Category: God’s Ideas Work

Should – Five Minute Friday (More Rewrite)

Should - Five Minute Friday

Sailing In The Storm

“You should hate him. After everything he’s done to you, everything he’s taken, you should hate god.”

“We’re back there again and all I suggested was that you read the Bible with me.”

“Why should I undertake a lengthy study of the bible?”

Lord, You know he uses lowercase to taunt me.

The atmosphere around me resonated, Breathe!

A long sigh, Okay, Lord. What do I say?

You know what to say.

My nails clacked against the keyboard, “How can I hate Him when He’s taken such good care of me?”

“‘Good care?!’ You call your life ‘good care’?”

“I call what God has done for me in the midst of all the horrors good care.”

“he caused the horrors.”

“No, He let them happen.”

“So you admit he could have stopped them.”

“Of course He could have.”

“Then how can you insist he loves when he didn’t protect you?”

I know his fists were clenched when he wrote that.

“Just admit it, god cares nothing for you or anyone else or he doesn’t exist.”

“I know God cares for me precisely because He didn’t protect me from the horrors but through them. He didn’t remake the world so that I’d be exempt from all the bad; He left me fully human. Instead, He made me able to ride the deluge without drowning. And He’s shown me that all I’ve lost was precious and great, but none of it was necessary.

“I thought my happiness depended on my family, the life I would have lived, not being thwarted at every turn, people who would support and encourage me to develop all the talents God has given me, a long lists of things. I was wrong. None of those that is the source of happiness. I hurt so much because of what I’ve lost. Then one day I looked around and saw myself sailing through waves that should have dashed me to pieces and knew I had gained more than I could ever lose. I have the power to be joyful in the midst of storms. That power came from God.”

<end 5 minutes but I need to continue>

“So it’s alright with you that god threw you down the stairs because it builds character.”

“He didn’t throw me down the stairs. But instead of shielding me from reality, He gave me the ability to live with joy in a brutal world. The horrible things haven’t destroyed me. I haven’t even been able to destroy myself. And that’s not my doing.”

“It’s not god’s doing.”

“Yes, Z, it is God’s doing. Don’t you know what makes life joyful in the midst of brutality?”

“What?”

“Someone like my Papa who was simply there. Who held me in his arms as we cantered through the salty spray. Who knew I could stay on a horse and I did. Who ordered extra maraschino cherries for me because I loved them. He loved me and I loved him. I had that kind of relationship with Marmar too. Even when the world went crazy, I was able to face it because they were with me. That’s the kind of relationship God has given me. He’s always with me, strengthens me, helps me live well in a world that rips people apart for living well.

“The world says I should wallow in pain and loss. I should be ripped apart and never truly healed; the best I can hope for is some sort of sentimental montage. I should be triggered by the rapes in the Metamorphoses and instead I ponder how cruel we can be to one another; and I note how often men are victims of women: no one escapes unscathed. The best I should be able to do is ride anger to some sort of success, use it to prevent others from doing horrible things. But instead, I found myself helping an actual person who wanted to rescue her nephews because I’m not powered by anger at injustice but by love for real people and the joy that comes from gift that will help them.

“Z, I’ve been angry but it just made me tired. Love and joy energize.”

“So I should read the bible and I’ll be like you.”

“Why would anyone want to be like me. The world already has me. We need you.”

“The world has me. I work every day to help the world. Why should I waste my time reading the bible?”

“Because it’s not a waste of time. Because it’s an excellent place to begin getting to know God who didn’t toss you down the steps to build character. God speaks to us in the Bible. You’ve got an amazing mind and I’m convinced you’ve got a heart and soul just as amazing. I want to see you shine like the sun.”

“If god wants me he can hit me with a blinding light.”

“He probably won’t come on your terms. We can have what we want or we can have our scripts but we can’t have both.”

Image source

*****************************

On Friday (and occasionally Saturday if Friday is filled with an excess of other activities),100s of bloggers set a timer, write for 5 minutes, and then post the results over at Kate Motaung’s blog, Heading Home. She provides the prompt on Thursday evening. We don’t edit or concern ourselves with whether our writing is flawless or worthy to be seen. We expose our incomplete, unpolished thoughts and words to each other and our readers and tweet them with the hashtag #FMFParty. Join us.

Save

Quiet – Five Minute Friday

O GOD of peace, who hast taught us that in returning and rest we shall be saved, in quietness and in confidence shall be our strength; By the might of thy Spirit lift us, we pray thee, to thy presence, where we may be still and know that thou art God; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (The Book of Common Prayer)

Pray For A Quiet MindNearly 18 years ago, I stopped looking for my family. I was banging my head against a brick wall trying to find a relative who wanted me in his or her life. My head ached from the stress of finding just one cousin, one aunt, one uncle, anyone. I heard His Voice ask, ‘Can you be happy without knowing any more?’ And I responded, ‘Yes.’ He is my very best Friend. He condescended to befriend me had remained with me and brought me through hell. I knew I could be happy as long as He is with me. And my head did ache so badly. So I worked to quiet myself and develop confidence. Over and over I prayed the collect for a quiet mind. Years later, occasional chatter appears in my heart but attention to my Friend quiets me.

Fast forward to yesterday when I was reading the biography of the new Bishop for the Personal Ordinariate in the USA of which I’ve been a parishioner for some times. I had heard his name pronounced “Lopes” as in “hopes” but for some reason, that didn’t seem right. He doesn’t seem Brazilian. Yesterday, I learned Bishop Lopes is half Portuguese. His name is pronounced, “Law-pez.” I read more eagerly only to discover a few sentences later that Bishop Lopes’ father had emigrated from Portugal to the “vibrant Portuguese community” in northern California. <Timer Rings>

All at once it struck me. Whenever I’ve been asked, “Why northern California?” I had no response, was left confused — it didn’t seem a reasonable choice. Perhaps my parents had spun a globe and randomly chosen a haven for me. But in one paragraph, their choice suddenly made sense. They sent me to my mother’s people. They may not have known me and when my parents were killed, I wasn’t raised by them. In fact, I didn’t know there was a Portuguese community all around me, our paths didn’t cross. And I’ll probably not know this side of heaven, if they had emergency plans to have me cared for by someone in that community, plans that were thwarted. But I do know that my parents chose a place where there were people like me. I know their choice was an act of love and care.

That knowledge brings a new quiet and a new happiness to my heart. My dearest, dearest Friend has provided me an opportunity to know my parents and myself a bit better. How fortunate I am that when I was lost, He never let me go.

*****************************

On Friday (and occasionally Saturday if Friday is filled with an excess of other activities),100s of bloggers set a timer, write for 5 minutes, and then post the results over at Kate Motaung’s blog, Heading Home. She provides the prompt on Thursday evening. We don’t edit or concern ourselves with whether our writing is flawless or worthy to be seen. We expose our incomplete, unpolished thoughts and words to each other and our readers and tweet them with the hashtag #FMFParty. Join us.

Image source: https://www.pinterest.com/source/overcomeroutreach.com

Same – Five Minute Friday

This week, I spent 5 minutes rewriting a passage from my book. The rewrite is moving along:

nyc from the air“Had I not bought the boys clothes for school,” I softly told my Friend. “I’d have enough.” I sighed and plucked out a blade of grass. “But he would have tried to take my money away. I just wanted him to leave me alone.” I sighed again. “Now I can’t afford both a plane ticket and to make it through the year.” My forehead was tight. “I’ll need his help,” I told my Friend looking out over Lake Mirren. “But he won’t help me. He’ll never let me go. Never.” I shook my head. “There’s no escape. It will always be the same.”

Tears welled up. With an angry sniff, I blinked them away. A brilliant flash of demanding possibility raced through my mind. “I can’t!” I told my Friend. “I just can’t!” The bright sunny day suddenly felt foggy, dim. I packed my things and walked to the bus stop.

Tap! Tap! Tap! I lowered my Bible, “Who is it?”

“It is I,” Ella announced. “Could you open the door?” I unlatched the hook and cracked the door. “I have a headache,” Ella was even paler than usual. “Would you make dinner?”

“Sure,” it was a pained sigh. I marked my place in Genesis and made my way to the kitchen. With the big chef’s knife Ella and the man had received as a wedding gift, I chopped carrots as if they were wood. “Why isn’t she making dinner?” I demanded of my Friend between chops. “That’s why he married her. I’ve been doing her job all summer.”

You could be in New York soon.

“What?!” The almost sound hung in the air. I felt my bum. The words were like a large boot kicking me gently but firmly in the seat of my pants.

You could be in New York soon.

My backside felt the gentle but firm kick again. “Really?!” My voice was shrill terror. I walked over to the calendar that hung next to the phone and counted days with the knife’s tip. “Three weeks. In three weeks I could leave.” My eyes widened. A warm tingle suffused my body.

A few minutes latter, Gerard came through the laundry room. “Dad sent me to get…” he began.

I interrupted, “In three weeks, I am going to New York.”

“No you’re not,” his voice dripped with superior knowledge.

“Yes I am,” my head nodded as I spoke. He shook his head and disappeared down the cellar steps.

When he returned, words tumbled from my mouth, “Will you buy me a trunk for my going away present?”

Gerard pursed his lips, “He won’t let you go.”

“Yes, he will,” I told him.

Gerard shook his head, “If he let’s you go, I’ll buy the trunk.”

“In three weeks, I’m going to New York,” I told the man that evening. “Will you pay my plane fare so I can use the money I’ve saved for my expenses?”

The words had tumbled out. I didn’t even rehearse, I mutely told my Friend as I waited for an answer.

At my words, the man’s face had become angry and indignant. Ella, who lay beside him, pulled herself up and spoke first, “That’s the least we can do considering how hard you’ve worked.”

The floor was suddenly wobbly, my head woozy and light. Something was changing. Something was not the same. My mouth formed itself into a small smile,  “Thank you.”

*****************************

On Friday,100s of bloggers set a timer, write for 5 minutes, and then post the results over at Kate Motaung’s blog, Heading Home. She provides the prompt on Thursday evening. We don’t edit or concern ourselves with whether our writing is flawless or worthy to be seen. We expose our incomplete, unpolished thoughts and words to each other and our readers and tweet them with the hashtag #FMFParty. Join us.

Image source: http://www.shutterstock.com/video/clip-2583917-stock-footage-new-york-new-york-circa-may-taxis-and-street-scene-at-intersection-near-grand-central.html

Alone – Five Minute Friday

Then Jesus told his disciples, “If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. (Matthew 16:24-25)

aloneSome things are easier when I am alone. Singing is easier when there’s either no one to hear me or someone who sings along with me. (I’ve joined the choir at church.) Though I’ve trained to sing opera, worked with a vocal coach, and have a powerful voice, I actually sing off key in a soft breathy voice if I’m singing in the presence of someone who’s not singing and who’s not really an audience.

Writing is easier when I’m alone. So is speaking. Sewing and drawing and embroidery and all sorts of other accomplishments are also easier. If I’m working with others or alone, I excel at so many things. When I feel someone is watching, I choke, shy away, fumble; I naturally give way to others, do what they are doing, follow their lead.

Yet I’m in a time of learning to excel when I’m not alone, even if others are not participating. It’s part of denying myself that Jesus talks about. It’s scary. But since He has brought me this far, I’m convinced He will continue to take me where He wants me to go and, with His help, I’ll marshal through. Let’s see where He has taken me this time next year.

*****************************

On Friday,100s of bloggers set a timer, write for 5 minutes, and then post the results over at Kate Motaung’s blog, Heading Home. She provides the prompt on Thursday evening. We don’t edit or concern ourselves with whether our writing is flawless or worthy to be seen. We expose our incomplete, unpolished thoughts and words to each other and our readers and tweet them with the hashtag #FMFParty. Join us.

Image source: http://thespiritualsoldier.blogspot.com

Forgiveness – Five Photos, Five Stories – 1

Darla Sands, who writes the most delightful stories, nominated me to participate in the Five Photos, Five Stores Challenge. I’ve been mapping out the life changing lessons I learned that must be included in the middle chapters of “Loved As If.” This challenge is an excellent way to sketch out five of them.

*^*^*^**^*^*^**^*^*^**^*^*^**^*^*^**^*^*^*

debt paidI’ve learned that forgiveness is marking the debt paid. Those who have hurt me (and there have been some inexpressibly deep wounds) stole some extremely precious things from me. Eventually, I had to accept they could never return what they had stolen and I must either go on demanding payment or write it off and trust that God would either restore what was lost or make it possible for me to live with the holes in my life. When I realized I was demanding payment from people who annoyed me but never really hurt me, I knew I must do something about the rage in my heart. The only sane thing to do was mark the debts paid. And when I couldn’t, I asked God to work forgiveness within me. He does.

Turns out I can live with certain holes in my life. Also turns out there are fewer holes than I feared. God holds much that I thought was lost forever, like family, like my innocence. Nothing is returned in the same way but all is restored. The greatest gift of forgiveness is learning how great God is, so much greater than murderers and rapists and child abusers. Through forgiveness, the monsters from my past are ephemeral shadows blown away by a gentle puff of air.

*^*^*^**^*^*^**^*^*^**^*^*^**^*^*^**^*^*^*

Here are the challenge rules:
1) Post a photo each day for five consecutive days.
2) Write a post that relates to the photo. It can be fiction, non-fiction, poetry, a short paragraph, or some other type of composition.
3) Nominate another blogger to carry on the challenge. Your nominee is free to accept or decline the invitation.

And here are my two nominees:
Carrie McCoy, whose blog,  Living With Unspeakable Joy, is filled with encouragement, faith, and hope.

Christian Community Is A Christian Thing

Years ago, at a time when I still had many acquaintances but few real friends, I had one very, very dear friend. She did her best to comfort me when I discovered my parents were, in fact, dead. She helped me understand the responsibility my therapist had towards me and I towards him. And, to celebrate my birthday, she even made frozen dinner (it was better she not attempt real cookery) and gave me the kind of toy I was never allowed to play with when I was a child. Once, she even saved my life.

But she wasn’t a friend I could keep and I knew it. Whenever I was discouraged about finding my family, worried about work, or indecisive about whether I should go to an audition, she’d offer to “do a reading” for me. I understood that she was offering me the best she had. And perhaps God had given her gifts of prophesy. But she saw the gifts she might have as hers to control. She believed she should peer into the future so that she and others might have an easier time traversing life.

Whenever she offered to “do a reading” for me, I’d demur. I didn’t want to hurt my friend but I knew divination to be, at the very least, an attempt to circumnavigate the limitations God has placed on us. He has given us this moment and asks us to trust Him. He has not given us permission to map the suffering and good things in the future and then plot an optimal course through. As time passed, I became more and more uncomfortable with my friend’s activities. Though she was wonderful, our ability to be in community was hindered because we walked very different paths. We couldn’t accompany one another because we didn’t share a common goal. Ultimately, I ended our friendship.

Christian community is a Christian thing because of the common goal we share: Christians are striving to follow and become like Christ and to get to heaven. We regularly fall and are oft times reduced to crawling yet as we travel together, one of the most important things we do is encourage one another. Just as CPT Sarah Cudd’s received support to cross the finish line and earn her EFMB in the video below, Christians support each other as we follow Christ. In fact, no matter how much we disagree, we can’t be Christians without each other. We are indispensable to one another.

Years ago, when my life felt like one overwhelming disappointment, I needed people who would remind me that God loved me and that I could trust Him even if my dreams of finding my family never came true. Invitations to peer into the future were a temptation that made living in the moment more excruciating. When all I longed to do was read the last page of the book and make sure it held the happy ending I envisioned, I needed to be reminded that God was calling me to crawl and trust. No matter how wonderful my friend was she couldn’t help me do that because paging ahead in the midst of suspense is the exact opposite of trust.

As long as non-Christians aren’t hindering our faith, they certainly ought to be our friends. We ought to invite non-Christians to participate in most community activities. And we must do so without an agenda. We must not invite people because we plan to convert them. Through loving friendship, we show Christ to those who don’t know Him. When friends ask questions, we must be honest and trust God will use us as He sees fit in their conversions.

Still, there will be times when following Christ will require relinquishing friendships with some non-Christians, often because of our own weakness. We are not to be unequally yoked and that can include friendships too. When following Christ takes us away from some relationships, we need to remember that He will bring us together in Christian community, in His Church. He will prepare us to present His Gospel to a world that is not starving for knowledge of what tomorrow may bring but for His love today.

Heart Of Stone

A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you; and I will take out of your flesh the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.(Ezekiel 36:26)

I wish I could say my heart of stone came solely as a result of what happened to me. Certainly much has happened to me. The constant onslaught of death and abandonment and loss and assault and rape and neglect and isolation and illness were crushing. But I have a fighter’s spirit. I fought back with every talent God gave me. And I fought so well I began to delight in fighting not only to protect myself but sometimes to get back at those who hurt me. I’m not one who seeks simply to take the stick from an attacker. I want to ensure that the attacker will never harm anyone ever again. God has often held me back. Had He not, I would have produced much mayhem.

The vicious onslaught also left me fearing people. There were times when I lied or simply ended contact because I couldn’t be what I thought others expected me to be: because I didn’t have enough money to do all the things someone expected or couldn’t change my faith to please another person or couldn’t continue to expose myself to actions that scandalized me and sent me spinning into flashbacks and phantasms from my past, a past almost none of my friends knew about because I didn’t trust them. Being unable to trust coats the heart with layers of stone.

My pride added additional layers of rock. I knew what I needed and how I needed it. I even set the delivery schedule. Usually, the due date was right now. A dear friend used to tell the attorneys with whom he worked, “You can have it right or you can have it now but you can’t have it right now.” I demanded I be healed right and right now. After all, God can do anything. But He didn’t follow my scripts or my instructions. It baffled me.

heart of stone (1)Fortunately when I was lost God found me and has remained with me. So when I was old enough to hand Him my scripts I was also experienced enough to know that even though God wasn’t following my prescribed plan, I needed to stay with Him. Where else would I go? Chaos is the alternative to God. I knew chaos better than many. I’d lived in the midst of it for eleven years and could not go back. So I continued on but my heart of stone was a heavy ache within my chest.

It felt anger, desire, rage, pride, need, attraction, hunger, pain, and so much more. The dark feelings rumbled around, became fodder for ruminations that piled on more stone. Sometimes happiness touched the edges of my heart but it couldn’t nestle in and make a home. I loved with everything I had but love was always the gift of the moment. It wasn’t the constant I needed because no one really loved me. Most never tried. Those who did never knew me; I could not share my secrets with them. How can there be love without knowledge?

And all the while, God carried me as I kept revising those scripts and waving them before His face. Eventually, He pried the pages from my hands. Ill, frightened, alone, I moved in with a “friend” who told me that if I was really sick I must go because she wouldn’t care for me. Her words triggered my stubbornness and I pushed myself through demanding work while doctors unraveled the illness I suffered. At the same time, I had returned to the Catholic Church and found it different than when I left. People invited me into their lives, invited themselves into mine. Community surrounded me and gently but persistently pulled me in.

One day I awoke in hospital after undergoing major surgery. The smiling face of the woman who had voluntold* my home for a New Year’s Eve party three months before greeted me. Over the next few days, people I barely knew visited. Usually there was no one. And through more treatments and surgeries they continued to come. When I needed to be collected from hospital after an emergency, I was afraid they wouldn’t release me because I had no escort. The woman who voluntold my apartment had told me to call if I needed her. I risked rejection and called. Her bright voice assured me she would be there.

I wanted God to say the black and do the red. He was to just follow my instructions and all would be well. How God must have laughed at me. He knew I could have healing right or I could have it now but I couldn’t have it right now. And I couldn’t have it my way not because God sought to thwart me but because my way wouldn’t work. I needed the gentle sledge hammer of Christian community. It’s been at work on my heart of stone nearly as long as the entire time I spent with the minister and his family. My heart isn’t fully flesh yet and I don’t know when it will be. I do know I can feel it beating at this very moment. Happiness now has an abode in my heart. Others know and love me. I am the luckiest girl in the world because fortunately when I was lost God found me. He never wants me or anyone else to have a heart of stone. His heart was pierced and an ocean of mercy poured out so that our hearts might be made flesh.

* Voluntold is an accurate contraction of volunteer + told

Hope – Five Minute Friday

When everything falls apart,
Your arms hold me together.
When everything falls apart,
You’re the only hope for this heart.
When everything falls apart and my strength is gone,
I find You mighty and strong.
You keep holding on.
You keep holding on. (Fee, Everything Falls)

Beloved,

It’s amazing to me that You kept hope alive in me for so long. You fought despair in me. Part of me wants to ask, ‘How?’ Part of me want to cry. Part of me wants to go down on my knees and simply remain mute in silent joy and gratitude. Retrospect reveals just how desperate I was and how mighty You are.

So many have asked me, ‘Why don’t we see miracles like the ones in the Bible?’ We do. We just don’t know where or how to look for them. We want healing on our terms. Jesus healed the actual wounds and sickness in body and soul; we don’t much want the soul part, not when it requires huge changes. So why should we expect to see miracles when we’ve already decided what healing will look like. Control is just another form of despair: if it’s not healed my way no healing is possible. We refuse to admit that we are desperate for we know not what, that we are pleading with neither words nor understanding and can only say, ‘I hurt.’

hope (1)But hope is reason to hope. I had no reason to expect that things would get worse and worse. In fact, they did. But You kept me hoping, You kept me fighting. You kept some spark alive in me, didn’t allow me to give up. You kept me reaching for the miracle and that very reaching was a continuing miracle. A spiritual director used to tell me that sometimes it’s better to hope than to receive. When hope keeps us alive, keeps us fighting until we are humble enough to be healed, hope is the very best thing there is.

*****************************

Every Friday,100s of bloggers set a timer, write for 5 minutes, and then post the results over at Kate Motaung’s blog, Heading Home. She provides the prompt on Thursday evening. We don’t edit or concern ourselves with whether our writing is flawless or worthy to be seen. We expose our incomplete, unpolished thoughts and words to each other and our readers and tweet them with the hashtag #FMFParty. Join us.

World – Five Minute Friday

I’ve lived on three continents and seen more of the world than most. Living in other parts of the world provides an education one doesn’t get when everything is familiar. I’ve often shaken my head at wonder that many don’t know that that black and white are only two of many ethnic possibilities, that in some places, class (a/k/a money and deportment) trumps skin colour every time, that in many parts of the world, those with darker skin are considered less desirable but in some, those of lighter skin are less beautiful.

worldStill, there is that which can never be learned traveling the world. The family is the ideal place to lean that when life is just too much, when everything ought to work but fails, when I feel I’m a total disappointment and a burden, those who love me will pick me up, dry my tears and say, ‘I’m here for you. I’m happy to have you in my life. Believe me, it will work out.” Family is where having a meltdown and being weak are opportunities for more love, not less.

But sometimes family isn’t available. Real Christian community can provide the same love. Christian community is not being nice on Sunday and at church events before we go off to our own separate existences. It’s not just asking, ‘How are you?’ and saying, ‘I’ll pray for you,’ when we hear that things are tough. Sometimes tough consists of the endless days of isolation and loneliness punctuated by Church attendance. Sometimes tough consists of never having the opportunity to give to others. Sometimes tough is not what I need you to give me but what I hunger to give you.

In a moment, I’ll go and transplant my house mate’s herbs — we’re trying to protect the basil by planting it next to some spicy hot oregano. The joy of doing something for a friend is excruciatingly painful — warm water on frozen fingers. It’s not something the world can give me. It’s a people thing. It’s an Acts of the Apostles thing. It’s the place where I can trust enough to reveal myself, including the parts I’ve always hidden because being brave and tough and strong were necessary. It’s the place where I can just relax and be human.

*****************************

Every Friday,100s of bloggers set a timer, write for 5 minutes, and then post the results over at Kate Motaung’s blog, Heading Home. She provides the prompt on Thursday evening. We don’t edit or concern ourselves with whether our writing is flawless or worthy to be seen. We expose our incomplete, unpolished thoughts and words to each other and our readers and tweet them with the hashtag #FMFParty. Join us.

Blue – Five Minute Friday

blue ridge mountainsThe blue sky against the deeper blue mountain as the sun rose on the second morning of the drive signaled the end of the low-level dis-ease that had haunted me for nearly five years. Those wide open spaces of Houston, so beloved by so many, had been a never-ending, current that shocked me each time I went out. New York City, though chock-full of tall buildings, only required me to avoid looking up. There was no hiding from the wide open spaces of Houston. They went on forever and ever and ever with no amen, no selah, and, except for a few neighbourhoods where I rarely had reason to go, not even the slightest diminuendo. Those endless distances wore me down, heightened my agoraphobia, intensified my sense of isolation, kept me inside far more than was healthy.

But now, the painful current had stopped. I felt my shoulders relax, realized how tense they had been, how painful the uneasiness had become; I could not begin to feel it until it was gone.

Today, I sit on Bridgett’s mid-century modern sofa in her living room that is smaller than my bedroom in Houston and gaze at the dark blue, glass pitcher that lives atop her kitchen cupboard. Another friend from Houston texts to ask me if I am settling in.

“Still settling,” I reply. “But it’s very good to be here. Last night, I slept well for the first time; feeling more and more at home.”

Suddenly tears have pooled in the corners of my eyes. They threaten to spill over. Those words, “at home,” dissolve some barrier in my heart. I’ve needed to be at home for so long, since Marmar and Papa died, since before I was five. How have I lived all this time without home? Only now can I begin to hear the message the blue pitcher tells me: ‘Your hunger, starvation, dis-ease has always been valid. You always knew it, you needed home.’

*****************************

Every Friday,100s of bloggers set a timer, write for 5 minutes, and then post the results. We don’t edit or concern ourselves with whether our writing is flawless or worthy to be seen. We expose our incomplete, unpolished thoughts and words to each other and our readers. Kate Motaung at  Heading Home provides the prompt on Thursday evening. We all link our posts there and tweet them with the hashtag #FMFParty. Join us.

%d bloggers like this: