Blurry

Spin, spin, spin

Flowing shiny gold dress

and glittery eye shadow

Soak in the glamour, paparazzi

Drink in the bright lights and camera clicks

Revel in the glory of the night

Duck into the silver BMW

Soft purr of the engine, vroom says

the accelerator

Zig-zag down Lombard Street at night

A river of golden water

Smoother faster champagne black sleek phone

rings, rings laughter faster faster

Brake! slam harder no stop

I can't stop

Slam crash blood death

Tears red on gold

Black dress

Looking Up and Down

I was discussing with my dad how I wanted to start an intellectual club this summer: we would meet at cute little coffee shops, read some Billy Collins, discuss an article from Patrick Henry Reardon or another great Christian thinker of the day, maybe debate current political issues. I thought he'd be thrilled. But instead he asked, "So what are you guys going to do for others?"

The question struck me as absurd. Who cares? We were in our profound little coffee shop, having profound little conversations about profound little thoughts. What did the rest of society matter? I thought he was being overly pragmatic, failing to recognize the beauty of argumentation and intellect.

Did Jesus tell his followers to form an intellectual group and discuss the importance of loving neighbors? No; he simply told them to do it. Did he tell them to think about the aesthetic value of going and telling peoples of the world the Good News? No; he just told them to do it.

I'm an idealist and philosophizer: I try to create profundity out of virtually anything, and I often find myself disillusioned with the postmodern world. Yet at times I get so wrapped up in my profundity that I became selfish. I like my deep thoughts; I don't like exiting my deep world of contemplation to look out for others. Ironic as it seems, idealism and contemplation can cause a person to reach a point of sole self-interest.

A man cannot spend his whole life looking up at the heavens; neither can he merely look down at the ground. A wise man strikes a balance between admiring the greatness the mind can imagine as well as applying that knowledge to practical situations.

Pedestal

He spoke. He was young; he was pure; he was knowledgeable; he was witty; he was decisive. She thirsted for his wisdom like a lamb longing to suckle its mother's milk. There was no question he didn't have an answer for. He explained why the earth revolved around the sun; why the Framers did not create a democracy; why tragedies were cathartic; why injustice exists. In him was truth, beauty, understanding, goodness. He was the solution to global hunger, the Grail that knights perished for, the Alpha and the Omega. He was a man.

She stared into his eyes, captivated like teenage Miranda gazing upon the male body for the first time. Oh Heaven, that has showered me with such blessed beauty! Oh Justice, that has delivered me from these shackles of confusion to the freedom of knowing! Called out of weakness, succumbing to the glory of this man's marvelous might! Oh God!

But when tempests talked, he replied; when temptation said hello, he conversed; when sin smiled, he laughed. The decadent pleasure of lust he devoured. Oh, discreetly, of course. But his short happy life he could not forever conceal. She heard. She wept the salty tears of revelation and false hope. What hope, without the god she once adored? Oh save her, call her from the cyclical abyss she knows too well.

What's Wrong with Prom?

Prom is an odd phenomenon in American culture. Teenagers spend hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars on a 4-hour long event that essentially is about having fun. I don't think it's ethically wrong, but logically, some things are just strange about the ordeal.

Although it's not required for attendance, the majority of prom attendees have dates as it has become socially accepted and expected for students (especially boys) to go with a date. I don't object to the date expectation, but where it gets tricky is what the date entails. The dancing, which constitutes the majority of the night, is more intimate than that of our grandparents. Suffice it to say that no one swing dances at prom. Even if the date is a boyfriend or girlfriend, typical dancing at a high-school formal encourages teens to interact physically like they are married.

Many couples go "just as friends," but in my experience of going to three formals and observing the social politics of many more, that phrase seems to be rarely understood. A girl (or guy) can say the magic words "just friends" a hundred times over, but someone manages to interpret the dance as more. After all, the two of them spend anywhere from four to ten hours together in one night, including a couple hours of close dancing. Add that to the extensive texting and calling that are inevitable in working out the many logistics of the event. It's a recipe for emotional attachment.

Attendees invest significant money into things that are purely superficial. For the girl, there is the dress, with a price ranging from $60 to $400; matching formal shoes; a hairstyle which, even without a hair appointment, costs money for hairspray and a curler/straightener; the boutonniere; painted or acrylic nails; and possibly fancier makeup or another appointment.

The guy has a comparable to-buy list: a nice shirt; a vest or tie; a rented tux; dress shoes; the corsage; and the tickets and dinner (if he follows the tradition of treating the girl). And this doesn't include the limo or activities like bowling that come afterwards.

All this for one night, and virtually none of these expensive items are reusable, save for the shoes and arguably the dress, if a girl doesn't mind re-wearing it.

Prom is a fun high-school experience, but it's also a symbol for our cultural mindset that encourages the spending of countless time and energy into maintaining appearances and having fun despite the fact that it's all going to be over soon.

4 Reasons I Dislike Texting

1. Texting sends the message (no pun intended) that something or someone else is more important. It is not abnormal for someone to be having a serious conversation with someone, then all of the sudden the listener/speaker whips out his/her phone to read and respond to the latest text. No matter if your mother-in-law is moving in with you or you are deemed ineligible for varsity soccer or your pet hamster died. I just got an utterly meaningless text but I still prioritize it over you.
2. Texting inhibits and arguably prevents the natural and psychologically healthy human tendency to think. The mind is an incredible gift. God was wise to give us the ability to think without speaking. How awkward would life be if all our thoughts were available for the world to read or hear? Thinking is how we deal with life's complexities, pleasures, pains, and mysteries; how we reflect God's nature as a Reasoner; how we use logic and argumentation to discover truth. To forgo this amazing ability is to neglect the gift of reason and thought that sets us apart from mere animals.
3. Texting as a means of communication is socially ambiguous. A recent "relationship status" that I've heard people cite is, "We're talking." In other words, they are texting regularly. But what does this entail? Is constant textual communication as intimate as face-to-face conversation? Texting someone can give that person the illusion that the relationship is exclusive; in reality, the texter may be mass-messaging the texts he sends to seven different people.
4. Texting eliminates the majority of communication signals utilized in everyday (normal) conversation. Social psychologists claim that words constitute less than 10% of communication; the rest involves tone, context, body language, facial expressions, etc. Text messages are often misinterpreted, for better or for worse, as a result. In general, sarcasm doesn't travel over text. Neither does excitement or anger. Not only is the message the texter intended different from its apparent form; its misinterpretation is potentially detrimental to a relationship.

In conclusion, texting hurts rather than helps relationships and communication in general. Its social repercussions heavily outweigh its practical purposes.

Me Amas?

The pastor says we're made for selfless love.

I thought I found my niche with boys and clothes.

In me they saw a goddess, so above

Girls cursed with pudgy waists and pug-like noses.

I savored the attention and remarks

They'd paint in word and song, reminding me

That I'm a candle in a world of dark,

That I'm a jewel, bearer of beauty.

But what of single moments that destroy

A perfect form? Or accidents that mar

A pretty face? I put my hope in boys

To "love" by touch, by kiss, but not so far

As to be reputed as the local whore.

And yet the insecurities I hid

Emotional flaws my mind cannot ignore

Remained long after hugs or makeup did.

When troubles come, will you act like a man?

In age, will you still love like real men can?

Oh no. You only saw perfection— physical.

To cherish me forever? Impossible.

For now, I wait before His mighty throne:

I know the life I live is not my own.

Man in Uniform

So this week, there was a cop at my house interviewing my mom about a recent robbery in our neighborhood. I walked by; the cop was young and very good looking, so I smiled at him. He noticed me but did not smile back. This is a response to that experience.

The moment that my eyes met yours

I smiled sweetly, hoping for more.

But when you looked away in pride,

The flirty, giggly id just died.

I felt my heart shatter like glass!

I looked my best; my looks you passed!

Rejection— that was foreign before.

I check the mirror— something I wore?

A jerk, an inconsiderate brute!

A novice cop: bet he can't shoot.

To think himself too good– But wait!

It's shallowness I claim to hate.

Unlike weak men, you were not fazed

When into your blue eyes I gazed.

A lovely face fails to reveal

What eyeliner and blush conceal.

You wait for beauty of the heart

Of which mere looks play little part.

Next time a man's approval I seek,

An upturned nose, to me, is not bleak.

Night that True Love Died

How deep the Father's love for us

How vast beyond all measure

That He should give His only Son

To make a wretch his treasure

Love does not always look like love. In fact, a lot of the time, it may look like legalism, or foolhardiness, or mere tradition. But it almost always differs radically from our modern cultural definition.

In typical high school relationships, physical attraction and contact are often mistaken for love. A girl will convince herself that her boyfriend loves her because he can't get his hands off her. In truth, though, this is not love but arrant selfishness: he disregards her emotional and physical purity in order to get what he wants.

In filial relationships, children (and parents) believe that their parents love them if they give them whatever they want at the time. So they whine and scream and pout until Mommy caves in and buys the latest Gameboy or Call of Duty or flat-screen or Ferrari. Actually, her choices demonstrate not love but foolishness: her child grows up and becomes selfish, irrational, and undisciplined.

For a pastor, believing that he loves someone in his congregation too much to call him or her out on their sinful behavior is delusional. If the pastor knows of a member's destructive behavior and remains silent, the sin inevitably affects not only the individual but also his or her family and community. Sparing someone's feelings for a moment in return for long-term pain is not loving.

Dying a horrendous criminal's death may not have looked like love to Jesus' disciples either. After all, how was he supposed to be a Savior if he let a mobs impulsively crucify him? But what appeared to be foolhardiness proved to be the ultimate atoning sacrifice, providing humanity a way to eternal life with God.

Mara

Dawn breaks: she rises from the satin sheets

slips on her red silk dress, the trademark of

a woman that provides men happiness—

If one could call her pain of body and soul

mere service, then she served them without fail.

A thousand nights she's cried alone; a thou-

sand times she swallowed the words she used to crave.

A screaming hunger grows inside her chest

now pacified by his comforting touch.

Tomorrow it will rise again, a babe

madly pounding on the wall of the womb

squirming, squeezing to see the light of day

Let me out of this prison of darkness,

Give me agape, the milk I've thirsted for.