Do you see the trees, the way I do?
Do you see them dance and wave a gentle hello?
Or do you just walk by step by step without a glance?
Do you see the water, the way I do?
Did your eye catch a glimpse of their beauty?
Or is this yet another jewel you have failed to find?
Do you hear the birds, the way I do?
How each melodic note is perfect yet unique?
Or are you busy with the thoughts that you think?
Do you see the sky, the way I do?
How its colors are in constant fluid motion to change?
Or is it just another thing you take for granted?
Do you hear the wind the way I do?
Its sweet gentle whispers telling that God does love you?
Or are you just listening to your own voice?
Do you feel the sun the way I do?
How it’s warmth embraces my face?
Or is it just something you pass by?
All these things
In every season
Are beautiful
Are intricate
Are full of life.
And all it takes
Is a second
A moment
From your time
To know that
Life is in and around us
And appreciate it the way I do.
I’ve never really written a poem before. I’m not much of a rhyme-ist, and my flow is not exactly that of an Emily Dickinson or a E.E. Cummings, but I do enjoy poetry. I do enjoy the outdoors. So, trying to convey that in a poem is pretty enjoyable even it’s not the best.
I think that one of the best portion of poetry that captures my true intentions is that of Emily Dickinson in one of her poems when she talks about nature being a gentle mother:
With infinite Affection --
And infiniter Care --
Her Golden finger on Her lip --
Wills Silence -- Everywhere --
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Lake Bonnie
I went to Lake Bonnie with high hopes of something I normally enjoy.
I’m not exactly an “out-doorsy” kind of girl. I love nature and the sky and the sounds of running water. I enjoy hiking in the forest and walking on the beach. I especially enjoy swinging on swings at Lake Mirror. However, I absolutely am petrified of bugs. Which apparently are big parts of the whole nature scene?
So, I was excited to do something I enjoyed for the class. My friends make fun of me all the time because once I got dressed up for the weather outside because it was so beautiful. Another time, I was just flabbergasted at how clean the air felt when I inhaled it on a summer night. I really do appreciate nature.
I went to Lake Bonnie. I walked around. I sat down with my back against a tree and I smiled. I felt the wind blow against my face which was warm on that hot Saturday afternoon. I heard the birds chirp, each one of them an individual: their sounds never quite the same. I enjoyed the sun peaking through the leaves and gently telling me hello. I proceeded to smile because I missed the sun and its warmth. I wasn’t really aware of the time because I didn’t mind spending longer than ten minutes. I just kept quiet and listened to the symphony that God had created for each and every one of us.
I then got up after a while because when I did open my eyes, I saw a huge spider. And even though it eloquently was making its way towards me (perhaps even inviting me for tea), I just couldn’t quite appreciate it as much. So I left with a full heart and fun memories at Lake Bonnie.
I took pictures after that, and I was going to post them but I lost my camera cord. If I find it, I’m definitely updating this blog post.
I’m not exactly an “out-doorsy” kind of girl. I love nature and the sky and the sounds of running water. I enjoy hiking in the forest and walking on the beach. I especially enjoy swinging on swings at Lake Mirror. However, I absolutely am petrified of bugs. Which apparently are big parts of the whole nature scene?
So, I was excited to do something I enjoyed for the class. My friends make fun of me all the time because once I got dressed up for the weather outside because it was so beautiful. Another time, I was just flabbergasted at how clean the air felt when I inhaled it on a summer night. I really do appreciate nature.
I went to Lake Bonnie. I walked around. I sat down with my back against a tree and I smiled. I felt the wind blow against my face which was warm on that hot Saturday afternoon. I heard the birds chirp, each one of them an individual: their sounds never quite the same. I enjoyed the sun peaking through the leaves and gently telling me hello. I proceeded to smile because I missed the sun and its warmth. I wasn’t really aware of the time because I didn’t mind spending longer than ten minutes. I just kept quiet and listened to the symphony that God had created for each and every one of us.
I then got up after a while because when I did open my eyes, I saw a huge spider. And even though it eloquently was making its way towards me (perhaps even inviting me for tea), I just couldn’t quite appreciate it as much. So I left with a full heart and fun memories at Lake Bonnie.
I took pictures after that, and I was going to post them but I lost my camera cord. If I find it, I’m definitely updating this blog post.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Character
So, during class on Monday we talked about This Blessed House and about characters.
During this time, I hope to unravel thoughts inside my head that still confuse me. Through just writing and venting, I hope to fully grasp the concept of our outer selves, our inner selves and ourselves in God.
Obviously outer and inner are grouped together. You can usually tell who is a good person and who is a bad person…that is if you are only looking from the surface. We usually think a happy bubbly person is nice and wonderful. But what happens if that happy bubbly person is actually far beyond wonderful and is actually manipulative and selfish. From first glance, you wouldn’t see that would you? It takes time to truly understand yourself and others around you. Just like it takes time to get to know characters in literature. You can’t really just read it once through and then figure out a character. This is why it’s so important to reread a story. How can you fully grasp a story with action, without knowing the why behind it? Every character does certain things not because it’s natural but because it’s in their personality, inner and outer. What goes beyond the words on a page is the meaning behind it. Simply just reading it once will only give you so much insight into which that person is in the story or why they are behaving that way.
And lastly, we in God are the hardest thing to think about. Because we change every day; we make mistakes everyday; we are in constant motion everyday;
I can’t really judge myself or others or even characters in a book. The most sacred place is our hearts where God dwells. And I will never know another person’s heart truly like God does. So how can I expect to understand the depths of love one has or doesn’t have for Jesus? It’s even hard for me to measure my own love and identity in him sometimes. I guess what I need to do, is not so much focus in on certain actions, but my overall character.
Hopefully, one day I will find out who I am in Christ.
During this time, I hope to unravel thoughts inside my head that still confuse me. Through just writing and venting, I hope to fully grasp the concept of our outer selves, our inner selves and ourselves in God.
Obviously outer and inner are grouped together. You can usually tell who is a good person and who is a bad person…that is if you are only looking from the surface. We usually think a happy bubbly person is nice and wonderful. But what happens if that happy bubbly person is actually far beyond wonderful and is actually manipulative and selfish. From first glance, you wouldn’t see that would you? It takes time to truly understand yourself and others around you. Just like it takes time to get to know characters in literature. You can’t really just read it once through and then figure out a character. This is why it’s so important to reread a story. How can you fully grasp a story with action, without knowing the why behind it? Every character does certain things not because it’s natural but because it’s in their personality, inner and outer. What goes beyond the words on a page is the meaning behind it. Simply just reading it once will only give you so much insight into which that person is in the story or why they are behaving that way.
And lastly, we in God are the hardest thing to think about. Because we change every day; we make mistakes everyday; we are in constant motion everyday;
I can’t really judge myself or others or even characters in a book. The most sacred place is our hearts where God dwells. And I will never know another person’s heart truly like God does. So how can I expect to understand the depths of love one has or doesn’t have for Jesus? It’s even hard for me to measure my own love and identity in him sometimes. I guess what I need to do, is not so much focus in on certain actions, but my overall character.
Hopefully, one day I will find out who I am in Christ.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
This Blessed House
In This Blessed House we see the how characters really are the central focus of good literature. And not only is this more character based than plot based, it also has characters growing and shaping right in front of us.
I enjoyed this short story for it’s characters more than anything else. There is so much insight to each character, and I almost felt as if I could relate to them. I believe the more you can relate to a character, the more involved you’ll be with the story. In stories that have plain characters or stereotypical characters, we often are left with no surprise because we already know what they will do. But when the characters are more life-like, more “me-like”, we then are vulnerable for new twists in turns.
My favorite character in This Blessed House is Sanjeev. Through each flip of the page we see his skepticism rising up and his inner battle with what he assumes and what he knows is true.
On page 1072, “He did not know if he loved her. He said he did when she had first asked him…that afternoon he had replied, yes, he loved her and she was delighted…Though she did not say it herself, he assumed then that she loved him too, but now he was no longer sure. In truth, Sanjeev did not know what love was, only what he thought it was not…”
This passage is a beautiful illustration of Sanjeev’s uncertainty. How many times have we sat in our chairs, at our desks, wondering if someone loved us the way we loved them? Or even wondered if we could ever love? Sanjeev is not perfect. He is real. He is doubtful. He gets angry. He gets skeptical. He is uncertain of things as big as love and that’s okay.
Flaws help a character change and develop into someone real. If we read a book with perfect characters, the stories would be boring and predictable. If we read a book with flawed characters, the story is exciting, eventful, and even enjoyable.
I enjoyed this short story for it’s characters more than anything else. There is so much insight to each character, and I almost felt as if I could relate to them. I believe the more you can relate to a character, the more involved you’ll be with the story. In stories that have plain characters or stereotypical characters, we often are left with no surprise because we already know what they will do. But when the characters are more life-like, more “me-like”, we then are vulnerable for new twists in turns.
My favorite character in This Blessed House is Sanjeev. Through each flip of the page we see his skepticism rising up and his inner battle with what he assumes and what he knows is true.
On page 1072, “He did not know if he loved her. He said he did when she had first asked him…that afternoon he had replied, yes, he loved her and she was delighted…Though she did not say it herself, he assumed then that she loved him too, but now he was no longer sure. In truth, Sanjeev did not know what love was, only what he thought it was not…”
This passage is a beautiful illustration of Sanjeev’s uncertainty. How many times have we sat in our chairs, at our desks, wondering if someone loved us the way we loved them? Or even wondered if we could ever love? Sanjeev is not perfect. He is real. He is doubtful. He gets angry. He gets skeptical. He is uncertain of things as big as love and that’s okay.
Flaws help a character change and develop into someone real. If we read a book with perfect characters, the stories would be boring and predictable. If we read a book with flawed characters, the story is exciting, eventful, and even enjoyable.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Changes
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The consistent sound of the pencil kept ricocheting on the top of a glossy classroom desk. Six by six rows perfectly aligned like a line of soldiers in ranks for a battle. All the desks were perfectly placid and smooth until you got to the sixth row at the sixth seat across. There at that very last seat, in the darkest spot sat a young woman. Her posture slouched. Her upper lip curled into a slight sneer. Her hazel eyes showed a storm of anger and frustration that illuminated a smooth, rich face. Her hair was braided and to the side. Crossing and uncrossing her legs, the pencil kept a consistent pace.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Hues of red and blacks made up her wardrobe, and her sneakers were polished and clean – brand new as the day she bought them. Manicured hands kept the pencil moving against the desk like a conductor keeping a symphonic orchestra in time with the metronome.
Tap. Tap. T-
“Hello, Ms.Somers,” a voice echoed across the barren room. The voice washed over her as she turned to see a young woman leaning against the doorframe. The only way out, her freedom to leave this cell was blocked by a small, meek woman wearing a plain navy pantsuit. Heels clicked across the tile, the time of arrival was soon upon sixteen-year-old Irene Somers. Her face was hard as the woman sat across from her. A small, timid smile looked up at Irene, sincere eyes trying to catch the glance of the troubled girl.
“I can leave in five minutes, Mrs. Jones,” Irene spat out as she desperately looked to the door.
“Then all I need is five minutes,” was the steady response as Amy Jones clasped her hands together and placed them on top of her suit.
Silence filled the room; where words were usually needed, Amy Jones thought that the best way to help someone was for them to speak first and then listen. This technique for most social workers was difficult. Numerous times had she saw co-workers come in and out of the office tired and upset, so desperately in want of change.
Nevertheless, through her few years of working, she knew that social workers, parents, boyfriends, children, or even higher places do not have the ability to change them. Those being these kids – like Irene Jones – who were hurt in more ways that make one uncomfortable to describe. There was one truth that Amy knew: you could not change someone, only they could change themselves.
So, where did that leave the two women? In a suspended moment of time is what it felt like. Neither said a word, each staring at each other.
You could hear more than just a pin drop; what you could hear was Irene’s long eyelashes sweeping across her face as she blinked and Amy lick her lips, desperate for moisture. After what seemed like an eternity, finally a voice spoke:
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Irene bit out, as if she was already fighting for something more than a way out. Her hands gripped her jeans, and her eyes stared at the junction of the grout in the tile. “She was making fun of my brother. James didn’t do nothing to her. And she just sat there and made fun of his clothes and his messed up teeth.”
Amy just listened. Countless times, she found herself in this situation. Irene always seemed to want to speak her mind, but her pride was overwhelming. It seemed that family, respect, and honor were the only things prioritized in this young woman’s life. Therefore, Amy did what she did every time before, she nodded and kept listening.
Gulping the salvia, Irene just shook her head as if she was remembering what happened in detail. Her heart was inflamed with anger and justification for her actions. She could vividly remember her tiny hand whipping across the skin of another girl’s face. Her motives only on defending her younger brother from such teasing and harassment.
“Nobody understands. None of them do.” Gritting her teeth, she began to tap her pencil the more angry she got. “They think they know me and James, but they don’t understand. We have no money to buy new things. It’s not James’s fault for what he wears. Ma tells us she’ll buy us new clothes, but every month the electricity bill needs to be paid, or she needs to go buy groceries for us. It’s not James’ fault. It’s not his fault at all.”
By now, Amy was scooting slowly towards Irene. Seeing this rough and loud girl begin to shrivel up in insecurity and doubt was too much for even her. Irene put her face in her hands, the pencil rolling underneath the desk, no longer tapping. Irene was trapped in a struggle to save face and to finally let she go.
“I just wanted James to live a life not like mine. Not nothing like mine. He doesn’t deserve to go through what I did. The world is tough, and the only way to survive is to be tougher than what is thrown at you. But James doesn’t need that. He needs a normal life. And when someone brings him down, I don’t want to see him hurt. I love him. What’s wrong with that?” By now, Irene was unable to help her tears; they fell quickly and silently in the room as she began to cry. Her tears were like pearls gently rolling of her cheeks. So delicate was this girl and Amy couldn’t help herself but wrap her arms around Irene.
So many times, had Amy seen this girl close up? But for once, she was finally opening her fears and insecurities to someone else.
As she held the young girl in her arms, she knew that this moment wouldn’t last forever. So she held her tongue for words would only worsen the situation. Holding Irene in that moment was the best thing that anyone could do.
And as they walked out the door, hand in hand, Amy saw Irene smile weakly at her from the corner of her eye. She knew change was inevitable at this moment.
The consistent sound of the pencil kept ricocheting on the top of a glossy classroom desk. Six by six rows perfectly aligned like a line of soldiers in ranks for a battle. All the desks were perfectly placid and smooth until you got to the sixth row at the sixth seat across. There at that very last seat, in the darkest spot sat a young woman. Her posture slouched. Her upper lip curled into a slight sneer. Her hazel eyes showed a storm of anger and frustration that illuminated a smooth, rich face. Her hair was braided and to the side. Crossing and uncrossing her legs, the pencil kept a consistent pace.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Hues of red and blacks made up her wardrobe, and her sneakers were polished and clean – brand new as the day she bought them. Manicured hands kept the pencil moving against the desk like a conductor keeping a symphonic orchestra in time with the metronome.
Tap. Tap. T-
“Hello, Ms.Somers,” a voice echoed across the barren room. The voice washed over her as she turned to see a young woman leaning against the doorframe. The only way out, her freedom to leave this cell was blocked by a small, meek woman wearing a plain navy pantsuit. Heels clicked across the tile, the time of arrival was soon upon sixteen-year-old Irene Somers. Her face was hard as the woman sat across from her. A small, timid smile looked up at Irene, sincere eyes trying to catch the glance of the troubled girl.
“I can leave in five minutes, Mrs. Jones,” Irene spat out as she desperately looked to the door.
“Then all I need is five minutes,” was the steady response as Amy Jones clasped her hands together and placed them on top of her suit.
Silence filled the room; where words were usually needed, Amy Jones thought that the best way to help someone was for them to speak first and then listen. This technique for most social workers was difficult. Numerous times had she saw co-workers come in and out of the office tired and upset, so desperately in want of change.
Nevertheless, through her few years of working, she knew that social workers, parents, boyfriends, children, or even higher places do not have the ability to change them. Those being these kids – like Irene Jones – who were hurt in more ways that make one uncomfortable to describe. There was one truth that Amy knew: you could not change someone, only they could change themselves.
So, where did that leave the two women? In a suspended moment of time is what it felt like. Neither said a word, each staring at each other.
You could hear more than just a pin drop; what you could hear was Irene’s long eyelashes sweeping across her face as she blinked and Amy lick her lips, desperate for moisture. After what seemed like an eternity, finally a voice spoke:
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Irene bit out, as if she was already fighting for something more than a way out. Her hands gripped her jeans, and her eyes stared at the junction of the grout in the tile. “She was making fun of my brother. James didn’t do nothing to her. And she just sat there and made fun of his clothes and his messed up teeth.”
Amy just listened. Countless times, she found herself in this situation. Irene always seemed to want to speak her mind, but her pride was overwhelming. It seemed that family, respect, and honor were the only things prioritized in this young woman’s life. Therefore, Amy did what she did every time before, she nodded and kept listening.
Gulping the salvia, Irene just shook her head as if she was remembering what happened in detail. Her heart was inflamed with anger and justification for her actions. She could vividly remember her tiny hand whipping across the skin of another girl’s face. Her motives only on defending her younger brother from such teasing and harassment.
“Nobody understands. None of them do.” Gritting her teeth, she began to tap her pencil the more angry she got. “They think they know me and James, but they don’t understand. We have no money to buy new things. It’s not James’s fault for what he wears. Ma tells us she’ll buy us new clothes, but every month the electricity bill needs to be paid, or she needs to go buy groceries for us. It’s not James’ fault. It’s not his fault at all.”
By now, Amy was scooting slowly towards Irene. Seeing this rough and loud girl begin to shrivel up in insecurity and doubt was too much for even her. Irene put her face in her hands, the pencil rolling underneath the desk, no longer tapping. Irene was trapped in a struggle to save face and to finally let she go.
“I just wanted James to live a life not like mine. Not nothing like mine. He doesn’t deserve to go through what I did. The world is tough, and the only way to survive is to be tougher than what is thrown at you. But James doesn’t need that. He needs a normal life. And when someone brings him down, I don’t want to see him hurt. I love him. What’s wrong with that?” By now, Irene was unable to help her tears; they fell quickly and silently in the room as she began to cry. Her tears were like pearls gently rolling of her cheeks. So delicate was this girl and Amy couldn’t help herself but wrap her arms around Irene.
So many times, had Amy seen this girl close up? But for once, she was finally opening her fears and insecurities to someone else.
As she held the young girl in her arms, she knew that this moment wouldn’t last forever. So she held her tongue for words would only worsen the situation. Holding Irene in that moment was the best thing that anyone could do.
And as they walked out the door, hand in hand, Amy saw Irene smile weakly at her from the corner of her eye. She knew change was inevitable at this moment.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Sonny's Blues
After finding out my morning had been ruined by a simple task of a phone dying in the middle of the night, I laid in bed just thinking of what happened and why it was already ten o'clock...
A passage from Sonny's Blues came to mind "I couldn't believe it: but what I mean by that is that I couldn't find any room for it anywhere inside of me". I had so many thoughts running through my head and I decided that it was best just to never rely on a phone that wasn't connected to an outlet(though it had three bars the night before...just inputting that there). I asked around about what we did in class, and I found out we did something that I was taught in the beginning of the year: lectio divina(please ignore incorrect spelling).
So, I tried this out on my own with a few key passages of the Bible to sorta inch my way along so I wouldn't be left behind in class for tomorrow.
As I went along with the process, I had to say it was cruel. It felt tedious. But most importantly, it changed my perspective on what the verse meant.
Using this technique brings out thoughts that usually don't happen when you skim a page or browse a few sentences here or there. With this latin term I can't spell, you find yourself really digging into the text and actually reading it.
I know. What a concept. To read something is a thing we often don't do. I mean you can skim words but does that mean that you are really reading it? If it is then by all means disreguard my thinking process.
But for me, I totally skim words all the time. I gaze at the page thinking "Why isn't this seeping into my brain any faster??" and end up skimming a few key words and ending my journey there.
With L.D. it is totally different. Instead of gazing at the pages hoping that the words magically seep into my brain, I picture instead my head getting beating over with the book because it's that intense. Not only do you actually READ the passage, but you do it 3 times! Not enough to be over kill but enough to actually be effective.
In the end, I enjoyed my experience with L.D.(not to be confused with LSD) because it really showed me how I've been cheapening many sources of literature. I do hope to correct my bad habits in the future...
A passage from Sonny's Blues came to mind "I couldn't believe it: but what I mean by that is that I couldn't find any room for it anywhere inside of me". I had so many thoughts running through my head and I decided that it was best just to never rely on a phone that wasn't connected to an outlet(though it had three bars the night before...just inputting that there). I asked around about what we did in class, and I found out we did something that I was taught in the beginning of the year: lectio divina(please ignore incorrect spelling).
So, I tried this out on my own with a few key passages of the Bible to sorta inch my way along so I wouldn't be left behind in class for tomorrow.
As I went along with the process, I had to say it was cruel. It felt tedious. But most importantly, it changed my perspective on what the verse meant.
Using this technique brings out thoughts that usually don't happen when you skim a page or browse a few sentences here or there. With this latin term I can't spell, you find yourself really digging into the text and actually reading it.
I know. What a concept. To read something is a thing we often don't do. I mean you can skim words but does that mean that you are really reading it? If it is then by all means disreguard my thinking process.
But for me, I totally skim words all the time. I gaze at the page thinking "Why isn't this seeping into my brain any faster??" and end up skimming a few key words and ending my journey there.
With L.D. it is totally different. Instead of gazing at the pages hoping that the words magically seep into my brain, I picture instead my head getting beating over with the book because it's that intense. Not only do you actually READ the passage, but you do it 3 times! Not enough to be over kill but enough to actually be effective.
In the end, I enjoyed my experience with L.D.(not to be confused with LSD) because it really showed me how I've been cheapening many sources of literature. I do hope to correct my bad habits in the future...
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