Insidious Adaptation

As my hands hold the stack of papers, making sure not to squeeze too hard, not to put creases into the otherwise perfect stack of story, I cannot help but judge my work as, "lacking." Obviously, there is always more one can do when they are in the submission process, there is always another way to do something, another article to find, something else that can be done, for the act of submission is not admission of perfection, but actually that there is need for more.  Acknowledging the overpowering force at times is difficult to a prideful man.  Submission of another kind, the kind where we bow our heads, admit we are powerless to a person, place, thing, God himself, now this is the admittance that we are not in control, that we are imperfect to the utmost meaning of the word, that we recognize the need. Submission has this tendency to be depicted as such a discounting thing as though submitting makes you a lesser version, like an action going backwards. Instead of gr...

The eggs of white, now colored in dye, while the chocolate and cured meats seem to be more abundant this day. Another holiday for the masses, for we love our reasons to celebrate. We love any excuse that justifies excess, justifies particulars, justifies indulgences. This is America and what we have done, what we have built, encourages this, for this is a celebration, not a sacrifice. No, the truth here is that the sacrifice has already occurred, and gets overlooked by commercialism. Wait, that is too easy an argument, for I sound, "holier than thou," for I too am guilty, even more than average of this reliance on excess. I too avoid the time it takes to appreciate why THIS Holy holiday exists at all. It is not for anything other than a celebration of life. When we die, that is it, for even science fiction shows have a hard time describing their way out of that one. Once a character dies, it is pretty hard to keep their character development going, after all, in death, I ...

Looking from the outside, a father whose perspective is altered, for no longer is the world simply, “the world,” but, "a problem." In childhood, the development is selfish, egocentric, for the idea of altruism is not yet firm. The concept is within us all, after all, we are human, connected at our most basic principles, however the environment promotes that which we will not see in ourselves until old enough to resent it. I was raised to be productive, now I cannot stop. I was raised to love my brothers, when is all I learned was how to present and resent them. I was raised to believe in Christ, yet that man I thought I knew then, not even a tip of the iceberg.  Patience, understanding, empathy, all virtues that have an expiration date inside an agenda.  I now know Him better, long to be close to Him, be like Him, work for Him, for the worship and education about Him is fundamental, nothing new there. What shines through me the most is from what I learned in childhood,...

One of my favorite pastime desserts during the Easter weekend was the Jell-O, jiggler eggs. These babies were a thick gelatinous mix through and through. Pure, unadulterated, collagen, color, and sugar where there was no chewing no breaking down involved and quite honestly I had attempted to swallow whole eggs at my peak. What was best about these thick, Jell-O creations was that the consistency was throughout and there was a lot of it. One of the reasons these overly-large candy bars, like the 2 pound Reese's or the 5 pound Hershey chocolate bars don't entice even the chubbiest of memories inside of me is because I image the texture has to change to make a bar, or a Reese's that big. There is no way the ratio of chocolate to peanut butter is the same, just bigger. Just like when I used to eat Macaroni growing up, I hated the shapes because they seemed to taste different, like some kind  of ingredient was in the noodles to help them hold their cartoon shape.  The rat...

The coolest guy I ever knew was a senior in high school when I was.a freshman. He was the quarterback for the football team, good looking, also had one of the hottest girls in high school as his girlfriend, at the time seemed larger than life, and he was a pretty nice guy as well. Deservingly so, I was, "bullied" in my first year in high school, to the defense of the perpetrators, I had a mouth and was of a larger build, so I may have deserved it. This guy did not give me any of this sort of attention, he had other things to do, he was just smooth and anytime I talked with him, seemed respectful, but yet, still cool. This guy went on to play football at a small, liberal arts college and I had ran into him throughout life since, he has seemed to maintain that, "coolness," I so looked up to as an inadequate youth, now as an inadequate adult. What is it about a, "cool" person that makes them so? Like, even as I was describing him, reflecting back on act...

Wars around the world, gun violence occurring in the schools, financial decline, famine continuing in 3rd world countries, pollution, global warming, decline of the family structure, on and on. I like to get the, "bad" news out, therefore the, "good" can be put into context. Out of these problems the world faces, in the hardest of times, there is one pure feeling that remains, one indescribable thing that can make it all worth while, love. Oh, what a daunting task to take on this word, for to talk about love means one has experienced it, felt it, allowed it to wash over them drowning out the pain, sorrow, fear. This wave consuming an entire being causing them to feel both the rush and the indescribable high unlike anything else this world offers. By, "this world" I mean here and now, for it is different for everyone, assumptions, perceptions, a life lived, all making experiences different, yet, the need to stay connected with one another, a need from God...

The last drink has been drunk. The final call has been made. The work day is over. The dessert bowl has been all scooped, and re-scooped, and there is simply, no more left. What happens when it's all gone? Well, "it" as we use it, has to be defined, which for each of us, could really be anything. IT could be pleasurable, IT could be an achievement, IT could be love, IT could be hate, IT could be pain, IT really could be anything we give it power to be, but IT will come to an end, for anything as we know it to be, will cease to be.   Like a blank piece of paper after all the work initially torn away, discarded, a part of ourselves, never to be seen again, however, built on, better.  A sad and disgruntling thought as I ponder what I can then rely on. Can I rely on my daughter, no, for she will either grow and move on as I want her to, or she will  suffer  from the debilitating effects of the conclusion of the human condition, the diagnosis we all must face. C...