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.