Monday, February 28, 2011

Playing God with My Ant Friends

January 27, 2000

Dear Kim,

As I sit here in my little ant infested dormitory, I will tell you the same thing I told my best friend last night.

The longer I travel down the path of my life, the more I am torn in two directions. Half of me wants to run home to my childhood—with the security of things such as pudding with Nilla Wafers and bananas, Saturday morning cartoons, Cabbage Patch Kids, church with the whole family, or Sundaes on Saturday evenings. The other half of me wants to run into the frightening and exciting unknown—the harsh city, the solace of countryside, or the outskirts of town in the “hick-est” little nowhere ever. While I sometimes think I must choose, rationally I know that my life will probably be a combination of both. One of the most beautiful things I can think of is taking the joys of yesterday into tomorrow. I thank God that you are one of those joys: all the happiness of my life embodied in memories and the basic hope of tomorrow. I thank God even more that I have you, forever, no farther away than the local phone, computer, or post office. I too am always here for you.

Sometimes in the quiet of my college experience, I wonder just how all that is happening to me right now fits into the grand scheme of my life. I wonder if sometimes God looks at me like I look at these ants, screaming, “What are you doing? Why won’t you do what I say?” I, like my ants, have followed the crowd at times, chasing after some old sugary candy. If I keep this up, surely I will be lead into destruction, the same way my ants are going to get a whooping when I come back from work and classes.

Playing God with My Ant Friends,
Amie Sommars

Poem: Why I Understand Nuns

“Why I Understand Nuns”
circa 1999

I love Him because He didn’t steal my heart,
But rather asked gently, “Can I heal the hurting part?”
He said, “I’ll shower you with gifts—anything for you.
Just ask for what you want- that’s all you have to do.”
I am but an ugly rock standing next to Him,
But He says that I am the most precious kind of gem.
He says if I give Him my rags, torn and dirtied dark,
Then I will receive a sparkling robe, shining without a mark.
I tell Him I am tired from the battles I have fought.
He says, “I’ll give you strength, for this is how you’re taught.”
I say, “You will never understand me. You can’t see through my facade.”
He gently says, “ I love you, child, and that is why I‘m God.”

I say, “I am not worthy of having You to love.”
He says, “Take a look around you, look down and look above.
I created everything that you see and even more.
I am the reasons the flowers grow and the reason eagles soar.”
“But I, oh Lord, am not a bird. Nor, am I a flower.”
He says, “But you are a temple. And if you’ll allow, I’ll supply you power.”
I do not pretend to understand Him or the grace He shines on me,
And I do not pretend to think, my past He can not see.
I cry, “But my mind will not forget the memories that I’ve stored.”
He says, “I forgive you always, and that is why I’m Lord.”