Drawing

I sit here trying to draw. I know what, but yet I don't know how to do it. My mental image overrides the physical one, allowing my memories fill in your beautiful smile. But how can I do it when I can't even draw something I can see? Even when I want to, my hands fail me. I'm used to being able to fix things, but my pencil seems broken and I can't fix it no matter how hard I try. If only I could find a way, just a sliver of talent, in order to capture your brilliance into pencil strokes of grey and white. I sit here trying to be a dream-catcher like you, but in reality I can draw nothing. Only by the grace of God can I draw anything close to the beauty he has instilled in you, yet my paper feels empty, as hard as I try. If only I could make a drawing for you-

Dreams

Have you ever stopped, looked around, and hoped that you weren't dreaming?

I've always thought dreams are so amazing. To be completely honest, I can't dream. It just doesn't come natural- if I want to dream, I have to try. This inability really stinks because that means that the only way that I can dream is if I learn how to lucid dream, which I don't have near enough time for. However, it does make for really peaceful and fast sleep!

But what is a dream? A dream is a series of thoughts, images and sensations happening in a person's mind during sleep. They can be clear but confusing or vague but understandable. But the single characteristic of dreams that makes them all the more worthwhile to me is that the senses that shouldn't be active dream too. Maybe you've woken up from a dream screaming and sweating? Did you ever think about how long you must have been sweating if you were that drenched? Or maybe you've woken up hugging a pillow or stuffed animal? How in the world did you even find the darn thing?! Or if you're like me—can't REALLY dream, but have "visions"—you hear things that you really should not have heard.

On many a morning, I've "woken up" when my mom came up to tell me to get ready for the day. But as soon as she starts talking, I'll say something like "Wait, so did Daddy ever find the fish?" or "What time did you say we're leaving for the circus?" I think she's just used to it now, but I still do it any time I got to bed too late. So even though I can't actually remember my dreams, I almost guarantee you that I had some conversation about going to the circus or helping my dad find the fish during the middle of the night.

Ok, so maybe my dreams are a bit weird. I don't remember seeing, hearing or feeling anything, but I can feel the effects of them. But there is that rare, miraculous occasion in which I do dream. And let me tell you, when I dream, I dream. I had a dream when I was in third grade that I still remember it to this day. I actually wrote it down in a notebook and I filled almost 4 pages with my third grade writing. I have maybe four total dreams that I can actually remember, but honestly, they're all insane, to say the least. But what makes them insane is what I saw. I SAW things. But I happen to know for a fact that I sleep with my eyes closed, and even if I didn't, I still wouldn't see a whale chasing my family through the house (it happened, I swear.)

You see, we see things when we're asleep. Memories? Maybe. De ja vu? Possibly. Enhancements of reality? Almost certainly. We see real things even though they aren't really there. So what makes you think that we can't see things better, even when they are really there? Why do we always have to see life as a dismal, dreary place when we can go to sleep and ride jet black mares over Scottish hills and country side? What makes it so much easier to escape real world problems that we care about while we're awake when we go to sleep? Is it the effect of the moon's beams on our skin? Is it the effect of the change in gravitational pull, even to the slightest degree, causing the same effect as high and low tide?

No, the reason we can see things while we're not awake is because we stop worrying about the small things. The things that make life miserable- pain, annoyance, angry thoughts: these all go away when we're asleep. So instead of focusing on all the little things that make life worse, why don't we enjoy the other little things that make it better?

Sing your favorite song

Play your favorite game

Dance with your best friend

Maybe even break the walls
Between
Universes.

Cuts and Bruises

Some of you may know me well. Some of you may not. But if you had to know one thing about me, it's that I love to debate. For the past two years, I've done speech and debate with an organization called the NCFCA and I've learned and grown so much from it. But alongside debate, I've also done speech at the same tournaments. In my first year I actually went to Nationals with a partnered speech- neither of us could look, touch or communicate with the other. For my second year, we planned on doing another speech of the same type based off of a book named "The Book of (Even More) Awesome."

This plan eventually fell through, but that's not really the point. One of the portions of the book talks about cuts and bruises and how we don't appreciate how awesome they are. Pain is like your granny, it explains, reminding you not to touch things you shouldn't touch or do things you shouldn't do. But even more so, cuts and bruises are memories. I still have a scar from family camp last year. How I got the scar doesn't matter quite so much as the reminder of how much fun I had at that camp.

Well, now I have even better cuts and bruises. Once again, knowing how I got the two giant cuts on my hands, the scrapes on my arm, and the bruises on my hip are not quite as important as the memories they bring. This weekend while working media at church camp, over 100 kids between 3rd and 5th grade accepted Christ into their lives, and now I have four different scars to remember it by.

But what about the cuts and bruises you can't recover from? Gunshots. Knife cuts. Death. Maybe you've cut yourself. Maybe you've cut someone else. Or maybe nature cut them for you. What do we do with those scars? My friends, as sad as it is, memories aren't always good ones. I have amazing memories of dance floors, chandeliers and colors of the sea, but I also have memories of pain, blood and funerals. What could we ever possibly do with those memories other than, in the words of the most inspiring Disney movie, in my opinion, "Shut them out, don't let them in" and "Be the good girl [or guy] you always have to be?"

Well, just as Elsa thought the pain she caused to her sister at such a young age was something to be ashamed of, she also realized later that the same hands that caused the pain were also the same hands that could create beauty; the same hands that could create life. I'll tell you what we do with those memories. We hold onto them. Seize the day, shout out to the heavens if you must, and remember. The funerals I've gone to were covered in memories. Everything about them remembered the wonderful soul that person had. The cuts on your palms, wrists, arms and legs- let them be a lesson and a sign of the darkest part of your life. Don't be ashamed of them. Be proud that they are layovers of your past; just a shadow of the person you used to be.

At this same camp, I worked with a guy who, at first glance, seemed like a pretty strange guy. His ears had 7/10" gauges and he had quite a few visible tattoos on his body. But once I got to know him, he shared with me that his tattoos were reminders and milestones of hard parts of his life. He wore the darkest portions of his life encoded on his sleeves, always there for him to remember. How else could we live life without memories? We're not the Gladers from The Maze Runner- there's no option to just have our memories wiped clean, let alone only the bad ones. So why not make use of those dusty old experiences? Instead of letting them be dead weight, take them and mold them into something useful. Something that you can learn and grow from, not just something that tears you down.

So my question to you is this: Where are your cuts and bruises, and how much do they weigh?

Bending Time

Have you ever thought about bending time?

I guess in order to think about bending time, you'd kinda have to think about how time works first. See, most people assume that time is a straight line from beginning to end, but as The Doctor once said, "from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, it's more like a big ball of wibbly wobbly, timey wimey... stuff."

Ok, so maybe a strict progression of time would make a little more sense in this context.

But no matter how you see the universe we call Time, surely you've thought about bending it. I mean, it's a little harder to bend a ball, but clearly if it's wibbly-wobbly then it's unstable enough to bend. "Get to the point, Alex!" is what you might be saying right now, but then again, maybe you've already said it.

It occurred to me as I walked through a local museum of science the other day that time is extremely relative and subjective. Not just to whom is viewing time, but rather HOW they are experiencing time. See, when we think of time being linear, we assume that everything happens at the same time with the same speed. But as I walked through the Explore the Universe exhibit, I noticed something I hadn't really thought about before- The stars we see in the sky could very well be dead right now, but it will take us hundreds of years to be able to tell.

Hold up a minute. Are you saying that we can see into the past?

Why yes I am, thank you for clarifying! But I'm sure many of you already knew that. In this case, the speed at which light travels is the limitation for the speed at which time can occur, so when the distance between two objects is further than the speed of light, time is slowed.

So that's one sort of time-bending we can do, but what about the others?

I'm sure anyone who's reading this knows what a sonic boom is. Basically, when something travels faster than the speed of sound, it creates a large booming noise. If you've ever been to a fighter plane show, you would know that following the sonic boom is... nothing. For probably around 5 seconds, maybe more, maybe less, nothing can be heard because the sound is still attempting to reach our ears. So what does that mean? Sure, technically the plane is moving out of time, but it makes much more sense to say that we are getting an out-of-time experience. We hear into the past by listening to the noise of an airplane 5 seconds after it was supposed to happen.

In all reality, this can happen with all of our senses, though with little practicality for smell and taste. But do you get the idea? Time can be bent, though it takes a lot of energy or space to do so. With enough incentive, we can do what we felt was impossible. We can break the laws of the universe(s).

So maybe, just maybe, if given enough time and space,

We could build bridges back to memories,

We could relive memories,

We could feel memories,

Strong enough to break the bond

Between

Universes.

A Foreign Exchange

So on July 5th, we decided we would accept a foreign exchange student into our home.

It is now July 10th, and that foreign exchange student has just spent the first night at our house.

How did we make such short-term arrangements? Only God knows that.

Because He planned it.

Last night, my family and I spent at least a good two hours anxiously (not necessarily the good anxious) awaiting the arrival of our new friend, brother and son for the next month. Two of my three younger brothers, Joshua and Caleb, being 4 and 6, were fighting over who got to hold the black-and-white welcome sign reading:

"WELCOME JEAN-BAPTISTE"

So maybe it wasn't the most GLORIOUS welcome sign that we all might dream of when coming to a new home in another country, but it was something. And apparently it was enough, too! JB (short for Jean-Baptiste) immediately came to greet us with a nervous smile on his face. My mother went in to give him a hug and, of course, what she failed to remember was that, in France, one does not simply greet the a woman with a hug. Kisses on or near both cheeks is the traditional welcome from male to female, female to female, and female to male. I don't honestly know if males have something else like a bro-hug, but if they don't I think he got the idea after Mom's startled response. Luckily her brain churning for the appropriate response and her eyes showing signs of being startled was the most awkward it got.

From the airport, we went to go eat at a Texan/Mexican food place. But his response to the actual food itself was less great than the conversations we had. I learned three things about France during dinner:

1. Almost all of their radio music is in English. And I quote "I don't know how they can hear [understand] it!" Not only that, but his favorite music is rap, and he only has one French rap song on his phone.

2. Computer programming is done in English, not in French.

3. They don't have French toast in France (I knew about French fries, but seriously, French toast?!)

Also, I think he honestly believes Americans are stupid. Not only do we not have a complicated and more sophisticated schooling system like they do in France, but our randomly generated license plate numbers made him gawk at the inefficiency. In France, their license plates reflect their address and stuff, but I had to explain to him that here, the license plate numbers were LINKED to your address and name, but didn't actually represent anything.

And one more thing- He's never stepped foot in a church before. The only reason I mention that is because, as ironic and perfect as it seems, we're doing VBS next week, so where does he have to be for a whole week of his stay in the United States? Vacation Bible School. Oh, God, you work in hilariously amazing ways.

I have a feeling that I'm in for a really great month of July.

Music

Apparently writing prompts are pretty popular. I might as well do this one- It looks pretty fun! Songs are one of my favorite universes, after all.

A song from my childhood: All Star by Smash Mouth

A song that reminds me of my parents: (Mom) Mama Mia by Meryl Streep (Dad) Your Moma Don't Dance by Kenny Loggins

A song that calms me down: Apologize by OneRepublic

A song that is often stuck in my head: Crystallized by Lindsey Stirling

A song that reminds me of my best friend: Wonderwall by Oasis

A song that makes me hopeful: Electric Daisy Violin by Lindsey Stirling

A song by my favorite band: Shatter Me by Lindsey Stirling (Feat. Lzzy Hale)

A song on the soundtrack of my favorite movie: Discombobulate from Sherlock Holmes (I don't have a favorite movie, so I chose one of my favorite soundtracks)

The last song I heard: Midnight by Coldplay

A song I love singing along to: Counting Stars by OneRepublic

A song that has made me cry: All About Us by He is We

A song I love but rarely listen to: Stolen by Dashboard Confessional

Favorite song: Wonderwall by Oasis

A song that someone has sung to me: Wonderwall by Oasis

A song I cannot stand to listen to: Car Radio by Twenty One Pilots

A song I could listen to all day: Sail by Awolnation
(Inspired by comeondreamer-timetofly.blogspot.com)

But I refuse to leave it at that. I mean, have you ever stopped and thought about what music is?

Music is a way of defining and expressing ourselves. Down here in Texas, at least, we all have that one friend who is always wearing cowboy boots, a cowboy hat and a plaid button-up shirt. And what music is that person always listening to? Country, duh! Now, I'm not much of a fan of country music, thus I don't even own a pair of boots, let alone a cowboy hat.

But I think we often forget that music isn't just something that you listen to- it's something that's written. All those rap, pop and country songs were written by someone. One of the songs up in my list is named Car Radio by Twenty One Pilots. While I honestly can't stand the song, I would definitely recommend giving it a listen. My best friend and I were awed by the song simply because of the lyrics.

"I ponder of something great

My lungs will fill and then deflate

They fill with fire

Exhale desire

I know it's dire

My time today.

I have these thoughts

So often I ought

To replace that slot

With what I once bought

'Cause somebody stole

My car radio

And now I just sit in silence."

Now, keep in mind, this song has no religious standpoint whatsoever. And yet, this man, this poor, poor man, knows that his time today is dire, but hasn't figured out why yet.

Cause somebody stole my car radio and now I just sit in silence.

This line gives me shivers. Somebody took the music, his block from the thoughts that differed from the world, and now he just sits in silence. And what do you do when you sit in silence? Think. He reaches out- He knows that there has to be more to this life of wake-eat-work-eat-sleep, but he can't quite make it.

What more can we do with our words? Where do our questions go? How do we let the world know what we've wondered our whole lives?

Music.

Fireworks

What a beautiful thing.

As the Fourth of July passed, and all the American flags are being put away, I've thought about fireworks. Not just the interesting science behind them, but also how intriguing the concept is. Different minerals spontaneously combust to explode into millions of tiny fractures of the same piece. I mean, really, who thought of that idea?

"Dude. I just got this brilliant idea."
"What is it this time?"
"I'm gonna take all this phosphorous Dad brought home from work, stuff some gunpowder in there, then put it in a plastic casing so it'll fly and explode somewhere else."
"... That has got to be the stupidest idea ever."

Yet it still happened. It's estimated there's about 4 deaths every year from fireworks in the United States alone. Fireworks were invented in 1040 A.D. That's about 3896 people that have died from fireworks since they were invented. Okay, so maybe I used a bit of sketchy math, but still, you get the idea. THEY'RE DANGEROUS PEOPLE. But yet we still use them? Why?

This past year, I got the opportunity to sit right up close and personal with the fireworks. Along with like 2,000 other people, but still, I realized today something that I've never noticed before: the beauty. Each firework was unique. They only lasted for a second, but each second had something new in store.

What was even more amazing, though, was the concept of beauty that was displayed. Symmetry, color, sparkle, brilliance- all things that were displayed as beautiful in the fireworks. And as funny as it is, that's what we look for in people, too, isn't it? The symmetry of their face. The color of their hair or skin. The sparkle of their nail polish. The brilliance of their beauty. But is that what we need to be looking for? What if we're looking at the wrong thing? Maybe, instead of the surface-level beauties that we think we're seeing, what if we're really seeing more beautiful characteristics on the inside?

The symmetry of their love.
The color of their personality.
The sparkle in their eyes.
And the brilliance of God shining through them.




I don't know about you, but those are the things that I love in a person. And God has blessed me with people that are full of them.

~ The Valley ~

A brilliant breeze pulled the air through my hair as I took in the view. Gray mountains, peaked with white, shot out of the distant horizon like spikes while trees covered the baseline like villagers trekking up a hill. All around me, plains of the greenest grass I'd ever seen stretched for miles before hitting either the hill to the west or the end of the plateau in the east. It felt as though I was in a bowl: there was no escaping the confined but peaceful feeling of The Valley. As I turned about to see the view to the south, a new addition to the usual scenery caught my eye. A white figure, too far away to see clearly, ran, no, galloped, towards me.

As it drew closer, I realized that it was not one entity, but rather two; A girl-like figure dressed in white rode what appeared to be a horse, also white. Her short hair blew in the wind just as mine did. Even before she lifted her delicate arm to wave hello, I had already begun lifting mine. She smiled; I smiled. It was as though I was looking into an ornate mirror that reflected my movements, but not my body. Dazed, I stood with one arm held high, still waving into the wind, and stared at the girl. Was I finally going insane? Had the life of solitude finally gotten to my head? It seemed to good to be true. If angels existed, this surely was one.

I snapped back to reality. Nobody had dared enter The Valley before. The path here was treacherous, but the reward was twofold for those who challenged their sanity. Who was this girl that sacrificed any mask of normality to enter such a beautiful but strange place? As she had finally reached the hill on which I stood, her features became even more distinguishable. Her piercing blue eyes complimented her white clothing, causing her beautiful, tan skin to provide perfect contrast to her figure. She still wore a smile on her face as she hopped off her stallion. Her bare feet landed in the luscious grass with grace, but even the perfect scene could not prevent the imperfect landing. My hand reached out to help her up before I had even thought to tell it to do so- she grabbed it and looked up with thankfulness in her eyes and a knowing smile on her face.

As I lead her back to my house in the hill of The Valley, I knew, with all of my heart, that the Man of the Mountains was with me.

With her.

With us.

~ Worst Nightmare ~

What have I done?

I looked down at my hands. Blood covered the floor as it poured out of the only person I loved. The misty haze of the dark room bore down on me as I looked from side to side to assure myself I was alone. Walls, if there were any, were masked by the pulsating image of dust in the blackness. Even if there was another person in the room, they would never even notice I was there until they tripped over the lifeless legs of my final hope for life. I sat on the floor of the seemingly familiar room and wept. What else could I do? The last thing I cared about in the world was gone

and it was my fault.

~

~

~

I sat there for what seemed to be forever. Even though the room was too dark to see a clock even if there was one, I knew I had sat there for at least three days while the mutilated figure sat in my lap, her clothes soaked in my tears. But even through my gentle sobbing, I heard a noise. Something I had heard before but ignored. I fell atop the body in front of me, to hide it, I suppose. An animal? No, it was too heavy for that. A human, maybe? Still, not even a man’s footstep could make such a distantly loud thunder.

As it grew closer, I suddenly realized that it was the beast that haunts my dreams. The one named Fear. His brown mane spattered with the blood of his previous victims held tight around his neck as though it were a prized necklace. His pitch black eyes protruded from his bull-like skull. His skin flickered with fire, piercing through the darkness like a double-edged sword. As his devilish grin pierced the light fog of dust, my heart exploded into a bout of anxiety, as I knew that this had happened before. Just as his claws of solidified mercury pierced my back, I woke up, once again, from my worst nightmare.