Monday, March 29, 2010

sunrise sings songs

sunrise sings songs
of goldandsilver
tongued fantasy
beauty in words of
to mask
mocking birds paint
notes with honeyed words
over the exquisite elegance
of a wild weed who
fancies himself
a rose

Saturday, March 27, 2010

beauty in a wicked world

the quiet coo of a lonely dove

whispers in the gentle breeze

delivering beautiful thoughts of you

you who noticed the pain in my eyes

who took my black and created


your touch brought

the melody of graceful streams

whose waters now nurture

thriving purple flowers where dirt once lay

barren, cracked, and dry.

your voice like the blue june sky

deep with love and pleasant with yes

like a tree

you shade me from harm:

the wicked world so dark and ugly,

death and no and everything nothing


the title is a lyric from "Soul Suckers" by Amos Lee that says, "nothing is more powerful than beauty in a wicked world."

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Tic Tic Tic Tic...

Time is such a wonderful thing that I tend to waste and take for granted. I have been at my house for two hours now; yet, I have not done anything truly productive. Last week, I had little time to sleep because I was held captive by my drama teacher until eleven every night. Once I finally arrived home, I had mountainous AP English and Pre-Calculus homework to finish before I went to bed. During this time, I continually complained to my friends that I was so busy and stressed out and needed more time in order to complete my many tasks. Well, I now have plenty of time, but am I making the best of it? Of course not.

Unfortunately, I am afraid that this mentality has carried over to the way I subconsciously view life. As a freshman, I looked forward to becoming a Senior, graduating, and moving on to college. I wanted high school to go by quickly so I could "get on with my life." Very few times did I stop to remember that each day of high school holds so many opportunities to grow and encourage others to grow in a relatively safe environment. Now there are only 50 days until graduation, and I am beginning to realize that I wasted so much of my time here thinking "If only I were in college..." just as last week I thought "If only I had more time..."

This week, I'm going to try to remember to make the most of the time I have with my teachers, friends, and classmates rather than complaining that time is going by too slowly.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

You Can Call Me Talitha*

Located a little south of Fresno sits a little town called Dinuba. I spent the first half of my eighteen years in that little town. Most people who live there own cozy little homes with happy little families and cute little puppies that run about in their not-so-little yards. My relations and I lived in an even littler shed with little food and little love. After school, my little kitten Kit Cat and I would sit on my mother’s little bed in our little shed feeling heavily burdened by not-so-little responsibilities -- I would save a bag of chips from my little lunch, which my school provided free of charge, to fill my little tummy as I worried about my mother. Was she safe? Did she eat anything? Did I make her angry again? Would she come home tonight? I would whisper a little prayer that one day, little me would make things better for little her. In this regard, I was never little. In size, in years, in school, I was considered a child; but in responsibility, in experience, in hardships, I was an adult.

During these years, I discovered how to find joy in the little things. Due to a lack of toys, I exercised my imagination. Cardboard boxes became complex castles; trees became tremendous towers; and sticks became strong-willed stallions. Little stickers brought beaming smiles to my face and dandelions brightened my every day. I saw sunsets as master works of art and little butterflies as elegant messengers of joy.

Through sheer accident, I also discovered that little books hide vast wonderful worlds. When life seemed too overwhelming to handle, I would curl up in a little corner on the floor and read in the dim light. Within the pages of little books, I met talking spiders with intricate webs, journeyed through wardrobes to wintry lands, and laughed at Amelia’s equivocations and malapropisms. This little habit provided me an escape from reality -- a safe haven where good triumphed over evil and love defeated neglect.

School became my other safe haven. When I attended, I generally excelled. Through the instruction and encouragement of my teachers, I learned to apply myself diligently to each little task and each little detail. During math, I wrote out every little step; during art, I drew every little leaf; during language, I triple checked every little comma, period, and apostrophe. Every little thing had its own little place.

After nine years, little me was taken from little Dinuba to not-so-little Walnut Creek. No longer in a little town with a child for a mother, I was expected to assume the “little child” role. Suddenly, someone I knew little about found it imperative to tell little me how to live my little life. Scared and alone, I felt exceedingly little. But, as time went by, little by little, I began to acclimate myself with the area and the other little kids who attended my little Christian school. There, I learned that a little faith could yield extraordinary results and that Almighty God cared about little me.

As I grew, I learned, and continue to learn, that in this life I will suffer for “a little while” (1 Peter 1:6). Compared to eternity, my life exists as a little hour amidst thousands of years. Every trial is a mere second in that hour that God uses to reprogram little me little by little to behave as a child of Christ.

Generally a good little child, I always strived to please and feared disappointing others; yet I also tended to perform little distractions to draw attention to myself. I wanted someone, anyone, to notice little me. I talked loudly in discussions or raised my hand violently high in class, desperately trying to capture some adult’s attention. Therefore, I despised being called “little.” I wanted to be important and respected like an adult, not treated like a little child who should be seen and not heard.

Now that I am older, I smile when people endearingly call me “little.” Rather than feeling “trivial or unimportant” as the Oxford English Dictionary defines “little,” I feel significant, safe, and secure like a little treasure to be cherished in a little shoebox. For when something is little, it needs safekeeping in a cozy little place so as not to get lost or hurt or ruined. Therefore, I feel as though, because I am little, I will be watched more carefully, loved more dearly, and fit more perfectly in someone’s safe, loving embrace.
*Talitha means "little girl" in Aramaic