Chapters 5 and 6 have been omitted. Please move on to chapter 7. 🙂
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4
*
A Note from the Author
Before I begin chapter 7, let me share that I realize my fragmented experiment with narration in chapters 5 and 6 didn’t quite work for many of you. I was going for almost a “How I Met Your Mother” narration style. And since those chapters didn’t really alter the plot, let’s just pretend they were a sort of dream sequence, like the Halloween episodes of “The Simpsons.” Or that they didn’t happen at all.
Chapter 7 will be a direct continuation from chapter 4. Thank you for bearing with me as I sometimes succeed and sometimes blunder in my very experimental adventure through novel writing.
*
Chapter 7
With a silly grin, he made his way back up the hill and plopped down next to me in the snow. “I’m Chad,” he said extending his olive toned hand. “Perhaps an introduction is warranted given how intimately we have recently become acquainted.”
“Well, I do need a name to use when I tell all my girlfriends about that little ditch predicament you, sir, just found yourself in.”
“As do I. As do I.”
“To tell all your girlfriends about my little ditch predicament?” Flirtation activated.
His grin widened. “Indeed, but of course,” he corrected, “to tell all my boyfriends about your ditch predicament.” Flirtation aborted.
Horror crossed his face. “That’s not what I meant. Girlfriends. Girlfriends. That’s what I meant.” I stared at him, soaking up every moment of his adorable descent into awkward embarrassment. To help the situation, I remained quiet, studying him intently, one eyebrow raised.
“Not that I have a ton of girlfriends.”
“Of course not,” I grinned. Awkward flirtation back in session.
“That would be bad.”
“Very very bad,” I replied, feigning seriousness. I wondered how uncomfortable I could let him get before it crossed from flirtatious banter into flirtatious cruelty. A little further. I waited for more explanation.
“Yea, just a few—actually one—just one.”
I sighed. Oh well. Flirtation aborted. Again. I guessed this wouldn’t be my Hallmark romance ending after all.
He must have noticed the disappointment cross my face and it made him realize his latest verbal blunder.
“I mean none. No girlfriend.” He was shaking his head back and forth.
He’d made a pointed effort to emphasize that he was both single and straight. And of course awkwardly adorable.
Flirtation reactivated.
I decided to end his torture and smiled wide.
“Relax! I understand. Straight and single.” Nope. I just had to keep it little uncomfortable. It’s what I do. With that, Chad finally laughed.
With a sense of humor.
My mental man list was well on its way.
And chivalrous for picking me up out of the snow.
And strong. Check, check, and check. Boy crazed Carolyn may have grown up but she could never stop being boy crazy. Or rather, man crazy as her age would have it.
“I’m Carolyn,” and we shook hands, left hands, to preserve what feeling I still had of my crushed fingers.
“So, what brings you here, Carolyn?”
“Honestly? It was the only plowed exit I could find, and I really had to pee.”
“And have you had any success in that department?”
“Nope.”
“I have something that might help.” If we weren’t talking about using the bathroom, this would have sounded like a shady conversation.
“A bathroom?” I asked enthusiastically.
He grimaced. “Even better.” I was intrigued.
“Even better than a bathroom… I’m hooked.”
“Visualization. Close your eyes.”
A few butterflies buzzed in my stomach, subduing the urgency to use the bathroom; I closed my eyes.
“Now imagine you are sitting in a green field full of flowers. You hear the birds chirping. The breeze blowing… and the subtle sound of a waterfall—” I punched him as hard as I could in the arm and instantly recoiled from the pain.
I’d accidentally used my crushed hand.
His laughter was ruthless but was was offset when he immediately reached for my injured hand. I tentatively let him take it and he examined it gently.
“Doesn’t feel broken. Maybe deeply bruised.” Maybe he was a doctor after all.
“Are you a doctor?”
“Would you be impressed if I said, yes.”
“Not really.” I smirked. I totally would.
“Well it’s a good thing I’m not.”
“Good thing. So what do you do Mister—”
“Cook”
“What do you do Mister Cook?”
His smile widened. “I’m a fighter, actually,” clearly impressed with himself.
Liar. Not that kind of strong. I shook my head.
“What, you don’t believe me?”
A laugh escaped, but I stopped myself. “I absolutely, positively… do not believe you.”
He laughed again.
“I’m actually a Firefighter and Paramedic.”
“That explains how you could carry me up the hill so easily. That was impressive.”
He shrugged.
“But it doesn’t explain the tumbling down the hill…”
“Ice,” he accused.
“Right.”
“So how about you, Miss—” he waited for a response.
“How do you know I’m a Miss?” I teased.
“Well if you were a Mrs., I doubt you would be driving alone, in the snow, in the middle of the night alone.”
“A bit presumptuous are we?”
He shrugged unapologetically.
“How do you figure?”
“Well, my Mrs. would not be driving alone at night in the snow.”
“How very traditional.”
He looked a bit offended, but not too offended, at my accusation. “And is that wrong?”
Not at all, I thought. Not one bit. But the strong independent woman in me had to at least put up a little fight.
I looked intently into his eyes trying to read as much as I could from them. He looked back into mine, refusing to break eye contact. Tension steadily rose, and I could feel the heat in the pit of my stomach. He had sharp features. Symmetrical. Severe dark chocolate eyes and short, well-groomed hair to match. There was definite chemistry in the works. In fact, I couldn’t help but think what a perfectly romantic moment this would be for a kiss, but that would be a bit premature even for boy crazy Carolyn. A bit, nontraditional. I gave him a tight smile. Just a little rope for the poor guy. I’d almost forgotten his question when I became suddenly aware that he was still holding my hand. Or maybe he was holding it again. I wasn’t sure. The warmth radiated between us.
I allowed my facial expression to soften further.
“Traditional is okay.” I smiled and nodded. I quite liked traditional actually.
“Really?” He said, pleasantly surprised.
“To an extent.” I was strong and independent, sure, but it didn’t change the fact that I wanted a strong guy. Even a protective one.
“Well I’m a traditional guy… to an extent.” He was trying to impress me. It was kinda cute.
Our gaze still intent, I gave another tight smile and he did the same.
He looked forward, breaking the tension.
“So Miss Carolyn, what do you do?”
“I’m a teacher.”
“Ah a caretaker… how very traditional.” Now he was teasing me.
“Ha. Yes, suppose it is traditional, but I’m more like a zookeeper…. or ringmaster… or a cat wrangler.” Really, I could go on forever with the metaphors.
“What grade?”
“5th”
“That must be fun.”
“Circuses are fun.”
We locked eyes again. The smell of his cologne permeating my senses. I’d never been so attracted to a smell before. I inched in closer, again drinking in his scent, very aware that I had a problem. A I-cannot-resist-the-smell-of-a-well-groomed-clean-shaven-masculine-cologned man problem.
I knew it was too soon, but I wanted him to kiss me.
Our gaze deepened.
My feelings were conflicted.
Kiss me.
No, it’s too soon.
Look away, I thought.
Break the tension.
Say something.
I think he’s actually gonna kiss me.
“Chad?” I couldn’t contain myself any longer.
“Yes?”
“I really have to pee.”
That broke the tension.
Chapter 4
I know what you are probably thinking.
This dude is going to carry her into his festively lit living room, the pop of the fireplace crackling about, the smell of pine incensing her nostrils. He will set her down gently on the living room couch and help her stretch out her injured leg across the table, which he will first, with one swift brush of his arm, sweep all things to the ground to clear the way. He will tell her to relax and be still and that he will take care of her wounds. He will then disappear into the kitchen to gather gauze and other such first aid supplies.
While sitting alone in the candle lit living room, she will look around and notice pictures of him in a white lab coat, with a stethoscope around his neck, in a remote Southeast Asian village, surrounded by smiling, clearly impoverished children, one of which will be sitting on his shoulders and pulling on his ears while laughing hysterically. He will, of course, be wearing a smile as wide as his heart, revealing his brilliantly white and unnaturally straight teeth.
A superstar of Doctors Without Borders. An adventurer who just happens to be living in this town to help his ailing grandma and sickly cousin but maintains close ties to his international connections and is ready with an overnight bag and passport at a moment’s notice.
Then, in crashes the missing puzzle piece to his extravagantly humble life, the damsel in distress school teacher with a latent travel bug and freshly renewed passport, ready to be whisked off her injured feet and superimposed into her very own international edition of a Hallmark romance.
The End
***
But that’s not what happened.
As I was “drinking in the scent” of his perfectly cologned neck, en route up the hill, impressed by his strength, grace, and chivalry, the brute dropped me flat on my wider-than-I-would-care-to-admit-but-still-not-cushioned-enough-to-dull-the-pain-derriere and then proceeded to, himself, tumble down the hill into the very ditch from which he had just pulled me.
Fantasy abated.
The weight of my own body against my tailbone sent shudders down my legs, stopping along the way to mingle with the pain already settled in them before releasing itself into the atmosphere and allowing me once again to form cogent thoughts.
The first of which was concern for the durability of this guy’s neck, but my concern was pacified when, as soon as he landed, his arms sprouted into the air and gave me two enthusiastic thumbs up. Still laying on the ground with arms in the air, he exclaimed to me with spirited reassurance, “I’m fine! I’m good! Everything is good here.”
His house had better smell of pine, I thought.
*
Chapters 5 and 6 have been omitted. Please move on to chapter 7.
If you have become a consistent reader, please drop me a comment!
Don’t forget to read chapters 1-2 first!
Chapter 3
The crushing weight of nothing lighter than a large grizzly bear on a sled pinned me to the ground without warning. And before I realized I’d even been knocked over, the grizzly bear rolled off and was whimpering like a sick cub beside me. Simultaneous sensations spread throughout my body, one of being sucker punched and the other, of being massaged down my left leg by a large cactus. The pins and needles peppered across my flesh like quickly blinking Christmas lights. Out of place ones. Like those random single color red ones that lined just half the length of our neighbor’s house when I was a child. I stammered on, once again attempting to hold back another round of curse words, which I will, as usual not color the page with.
A monstrous woman’s voice hailed from the hill beside me, a hill I did not even notice until after I was mauled by that grizzly bear going midnight sledding.
“Jake! I told you to be careful!” A red coat emerged from the snow next to me. The grizzly bear was none other than a child not exceeding three feet tall and clearly going by the name of Jake.
“Get in the house, now!”
A gentler voice, that of a man approaching, followed.
“Hey little man, you okay?” The man shuffled quickly over from a neighboring yard, lifting the wild little grizzly cub and standing him on his two feet. The child wiggled free from his grasp, said nothing, grabbed his much-too-large tobogan, and ran up the hill to his berating mother.
“You know that tobogan—” his voice trailed off in resignation. And to himself, he uttered, “is mine.” The man shrugged, clearly used to his next door Dennis the Mennis.
I sat up the best I could under the snow and began the futile business of dusting the slush off my legs from the underside of my lower pant legs. I shuddered when my hand made contact with my left shin. It was hard to see, but I was almost certain it was bleeding. A warm liquid sensation, contrasting greatly with the cold wetness from the snow, spilled out from the wound. The pain was almost agonizing. Almost—simply because the adrenaline of my overall situation, that of being lost in a snowstorm, in the middle of the night, in a strange town, alone, kept me from dwelling too much on the impact of the crash.
At the sound of my grunt, the man suddenly noticed my peculiar presence in the middle of the midnight snow.
“Oh goodness.You okay!?” The man, about thirty years old, if I could guess right through the concealment of the dark, begged, concern in his voice. He rushed at me with an outstretched hand, a hand that I readily accepted, careful to respond with my left, less injured hand. Despite the situation, I couldn’t help but notice how small my hand felt in his and how gentle, yet firm his grip was. Per usual, without much forethought, I casually glanced at his left hand to look for a ring. Of course it was pointless, given he was wearing gloves. Like a sane person would. Unlike myself.
“Do you live nearby?” he questioned. I shook my head, delivering a quiet laugh at the whole of my circumstances and the the difficulty I would have at explaining my situation and the series of unfortunate events that landed me here in this very moment. After a moment of awkward laughter on my part, and no doubt awkward incomprehension on his, I replied.
“You know those moments we often console ourselves in the middle of by telling ourselves, ‘When we look back at this in ten years, we’re gonna laugh?’
He gave a nodding grin. “Sure.”
“Well, that’s my night,” I said confidently with an awkward laugh. And with that laugh, I bared into my left leg, attempting to walk, and instantly, it gave way to gravity pulling me straight towards the ground. I shrieked at the pain.
Unbelievable.
In complete astonishment, I found myself suddenly caught and quite literally whisked into the air and into the arms of this unexpected man. My shriek was followed by a yelp at the surprise, and though the pressure of him holding me as if carrying me across a wedding threshold multiplied my leg pain, sudden warmth at being held as if being carried across a wedding threshold filled my stomach and made the pain inconsequential.
Yet, my independent and cautious nature led me to struggle against the assistance.
“It’s okay,” I assured him as I pulled away, trying to get down. His strength was impressive as I’m not what you may consider a small boned lady. I definitely had enough meat on my bones to feel awkward at being carried, but the ease at which he seemed to carry me gave me some unexpected comfort.
“You can’t walk.” He stated very matter of factly, as if his words settled the matter. “Where do you belong?”
I laughed at the question, again thinking of my present circumstance, but understanding his meaning, simply responded, “My car broke down and I got snowed out of it. I live two hours away.”
He turned to me with a look that could only be described by “Seriously?” or perhaps, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” It wasn’t an angry look though. He uttered a quiet, audible laugh and turned his tracks towards the house at the top of the hill.
The situation I was in wasn’t lost on me. I very well knew that I was in the arms of a strange man and about to enter his house with little ability to escape should I need to. I had no knowledge of what was held inside, whether it be a lair where he kept women chained up in the basement or a cozy cabin with a cheerful wife and three adoring children. Or perhaps, he was just a bachelor waiting for the woman of his dreams to show up injured and in need of a knight and shining armor at the edge of his driveway in the middle of a romantic snowy December night. I was hoping for the latter but would have happily settled for the former.
But still, he could be serial killer.
Unable to do anything but hope and being thoroughly impressed by the ease at which he carried me up the hill, I relaxed momentarily and drank in his fragrance. He smelled of fire but not like a fireplace or like a burning building. Like a cologne with a burning sweetness. I found myself pressing my face into his neck, not so forcefully as to be noticeable by him, but enough to block the wind a bit and to feel the heat of his 5:00 shadow.
Ch. 3 to be continued ____________________________________
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Chapter 2
As soon as I realized what I’d done, I pulled at the door handle, jiggling it feverishly. I succeeded at getting it open nearly an inch when my left fingers slipped. Instinctively, my right hand reached to catch it, and in that same moment, traction gave way beneath me, pulling me into the door and slamming it shut on three of my right fingers. Or maybe it was four. The ache was moving more slowly than it normally would due to the wintry temperatures.
I couldn’t tell if the snap I heard was was from my fingers or was the sound of the door handle slinging shut. I let out a short, curdling scream, perhaps a few curse words that I won’t admit to, and proceeded to inhale slowly and deeply, consciously imagining the pain releasing out of my fingertips. Visualization. I’d heard of it. I wasn’t entirely sure this is what it was though.
Within seconds, the pain had moved deep into my fingertips and settled into a slowly pulsating throb.
Visualization was for the birds.
*
Even if I could’ve wedged the door open more than a few inches than before, my pulsating fingers couldn’t handle the pressure now. At least the coldness will soon numb the pain.
As the reality of the situation sank in–as well as the pain, I was beside myself. I had no idea where I was beyond being in Mechanicsville. And other than passing the sign for the town hundreds of times on the way to and from my grandparents home over the years, I’d never actually stopped there to find out what sort of place it was. Was I in the middle of an empty town? A small city? Was there a Main Street? Was this it? Was there a gas station within walking distance? How many miles had I already been driving in this neighborhood, and how many more would it be before an exit could be found?
And of course the biggest question. What was I going to do now?
I knew what was behind me. Miles of unplowed roads, houses, and a virtually empty main drag. I didn’t know what was before me, so I walked on. Trudging through the ever deepening snow, I looked around for the couples I had seen just fifteen minutes prior. Or maybe it was much longer than fifteen minutes. I really wasn’t sure. Not one one in sight.
I thought about my students as I moved. I pondered my lack of available sick days due to family illnesses and at last, sighed over the supposition that I couldn’t really control this situation exactly. Though I wasn’t quite convinced of this fact. I also wasn’t quite convinced I wouldn’t make it back in time for morning classes. Worry over how I would contact the school to get a sub filled me: While trapped. On foot. In a snowstorm. In a strange city. Alone. In the middle of the night.
Anxiety crept over me. Anxiety over my messy desk and the sudden presence of an unexpected stranger judging me. Touching my desk. Organizing my stacks. I shuddered at the thought. Seeing my soon to be three day old half cup of coffee left over from Friday morning still sitting on my desk. Would serve them right if they touched my stacks, I thought, grimacing at the thought.
Suddenly aware of the frosty wetness seeping into my shoes, leaving my toes with a bitter cold burning sensation, made me keenly aware of the deranged mental health of teachers. I shook the thoughts from my head and continued on.
Once again, I wondered where the people were who had been strolling through the snow earlier. Looking around, I realized very little was in sight. The snowfall and wind speed had picked up somewhere between smashing my fingers and having vengeful thoughts towards my future substitute teacher and all the intelligent people had taken cover in their homes. The rest of us were wearing ice sculptures shaped as tennis shoes, no socks, and slowly moving into the first stages of hypothermia.
The severity of the situation hadn’t quite hit me.
But a high speed wooden toboggan did.
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Chapter 1
I was driving down interstate 295 just outside Richmond, listening to the audiobook of Pride and Prejudice when I finally saw an exit that was plowed. Snowflakes, easily two inches in diameter, were still falling and my stomach grumbling, when after five hours of driving bumper to bumper on now two inches of ice, I spotted the cleared exit.
I’d left Woodbridge five hours prior, just when the snow had started to fall. It should have taken me an hour to get here. I knew there was a possibility that I would get hit with a snowstorm on my way home, but it was my grandma’s 85th birthday party. I couldn’t miss it. And I couldn’t stay the night on this Sunday evening either.
As a teacher, a snow day was certainly most welcome, but as a teacher in a school district clear on the other side of the state, where no snow was foreseen to fall, I had classes to attend to in less than twelve hours and the only snow day I would have would be the one from inside of my imagination–and my friends’ facebook posts.
As I rounded the bend and began merging onto the main road in what was to me, an unknown, unnamed town, I saw the line of plow trucks lining up on the other side of the road. The on ramp had not yet been plowed. And neither had the rest of the town.
I might as well see if there is any food, I thought. And so, I drove on, keeping my eye out for an opportunity to turn around, but seeing as how the road going the opposite direction, the direction back to the interstate, had not been plowed, I had no choice but to keep going straight. After several minutes, my gps told me to turn left. I hadn’t turned it off since setting it to the restaurant I’d seen on the interstate sign back on 295. The road seemed clear enough, so I shrugged and turned left. Maybe I’ll have better luck on this street anyway.
Soon, the bright street lights dimmed, being replaced by the soft glow of front porch lights and the occasional string of holiday lights that litter neighborhoods throughout the month of January. The snow before me now seemed deeper than the snow on the main street. It was in that moment that I realized the main roads must have already been plowed and were then covered again with the continuously falling flakes. As I scanned the neighborhood from my left to my right, I felt like I was in the middle of a brightly illuminated snowy landscape painting. Smooth snow coated hills climbed up to snow encased steps which were further brightened by lamplight from the homes. Several couples were strolling down the street hand-in-hand, enjoying the first snowfall of the year.
I wondered how deep this neighborhood went. I shut off my gps and considered turning around, but whenever I passed another cross street, nothing but deep tire trenches could be seen. If I were to even attempt to turn around, my car would, without question become stuck in the middle of the road and possibly the middle of an intersection. So I drove on.
The elevation began going up and I worried I would not be able to get my rear wheel drive sedan to elevate with it; the car began to drift to one side and just as I was about to roll into the ditch to my left, I remembered, while holding my breath, to put it into first gear and to tap my brakes. To my surprise, I regained control of the car and was able to swerve to the right just in time to miss one ditch and roll sideways into another. The road curved while I wasn’t looking. And within less time than a single blink of an eye, my car was fully immobilized and in a position that would take a tow truck to pull it out, even without the snow.
I’m not one to worry, not about the big things anyway. I was however, regretful, that I hadn’t charged my phone adequately before the trip and had still been using it for both a gps and an audiobook. I looked at it inquisitively, trying to determine the best use of its remaining juice. I couldn’t very well call a taxi. And I didn’t know where I was. And even if I asked Siri, the most I might find out would be the name of the town. Mechanicsville. Sounds about right. When I asked her where I was when I was clearly at home a few months prior, she’d put me several streets over from my actual location.
I let it charge with the engine running for a few more moments while I swapped out my croc flats for my tennis shoes and squeezed on my coat. Throwing my phone, charger, and keys into my purse, I made my greatest effort to open the driver’s side door. I had to push with all my might and wedge myself out. When I finally succeeded, the door slammed shut with a ferocious gravitational pull (insert a clean, witty joke about gravity here… go ahead, send me your suggestion!). There would be no getting back in without a shovel.
My purse was still inside.
———————————————————————————————————————————-
Though it starts out as nonfiction, it turns into fiction. Please let me know your thoughts BEFORE I write the next chapter… or the rest of this chapter… and feel free to send me your suggestions where there are blanks noted.
A brief note – I haven’t written since March, and I am sorry. I’m getting back into the groove now though. I will ask that if you read a post of mine that touches you or that you think might resonate with one of your friends, that you please consider sharing it and consider liking my author Facebook page. There are sharing buttons for many social media platforms at the end of each post. I am working towards publishing my first book, and the more readers I can show that I have, the better my chances are of being published. I will share more about the book later. Stay tuned! Thanks! -Brittany
Updated on 5/20/2017 for grammar, punctuation, and mechanics.
I was sitting in the passenger’s seat of my sister’s SUV, staring out the window at the fields of grass as we passed them by. Cows. Stacks of hay. The occasional barn. And the tears began to flow.
She had just picked me up from the airport. My last flight from China, my home for the past five years.
My nephews were in the back seat — my suitcases were stacked in the hatchback trunk with my cat’s crate tucked snugly between them. The occasional meow could be heard through all the cargo, as the boys craned their necks up and back as far as they could to look at the newest member of the family, my adopted Chinese cat-son. My most expensive souvenir.
Just after I was picked up from the airport
I’d been waiting for this moment since the previous summer when my sister and her family moved to this small town in the country. I had just returned from another summer of whirlwind world traveling and was able to visit her in her new town for two days before it was time to catch my flight back to my other world — China.
I knew when I had gotten on the airplane that summer to head back to China that it would be my last year. I sensed it in my spirit — and after a long hard and amazing school year, it was finally over.
I couldn’t even count the number of nights that last year in China that I sobbed myself to sleep because I wanted nothing else but to snap my fingers, be done with China, and back home in Virginia. And yet, there I was: landed, through customs, in the car, with my cat, and on my way “home” when the tears began to seep through my tired, burning eyes.
A few minutes before the tears began, I had warned my sister:
“Just so you know, repatriating is rumored to be one of the most difficult and stressful challenges people face in life. They say it is really hard and there is nothing that the surrounding family can do to help. So be warned. I’m beyond happy to be home, but I’m beyond grieved to be leaving China. I had a whole life there and a whole community and family that I may never see again. And I’m so excited to finally be home. And I feel everything. Joy. Sadness. Excitement. Grief. Anticipation. Loss. All at the same time. I’m going to be emotional, and I don’t know when or how, but you won’t understand. You can’t. And it’s not your fault. It just is.”
“Okay,” she replied.
“Okay.” I nodded and peered out the window. And just as quickly as the thoughts surfaced in my mind, Oh. Oh no. I can’t leave, the floodgates opened. I began to panic, mildly hyperventilating, and vocalized my suffering. “I’m stuck! I can’t escape. I’m really here. I’m really here. I’m really here.”
Without shame, with tears streaming down my face, I looked my sister in the eye. She gently grabbed my hand, held it and continued to drive.
–
This was just over one month ago. I’m still processing what it is like to repatriate. I haven’t settled into a new life yet, but I’m starting to feel like I’ve begun settling out of my old life. I’m in transition. I have a new job, but I haven’t started it yet. I’ve found a church, but I don’t know anyone yet.
I’m no longer sleeping on the couch of my sister’s house, but I am still sleeping on an air mattress on my nephew’s bedroom floor. I no longer have my own kitchen, but I am sharing my sister’s kitchen… and neither of us like to share our kitchen… something about me not believing in recipes and washing dishes in a “weird way.”
We haven’t gotten around to clearing out the basement where I will live for the next year, but I am here, sleeping on the floor of an eleven year old’s room, washing my own dishes, missing my housekeeper, running out of money, grateful I have a wonderful job starting soon, already living paycheck to paycheck, and just trying to figure out how to repatriate and be… an American again.
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Let’s watch a movie together. A movie about religion, politics, and hotly debated social issues. Here it is:
I must confess. I was once one of those Christians who truly believed that Jesus would’ve been a Republican. And even when I learned that this was not necessarily the case, deep down, far down- but not actually that far down, I still believed it.
I know.
I know.
I don’t know. Trying to climb out of this box.
Why? You probably guessed it. Abortion.
Jesus values all life, and that includes life in the belly. I am reminded constantly of Psalm 139:13
For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
Now, here is another confession. It is primarily and sometimes, solely, for my prolife conviction that I have chosen to support the Republican party with my votes and occasional campaigning. Not that there are not other issues I look at, but this has been my deal breaker. And here is why…
A friend verbalized it once and it made sense and resonated with my deepest convictions, so I took it in and made it part of my… logic… process… She said, “If a candidate does not value the very thing he or she swears to defend and protect, ‘life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,’ how can they be trusted? How can we trust the moral compass of one who would allow or even promote the ending of life.”
Sealed it. Never would I even consider voting for a pro-choice candidate. And this was my reason.
PAUSE.
PONDER.
FAST-FORWARD 8 YEARS.
MAKING MY MERRY WAY ALONG LIFE.
STOP ON MARCH 8, 2016. 8:00 PM [BEIJING TIME].
PLAY
I was recently at dinner with one of my many Democrat-Christian friends. The Trump debate was freshly stale and still popularly effervescent [just to set the background]. She said something that rocked my world. She recounted a conversation she herself had years ago with one of her Republican-Christian friends. [Labels are so important to us, aren’t they?]
Her friend said, “I don’t see how anyone can call themselves a Christian and be a Democrat.” Stop the music. Some of you are nodding your heads in agreement. Some of you are ready to smash the screen.
“Well, I don’t see how anyone can call themselves a Christian and be a Republican,” my friend said back. Stop the music again. Stop it faster. Everyone’s face should look about like this now.
I admit it. While she was telling me this story. Shock came over me... She doesn’t know how anyone can call themselves a Christian and be a Republican? This HAS GOT to be good, I thought.
Now, I thought she was trying to make a point, so I stayed with her. [She had also taken me out to celebrate my birthday together and this was our dinner conversation, so obviously I stayed with her. Delicious Italian food! Thanks friend!]
She asked her Republican friend why she felt the way she did and her response, like many others including myself was about abortion and the sanctity of life.
Nodding in agreement.
Then like clockwork, she very calmly told me her response to the question of why she said she didn’t know how Christians could be Republicans. “Well, I don’t think we should take the life of anyone, not people in the womb and not people in other countries with our wars.” [subtext: wars that Republican candidates tend to promote more than Democrat candidates].
I stopped.
I pondered.
huh.
Please stop with me. Please ponder.
There are so many aspects of both abortion, war, the death penalty etc. that could be explored in the debate over which political party is “best,” but can we just take a moment and reflect on this. Can we just reflect on what can happen when we calmly listen to one another and consider the meaning of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness from another person’s point of view? Can we just stop trying to be heard for a moment and listen, really listen? All of us, no matter what political or religious affiliation we have. But even as the Body of Christ, fellow Christians, can we just stop and listen to understand? We don’t need to change our party, our denomination or our convictions, but we can still connect and love without placing such harsh judgements on our fellow humans for seeing things differently.
Jesus values all life, even life in the prison cell. Even life in countries vastly different from our own. Even Muslims. Even Jews. Even nonreligious. Even the Democrats/Republicans who also dare to call themselves Christians. Even you.
The movie is not over folks, but I think that’s enough for tonight.
God speed.
Note: The title of this blog was changed from “Just a light post about politics, religion, & you… can’t trump that” to “The Ultimate Guide to a Bipartisan Friendship: Part 1” on March 17, 2016
We were sitting around the table in the upstairs corner of the Coffee Shop and the topic of my singleness came up. It often does. I was the only unmarried woman at the table. I had just finished explaining that in fact I do have the desire to get married and have children, when excitedly, one of my friends asked me what my favorite number was. I told her it was seven and in the next breath, she told me with no scientific accuracy but with a giant smile across her face that I would get married at 37 because her favorite number is 3 and she got married at 33. Seems logical…
Now being 30, having hoped I would already have gotten married by now, my heart sank at this knowledge- because even though it wasn’t actual knowledge, it was unscientific girl gossip, at a Bible Study no less, it still felt declared. “Don’t prophesy THAT over me!” I exclaimed to her. In my mild freak out my other friend, sensing my distress at the possibility of another seven years of singleness, jumped in to curb my anxiety and fear and very coolly argued that I could just get married in 2017. Better yet, I could get married in July, maybe even this July! We laughed and moved on and that was the end of that.
UNTIL I had a different group of friends over to my apartment four days later, also all married women from church. Sitting on my couch, talking about life, God, and their families, one of the women looked right at me and said, with a voice of undoubtedly innocent curiosity, “Why aren’t you married yet?” (I’ll save the tangent that question could lead me towards for a different blog post!) God bless her. I explained that I didn’t know. That she would have to ask God, and in fact, if she didn’t mind, she could go ahead and request to God on my behalf that my future husband would speed it up to me if she wanted (and by all means, you are invited to pray this as well). My three friends counseled me and suddenly, one of them blurted out, “Who knows when God will have you married!? No one knows! You could get married at 37!”
To my fellow single-and-waiting-for-seemingly-ever- ladies, you know that while this came from a place of reassurance, to a 30 year-old who has been waiting 7 years already since she decided she wanted to get married, it was a horrifying notion.
Now this time, it did feel like prophesy. Not that either statement was based on prayer or even advice but two unconnected people, mentioned I could or would get married at age 37 four days apart while in a group of Christian praying women (as was part of our purpose for meeting together).
The idea kept me awake for hours that night. A few days later a moment of clarity came.
I was walking through my living room and dared to entertain the thought- and I do mean dared because it was a conscious choice to go there in my head, to allow my mind to open up and consider this question because I would otherwise block out such sad nonsense. 37. Six more years of singleness. Dare not go there in my little mind.
The question: What if I knew I would get married at 37? If I knew with absolute certainty that I would get married at the age of 37, how would my life change today? I paced around my living room as the possibilities of what could be bubbled to the top. How would I live if I knew the gift of marriage was coming for sure and that it would arrive in just over six years, how would I live the next six years?
And suddenly, as if I just remembered that I had a slice of cake of my fridge (and forgive me while I run to the fridge because I did in fact just remember that I have a slice of cake in my fridge), I realized how AMAZING it would be! Imagine grocery shopping on pay day while you are extremely hungry. I began to pick up everything off the shelf of life to put in my cart. I would do everything! I would live my life to the fullest. I would work hard and not spend money frivolously for the next two to three years and get all my debt paid off. I would invest in a counseling degree, if I decided I still wanted one. I would focus on writing and publish my books. I would love and laugh with my friends and family in the peace of knowing that good things are both here and are coming in the future. I would not stress about whether or not they will ever happen. I would live joyfully with the belief in what I cannot prove and with the hope in what I cannot see. I would live out the faith to which have already been called.
Contrary to what I thought I would feel if I allowed myself to seriously contemplate that I may have six more years of singleness, I felt at peace!
What!? This was a true epiphany.
Hebrews 11:1 (NIV) states, “Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see. 2 This is what the ancients were commended for.”
This is what I should be doing anyway. This is how I should be living. I should not worry about if I will marry and when, I should live life to the fullest, in confidence and hope that good things are coming- if not how I think I want them to come, in an even better way.
If I knew that one of the, if not THE greatest desire of my heart for my time on earth would come true in six years, I would spend the next six years living life how God calls me to live it without fear that good things won’t come and without grappling to force them to happen before the right time.
It’s not that I didn’t already know I should do this. I knew. The Bible says. People told me. But I realized it in a new way, on a heart level when I allowed myself to go there in my head. When I went there even though I was afraid.
So that is how I will try to live the next six years, so that when I have my 37th birthday, married or not, He can finally say, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” (Matthew 25:21, 23 NIV)
And at 37, I will start again.
ps. Don’t go grocery shopping when you are hungry. The metaphor doesn’t really work if you think about it too much.
If this resonates with you, I invite you to please like, leave a comment and/or share it with your friends. I’d also love to hear your thoughts and about your own experiences.
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© [B.D. Lyons] and [bdlyons.wordpress.com], [2016]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Reblogging, excerpts, and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [B.D. Lyons] and [gracefulpersistence.com] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
Today, I found out that a childhood friend I have occasional Facebook contact with has not only one rare cancer, Histio, she has been fighting for years, but now two. She suffers daily as she fights the illnesses all while raising two beautiful children with her husband.
I was about to post another blog, when I read her Facebook update and this topic seemed more important. It reminded me of the message I heard in church today. It was about “In the meantime” moments by Andy Stanley. When our situations seem hopeless, when there is nothing we can do, when the odds are stacked against us. What do we do? What do we do when there is nothing we can do?
I approach this topic with a heavy heart, hesitantly, and treading lightly because I have no answers and I do not want to put anyone, including those who suffer with ailments and heart-aches I do not understand or God Himself, in a box. I will not pretend to have a cookie cutter answer. Suffering sucks. It hurts. It hurts the body. It hurts the heart. It just hurts.
However, I felt compelled to explore the idea of suffering briefly and see what God says about it. This is not a sermon, just an exploration. Maybe I’ll learn something.
So I did what any non-seminarian student of the Word would do when looking for verses on a particular topic. I googled it. I typed in “scriptures on suffering” and got eleven million hits in less than a half of a second. Clearly a topic of concern to all of humanity.
A lot of what I found was unhelpful.
God uses suffering to bring people into closer relationship with Him is a paraphrase of almost every site I clicked on. And while I do not think the statement is incorrect, for I have myself, drawn closer to God in the midst of my own emotional and spiritual seasons of suffering, it is not enough, and in fact can seem quite cruel to the non-Christian and even to many Christians. It cannot stand alone.
Another common response is that the world is sinful and with the entry of sin into the world all those years ago, sickness came to the earth and it just infects us. And one day, in Heaven all sickness will cease. This is also not inaccurate, but doesn’t provide much comfort right now.
Words, true words, can be used as a weapon if not used properly. Just look at the Pharisees. They knew the scriptures. They knew the facts. They quoted Moses correctly. And yet, they were dead wrong, and they killed Jesus. The point here? Truth without love isn’t truth at all.
Dedication
To the young couple whose child is hanging on for dear life in the NICU on a ventilator, with feeding tubes, repeated seizures, temperature spikes, and unknown brain activity
To the wife and mother who suffers daily with a chronic rare cancer, who battles the monster with chemo, diet, and every other possibly helpful treatment available just so she can see her babies swing on the playground and blow out their birthday candles
To the single teacher who was diagnosed with cancer, who is living in a foreign country away from all family, who serves as her sole financial provider, who must take unpaid leave to have and recover from surgeries
To the others who suffer in ways the world does not know:
You are heroes. True heroes. I do not understand for I have not walked in your shoes. I do not know why or what good will come from your pain, but I pray to God that He will allow you to see even a glimmer of good fruit produced from it.
Remember and give thanks
What I have learned this past year from seeing the people I love suffer is that every moment matters.
To the parent of a healthy child, treasure the day you bring your baby home from the hospital for the first time because it was a gift and not a guarantee. Each breath is a gift from God. Don’t feel guilty that your child is healthy while another parent’s child suffers to breathe. Just thank God for giving your child breath and remember to love and not judge those who have a different path.
To the woman whose annual health check came back normal once again. Give thanks for clear test results. Each heart beat is a gift from God. And remember those women who have a different result.
To each parent who is healthy enough to enjoy every moment of your child’s life, embrace it, for it is not a guarantee. And remember those families who have a different path.
Letting go of unhelpful advice and replacing it with truth
And for the love of all God’s people, let us all stop saying catchphrases such as “Let go and let God.” As someone who has tried to let go and let God do all kinds of things in her life and in her heart, this is not helpful.
I also encourage people to stop saying, “God will not give you more than you can handle.” I admit that I have been guilty of this! While well-intentioned (I believe or hope), it’s not Biblical. He always gives us more than we can handle. Sometimes, I can’t even handle getting through a normal day where my health is not in question, I can’t. I just can’t. The best advice I have heard and that replaces this phrase, came from the previously mentioned sermon by Andy Stanley. He suggests we say to God daily, “I can’t. I can’t. But God, you can.”
This verse is talking about temptation to act on sin. Suffering is not an act of sin. We may be tempted to sin as a result of our suffering, just like anything unpleasant could cause is to cope in unhealthy ways, but suffering is not a sin.
Regarding suffering, or rather mourning which I argue is directly related, the Bible does say this in Matthew 5:4 “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”
Sometimes, we just can’t. We must and yet, we can’t. My friends who nearly lost their firstborn and one month later are still with him daily at the hospital couldn’t. They just couldn’t. And you know what, God never expected them to. God did. He comforted them.
Fall apart. Mourn the loss of what is no longer. It is okay to fall apart. Tell God you can’t but recognize, do not forget to recognize, that He can. He somehow enables those who suffer to manage life. It may not be how they would prefer, but people do it. They are heroes. And He does comfort the broken-hearted and the broken-bodied. I don’t know how. He’s just a very big God.
Sometimes, I fall apart in God’s lap, metaphorically speaking of course. I believe those are His favorite moments with me. They are definitely my most favorite moments with Him. Moments of truth. Parents like it when their children humbly admit the truth.
I had an experience some time ago where I was in a minor fender bender and it wasn’t my car. And insurance wasn’t covering it for reasons I will not get into. No one was hurt, but I caused it, and I couldn’t afford to fix it. I fell apart. I cried. And then I told my dad. He scooped me up in his arms and told me he would fix it. And I fought him because I wanted to do it on my own. I thought I deserved whatever consequence would come for not being able to fix it myself since I caused it due to “stupidity” I claimed. But the truth is I couldn’t. I had no money and definitely no skills. And no insurance. He had the skills and the tools. I let him fix it. It hurt because I didn’t know how it would turn out. But it turned out fine. He didn’t care that it was my fault. He didn’t care that he would lose an entire month’s rent to pay for the damage that I had caused. He is my papa and he could and did when I couldn’t.
And he is human. God is so much bigger than our humanness. He loves us more. He provides for us bigger.
Back to the other point- telling people to let go and let God is simply not enough and when we do it, we miss the point. Perhaps a better thing to say is to Squeeze God around His broad chest instead of using those arms to carry our burdens alone because when we let Him hold us, he naturally carries the weight of the burden too. Even that is philosophical to many many people, and unhelpful to a large part of the population.
I have no perfect advice or solution here just experiences, mine and a few from other people. And God’s Word. That’s supreme.
Through the suffering of my friend’s first born, through the love poured out to them through the church, through their friends, through their community, a lens was placed on them, and the love they have for Jesus Christ was witnessed by hundreds, if not thousands. People who have never trusted Christ started a discussion. I witnessed one of these discussions in my own classroom during lunch as students talked about and admired their steady faith.
I am not saying that we all suffer so we can be put on display, but when we do suffer, what if we could be real and honestly admit that we can’t handle it without the judgement of others being poured on us, without people telling us to be strong when we know we are not. What if we could hand our giant pain over to God and then climb up in his lap and cry.
This article from Focus on the Family offers some advice to those around people suffering that (I think) might be helpful. You decide.
What can we do practically to help those who suffer? Give a dollar or 1000, whatever we can when they are in financial need. Pray unceasingly. Send them a note. Babysit. Play with their kids. Bring them a cup of tea and sit next to them in their own home. Remember them. Do not judge them.
And try to help find a cure. Support them by helping to bring awareness for the purpose of promoting empathy and increasing funds for research.
This was not a sermon. Just an exploration. And I learned something.
God be with you all.
If this resonates with you, I invite you to please like, leave a comment and/or share it with your friends. I’d also love to hear your thoughts and about your own experiences.
Want to read more? Please add me on Twitter or Facebook [links below] or subscribe here on wordpress! I’d love to connect.
© [B.D. Lyons] and [bdlyons.wordpress.com], [2016]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Reblogging, excerpts, and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [B.D. Lyons] and [gracefulpersistence.com] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
Graceful Persistence 