Out of the Funk

The last several posts have been very serious. A little too serious, I think. So, I was looking back through some writing that I did in the past, and I thought I'd let you in on a little of it.

This is my first attempt at an actual piece of fiction - with chapters and everything. So, if you like it, I'll continue to post bits and pieces. Keep in mind that it's very raw and unedited AND completely fictional - even though you may recognize similarities in some of the characters and people in my personal life. It's fictional - roll with it.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Addie peered out across the open field and there it was- the big oak that marked the spot. With the sudden burst of energy she received from the mere thought of the comfort she knew would be hers once she arrived, she hiked up her white dress and took off across the field, her bird legs flying out like propellers, slapping the tall grass out of her face as she flew. As she reached the old birch, she collapsed as the shade washed over her in a cool wave. For a while she laid there catching her breath and thinking about what a dumb decision her getaway would probably prove to be.

“What am I runnin’ from anyway?!” The sound of her voice sounded funny out there in the middle of all that nature. Things always seemed different out there.

“Not now. Not yet.” She had already made her decision. She had run away and now she needed to get to her destination. Once there, she could sit down and think on things. She stood and found the pink spot on the back of the tree that marked her starting point. She put her back to it and walked straight ahead toward the line of trees in front of her. As she reached the line, she glanced around for the first pink polka dot, and on a towering pine to her right she saw it. Addie ran to it and looked for the next dot. She found it, and as she moved from tree to tree, her heart beat quickened in excitement. She knew that if she could just get there, she could find some answers. After about the 10th polka dot, she came to a clearing and there it was. Her heart sunk a little. Time had taken its toll on the little cottage. The hot pink on the front door had chipped away to reveal the rotting gray wood behind it, and its decaying state was a good representation of the condition of the rest of the house. Even so, there was an air of magic in that clearing. Addie moved toward the door and found that it was locked. She stood there thinking for a moment, “Where did she keep that key? It’s been so long…”

Just then a rusted wind chime at the far end of the porch caught her eye. A smile crept across her lips and hope filled her heart. She remembered how proud she had been of that wind chime. She found it at a garage sale when she was 8 years old and thought it would make a perfect addition to the cottage. It was a fat, sassy old lady holding an umbrella. The wind had blown both her dress and umbrella up and she had the funniest look on her face. The rain and time had washed most of the paint away now, but Addie had a perfect picture of it tucked away in her memory. She reached up and felt inside of the upturned umbrella. Her heart leapt as she felt the jagged edge of the key against her fingers. She pulled it out, wiped off the cobwebs, walked to the door, inserted the key, and with a little force, turned the knob.

The door creaked open to reveal the happiest memories of Addie’s childhood neatly stored away and somewhat preserved. She collapsed into the lime green couch by the window on the far side of the living room, soaking up every happy color splashed across the room, remembering every glass of sweet tea that had been enjoyed on the porch, every flower that had been planted in the garden, every memory it all represented, and the two relationships that had molded her the most. It had all taken place here. Suddenly, she could hold the tears back no longer. She let them fall, there in her place of safety and comfort she had nothing more to hide. She wept over the past 5 years, over her poor decisions, over her incessant stubborn pride, over the relationship she had just closed the door on. Between sobs, she managed to whisper, “I can’t. I’m so tired” to whoever might be listening. As she drifted off to sleep, she heard, “Sleep, my child.” Her eyes flung open and she looked around. Was that audible or just in her head, or was it in her heart? “Just in my head…” she told herself as she drifted off again, and this time she fell into a deep sleep.

Britney

I watched the "Britney Spears: For the Record" special the other night. I am not a regular watcher of MTV because I usually feel disgusting after viewing any of the shows they air, but I saw the Britney Spears deal advertised and I was intrigued. I wanted to know what she had to say about the past several years of her life. We've seen tabloid pictures and her face plastered all over the news and heard countless people making fun of her in ways that I would never recover from, but we haven't heard her side of the story. So, I wanted to know. I decided that I would watch a little and if it was more of the same, I would change it. I'm trying hard not to be ultra concerned with the lives of celebrities. It tends to make me wish I had a different life, which is another post entirely.

So, I start watching this interview with Britney [we're not best friends or anything, I just don't feel like typing Britney Spears throughout this post], and I totally began to connect with her. I recognize that's probably what her people were going for, but I really, really did. I began to see her as this really normal Louisiana girl who just got swept up in the insanity of her life. Can I really say that I wouldn't have turned out the same way had I been through what she's been through? There was this one clip, though, that captured me. I couldn't stop thinking about it for days. Here's the clip:

MTV Shows

I just couldn't get her face and her desperation out of my head - Too much order. No passion. Feeling like a prisoner. Better not to feel.

I have been there. Not on the Britney size scale but I've been there. Actually, depending on the day I'm having, I could be there right now.

And then it occurred to me - for her, for me, for you. The answer is the same. Jesus. He insipires passion. Frees us. Allows to feel with our whole hearts. Jesus is the answer for us all. The trick is looking to Him for the answers every single day.

Another 5 Things Challenge

So, I noticed that I've been a bit whiny and butt-faced in my past few posts. I apologize for that. I wish I could say that you've just caught me on bad days, but truth be known, the past several weeks seem to have been string of bad days - mostly of my own doing. I wish that I wasn't a pessimist by nature, but I am. I, in fact, have to work extra hard not to be a pessimist. But I have this good friend who is actually quite the optimist - has been since I met her in the second grade. And I love that about her. I just visited her blog a little while ago and discovered a rather lengthy list of her things to be thankful for. Some of the things are rather small and trivial [which she acknowledges] but I love the fact that she sees them as things to be grateful for, things she has not earned but that have been given to her to enjoy! In honor of my "glass-half- full" friend, I am presenting you with another challenge. The 5 Things to Be Thankful For challenge. Even if you have to dig deep, I know you can think of 5 things - big or small. Here I go:

1. The Birth of Jesus...really and truly. The miracle of Jesus Christ - God in the flesh - being born to a virgin. Growing within her, waiting to be born and grow up and show us what God looks like walking among men. Then, He died on the cross so that we could have life...complete, full, abundant life...now and forever. If you really stop and think of the magnitude of the whole deal, it's a little overwhelming! And the tragedy for me is that I don't stop and think about it very often. This Christmas Season it's going to be different. I am going to reflect on Jesus - who He is, what He's done, and how His very presence brings inexplicable joy and peace to my life.

2. My husband. He just recently had the opportunity to show me some serious unconditional love. I mean he always loves me unconditionally, but on this particular day I'm sure he had to dig deep. I was ultra inconsiderate of his feelings and I pretty much just screwed up big time. It was the most real picture of Jesus' love I think he's ever shown me. I am grateful for him and for his sweet, tender heart as well as his glass-half-fullness. Plus he's my best friend and we have fun together - I like that, too :)

3. My family. I really love them a lot. It's a blessing and curse, but I'm thankful that I still have most of my grandparents, that I have parents who still love and guide and encourage me, that I have siblings who make me laugh and are more dependable than siblings are required to be. They make me laugh and cry and they are all still a part of my life. That's unusual and I'm thankful for it.

4. Sweets - I love, love them! The mere sight of them makes me excited - like they represent something more than just yumminess. I'm not really sure what it is - maybe feelings of being carefree and childlike again??

5. My dog, Bella Boosk. She is the most loving little creature God ever put on the planet. She is always excited to see me and never gets mad at me. She doesn't expect anything from me. Anything I give her is like a big, fat present that she never thought she would be so lucky to receive. I think there's something to be learned from that sweet little ole dog.

So those are the first 5 things to be thankful for that came to my mind. Your turn! Try it...it really does make you feel better.

Good luck getting through this one...

1. Sorry I've been slacking. It's been an interesting couple of weeks...no time to gather my thoughts enough to write them down. The end.
2. I miss the Deep South...deep down ache and long for it. The smell, the land, the people. I had a dream last night that I was in this unnamed smallish Southern town and my heart was so full I could hardly stand it. Then Preacher Man was standing beside me telling me that we had to go. And my heart hurt so bad at the thought of leaving such a wonderful place. Must I have those feelings in my dreams, too?
3. I had a conversation with this guy the other day. Okay actually I just listened while he had a conversation with my coworker who actually has other friends here. Anyway, he sings - like woah sings. So a friend of his asked him to come sing at the church where he's now the Music Pastor. So ole boy who grew up here in this rather large and diverse city went to a smaller church in Tennessee. Not very super small...just smaller. And this is what he said, "Ya know, it was nice. Just one of those churches where everyone is the same and they all wear a lot of floral." Here's the thing - I get what he was saying. He wasn't being ugly. He was just noticing. He even said that and said it was great for his friend but, "I wouldn't be happy there." That's how he ended it. Well that got me to thinking. He definitely wouldn't be happy there. He's served jail time and has tattoos and loves hanging out with the homeless and downtrodden which is a very cool thing. But those people in their floral love Jesus, too. And maybe they reach a different group - the kind that wear a lot of camo and shoot guns and stuff. Or the kind that just need to be loved on because they live far away from their families. I don't know. I just think that I might could have been happy there. Maybe even happier there than here. Because some people love diversity. And I appreciate it...I really do. But other cultures don't fascinate me and I don't think that learning to speak another language is the best thing since sliced bread. I absolutely think you should reach out to all nations and all tongues - but what about THIS nation and THIS tongue??? I don't know. I'm wrestling with it.
4. I'm sick and tired of feeling like a slacker because I have not yet learned the other language Preacher Man speaks, which happens to be Portuguese. In a few days some of his friends who ALL speak Portuguese will be coming to visit and they will all ask, as they did a year and a half ago, "Your wife hasn't learned Portuguese yet?!" And Preacher Man will say, "No. She needs to though. I got her this learn to speak Portuguese program for her birthday but she hasn't used it yet." And they will look at me and say, "Oh...you have to learn!" And I will smile and nod and say, "Yeah I know," all the whilel thinking, "Why? Why do I HAVE to learn? Leave me the stink alone, okay?"
5. My whole family is going to have a big fun time in Branson for Thanksgiving. I'm going to stay here with a bunch of people I don't know that well and eat turkey [not fried] which I'm not really that crazy about. And people will try to make me feel better by distracting me and trying to form some sort of make-shift family for me but the truth is, I don't want another family. I like mine just fine thank you very much. I want to be closer to them. Father, I am begging you to let me live closer to them.

It's Not Enough

Hello to my peeps. Once again, sorry for the absence. I'm working through some things. I don't really know how to put it all into words right this second, but in order to work through these things, I am required to put forth a great deal of effort, which I never like to do. Or I only like to do it on my terms when I'm in the mood. That's so incredibly vague. Sorry.

I love the part where I get to love Jesus and we hold hands and skip together down a very sunny road lined with the most beautiful wildflowers ever. Then we stop skipping and He asks me to do something gut-wrenching. He promises that after I have done the gut-wrenching thing, we will resume our skipping. He'll hold my hand the entire time, He promises. And I really do believe Him. But what He's asking my to do has me standing there on the sunshine covered road, holding Jesus' hand, frozen in fear. Have you ever experienced anything like that? Something you really don't want to do, but you know you have to do it - so you keep delaying it and the longer you delay it the more petrified you become until that fearful feeling creeps into other areas of your body/life until you cannot function normally? And I keep looking up at Jesus' beautiful face hoping that He'll say, "It's okay. You don't have to do it", and we'll laugh and smile and resume our skipping, but instead He just stands there looking at me, lovingly, oh yes, but expectantly as well. Death to the old self. He's asking me to obedient. And we've been standing there for a long time now. And we haven't really talked because He's just waiting for me to step out and do it. But I begin to loosen my hand from His - the very touch of His skin makes me feel uneasy. He doesn't stop me because He doesn't work that way, but He keeps looking at me, waiting patiently. I can't look at Him anymore. I feel too ashamed. And then, because I haven't looked at Him in so long, I begin to wonder if He's really still there. And I start to forget what it was He wanted me to do. And for a little while I'm just glad that the fear is gone, but then a certain discontentment sinks in. I feel so useless, worthless, and wimpy. So I look all around me. Everywhere, hoping to find a glimmer of hope. The road looks kinda cloudy now and the wildflowers are beginning to wilt and I'm not even sure that I remember how to skip. Then I catch the smallest movement out of the corner of my eye, and I look up. He's still standing there in all His bright and shining joy-inducing glory, looking at me so sweetly. Waiting for me to be obedient because He has so many great things to show me further down the road. And I remember the thing He wanted me to do. And the petrified feeling comes back. I know that I have to make a choice. I miss holding His hand so much, but if I reach up to grab it, I will HAVE to do the thing. Because I can't reclaim that intimacy and not do the thing. His love beckons me to obedience. So I try to hold my hand as close to His as I possibly can without actually touching Him, hoping that this will be enough.

It's not enough.

I have to do the thing.

A "Thing" I'm thinking about doing...

Job 6:11 – What strength do I have that I should still have hope?

I unlock the door to my empty house and drop my bags – purse, laptop, lunchbox – in their proper spots after yet another long, unfulfilling day of work. I walk into the kitchen to begin another evening of mindless, draining chores. I unload the dishwasher, my mind filled with thoughts of what else needs to be done before I can crawl into the bed and escape for a few hours. As I am wiping down the cabinet, scrubbing off jelly stains and bread crumbs left from the rapid morning exodus, suddenly I just can’t do it anymore. I leave the jelly rag sitting on the counter and dazedly walk back to my bedroom. I pause, looking at my pretty, made bed with throw pillows built up in mounds upon it. It is my sacred place – the only place where I can escape the monotony of my life. I carefully move just a few of the throw pillows over, crawl beneath the covers, careful to disturb as little of my sacred place as possible. Beneath the heavy comforter and tucked in sheets, overshadowed by the pillow mound, I wish that I could just sink into another world, one that does not look or feel anything like my real world.

I feel as though I will never be able to get up again. I’m so tired. Not physically. Maybe not even mentally. But emotionally and oh yes, spiritually, I am so tired I don’t think I can live one more day of the life that I have somehow ended up with. How different it is than the one I imagined! I was going to do great things. I try to remember what they were but I cannot, or will not, because I don’t really believe in dreams anymore. That’s what it means to be a woman living a grown-up life – you stop believing in dreams and fantasies and get right down to business. Doing the things that need to be done.

I discovered that marriage really isn’t that romantic. And I felt silly for ever believing that it was. I realized that having a baby didn’t make me feel needed or important. And I felt ashamed of myself for buying into such a lie. I found that being a teacher didn’t really change the lives of children – it just helped them pass tests. And I was angry that anyone ever let me believe I could make a difference. So now I don’t believe anymore. I just live. And I try to be kind to people. And take good care of my family. And laugh when I can.

But I’m so tired of living without hope. I miss dreaming. But I can’t risk it – because when it doesn’t come true, I will find myself broken beyond repair. Numb is better than broken, I think. What strength do I have that I should still have hope?


Have you been here? You, no doubt, had different hopes and dreams that were dashed by reality, but have you been here? Feeling so hopeless that you don’t think you can take another emotional step forward? Maybe not outwardly. You still read your Bible and pray and raise your hands in worship and believe in Jesus. But inwardly – in YOUR sacred place, have you felt the panic of hopelessness? Have you thought, is this REALLY all there is to life? Well, sister, if you have been here, I have spectacular news! I know someone who IS Hope – His very presence breeds and strengthens that feeling you had as a little girl – the feeling, no the unfaltering belief, that someday you would be spectacularly swept off your feet and whisked away to a beautiful castle where you would do things and live a life that mattered. There is hope! Join me on the journey as we discover how to attain and retain that hope.


This is the opening for a "thing" I'm thinking about doing. Is it enticing?

Nasty Gravy and the Ugly Cry

Today I got up extra early to sear a roast, slice up potatoes and carrots, and get it all in the oven so it could cook while we were at church. Well, all of that went very well. I was even ready before Preacher Man, which NEVER happens. So we attended church, which for me is crazy hectic since I work in the preschool area and people believe that we don't ACTUALLY need adults to volunteer to keep the children. They really just take care of themselves. [dripping with sarcasm] Anyway, so we made it through church and then had to wait for 45 min after the service while Preacher Man counseled because my husband speaks three languages and is extremely dedicated to what he does [not a bad thing unless you have a roast in the oven]. By the time we left I was a little grumpy/sad. Partly because our pastor told a story about dancing with his little girl, which made me miss my Daddy/cry [who is still alive but lives far away from me] and partly because Preacher Man is so dern dedicated to his job. Preacher Man, however, was in a rather yippy skippy mood and chatted my ears off all the way home. This equaled me being more grumpy.

So, we got home and the house smelled delicious and I thought, "Okay, maybe it didn't burn. Maybe it's a miracle." I opened the oven and pulled out the pot...wrong. Okay, well it didn't exactly burn but there were no more juices left and the potatoes and carrots were stuck to the bottom. You just know looking at such a scene that the roast itself is going to be somewhat lacking. So, I tried to SCRAPE some of the drippings off of the bottom of the pan and combine it with a little flour water in an effort to make some sort of gravy. In order to cover the burnt taste, I had to add A LOT of flour water. So it turned out tasting mostly just like flour. So then I had to add a lot of salt, pepper, and garlic powder, which made it taste like seasoned flour.

As I was doing all of this, I burnt my left thumb on the lid of the pot because I somehow forgot that it was in the oven for 3 hours. "Shit" is what I said. But it wasn't a bad burn, just enough to make me even more grumpy. [Stir, stir, stir] Preacher Man entered and started making the broccoli. I grabbed the handle of the pot with my right hand...same hot pot. Same burn but on my right thumb this time and significantly more painful. "Shit. Shit. Shit. SHIIIIITTT!" is what I yelled this time, holding my burning thumbs up in the air. Then my face got all squinched up and I started to cry. Ugly cry, that is. Still holding my thumbs in the air. Like a double thumbs up. Preacher Man just stood there hugging me...I mean really, what else could he do? I dried it up after a while, ran my thumbs under cold water, and finished the nasty gravy. Preacher Man fixed the rice and the broccoli and we ate our below average roast dinner in silence.

In case you have ever wondered if any one else has these kinds of days.