Friday, August 26, 2011

My Day

   Reflecting on the day, it was very, er, interesting. It began with me scurrying around as usual, then my mom dropping me off at school. I began my day by talking to my friends. Then I tripped and fell on the way to class. When I got to chorus, I spent five minutes straight thinking about nothing but one teacher who had changed teams and all the pride he had in his old team. In language arts, I drew a pig. In social studies, I looked at my teacher's wife's driver's license from a while ago. Then in science, well, I'm not completely allowed to say what happened there, but it was pretty much the weirdest most fun science class ever.
   Next, in math, we had a sub. I was so amazed that one person could talk while the rest of the class was silent. I mean, seriously. I looked like a kid with twenty boxes of sharp crayons.
   When I got home, I had a deep conversation about dolphins, drowning, and overly large houses. Then I had an online conversation with one of my sorta-kinda friends and found out that he is one of the most amazing people I have ever met.
   So that's my day.


Monday, August 22, 2011

The Glass Box

   I know it's like the longest poem ever but the lines are short so bear with me! I wrote this poem on a really bad day and I hope people in every type of "negative" situation can relate to it. 

She’s trapped in,
A glass box,
She’s helpless,
She knows,
What the world,
Around her,
Looks like,
But fate traps her,
And won’t free her.
People try to help her,
But they can’t,
And so they move on,
With their own,
Beautiful lives.
Some of them come back,
To spend time with her,
But they don’t understand,
How badly,
She needs to get out.
Specialists come and see her,
They tell her to live with it,
They are not,
Wise enough,
To know that she’s screaming,
She screams until,
Her throat hurts,
But the sound is muffled,
Through the thick glass.
She can’t help,
But feel like,
Merely an infant,
Defenseless and small,
Helpless as always.
And everyday,
Her hope shrinks,
As people and doctors,
Pass by and stare,
At her funny gait.
They’ve given up,
And she doesn’t know,
What to do,
Because no one,
Can relate to her,
She desperately needs,
A hand to hold,
Not just a friend’s,
A caregiver’s.
She’s lonely,
No one understands,
As much as they try,
They keep failing,
They keep losing.
She can’t help,
But wonder,
What she’s missing,
As she looks around,
From her box of glass.
She cries every night,
And no one knows,
The whole story,
All of it,
Thrown at her,
At once,
She’s overwhelmed,
She can’t take,
More burdens.
So she lets go.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

The Lord's Gift

   I did not have any symptoms of arthritis in fifth grade. In fact, my teacher once told me not to be in the front of the line because I walked too quickly. (Who knew that six months later I would not even be near the front.) I just wanted to clear this up because this had nothing to do with why I had to sit out on Field Day.
   Anyway, a couple days before Field Day, I cut my head open slightly beside my eyebrow. I had to go to acute care and it was bleeding like crazy. One of the teachers even used her sweater to stop the bleeding. I had to have the wound glued together (yes, glued. It was a substitute for stitches.). Sadly, the doctor informed me that I would not be able to run around until it healed.
   So I sat patiently through the first activity. I was bored, hot, frustrated, and tired. On top of that, I was lonely. God, I need a friend. I prayed. We moved onto the next activity. I looked up into the sky and saw an orange butterfly fluttering carelessly around above my head. Instinctively, I stuck out my finger for it to land on, even though aside from the ones in museums they never do.
   Maybe that is why I was so surprised when it gently curled its legs around my finger. I smiled, holding my finger still. It's beautiful. I thought. Plus, it was orange, and orange is by far my favorite color. To my dismay, my class was moving to the next activity, and everybody knows that as soon as you move when a butterfly is on your finger, it flys away. "Good-bye, little butterfly," I said aloud. I stood up and rested my hand down, expecting it to fly away. Instead, it flew right up to my shoulder. As soon as we were at the next activity, I placed it on my finger with ease. It was in that moment that I connected the butterfly with my prayer. I smiled up into the sky and thanked God.
   That butterfly stayed with me throughtout the whole Field Day. Of course, it would occasionally dance away for a few moments at a time, but it always loyally came back. Everyone around me was amazed. I was, too. I loved that orange butterfly. It was fairly big for a butterfly but still little comparatively. When it was time to reenter the classroom, I spoke very lovingly to the little butterfly because I knew God had sent it to me, "Alright, I have to go now. Thank you little butterfly!" I watched it fly away. "Thank you, God." That's what it's like to have God. You are cared for and loved, and you always have a friend.
   Right now, I have "Be a Butterfly" written on my hand, to remind me to always be the friend that makes someones day memorable.