Old Time Religion

With the thoughts of pumpkin pie, turkey, and family and friends fresh in my mind I stopped a second to realize that on the night of Thanksgiving Eve, I found myself...in church...I had come home for a visit, nothing makes my parents more cheerful then seeing their son come home, yes when their son comes home with grandchildren it'll be better, but for now they'll have to deal...While I was home, in this lustrious town of just over 1200 people a unique event took place in week."A Community of Faith Giving Thanks", it read on my paper from church the Sunday prior. Well, without heed I walked into the church building on Thanksgiving Eve, and this is what I saw...It was a small church, one of the newer ones in the area. Called the "Cornerstone Church of God", while walking in I was greeted by the pastor the church, followed by the pastor of the Baptist church, followed by the pastor the Christian church. A unique setup before me, the groups of individuals scattered among the sanctuary, they were all of different assorts, some Baptist, some Christian, some from the Cornerstone Church of God, all of them...children of God.As the event began it took it's usual path. One pastor said one thing, followed by a prayer of another, and so on and such forth. Then came the most enjoyable time, a time of thanks. This time was for the bold in the building that night. This was for the ones who decided to give to the group what God has sent them along the way in the past year. And as it began with people deemed "older" by our society, it ended with those deemed "reckless" or "young". "I'm thankful for the harvest", said one."I'm glad my mother has beat breast cancer", replied another."I praise God for the times of bad, for through that we learn to rely on God", stated one of the areas youth.Another youth, who had captured the heart of the community said slowly, but surely, "I...thank God...and am thankful....that I......can use my legs." And one by one the people arose to the occassion, thanking God about the community, the people, the harvest, the crops, the vehicles, the local football teams run into the playoffs.Soon after one of the local pastors got up to give a "mini-sermon", saying to be careful what you pray for, you give thanks, and you pray for change be ready, and off in the group a woman would say, "yes, yes..." quietly, and a man in the back would sternly say, "amen!", as to agree with the pastor at the pulpit. The crowd was moving their heads with approval, as if it was a fuel for the man up front. The little children grew tired, for their bedtime had come on gone and their parents would hold them tenderly, knowing, that they were quick asleep.Another pastor came up to sing, bringing his little daughter with him and as he hit the low notes she would hit the high, "Not because of who I am, not because of what I've done, but because of who you are, because of what you've done", they could be heard singing in unison, capture the audiences attention and emotions.Eventually through this hour of worship, things would wind down to a close. The people were dismissed, saying, "Happy Thanksgiving" and shaking hands to everyone that they encountered along the way to the back, through which they would shake the hands of all three pastors, and walk out the door feeling ignited, and excited, and anxious for the days to come...As I sit in my classroom, being attacked daily by the rapid pace of society and moving about of the world I remind myself, whenever I need out, whenever I need to a restart...just give me some of that old time religion...

Resume Time

The kitchen is empty tonight. The house is quiet. I, the writer, sits behind my glass table acknowledging the darkness as it greets me at its usual time. i've been creating my resume lately, needless to say, it's taken a while. From jobs, to trips, to adventures, to tools, it all has to be placed on these sheets of paper. To be able to do this I had to visit many moments in my life. While doing so, I found a love story, go figure, a hopeless romantic like myself finding such a jewel...

If one could place a lable on the stereotypical midwest couple, the writer found one. There was a town, in the middle of the USA, it's population around 200, however, it did include a school. Though the school was small, the youth group in the local church was alive and healthy. There was a guy, and naturally a girl that were in this group. While the specifics are fuzzy, allow one to know this, they were best friends. Time and time again through the summers they could be found at the local church camp, they were also spotted twice in the ozark city of Branson, they climbed the mountains of Colorado, enjoyed the arch of St. Louis, and even went to the same school. Through the years, starting in high school one comes to believe they began the American "dating process". While couples around them bloomed and died, theirs stayed strong. When they graduated the true struggle began. One headed to the ozarks for college, another headed to the northern tier of Iowa. For four years each they were in school, still dating, though it was difficult, they never lost sight of each other, they never lost the love towards each other, they both realized God had them both in His hands. A few years into college and the big news had finally taken to the world. They were engaged. Soon afterwards they were married, and to this day they are still in love as they were in day one that they met in the little town in Northern Missouri, surrounded by corn and cattle.

The perfect story.

While one has come to the conclusion that thoughs are far and few between everyone should take joy in seeing the things deemed "impossible" become a reality.

Maybe this resume won't be that bad after all...

Dramatic Love...and a sandwich

Drama. Though the word makes us cringe when it applies to our own life, when we see it in the lives of others we term it as “entertainment”. I, the writer, must admit that drama has come in many forms for myself, both personally, and through other forms, or people. I was thinking about the drama of people my age, what causes, what motivates it, and I’ve come to understand the as fire survives off of oxygen, drama lives solely off of human emotions, and like that…the mind begins to wonder…

I find it fascinating that you can learn so much as nothing more then just a sandwich shop of your local town. You open the door and you are quickly immersed in smell of yeast, cheese, wheat, and rye. The music is soft, the conversations light and hearty, and there is always at least one extra plug-in for your own laptop.

I ordered my sandwich, grabbed my drink, and went to sit down. While I prefer to sit alone, away from people, so that I can watch, this day I had no choice but to sit next to other people. It was Sunday, lunch, I’m in the “bible belt” of the United States, needless to say the place was swamped. As I started to write my thoughts, and my homework assignments, someone, a man, must have seen my concentration and found it amusing to say the least. He came over and said, “You must be quite the writer, any faster and you might break your own keyboard.” I looked up at the random comment from a strange man. I have come to learn in the place I am now located in the United States, which random comments from random people are not uncommon and it best to be polite and engage in the conversation.
“Please, have a seat.” I said as I closed my computer for the moment. “Sorry, but I write, it’s what I do, this is my relaxing day of the week so I can just release.”
The man, probably mid-twenties, chuckled, “You’ve got a lot on your mind, interesting, what might it be?”
“I’m just unwinding from reality, that’s all.”
The man replied, “I completely understand, everyone needs those moments, Lord knows I need one right now.”
I could smell a possible story coming, or it was my Sierra Turkey sandwich that was nearly done, either way I inquired him about what is eating at him.
He took a deep breath, “Welp, I am finding myself in an interesting state of life. About a year ago I was dumped. It was one of those nasty breakups you here about. I was very upset with how everything went. A few months afterwards, translation, a year, a new person came into my life. She’s great man. She’s crazy as can be, quite the wild trip, but she’s great.”
While he was sharing this story, I was greatly wrapped into it. It’s a romance story for goodness sake, it’s what I live for I’ve realized. At the same time I had to interrupt, “Life goes like that though, doesn’t it? We win some, lose some, some terrible loses, but we have tomorrow.”
“You’re right, couldn’t agree more, but that’s only when life works perfectly. You see man, about a month ago I got this letter, it was from the girl that dumped me. While it wasn’t a “I miss you, I’m sorry for my mistake”, it was still a letter wishing me luck with life, and hoping all is well, and a small apology for breaking my heart. That’s strange in my book. I’m not sure how to handle that. Here is where I’m running into this problem. The woman I’m with right now…amazing. She’s a complete nut in the cutest way possible, and she warned me over and over that she has moments when she wants to just be alone. She comes with a lot of extra baggage, a lot. There have even been problems between us. Lately she’s been under quite a bit of stress with her job, because of that she has a tendency to close up a bit. It’s hard because I want to smother her with kindness, telling her that she’s great, etc…but I know I need to hold back. So I’m holding back from her at the moment, just letting her regain her footing in life. To add to that I’m terrified to write back to that other girl.”
“Why? Wasn’t she just trying to be kind?” I asked.
“Yes, I’m sure she was. I really like the girl I’m with, for some reason I really enjoy her, constantly. I’m so scared that if I engage in this other girl that something will trigger in me, not her, I’m sure she hasn’t over thought this one bit, but a trigger in me to where I will think, ‘perhaps she’s sending me a message that really she misses me’. I don’t want that dude, I want to be happy with my life at the moment and not stressed about that.”
“Hmmm…you know, we, males, run solely off emotions. So when there are two women in our lives that are pulling us in different directions, yeah it can get stressful. Tell me man, where are your priorities? Why are you even worried about the girl from the past, she’s just that, from the past? “
“I’m scared of making mistakes, I’m scared of screwing something wonderful up. I know my girlfriend is worried about this letter, even though she says otherwise, you can see it in her eyes.”
“Does she have reason to worry?”
“NO! Not at all. I was with that other girl for quite some time. It was great, I learned many things, I even relaxed in life. It obviously wasn’t it though. I thought that perhaps we just needed time apart, but you know…it was more then that, we weren’t it. Man, remember this, when you’ve been with someone for that long, it takes a long time to heal from all of the scars. I’m still healing. With that said though, there is a girl at work right now. Striving to make something of herself. Working hard, she may not enjoy it, but she works hard. And you know what? She likes me, for me, she knows I’m screwed up, she understands that, she accepts that. She’s like the perfect blend of a best friend, and someone to love. I know she doesn’t always believe it, but I’m going to continue to tell her till the day I die, she…is…worth…it…all. She’s worth the silence, the self-discipline, she’s worth the work. I want to work for it. I want to work for her. She needs to be shown that for a change in her life, there is a person who thinks she’s amazing, and even though life isn’t peachy, he is not going to leave her.”
I’ve come to understand that words only mean so much, and I wish that those reading this, could of seen his eyes. They were full of life, you know, that father who sees his sons coach making fun of him, or not playing him, you know that look in the eye? That’s what this man had. I can tell you hands down that if he had to, he’d lay down his life for the girl, in the most extreme circumstances, but that is how much he cared. After listening, I replied, “Dude, you love this girl. I don’t know you, but saying your words are true, you having an undying love for this girl. She knows it, don’t worry. If you love her, which I believe you do, just let the heart be patient, and by all means, feel free to pray.”
“[Insert Name], your order is ready!” The lady cried over the intercom to break the silence.
“I’ll let you get to your lunch sir, thanks for listening, and the input. I’m going to remember that.”
“Have a good day, as I shook his hand walking to the counter for my sandwich.”

“That”, I thought to myself, “is drama, having to come face to face with your own emotions, and trying to figure out what do. It was obvious that this man had made the mistake of allowing his past get the best of him. However, with that said, there is nothing more comforting then to see how much people can love one another. I wish him luck, who knows where his life will take him.”

How far will you go? How far would I go? What would you do if faced with that dilemma? Is that drama, or just a bad run with cards? Better yet, was the story even real?

One Last Time

I, The Writer, am sitting in a library, a decent amount of miles from what I once called "home". Ever person I know has said to me, one must be able to have ones own life before they can expand upon others. Though that may be wordy, I find it to be true. And thus, since November of 2007, I have embarked on a journey on finding my own life without depending on others. Are you ready to find what I have discovered? My only roommate I ever had put it best, "Sir, you are bitter." I am bitter. I am a very bitter individual. Though I should be alarmed by this, I had to ask myself, "How have I come to this part of my life?" I then went through my life, looking for examples and reasoning of why I had become this...entity, and I found a common denominator, people. Through tears I had come to realize I have been let down by people, a good chunk of my life. While growing up in the youth group of my own church, in the little town I once called. "home". I came to understand that you cannot depend on other people, for they will let you down. However, once I gathered myself, and became an "adult" and entered college, I took a change of pace and placed my own life in the hands of other people around me. To be hoenst, it was great, for two solid years my life was wonderful, I didn't have to think much, I was just another person and people were there to help. Tell me though, what happens when those people leave? What happens when you have built your kingdom on the cornerstone of other people? I have a simple answer to those questions. Once, the cornerstones are removed, just like with any house, your world, your kingdom will come crashing down, and you will sit amung the rubble and realize, in reality sake, you...have...nothing. It took very difficult times for me to realize this, and a lot of people in my life to leave, for good. My life isn't a movie, I've learned, people leave and they don't come back. There isn't happy endings. Now, because I know of all of this, the knowledge of which I have learned allow me to share something else with you. Yes, this blog, this one specifically is all about myself, The Writer. There are no stories, there are no metaphors, or people I've watched, this is the realization that in less then one year, I'm out, on my own, battling the real world, and real demons that take hold of it each day. I must admit, if you don't know who you are by the end of four years of "higher education", you are screwed, plain and simple. I've come to understand that I don't have a "core group" of friends, I've come to understand that I'm not a person who wonders to different houses throughout the week, being a "politician" in some instances (ironic, considering the Political Science degree). I understand that I am the true definition of a "loner". I have no place I need to be, I have no place where I come from. I walk into my classrooms unknown, and like the breeze I am the first one out. There is not a group that I walk with throughout my own forum. I am my own. I don't stay in one building longer then another. No one place is my favorite, though none of them I hate the most. I walk along the sidewalks of this campus at 4:30 in the afternoon, not knowing where I need to be, not carrying what I'm heading. I live for the moment, for what it's worth, for what is built into it. Most of those "moments" though, are quiet, more of a war in my head. When I get bored, I sleep. I've slept a lot in my new house in this sleepy town. I sit on the edges of my classrooms, I do not desire to draw attention. I do not want to be known by the masses. I do not want to be the center of attention. I've had my spotlight, and I no longer care. I live in a wasteland of corruption, hypocracy, some of which is my own. The air is thick of put downs and those deemed "higher then thou". The ground is dead from the footsteps of the drowning masses walking here and there as robots programed to place doors onto a new car, and nothing else. I'm blinded daily by the fake faces and masks of the next "happy housewife". I don't need to go to Ms. America to see the fake, shiney whites... I can walk across my campus. Sure, I could be a pain in the rear, I could cause problems, I could try to "change" this place. I could make myself feel "uncomfortable" and do something new. Reality is though... I don't care... I write... I sing... I sleep... I do my homework... I do what needs to be done on a daily basis knowing that in less then a year... I... am... free... I will continue to complain about the world around me, I will eat my turkey sandwiches...daily. I'll dream of an alternate world, where things go in my favor, where my attempts to please the masses and the individuals will be noted, and appreciated. I will always tell myself, "Someday, that ship I was told about, it's going to come in." Until then though... I am alone...

The Boy Who Was Looked Down Upon By Many

As I, the writer, sat in the corner of the room, noting the count of teenager filling the place, roughly twenty. I embarked on a spiritual journey.

I, the writer, am a religious man. A man who fears God of His justice, but loves Him for His gifts.

The room was that of an old sanctuary. A red carpet, stuco walls, old stained glass windows littered the walls. A few new windows from where the stained glass had been broke by bean bags, baseballs, frisbees, and pellet guns. A new stage arose from the from the of building. Guitars sat on one side, three homemade crosses on the other. A vivid reminder of why the teenagers were there that day.

In they came, one by one. Talking and sweating from the outdoor activity prior to the "worship" service. After a while of being seated and going over the annoucements and forewarns of the camp to come, the leader of the group grabbed his guitar and began to play a few chords.

Slowly, yet surely the group came to calmness, a sense of responsibility, or duty came over the group. As the man with the guitar began to sing, a transition of the group took place before my very eyes.

Though the room was one, in realities sake it was actually two. As the songs continued people began to change.

On the left side they stood up, as if it was "tradition". These students for the majority were "active youth". You know, the ones dragged to church every Sunday morning, early. Goes on all the mission trips and camps, the ones who together seem to enjoy themselves. However, be warned for those who are calm in the presence of God also carry with them a doubled edged sword used to cut down their fellow brothers and sisters. The left side took a physical stand, but were unable to get over themselves to note the rest of the people in the room.

The writer had never been one for standing up during "worship" or in other words, "singing". He chose to sit there and just watch, listen, meditate, and most importantly...relax. Is it not true that we should be able to be our true selves and enjoy the moments in which we dwell in the presense of God?

On the right side of the room were the "different" kids. The ones who sometimes came to church, sometimes didn't. A few that hadn't been seen around the area in months. A new girl from California, the skater kids, the rock kids, those who chose to be "different". They were no masks, they were obnoxious, and even rude. Some were just quiet, some were just afraid. But, they...were...real. No faces, if they had something to say to someone, they said it to them, directly. No talking behind ones back. In this setting though, they, were the outcasts. Their own brothers and sisters in the same room had spoken poorly about them. How they looked, how they sounded, the words they said, the clothes they wore. Though it was stated in the good book that Christians are to fight a war in which they cannot see, not flesh in blood. There, before the writer, was the civil war of cutting down one another. The teenagers of the right did not stand up during the singing, they did not raise their hands, they did not choose to be known. Instead they sat, quietly.

While all of this was going on, the natural division of the room, a strange soul appeared. He was short, young, looked down upon by many. Even made fun of by the some of the leaders of the church. He was loud, talkative, and while he had a kind soul, by accident he drove away many. The young man meant well, it was the fact that no one could see past what was up front to dive deeper in the boy.

To get a better grasp on the young man, he was not from the wealthiest of households. His jeans were faded, his shirt was not fancy. His ballcap he wore constantly (except in the church of course).

He...was...not...popular...

He was not like the left, he wasn't the athlete, the up front popular kids. He wasn't the one that the elders of the church asked about each Sunday. At the same time, he was not like the right. He wasn't quiet, he didn't stay seated, he didn't keep to himself. It was this individual that grabbed the writers attention.

As the writer sat in the corner of the room, watching all this unfold he watched an amazing action take place.

One of the boys on the right had grown incredibly quiet, perhaps even a bit troubled in his soul. The people of the left had looked over, but remember who he is and what he does, no one went over to pray for the young man. Then out from the corner diagonal from the writer came the boy that so many looked down on. He stood up, looked across the room, and in one brave action he took a step. He began walking from that corner to the young man seated. He wasn't looking for the spotlight, he wasn't trying to grab the attention away from God. He just arose and went (check out the book of Matthew, last chapter). Over to the boy he walked, and he kneeled next to him. Place his right hand on his shoulder and began to pray. The boy could of been asleep, he could of just been looking down, or he could of been troubled, as if God was laying something on his heart. Regardless the boy who so many looked down on, chose to follow the feeling in his heart.

The writer, while watching all of this took great joy in realizing something...

Though so many of the churchmembers today look down at those they do not know, or understand, though the leaders of the church may poke fun at those who desire to be "different", it is those who are "different" from the rest of the "religious elite" that will save our world and bring us back to the heart of worship.

Amen.

I...AM...TIRED...

I've spent a while here and there, talking of others, talking of love, hope, and other things that you cannot put a finger on, or actually feel. I guess that's the personality of I, the writer.



However...



After giving it some thought, I'm going to talk a bit about myself. No stories, examples, or ideas, just straight hard truths.



I've been back at my childhood home for the summer, my last one here, ever. Kind of hard to believe actually.



This is what I want to say tonight...



I guess I'm what you call a "anger Christian". Allow me to go into a bit of detail. Allow me to show you a glimpse of myself. I don't put up with fluff, I don't put up with emotions or how people feel. I can't stand the "Thursday night" experiences that so many have each summer at their own camps. I can't stand seeing good friends on Sunday with their bottles of water, and learn that they are dealing booze to minors. Don't worry, they made it to church on time. I'm tired of people looking at me and saying, "don't you judge me, God says not to."



I'm not judging people...



I'm inspecting fruit and let me tell you about this years harvest...



It's sad.



Sure the missionaries may be in other countries, giving water, both physically and spiritually, but this land, home, is drying up. This has nothing to do with politics as I for one attempt to avoid. I saw a boy nearly in tears tonight because he was helping with vacation bible school, but the older "youth" boys were making fun of him, telling him he was a failure and lazy and did no work (mind you when a lady of the church asked those same boys to clean a table after dinner, they all refused).



When did this happen? When did it all become that I am a "angry Christian"? It's always been there, but it's been hiding. I've been so wrapped up in school, dreams, girls and such that I've covered it up. Now that I know of the people I live around and the standards that they SHOULD be lifted to, but are not because it requires "work", the games are over.



On the same page though...



I'm tired of "Christians" knowing SO MUCH MORE THEN OTHERS (when in reality sake they have no idea).



CONSERVATIVE CHRISTIANS, GET THIS THROUGH YOUR SKULL. IF YOU DO NOT KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT POLITICS...DO THE RESEARCH BEFORE YOU POINT FINGERS (let it be known that my degree in political science will be done in January).



Christians...stop sticking together like robots in iRobot, and scatter like roaches when exposed to the "world". Stop killing your wounded, stop asking people to leave their leadership positions because they got a tatoo. Those with tatoos, don't be stumbling blocks.



The Body of Christ, get this through your head, stop worrying about yourselves so much and worry about the dead and dying outside your doors, flower potted soils, and old church bells.

People ask me everyday it seems, "Why are you so intent on moving to Colorado?"

My answer:
A. If I stay close to home the stressors of home, the problems I don't want to be part of, the pain that doesn't belong in my life, will come back and my life will go down the drain pouring everything I have trying to save one town.
B. If I stay close to where I go to school, the hypocracy, the apathetic crowds, all of it, will spiritually kill me...I'm tired, just tired. Tired of fighting constantly just to keep my faith.
C. I'm moving next May to get away, start over, I'm tired of having to keep track of people and their problems and having directly affect my life, and keep me from persuing my dreams.

I've made a lot of people upset from this message, blog, whatever. I'm sure of that. News flash! I don't care, I've been played, used, abused, kicked around, and taken advantage of. I'm done with it. I've been there for everyone all the time, for whatever it was they needed. People have not been there for me...period.

All of you, you needy, whiney, people. You're on your own until you grow up and learn to take responsibility and take care of yourself. Those who are breaking the law and in turn affecting my life, you will be found and you will be taken care of by the law, mark my words.

Cherry Mash

I, known as the writer, have not always been so "well off". For years it seemed that I was destined to live in poverty. My mother would take me to work with her, for you see, she couldn't afford a babysitter. Yes, we were that poor. So, before I started playing soccer, I went with my mom to work. She delivered packages, all size and shapes. Some hazardous, some...not so hazardous. To show my interest in science at an early age I memorized a book full of hazardous chemicals and what to do if one were to spill (one was required to evacuate the area in a 5 mile radius!). I never thought much of it, I loved traveling. My mother and I would easily tack on 100 miles a day onto her truck (now of which I proudly own), just driving through the nearest city. Some days we would drive to another city, 30 miles away! The concept of that always excited me, that and knowing that there was a McDonald's there with a built in fountain that glowed different colors. Many days we would eat the same thing, a peanut butter sandwich and a big mug of water. For a child that seemed very mundane, especially when all of his friends were eating candy bars and pop (soda, for you in the east)! I would cry and pout and even throw fits when mom told me no. She said it was bad for me (now I understand that it was bad for me, but I also understand the reality that she couldn't afford the candy). Some days when we went to places like banks or the eye doctor to drop off packages I'd smile real big to the nice ladies and they'd give me a sucker. "SUCESS!", I'd cry out to myself in my head, enjoying my sweet treat earned because of my playful and cheerful antics.

Then came payday...

You could always tell when it was payday for my mother. It always came on a Friday. Her and I would usually eat at a fast food place called "Taco John's". There I'd always get these things called "Mexi-Rolls", they were wonderful! After dinner though, we would go to a gas station nearby and get:
A. Pop!
B. A little candy thing called a "Cherry Mash"

Now, the Cherry Mash was a unique creation. The national headquarters of the company was actually located in the town that my mother worked in, so the candies were very cheap! They were a strange cherry paste filling, surrounded by chocolate and crunched up peanuts. One of the oldest chocolate candies out there (1917, I think?). I thought these crazy things were absolutely amazing. My mother enjoyed them and so did I. Granted, I wasn't too much of a picky eater at the time.

Friday nights were amazing for a child of seven years of age.

Then I started soccer...

Then my mother got another job in a bigger city...

One that included wearing slacks to work instead of jeans and overalls...

The truck stayed home...

Mom got a car...

I grew up...

Time passed by...

The old company closed...

The Cherry Mash company left the city...

I, the writer, came home for a while. Things have changed since then. I guess I might hang around "richer people" then I did as a child. When I visit the city I only see the rich part of it. The Starbuck's, and restaurants where you sit down to order. I don't see the stockyards, or the trains that pass carrying coal to the power plant. All of that belongs in the "bad part of town", as my friends would put it.
After getting off work one evening, my friend and I went to Starbuck's for a drink (and for him, hopefully a phone number). After leaving the establishment, hyped up on caffeine and hope (my friend at least, he got the number), I asked my friend if we could go see my mother, (as fate had it, my mother had gotten a job in a larger city. However, she was laid off and was forced to find another job. In the same smaller city as before, a mile away from her old job that I had grown to love). The poor boy was still star struck on getting this phone number that he easily said, "yes". And so we went...back to a place I called home.

My best friend, great kid, wonderful, will be a great husband. Does NOT work well with others, but does work well. Mechanical engineer, yes, the kid is that smart. He grew up in a household that was "well to do" as my family would put it. Also known as, his family had a decent amount of money. They own more vehicles then people could drive in the house (and unlike our family, they all ran). However, he is my friend and I enjoy hanging out with him (and eating all of his food). He had been golfing all day, so he looked fancy. He was driving his little black sports car also. Now, this car and this driver had NEVER been down to this part of the city.

After surprising my mother at work, she gave me a secret I never expected.

"You remember those Cherry Mash's we used to get? If you go across the railroad tracks, the Shell station on your right had them there for fifty cents!"

I about died...

So my friend and I scrambled to his car like Bo and Duke (pathetic, yes) and went across to the Shell station. Now, when I was down there I felt right at home, my friend however seemed to have felt a bit nervous. Granted this was 11:35 P.M. in the bad part of town. I asked him if he wanted to go into the store with me, he said no. As I left his car he lowered his seat, rolled up his windows, and shut his moon roof, as if he were afraid of something. I walked into the store and grabbed my Cherry Mash. I walked to the counter, paid with my debit card (I told you I lived down there), and left after talking to a pregnant woman with a giant beer can and a older man with three cartons of cigarettes, nice people. I got back into my friends car and a very, very nervous driver, whose eyeballs seemed to have come out of his head from watching every single movement around him, drove off...bound for our final destination.

I know for years I complained about where I came from, being poor, losing my first home because it was next to a RIVER! However, going back to that place, where I spent the majority of my childhood, didn't strike fear in me at all. I never even felt "sorry" for the people down there. I felt honored, I felt welcomed, I felt...

...at home.

P.S: For those of you who are wondering, sometimes after a long day of work...I find a Cherry Mash (there are wrappers in my trash) and just relax. :-)

Night To Ones Self

Well, I finally got it...I finally got the night to myself. Sadly it's due to the fact that work sent me home since I'm sick...give it up for the common cold! So because of that I've been sitting around my chair all evening just thinking, laughing at cartoons, and well...thinking...

 

The Thinker

Alone he sat, half past eleven as the summer breeze blew past him. He was alone, the parking lot empty, the machines that causes noise and product during the day...silent. Alone he sat, on a pile of wood. There was the older man, a worker through most of his life. A terrifying individual if you did not know him. He had a salt and pepper beard, it used to be all black. His hair had thinned out, a scab was at the top of his head, he cut it installing a air conditioner for his family the week before. Beside him sat a lunch box, the same lunch box he had, had for years. Before this blue and white box came along, he used an old black tool box to fit his meals into. The air was humid and warm, still nearly seventy degrees outside as he waited for his ride. His wife would be there shortly, for she worked in another factory just across the city. His shirt covered with sweat, his jeans slightly ripped, and his brow covered with dirt all he could think of was, "Is this all? Is this all my life is to be?" His eyes darkened with the fears of just the recent past. His wife had nearly died on him, multiple times, he had already lost one house because of disasters, his wife was laid off, and he, just the week before was looking at losing his own. You see, the plant he works at used to be open 24 hours a day, non-stop, and one by one the shifts of people were laid off, told to go home and never to return. Eventually it was down to that man, all hope had seemed lost and by the next day as he went to work expecting that pink slip...it never came. Another push of the breeze brought the man back to reality. A drop of sweat ran down his weathered face. His hands were cracked from constantly being dried out, his skin always a dark tan from being outside working on his house when he wasn't at the plant. His shoes had holes, his hat was faded and torn. His eyes, tired and bloodshot, not just from the work of the day, but from his life in general.

The constant work, the waking up early to fix his step-son breakfast. At one point the man would go to bed at 3:00am and would wake up at 7:00am just so his step-son would have a warm breakfast before going to school. Sadly though, the "thank you's" or "you're the best", never came. He had worked his entire life, and for what? Redemption of his past? Satisfaction of the present? Hope for a future? No one truly knows except for the man sitting on the wood, alone, waiting for his ride. Many would come to say that grown men never cry, however, the writer will state that when this man is alone. This man of 6'4" stature, salt and pepper beard, dark tan, weathered face, of roughly 290 pounds is alone on those nights, waiting for his ride, he weeps bitterly hoping that one day his ship will come in, that deep down he would be recognized for his accomplishments.

One day the writer will go up to the man, the thinker and place his hand on his shoulder and will say, "Thank you" and, "You're the best". After the writer goes through the process in which he is no longer a writer, but a thinker...

Apologies

I must admit that I'm not big into saying, "I'm sorry" for the things that I believe that I haven't done. However, due to information in the past few days, it's been brought to my attention that I owe some "apologies" to some people.

Allow me to also warn that there will be some slight "anger" in some of these words tonight. I have not had the best of weeks and I've been reminded lately why I am, who I am.

Here...we...go!

For those of you who don't know, recently I was involved in a relationship, yes...with a female. A few nights ago she called me early in the evening, which frightened me and caused me to realize "This isn't going to be good". As it turns out, someone, whose name I don't know, nor care to know, came up to her and warned her, stating that I was "manipulative".

I probably should of just brushed it off and gone on with life, and I tried, but later that night it really started to eat at me. And I came up with some thoughts about this. Remember, this came from a person from the university I attend. Emphasis on university and not high school.

1. I obviously have wronged someone in my three years at this university. I have said something wrong, did something wrong, or more then likely hurt one of their friends, or even themselves.

2. I obviously have failed a mission as a Christian that was directed at my campus and my fellow classmates.

3. I obviously have not made it clear how much I despise being involved with drama.

With that said, I'm going to take each one of these thoughts and dive into detail so that those taking notes, know exactly where I'm coming from.

A. My idea of going to college was to be able to start over, plant my true identity as an individual. Find my place in the world, make new friends, and avoid creating enemies. I have made errors, I have created enemies, and I have broken hearts. Understand that none of those things were meant to take place. If I could go back in time I would of gone to another university (Oklahoma University for you note detailed ones), I would of been a recluse, confiding myself to my schoolwork, and my job and not getting involved with the university at all, and finally...I would of avoided all relationships for the same fear I had in high school, being a disappointment and in the end breaking the heart of someone I love. Sadly, the fact is that the past is just that, the past. I've committed all those sins, I've done all that damage, on my own.

To those who became my enemies, to the school I never attended, and to the heart(s) of those that I've broken and haven't mended...I ask for forgiveness.

B. I think of the three things I noted, this one hurts the most. If you haven't caught on yet, I'm a Christian. Plain and simple. I'm up front, I'm sometimes brutally honest, but I refuse to wear masks. I won't do it. I did it in high school, happy and cheerful in the hallways and miserable at home. Just because I'm a Political Science Major doesn't mean I have to act as a politician would in public. To know that someone sees me as "manipulative" shows me something. It shows me that Christ never was shown through my thoughts and my actions. If I had placed Him first, problems such as that would cease to exist.

To Him who has given me a second life. To the One who expects me to shine as a "little Christ"...I ask for forgiveness.

C. Drama. I cannot stand drama, I hated it in high school and I hate it even more in college. It shouldn't exist. It people minded their own business and took care of their own lives, drama wouldn't be an issue.

If I told you, the reader, that I was not manipulative, I would indeed be lying. Please understand that in order to win in high school, to win the trophies and awards for what I did. I didn't have to be the super jock, and I didn't have to be the brains. I had to be persuasive and manipulative. That sounds very harsh, and it is, but I wanted to win. With that said though, allow me to make it very clear...my life is my life, if you are not part of my life, stay out of my business...I cannot tell you how frustrating it is to realize that some people around you just don't want you to be happy. They're "afraid" for other people, when in reality they're just bitter towards myself.

As many of you know, I spend my Sunday's in Springfield, away from Bolivar, away from SBU, and if you have ever wondered why...allow this to show you why. I cannot stand the drama. I put up with drama when I'm teaching/coaching in a high school, I put up with drama at youth camps, mission trips, and youth groups on Sundays and Wednesdays respectively. Drama surrounds me, but it does not have to be part of my life.

To those who seek to steal, kill, and destroy what is left of my life know that even though I may be bitter at the moment, for you...I shall pray for and in the end it shall be...I who asks for forgiveness.

I'm not in the best of moods, I feel like I have been betrayed, and most of all I am troubled by the fact that people cannot come up to my face and discuss their problems with me directly. I've been gossiped about behind my back, some of which took place in my own church, I have been dumped on a voice mail, through text messages, and most recently through a Facebook message. I really don't think I'm that "intimidating" that one would hesitate to say things to my face.

In conclusion, to those who take pride in knowing the things they say are painful to me, congratulations! You win, because as of now, I'm going to withdrawal myself. Withdraw from people on my campus, people in my community, and even people on the Internet. I have tried time and time again to befriend all those who I come in contact with. Each time it falls apart because of something I did, I said, or I thought. If I tend to make so many mistakes I obviously have become a problem in our society. May God judge me for my actions and thoughts, and who knows, maybe someday in a different land, when I have up and left this barren state of mind, things will be different, life will be different. Until then though, I plead with you...

...please do not cause anymore pain to my life.

Scars Part II

So...yeah, I was supposed to continue writing the night after the last...yeah...missed that memo, no worries though...I can continue on where I left off...

Now as stated before that I had engaged into a debate with another person (who did happen to be of the opposite sex) into who had more scars...

"You show me your scars and i'll show you mine, then you'll see how much of a better life you have..."

After I had fired that line towards her, she instantly got off the IM device...I thought to myself "that's what I thought, run from your problems"...I'm telling you, I was in the fighting mood that night.

What I didn't plan on was her returning online and appologizing for leaving in haste and how that was rude of her...

I was picking the fight...
I was being the jerk...
I should of been the one to say "sorry"....

However, I did continue the conversation with the individual, the thoughts of scars and such had long passed and we actually just talked. I spoke of how I knew her from the women's soccer team at the university. She was the goal keeper and WAS GOOD! Eventually as the nights passed on we continued to talk, I got to hear her testimony, how she became a Christian, and folks let me tell you this...she has scars. Instead of being so defensive with the "oh yeah, well in my life...". When I heard her story, I actually felt a part of my heart break. It was so sad, yet inspirational. She explained why she wanted to work with youth so badly. Also, she spoke of her facial piercings (tongue, nose, lip, ears...), which I found entertaining to say the least. We spoke of our homes, our families, she's not from around her, actually she's south of her...way south...like past Columbia (the country) south...she's actually from Brazil. WOW!

I find it funny that you don't really think of anything "special" between you and an another individual until they bring it up. I had been noting her facebook status (you know how you can change it to read "so and so IS [blank]" and fill it in with whatever you want). I noted one of them that caught my eye and I had driven home for the weekend, while online I asked her about it....and that's when I got the shock of my life...

A little backgroud on this girl (don't worry I'm not creating it to where if she reads this I'm going to die). She had been in a relationship 4 years ago, and was absolutely crushed when it ended, since then she had been hesitant to fall in love, to be in a serious relationship, the girl had been seriously hurt. Here was the problem, I was slowly reminding her of the things that she loved about that guy, at the same time though she was really enjoying me for me. There were differences but there were similarities.

What does a guy do in a moment like that? Cut and run? Or step up to bat...

I hit it out of the park...

One thing earlier had really stuck out to me and that was her spiritual strength. Anyone that can put Christ above everyone and everything else, has my vote.

I had to sit back for a moment, reading those words over and over, making sure that this was actually happening...and it was at the moment one of the strangest things happened to me...

Peace...

I felt it, all of sudden everything just clicked into where they were to be and it all made sense. For anyone else, in this setup, you'd shake your head and run away, but in my own personal life, it made perfect sense. I liked her, I actually liked her, her personality and heart for Christ had drawn me to her.

I held my breath and told her that, and wouldn't you know it, the feeling was mutual.

That was nearly three weeks ago.

I must admit, love has touched me. We were talking one night and we both had come to the same conclusion, love was not in the cards for either one of us. Don't you love it when you make God laugh?

I was expecting my parents to say,"What are you doing? You're going to fast!" And we've got that a few time already, but my parents reminded me of something. They dated for two weeks and then they were engaged. Not saying that is what is going to happen, but it's moments like that, that remind me that God doesn't always go by "the books". He works differently for each one of us.

I'm here to report that I have a best friend, someone I can trust, someone who came out to me and bluntly stated that she desires me to tell her my problems so that we can work through it together.

Understand that I fought my emotions many times over this. It makes complete sense that I don't want to make the same mistake twice. These things though I do know:

I've never felt so comfortable around one person
I've never felt so open around one person
I thought I knew what it was like to feel loved, I was completely wrong, this...this blows it out of the water
I am hooked to this girl, she's absolutely amazing, she's real, she has problems, issues, moments of sorrow and happiness.

A good friend of mine put it this way to me when we were talking one evening, "God allows us to have what we want, then He gives us what we need".

It is so true.

I am happy to report that I, the writer, am in love.

And the feeling is mutual...

Scars Part I

It's been a while since I last was on here to do some thinking and writing, and more writing then thinking because thinking in turn does not produce a lot of writing.

Did you get that?

I'm home for the summer. My last final was Friday at 10:30 am, I think I flunked it and then some, I might be having to take it over...oops.

I was offered a job as a teacher at the United States Space and Rocket Center in Huntsville, Alabama....I declined the offer.

I will be working at the daycare in Gower, give it up for little kids! Little kids for the win!
I will also be hoping to land a morning job elsewhere (Subway anyone?).
I will be taking college classes (6 hours) during the summer.
I will be getting certified to teach in the secondary school system in the state of Missouri (that's high school).
I will be doing some mission work in tornado stricken areas of southwest Missouri.
I will be assisting in leading a week long camp at the end of July in the middle of nowhere.
I will be working on soccer footskills and conditioning for next spring.
I will be turning 21, enough said there.

Those are my "wills" for the summer.

Most nights that I find myself on this blog, spreading my thoughts and observations I tend to note them from other people around me, or the people in my head (that sounds strange now, doesn't it?).

For the sake of tonight, because it is the end of the semester and my brain is nearly fried, I'm going to tell you a story of a boy, and yes...this does involve romance.

It's 1:35 am, I should so be in bed...

Sorry, I'm being sidetracked by my ADD this evening, also known as Starbucks (no that was not a paid advertisement...should of been though).

I recall as a kid how important it was to have scars. If you had a scar, man, you were the coolest, strongest kid around, no doubt. I never had scars, I didn't fall off my bike, I didn't get bit by dogs, I never had a reason to have a scar. I felt so isolated, so alone, everyone made fun of me because I had no scars and that obviously meant that I was...*gulp...a wuss. Everyday I would walk into school and two boys would be sitting there in their desks and one would exclaim, "Hey dude (remember we were fresh out of the 1980's), show me your scars and I'll show you mine" and they'd compare and tell their heroic stories of saving this person and that person, but staying away from the cooties. I never had stories, I tried to make some up, about how I lost my arm and I have a metal arm now (Terminator movies, anyone? Remember, 1990's...), and they kids would laugh at me because I was a pathetic liar...
Elementary school was rough...later in life was worse...
In high school the scars changed from physical scars to emotional scars, more so, or at least openly so with the girls. Each day it would seem as if a new drama would be unfolding...and it was heartbreaking to hear. He "loved her", she believed him, the next day a giant scar the length of her heart was showing through her eyes. It never stopped in high school, that was the game they played...I praise God that I had no scars from high school.
The college scars were the ones you were told to avoid, those were the ones that would last with you forever. I had been warned for years, but dang it! I wanted a scar! I got one, I got one right across the heart, pierced through and everything. I honestly thought I was going to bleed to death...however, I lived for another day....
That day finally came I must say...the scars had made me a "warrior", a fighter, one who avoided those things deemed "kind". I was looking for fight, and I had found one...the individual was speaking about "losing all the time", in my mind she had no idea what "losing" was all about..."My scars will show her", were my thoughts.
I engaged the individual, putting her on the spot. A verbal argument broke out, back and forth, and by the end it all came down to a simple dialog:
"You show me your scars and I'll show you mine, then you'll see how much of a better life you have..."
If only I had thought before I spoke...

This will be picked up tomorrow evening...for the sake of the fact that it's 2:00 AM IN THE MORNING!

Night of Memories

The unusual cold air burned a scar across their cheeks as they gazed into each others eyes. Both were shaking...was it the cold? Or was it the nerves? Regardless of the fact they both began to laugh. The sign of something better to come. The pair stood in a street of a small town, the places were closed, the street was clear. The moon shined down on them as the arctic breeze sliced through the moment. Each time one of them spoke the other just gazed into their eyes and instantly wondered to themselves, "Is this happening?" The question of the evening was "why"? Why had he continued to talk to her? Why did she continue to reply? They had discussions that lasted through the night, into the morning. Had trips on days of sun and mornings of fog. He was coming away from the scars that lay from his past, she was coming in with a single mission with no intent on living the moment she was in at the time.

The writer sat across the street, clinging tight to his jacket watching  the two converse into the morning. Both of them had classes in the morning, but neither would leave. He never heard, "Well, I better get going", never a "I had fun but I need sleep." Instead the writer heard, "I am not tired one bit", "Why did He bring us together?" The questions echoed through the night.

She would bring her head down for moments throughout the night, each time conversing with the One that brought them to the moment. Seeking answers, terrified of mistakes, talking of the future, fearing what might be true. He stood there watching her, thinking of the dreams of the past, the woman in there he'd never seen before. The same woman staring him in the eyes through the night. "What do we do?" they asked one another. By the end of the conversation neither had an answer except, "Not now, it is time to be patient and see what He does." And with that they boarded their vehicles and went their separate ways.

As she drove toward the east, moon still shining bright only one thought crossed her mind as it raced into the night, "God, could it be? Is he it?"
As he drove toward the west, moon still shining bright only one thought crossed his mind as it raced into the night, "God, could it be? Is she is?"

The writer put his pen in his pocket, folded his book of thoughts and began to walk along the street asking the simple question, "Did I just see creation before my own eyes?"

The wind howled, the clouds left an empty sky, the tempo had changed, a book was closed. He lied in bed, thinking of what just took place, knowing that tomorrow was going to be a long day, but counting the blessings of the night he just lived. As he drifted to sleep a final thought slipped through.

"Hey Dad,
I'm scared, I think You just rocked my world. I know not what to expect, but I trust your guidance. Bless her for Your wonder radiates around her. Thank You.
Amen"

She jumped into bed, wrapped the covers around her, took a deep breath and looked to ceiling as if bringing upon a conversation between her and her Creator.

"Father,
I desire to honor You. I do not understand completely what is going on. I thank You for my brother in Christ. His uniqueness is something of which I've never witnessed. Only You can show us the way to take. Bless Him for his desire to grow, understand, and please.
Amen" 

The Lone Guitarist

Roach, Missouri—I tell you the truth in saying that I would not expect to find myself here in a town named after an insect that can survive up to three weeks without it’s head (or after one of the judicial members of the state judicial system). However, I find myself in the midst of college students and adults alike, wondering what exactly is going on inside their head. Curiosity is overwhelming in so many instances, perpha that also includes moments like this.

It was a long time. College students from my home church and myself worked literally from 900 a.m. to 400 p.m. in the rain and the clouds and the wind, and for what? For others to be able to enjoy God’s gifts that He has given them. We are currently at a camp called Windemere. It is a large camp, designed for large groups. These past few days we’ve been blessed with middle school students from the St. Louis area. To give you an idea of where I am, think of where Lake of Ozarks is. Yes, right there is where I am located, but enough about location, more about the moment.

I’ve come to meet many individual. New strangers, you know how it goes. Can’t resist a new face. They come from all over there area just to be able to enjoy themselves, to be able to work for God in order to inspire others to strive to be like Him.

I’m in the middle of worship at the moment.

A lone guitar and roughly 17 people in a single room singing whatever song is placed upon their hearts. As for myself, my worship comes many times in the form of words. Such as this, it allows me to express the joy of the situations that God places me in each day of my life. It’s been interesting, I’m very sore, I even re-dislocated my shoulder last night, very sore to say that least. However, for the moment I’m going to sit back, put my own life aside, and try to describe to you, the reader, the moment of which I am sitting in.

“Give us clean hands, give us pure hearts, let us not lift our souls to another…” the words echo the room as the young, the next generation to be in charge of the world lift up their offering, a offering of worship to their Creator. Some off key, some with voices that could find themselves on recording contract, all are together as they offer what their God has given them, in show of appreciation and thankfulness.

The Lone Guitarist

A semi-circle of people surround the lone guitarist. In a small room, on the edge of the camp in general, almost giving the feeling of the underground churches that are dotted throughout the world. In this corner of the world they are safe in the darkness that surrounds them on this quiet evening.

As the lone guitarist transitions into another song, a moment of silence fills the room. The reminder to those who dwell in it, what exactly dwells in them. In a moment that may feel like that of the Pentecost, the silence falls over the crowd, allowing them to meditate on the things they have been given, and the trials they have faced. The group continues to sing throughout the night, a stranger sits back behind the group; quiet, not saying a thing, in his hand his own “Good Book”, flipping through pages as if he was searching for answers, comfort, or words of wisdom to better himself.

The writer makes a note for the evening, a note of the different types of ways in which one may “worship”. Some by singing, and through the raising of hands, others through reading from what they believe will set them free, and yet some, such as the writer, sit back and analyze the crowds and meditate on what God has opened their eyes to see in His own creation.

One young girl, sits on the side of the room, not singing, but instead searching through a book, though it may not be the “Good Book”, it is in turn a book. A book of songs, a book of psalms, a book of hymns, a book of praise, she diligently searches through the pages, such as that of a man searching his flocks for the perfect sacrifice. In these pages, she finds written the hearts of many, praising and pleading with their Creator. Her finger marks the page of “the song”, waiting for it to be played by the long guitarist. She sits back, a sign of relief on her face as she has uncovered the face of her God.

A laugh here and there breaks the silence of the crowd as the lone guitarist switches keys and songs. And as he begins to play, the young girls face lights up with joy. Knowing it is her song she picked out, it’s the perfect offering.

And where many would say it’s just to her the “perfect song”, the writer makes a startling discovery. The group, the semi-circle of the next generation begins to sing this song, and it’s not just a low tone of music, instead it is a raise of volume, of pitch, the whole group in unison begins to sing. And where many may say it’s just them “singing”, the writer understands finally. It is their prayer, it’s the desire, it’s their plead with their Creator.

“Halleluiah, grace like rain, falls down on me, halleluiah, all my sins are washed away, their washed away…” The rain of the day had ceased to be, however the pouring of another rain, a type of water that will make one to be no longer thirsty, falls inside. Inside this lone room, this small corner of the campus, this place with four plain walls, with the semi-circle of what is to come, and the lone guitarist sitting among them. It is there that the rain falls, it is there that many are reigned down upon, not by the physical realm of rain, but the eternal water of life.

Finally, as the night draws to an end, the pinnacle of the evening has come and gone, but the lasting affects are still felt. As if it was a staged timeline, in a finally move to pray (the writer has chosen to believe that singing to a Heavenly Host is indeed a prayer and not just song).
“My heart will sing, how great is our God, how great is our God…” The final praise, and with those voices a final promise is made to the still night and to the world that desires to experience what they have been shown tonight.

“…and all will see, how great is our God…”

Troubles of People

It's late.
I should be asleep.
It's been a long day.
Yet the eyes of those who hurt lay deep in my mind.

Throughout these past few months I've really come to enjoy praying for others. It seems refreshing, it is a great way for me to sit back and watch God do, what God does.

Then I had class today...

I'm usually not big on putting things out there for others to look at and say, "Can you pray for this person." But I saw someone today and their pain broke me apart.

They've kind of had it rough lately. I'm not going into details because I don't know all the details. What I can tell you is this:

A person in my class asked them a question about something that they enjoy. Through the conversation a sharp note was hit during the discussion. Now, this person we are discussing at the moment tends to be alert and on the ball of their life. Not a lot of emotion shown in the class, except laughter. I tell you the truth, when that note was hit. The moisture increased in her eyes, the voice got really soft, and for a moment I actually thought they were going to cry.

It broke my heart.

Something that their life had been all about, gone. Once again, I don't know all the details, I'm just calling them as I see them. May I ask for some help though? Can I do that? Can you pray for them, and their hurting heart?

People Watching

I am someone deemed as a “people watcher”. My favorite people to watch are young couples in love. For one I can never stop laughing at the quirks that they have to offer, and at the same time I can be fascinated by the ability of humans to engage in “love”. What that may mean exactly, I have no idea. I digress however to talk of two “cute couples” I saw of this past week.

Remember of course that I would never use their names on this, because they may not realized that I was actually watching them. Keeps me safe at least.

I walk in between my classes throughout the day. Granite they are in the same building, in fact the same hallway. However, so I don’t get bored during the day I walk among the people, mainly to see what trouble I can cause. In the case of this week though, love was in the air so I could watch that instead.

Triangle Stairwell

They were a floor below, the building divided in two. The top of the political science majors and the bottom of the computer information science majors; the business majors floated between the two. The unique thing was the one indoor stairwell that led from top to bottom; it was in the form of a triangle. There was a hole that formed from the downward spiraling stairwell. At the base floor was three chairs that students could sit in and “study”. Sometimes one could find an athlete fast asleep in the chair, other times it would be the professors engaging in “intelligent conversations”, also known as talking about the latest episode of “Lost”, and of course you could find the couple holding close to each other dreaming of the future as the world passed them by through the doors outside.
Today the athlete was at an athletic event, the professors were actually teaching while their TiVo’s saved their life, and all that was let was the couple down on the chairs. The three chairs themselves formed the shape of a triangle also. One would come to believe that this building was actually designed for the mathematic majors and not so much the political geeks. In the chair on the right sat the man, leaned back breathing in the oxygen his life had blessed him with, if you followed the leg that laid upon his own you would find his, “significant other” leaning back against her chair. There was a hole in her pants, close to the knee. It’s the new rage these days, a time warp into the ‘80’s and the “grunge thing”. The young man enjoyed placing his hand, which was soon gathered to be cold, on her kneecap, just to see her squirm and smack him, while laughing of course. For a while, they sat in that said style.

After a while, one would come to believe that poor woman’s leg had grown tired as she curled it back up to her body. He leaned forward as if to engage in a conversation, she began to pick at the hole in her jeans. In a sign of commitment and love, perhaps the ritual that humans take for the passage of marriage, she placed her torn pieces of jeans on his hair. She laughed, he blushed, eyes met, and the writer nearly puked. They sat in this style for a while, both leaning forward, feet on the ground, her left hand embraced by his right hand. There is something to be said about young adults who enjoy holding hands with the one that desire, things get awfully quiet. Therefore, the writer sat back waiting for a said move, but nothing took place. And for a moment, you would believe that the couple did not breathe as they looked into each others eyes, his fingers walking the length of her palm. It was quiet, yet the love for each other screamed through the halls, and up the stairs, so that everyone knew they were together and they were in love.

Sadly, yet surely she looked at her watch and moved to stand. He followed suit. They arose and she explained the plans for the day. With a gentle, yet passionate kiss, she walked out the doors into the rushing world. He walked up the stairwell triangle and sat down next to the writer.

Hands Behind the Table

The young woman sat behind the table, staring down the long passageway. Classrooms on both sides, and she sat in front of the offices that directed the classrooms. It was her job to ensure that papers were taken care of, and the professors did not have a mental breakdown; during working hours at least. It was usually very lax, and every so often the writer would come in and have a seat across from the young woman on a bench.

Eventually, as timed past on another person would join the young woman and the writer. He would come in and grab her laptop and begin to search within the internet. This took place for some weeks, and on occasion she would show that man photos of her home, far away from the location that the were currently located sitting behind the table. For weeks the writer would be entertained by their company, and the time at which the young woman would have to work seemed to past by quicker and quicker each time.

As time moved on, the chair that the man sat in next to the table seemed to move closer to table; or even more importantly, closer to the table. It finally came to in this past week as the writer was sitting on his bench, laptop on…lap, typing his thoughts away; he noticed the table grew quiet. The noises that are associated with the life of a college one grows used to, it’s when it becomes quiet that someone believes something is up. This strange phenomenon took place with the writer. He raised his head in alert to quietness, and there they sat. The young woman and the man sat closer to each other then ever before, and in the midst of them growing closer, his hand came to rest on her leg, her eyes rested in his, and with the gentle movement of one arm her hand came to lay in his. The quietness came as the two realized the common ground they shared, the interest they both knew, the love that they had for each other. The writer made no noise, almost as if watching deer in the pasture, just made mental notes and thought of what to write for the next day, while the couple held onto each other from behind the table.

Thoughts of the End

Love surrounds us. I was blessed this week by watching 2 ½ relationships form. The ½ will be discussed at a later date when it becomes a full. Though myself, the writer, finds himself alone in the evenings, knowing that those around him are happy. Sometimes that feels better then being the only one with someone else. I chose to think of it this way. The more people around me that fall in love, the more I have to write. Remember this though, the time that these writings grow cold and quiet. The writer has no more say because his stories have finally hit home.

Winter In Gower

Weekend to Myself

TGIF,

I can say for a change in my life, at least from the past two years, that I am busy. I am tired because I've been running around so much, I am sore from being outside half of that time, and even though it doesn't always feel the greatest, it feels wonderful to me.

I think it really hit me Wednesday, we had just ended practice and the last girl had left, I sat in my truck to leave, and it hit me, "If I had continued to live the life I had been living prior to these past few months. I would not have Pleasant Hope, High Street, new friends, the Truth Project." None of it would of existed because at the time I was settling for less then what I was capable of doing.

It's never felt so good to be truly worn out.

I've got the weekend to myself. Study some tomorrow, work on a research paper tomorrow, clean my room, and that's about it. Sunday I'm going to High Street (I wasn't there last week so I'm anxious to get back), after church I'm either going to my aunt and uncles house or Panera (whichever will take me...haha). That way I'll be in Springfield for The Truth Project and not have to drive between here and Springfield multiple times. Sunday should be a relaxing day for me, either place of where I go.

I want to say that God answers prayers. A few days ago Coach M and myself were worried that we weren't going to have enough girls to have a team this season. We were dealing with 10 girls, we need at LEAST 11. Well, that day, while in class, I wrote down a simple prayer, "God here my voice, send us players." That was on Wednesday. By next Monday we're looking at about 17, and that doesn't include two of our players already that'll be gone with show choir. That was a huge sigh of relief for both of us. That was something huge that stuck out to me.

I want to type more, but my eyes aren't wanting to stay open. Warm bed, cold air, John Mayer, setting up perfectly to ship me off the sleep. Don't worry, those 2 or 3 of you that actually read this, the "mushy-gushy" stories are coming back. However, let me get my feet planted and all, and figuring out what is going on with life for the moment.

Life

I feel real...

That sounds odd, doesn't it?

However it seems true. I've noticed while taking inventory of my life in the past, that I was trapped. I wasn't really living, I was stuck in a moment where I wasn't myself and I was doing things that others wished I would do.

Things have changed...

God has blessed me recently with many opportunities in the upcoming future.

1. God's will of course, but I've been offered an assistant coaching position in the high school I'm currently at (Pleasant Hope). I've taken the offer, we'll see if they would like me on staff there.
2. Many mission opportunities back home, mainly a few camps here and there.
3. There is a possible job opportunity in Nebraska, yes it involves corn, but it pays well and gets me traveling a bit.
4. It's a fun and harsh realization that next semester is my last semester on campus in Bolivar. Next December I'll be moving to Springfield to finish out my student teaching.
5. I have signed up to be a staff leader at a children/youth camp called Kamp Kanakuk next summer, we'll see how the interview goes.
6. Mission opportunity back down in New Orleans next summer, I don't know if God has called me down there, so we'll just wait and see.
7. By the end of the summer of 2009, that's it. It's over, college is done, I'll have a job and by next August I will be teaching in my first classroom.

Life goes fast...

Each day is like a dream...

Who knows what today may hold...

Will write later

Long Weekend

Good morning!

Is God not good!?!? I've been awaking lately in times of peace and a feeling that He is in control. It's a great feeling, how I wish that I was not a flawed human that is subject to turning back on Him. I strive to do my best, but I know that I will have my problems. It feels so great to know that I am redeemed by His grace. I woke up today, 1 1/2 hours earlier then usual, and I was able to meditate, it was wonderful.
Life is beautiful, sure the world outside is cold and dead (we call that winter), but the sun hit my face this morning while I was walking to class and I just knew it was going to be a good day.

I am going home.

I am leaving for home this afternoon, actually I'm going to University of Central Missouri for the evening for something called the "AfterDark Project", please pray for that, I have a feeling that it's going to be insanely awesome! I'll be going straight home after that, spending Thursday doing homework (all of it) and hang with my mentor. Friday I have an appointment with the orthopedic surgeon back home to try, once again, to figure out what's going on with my hip. Saturday at 4:30 am. I'll be leaving for Salem Missouri for a rally race down there with one of my best friends. I'll be there all day, then I'll go back to Gower, church and lunch on Sunday, then I'll be driving from Gower to Springfield for bible study and then another chaotic week begins.

Man I miss the busy life!

God is good!

Will post more later, but now the battery is getting ready to croak.

My Weekend

Howdy,

Ok, no story, no dream, no vision, no daydream, I want to talk about my weekend, starting with Valentines Day all the way to today...yes, for a change I am quite happy with my life.

Wow, where to begin...this is going to be kind of lengthy.

I recently started going to a church down in Springfield, and it's amazing! I mean it blows me away, and I've befriended the College Minister (Matt), and on V-Day he met me at a cafe type place and we talked for 3 hours. I mean I got to spill out everything that was bothering me with life, my confusions, my misunderstandings, my life, all of it, and he listened and just talked me through it. It set alot of peace upon me. I went to the apt down in Springfield to a V-Day party, it was so cool just to chill with all these new people, to realize there is so much more to life then just SBU and the people there. There are people out there that desire to know God and not just accept what is "skin deep", it was so cool. 30 people in the apt, rent-a-cop came over, we gave him cookies and he left, it was so much fun! I got back to my dorm around 1200, I crashed and Friday hit.

Friday itself was really just another day, until the evening. I was supposed to go play poker at one of the guys apt in Bolivar, we got there and played Rock Band from 800-100, it was insane. I did vocals the whole time (yes I was horse the next day), who knew I could hit the notes from Coheed and Cambria (some of you will get that). It was so much fun, in fact after 100 hit we decided to watch Red Dawn, we cracked jokes the whole time through...haha. At the same time I was on my laptop on AIM talking to a person. As we talked through the night I asked how they got to SBU and all and they told me that they couldn't tell me over AIM because it was so lengthy, and asked me if I'd join them for lunch on Saturday to talk it over. I agreed.

I didn't get in bed until 430am Saturday...haha. I got up at 1100, showered, cleaned up, cut my fingernails, and went to lunch at El Rodeo in Bolivar. She picked me up in her truck (yes she drives a truck, and YES it is a manual...) and we went to lunch. Lunch was AMAZING! She looked at me and said, "Tell me about your life, I want to know about you..." so I told her the life...all of it. When I had finished it was her turn. I don't think I've ever had such an amazing lunch before, I mean it was truly amazing. I finally met someone that understood it, that understood what it's like to grow up hard. She finished her story, which was a tough one mind you, and then looked at me and said she still gives thanks to God for getting her to this moment. It was incredible! Someone had such a rough, broken life and yet their desire for Christ continues to grow. This was just Saturday. We left and she dropped me off at the dorm (before you ask why she's driving, my truck had some "issues" and wouldn't start) around 200ish I do believe.

I cleaned my room, did my dishes, everything for the rest of the evening. When she got back online we continued to talk all the way until around 300 Sunday morning. Remember the sunflower story? I want to show you an exert from our conversation that night,

"Its like when you were listening your eyes were piercing through me in a sense that i could feel relief, that i could tell you anything, and i love that, and thank you for that."

She had decided to try the church I had started going to, with that we went to bed to get our 5 hours of sleep, haha. I awoke finally, and got out of bed Sunday morning.

I got to her truck this morning, she looked at me and asked, "Have you had breakfast this morning?" I said, "no", then noted that there were two bottles of juice and two breakfast sandwiches...haha. We got to the church...

...She really liked the church, a lot.

We got back to the dorm so I could get my bowl of Mac & Cheese and get my Daytona 500...haha. Around 615 we left again though and went back to Springfield to the apt from the V-Day party to continue with this event called, "The Truth Project". Incredible! Made my head hurt...haha, again. Finally we got back to campus around 900, she was tired, and I was hurting too.

Got to my dorm, ate 6 hotdogs, tried my truck one last time...it works again, spent some time telling others of my weekend, then sat down to homework, my nightly Kim Possible, and this.

There really is no reason or "moral" to this story I write about my weekend except for a few things:
1. I am happy
2. I smile when I wake up
3. I've lost my spiritual walk these past 2 years
4. I've met someone special, someone unique, someone who "gets it"
5. I might have possibly, and I mean possibly, got a lead on a house in the future after I graduate...that's a huge MIGHT, but I'm praying about it.
6. I've given everything I have to God, and He has truly blessed me
7. I look forward to tomorrow, Tuesday, this whole week
8. I desire my Lord again, what a nice change
9. I've made so many new friends
10. BEHOLD THE POWER OF MY GOD AND HIS LOVE THAT HE SHOWS TO HIS CHILDREN IN THE MIDDLE OF LIFES STORM!

V-Day Special (A Little Late)

Due to my late evening night last night I'm writing in the middle of one of my classes.

Throughout the day yesterday, after dealing with a broken truck and a problem with my bank account, I tended to allow my mind to stray here and there about the ever imposing Valentines Day.

My mother called me at 12:32 am. to wish my happy Valentines Day, I nearly threw up. I wished her the same and let her on her own, and then I started to think about my parents.

They met in 1992 at McDonald's (romantic I know). They married in about a month later, and before I know it there is a very large man in my house who I know nothing about.

However, the story isn't about me trying to figure out Jim and why he was around, the story is more designed around my parents first Valentine's Day.

When they married my parents had nothing, I mean...nothing. Very poor, struggling to make it, mom had just declared bankruptcy, the whole deal. Because of this they didn't have money to spend on each other, this included V-Day. Now, my parents worked night shifts so they would get off somewhere around 1200 am. and 200 am.

To show their love for each other and knowing that they're there for each other my parents would get together after work and drive to Wal-Mart. Inside they would go searching through the Valentine's Day cards and pick out the ones they think that each other would really enjoy. Jim would look for a really cute looking card with lots of writing, hoping it said something sweet. My mother would find a card that was simple yet thoughtful, lacking as many words as possible because Jim struggled with reading. And they would grab those cards and walk over to each other in the isle and show each other the cards. They would laugh over the cards, and finally close them, put them back, and walk out of Wal-Mart hand in hand with a more positive outlook on life.

My mom called me at 12:32 am. to wish my Happy Valentines Day, their first V-Day together was in 1993. She was talking to me with one hand on her cell phone, her other hand was held onto Jim's as they walked out of Wal-Mart together...

Tears of Ice

1:00 a.m, again. I've watched lately as my life has seemed to increase in speed. Time flies, whether you're having fun, or not. I sit here tonight, noting the ice outside, the frozen world around us and the silence that has fallen upon this Missouri town.

And before I know it, my mind begins to slip again...

The man awakens to the sun shining through his window on a January day. Slowly he powers himself out of bed, into the bathroom the hot water runs down his neck and back. A warm reminder that he still is alive. He stands there for what seems eternity until finally he turns off the water and the cool chill of his house rushes into his once utopia of heat. The clothes come on, not an orange, not a glass of coffee, nothing as he grabs his coat and steps out the door.

The coldness of the day bites his face, another reminder of his life that lays before him. The man ignores his car, calls his work and begins to walk. Through the snow he steps, noting the artscape in front of him with the ice carefully placed throughout the trees, allowing them to twinkle in the sun. A gentle breeze and the trees move and creek, a winter equivalent of wind chimes in the summer wind.

He continued down the road, past his town, a "hello" and "good day" to the people as he passed by. The man had made it to the other side of town as the wind began to blow a little sharper, almost as a sign to turn back from what lied ahead.

Up the hill the road lay on, a turn to the left, through the gates the man was welcomed by the stones of the dead. He walked row to row, not because he didn't know why he was there, but because he was trying to stall from what lied ahead. Towards the end he stumbled upon the freshly turned earth, now deep with permafrost, it took him back...

He stood there, tears in his eyes, reciting his poem, his life story, the things that were most dear to him, inbetween words he took deep breaths, holding in the emotions that lie inside. The world was watching him, he couldn't stumble now, he'd come to far...

...the thought of that day shook the man as the breeze awoke him back to reality. "I am not strong enough", he spoke within his mind as he dropped to his knees in the snow. The coldness filled him from toes to head, from mind to soul as he wept over the one he lost. "How am I to continue God? Why did you do this to me? Who am I but a humble servant?", he screamed aloud as the birds fled and the sun shined.

The man slowly collected himself as he stood in front of the stone of the one he loved and in his mind recalled the best gift he ever received from his lover. In the midst of the summer, they were driving across the country side, a wonderful Sunday drive. They parked in front of their newly bought house, a new life, a new family they believed. In her pocket she reached and pulled out a necklace, nothing special in the eyes of the world, just a leather strap and a wooden cross in the middle.

"To you my love, as a reminder of where we stand, and who we serve in our work and in our love. May this remind you each morning as you awake what we have been blessed with, and with this on as you wrap your arms around me at night may you be reminded of what love is.", she spoke as she put the necklace on him.

As the man recalled the memory, he reached into his pocket and out came a worn leather strap and a worn wooden cross. The worn spot on the wood from rubbing it with his thumb as she laid in the hospital those last days. He held onto it, as a tear left his face and dropped onto the wood.

"To you my love, as a reminder of where we stand, and who we serve in our work and in our love. May this remind you each morning as you awake what we have been blessed with, and with this on as you wrap your arms around me at night may you be reminded of what love is.", he spoke softly as he laid the necklace on her stone.

With a sigh and the wiping of the final tears the man arose in the winter wind and began his walk back to his house, to their house, and prayed that it be warmed by the presents of her love.

It's the little things from the ones we love that remind of us of what we have. It's not the fancy rings or the big houses. It's the basic necklaces, the homemade cards, the hand written poems, and the homecooked meals.

It's 1:32 a.m, I find myself shivering because of the mans cold he walked through. I can only hope that we can walk through lives cold and dying moments in hope of a brighter day of basking in the Son.

Sunflower Eyes

As I lie here at night, finding myself wide awake at 2:00 am, my mind begins to wonder from future, to now, from now till the past, noting the changes and challenges of things that everyone must face through life in order to become who they are today.



I began to trail away into another land, a land of flowers all stopping and staring in the same direction, and the child that needed them more then anything.

The time of the sunflowers.

Hot July in Kansas, nothing can really describe the sensation of what it's like. Hot at night, hotter in the day, tea in the afternoon, coffee in the morning. This was a time when parents didn't worry about their kids playing outside in the heat, before SPF was nearly triple digits, when kids went out to have fun.

The boy loved going outside, seeing his friends, discovering new things, and wondering who really did create the railroad tracks by his house. Though none of the boys noticed it, everywhere they turned were flowers, sunflowers to be exact. The nickname of their state held true with each breeze from the south. The flowers and their stalks swayed with each light push of the invisible hand around the boys. However, none of them thought much of the flowers, except one.

He had a secret with the flowers.

As the boys left to go to their homes for the evening, he would walk back into his own. His mother and himself would sit to the meal in the house. The boy talked of his day with his friends, his mother nodded up and down in acceptance of her sons learning. However fear was in her eyes, uncertainty in her voice as she slowly watched the clock chime in at 7, at 8, and finally at 9. By the time 9 had hit the boy had been sent to bed. No air conditioning in the house so he opened his window. The child loved his window, it was his portal to the world outside, his escape. He would sit there on the edge of his bed for hours just watching the outside world pass him by.

The clock struck 10:00 pm.

The silence of the summer night was ended with the slamming of the front door, the dropping of a box and the sound of the bottle hitting the table. The boy knew what was next, the talking escalated as his mother tried to hold her own, but he overpowered her, he raised his voice, she fell to the ground, and the whole time the boy sat in his room staring out the window. As the voices grew louder and the walls started to shake the boy whispered out his window, "Are you there?" The movement of the flowers showed him their attention.

"Hey guys! I've got to be quiet, mommy and daddy are mad again. I don't know why, but someday it's going to end and we'll be a happy family again."

And for the rest of the night the boy would share his stories of the day with his closest friends, his family of flowers for the night. Knowing that the next night they'd be sitting there waiting for him again, waiting for his voice, his stories, his happiness of the simplicity of his life because he knew nothing different.

Eventually the flowers disappeared and the boy cried himself to sleep those lonely nights. The harsh reality of knowing in his mind that nothing last forever. The flowers were gone, there was a empty seat at the table at all times now in the kitchen, the boys world continued to crumble around him.

13 years later the boy found himself talking to another person, a "real friend" and while he was talking and laughing in the summer breeze she looked at him and said, "You have sunflower eyes, they're beautiful, have they always been that way?" The boy swallowed his pride and sat down next to her and began to describe his first friends, his true friends, the flowers that never left during the summers, they protected him from anything bad that happened in his home. Looking in his mirrors today remind him of who was with him in the past.



3:00 am. I'm still sitting here thinking about sleep, yet nothing is coming...who knows...maybe I'll think about sunflowers and that'll put me at rest.