Partake in the Magic

I am taking a childcare course online, and during one of the activities, I came across this poem, which I would like to share.

A Child’s Mind

Eyes open wide
In wonderment
The children pressed against
The classroom window
I told them to sit down

John said
But Miss! A star has fallen in our field
I saw no star
Till bending down to child height
There, in the grass
I glimpsed the dazzling light

A Star?
A piece of broken jam-jar
Catching the rays of a low January sun.
Educationally, it would have been sound
To follow up with a lesson
On how the glass reflects the sunlight

I couldn’t
To forty children
Who had just seen a star

- Author Unknown


Can you place yourself here? I imagine the dilemma. Do I break this child's heart, or do I tell him the truth?

Do I explain the chemistry behind the beauty of a rainbow? Or do I respectfully hide the answer to a question that hasn't been asked, as to why flowers grow to be so stunning?

Doesn't it steal away the magic?

On certain nights, I look up at the sky, and on special evenings, the stars transform, they are no longer burning balls of gas millions of miles away, but beacons of truth, silent and refined, near singing with their majesty. So simple a view, but so powerful a message. So how would it seem right to break the heart of a child who believes in something so beautiful as a star having fallen in a field? The child sees something that for that one moment, while looking out onto a barren field, is truth because they believe it.

I imagine that if I were that child, I would wander outside after class and scoop up that jar, and take it home, to show to all who would allow themselves to partake in the magic, that this was a fallen star.

But maybe once I got out to the field, and saw the jar for what it was, I would recognize it, and only need one look before saying 'Oh... It's just a jar.'

But even then... Even after having thought that a star had fallen, to be disappointed by finding that it was just a cup of class glass out in the middle of a field, I would esteem it as magic. I would know that it was just a plain and simple jar, ugly up close, and seemingly unimportant, and yet it would be magic to me. Because I know that it was just this simple bit of glass glimpsed from the classroom window that had made such stunning beauty as to catch the gaze of the entire classroom. Because of the beauty of the shimmer, the brightness of design, and the truth of the light, I would scoop it up anyway.

I would take it home, and though I would not parade it as a star, I would showcase it as a miracle. I would show all who would allow themselves to partake in the magic, that this simple object was all it took to steal my breath away and show me something miraculous.

From small, simple and ugly things, miracles are born if we only allow ourselves to partake in the magic.

My Father's Footsteps

Not long ago, and yet what seems ages for me, lived a man with a million dreams. Dreams to fly a plane, to make lots of money, to be an artist and to be someone his father would be proud of. These are only some of his dreams. This man was like Edison. Trying one thing, then another and then another until finally: light!

I really wish I could be like my father. Because although he had a million unrealized dreams, many became true. Most did not but his short life encased many, many beautiful experiences that I am not even capable at this point of making into realities. He has been to Europe, Japan, and Australia. He has flown his own plane, sky dived 100 times and biked across Canada. And so much more.

Here I sit next to my computer, typing out in words something so deep I feel as though I were about to split apart. It's not about the traveling or the excitement and rush of diving from a plane... it's about looking life straight on and proclaiming "Come on! I dare you!"

I can't do it. I never could. There is something broken in me that won't let me be reckless or bold. It won't let me love or hold onto joy. Any joy I do feel is held for less than two seconds at most. I can't cry either. And because of this, I cannot dream.

Not long ago, and yet what seems ages for me, lived a man with a million dreams.

I wish I did.

Webs of Power

I look up and see my own reflection in a borrowed mirror. The reflection is not smiling. The thought passes through my consciousness that my feelings at this moment, and all my accumulated thoughts are insignificant. There are billions of other people on this Earth at this precise moment, many of them staring at their own reflection, and all with complicated emotions. All of them insignificant.

But as I stare at myself, a new perspective shifts into view as though I were taking off a blindfold. It's a simple thought, but it changes everything. I begin to smile at my reflection. For the revelation I have just discovered will affect everyone around me. And the revelation is this: Everything I do affects those around me; they in turn affect everyone around them, and those affected affect others and it goes on until I have managed to affect the entire world. Day after day I unknowingly affect others, and unknowingly I consent to being affected by those around me.

As I look in the mirror, a thought of intricate webs, thorough connections and unseen paths of energy compel me to smile. If this is all it takes, why not give it a try?

What a strange new world of responsibility and freedom as I stare at my own reflection... because in the exact same way that my face reflects in this borrowed mirror, my smile may reflect in the eyes of those around me, and maybe we won't be so insignificant after all.

Language Barriers

I think I knew English a lot better when I was a kid. I may know more words now, but I don't use them as much. I remember randomly talking to people in the hallways and on the bus to and from school. I would look out the window and randomly comment on how green the weeds were today, and a conversation would start. There was always something to talk about whether it was why we didn't need to wear seat belts on a bus, or who ran the fastest in the track meet, or possibly what the meaning of life was. There was always an available topic at hand.

And yes, there were certain people I sat next to on a frequent basis, and so it was easier to talk to them because I knew them well, but when those seats were full, there was no problem sitting next to someone else and striking up a conversation. When I was elementary school age, I didn't filter my thoughts so much as I do now, based on what I think the other person thinks about what I say. Somehow my English must have been better back then because now I don't have a single thing to say.

There are bus rides and car rides, church pews and front lawns, side walks and rooftops, and in all these places I see people sitting, standing or walking and I turn away drawing a blank as to what to say first, and then I don't say a thing.

And then I find the real clincher at home. I get in and turn the computer on. I turn it on and log into facebook, because that's where everyone posts what they are up to. See, I don't have to ask anyone what they are up to, they just post it online. And if I see them in person I don't need to ask what they did last weekend, because I already know. They might not know that I know, but I do. And so there is one less topic conversation starters, because I already know all about last weekend. I saw the pictures.

And those people who have made the choice not to post their current activity online where all can see, well I don't see them anymore. I don't know what's going on in their life, and I don't ask because I'm busy being bombarded with all these other updates of other people's lives, so much that it's hard to care what so-and-so is up to. There's just no time.

I just used facebook, and used what little English I had left to communicate to the people who took the time to post pictures or status-messages online. And I saw less of people's faces, yet we pretended we were friends by chatting back and forth on the internet, without really getting into deep conversations because, well, deep conversations are reserved for face to face interactions.

I read on facebook what other people are doing, but we don't even chat anymore. I just post what I'm doing, and they post what they are doing, and we feel satisfied that we are socializing and hanging out. And then every once in a while we do more and actually chat, but it's rare and I don't know what to say.

I think that's what God feels like when he can see what we are doing, but we don't take the time to pray and tell him how we feel about what is going on in our lives. He sees the events, but he wants to hear it from us, to hear from our perspective what is going on in our lives. He wants to talk to us. I think I'm not very good at it. I think I need to improve my English.

Womanhood Rant Continued...

Not too long ago I posted a blog entry entitled: "Womanhood Rant". After reading my post, my adopted uncle Mark sent me an article that I thought some people would find interesting (Hawley, you commented on my rant so I thought you might like this second opinion... It's been here for a while stagnating). You can read the document here if you want.

In response to the article he sent, I wrote him an email that I would like to share:

Firstly, I am at peace with the issue of womanhood and content to sort it out myself, by saying this: Both man and woman are equal. It is more complicated than that though, so I will explain.

Both man and woman are equals; individuals and partakers of this challenge that we call life. Both genders have roles and the individuals strive to grow, develop, learn and teach. Both are trying to be the best they can be. People will be much less likely to confuse their personal worth with their roles, after the individuals are considered and presented in nonjudgmental ways, free of biases and understanding that it is ok to have feelings, needs, desires, successes and failures. We will be ready to accept ourselves for who we are, no strings attached, nor having this need to feel jealous of the other gender or feeling a need to take on the other's role. We will be ready to take the next step, which is to accept the responsibilities such as priesthood and the correct and worthy, authoritative use of it; and womanhood and the gift of nurturing, creating and moving lives. But that's after we see ourselves for WHO we are instead of WHAT we are... We are first individuals, and secondly, we have roles.

These people, whom I have been among, have become confused about who we are, and how to accept ourselves, first as individuals, because we confuse our worth with our roles, instead of understanding that the divine God chose to love us as we are, no matter what, and that because he loves us, he gave us these gifts of gender and roles.

If that idea were explained, then a lot of this confusion would disappear, but I also think it would be nearly impossible to explain this to someone. I mean how can I explain to someone that they have worth? They have to feel it. They have to discover it themselves. I've tried to explain to people how they have worth in and of themselves but they can't grasp it unless they feel it themselves. So how could I expect anyone to satisfy my desire for this explanation, when the explanation is wanting? There is no way I am aware of to explain a feeling to someone unless they have previously experienced that feeling.

The main confusion between genders is based on the confusing belief that roles and responsibilities are of higher priority than individual needs and worth.

We all make mistakes and we all learn to try.

Both man and woman are equal because we are all human.