The Responsibility Of A Christian

To blend all of a hospital’s blood, vomit, and tears into masterpiece murals. 

To conduct a city’s sirens, car horns, and coins tossed into tin cans as orchestra.  

To collect a culture’s foulest, most offensive words and spell them 
"h-a-l-l-e-l-u-j-a-h."

And you thought it was all doe-eyed Jesus portraits, praise choruses, and “s-a-v-e-d.” 

Newspaper Word Cut-outs (Part 2)

Confession? 

I didn’t have a seventh-grade sweetheart, nor did I ever receive or send a circle-yes-or-no love note.  “Dark Blue” wasn’t the song I said I’d remember--it was “Hide and Seek” by Imogen Heap.  I don’t know what type of cigarettes Bethany was smoking, and besides, she didn’t light up inside the car.  

The sky wasn’t dark blue, it was black.  We’re all too old to be innocent.

Last night I went to bed clothed and woke up naked, and I remember nothing in between (except for half-waking around 6:00 and suspecting that my clothes were gone.)  

Well.  I wasn’t completed undressed... I was wearing underwear and socks.  

But I felt naked.  The majority of my body was naked.  The memory is naked and the term “naked” is general enough to allow for a couple little inconsistencies, a couple little socks.

Truth: The moon made a halo in the clouds.  

We did listen to Dark Blue at some point that night, and Bethany did smoke--just not in the car.  But... my memory was in the car.  The frozen moment of youth was in the car.  The sudden, unexpected nakedness was in the car.  

Our memories always wear underwear and socks.   

Truth: I went to bed clothed, woke up naked, and I can’t find my sweatpants anywhere.        

We Were Boxing The Stars (Part 1)

Last Wednesday night at two thirty in the morning the four of us drove home from dancing.  Our ears were ringing from the the pounding music and the swirling of the heat made us drowsy.  Julie dozed with her head on the backseat headrest and I rested my forehead on the window, staring at the crescent moon that made a halo on the clouds.  Heidi drove in silence, flipping off her brights when we passed a stray car.  Bethany sucked on a Marlboro and sang along with Jack’s Mannequin.  

I told them all, “For the rest of my life, every time I hear this song I’ll think of this moment.”     

Four girls in a car at two thirty in the morning.  Just us and the moon.  Just us, the moon, and the road.  Going home to sleep.  

But I’ll keep the moment in a shoebox under my bed, like the circle-yes-or-no love note from a seventh-grade sweetheart.  Because you don’t throw away innocence.    

“This night’s a perfect shade of dark blue.” 

Today I Like Purple

Red for the city (Chicago is burgundy), blue for staying here, yellow for depending on other people, white for I’ll-do-it-myself-thanks.  Green makes marriage and babies.  Orange makes home-sick.  Pink makes freedom or lots of mistakes, depending on the lighting.  Purple... can’t exist.    

So many shades.  So many rainbow promises.  So much beauty, if you blend it all together right. 

And everyone thinks they're a damn art critic.