A key character in an author's life that either been a positive influence, a negative influence, or a blend of the two.

The well-known comic strip, Family Circus, is a hilarious portrayal of household life. Bil Keane, the original author of the cartoon, based the characters Bil and Thelma, along with their children Billy, Dolly, Jeffrey, and P.J. on himself and his family.

The comic's main source of humor comes from the things the children do and say such as Jeffery innocently requesting his father to re-inflate his popped balloon, or Billy asking with a running hose in hand whether the car windows should be up or down when they are washing it.

The kid's funny comments and alarming questions are not only amusingly realistic but also show just how close the author is to his children.

An author can't stay completely unaffected by his or her experiences. If that's true, then it would also be fair to state that we ourselves cannot remain wholly unaffected by the things that we read. 

II How can the author's writing influence you?

A. What you read offers new opinions and ideas and can affect the way that you think about something.

You don't necessarily need to believe that what you're reading is true or right for it to have an effect on your thinking. Just because you know that a thing is wrong does not mean that you are less likely to think about it, in fact, it'll probably increase the chance of it popping up in you head later on.

The more that you are exposed to something, the more likely you'll shrug it off as the norm. Just because something's "normal" doesn't mean that it's right. Good things usually aren't as "normal" as bad things are.

If you were to read a book that involves a lot of violence, inappropriate language, or even a child with a negative attitude, it could have an effect on the way you think and desensitize the way that you feel about an issue that would normally bother you.

Eventually, this can get to the point where it completely changes the way that you believe about something.

So, what you read can influence the way that you think, affect your beliefs, and, finally, it can change your behavior.

C. What you read can change the way that you speak, act, or respond to a situation.

One of my friends likes reading comics, and one of her favorite comic books was about a six-year-old boy with spiky, blond hair, whose best friend in the whole wide world is his stuffed tiger. It's called: Calvin and Hobbs.

While Calvin's a pretty funny little guy, he's got one big problem: he's incredibly naughty. He goes back in forth between being a little boy who wants to ride his tricycle on the roof and would love to have a flame thrower to an evil mastermind up to no good.

Well, after those comics had been out for a while my friend's mom noticed a change in my friend's attitude. My friend started to think just a little bit like Calvin. Then she started making humorous but extremely sarcastic remarks. It was decided that what can be funny in a book, is not so funny in real life. Calvin and Hobbs went back on the shelf, and his vulgar humor went with him.

So, how do we filter what we read? First, know the author's worldview.

III Your response:

A. Know what the author's worldview is.

An author's thoughts, ideas, and beliefs about life direct his or her pen and are captured in black and white on sheets of paper. If you know what the author's worldview is, you will have an idea of what to expect in the book that you're reading. You are able to ask and then answer the question 'why did the author write this?'

When you are familiar with the author's beliefs you will be able to identify more easily where they come into play in the story, and then you can ask yourself whether or not it's right instead of just absorbing the entire thing with your mind open and your guard down. 

B. Next, figure out the message of the book.

What is the author trying to say in the story? What are the points the author is trying to make? Again, it can be easier to figure out what the author's trying to say if you know the underlying beliefs informing the message.

C. Finally, decide whether or not you should continue reading the book.

Determine if what the author's saying is right or wrong. Does the author appear to have a biblical worldview? That could be an important question to ask. Is the overall message of the book good of bad?

Is the content of the book righteous or unrighteous? Does anything in it disturb you? If the language or conduct in the story strikes you as inappropriate, you should seriously consider putting the book down for good.

During the past few minutes, we've seen (1) how an author's writing can be influenced, (2) how the author's writing can have an effect on you and (3) your response.

So the next time you pick up a fictional book, whether you're just starting it for the first time or the twentieth, I want you to read it with the understanding that it isn't just an 'entertaining story', but that it contains the threads of someone else's worldview which can become interwoven, consciously or unconsciously, into the pattern of your own life.

What's in a Word?

~ Hope ~

-as defined in the Bible-

Anything that involves hope implies future: something that you can't see or don't have yet. Paul pointed this out as a defense for the faith.
"For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees?" Romans 8:24

 I don't hope for my head, I already have it. I can hope for future intelligence to put in it. You can also hope for something that technically would have happened in the past, but only if it has implications for the future. I hope that Dad bought ice cream yesterday (maybe we can have some later!) 

~ Bravery ~

-a note to the aspiring protagonist-

Being in the way of danger isn't bravery.

Being willing to die isn't bravery.

Bravery has nothing to do with risking your life, and everything to do with risking yourself.

Because you can be willing to do whatever it takes to get what you want. For yourself, you can be willing to give it your all, and it will ultimately be no real, actual sacrifice. But to give something, or even someone up for a cause that's bigger than yourself...to let go of what you want and pay a heavy price because it's right...that IS bravery. That is strength.

--BECAUSE--

You can't have bravery without SELFLESSNESS. And if you don't have bravery, you don't have NOBILITY. And if you don't have that, you haven't got a HERO....no matter how much power, and no matter how many hair-breadth-escapes you throw in to make up for it.

The reason that I write this is that the "heroes" in so many stories don't measure up to their own standard. The protagonist is judged less by their actions and the risks that they take and more by their heart motive, and I wish that more writers would realize it. In the meantime, the audience is being cheated out of a true hero whether or not they fully realize it.

Christ's sacrifice on the cross was the bravest thing that humanity has ever known. It was the purest and best example of the word. It is the ultimate example of all time. 

~Sacrifice~
-it takes many forms-

Self-sacrifice is giving what you want for the benefit of someone else. It could be....

-Time

-Energy (channeling it in a direction other than you'd planned it for.)

-Opportunity (giving up a one time chance.)

-Desire (the undesirable)

-Freedom (turning your attention from something you'd rather be doing to something you'd rather not be doing.)

-Material (loss of money, treasured possessions.)

-Comfort (pain, danger, inconvenience.)

- Reputation (popularity, damage to character in terms of social standing.)

-Personal Preference (out your comfort zone.)

-Doing something that a person you care about doesn't appreciate, but is for his ultimate good (the sacrifice for you being his possible displeasure, loss of favor, or the fear that he may feel which you would have rather have avoided/prevented.)

Autumn

The Fall,

It's not quite here yet,

Visibly,

Vividly,

Oh, how I love it!

Even my moist and tickled nose

Cannot dampen the striking affect

Of bright orange

And red

And yellow

And yes, some clinging green

Against the bright blue of the sky.

Fresh clouds float by,

Or swiftly fly.

In the springtime

There is a chill yet clinging to the earth,

Like a frozen blanket.

Then, it slowly warms,

Like numb fingers

Held to a fire,

and joyfully blossoms

into sunlight.

Is then Fall the opposite?

As the spring comes after the cold,

Is the Autumn then a chill prelude to Winter?

"Nay!" Says the flaming world.

Are not the first timid frosts that come too early

Chased back by the burning leaves of Autumn?

“Go back!” they cry, with voices warm and crackling with laughter,

“It is not yet your time! Go back to the frozen wastes, your turn has not yet come!

“Do you not know that first must come cheeks flushed like the ripe apple, and wild romps with a merry crunching underfoot? Do you not know that first comes the Harvest, and rolling down leaf covered hills and flashlight-lit games in the dark before the weather turns 

too chill?

“Do you not know that this is the time for bonfires and fingers sticky with warm marshmallow? For clear voices ringing in the crisp air and light feet not yet sucked down into the close, snowbound world?

“This is the time to fly for all those who know how, with sweater half off,

hair streaming behind,

and feet that do not seem to touch the ground.”

“Go back, chill frosts, go back! Go back! It is not get your time!”

The cool Fall air is not the breath of Winter!

Rather it is part of the vigorous song

of Autumn:

playful,

perky

and full of cheer.

Hear the Fall birds singing in 

trees still dressed in their splendor!

Hear the rake scraping

warm, dry ground,

and the rustling explosion in yonder towering pile. 

What went flying upwards

now comes fluttering down again.

Out of the leaves pops

a child’s head.

Up he springs and runs

back to his starting point

to charge back

and dive

into the pile once more.

The dazzling colors

celebrate

the birth of a new season

rather

then the funeral of the old.

This joyful tune does not change

Until the world becomes

Bare and gray

And the wind is a fierce

Icy whisper.

*But even winter has its beauty.*

I Took A Walk

I've been sitting too much.

Take a walk.

Being in front of my computer this long is killing my back.

So take a walk.

It's not like I'm not being entirely unproductive.

Just take a walk.

This math just isn't clicking.

Take a-

I don't want to bother getting up.

I know; take-

I want to finish this first.

You aren't doing anything. Listen to me, I am the voice of common sense. Go. Take. A. Walk.

I don't want to walk down this hallway, go down these stairs, put on my shoes, walk out this door...

TAKE A WALK.

I am.

Good.

Is that familiar to you.....even slightly? :) After having this conversation with myself, I decided to circle the block using the short rout.....I went 3 times and stayed outside for well over half an hour. I love taking walks; want to know why I enjoyed this one so much?

It was half-past twelve and the day was gray. No, let me reword that. The sky was a dome of white, blue and gray marble. The occasional cold speck of rain that ticked my forehead and eyelids was barely noticeable, only ghost reminders of a wet morning. Earlier the top of the mailbox was covered with these drops like bubble wrap. It was beautiful.

Brown stains and puddles stretched along the gray cement. I was walking in the curb. That small dip on the side of the road held treasures of dead leaves, sand, small rocks and the occasional soggy pine cone. I always look out for nice pieces of quartz at my feet. One time I found half a key, another, a lovely metal button with an engraved design. You never know what you might find, and all of this was just at my feet.....

I like the peaceful silence of being alone out of doors for a few minutes. I like being the only one making the scratch-scraping noise of walking for a whole stretch of quiet street. I like listening to my favorite bird calls whose liquid sounds make me think of how good cold water is when I'm really thirsty--the moment it stops I want to hear it again so that my ears can drink in more of their music. I can almost taste it on my tongue. 

Two squirrels chased each other in a brief circle before leaving my sight. A pair of mourning doves loitered under a tree in a wood chip bedded garden. The first left at once. I stopped to watch the second one for a bit. He looked so funny: a smooth, tannish-pink colored bird with little round eyes that shone like black rubber. He bobbled his head back and forth as he walked. Then he flew away, too.

So many small details to notice! Ordinary things when focused on can become wonderful. I call it simple complexity; or complex simplicity--depending on what sounds better at the time! I clunked over another rusty storm drain. Then I walked back over the grate again to hear the sound. I'd never noticed the echo deep down in the blackness, ku-thunk. It sounded like a gulp. I suppose even storm drains must swallow!

When I got home again, my cheeks were the color of cold and my glasses half fogged over. I untied my shoes. There is nothing more refreshing than a walk--who cares about the weather? 

A  journey begins with a single step....and often that step is simply getting up. For me, that can be the hardest part. Please don't be lazy like me: take a walk!