A green frog love-story.

"Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free." - John 8:32
  The sweat started to pool underneath my eyes, the saltiness burned. Beneath my feet, I could almost feel the blisters forming. Stride after stride, I kept running, as fast as I could.

I didn't know where I was going and truthfully, it didn't matter to me. I found a way to get away. So I kept running.

The blazing sun began to retire its efforts. Sweat was dripping off the tip of my nose, it was still hot. I'd rather be in the lion's den than the blazing furnace.

I continued to run with all that I had. I found a way to get away. A narrow yet long path was the mouth to a forest, a canopy from the still-setting sun. I went. Leaves of all colors surrounded me, yellows and greens and reds.

All sound became meaningless once I saw you standing there, right in front of me. You smiled, I ran the other way. Back through the canopy, through the yellows and greens and reds, through the mouth of the forest, I ran even faster.

Back from the way I came. The sound of rushing water. Approaching a lake, I saw the magnificent sun and it's reflection. Nature's mirror is forgiving. I had no reflection. I continued running.

I circled half way around the lake, energy beginning to deplete. I was surrounded, surrounded by wondrous colors of blue waters, green frogs, and plants with a golden finish. I stared, just for a moment, at the beauty that surrounded me, all while maintaining a steadily declining pace.

But the majesty became meaningless once I saw you standing there, right in front of me. You cried, I ran the other way. Back through the blue waters and the green frogs' homes and the plants with a golden finish, my soul started becoming more and more exhausted. But I kept running.

Back from the way I came, I saw a field of green. A field of freedom from all else, calling me like a loneshark, waiting for me. Per usual, under the same conditions. The wind began to pick up, blowing the green razorblades of grass back and forth, to and fro. I can relate.

And that's when I saw you. Why me? Couldn't you have just left me alone, just once? I was irate, my knee were weak, my heart was heavy. I was sick and tired of running away, so I decided to run through. Full pace, a sprint.

You smiled.

You cried.

And that's when it happened. I was only feet away, max velocity, when you bent down onto one knee and spread your arms open, welcoming me. I couldn't stop. I didn't want to. So I didn't.

You hugged me.

I smiled.

I cried.

"Welcome home."

We cried.

Fruit-punch, cherry Jell-o, red velvet cake

"Love costs everything." 

Love, poured out like water. It was crimson red. Thicker than any red I had seen before and it flowed much farther than anything I had seen before. To the ends of the earth, it covered the cracks, taped together the broken.

Every day, it poured out like water. Every day it was just as pure and perfect as the day before it and every day it was just as unending and infinite. Every single day.

I stood in awe, an awe that shook much deeper and was much more meaningful than any awe I had ever experienced before. This liquid love, as red as could be, flooded me. I was drowning in it-- but there was no point in calling out for help. Why would I call for help when I'm being held as safe as I've ever been and ever will be? This flood is warm; this flood is unending.

More red than the reddest of reds, more warm than the warmest of warms, more pure than the purest of pures-- how could something so red flood me, change me, wash me into something so clean, so pure, so snow-white?

No thing, no trial, no struggle will prevent this love from being poured out like water, just as it was the day before. No amount of money, no amount sadness, no amount of achievement, no amount of hate, none.

And for me? No thing, no trial, no struggle, no amount of money, no amount of sadness, no amount of achievement, no amount of hate, no amount of anything will prevent me from chasing this love. This love so red, so warm, so pure.

Struggles will arise, problems will stare me in the face, hate will affect me, people will betray me, I will fail.

But this love? It never fails.

This love-- I live for it. I would die for it. True love costs everything. That doesn't bother me, though, because without it I am nothing. Nobody can take from me what I lay down without regret.

Everything.

Maybe the fridge isn't empty...

"How strange is it to be anything at all." 

I've always fancied the idea of getting a tattoo. Lately, I've been toying with different designs and just playing around with ideas. I came across this tattoo and the first thing that stuck out to me was the design of it. I thought it looked great and started playing around with the same style but with a quote or verse of my own.

As I began looking at it more and more, doing my best to mimic it-- and failing-- the quote began hitting me harder and harder.

Ari, a name, I like it. It's fairly uncommon, unique in its own ways, easy to write. But I didn't pick it.

My parents, Mom and Dad, I like them. They're loving, encouraging, and great people. But I didn't choose to be their son.

The United States, a country, I like it. It's well-off, prosperous, and known for its freedom. But I didn't ask to live here.

The list goes on.

How strange it is to be anything at all, especially an "anything" that can buy things with a little plastic card, go and get water whenever I want, and even pray to God openly. How strange indeed.

How strange it is to have shoes that are in one piece.

How strange it is to sleep on a clean mattress.

How strange it is that "there is nothing to eat in the fridge".

How strange it is to own a fridge.

How strange it is to dread getting an education.

I didn't choose to be the "anything" I am, but I can choose to do what I will with the everything I am. I choose thankfulness and I choose love.

Thankfulness-- I have clothes to wear and food to eat, what more could I possibly need?

Love-- "I've decided to stick with love for hate is too great a burden to bear."

How strange it is to be anything at all.

Vacancy

"He isn’t here! He is risen from the dead!" -Luke 24:6 

Do you think they had neon signs 2013 years ago? You know, like the ones outside of Steak 'n Shake or hotels?

I remember sitting in chemistry class 2 years ago. Always being good at math, I never really paid attention because all we did in this class was grasp concepts and plug in numbers. Eventually, we started doing stuff with the Periodic table and my interest was ignited (heh).

I remember learning about neon signs and why they burn the colors that they do...

I was betrayed, utterly and effortlessly betrayed. We learned that only the red "neon signs" were neon, the other colors were different noble gases. Such a shame, I guess they're not so noble.

The reason I ask such an odd question is because of the verse above. Jesus came to fulfill the prophecy that had been long-awaited and much anticipated. I mean, just read Isaiah 53. This guy was famous before he was even born. Again, sorry Brad Pitt.

After reading Luke 24:6, it seems it would only be appropriate that a large, red neon sign be put above Jesus' grave. Shining bright and in those fancy, attention-grabbing letters, it would read, "VACANCY".

Except this vacant hotel room was much different-- there are no ripped curtains, there is no stained carpet, there is no leaky faucet, and there is certainly no Jesus. Its cold, it's dark, and it's locked with a giant rock. Barbaric. This thought boggles my mind, but at least helps me get over my chemistry-class betrayal.

"VACANCY"

If Jesus was the occupant of this cold, dark hotel room, then sin was the owner, and death was the rent. Jesus paid it forward for his room, my room, and your room too.

I wonder if this place gets room service... Eggs Benedict sounds grand right now.

A Late-night Sage

"Jesus wept." -John 11:35
  I find my mind wandering, and wondering, late at night, even more so in the day. From baseball comes shoes, which springs forth weather, and from there comes deodorant. My mind is in an ocean that is sinking in itself. I can't find the words to shout for help, so I just tread water.

Sometimes, my thoughts will all whirlpool back into the same thought or idea. As of lately, it is the verse posted above. John 11:35 is the shortest verse in the Bible but for some reason unbeknownst to me it is having a huge effect on my thoughts.

History shows that Jesus walked the earth-- not only that, he was kind of famous, like a past-day Brad Pitt. Thousands of people literally gave up everything they had, their jobs, their houses, even their families, just to follow this dude around. When it's put that way, it seems a little outlandish. But is it really? For example, lets take Brad Pitt. Even if you've never met him, you know who he is, what he does, and why he is famous. I've never physically met Jesus, but I know who he is, what he does, and why he is famous. Not trying to say that Brad Pitt is Jesus, just using him as an example of course.

Now picture this... Brad Pitt has a friend who passes away, a very close friend. What is the normal thing for Brad Pitt to do? Mourn the loss of his friend and everything that has in store.

This is where my mind begins to wander and wonder. If Jesus was just a past-day Brad Pitt, what was the big deal for him to mourn the death of his close friend Lazarus? Why were the people so amazed, astounded, and shocked?

I guess the conclusion I've come to in the hours I've spent thinking of this is that Jesus wasn't anything close to a past-day Brad Pitt-- he was so much more. I mean, his birth split history into BC and AD, the story of his life is the best selling book since the printing press was invented, and he has the largest amount of people who would call themselves "followers". Sorry Brad Pitt.

I don't truly know if this could be considered a thought, regardless of how long I've been thinking about it. I overwhelm myself sometimes. Well, back to baseball. I wonder if the Cubs will win the World Series this year...

Inspired by Bedding

"God said to Moses, “I am who I am. This is what you are to say to the Israelites: ‘I am has sent me to you.’" - Exodus 3:14 

I sat on one of the two twin beds in the room, listening intently as the four or five other guys around me begin describing and answering the question that was proposed to all of us. "Who do you say God is?"

To me, Exodus 3:14 is a verse that never leaves my mind. A name that is worth 1,000 words, yet still wouldn't be enough-- perhaps a million? Yet, there they stand, paired together like two birds. You know, they say that hope is a thing with feathers.

Only two words, "I AM", to describe the greatness of God. They do it well.

The guys around me continue answering, using more than two words. One at a time, they keep on going, doing their best to describe what they find fit for this God of the universe.

My mind wanders, not out of boredom, but simply out of awe of it all. Who is God to me? Previously, words such as "mentor", "teacher", and "friend" were good enough for me, but not today. My mind kept on going, racing and racing, trying to find the right word to use, maybe even two. I knew that I would be asked the same question that all the others were answering, but my mind is desolate, lost in thoughts far bigger than usual. Scanning through every bit of my brain, words such as "race-runner" come to mind. "Super-fan" pops up. "Challenger", not like the space shuttle. "Gas-station clerk", ready to fuel me up. None of these are good enough, not for the God of the universe.

"So Ari, who is God to you?"

Silence only seems evident.

Ten seconds pass by and my mind is still racing.

Twenty.

Thirty-- and then it hit me.

"God to me is that guy at hockey games who cleans the ice between periods."

"The Zamboni driver?" someone chimed in, their voice filled with doubt.

"Yeah, the Zamboni driver. Every single day, I step out on to that ice with the sharpest, or dullest, skates that there are. I try my best to not scratch up the ice, but you know exactly how impossible that is. And just when I can't skate any more and the ice is at it's worst... here he comes. With a smile on his face, happy that I was out on the ice at all, he cleans it. Again. Scratched up, messy, and what I would call failure, he cleans it up, makes it new, and assures me otherwise. God to me is the Zamboni driver."

I sit in silence again. Such a profound thought, sitting in that small room on that even smaller bed. The bedding smelled terrible. I don't know where that thought came from-- it must have been the bedding.

Who is God to me? He is a Zamboni driver. I think I'll name him Mark.