Uncle Hub

Sometimes the things that may or may not be true are the things that a man needs to believe in the most: that people are basically good; that honor, courage, and virtue mean everything; that power and money, money and power mean nothing; that good always triumphs over evil; and I want you to remember this, that love, true love, never dies... No matter if they're true or not, a man should believe in those things because those are the things worth believing in.

Friday, December 17, 2010

Bread of Life and Living Water

            Three major ingredients wait: water, flour, yeast.  A master molds them together, forming dough.  The master kneads the dough; he shapes it.  The dough rises.  Growing with time, the dough augments.  The master returns, and he places the risen dough in the oven.  The dough bakes.   The master removes the bread.  Hungry people gather around.  The master tears the bread.  He hands the broken and bruised pieces to the people.  They eat until filled. 
            A deep well rests near the edge of town.  A thirsty wanderer searches for the well.  Being fatigued, he has some difficult coming to the well.  Upon arriving he falls, utterly wasted.  A gentle hand lifts his head; a gourd touches his lips.  He drinks, quenching his thirst.
            Each Sunday I participate in a sacred ordinance: The Sacrament.  I break and bless the bread.  I prepare and bless the water.  I hold authority from God to perform these ordinances.  Why do I dutifully perform them though?  The Sacrament focuses lives to the Savior, Jesus Christ.   Jehovah, my personal Redeemer, sacrificed His flesh and His blood for me.  Serving and praising the Messiah constitutes the center of The Sacrament and my life. 
            The water in the sacrament represents the blood of the Prince of Peace.   He atoned for the sins of the world.  He took upon Him the pains, sicknesses, sorrows, and temptations of all humankind.  He suffered so much that He bled from every pore.  By His blood, I can be redeemed from death: physically and spiritually.  Every body else can be redeemed as well.  During Christ’s ministry, He said that those that thirst should come and drink from the Fountain of Living Water.  I drink, each Sunday, the living water.  By pledging by life to Christ, I receive the promise that I shall not thirst.  I am spiritually kept alive through the Living Water, or blood, of Christ.
            The bread in the sacrament represents the body of the Savior.  After He atoned for the world, the Jews convicted Him to die on the cross.  He endured whipping, mockery, spitting, and death.  His body, laid in a sepulcher, rested beaten, bruised, and torn.  He rose three days latter with a perfect body.  The only remains of His worldly pains existed as the scars from the driven nails.  These lay in the palm of each hand and in the center of each foot.   He became whole once again.  I eat the bread each week in remembrance of this event.  I know that Christ made it possible to heal me.   Jehovah exists as the Bread of Life.  Anybody that partakes of His sacrifice can receive life to their soul. Through my Redeemer, I can become whole: physically and spiritually. 
            I testify the Christ lives!  He loves me.  Christ is the Fountain of Living Water and the Bread of Life.  He lives so that I can receive eternal life.  He lives so that I can be joyful forever.  I rely on Christ.  Without bread and water, I would die…

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Truth

Einstein said quite well,
“Relative all must be.”
Reasons now, I will tell,
How simply this is to see.
Wait! ‘see’ I said?  I surely meant sight.
Or are eyes for hearing and wisdom for might.
Nor for if that were smell would be for soul,
And how awful! Some must smell like a porcelain bowl.
The senses are all just jumble,
No truth in them is found.
The mind catches the senses’ fumble,
And is confused as Rubik’s Mound.
Shut the senses, close the door.
You’ll see the truth once more.
Quiet, reflective thought,
Minus the world’s noise,
Will give thee truth, not fraught,
It gives excellence and joys. 

" A process cannot be understood by stopping it. Understanding must move with the flow of the process, must join it and flow with it."

Time. Love. Life.
An eternal circuit
Travelling around.
Repeating the rises of Sol,
Cycling the falls of Luna.
Rotations and cycles
All intertwined.
Understanding will
Always fall behind.
Unless a thought
Can grab firm hold,
Joining the flow,
Finding the fold.
As the mind accompanies
The process of life
It’s secrets are torn;
The tapestry cut by knife.


Time

The scared, the brave,
The knight, the knave,
All have a common flaw.
No matter how hard they try
They fall to this dragon claw!
Getting Lost in the future,
Forgetting the past,
Time has them trapped
In its deathly grasp.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

A Free Man's Injury


Prison is like fear
With walls made of steel.
Surrender is near
But not your next meal.
Starved and locked in
Looking to see
If in this cell of tin
Could be hidden a key.
Searching up, down, middle too
There has to be something
Some liberating clue.

In due time unlocked was the door
And I was out like the eagles that soar.
Finally free from my oppressed stage
I was off for adventure and to use my young age.
I sought for excitement, and journeys with thrill.
Nothing was imaginary, it was tangible, real!
Exciting turns, sharp twists, with heart stopping speed.
Adrenaline was my desire, my drug, my need.
It was all so quick
I didn’t see it come.
With one touch to the wick
My flame was done…

My fear dissipated, my burning gone out,
I’ve found a truer prison lying about.
“It’s better to have loved and lost, then to have not loved at all.”
“Try saying that world, after, the fall!”
I sit here, pondering, what caused this pain.
My injury, I realize, was my living for vain.
No meaning or purpose was behind my drive,
Just a tank full of gas and a gorgeous sunrise.

I’ll pick myself up, and dust off my feet.
I know life is to be lived, but freedom isn’t free.
All may be well for a second or two,
But to avoid the injury, I’ll use caution too.

Hey everybody! Now that you’ve finished reading my poem, you are now required to comment with your thoughts and feelings on it. My theory is that if you had the spare time to waste with such a trivial matter, then you can waste some more by commenting.

Oh, I will also explain my reasoning for writing this poem, just so that you know my though process. This cross-country season has been a little strange for me. At the beginning of the season I was scared to start running. I hadn’t run all summer, and I knew my legs and my lungs were not in shape. Also, two weeks before the season I bought a new pair of shoes: toe-style shoes. These shoes were supposed to help with my running form, and increase my speed, but I did have my doubts. I began to run with these new shoes. I loved them! They helped me fully rekindle my lost love of running. After three weeks of using these shoes I developed an injury. During one of my training runs, my foot began to throb with pain. I finished the run, and then I stretched it out. I though that it was a minor muscle problem. I raced on it the next day and could barely walk after. I haven’t run since then. Upon visiting a doctor, I learned that my injury is a weak type of stress fracture. I was devastated when he gave the news that I would be out for up to eight weeks if my case was bad. He said that I started training too hard too quickly in the new running style. He said when I start running again; I need to move at a much slower slope of increase with my foot just healing. This is the story behind my poem. However, as I was writing it I drew upon other experiences in my past that are not sport related. Please, tell me what you think when you read this poem.

Monday, September 6, 2010

The Debate

This subject’s one that I’ve mused.
In my mind I’m very confused.
Summer was great,
But now to debate,
Was it worth all the bad news?

Chaotic, summer has been.
Traveling round, again and again.
It was quite a rush,
Now I must hush,
For school, I’m now trapped in!

The text in my books is alive,
Even mathematics makes me jive.
School is fun,
I’m the lone one
Who thinks this way. Hope I survive…

School and summer, summer and school.
Days filled with books, days at the pool.
Which is best?
My case must rest
In the backbreaking regime of school.

Monday, August 30, 2010

Caleb's Writing TImeline

     This paper presents a thoroughly researched case-study on Caleb Woolsey as a writer. Through intense interview sessions Caleb has been evaluated in his writing interests. Caleb’s writing can be categorized through five distinct phases: the learning, early works, young indifference, adolescent infatuation, and the present.
     The basics of writing are probably taught the same in most places. The parent begins the learning process which is then supplemented with the school’s curriculum. Nonetheless, explained, for prosperity’s sake, is the process Caleb went through.
     When Caleb was a young lad he was taught by his parents the basics of the alphabet and writing. He recalls an instance when this teaching took place. During a church meeting when he was very young, Mother was teaching Caleb how to write his full name. Caleb was able to write every letter, except the J within his middle name. He kept writing this stubborn letter backward. He claims that it just looked right that way.
     Caleb, however, didn’t develop any tangible writing capability until he enrolled in Mrs. Sandra Huntington’s preschool. At this school he began the process of fully learning and comprehending the writing process. He claims to recall many hours of brain-racking worksheets. This laid the foundation of his writing.
     Caleb then moved on to kindergarten where Mrs. Fowler began teaching Caleb how to construct sentences and to write understandably. Even though he was able to write complete sentences at the end of the year, his spelling and handwriting needed a lot of improvement.
     As a beginner to writing, Caleb was enthused to be a part of the writing world. He was zealous to connect with others through the common bond of writing. Though young, Caleb strove to learn.
     Now the subject, Caleb, is in the era of his early works. He, through his love of learning, developed into a grand young writer. His imagination fueled his writing. This added to the enjoyment he received from writing.
In second grade, Caleb was able to experience one of the grandest natural highs available to a seven year old boy. He created his first fictional book. The second grade class had the privilege to use the legendary Story Bag. This wonderful device was a bag crammed full of the materials need to write, and produce an illustrated book. In midwinter, Caleb received the opportunity to use the Story Bag for a week. The first night, with the help of his parents, Caleb brainstormed ideas. His best idea involved radioactive reptilian appendages. This was the birth of the Traveling Tails, stories about the adventures of two severed lizard tails, Turn and Bob Tail, who came to life. These two tails had many tales to tell: intergalactic travel, motorcycle rides, and western fights.
     After this momentous event, Caleb, with the help of his friend Adam, began writing all sorts of stories. Of the many stories they wrote, Caleb recalls Noofer the Alien the best. This story was born from the intent to enter a young author contest. Caleb was to provide the narrative about the heroic young alien, while Adam provided the illustrations. All was going well until the two got into a small disagreement about Noofer, our alien friend. With this cataclysmic event, Caleb vowed to cease from any further attempts at writing for fun; his bad memories wanted to be blocked. Caleb developed a complete disinterest for writing.
     Caleb now enters his adolescence indifference phase in life. These six years are characterized by a lack of voice and care for writing. Caleb simply didn’t like writing anymore.
     When he was in fifth grade many creative writing assignments were given. Caleb simply wrote down dry stories. Written events of his past were written to give the minimal amount of facts; there was no embellishment or tone.
     In sixth grade, Caleb’s writing was mostly informative. He wrote many essays, all of which were boring. He state simple facts about uninteresting subject. He just wrote enough to make the grade, nothing more.
Caleb, through the young years, loathed writing. He did his assignments. That was all that he was willing to do. His apathy characterized his writing.
     Caleb, however, began to change. This change was slow at first, but grew quickly. Through middle school he developed a love and dependence on writing.
     Why did our dear subject, Caleb, now decide to emerge? The answer is simple; he was developing a huge crush on a girl at school, Kate (the name has been changed to prevent any embarrassment). Caleb’s heart would melt anytime that he was near her. It was hard for him to converse with her, so he found an alternative. He began writing notes to her during class. This continued for many weeks. Eventually Caleb told Kate of his affection toward her. She told him that they should just be friends. Caleb was devastated. He again turned to writing to express feelings.
     While Caleb was trying to cope with this dark time in his life he looked to a good friend, Amber (again, the name has been changed). He wrote her with a note or an email frequently asking for advice or just spilling his emotions. His feelings just seemed to flow through his writing. Caleb was soon able to converse exceptionally well through his writing.
     Within the next year, without the use of the written word Caleb couldn’t communicate. This newfound love of the magic of writing began adding voice back to his papers. Caleb now enjoyed writing, and he began bringing down the wall of his protective prison.
     The current state of affairs of Caleb’s writing will now be clarified. He admits, now, to enjoy writing. Caleb also said that he still dislikes many writing assignments, but that they are becoming more bearable as his knowledge and development grow. Of all the forms of writing, he enjoys conversing through writing above all. It is the best way for him to organize thoughts and to express feelings. He does admit to one downfall of his writing. He is a terse writer, and this trait is evident in his laconic writing assignments. He has asked forgiveness for this weak link, and hopes that it doesn’t affect his future grades. Caleb enjoyed writing in his early years. After he came through the apathetic middle years, Caleb emerged as a devout writer that occasionally detests an assignment.