because the world is round

I've often wondered what the world would look like if all of its inhabitants took a moment to go out of their way to do something nice for someone other than themselves. Not on their birthday or a day when it is expected, but on a day that is in all definitions a normal day. It doesn't have to be anything huge, but just a hug, or buy them a cup of coffee, or sit down and talk with them. Pay someone a compliment. And put them above self for a moment. Perhaps it would be a thing that stuck, became a habit. Maybe it would spread, maybe people would smile more. Maybe they would dance at the red lights instead of blowing their horns in impatience. What if the compliments had some affect on patience and understanding, maybe there would be less murders and more babies born. They would make stabbing a friend in the back more difficult. And if we listened a little more and talked a little less we would have more friends. If for a moment of every day we told someone we loved them and why, we would help people feel better about themselves, give them something to hold on to, to reach for. If we spent our times building and mending the bridges that the harsh words and actions break down with kindness, then all would have a place of safety when the rains come. Because at the end of the day it's not about how good we were to ourselves, how much further we got ourselves in life. Those things are trivial, because they can be taken easier than they were achieved, but the thing that does matter, the thing that stick, is how much we care for others. Whether we go that extra step with a person in need. If we put that extra effort into being Christ to others, if we see them as Christ sees them, as someone in need of compassion, and see ourselves as Christ sees us, someone in need of everlasting grace, we acknowledge our commonality. We recognize, we are one. One hurting nation. One hurting world. One body desperately seeking for hope.

take in the pain of the world.

we walk on stardust

"The time has come," the Walrus said,/ "To talk of many things:/ Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--/ Of cabbages--and kings--/ And why the sea is boiling hot--/ And whether pigs have wings."

The Walrus and The Carpenter--Lewis Carroll

The magazine rack held out of date magazines screaming to be bought, as Dinah walked out of the bright April day through the automatic doors, her skin slightly flushed from the heat of the sun. She combed her fingers through her copper-toned hair that was tangled from driving with the windows down; school was just letting out and the high schoolers were filing into the library for the after school program, better known as supervised unsupervision. She walked over the to wall of books and gingerly scanned the authors and neatly labeled sections as she listened to the conversation of the gray haired ladies to her right, who were pouring through pop-Psychology books from the 1970's and grab bags of 6 romance books for a dollar.
Libraries were like sanctuaries, in them Dinah found God and creativity and solace. The quiet reverence engulfed her like an ocean, the current of words swirling around her and tickling her ears and her eyes; pulling her deeper into the smells of the packed shelves and the creases of thoughts. Removing books from the shelf and taking deep breaths of the pages, the aromas of the decades old glue and binding, dust and ink, wafted with each turn of the page and felt like home. Dinah smiled as she felt herself relax.
All good things, like all bad things, pass away in time; Toby a bleach-blonde man-boy of about 25 entered the foyer and brought with him the stench of the ash tray between the columns of the porch, with a confident stride he made his way over to the shelves on the wall and tucked his still smoking, but recently extinguished cigarette behind his ear. His pungent odor quickly drove away the pleasant smell of aged books and turned Dinah's stomach. The women on her right quickly cast their disapproving looks to the boy who, after some scrutiny, had a slight Asian build and wore a messy fu-manchu made mostly of stubble.
Dinah rolled her eyes and pondered if the boy-man--boy had a clue that he was so intrusive. She wondered about stereotypes while watching him reach around her for a newly bound copy of a biography of Warren Buffet. She shook off the urge to stare at him further when he pulled the chunky book for the shelf, carried it to the sci-fi section, scooted the books out of the way, shoved the book in between two star-trek paperbacks, and stepped back to admire his handy work, then quickly scanned the shelves as though he was looking for something else that had been misplaced.
Dinah retrieved a few misfit books from the shelves, opened them at a near-half-point and read a few sentences and paragraphs, careful to replace the book back in the exact slot it once occupied. She had since childhood, prided herself of her spy like qualities of rummaging and replacing things with such precision as to leave no trace whatsoever. Choosing random titles Dinah and Toby quickly worked their way to the end of the wall, to the coveted shelf bearing two almost synonymous labels: literature and religion.
Dinah scanned the books, faith for the unbelievers; 360 Tao; A History of Zen; The Be ((Happy)) Attitudes. Halfway between the two sections, a book caught her eye. She reached for the pale book and met a hand. Their paths had collided, or so they thought. The boy flashed the smile showing his slightly tobacco stained teeth and continued to reach for the copy of the Medieval Women's Literature and laughed. "Sorry were you reaching for this?" he asked with a slight twinkle in his eye as he handed her the oddly shaped glossy white book. "No," she replied, handing the book back to him, "I was reaching for The Prophet." She reached over her head to pull down the book with the yellowing jacket, Toby raised his eyebrows and smiled; "interesting," he said out loud, shrugged, reshelved the Women's Literature volume, and disappeared around the corner whistling a happy tune.

see the dawn break gold

it was time for a blog makeover, i'm still not sure about it. they are not my favorite colors... but it is a good change.


this weekend was mini-vacation. last monday was my nephew's eighth birthday (HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CALEB!), so this weekend, i ventured over to the tampa area to see him and my sister and niece. it was a welcomed get-away. i've not been over to see them in a few months, and it's always a pleasure to relax and be with family.

while i was there, i was thinking about how much my sister's children had grown. there are so many markers that i place around them being born. the last time i saw my brother was the day that my niece was born (almost 14 years ago); it's also been 14 years since our church revamped the sanctuary. when my nephew was born, i was just beginning to drive, and i drove down with my mom; that was the first time that my mother and i went anywhere without my father and wouldn't be repeated again until an eventful trip in my junior year of college. Caleb's birth was also the first time i drove in a huge city on my own, and had to find my way across town on sheer memory (yikes).

my nephew is a loving boy and a joy to be around; full of curiosity and corny jokes. and my niece is coming to that grand age, where the whole world is out to get her. i remember that age, when you're mad, for what seems like no reason, your mom cramps your style, and you have a double dose of temper coming at you from both sides. it's funny how things change. but sometimes i feel like time is zooming past me, and i remain unaffected by its progression.

looking at my life now, and back to 14 years ago, when i was making silly seal faces in polaroids with my sister is unimaginable, when looking at far we've both come since then, and how much farther we've to go in the next 14 years. and then i realize that feeling as if the whole world is out to get you seems pathetic when you lay it beside the pain you feel when your best friend leaves you holding the bag on your friendship, or when you start going to the funerals of your friends parents. the memory of your first independent drive is nothing compared to your first kiss, and not enough to make you happy during your first breakup. and to think that there are still experiences yet to make, still life left to live, dreams to achieve, tears to cry; the next one a little more exciting or difficult than the one before.

how wonderful life is.

oh, i just can't wait.

it's going to be so great!