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Friday, December 31, 2004

a saviour

a saviour is a warrior. a hero. an epic, legendary character. i could use one of those right now.

please pray that He comes quickly.

Wednesday, December 29, 2004

storms

Llaura once asked me, "would you rather overcast, sunny, or partly cloudy?" my reply was, "whatever fits my mood, actually. i like the weather if it fits my mood."

if the weather had been bound to my mood these past few weeks, we would have seen a radically different climate every 12 hours or so, if not multiple types simultaneously. i've been torn apart by the worst storms i've ever experienced. i've basked in sunshine so intense that it burns away my flesh, heart, and mind, leaving only my spirit intact. i've walked through a greyscale, overcast world, through hurricanes and gentle rains and blizzards that leave my body completely numb. and then the sun comes out again and thaws me so quickly that i become a puddle instead of an 18-year-old male.

there's no bipolarity here. this is dodecalarity, or something. o.O

i'm only posting this because 1) i think some people actually check it once in awhile, and 2) i have no one else to express myself to except, well... myself. my self is actually not a bad guy to be with. he understands me pretty well. sometimes people in the caf at VU ask me why i sit all by my lonesome, and the reply i've settled on is, "my lonesome is actually excellent company."

don't get me wrong, Lane (and all you Casa Nueve people, and a few other good friends who i know would do anything they could to help me), i know i can call you guys anytime if i need you. that in itself is a small comfort. it shows that God exists; how else could any of you Love me? but the thing is, none of you know where i am, or who i am today. i mean, you do... you know the core of me. but there is so much happening right now that you would have to be my shadow to understand me.

it's okay. the only reason i'm alive right now is because God is... well, He IS. He listens to me, speaks to me, teaches me how to Love, how to cope with feelings, how to Live. He reminds me that He Loves me, and that i'm not helpless. He reminds me that He has plans to prosper me, if i will choose the path He's prepared for me. i am so blessed (blessed as in JOYFUL) to experience God right now. i've never been closer to Him (overall) than i have been recently.

so let me say this. no matter what kind of pain you're going through, or how strong it is, think twice and even thrice before despairing. you don't need to be spiritually strong, you don't have to carry that ton of bricks all by yourself, and you don't need to worry. God's big enough that there's no comparison between His active Love and your problems, so all you need to do is seek Him. if you think you don't know what that means, ask Him to teach you. He's such a cool God that He'll actually teach you how to be taught. He'll give you every single thing you need, if you only seek Him wholeheartedly.

*steps down from pulpit, and up from the pit*

He will bless you.

~a slave~

Saturday, December 11, 2004

Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey

#16: Anytime I see something screech across a room and latch onto someone's neck, and the guy screams and tries to get it off, I have to laugh, because what is that thing?!

Friday, December 10, 2004

i sail alone

to read this poem as it was expressed,
speak it slowly and softly, and do not skip the blank lines

silence must be heard



i sail alone
chasing a horizon that never comes
chasing a dream that never ends
chasing a sun that never sets

i sail alone
chased by a lukewarm wind
chased by a cautious storm
chased by a hidden wave

i sail alone
watching the moon half-risen
watching the stars play hide and seek
watching the clouds form question marks

i sail alone
watched by all the ocean
watched by empty eyes
watched by distant houses of light

i sail alone
ignoring the broken mast
ignoring the empty barrels
ignoring the hole in the hull

i sail alone
ignored by the gulls
ignored by the other boats
ignored by the crowd on the shore


i sail alone

i sail alone

i sail alone

i sail alone









i sail with Him
praying for rain
praying for food
praying for healing

i sail with Him
blessed with grace
blessed with hope
blessed with Love

sprained ankle story

i was on my way to the career center to find out about an open job position on campus, so i was hurrying down the stairs. i tripped, and would have caught myself, but i grabbed the handrail for support, forgetting that some pranksters had left vaseline all over the rails.

So i slipped again, landed wrong, and twisted my ankle inward. i hobbled back up the stairs, washed off the vaseline, and limped over to my appointment. It actually wasn't feeling too bad at that point, but the pain eventually got worse, and Andrew had to give me one of his "ACE" bandage things.

Perfect, huh? Right before Christmas break. Right before the camping trip. =)

the end

Sunday, December 05, 2004

untitled poem

This isn't particularly relevant to my life right now, but I was reminded of it, and I realized I never posted it on my website (home of the wind). So here it is. You've probably seen it already, but one of the things I've been learning about blogging is that the blogger posts just as much for himself (or herself) as [s]he does for his (or her) audience.

Hope you [still] enjoy it.

X marks the spot (or so I've been told),
where pirates of old buried silver and gold;
by the sweat of their skin, and the blood of their veins,
endured wildest of squalls and greatest of pains
to safeguard their treasure with padlocks and chains

diamonds and bloodwine and pieces of eight
are rumored to wait in the chests and the crates
that sit silent, unmoving, alone in the sand
begging the world for a curious hand
to discover the map, and to scour the land

but the trustworthy map is nowhere to be found
as far as I know, it's been floating around
on the treacherous, bittersweet winds of the sea,
the same winds that bring stormclouds to me

so I have no direction, no knowledge, no guide
just a purpose in mind, and a friend at my side
this companion, he's faithful no matter the cost
he keeps my heart beating as it's battered and tossed
by the merciless pounding of wave after wave...
so I trust in his power to save

we are driven by goals that we set long ago,
when the swift summer winds in our favor would blow
and we thought of the treasure as already found
and we slept through each night, safe and sound

we followed our compass, by day and by night
whether stormy or peaceful, in darkness or light.
but a new day has dawned, with no sun in the east
no promise of safety; not a chance in the least
of a favorable breeze, or the swell of a tide.
I didn't think compasses lied.

I trusted my friend, and his compass, as well
but it turns out the needle points straight into hell
so there's really no sense in our traveling, now...
we're as far as good sense will allow

I've bailed my last bucket, repaired my last sail
and now, like a fool, I gulp the last of the ale
wond'ring why I was led here, to death and decay
I was stupid, and now I must pay-

-for my adventuring spirit, my hunger for fun,
-for my selfishness, equaled by none
-for my false sense of truth, and my trust in my friend
who said he'd be here 'till the end

but he did keep his promise, so I guess he deserves
some small credit, though I don't know what purpose it serves
to stick with a friend, when we're destined to fail.

never again will I sail.

Saturday, December 04, 2004

losing my mind

Romans 7 and Romans 8

Thanks

Thanks to those of you who responded to my e-mail. If you get another e-mail about being removed from the Blogger admin team or somesuch, ignore it... no one was posting except me (except for once or twice when I requested), so I removed the team to make room for the profile.

If anyone knows why the top right corner of the contect box has that extra little rectangle thing, please e-mail me. I can't figure it out.

Wednesday, December 01, 2004

The Earthquake Project

True comedy, as defined by the early Greek philosophers, often includes a particular story element in which a person of low or common position is raised to unexpected heights of fame, glory, and honor.

This paper is one such person.



The Earthquake Project

Bunsen burners, boiling water, lasers and razors and hot glue guns... one might expect even a simple mistake to have disastrous effects, in a class that touches on the curricula of not one, but several areas of science. Yet, a project straight from our geology lessons turned out to be easier than it should have been, all because of one mistake.

The most important question the team of architects asked was, quite naturally, “White glue or green glue?” Heeding the advice of our professor (and somewhat enjoying the concept of acting as guinea pigs), our team used the white glue, hoping to save time.

The drawing was easy. The team simply copied it out of the book used their imaginations to create what they thought would serve as the strongest possible model for the building. With a steady hand and a ready pencil, Chelsea added crucial shading elements to the template, untiring and resolute in her efforts despite some minor setbacks caused by Isaiah’s lack of foresight. In a supreme example of teamwork, over 100 pieces of I-can’t-believe-it’s-not-balsa-wood were cut and prepared. Not wanting to wait until the last minute, the team members procrastinated, as usual solemnly agreed that the wood should be glued as soon as possible, to make sure the building was at its strongest when the time of testing came.

Yet the providentially fatal misstep came when the glue was applied. Deep in the heart of Isaiah’s dorm room, inspired by the eerie, haunting melodies of John Eric’s electric guitar, Dave Martin and Isaiah glued the iron plates to the girders wherever the two materials touched. Like artists looking down upon a masterpiece, they meticulously examined every joint and angle, making absolutely sure that the integrity of their dreams would not be recklessly or needlessly ruined by the powerful waves of the Epicenter Earthquake Machine.

Realizing their mistake too late, the two artists were nevertheless hopeful. Rather than despairing at the accidental bonding, they rejoiced in the possibility that those sixteen extra strokes of their Q-tips would bear fruit just as ripe as the other teams’ efforts.

The day finally arrived. Though the humble team was more than willing to let others have the honor of first blood, they were nevertheless ushered to the front of the class, outwardly calm but inwardly trembling, giddy with anticipation.

The room fell silent as Kyle took the stopwatch in hand. Professor Crenshaw, unaware of the extra glue the team had applied, fixed their structure to the base, and fastened the entire contraption to the earthquake simulator.

“5.5,” he murmured a moment later, as the tower began to vibrate.

“Forty-five seconds,” Kyle shouted over the growing commotion. The class looked on in awe as the tower began to splinter- and yet, it stood, triumphant. Had those four plates, those solid, strong, proud iron plates, been able to speak, they would have shouted, “Victory!!!” for the entire campus to hear. Indeed, each student on campus was, at that moment, experiencing a strange sense of destiny fulfilled, as if they knew the team’s moment of glory had come.

As Professor Crenshaw let the vibrations of the simulator fade away, the class sprang once again into conversation. After the four of them exchanged high-fives and compliments, Isaiah turned to Dave.

“White glue dries clear,” he whispered.

“It’s true,” Dave replied, smiling.