Writing Exercise

Heat Exhaustion

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Heat. Beating down. Relentlessly. Swarming. Suffocating. Drowning. Hazy air. Choking. Clouding. Blinding. The weight, bearing down on my back, pulling me to the ground like wet cement, and the stereo in my hand, ripping my muscles despite the shifting–how can I ignore the pain? Heat. Never ending. Burning. Aching. Thirsting. Water.

I stop for a moment, allowing my body to collapse to the sidewalk. I set the stereo next to me, and gingerly pull at the straps to my backpack, letting it slide to the ground. Pulling a twenty ounce bottle from the bag, I untwist the cap and take a long, cool drink. Relief. Refreshment. Cold. Soothing. Calming. My legs ache. My stomach feels squeezed and compressed. Sweat drips into my eyes, the salt burning.

Alone. Solitary in the city of millions. But what choice do I have? A 45-minute walk to the train station—then true relief. Oasis. But 45 minutes in good health. I have two hours to make it. I seriously wonder if I will. People hurry by. Suits and dresses, briefcases, cameras. They all have places to go. They all have an agenda. They all pass by.

A woman trips and falls, her knee slamming into the concrete. Wincing, she steadies herself. The pedestrians pause for a moment, hesitating. But the woman forces herself to her feet, before a helping hand is offered. The pedestrians continue. The woman brushes herself off, and limps onward. I feel her pain. I understand.

With another swallow of cool liquid, I force the burden onto my back again, and struggle on. Twenty steps later feels like an eternity, and my throat is parched and dry again. My legs cry out with each step. My stomach tightens. Dizzy. So dizzy. Hazy. Vision failing. Mind reeling. Trembling. Press on. Half way there. Train Station. 8:30. Air conditioning. Oasis. Heat.

Again I fall in a mass. I couldn’t force myself to walk farther. I collapsed and downed another mouthful of cool water. It didn’t help. My throat tightened. I wanted to die. Leaning back, I let my body rest on the ground. Muscles loosened. Stomach relaxed. Heart rate slowed. Trembling stopped. The skyline circled above me. The clear blue sky between the tall buildings. So beautiful. So clear. The buildings towering above seemed to sway back and forth, back and forth. I squeezed my eyes shut. Home. Sleep. Bed. Air conditioning. Mommy. I’ve never been so alone and abandoned in my entire life.

Introspection

What Am I To Do?

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What am I to do? The world presses on, the clock never stops. Sometimes you wish it would go faster, sometimes you wish it would die. My dreams loom heavy on the horizon. My wishes, my desires burn brightly all around me. Sometimes I don’t know where I’m going. Being a student, I sometimes feel so cut off from reality. A life of study is easy. You’re not working your hands to put food on the table. But those days are coming–sooner than I expect. I wonder if I’ll be ready, if I’ll be able. Sometimes I want those days to come sooner, sometimes I wish they’d go away. Can I support myself? Can I support the ones I love? Can I pay the loans that hang above my head? Maybe being a student isn’t so easy. I always seem to be asking the questions, never really grasping the answers. Some day.

God, Church & Stuff

Who am I that you are mindful of me?

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Who am I that you are mindful of me? My mind reaches to the heavens and my dreams soar on the wings of my potential. I get so far ahead of myself I forget the reason I’m reaching for the stars. My head gets so big I can’t see anything else.

Yet when I come to you, and humble myself before you. When I forget my ego, my dreams, my anything, and grovel before you, stuttering like a dehydrated vagabond–what amazes me, what absolutely floors me–is that you stoop down and pick me up. You brush off the ego, the inflated dreams, and the sin. You let it all fall away with the wind, and you see me as I am. As who you created me to be. And you hold me tight. I stammer like a four-year-old, and you listen intently as if I were a theologian.

Father…

That we could be called the sons of God.

Introspection

Friendship in Pain

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There you were. That name. That voice. That face. I haven’t seen you in so long. The last time we talked wasn’t exactly easy. But that was five months ago. They say time heals all wounds. The healing came sooner than I thought it would. Then again you were the one in pain, and I can’t speak for your healing. But aside from the awkwardness, it seemed to be okay. Things will be okay. They will be all right. Perhaps I was wrong. You wondered why I let you in on my newest trial, and perhaps this is the very reason. Friendship is proven in the fire of adversity.

Daily Grind

Adjusting to College

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Terror grips his heart. You might not know it from a casual glance, but he’s terrified. You can tell by watching his face. His eyes are puddles of fear, his voice wavers, and he can hardly sit still. He hardly ever speaks, and when he does it’s quiet, nervous, and unsure. The joy of being a college freshman.

Certainly not everyone undergoes this kind of anxiety. But some do. The transition to college can be quite a shock for some. Totally new everything, new home, new friends, new school, new teachers, new part of the country. It can be pretty overwhelming when you don’t see a single familiar face in the crowd of hundreds.

But I know how this kid feels. It was the first week of class, and he still wasn’t settled in yet. He still doesn’t feel comfortable. I know how he feels, because two years ago that was me. As class was dismissed and I headed out into the hall, nodding to several friends as they trickled by, I slowed my pace and let the freshman fall in next to me. He had been in my group, so I knew his name. I started some conversation, and I actually could see the vice of terror loosen, and I could hear his voice in a normal tone. It was only a few sentences of conversation–not even anything deep–but it brightened his day. Sometimes it only takes a few well-placed words to chase away the drudgery.

A work-at-home dad wrestles with faith, social justice & story.