Innocence Lost

Slowly...slowly...back...forth...breeze in wisps from the North. Whispers, lies, if only, if only, lullabies cry as she rocks slowly.

In an heirloom southern rocker she pushes off of creaking, splintered wood panels. A splinter grovels its way through her soft, fleshy small toe, but she pushes through. Gritting her teeth, salt springs ooze salt tears over salty cheeks. How can I remove the splinter in my toe when thousands puncture my soul. That's what it feels like, ya know. Suddenly I can't breath, I panic, how did she go?

The breeze becomes a torrent tossing her thin, matted hair around her face. It frames a portrait of weeping shame. Thoughts of "if only" are tossed in her ear. Her mind drinks in and becomes intoxicated with the condemnation. If only I had spent more time. If only I had slowed down. If only I hadn't worried. If only I had said no to things that didn't matter. If only I had lived what I knew was best, not what other people told me. If only, if only.

The hurricane of emotion slowly whisks away. The corn fields rising over hills in the distance show promising heads ripe and full. I want to destroy them. I want others to know the pain of losing the fruit of their labor. Who knows what I feel if not when they experience it themselves? No one can tell me move on, no one can tell me let go until they know.

She pushes back slowly and stares through a hole in the roof. It was going to be fixed before...But now it will stay broken. For some reason it was right, though. She could see clouds pass quietly. It was her own small world to enjoy. Everything else overwhelmed. But not that small piece of heaven. Staring up she felt her world slowly re-arrange. She even sighed in wonder and prayed.

God, Father, I did what You wanted, I did what You said. I wanted to do it right, so I asked others and followed examples. I wanted everything perfect so I worked and fought laziness. I tried everything, but in doing so I stopped hearing Your voice. I tried to listen, but I was so busy with trying to follow You I did not allow time for hearing. I did a lot, I tried to follow, but in the end it really was for naught. You've taken something from me that I thought was mine to hold, to cherish, to love like You loved me. For some reason You did not think that was good and right. In the beginning, I thought you were wrong. I wept and yelled. I thought, because I had not heard Your voice, that You wanted to punish me. You scared me. Your punishment scared me. I am still silently fearful, but I know and read that You bless those who wrestle with You. Right now, I don't fell like a winning Jacob, I feel more like an exiled Esau. Bring me back and help me be content with what you have for me. Prepare me to walk in joy again. I let your peace rule in my heart this moment, continue plying me in the furnace of hardship. And when my faith fails catch me up before I burn.

She had to start small. That piece of sky made all the difference. She could handle small pieces of sky. She could stare at her feet, then her hands, then the steps, the walk, the fence. But she could not see them all at once, that was too much. She lifted herself off of the rocker. Shuffled in to the kitchen, past the greasy pans, the uneaten spaghetti. She looked at the laminate, square upon square, looked at the corner of the wall, okay, good, just make it to the bedroom and try to make the bed. In looking at small things, her eyes lit upon the one thing she had tried to avoid. The small, wooden, high chair sat empty. She cried out slowly, moaning, bending to push away the throbbing stomach.

God, this hurts too much. Memory is pain. What do I do, take it out and forget? Or keep it and torture myself every time I want a glass of water. "There is a time for everything"

I heard, I heard!

Slowly, she set the high chair outside on the step, closed the door and made again the trek. She still weeps for baby Innocence once in a while, but she listens to her Father and follows through the fire.

As times of suffering come and go in your life may you ever cling to God, even when He doesn't make sense, when He puts you through test upon test. He loves you. He wants you to have the victory. Remember that he put Jacob's hip out of joint to remind Him that the battle truly is the LORD's. He causes the waves to rise and fall. May You allow Him to mold You this semester.

A Perspective On What May Come

As you of the world know, today has brought us our forty-fourth President. He has offered hope to millions of Americans, has appeared willing to work across party lines, and possibly has one of the most difficult challenges in history facing him.

He follows a man who, though successful in many areas, let America down in many ways. Former President Bush has guided us through the wars in Iraq and Afganistan in a capable manner, but has dissapointed the people in his approach to other issues like immigration and the economy. Much of what he had promised to do he never did, or simply did poorly. This is not to say that I'm surprised! As I have heard said, "Politicians rarely believe what they say, and are surprised when anyone else does." I think Bush has actually been one of our more honorable leaders, and do not believe that we made a mistake by electing him; however, what he promised and what he delivered left too much of a gap.

Enter Mr. Obama, the man of change. To be honest, he frightened me more than Senator Clinton during the election process. I have no doubt that much of what he said during his campaign was carefully worded to soften his agenda. He is not a moderate, and the fact that he presents himself as one does not encourage me. But as I watched his inauguration this morning, I found myself hoping that I will be proved wrong about him.

He addressed the threat of terrorism, telling our nation's enemies that he knows they're out there, and will not be cowed by them. [Me: huzzah!] He called upon God for his administration, both by choosing Warren and Lowery for the invocation and benediction, and by crediting Him as the source of our life and rights in his speech. He commented on our economic problems, our educational problems, and our environmental problems - his solutions may not be exactly what we of the conservative side want, but he has promised to do something about it.

He made a lot of promises. That really gets down to my main point: will he keep his promises? As a politician, he likely said some of those words simply to get votes. But another part of me thinks that he may actually keep his word. That, in itself, creates two reactions in me.

First, I am concerned that he will do all he has promised. Those changes will make the government larger and more powerful in many ways, limit freeom in the economy, and increase our tax bills. He will nationalize things that are privatized, such as health care. The environment will likely get more attention than the plight of unborn children. In short, America could be well on its way to becoming an actual socialist state.

My second reaction is this: I hope he will do all he has promised. America is in desperate need of a leader of integrity - a man who, to quote a great poet, "meant what he said, and said what he meant, [a man who is] faithful one hundred percent." We the people are sick and tired of men and women who tell us what we want to hear and have no intention of following through. If he keeps his word to the public, and proves himself just and honorable, then God will have a clearer way to work His will through our President.

Now, that's not to say that I do not hope for a shift in his ideals while he is in office... He is the man of change, isn't he?

Poll Results!!

The results are in and 11 out of 16 of us have responded [which is pretty good, actually!!]

So it's official, Faerie Queen is the most anticipated book of the semester with 4 votes, followed closely by Shakespeare with 3, the Bible takes third spot with 2 votes, and Hobbes and "other" tie with one vote each. Sadly, nobody was excited to read Locke. Poor guy. Better luck with next years sophomores.

So a new poll will be up shortly, so be looking for it!!!

Swimming with Sea Turtles

Sunrise, Monday morning. I've just flown into Kauai the night before and am sprawled out in bed, trying to adjust my internal clock to a new time zone. I'm not a morning person as it is without having to deal with the hours of my day shifting back. Suddenly my mom rushes into my room. "Tim! Quick! There are sea turtles in the water outside our condo!" Intrigued by the thrill of seeing wild turtles, but still half-asleep, I shuffle out of my room and onto our deck overlooking the ocean. Sure enough, thick shells and scaly heads are poking in and out of the waves crashing on the rocks outside our accommodations. My sleepiness overcome, I remain on the deck for quite a while, newly fascinated by these majesties of the sea.

This early-morning experience created a newfound fascination for sea turtles within me, and I fell in love with the grace and beauty of these gentle green giants. I instantly eyed any marine book in every gift shop we visited and quickly flipped through it, searching for colorful sea turtle photographs. And whenever we encountered a piece of art centered on sea turtles, my attention was immediately commandeered.

Finally, on Saturday morning, my fascination reached ultimate fulfillment. Donning a swim mask, I headed out for the cove next to our condo. I caught sight of a few fish here and there, but I had seen those before. I had a different goal in mind for today. I wanted to swim with the sea turtles! Though they they tend to feed some distance from shore, it was not difficult for me to swim out to their feeding grounds. Soon I found myself sharing the waves with some of the most beautiful creatures in the entire ocean. I watched in awe as these turtles drifted back and forth, paddling into crevices for a nibble of seaweed, then darting out again into slightly deeper waters. The turtles weren't intimidated by my presence, either because of their size or perhaps past experience with humans. They took no notice to me, and thought nothing of lazily floating up beside me in search of food. The time I spent under the water with these majestic creatures was truly remarkable, and I will honestly never forget it!

As I returned to our condo, I reflected on my awesome experience and came to lament my lack of an underwater camera. "It's too bad I couldn't get some pictures," I thought. "I bet some of those would have sold nicely online." All during our vacation I've been capturing artistic shots with my camera in hopes that I'll finally be able to break into the micro-stock photography business. Some underwater sea turtle shots may have been just the thing!

At this point, I noticed that there were two things wrong with my thinking. For one, even if my camera were waterproof, I would likely need much more equipment than I own in order to capture any worthwhile shots. But secondly and more important, I realized that I had completely overshadowed the experience I just had. No matter how much a picture of a sea turtle might sell for, it would never ever be more valuable than the actual time I spent in the presence of those underwater beauties. I had just enjoyed a rarest opportunity with God's creation, and was disappointed that I couldn't turn that opportunity into a money-making venture.

The Mastercard ads have gotten it right all these years. There really are some things that money can't buy, such as a swim with the sea turtles of Kauai.

As for your snorkeling equipment, Mastercard will cover that.
T.H. Excellence

Fly Me to Kauai

As many of you know, I'm spending this entire week on the beautiful tropical island of Kauai. This is the first time I've ever visited any place tropical, and my time here has been quite amazing! While my family and I have seen a great variety of wonderful things, the highlight of our trip has easily been a helicopter flight around the entire island! The views were magnificent and breathtaking, and it was wonderful getting such a different perspective of Kauai. Coupled with the sensation of flying, the experience was one of my best ever! Below are several shots taken from the air:

























Now if only I had a bit of pixie dust, I could do this anytime I wanted!
Tim "Peter Pan" Higley

Youth, Age and Beauty

So lately I've been thinking a lot about the fascination that America has with youth and beauty, and how we seem to worship youth as the most beautiful, but lately I have been questioning that. Is youth most beautiful? What is beauty anyways? Is it really only flawless skin and tight abs and a noted lack of wrinkles? It seems like true beauty would be what reflects what is truly good. And each and every wrinkle in an old woman's face represents a year that was given to her [or him, but in the poem i wrote i used an old woman and so i shall here] to either seek after God and sanctify her soul and renew her into the image of God or seek after self. If used in the first, how can an elderly woman not be the most beautiful person of all since she is has had the most time to truly shape herself and be shaped by God further and further into His image. Is that not the most beautiful thing? Have you ever met one of those precious elderly women who so touched your heart with God's love that all you wanted to do was stare for hours into her eyes because you were captivated by her beauty? And what could be more tragic and ill-appearing that the old woman who spent her entire life in pursuit of herself and is now decrepit and unkind? And is there any person who you more want to avoid than the cranky, elderly woman who spends all her time complaining about her life and criticizing everyone around her?

I think that age can only make a person more beautiful or more repulsive, depending on how they use their years...and age, like bark, if stripped away will kill what is beneath. And so I wrote this poem:


The Tree and the Fountain of Youth


She calls him deeper
The boy with the dark black curls
To play in the woods
To be lost in her branches
To see her amongst the host of trunks and leaves.
He hears the call and steps in
Tender feet crunch leaves and twigs
And he touches her bark and peers deeply

The mountain calls him higher
The man with the dark black curls, now masked with grey
His weary eyes peer down at the old parchment
They said he’d never find it
But now he must, else she dies.

The boy reaches his hand out
Peels back the bark from her branch
Reluctantly it lets go and her pure, smooth bark shines
His breath quickens, heart pounds
Twigs crack at slow, retreating footsteps

He cannot read the map for the shaking of his weathered hands
As hers so often do
No longer does she embroider, her hand too unsteady to thread a needle
Her face weathered, her body weary
Yet her face smiles with deep beauty and her clouded eyes blanket her dear ones
But he cannot see it.

Her brilliance pulls the boy back and he is drawn
The bark tears more easily now
Turning it over and over in his hand
Brushing the soft wood with his young fingers.
She pleads with him to stop,
The layers protect what is precious within
But he cannot hear it.

The crest of the mountain disappears behind in the mist
The mist that flows down the crevices and valleys
Down to the lake.
It’s surface smooth, perfectly reflecting the barkless trees that surround
Flawless.

She had asked him to stay…not to go on this journey
But he didn’t hear her.


The man approaches the water,
Dips his hand cautiously and rejoices.

The boy drops the bark and walks towards her
His lust for the smoothness blinds him
He rips the bark away, strips her
Poping and cracking
Insects that took refuge within her flee
New twigs are ripped off, cut short by the violence
He peels her layers away, driven by the trunk beneath.

She pleads with him to stop, but he cannot hear
He is fixed upon her.

The man stumbles through the door and offers her the water
She reaches her hand out to him and accepts it.
Poping and cracking echoes through the house
Wrinkles that took refuge within her flee
Her face pulled taut, the skin flat across her face

The bark is completely stripped away,
He steps back and sees the smooth wood beneath.

He steps back and looks at her face
Weariness has gone and youth has returned
She lowers her eyes, ashamed, exposed
As her wisdom turns brown and falls to the ground
Her eyes harden, the compassion given from years of life has fled.
The gentle touch and knowing caress leave her now supple hands
The gentle tremor in her voice vanishes
And her youth shines forth.

The tree shivers and wind blows against it
The boy is gone and she is
Dead.

The man steps back and walks away
Her husband is gone and she is
Dead.

On Appetites.

My father always spoke to me of appetites. He used short words and earnest eyes and told me that experiments turn into habits. “You are what you eat” was a casual idiom he would usually twist into his grave ultimatum that “You are what you tend to do.” The man was fixiated, and I took it in stride all of my teenage years as a fatherly obsession that didn't demand much thought.

But the image was recently pressed into my heart from an outside source.

This truth, this soapbox belonging to my father, became real.

There is a hose in my backyard which eliminates the need to return to the kitchen for a drink. The water is an uncomfortable temperature, the kind that makes you sleepy and leaves your tongue feeling thick and your teeth sticky. When I dangle the nozzle over my upturned face I sometimes permit the dirt- a memento of the hose's resting place- to fling itself headlong into the stream as it sloshes over my lips and onto my shirt. It is chalky; it probably glows in the dark. But it is available, and it is the way of children. I drink.

There is a brook running from a mysterious cranny high in the mountains which eliminates the need to use a purifier. The water is chilling, the kind that makes your eyelids shake and leaves your chest aching and your fingers jumping. When I submerge my hands and draw from the fount I sometimes permit the banks- rocky and dark - to draw my toes to the water as the draught travels to my mouth. It is wild; it probably houses 50 species of strange weeds and fish. But it is deep, and it is the way of ancient wanderers. I drink.

If the sustenance of the hose had been bad before-- oh, how the problem has been compounded. Out of a good experience, a standard is born. That which I have always known has been surpassed by that which I now know. And how do I react? How do I alter my previous patterns?

After drinking from the lofty shores of a mountain spring, I take a swig from the coiled hose. Where I should have cultivated a newfound appetite I instead quelled it to maintain a poor habit, a ritual not worth preserving. I trade the purity of a wellspring for the mud-caked pipe growing behind the home of my parents- trying to forget I have known better.

Interterm is sprawled out before us- a vast expanse of blank canvas, with little scheduling compared to the rigors of the semester. Do not, do not, settle. O Christian, remember the times of fruitfulness and joy in the Spirit! Cultivate an appetite so strong for Christ-centered living that there is no other choice but for it to become an unbreakable habit, a dependency. Let us ignore the wrong habits of stasis and appetites for stagnancy, and instead use our past experiences in God's presence as incentive to spur us toward virtue.

These are the habits that form us- and what a blesssing it would be, to habitually become more and more like Christ! How much more fruitful our sessions will be if the following weeks shaped us more and more into the people God has always wanted us to be! How well we will be able to pray for each other!

This is my encouragement. And like my father, I find myself thrilled to the core by this possibility, this opportunity to become what I tend to do. May we each chase righteous habits this interterm- may we all return next semester with a shared appetite for godliness.