Monsters, Inc.

It’s 2002 and you’re leaving the movie theater after seeing your new favorite movie, Monsters, Inc. The 7:00 o’clock summer sun hits your buttery smile and you walk towards your grandfather’s car. “2319!” your older cousin yells, signaling the others to run away from you. You’re used to being picked on but this time you welcome it–finally the center of attention. You chase them down in anticipation. You have never been this happy.

First year teacher in a pandemic

I wear it like a badge of honor. It’s no formal credential but should be. I think I’ll include it under “Accomplishments” on my resume… which I’ll need to beef-up before I apply to other jobs… because there’s no way I can stay in this field. Not after seeing it like this.

I’m happy to contribute and do my best while I’m here, but the school building needs to change and I have other things to change.

The Canvas Strategy

Find canvases for other people to paint on.

Ryan Holiday in Tools of Titans by Tim Ferriss

The strategy is fairly simple: if you want to advance your professional life, join an organization and focus your efforts on building others up while expecting nothing in return. As they improve, you will be propelled forward, too.

It’s a generous, liberating approach. For me, it means I don’t have to lead a company at 25. Maybe I can work some gritty jobs for the next few years and focus my efforts on supporting others on their journeys towards “success.” In the process I’ll learn a lot and build trust with my superiors and coworkers.

A lot changes when you don’t need material wealth, honor, or excessive self pride. Give me an apron and some steel wool and I’ll find you some canvases to paint on. Helping people make art is about as close as you can get to God.

Where you are

God has blessed
what you haven’t seen
yet—He just needs
more time
to get things ready
for you
there.

Wildfires

One day I will be dead
and it won’t bother anyone.
Family and friends will care
but after they’re gone?
Will my great grandkids
celebrate my work ethic
and my Invisalign smile?
Will they scroll through 100 years
of Instagram posts
to see who I loved
or will I be a fleeting thought
too vague to ignite conversation?
And will my great great grandkids—
forget it. Who thinks about
their great great grandparents?
What they cooked?
How they danced together?
How they sipped their whiskey? Their wine?
These legendary love stories
remain untold after a generation,
too long to write down
and too profound to be recited
with justice.
One day they died
and their lives became stories
we forgot to remember.
I hope they will remember me,
but this is a selfish hope.
Fire turns wood to ash
so a new forest can grow.
I am a mighty oak and a baby fern.
We are the forest
of forgotten wildfires.

The Bible in a Verse

There’s a verse in Isaiah
that summarizes the entirety
of sacred scripture in a comma
followed by four words:
      , and I love you

Personally, I think the comma stands
For every time we’ve failed as humans. 
God gives us everything but still we fall,
scraped knee symphony, no applause.
      Still He waits to catch us.

And gives me hope, like
there’s more to my story
than the mess in front of me.
One day things may work out.
      And there will always be tomorrow.

God in the first person reminds me
that I am, too. But if God Is then why
is He so hard to find? Sunglasses get lost
on my head and my phone in my hand.
      Show me where You really are.

Writing a verse about God’s love
seems lightbulb watt trivial—good luck
explaining lumens to a pickup truck.
Sometimes I get it, most of the time
      I’m stuck in my head, lights out.

Then there’s You, or is it Me,
or is it all of us because none of us
have the guts to let our hearts be free?
Hold tight to personal identity as you
      fade away in existential bliss.

Because you are precious in my eyes
and honored, and I love you.
Maybe one day I’ll let myself
be loved by God. Until then
      I’ll pretend everything is fine.

The day I met you

On August concrete outside
the City Line Target I saw you,
an out-of-place Latina, arms full
of lightbulbs, conditioner,
nail polish, and a printer.

The first shuttle was almost full
so I waited for the next one.
It was one of those days where
patience came easy and there
was nothing on the schedule.

Then divine inspiration filled my sails
and I was struck with an all-consuming
sense of purpose, so I asked if I could help.
You had it covered but obliged.
We sat together on the bus.

I carried your printer across campus
and you had Rodney sign me in.
It wouldn’t be hard to set up
but I insisted. Plus, I wanted to know
why your hat said Life is Good.

“I got it at Ron Jon Surf Shop.
It reminds me of home.”
I asked why you came to Philly
and you said something about
opportunity, or maybe identity.

You’d been on campus for a week
but hadn’t seen much of Philly,
only the highlights. You invited me
to play soccer on Sweeney Field
and gave me your number.

“Camille was my babysitter’s name,
you know. She was like my grandma.”
I was never much of a pickup artist.
I’m still not but will never need to be
because the grandma line did the trick.

You smiled so big that for a second I forgot
what was real and what was too good
to be true. I saw the earth in your eyes,
the future in brown hair falling on soft skin.
I wasn’t falling for you when we first met

but something about you made me forget
everything I once knew. It was you, etching
your Brazilian song in my lily-white heart,
The printer girl, traveler of the world,
stepping into my world and turning it

upside down, silencing my soul’s cries
for help. I wasn’t looking for love
but you found me. I wasn’t looking
for a relationship but God always
gives you what you need

You are the ink in my heart’s tray.
Without you I’d be a clunky black box,
a paper weight and one colossal waste of space
that turns on but never connects nor makes
because a printer can’t print without

that which blots the page. One day white pages
would transform into love poems like this one
but better. Imagine the stories we could write
together, side by side, starting as best friends
and staying best friends till the end.

You made me believe that even little kids
who didn’t have friends might find love,
and if that’s not proof of God then I’d lose
hope in things above. But you gave me hope.
You are my hope, a wellspring of embraces

I never knew I needed, a Polaroid wall
of memories I never knew I wanted,
an adventure-loving, dog-hugging,
dumpling-making, sweater-wearing
wonder woman, growing to love herself

and this fool more every day. You are
the gift I never asked for and will never
deserve. All I can do now is give thanks
and honor you, meu fedido, for loving me.
I promise to always love you too.

Dear Bridget

The only woman who understands
barbershops is a woman barber.

The rest just pretend,
call it a haircut

when it’s an awakening,
a becoming of becoming

who we can be, shaping
rough edges that make us

men. What makes us men
is more than talcum and shears—

we need eyes to see our ugly,
ears to hear our fears,

razor blades to shave away
what no longer serves us

as men.

Step in unkept.
Step out a new man,

less of you but more complete,
now aware that what could be

can be. You are what no other man
can be.

“What will it be?”

Pain, Art

Pain, because you can’t heal
if you don’t feel your scars,
relive forbidden memories, and
forgive yourself to give yourself
hope for tomorrow.

Art, because pain needs a place
to rest in peace, broken pieces
make masterpieces before
weary eyes. Be proud of this, be
witness of tomorrow.

Therapy, because dragons can’t
be slain in broad daylight. Daybreak
breaks silence once feared, now embraced
with hope, with witness, with a brave heart—
freedom in tomorrow.  

Jesus’ dad died

Not God the Father, but Saint Joseph. He’s not mentioned in the scriptures after Jesus was a kid, so sometime before Jesus turned 30 Joseph passed away.

Though the Son of God probably had a more comprehensive grasp of what happened after death, his dad still died. It was hard for him, as it’s hard for all of us when we lose somebody. But losing someone so central to your life while you’re so young…

Jesus cries with you. That’s kind of the whole point—a God who experiences what we do and strengthens us when we’re weak. Jesus died for our sins so we wouldn’t have to, but that doesn’t mean people don’t still die. They do.

Christ is with us in the mourning after a fall and the morning as we arise. He is a God who knows us and loves us because of it.