The Honest Prayer of a Moth

"There never was a moment in my life when I felt so in the Presence as I do now. I feel as if the Almighty were so real, and so near, that I could reach out and touch Him, as I could this wonderful work of His if I dared. I feel like saying to Him, 'To the extent of my brain power I realize Your presence, and all it is in me to comprehend of Your power. Help me to learn, even this late, the lessons of Your wonderful creations. Help me to unshackle and expand my soul to the fullest realization of Your wonders. Almighty God, make me bigger, make me broader!'"    -Kate Comstock, The Girl of the Limberlost,  by Gene Stratton Porter

Blech

I don't know what to think.
Talking about boxes and dog-ears is confusing.
It seemed liberating at the time. Metaphors do that, you know. They express emotion that can't be expressed directly, so it feels like emotional freedom when you share a metaphor.
But you know, after too many metaphors I've simply become a dog-earred ball of string and clay that's been put in a box and hung on a tree by a string of my own literary making.

^The above is a paradox, but don't think too hard about it.

8, but rotated 90 degrees.

I saw a young father playing with his toe-headed daughter out in the grass today. It made me glad. It made me glad because of families, and the fact that people still believe in them. It’s an awe inspiring idea, families. When you get married, you link the rest of your life forever with another person’s and you are both aware of it, both inspired by it, and both a little overwhelmed by it, because you consciously perceive at least a portion of what is taking place. 

When you have a little child, a little toe-head girl, or dark haired boy perhaps. You are completely, utterly, and irrevocably linking your life with the entirety of another human’s life for eternity. Every step they take, mistake, and laugh and tear they shed from day one is now somehow a part of your life, whether or not you are present when they occur. 

I simply suggest that we make it an effort to be there for as many tears, laughs, smiles and mistakes as we possibly can.

Happy Birthday, Harry Potter

August... August is the sneakiest month. Everyone enjoys July too much to give August a thought until it's already here.

August - August. I've completed one rotation on the unicycle of adulthood, and I have to tell you, I nearly fell off a couple of times. It was a year of first tries and second bests. I'm hoping I can make this a chiasmus --

Second tries and first bests. First best.
No one really ever says first best. Probably because "first best" connotes that  there is a second best, and no one bothers with second place.

We live in a cut-throat, darwinian society, so people tend to forget the runner up.

For example: At a party, there is a plate of rice krispy treats, and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. The plate of cookies is always the first one empty.
Well, as far as I know, and even though that may not be a lot, the caloric value of a rice krispy treat is essentially the same as that of a chocolate chip cookie.

I've been told by God that we're all of infinite worth. I'm going to take Him at face-value, too.
So basically, we're all a walking chiasmus of first tries and second bests, soon to become second tries and first bests.

And it's ok to say first best, because that implied second best will be first best soon too, and their second best will be first best, and on and on in an infinite cycle of inversion and conversion.
August can be the sneaky, second-best month of stair-step chiasmi.

Astonishment

"We are all on the brink of miracles."

"Miracles are a matter of perception."

-Perhaps we are all on the brink of perceiving miracles?-

Boxed out

I've been put in a box.
I've been folded neatly and put away.

It's funny how when you store away people, they have a tendency of leaking over the top and out the edges of the drawer.

You know what's funny? I put you in a box.
I stacked that box in the top shelf of my closet.

I don't really like to take it out and look at it too much.
Honestly, I don't need to because you've leaked out and over the box and off the shelf and have somehow snuck yourself into the pockets of my jeans and I find you there when I least expect it.

Stick me

The white, fiercely clean walls and the smell of antiseptic are only in my imagination.

I took a few steps into the dark, and they say that when you do that, it's faith.
Did they ever tell you that faith was scary? Because I'm terrified.

They say faith is the opposite of fear. I beg to differ.
Faith is something you choose despite your fear.
And let me tell you, I'm terrified.

The first and last time I had my blood drawn, I passed out.
And started jerking, seizing up.
It surprised me, but funnily enough, I wasn't scared.
Everyone else was terrified.

I'm going to have my blood drawn again today.
For no other reason but practice.
Someone gets to practice poking a needle in me, only this time, there are precautions.
I'll be laying down, and I won't look at the needle as it goes in.
I should be fine. I'm not really scared.

It's me poking someone else.
That's a little nerve-wracking.
I know it hurts and pinches.
I don't want to pain someone else. That scares me.

I guess I've got to have  a little faith.
Ya, I'll stick a sharp, foreign object in their blood,
But they're not scared.

A little confidence in myself won't go amiss.
Faith despite fear, right?

so Stick Me.