Teeter-Totter

I once explained to someone that life is like standing on a seesaw: it's all about balance and finding that sweet spot where neither side is plunging towards the ground. The only thing is, my teeter-totter has about seventeen different sides, and new ones keep showing up every day. It seems that every time I get a few things balanced, I turn around and realize I've sent at least two others into a cherry bomb. Its a constant scramble to account for it all.

At 11:00pm, I stand alone in the backyard of a friend's house. If any of the inhabitants of the adjacent houses in this development happened to look out their window, they probably are wondering why someone is standing in the snow wearing a hoodie, swishy sweatpants, and boots, staring up at the sky. I'm dog-sitting, but my charge has been happily asleep for several hours now. And I'm thinking.

I'm thinking about my first semester of college, and how its over. The days sped by so quickly, I was left hoping that the next three and a half years will slow down so I can love each and every moment of it.

I'm thinking about what comes after these four years, and how scary it seems. I'm preparing for a career. For life. I'm growing up. When did that happen?

I'm thinking about distance, and how hard it makes things. What do you do when the people you love are spread out over too much space, and your arms just can't reach them all? If we could all apparate like Harry Potter, now that would be something.

I'm thinking about seesaws and balance and steadiness. I wonder if it's overrated. This is probably just life, and I'm only now realizing that it will be a constant struggle to try to get it right, to get all of it right.

I'm thinking about the times I've let the teeter-totter hit the ground. I can see the faces of the people who were sitting on the other end at times, see the shock, disappointment, hurt. I wonder how many more people I will let hit the ground.

I'm thinking about the fact that this all sounds dramatic and sad, but it's not all that bad. Really, its part of life. We let things fall sometimes, but we also hold so many. All we can do is try.

I'm thinking about the thrill of a seesaw, and how happy I am to have the chance to ride one.

I smile up at the clouded sky that is colored a soft, dusty pink by the city lights. Turning back towards the house, I scoop some snow and ice from the drift beside my boot and smile as I eat it. I'm not perfect, but I'm solid. And that's okay.

Mission Statement

As part of a transitions course for first years, we recently developed our own mission statement. Here is mine:

Identity

            I am Mariah Grasse Martin, a woman in progress, and I will be for my entire life. I am strong, determined, worthy; a hugger, a learner, a traveler. I believe in a good God. I believe in love. I believe in life.

Mission

            To grow in such a way that others see God through me and are brought to a fuller life because of it.

            I will do this by searching for the piece of God in each person, and loving that piece in the best way I can. I will strive to see the needs of others and fill them to the best of my ability. I will listen to other’s stories and share my own. I will attempt to live fully in each moment, making sure that all I do is done with the zeal of one who was made by and awesome God.

Vision

            I hope to be a compassionate person. One who can be relied upon for comfort, for a good listening ear, a hug, a favor – whether you are family, friend, classmate, colleague, or simply someone in need.

            I hope to be an educated person. One who is aware of what is going on the world, who is well-read and academically excellent, who is always eager to learn more.

            I hope to be an adventurous person. One who is eager to see the world and all its treasures, who isn’t afraid to meet the unknown, who will grasp opportunities as they come.

            Amidst all this, I hope to be a grounded person. One who knows that her ultimate allegiance is to God, that he loves her and all His children, and that He will never abandon nor forsake us. I hope to always be comfortable with the idea that I know and understand very little.

I value…

            the tension it takes to have a real faith

            the discipline of hard work

            the strive for the unknown

            meaningful conversation

the energy of laugher

            relationship – with God, nature, others, and ourselves

                       

Wild Geese -Mary Oliver

You do no have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Verna

Images flash before my eyes: 

Grandma’s teaching hands, guiding mine as she shows us how to use the wringer-washer. Standing on my tiptoes, I feed shirts and pants through the rollers while Hannah catches it on the other side.  She lets her chores become our game.

Grandma’s watching eyes, as she hangs up the laundry while we pin our doll’s clothes to the fence – our imitation, the sincerest of flatteries.

Grandma’s smile, as I stand next to my bunny-rabbit birthday cake. Food is her gift: pies, ginger snaps, mashed potatoes – all made in a way only she can master. This is her way of loving people.

Grandma’s neat cursive, gliding across the page of a letter. These perfectly formed letters, so flat on the bottom that you’d think she’d used a ruler, a reminder that a few thousand miles was not nearly enough to keep us from her thoughts.

Grandma’s touch on my shoulder, an affirming pat as I wash the dishes. “You’re a hard worker,” she says “your parents taught you well.” I smile at the high praise from this hard-working woman.

Grandma’s soft voice, rising to glide across the room in a hymn. Even when other things became foggy, she still knew all the words to those songs – proof of the deep faith and commitment she had for her God.

Grandma's photo albums, baked goods, quilts: an attempt to show the fullness of her life to the line of people who stream by.

Grandma's children, my dad and aunts and uncles, lined up on the other side of the room, greeting the same stream of people. They smile and nod and shed some tears as they listen to condolences and stories of this woman who touched so many.

Grandma's worn hands, folded neatly across the familiar pattern of her simple dress. Her covering is pinned in place and her glasses perched on her nose, things that I haven't seen for years now. She looks like Grandma, when she was really herself, before her mind let her down. It seems as though she's just dozed off, drifted into a nap - and for a moment, my eyes fool me into seeing her chest rise and fall. Then I squeeze my cousin's hand, not minding the tears that threaten to run down my cheeks, and finish my goodbye.

I Like Honeydew: 10 Ways I Have Changed In College

1) I decided at some point in my childhood that honeydew was yucky, and I hadn't tried it until I came across it in the cafeteria. Now I eat it about three times a week. I think it's better than cantaloupe.

2) I don't care nearly as much what people think. Maybe it's getting away from home, maybe it was a summer of growth, maybe it's a rebellious thing - whatever it is, I am thankful. Life is so much easier when you're not trying to please everyone around you.

3) I dance. As a study a break or weekend hang out, I get my groove on. This is attached to number two, because even though I don't know what I'm doing, I could care less, cuz it's FUN!

4) Also related to number two, I wear much less makeup. There are many more days where I wear none, and when I do take the time to put it on, I use it sparingly. Sweatpants also make a more frequent appearance.

5) I study. High school allowed me to pass tests by listening in class, but here I have to work for my grades. This means I had to teach myself how to study, and I think I did a pretty good job.

6) My sleep schedule is wacked out big time. I used to think I needed a solid eight hours to be personable, but I've found that that is not the case. Don't worry, I'm getting enough sleep - just not at the conventional times ;)

7) I make time for conversation. Its not just a nice things that happens sometimes, its something I look forward to and do purposefully. We talk about everything and anything, which is a great thing about having just met: we are completely new to each other. This means we aren't held down by the images that had been imposed on us, falsely or accurately, in the past. We say what is on our mind, share exactly how we feel. We talk. And this has made for some deep friendships, even in this short time.

8) People care about field hockey. No, we don't get the crowds that soccer does, but we do have a few dedicated fans. We get the same priority as other athletes. People ask about our games. When we jog off the field at half time or timeouts, someone is waiting with cool towels and a tray of gatorade cups. They take care of us.

9) I rock climb. A lot. Every single chance I get. I've climbed the wall, I've climbed real rock. I even recruited a group of fellow newbies to come with me. I want to take a technical rock climbing class. I'm pretty decent at it, and I love doing it.

10) I've found my favorite period of life so far: this one. I love college. A friend and I agreed that college was made for extroverts - so many new people to be friends with! Other than studies, we have no responsibilities, and an endless amount of opportunities are right in front of us. We can get into almost anything. And that's what I aim to do :)

  

Vigilante

I went to a vigil today. I had never been to one before.

It was off-campus, so we all piled into a friend's SUV and made our way downtown. I only knew two other people in the group, and I didn't really know what to expect - but hey! This is was what college is all about!

The vigil was being held for the conflict in Syria, specifically, as a demonstration to our country's leaders that war was not a good path to go down. I am a pacifist, so I agreed with the general sentiment, but as speaker after speaker stood before the steps of the courthouse where we were gathered, my eyes were opened. A pastor, an Iraq veteran, an Arabic college professor, a carpenter, a conservative political activist - all stepped forward and spoke their wisdom and passion to the crowd. 

I knew next to nothing of the Syrian conflict when I walked up to the courthouse, but this is what I walked away with: If one judges this issue based on anything other than human beings, it is wrong. There are stories, homes, lives at stake - not just statistics and logistics - and lives are not dispensable.

After the speakers were done, we lit candles and walked around the building as we sang. Our group paused before returning to the parking garage, stood on the sidewalk in a circle, arms around each other, and prayed. I listened to the earnest pleas and the fiercely murmured affirmations, saw tears hit the concrete at our feet, and added my voice to the cries for peace.

For once, I didn't plug my ears and avert my eyes. I didn't brush off the news stories with my usual mantra of "I hate politics". I didn't fall into the stereotype of a teenager too busy with my own life to care about the lives of my brothers and sisters. I didn't stand paralyzed as injustice and violence marched on. None of us did. 

We refused to stand by and let it happen. 

Remembering How to Boogie

Ah, the classic family beach trip. Lazy late mornings in a rented beach house, watching abnormal amounts of television, going through books like a warm knife through butter, and so, so many pictures. We pile into our car, the trunk overflowing with massive towels, coolers filled with snackies, and a rainbow umbrella, and meander our way to the shore. 

Today, Assateague beach is the lucky patch of sand that we have chosen. Arms loaded down with paraphernalia, we tromp towards the walkway. Stopping to pitch trash in a dumpster, Dad stumbles across treasure: a boogie board! Sure, the styrofoam is broken inside the cloth sleeve, but its totally usable! 

Our find in tow, we make our way to the shore, set up the umbrella and blankets and slather ourselves with sunscreen. Now, off to the waves! I dutifully wrap the velcro band of the boogie board around my wrist and begin the halted walk into the water, punctuated by gasps and squeals as we adjust to the cool. Drifting on swells, we catch up on each other's lives. 

When I decide to try the board out, something clicks in me, and I begin to giggle like a kid - despite the futility of my attempts to ride the breakers. The waves washing over me are joined by waves of memories, of the last time I was on a boogie board.

It was the same shape and size, decorated with a cheesy picture of dolphins jumping in a sunset, complete with velcro and cord for when I got tussled by a badly planned wave. We bought them at the grocery store in San Salvador, the morning of some weekend beach excursion - one for my sis and one for me. Beach trips were more common for us in El Salvador since we lived about an hour from the coast and a day at Playa del Sol, a small resort, was dirt cheap. When we weren't at the resort's pool, we were in the waves, and when we were in the waves, we had our boogie boards. 

We'd ride them in, and tug them out, and tip them the wrong way so they drug us under rough Pacific waves, and had competitions in the pool to see who could stand on them the longest without them sliding out from under our feet. They even served as islands of refuge from the all too real lava - black volcanic sand that singed our bare feet as we ran to and from the shore.

Giant frozen lemonades, lunches of whole fried fish (yes, tail, eyeballs and all), cramming into a hammock with mom as she read aloud, perching twenty feet in the air in the unoccupied guard's shack while we sipped fresh coconuts, a supper of rice pupusas on the way home, then falling asleep in the back seat of the truck. This was our family weekend.

This is what washes over me as I cling to a battered boogie board on the coast of Maryland. At once I am looking back a decade and few thousand miles to a place and time that made me, and looking forward to a time in life when family weekends will be few and far between. This is exciting, and scary, and a whole host of emotions I have yet to process. 

But my past has taught me how to boogie: 

Look at the waves of life with excitement, not fear. Run at them full force, preferably with good friends. 

Hold on to what you know will keep you afloat in rough times - use velcro if necessary. 

When - yes, when - the waves grab you and pull you under and spin you head over heel so fast you don't know which way is up, roll with it till you can put your feet down on something solid, stand, and take time to clear your eyes and catch your breath. Then turn back to the waves. 

At the end of the day you'll be tired, but you'll also be washed clean inside and out. Close your eyes, smile, and embrace the way the memory of the waves rocks you to sleep. 

It will be worth the ride. 

Morsels, Tidbits & Windows

I love summer, I really do. It seems that this is always a time of year when I am stretched in the most wonderful ways. This being a transition summer, it is no exception. I am working at Camp Hebron, a Christian summer camp, and let me tell you, it is a BLAST! I love it here, and there is so much happening each and every day that I simply cannot wrap it all into a blog post. So, I shall give you the Cliffsnotes version of my summer - morsels, tidbits, and windows into my days:

The sun beats down on the back of my neck. I smile and nod while I listen to the the three others sitting next to me as we tell each other, bit by bit, our stories. We sweep paint brushes back and forth to the rhythm of the music that streams out of the speakers perched on the railing. The assignment is to stain a deck, but that is merely what our hands are doing. Conversation - it is easy to forget the power it holds, the bonds it can build. What a gift it is to share our stories. 

. . .

My back twinges in complaint at my bent posture as I walk back and forth along a narrow, ten yard stretch of asphalt. The discomfort is only a blip on my radar, however, as I am entranced by one tiny person who is leading me on this meandering little path. It is the week of Moms & Tots, and this tiny sweet girl holding on to my thumbs is one of my five charges every morning this week, the 0-12 months group - yep, babies. A soft smile of wonder is spread across my face while I listen to her animated babble. She analyzes the leaves and sticks that meet her perfect, round toes, then freezes. I follow her gaze in time to see the butterfly that has snatched away her attention, and marvel at the blessing it is to see the world through the simplicity of a baby's eyes. 

. . .

Thursday night worship, Mennonite Youth Convention, Phoenix, AZ. A speaker gives us her moving story of healed hurt, then invites us to be anointed as a symbol of our own healing. Some of us do, but it is what happens afterward that still fills my soul. We prayed. We sat, knelt, stood, hands outstretched, arms around each other, faces turned upward in a plea, eyes closed in reverence, and we prayed with one another. And we cried. We let the tears run down our faces in rivulets of fear and pain and frustration, gratefulness and hope and joy. We were raw together. 

. . .

I hold out teddy-grahams one by one to a blind camper during snack time. Answering a fellow counselor's question, I turn away for a moment only to feel the campers fingers delicately dance down my forearm to find the cracker in my hand. Seeing is so much more than our eyes, I reflect. We see with our touch, our instinct, our spirit - sometimes our eyes only get in the way. 

So there you have it, my summer in snapshots. Little moments of clear sight, lessons learned, and growing done. I can't wait to see what awaits in the next four weeks.

To Those Moving Forward

In honor of graduation week, I'm pulling out this relic from creative writing class: A found poem of my advice for those who are moving forward. 

Thunderstorm

A face turned skyward, pausing amidst a hurried routine to gaze at the dark, roiling clouds blowing its way. A nose breathing in a wet, earthy smell that speaks of growing things. Then, a flurry of action: laundry hurriedly yanked off the line, windows slammed shut, calling for a dog who's instinct sent him running for cover behind the couch.

The first few drops, pattering onto the roof like a kitten's footsteps while an exhilarating wind whips the trees into a joyous rain dance. An eery, dim light seeping across the landscape as the last few glimmers of sunshine are blocked out by the ever-darkening sky. It is here.

The sound of kitten paws is replaced by a stampede of rhinos as a torrent lets loose from the sky.  It busies itself with soaking the sponge of the soil, filling streams and ponds, wetting parched plants, and surprising those convinced it was too sunny to carry an umbrella this morning. In drips, rivulets,  and impromptu streams, it sets about washing the world.

The lightening, oh the lighting! It splits the heavens into jagged puzzle pieces too fast for the eye to follow, then seals them back together with equal haste - cracks in the celestial ceiling, glimpses into a place we hope to see some day. Following behind are great claps of thunder, rolling together into a cadence to beat any drum line. 

A giddy grin overtaks a face moistened by the downpour, while bare feet gallop through puddles and under overflowing gutters. Indoors, a sudden start as one is caught unaware by a heavenly boom. An arm around a shoulder as two pairs of eyes stare, entranced by the display.

Never has nature revealed more plainly the existence of its Creator. The raw power, the overwhelming sights, the outright cacophony, all speak to something far greater than our earthly worries. Yet hidden in the regal display is a beautifully tender metaphor that makes me smile every time the storm clouds move in: a shower of love. An outburst of affection from our God that is so full it tears the sky. Each roll of thunder a shout to His children. Each flash of lightening a healing touch. Each droplet a tiny kiss.

A love storm.

Kaleidescope

Faith is the kaleidoscope through which you see life.

It colors your views, shapes your decisions, and puts a unique twist on world. The actual contents don't change from when you receive it to when when put it down. The same nuggets of truth are always there - you just may not see them.

As you progress on our journey, the kaleidoscope turns. Whether gradually or in sudden jolts, it rearranges the bits inside into a plethora of pictures: snapshots of wonder and doubt, growth and pain, mountaintops and the lowest of valleys. The pieces you had forgotten, the ones you wrestled with, the ones that left you with no answers, get jostled into a new light or shaken out of the corner. This is when things click into place inside you. Other times, the parts that were once your focus shift out of sight, and you are left with open hands, grasping for something sure and finding only air.

Sometimes, a person or event will move past you and bump you as they move by, unexpectedly changing your view. Perhaps it was a blessing, an angel in disguise shedding light that pulls you out of despair. Perhaps it was intentional, a shove, not a bump, and you were left frantically shaking your kaleidoscope, trying to replace the parts you thought you needed and recover the clear picture you had. No matter how hard you try, the fragments are always tinted by the experience.

So when the kaleidoscope gets turned, when you are shaken, when what you thought was true changes shape, what will you do? Will you throw down the lens of your faith and walk away betrayed?

Or will you pause, think, reassess, and move forward with the same truths in a different light?

*Inspiration credit: yet another awesome youth leader with a good message.

On Spring and Senioritis

Two months. Two months until graduation. Two months of being a Blue Devil. Two months of calculus, chemistry, and ceramics. Two months until I quit being a senior and start being a freshman again. Two months until summer. Two months until I'm free.

Two. Whole. Months. This length of time has never looked so long. Perhaps you have heard tell of a disease which infects the minds of those wanting to move to the next stage in life? One that makes focus difficult, homework look insignificant,  and apathy toward rules abound? Yep, I've got it - got it bad. Aside from the friendships I've found here, field hockey is what I will miss most about high school, and now that that is over for good, I've got nothing holding me down.

I've always been one to look ahead toward things to come. My poor, well-meaning mother has attempted on many occasions to get me to slow down and enjoy the moment. Rushing through the present is one pitfall of being gifted with high energy.

Luckily, spring has shown its face. (Granted, it may be wearing the mask of summer, but it came after winter, so spring it is.) Warm weather is one thing that will slow me down and put a smile on my face. Windows all the way down and the radio cranked up, bare feet cooling off in the creek, a campfire with a circle of friends and good conversation: when any or all of these are involved, I will happily reside wholly in a single day - even with two months to go.

So, here I sit: in shorts, by an open window, letting a warm breeze and the sound of spring peepers sooth my impatience.

Albuquerque -Hannah Martin

If you ask me how long it takes to fall in love with a place,
I would tell you ten seconds.
Just long enough to glance out an airplane window.
Long enough to glimpse the mountains, and the desert stretching endlessly out to meet the sky.
Then the plane jolted suddenly, touching down.

And I knew I was home.
To a place I had never been before.
Home, under an infinite blue sky.
Home, with the mountains and the red sand.


And I was in love...

This poem was written by my sister, the lovely Miss Hannah. She recently spent a year living and volunteering in New Mexico.

Let go. Let God.

Don't worry about solving the world's problems. You can't control those issues. You don't own that outcome.

God does.

Abide in Him in each moment, an He (not you) will make things right.

Be a friend.
Look on the bright side.
Hug.
Lend a hand.
Smile.

And let God take care of changing the world.


An excerpt from the notebook beside my bed: a jumble of prayers poured out in ink and late night epiphanies. 

Global Child

They say it takes a village
to raise a child,
but it's gonna take the whole world
to raise this girl.

She'll love and remember
the ones who run in her blood,
but her family is scattered
across entire continents.

She won't be contained
by men's penciled lines,
not by borders or fences,
not by rivers wide.

For a compass, her heart.
For a path, her dreams.
She'll circle the globe
on the wings of the wind.

She'll scour every mile
and double back again,
searching for answers to
queries words can't ask.

Yes, she'll spend her whole life
loving this entire earth.
Finding warm smiles
and open minds,

until her bones are full
of a planet's wisdom,
and her face crisscrossed
by the laugh lines of many.

So don't be afraid
when your daughter's gaze
settles not on the horizon
but the wonders beyond.

Oh she'll come back
to where it all began,
and on her way
she'll be raised by the world.

Then, some day,
in her little girl's eyes
she'll catch a glimpse of a spark
that won't be quenched.

She'll see tiny hands
dance over maps and globes,
answer questions like
"What's at the end of the road?"

It's then she'll see it takes a village
to raise a child,
but it's gonna take the whole world
to raise this girl.

If I were a shoe...

This essay was in response to a prompt on a scholarship application. It was called a haiku essay - 100 words or less. It was possibly the most challenging, but also the most fun essay I have had to write. So, what kind of shoe would you be?

If I were a shoe, I’d mold to your footprint, because I’d listen to your needs and care for you. Whenever you put me on, you’d be ready for adventure, because I’d rather be active than stagnant. Even so, I can’t guarantee that I wouldn’t smell stagnant - not all of me is rosy.

I’d be covered in dust from far places, but there would also be clean spots to accumulate dirt from the many places I hope to go. If I were a shoe, you’d keep me around for a while, because my best years are yet to come.

Me too.

"Me too."

And suddenly, there is a flicker at the end of what you thought was an endless tunnel. If she made it, so can I. A light is ignited.

How can two tiny words be so powerful? Why does that phrase say more than any motivational speech or sermon?

Empathy. It is one thing to hear someone's troubles, and something inexplicably different to have experienced them. While a listening ear is a powerful support, a knowing heart is a lifeline from God. On one end, we share our story, and on the other we receive a gift of hope, because knowing you are not alone lets you fight the present battle with that much more resiliency.

As part of an anti-bullying campaign, our school had us fill out surveys that informed us whether or not we needed to work on our empathizing skills. Really? Empathy is not something to be built, it draws from your past. It comes to us without our consent - a bitter, revolting, painful thorn when we receive it, but a sweet, saving, beautiful gift when we can finally share it with someone else in those two breathtaking words: Me too. 

I was there too. I have borne that cross. I have climbed that staggering mountain. I have faced those jeering demons. I have waited those unending hours. I have screamed in that pain. Me too. And I made it beyond that.

You will too.


*inspiration credit - another awesome pastor and another great sermon.

Belonging

Family. Team. Club. Society. Groupies. Posse. Gang. Wolf pack.

The place where you belong.

Everyone has one in mind, whether it is something you are a part of now, or something you hope to find. If you are really lucky, several groups come to mind. You may have seen this post, where I talked about my years playing field hockey. That team has become a second family to me, and I love those girls - I belong there.

But I can't talk about belonging without bringing up one of the most eclectic, energetic, accepting, downright fun bunches of people I know: CHAOS. As a youth group, we go by that title as an acronym of how we hope to demonstrate our faith in this world, Christ Honored and Others Served, but we also tend to embody the word itself. The first time I came to this group was the day before my 14th birthday. I don't remember much from that Wednesday evening, except being sung to in the most amazing fashion ever and suddenly finding that my favorite day was smack in the middle of the week.

We have some wonderful youth leaders who challenge and nurture us. We are a mishmash of backgrounds, opinions and personalities that come together to make complacency impossible and force us to truly think through our beliefs. This is where I have grown most as a person and as a Christian.

Mennonite Youth Convention, CHAOS Theater, service projects, Deerpark - all mountaintop experiences that I will remember for a lifetime. The best part? I get a mountaintop experience every single week, because it's not about what we are doing, it's about the people and the conversations and the love that make up this crazy gang.

Each Wednesday, I breath a sigh of relief as I open the back door, and regardless of how I feel at the moment my heart lifts when I enter that hallway. This is a place where I am comfortable being exactly who I am. This is a place where I can be honest. This is a place where I am loved.

This is a place where I belong.

Smiles

smile, noun - a pleased, kind, or amused facial expression, typically with the corners of the mouth turned up and the front teeth exposed.

Oh, but it is so much more. How can you encapsulate a smile in lips and teeth?

Sometimes, even when all the right muscles move, it is not a smile. The rest of the face never gets the memo, and you're left with an empty shell of a mouth to try and fool others with - to fool yourself with. Its just a mask covering the true feelings.

Or sometimes, instead of being the mask, the smile itself is masked - or at least the attempt is made. If it really is a true smile, though, no amount of lip pursing, eyebrow scrunching, or teeth clenching can hold it in. Real smiles cannot be contained.

The most often preserved smile is one plastered on right before the camera clicks. Willingly or otherwise, a happy face is coaxed out by overly enthusiastic photographers or shouts of "CHEEEESE!!!"

Some smiles are accidentally leaked, seeping out the corners of your mouth. A silent taddle-tale, it gives a window into your mind, where a happy thought has just fluttered past. These smiles make one wonder what is behind them. A fond memory? A familiar taste? A name whispered in your heart?

Sometimes the smile is not big enough to hold all the happiness. Salty drops join it, forming a teary waterfall of joy. No, it's not sadness, it's just overflow from your heart.

Then there are the smiles that come paired with a nod and an "uh-huh", while your mind tries frantically yet fails to understand what was said. The crankshaft pushes the, the piston? and then the distributor accelerates the carburetor to...huh? Just pretend you know what he is talking about! Don't look stupid! Such tiny white liars come to our rescue, or become our slow demise.

There also smiles that cause one to worry. Fingertips pressed together, eyebrow raised, a impish grin curls your lips, and a spark of mischief begins to flicker in your eyes. This smile is a warning, and may be followed by a small cackle, or a water balloon.

A smile is something that begins within and envelopes a person's entire face and makes their eyes dance. It skips across their cheeks and beckons you to join in, for joy grows twofold when it is shared. 

So, go ahead, share the joy! Turn up the corners of your mouth and show those teeth! You have a beautiful smile :) 

La Mentira

Fear is a liar.

It gets up in your face,
makes it so hard to see
the beauty of this place.
It tells you you're too small,
that you're not good enough, 
that the order is too tall,
the road too rough.

No. Fear is a liar.

It will keep you from throwing
your heart all in.
Cuz if you give yourself up,
you’re just dust in the wind,
at the mercy of others,
and there’s no guarantee 
that they’ll come through
in your time of need. 

No. Fear is a liar. 

It says the earth is too big,
the problem too vast.
So much hurt in these hearts,
too much pain in the past.
So why even try,
if you'll only touch a few?
What’s one tiny, single person
able to do?

No. Fear is a liar.

You were made in perfection
for the challenges you face
You are exquisite
None could ever take your place.
And love is plenty big enough
to wrap its arms around you.
I’m right by your side,
I promise I’ll come through.

Fear is a liar.

So don’t listen to its taunts, child,
don’t bow to its demands,
cuz if you don’t let it take the reigns,
then the world is in your hands.
It’s not worth your time,
so let your light shine bright
and leave fear behind,

because Fear is a liar.


* Inspiration credit: a rocking pastor and an awesome sermon