After a While

After a while you learn
The subtle difference between
Holding a hand and chaining a soul
And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
And company doesn't always mean security.

And you begin to learn
That kisses aren't contracts
And presents aren't promises
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes ahead
With the grace of a woman
Not the grief of a child

And you learn
To build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow's ground is
Too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way
Of falling down in mid flight

After a while you learn
That even sunshine burns if you get too much
So you plant your own garden
And decorate your own soul
Instead of waiting
For someone to bring you flowers

And you learn
That you really can endure
That you are really strong
And you really do have worth
And you learn and you learn
With every good bye you learn.

--Veronica A. Shoffstall

Serenity Place

I have recently begun volunteering at Serenity Place, a sort of halfway house for women with substance abuse problems. Sixteen women live together in this house. When they have therapy sessions, half of them go to therapy, and the other half stay and watch the children (around 35 kids, all under the age of 5). With a ratio of toddlers to women at 4:1, it's obvious that they could use some help. When I first signed up, I thought that I would be babysitting little brats. What actually ends up happening is that the kids entertain themselves, and the women just want someone to talk to. Most of them are there for a duration of six months, and they do not meet a lot of people from the "real" world.

As lame as this may sound, part of me can identify with these women. Bob Jones is kind of similar in that is forces a lifestyle on its students that is not their own. But truthfully, most of me doesn't identify with these women, although most of them are the same age as me or within a few years. Tonight one of them said, "I could be like you, if I wanted. I could have a career. But I made bad decisions. I knew what I was doing, but I did it anyway."

The same woman said that when she took her baby to the doctor today she gave the receptionist her address (at Serenity Place), and the receptionist changed her attitude, saying, "Oh, I know that address." It's amazing how we take a tiny bit of pride in others' mistakes, thinking that at least our problems aren't "that bad". We're pathetic.

All that to say that Serenity Place really is playing a part in changing and shaping me, and I'm thankful.

Pacifist

I don't care about you
Or your red balloon
But something in your eyes
Wistful, longing
Makes me pretend
For a moment
That I still do

I'm back

Work has been so crazy stressful the past few weeks that I have winced at the thought of even touching my laptop when I come home. I know myself too well, and I know that something I see online will trigger a memory of work, and I will undoubtedly check my e-mail "really quickly." Before I know it, I'm sucked in. Maybe I'm a workaholic, or maybe part of me didn't even want to place my fingers on another keyboard.

The craziness has calmed temporarily, and my level of stress has diminished significantly.

I spent most of my non-working hours (which weren't very many, trust me) involved in hot yoga and taking long baths.

And I'm reading again. For some time books have not been able to pique my interest at all. I'm very thankful that that season is over.

I become more and more convinced that the person I am manifests itself in stages. Parts of me, of course, will never change, but life is full of phases and periods and semesters and seasons. Appetites and preferences change. And life goes on.

Loving life.

Stole this...

from Rachel Mitchell

Excrement!

Why do we feel the need to analyze everything to death? We like everything in our lives to fit, to balance. We definitely don't want to think of our lives as mathematically based, but in essence, that is what we desire.

A poignant scene from Dead Poets Society dismisses the idea that poetry (or any form of art) can be reduced to a mathematical formula.



One thing I hope and pray that I grasp about life is that it cannot be analyzed and forced into linear equations. While God gave us reason and intellect, he also gave us emotions. Sometimes life just can't be put into words.

One day I will have clouds on my wall

At Bob Jones, every student is forced given the privilege to take a long tour through the Museum & Gallery, which is actually a "prime" Greenville attraction. It is one of the largest collections of religious art in the country. I was nerdy and loved it, but I had enough sense to pretend like I hated it to stay cool. Anyway, fourth semester Spanish required this huge project on Spanish art, and I spent a LOT of time in the M&G. I can't say I regretted it; it only deepened my respect and appreciation for the arts.

In art, the color blue represents hope (very understated definition, I know). It makes complete sense. I used to stare up into the sky and wish its blueness would just envelop me. I felt like the sky was its own world, and we earthlings were only allowed a glimpse into its depths.

My love of the sky and clouds continues. It's so strong that this afternoon I hung up on my friend and nearly wrecked my car trying to take pictures of the gorgeous sunset with my phone.

"The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands."