Life in a Water Tower

Sometimes in life, we see things as if we are in the middle of a water tower drain. We watch the water go down in a spiral current and because we're watching, we go down with it. And we find ourselves stuck against the grate of the drainage system. The grate seems to press against our faces, with seemingly vain hope that something will save us.

We begin to feel all is lost; love has no chance, and suffering knows no end. Little--and I stress the little--do we know, there is hope. One who loves and atones for us, reaching down, lifting us out of the turmoil. One who has the strength to pick us up when we were the ones that jumped in the first place.

This One looks at us as we are staring into nothingness; our blank stares lacking luster. The invitation is calling. We are not too far distant yet. And we begin to see how desperate He is in pleading with us to continue in hope. Yet, in our minds, we see the water, the drain, and the imprint of that grate is etched into our faces.

But the vision comes clearer. He presses; he urges; and suddenly the water you are holding onto is expelled into the unknown and sometimes uncomfortable. We breathe in and for the first time, in a long time, we start to taste how sweet the air is. We perceive that water tower as if it's something we need not dread but learn to welcome.

And He looks down as we are lying there, tasting the air, and smiles. Amidst His countless attempts to rescue us, the stress, the heartache, it was He who showed praise when we didn't cease to breathe.

Here, is Hope.

Moments

I have moments when I feel content and ready to hand over my life to the One who knows best. When has this recently happened to me? Almost every day this weekend. I spend time with people I love. I grow in my Savior's love that He has for me, I pray, I read, I teach; most importantly, I learn.

I learn to love those around me. I begin to notice things within each person that influence me to be my personal best--my #1 self if you will. I have my moments when I am down. Moments when I look in the mirror and the reflection I see is either something I'm ashamed of or it is something I cherish. I don't have His eyes, or His hands but I know of His love.

I felt this way last night. It was a night, FULL of nostalgia and cherished memories of moments when I feel at peace with where I'm at and where I am going in my life. I feel good. I feel happy. Oh, how great it feels to write that and genuinely mean it!! But the best and most endearing part about this is that I know that even after my body begins to turn to soil's one companion, my moments carry on. My children will know of my moments--I'll remind them regularly. They, too, will have their moments which will carry on through the careful watch of Father Time.

And isn't that the whole reason we cohabit this roller coaster? So we can cling to those moments that we experience and share them with others? This is what makes things once weak, stronger.

So have I moments? Yes, I do. Do I foster these moments and yearn to have more? Yes. Will I? Yes. Will you? Sure. The key is vigilance against all odds.

Determining My Race and Losin' Myself

In all honesty, I think I am much closer to being a black person or a latin person than a stark white person. Really, I am much more than an Uh, Oh! Oreo. Why? I can rap. What? I like Eminem songs? I can sing like a big black woman. I can bargin like a latin. And my sense of humor is equivalent to that of an old man. I feel judging eyes reading this facet of my imagination and yet, I am still content being my plain white self.

But you know what? I have no idea why I am even writing about this. And the point is, if I were black or any other minority in my all-american, white, mormon school it wouldn't matter. If it did, I would just accuse everyone of being racist. In the end does it really matter? I mean, shoot, I have friends of all races and all places.

Why do I desire to be another race, you might find yourself asking, well, I feel as if I am in a time vault, locked up forever. I feel as if I am stuck in one place as a single time and that I'll neither ripen or return to the soil. I feel that the answer is not in this pasty complexion. My soul is old but I still feel young. My heart is taken but my brain seeks freedom. In all, I am between a rock and a hard place--as if I am going through my mid-life crisis at 21 years old. I'm not even eligible for my quarter-life crisis!!!

Solution? Live each day of 8 mundane hours of helping others figure out whether or not the fresh mint toothpaste is better than the cool mint toothpaste. The other half of my time is spent being a mediator of one conversation to the next.

Amidst all of this, I find I am so happy. So blessed. I have the body of a 21 year-old and will be forever filled with the gratitude of an aged woman of any race. And for that, I am dizzy in euphoria.