100_5159High above the world small droplet of water fell, it fell with several other, and as it fell, it was crystalized.

The small piece of snow–beautiful despite the fact that no one could make out its intricate design–was called Mervin. Mervin had been in the atmosphere for a while, waiting for his chance. He knew he was small, but he knew he could make it to the ground with the others. He didn’t worry about that.

As he drifted downwards, Mervin looked around him. There were dazzling SnowFlakes all around him. Each different, with his or her own pattern. Mervin was amazed at all the shapes, designs, and sizes.

“Good luck!” he called, with his small voice, to a strong, square-looking HeFlake. There wasn’t a reply.

“You look great!” he said to a especially intricate SheFlake. She looked at him, and didn’t respond.

Mervin sighed. No one thought anything about him. They didn’t offer any praise, or wish him goodwill. He didn’t blame them, though. Even if they could see him, there wasn’t anything too special about him–he knew–but he didn’t let that discourage him… too badly, anyway.

The Wind was picking up, and he swung Mervin around with the others. Mervin wasn’t effected as much as the Cliques of SnowFlakes—the clusters almost forming larger SnowFlakes—they were more easily blown around. The Wind picked up the speed, and swirled them all around. The Cliques fluttered around in the blizzard, too busy to be bothered. Mervin tried to flutter into one of the Cliques, attempting to join one. He missed all three times.

He was disheartened, but not so much as to derail his happy disposition. The Wind sorted him out, and directed him toward a colder region, and he met up with a whole storm of smaller SnowFlakes. The Wind had started howling at them, and swirling them around in big  gusts. Mervin could just make out the very tips of several pine trees.


He stopped suddenly. The wind pressed him up against several SnowFlakes.

“Hi guys! How are you?” he asked excitedly.

“We’re awful! Stuck up here on the tree! We won’t get to do anything fun. We don’t get to take part in snowballs or snowmen. No hope falling on romantic winter strolls! We’re stuck.”

“But, guys, this is an amazing job! You should be thanking the Wind! He trusted you and me enough to give us the job!”

“But what job,” they asked, “are we doing?”

“You’re painting the trees. You help everyone see beauty in the lovable Pines. You let them know there’s a fun side to the pointy solemn Guardians of the Ground.”

A murmur of amazement rippled through the flakes, and the Wind blew another gust, carrying Mervin and some new friends away.

They were carried high in the sky, almost higher than where Mervin had fallen from. Soon the Wind changed,  blowing them down, driving them speedily towards the frozen ground. A group of smaller SnowFlakes—including Mervin—were directed off course by the Wind, and they saw the pretty lights of a small town.

Mervin was getting excited. He couldn’t wait to see where the Wind put him; what his job would be. Being the smallest snowflake, Mervin was ahead of the pack. He was able to see that there was no snow in the small little town. No snow! Just bitter cold. Mervin’s whole body felt warm.

Well, as warm as a piece of ice can feel without melting.

He quickly checked his emotion and left the rest to the wind. Mervin hoped to be caught, but he couldn’t see any people close to him. He tried to forget about it, and let the Wind do it for him. He knew the Wind would put him in the best place.

Mervin neared the ground, nearer and nearer he came, and, astonishingly, he landed. Stuck in between a small rock and the road, he was stopped.

“What?” he said. “This is it? That’s all?” Mervin tried to think positively, a strength of his, but he couldn’t see anything good about this. He was on the ground, cold and alone, but worse than that, no one could see him.

He sighed, accepting his lot. But the Wind wasn’t finished. A rush of air came from nowhere and blew Mervin straight up. The wind stopped; it was completely gone. Mervin floated downward, lazily drifting side to side.

Mervin knew that the Wind had everything in his hands now. Mervin decided to just let him take over. He spread himself as wide as possible, and then he closed his eyes.

Drifting, fluttering, sailing. Mervin heard the gasp of a little girl.

“Mommy! Mommy!” she squealed. “The first snow!”

Mervin smiled as he landed in her hand. The Wind had done it again.

Life With God


Picture 1God.

The word itself causes conniptions in many circles. Descriptions vary. Relationships vary. Opinions regarding the sacredness of God vary. Love and acceptance of God varies.

One thing remains the same though. God. He never changes, has never changed, will never change. He will always love us. He will always remain, even when our earthly bodies have passed.

God doesn’t vary.

But I was just thinking about God’s enormity. He’s huge. He created an infinite space we aptly named “Space”.  Yeah, infinite. His power is unbelievable. He’s changed sticks into snakes, theoretically by reorganizing the atoms. He could have just created new atoms. He could have preformed an optical illusion. Who knows!!! His wisdom is beyond comprehension. If the old are wise, God is _______. There are no words for his wisdom. He designed a strategy to beat Satan that involved sacrificing his son. He knew exactly who and what he needed, and when he needed them/it to do something or happen. He orchestrated the biggest comeback in history, otherwise known as the Resurrection.

God is amazingly huge and powerful.

Then I thought about how he inhabits my heart. I know not physically, usually, though there’s something to be said (that I’m not going to say) for the Holy Spirit coming into us, and such like, and so forth. But the point is, God is huge and powerful, but he’s so personal, it’s mind-blowing! He wants to know me. He wants to talk with me! He wants to have a relationship with me! He wants to help me! He knows my heart better than I do!!! He’s the one who gives me a smile through a sibling or a stranger. He’s the one who grew the roses along the road of my life. And he gives me the option to stop and sniff them, when I do he shares the moment with me. When I don’t he helps me see the rose and know that he’s still with me.

God is incredibly personal.

I don’t think I’ll ever grasp the entirety of the love that God has for me. I don’t think I know as much as I’ll know later in life. I don’t even think I know five percent of the love. Scratch that. I don’t think you can put percentages on an infinite thing, right? (Ugh, math.) So it’s at least clear to me that if he can forgive me my “trespasses” there’s got to be a whole lot of love for me.

God loves me. (That’s amazing, by the way.)

Then there’s the story of Noah. Now, understand this: I wasn’t there when all the people were abusing their free will, and God made the decision. But I can imagine him being angry. Maybe at first with himself, and then the beautiful people he’d created. Can you imagine the colors you paint, the words you write, the peanut butter you spread, standing up and telling you how to do what you’re doing. The picture wouldn’t be beautiful anymore. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Satan probably enjoyed the desecration and chaos, but God didn’t.

Then his anger would turn to sadness as he realized he needed destroy all of the ruined beings and the earth. Revising a masterpiece (or what you think is one) is never easy. Something you’ve poured yourself into, only to find it’s not right–or perfect–is so disappointing. I can see him pleading with each soul. Knocking on the door of the dead consciences. Begging them to reform. Then realizing what he already knew: They were gone.

God made us in his image. I think our emotions are just shadows and reflections of God’s extraordinary emotions.

Continuing with the flood thread: Can you hear God ordering the waters to come up through the ground and down from the skies, and just crying, adding to the floodwaters.  Sobbing as the people and animals drowned. Wincing as every life is extinguished, groaning as his beautiful trees and flowers and grasses are muddied and choked by the flood. I can see Wisdom up there in heaven consoling him. And God, suddenly realizing he can’t suffer like that again, creating the Rainbow.

God is graceful.

Where do emotions fit into a steady, unchanging God? How does he rule a world full of sin, death, and pain. It’s hard for someone as stubborn and arrogant as me to understand this. I know that he knows best, but… no buts.

God knows best.




I’ve recently been able to reflect upon myself, my writing, and I. I just pulled up some old files that held my  books and stories from years gone by. By no means am I old, but I do have a history, and in that history I wrote several small books, some complete, some incomplete, some lost in the cyber-abyss.

I re-read a few with a happy smile at the lack of punctuation and clarity. I struggle to remind myself what I was saying in certain sentences, but I laugh at my silly style of humor. I recollect the books that I was reading at the time, and I see the themes and phrases reflecting some of them. I grin when the story goes through the plot twists I vaguely remember installing. Then in the end I sigh and wish everything was so happy.

I dug around the bank of old computer files for another story. Sadly I only had half of the original draft. It was still entertaining because of the lack of quality. The plot was humorously flawed, and also hilariously complex. I can’t remember the half of it (and not just because the half of it was missing), but I loved seeing the difference from the previous book. In comparison I could see darker themes creeping in, and more complex characters evolving.

I saw growing. Just as I, a person, am growing, my stories are growing. For better or worse we’re both changing.

Then I compared the older stories to the work of fiction I’m currently writing. The contrast was stark. Firstly my plots were much more complex, but also coherent and cohesive. Secondly, my characters show life of their own, and also have real problems and real solutions. The stories have become real, and they convey the themes I find myself conveying. The theme that is currently being conveyed, wether I like it or not, is really just failure. Failure.

I’m not entirely sure why, but with the story I was writing I’ve not been able to find a happy ending. When I play around with the endings they always come full circle and fall back to the original ending of failure. It’s a spectacular ending (though not written in its entirety), but I did notice that’s not the ending Ian of 11 years would write. Or even Ian of 12 years.

Through a little virtual retrospection, I discovered that everything was a little darker. My stories, I realized, were slowly becoming darker and darker. I guess reality does that. Living life in a broken world is hard, crushing, and depressing. Everything–everything–is broken beyond earthly repair. Through exposure to “real” life a process of darkening occurs. Seasoning, as someone put it.

It’s sad, yes, but part of life. The devil broke the world with sin. Our own sinful nature feeds the brokenness, and lets it manifest. But that’s not the end.

Jesus died on a cross–a brutal death of a person who had done something wrong. He died while he was perfect. Not a blemish. Nails were driven through his wrists and ankles. He was murdered, willingly, to save our sinful souls. Our broken souls. Our darkened souls.

While I may be darkened, I’m still beautiful to him, and this life is not for keeps. I’m just a traveler passing through this earth. I’m thankful that someone gives me a chance at light. Something happy is still to come.

I  have the hope that like the flowers in the spring I will be renewed.