Palmtree Contemplations

So this is what it is to be held? This strange peace that settles So soft and still Like dust caught in sunbeams. So this is what it is to be held? The yielding to love that comes Quiet and clear Like stars sparkling in the black. So this is what it is to be held?  This contentment that seeps in Slow and tingling Like the fire's warmth in winter.  So this is what it is to be held: The sureness that buoys, Firm and freeing Like the ocean holds me now.

I have been to lyceums before, but nothing could ever top Alex McDonald's incredible performance earlier this month. From the moment he stepped out on the BPAC stage, Alex was one of the most accessible performers I have ever had the privilege of hearing. Even the faculty went crazy over him, which is saying a lot since our faculty is very picky. Behind me, the Wubbenas kept making approving whispers to one another, and I think I heard Mr. Smith give an "Amen" after Chopin's Nocturne in c minor. I could not see Mrs. Rollene or Dr. Whitley, but I imagine they were both smiling. After the intermission, Alex did a lecture on and performance of Liszt's Sonata in b minor. I settled in for the sonata, which is hard for any pianist to perform, no matter how talented or experienced. It lasts for half an hour, but it was one of the happiest half hours of my life. When I saw him reaching for the last note I wanted to say, "Oh, no, don't play it. Replay one of the...

I was dozing in the saddle when I felt Starlight come to a halt. I looked around, wondering where we were. Surrounding us were green hills, and mountains beyond. "This isn't Perin," I stated, confused. "No, it isn't," Starlight answered. "But I thought- "I said we were going to Perin without making the usual stops. I didn't say we wouldn't stop from time to time. I can't walk and carry you all the way there without resting, don't you know," she answered in her huffy, unicorn way. Her long white legs folded as she settled down in the billowing grass. The wind was strong now. I stared at the mountains, suddenly concerned. There were storm clouds on the horizon. What kind of storms existed in this strange world? "Don't be frightened, little one. It is a little wind and a bit of thunder. Come, it will be getting colder soon," she lifted her wing, and I crawled beneath it. There are no words to describe the ...

Is this all right? This lack of understanding. This yearning to know, And the inability to discover. Is this all right? This wishing I was free, Free from what? Does not the prison door stand open? Is this all right? This anger that I hold, So close, and oh so fiery, It hurts if water comes too near. Is this all right? This pounding frustration, It shakes the ground, And leaves me blank and numb. Is this all right? This silence that I give you. Though there's love in your eyes, I cower in fear.   This is wrong. This aching to yell and scream. This is wrong. This refusal to bow the knee. This is wrong. This burning, red-hot rage. This is wrong. This self-wrought, iron cage. These are the empty days When thoughts run wild and unwritten. These are the empty days When dark mem'ries won't stay hidden. Oh God, what a wretch I am!

        For all of you who were wondering what happened to me this summer, here it is. In March (which honestly feels like a lifetime ago), I was recruited to work for a publishing company called Southwestern. The internship itself has been around since the 1870s and is the number two internship in the U.S. (the number one internship is really a law firm, so it doesn't count) I could give all sorts of names for what I did, and try to make it sound really fancy and intriguing. In essence, the company hires college students to sell their books door to door throughout the United States. So, for thirteen weeks, I sold books door to door in Wisconsin. What is it like to live an entire life in thirteen weeks? That is how it felt. Everyday was filled to the brim with laughter, tears, anger, joy, slammed doors, opened doors, kind moms, jerk moms, funny dads, cruel dads, adorable children, bratty children, etc. I met generous people, I met selfish people. I...

The days all roll into one, the way the wheels of my borrowed bike roll over the endless miles of suburbia that I cover every day. My feet and hands hurt from the demanding daily schedule of biking and knocking, biking and knocking. Calluses are forming on the middle fingers of both hands. The sun and rain are my constant companions. As a result, I now have a beautiful farmer's tan, and believe that though rain may be cold it will pass. When I signed up for the internship with Southwestern, I did not know what I was getting myself into. Yes, I had been over all the details with my manager and I knew how hard I was going to have to work. I committed to it before I arrived in Nashville for sales school. Still, nothing prepared me for the brutal honesty and challenges of the bookfield. Every day I take on the same task: to see and sit down with as many families as possible. I did not know that I would cry, but I do, and they are honest tears brought on by real experiences. I did not...

1) Green leaves 2) Birds singing 3) Fragrant flowers 4) Kristiana's voice 5) Claire's smile 6) A baby laughing 7) The sounds of Grace Episcopal Choir rehearsing 8) Edith's eyes 9) The glow of candles 10) Hugs 11) Mr. Romig's inquiring mind 12) Light falling through the trees 13) Deep conversations Blessings are like snowflakes; each one has a uniqueness that cannot be duplicated. I am learning to count them and to remind myself of them. Why? Because each blessing is a God-sighting, and I do not want to forget that I am being lavished daily with gifts from my Creator. Do you?