I remember hot summer days, walking off of the track in summer school. I checked behind me to see if Cody was behind me. 

He was perfect. I thought for sure, I was was Gabriela and he was my Troy. (Yes, I did make a High School Musical reference.) At least, he was a blonde basketball player-  and I knew he could sing. 

But there was Tess. 

Equally tall and blond- but unlike me, beautiful and charming.

 "Gold hair with a gentle curl... she who's winsome- she wins him".

Sharpay won that time. Gabriela continued singing solo.

Troy's smiles stopped coming my way- and went hers. Who was I to interfere with their middle class, blue eyed fairy tale? I felt like I was Taylor Swift watching Drew fall for someone else-

while I was the girl next door.

I swallowed my pride and kept running. 

I ran straight back into the loving arms of a band family where- as all good incestuous band family members do- I fell in love with my best friend. Twice. 

One loved another girl- the other loved dope. Both at one point had every ounce of caring I could offer, yet never took it. They chose something else.

I try everything- I grow my hair out, listen to every type of music, aspire to be tri-lingual, wear constricting skinny jeans- all in hope that some man would look twice (Other than the forty year old dad who wears Gap polos and coaches little league). I gag at Barbie girls who wear red lipstick and yoga pants that frame their asses if they were the Mona Lisa.

But... they have really hot Asian boyfriends that they've been with for a year.

I don't have a thing for Asian boys, but I do have a tad of confusion as to why I feel jealous 

of whatever...it... is- the it that gets the attention. 

I won't even start the whole bull of "I don't need a boyfriend- I'm happy without one." That's a load. We shouldn't find our identity in any one person, but we are programmed to want love and acceptance from members of the opposing sex. Maybe I'm not in the ideal place for it, or mature enough to handle it- but I still want it. 

Again and again, I watch myself back down to girls that have whatever 'it' is. It's not that I think I'm inferior in some way... but there's a lack of something. Maybe I'm just not one of those girls that can walk into a bar and have five drinks ordered for her. Maybe I'll never be magnetic.

But maybe I'll just fall into the same old trap. Maybe I'll fall for what's comfortable and known.-

Maybe, just maybe, I'll find that guy who always gets overlooked- not because he's not good looking, but because girls have always failed to see all he could be. 

I Wish You Were Here.

Music floats around the room like a pesky child- everyone loves it, but no one wants it around at that moment.
The tree is still waiting to go up. Goosebumps settle on my defiant legs, while I stare out the window, and then to the couch.

I thought surely by this year, you'd be here. We'd be sitting on that couch with my head on your chest.

Flakes like ash drop limply like a March rain- not exactly romantic, but still a promise of change to come.
Everyone is shouting. Everything smells funny. The tab that says Facebook occupies my eyes every minute of so.

In case I get a notification from you. Any sign you are alive. Or on this continent or not. Or if you are radically a stranger, or as close as a brother.

I laugh with my mom at stupid things. I give my dad sympathetic looks. I reason with my sisters, and torment my brother.

What is your family like? Do you miss them? Do you know them? Are you with them?

They say this is the most wonderful time of the year. I see people falling in love on every TV show, getting back together in every movie. Love being sparked, or found, or reignited.

But where are you?

Crear, Creer

Looking at the entire planet, some see an accident- others see a work of art. In leaves, shades of skin, snowflakes unique as personalities, and waterfalls some see chance. 

I see a father. A maker.

In the car yesterday, listening to the weekly Top 20, I came upon a theory of the image of God.

In Genesis, God tells us that we are made in His image- but what does this really mean? Does t mean that we look like him? Sonud like him? Speak the same language? 

What drives our lives? The desire to create. We create structures- design shelter and things that are asthetically pleasing. We paint and take photographs- we capture moments so we will remember them. We sing and create instruments and write- our of our imaginations. 

We build relationships- forge bonds, attempt to design families. We do ridiculous things to create connections and love. Everything we do is an attempt to create- a purpose, a life, a happiness.

Perhaps this is what He meant by making us in His own image- not an appearance, but a desire. The desire to form something and to be praised for it and therefore be fulfilled by it.

Think about it- no mattewr where you are, you're trying to create something- if nothing, a better self. That in and of itself is done by creating a new attitude and  perhaps a new habit or two.

Although me will never be able to make mountains by breathing over land, or paint a sunset, we will still all try to create just as our creator did. We will never grasp his reasons- but what reason does music have? We will never be able to tell what features of it's parents a baby will have. But we can paint it's likeness. We have so little control over so many aspects of life, yet we still try to guess at things we cannot fathom.

"So who are we to conquer?

Shouldn’t we the weak ones

Fall to our knees in awe

Of the maker of it all?"

What does it mean to those of us who are given the gift of creativity?

The novelists, the sculptors, the photographers, "hairbrush singers, dashboard drummers".

Are we set apart in some way? Does our ability make half of us embrace the designer of the things that inspire us, and half of us reject him because of the brokeness we encounter in them? All of the artists I know are completely submersed in either opinion. They either overflow with the joy that comes from a faith that grows with the obseravnce of what God has done, or reject Him. More often than not, from a sheer intelligence that goes beyond a typical human capacity to think on eternity and reason with moral concepts. They see the world through different eyes, that lunge at proof for the things they do believe in.

I have no idea why. This is simply an observation.

Do what you want with it. 

Pintor de Cielo- Anna Olsen
Crazy Dreams- Carrie Underwood