Have you ever thought about how one little thing can change the entire rest of your life? For some reason, I've been thinking about this concept a lot lately. As I reminisce about the plans I've had for myself over the past several years, I simply have to laugh. In my senior year of high school, I was sure I would enroll the following year in one of the new Ivy League schools. I was confident that I would continue dating the same guy through the summer and into the first year of college. I couldn't imagine not coming home for holidays to my house on Crowley Road. I resolved to no longer be an overachiever; I was going to be a "normal" college kid, and I wasn't going to get involved in extracurricular activities. I think we all know how that one turned out...
In an ironic way, I'm so thankful for all the plans that were foiled and all the "important" things I missed out on. Life is full of "what if" questions, and I rarely allow myself to entertain these thoughts. What if my mom and dad had only had one child? Though we may not always see eye to eye, my brother and I are what keep each other from crumbling in tough times. What if I hadn't gone to Baylor? I wouldn't have met some of my best friends and most valuable mentors. What if I hadn't allowed myself to be an overachiever and become a leader in Baylor Students for Social Justice? I may not have met my college sweetheart, and I may not have discovered my passion for compassion.
And of course, I must give credit where credit is due. This is the song that inspired me to write this post:
It's amazing to think how all the stoplights I missed, the positions I accepted, and the choices I've made have played such a role in defining my life story. I'm only 21, and I hope my story still has hundreds of pages more: full of delicious surprises, aching disappointments, exhilarating celebrations, and moments of contentment. I hope you''ll consider...how has your story changed from the original draft?
Friday, May 27, 2011
Monday, May 23, 2011
Does permanency exist?
Over the weekend, Andrew and I visited the Menil Collection in Houston; if you get a chance, I strongly recommend visiting! Part of the collection includes preserved artifacts from ancient empires, and even some pieces from the paleolithic era. It was incredible to see so many fragments of bowls, tapestries, and sculptures from a time nearly forgotten. Perhaps what really struck me was how well preserved some of them were. Sure, they were a little chipped and showed signs of a few centuries of age. For the most part, though, it was hard to believe how remarkably they had survived. Of course, that led me to an important question of my own: what will be left of our time?
One of today's common complaints is that "they just don't make things like they used to." In today's world, you can expect your new pair of jeans to last maybe a year before holes appear in the knees. You can expect your latest iFill-in-the-Blank-with-the-Latest-Gadget to become obsolete when a new, improved version comes out in a few years. You can expect your car to need more maintenance work sooner than in the past, and you can expect your bachelor's degree to soon be deemed "not enough," in favor of a job candidate with a graduate degree. I won't even venture into the realm of speculating about the political and economic reasons why these things seem to be the case, but I think it's a question worth asking. We've made so much progress; what's the price?
In a few hundred years, will people come to museums to see "what people were like in 2011?" What will they see? What could we possibly display that will still be around, for posterity's sake? Will our poetry and our New York Times best sellers be displayed next to Shakespeare and Dickens?
What do you think? For now, I'm going to revel in some nature - who knows how long until that, too, becomes obsolete.
One of today's common complaints is that "they just don't make things like they used to." In today's world, you can expect your new pair of jeans to last maybe a year before holes appear in the knees. You can expect your latest iFill-in-the-Blank-with-the-Latest-Gadget to become obsolete when a new, improved version comes out in a few years. You can expect your car to need more maintenance work sooner than in the past, and you can expect your bachelor's degree to soon be deemed "not enough," in favor of a job candidate with a graduate degree. I won't even venture into the realm of speculating about the political and economic reasons why these things seem to be the case, but I think it's a question worth asking. We've made so much progress; what's the price?
In a few hundred years, will people come to museums to see "what people were like in 2011?" What will they see? What could we possibly display that will still be around, for posterity's sake? Will our poetry and our New York Times best sellers be displayed next to Shakespeare and Dickens?
What do you think? For now, I'm going to revel in some nature - who knows how long until that, too, becomes obsolete.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Return to Paradise
On our way home from College Station, my brother Mattie and I stopped in Waco to visit an old friend. Cameron Park. I am convinced that this place is basically a piece of heaven on earth. It stretches for miles along the Brazos River, and it's full of treasures one would never expect just 5 minutes from downtown Waco, of all places. Thousands of trees stretch their ancient limbs up toward the sky. Hyperactive squirrels dart in and out along the roads, and friendly birds guide visitors' journeys from above.
Cameron Park held such an important place in my heart for a few years while I was at Baylor. It was at this park that I came alive. I've studied there, cried there, adventured there. On lazy afternoons, I'd simply lay in the grass and take in all the sights, sounds, and smells of God's great creation. It's been an important part of my relationship with Andrew, and it's a place I seek solace and refuge when I desperately need a reminder that life is full of beauty.
As Mattie and I drove along the winding roads, I realized with fondness that, like a lover, I know every inch and every curve of those roads. I remember how the sunlight flits through the trees in late fall, and I remember how the woods begin bursting with life in early spring. I remember this part of my identity, and it fills me with joy. I'm so thankful for all the people I've gotten to share this place with over the years.
Cameron Park held such an important place in my heart for a few years while I was at Baylor. It was at this park that I came alive. I've studied there, cried there, adventured there. On lazy afternoons, I'd simply lay in the grass and take in all the sights, sounds, and smells of God's great creation. It's been an important part of my relationship with Andrew, and it's a place I seek solace and refuge when I desperately need a reminder that life is full of beauty.
As Mattie and I drove along the winding roads, I realized with fondness that, like a lover, I know every inch and every curve of those roads. I remember how the sunlight flits through the trees in late fall, and I remember how the woods begin bursting with life in early spring. I remember this part of my identity, and it fills me with joy. I'm so thankful for all the people I've gotten to share this place with over the years.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Wildflowers
As I drove home from Denton today, I just had to marvel at the beauty of Texas wildflowers. They make that hour-long drive infinitely more pleasant, and they're on my top 5 list right now of things I'm thanking Baby Jesus for. There's just something about these beautiful wildflowers swaying in the heavy breeze, reaching up to kiss a periwinkle sky. I probably shouldn't admit this, but I warned you: I have an active imagination. I had to get lost in my own thoughts for a while (at least, as much as I could while navigating out of the way of crazy Texas drivers). I found myself wondering what it feels like to be a wildflower. What stories must they see unfold on these roads? Is their short life, just a season of spring, bittersweet? Do they greet each bumblebee and butterfly with cheer? And then, it hit me...
..No, not another car. A thought. I am a wildflower. I accept that I'm not a delicate lily, and I'm not a thorny rose. I'm not an exotic orchid, and I'm not a simple carnation. I embrace my identity as a wildflower. Wildflowers are often called "hardy." This isn't the prettiest word, but it describes me quite well. I'm tough, and I can survive exhaustion, unpleasant circumstances, and the nastiest of weather. I'm resilient, rain or shine. Wildflowers come in a million colors. Sometimes, I'm a sunny yellow, and other times, I'm a pensive purple. My goal is to paint life in a golden hue, and I want to embrace sunshine, truly living in a daze of light. Wildflowers definitely see plenty of Texas sun. They may not grace the Texas grasslands with their presence for long, but they bring so much joy to others.
So if you're a wildflower, own your hardiness. You can only imagine the joy you'll bring to this earth.
..No, not another car. A thought. I am a wildflower. I accept that I'm not a delicate lily, and I'm not a thorny rose. I'm not an exotic orchid, and I'm not a simple carnation. I embrace my identity as a wildflower. Wildflowers are often called "hardy." This isn't the prettiest word, but it describes me quite well. I'm tough, and I can survive exhaustion, unpleasant circumstances, and the nastiest of weather. I'm resilient, rain or shine. Wildflowers come in a million colors. Sometimes, I'm a sunny yellow, and other times, I'm a pensive purple. My goal is to paint life in a golden hue, and I want to embrace sunshine, truly living in a daze of light. Wildflowers definitely see plenty of Texas sun. They may not grace the Texas grasslands with their presence for long, but they bring so much joy to others.
So if you're a wildflower, own your hardiness. You can only imagine the joy you'll bring to this earth.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Contradictions
Today, I'm realizing how contradictions seem to permeate our sense of the world. I'm reminded of the quote "Do what you will. This world's a fiction and is made up of contradiction" from William Blake. So many times, it seems that just when we think that we have adequately defined the "problem," other factors slink into our awareness. Thus, the process of searching for clarity continues: endless, maddening, and invigorating.
Family therapy is a field of study that is quite influenced by postmodern thought. How do we define reality? Is it really that surprising that each of us can only truly experience the world as we, as an individual, know it? We can never truly know what it means to see the world through another's eyes because perhaps there is no singular objective Truth known to all. I only know what I myself know. There is only the truth that we ourselves choose. We choose the meanings that we give to other people, life circumstances, and ourselves.
Contradictions. They're everywhere. Though we profess that we are "one nation under God," much of our country rejoices today over the death of a feared terrorist. Though we have mocked other countries who have done the same, we justify our actions in the name of justice. We claim that children are our future, yet we do little to actively secure a future of hope for them. Though we are exhausted by the many demands placed on our time and our resources, we keep working harder and adding to our "to do" lists. Though I'm probably more liberal than many of my friends, I love country music down to the roots of my soul, and I don't think that will ever change.
I'm not saying that all contradictions are bad. There are wonderful contradictions, too. For example, people say all the time, "I'm just going to take care of myself from now on. I'm not going to worry about anyone else." That rarely lasts for an extended period of time. There is so much good in the world, and there's an infinite amount of beauty ready to be painted into each other's lives. Get out your paintbrush, and start making this world a more beautiful place. Be love to those around you, even when it seems like a contradiction.
Family therapy is a field of study that is quite influenced by postmodern thought. How do we define reality? Is it really that surprising that each of us can only truly experience the world as we, as an individual, know it? We can never truly know what it means to see the world through another's eyes because perhaps there is no singular objective Truth known to all. I only know what I myself know. There is only the truth that we ourselves choose. We choose the meanings that we give to other people, life circumstances, and ourselves.
Contradictions. They're everywhere. Though we profess that we are "one nation under God," much of our country rejoices today over the death of a feared terrorist. Though we have mocked other countries who have done the same, we justify our actions in the name of justice. We claim that children are our future, yet we do little to actively secure a future of hope for them. Though we are exhausted by the many demands placed on our time and our resources, we keep working harder and adding to our "to do" lists. Though I'm probably more liberal than many of my friends, I love country music down to the roots of my soul, and I don't think that will ever change.
I'm not saying that all contradictions are bad. There are wonderful contradictions, too. For example, people say all the time, "I'm just going to take care of myself from now on. I'm not going to worry about anyone else." That rarely lasts for an extended period of time. There is so much good in the world, and there's an infinite amount of beauty ready to be painted into each other's lives. Get out your paintbrush, and start making this world a more beautiful place. Be love to those around you, even when it seems like a contradiction.
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