Not just a box

When I was 3 my dad placed me in a cupboard box. He would push me around across the carpet, pretending to be a locomotive car. I closed my eyes and imagined myself to be a skilled conductor. It wasn't just a box.

When I was 7 I took an old refrigerator box and made it into a spaceship. I decorated it with colored paper, paint and crayons. I sat inside and pretended it was a spaceship. I closed my eyes and imagined I was freely flying through space. It wasn't just a box.

When I was 11 I spent the summer bike riding to the park. I found a small square fort in the trees made out of rocks. I went there often, pretended I was in another land. I closed my eyes and imagined I was courageous. It wasn't just a box.

When I was 15 I learned to drive. I got into a box with four wheels under the instruction of my mom. 11 months later I was driving on my own. I closed my eyes and imagined I was driving to another place, embarking on a new adventure. It wasn't just a box.

When I was 18 I left for college. I packed all my things into neat little boxes. I put all the boxes into the big box on four wheels. I drove the 10 hour trip with my mother, and said goodbye. I closed my eyes and imagined I was someone smart and educated. They weren't just boxes.

When I was 22 I finished college. I had four years of school behind me, with a bachelors degree. My parents watched me walk across the University's stage and take a box. Inside the box was my diploma. I closed my eyes and imagined I was doing something important. Helping others somehow. It wasn't just a box.

Now I'm 24. I love to study. I sit inside my square room and spend time with loads of books. I study and study and study, enjoying all of my learning. I box myself into my studies and pour myself into it. I love it, but it also feels like all I have sometimes. I close my eyes and imagine there's a reason for it all. It's not just a box. Yet it is.

Look at the cross

Lord, How do I know you love me?

Look at the cross

Why don't I feel it?

Look at the cross

How can I deserve it?

Look at the cross

Is it real?

Look at the cross

Will you always love me?

Look at the cross

Why would you love me?

Look at the cross

How can you love me?

Look at the cross

How much do you love me?

Look at the cross

Show me your love!

Look at the cross

Satisfy me in your love!

Look at the cross

Colorblind

I had a friend who's colorblind
She only saw black, white, and gray.
Every moment she could find
was spent with paint, pastels, and clay.

I met her in a class we took
was moved both by her charm and looks

Her art was of a curious kind
filled with life, vibrant, sublime
The curiosity defined
I often processed in my time

For when I looked upon her life
I was puzzled, wrought with strife

Every work that she employed
Was marked by beauty and delight
She was quite plain, yet filled with joy
And not once hindered by her plight

Now to my work I do digress
and fear that I now must confess

Let me tell you, this is true
I work with colors, textures, hues
Persisting hard, I do I do
But what I see... I'm telling you....

There is no harm upon my eyes
And when I work I try I try
Yet to my sadness, my demise
I cannot help but wonder why

Upon my work I fix my sight
And all I see is black and white.

A Puzzling Dilemma

Disclaimer: This story is a metaphorical response to the recent ruling in the UK against the Christian couple applying for foster care.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/society/2011/feb/28/christian-couple-lose-care-case

I recently purchased a beautiful jigsaw puzzle for my 5 year old daughter. Her and I have always enjoyed doing puzzles together, it is calming and allows for more fruitful conversation and bonding than much of the entertainment options we could use. We usually finished 500 piece puzzles, but this time we decided to embark on finishing our first 1000 piece puzzle together!

The box cover showed that it was a beautiful picture of a sunset over the ocean. You could see birds flying over the horizon, and sailboats filled with people in the distance. On the shore of the beach were children playing in the sand.

We started the puzzle together, but realized, to our dismay, that many of the pieces in our box did not belong to the puzzle we were doing! Some matched perfectly with the colors and pictures displayed on the box. Others, however, clearly did not belong to this set.

The next day I brought the puzzle, with all of its pieces, back to the store and asked to speak to the manager. The store was a quaint little Educational Center, with books and toys all intending to help interact with and teach young children.

The manager,approached me; I explained to him how my daughter and I had enjoyed doing puzzles together, and that I was very fond of the discounts and customer service at their store. But, I was rather disappointed that the store had given me two halves of a whole puzzle, with mis-matched pieces.

The manager and other store personnel smiled and chuckled a little. Clearly I was ignorant about something. “My dear,” he responded, “That is how all of our puzzles are sold.”

“I beg your pardon?” I was, to say the least, confused.

He led me over to the puzzle room in the store, filled with boxes of beautiful jigsaws. There were a few small wooden tables with a few of their demo puzzles laid about the table. Children and adults of all ages gathered at them trying to piece them together.

He walked me to one of the demos

“As you can see Miss, this puzzle here has a picture of a cat and her kitty litter on the box. But, when you examine the pieces, you will see that it is also meshed with a beautiful winter scene.”

I was still puzzled (pun intended). “How can you ever complete a puzzle if you only have two halves in the box, as beautiful as each picture might have originally been?”

“Ahh that is where you are mistaken, Miss” he replied. “These puzzles are just as beautiful, if not even more so, than they were in their originality. The mixture offers the ability to be creative and make the puzzle you want to make. It gives freedom, and takes away from the restrictions originally imposed.”

“I’m sorry,” I replied, “But that simply doesn’t make sense to me. The creators of the puzzles intended for them to be made and put together a certain way. If you mix them with another picture, they simply won’t fit- they were not intended to.”

He interjected, “They may not fit as they had traditionally, in the past. But times are changing. There are many views and perspectives. We want all of our customers to be able to create the puzzle they want to make, without boundaries.”

I was worn out from the manager’s answers. “Well,” I asked, “Could you show me where the puzzles are which have all of the original pieces in them?”

“I’m afraid we don’t have those.” he replied. “Our educational puzzles ensure that children and parents can interact with various different perspectives. This is a pluralistic culture, you see, and we don’t want to be giving the idea that there is one right way of doing things.”

“So I either need to do one of these mixed puzzles with my daughter...or I can’t do a puzzle?”

“Yes, Miss. We find that to be in the best interest of the child.”

Bath time

When I was young, baths were a given in abundance. As a child I had more time and was more dependent, the need for baths was obvious. Often on a daily basis my mother or father would fill up the bath water, pull a begrudging child into the bathroom and force me into the tub. Then I would try to speedily get everything done to get back to my day. I never took the time to appreciate them, why would I? They were simply a given, even an annoyance. I would hurry through my bath, jump out of the tub, and hardly dry off before my next activity.

Now that I am older, baths are rare. There is less time for them, and my assertion of independence warrants less need. Nevertheless, when they are available I consider them a luxury. I take time to let the water run for a while until it is quite hot. Fill the tub halfway,and then top it off with lukewarm water. As the second half is filling I find whatever soap might bubble the most, and I pour in a few drops. Beautiful bubbles begin to form all throughout the water.

While the water is still going I hop into the tub and lay down. Enjoying the feel of the water, the sound of running water, the texture of the bubbles. Pure momentary bliss.

However, as I sit in luxury the water gets cooler. The bubbles dissipate. The little drain halfway to the top of the tub licks in bits of water, to prevent overflow. I realize it's time to depart.

I sit in the tub and watch as the water forms a little tornado as it leaves. I get out and slowly dry off, contemplating all my subsequent daily activities. I take a breath, and move on.

Sandcastles

Sandcastles. Molly loved Sandcastles.

Beautiful well-constructed sandcastles, built just far enough from the highest tide to stay safe, but close enough to still feel the breeze of the ocean.

Her love for Sandcastles fueled her desire for buckets. She was a collector, a connoisseur of sand-buckets, if you will. She had all sorts of colors and shapes. She had been accumulating them for a while, and had them set up in her room on various shelves.

Every so often Molly would take all of her buckets to the beach, find that perfect place on the sand near the water's edge. She'd set up all of her buckets in orderly fashion. She would assort them by shape starting with circular, then the square, and finally the oddly shaped buckets. Then she would rearrange them by color- creating a rainbow of buckets. Sometimes, if she felt ambitious, she'd sort them out by size, creating a symmetrical bridge of buckets across the sand.

Other children were quite envious of her collection. If only they had such beautiful buckets, what castles they would build!

She would just smile and watch the children, recognizing their buckets were nothing in comparison with hers. She imagined what beautiful sand castles she could make.