my unspoken plea

A poem I wrote in high school.

Shall I wish on a star?

Or chase the leaves of a tree

Will my brain take me far?

Will I ever be free?

I aim to be happy and young

For many a year to come

But there’s a song that’s still unsung

That remind’s me where I’m from

So here I hang

Suspended on useless thought

Kept alive by every pang

Of what I’ve seen and sought

I’m beautiful and wasting

With empty palms at my side

It’s what’s to come that I’m tasting

But I’ll never sacrifice my pride

Look to my blue eyes and see

That there is still an empty place

Listen to my unspoken plea

And lend me some of your elegant grace.

defective coding

I wanted to. . .

a: run
b: go back to sleep
c: pretend I'd lost my mind
d: strangle the inventor of CSS

Mostly all of the above, with a strong emphasis on the last one.
It was a rainy Thursday and I came to class prepared. I hate Web design. Most of my Web design experience comes from manipulating MySpace layouts, not creating something from scratch. However on the exam we had to look at a picture and then recreate it in Dreamweaver, styling it with CSS. I didn't even know where to start. I heard people saying they wanted to barf and cry, but honestly I felt so at peace. I decided I was going to do the best I could. I started piecing things together, and yet all of my styles [coding in CSS] were not showing up in my pages. I tried everything I could think of and nothing was working. There was one point where I felt panicky and my heart somersaulted and skidded to a grinding halt.

And all of a sudden I found the piece of missing code. I hadn't linked my CSS and my HTML sites together and so even though I was typing the right code, no one else could see it because I wasn't linked or connected to the source code.

I think this can apply to the way I live my life. I can do and say all the right things, and even have all of the pieces of my life in the right order, but if I'm not linked and connected to Jesus, my source [code] of peace, joy and love, people will only see me, a broken link, not the radiance of my Creator.

Coding is a very time consuming process, especially for someone like me who is just learning. Each piece of the page can take hours, especially if a tiny piece of the coding is wrong. Even a missed period or a bracket can throw everything off. We may think we have our lives together, especially if we do all the "right" things, but if one piece is missing, Jesus, the code will not work.

As humans we are born with defective coding, thanks to sin. Jesus is the master coder and designer who wants so desperately to repair our broken links and defective coding so we can become more connected to Him. I thank God for His patience. Just like I had to have patience and spend hours working on my test, trying countless ways to make things work, He spends a lifetime on us. He even spent His own lifetime, coming to earth to bring us the best gift we could possibly receive, salvation and life everlasting.

. . .

I did finish. It wasn't perfect, but I was proud of myself for persevering and finishing as much as I could. The rain continued outside. Friday afternoon. A load off my shoulders, accomplishment at my fingertips and a light heart.


[Hannah]

nostalgia

The heat rolled off the thick, parched pavement in slivers of black and silver. My father, who doesn't enjoy temperatures above or below 62 degrees, was facing his worst nightmare: A broiling southern afternoon in mid-August. We were crammed into my '93 Chevy Cavalier, my mother in the backseat and my father and I in the front. This was it; this was my grand entrance to college, and I was making it drenched in sweat. My dad was full of surprises, including a bold and desperate decision to use the AC, and just 21 hours later, we were here.

First thought: Huge. The campus that is. The heat was unbearable. Thatcher #381.
And it all began in a heatwave,a heartbeat. I had no idea those were the first days of a love affair. Oh, I complained about worships, Campus Safety, Sabbath morning check. I whined about the cafe food, which is still exactly the same as it was four years ago, only the mashed potatoes are a little creamier. I stumbled out of bed at 2 a.m. because someone had decided to straighten their hair, burn lampshades, incinerate popcorn and scald five course meals. I knew all the soccer teams, Fluffy, Furia, Hot Boys. . . soccer fights, broken legs, red cards. I'd fallen in and out of like with Besst Wraps. Eaten in the old KR's. I'd watched the leaves change, rain dance and flowers open. I'd changed majors. I'd learned the distinct smell of buildings and dorm hallways. I'd inhaled the scent of sugary blueberry muffins on crisp, winter mornings. I'd spent hours on homework and semesters on memories. Little by little I was falling in love, but all too soon it was time to say goodbye. He left, I cried. I found friends that were strong, a God who was stronger and a love that was longer. I lifted my voice to the heavens with fellow students at vespers-the best part of my week. I played softball, hockey, soccer. Two years, three years, it was my last year. Graduation? I saw new faces in familiar places. Time was drawing closer. Leaving was the plan, with more than I came with. Here I am, so close to the end; a beginning just around the bend. Honduras for mission work, yet I'm leaving so much behind. I'm clinging to these weeks, hours, minutes, moments. Southern has become my second home. Pull out my hair, papers to write, classes to hate, boys not to date. I've learned a trade, friends I've made, and I've found me. For now I'll be leaving, leaving behind college, a life I've learned to love. Days are growing warmer, another heatwave, a million heartbeats. I'm letting go, hanging on.


I'll be back.

[Hannah]