WORD FROM PASTOR by Preston Davis
Before I came to High Point I remember asking an old college chaplain who was nearing retirement what he really did all day. He said, “my job is to have a ministry of presence.” A ministry of presence? The snarky questions followed. “Can I too be paid for being present to people?” Four years now as Minister to High Point University, and I get what he was talking about. Ask the questions: What really makes a difference? What provides confidence in life when things are shaky? What do you lean on when all the world is limp? The more I grow as a pastor and person, the less I am convinced that words can do what a body can. You can always give someone advice and send them through the valley of the shadow armed solely with their teeth and a head full clichés: “Pick yourself up.” “You’ll get it over it.” “Time will heal you.” I’m not sure how far those will carry us. In fact, don’t these phrases only add to the shadows rather than banish them? We need less ghosts. Not more. It’s why we ache for presence to fill the void. Presence scatters the shadows, silences the ghosts. A hand to hold stills the shakes. It steadies the limp. As the Psalmist knows, yes, there is a valley of the shadow of death, but “thou art with me,” and that leads to “my cup runeth over.” It’s why Christian communities through the ages have eaten bread and wine to remember God giving God’s body in solidarity with us haunted people. What a beautiful reminder that we don’t limp alone. God knows what we need: a companion. Presence. This first edition of Infinite Space brims with student reflections on the theme of presence (and sometimes the lack of it). These poems, essays, photos, and paintings are haunting with their tragedy and struggle, and yet they abound even more with mercy and redemption. Take a look inside. Yes, ghosts and shadows are nearby on the pages to come, such as in Rachel Callaway’s “The Chair,” but they are overwhelmed by the deeper journey we call God’s grace. These stories stir the heart to live and move in a different way, as in Sarah Colbert’s writing. They cause us to take a second look, like in Clarice Sigsworth’s poems, to see that there was more there than we first thought. And you may just look into the face of the Holy Spirit in Kalen Smith’s paintings, which she created during the weekly chapel services. How cool is that?! They are all proof that we can have a different kind of presence in the world. And that’s the point. May your presence in this world be a ministry.
EDITORS' NOTE by: Sarah Leonard
Welcome to Infinite Space, Volume One. Before you dive in, I'd like to say I'm deeply grateful to all our contributors, the help of our co-editor Rock Collier and the professional advice and work of Preston Davis, Brittani Hunt and Jeri Row. Now about our publication. Infinite Space captures through words and verse, paint strokes and camera lenses, and reimagined experiences from those who dare to dream. As they dream, they uncover stories that went untold for far too long. Our hope is that Infinite Space and all of its contributors will offer you the opportunity to feel the heart behind these stories untold and, in doing so, find the beauty in your own story and the world around you. Every single one of these pieces are provided by people brave enough to let you have a look at who they are and how the idea of presence exists in their life or how it has changed their life entirely. From a cluster of dimes and a purple-heart balloon to a necklace that smells like pennies and the sea, they find it in many things. Yet, they also find it in what all of us have felt: a broken heart mended, a wandering soul found, a beatendown confidence finally discovering strength. Infinite Space’s purpose is to explore these forms. Every story, every addition to this student-led publication shows the meaning of presence to each contributor and illustrates how it takes on different shapes. These shapes and forms have been broken down into four categories that we believe not only represent the theme of the publication, but also the foundation – and soul – of what you’ll find inside. Love. Hope. Perspective. Identity. Each section and every contribution within them offers a closer look into the hearts and souls of others. It dares readers like yourself to lean into a light you may not entirely understand, yet feel an urge to do so. When you do that, we hope you’ll realize something you never really knew about yourself. It’s that idea of presence – and being present to the world around you. It’s something you need.
CONTENTS 1
IDENTITY
PERSPECTIVE
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3 Work in Progress Sarah Colbert
39 Now Jena Dryden
5 Where I'm From Braelyn Starkey
41 Stars Sydney Richards
7 The Chair Rachel Callaway
43 A Purple Balloon Taylor Anderson-Barkley
9 Accepting the Call Sydney Richards
47 The Vision Sam Rakestraw
11 Grasselda Sarah Colbert
49 A Welcome Space Anna Webster
13 True North Sam Rakestraw 17 Perhaps Sydney Richards 19 My Way to See God James Austin
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HOPE 53 The God We Cannot See Sarah Leonard 55 MLK Prayer Tiffany Jones
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LOVE
57 My Imaginary Friend Sarah Leonard
25 Oceans Between Them Clarice Sigsworth
60 Anthem of Salvation Sarah Colbert
27 Bad Conditions Clarice Sigsworth
62 Creation Unseen Sarah Colbert
29 Choosing Love Tripp Kerr
63 Bloom & Love Trumps Hate Meg Thomas
31 The Praying Mantis Clarice Sigsworth 35 Family Molly Couick
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IDENTITY
Pictured on the left: Kalen Smith's painting Eye on the Sparrow
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Work in Progress My life is not a chapter book, confined to neat pages held together with glue. My life is not in coherent lines, concise and tailored, submitted for review. My life is crumpled rough drafts, run-on sentences and typos. My life doesn’t thrill you with epic battles between foes. My life is the free verse, Stream of consciousness, Collection of mistakes— Of leaps and falls. My story is that of the pea— No princess. No hero. Just a singular green dot, unassuming and too small. I am the grain that’s been growing all along, who by faith, became a tree with a story and a song.
by Sarah Colbert
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I do not know a perfect person. I only know flawed people who are still worth loving. - John Green
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Where I'm From by Braelyn Starkey I am from red brick, from deep cracks and dark, speckled mold. I’m from a wooden chair that held my infant brother, sister, and I. It hides in the dark, cold basement now. I am from red plastic cars rolling with the sound of thunder in mid summer. A steep, grassy hill with no end in the white snow. I’m from a white wedding album, dust covered, filled with smiles that are no longer there. I’m from wrinkled divorce papers, cries, and smudged ink. I’m from the unneeded fights and possession of a tan leather chair. From my mother’s beating heart that almost stopped beating. It’s the same heart that almost took her. From loud, beeping machines, white coats, one widow maker and too much plaque. I’m from Cherry Run, West Virginia and the water of the dirty Potomac. From the dusty, barely touched, New International Version of my grandmother, which was handed to me. Dated ‘February 2002’, the year she took her last breath. I’m from singing with no words. I am from ‘You are My Sunshine’ and ‘Will the Circle be Unbroken’. I am from Haggard and Cash. I am from ‘pick up and leave’. I am from ‘start over’. I’m from elevated, and I’m from rock bottom. I’m from irrelevant moments worth remembering. There are rough waters, but I have the strongest anchor.
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Don't forget where you came from. But never lose sight of where you are going. - Unknown
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T h e C h a i r by Rachel Callaway
The chair was smooth. It was almost like touching a soft blanket. I sat there and cried as my mother rocked me back and forth. Six years later, I would sit in another chair on the side of a stage. I would look out at over 400 first-year females. I stepped out onto the stage and told my story: one of surviving domestic violence, enduring sexual assault, and forgiveness. It came after a long struggle with the thought that others might know this secret I kept for so long. It was in that soft chair that I told my mom that a family member had sexually assaulted me more than once. As my mom consoled me that afternoon, she pulled out the Bible and read to me the passage where Jesus forgave Mary for her sins. After having to move overnight to escape an abusive father, my mother found the church that I would spend hours at for the rest of my childhood. I grew up heavily involved: Cubbies, Awanas, choir, and VBS. In third grade, one night sitting on my bed, I asked my mom how to get to heaven with the angels. She told me I had to follow Jesus and give my life to him and accept him into my heart. I gave my life to Christ that night and devoted myself to always follow him. In fifth grade, I was baptized with my brothers in the Pacific Ocean by my mom. We chose to be baptized in a God-made body of water, symbolic of the power and strength he held. It was then that I also chose to remain celibate until marriage. Four years later, the same church that led me on my path to God broke me. After over a year of healing, a pastor found out about the assault. He pulled me into his office and called me broken. He told me it was my fault and that God would look down at me for what had happened. How could God do that? How could the church I love turn against me and hate me? Could people tell that I was assaulted? I broke my mom’s heart. I refused to go back to church. I became angry and would lash out when she tried to speak to me about God. I felt abandoned. Throughout high school, I continued to refuse to accept God. People at my church forgot my name, and I no longer stood strong in the faith I once had. When I came to college, I still had kept my personal values and standards that had come from the church and my relationship with God. I tried to get back into a church group, but the people around me had not gone through the struggles I had. They practiced God on Monday night but would go out and pretend God didn’t exist on the weekends. I was confused, my heart was closed off, and I quit going. At the end of my freshman year, I met a boy. I was hesitant because his faith was strong. We both wanted to remain celibate until marriage, but I was afraid to tell him that I was already “damaged goods,” that my faith had been weak, and that I struggled with knowing God was there for me. As we started dating, I told him about my story of faith. His acceptance of my path was the first realization that I was not broken or damaged, but that God still loved, and that others would still love me too, if I told them. As I went to speak to the 400 first-year girls that evening, I remembered what my mom had told me so many times: “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle.” My healing had taken a long time, but I realized that I was able to get through those times, even when I turned from God. I was able to persevere and get to a place of acceptance, because God had not given up on me. He knew I had the courage and willpower to speak to others. I am not a perfect Christian. I struggle each day with my faith. It is difficult for me to go back to that church back home. I still have some anger towards God, and my heart still has some reservations. However, I am growing. I surround myself with people who show me that God still loves me. Although I have gone through many tribulations, I know that I have not given up on Him. It may take time, but I believe faith is a journey, and my path may be a difficult one and I may stray, but God will keep putting me back on it even when I don’t notice.
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Accepting the Call Sydney RichardsÂ
I wanted more/ I wanted to see What destiny was to unfold and belong to me His waves of truth, calling and light Had visited me that very night I cried and fell down to my knees Overwhelmed with His power deliverance and peace He called me and humbly I inclined To go to see the world and life with new eyes He watered and fed the soil of my soul Within His calling I knew to be bold I was called/I was called She recognized her weaknesses and strengths Her gifts and calling included She was to master the art of the perfect balance Learning to be kind looking for nothing in return Having courage while possessing the calm of the tide Having confidence in humility Only facing the girl in the mirror
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You never realize  how strong you are I do not know a until being strong flawed peo is the only know choice you have. J Bob Marley
RIGHT
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Grasselda
by Sarah Colbert
Thank you, Miss Sarah. [Never Sarah. Always polite. Always separate.] I’m so happy to meet you. My name is Grasselda, But everyone calls me Grace. [It’s hard to roll your “r’s” when you’ve only read from the narrow lines on white pages.] I love to clean this house, But… In Mexico, Miss Sarah, I was a lawyer. But I can’t be a lawyer here. I have a dream, though, Miss Sarah. I will open a company for building houses. I like to be a maid, but I cannot do this forever. I could tell younger women how to clean, but I don’t want that. I would not be happy. I want to work. When I clean, I let the Holy Spirit lead. He shows me what to do. [How to love others, the ones with so much money— Yet, they can’t buy love. Money can’t buy Grace.]
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Nothing happens unless we first dream. Carl Sandburg
True North by Sam Rakestraw "So…here I am. Wow, who would’ve thought? I only brought up the suggestion of camping out in wilderness so that my parents would stop getting up in my grill. Yes, my confidence is nonexistent. Yes, socializing is rocket science to me. Yes, I get depressed at times. Yes, electronics bring me more joy then people do. Yes, I prefer to stay alone. At first, I thought I was just a normal introvert, but apparently, there is something wrong with me. I have one question at the moment: Why do people care so much? My isolation and nihilism isn’t hurting anyone but myself. I’ve felt the pain firsthand and can honestly say that I prefer it much more than camping in the woods of Vermont with nothing to hold onto." This is the last record I have of any kind of someone who had once been close to me; someone who had a lasting impact on my life and someone who I once saw as a hero. He shared my physical name and appearance, so I took to calling him ‘the old me’. I think everyone has known someone like that once in their lives. What you just read is the very first entry from the journal I kept in the wilderness program in New England during the summer for two months. This was his only entry, The Old Me that is. He died the next day. The cause of death was an acute panic attack. I lived through it and for the first time in a long time, I decided I was going to be brave.I had no idea how. It was on my fourth day when I wrote home for the first time. I had told my family that I wanted to (and will) be a Superman both in my journey and when I return home. I emphasized the ‘wanted to’ part. You see, you can’t suddenly say ‘Hey! I am a Superman!’ and expect praise of any kind just like that. The word ‘super’ implies more than average, going above and beyond. To proclaim that you’re someone who does the extraordinary on a daily basis is very bold. You’ll need a story to retell when asked why. And this is mine. I remember crying myself to sleep during the nights and weeping during the daytime, no matter how warm or how much the sun shined. It always felt like twilight. It’s hard to recall where I didn’t go wrong during that time. In fact, I had even attempted to run away, no more than a day after my arrival. From where we camped, it was 40 miles from headquarters, a full day of walking through uncharted forestry. And when you're powered by fear alone, anything sounds safe. I was also powered by something else, something new. I called him, ‘The Wraith.” Of course, I was the only one who saw it. Regarding this new being, there are some theories. It might be the ghost of my old self, damned to haunt me and cry out profusely of my impending failure. But I think that it was a manifestation of my fears, anxiety, and insecurities all meshed together in one powerful entity whose main aim was to bring me down to my knees. It was there with me for three weeks. During the day. it followed overhead, not allowing me to have one reason to be happy. Noticed by the group and others around me, I walked with my shoulders hunched hopelessly. To this day, I haven’t felt anything like that, and believe me when I tell you that no human being should ever feel that way, no matter who they are.
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I wasn’t alone out there. My group of young adults like me and alternating guides were all the family I needed. Then, there was Charles: a cheery, old man hippie who came to visit us every week for yoga and a gourmet dinner of our choice made by him. Despite being in a negative space, Charles never let that get to him. He never let anything get to him, a regular ray of sunshine wherever he went. He taught me happiness and openmindedness, teaching me that the world was not as evil as it appeared to me. With meditation and old rock music he often played for us, I found joy in the little moments, while The Wraith would watch from above in angry defeat. A rainstorm taught me leadership one night. We had recently arrived on our new site and had set up our shelters. Just as we were about to make the fire, a storm we had expected earlier in the day came up. Storm would be an understatement. This was an atmospheric maelstrom. No fire meant no dinner. I was sitting beneath a tree for shelter as we fumbled around. I could feel The Wraith jeering and cursing at me. My group seemed as confused as I was. Like a captain to his crew, I instructed them that we had to get the fire pit covered. Using a tarp and the trees around us, we roofed it over the site. That night, we had a hot dinner and had me to thank for it. Ben taught me heroism. When I had first arrived, a fellow named Ben had been there the longest, since the winter. His time in the woods had made him mighty and wise. Over the many times I was vulnerable, he was there to save me. I wanted to be like him. I wanted to save people as he did and have the love and respect for all like he had. He had gone, graduated only two weeks after my arrival. It was three weeks later when another Ben arrived. We had joked on a number of occasions that it was the replacement for the ‘Old Ben.” New Ben came at a time when I was at my peak. The Wraith I had shooed away. I now walked upright and affirming and when Ben needed me, I was there. The first weeks are always the hardest but with my help, Ben was able to overcome. I remember my first journal entry. I posed a question ‘Why do people care so much?’ I can now answer that question. As my dad once said to me in a letter; ..."because I am worth it."
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"Sometimes, the only way to ever find yourself is to get completely lost."Â - Kellie Elmore
|RIGHT
Perhaps
by Sydney Richards
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The way she looked into the world The world’s people The way she looked into her soul There she hid the biggest contradiction Conflict and unwelcoming spirits Perhaps she had started to learn Grown aware of what she needed help with Accepting the fate and situations God put before her Waking and shaking her constantly and daily She figured too that she needed to become stronger for herself
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The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart. - Helen KellerÂ
My Way to See God by James Austin
I got my camera from my grandmother, Mimi. She gave it to me for Christmas a few months before I went to Prague for the spring semester of my sophomore year, and she told me, “Take enough pictures for all of us to see your adventures.” That’s exactly what I did. I must’ve taken at least 400 pictures a day with the camera Mimi gave me. It was a Nikon Coolpix, and I took it everywhere in Prague. I had always been our family’s photographer, and my mom even told me I had an artistic eye. So, when I got to Prague, I took pictures of the architecture, the museums, almost everything. After taking so many pictures, I would keep 100 and upload 10. It was exhausting, but during those four months in Prague, I knew what I wanted to do when I returned to High Point University: minor in photography to complement my major in music. That's how I became the chapel photographer. Preston asked me. I already sang with the Chapel Choir, but my camera gave me another way to serve God. So, every Wednesday during our service, I took pictures. At first, it was hard. I realized I had to work on my creative eye, but the more I worked, the more I found artistic angles everywhere I looked in and outside Hayworth Chapel.
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I did find some funny shots. There’s one here of Matthew Gushee. Every Wednesday, Matthew always wanted to do a funny, awkward shot. Once, he wrapped himself around one of the main columns. With this one, he posed by the fire pit in a thinking man’s pose. The others photos are more artistic, such as the one with the chapel in the late afternoon sun. It was a beautiful fall evening, and the light was just right. When I saw it, I told myself, “Okay, if you don’t get this picture now, you don’t know when this will happen again.” So, I took a photo. Now, when I look at it, it reminds me of how God’s presence is still with us even at the end of the day.
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Then there is the photo of the candles. Some are tall, some are short, and some have a lot of wax left while some have little. For me, they all represent, in their own way, God’s light: a light we all need to follow. Like some college students, I have struggled with my relationship with God, and I’ve struggled to find the purpose of why I am and who I am. But now, I’m on the other side of that, and my camera helped. I no longer feel I have to explain my relationship with God. He hears me; he knows who I am. So, when I look at my photo from our recent Ash Wednesday service, it reminds me of the message I want to send. We’re all college students. Some of us come to church dressed up, and some of us don’t, but no matter where we come from or who we are, we all go to chapel to share our relationship with God together. I want my photos to tell the story of that; of how we worship. As the quote goes, “A picture is worth a thousand words,” and I hope you see that here.
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That’s what I want everyone to understand when they see my photos posted on the chapel’s Facebook page. I want to show the love and the power of our church and how we as a student body gather together on campus every Wednesday night, and we all come for one purpose: to join together and relish in the presence of God. And my camera? That’s my tool. It helps me communicate with God and everyone else.
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2
LOVE
Pictured on the left: Kalen Smith's painting Growth Mindset
Oceans Between Them Clarice Sigsworth
She saw him Put her necklace on the desk The necklace she never takes off The gold one The familiar outline of her home The one with the dull gold glint The one when she touches it, it makes her hand smell like pennies and the sea Her necklace The one she never takes off, The one she feels naked without. She left it at his place And then she saw him (when he wasn't there) Return it. Her home in his hand, Hanging by a chain that smells like pennies and the sea.
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"Love is not about how much you say'I love you' but how much you prove that it's true." - Unknown
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Bad Conditions
by Clarice Sigsworth
I always fall in love in February When the world stops in place And rain freezes mid drip from skeletal trees, dormant, waiting for the sun to smile another summer. I always fall in love in February Because my heart, too, freezes in its place, unable to withstand the weight of icy rain this weight that pulls my heart down to my stomach where my pulse beats like a butterfly's wings Where my heartstrings, pulled taut, snap one by one until my heart suddenly free from my chest falls into your empty hands Where its icy shell shatters, Releasing my affection. My love spills all over you, staining your white socks to almost match your black shoes. always fall in love in February. My life started that way and there it will end. I will not learn. But does the tree expect the leaf to be the first to feel the smile of the sun?
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Choosing Love by Tripp Kerr "You're gonna have a long day." "I sure will." On our way to the Denver airport, my dad spoke these simple words that had more impact on me than he ever realized. Today is September 11th, 2015. I am sitting at gate A53 in anticipation of my flight to London Heathrow by way of Chicago O'Hare. Prepared to board a flight on a date that has haunted Americans for a decade and a half, my mind is with another tragic loss: that of a friend and a brother. Today is also the late Mario Mayorga's 20th birthday. My fraternity and the greater High Point University community lost a great man last April and, for many, the loss still doesn't feel real. After a weekend of doing anything we could to find Mario's whereabouts, the staff of HPU's Student Life office came to our house to answer any questions we had about their ongoing investigation. During the session, the staff received a call and left the room to answer it. When they entered the room again, I could tell by their demeanor that they had received bad news. Mario's body had been identified in a Greensboro hospital. The reactions were varied but powerful. Many exploded with emotion, while some (myself included) were frozen. I felt numb, in a trance examining the floor and locked into my chair. "What exactly happened?" I asked. “Why did this happen?" I'm not sure we'll ever get a complete answer. The beautiful service High Point University held for us did everything it could to address this question. Many of the answers revolved around a higher purpose, a plan we could not fully understand. I accept that tragedies happen and life must move forward, and that no one is to blame for a series of wholly unfortunate events. It offers peace. The question now is, "How do we remember Mario?" I hope that we can remember Mario above all for this characteristic, and that we can honor his memory by choosing love.
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I have been everywhere on the spectrum of religion, from daily Bible devotions to an outright and angst-filled rejection of any higher power. However, Mario's life gave me perspective. Above all, Mario was a caring and friendly person. Our chapter's message to the High Point community after his passing was to "Smile Like Mario." His memory is and always should be one of positivity, a shining light. Some say that every action a human takes is somewhere on a spectrum of love and fear. If this is true, Mario certainly lived on the positive end. Every instance of Mario I have to reflect on brings love to my heart. I never understood the phrase "God is love" until Mario's passing. I now understand this phrase to mean that the loving interactions and relationships we experience every day are the very essence of God. Kindness and Godliness are one in the same. In a world that can be many things other than loving, Mario made a habit of choosing positivity. Rest in Peace, brother. We love and miss you.
The Praying Mantisby Clarice Sigsworth
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I waited for him four hours at a patio table outside of a cafe that served unique lattes Waiting flipping half-heartedly through an uninteresting novel in which our hero searches for what is lost and along the way finds herself. plodding at the pace of overthought bop jazz kick drum rhythm Pretentious punctuation (((or; lackethereof))) pulled instead of pushed grabbing at my tired feet like exposed roots of a rotting tree Did he forget? I wish I sat next to a sealed box. Then, he’d be here. Or maybe not, but then he’d at least be both here and not-here until I opened that lid. My time, while not yet valuable, may someday be. So I got up and left.
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I left a five to pay for my lukewarm coffee did I wait too long? *three and a quarter too much, being generous I left, unembarrassed. I am the only one aware of the slight If I maintain my composure. If I can get through that door before the sheet erosion mars my makeup. I stumbled and fell. dammit. I dropped my book and lost my place in it. I barely recognized the protagonist, as she maintained only her name and shimmering green-brown eyes. She moved. She worked. She did not settle. She decided. She fought, and she won. Perhaps the skill of this author surpassed my initial assessment. Perhaps the trudge and misdirection of early chapters flipped the hero’s journey her metamorphosis on its back for examination ungeheures Ungeziefer into Greta oto into Hierodula membranacea
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"Self-love is knowing that I may feel ignored, unwanted and misunderstood at times but I am more than those feelings and there is more to my story." - Ggrenee Writes
Family by Molly CouickÂ
Grandmother's Embrace
"Family" is a collection of photographs taken on a 35mm film camera. I developed them myself, depicting various members of my own family. Familial ties are a bond that cannot be easily broken, and I wanted to depict the importance and beauty of these relationships in my work. "Family" encompasses many different types of relationships, from grandparents to siblings, always growing and gaining new members in the form of fiancĂŠs or babies. My family members are caring, beautiful, supportive, and hardworking. I want to celebrate these qualities and encourage loving, tight-knit families in a society where the word "family" all too often carries a negative connotation or unpleasant memories.
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Dad's Hands
Grace
That Touch
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PERSPECTIVE
Pictured on the left: Kalen Smith's painting Shalom Aleikhem
N o w Jena Dryden Breathe. Now wait. Listen. Not to what I’m trying to say But to what I’m saying. Breathe. That’s all there is. Breathe. And you are here. You are now. Time does not exist. There’s no past anymore. There’s no future yet All there is is every single moment. All there is Is Right Now.
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"Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift. That is why it is called the present." - Alice Morse Earle
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Stars
by Sydney Richards
Memoirs agape escape Into visions of dimly bright lit past For her she saw magnolia trees Fenced-in properties and yellowish brick that held every sense of this can be you We are dictating who you will be Some fabrics of you come from here You will remember you will cry and you will ponder They were shining stars each possessing their Own newly featured Product of personality traits to be craved to be bought By a mushy under-grown under-capable and unquestioning brain Some of the glitter stood spread flew And blinded Food Poured into my bloodstream we all shared the same blood literally Shared symbolic consumption of the master creator’s blood In unison on Sundays
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That church those stars Caskets dinners family ties drama And Jesus forever changed me It was my point of view I was given a side to choose without choosing I became loyal and devoted to a practice that I wasn’t aware of Its content What it had made me think and then who I later was to become And now To tell His truth and live life full within grace Called embracing his light to be shared in dark space
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A Purple Balloon
by Taylor Anderson-Barkley
It was February 24, 2007, and my family and I had just concluded my grandmother Nanny’s Celebration of Life: a FUN-eral, if you will. My mother and her siblings did the best they could to make the day a time of merriment, rather than sorrow, as we remembered her legacy, instead of focusing on her recent passing due to congestive heart failure. We wanted to honor her and make the day, as she would have wanted it, happy. So, we showed up to the funeral home in her favorite color, lavender, and had a great time full of laughter and smiles. As the last guests exited the funeral home, my mother, her siblings, their respective spouses, and my grandfather, Nanny’s husband (or Papa), piled into three separate cars with Nanny’s ashes, while I rode with my sister. Our car rides were somber, and even though the funeral was a cheerful occasion, the moment had passed, and the realization that we would never get to see her againwas enveloping everyone. While we were headed toward the interstate in a line of cars with my sister’s car several cars back from the rest of the family, a Crest Honda car lot and a Crest Cadillac car lot were on our right and several fast food restaurants sat everywhere else. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a purple, helium, foil, heart balloon appeared. It bounced off the windshield of the secondcar in the line, which my mother was in. Then the balloon proceeded to bounce off the first car’s windshield that held my aunt and Papa. At the time my mother, aunt, and Papa believed it might have come from one of the two car lots, but on closer inspection, that was not the case. After a moment of shock, my mother quickly called my aunt to verify the experience and make sure she wasn’t losing her mind. When my aunt and Papa agreed that they had seen the purple balloon as well, they all came to the conclusion that it had to be a message: a note from Nanny; a purple, her favorite color, heart, to let everyone know that she was alright and she loved us. Once the experience was shared with the rest of the family, our hearts felt a little lighter and in that moment, we knew everything would indeed be okay. When my mother and I reminisced with this story later on, I could not help but smile, because that was just so Nanny: always looking out for her family and making sure we were okay, even when she was no longer with us. I would come to experience this love from Nanny, firsthand, as I began my college career. Halfway through my freshman year of college, I began finding dimes everywhere. I found dimes in the dining halls, in the gym, in my dorm, and even on the sidewalk while walking to class. Within the span of a month, I had found at least five dollars’ worth of dimes.
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So, I called my mother and told her. And what would you know, she’d been finding dimes everywhere too. I knew there was no way this could be a coincidence, so my curious mind led me to look into it, and what I found made my heart fill with warmth and love. After a quick Google search I was able to find stories like mine from people all over the world. So many other people had written on online forums and blogs about finding dimes all over after a loved one had passed. They said that they were messages from their loved ones in heaven. The thought made me feel extremely loved. After all this time, my Nanny was still looking out for me and my mother and was making sure we knew she would always be there. Even now, as a senior in college, I’ll still find dimes on occasion, especially whenever I am having conflicting thoughts about my future and how it will all pan out. I see these dimes as my Nanny’s way of giving me a gentle squeeze on the shoulder and telling me not to fret. Everything will fall into place. She always knows just what to say, even without saying it, to keep me at ease.
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"Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory." - Dr. Seuss
The Vision
by Sam Rakestraw
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It’s a Sunday sunset at Water’s Edge. The front door is open and waiting for him. He climbs the stone steps of the patio deck. His hand strokes the Mezuzah as he goes in. Eyes fluttering tiredly, as if it’s a dream. He wipes his shoes on the rugged floor then trails into the kitchen from the entry hall. He makes his way to the sliding glass door. The house is empty, no one is here at all. Out of the back door and into the oasis. Greeting him from a lawn chair are two cats. They nuzzle his caressing hand lovingly. They look great for their ages in coal black. One going thirty, and the other is forty three. They play in fields of the rainbow bridge. The sun peeks up from the lake pier when at last, he can can see him now. Wearing a skipper’s hat, boating gear. Staring across the water, his head bowed. “Hello papa,” he says to the old gentlemen. He smiles and takes off his baseball hat, then puts his arm around his grandson. The lake sparkles from where they sat. The time for a heartfelt one on one. They haven’t spoken since the Shiva. "Papa, how far do you think it is?” he asks. The gentlemen adjusts his visor and hums. “Quite the swim, to go there and back, but that’s ok, I know that you, my grandson, are more than strong enough to make it.”
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A Welcome Space
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by Anna Webster
My interpretation of infinite space isn’t just necessarily an empty space, but a place where everything is welcomed: all flaws, fears, angers, frustrations, and peace to be all in one space together reflecting on the past and predicting patterns for the future. These emotions cycle in and out continuously, rather, making it an infinite cycle, an infinite space.
Hierarchy
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Revive
Light House
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HOPE
Pictured on the left: Kalen Smith's painting God is Not One
The God We Cannot See
S a r a h L e o n a r d
A first kiss under a weeping sky, one that makes you feel like you can fly A familiar melody that leaves you in awe A young girl finally not focusing on her flaws Rainbows painted with colors kissed by the sun A victim of paralysis finally able to run When sunrise breaks night’s painted dark, a lone wolf’s howl broken by the song of a lark A broken soul finally redeemed A disabled child finding their self-esteem A story giving us the bravery to live, in a world that has so much to give When a lifelong dream is finally achieved The realization that our loved ones never leave The vision of a mother into this world bringing life A person whose only known darkness finally finding the light The face of a mother when she sees her child’s first smile A suicidal life being made worthwhile A broken plea finally given a reply The flashes of memories before you think you will die After a long, hard life at last finding peace, and finally being able to eternally sleep A wrongly accused man after decades set free After a lifetime of blindness, being able to see
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Falling to your knees because for too long, you have been trying to stay strong A mother’s broken cries as she holds her child gone cold An abused victim’s tale finally told Millions of the faithful mercilessly slaughtered, and their family visit the memorial where they are honored A child’s innocence stripped away too soon, by someone they never realized would be their doom Numerous cities plagued with disease A once strong hero being brought to their knees A heart that’s broken with no reason why, so that its victim for nights without reason will cry Unaccepting people taking it too far, and murdering others because of who they are Lands being destroyed to make houses for humans, leaving animals’ homes in forgotten ruins A world driven by hatred instead of love, making you wonder, if anyone who cares is above Committing acts that are unforgiveable, and flooded with guilt, life becomes unlivable When an innocent man is wrongfully accused, and the real criminal from the court is excused When a man gets Alzheimer’s later in his life, and eventually can’t even recognize his own wife
Knowing through thick and thin we are never alone, and that there’s good in a world that seems colder than stone
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MLK Prayer
by Tiffany Jones
God of Grace and Justice, We give thanks for the opportunity to gather today to honor the life and legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. As we prepare our hearts to hear the message today, let us remember that the fight for racial justice and equity has been a long and stormy fight, and it is not over yet. I pray that we are unsatisfied with our own freedom until all of our siblings in Christ feel safe enough to walk down the street, and to drive home, without fear of harassment or discrimination. I pray that we are unsatisfied with our own wants until the needs of the most vulnerable in our society have been met. I pray that my fellow white, privileged people walk alongside my brown siblings in protest when brown bodies and dignity have been, and are actively being, disrespected. I pray that we, the church, a body that extends beyond these four walls, model bold advocacy and truth as we proudly commit ourselves and our energy to continuing the legacy of love and inclusion of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. gifted us. I pray in a week like this week, beginning joyfully by remembering one of your great Saints, and ending with an inauguration and an uncertain future, we renew ourselves for the fight for justice and equity. I pray we remember that even on the most disheartening of days, that the light shines in the darkness and the darkness cannot overcome it.
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My Imaginary Friend by Sarah Leonard When I was little, I do not think I ever had an imaginary friend- or real friends for that matter. Instead, I would find myself clinging to the fictional and legendary because those magical characters in my head were as close to a real friendship as I would ever get. Therefore, Christmas became one of my favorite holidays and Santa Claus my friend- almost like an imaginary friend. God was like Santa Claus: one of those improbable characters I clung to and blindly believed in. Proof was not something I cared for. It was clear that virgins bearing children, seas parting, flame-retardant bushes, and talking snakes are not things we see nowadays. Nonetheless, I believed unconditionally. Even with the amount of bullying I endured: from being choked till I almost passed out, being pushed to the ground while everyone laughed and watched, to being made fun of because of my grandpa having cancer, nothing was ever enough to make me question. Nothing was enough to make my imaginary friend, God, who followed behind me, walk away. However, then something was taken from me, and to this day, it has become my biggest fear: losing the people I love. It was the death of my grandfather, whom I called Aapa, that made my imaginary friend slowly start to vanish. When my Mom and Dad walked through the door, bearing grief on their faces, I knew what they were going to tell me. As I slowly began process that my grandpa had passed away, I asked questions not only to myself, but also to my imaginary friend, who was supposedly grieving with me. Yet, I had never felt more alone in my life. I convinced myself that God would not put me through that again. However, people in my life continued to die, and with every death, God followed farther and farther behind. From 8th grade to high school, I lost two people in my life in car crashes. They were too young to die. What was the point in taking a life that had not even been lived yet? Why even bother creating that person in the first place? Over my four years of high school, I started hearing about school shootings and of countries where millions of innocents were being slaughtered. How is it acceptable for it to ever get to the point where children have endured so much that they stop crying? Where someone would be able to take away the imagination and wonder of millions of children without consequences? Why would God allow that to happen? Once I made it to my senior year, my imaginary friend was so far behind me, I could not even see him anymore. God was no longer the wondrous, loving, all-powerful being I once thought he was, but an authoritative, unempathetic, violent creature that had no sympathy or any cares for what happened to the human race. My imaginary friend had shrunken down to a faded shadow, clinging onto my heels and pleading for me to notice him. Ultimately, it made more sense to me that God would not exist at all than be the uncaring creator I then saw him as.
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Like Santa Claus, God became fictional, and that frightened me to the point where I could not even admit it. I would mutter broken prayers at night, trying to get myself to believe that there was someone I was actually talking to, and not the shadow that lingered behind me. Once I went to college, I started getting desperate to believe again. Life was stressful, I was far from my home and family, my housing situation was difficult, and I eventually was told by my doctor that I likely had situational depression, which went away not long after my freshman year ended. During my freshman year, I felt like I was being confined and suffocated every day I crept back to my room. I needed help and to believe that on those nights I was stuck in my room and crying for reasons I was unable to even give, that I was not really alone. So, like I did when I was a child, I started to talk to God again. I started praying again, because I was so desperate to be happy. I joined a Christian Service Sorority called Alpha Delta Theta (ADT), Chapel Choir, and I attended weekly chapel services. It was my hope that doing so would strengthen my belief, and that shadow that had become a deep, never-ending, pitch-black hole, would finally disappear. God would again become my Santa Claus, my imaginary friend. At first, things did not improve. With every one of my involvements, I was told the same thing I always had been: God was good and he loved me, even though bad things happened. Then, at a chapel service during the first semester of my sophomore year, there was a message that finally spoke to me. It reached my heart and stroked the aching back of the shadow clinging to my ankle. The topic was choosing to see the good in the world. The pastor, Preston Davis, brought up how, although there are many bad things, that does not mean that they are all that exist. So much goodness is out there that we neglect to acknowledge because all the media shows us is the bad. So, instead of researching into all the horrible things, I instead stopped and looked at all of the good thingschildren being born every day, the homeless being given homes, broken souls being saved, people on the brink of death being born again, etc. There is so much beauty that I had not acknowledged. Before, I was choosing to look at the bad things that God couldn’t even do anything about without taking away our freedom. He does not want us to suffer, but he also does not want us to go through life being handed the solution to every problem without learning. My outlook on life changed and since then, I have always tried to look for the good things in the world and for the bright side to every situation.
Eventually, that shadow finally unwrapped its shroud from around me, light overcoming it. God had turned from my magical, imaginary friend, to a needy, taunting shadow, to an ever-glowing, loving ring of light, forever following close behind me. Yes, I have lost my imaginary friend, but that is not a bad thing. My friend is no longer imaginary, and he is no longer a haunting shadow either, but a shining light guiding me through the darkness. I have been getting better at thinking of God as being my constant ally instead of my enemy, and although I still doubt at times, I believe more now than ever that there is a God. He may not be the one we perceive to a ‘T,' and my faith will likely waver again at some point. However, now that my hope has strengthened as well as my conviction, I will always fight to keep my imaginative, legendary, and magical friend at my side.
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At such moments I don’t think about all the misery, but about the beauty that still remains. - Anne FrankÂ
Anthem of Salvation by Sarah Colbert
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I hope. I wait for the trumpet. I will be whole, as I listen to the melody, pouring out from the pages I’ve traced. The lyrics—God’s word, Holy sheet music. Sing of the hope that’s in you and in me. All hearts free. Sin’s kiss is forgotten. The tropical taste, no longer upon my breath— only the savor of fresh bread, broken for me. The crumbs fall gracefully, like innumerable grains of sand, from between my fingers What a promise, the anthem of my salvation.
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There are two ways to live: As if nothing is a miracle,
or as if everything is a miracle.
- Albert Einstein
Creation Unseen Sarah Colbert I dare you to look me in the soul— not through the window; there’s a glare. But see my soul, completely bare. You say you can’t. Perhaps it’s true. You’re blinded by your point of view. You can’t see souls; you can’t see love. Unless you learn to look above. How can the Spirit not be real? Is to see more than to feel? The Spirit is as the wind. I know it’s there, because like the wind, it breathes a prayer. Without your eyes you can’t see art, but you can’t hear Truth without your heart. It’s something given— Not what I do, When the Spirit in me sees the Spirit in you.
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Bloom by Meg Thomas
Flowers, much like people, are resilient. Year after year, faced with cold weather and ice, being stomped on and broken down, these flowers come back. They force their way through the ground, reaching for the warmth of the sun. People are similar, pushing back against all of the negativity and obstacles that stand in their way, simply reaching upward toward their goals.
Love Trumps Hate
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by Meg Thomas
This collection of photographs represents the individuality and diversity represented on High Point University’s campus. Students on campus rose to the occasion this year, standing up and speaking out for what they believe in. Taken at a protest held on campus, these signs were created by passionate students, promoting diversity and acceptance not only on our campus, but throughout our nation.
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Benediction by Rock Collier
Socrates said, “The unexamined life is not worth living,” most poignantly as described in Plato’s Apology. Socrates points to the meaning of life, which can be summed up in just a few words: the discovery of truth. Truth defines life, it molds it and transforms it. However, the journey or discovery of truth is not purely an intellectual inquiry, but rather a spiritual one as well. Plato and the ancient Greeks were the first to affirm that the soul is part of the human condition. Thus, it is no wonder why C.S. Lewis said, “If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.” The implication we may discover in this brilliant thought is that the soul is only satisfied by spiritual things, rather than material things. Therefore, truth must be bound in that which is spiritual. Infinite Space is primarily and most importantly a spiritual platform for contributors as well as readers to discover and be enlightened by truth. Infinite Space is a free enterprise that incorporates free thought, for this is the most efficient environment to discover truth, spiritual truth. I encourage us all to examine each work that is published in a manner where we might look into the soul of its author; and after this experience has concluded, may we all be that much closer to discovering that spiritual truth that our souls so desperately desire.