The Gift I Would Give

Imagine a child riding his or hear bike for the first time, training wheels and all. Imagine the expressions on their faces. Proud, happy and excited. “Mommy! Look at me!” They might say. On the flipside, imagine a child sitting in the streets. His skin covered in dirt, clothes torn. Digging in the trash for food. What expression would be on his face? I guarantee that happiness doesn’t even cover it. How about the “Irrecoverable Children” in the Romanian orphanages? Can you imagine what it would be like to pick up a child, who has never been held before, who craves the attachment, but it’s too much for them, so they lash out? I have a dream, a dream that I am determined to make a reality. I have a gift, the gift to inspire.

If I write about inspiration, would I be able to get my message across powerfully? Effectively? People understand that there is a great deal of need out there. What do they lack? I feel very strongly that people are lacking a need to be compelled. They need inspiration, someone to look up to, who will motivate them to take time out of their lives to help a child on the street, or a helpless orphan who’s been doomed to a terrible and miserable fate. If I were to give my gift, I would educate them on what being inspired is truly about.

First, there comes a time where you’ll have to stand alone. There are countless amounts of people out there trying to take a stand everyday because of their beliefs and/or values. A lot of times, people get criticized for it. However, as part of my gift there are "must's and have to's". You have to be willing to sacrifice. Now I’m not talking about sacrificing so much as giving up all of your worldly possessions, or family, but rather sacrificing your time, your social status and popularity. You must feel confident enough within yourself to follow your own dreams. You must be willing to make sacrifices. You must be capable of changing and rearranging your priorities so that your final goal can be achieved. Sometimes, familiarity and comfort need to be challenged. There are other times when you must take a few extra chances and create your own realities. Be confident enough that you won't settle for a compromise just to get by. Appreciate yourself by allowing yourself the opportunities to grow, develop, and find your true sense of purpose in this life. Don't stand in someone else's shadow when it's your sunlight that should lead the way.

Those are some of the pointers I would make to those who lack motivation to help those children, or people in the streets. Become a leader. Become someone who wants to make a difference. When you take care of yourself, and find out who you are, you are able to inspire others. Helping others, helps build the ability to inspire because you've been there to see it personally. You have seen first hand the misery, the misunderstanding of knowledge, the pain, involved in those places who need someone to stand up for them and care for them. When the opportunity arises, then, and only then, will you be able to use my gift to you, and inspire others to want a better life.

Mother Teresa once said, “Spread love everywhere you go: first of all in your own house. Give love to your children, to your wife or husband, to a next door neighbor... Let no one ever come to you without leaving better or happier. Be the living expression of God's kindness; kindness in your face, kindness in your eyes, kindness in your smile; kindness in your warm greeting."
The gift of inspiration begins with knowing what's within yourself, knowing how to illuminate that glow. The glow of kindness, love, and service.

Are you willing to stand up to the challenge to rise up and help mankind? Are you willing to want to make a difference? The world needs leaders, the world needs motivation to help others in need. The world needs someone to take the time to sit down for a half hour and have a conversation about life, and struggles. Will you sacrifice in order to inspire? Find a person, or a group of people, take the time to understand them. Use your life experiences and knowledge to help them and to inspire them. I invite you to join me.

The Gift Of Inspiration

Imagine a child riding his or hear bike for the first time, training wheels and all. Imagine the expressions on their faces. Proud, happy and excited. “Mommy! Look at me!” They might say. On the flipside, imagine a child sitting in the streets. His skin covered in dirt, clothes torn. Digging in the trash for food. What expression would be on his face? I guarantee that happiness doesn’t even cover it. How about the “Irrecoverable Children” in the Romanian orphanages? Can you imagine what it would be like to pick up a child, who has never been held before, who craves the attachment, but it’s too much for them, so they lash out? I have a dream, a dream that I am determined to make a reality. I have a gift, the gift to inspire.

If I write about inspiration, would I be able to get my message across powerfully? Effectively? People understand that there is a great deal of need out there. What do they lack? I feel very strongly that people are lacking a need to be compelled. They need inspiration, someone to look up to, who will motivate them to take time out of their lives to help a child on the street, or a helpless orphan who’s been doomed to a terrible and miserable fate. If I were to give my gift, I would educate them on what being inspired is truly about.

First, there comes a time where you’ll have to stand alone. There are countless amounts of people out there trying to take a stand everyday because of their beliefs and/or values. A lot of times, people get criticized for it. However, as part of my gift there are "must's and have to's". You have to be willing to sacrifice. Now I’m not talking about sacrificing so much as giving up all of your worldly possessions, or family, but rather sacrificing your time, your social status and popularity. You must feel confident enough within yourself to follow your own dreams. You must be willing to make sacrifices. You must be capable of changing and rearranging your priorities so that your final goal can be achieved. Sometimes, familiarity and comfort need to be challenged. There are other times when you must take a few extra chances and create your own realities. Be confident enough that you won't settle for a compromise just to get by. Appreciate yourself by allowing yourself the opportunities to grow, develop, and find your true sense of purpose in this life. Don't stand in someone else's shadow when it's your sunlight that should lead the way.

Those are some of the pointers I would make to those who lack motivation to help those children, or people in the streets. Become a leader. Become someone who wants to make a difference. When you take care of yourself, and find out who you are, you are able to inspire others. Helping others, helps build the ability to inspire because you've been there to see it personally. You have seen first hand the misery, the misunderstanding of knowledge, the pain, involved in those places who need someone to stand up for them and care for them. When the opportunity arises, then, and only then, will you be able to use my gift to you, and inspire others to want a better life.

Mother Teresa once said, “Spread love everywhere you go: first of all in your own house. Give love to your children, to your wife or husband, to a next door neighbor... Let no one ever come to you without leaving better or happier. Be the living expression of God's kindness; kindness in your face, kindness in your eyes, kindness in your smile; kindness in your warm greeting."
The gift of inspiration begins with knowing what's within yourself, knowing how to illuminate that glow. The glow of kindness, love, and service.

You Exist

So often when I am embracing you,
It seems that you exist in this world
only because of me and I exist because of you.

It's not easy to wander in this world
and not lose one's way,
but the greatest happiness of all
is in giving joy to one's beloved.

And if the king can have his throne,
and if the bird can have his Spring nest,
and God can have his heaven,
then I, my sweetheart, I can have you!

Success Is The Only Option

I succeed
Failure is not an option
It is a learning experience that is painful
I have had the painful experiences
Not failures.

I succeed
Winning point by point
Or acing a test
But when I flunk
It is an obstacle to overcome
Not a failure.

I am guarded
Too afriad to let anyone get close to me
That resembles weakness
That's unacceptable and unbearable
But I am social, and not because I have to
Rather because I need to.

I am not shy
I am not afraid to be me
From having a neglected childhood
To divorced parents
Having psychotic relationships, and overcoming them
I accept nothing less than success.

I raised my little sisters
When I was still a kid, myself
I was not resentful
Nor was I the one to argue
"Just shut up and get 'er done"
That is what I would think.

Did Micheal Jordan give up
When he was cut from the high school team?
Did Lucille Ball quit acting
When critics said she was too afraid?
Did Abraham Lincoln shut down after he lost 8 elections?
No.


Here I am
Unafraid, guarded, outstanding
The pain suffered was but a small moment in history
I overcome
I overdo
I know how to love and be kind
But better yet,
I know
I succeed.

I Remember

I remember dancing with you in the street.
I remember the stars shone bright, and no care in the world seemed to matter.
I remember the notes we shared.
I remember how we took a million pictures.
I remember the Porsche, and how much we were obsessed with it.
I remember your house, with the indoor basketball gym in the basement.
I remember watching movies, but not really watching.
I remember hunting, singing, hiking.
I remember going out to eat, and you just staring at me.
I remember how we met, although, it wasn't romantic at first.
I remember our first kiss.
I remember the time where you were all I thought about.
I remember feeling like the luckiest person in the world.
I remember getting caked in mud from a mud fight with you.
I remember prom, and the food.
I remember how it rained all day during prom.
I remember us going outside in the rain, hand in hand.
I remember slow dancing the night away in the rain.
I remember our prom clothes getting ruined, and I still laugh.
I remember the signs.
I remember you getting distant.
I remember how you broke my heart.
I remember how I turned my heart from something so nice, to stone.
I remember how you came back to me.
I remember telling you how I could care less how sorry you were.
I remember missing you.
I remember feeling sorry for myself, when I should have moved on.
I remember you being ashamed.
I remember you cheating on me.
Then I remember that I wasn't so sorry anymore.

The Woman In The Black Dress #13

I walk aimlessly towards the beach. For someone who has had as big of a misfortune as me, they would understand. No. Not misfortune, more like a hard life. It never seemed to end or slow down. I start to think that God is punishing me. But for what? The sand beneath my feet is scoldingly hot, the grains squish inbetween my toes. Focus. One thought at a time. With each step, a tear flows off my swollen cheek as the memories of my husband and I roll over my thoughts.

I step into the water. The coolness of it cools down my burning feet. The feeling was a calming sensation, however, my hatred still burned from within. My heart, engulfed in misery.

"Oh, God! Why have you done this to me?" "I know you love me, but do you really care?" "Why, God?" I sobbed, falling into the water on my knees. My hands sifted through the wet sand underneath the salty water. I grabbed a handfull and brought it to the surface. A precious sea shell appeared through the sand. Its shape, and colors were breath taking. It was like the shell my husband brought back when he went to Hawaii.

My husband just died of cancer. It was a long process for him, and extremely painful. He was suffering, and I couldn't do anything to save him. I watched him slowly die. The cancer basically sucked him dry of all life, and for that, and for many unanswered prayers, I was angry at God. I stood there, in my elegant, black dress. Crying. Pleading with God to give him back to me. I knew this wasn't going to happen. So, I turned towards the beach and started walking away. A thought came to me. I had no direction. I was lost...

"What am I suppost to do now, God?!" I yelled out to sea.

Impulse 2

Brad: "World's Best Cup of Coffee". Sounds like a scam.

Jamie: It's just coffee, not a bomb to blow up all of Juno.

Brad: (deep in thought) What if it is a bomb? (he says in hushed tones)

Jamie: Brad, don't be stupid. It's not a bomb alright?

Brad: (uneasy) What if it's poisonous?

Jamie: Why don't you order one and shut up.

(Jamie tells the waitress that she wants Hot Chocolate and Chicken Tortilla Soup. The waitress turns to Brad)

Waitress: Can I get you anything, sir?

Brad: Can I ask what's in your "World's Best Cup of Coffee"?

Jamie: You have got to be kidding me!

Brad: You can never be too sure these days.

Waitress: Uh... Coffee, sir.

Brad: Don't get smart with me! Just get me a Dr. Pepper then.

Waitress: Anything to eat?

Brad: I'm risking my life as it is ordering the drink! What are you trying to do? Poison me?

Jamie: I'm so sorry. He's not right in the head right now. He thinks that everyone is trying to kill him.

(the waitress just stares, then slowly slips away. Jamie is glaring at Brad now)

Brad: What?

Jamie: You're an idot.

Sketch

I looked up. Never in my life had I seen something so beautiful! The stuff was cold, but each flake had its own unique shape. It piled up, but laying in it gave deffinition to a whole new world of comfortable. Touching it sent chills down my arms and legs. I even bent down to taste it, but it didn't really taste like anything. I wadded it up into a ball, tossing it up into the air and catching it. Some of my friends say that it's called "Mo" and the others say their mommies and daddies call it something else. The mysterious white stuff amazed me! All I wanted to do was stay outside all day long and play in it. I loved the stuff! I wonder what the stuff's reall name is? I can't ride my bike through it, or I'll slip and fall. I have to wear a big coat because if I don't, I will freeze. Mommy says that I could get hypo-fer-mia if I play too long outside, but I promised her that I wouldn't be too long.

"Mommy, what's the white stuff called?" I asked pleadingly.

"It's called snow, dear." She replied.

Snow. The cold white stuff all over the ground! Or like clouds! Except Ricky, from next door, says that you would fall straight through a cloud. So, I asked him if he has ever tried. He said no, but that he knew someone who did. But I didn't care. I just loved the snow. Snow was the best toy I could ever have. It made perfect sense. Then I went outside to play some more.

Scene It

Jill: (Uneasy) I'm sorry to make you do this.

Jack: Make me do what, exactly?

Jill: Well, you know...

Jack: I don't care. I'm already going to H-E double hockey sticks anyways.

Jill: Stop saying that!

(There is a silence between them. The awkwardness was almost suffocating.)

Jack: (Annoyed) Honestly, I'm not too happy we're in this mess. I mean, there could have been other solutions to this.

Jill: It's our last chance to ever be able to do something like this! We should feel excited! In all honesty, I guess I'm not that excited.

Jack: I'm not excited that you use me like this. I'm basically a tool for you to just handle. I don't know why I let you control me.

Jill: Haha. I don't control you. You allow yourself to be controlled. I was just fine NOT going. If you want, we can turn around.

Jack: We're more then half way there. Are they really doing it in this rain?

Jill: I guess so. I spent enough on this dress as it is. Now, it will be ruined.

Jack: Oh no. Whatever will we do! The world as we know it, is ending because of a dress!

Jill: Oh, shut up. You know how much prom dresses cost?

Jack: Just slap a garbage sack on ya, and a few ribbons, and call it good.

"Football Isn't Just For Guys"

I knew that the joints in my arms and knee's were aching, however I ignored it and kept playing. With forty seconds on the clock, the ball was hiked, and the pass was thrown. Touchdown. After the pass was thrown, I was sacked from the side and couldn't seem to move. The more I tried, the more I struggled. So, I just lay there, hoping, praying that someone would notice and not leave me to rot on the ground. What I saw next was a mixture of red and blue lights, and a dozen little, black blobs running towards me. The scenery around me was fading slowly, then blackout.

I am not your typical quarterback. I strived really hard to be where I am today, and because I am a girl, people's primary response to me is that I am crazy. No, I am not crazy. Football is my passion, it has been ever since my dad was killed about three and a half years ago. When my dad passed away, I made a promise to myself that I would accomplish something huge, something that most girls have never done before. Due to some financial complications, also due to my father screwing us over in illegal business deals, my goal was very limited. I wasn't able to start a humanitarian aid foundation to cure Cancer, I couldn't travel anywhere, therefore, I decided to look at the qualities I could do within my community.

One day at school, I was talking to some of my friends when I noticed a flyer for the upcoming year of football tryouts. My thoughts were saying to just go and check it out, but my common sense was telling me "no way!" I shoved the thought from my mind, and walked to class. Later that night, I was making dinner for my sisters and I. My mom has had issues with drinking ever since my dad died, and because of that, I took it upon myself to raise my little sisters. My mom was simply unfit to parent. At the dinner table, I asked the girls how their days went.

"Good," they would always say, but in their eyes I could see differently. My family always struggled. From money, to simply just getting along. But my the relationship between me and my sisters always kept me going, mostly for them. Then there, at the dinner table, I made my announcement.

"Guys, do you remember how I said that I've always wanted to accomplish something big? Well, I have an idea. I am going to try out for the football team next week."

Eyebrows shot up. "What?! But you're not big!"

"And you're a girl! I thought only guys could play football?" They replied back to me.

"I know it is a strange concept, but listen. I'm a fast runner, and I know I could get stronger. But just think of the surprised looks on people's faces when they see a girl take a sport, like football, into a different dimension. I know I can be great!" The girls were a little more excited about the idea after my explanation, and to be honest, so was I.

Monday finally arrived. The day where I can prove myself worthy of being just as good of a football player as any guy. I had no idea what to expect, and I did not know which position to go out for. I walked up to the coaches and introduced myself, "Hi. My name is Grace Jensen, and I would like the chance to play for our team." They just stared in disbelief.

"Do you know what you're saying, young lady? Do you know anything about football?"

"I do, sir. My dad was Stephen Jensen. He played all through high school and college. He taught me everything there is to know about football, even most of the plays." Again, just staring. I started to doubt my decision, but I held firm. "Can you kick?" the coach asked me. Little did he know that I actually played soccer the last six years. "Well, lets get me set up so I can show you." I replied.

We walked over to the goal posts and I set up my ball. I took three steps back, and two steps to the side. My muscles tensed as they were forced to move upon the ball in an accelerated motion, then impact. The ball flew threw the two poles of the goal post. I looked at the coaches, and they did what they were good at. They just stared. "Would you quit looking at me that way? Now look, I know I'm a girl, and I know that just that simple detail could be a major problem, but either give me the chance to play, or go on with your life never knowing what could have been." For a 17 year old girl, I made a pretty decent case.

"Practice starts now. Gear up. Are you sure you want to do this?" I could see a sense of despair in his eyes, and I knew that he was considering the consequences.

"I will prove to you that this was not a mistake. I will lead this team to a victory." I said as I walked towards the locker room.

During practice, the coaches announced that I would be joining the team. They also said that they will need everyone's support on this, and I agreed. We started doing conditioning drills, up downs. Lots of up downs, and we started doing a few plays. I mostly sat on the side lines the whole time. I was beginning to think that they wouldn't play me, but then coach shouted my name. "Jensen! Get in here." I ran onto the field and got ready for my punt. The center pitched the ball, and I made a perfect kick through the goal posts. The guys just stared. "Why do guys have such a bad staring problem?!" I said out loud, jovially. Play after play went on, and then practice was over.

I grabbed the ball, and started throwing it to one of my friends on the team. He was laughing and teasing me that I was crazy for wanting to do this. I assured him to just wait and see what would happen. What I didn't realize is that the coaches were watching me throw the ball, pretty large distances, to my friend. The next day at practice, I received some very shocking news......

TO BE CONTINUED

Intro

In many cases of the word, I am a writer. Along with many people, I firmly believe that reading helps to improve your writing. Whether it is creating a broad range of vocabulary, or simply giving you ideas on what to write about. As I view the world around me, I can get a sense of understanding, and all the tiny particles of matter that flow over head can be put into thoughts. Which then can be written down into words. The process of natural understanding is exceptional.

You would think that many writers are the type of people that sit in a dark room, characterizing each person, engrossed in thought of what will lie in the next scene. Or sit in a Starbucks, drinking their coffee like it's nobody's business. Well, have you ever considered a writer to be the captain of the high school football team? Or, how about the starting pitcher on a baseball team? Writers are everywhere. You cannot put them into categories. You cannot label someone, when you really have no understanding on what lies within.

As I have progressed as a writer, I am able to reflect on past pieces. Essays I have written, journal entries that were scribbled down on a piece of paper, or poems I have deliberated. I took a poetry class this last year, and although it is not a grammar or English class, I learned how to relate to the environment around me and put what I saw into words. I recommend trying it sometime! It could be for your benefit.

People may ask themselves, "Is writing for me?" or "Can I amount up to J.K. Rowling or Stephanie Meyer?" The answer is yes, however, is that what I want? Well, that would be a negative, Captain. My style of writing is more casual. For instance, free verse poetry with a little bit of end rhyme. My strengths come from freedom of expression, and that is where I find my peace.

"My life is light that can brighten

My happiness releases the need to intervene

I am strengthened by my own weaknesses

Observing surroundings is knowledge to me."