Favorite Season

My Favorite season? It's not during the middle of a stark winter or a ripe summer. I like spring not yet summer; fall not yet winter. Sprummer and Finter, respectively. I don't know what it is but the middle of the seasons have a hypnotic effect on me. I am often unmindful of the passing time. However, the changes in the weather never fails to wake me up and let feel the motion of time; it reminds me to see the changes in my life. When I realize and say, "It's almost summer!" or "It's already Christmas!", I think about my progressions and regressions. Hurtings and healings. Opportunities and regrets. It's during these brief but blessing transitions when God helps me realize that...time? It's not stationary. Life? It's moving on... and God? Yeah. Well He's pretty dang good to me.

Blogspot Problem

There is a problem with Blogspot and one problem only (ok there are more but not relevant to this context). It occurs when a person comments my post and it reports as "one comments". Nevertheless, I am grateful because it makes my blog imperfect. Getting to the point...I know I have grammar problems and my sentences may be run-on, confusing, or all together, a waste of your time to read, but I hope you guys can let me know so I can continue to refine my writing! I want eventually I want every word to have a purpose. Honestly, a third of the time I have a "cross-my-fingers-and-hope-they-understand" kind of mentality, and another third of the time it's a "what-the-heck-am-talking-about-I'm-getting-a headache" kind. The last third is the only one that keeps me sane and makes me keep writing. So yes, please..understand and keep me in check! Thanks!

Don't send me a postcard

It takes a lot for me to be amazed at nature and city sights. That's why I hate seeing places on post cards and pictures because when I get there, I may get disappointed. I don't dare walk from Manhattan to the Bronx or get lost at the Grand Canyon through Google. I don't want any expectations or preconceptions so that when I get there, the city may steal my breath for a while.

Lost in translation

I think translators could be categorized with many of the worlds greatest artists. Carefully deciphering connotations. Protecting meanings. Preserving nuances. When reckless, translators can strip words of their inherent emotions. Without caution, saturated words find themselves robbed of their beauty. No more luster. "Sense-full" words become senseless. Words of wisdom can lose their instruction. Tasteful humor can become dry. Poems can become facts. Literature of artistic merit can become amateur fiction. Homes can become housing and family can become kin. Hello translators of the world, I applaud thee.

Porch Life

I would feel the most satisfaction laying on my white musty porch on a good humid summer evening of the 1940's. I am listening to the thunderstorm and the pouring rain. I would be under those starchy sheets dried too many times under the sun. It would be itchy, but i would secretly like it. And as I hum bars from the hymn that I heard in the church pews that morning, he would tap his feet. It's a quiet treasure. A hushed glory. A way of Jesus telling me he loves me.

The Darkness

Sometimes, light can conquer darkness, like a candle in a dark room. But other times, to put light somewhere means to put darkness elsewhere, like a shadow. Shadows forms at places that light knows not of. There is a constant existence of this battle. Anywhere that God isn't, darkness is. How can we fight when we don't even know our battle grounds. The more light, the more we can see textures, dimensions, and perspectives. We can see our vision clearly. more prayer. more word. and more worship. we need more light.

My favorite sound

There is nothing better than sound of a baby drinking milk. Sure, I love to hear their laughing, cooing, and even crying but nothing is better than the sound of a baby drinking from their bottle. It's something about the effortful breath they take after each drink. Eating is so instinctual and basic but its somewhat humorous, for the lack of a better word, to see these babies struggle and sound like they are holding on for their dear lives. I just can't resist.

Blind

Something about blindness to me is so beautiful. Even if they can't physically see a thing, its as if their gaze held the whole world; sweetly, tenderly, and preciously. I thank God for such a beautiful thing.

slight agitation remains as a muse

I listened. My professor said, "You know, if you can't make it to class, just tell me. Because, you know we are all humans and life happens." And then I thought, "As I sit in this 700 student auditorium reading dissertations, is life not happening. Are we not breathing? Are we not expanding our minds? Are we not living? Has heaven and hell stopped its battle? Do you not call this life?! Then what are we doing? Holding life on pause outside the doors? I wanted to stand up and argue until I realized that my argument towards the prof didn't have any support, importance, or even a sliver of relevance. So I just sat there in that 700 student class reading dissertations and kept on listening.

middle school survival

Remember?! We used to play Mash. It was fun when I didn't actually have a life. Well..at least I hope that i've moved on ;)