Tag Archives: Art

Do Whatever He Tells You

At the wedding of Cana, Mary tells Jesus that the hosts have run out of wine. This is the moment when he performs his first miracle. He doesn’t do it totally on his own, though. He allows some servants to help. His mother tells the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” This is often easier said than done. Sometimes God asks us to do pretty crazy things. Often, I think, it’s a test of what we’re willing to do, rather than what we’re able to do.

I was just finishing up my morning prayer before we headed up to Maine yesterday, and a scripture reading from that was when Paul says, “…it is when I am weak that I am strong,” talking about how God uses our weaknesses to accomplish his plans. This reminded me of the opening of the book of Jeremiah. Jeremiah is called by the Lord to be his prophet, but he protests, saying that he couldn’t possibly because he is too young and doesn’t really know how to speak well.

Before Jesus’ ascension into Heaven, he tells his disciples two things. He tells them to go and spread the Gospel, and he promises that he will always be with them. I imagine that the prospect of trying to get this message out to the world was a bit intimidating. Without knowing how things would turn out, it would seem as if Jesus picked the first twelve Apostles out at random. They got the message out, though, and two thousand years later, I’m writing about it halfway across the world.

They didn’t have internet. They didn’t have the printing press. They had their feet, their love for Jesus, and word of mouth. On top of those difficulties, they certainly didn’t have the freedom of religion that we enjoy in most first world countries. Countless Christians died for their faith, and still do die for their faith.

Yesterday I had a conversation with my godfather. I asked him why it might be that it’s taking so long to find a way for me to be formally consecrated to Jesus. He told me something I hadn’t really thought about. I’ve written about how I still have some insecurities. I thought my hangup was that I’ve been too nervous. My prayer lately has been, “Lord, yeah, this does freak me out a little, but just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

My godfather told me that this wasn’t my issue. My issue was that, for one thing, I was being impatient, and for another, I was too invested in one corner of the world. In other words, my priest had told me to look into carmelite spirituality, so I’ve been exclusively looking into that. I realized one other thing before I got up today, too. I’m not very good at listening. I live a noisy life. I’m constantly listening to music, or trash talking with my dad, or yapping with my mom, or playing D&D and laughing with my brother and friends. When I do pray, I talk a lot, and forget to listen.

Luckily God is adaptable, and he uses song lyrics and random one-liners to tell me what I need to hear a lot of times. I woke up with the chorus of “Grace Got You” by Mercy Me stuck in my head today. In my head, that translated to, “I am still here, and I’m listening.” Still, I know I need to find our silence. Maybe then I’ll be able to figure out exactly where I need to go and what I need to do.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

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That’s Life

I’ve been trying for days to write something interesting and profound. I’m obviously trying too hard. This is just a life update because I can’t think of anything else to write.

For various reasons my sleep schedule has been messed up this week. I’ve been trying to get back on track, so far with minimal success. I also haven’t got a lot of work done on my book, though I’m almost done with one of my longer stories, and I really need to finish this one because I’ve come up with a magic system, and I’m using this story as an experiment to see if it works. I find it often helps to figure things out as I go along. It often complicates things, but the project is reasonably organized right now.

It’s been super warm out the past couple of days, which is most excellent. I’ve had terrible cabin fever. Because it’s New England, it basically went from winter to summer in a matter of days. It does that around here. I was just waiting for it. This winter was long. There wasn’t a whole lot of snow, but it was cold for a very long time. My idea of cold is anything below sixty degrees, though.

I’m currently rereading the Inheritance Cycle by Christopher Paolini. I just started the second book. I’m completely addicted. I had read the first book twice, but this is just my second time reading the whole series. It’s partly because of my addiction that I’ve been staying up way too late. I pretty much don’t watch Netflix or anything anymore. Instead I do this. I realized that I love fantasy so much because it takes my mind off the real world. I think too much.

We had a minor setback on the development of hour house in Maine. They guy who was digging the hole for the foundation did some kind of calculation wrong and had to redo it, but apparently it wasn’t a huge deal. Stuff like that is annoying, though. I really have no idea when we’ll be able to at least camp up there. Even if the house isn’t totally finished, it would be good to just have a place to stay when we visit family and such.

We recently learned that both of the priests at my church will be leaving at some point. They’re being reassigned by the diocese. One of them is going to be working full time at a Catholic school in town, and the other is moving to another town. I’m bummed because I like these guys a lot. They’re my friends. Plus, getting used to someone new will just be odd for a little while. I’m still hopeful, though. I was nervous when the priest we have now was assigned to our parish, and it turned out great.

Speaking of Catholic stuff, my cousin was confirmed last weekend. I was, and I guess really still am his sponsor. I don’t want to be too much of a pest, but I want to try and keep him connected to the faith. After I was confirmed, “church stuff” sort dropped off the face of the earth for a while, and I fared the worse for it. I would have been spared a lot of pain had I actually known Jesus back then. My cousin seems more receptive to it than I was at the time, though, so that’s a good thing.

I just finished another mosaic. I’m kind of obsessed with doing them now. I’m not sure what my next one will be. I’m going to wait for inspiration. The one I finished was harder than my others because I was using materials I wasn’t used to. I’m happy with how it turned out, though. Mostly my ideas have been inspired by religious concepts, but I might try and make a mosaic visual of one of the Realms from my book. That might be hard to do because the Realms are kind of an abstract concept in themselves, plus there are a lot of them.

So as you can see, I’m still pretty boring.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

That’s A Lot

Within the past week, I’ve got up to 320 followers. I don’t care that other people on here have been blogging for a lot longer than me and have a lot more than that. The fact that anyone is remotely interested in my insane babbling is pretty cool. I figured this would be a good time for a regular, plain old life update.

I’ve figured out how I’m going to complete my book. I’m currently working on a story that’s causing me a little trouble in terms of pacing, and I also have to deal with a language barrier between two different cultures. The book should be finished by the end of this year. I’ve also started working on a magic system, as well as the beginning of a plan for a second book, so I’m really hoping this one sells. Prayers are always appreciated.

I’m going to Maine tomorrow night with my mom. We’re meeting my godmother at a church near her because a priest is coming whose ministry it is to bring relics of the Church to show people all over the world. I don’t know exactly what he’ll be bringing, but one of the things I know for sure will be there is a piece of the True Cross–the cross that Jesus died on. Apparently miracles have been associated with this stuff, so I’m pretty excited. I’m a total nerd for this kind of stuff, and quite frankly, the history alone is super cool.

My brother will be getting his Bachelor’s in biochemical engineering in May. He’ll start classes for his Master’s shortly after that this summer. I’ve tried to understand what he actually wants to do after school at least six times, and it confuses my brain, so I’m sticking to the writing. Regardless, my brother’s super smart and I’m proud of him. I don’t think designing a universe is ultimately less complicated than what he’ll be doing, but he’s certainly much more focused than me. As far as I understand, he’ll be designing plants to mass-produce medicines and such. It sounds boring to me, but I mentally live in fantasy land, so what do I know?

We’ve made some progress on our house in Maine. it’s currently resting six feet off the ground on some pillars, and we’ve got some workers to come and pour a foundation for it. This project is both hilarious and disturbing to me. I still think my parents are insane. Once the foundation is done, our builder (Mom’s cousin) is going to build a new floor over it. Then we’ll drop the house back down–not literally. Then he’ll get to work busting it up and building new stuff where old stuff has to be replaced. I really hope I get to do a little demolition, even just some small stuff. I admit I have a taste for breaking things. Maybe that’s why I like making mosaics.

I’ve finished three so far. One was of a coiled ball python on a rounded piece of wood. I gave that to my friend for her birthday, I think a year ago since she has a pet snake. My second was my abstract interpretation of the moment of creation, when God said, “Let there be light.” The one I just finished was another abstract conveying the emotions of the scene when Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead. The one I’m about to start is based on some song lyrics I wrote that are also sort of a prayer. “…There is beauty in black and blue/ Walk far enough and you’ll wear down your shoes/ But you’ll find good in the places you go/ And you’ll find truth somewhere along the road” I’m going to put the Lazarus one in my bedroom in Maine, so that’s stashed away for when we actually start moving in. I’m going to sell the one I’m about to start. I’ll probably start working on it this weekend.

I haven’t had normal work or sleep hours this week. I’ve had stuff going on during the day, which has meant I’ve had to stay up pretty late (eleven PM to two AM kind of thing) and write crazy stuff. We had to take my bird to the vet today to get his claws taken care of. Right now he’s kind of at his most aggressive because he can fly and up until today, he had little demon claws. The worst is that he likes to get into bed with me and snuggle in the morning, but having a bird with demon claws climbing on your face is not fun. I tell him on a daily basis that I’m going to cook him, but I think he knows by now that this is an idle threat. He’s too cute to eat, anyway. We’ll be taking him back in June for a regular check-up and to get his wings done. For such a small animal he’s kind of high maintenance. The trouble is he tricked me into liking him from the get go.

Anyway, that’s pretty much it. God is cool, my brother’s a nerd, writing is fun, but hard, mosaics are cool, breaking stuff is fun, we currently own a floating house, and my bird is evil, but too cute to eat.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

Weakness

We don’t like weakness. We especially don’t like our own weaknesses. We pray that God will take them away, and sometimes he does, but a lot of times, he says “I have something better in mind.” Saint Paul begged God to take away the thorn in his side, whatever that might have been, and God told him, “My grace is enough.” So often we find ourselves asking God, “Can’t you just make this easier?” Maybe when we don’t get a clear response it’s because his answer is the same in the twenty-first century as it was in the first.

God chooses the weak and the messy. Think about his twelve apostles. They weren’t perfect by any standards. Ten abandoned him when he needed them most. One sold him out altogether. Only one stood by him at the cross (and there’s a theory that this may have been Lazarus, and not John the apostle). Later, he chased down Saul, a nasty persecutor of Christians, and asked him–didn’t make him, but asked him–to be his apostle to the Gentiles. If it weren’t for Saint Paul, we wouldn’t have most of the New Testament. He consistently chooses the least likely people to do his work.

He consistently chooses the uneducated, the humble, the simple, the sorrowful, the weak, to show the world that his ways are not our ways. That actually kind of freaks me out. What does that actually mean for me? I want to be a saint. I don’t say that lightly. I really do. That means really figuring out my weaknesses. I know what some of them are, and I don’t like them. The fact of the matter is, though that saints embrace their weaknesses. Jesus embraced human weakness. The fact that God decided to take on a human body that could get sick, and feel sorrow, and get hurt, and die, is insane. Still, he embraced that human weakness out of love.

Not many people know this about me, but I flipped upside-down before I was born. My mom was carrying me around so my head was upright. They were going to have to do surgery, but somehow I “miraculously” flipped back around so I could come out naturally. When I was about a year old, around the time I should have been learning to walk, I wasn’t, so a tiny piece of muscle was taken from my leg, and they figured out that I have MD. I wasn’t supposed to live passed the age of five. In fact, the likelihood of my even existing were very slim. Both of my parents somehow had the same defective gene that meant my body would be “weird.”

At times I have celebrated it, and at times, I have resented it. Had my body been “normal,” I probably would have played sports. I probably would have had very different friends and different interests. I also probably wouldn’t have figured out how to play guitar upside-down. I probably wouldn’t paint abstract pictures or make abstract mosaics. I probably wouldn’t have become an author, and I probably wouldn’t have come very close to God. I probably would have gone to a secular school half way across the country to get away from the boring suburban town I live in, and I may have lost my faith altogether. Instead, I went to Gordon, a small Christian school within driving distance of my house, so my mom could get me to my classes and then home. It was there that I learned that, not only does God notice my existence, but he loves me. It was also there that I learned nearly everything I know about writing. God’s love, reading, time, and failures have taught me the rest.

Yesterday’s post was about trust. I wrote about how God chooses to trust untrustworthy people. He’s made it quite clear to me that he loves me. Trusting someone with your love is a pretty big deal. Both of the priests at my church know that I think God is calling me to religious life. I asked one of them: “Why does God choose who he does? I mean, why would he choose me? There’s nothing special about me.” He effectively said, “I don’t know.” I know my weaknesses. I also know my strengths. I have physical weaknesses and I’m a sinner. I also deal with a few leftover insecurities from when I was a kid, but I know how to manage that stuff. I’m not just a writer; I’m a good writer, and I know that. I’m loyal. I know how to prioritize, and how to manage my time, even though I fail to do this as I should sometimes. The point is, I’m human, and so are you. For the remainder of Holy Week, this is my advice, from one messy human to the next: look at your weaknesses, and try to see them as God sees them; let him use them for his glory. Write about it, sing about it, cry about it, scream about it, and especially, pray about it because sometimes our weaknesses end up being our strengths.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

Fear Is A Lie

I realized something recently. When I’m working, I listen to Christian music almost exclusively. I’m talking about bands like Tenth Avenue North and Rend Collective. When I’m hanging out with my dad (my mom doesn’t really like music), we almost exclusively listen to secular music. My preferences in both categories don’t cover a hugely wide range of genres because I know what I like. When it comes to movies, I’ll watch almost anything, from romance to action to horror films, as long as the story is good. I don’t mind what some might consider vulgar language, and I don’t mind portrayals of faiths or belief systems that contrast with my own. I’m not afraid of these things.

Similarly, I am beginning to care less and less about what people think when I say that I am Christian, and I believe the Christian God to be the only true God. As I said, I am beginning to care less. As a teenager, I purposefully separated myself from others, but it was not for faith reasons. I had no faith back then. Still, I didn’t care what people thought of me. It was out of spite. Now I have faith, and my God has taught me to love, and now that I do love, I care what people think of me. It’s odd, and ironic. I care what people think because I love. I need people to understand that I believe in absolutes and in objective morality, and though I’m not perfect, I try not to judge. What I am trying to say is that I care less about my image now, and more about whether or not people can see the real me. The real me is Christian.

The world breeds fear. It’s hard to overcome it because the world is just so complicated. There are wars, there is violence, there is hunger, there is sickness, and there is a multitude of other problems, not to mention the supernatural factors. I’ve learned that fear is probably the Devil’s most powerful weapon. The most important thing to remember is that Jesus has already won. That means we’ve already won. My mom and I are listening to a story right now that’s told largely from the perspective of a seventeenth century Jewish woman living in London. At that time in London, apparently the leaders of the Jewish faith condemned theater because it was vulgar. I remember hearing that Christians had very similar sentiments about early Rock ‘n’ Roll, thinking that it was downright evil. They said the same about games such as Dungeons and Dragons when that first came out.

Such fear is nothing but a lie. Of course there are lines that need to be drawn. I don’t listen to certain bands or even just certain songs by bands that I otherwise like because they insult my Lord or my religion, for example. However, fearing something and ignoring or condemning it are two entirely different things. There are things we as Christians can ignore, tolerate, and even enjoy, even when these things are not explicitly Christian. There are also, of course, forms of entertainment or other practices that should be spoken against. Obviously this requires discretion, and I believe there are plenty of people braver and better equipped than myself to do this. My aim in this post is to speak against fear. I’m not a warrior, and I’m not a coward.

I started thinking about this recently because I’ve started getting bored of the same phrases and imagery that are used over and over in so many worship songs. I want real worship, and I want real artistry, not a bunch of lines that are copied and pasted from Scripture on top of yet another new melody. This is done because it is easy, but also because Scripture is the Word of God, and we love it. We trust his word, and it gives us comfort and hope. It is understandable, but it is also overdone. God himself is an artist. His plan and his way of doing things are totally strange, yet beautiful. We are made in his image and likeness, and as Christians, and especially as Christian artists, we should aim to mirror that. Be bold, be strange, venture into the absurd, do not be afraid to love, and above all, do not give into fear.

Why I Don’t Edit

Readers might notice that I don’t always thoroughly edit my posts. I do some editing, but I’m certainly not as meticulous as I am with my book. This is for a few reasons. The first is that this is where I share my thought process, and my mind is crazy and unscripted. I think my blog should reflect that. The second is that I’m imperfect, and I think leaving a few grammatical errors is a fine way of letting it show. The third is that I simply miss stuff, and sometimes I’m just lazy. As long as what I’m trying to say is understandable, I’m good with it.

The thing is, I kind of like imperfection. I love working on mosaics because sometimes trying to get pieces of broken glass to fit together how I want is nearly impossible, and I have to let them do their own thing. Sometimes I’ll want to do one thing, and something entirely different, and often better, will present itself out of the blue. The same might be said of music or painting. Opportunities often arise from mistakes.

When working on mosaics or paintings, I almost always make abstract designs. For one thing, I don’t think I’m quite skilled enough to make realistic things, but I also think the abstract world gives me so much more freedom. Beside that, though, the abstract has a mind and a language of its own. Realism captures an image, while abstract and Impressionism interact with the artist and the audience. In the abstract, even flaws have beauty and meaning.

People are the same. We often don’t make sense, and it is often our perceived insanity that gives us beauty and meaning. We are so unique and abstract to one another that there is a world contained in each individual. God is our artist, but as with abstract pieces of art, we are unruly and flawed. We want to write our own stories, and we are given the freedom to do so, but to make them truly good stories, we need the help of our Artist.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

My Epilepsy

The other night I couldn’t sleep. I occasionally get insomnia, which wasn’t helped by the fact that I had drank an enormous cup of regular coffee that day. I usually drink decaf. I had a very strange seizure very late that night, which was different than my usual ones, which generally are infrequent, but after that I still wasn’t tired, so I decided to go on a quest. In normal people language, that means I decided to do some research on different types of seizures. I found two different things that night. I found that I most likely suffer from what are called focal impaired awareness seizures. It describes my symptoms when I get “brain fuzz” almost perfectly.

What usually happens is I’ll have some warning before the seizure actually occurs. The warning is hard to describe, but it usually gives me a few seconds or even a few minutes to warn anyone around that I’m going to space out. Then, depending on how severe the seizure is, I usually don’t lose full awareness of my surroundings or black out, but I lose my ability to understand or use language, or if it’s really bad, I can’t process any audio at all. Most of the time I know that I’m going to have a seizure, and I’m mostly aware of what’s going on around me while it’s happening, and I’m aware when it stops. However, in the worst cases, I’ll have absolutely no clue that I’ve even had a seizure. Most people associate seizures with twitching on the ground and foaming at the mouth kind of behavior. That only describes one type of seizure. There are actually many. I’m writing this because while I couldn’t sleep the other night, I found another website where people could share their stories of living with epilepsy. I’ve mentioned my epilepsy here, but I haven’t really talked about it in detail, so I’d like to take this opportunity to do so.

A lot of the people who shared their stories talked about how they were diagnosed as teenagers or as adults. I was diagnosed when I was eight. I had a few seizures before we finally went to the doctor. I’m not sure why. I was given medication and never had a seizure until I was a Sophomore in college when I had a really bad one in March or April. My medication dose hadn’t changed since I was eight. Between an unruly brain, and too much work for finals, I almost did not sleep at all for the month of April. It was pretty bleak. I had discovered the band Tenth Avenue North by that time, and I almost exclusively listened to their song “Worn” through that time. The opening lines are, “I’m tired, I’m worn/ My heart is heavy/ From the work it takes/ To keep on breathing…” Needless to say, I was in a bad mood.

Over time, my epilepsy has changed, and I’ve had to increase my dosage of my original medication and introduce two others. I take a lot of pills, and I hate them. Some of them are hard to swallow, but without them, I wouldn’t be functional. Some peoples’ epilepsy is entirely independent of external factors or other bodily functions. On a lot of video games and movies, there is a warning for people with epilepsy that graphic effects or flashing lights might cause seizures. This has never been a problem for me. What is a problem for me is that I literally can’t be hungry. I have to carefully monitor how hungry I am, or I will most likely have brain fuzz. Plus, if I don’t eat I get hangry (angry because I’m hungry) anyway.

I have had a weird life post graduation because of my epilepsy. Because of my Muscular Dystrophy, as well as my epilepsy, I can never move out of my parents’ house. I can also never have a “normal” job, partly because I wouldn’t want my medical conditions to inconvenience an employer. The fact of the matter is, I am prideful in some ways, and I’m on social security. I hate that, but I have no other source of income. I keep up a blog and I’m writing a book because I can stop when my brain craps out on me. Because of my condition, I need a lot of sleep, and this enables me to get the ten to twelve hours of sleep that I need most nights.

I actually consider it a blessing in a way that I was diagnosed as a young kid because I can’t remember life without epilepsy. People on the website I found wrote how they were diagnosed in their twenties, thirties, or forties, and how it made them terribly depressed because they lost things like their drivers’ license, or in bad cases, lost the ability to work in the places they had been, doing the things they had been doing. I think epilepsy is one of those things you have to choose to laugh or cry about. While it is frustrating, I have to make jokes and laugh about it because I won’t let it rule my life. The fact of the matter is, though, that the prospect of having a seizure in public (which almost never happens), makes me uncomfortable. Quite frankly, if I can avoid even my family knowing, I will hide until it passes, and then act like nothing happened. Sometimes I have to tell, though, and ultimately, it’s important to do so, but it’s important not to make a huge deal out of it. The other night, when I had the seizure that was different than normal, I told my dad. It’s important to calmly explain what happened because, at least in my case, it usually isn’t something to be worried about.

It’s important also to let people who have had a seizure take their time to recover if they need to. Don’t freak out, because that makes the situation significantly more stressful for the person. Seizures suck, so you don’t want to be further complicating things. The best thing to do is to follow their lead. If it looks like they need help, try to help, but let them try to show you what they need if they can’t verbally tell you. Don’t make presumptions because this is unhelpful and annoying. Also, if you know the person well, and you know language might be an issue, like in my case, talk as little as possible. Talking puts more stress on the person because it makes the person feel obligated to respond when they can’t. If you know the person, and you can get them their medication, show it to them. If it looks like they need to take a little extra, let them take it. If it looks like they just need to sit, let them sit. Generally, the best thing to do is to be patient, and let them shake it off.

When my epilepsy came back with a vengeance in my sophomore year, and then morphed over time before finally stabilizing, for the most part, it both scared me and pissed me off. I hadn’t had any seizures for about twelve years, so the fact that I was dealing with this again seemed very unfair. As I said before, though, epilepsy is one of those things you have to choose to laugh or cry about, and these days I mostly see it as an nuisance. It doesn’t stop me from playing music, or making mosaics, or painting pictures, or writing a book. It doesn’t stop me from loving, and it doesn’t stop me from having fun. Most importantly, it doesn’t get between me and Jesus. The other night, I couldn’t think because language was inaccessible to me, but he wasn’t. I knew he was there, and when language was finally starting to come back, the first four words I managed were, “Jesus, I trust you.” I won’t pretend that seizure didn’t scare me, but it would have been far worse had I not known he was there.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

Learning How To Run

It was either New Year’s Day or the day after that I decided what my New Year’s resolution would be. I decided that I would try to share a blue diamond with someone every day. A blue diamond is, metaphorically, in my mind, something that can make even just a moment a little better than it otherwise would have been. I decided on this because God has shared countless blue diamonds with me. I use this metaphor because of something that happened last September, which you can read about here. I decided on this because I’ve come to understand that God can take any tiny little nugget of faith, or any loving action, and turn it into something powerful and effective. The thing is, my resolution was that would share blue diamonds, but I’m finding that more difficult than I anticipated, so I’ve changed my tune a little bit. My new resolution is that I’ll share blue diamonds if I have them, but when I don’t, I’ll offer God my nuggets, and he can share blue diamonds.

When I woke up this morning, this verse came to mind, seemingly for no particular reason: “Love is patient. Love is kind.” I couldn’t remember the rest of it, so I looked it up. 1 Corinthians 13:4-13 says, “Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.”

Honestly, when I was only half thinking about this as I was getting ready this morning, I couldn’t remember if it was Biblical or Shakespearean simply because I hadn’t read it in a while and it’s rather poetic. There are a few things in these verses that really stick out to me.

“… it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.” God is love, and, particularly in the sacrament of reconciliation, he not only forgives, but he forgets even our worst offenses. In various places, God is described as being “slow to anger and abounding in love.”

It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” This, I think, reflects how we are meant to respond to God’s love for us. God protects us, so we are likewise supposed to protect others in any way we can. We are also meant to trust God and trust the people we love. God is the source of our hope, and we can know that because he loves us, even when things look rather bleak, we have someone to look to for guidance. Love always perseveres. In other words, true love just keeps loving, no matter what.

“Love never fails.” I think this stuck out to me because it means that if love is our default operating system, we will achieve some kind of goodness, even if we don’t achieve what we want. If love is our default operating system, then we will achieve what God wants, which is likely better than what we wanted, anyway.

Last night it occurred to me that while it’s true that I’ve trusted God with my soul, I haven’t entirely trusted him with every aspect of my life. I’ve seen how trusting him, and learning how to “walk on water” as it were, has changed me. It changes everything. The fact of the matter is, though, that I can still see the shore, and he doesn’t want me to only go that far. He wants me to run, and we’ve got a long way to go.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

Blue Diamond

About a week ago, I went out for breakfast with my mom. The sky was bright blue, the sun was shining, and it was warm. There were some wispy white clouds in the sky that, as I was getting into the car to go home, reminded me of a blue diamond. I didn’t know if blue diamonds were real, and neither did my mom, so we both assumed they were something I made up. I make a lot of things up. The next day, though I looked them up, and it turns out they are real. They can be made from normal diamonds and chemically altered to look blue, but they can also be found naturally with the blue tint. Either way, they are extremely rare, and extremely precious.

On Saturday, my dad and I went wandering around in the woods to look at the foliage. Ironically, there is an amazing red maple tree across the road from our house, but there wasn’t much color to be seen where we went. Still, it was very nice out, and once again, the sun was shining, and the sky was blue. There were a lot of interesting things to be seen where we went. I found the remainder of a tree stump that only had half of it’s outside left, and to me, it looked like a crown. I also found a dead fruit tree of some sort that had a branch and a shoot curving up towards each other like hands. I also hugged a fern because it was exactly the right height, and because I felt like it.

After seeing the blue diamond in the sky, I’ve been referring to happy, blue sky days as blue diamond days. When I was looking at the red maple outside our house, I thought, “I wonder what God was thinking when he made that.” Then it occurred to me that I might know. He was probably thinking something along the lines of, “That’s good.” Then it occurred to me that when he was making me, he was probably thinking, “She’s really good, and she’s going to like this tree.” I was really amazed by that thought. God made that red maple to stick out among all the other trees against a vivid blue sky, and he cares infinitely more about me.

Of course not every day is a blue diamond day. Maybe today the sun is shining, and the sky is blue, and your favorite tree still has all its amazing foliage on it, but you can’t see it past the broken glass in the window of your heart. Or maybe the window is just fine, but the sky is gray, and the leaves are gone and it’s cold outside. The truth is that we have blue diamond days to remind us how precious we are to God. You are God’s blue diamond. You are good. You are loved.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

You Are Time

Imagine you know you’re part of an army but you don’t know who your allies are. You know you’ve got enemies, but you don’t exactly know who they are. For all you know, they’re invisible. They’re often smarter than you, and they’re masters of trickery. It’s dark, you’re tired, and you know your side is losing. You start to wonder if resistance is futile. Eventually it really starts to seem that way. Then something drastically changes. Defeat seems inevitable until a new ally suddenly appears. He fights valiantly and he teaches you his ways. He heals your allies and defeats innumerable enemies.

Then, once again, something changes. He warns that it is only a matter of time before his death, but your victory. He is captured, tortured, and killed, and you are forced to fall back, but miraculously, just days later, he is alive and your enemies vanquished. He was right, and he celebrates your victory with you because now that enemy you faced is conquered for good. He eventually says that he has to go, but he will send his spirit so he can always love you and guide you and help you, and he keeps his promise.

Centuries go by until it seems that the whole world knows him, or appears to know of him. He is glorified in acts of heroism that mirror his own. He is honored in acts of love and goodness. Fantastic works of af art are created by those who love him still. You find, nonetheless, that things inevitably change. Slowly but surely, in many places he is forgotten; in many places is made into a laughing stock; even his very name is dishonored, thrown into the mire of language with unutterable words.

And you ask, “what does it matter? What is a name?” A name is how you are known. You are known by your name as a writer or a thinker or a worker or a finder, or something else that makes you who you are. He is a hero, still here, still living, and his very identity is used as a curse. His name has weight; it is precious.