Taking you for Granite

This week’s poem isn’t a spiritual one, but a fun poem inspired by a pun I heard about taking things for granite, instead of for granted.

Taking you for Granite

I think you’re really gneiss,
You’re a pretty coal person,
I’ll always sand(stone) by you,
You shale always be my friend.

You are marbleous,
I’ll always lava you,
You are my rock,
And I won’t take you for granite,

It’s sedimentary, my dear Watson:
You set my heart on (sa)phire,
Of quartz, I like you a lot,
And I think I always shale.

I chalk it up to fate
That life pressed us together,
Though it didn’t take much heat or pressure
For my heart to metamorphosize into loving you.

You’re really quite o-clay,
I can’t express how cool you ore.
I hope you’re not ruby awakened
When I say that ge(ode), you’re so fine.

The Jerusalem News

I was reading through my old mission notebook and found this fun little poem. I thought it was a cool way of saying that if we aren’t willing to open ourselves up to Christ, no amount of evidence will change that.

The Jerusalem News

Originally written 9/19/2018

The daughter ran home excitedly,
“Dad, I saw up on the road
a man who healed the sick
and cast out devils from the poor!”

The father looked up at his girl
from his morning Jerusalem News
and said “Sweetie, I’m sure it’s false
and a scam, it isn’t true.”

She came back another day,
“Dad, the man I talked about,
raised his friend from up the dead,
he stood and walked around!”

The dad sat, unimpressed,
with the morning paper and said,
“It’s all a fake, I’m sure of it.
I know what I’ve read.”

The daughter trudged in sad one day,
“That wondrous man of miracles —
they took him, now he’s dead.
It’s just so unbelievable.”

“Serves him right,” the father said,
“He taught odd, new things.
He said he was the Son of God,
he said he was our King.”

A few days later, she ran inside,
bursting through the door:
“He came back! He’s risen!
He came to life once more!”

The father shook his head.
“He can’t even stay dead right.”
He turned back to his newspaper
and read in the morning light.

Those who look and come to Christ
see the miracles He’s done,
see Him as who he really is —
God’s miraculous son.

But those who look no further
than the things they read or hear
Never get the wonderful blessing
of having their Savior near.

From the girls who wonder why you guys won’t ask us on more dates

Originally published 02-14-2019

From the girls who wonder why you guys won’t ask us on more dates

From the girls who wonder why you guys don’t ask us on more dates—
we received your letter; we were glad to know the reasons for our fate
(that is, eating Meadow Gold ice cream on the couch alone at night),
and now we’re responding to clarify some things and set you right.

First, be sure to check our left hands for the ring that we may wear.
At least we have a way to tell you we’re engaged, so it’s more than fair
that you’re the one who has to ask, and, by the way, it would help our doubt
if you clarified whether this was an actual date or just us “hanging out.”

It’s not like we want to make you suffer when you try to set up a date,
but we can’t proclaim “I’m single!” or “Taken!” without us sounding fake.
So then we have to figure out a way to say no if we’re not interested,
or how to say we’d like to go despite our schedule being congested.

The real reason we can’t join you on your date at half past nine
is that we have a Pride and Prejudice marathon at that time,
and regardless of your efforts to be a gentleman, we’re sorry,
but there’s no way you can surpass the perfection of Mr. Darcy.

And when we eat, we hesitate, not wanting to spend too much
If you would give a price range, we’d take it as a stroke of luck.
And are you the type who thinks we order salad to impress you,
or the kind who’s disgusted when we pick a burger, fries, and shake, too?

Driving is worse than walking when you tell us to put the radio on:
if we like country or classical or something we’re not quite sure you’ll want,
we wait, deliberate, you wonder why we girls are so indecisive,
and instead of music, we listen to a loud and awkward silence.

All we really hope for is that you’ll stay off your phone,
and, please, don’t regale us with the other girls you’ve known.
Don’t try to fix our problems, don’t question us on sports.
Watch some chick flicks, then you’ll know how to act around a girl.

It would be nice if those etiquette tips were as common as you mentioned,
but instead we wait in the car, wondering if our door will be opened.
If we turn the handle too quickly on our own, you make us get back in,
but if we wait, you’re confused, and your realization makes us cringe.

We dread the doorstep scene, that moment of tension, too,
not sure if you’ll try to kiss us—not sure what we’d do,
So you might as well just ask us permission, or, at least
find a better spot than the wan porch light above the street.

When we walk inside, our roommates pounce, unabashed,
telling us they watched from the window and are sure it’ll last.
We agonize what, and when, to text you, searching for the blend
between being eager and rude, between clingy and just a friend.

And suddenly we’re in that strange, uncharted space that lies between
just being friends hanging out, and being an actual thing.
So when we see you again, we don’t know what to do or say
to make sure we haven’t taken the first date the wrong way.

Then our waiting is torture, whether we want a second date or not,
and we’re not sure, either, when or if you should respond.
When you ask us on that second date, the whole thing starts again,
and we know there’s only two ways in which this cycle ends.

And so, in the end, I think I agree with your conclusion
that it’s easier to die alone and avoid all this confusion.
But I guess it would be worth it, every pointless, awkward date,
if it led you to the one you loved, an eternal, celestial mate.

To you girls who wonder why we guys don’t ask you on more dates.

Originally published 12-14-19

To you girls who wonder why we guys don’t ask you on more dates.

To you girls who wonder why we guys don’t ask you on more dates.
There’s no more need to wonder, there’s no more need to wait,
I wrote this poem as an answer, I hope it can help you
Stay and listen close, because I’ve got a reason or two.

First, it’s just so hard to get the courage to ask you out,
I just can never know how it’s going to turn out.
I’ll say, “this Friday, maybe, do you happen to be free?”
and you’ll say “Oops, hold on, my fiancé’s calling me.”

Or maybe you’ll say something like “Oh, that would be great!
I’ve been meaning for a while to start a study group up—thanks!”
Or maybe you’ll say, “Friday I have my great-aunt’s funeral”.
Asking you out after that just really isn’t doable.

And then, even if you agree, we have to pick a time,
and the earliest that I could pick you up is half-past nine.
Earlier, I’m meeting with some friends, and no amount of love
is making me miss one day of my Winnie the Pooh fan club.

And when that is decided, we need to pick a place to go—
and this can be the trickiest, cause how on earth would I know
a place that’s gluten-free, paleo, and vegan,
no peanuts, no GMO, and a price that’s within reason?

I’d pick you up, and we’d go and cruise in my super nice ride,
but I’m a college student, so you’ll have to let that slide.
We could walk together and just hope it doesn’t rain,
or get a tandem bike, and pedal through the pain.

And what if I find that you chew food with an open mouth?
how do I explain to you that that is when our date went south?
or what if I talk with my mouth full, how will you tell me?
I hope you won’t just let the world know on your Insta feed.

And then there’s all the etiquette—hold the door for you,
get your chair, say I like your hair, and all of it on cue.
And if I somehow get it all right, there are no special perks,
but if I miss a single thing, I’m suddenly a jerk.

Then, when we’ve survived an hour, we walk back to your door,
and my recurring nightmares tell me I’ve been here before—
Will I go for a kiss and you for the hug? Will I say goodbye super weird?
Will I sneeze from your perfume? There’s lots of things to fear.

And after I come home from all the nervousness and sweating,
my roommates all will pester me and ask “Hey, when’s the wedding?”
And you will text me something—or maybe not, and I
will be wondering what you thought of the date the whole rest of the night.

And maybe you enjoyed it, and you text this to me:
“I liked the date, we should do it again! I’m free for eternity :)”
or maybe, the next time I see you you’d speed walk the other way,
and I’m left to wonder why I followed the prophet’s advice to date.

And on the tiny chance it all went well, we find some sort of spark,
A first date isn’t nearly the end of my problems, really just the start
The next insurmountable obstacle I have to face: “the second date”
How should I ask you? What should we do? How long should I wait?

The dating scene in Provo’s just a tad too tough for me,
And so, I guess you’ll spend your next Friday night quite free.
I’m content, thank you very much, to spend my weekend nights at home—
So girls, I’d ask you on a date, but it’s easier to die alone.