Protect what you can,
Your soul, your heart,
Refuse to let this world of hate,
Tear you apart.
Protect what you can,
Everything in your view,
To keep it from changing,
To keep it from leaving you.
Protect what you can,
Your purity and all,
You never could have guessed,
How hard you’d fall.
Protect what you can,
For tomorrow you might lose,
Your world, your love,
You they won’t choose.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
When Life's to Change
When life’s to change,
Who’s to blame,
When things are no longer,
To stay the same.
When life’s to change,
Who’s to be left behind,
To grieve for the people,
In their bind.
When life’s to change,
Hold your head high,
Hold your ground,
Refuse to say goodbye.
Who’s to blame,
When things are no longer,
To stay the same.
When life’s to change,
Who’s to be left behind,
To grieve for the people,
In their bind.
When life’s to change,
Hold your head high,
Hold your ground,
Refuse to say goodbye.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Choice's Knocking
I opened the door to a hallway. It was cold, dark, and daunting. Every move I made echoed off the dank, stone walls around me, mocking me; taunting me; as if teasing how alone I was. I cautiously walked down the deserted hallway, towards massive, mahogany door at the very end. They were different than all the others, taking up the whole far wall with their vast presence. But a golden glow seeped from the bottom. I was tired, painfully exhausted from my already long life, and my mouth dry with an unquenchable thirsty.
To my left, I saw a brown door labeled “NEED”, and curiously opened it. The brown room was bordered with one continuous shelf that contained small bottles. Next to each bottle, was bottle of water. I stepped in further to get a better look, and picked up one of the little bottles on the shelf. The little capsules inside made a comforting sound as I shook the container. This one was labeled “Stop the Pain”. As tempting as it was, I set it back down and picked up the next one, “Eternal Happiness”. This one was even harder to set back on the shelf. One by one, I read through all the labels. Some were harder to put back than others. When I got to the last bottle, I froze. This one was labeled: “End Your Life”. I picked up the bottle and cradled it in my hands. The small bottle felt like a fifty pound package rather than a five ounce bottle. I slowly unscrewed the top, looked inside, and tapped out a large brown pill onto my palm. I reached for the bottle of water. So thirsty and so much pain, I wanted it all to just go away. Will a loud, angry screech I threw the pills to the ground and ran out the door, away from the dark, brown room. I fell to the floor in the cold hallway, angry tears running down my face. I wiped them away quickly. Even though the hallway was deserted, I felt ashamed to have them running down my face.
I took a deep breath and got to my feet once more, putting one heavy foot in front of the other. Feeling the pull of the golden doors, my steps became faster, eventually breaking into a sprint to get out of the darkness and cold. It was so far away. I was tired, and lonely, and thirsty, and the minutes began dragging into hours. But I kept running. Suddenly, a yellow door labeled “RELAX” caught my eye and I skidded to a stop. It looked harmless enough, and welcoming. Not nearly as welcoming as the golden room down the hallway, but it looked better than the others. I opened the door to a large, yellow room filled with tables that held tall bottles and empty glasses. I rushed to the first one I saw, my mouth watering from thirst. As I began to open the bottle, my eyes widened at the smell. It was alcohol. So badly I wanted a taste, just one little taste. I wanted to drown the dryness of my life. I gripped the bottle harder. I held the bottle to my mouth, tasting the rim of the bottle. Closing my eyes, I licked my lips, thinking how easily it could numb the pain and the thirst. Reluctantly, I set the bottle back on the table and found myself once again in the dark hallway.
Startled, I began to run again towards the golden doors. I refused to look at the other doors, not wanting to stop and be tempted again. Suddenly, I heard a girl screeching at the top of her lungs. Confused, I started looking at the doors, frantically this time, trying to decide which one. What could possible hurt someone so bad to make them scream in such agony? Finally, I came to a door called “PAIN”, hearing the trapped girl within. I threw the door open as hard as I could and ran inside, to help the tormented girl; but I was too late. Her screaming had stopped: permanently. In the center of this blood red room, was a blood red bathtub, with a blood red girl inside. My heart tightened at the sight of the young girl. Her face held more pain than one could ever explain, even with a million pages. Fresh tears still streamed down her face, matching the fresh cuts on her arms. I looked into the empty, vacant eyes frozen in agony. I wiped at the tears that clouded my vision. Angry, hurt, scared: I felt a million things at once. I hesitantly walked to the tub like a zombie and gently picked up the knife hanging loosely in the dead girl’s hand. I looked from the knife, to my own wrists: contemplating. It seemed like such an easy way out, to just end all this pain and thirst. I sighed; shakily set down the knife; and went back to the long journey that awaited me outside the blood red room.
I started running as fast as I could. I didn’t know why, but I knew I couldn’t stop again. I wanted to stop; I wanted to stop and rest; to just give up and never move again. But I couldn’t. Ahead I saw the golden door with the bright light that was beckoning me in from the darkness. However, the closer I got to the door, the further away it looked. More and more things tried to slow me down, but I couldn’t quit; I couldn’t stop. I knew if I did, I’d never be able start again. I kept hearing voices calling to me from behind the doors. Voices saying: “this way”, “pick me”, “trust me”. Some rooms sounded like parties, while from others I could hear screaming. But I couldn’t go to help them again. I even passed doors that said things like: “REST”, “COMFORT”, and “SLEEP”. I wanted so bad to go into those rooms, even though they looked as dark and scary as the hallway. Yet, my feet wouldn’t stop.
The golden door began to shine brighter the closer I got. And, the closer I got, the more welcoming it looked. My feet started running faster, wanting so bad to be inside the safety of the golden room.
I fell to my knees just out of reach of the golden door. Panting, sweating, exhausted. I felt the warmth radiating along the floor. I could hear humming coming from inside. It was beautiful, the door. Shinning like a star, even though no light touched it. It looked so heavy. I wondered if I could even move it to get inside. Unsteadily, I stood up and pressed my hands against it, doubting my strength. Effortlessly, the doors swung open. I heard trumpets blaring, voices singing. White lights blinded me as I stumbled through the doors and they close automatically behind me. Warmth flooded my cold body, and my eyes felt alive for the first time. The room was beautiful; it was perfect. It was white, spotless in every way. In the middle of this spotless room, was a spotless white chair. I made my way through the singing angels, to the giant chair. I ran my hand along the arms of it, before gently sitting down. For the first time since I had started my long journey, I felt at rest, truly at rest. The pains, the thirst, the tiredness, were all gone. I could finally rest in comfort. I could finally surrender to eternal peace.
To my left, I saw a brown door labeled “NEED”, and curiously opened it. The brown room was bordered with one continuous shelf that contained small bottles. Next to each bottle, was bottle of water. I stepped in further to get a better look, and picked up one of the little bottles on the shelf. The little capsules inside made a comforting sound as I shook the container. This one was labeled “Stop the Pain”. As tempting as it was, I set it back down and picked up the next one, “Eternal Happiness”. This one was even harder to set back on the shelf. One by one, I read through all the labels. Some were harder to put back than others. When I got to the last bottle, I froze. This one was labeled: “End Your Life”. I picked up the bottle and cradled it in my hands. The small bottle felt like a fifty pound package rather than a five ounce bottle. I slowly unscrewed the top, looked inside, and tapped out a large brown pill onto my palm. I reached for the bottle of water. So thirsty and so much pain, I wanted it all to just go away. Will a loud, angry screech I threw the pills to the ground and ran out the door, away from the dark, brown room. I fell to the floor in the cold hallway, angry tears running down my face. I wiped them away quickly. Even though the hallway was deserted, I felt ashamed to have them running down my face.
I took a deep breath and got to my feet once more, putting one heavy foot in front of the other. Feeling the pull of the golden doors, my steps became faster, eventually breaking into a sprint to get out of the darkness and cold. It was so far away. I was tired, and lonely, and thirsty, and the minutes began dragging into hours. But I kept running. Suddenly, a yellow door labeled “RELAX” caught my eye and I skidded to a stop. It looked harmless enough, and welcoming. Not nearly as welcoming as the golden room down the hallway, but it looked better than the others. I opened the door to a large, yellow room filled with tables that held tall bottles and empty glasses. I rushed to the first one I saw, my mouth watering from thirst. As I began to open the bottle, my eyes widened at the smell. It was alcohol. So badly I wanted a taste, just one little taste. I wanted to drown the dryness of my life. I gripped the bottle harder. I held the bottle to my mouth, tasting the rim of the bottle. Closing my eyes, I licked my lips, thinking how easily it could numb the pain and the thirst. Reluctantly, I set the bottle back on the table and found myself once again in the dark hallway.
Startled, I began to run again towards the golden doors. I refused to look at the other doors, not wanting to stop and be tempted again. Suddenly, I heard a girl screeching at the top of her lungs. Confused, I started looking at the doors, frantically this time, trying to decide which one. What could possible hurt someone so bad to make them scream in such agony? Finally, I came to a door called “PAIN”, hearing the trapped girl within. I threw the door open as hard as I could and ran inside, to help the tormented girl; but I was too late. Her screaming had stopped: permanently. In the center of this blood red room, was a blood red bathtub, with a blood red girl inside. My heart tightened at the sight of the young girl. Her face held more pain than one could ever explain, even with a million pages. Fresh tears still streamed down her face, matching the fresh cuts on her arms. I looked into the empty, vacant eyes frozen in agony. I wiped at the tears that clouded my vision. Angry, hurt, scared: I felt a million things at once. I hesitantly walked to the tub like a zombie and gently picked up the knife hanging loosely in the dead girl’s hand. I looked from the knife, to my own wrists: contemplating. It seemed like such an easy way out, to just end all this pain and thirst. I sighed; shakily set down the knife; and went back to the long journey that awaited me outside the blood red room.
I started running as fast as I could. I didn’t know why, but I knew I couldn’t stop again. I wanted to stop; I wanted to stop and rest; to just give up and never move again. But I couldn’t. Ahead I saw the golden door with the bright light that was beckoning me in from the darkness. However, the closer I got to the door, the further away it looked. More and more things tried to slow me down, but I couldn’t quit; I couldn’t stop. I knew if I did, I’d never be able start again. I kept hearing voices calling to me from behind the doors. Voices saying: “this way”, “pick me”, “trust me”. Some rooms sounded like parties, while from others I could hear screaming. But I couldn’t go to help them again. I even passed doors that said things like: “REST”, “COMFORT”, and “SLEEP”. I wanted so bad to go into those rooms, even though they looked as dark and scary as the hallway. Yet, my feet wouldn’t stop.
The golden door began to shine brighter the closer I got. And, the closer I got, the more welcoming it looked. My feet started running faster, wanting so bad to be inside the safety of the golden room.
I fell to my knees just out of reach of the golden door. Panting, sweating, exhausted. I felt the warmth radiating along the floor. I could hear humming coming from inside. It was beautiful, the door. Shinning like a star, even though no light touched it. It looked so heavy. I wondered if I could even move it to get inside. Unsteadily, I stood up and pressed my hands against it, doubting my strength. Effortlessly, the doors swung open. I heard trumpets blaring, voices singing. White lights blinded me as I stumbled through the doors and they close automatically behind me. Warmth flooded my cold body, and my eyes felt alive for the first time. The room was beautiful; it was perfect. It was white, spotless in every way. In the middle of this spotless room, was a spotless white chair. I made my way through the singing angels, to the giant chair. I ran my hand along the arms of it, before gently sitting down. For the first time since I had started my long journey, I felt at rest, truly at rest. The pains, the thirst, the tiredness, were all gone. I could finally rest in comfort. I could finally surrender to eternal peace.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Breaking Kim
“Look who decided to disgust us with their presence,” someone mumbled as Kim hurried into the classroom; giggles made their way around the room.
Blushing, Kim faced the teacher, “I’m sorry, really I am, I was―”
“Save it Kimberly, I don’t want to hear it. One more instance and I’ll have you out of this class. Take your seat,” Mrs. Williams growled from her desk. Mrs. Williams was a stout woman who never had a kind word to say about anyone. Kim couldn’t help but to smile at the teacher’s resemblance to a good old grizzly bear. Making her way to her third row, last seat, Kim kept her head down, careful not to make eye contact when her classmates and their glares.
New to town as of a month ago, Kim Hess and her family had made the transition from a small town in Texas to big town Chicago. She didn’t know why people didn’t take to her the way people back home had. She didn’t look much different than the rest of the kids, being a slender, five foot six, brunette. She supposed it could be because she talked a little different than they did, but in all honesty she thought they talked funny too. A low town country girl didn’t quite make the mix of a crowd of city slickers.
Hiding behind her books and schoolwork, Kim stayed clear of everyone’s way, but nothing kept people from finding some way to humiliate her. Tripping her when she wasn’t paying attention to where she was going. Putting signs on her locker that said every colorful word they could muster up. Coughing or mooing when she would pass by a crowd. The list never ended.
When someone had spray painted her locker to say “Cow’s Not Aloud”, the principal stepped in. This only made things worse, considering it added “Tattle Tale” to her list of name’s to be called, even though she never “tattled” on anybody.
Her parents, busy with six other children, weren’t much of a help to their oldest child. They asked her after the first day of school how she liked it, she faked a fine, and they never brought it up again. Kim guessed she’d have to face the eleventh grade blues alone. But when two months had passed, and things weren’t any better, Kim started to panic. What if they kept it up? Or worse, what if they never stopped? Alone. She was all alone.
Lunch was peaceful at least. Every day she sat by an oak tree, nose deep into her latest book. She couldn’t say she minded being alone, but she minded the way she didn’t fit in. She smiled sadly. How did she expect to fit into a city town in cowboy boots and flannel shirts? Changing her appearance didn’t help her: she still talked the same. At night she would stand in front of the mirror, with a tape recorder, taping different ways to talk. But all sounded ridiculous. She hated who she was.
By winter, Kim was thinking life couldn’t be any more miserable. The other kids continued to harass her on any level they saw fit. Rumors flew at alarming speed about her; some so incredulous, she smiled while wondered what idiot had come up with it.
Slowly, Kim began to fade into inexistence. If she didn’t talk, stayed out of people’s way, and pretended she didn’t exist, everyone else did her the same honor.
Her parents couldn’t quite understand. They made lots of friends; some were even the parents of the kids who humiliated her at school. Plastering the fakest smile she could to her parents every time she was around them, no one could guess her pain. She hated it. The town, the people, the weather: all of it, she hated it. No, no one could feel her pain.
Until three months later, her parents, her siblings, and the kids who had made her life so miserable, stood around her cold white body. They stood around her coffin, to burying a seventeen year old.
Can you feel her pain now?
Blushing, Kim faced the teacher, “I’m sorry, really I am, I was―”
“Save it Kimberly, I don’t want to hear it. One more instance and I’ll have you out of this class. Take your seat,” Mrs. Williams growled from her desk. Mrs. Williams was a stout woman who never had a kind word to say about anyone. Kim couldn’t help but to smile at the teacher’s resemblance to a good old grizzly bear. Making her way to her third row, last seat, Kim kept her head down, careful not to make eye contact when her classmates and their glares.
New to town as of a month ago, Kim Hess and her family had made the transition from a small town in Texas to big town Chicago. She didn’t know why people didn’t take to her the way people back home had. She didn’t look much different than the rest of the kids, being a slender, five foot six, brunette. She supposed it could be because she talked a little different than they did, but in all honesty she thought they talked funny too. A low town country girl didn’t quite make the mix of a crowd of city slickers.
Hiding behind her books and schoolwork, Kim stayed clear of everyone’s way, but nothing kept people from finding some way to humiliate her. Tripping her when she wasn’t paying attention to where she was going. Putting signs on her locker that said every colorful word they could muster up. Coughing or mooing when she would pass by a crowd. The list never ended.
When someone had spray painted her locker to say “Cow’s Not Aloud”, the principal stepped in. This only made things worse, considering it added “Tattle Tale” to her list of name’s to be called, even though she never “tattled” on anybody.
Her parents, busy with six other children, weren’t much of a help to their oldest child. They asked her after the first day of school how she liked it, she faked a fine, and they never brought it up again. Kim guessed she’d have to face the eleventh grade blues alone. But when two months had passed, and things weren’t any better, Kim started to panic. What if they kept it up? Or worse, what if they never stopped? Alone. She was all alone.
Lunch was peaceful at least. Every day she sat by an oak tree, nose deep into her latest book. She couldn’t say she minded being alone, but she minded the way she didn’t fit in. She smiled sadly. How did she expect to fit into a city town in cowboy boots and flannel shirts? Changing her appearance didn’t help her: she still talked the same. At night she would stand in front of the mirror, with a tape recorder, taping different ways to talk. But all sounded ridiculous. She hated who she was.
By winter, Kim was thinking life couldn’t be any more miserable. The other kids continued to harass her on any level they saw fit. Rumors flew at alarming speed about her; some so incredulous, she smiled while wondered what idiot had come up with it.
Slowly, Kim began to fade into inexistence. If she didn’t talk, stayed out of people’s way, and pretended she didn’t exist, everyone else did her the same honor.
Her parents couldn’t quite understand. They made lots of friends; some were even the parents of the kids who humiliated her at school. Plastering the fakest smile she could to her parents every time she was around them, no one could guess her pain. She hated it. The town, the people, the weather: all of it, she hated it. No, no one could feel her pain.
Until three months later, her parents, her siblings, and the kids who had made her life so miserable, stood around her cold white body. They stood around her coffin, to burying a seventeen year old.
Can you feel her pain now?
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Unforgiveness
It’s hard to change who you’ve been all along. It’s hard to change what you’ve done. It’s hard to change when you are so caught up in something, good or bad. How can you be expected to change overnight? And when you do have a change of heart, and are able to change, does that really matter in the end? To you? Yes. To everyone else? Not when they hold it over your head for the rest of your life. The little bit of trust you damaged, the little bit of doubt you put in their hearts that yes, it is possible you can mess you, will stay there. Unforgiveness is a dangerous and powerful thing. And until that person is able to put the unforgiveness aside, stop holding your mistakes over your head, can you really move on from it yourself.
So next time someone makes a mistake, breaks your trust, hurts you, don’t let unforgiveness destroy you and the person who has messed up. You may have been wronged, but you’ve not the victim. When someone needs your forgiveness, let the past stay in the past. The worst feeling in the world is having someone so close to you not forgive you for messing up, even when you are so sorry.
It is easier to get over your mistakes, your addictions, your chains, when you have forgiveness and support. You drink, smoke, cut, take drugs, you do all the things you shouldn’t to make yourself feel better, to make things seem not so horrible. Sometimes you do these things for comfort when you can’t find it anywhere else. But when you put it out there on the table, show that this is your weakness, and you are punished for wanting help, these things start to look even better. And if you do get clean? Get better? How can you get over your pasts, your mistakes, when its constantly thrown back in your face. “May I go here?” “May I do this?” And the response is “No, because remember what you did last time?” “Because you’ll mess up.” “Because I don’t trust you.”
Next time you are faced with broken trust, unforgiveness, or hurt by someone you love, simply remember 1 Corinthians 13. I am not a highly religious person, or much of one at all most people would tell you, but this verse is so true, and many people forget it.
1 Corinthians 13:4-8
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, 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.
So next time someone makes a mistake, breaks your trust, hurts you, don’t let unforgiveness destroy you and the person who has messed up. You may have been wronged, but you’ve not the victim. When someone needs your forgiveness, let the past stay in the past. The worst feeling in the world is having someone so close to you not forgive you for messing up, even when you are so sorry.
It is easier to get over your mistakes, your addictions, your chains, when you have forgiveness and support. You drink, smoke, cut, take drugs, you do all the things you shouldn’t to make yourself feel better, to make things seem not so horrible. Sometimes you do these things for comfort when you can’t find it anywhere else. But when you put it out there on the table, show that this is your weakness, and you are punished for wanting help, these things start to look even better. And if you do get clean? Get better? How can you get over your pasts, your mistakes, when its constantly thrown back in your face. “May I go here?” “May I do this?” And the response is “No, because remember what you did last time?” “Because you’ll mess up.” “Because I don’t trust you.”
Next time you are faced with broken trust, unforgiveness, or hurt by someone you love, simply remember 1 Corinthians 13. I am not a highly religious person, or much of one at all most people would tell you, but this verse is so true, and many people forget it.
1 Corinthians 13:4-8
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, 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.
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