My family used to sit down and munch through books. Feeling like an envious outsider, I would watch every one else licking their lips with the delight of language as they gulped down sentences. “How come everybody else can read and I can’t read!?” Even everyone in my second grade class knew how to do it. The mysterious code of reading seemed impossible to crack! I cried my way through the struggle of learning.
My parents did not force me to read. Later I struggled to learn how to decipher the written language from my mother. It was my individual choice to pick up books. I eventually developed an almost unnatural taste for reading, like a glutton among anorexics.
A large, plastic gray crate comes to mind when the word ‘book’ is said. My siblings and I used to go to the library chattering and bickering in the car. We filled up a crate with books and came home in complete undefiled silence dumping the knowledge from the crate into our minds. Within a week we would be back again.
Reading always inspires me to write. I’m working on three novels, a journal and a website right now. My goal is to be an author before I slam eighteen. I think as a writer. I think as a creator, a describer, and a history-teller. I find myself describing gnarled roots, stray kittens, broken swings, up-side-down blurs on windshields that look like faces, or people’s conversations. Sometimes I can’t help but listen in to dialogs, studying how people talk, think and express themselves.
Yesterday I rushed through my first day of winter term College; meticulously taking notes on any word I didn’t know that respired through my teacher’s mouth. Unfortunately I forgot a pencil. Oh! The horrors! My notes for that day are written in bold blurred letters, for my sister’s pencil we shared was dulled down until its tiny slope of lead ground flat.
At times during my life I’ve loved learning but loathed school. Mostly I’ve enjoyed both. In public school, it was grades over learning. I never knew anyone who would admit they liked school. In second grade I had my father as a teacher, and I started to love pottery and art. In third I figured out I liked to write, even though my spelling was so horrific I couldn’t read my own writing. I’ve grown a lot since then, filling up my own books with art and writing. In fifth grade, while living in Spain, many people influenced me for the better. For example, I learned the very technical method of how to shoot rubber-bands at pesky flies. That year transformed my life in several distinct ways.
Every day we’re learning, right? Every hour, every minute, every second, every moment our brains are sucking knowledge through our heads, keeping some pieces, and slaughtering others. Learning is a part of life. What you learn about is your choice, a very important and life-changing choice.
Life isn’t about life. All the smug vanities add up to zip. True, thinking and ice skating and writing and marriage are all great things, but the Bible says this: ‘But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.’ (Mathew 6:33).
We all have a conscience. We all have some sort of standard behavior that we agree upon, and if someone breaks it we think he’s ‘wrong’. What or who gave it to us? Some sort of great being who made us? Well, if that’s true, then he must be ignoring earth, or letting us do all the evil we want for some odd reason, or maybe he tries to stop us but isn’t powerful enough to do anything about it.
This creator, known as ‘God’ is good, and must want us to be good because he gives us a conscience. Another clue to this creator is the creation. Just look up any night and see the searing-hot stars piercing through the curtain of our atmosphere, and then try to rethink the word ‘big’ from Gods perspective. (Warning: serious risk of brain overload.) We Christians have a pretty gigantic God out there, who somehow cares about every one of his children. He cares about everyone on earth so much that he gave his son to die on a cross, in our place.
The penalty of sin is death. He died so our sins would be forgiven. The awesome part is that God raised Jesus from the dead. The vast abyss of sin between God and man disappeared. All man has to do is believe that God’s son died for him, and his sins are forgiven. The book of Mathew is supernatural thriller.
When my father asks me to do something, I don’t always understand why he’s having me do it. Like singing at old people’s homes or simply obeying when I don’t see the logic. There are times in my life when I know my God has a bigger plan for me than I could fathom. He formed me into the human I am today using my past experiences, mistakes, and even my tardy reading to help me realize what a beautiful God we have. God has a way of twisting situations around for love’s benefit. I love my God, and try to obey him. Now that is the point of life.
“Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant seeking beautiful pearls, who when he had found one pearl of great price, went and sold all that he had and bought it.”