The Swan

The lake is crystal clear, with faint reflections of graceful beauty that is found in the sky above. Turquoise gently creeps up and sprinkles the viewer with a clear kiss as if to say, "Come play with me you lovely person." Suddenly, the still silence is shattered by a splash. Hee-Haw! No, it is not a donkey.

Swan.

Not the angelic animal that glides over the crystal surface of a beautiful lake, but a sweet part Asian-part white intelligent specimen of the male gender. Micah Swensen. One day he will learn how to stay on the inside of a canoe without being drawn outside as if guided by a new law of nature to do so.

I call him "Swan." I was at my friends house durning the summer, when they informed me of a new student coming to my school. He was from the same city as me, Loma Linda, and cousin to a most controversial figure, Wayanne Watson. I thought he was great before I even met him. Facebook revealed to me that he was good friends with my cousin, and anyone who is friends with my cousin, has to be really, really cool.

First day of school rolled around, and there was the Swan perched on the sofa with an air about him that seemed to have said he didnt want any redness to come through his skin. I approached him, said hi and met Mom. We chatted about the various regulations Swan was to be subject to for the next three years and then parted ways. I saw him next on the same couch, no mom present, engroused in a book. This scene repeated itself for many weeks, then, well, I guess it stopped.

Micah has taught me to be sensative. People who are hurting have the reception of his sympathy. I cannot bring myself to understand his love of the cold, but inside his heart, he is warm. Just this morning, Swan was overcome by compassion and in the middle of my breakfast said, "Lets pray for that person."

Swan, you mean so much to me and many people here. Never forget that you are special. (That was supposed to be a positive comment.) The world cries out for men that will care for it. You have answered the cry of humanity, and you have answered with kindness, love, and compassion.

Splash! Your head turns again to the scene of your disruption. The Swan appeares to attempt an airborn stunt, only to fall again, creating ripples that are felt the lake over, influencing every corner with its effects.

Forgotten

In life's happiest moments, remember.

In the hardest times of your experience, remember.

This too shall pass.

Compassion

There is a young man who lives in the room directly in front of me. He is a man of tall stature and lean features. Intelligent, graceful, neat, and intuitive, all encompasses a broad perspective of what he is all about. Whenever I walk into his room, a whole concoction of excellent smells fill my senses with a delightful memory of lovely events. If I am stressed, his room provides a pleasant resort to escape to from life's hard expectations. He is a patient friend, a listening ear, a gracious host, and best of all compassionate.

His name is Mason Neil.

Mason has come a long long way since I first met him. It was my Junior year, and first camp-out was in full play. I saw the man sitting on a log, chatting in a friendly manner.

The first real conversation I had with him consisted of me advising him to not hang out with girls as much. I know, I can be very nice at times.

Throughout the years, I have seen how great of a leader Mason can be. When I am tempted to violate a rule, he cautiously prods me in the other direction. He can be very bold at times, standing for what he believes even when it is unpopular.

He can crochet, knit, and design in a profound fashion. The artistic characteristics within him spill out into a cacophony of excellence that all people can find joy in seeing.

The thing that hits me most about Mason, is his simplistic compassion. He uses what he has and changes lives. The talent of writing is manifest in his life, and this he uses strongly to express his feelings: happy, sad, angry, lively, love. He loves God and writes about it. By the grace of God, people have been drawn closer to Him because of that.

What is in my hand that I can use. What is in yours?

Making vapour solid.

Let me tell you all a funny story.
I am not an avid hiker, nor do I like hiking. In fact I detest hiking very much. However, I do enjoy camping. Just plopping down in the great outdoors near a fire, and sleeping while John Cho keeps it going. Bless his soul, he is a kind man.

Besides not liking to hike, I really do not like Blaylock weekends. I gain no benefits, and am thoroughly board the entire time. True, I can count it all joy in those situations, but I still have a great distaste for it all. I rather do almost anything, even hiking to some far of place for the weekend, to get away from it.

Well, when I heard that Blaylock was coming this weekend, I began begging and pleading various staff members to take me camping for the weekend. No one is ever willing to stand up and take me. They always say, "Go talk to Craig."

When I heard that Blaylock was cancelled, I was elated. I completely forgot about any camping ideas. That is until Mr. James came up to me and asked if I wanted to go. I sat there in complete shock for about 10 seconds until I mumbled a few lame excuses. Mr. James looked at me and walked away.

Maybe I will go camping someday.

As I was writing this, I began to think about how sicking this scenario can be in different situations. When hard times come my way, I often wish that I may be liberated from them. In my haste to avoid trouble, I promise God that I would rather do anything to get out of it. Sometimes God answers my plea. I am delivered, and what happens? I forget all about my many promises of vapour.

Running of content that there is nothing to worry about, I leave God behind with my empty promises in His hand.