Wounded Soldiers

"In God's army, only wounded soldiers are used. "
    -a wise friend who has never cease to share with me the little golden nuggets of the books she reads.

The Stained Glass Analogy

There is something very mesmerizing about stained glass: the many colors and ridges, curves and cuts, shapes and figures. There is also something very unsettling about stained glass, how each piece fits so perfectly snug next the rest but leaves a sense of being misplaced, how each color is placed so intentionally next to such contrasting colors,  and how broken glass can still be made to look like a whole.

Each tiny glass you see, carries in itself a very different personality than the piece next to it. Each glass is broken and shaped to fit it's intended position. Without it, a stained glass would not exist.

It is only in the culmination of varies shapes and sizes that something so simple as broken colored glass can form a beautiful pattern or picture worthy enough to be displayed on the walls of a sanctuary. Each broken piece- on its own worthless and dull- together forms something far more beautiful and far more creative.

But let us not forget when we do look at the stained glass, that the different colors and glasses have not anymore added value. The glass alone is still broken and dull. The creativity and the beauty? That is the reflection of the creativity and beauty of ...the artist.

The glass artist gave value and purpose to the otherwise shattered and worthless glass. The artist has planned and positioned each glass with it's own broken and lacking personality, so intentionally in order to maximize the character of each piece. But again, let us not forget that it is because the artist saw  first in the sharp edges of thrown out glass that it can still be made beautiful.

It is in our brokenness and experiences that we are able to support each other and build each other up. It is in our sharp edges that we can sharpen the people around us and build character. It is in all our scars and wounds that the perfection and the beauty of something far greater can be reflected and seen.

It is the beauty and creativity of the artist that we marvel at, not the broken glass...

Cancer Patient Living In Her Car

11:15 AM Tuesday June 17, 2014

On the white board of a tiny blue room in an obscure city of San Diego, California, it reads: 

"Sherry (Client), 

               Cancer patient living in her car." 

On movie screens in hundred of theaters across the entire world shows the story of:

"The Fault in Our Stars". 

Sherry, that is all I know about this mysterious woman with cancer who lives in her car somewhere on the streets of San Diego. I have no way of knowing where this lady is and I have no way of knowing who wrote that prayer request on the board. All I know is that time for her... is running out. 

I wonder if the blue marks on that white board share any resemblance to the struggle of cancer portrayed in the other blue and white book. I wonder what kind of reactions people will have after reading the book and then reading the board. I wonder if all this generation of people know about cancer is "The Fault in Our Stars". 

I wonder if she is alone. I wonder if anyone will notice her, if they would find her and help her. I wonder if... by the time I read, if it was already too late. 

I spent a good two mins just standing by the door and staring at those blue lines. Within those couple of letters and words lies a greater story that I will never know. No story is as simple as life and death, but for Sherry, I cannot help but think of what her story would be like, how it ends, her battle with cancer. It pained me when I realize that not only will I never know that story, there are billions of people in the world who will never come across this message and will not even know Sherry existed- wouldn't even care. She is only on person in the entire universe, a speck of dust but still important and still valued. From our comfortable homes, other people are just numbers and figures and we are numbers and figures to them. But I challenge this and I want to challenge you. Everyone has a story, a prayer, and everyone has a time limit. Learn their stories, share your story, break some hearts, and have your heart broken because life is short and not everyone gets a chance to have their story played on the big screen. 

-Charlie 

Stars

When living in such a busy and fast paced city, it is often times very difficult to find a place of stillness and peace. We marvel at the flashes of lights and colors. We find solitude in the sound of music and drums. We look up to the sky expecting stars but only find airplanes and helicopters. We are surrounded by so much noise and chaos that  it is easy to forget what it feels like to be still... to really be still.

A couple of weeks ago, I was at a retreat, where the sounds of machines and engines were replaced with the sounds of the wind and wildlife. The bright city lights and tall buildings were replaced with wooden cabinets and towering trees. The crowds of people rushing to get to places where replaced with people strolling ever so slowly in awe as they marveled at how...how majestic the nature was. It is no surprise that even the most hyper and easily distracted people... the youth, would stop and oh so silently just observe how beautiful of a world they live in. No adult had to remind them of the serenity of nature. No adult had to tell them, "this is what stillness and peace feels like." 

Sunday night, a group of middle and high schoolers took a hike up to one of the higher places in the retreat site. There, for a good 15 minutes, we lied on our backs and looked up at the stars. For 15 mins, we were all quiet. We were looking at stars- real stars- not crazy man made airplanes that light up our city skies- real stars. It was a scene not even a camera can capture. It was a scene that begs to be seen with our own eyes, unfiltered. It was a scene that brought some to tears, some to smiles, and still some to a deep yearning for more. It was a scene that made so much sense but almost no sense at all. The beauty and the majesty of how perfect and unadulterated the moment was rendered even the most talkative into speechlessness. 

I cannot tell you what it is that I saw. I can only describe to the best of my poor ability with words how crazy and overwhelming it was. It might sound cheesy, "oh the stars were so pretty!!!" It is just one of those things that you have to experience for yourself. 

A couple of days after returning back to the city and all of it's craziness, I came across this quote, 

"We look up at the same stars, and see such different things."- George R.R. Martin

No matter what it is that we see when we look up to the stars, it all points to something greater. 

-Charlie

**Quote credit to Haley

Endings

I have a weird fascination for things that end the same way it started. There is a weird sense of completion and fulfillment in it. To come back full circle and see how different you are and how much you've grown and changed.

There is always a part of us that want to go back in time and relive the dearest and happiest moments of our lives. There is always a part of us that wants to go back in time and fix the mistakes and regrets we might have. There is always a part of us that want to just stop time and never grow up. It is in those times that we find it the most difficult to let go, move on, and continue. It is in those times that we either choose to keep walking or stop.

In these past few days, I was in this suspension of time. I had just completed a four year long circle and as much as I know it is finished, I find it extremely difficult to let go. I have invested four years to one thing and looking back, I can say that I am proud of the circle I made. It has marks of my tears, sweat, and blood; joy, pride, and satisfaction; pain, sorrow, and regrets. This was my circle; my mark on society; my mark on those I learned to love.

I have reached my finish line and went back to where it all started. I have returned to the place where it all began but this time... this time, it is where it will end. I have started and ended in the same place. All I have left now is to step away from my finished circle and start a new one. Granted, it will be hard at first- starting from scratch and not knowing when the this next circle will be completed, but I have to at least start.

My time is now done in this one place; I have passed down my ranks. I have done my duty to the best of my abilities and I have completed this circle. I cannot say I will never look back, but I can say that when and if I do look back, it will be with unspeakable joy- the joy of knowing I finished and the joy of knowing it happened.


-Charlie

Graduation Celebration

            A picture worth a thousand words. There are 1,025,110 words in the English language. Today, I am challenged with this opportunity to present a graduation speech where 600 of the one million possible choices will come together as one body for one purpose: To encourage and motivate you all, Galileo's graduating class of 2014. Today marks the transition from our little classroom bubble to the reality of the outside world; from the purple lockers of the halls of Galileo to the new opportunities hidden behind those still closed doors; from leaving strangers we now call friends to meet new friends we will at first call strangers. Today marks the end of a four-year long process.

            In this process we found in ourselves, what we love, who we love, and why we love; what is important to us, and what makes us not only better scholars but better individuals. Some spent four years running bases, making touchdowns, repeating drill after drill after drill, spent four years in a classroom, taking notes, studying, trying to understand those endless lines of letters on endless pages that you have to memorize only to forget the next day. Some will say that this might possibly be the best four-year of your life………..… Some spent four years in pain, in suffering, in loneliness. I would be lying if I said these four years were fun and easy. I would be lying if I said the struggle is now over. I would be lying if I said the future is waiting for you outside those wooden doors.

            The truth, the scary truth, is that from here on out, it will get harder; it will get scarier, and behind those doors are only more challenge for us to face. From this moment forward, we are no longer children. We are the young adults that all these parents and guardians, teachers and staff, friends and classmates, have invested in to see simply succeed. Success is not a monetary value; nor is it a social value. Money, status, fame, all those things will fade the same way that tomorrow- and this picture, will only be a mere memory of yesterday. Today we might still want to be children, but tomorrow we will be held to the higher standards expected of adults.

            And as we leave today, think not only of yourself and the mark you want to make in society, think of the many sacrifices that the people of Galileo have freely given, their time… their insight. Who you are, sitting here today is a result those sacrifices. For those of you who are excited for what is ahead, I encourage you to never give up. Look back only to see why you were excited in the first place. Use the tools and experiences you've gained here to pay it forward and do great things. For those who are scared, I want to remind you, it is okay to cry, it is okay to not know, it is okay to struggle, and most importantly, that it is okay to stop and relax and breathe. We are imperfect human beings, so don’t let that distract you from knowing the greatness that you can achieve. For those sitting here today with regret or dissatisfaction, I want to challenge you, to move forward and take the opportunities outside those doors and make them your own. The world will not wait for us. The future will not wait for us. Time will not wait for us. So go, Class of 2014, go and make something of this world and don’t lose sight of your humble beginnings here at Galileo.

Formulas

In two hours, I will have a white cap on my head and a white gown draped over my body. I will be walking up to the stage and sitting for what might feel like hours but were only moments. I would get up, walk to the podium and speak.

There is something about having a schedule and having your life planned out for you every moment of the day that is comforting. There is something about schedules and having your life planned out for you every moment of the day that is terrifying.

For the past 15 years of my life, everything was planned for me: every course I will take, every seat I will sit in, every school I will go to. All I had to do was play the role of the student. All I had to do was show up to class, sit in the assigned seat, and get myself to school every day on time for 15 years. Everything about a public high school is very formulaic. One plus One equals Two. Show up to class plus Pay attention equals a better chance of getting an A. Studying and Homework equals a good grade on the test. Good grades plus good recommendations equals a chance to go to college. Everything about a public high school education is very formulaic.

For the past 4 years, I learned to appreciate, hate, and adapt to this schedule and formula. I did not have to worry about tomorrow because I know that tomorrow will be the same as yesterday and today. It is a constant cycle and spits out graduates every year. It is a constant cycle that recycles the same methods and teachings. It is a constant cycle that never changes- even when it is not working. It is a constant cycle that is and will always be.

Four years later as I am about to thrown out of this cycle and into the real world, I am more lost then ever before. I do not know what tomorrow will be like. I will not know what tomorrow will bring. I do not know what is going to happen from here on out. I no longer have a schedule to follow. Everything about a public high school education is formulaic yet the one thing they do not teach their students is how to write their own formula...

The Perfect Gift

I want to tell you a story- a story of a little girl.

Once upon a time, there was a man. He was no ordinary man. He was a man with white hair and a long beard. Some called him Santa. Everyday, he would bring gifts to the people of his city and no two gifts were the same. All the gifts, he made by hand. There were no other gifts like his. His gifts were unique to him. They have his signature, his fingerprint, and his own style unlike any other. These gifts showed only a glimpse of how talented and skilled this man is. These delicate gifts showed the creativity and the care this man put into everything part and piece. The gifts are a reflection of the maker himself.

Now these gifts are distributed everyday to every single child in the town. Some of the children were ecstatic and overjoyed to see what new gift they would get to play with today. Others found no interest in these toys. Some children opened the gift and immediately started to toss it around. Others brought the gift back home into the safety of their own rooms and played with it themselves. Some shared their gifts. Others refused to let anyone else touch their toy. Some started to draw and add to the gift, adding what they think the gift still needed, while others would try to imitate and recreate the gift.

This little girl was one of the kids who would try every day to recreate the gift she brought her. She wanted to replicate and through replication acquire the skills and talent of the white hair and beard man. She wanted to be like the craftsman. She wanted to imitate him. So she did... or she tried. No matter how concentrated and determined she was to replicate the gift to its most intricate detail, her version was always missing something. She could not replicate the gifts no matter how hard she tried. Her gifts were only a second version to the original.

When she would finally give up at the end of the day, all she knew how to do was to stare in awe. How complicated and purposefully designed the gift was. Every curve and mark were intentional. Every groove and layer only added more to show how brilliant this man was. The more she stared in awe  of the gift, the more she was in awe of the creator behind the gift. Her attempt and inability to replicate the craft reflects the mastery and perfection this man has poured into every gift that he shares with the children of the town.

The little girl realizes after a while that she will never be able to replicate the man's gift to the very scars and scratches. She is not the man with the white hair and the beard. She cannot be him. She cannot be the creator that the man is, but that is okay. She might never have a complete and perfect replica, but that does not change the fact that the little girl already has perfection in her hand.