Office Supply Glee
So, today I bought a pencil. Two pencils, actually. They also came with a free pen. I spent almost five bucks on these pencils and free pen, even though I in no way needed them.
The reason I bought the package was because one of the pencils was hot pink. I think, perhaps subconsciously, I have always wanted a hot pink pencil. And now, this day, the 28th of February, I own one. And a teal one, too.
What War Is Like
For my English Lit class, I have a set of journals due tomorrow. In these journals, I get to write about plays, short stories and poems. (This section was all about war and peace.) I have the freedom to talk about whatever I want so these journals have really been fun to work on. For this set, I wrote an entry on Langston Hughes’ poem “Harlem,” from which the play A Raisin in the Sun (something our class talked about earlier on) got its name. I liked this entry a lot so I thought I’d post it here, along with the poem that inspired it.
“Harlem”
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
As I began reading “Harlem,” I immediately made the connection to A Raisin in the Sun. At first I wondered why this poem was in the War & Peace section of the book, but then I realized it was quite applicable.
As I think of war, I think of a scene out of Saving Private Ryan or Black Hawk Down. I picture lots of chaos, lots of blood and gore. But as I thought about it, I realized there are moments in life when war does not take place on a battlefield. The wars of life are not always bloody. Instead of loss of limbs or life, sometimes the loss is sleep, faith, or peace. Instead of guns and bombs, sometimes the weapons of war are words, loss, or grief.
Dreams, as Hughes mentioned in the first line of this poem, are very much a sort of war. As children all of us have dreams. (I think of Walter from A Raisin in the Sun.) Not only do we have them, but we believe they will occur. It is not until later in life when we begin to question our dreams, to doubt the deepest desires of our hearts. I think the way Hughes wrote “Harlem” is a good diagram of a dream’s journey: Hughes starts off with five lines, then three, then two, then one. Dreams often run the same course, starting off strong, and then slowly wilting into something we brush off as silly and meaningless. As in war, we must fight for our dreams. The deep desires of our hearts are there for a purpose.
But, also as in war, the battle to destroy our dreams is one that is raging. Dreams, I believe, can simply be translated as hope. They are the hope for betterment, the hope for redemption from our frail and tired lives. They are the hope that someday our names will mean something to someone, that someday we will have the bravery and courage of the greatest of soldiers.
The question Hughes asks in the final line of this poem is an important one: Do dreams explode when they are left unfulfilled? Do they, like the bombs and bullets of war, wound us to our very core when they are ignored? I believe they do. As we lose our dreams, we lose our hope. And without hope, all we really have is war.
Numero Uno
Well, this is the infamous first post at my new home. I’m insanely sad that I lost almost five years worth of writing due to the death of Diary-X. Note to all of you: Keep paper journals also.
In the couple of weeks since Diary-X has been down, I have been craving to write. I’ve missed it so much. I didn’t realize how much of a release it was for me to just get words out there, somewhere.
Life has been good lately. Last weekend I saw Jars of Clay, Derek Webb and Sara Groves. It was a lovely day and a great concert. My only complaints were that Derek Webb’s set was far too short and that Jars played “I Need You” and “Flood” instead of “Jealous Kind” and “Trouble Is.” Oh well. I’ll take what I can get, and happily so.
For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been making my way through Donald Miller’s Searching For God Knows What. It’s a great read. I think the thoughts God has placed in Miller could benefit the Church so much if we all would take them to heart. I have learned an immense amount lately about God and about the Church I am a member of.
I came to the realization late last night, in the quiet and solitude of my bedroom, that I do not love God. I like him and there are moments when I lust after him but love? I lust after the peace He can give, the patience, the wisdom, the grace, the easiness but lust is all it is. In the Miller book I’m reading right now, he talks about how almost all of Scripture is relational and without relationships we can never prosper. My “relationship” with God has been anything but. He is simply a deity to me, a being that wants the best for me. I admire Him and I wish to know more, but I do not yet love.
As I crawled into my bed last night, I wondered how I could love God. As soon as I thought the question, I realized it was just like a dating relationship. You don’t fall in love right away. That takes time. I must spend time with Him, must search for His presence in every space I enter. I must allow Him to love me, to tell me I am beautiful, to tell me I am worthy of being pursued.
I have always wondered why it is so easy for me to go against the will of God while it hurts so much to know I have let down my parents. I cannot stand the thought of disappointing my earthly father. If I think I have let him down in the slightest, it is not a second until I tear up and feel heartbroken. But that is because I have a relationship with my father. I see him, speak to him, know his touch. I can hear his footsteps when he’s approaching a room, I can tell when it’s his car pulling into the garage. I know him. And he knows me. I wish the same for my relationship with God.
If I spend my time here wasting what little affections I have on a god instead of God, I AM, the one who offers life so complete and divine, my years here would have been for nothing.
I want to love God with the love I have for the people I interact with every day. I feel His pursuit. It seems that when I am my most hardened, my most dark, I feel Him calling out to me the loudest. I am attempting now not to just listen, but to let His words invade me, consume me, and, ultimately, heal me.
