no escape

There is no way to escape the thoughts of a troubled heart.

But there is someone who longs to take our troubles and give us a peace that passeth all understanding.

If I spent all of my time worrying about tomorrow, about 10 days from now, about a year from now, I would miss out on these beautiful moments of the present.

I love listening to music. I let each note wash over me like the waves of the sea. I savor each sweet melody until it fades away. . . .

away. . .

away. .

away.

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]

Traveling with a purpose

I wrote this after a recent trip to Roatan, Honduras.


The shop is crowded. Bags, belts and hammocks sway softly in the rhythm of the balmy Roatán breeze. I step inside out of the sunny afternoon, my eyes adjusting to the dim light and my nose taking in the smell of leather, fabric and creamy coconuts. I gaze around, overwhelmed by the huge selection of colorful souvenirs.

¡Hola! ¿Cómo está? I ask politely, my parents trailing behind me.

¿Tú puedes hablar español?

The question is more of a surprised statement. A big grin flashes across the girl’s face, revealing braces. A native with braces? I muse. Weird, I mean it’s just something I’d never seen before. At first she’s businesslike. She watches me intently as my eyes wander around. I hate shopping with someone breathing down my neck so I try to walk away politely, asking if I can look around. I hope she’ll get the hint I’ll let her know if I need anything. She doesn’t. Instead she follows me around the store, but she’s so sweet I can’t stay mad long. Two other girls appear and start talking to my parents. My mom buys a tablecloth; a brilliant burst of blue highlighting a traditional Guatemalan pattern. We bargain with them, and soon our pile of purchases grows. I feel them warming up to us. I ask questions about where they’re from, their names, how they weave. Even though they’re Guatemalan, they spend most of their time here in Honduras selling souvenirs on the island. Who knew that my struggles to learn Spanish would be used in this way? I suddenly realize I’m not just a customer anymore; I’m someone who’s taken an interest in their lives. I come to the hasty and justified conclusion that knowing a person’s language enables you to topple the barriers of culture, to make a friend in minutes instead of years. My interest melts their façade. I’m no longer a haughty American gringo, I’m a friend. And then the biggest surprise comes. As we prepare to leave, Evelyn, the owner of the shop who can’t be much older than her twenties, looks at my mom and tells her she reminds her of her own mother who passed away just six months ago. The tears begin to spill out of her dark eyes and she can’t wipe them away. One tear turns into a salty waterfall. We don’t know what to do, but I do the only thing that seems right—I throw my arms around her, my own eyes beginning to fill. We ask her if she knows she has the promise she’ll see her mother again at the resurrection. She nods. We leave them then, but it’s not the end, it’s the beginning—the beginning of a friendship that transcends language and distance. Traveling with a purpose can lead to more than Kodak moments and a sun tan—you might change perceptions or plant seeds for eternity.

Before we left I made them cupcakes and we exchanged emails. Evelyn told me that if I ever visit Guatemala that I will always be welcome in her home. My dad left her a Steps to Christ in Spanish. Who knows if I’ll ever see them again on this earth, but I pray that I will hug her again beneath the shining gates of Heaven.

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all people, especially to those who belong to the family of believers. Galatians 6:9,10 NIV

Why [not]

You see things; and you say, "Why?" But I dream things that never were; and I say, "Why not?"

[George Bernard Shaw]

It does not require a majority to prevail, but rather an irate, tireless minority keen to set brush fires in people's minds.

[Samual Adams]

I write because that is who I am. I write because words on paper often sound more intelligent than words in thin air. There is a reassuring permanence of the written word. I write because I have a soul full of feeling, a heart full of yearning and a mind full of dreaming. So who am I?

I'm a senior print journalism major at Southern Adventist University. I live a pretty average life, but that's when you leave all the blessings out of the picture. I love life. I'm random. I find joy in making people laugh. I'm sensitive, but as the years go by, I'm learning to use that sensitivity in a constructive way, rather than in frequent displays of emotion (FDE). I love having people over. I am content to stand alone, yet I am happiest when I am surrounded by friends. I could describe myself with many words and in many ways, but if a person was to peel away all the layers of who I am, I wonder what they would find. I'm stubborn and independent. I almost always say what is on my mind. I've lost my fear of people or of the fleeting opinions they often form. I firmly believe that life is worth living, and not just living, but enjoying. Cliche? Yes. Overused? No.

So, now that you know about me in a small paragraph. . . maybe what I say will make more sense (but most likely not).