Thoughts

We did it again. My leadership class and I put together another event. We invited the school to watch Dispicable Me . The movie was a hit, so much so that one little girl got up to dance with the main character at the end of the movie. It was a wholesome family night, and on a Monday no less! There were very few issues. It was just a relaxing evening. We're going to use the proceeds to pay for our leadership conference in late March and early April. It should make for a meanigful experience. Signing off...

We've all experienced it. Some people experience déjà vu so frequently, though, that they aren’t interested in watching TV or reading the newspaper because they think they’ve seen it before; and still others treat strangers like people they know. Although psychologists don’t completely understand déjà vu, they have found that you are more likely to experience it if you (1) are younger (people who are in their 20’s might experience it three times per year, for example, while middle-aged people might experience it only once every ten years), (2) are wealthy, (3) are educated, (4) are liberal, and (5) have traveled a lot. What do these things have in common? Maybe déjà vu happens to people who stimulate their minds more. The younger you are, the more you need to learn; the more money you have, the more opportunity to do things others couldn't; the more you've read and studied, the more active your mind; and the more you've traveled, the more you've been exposed to a va

A man with a clear purpose can be the most charitable, benevolent, generous person on Earth; or the most dangerous. In my experience, his purpose must be wholly informed by wisdom, a wisdom that is "first of all pure, then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere" (James 3:17). To have clear purpose is a powerful thing, to be sure; but the following example shows, I think, just how destructive an impure purpose can be to self and other. Starting in 1851, a group of Chinese called Hakka started a civil war that ended with the deaths of tens of millions. This conflict partly occurred because the Hakka resented their Manchurian rulers, who had ruled them for two centuries and shown themselves to be poor rulers; partly because many people became frustrated over a lack of jobs; and partly because people felt threatened by pirates, who were forced into China by the British, among other reasons. One of these Hakka was named Hong

On October 25th, 1854, during the Crimean War, a British cavalry unit charged boldly into battle against a Russian army. The problem was that the charge was a mistake. The unit was supposed to travel on a hill to the side of a valley, but instead charged through its middle. With fewer men, lighter arms, and in a much weaker position, the men followed their orders, charged through a guarded valley, and were killed in the process (many of them, anyway). While I can't say my mistakes have been so bad that poems have been written about them (see Tennyson, "Charge of the Light Brigade"), I can say that I've had memorable ones. The following is an example. I'm calling it my charge of the light brigade. I was on the track team. It was my senior year in high school. My friends and I had trained for the cross-country portion of track and field. I think it was after we had completed our events for the day, our coach informed us that we had no one to run the one-hundred mete

Who you idolize says something about you. When I was younger, I revered the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. My favorite was one whom few other Turtles fans liked: Raphael. I liked him because he was the one whom people expected very little from. He was the one with the smallest weapons, the least liked personality, and the one who generally lived in the shadow of the most popular turtle. I guess that means I like the underdog, maybe because that's how I see myself. I'm not the extroverted, forthright type, but rather I'm reserved and cautious. I think it is these traits, though, that have at times been my strengths, when I've caught others off guard by showing them things about me they never thought were there. With that said, here's to the underdog, the ones who show us that even the least of us can shine.

I really like soccer. I remember when I was sixteen, playing soccer for my high school team. We were playing one of our rivals. I was a substitute, so less was expected of me than many of the others on the team. It was during the first half, and I got hold of the ball near the goal. Already so close, I had merely to tap it in. After I did, I received the greatest praise I believe I've ever received in my life, then and since. My teammate picked my up and carried me halfway across the field. At a different game, I ran up to a player much larger than me. About five to seven feet from me, he kicked the ball directly toward me. It struck me directly on the face. Numb and disoriented, I walked away and was yelled at by a teammate who must not have seen what happened (or who thought it wasn't that bad). I guess we all have our good and bad days!

We want to be happy. Even those who claim they would rather remain angry or lonely or depressed say this because they believe that their current state is a happier (or more pleasurable) one than any other. There is a self-indulgence that comes with those emotions. Look long enough, in fact, and you'll find those whose choices bring them more pain than pleasure. The child who stays in his room after his parents have told him he can leave it, and the lonely man who turns down a party invitation, both refuse to trade away their pain, because their pain nurtures them. Truth, in fact, can be hard to face. It's like a sleeping dragon, fed with rational thoughts laced with the sedative of false hope. So menacing is this dragon to us that we feel if it ever wakes it can do nothing but destroy us. Then, when we find ourselves in those brave moments when we peek closely, we find a knowing smile on its face, as if it is waiting simply for us to linger long enough to see it as it truly is

I tried to start a business about ten years ago. Two friends and I thought it would be a good idea to put my friend's face on one-hundred or so shirts with the words "I am Kenny!" below his picture, and list our website on the back to allow people to buy their own shirt. That way, everyone would have the privilege of being Kenny whenever they wanted. We thought everyone would want to be Kenny. Unfortunately, we never found out they did, because we were young and didn't know how to market our product. It still made for a good story!

My leadership class and I organized a "Mock Rock" fundraiser that took place last Friday. It went pretty well for the most part. I thought it was especially cool that a paraplegic fourth-grade girl- alone- got up in front of approximately 175 people and sang for us. The crowd burst into applause when she was finished. It was really cool. Did I mention that it was cool? Also, I'm going to Haiti this summer. It's pretty exciting, considering I've never left the continent before. Maybe more exciting is that we're all going to rebuild an orphanage destroyed in the quake. We're specifically going to Jacmel, a city twenty-four miles southwest of Port-au-Prince, which was also devastated in the January 12th, 2010, earthquake. Our group had our second meeting tonight. We ate, talked about the things we need to do before we leave, and prayed for each other. Each of us has to raise $1500 for travel, room, and board. I think we will.

What use is there of poetry? In my experience, poets have the luxury to make a point of something without the meaning of the words themselves. Poetic form, syllable use, the sounds of the words as you say them (including rhyme and meter) all contribute to the meaning of the poem in a way no other literary style can match; and in such a manner that they draw more heavily on the emotional (or maybe artistic) part of human nature. Poetry is the compact car of literature. Its use of language is economical by necessity. Even compact cars can be admired, however. With this said, I wrote this poem a few years ago. The structure of the poem is based on Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening," which I admire for its coherence, its use of mostly single-syllable words, and the fact that the soft sounds of the poem are symbolic of its mood. As far as the content of this poem, it makes dual use of nature. On the one hand, nature is a metaphor for humanity. On the other,

Sometimes, when I blog, I wonder whether anyone reads it. I look around the blog I've made, dank and hollow as it may be, and it seems to me an empty, dark place. It's as though I am deep in a well, standing expectantly for some passer-by to hear my voice, and peer in to see what is there. Perhaps my well is empty, I think to myself, and this is why no one comes. Perhaps there is no water, no wealth of knowledge from which to draw and drink and be satisfied. Then, as if to fend off the silence, I say aloud that I must keep talking, I must keep speaking the things I know; for it satisfies the human need to be heard, if only by yourself. These echoes that reverberate off walls of stone must mean something, I think. They must remind me that I am here, real. I know I can soften this cold, unfeeling place, bring these stones to tears. Then maybe, when I am gone, the water they cried will satisfy some traveler, thirsty and in need. And so I think, believe, resolve, Commit to stay, po

I guess I've been into poetry lately. Here are two by William Blake that caught my attention. The first is on love, the second on hate. Love's Secret Never seek to tell thy love, Love that never told can be; For the gentle wind does move Silently, invisibly. I told my love, I told my love, I told her all my heart; Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears, Ah! she did depart! Soon as she was gone from me, A traveler came by, Silently, invisibly He took her with a sigh. Poison Tree I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe; I told it not, my wrath did grow. And I water'd it in fears, Night & morning with my tears; And I sunned it with my smiles And with soft deceitful wiles. And it grew both day and night, Till it bore an apple bright; And my foe beheld it shine, And he knew that it was mine, And into my garden stole When the night had veil'd the pole: In the morning glad I see My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree

Texting has its merits. You have time to craft your words so that you can communicate what you truly mean to say. Gone are the Freudian slips of face-to-face and phone communication. Whether that means you are more genuine, or less, I can't say, but texting does allow a more thoughtful reply. Sometimes I wonder, however, whether a person is actually more truthful in his or her instinctive replies than in his or her polished ones. I think this is why I sometimes feel a little cynical of planned public speaking, because it is sometimes difficult to tell whether a person is crafting his or her speech simply to cater to the audience rather than, say, offering his or her raw thoughts on the subject. I guess I yearn for a person's true beliefs (though I am hypocritical in this as well, because I wouldn't want people to spout out expletives or improprieties of speech because they didn't have the time to think through their words). As a teacher, too, I am conscious of the c

You can use these similes and metaphors to thank a teacher. They will either stare blankly at you, wondering in puzzled silence as you utter figurative language with reckless, bold abandon; or they will laugh, and remind you of the need to avoid plagiarism by citing your sources. In any case, try these: 1. You, my dearest and favorite teacher, are like an open book, dispensing to us the most valuable and resplendent knowledge ever contrived by the mind of man. 2. Mr(s). _______________, you are an ever-growing tree, providing the fruit of knowledge and the roots of future learning. 3. Oh, teacher, you are a like the captain of a ship, whose guidance and leadership offer to us the wisdom of experience. 4. Like a lighthouse on the shores of knowledge, you, Mr(s). __________, penetrate the fog of confusion and light a way for our eyes to glean new understanding. 5. Like an arrow from the quiver of a master archer, you, oh teacher, strike the enemies of ignorance and ambiguity, and leave s