An Excerpt From Someone’s Journal

5423359620_30b0c06ac0_zNovember 10, 2012

12:50 PM

“It’s autumn. The leaves have changed and are being blown off the trees. I’m sitting on a green bench next to the creek listening to the roar of the wind. I can see the ripples of the water yield to the breath of nature. There are so many colors in the trees. How can the sleep of death create so much varied beauty? I am bombarded with different sights and sounds as I look at the reflections in the greenish body of water.

I can feel water from the creek blow on my face. It is cold and shocking to the skin, yet it refreshes me. It reminds me of when I was a child visiting my aunt and uncle in New England. We went to the beach many times to build sand castles and gather sea shells. My sister was getting older and more independent, so I spent a lot of time by myself since she was no fun. I enjoyed being alone. My family wanted me to hang out with my cousin who was close to my age, but I didn’t really like him. He just made fun of me, and I didn’t know how to react. Communicating with other people was hard for me. I was very shy, yet I had so much to say. Most times, I kept everything to myself. Sometimes, I couldn’t contain it within me. Results varied. Adults would acknowledge that I said something or laugh at my childish jokes, but real conversations rarely occurred. Kids would point out how weird I was, thus enabling my diffidence. There was a handful of friends who enjoyed my oddities, and I wanted to spend time with them. Still, it was easier to be alone.

I can hear a boy and a girl chattering away without a care in the world. Life is simple to them. School is easy. Friends are fun. I hope their parents love each other and keep a good home. In a couple of years, those children will turn into teenagers and create all kinds of hell. He will work hard to be as cool as possible, and she will be worrying about how she looks. Each will decide to like the opposite sex one day and completely despise it the next. The body and mind are constantly changing into a different creature: a young adult. I was concerned with the matters of a teenager even as an “adult,” but it was on a different level – or was it? Still, I was a different person when I graduated high school. And now, I am a different person ready to graduate college. A better person, I hope.

There is a heart carved into the bench. I can see that ‘J & B’ was tenderly written within this common symbol of love. I wonder if they’re still in love. Are they old now, or are they still young lovers? I was in love once. I think. I am reminded of the time she and I went on a walk in the park. There was a wooden railing newly built to keep people from going into the water. When she turned away, I etched our names into the wood hoping it would eternalize the love between us. Yet, it was not to be. She broke my heart a year later. All is forgiven now. Though, it still seems like it happened yesterday. A part of me hopes that the wooden railing was torn down and used for firewood. Seeing others in love reminds me of the void within me. It’s very selfish. I should be happy for them. I should smile when I see a couple kiss. Still, there is a sense of hopelessness that lingers. A bittersweet experience that is all too familiar. Perhaps, I will meet Mr. and Mrs. ‘J & B’ someday, and I will get to introduce my wife to them. Until then, I will just be waiting on the Lord, whatever that really means…”


Dog Days of Summer, Farewell

This summer, I had to say goodbye to two family dogs. Before I tell this sad tale, I must share the joys of my furry friends.

In 1996, the live-action 101 Dalmatians movie came out. I can recall my sister, 8-years-old at the time, and I, 6-years-old, begging our parents to let us get a dog. Stacy and I must have had some serious puppy eyes since we got two new puppies a couple of days later. I picked my dog because he was the only puppy not mobbing me when I walked into the yard. I named him Jordan. The top basketball player at the time was Michael Jordan, but I wasn’t into basketball at all. I figured it was better than any stereotypical dog name, such as Spike or Butkus. Jordan was a golden-retriever with some chocolate labrador in him. Stacy originally picked the same breed of dog. A year or so had passed. We asked the breeders to babysit our dogs for a week while we went on a family vacation. However, there was some miscommunication which resulted in the breeders selling Stacy’s original dog to someone else. I remember her being heartbroken when we returned home, but she was lucky enough to pick another dog. She named her Jewel, and she was a spunky, beautiful black labrador. We celebrated the dogs’ birthdays every Valentine’s Day since they were born in February. We would give them chewy bones or small dog snacks – a nice break from the dry dog food. Jordan would eat anything we gave him, but Jewel was a little more picky with her meals. I remember the first time our dogs escaped the backyard and ran straight to the busy city street full of traffic. Stacy and I were in tears thinking some large semi-truck was going to flatten them. I don’t remember how they managed to survive, but I’m sure it involved my mother sprinting across the street and bringing the dogs back home on their leashes. Slowly, they grew from puppies into old dogs. They lost interest in chasing each other around the yard and exchanged it for lounging in the sun. Their hair grew thicker, and their bellies began to stick out a little further. White patches of fur started to show around their mouths, and the color of their coats began to fade from their glorious richness.

When it was time to leave for college, I was not expecting to see Jordan again when I returned for the summer. His breathing was heavier and tumors began to pop up around his body. It was laborious for him to get up and walk into the other room. Yet, he stuck around until my junior year in college. The day I came back home, I went to the backyard to talk to my mom in the garden. I saw Jordan laying on the ground taking in the summer heat. I called his name, and he didn’t move. I figured he was going deaf and didn’t hear me. I yelled louder, but he still didn’t budge. As I got closer, I noticed flies were buzzing around him. My heart sank. I prayed to see his abdomen rise to take another breath, but his lungs had exhaled one last time. Still, I kept saying his name. His eyes were wide open and unfocused. My mother came to my side and said over and over again, “He’s gone, Sean.” She began to cry as I gave her a hug. In between sobs, I heard her say, “He was my friend.” I could not believe it. I refused to believe it. It wasn’t fair. My mom told me he was fine an hour before I arrived. I was sad, but I didn’t cry. I gritted my teeth in frustration. It just wasn’t fair. If only, I was there an hour earlier. One hour is all it would have taken. My father and I rolled Jordan into a plastic tub and covered it with a trash bag to be taken to the vet for cremation. The nurse was being very sensitive in explaining the fees. On our way out, I remember her telling us to try to have a good day. Needless to say, it was a terrible beginning for my summer. Things could only get better after that, right?

Nearly a week ago, I was with my sister and her boyfriend hanging out with some friends when my father called Stacy and told us that Jewel was dying. He wasn’t able to give us any more detail without losing his composure. Reluctantly, we got in the car and headed straight home. When I saw my father walking out of the backyard, I knew that this was real. I could see my mother lying next to Jewel barely lit by the backyard solar lights. She was sobbing uncontrollably petting the poor dog and lifting her head so she could breathe. I didn’t know what to do. Stacy crouched down and began to run her fingers through Jewel’s aged black coat, but all I could do was stand there and observe. My father was walking around with his arms folded and occasionally rubbing his eyebrows. In between sobs, my mother told me to kneel down and touch Jewel. The dog was breathing hard and was in deep pain. The last thing I wanted to do was touch her in fear of hurting her. Still, I knelt down and began to scratch behind her ears. I knew that she liked that. When Jewel was younger, she would scratch her ears with her hind leg. However, with old age came arthritis so she wasn’t able to do that anymore. I was there to scratch behind her ears. It made her happy. I could almost see her smile whenever she walked up to let me know that her ears itched. But this time, simply scratching her ears would do nothing. She had more trouble breathing and began to whine with every exhalation. There were a couple times when she yelped in pain as if I accidentally stepped on her paw. I saw that her stomach area was swelling. This was the point when I knew that it was time for her to go. I was mouthing a prayer with tears running down my face, “God, just take her now! She hurts so much!” Nothing changed. I realized that she was only going to stay in pain unless we put her to sleep. I knew that a 24-hour animal ER was nearby, and so I called the number and explained the situation. I was terrified to tell my mother that we had to take Jewel away and put her to sleep. She refused to believe that she was dying. She kept saying that Jewel was going to rebound, but I knew that it was time for the old dog to leave us. My father found a large piece of chip wood that we used as a stretcher. My mother delicately put a soft pillow beneath Jewel’s head. We put her into the back of the mini-van. Stacy volunteered to stay in the back and watch Jewel as we drove to the ER. We arrived, and I got out of the vehicle and walked through the front door. Wiping tears from my eyes and clearing my throat, I buzzed the receptionist to open the door. She led us through the side door, and we placed Jewel carefully onto the table. They asked for someone to do the paperwork, and I haphazardly filled it out quickly. They told us the procedure they were going to perform and that Jewel would not feel a thing. We had one last moment to comfort the old dog and feel her warmth as we petted her head. The nurse put a needle into Jewel and seconds later coldly said, “She is gone.” The nurse left the room, and I watched my sister begin to mourn and my father walk around the corner to weep privately. My eyes were so tired from crying. All I could do was watch a caged dog with one eye sleep in the corner of the room. I didn’t know where to look. The radio against the wall was playing some country pop song – hardly fitting for the family dog’s passing. We all slowly walked outside trying to stifle our sobs. My father paid the bill, and we drove home to see my mother and comfort her once more.

For me, it seems childish to be so distraught over a couple of pets. Maybe it’s because I am a “softy.” It felt like I was back in preschool, and someone broke my favorite toy. I would cry uncontrollably until the teacher would pat me on the back or give me another toy to distract me. This time, there is no replacement. In a sense, my childhood died with my dogs. Am I never going to have fun again? Can I not appreciate the simple joys of life? Certainly not. These events are just a marker in my life. These college years have been forming me into a more mature person and teaching me to continue living life. I’ve laughed, and I’ve cried. I’ve loved, and I’ve lost. Instead of dwelling on the past, it’s time to move forward and make new discoveries. It’s time to make new relationships and enrich the ones I maintain now. It’s my senior year in college, and it may not the be best time of my life. Yet, I will try. I’ll do my best and may fail, but I will truly fail if I abandon any second attempts. It’s good to be back in a familiar and happy place, but it’s the last time I can invest in this environment. Therefore, my goal for this year is to strive for more and never settle for less in everything, whether it be my relationship with God or singing my senior recital. I encourage you to do the same.

These are lilac bushes that we planted for my dogs with their old collars at the soil. They are in the front yard of my house in Joplin.

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you. But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind.

James 1:2-6

Leading a Horse to Water


You can lead a horse to water, but you cannot make it drink.

Quite a phrase, isn’t it? I imagine a young mother reciting those words while attempting to feed her stubborn toddler. I picture a senior salesman lending this advice to a new recruit before making his first sales pitch. What causes someone to utter these words? Generally, it is a way of relieving a frustrating situation such as the mother feeding her child. Other times, it is a reality check for someone like the young salesman. Little more thought goes into dissecting this phrase. However, I will indulge myself.

You can lead a horse to water. Who is involved in this situation? You have some person, most likely the horse’s owner or caretaker, who is in control of the horse. The audience with fresh ears assumes this person (let’s call him Eric) has almost total control of the beast. Eric cares for the horse and wants the horse to drink water. Water is refreshing. It cools a hot body as it rolls down the throat. It cleanses grime off of calloused hands after a hard day’s work. Most importantly, water is a necessity for life. Who wouldn’t want water? Even if I am not thirsty, I still find myself enjoying a nice glass of water. If you lead a horse to water, the horse will obviously drink, right?

You cannot make it drink. The listener is caught off guard. “What do you mean I can’t make it drink? The horse’s face is almost touching the water already. I would drink the water! Why won’t the horse?”  Eric is irritated. Imagine him pointing trying to direct the horse’s gaze to the water. Perhaps, he gets on his knees and acts like a dog lapping at the water hoping the horse will imitate. To goad the horse, maybe he forces the horse’s snout closer to the water until it yields to the pressure. Whatever Eric does, the horse refuses to drink. It’s hopeless. Eric simply cannot impose his will onto the horse.

This old proverb is simple to understand. As Phrase Finder explains, “People, like horses, will only do what they have a mind to do.” Yet, I still have a question eating away at me: for what specific reason does the horse not drink? The most realistic answer is that the horse was not thirsty. What if the horse was thirsty and wanted a nice Coca-Cola instead? The horse really hated tasteless water and refused to drink until some lemonade powder was stirred into the liquid. Perhaps, the horse had a fear of water and wanted nothing more than to run as far away from it as possible. Even worse, the horse was living a difficult life and was contemplating plunging its head into the water in order to end it all.

Anytime someone uses this phrase, they are evidently not referring to a horse. The mother is thinking of her child’s health, the elder employee wants to see his co-worker excel, and the concerned friend wants to see his old pal escape from a reckless life…but you cannot make them drink. You have done everything in your power to coax them into enjoying the cool, life-giving water, and they will never yield. What is left to do?

I honestly wish I had an answer. Well, I do have an answer, and it’s very cliché. Never give up. Keep trying. In time, your relentless care will break them down, and everybody lives happily ever after. Yet, this is very hard to say when one finds himself in such a situation. Sad endings happen. Even after long nights of prayer and petition to God, tragedy strikes. No matter how badly you want something to change for the better, the worst occurs.

Here is my last word. The water is good. Please, drink.

Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.”

“Sir,” the woman said, “you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where can you get this living water? Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did also his sons and his livestock?”

Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”

John 4:10-14


To Blog or Not to Blog


You are currently reading my new blog. This first post will not be anything monumental other than explaining what inspired me to contribute to the blogosphere and what to expect from me.

Very few people may be aware that I used to blog back when I was in junior high and high school. I recently rediscovered my old blog (no, I’m not telling you where it is) and was fascinated by some of the things I had written. Some of it was simply amusing while other parts of it were very convicting for me to read years later. At that time, I believed that I had something important to share. At this period of my life, I believe once again that I have a voice that wants to be heard.

What should be expected from this blog? For the majority of it, it will be my own self-reflection. I will be open about problems and events in my life. I highly encourage responses from whoever reads this. It may also on occasion contain some of my creative writing and music reviews.

What should not be expected? Do not expect any political rants from me. I do have opinions on such things, but I choose not to express them through this medium. Do not expect me to berate any person whether they be some celebrity in the news or someone I personally know. The only person I will consider criticizing openly is myself, but I doubt that will happen much. Lastly, do not expect me to blog religiously. I will do my best to write often, but I need to dedicate most of my time in college at this time. Anyways, I bet my posts would lack in quality if I wrote so often.

There you have it!

Sean Roycraft