2nd Special Entry: "Prayer" by Mary Oliver

“Prayer” is a short 55 word poem written by Mary Oliver. Although the reading is quite small, the meaning is rather extravagant. The poem is as follows:

It doesn’t have to be
The blue iris, it could be
Weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
Small stones; just
Pay attentions, then patch

A few words together and don’t try
To make them elaborate, this isn’t
A contest but the doorway

Into thanks, and a silence in which
Another voice may speak.

I am interpreting this text because it is so meaningful. It’s one of those pieces you can read periodically and get a different interpretation each time. At first glance, the poem looks exceptionally easy. But once the poem is read more than once, the reality of the poems depth arises. Prayer is such a major topic with many opinions. This poem takes a very broad, controversial subject and narrows it down to its true, simplistic origin.

The opening lines of the poem, “It doesn’t have to be the blue iris…” holds plenty of depth and meaning. But if you’re not florist or a flower lover, you probably wouldn’t know what a “blue iris” is. It is one gorgeous looking flower, an attention getter, eye candy, something that would draw people in with its beauty. It’s truly an extravagant piece of nature’s art. In this poem, Oliver uses “blue iris”, like much of the poem, as a metaphor. I believe she is saying prayer doesn’t always have to be beautiful; it doesn’t have to be something that attracts. Even though we are communicating with the Almighty, our words shouldn’t be covered in a façade of allurement. I don’t think she is saying prayer can never be beautiful. In prayer, we should give praise and the result is beautiful. I do believe she is saying that we shouldn’t get caught up in solely praying just to give praise. In doing so, we leave out one of the points of prayer, giving your thoughts, cares, and worries to Christ. Giving you’re inner most thoughts and feeling (good or bad) to Christ is so important. It’s a very important interpretation; prayer doesn’t always have to beautiful and perfect.

Oliver makes this point very clear with the next few lines, “…it could be weeds in a vacant lot…” Weeds are often unattractive, not wanted, and an annoyance to all its occupants. A vacant lot is, vacant, empty, and void. I believe Oliver is saying prayer is also a time to give Christ those annoyances and unwanted circumstances, especially when life feels lifeless and void. Bottle up emotions, no matter how unattractive, need to be released and dealt with. People often forget that there allowed to come to Christ with their issues. Concerning prayer, there should be a balance between its blue irises’s and weed field lots. One without the other leads to a lop-sided prayer life.

Oliver continues and states that prayer also could be “… a few small stones; just pay attention then patch a few words together and don’t try to make them elaborate…” In prayer, especially in front of large groups of people, Christians can tend to showcase their prayers into a long, drawn out production. I believe Oliver is saying we loose the meaning of prayer when we make prayer a performance; an elaborate group of holy words with intentions of impressing an audience. Prayers are meant to be meaningful, a time to focus, to reflect, and regurgitate the thoughts within the mind. I believe that’s what she means by “just pay attention”. Don’t loose you’re meaningfulness in the act of performing prayer. It could be something small with a powerful punch, much like this poem. If a persons prays for four hours long, that’s doesn’t the person is better than the person who prayer for only four minutes. The person who ‘prayed’ for four hours could have been uttering nonsense the whole time or vise versa. I believe God looks at the intent of the heart, if you’re really paying attention to what you’re saying, and if you mean it.

Moving forward, the poem continues and says, “…and don’t try to make them elaborate, this isn’t a contest…” Why do humans have the habit of making almost everything a competition? Why do Christians (while praying) tend to feel the need to out-pray others before us in prayer circles? Where in scripture does it speak of prayer in a contest format? I can tell you scriptures never speak of competitive praying, it’s not meant to be contest. If prayer was some sort of a contest, I believe it would destroy its purity. Humanistic competitiveness would get in the way and destroy a wholesome and holy ritual. To go further, why, in prayer, do people speak of everything but forget to give thanks?

“…this isn’t a contest, but a doorway into thanks…” There is so much to be thankful for, especially in the USA. The United States of America represent freedom, freedom we should be thankful for. Jesus also died so we could have a chance, a choice to follow Him, and be with Him in eternity. Beyond that, I believe Oliver wants the reader to understand that prayer should be action of gratitude and thankfulness. Prayer is the doorway into showing the Father your earnest affection of oblige. I believe this is one of the most important interpretations in the piece as whole. Not just to be thankful, but to also give you’re thanks to God. You never know what you have until it’s gone.

“... and a silence in which another voice may speak…” Some people interpret this last line literally, that you will hear an audible voice. I don’t think Oliver even wants her readers to focus on the ‘voice’. Focusing on hearing sounds during prayer brings distraction. Plus, it’s not meant to be taken literally; I believe it’s to be taken metaphorically like the rest of the poem, symbolizing God’s presence being with you in your silence. I believe Oliver wants us to focus on praying in silence. How often are we still, motionless, in the silence of an intimate prayer time? Not often, the other half of prayer is being silent before the heavenly father.

From Theatre to the Movie Screen

For many years, musicals and plays have been brought onto the ‘big screen’. Some adaptions of these theatrical productions are done with taste and excellency, others, not so much. I believe one of the best movie adaption of theatrical play I’ve seen is “Doubt”. The story line is enticing and engages the audience throughout the movie, there is no weak actor throughout the film, and each actor gives a superb performance. Now, I might be a little bias, I’ve never seen the play “Doubt” performed. But I have seen both versions (on film & stage) of “Sweeny Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street”. All I can say, there are dramatic differences. The movie is done well, in fact went on and won numerous awards, but it did, in my opinion, become a bit unbelievable, unlike the actual musical. The only movie adaption I’ve seen stay true to it’s original theatrical material is “Romeo + Juliet”, a modern movie adaption of the famous Shakespearean play.

Readers might be wondering, what all of this has to with an Intro to Literature course. Well, it does. Theatre, plays, musicals, whatever you want to call it, it’s all literature. In my literature class we’ve been looking into a theatrical piece called, Waiting For Godot”. It’s a very bizarre piece, to say the least. Reading it, can make you bit confused. They’re many interpretations. But watching the piece, as a movie, in class, brought semi-understanding to its madness.

Watching theatre come alive is so much fun, to watch the movie version of “Waiting for Godot” was indeed a treat. Seeing how the actors created their characters ( off of so little guidance in the script) and delivered their lines made me think differently about the piece as a whole. It’s one thing to read play, but another to see it. I believe the movie adaption of this play brought a lot of clarification, understanding and liveliness too the piece. I enjoyed thoroughly.

“Waiting for Godot”

In our last class discussion we discussed everything that is “Waiting for Godot”. I found this class discussion time the most interesting simply because it’s such a different, unique piece. First Off, this story is not like many things I have read before. This piece is extremely sporadic and random. There never really seems to be one singular meaning or train of thought. It’s not like a usual piece of theatre, there’s not much blocking, character description, or any sort of real direction. So it took a lot of focus and attention to draw out meaning. Through all the confusion and mumble I can up with some sort of theme.

There seems to be a lot of ‘waiting’ in the play; waiting for the unknown. Going through the text I believe one of the points Samuel Beckett, the author, was trying to portray was to stop waiting and make life happen. The main characters were waiting the WHOLE play and were notable getting agitated. They got NOTHING accomplished. In life, you cannot wait around for your life to start, for your big break to happen; you have to make it happen. Or in other words, don’t let life control you, you have take control of your life.

Now, I am not saying that is the concrete theme of this whole play and everybody else in wrong. There are many interpretation of the piece and any one of them can be correct. I believe a lot of what we draw out of literature is based off of who we are, what we’ve been through, and where we are from. I think its great that there are so many different interpretations and thoughts about this piece. It shows that we are all different and not everybody fits in to one mold.

Changing the Context/Mood = A New Story

During class time, we practiced different exercises concerning our readings, in specific, Waiting for Godot, by Samuel Beckett. After reading a couple of scenes the class was asked to act out scenes in our groups as written, then we were asked to change the mood of the scenes. After the process was complete we were asked to answer questions based on the different moods and whether is changes the meaning/context of the original text.

Being an actor, I already knew the answer before the exercise was performed, although, unlike my classmates, many didn’t know the outcome so I tried to explain. If a scene is written as performed it holds certain meaning, when changed, the meaning changes. For example, if a scene is written in a somber and dark attitude it is to be performed that way. But, if the producer or director wanted to change the original mood and make the dark play light and happy, it would change the meaning and give the dialog comic relief. To go further, the recent production I was in wan entitled, “Jane Eyre: The Musical” at Southeastern University. The musical is written in a dark eerie tone with the music to match, although it does have a strong message of hope, faith, and trust in God, if you were to change the music and the context in which it was written it would change the meaning of the play.

I do believe plays should keep the mood that the playwright intended. I am not against experimenting, but it is to a certain degree. Theatre is such a beautiful art on one should not cater to what the audience wants but deliver the true of the art and then, maybe, modern audiences will develop and appreciation of true art and literature on stage.

Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog

This short film was very interesting to say the least. At first, I though I was watching a bunch of malarkey, but as the film progressed, I realize there was a reason for everything I was watching.

Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog, is not a sing-along, it is a comedic musical with serious undertones and meaning. Dr. Horrible is a man smitten by love of the beautiful Penny. For the longest time he has seen her in the laundry mat, but no words (that the human mind can comprehend) seem to ever come out.

It is known from the very beginning that Dr. Horrible is a villain and wants to be the best of the best. In order to do so, he has to kill someone. The Doctor prefers to kill, his arch nemesis, the extremely rude and sarcastic Captain Hammer. In one incident, Penny is in danger and although Dr. Horrible does save her, Hammer gets the credit and the two fall in love. This fuels the Doctors rage which gives him even more of a reason to kill the Captain
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In the final scene, Captain Hammer get’s the credit for opening a homeless shelter, a task Penny has been hoping would pass. The Doctor comes in and freezes hammer with his “Death Ray” and causes havoc among the town hall homeless celebration. His gun back fires, explodes, and kills Penny. He finally get’s what he wants, the recognition, and respect, but it means nothing because he killed the wrong person, his true love.

The film was very intriguing because it showed the villain, Dr. Horrible, as the protagonist the whole time. If you weren’t paying attention to what he was saying, you wouldn’t realize it until the end. It’s wasn’t hard to make the mistake either; Captain Hammer was a horrible hero and didn’t deserve to be respected.

My Own Lake Bonny

I was not enthused at all my getting this assignment. Not at all, I am an extremely busy person with no extra time. I am working on the show, “Jane Eyre: The Musical” at Southeastern and last week every rehearsal ended around 10 or 11 o’clock, leaving the cast exhausted from continuous rehearsing. The weekend following, the cast and I spent many hours taking down the set (that we previously built) in the workshop, loading it into the truck, and then unloading into the Polk Theatre to build it again so we can practice for the rest of the week until we open for the pre-show Thursday. Then last night, Monday we spent around 6 to 7 hours (until mid-night) rehearsing and setting up the stage. This is not counting the other rehearsal’s I have for other projects during the day or any of the many papers due. It was as if I had no free time, no free time at. I currently don’t even have the time or gas money to get groceries for myself.

At this point, you readers out there probably think I’m a big complainer, but I am not, I just want people to understand my circumstances. So, obviously I didn’t have the time or gas money to go to Lake Bonny and when I did it was too late at night. So I created my own Lake Bonny, in a quiet place, in my dorm room. It’s not what the assignment required, but it was the best I could do.

Sitting there in the early morning, reading short passages from, “The State of the Planet”, was so calming. It was so nice just to sit, be quiet, and read. When your life feels like your going non-stop, these moment of peace and reflection mean so much. It was beautiful. I felt the need to be honest in this blog post and I hope that can be respected. With all this said, it does not mean I won’t be going to Lake Bonny. I just got a check in the mail from my church (I am a fill in youth-pastor for the youth group every Saturday night I’m not performing) so I will be going this Friday morning. If reading fragments of poems in the peace of dorm room gave me joy and solitude, I am excited to see what’s going to happen when I am actually surrounded by nature, experiencing poetic nature in all it’s glory.

Prayer

In my intro into literature class this past week we read a poem entitled “Prayer” written by Mary Oliver. I have to say this is poem has been my one of favorites. The poem is not long, it’s very simple, yet it’s extremely powerful!

I work with many youth groups. One thing that the youth struggle with the most is understanding prayer. They’re not sure how to pray, if it works, and what it’s really all about. When I was growing up people gave numerous ways how I should pray. I couldn’t decide on which version was best. I believe the Christian community has gotten caught in the ‘how to’. It seems we aren’t focused enough of the ‘doing’ and don’t truly realize the meaningfulness and the power behind prayer. And if my accusation is incorrect, I know for a fact we haven’t communicated the importance of prayer to younger generations. Which make me wonder if the generations before me understood it at all.

I love this poem because it devours the confusion associated with prayer and exemplifies the honesty and simplicity of it. The poem show how prayer isn’t about using extravagant words, sounding holy, or competing, “… patch a few words together and don’t try to make them elaborate, this isn’t a contest…” It’s such a simply line, yet it’s immensely powerful!

Moving on, the poem continues and show’s the reader to give thanks. I myself often forget how blessed I am. I didn’t have to be born in this country or have the life I have been given. For the simply fact I am on American soil gives me thousands of reason why I should be thankful. Oliver also touches on a subject that I have failed to remember; being silent. People wonder why they can’t hear/feel God, I say maybe it’s because we aren’t silent. “…this isn’t a contest but t he doorway into thanks, and a silence in which another voice may speak.”

A Balance

In this past week’s literature class, we started focusing on poems and literature that were nature based. The poem we read in class was entitled, “State of the Planet”. As usual, the first reading didn’t bring much understand to me. I found it to be really scatter brained and unfocused. But after a few times practicing Lectio Divina I got the feel for it. One student pointed out how the poem actually comes around and make a full complete story, a point I would have never gotten without her insight.


But beyond that, I found the conversation after the readings to be the most intriguing. My professor made a very thought provoking statement, “It’s doesn’t make any sense that atheist care more about this world (nature) than we (Christians) do, it doesn’t make any sense…”


I sat and I thought about what he said and I agreed. But I started to think was his statement accurate? Do non-believers care more about nature than Christians, the one’s who are suppose to take advantage of the blessing that God gives, not throw them to waste. So I applied that statement to myself, am I apart of the ‘go green’ movement? No, I don’t even own green clothing, at least no that I wear in public. I try to preserve energy, but it’s not constantly on my mind. It’s not that I don’t care about the planet, I do little things, but I know I could do more.



My mind continued to ponder, I found this subject really interesting; if my professor statement is true, why? Minutes passed by and a classmate and I started discussing what my professor said. She was also not a apart of the go green movement. Yes, she believed that are planet needs to be taken care of and respected, but she also believed there is a balance. She then went on to explain how she doesn’t understand how people could be overly concerned in helping our planet when there are thousands, if not millions of children and families, homeless, starving, or dying here in the US. She believed in helping others and making sure people, humans were taken care of. As far as the planet is concerned, she explained that it needs to be respected and treated with care. She made a good point that everyone has become too concerned with ‘going green’ that people have forgotten the starving and sick in our own country, not to mention the world.



I would have to agree with her on that, there is a balance, and we mustn’t forget the people in need but at the same time, care for the planet God has blessed us with.

The Garden

Recently in class we read the poem, ‘The Garden” by Ezra Pound. I didn’t understand it really. I wasn’t in the mood to, but since we were doing our ‘Lectio Divina” the knowledge was forced upon me!! Not really, but it did help me understand it on a level I didn’t even know existed.

I found the poem, after reviewing a couple times, solitary and lonely.

And she is dying of piecemeal…

In her is the end of breeding…

Boredom is exquisite…

Reading over it again forces me to focus on the positive in life. Loneliness is something that every human goes through at one point. But I don’t think it’s healthy for one to constantly be in a lonely state. I believe people need people. In an odd way, this poem spoke to me in that way. Through taking the reader through this lonely lifestyle, it showed the importance of people needing fellowship, friends, and companions. I believe this fact is something that people have forgotten in today’s society. Depression and suicide have inclined by 600% since 1960. That’s a HUGE number. I believe we as a people have loss the meaning of community, no one even smile at one another any more. People are too afraid to be nice to one another or show compassion to a stranger. How did we get this way?

She would like some one to speak to her,

And is almost afraid that I will commit

That indiscretion.

The excerpt above reminds me of living on this campus. To go further, I and my friends were eating dinner together in the campus restaurant. One of my friends realized that someone they knew was eating alone. She wondered whether she should go ask him to eat with us. She eventually did. When she left, my other friend mentioned how she hated when she ate alone and when people invite her to eat with them. This made me wonder how I would react to the same situation. I am a very sociable person; I like to talk with people so I don’t like eating by myself often. But at the same time, I am almost afraid for someone to come up and ask me. So as you can see, the last stanza of this poem hit me like a ton of bricks, I was reading about myself. Thus, this poem made me realize something about myself I didn’t realize, that I sometimes push people away, not even meaning to.

AN ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE

ARACHNOPHOBIA

***NOTE: Last class we took a mid-term and I used to have fears of exams, so I thought I would talk about another fear...ARACHNOPHOBIA***

Do you know what arachnophobia is? Arachnophobia is the abnormal fear of spiders. I’m not sure if I have arachnophobia, but I know for certain that I and the little eight legged demons aren’t quite “best friends forever”. I guess it all started when my mother went into labor while watching the movie Arachnophobia. I blame her...

Moving on, it was was a beautiful spring day; I was in the 5th grade and had the best teacher, Mr. Burns. On my way to class I realized how everyone was staring at me, it was my first year in public school and I thought I was finally becoming popular. One of my classmates, Jeremiah came up to me with a disturbed look on his face.

“Hey Jeremy, there’s a HUGE spider on your head,” he said.

“Jeremiah, you’re not funny. Plus if there was a spider on my head, don’t you think I would notice or even feel it? “I replied.

“Oh my gosh that spider is HUGE,” he screeched as he ran away glaring at my head.

I continued to go about my business, appalled that my friend would lie to me. I was so mad; he was going to tell everybody that lie! He was trying to embarrass me! I know my head and I felt nothing. By the time I got to my portable, I noticed something abnormal, everyone around me was both screaming and pointing, “Spider, Spider” at my head or running away, some even laughing.

Mr. Burns came outside on his steps, looked at my head, and ran back inside. He returned with a magazine and Jeremiah standing behind him with his mouth wide open. “Jeremy, don’t move!!” he said.

“Mr. Burns, what’s going on” I replied trembling.

“DON’T MOVE”, he yelled. He rolled up magazine as tight as he could and took one mighty swing. I closed my eyes and I felt a bolt of wind swiftly pass over my head. As I opened my eyes Mr. Burns told me to look down at the ground, “That was on your head”, he said. I looked down to see a dead carcass of a spider twice the size of an American dollar coin.

Special Entry: "Lavender" A short story by Jeremy King

Dear Journal,
I think it’s funny how most people don’t think I can hear them. But I do. They call me ‘Plain Jane’, but they don’t know, they don’t know the half of it. My name is Jane Amelia Foster. Ironically, I am a foster child and I’m okay with that. I’m not into the newest styles or trends. I don’t enjoy brushing my hair twenty times a day in hopes of becoming apart of the ‘perfect family’. I am just me. I believe all the stuff people show on the outside, the external bull-crap, is just that, crap. It destroys who you are internally, people wonder why the world is going downhill, I say it’s because nobody now’s who they are any more. So I can understand why the call me plain, but in realty they are all the same. The way they dress, act, talk, and if you ask me, that’s pretty plain in itself.

Jane has been in foster care since she was at the delicate age of 11 months. Her mother dropped her off because she was simply too busy to care for her and didn’t believe in abortion. The mother left nothing for Jane to know her by; all the mother left was Jane’s birth certificate. She was a mixed child, half black, half Puerto Rican. She had beautiful blonde-brown curly hair. Her eyes were golden in the sunlight and turned green every time the moon went up. She was the most beautiful girl the foster care program had ever had. Nobody ever noticed her beauty though, she didn’t want them to. She hid her beauty wearing baggy clothes from decades before her birth. She often smelled of lavender. At first, she hated the smell. But she forced herself to love it. Lavender was the only smell she remembered from her younger years. She believed her mother might have worn it, every time she smelled it; it triggered her mother’s memory. All she knew is that the smell brought her peace, it made her feel safe, like how a mother makes you feel when you’re scared at night. She wanted to meet her mother desperately.

Jane struggled constantly whether to go and find her mother or not. She could get away with it, she knew where the files were, were the keys were hidden, and how to cover up her steps. But she knew it probably wasn’t best. Jane was extremely intelligent; she viewed the world differently, which is why most kids didn’t understand her. But she did have one friend.


Journal, why is it I only have one friend? There is over 350 kids living in the building and I only one friend. It doesn’t even matter though, I couldn’t be more thankful for Alone. Alone spends a lot of time with me. I enjoy it. Alone is the only being in this world that to take time to spend with me. The time we spend together make me believe that the world isn’t so shallow and stupid. Wow, I probably sound really bitter in this. But that’s okay right? Don’t I have a right to be bitter? I am working on it though; I don’t want to be this way bitter. Alone keeps on getting on to me about it. Alone suggest if I want more company I should show my true beauty and erase my bitterness. But how does a person go about doing that? Ugh, so many questions, not enough answers. I would love for my mother to answer those questions .I won’t go there; pondering on her can bring out unpleasant emotions. The only time I’m not bitter, is when I’m with Julie, she is my joy.

Besides school and spending time with Alone, Jane was constantly helping the babies in the foster care program. Since Jane was a child, she was always fascinated with babies. She wasn’t aloud to help with the babies until she turned 15. The morning of her 15th birthday she ran to fill out an application to help in ‘Infant Care’. Of course she got the position. Jane did no wrong. She never had problems with in any person in authority nor any of the students. She would do everything for the babies, feed them, hold them, sing to them, and even change their putrid diapers. She was a natural, if the nursery care takers couldn’t get a baby to stop crying, they gave the baby to Jane. Within seconds of being in Jane’s arms, the baby would stop crying and be at peace. Giving love to the babies is what Jane did best, who else could her love go to?

One day, a baby girl came in named Julie. One of the nurses pointed out how she looked exactly like Jane when she was a baby. She had blonder hair, brown eyes in the morning, and green eyes at night and caramel skin. She was exactly 12 months old. Jane felt a strong connection to Julie, she loved her without knowing her and she knew why. Julie asked one of the nursery mothers for her full name. After the nursery mother found her birth certificate she replied, “Julie Jane Foster”. Jane’s eyes filled with tears. At this point Jane didn’t know what to think. She didn’t know whether to be upset because nobody notified her that she had a sister in the same foster building or the fact that her mother was still alive. It moved Jane. Her mother was thinking of her, thus Julie’s middle name being Jane. She couldn’t understand why her mother wouldn’t show her face. This made her want to find her mother more. None the less, she loved Julie. Everyday after school she was with Julie until she was fed, burped, and sound asleep. She starting feeling bad because she realized she was neglecting Alone. But then again, Alone was very sociable and she couldn’t afford not to spend time with the only family member she has ever known.

I thinks it’s interesting that I am so bitter towards my mother for giving myself and Julie up, but at the same time I love Julie and my mother with all of me. Do you know what else is interesting, Julie smells like lavender too. For that very reason I believe it's time I find my mother. She at least lives within the vicinity. I have to find her, she can help with my questions, and she can provide answers. I spent some time with Alone today, I really can’t put my finger on, but whenever we spend time together, I reflect on my thoughts and can focus. Alone says that I probably should wait until I’m eighteen to search for her and I know I only have a year and half to go, but that just seems to long. Oh the impatient mind of us teenagers…

Jane decided it was time to find her mother. She had everything planned out and ready to go. As soon as Jane put Julie asleep, she would break into the file room and find her mother. There was only one problem, there was a new person working in the nursery that night. She wasn’t happy; she had to show this lady the ropes. But Jane did no such thing. Jane was extremely annoyed because of the way she dressed, in the latest style and fashion. She was extremely pretty and tender hearted, but that didn’t help either. The women could barely speak English. Jane didn’t even take the time to know her name, she was furious. As soon as Julie was asleep Jane laid her in her crib and kissed her cheek. The nurse came over and reached for Julie's hand. Jane didn’t want her to wake her sister. Jane grabbed her arm before the nurse touched Julie. Jane was about to escort her out the door. But before she could, she smelled something, lavender. She looked at the nurses name tag and it read Mrs. Foster. Jane froze and tears ran down her face. Mrs. Foster embraced Jane and said to her, “If you’d like, I would love if we could talk…”

Focus

This week in class we started our book reading assignment. I am reading the book Beloved by Toni Morrison. Tuesday, in the library was the start of my literary adventure. I don’t read books often so I was really excited. The sad part is, I was supposed to read this book in high school, and I never did. I only heard brief discussion about the book and it intrigued me. So here I am, two years later, about to read a book that I was suppose to read years ago. But as I was sitting in the library, I couldn’t seem to focus.

I can’t put my finger on it really. I don’t understand why it’s so hard for me to focus on certain books and readings. I am not illiterate. I can handle book without pictures, but I can’t seem to really delve in this book.

In high school, I was an extremely busy student. Currently, in college, it seems that my education is something I do on the side. Not that I am not working hard or making good grades, because I am. But I have never been busier in my life. I work with two churches, one in Lakeland during the week, another church, in Ocoee, I youth pastor on Saturday’s. I love doing it, it’s my passion. I want nothing more than to help people understand all that Christ is and what he is about. But beyond ministry, I have rehearsal every school night because I am involved with two productions this fall in Southeastern’s theatre department. Theatre is also one of my passions and I plan on pursuing both.

But if I plan on pursuing my passions and dreams, I am going to have to love the Lord with my mind and make sure whatever I do is the best. Tuesday was the first day of Fire Fall at Southeastern’ campus, the speaker really spoke to me, thus my mind was in another place. But now I’ve actually had the proper time to soak everything in and I am ready for action.

This blog is probably one of the most unfocused blogs I’ve written, ironic right? I just felt I should share my heart and thoughts.

The Age of Art

In my last intro to literature class, we went to the Polk Museum of Art. I have been to one museum before this one. In fact, my junior year of high school, our chorus department was chosen to sing in Carnegie Hall. Since we had a chance to go to New York City, we did everything. For that one week, every night was an adventure. We saw Broadway productions, experienced Time Square, visited all the major New York City sights, and went to the Metropolitan museum of Art. I remember this day so well, it during the end of are trip. Everyone was exhausted. To get to the museum, we had to cross Central Park and I remember it not being like it was in ‘Hey Arnold’. All the drama beside, I loved the museum.

Going to this museum, I wasn’t expecting much. But the museum triggered something within me. There was a part in the museum that was dedicated to children’s art. I walked in at first thoroughly confused as to why the art work looked so childish. After someone explained it to me, I opened my mind, and try to understand there art. I was gazing around through the different drawings, sculpting, and sketches and I found myself amazed. One of the pictures was a drawing of inner city Japan. The detail in the picture blew my mind; it looked as if the drawing was an actual picture. It even had Japanese lettering on the signs, building and billboards. The shadowing was perfect against the star filed moonlit back drop. But what blew my mind the most, was that the artist was SIX-YEARL-OLD.

I stared at that picture for a long time. Just thinking, pondering, I couldn’t get past the age of the artist. This child was in 1st grade at least and had already accomplished painting a masterpiece!

This painting taught me numerous things. First, never underestimate a child. What was I thinking? What happens to adults and young adults alike that causes us to treat child like mind inferior? I remember hating whenever someone underestimated me because I was young and I still do. In Today’s world especially, kids are de-sensitized to numerous things; we shouldn’t assume children are too young for anything. Second, it showed me how important children are. We are raising future America. I believe not many people take this fact into consideration. Next, every child should be able to express there opinion in some way. Let your child be heard and loved, I am sure that little six year old was heard, load and clear.

Pass: My Last One....

I personally blame it on theatre & mid-terms!!

Just sayin................... =)

The Onion Doth Hateth Me…

I am not a fan of the onion. There are many bizarre reasons as to why I dislike the onion and I am not ashamed to explain why. When my brother was a young lad, around the age of three, my family and I noticed something particularly odd about his odor. My baby brothers feet, smelled of onions. This is not opinion, this is fact. As soon as the socks came off his feet, everyone’s eyes felt the pain. We were temporally blinded. Our eyes were flooded with tears. This was no laughing matter. Moving on, my little brother also had this habit of eating onions, like it was a snack. Then after his indulgence he would precede to blow putrid breath in my face. As a result, his mighty blow caused my nostrils to instantly be clear of all congestion. Next, my brother also ate everything onion. He ate onion rings, fresh onion, sweet onion, and yes, even Funyuns (a onion flavored corn snack). I think it’s safe to say why I wasn’t fascinated with the onion. I blame my brother.

Now, I find myself living a life onion-less. But, can you blame me? All the horrible things I had to endure. I refuse to have onions on my burgers, on my chili dogs, in my pastas, and to this very day, I refuse to eat, dare I say…Funyuns.

But I do believe something is starting to change within me. Last week, in my literature class, we read a poem, entitled, The Traveling Onion, we read the poem over and over, underlining phrases we deemed important, writing our thoughts, and expressing our opinion with others. After the class discussion I came to the conclusion about this poem and the onion. Everything has importance, even the onion. Often as an American, I take many things for granted and forget how truly blessed I am to be in this country. The poem was about what the onion went through to get here, its story, it’s history, its journey and significance.

Yes, I went through a lot of bad with the onion. But that doesn’t mean I should take it for granted or ignore its importance. I need not to take granted of the many things I have, this poem reminded me how truly blessed I am.

‘Lectio Divina’ Say WHAT?

Last class we did an exercise entitled, ‘Sacred Reading’ or ‘Lectio Divina’. While Professor was describing what the concept was, I found myself somewhat confused as to why we were doing this exercise. It seemed like this would be an exercise you would only do for scripture/devotional reading sake, nothing more.

In the exercise, ‘Lectio Divina’ there is four stages. The first stage, Lectio, you are taught to listen to the words your reading for the first time and to take heed to any word and/or phrases that stick out to you. There’s a time of silence after the reading, then you’re welcomed to share with the group. Each stage follows the same dynamic and pattern, differing very little. Meditatio, the next stage, instead of finding a word or phrase, you connect to the peace with your thoughts. Oratio, the following stage, is meant for the reader to be aware of prayers arising within you. The last stage, Contemplatio, is meant for you to rest in the spirit and commune with it for a couple of minutes.

While the professor was explaining this in class, so many red flags and questions arose within me in. First, is the exercise only for Christians? If not, what are other people praying to and what Spirit are they connecting to? As Christians, are we suppose to look at secular literature in this way, praying on it, meditating on it? Shouldn’t we do that exclusively with the Holy Scriptures? Then after my mind calmed down, we did the exercise. It was calming, interesting, I got something different out of the text we read. Now, I wonder why my thought process was the way it was before. Was it because I was insecure with my own relationship with Christ, focusing more readings than on scripture. Was it God way of saying, ‘I want more of you’? So many questions. It’s really interesting this class, you learn a lot.

Painting Scripture

***NOTE: I wasn’t able to scan the photo of my painting, so I had to take a picture, sorry if you can’t really see it. But trust me, it’s beautiful! ***

Last week, we were told to read the book of Joel a couple of times. In our class discussion we discussed the theme of the book. I explained to the class that I believed one of the major themes of the book of Joel was restoration. Restoration can be defined as the act of renewal, revival, or reestablishment. In the beginning of the book, in chapter one, locust attack the land, it reads, “The field is ruined, the land mourns; for the grain is ruined, the new wine dries up, fresh oil fails.” This represents famine in the land and more verses go in describe this pain, “… the harvest of the field is destroyed…how the beast groan… there is no pasture for them…”

Later in the book, we see a change in a pattern of destruction. The Lord decides to restore what was lost in the land, “The threshing floors will be full of grain… I will make up to for the years that the swarming locust had eaten….” The Lord explains that He is in the mist of Israel and He is the Lord our God.

When it came to painting in class, I knew exactly what I wanted to paint. One of the restoration verses reads, “And the vats will overflow with the new wine…” and that is verse I used in my painting, for my painting. I painted I grape vineyard. Half of it is broken down with old and molded grapes from locust, the other half it the half the Lord proclaimed he would restore in order for the new wine.

Scripture & Literature......wha.....?

I made the comment in class about my experience reading the book of Joel as a homework assignment. I said that at first I just skimmed over the reading, not really grasping anything. But then I realized that the book I was reading was the word of God. After my realization, I took the time to really dive into the book of Joel. Since making that statement public, actually hearing myself say those words aloud, I realized that I might be missing out on literature, but not just literature, literature as scripture.

In my mind, literature and scripture was always something separate, never the same. When I actually started reading my bible, my understanding was that it was to be respected, studied upon, the living truth, the word of God. As far as literature goes, I associated it with boring, just another assignment, and a bunch of words that define lame. The books I were interested were the one with action, mystery, and adventure! The page turners and as far as I can remember, literature wasn’t.

My fascination for true literature started in high school, because of theatre. Theatre showed me the passion and the art within literature. Even so, whenever there is a certain assignment that deal with reading, I don’t give it the respect it deserves. Unless that reading assignment has to do with theatre or is a play of some sort, then it has my full attention. Just the simply fact that I never really saw scripture as literature makes me wonder how much have I been missing. It makes me look at scripture reading different. It doesn’t always I have to be to yourself, in a quiet room. There various ways to read scripture and literature and I plan to explore them all. I was to grasp every concept of every verse, see scripture in a new context, and soak it all in. I believe that my journey, as far as literature is concerned, is only beginning.

JOEL

Reading this book of the bible made me wonder what would happen if the exact same invasions and misfortunes happened in current time in America. Would the people cry out to the government, search within them selves to find the answer, or would the cry out to God? How would people react? I couldn’t imagine being attacked by a bunch of locust. I personally HATE insects. I am not fan of them and most likely never will be. But these insects devoured everything in site! The book says, “The field is ruined, The land mourns, For the grain is ruined, The new wine dries up, Fresh oil fails…” In order grasp the concept of how truly horrible this was you have to understand the biblical times. It wasn’t like today’s world, where we have factories and we can make food fast, in bulk, and preserve it for long periods of time. Back then, it took a long time, hard work, and patience for the little things. The simple fact that the “…new wine dries up, fresh oil fails” is completely devastating, a waist of months of preparation.

The book of Joel also speaks of starvation and drought which is sadly common in most part of the world today. The pitiful thing is, so many people can do something about it. Back then, all was pretty much lost, starvation and drought covered the land, but in current times we can do something about it. Devastation and pain is nothing to be celebrated. Just the simple facts that some of the horrible accounts still go on today make me want to do something about it.

The good thing is, God still intervened. This book reminded me of one of my favorite verses, 1 Peter 5:7 “Cast all you anxiety on him because he cares for you”. I don’t think I’ve ever read this book before, but it sure did open my eyes and bring a lot to my attention.

When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d

I always associated death with sadness and pain. Last year, I got a phone call from my dad saying that my grandfather probably wouldn’t make it through the night. At the time I was in chapel breaking down a set for a show I just finished performing. The world stopped, my father’s words pierced my flesh, tears came down my cheeks like rapid waters, and I simply couldn’t fathom my grandfather’s death. He had suffered a stroke in the hospital and oxygen couldn’t get to his brain. I was in Lakeland, I wasn’t with him, I couldn’t say goodbye, I couldn’t call him, and I felt horrible. This was the first time death became a personal reality. But I am happy to say, my grandfather is still living.

Reading Walt Whitman’s poem, When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d, literally takes you on a journey. Some sections of the reading gave me chills. It made me wonder if death can actually haunt someone. Can you feel the presence of death? “Then the knowledge of death as walking one side of me, and the thought of death close-walking the other side of me…” What does the mind go through if this was actual and not paranoia?

But Whitman also took another spin on death; it doesn’t have to be painful. It doesn’t have to be horrid. Yes, I have heard that before, but not in the words of Whitman. Yes, maybe you can feel death presence near, but why should it be bad? What if it’s your time to go? I don’t think am afraid of dying, death shouldn’t be something to fear. Whitman orchestrates his thoughts beautifully, trying to make one understand that very concept. “Come lovely and soothing death…sooner or later delicate death.”

Discussion Literature

Hey you guys, this is my first video blog!! I made it the night before.Blogger wouldn't load my video, so I created a Youtube account a few minutes ago. I hope you enjoy!! Here is the link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z29vmR7czeo

Morality, Morality, Morality...

Recently, in class we read and discussed the story, The Things They Carried. In class, we read a passage from the story and were told to draw a picture from the reading. I chose to draw a picture the dealt with the ongoing theme and struggle of morality. My drawing illustrated scenes in the short story were Mitchell Sanders, of the short story, finds a dead corpse of a young boy and cuts his thumb off. Sanders, before the cutting of the thumb, claims that there is moral in the boys death. Henry Dobbins questions the morality Sanders see and untimely disagrees with him. This leads me to believe both men were in different states of mind and views morality differently.

To go further, I believe when Sanders cut the young boys thumb; it represented what was right, what was moral. In his mind death of the enemy was right, cutting the corpse thumb, gave him hope, reminding him to never loose a battle and allow the enemy to cut off his thumb. Sanders then proceeded to kick the dead body and “watch the flies scatter”, showing that mentally he has been through a lot and the dead weren’t respected if they weren’t on his side.

On the other hand, Dobbins viewed morality differently. I believe he was disgusted at Sanders and his actions. I believe Dobbins viewed death differently, he believed the dead should be respected. He didn’t see the morality sanders saw. In war, the mind goes through constant change and warped thinking. Death becomes common, killing becomes second nature, and survival is the only option. Before the war, your taught was is morally correct and incorrect, killing and murder were viewed as wrong. It was the immoral thing to do. Yes, there is a difference between the two, but the action is still the same, ending a life. Morally, I believe that Dobbins was going through the mental mind change the war releases on you. But he still didn’t see “no moral”.

PASS: The Things They Carried

I would like to use my blog pass for this assignment!

Due: 09/08/2009

What We Talk about When We Talk about Love

I found it very interesting that this story about love was chosen for the class to read. The day after the assignment was given my friend and I found ourselves on the topic of love. My friend told me that I was the only person that replied, “I love you too”. “We were discussing why it was so hard to reply “I love you too” to a friend. To be honest, I always felt a little awkward whenever I replied with that famous saying. I started to wonder why that was. Could be because society only exploits a certain kind of love, physical and sexual? I do.

The media is everywhere. If a person were to simply turn on the television and see an ‘Axe’ commercial you would see a lonely guy with no one to love. But as soon as he cleanses himself with Axe, the women come flocking. But that is only a commercial; there are numerous amounts of television programs, novels, movies, magazine articles, and even theatrical productions that suggest the only type of love, physical/sexual. If a person constantly sees only this one type of love, you start to believe that is all there is. Then you might wonder to yourself, “Why can’t I have love like that? Who is going to give me love like that?” Then sooner or later the person will do anything to experience the love that the media has provided for them.

I think it’s a horrible sad reality but it’s the truth. The short story, “What We Talk about When We Talk about Love” did a great job of engaging the reader through different examples or stories of love. It made you think through a mind of an abuser and if love ever existed in his heart. The story spoke of long lasting love, past the physical love, but the love that comes from the heart and mind. This generation needs to know that there is more to love than the love the media portrays and this short story does a great job at helping the reader think through it.

Literature Through My Lifetime

My early years were filled with imagination, wonder and excitement. My stuffed animals were my best friends and our adventures were countless. In my world bunk beds became caves, lamp were lions and my parents were the bad guys. If my adolescent years were to be categorized it would be under the, 'action- adventure, mystery' section in the bookstore. But as far as literature in my young years, all I can remember is my father reading bible stories to me before I went to bed. I really had no concept of literature at all, at that age, who does?

As years went by my interest in reading grew. I found out the there is more to reading than text books and homework assignments. My middle school years were filled with classic novels the fed my appetite for adventure and mystery. Books like "The Egypt Game" by Bob W. and “The Hatchet” by Gary Paulsen made me believe in magic that is reading. My high school years took me down the road of Lemony Snicket’s, “A Series of Unfortunate Events” and the “Alex Rider” series. Most recently, theatre has become another literature adventure I’ve taken.

Theatrical productions such as, “A Raisin in the Sun”, “Frankenstein”, and “Of Mice and Men” are all classic novels. Being in there theatrical adoptions made me realize how important and significant literature really is. Literature is also a work of art. Theatre is simply literature come alive on stage. Literature and theatre work hand in hand. Out of all the shows I’ve and through my readings I found “A Raisin in the Sun” to be the most significant. The pages delve into the lives of a struggling family; it brought the reality and pain alive before your eyes. It made itself matter by being truth written into art. I’ve realized that many things through literature, but one thing is for certain, there is great power with that ten letter word.