Bicycles

It was late. Dark. We were expected to be home by sundown, but we almost never started home until the sun had already disappeared. By the time the sky morphed into custard colored curtains, Spencer and I knew our bikes would not get us back home in time to be saved from a long speech about how it’s not safe to be out alone at night.
“It’s a scary world, out there,” my Dad would say. It became almost a joke, as he said this every time someone left the house.
I never took the warning lightheartedly, however, because one afternoon a jogger was kidnapped off of the bike trail that ran through the back of our neighborhood. Apparently, she got raped, but I didn’t understand how people knew that if she was still missing. I think parents tend to assume the worst, especially when a girl is the victim. Or maybe our parents embellished the story a bit just to prove their point.
Derek never had to worry as much about getting home on time because he lived in the back of the neighborhood, along the row of new houses. We mostly rode around in this part of the neighborhood, but I didn’t like it as much. The houses were all painted white and had two stories. They seemed to stand all huddled, all the way down the street, as if the designers were afraid there wouldn’t be enough kids to fill up the playground.
I liked living in the front of the neighborhood. Spencer’s house lay on the row behind mine, a couple of houses down. Almost every day, after school, I ran down the street, cut through his next-door neighbor’s yard and knocked on his door.

They were called “chromies”, a name probably dubbed by some middle schooler, or maybe Derek’s older brother. Chromies screw onto the inside of car tires, where the air is pumped in.
The three of us, and probably kids from other neighborhoods, stole these fascinating, little objects. The greatest one we ever found was an eight-ball; well, Derek found it. Usually we scouted for these treasures together, but it was whoever had the guts to run up to the car, take the time to unscrew them, and escape before anyone ever came out of the house, that got to flaunt their merchandise on their bike tires the next day.
The eight-ball happened to belong to a huge black truck and, as my dad said, men with big trucks have something to prove; except, the exact quote goes a little differently. With both kids behind you, on their bikes and already in position to make a quick escape, nerves go crazy and your adrenaline starts pumpin’ real hard when it’s your turn to make a steal. There were many kinds; flat-tops and round-tops, those didn’t receive a great deal of respect; rubber ones, which basically were not even worth stealing; and once, Spencer found a yellow with a smiley face. It remains debatable whether the smiley face was actually stolen. He could have easily bought it at the Bike Doctor.
The chromie days ended the day we took them off of Spencer’s mom’s car. Derek stayed home that day and as a result we had nobody to tell us that this was a bad idea. It happened to be the day before Mrs. Evans took her car to get the tires filled up with air.
Needless to say, Spencer had to spill the beans. I don’t blame him; I would have done the same. Actually, if he had stolen from my mom I probably would have knocked him out. Having to apologize to your best friend’s mother, however, can turn out to be quite humiliating.
Mrs. Evans could have been my second mother. I could be reached at their phone number about as easily as my own. Stealing chromies was like a game, but having to confess our involvement took the fun right out of it.

The neighborhood became our town. Bikes were our vehicles. As with all vehicles, the bikes had to be tested. Spencer’s bike was light and cheap, but good for getting air off jumps. His bike usually became the candidate for destructive tests; however, Spencer took pride in his bike and no one used it for those tests. Derek’s bike was one of those real BMX bikes which were heavy and hard to ride. He always could perform nice tricks, but when I hopped on the magic had left. Each of us fit our own transport perfectly.
Near the back of the neighborhood there stood a three foot lip on the side of the road. Other kids had carved through it with their bikes and had made a perfect launching ramp. It was a perfect place for us to show off our tricks.
I needed to practice jumping the ramp, alone. After school, when I knew Spencer and Derek were not home, I rode to the ramp and started practicing. On the first jump, as I lifted off the ground my foot slipped off the pedal and the metal spikes went into my knee as both the bike and my body soared through the air. The cut went deep, but it took a second for the blood to start. Riding home, a bit shaky from the accident, ideas for what I would tell my mom flowed in and out of my head. I had a few ready, but the compassion came as a surprise. There was no need for a story. No need for an explanation.
The stitches earned me some respect. There were four and all metallic blue.

Finals

Do not think too hard about the race,
Thoughts consume and torture the mind;
Dive in, swimming with a flailing pace.

Do not fret coming in last place,
Confidence is key for our kind;
Do not think too hard about the race.

You want to feel as though in a chase,
It's not propitious to fall behind;
Dive in, swimming with a flailing pace.

A tyrannical training routine you have had to face;
By competition day all facets will combine-
Do not think too hard about the race.

Bananas for breakfast will suffice,
Tighten your goggles or else you'll go blind;
Dive in, swimming with a flailing pace.

Up on the blocks hold resolute as one who prays.
Make sure you stretch to loosen up in line;
Do not think too hard about the race,
Dive in, swimming with a flailing pace.

A Land Down Under

Some while ago lived a seaman in a dockside shack with his wife and small boy. This boy was named Aquarius. The man found his only income from the few crab pots he set in the sea just outside the bay. A certain jewel was said to exist deep in the sea, which maybe was the reason the father insisted so strongly on sticking to such a low-paying job. The pots were absent from view one morning as he set out to collect the small creatures; for the past weekend had been deeply overcast with intense fog, and the man unknowingly had set the pots way beyond his normal spot. The man knew he had not the time to search for these misplaced cages as the catch was due to the market before sundown. So the old seaman gathered what he could and headed back to the docks. Upon arriving home that night with what he managed to earn from his miniscule catch, his wife complained, “And you suppose this is enough to support this family?” “The best pots I could not find…I don’t understand. I set them last night,” the old man answered with a defeated tone. Motioning to the young boy the wife proclaimed, “Have the boy search for them.” “And how do you suppose he do that? We have one dinghy which I need to collect the remaining crab pots,” retorted the man. “He can swim, moron!” Thinking about the presumption, the old man thought to himself how far he might have actually set the traps.

Aquarius had always enjoyed boasting of his skill in the water. Because of this conceit, his step-mother was always trying to find a way to use this against him. She knew by challenging Aquarius, he would be unable to resist an opportunity to flaunt his gifts. Aquarius had attained certain knowledge about swimming outside the bay, however, and knew to bring buoys on his journey. Every two hundred yards or so the boy would place a buoy in the water, swim to the bottom of the sea, and anchor it to the bottom; the first buoy set just as the flash of the light house met the horizon.

A task requiring a skill unknown to most people, swimming to the bottom of the sea scared even Aquarius. Every buoy, even though deeper still, became easier and easier to the boy. Not until more than three buoys had been anchored, Aquarius assimilated this increasing facility with a strange sensation which, as he swam deeper, grew in intensity. The feeling’s significance reached Aquarius as he anchored the tenth buoy. Reaching the floor, the boy realized he had no need to return to the surface for a breath. Aquarius felt as though he had the ability to breathe underwater; however, the shear thought frightened him back to the surface. Yet, this discovery led Aquarius to forget his mission and continue further into the sea. The eleventh buoy was his last, and this time he went to the bottom with a newfound confidence.

About half way down, Aquarius spotted a glimmer towards the bottom. Feeling completely free of the need to return to the surface, he explored. The glimmer grew until; at last, Aquarius had reached the glistening palace of Ubombay. Not people, but similar, the inhabitants were a new sight to Aquarius.

“Welcome stranger,” said a creature that slightly resembled an old man.

“What are you?” the boy asked, without a sense of respect.

“Well, young boy, we represent the land down under, where women glow and men plunder.”

“I feel like I’ve heard that before…” the boy chimed thinking of a popular song he recently heard.

“Not unless you’ve been here before,” replied the ubombayan.

Aquarius then made his second encounter in Ubombay. Very quickly he recognized this to be the female version of the ubombayans. “Aquarius? Really?” piped the girl, who now closer could be described as younger looking. “Uh, yea? How in the world do you know my name?” he barely could speak. “English class silly,” she said. “Wha…wait, Christie? You serious?”

After describing how she was in the same fog as his father, got lost sailing, and took refuge in Ubombay, Christie told Aquarius she had no way of knowing how to find her way back to the bay. She had been there once before, but had found her way back. At this point he realized Christie was the one who sang him the song about a land down under a week before at school.

Aquarius then explained to Christie the buoy path he had created. When they returned to the bay, Christie showed him pieces of the palace that shined like stars. Now this is what the girl had sold upon return of her last trip. Aquarius gave a portion to his father, and told him not to worry about crab pots anymore, for crab pots couldn’t reach such jewels. The father was now to rely on his son’s extravagant skill of swimming, as he observed from his perspective. Aquarius and Christie kept the secret of Ubombay to themselves.

Son

I don't know, go ask your mother; how dare you go and ask her after I already said no?; don't hit the ball into the neighbor's yard; look both ways before crossing the street; stay on this side of the road; listen to your sister, she'll help you with what to wear to school; be your own person, middle school is where you begin to define yourself; make friends with everyone, everybody wants to feel loved; be careful who you confide in, for often times they are only looking out for themselves; but make them think they are your friend no matter what; love your neighbor, as God commands us; hate i a strong word; do well in school, your future career depends on it; have fun while you are still young; but don't stretch yourself too thin, you seemed too stressed; you are a kid, enjoy life; you are learning very good time management skills; this is how to cut a cigar, thats the side to take the smoke from; don't inhale the smoke or; I told you not to inhale, look at how you're coughing; when you take the wheel, be careful to remember all I have taught you, but don't do what I do; be careful to whom you discard the word of love; but love your enemy, and you will have gained eternity; represent yourself with a firm handshake; look a man in the eye when speaking with; leave an impression, and be remembered as a face not a name; observe the mother, this is what your wife is to become; get on the good side of her parents from the start; I give you all my trust; but if you lose it, it is very hard to regain; Can I be trusted?; Well, how has your life been so far?

Profoundly Setting Sun

An orb that comes to shed light
Like the Son did for us all
Untinctured by stains, it produces
A clear and brilliant spectacle; rises in the midst of darkness.

As the sun sets, vibrant hues of red engirdle the sky
A nightly reminder to the shade that leavened the wood
After a day of vitalizing the world
Not to take advantage of the gift would eventually be deplored

Green flash bids farewell, expected, yet
Lineaments sometimes forget to surface
Still a quick last shout, far from a blithering,
Profound words escape to expostulate any still questioning.

The presence, however, remains extant.
With the daily deprecating daylight there is a promise
Of return, daylight temporary relieved by a less tangible,
But all the same vivacious, light.

College Essay

1. People find many ways to express their inner world. Some write novels; others paint, perform, or debate; still others design elegant solutions to complex mathematical problems. How do you express your inner world, and how does the world around you respond?

I consider myself blessed in the fact that both of my older sisters have found husbands that truly live as disciples of Christ and provide for me a perfect model of what I need to strive to be when I’m older. When I heard Mark, my brother in law, had planned to spend a couple of weeks in a small Mexican town doing missions work, I had to follow in hopes of learning from him. Only I had no idea this trip would bring me to fruition of the complete adoration I experience working to help others; in a way, expressing my inner world for everyone to see.


We spent the time in a Celtic monastery, the Cuirim House, which focuses on ministry in the slums of Nogales, Mexico. Everyday we would go out into the neighborhood and work with locals to repair homes and play soccer with children. These twelve days for me were summarized by the proverb, “Tears are words the heart can’t express.” How true that is when sitting atop a cinderblock wall, looking out over rolling hills sparkling as the setting sun reflects off the scrap pieces of metal which provide shelter to the very same people who have smiled for a week straight because you have brought love into their lives. The kind of love only discovered in the presence of God. The kind of love that lets this ministry thrive in a place so desolate of hope and optimism. Christ lives within me and I in Him, making my inner world only expressible through being a servant to God’s work.

The energy created by living out this inner world, I believe, is what created such an inspiring connection between Juan, a local kid who found most of his time exhausted in and around our house, and I as we relaxed together in a hammock one starry night. Somehow, after building doors, lying concrete, and repairing churches, the act of resting with a small child brought me to realization of who I was actually helping. We did nothing more than periodically provide slight laughter at my pathetic attempts to ask him questions in Spanish, yet somewhere in the shallow conversation about his favorite subject in school, existed a deep and profound presence that neither of us could possibly understand, but still embraced. Maybe we accepted this presence of something so extraordinary and terrifying because it was a glimpse into the perfect harmony God originally created on this earth. Juan was somewhat of a terror in the neighborhood, but for this brief span of about twenty minutes he became the most peaceful seven-year-old I had ever encountered. Among the distant and still vivid sounds of wild dogs barking, music which, played by the water trucks, was heard all throughout the night, and car horns, the two of us were able to communicate in a silence that was capable of drowning out the loudest of sounds.


Yes, I cried. On that wall made of cinderblocks, tears ran down my cheeks. Tears representing hatred that people had to live the way the people did down in those glistening metal shacks. To this day the only reason I suspect I was able to uncover this beauty came from the possibility that the Cuirim House had brought such an insurmountable amount of love to the area, that a layer of holiness had glazed over the city of Nogales. I am this city. My inner world, one that suffers because of sin, glistens due to the tremendous love of God, which I desperately try to extend to kids like Juan.