(so)rry

A sat on my star last night.

You know the one.  If you have forgotten, go outside by the rainbow well. Look up and count 9 stars to the left of the moon. If you are able to do that, maybe you should.

I sat on my star and thought about you. I can’t explain why but I think I might be sad. After all you moved, you packed up all of your clouds and left. Somehow you forgot to grab your rays of sunlight on your way out. I sleep with them every night so I never forget how you smell. I hope you don’t mind.

It started to rain while I was thinking. You always liked the rain. I remember how you used to run outside in the middle of a sentence because you were always worried that the rain would stop before you got to run through it. I filled my eyes with the drops that fell. To do this I had to drop down from my star for a little bit but I didn’t mind. Later I would lose these drops I saved for you. I began to think of you and they fell right out of my eyes. I’m sorry. I will replace then, I promise.

I looked into space and let my mind wander. A gust of wind nearly knocked me off of my star. I looked down in anger hoping to curse the weather that startled me so but I noticed it was a jet. How foolish would I look cursing a jet?  It sounds like something you would do. I was always too reserved when I got angry. You taught me how to get mad in a healthy way. Now I no longer own my notebook dedicated to, “Things that make me want to start a riot,” because now I handle things differently.

The moon was particularly sassy last night. I asked him if he wanted to sing a song with me and he ignored me. Isn’t there a song that has to do with the moon and not paying attention to your son? I thought so. I started to sing that song to him. He got so mad he started to fade away. I think I taught him a lesson.

I figured that I had spent too much time on my star so I tried to get down. My dress got caught on that stubborn point, you know the one that is just a little longer than the others. I laughed with the point as I removed my dress from it. I made my dress apologize.

I opened my sock drawer and noticed that you had left your bottle of tornadoes tucked in the back of the cedar moving box. I opened it, the tornado was getting claustrophobic. He thanked me and returned to the bottle after he had done his fair share of damage to my perfume bottles. Well now they are puddles and broken glass.

One last thing, I walked down the poppy path behind that old cabin we used to visit for picnics. I picked a flower and took it to you. Your gravestone is sad-looking. Reading your name through blurry eyes I sing a hymn. How we miss you. And I’ll have you know, I’m wearing that pink dress you liked so much. I remember you told me that I looked like the April Wind. That’s when I knew you liked me, after all the April Wind was your favorite thing, barely beating out the rain. I must return now, the heavens will only leave the sky open for so long. It is moments like this in which I wish I had told you about this hope my mother taught me. Had I given into my heart, I would have shared that hope with you and you would be with me. I’ll be taking a flower back with me as well. I will never forget you, and I will never forget what I forgot to do.

Observations From O’Hare

Everyone is rushing, they have places to go. The seasoned bob and weave through the masses while the rookies look up wide-eyed in hopes to find their place. Hooked to their screens they work, I cannot judge them because as I write this I do the same. Men walk with chests puffed to bask in the success they wish to scream at onlookers through their manner. Women hold close to their belongings trying to stay on path. I admire the children and the way they follow; for the most part. I see a child beg for a souvenir and I see another lying fast asleep on their father’s shoulder. Looking, looking, looking. Coming and going. They each tell a story all their own. Perhaps they are going on their honeymoon, perhaps they are traveling to say their last goodbyes. I watch, again I continue to master the art of being a bystander. She walks quickly, maybe this is due to tardiness or maybe excitement. Her arms swing to and fro as she goes on. He walks calm and smooth. Judging by his backpack, he is going to, or coming from somewhere adventurous. I picture that man walking through trees and climbing mountains. I would be disappointed to hear that he simply went to visit his aunt. The next man comes by, he laughs with friends. I pretend that they are reminiscing an encounter with a drunk and foolish man on their travels. This is a memory that they will pull out of their minds at friendly gatherings for years to come. They will no doubt start the story telling with “do you remember that guy in Turkey?” Laughing will soon follow as they open that mind drawer. She rolls one small case. Alone she walks as she keeps a straight face. She resembles a foreigner maybe she is here to visit family. Maybe she is here to finish school. He looks like an educator. She looks like an anxious mother. He boasts the colors of our nation, he is a soldier. I want to thank him. The two sitting by me just met. The woman is blonde and speaks with an accent. She laughs with the man as they try to plug-in their phones. Is love starting here? I couldn’t tell you. They are headed to Vegas. He is here for love. She wants to experience life and he looks me in the eye as I type…oh how I hope these people are unaware that I am making them characters in my story. She is beautiful, in her heels she walks with confident steps. Grandpa. Athlete. Stewardess. Spring breaker. New guy in town. Playboy. The gang is all here. Lets go somewhere wonderful. All of you beautiful people, lets join hands and cross the ocean. Adventures await us.

Here We Go Again

I’ve put my left shoe on my right foot again. You would think that by now I would be able to see that doing that isn’t right, but I still do it. I can tell my step is off and things don’t feel right, but I keep walking because I have places to go. My left shoe is lovely, but it doesn’t belong on my right foot. I find myself in this place often. I want something to work out so badly but it is not meant to work out. I take my future into my own hands and I try to fit things into my life that do not belong there. Doing this often causes disappointment and setting yourself up to be let down is never a good thing. But for now I will cut myself some slack. It is tough to let go and walk forward. I guess maybe I should stop looking down at these shoes and look up for  direction. Goodness, for the life of me I don’t know why I want my left shoe to fit my right foot so badly. I suppose I’ve learned to care less about my shoes because I just want to get…there. I want to be on the mountain top but I keep trying to make something happen. Clearly things need to change. I believe I am capable of moving past this whole shoe incident, but I am very stubborn. When I want something I try to make it work, even when I’m the only one working to make the shoe fit. Do you ever feel like you are caught in the same routine?

The Idea Of Knowing

Knowing is a curious thing. Actually, knowledge as a whole baffles me. I see so many people who just…know. They know where to go, they know what to do and they know who to be. I believe I have found the latter, but I’m not quite sure how I feel about this idea of knowing. I choose to believe that since there is One who knows all, we shouldn’t worry too much about our knowledge. Before you throw your pen let me explain. Since there is One who has plans for my life, I don’t need to worry about being left in the dark. I do not need to play God in my own life, for that is a role no man can reprise. I believe my job is to be a listener, a follower and a do-er. Worrying just doesn’t add up. I mean, I could write my own monologue to start with. Then I could perform my life as I see fit, that is a possible path. Or I could go through life with a script from above that is held together with blood-stained gold. Knowledge can pass over my head for I was given love, purpose and design in the garden. All I need to know is that which He shows me, all other knowledge will be left for the dogs as we enter those gates. I’ll place my tattered life into His hands and I will gain all the knowledge I need in the journey that follows.

What Happens While You Blink

It takes .00001 seconds to blink.
In that time you are completely blind. Your arms stay flat at your sides and your legs continue to hold you up, but for one hundred-thousandth of a second your environment owns you. While your eyes rest for a moment things happen all around the world. The greatest mind of our generation is completing revolutionary work. The most talented hands just finished a masterpiece. A voice that sounds like that of an angel was just discovered. While this happened, your eyes weren’t even open.
Blink.
You will never get that a hundred-thousandth of a second back.
A pair of feet just found a rhythm that no one else will ever be able to match. A medical sketch was just drawn that will one day save your uncle’s life.
Blink.
You keep doing that, friend! You continue to blink and let the world go on without you. What have you done? Have you even begun to build a legacy? Why are you waiting on the edge of the pool? You could do it, you know. You could be that person. Instead of standing there blinking and hearing; chose to move. While you run to make up for lost time the wind will cause you to blink more and more. Time is being wasted, my friend. See what you are capable of. Look at what God gave you and become a force of innovation.
You see, changing the world is part of the job requirement in our lives. You could choose to let everyone else make up for what you chose to not do, or you could embody the greatness that was given to you.
Now someday you will make it to the Hall of Worldchangers. And when you walk up those steps you will blink. Now your blinking is not time wasted. You worked and your eyes were dry through the struggles but now you can blink and replenish them with the movement of the world. Stamp His name on your accomplishments and you will be blessed.

Brick Walls

Brick walls are said to be strong, much like my father.
He has always been the pillar of my family and I strive to make him proud. I began to I mirror his strength in times of pain because he always seems to make it through and I want that as well. He finds shelter at my mother’s side and he finds strength with bended knees and hands raised. My father tends to take on quite a bit, and I have followed that as well. I try to do a lot because I have seen my father excel in so many things he has put his hands to and I want that same prosperity for myself.
Time and time again, I mirror my father; a brick wall.
Have you ever noticed though that brick walls all crumble at some point?
You see, this scared me. I do not want to crumble, nor do I want that to be my father’s fate. I looked closely and realized what I had missed. With proper care, brick walls last centuries. When someone tends to a brick wall and makes sure it is weathering well, no man can knock it down. I believe my father found a good “brick layer” to take care of him in my mother and in the Creator.
I will mirror my father once more. I will lift my hands and gain strength to carry on and I will find a partner in life. I will find a man to keep me standing tall. Who knows, perhaps this man is a brick wall as well. We could come together and form a house. A house made like that would stand.
My father is an example of strength and love. I want to be like him in that same sense. It is ok to be strong, just remember to have someone to take care of you as well, no one remembers a pile of rubble. We all look to bricks walls to find security.
Thank you to my father who never stops teaching me.

Blissful Confusion

You. I have a hard time writing about you. I haven’t noticed your walk and I haven’t categorized your laugh. Maybe this is because I haven’t had enough time, but maybe it is because you and I aren’t the same and he and I were.
I had time to take him in. I daydreamed for longer than I care to admit and that made every part of him a chapter to this movie I had been watching all along. I listened to him for a long time and he heard me in return. We joked and laughed and remained the same. You and I haven’t landed on that stone in the path yet.
Am I being guarded, my dear? If so I apologize. You see, you haven’t given me much to go off of. You say one thing and do not finish the other. You make me smile but after a while I rub my head out of confusion. Do you, or don’t you? Do I, or don’t I?
I try to keep him out of this but I can’t help but compare my heart’s notes. He and I made sense, but we never came to be. You and I make sense but will we ever come to be?
He looked at me, but he looked past me. After all, he had to. Will you though?
I can’t seem to make these ends meet. I’ve been sitting in this tree for so long, I don’t want to come down and face my problems at eye level. From this high up everything is right. I love the times when we are in a good place, but my confusion is overtaking them.
He confused me too.
Does that mean history is repeating itself?
Please,
no.

When We Try, We Are Champions

Joel 3:10 msg Let the weak one throw out his chest and say, “I’m tough, I’m a fighter.”

Sometimes I feel as though I have no power. It’s like I’m holding a stone, but I cannot come to throw it. I am in love, but I cannot find the words to express it. I feel weak. It’s like I am pushed down by the naysayers day after day. When I come to my feet they wind back their arm of hate and put me back into that place of helplessness. It’s like I have a hand over my mouth. Those who do not want the truth to be known try to keep me silent. They will continue one their wordless mission in hopes that I will give in and stop screaming under their deceitful hand.

I read the words above and do the same. I throw out my chest and say, “I’m tough, I’m a fighter.”

With this God-given confidence I am able to throw the stone across an ocean. I not only find words to tell of my love, I fall further in love that I could ever imagine. The naysayers come around the corner and see me in this new confidence. They turn and run out of intimidation, never to be seen again. And the liars who try to keep me from truth-shouting begin to lose to the words I proclaim. They too run and try to clean their filthy hand of the truth it is now covered in.

When we feel weak, this is when we have to try harder than ever. We have to put our fears away and really try. With a help from above, we can see that we are fighters. And beyond fighters, we are champions. Those who try to hold us back will not stand a chance when we do this.

–Aris

Mirror, Mirror On The Wall, Why Are You The Most Powerful Of Them All?

Our mirrors are mirrors that could never be, that’s why they lie to us.
That mirror in your hallway could never amount to anything. See, its not a component in a space telescope and its not surrounded in a pure gold frame and hung on the walls of Versailles. It is an ordinary, cheap, generic mirror.

Your mirror gets jealous. It sees you in your beauty and becomes envious. It forms a plan to play with your mind. As you stand there and examine your face and your clothing the mirror goes to work. You realize that you are standing there longer than usual and you try to find out what you are so stumped on. The mirror is winning now. You touch your hands to your face and you look perplexed. Your hands drop to your waist and you turn to the side. Your shoulders fall forward and you begin to think that maybe its a bad hair day, maybe this outfit looked better on you before you gained a little bit of weight. You feel like you went from beautiful and confident to insecure and ugly in a matter of moments. As you walk away with your head down the mirror grins. If this mirror cannot be a beautiful success, than neither can you.

You have a long day at work and you come home to the quietness of your apartment. You feel accomplished and someone even said that you looked nice today. Your spirits are high and your mirror takes notice. Your mind and your mirror meet once more, and this time the mirror goes to work must faster. Maybe that person was paying you a compliment out of pity or maybe you are truly insignificant in your work place. You stand in front of this mirror with a single tear cascading down your face. The mirror has some leverage now. You are falling apart even faster than expected.

You wake up and choose to not look in the mirror, after all it is Saturday, who do you have to impress? I’m sure your cat won’t mind a little bedhead and smeared make-up. You are feeling average and the sun is bright. It shines off of that mirror and it catches your eye. You walk over to the mirror and see yourself, un-edited and natural. You smile and the mirror reflects its own opinion. You feel like you look terrible now. You run your fingers through your hair and wipe your under eyes. You shake you head and walk away.

Then as you sit all alone, you start to think about how ugly you must be. After all you’re alone. You begin to cry because you feel worthless and unwanted. This mirror is basking in its success right now. Your tears are its Champaign. It celebrates. Amid your tearful thoughts you hear something in your innermost being, “You are fearfully and wonderfully made.”

You walk to this mirror once more and your mind begins to connect with it again. You stop this near-connection and say, “I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” Over and over again you say this to yourself. You begin to feel beautiful and your confidence skyrockets. You take that mirror and you go outside. You raise it above your head, preparing to slam it to the ground. But something stops you. You walk inside and grab a marker from your refrigerator calendar and you write on this mirror.

“You are fearfully and wonderfully made.”

This mirror can no longer mock you, you own it now. Every time it goes to play tricks on your mind it will have to scream louder than those words you just wrote. And it will not be able to.

You hang the mirror up once more and walk away. You are winning now.

Aris

Those Before Me.

I feel as though those who went before me have left pieces and clues.

They left me a bread crumb trail to success and they set up a scavenger hunt for happiness.

They ran through the untaimed forest before me and tore branches out of my way. They beat the ground with quick and heavy feet to make a road for me to follow.

Those that went before me took water out of the puddles and made it clean for drinking.

They preserved life and remembered that God intrusted them with a gift.

They told stories and invented worlds, little did they know that their wildest dreams would become a reality in my time.  They were pioneers and visionaries. They were lovers and fighters.

People of such gusto are rare in these times. I trace the drawings of those who were not stopped by brick walls and  angry mobs. For I admire the fact that I get to freely walk through these very same walls untouched and I get to see these very same mobs that killed for game peacefully chatting with one another because of what those before me did.

These Movers took the burdens of others and lit them on fire with compassion and care. The word “impossible” was beaten and left bruised and hurting by The Determined.

They created and they have left the paint brushes out for us.

Revoltuionists pinned a note to a tree for me. It read, “Finish what I’ve started.”

And oh, how I intend to.