Mistaken Santa

The boy stumbles through the snow on his way home from the bus stop. The last day of the third grade before Christmas break always leave a child filled with joy to return home…return home to warmth, Christmas lights, and songs about presents. The snow is thick on his boots… the boy trips and suddenly his face is blasted with the coldness of winter. He stumbles to his soaked feet, and wipes his face, which now feels as hard as stone, and bitten with frigid air. All he can think about is staring at the television, playing video games for a whole two weeks. Hes so preoccupied with the joys of a virtual world he doesn’t notice that he left a mitten behind when he fell a few steps back. He’s so preoccupied he doesn’t see the other children running home to welcoming parents and eager siblings to enjoy the spirit of Christmas.

This boy has to walk the extra few steps to home; it takes him twice as long, treading in the snow, than the other kids because he lives in a different part of town. There’s no one else on the bus to walk with him home, so he braves the cold alone. It helps when he envisions himself as a solider braving the terrors of nature, the look of a trespassing dog, or the boy down the street who owns one of the biggest water guns in his class. The walk continues, and the boy trips again, his boots are too big for him, and sometimes they get in the way. He’s not sure how he got them, whenever he gets clothes he doesn’t go shopping for them like the other kids do, he usually sees an older gentleman dropping off a bunch of clothes at his front door. The man obviously didn’t realize that the boots were one size too big. Tall houses are covered in snow, lights are wrapped around every window, every bush, every tree, in perfect arrangement. Sometimes the boy thinks of living in one of the top windows, where he could look out of his room at his kingdom below him, it would be like he ruled the world!

The boy can always tell when he’s almost home… the houses get smaller, the road gets rockier, the pavement gets overrun by grass and empty coke bottles. The best parts of the walk home is kicking these empty glass bottles, one by one, listening to them roll off the pavement. Today is different though, the sidewalk is covered in snow and the glass bottles are overtaken by snow… the boy can’t enjoy a round of coke bottle soccer. The boy walks by the broken glass of the convenience store and peers in the crack to see if the new edition of his favorite comic book has hit the stands. Today must not be his day, first no bottle soccer and still no new comic for December… what a day, he just wants to go home and play some video games. He’s on level thirty-five, one of the hardest levels to beat, or at least that’s what his friends at school say. Just one more level until he can beat the boss of the game, the boy smiles at the excitement of it all. His book bag starts to get really heavy as he rounds the corner and sees the pursuit of home. The boy beings running, his heart beating immediately out of his chest, the wind causing his red nose to run... he struggles to wipe his face with the ice that has become his hand, he realizes then he left his mitten behind… his mom is not going to be happy about this, those were his only gloves. At this point the boy doesn’t care, he runs up the broken steps that make up the threshold to his home, throws open the storm door that reminds him of his grandma’s house two doors down, and throws himself into the chipped white door to his one floor, one bedroom hideaway.

He steps into the doorway, shaking off the snow from his jacket…. the sound of thumping snow hitting the floor is all that can be heard in the boy’s house. He walks through his smoke filled house, pacing around attempting to find anyone alive. You would never know it’s Christmas time in the boy’s house without the black and white Santa Claus crossword he brought home from school sitting on the coffee table. The walls in this house are never adorned with garland, paintings, or even family photos… usually just the occasional birthday card hung up by small stripes of masking tape. The boy walks into the bedroom to find his dad sitting on the floor, staring out the window, rocking back and forth. His father’s long fingernails tap nervously as the dad turns around to see that his child is home from school… it seemed like just thirty minutes ago his child had left this morning. As the boy waits for something, he never really knows what he waits for from his father, he turns back into the living room and fixes his eyes on his PlayStation…. its time to play. Hours pass, the father still wide awake, keeping the door to the bedroom shut, as the boy wastes away in front of the television… playing video games.

The front door opens wide, as the stale air of the house gets overturn by a blast of winter air, the boy looks up to see his mother walking in, with a single brown paper bag, and that same glazed look she’s had on her face for a week. Nothing is said, the boy returns to his games, as his mother creeps around the house, finally opening the door to the bedroom. The clock ticks as screaming is heard from the bedroom, the clock ticks as something is thrown across the bedroom, the clock ticks as the boys parents talk about money, the clock ticks, and the boy plays his video games. Hunger creeps up once again in the boy’s stomach; he rolls his eyes, and continues to play his video games. Mc Donald’s sounds like a Thanksgiving feast at the moment.

When suddenly the boy remembers that his teacher gave him a piece of chocolate today for Christmas, the boy stumbles to his feet, runs to the door, tearing into his book bag, finding the chocolate nestled between torn folders and broken pencils. The smell of his book bag reminds him of school, of his friends, and French fries on cafeteria trays.  The boy takes his candy to his seat in front of the television, devouring every morsel of his dinner, before he throws the wrapper amongst cigarette buts, empty glass bottles, and the Holy Bible.

The boy squints his eyes, as he wakes up to the sound of his father rushing out the door, and the sight of sunlight gleaming through the window, past the mismatched window shades. He must have fallen asleep playing video games, the television shows of a paused pursuit on a fantastical mission. The boy stumbles to his feet, to the sound of his mother crying. He walks into the kitchen and finds some crackers, those ones that come six in a pack, as the doorbell rings… the boy didn’t even realize they had a doorbell until now. He waits for his mother to answer it, as the bell rings again. The boy looks around the corner of the living room to see who it would be, Saturday morning and someone wants into this house? The mother stumbles out of the bedroom to the door, ignoring her son on the way. The door opens to tall gentlemen, giving the widest grin the boy had ever seen on a person. The man is well dressed, holding gifts wrapped in Christmas wonderland paper. The boy’s eyes widened, he had never heard of Santa coming to the front door before, and he didn’t remember it being Christmas day… in fact the boy knows it isn’t Christmas. The smiling reindeer and snowmen on the wrapping paper fill the boy with the most joy he had experienced since beating that one video game last year. The man hands the gifts to the boy’s mother, they exchange some words... the boy would listen if presents weren’t in the picture. His mother closes the front door as the gentlemen walks away. The presents are set on the damp carpet of the living room, and the mother tells the boy he can open them as she returns to the bedroom and closes the door. Elated, the boy rushes to his knees to open his gifts, his gifts brought by Santa, his gifts brought by a stranger. This is the best Christmas the boy had ever had.

Running Home

New Balance shoes make thumps on concrete as elementary school children race off the steps- the flood gates open and the pursuit for home from the school bus begins. The last child to exit the bus is smaller than the rest, a kindergartener, still unsure of his place on the bus… so he waits patiently for the bigger kids to take their place. The child stumpers through the snow, attempting to maintain his book bag from falling off us his body, stuffed in a warm winter coat. The mittens are falling off and his socks are rolling to the tips of his toes, his feet beginning to swell up in the frigid air. He watches as the other children filter into their tall brick homes, one by one they run, greeted by dogs, welcoming parents, and white fences. The fifth graders get to come home to an empty house, a chance to steal the television and have victory over CNN and the Home and Garden network. It’s not hard for the kindergartener to make it home, passing brick castle after brick castle it can be hard for some little children to make it to the right home. When you can barley see over the kitchen table, sometimes suburbia looks more like a bustling city than a quiet neighborhood. The wind blows as the child attempts to smack his hair from his face, as he approaches his house. Everyone knows where this child lives; it’s not hard to recognize his house from miles away because he lives in the glass house on the end of the street.

The people in the glass house are known well in their suburban neighborhood, after all, it’s not everyday a family chooses to live in a house where you can watch every waking child, every mother’s footprint, and the father returning from work. Day after day their routine of daily life is seen by all as a circus act, something to be marveled at. Their life is some drama to look onto as others lives just don’t add up. People watch as they treat each other with respect, as the father loves the child for doing the right thing, and as the company of the mother is just as good as any Saturday morning cartoon. The brick house with the white garage door to the left of the glass house have their problems, dad recently moved out with his mistress, the teenage girl ran away with her twenty something year old boyfriend. Screaming is heard from the brick houses on the streets as children are woken for schooldays, lunches are thrown out the window as single mothers maintain a house filled with peanut butter and jelly and business proposals. Secrets are kept, annual gossip sessions are held in the form of card games at the neighborhood clubhouse, and fathers are moving out left and right. Families are being stripped away with anger, malice, and deception, but not at the glass house. At the glass house, respect is given, love is expected, and joy comes in response. Traditions are kept and the children feel loved, and cycles of happy homes are passed down from generation to generation.

Of course there are people on the street who hate the people in the glass house, they feel that they built their house for the attention, for their every act to be watched and recorded by the mothers on the street. Some families are simply jealous of the openness of the home, the love and affection that is so absent in their own homes. While channels are blocked and computers are off limits at some homes, the people in the glass house are able to enjoy trust they have instilled in the kids of the glass house. No one can see the huge big screen television or the new luxurious couch in the brick houses, but in the glass house, their possessions are seen by anyone who cares to give a glance. When a new television arrives at the glass skeptical, none of the children seem to care, but in the brick house, the children beg for it until their eyes are black and blue. At the glass house, material possessions are not expected; they’re earned and received with humility and gratefulness. The father that lives in the glass house always comes home on time for work, and calls everyday when he has to go out of town for business. The mother at the glass house is not overburden with work, and does not own an apron; the father takes care of most of it. Everyone in the glass house shares the burden of the world, and no one is taken for granted, or loved more than another.

My father recently shared with me that transparency in your life results in awareness and in obedience in Christ. More often than not the Christian walk is spent in hiding, hiding behind walls of sin like the people in the brick houses. Sometimes the shame of a loved one keeps us from enjoying their company, and sadly, sin is not smothered with love, but with guilt and, in return, more sin. The more we hide the more sin bundles up inside of us like weeds overtaking a garden. The people in the brick house were certainly jealous of those in the glass house; sure their life is on display, but for the good of others. The family in the glass house doesn’t cower in sin; they embrace their downfalls, are drawn to redemption, and lean on others in fellowship. We can make the Christian walk so much harder than it was ever meant to be. Our families can hide in sin very easily, the teenage boy can be afraid to tell his parents that he’s bullied in school. The eight-year-old daughter can come home from ballet; too terrified of her parents to tell her she did not make the cut to go to regionals. Yes, sometimes we can use sin to burden our faith, and keep ourselves hidden under a blanket. We live with the weight of what we’ve done. Life would be so much easier if we were transparent.

If we lived in a glass house we’d have nothing to hide, we could conquer sin, and people could help us with what we’re going through. Its not a horrible thing to be predictable, to have integrity, and to be the man or woman you claim to be. Its time to own up to who we are in Christ, and stop letting sin keep us covered up and guilt us into a becoming a different person. If we lived for Christ, became transparent, now that would make our lives so much simpler. 

Dinner for Two

Here you are again, at your favorite restaurant, table dressed in white linen, candles burning. You can see yourself in the reflection of the silverware and the plates are so clean you dare not to touch their gleaming surfaces. You’re pretty sure you could wrap yourself up for days in the napkins… they look so soft, and the glasses… oh they are pristine crystal. You’re alone in the restaurant, the music is playing, but the silence of voices is so quiet your chair is making more noise than you. Chandeliers hang like icicles and the red carpet is as luxurious as a Hollywood red carpet. Still no one in the restaurant, not even a waiter. You’re alone but your date will be arriving soon. You begin pulling at your shirt, making sure you look as good as you did in the mirror twenty minutes ago. Mess with your hair, pull up the socks, and wipe your face for the thirteenth time. You actually get up to adjust the seat, make sure the light will hit you just right when your date walks in. Silence continues. You mess with the silverware, getting tired of waiting… you wait… in silence, as the sound of instruments drowns out your breathing. Your heart pounds as you see the door crack… still no one in the restaurant as your date takes a step through the door, you see them float across the room and approach you like the rising sun. You stand, heart pounding… you have never been this nervous. You reach out your hand as your date extends theirs. You lay your lips on their hands ever so gently, return to your perfect posture and get the nerve to greet your date with the elegance of the most suave man in town. Good evening sin, you’re looking lovely tonight, I’ve been waiting.

Sometimes it feels to me that we wait on sin, we take the time out of our day worrying about sin, avoiding temptation but in the end we greet sin with a welcoming hug like seeing family at Christmas. We hide like children playing hide and go seek, but we always want to be found. Our hunger for sin is real, and we expose ourselves to it like children playing games with their friends. People always talk about temptation and the devil, how the devil tricks you into sinning, how every time we sin we have to battle the devil to the death… but what if it’s us that we have to battle. Once the devil gets us hooked on talking about people behind their backs, drinking, gambling, sex, we get so intrigued we end up becoming a devil to ourselves. We set the table, we let ourselves fall, and we welcome sin as a teenage boy on his first date. Sin becomes comfortable, and no matter the sin, there’s always that core issue… ourselves.

A friend of mine once told me that at the root of any sin, no matter what someone is going through, you can always find a common ground with them. Sometimes the mother who has an affair with her gardener is no different than the teenage boy who can’t help but trash other people on the Internet… they’re both lonely. They both are so far from God they can’t tell their head from a hole in the ground. They have gotten both so used to sin they once again set the table for sin. Sin is reoccurring, because we are disgusting people, sometimes we have to see ourselves in order to see our sin. We spend so much time blaming our frustrations on the devil. Those dern demons are at it again, when really; the addiction to sin is what draws us back to the dinner table. The addiction to our sin, the need for attention, the comfort of a bad boy, is really what calls us to hell and further away from God. If we’re honest with ourselves the next time we get caught up in sin, we can use this opportunity to examine ourselves, what is really the downfall about ourselves that calls us back to reoccurring sin. Whether we find ourselves tempted by alcohol, or the encouragement for hate, we can usually find something about ourselves that calls us back to bashing our friends.

This is what makes the church the gorgeous bride that it is, this is why a group of people that struggle with sin is so beautiful. If we didn’t have each other, we wouldn’t have the strength to overcome sin. We can pursue God till our eyes are bloodshot with tears, but if no one is there physically, who can suffer with you…. the sin becomes so much harder to beat.

Redemption is an amazing phenomenon, and the fact that we go to church and surround ourselves with lonely people in search of redemption, it makes it all worth it. There are so many looking for grace, so many who have come from sin. As my friend also once told me, everyone is recovering from something, or trapped in sin worth recovering from. Whether it’s a mom struggling to not murder her boss at work or the father jealous of a friend’s wife, the root of sin will always be the same. The people who you thought you knew will always get caught in sin they would never dream of telling you, but taking the time to open up to someone can be the key to cancelling your dates with sin. Once we realize the core of our sin, loneliness, isolation from God, it doesn’t seem so weird when your best friend admits to have done cocaine. Once you realize making fun of your sibling is just as tragic as the girl who clings to the guy that makes her feel good for the wrong reasons… redemption can be found with the help of some fellow sinners, and the beauty of God’s grace.

It’s easy to point fingers, easy to make fun of the alcoholic at the end of the table, easy to tease the girl for doing weird things alone in her room. But when we step back, this is also a sin. Grace doesn’t come through the ability to make ourselves feel good because of what someone else does. Redemption comes from an awareness of sin, the fellowship of other sinners, and a willingness to grow out of the sin, to someone greater, someone who has never battled sin, someone who has overcome it, so that we don’t have to go through the pain of loving sin. I am drawn to redemption because I am tired of inviting sin into my life and resting on it for my comfort. I am drawn to redemption because I am so much more. I am drawn to redemption and will in return draw others to redemption. I will ultimately make the choice to no longer judge people for what they’ve done, because I am just as lonely as they are. I will make an effort to be there for my friends, make an effort to help them focus on what they can be without their sin.

We are invited to so much more. Christ is waiting for us, to get up from the table, casually make the way out of the restaurant, wave goodbye, and go to a restaurant where there are so many more… just like us, feasting at the table of redemption. 

Can You Quiet Down, I Can't Hear Myself

The older sister is on her way home from picking up her younger brother, who has found refuge in the backseat of the car. The younger brother can be heard ranting on and on about his art portfolio he has brought home from school, filled with art that is the best he has done since second grade. He sifts through his art, more excited to show his sister than anyone else- he always sought the approval of his siblings than anyone else. They travel down West Mountain Street in the sister’s tank of a BMW. The younger brother pesters his sister to look at the latest piece of art he’s done, lilies floating a pond, as the older sister loses control of the car and begins swerving. In this moment neither knows what is going on, the sister begins to panic, her sense of responsibility is plummeting as the car’s control over her increases. The tank swerves across the other side of the road as a bright blue truck comes straight into the side of the sister’s car.

The next breath of life the little brother remembers breathing is being handled out of the car by strangers, while screaming for his sister at the top of his lungs. The sister sits in the driver seat motionless, and the younger brother can feel the weight of the world on his shoulders, just a third grader. Sister gets out of the car… something the matter with her leg, the silence of both the brother and sister screams louder than a child watching their first horror movie. The sister feels the most responsible; she had failed at taking her brother home from school... a seemingly simple task. She placed him in danger of death, and now she had to face the fact of her parent’s disappointment. This is too much for a young woman to have to deal with, too much regret to have to cope with. The brother has to call his parents; the sister is an emotional wreck… too fearful of what’s to come on the other side of the receiver, the third grade brother calls. The parents don’t care about the wreck… were him and his sister okay?

In college it seems like a focus on sin is a necessary day-by-day process. There is so much coming at you, so many pressures; it’s hard to focus on God while avoiding these sins. The responsibility as a Christian to not conform is a great burden to carry around, especially in college. A university campus is a feeding ground for lust, malice, hatred, and alcohol… the avoidance of these iniquities takes all of your focus.

I recently hear of friends going to places I have never heard of, places not good for their spiritual welfare. I hear my friends confessing to drinking, because hey, it’s not a big deal on campus. Sure they will admit it’s illegal, but it’s like going over the speed limit… everyone does it here… Am I hearing this right now, driving over the speed limit is the same as drinking underage? Can it be that I am the only one that thinks this is destructive? I begin feeling guilty when I hear that my friends are merely “experimenting” with these things. Like a helpless mother feels when she loses her child in the supermarket… could I have stopped them from doing these things? How do I show them they can’t be sinning like this when they claim to be such strong faithful Christians? The more I hear about it, the more I feel my own body being weighted under their sins. This feeling can be enough to drive anyone away from the redeeming nature of Christ.

For me to focus on others sins is dangerous… I begin to think of myself better than I ought. I am okay because my spiritual life is at a place where I am comfortable enough, not desiring these sinful desires of college. That’s just it though, I’m comfortable here and all I am doing is playing daddy to other people when they screw themselves over. I am the better one of the group, and I am now at a place where they ridicule me for what I chose not to do it…not because they are that rude, but because I keep waving their sin in their face, it would be my natural instinct to put a defense too. I end up sinning trying not to sin. This is getting really confusing for my spiritual life.

I’ve learned to become like my parents when they heard me and my sister had gotten into a wreck… not continually reminding my sister of her mistake, but rather, focusing on the deeper issue… were we okay during the situation. The truth is, everyone is going to sin, in different ways, in different places, at different times. Does it do us any good to focus on these things? No, because it spiritually drains us to the point we become a father to our friends rather than accountability partners, which is what Christ has called us to be. I can’t keep bringing up underage drinking to my friends, because I’m not going to be with them when they get offered a beer at the next tailgate, or when they somehow find themselves with friends at the hookah bar. What matters is that I am there for them, whenever they need someone to talk to about what’s going on in their lives. We start to badger other Christians, seeking to “do what God wants us to, by persecuting their downfalls.” What kind of friend is this?

Christ is calling me to focus on the bigger issues: how is my relationship with Him, what am I doing to pursue Him on a daily basis rather than persecuting my friends to get an ego boast. If my friends are sinning, and they’re Christians, the Holy Spirit will take care of the badgering, why don’t I help them focus on growing in Christ rather than the world? I can daily remind them of Christ’s grace, redemption, and the beauty of living for something greater than the world. It’s not important to live in the ghosts of our past, but focus on redemption in Christ, and like my mother asked my sister and I, “how are YOU doing?” Where are our spiritual lives heading?

“You can hear it in the trail behind your voice

There’s a multitude who claim

They’ve been through the fire of fallen angels

They’ll never be the same

We live with the weight of what we’ve done

The cracks that we slip through

No time to forget about our future

Just the things that we won’t do

But you know you can’t”

-Needtobreathe

I Get So Restless

You lay in bed, your full size bed, fitted nice and comfortably with a comforter that feels like a marshmallow swallowing you whole. You just got finished watching some television, the normal school night...you struggle to get eight hours of sleep before that math test in the morning. You tried to study an hour ago, but some other things came up, but you will be okay, those other tests down the road will even out the failures of tomorrow. You lay in bed and can't help but think of what someone told your friend about you today at school. How dare they have the audacity to talk smack about you without even getting to know you first. You continue on this train of thought until you wonder what ever happened to your best friend. You two used to be so close, but now he's into some things you don't agree with, and suddenly you feel like a sad parent watching their child come home with a failed grade in school. You want to help them, you've tried to make them understand... they just don't get it. There is so much your friend isn't telling you, you feel like an open book to them, but they're closed to anything you have to say. You continue to worry yourself to insomnia about new friends you have made, wondering what they think of you, are you too much for them, too loud, are you really as crazy as they are? You dwell on your life, how it's going somewhere, your purpose layed out for you, and continue to think about your life, legacy, and some good ol' fashion gossip. What will you wear tomorrow? These thoughts circle your brain into the night, and you will be lucky to get six hours of sleep before the nightmare of the test in the morning.


You accomplish insomnia while a man five minutes down the road walks the street, looking for a bed to call his own. 


You accomplish insomnia while an inner city child of eight lays his head on a pillow, his bed the floor of his one bedroom house, surrounded comfortably by his five other siblings. He could't be happier to be in the home he is now. Sure he would like money and a sports car, but that can wait, he's got his family for now.


Why am I so restless? Why can I not seem to get an once of peace in college? It seems like I am standing in the middle of Route 66 during rush hour, people passing me by at 90 miles an hour, and I gasp for air above the business of everyone else. These faceless crowds are all a blur, they push me to keep living, keep going, keep pursuing. But what am I pursuing? What are they pursuing? I am getting so restless, like back in high school, dwelling all night on interactions that latest for a blink of an eye. And then that peace hits me like a freight train:


"In your ocean I make of thee
I feel the waves crashing on my feet
It's like I know where I need to 
But I can't figure out
Just how much air I will need to breathe
When your tide rushes over me"
-Needtobreathe


There is rest, there always has been... there always will be. The rest we can all find in Jesus Christ sometimes goes unnoticed. People live in their day, immerse themselves in their friends, and take comfort in the loneliness of the night. We worry about tomorrow, what we've done, and live in our ghosts of the past. Our fear steals our sleep, and we dwell on death and what our lives are going to mean to someone else.


But what if there's more to this restlessness, what if the peace we have so long been ignoring we embrace. What if intentionally we live for something bigger than ourselves... now that would be a beautiful thing. No longer will our lives be filled with what tomorrow brings, but rather we will live each breathe thankful we have been given the chance to walk to our next class. Our minds would change so drastically, we would actually care about our friends, sacrifice for them, because us, well we don't care about ourselves anymore, we are Christ now, robbed with peace and grace. What a beautiful image, wrapped in peace and grace.


 No longer does the future need anxiety, it is taken care of. 


We would finally listen to the cries of the poor man, the foot prints of the inner city child.


We would live like a child, without the fears of our innocence, but spending time learning about Christ, like a child learns to embrace the world for the first time. Sure we're in college and mature in the world's eyes, but in Christ we are made new like a child. For the spirit of a child will inherit the kingdom. 


Let us wake up from our restlessness, wrapped in Christ for all eternity.

To Cheat on a Test

One of the worst feelings in the world is walking into class on a test day, having not studied or even glanced at any of the material covered in class the past few weeks. You've done it before, we all have, because it's either an easy class and we know it will be an easy test, or we're lazy, we don't care, until we walk into class and feel the knot of failure in our throats. You know no matter what you put down on that test paper it will be bad news in the end, and you will have to live with the consequences, the big fat zero when you get the test back. Always hated that feeling, not knowing the material, feeling like a complete idiot when everyone else around you seems to know what the answer to number two is. So you glance over to the paper beside you, doesn't hurt, they are helping you, they just don't know it. What harm is it using someone else's work, someone else had prepared ahead of time, you won't do it again. Next test you will be prepared, but for now, let's see what Jane got for number two. But what if Jane doesn't know what she's doing either, she might just be writing random things down on the page so she can hit up the gym sooner than later. Maybe Jane is in the same boat you are, having not studied, she just hides it better than you.That's the tricky thing about cheating. Sometimes that kid next to you doesn't know what they're doing either. 
It seems like college is the same way, been here for a month and it feels like I haven't studied for this type of test. You have no idea where your life is going just like walking into a classroom on test day, not knowing what's on the test paper. So you start hanging with people who seem like they know what they're doing, they know college, they have experience, so in a since you cheat on their life, steal their attitude. Before you know it you end up where you started, confused because you're not sure what this college thing is all about. Starting college is starting a new step in life, except you have no idea what's ahead of you. It's a scary feeling, you haven't prepared for this type of freedom, this since of responsibility. What will you do with yourself? Are you going to be the kid who cheats on someone else's paper, getting into the wrong crowd and following their example, or you going to bow up and live the life you were meant to live. 
God has a plan, I just know it. I walked into college two months ago, unprepared and confused because I don't have the answers. What I can rest assured in however is that the answers have been accounted for and no matter the failures I find myself in, I don't have to live life afraid of what's to come. I have the answers written upon my heart and no matter who I find myself around, I don't have to cheat on myself by living the world, because I know God has paid the price and that this feeling of not knowing, it's going to come, but I can know my God has the end all figured out. He's the playwright, I'm just a character in his play.

I Hope the Big Kids Like Me

Remember that first day of school, you know the first day of kindergarden when you were the underdog before stepping foot though those large wooden front doors with the netted glass, making you feel like you were walking into a prison? Before school started you may have seen your siblings go through the same thing, or heard your parents bracing you for what's to come. You always hoped that the big kids would like you. Justin, that huge fifth grader who looked like he could eat you in one bite, or Brittany, the fourth grader who always had something to make fun of you about. School is always filled with those pressures, those  big kids who are going to make or break you in school. Get on their good side and your set; pick up their fallen napkin at lunch, and never forget to compliment their new Nikes. From the first day of school to thirteen years later in college, we idolize someone, someone who's been in our shoes who seems to know the key to success in life. In college it's those who've got everything figured out, those 4.0 kids who have found their way, made too many friends to count. The woman in your english class who can balance a chemistry equation and her social status. The Phd student whose job will make six figures in his near future. These people know where they're going, they have their life set out for themselves and the world is wrapped around their finger.


I've never felt like that. I don't belong here. Something about this place doesn't scream you have got it all figured out, this world was made for you. At college I'm an alien in unchartered territory, not part of the local fraternity with those rad parties on friday nights. I can't seem to get myself together in this world, because I wasn't made for this world.


One of my friends told me the other day how she chased her roommate for over a mile in the middle of the night, her roommate drunk out of her mind. Seeing people walk back from the local hookah bar somehow breaks my heart, it doesn't scream  you know you're supposed to do it, it's just a part of college. Is that really what's it all about here, getting wasted on Fridays, experimenting with drugs I've never even heard of. Am i supposed to know what kind of drug they're on, am I supposed to know how to roll a joint and memorize the perfect talk to get the ladies to do what I want them to? Is cussing really just a part of the lifestyle here? From my experience here, the answer is yes... there's an expectation when it comes to college, to be the world, embrace the world.... because hey, you only have four years to act like a fool before you have to get a job. 


But like I said, I can't seem to get it together, I can't seem to enjoy this world like everyone else can. How come the big kids can have it all together down here while I'm stuck doing homework and watching movies on my Friday nights? I've come to realize I feel this way because I, like I said, am an alien in this world. I am already someone who doesn't enjoy taking advantage of girls and "huffing"(whatever that is.) 


What if these four years were meant for something better, what if I take these days I have here and use them doing something that I'm not supposed to. I want to be the rebel who does the opposite of everyone else, because I have someone calling me to make a difference, I have someone that's pressuring me to take the days on earth to serve Him, not have sex more than the buddy who lives next door. My sister Cathy once told me that God doesn't always take us down the expected path, this I have also come to terms with.. It seems like no matter where I go in this world, I'll find a way to feel like an alien, but if I keep serving the perfect God I have come to love, no matter where I go, I can hold my head up high like the big kids, because I'll be there for my own reason, just not one known by the world. 


So I think I have found my place here, I know I have a purpose, so I guess I'm like the big kids. I'm only serving someone they aren't. It's okay, some of them will like me and others will treat me like an alien, but hey, it's okay, I've come to terms with being an outsider.




I've been wondering is we start singing'
Could we stand our ground
And through everything we've learned
We've finally called to terms
We are the outsiders
-Needtobreathe (you should give them a listen)

They Don't Even Notice

An elderly man pushes a cart, filled with cleaning supplies, a huge trash can, and plenty of towels to go around. A woman in her fifties loads baskets full of toys to deliver to kindergarden classrooms. A thirty year old hispanic man who can't speak any english patiently waits while I return my filthy plate after dinner. I see a woman  picking up an empty Yoo Hoo bottle after a jock tops off on his third can. He doesn't look back, because these aren't people to him. That jock could have dropped his can off in the recycle bin, but hey, thats that ladies job to pick up after him, right? Did these people live their lives knowing that they would clean up after college kids everyday of their life. Can you imagine spending all of your time in school to only throw away your education as you empty the dumpster. I always wonder how these people found themselves cleaning off hundreds of plates, breakfast, lunch, and dinner... everyday. Is that little amount of money worth being treated like the scum they look after? And why is it that I too see these people as least of me? 


I guess we can't help it, as humans we naturally place ourselves greater than the trash man. We have better goals, we're going to go somewhere, live in New York, become a famous designer, and leave these filthy people to clean up after us on our way there, without looking back. I'm always amazed as I'm walking down the steps, seeing a young lady mop the steps, she notices me and steps out of my way. She treats me like some king, I am in her way, never the other way around. It's almost like I have these goals for my life, to do great things, and this lady just happens to be standing in my way, cleaning off the steps... me getting to where I'm going, her stuck mopping up dirt and scum while her children stay in day care all day on the "other" side of the city. You know, "the other side," the West Side, the scummy place, those worn down houses that look like they're about to cave in. Those people who set out flowers bought from Wal Mart in their original container to try and mask the worn siding and molding windows. Her kids come home from school without a bed to lie on, wanting only six dollars from their mom for a field trip to the museum, but mom can't afford it. Their mother can't sacrifice for them six dollars because she rarely gets paid enough to keep this "roof" over their heads, out mopping steps, to see college kids pass by, not looking back. And no this isn't a stereotype, this is experience, this is a story of a young girl I met while working with inner city children. This girl values pencils, binders, and a book bag that's used, not a cell phone, barbie dolls, and computer games. This young girl asks me what it's like to drive, what it's like to eat at fancy restaurants where the waiter serves you. She's never been served, her mother has devoted her life to mopping up steps, do you think she has big dreams of her own? What I want for this girl I cannot give her. I want her to have my childhood, getting what I wanted and my mother sacrificing for me whatever the cost. I want to sacrifice for this girl, but I cannot. As a college kid I don't have the resources on hand to give her what she wants, but I do have what she needs. I have an inner peace that transcends all stories, all races, and all socio economic backgrounds. 


My God doesn't care if I'm washing tables or sitting at the desk the rest of my life, we are all seen the same in His eyes. You see it's this world we live in that puts down the trash man and the cleaning lady. In this world it's okay not to clean up after yourself. Leave toothpaste in the sink? It's okay, it's Monday, that means the cleaning lady is coming... she's got nothing else to do... it's her job. Well I have taken upon myself a new career path, and from now on it is my job to notice these people, and just for a glimpse of time place myself in their house, in their life. What if we all stopped to notice the guy who picks up empty potato chip wrappers, and stop worrying about whether or not we're going to make it to the mall on time. Just for a moment, stop, close your eyes, and imagine all your opportunities wiped away, and in front of you stands a mop and a bucket, and six hundred college kids running up and down the steps you are forced to clean. What kind of life is that?


You see, that's what this world does to us, we automatically connect with the idea that these "poor" people have to clean for us... oh if only they could have a better life... like me. I wish I could do something for them. It would be so easy to care if we just looked back, acknowledged their presence and for once realized as Christians we have something inside of us to give to them.. everlasting life.. that will turn their job of washing steps into a job glorifying God, not man. Next time let's turn back, notice the people in the cleaning uniform, next time let's not be the jock who doesn't even notice the slave at his service. Let us be the people that turn the tables, placing ourselves in their broken shoes, and instill in them life worth living, whether delivering boxes or a doctoral presentation. 

Writing on the Walls

My mother once told me she fueled my creativity and it wasn’t until I arrived at State I fully understood what she meant. As a child I would be found in one of two places, at my new art desk I had received for Christmas or in some part of our suburban home coloring on the white walls. Although I had always known is wasn’t acceptable to write on the walls, I needed a place, an empty canvas so I could create exactly what was in my head; A chance to re create just a glimpse of God’s creation. My mother never once argued against my wall murals, for she knew I was born with a magnificent gift, a gift for art, and she by no means was going to stifle my creative spirit. It is in this innocence as a child people find their spiritual gifts, that one thing they were somehow innately born to do. As it so happens I grew to adore art, and every chance I had would be devoted to creating and designing, always knowing my inspiration was God’s awesome creation.

Charcoal and Oils.  Mark Malek 2011

In his writings Think! Before It’s to Late, Edward DeBono discusses whether or not design thinking, the creative spirit, is innately given or logically achieved. DeBono states, “Since creativity cannot be explained or achieved logically, it must be some mysterious talent that only some people have and others can only envy.” From my experience DeBono is right in saying it’s a talent, which some possess and others do not. Just as NBA basketball players rise to the top, and others find their happiness in anesthesiology, God has each given us a special talent, and it is how we use that talent, which shapes whether or not designing, creating, is all worth it. Through my past I have learned that those without a purpose for what they do, live their lives for no greater purpose other than themselves. I have chosen to use my creative spirit for a higher purpose, the purpose of bringing God all the glory. In 1 Peter 4:10-11, Peter, a disciple of Christ, states “As each has received a gift, employ it for one another (or serve it up to one another) as good stewards of God's varied grace: whoever speaks, as one who utters oracles of God; whoever renders service, as one who renders it by the strength which God supplies; in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ...” My tendency to create is nothing that needs to be studied, for it is a spiritual blessing I have received by God’s unmerited grace. While others search for an answer to creativity, in order to obtain for themselves a talent, which they were not given, they quickly find a roadblock built by selfishness. Success is not measured by a false persona of achievement, but by what someone gives back to others wholeheartedly. It is when I am at my weakest that God is strong in me, and can use my gifts for the greater will He has created for my life.

          

So I find myself at State, majoring at Graphic Design. If I think to the future and imagine myself living for myself, I cave under uncertainty. However, because I believe God has given me this ability to create, I can move forward, knowing that from the innocence of a child, I have grown into a mature skilled artist whose greatest desire is the furthering not of my own kingdom of wealth, but the everlasting throne of the Most High.

The First Post

I was inspired to blog, because I have a lot to say and this seemed to be a good avenue for expression. The title of my blog stemmed from a favorite song of mine entitled "Through Smoke" by Needtobreathe. 


I was born in a house in a town just like your own
I was raised to believe in the power of the unknown
When the answers and the truth have cut their ties
Will you still find me?
Will you still see me through smoke?

Basically, when I hear this song I think of all the broken spirited. People grow up thinking they have it all together, that their faith is the truth, the answer. But what if they're all wrong? What if the muslims, the devoted Catholic preist, the monk, what if their answer to faith is different from my own. Can we all be right? There is a truth, a way, a life, and my God tells me that we find that in the blood and grace of Jesus Christ. So I just ask, when your way, your truth, and your life come up short will you still be able to see me? Can I still help the broken in spirit after they realize their purpose for life has erupted? Will I still be able to see them through smoke? The answer is yes. Because my God is greater.