I'm really glad I'm the oldest. I used to hate it. I hated the responsibility, hated baby sitting, hated everything always being my fault. I got used to it, and even grew to like it. Now I thank God I'm not one of the younger ones. After seeing the people they are becoming, I think if I were younger I would be afraid of living in their shadows.
Ellen's queen of everything: the prom, jr. miss, the golf team, the dance studio, the stage. Neil's a two sport letterman as a sophomore, and probably a better athlete than I'll ever be. Steve may be more gifted than all of us put together. I'm glad I'm not the youngest. I don't have to worry about proving myself, or trying to surpass them. Instead, I can just watch them and be proud.
It's really weird though, watching them. Neil can outrun me now, and he's almost as tall as I am. Steve is wittier and more athletic than most people I know in college. Ellen's almost in college. I'm twenty years old. This is nuts.
About Me
- silverhand
- I'm an aspiring writer, and I am who I am. Loud, annoying, thoughtful, absentminded, well-intentioned, and struggling for my place in the world. I'm a believer, a thinker, a dreamer, and an aspiring writer. If you like it, wonderful. If you don't, I don't care. God makes men what they are. Who am I to argue with God?
Friday, March 11, 2011
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Halfway there, and so am I. . .
Today is a good day. Mr. Nicholson's check may not be huge, but it knocks out almost a sixth of what Oxford will cost. At this point, I really wasn't expecting it either, especially after Brittanni got one of the grants. But there it is, another thousand dollars I won't have to earn (or I can spend on travel expenses).
It's amazing how after two weeks of hell, things start to come together. Dr. Raschko wants to help me with grad school. I got to pray for a friend who I never thought would want it. I won some money. No class today, and my school won the game. Life is good. I know things will probably go from good to suck to good and to suck again before the next time I post. It's important to remember these times though. To many times do men curse the heavens after falling off the chair God made them. I know my life will never be perfect or easy, but every now and then I think He lets me know that it'll still be good.
I haven't gotten everything together yet. I've still got a lot of stuff to work through, and it'll be a sleepy day in class tomorrow. But storms can never erase sunshine, hard as they try to cover it up. I won't let anything let me forget the moments of grace I see, even if they are vastly outnumbered by moments of pain and failure. It's enough. I survived half the semester. Round 4, final bout of sophomore year. Next year I'm a junior. Weird.
It's amazing how after two weeks of hell, things start to come together. Dr. Raschko wants to help me with grad school. I got to pray for a friend who I never thought would want it. I won some money. No class today, and my school won the game. Life is good. I know things will probably go from good to suck to good and to suck again before the next time I post. It's important to remember these times though. To many times do men curse the heavens after falling off the chair God made them. I know my life will never be perfect or easy, but every now and then I think He lets me know that it'll still be good.
I haven't gotten everything together yet. I've still got a lot of stuff to work through, and it'll be a sleepy day in class tomorrow. But storms can never erase sunshine, hard as they try to cover it up. I won't let anything let me forget the moments of grace I see, even if they are vastly outnumbered by moments of pain and failure. It's enough. I survived half the semester. Round 4, final bout of sophomore year. Next year I'm a junior. Weird.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Change
Like Aaron Gillespie said, "Times change, people change, and sometimes change comes looking for you." The second act of this whole college thing is about to start, and several things will not be the same. Enter and exit the love interest. Re-enter some best friends. We have major. We have goal. We still don't know what the hell we're doing. And the scenery is about to change again.
I wanted to post right after these things started happening: after I found out about oxford, after she and I started fighting, after the break up. I didn't think it was fair, and I'm too flipping busy, so I didn't. But I need to write, and one little poetry workshop once a week won't cut it. This probably won't either, but I need to vent, to think, to compose. I can't figure things out in my head. I have to do it here. I have to do it now. Carla Kimsey is dead.
After years of her being sick, after years of fighting this battle everyone said she would lose in months, after all the improvements, the miracles and the relapses, and the tears, she's dead. It never quite registers. When someone dies I never really figure it out until I start writing to them or about them. Even then it's so bizarre. It doesn't seem real. And those were people I barely knew. Aside from Mr. Ben, this was the first one really close to home, and he died when I was just a kid. Grampa Lauren was a hermit who only spoke to me three times in my life. Papa Dave was the same. Sasha was someone I knew, but didn't see outside of school or church. I didn't even know Ray or JR. But even those deaths shook me. I wrote about them. I cried for Sasha. I cried for my Grandfather.
Why aren't I crying now? When it matters? When it's someone I cared about, someone close to my family, I shut down. My brain doesn't register. I called Cathryn trying to comfort her, and I was useless. I couldn't say anything. I've never had a problem giving advice or being comforting. I do it all the time, sometimes for people I barely know. Why can't I do it now? Not that it would really change anything. Holy shit, I can't believe she's dead.
The Kimseys have always been like family. She was like another mom to me sometimes, especially when I was little. I still remember her taking me and Jon-o to soccer practice or picking me and Cathryn up from church. I remember her telling us to be quiet when I spent the night at their house. I remember her hugs and the tired gentle smiles she always had. Her sarcasm. Her strength. I remember her cracking jokes with my parents at the dinner table. She's been in the hospital for weeks and we never visited her. Our family never went over there. We've been supportive throughout this whole time, praying for them, loving them, encouraging them. But we weren't there at the end. At least I wasn't.
She always said that she was ready. That God had given her peace and she accepted whatever he had for her. And she didn't die in six months. She lived another 8 years. Isn't that worth celebrating? She said she would have traded what she learned from this for anything. That until now she didn't know how much God loved her, how much her family loved her, how much her friends loved her. Would I be able to say that? To believe that? I don't even know what to think about it. I have no clue what it must be like for her kids, the kids I grew up with.
Carla Kimsey is one of the most remarkable people I have ever met. She loved God and loved life through the calm and though the storm. She was a source of life, encouragement, and strength, even in her physical infirmity for all who knew her and many that didn't. The world is a poorer place without her. We all loved you Miss Carla. We'll see you again someday. Rest in peace. This is a change I don't ever want to get used to.
I wanted to post right after these things started happening: after I found out about oxford, after she and I started fighting, after the break up. I didn't think it was fair, and I'm too flipping busy, so I didn't. But I need to write, and one little poetry workshop once a week won't cut it. This probably won't either, but I need to vent, to think, to compose. I can't figure things out in my head. I have to do it here. I have to do it now. Carla Kimsey is dead.
After years of her being sick, after years of fighting this battle everyone said she would lose in months, after all the improvements, the miracles and the relapses, and the tears, she's dead. It never quite registers. When someone dies I never really figure it out until I start writing to them or about them. Even then it's so bizarre. It doesn't seem real. And those were people I barely knew. Aside from Mr. Ben, this was the first one really close to home, and he died when I was just a kid. Grampa Lauren was a hermit who only spoke to me three times in my life. Papa Dave was the same. Sasha was someone I knew, but didn't see outside of school or church. I didn't even know Ray or JR. But even those deaths shook me. I wrote about them. I cried for Sasha. I cried for my Grandfather.
Why aren't I crying now? When it matters? When it's someone I cared about, someone close to my family, I shut down. My brain doesn't register. I called Cathryn trying to comfort her, and I was useless. I couldn't say anything. I've never had a problem giving advice or being comforting. I do it all the time, sometimes for people I barely know. Why can't I do it now? Not that it would really change anything. Holy shit, I can't believe she's dead.
The Kimseys have always been like family. She was like another mom to me sometimes, especially when I was little. I still remember her taking me and Jon-o to soccer practice or picking me and Cathryn up from church. I remember her telling us to be quiet when I spent the night at their house. I remember her hugs and the tired gentle smiles she always had. Her sarcasm. Her strength. I remember her cracking jokes with my parents at the dinner table. She's been in the hospital for weeks and we never visited her. Our family never went over there. We've been supportive throughout this whole time, praying for them, loving them, encouraging them. But we weren't there at the end. At least I wasn't.
She always said that she was ready. That God had given her peace and she accepted whatever he had for her. And she didn't die in six months. She lived another 8 years. Isn't that worth celebrating? She said she would have traded what she learned from this for anything. That until now she didn't know how much God loved her, how much her family loved her, how much her friends loved her. Would I be able to say that? To believe that? I don't even know what to think about it. I have no clue what it must be like for her kids, the kids I grew up with.
Carla Kimsey is one of the most remarkable people I have ever met. She loved God and loved life through the calm and though the storm. She was a source of life, encouragement, and strength, even in her physical infirmity for all who knew her and many that didn't. The world is a poorer place without her. We all loved you Miss Carla. We'll see you again someday. Rest in peace. This is a change I don't ever want to get used to.
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