Am I finally ready?

Why is it that we are so prone to neglect everything we should be doing? It's like we see a pile of homework to do, but that's about the time "ice cream" floats up form our subconscious and forces us in the car and on our way to Dairy Queen. And the worst part about all of this is that this isn't a problem because of silly things like my aforementioned example. It's a problem because we do that with the important things, too. You know, we know we're supposed to pray, but instead we turn on the tv and watch meaningless drama. We need to change our major to one thing, but instead we go the way entirely opposite of that. What is this? Why do we know what we should do and just....not do it?

Of course, this isn't an original idea. In the Bible, Paul talks about this very same thing. I wish I knew the exact scripture reference, but I do not. (Romans? Chapter 8? Maybe?) His words summarize this very problem, the gist of which being that we do what we know we shouldn't and neglect what we ought to do. It's a part of our human nature. None of us is immune to our humanity, which is a lesson I keep having to learn.

I got home from Christmas break less than a week ago, and along with my pile of books and bags, I brought a mental to-do list of all the things I wanted to accomplish during my 3 week Christmas break. I think of this to-do list often. It usually comes to mind when I'm waiting for my tenth straight episode of Grey's Anatomy to buffer, or when I'm trying to ignore the books I got from the library, knowing that I should just suck it up and sit down to read them. But I just run away. I toss that mental to-do list into the air and think, Oh dear. Looks like the wind caught it...I don't even try to justify my lazy and rebellious spirit. I just lie about it being a problem. And that is a problem!

All I know is that I'm tired of wanting to do all these things, but always giving in before the fighting actually begins. I mean, I'm in college now. Isn't it time to suck it up and make some sacrifices? It's time to grow up, and maybe that means strapping that mental to-do list to my forehead and keeping in step with it time and again. I think I'm ready. Here goes nothing.

Now...where are those library books?

Addicted

Alright. I'll just cut right to the chase today. I started watching "Grey's Anatomy" last night. For anyone who has ever watched this show, it can probably go without saying that I am almost done with the first season after only 24 hours. It is seriously so dramatic!!! The acting is great, the music is great, and while the story line isn't super duper original, it works quite well. And since I'm an English major now, I've been thinking like one a lot more these days. You see, getting addicted to a television show isn't new for me. The same thing happened to me with the office during March of my senior year of high school. I kept thinking, Dang, I'm so lazy! My life is wasting away! I know it's not exactly a great choice to sit and watch TV shows all day, but I think that sometimes our reasons aren't bad. There is a reason why we get so addicted.

Here's the thing. People like stories. It's not surprising, really. Some of my earliest memories are of my mom reading me stories before bedtime. All through high school, there was always some "story" of how to solve the equation, the "journey" one should take to write a paper, or the "tale" of going to prom. The human experience is a story. Our collective existence is the big one, but each of us also have these completely intricate and totally awesome stories. And I think television has figured out that our individual stories are all connected somehow. So when we see a spicy love affair, the lustful part of us just says "once upon a time....." because maybe we don't agree with the love affair...but in some ways, it's happening to us simply because we are human. 

The characters in "Grey's Anatomy" are imperfect, and that's why I can identify with them so very well. One is arrogant and bitter about the world. I can be that way sometimes. One of them can't seem to do anything right. How well the audience can relate to that! And then the constant complications of relationships, or a lack thereof is something I ponder as an outside looking in almost everyday. I'm addicted to how they figure everything out. Every time a new episode starts, I keep watching because maybe if they finish their story, I can have new hope to finish mine. I know it's twisted because my story isn't theirs...but there is still this deep connection. I want to see them grow. I want to see them happy, successful. I'm addicted to humanity's story. 

Little Explosions

I can't get this off my mind, and it can be a little heavy sometimes. And yet, I like the way it feels. There is something beautiful about being a writer, once I get past the constant demand of perfectionism and the intermittent flow of sentences meandering through my brain. It's hard to be where I physically am because my mind is inside an essay or blog post. I try to focus on the here and now, the material, but ideas are like magnets. I can't pull away. I must write. If I can't write, I must think about writing. I'm not talking about the kind of writing that my professors grade. No. While I enjoy this type of writing as well, I'm talking about the writing that means something to me...the kind that hands the microphone over for my voice to come booming out across the planet. Even the little words seem like little explosions. Every blog post lifts a weight from my shoulder. I feel so free. The best part is knowing that someone...somewhere....is reading this. There is this giant, invisible bridge between perfect strangers. I want to meet each one of you. I want to know your story. I want to see your response to what I've written. What are your thoughts? Who are you? Where are you? 

I've always found that my writing has made the biggest connections between me and my teachers, especially English teachers. Now, here I am at college, and the same thing is happening. My English Comp professor has become one of my very favorite people. She has helped affirm my talent, often using the word "genius" to describe the insights and depth to my papers. I'm not sure I agree with that. In fact, I often feel that I don't excel at very many things. Music and writing are the things that satisfy my hunger, so I do them. And I guess I'm okay at them. Having affirmation of my talents makes me feel like I can do anything. I picture having my own office at a university one day, with "Dr." written in front of a name that once seemed so bare. I've never been so full of dreams before. But I must confess that the ability to dream is usually strongly connected to the ability to serve others...and service can be ugly and un-fun. This is selfish, I know. But I'm just being honest.

There isn't a point to this other than my excitement at having gifts that I not only see in myself, but that others (with doctorates) see as well. I find it kind of odd how quickly I was sucked into the English department, but I love it so far. It has changed my view of myself and of others. Even the world around me seems different, and I'm so very glad. 

Dreams

I used to have really big dreams.
I needed a suitcase for all of them.
My pockets were ripped from the way I used to shovel them all in.
I pictured myself behind masks that would have never fit my face, but my mind had them glued there anyway.
In my mind's eye, I was stronger, prettier, smarter, and stronger.
Yes, I used to have really big dreams, and then something changed.

I do it everyday.
Hit the snooze over and over, stumble out the door, force a smile, pretend I'm a hero.
The dreams are gone, passed away, shoved aside.
People are dying, hungry, ignored, battered, broken, needy, and here I am.
What was it about those dreams that seemed so important?
Now all I want to do is help.

I like awake at night, sit staring into space during the day.
Can anyone else feel the urgency?
The countdown is hurting my ears because we're running out of time.
The time to act is now.
We have to help them.
We have to live differently.
Yes, I used to have really big dreams, but now they're even bigger.

The call is simply this:
To remember that we're blessed, and to help the poor.
Why is it so hard to get people to move?
Why is it so hard to get myself  to move?
I thank God that finally my dreams are different.

Moaning

In and out...I am breathing, still alive as people everywhere are dying slowly, quickly, just dying.

Lately I can't stop thinking about this. I'm a firm believer that things don't just happen for no reason at all. 

There's a reason I'm still alive. There's a reason I can write. There's a reason I have so much.

The world is moaning, but I plug my ears.

I hum my own song while pretending I can't hear.

The backpack is heavy; I feel special carrying my books, my thoughts, all that I think matters.

I believe I'm a good person; I repeat it when I lie down at night.

But the world is moaning, and I plug my ears.

I don't want to live an empty life. I wanting to watch it dribble down the glass, foam over the top, maybe come rushing from inside. I want to be a hurricane and knock the wind out of the crippling paradigms of this broken world. I want my voice to echo down the sides of mountains, to bob up and down in frigid rivers, to embrace the humanity that has lost its way. I want my voice to become a choir, more than me, more than this. Where have these convictions come from? From Him, of course. Where else? 

I've never boasted to be more than I am. I know I'm small, my words get muffled, I stutter, and the world has been deaf for a long time. 

And yet I write. I know that no one is reading this except me. This is what I need. I'm not here to impress. I'm not here for a pat on the back.

I'm here to write because the world is moaning.