Flash Fiction: Twain

Twain 

            Tinsel let the door bang shut behind her with a sigh.  She was normally too considerate to do so, but it had been a long day.  Her roommate and best friend was gone for the night, or more likely the weekend, and Tinsel was not looking forward to another Friday night alone.

            Becky’s boyfriend was back in town, after a week of out-of-town hockey games.  Tinsel didn’t expect to see her before Monday morning.  When Dave was in town, Tinsel only saw Becky at work. 

            She set her bag of groceries on the counter and checked the answering machine—one message.  She hit the button as she put away her purchases.

            Becky’s voice, “Hey, Tins, just wanted to remind you to look for that book you promised to find me.  I don’t want to be a pest, but I really want to get it for Dave before he leaves town again.  Thanks a ton, darling.  Remember, it’s by Samuel Clemens.  Have fun this weekend.”

            Tinsel groaned.  She hadn’t exactly promised, but she’d known Becky since they’d both been five years old.  Even Tinsel’s overprotective mother could find no fault with young Becky.  They soon became best friends, and done everything together, even gone to junior college together.  Now they worked as dental assistants at the same office.  Becky planned to go back to school to become a dentist.  Tinsel had no idea what she wanted to do with her life. 

She did know she didn’t want to spend her Friday night looking for a book that her friend could easily find herself.  But the truth was, she didn’t have anything better to do.  Tinsel was shy and hated going out by herself.  When Becky was single, they went to bars and plays and concerts, and she loved it.  But when Becky had a boyfriend, Tinsel was on her own.

Which meant eating alone on a Friday night, and trying to find something to watch on TV.

Tinsel shoved the last of her groceries in the fridge, suddenly determined.  She’d order a pizza and rent a movie on pay-per-view.  There were a couple she wanted to see, and she was tired of waiting for Becky to watch them with her.

She started for the phone, but stopped herself.  First she’d better find that book.  Walking to the computer, she opened the browser and typed in the search.

            “Samuel Clemens,” she said aloud.  She often talked aloud when she was alone.  It made her feel less lonely.

            The screen popped up with a list.  She clicked on a link for Mark Twain.  In five minutes, she’d located the book Becky wanted, and placed an order with a local bookstore.  Tinsel grabbed the phone and dialed.  No surprise, it went straight to voicemail.

            “Becky, Tinsel here.  I found that book.  You can pick it up tomorrow.  I had them charge it to your card.  Here’s the address.”

            She disconnected, paging back through her search absently.  She scrolled down the list of Mark Twain websites, surprised by how many there were. At the bottom of the screen, the last link made her pause.

            “And Never the Twain Shall Meet,” she read aloud.  That didn’t look like a bookstore website.  She clicked the link before she thought.

            It didn’t lead to a porn site, or trigger a deadly computer virus.  The site was strange.  She skimmed through it, interested in spite of herself.

            It was all about twins—twins separated at birth.  Tinsel read a little closer, and realized it was really about a particular set of twins.  She couldn’t quite tell what was so special about those particular twins, but the website claimed a conspiracy was keeping them apart.

            Tinsel sat back, disturbed.  She didn’t know why, but this website bothered her.  She rubbed her arms, feeling a sudden chill on her skin.

            “It’s not like I’m a twin,” she whispered, but she still felt uneasy. 

She went to the closet, took down the box that held her passport, her diplomas and all the awards she’d earned as a girl. There was no birth certificate there.

“I could call my mother and she’ll tell me,” Tinsel said.  “She’ll tell me it’s okay, and I’ll feel better.”

She had the phone in her hand when she had second thoughts.  Her mother was overprotective, almost obsessively so.  She had tracked Tinsel’s every move as a child, enforcing strict curfews and always insisting on knowing everything Tinsel did.  She’d even installed a tracking program in Tinsel’s phone when she went to college.  Luckily for Tinsel, Becky had been dating a tech expert at the time.  He’d discovered and disabled the tracker.

“Devon,” Tinsel murmured, her fingers already dialing.  The phone was already ringing when she realized it might be awkward asking Becky’s ex for a favor.  But it was too late.

“Hello?”

“Devon?  This is Tinsel.  How are you?”

“Tinsel!”  Devon seemed genuinely delighted.  “I’m great.  How are you?  How’s Becky?”

“She’s fine.  We’re both fine.  Becky’s dating a hockey player—but that’s not why I called.  I need a favor.  Are you busy?”

“Completely free,” Devon answered immediately, surprising her.  “What do you need?”

            Tinsel was caught off guard by his quick agreement.  “I just realized I don’t have a copy of my birth certificate.  I thought you might be able to find the birth records online?  I’ll buy the pizza.”

            “Should be no problem.  But why don’t you have a copy of it?  How did you get your passport without your birth certificate?”

            “My mother takes care of all of that.”

            A short pause.  “I see.  And I bet you don’t feel like calling her to ask for a copy, right?”

            “Not really.  Do you mind coming over?”

            “Sure.  I’ll be there in about an hour.  Call the pizza order in to Gianni’s and I’ll pick it up on the way.”

            “Sausage and olive with hot peppers, right?”

            “You know me too well, Tinsel.  See you soon.”

            Tinsel placed the pizza order, pre-paying with her credit card.  She straightened up a bit, shoving Becky’s clutter into her room.  She took a quick shower and had changed into casual clothes when the doorbell rang

            She answered, accepting a pizza box and a kiss on the cheek from Devon.  It really was good to see him.  His breakup with Becky had been amicable, but they didn’t hang out any more.

            They chatted easily as they dined on pizza and root beer, catching up on old times.

            “Are you seeing anyone?” he asked casually, as he threw away the paper plates they’d eaten from.

            “No.” Tinsel answered simply.  “You?”

            Devon lit up like a Christmas tree.  “She’s amazing, Tinsel.  Beautiful, smart and so sweet.  You’d love her.” 

            Clearly he’d just been waiting for a chance to brag.  Tinsel smiled indulgently.  “Sounds perfect.  So why are you alone on a Friday night?”

            Devon shrugged as he poked in the freezer, looking for ice cream.  “She’s out of town on assignment.”

            Tinsel laughed.  “Don’t tell me she’s a hocky player, too?”

            “Model,” he replied.  “All you have is vanilla?”

            “There’s chocolate syrup in the cupboard.”  Tinsel went to help him with the ice cream.  “Is it going to cause problems, you being here?” she asked. 

            “She’s a model, Tinsel,” Devon reminded her.  “She doesn’t have a problem with me having female friends.”

            Tinsel wasn’t so sure, but she let the matter drop.  Pouring hot chocolate syrup over two bowls of ice cream, she led him to the computer.

            After a fortifying bite of ice cream, he pulled up the hospital’s website and accessed their records.

            “Easy as pie,” he told her.  “Now all we need is your date of birth . . .. “

            He punched in the information and pulled up a list of records.

            “Here it is—“Tinsel Marlin, Mother was Janine, Father unknown.”  Devon went still.     

            “I knew that,” Tinsel assured him.  “My mother never tried to hide it from me.”

            “It’s not that,” he told her, his fingers flying over the keys again.  “There’s a file attached here.  Looks like an encrypted email.”

            “Can you open it?” Tinsel leaned over his shoulder.

            He shot her a glance.  “Please!  It’s twenty years old.  I’ll have it open . . .  now.  Let’s see.  ‘Re:  Twin Girls-- Tinsel and Coco.   Alternate identity has been established for the twin in my care.  I have no information on the other.  Protocols have been created to assure their paths won’t cross.  Never the Twain shall meet.’”

            Tinsel drew in a breath.  “Do you know what this means?” she whispered.

            “You’re adopted?”

            “I have a twin sister out there.  Somewhere.”

            “But why all the secrecy?” Devon wondered.  “Lots of twins are separated.  This is all too weird, Tinsel.”

            “Never the Twain shall meet.” Tinsel whispered, and knew her life had changed forever.

Flash Fiction: Sanctuary

Sanctuary

            Ominous dark clouds gathered overhead as he carried in another armload of firewood.  There would be rain tonight, he knew.  He considered the sky for a moment then went back for another load.  He didn’t want to run out of dry wood tonight.

            There were definite disadvantages in living in a six hundred year old monastery.

            Finally deciding he had enough wood brought in, he considered his home.  There was no power, no heat.  He had to carry in supplies on foot from the nearest road, two miles away.  It was cool and comfortable in the summer, cold and damp in the winter.  At times it could be lonely.

            He stirred the pot that hung over the small fireplace.  There would be plenty of hot soup for dinner tonight.  The kettle was full, ready to brew his favorite tea, made from herbs he gathered and dried himself.

            Yes there were many disadvantages to living in the monastery, but it was his home.  He loved it.

            Two hours later, he was toasting bread over the fire, using the old fashioned toasting fork, when he heard someone pounding on the door.  He hesitated, but the rain was coming down hard.  He set aside his toast and went to the door.

            He should have expected it.  No matter how remote, or how long abandoned, whenever a storm blew up, someone invariably came to his door needing help.  Never mind that the last of the monks had died a hundred years ago, someone always came here for help.

            The last of the monks but one, he corrected himself.  Though his qualifications were dubious, he supposed he might qualify.  His life was definitely chaste, and he did spend most of his days in quiet contemplation.  But that was as far as the comparison went.  His old life had been far removed from religion—but that was a time long past.

            He swung open the heavy wooden door, expecting a stranded traveler or a wayfarer who had lost his way.

            The last thing he expected was a woman, her dress soaked through, hunched over a large wicker basket.

            He frowned and pulled her inside.  She was not heavy, despite her sodden clothes.  Pulling the door closed against the storm outside, he carried her back to the fire.  The monastery was huge, but he really only used three rooms, and this was the only fire he bothered to keep lit. 

            He unwrapped her woolen shawl, and the woman stirred.  She tugged weakly at the basket. 

            “Sanctuary,” she murmured, pushing it toward him.

            “Easy,” he told her, his voice husky from lack of use.  “I’ll get you warm.  You’ll be okay.”

            She shook her head, giving a weak cough.  “No.  Not . . . . me.  Sanctuary,” she insisted, pushing at the basket again.

            He glanced down, distracted, and realized that the basket held, not clothing or food, but a baby. 

            “I don’t understand,” he began, looking back at the woman.  But it was too late.  She was unconscious.

            He set the basket closer to the fire, where the baby would keep warm.  Then he turned his attention back to the woman.  She was burning up with fever, her breathing little more than weak coughs.  He felt his heart sink.  He could not help her.

            But still, he did what he could.  He stripped her wet clothing, bathed her with warm water and dressed her in one of the simple brown robes he wore.  He did best to soothe her, talking to her and even crooning a lullaby when her sleep grew restless.

            But by the dawn, she was gone.  He covered her face and said a simple but heart felt prayer.  He would bury her beside the monks, a fitting resting place for her courage.

            At last he turned his attention to her belongings.  There was nothing to give any clue to her identity, or that of the baby.  All she carried was the child, some blankets and clothing and a small bottle of milk.

            Reluctantly, he pulled the baby from the basket.  The baby girl stared up at him solemnly.  She’d been remarkably quiet throughout the night.  He touched her cheek, but she showed no signs of fever.

            He drew in a breath, and cradled her in his arms.  She smiled up at him, and as he brushed her cheek again, he felt a strange peacefulness come over him and he realized something. 

            The woman hadn’t meant the monastery when she said sanctuary.  She’d been referring to the baby she carried.

            He sat back on his heels, taking it in.

            “You are going to be trouble, little one,” he murmured.  “The very best kind of trouble imaginable.”

           

Flash Fiction: Democracy

Democracy

 

            There were times when Tucker hated the idea of democracy.  To be honest, he’d always loved the idea of people having the freedom to choose their own government.  But the sheer aggravation of the past seven years was starting to wear him down.

            Fifteen years ago the king of Pretaria decided he wanted his subjects to choose his successor.  The king had no child to take the throne, and there were no living relatives to claim it.  The only way to avoid a violent civil war, he’d reasoned, was to allow the people to choose their own leader.

            Which was all well and good, Tucker reflected, but he wished the king had taken care of the elections before he’d died.  Instead the king had spent the last five years of his life setting up the rules for choosing his successor.  And he hadn’t had time to iron out all the kinks.

            There were roughly one million people in Pretaria.  The rules stated that every citizen above a certain age was required to vote.  In order to allow a wide base for the people to choose from, the king had designated the first vote to be a write-in ballot. 

            There had been over 100,000 candidates submitted during that first ballot.  It had taken almost a year just to collect all the ballots, and most of another to interpret and count all the votes.  Many Pretarians had illegible handwriting.

            Subsequent elections narrowed the field, as the Electoral Committee—and Interim Government—created rules to eliminate the least likely contenders.  After three years, the Committee realized they needed help, and sent a request for experts to help them.  Tucker had not volunteered.  But here he was anyway.

By the 17^th ballot, they’d narrowed it down to 217 candidates, with Tucker’s help.  The 18^th ballot had 309.  Tucker had locked himself in his room and cried.  He wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

He’d lost count of how many candidates they’d eliminated over the years.  He’d nearly lost count of how many ballots they’d created.  Tucker was tired.  He wanted to go home.  He missed his own country, where the laws were already in place, and the daily business of government wouldn’t give him a headache.

A knock on his door drew him from his wishful thinking.  He opened the door to find Catherine waiting.

“Reginald,” she said by way of greeting.  “You’re still up.  Good.” 

Catherine shouldered past him, an electronic clipboard in her hands. 

“Come on in,” he muttered dryly.  “And why don’t you call me Tucker?”

She blinked at him.  “Your name is Reginald.  I don’t understand why anyone would call you anything else.”

Tucker rubbed his temple as he closed the door behind her.  He felt another headache coming on.  Not that his last headache had ever really faded.

“It’s a nickname, Catherine,” he explained, yet again.  “It would be like someone calling you Cathy or Kate.”

“No one calls me either of those,” she pointed out, with a strange sort of logic, “Because neither of them is my name.  But Tucker isn’t even close to Reginald, so I don’t understand why you would answer to it.”

“It’s a long story.”

“We don’t have time for stories now.  The latest election results are in,” she said, passing him the E-board.

“Great.”  He tried to summon up enthusiasm, and failed.  “How many are we up to now?”

“Thirty-four,” she answered absently.  “We’ve got it narrowed down to 52 candidates this time.”

Tucker groaned, scrolling through the list.  “52?  I thought it was 51 last time.  We have to stop letting people submit candidates who aren’t on the ballot.  Who is it this time?  That hunter from up north again?”

Catherine’s lips twitched.  She shook her head, eyes gleaming with humor.

“Not that crazy farmer who swears aliens keep abducting his livestock?  What’s his name again?”

“Marvin Haskell,” Catherine answered immediately.  “But he was listed on the ballot remember?  He got enough votes last time.”

Tucker tossed the E-board on his small kitchen table.  “Then who is lucky number 52?”

Catherine covered her laugh with a cough, and took up the E-board, and pulled up the final name on the list.  “Here,” she said, handing it back to him.

He stared down at it in shock.  “You have got to be kidding me.  This isn’t possible.  It’s not even legal.”

“Actually, it is.  There’s no law stating that the president has to be a Pretarian citizen.”

“It’s ridiculous.  It’s preposterous!  It’s . . . It’s . . . butt stupid!” he burst out as he paced his small apartment.

“Well, you didn’t get quite as many votes as Mr. Haskell,” Catherine managed.  “But you did get a respectable number.”

“Who in their right mind would vote for me?” he asked, nearly tearing the hair from his scalp.

Catherine sobered at his tone.  “Pretaria could do much worse, Reginald.  You have all the skills anyone could ask for in a President.”

“But I don’t want to be president!” He was actually shouting now.  “I can’t handle this insanity any more.  I want to go home, Catherine.  I want to go home.”

Catherine stepped closer, dared to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder.  “There is no reason to worry,” she said soothingly.  “We’ll eliminate your name from the next ballot.  We’ll be able to narrow it down more than ever.  We’re almost done, Reginald.  Won’t you please see it through?  For Pretaria?  For me?”

He looked up at that. “For you?” he repeated.

Catherine gave him a wobbly smile.  “You have become my good friend, Reginald.  I will miss you when the elections are finished.”

He smiled back at her.  “We are friends,” he agreed, “though I suspect you had something to do with lucky number 52.”

She giggled at that.

“Perhaps when this is over, you can come home with me.  I’d like to show you how a sane government operates.”

She nodded.  “That would be useful for my people.  Does that mean you’re staying?”

Tucker—Reginald—let out a resigned sigh.  “I’ll stay.”

Flash Fiction--In-laws

In-Laws

 

            “All in-laws are crazy!”  Joffrey laughed.  “You needn’t act like you’re the only one.”

            Clearly, he did not understand my situation.  And just now, I didn’t have the energy to argue with him.

            “I suppose you’re right,” I managed to conjure up a smile.  “See you Monday.”

            And I walked out the door.  I had packed my bag that morning and stowed it in my trunk, so I was ready to go.  The tank was full.  I’d been careful to give myself no excuse to delay my trip.  But I did stop to pick up a peanut butter milkshake for the road.  Nothing relieves stress like a peanut butter milkshake.

            Don’t get me wrong, my in-laws are wonderful people.  They accepted me and had given me all the moral support these past few months while my husband was out of the country.  At least I assume he was out of the country.  My husband did something, for some branch of the military—I think.  It was all highly classified, and I knew basically nothing about it.  Dan mentioned getting me clearance, but before he could start the process, he’d been sent on assignment, and I hadn’t seen him for almost three months.

            It was nerve-wracking not knowing where Dan was, how much danger he might be in and when he might be coming home.  I had been in contact with his parent by phone almost every day, but today was only my second trip to see them in person.  Like I said, they were wonderful people, but they were . . . .odd.  Truthfully, I wasn’t ready to go back, but I had news to share, and since Dan was out of reach, they were the only ones I had to share it with.

            An hour later, milkshake gone, I pulled up into the driveway.  I glanced warily over the fence at the back yard.  Everything seemed perfectly normal, but I didn’t let myself feel relieved.

            The door swung open as I pulled my bag from the trunk.  Dan’s mother came out, smiling brightly.        

            “Jessica!” she cried, her face alight.  “It’s so good too see you.  David, come help Jessica with her bag.”

            “It’s alright, Minnie,” I assured her, but David was already taking the bag from me.  “But thank you, David.”

            “Anything for my favorite daughter-in-law,” he responded with a grin.

            “How are you, dear?” Minnie asked, as she ushered me into the house.  “I’ve been a bit worried about you.  I hope you haven’t been ill.”

            “I’m perfectly healthy,” I assured her, truthfully.  The doctor’s appointment I’d had yesterday proved it.  I couldn’t resist my next question.  “But tell me, what happened to your rocket?”

            “Our rocket?” David asked blandly.

            “I didn’t see it in the back yard today,” I answered.  “Did you finish it and sell it?”

            And that was part of the reason I hadn’t been to visit my in-laws in so long.  The last time I’d been there, they had a half-finished rocket in their back yard.  I’m not talking about a toy rocket, or a miniature rocket—David and Minnie had a full-sized rocket complete with boosters and fins and all that stuff that I vaguely recognized from watching space shuttle launches as a child.

            “Oh, Jessica,” Minnie laughed.  “As if we’d sell our rocket.”

            “The neighbors complained,” David said, “So we put it out of sight.”

            “Why don’t you take Jessica’s bag up to her room, while I fix us all a nice glass of iced tea,” Minnie said, leading the way into the kitchen.

            David headed up the stairs, and I found myself on a stool at the breakfast bar, watching Minnie finish dinner preparations and sipping tea.  I offered to help, but she refused.

            “So how exactly do you put an eighty foot tall rocket out of sight?”  I asked.

            “We shrank it,” David answered as he settled beside me with his own glass of iced tea.

            “I . . . see.”

            “It’s about eight feet tall now,” he explained.  “Makes it a bit of a challenge to work on now, but we can store it in the garage at least.  Luckily it’s all done but the tweaking.”

            “Don’t let him fool you,” Minnie said, serving up steaming bowls of soup.  “The rocket is complete.  David just can’t resist tinkering with it.”

            David shrugged.  “We have time.  We can’t use it until we hear from Dan.”

            That caught my attention.  “Use it for what?”  Then, “You’ve heard from Dan.”

            “Not exactly, Jessica.  But I have the feeling he’ll be in touch soon.”

            I nodded, one hand pressing instinctively to my abdomen.  “I hope you’re right.”

            “Minnie is always right,” David told me, patting my hand reassuringly.  “Now have some soup.  It’s delicious.”

            “And my first question?”

            “What was that, dear?” Minnie asked, settling on the other side of David with her own soup.

            I refused to be distracted.  “What are you planning on using the rocket ship for?”

            “Oh, David wants to take it for a little test drive, as it were.”  Minnie laughed it off.  “But enough about us.  How have you been?”

            And there was my opening.  I sipped my soup as I gathered my courage.  Minnie and David were wonderful people, but sometimes I truly doubted their sanity.  I’d worked with dementia patients in the past—people who were so confused that sometimes it was impossible to know if the stories they told were true or not.  All I could do was nod and act as if they were, since I rarely had any way to confirm it.  I automatically treated Dan’s parents the same way.  They might be crazy, but they’d always seemed harmless.

            “I’m pregnant,” I blurted out.

            Minnie beamed at me.  “That’s wonderful news!  Isn’t that wonderful news, David?  Now Jessica and the baby can come with us.”

            “Come with you?  Where are you going?”  I tried to convince myself she meant a drive in the country, or a trip to the flea market.  Somehow I knew I was wrong.

            “We’re going home, Jessica.  To our own planet.”

            I felt my mouth drop open in shock.

            David cleared his throat.  “We’ll be leaving as soon as Dan returns.  We’ve delayed leaving as long as we could.”

            “I—I don’t understand,”  I stammered.

            “We’re not from Earth, dear,” Minnie explained gently.  “Surely you must have suspected it.  We’re really not crazy.  We’re aliens.”

            “B-but Dan . . . the baby . . .” I was trying to make sense of it all.  I knew Minnie was right.  I’d always suspected . . . something, but I hadn’t been prepared for this.

            “Dan really is our son,” David assured me.  “And he is an alien too.  He really does love you, Jessica.  I hope you realize that.”

            “That’s why we’re so glad to hear about the baby,” Minnie chimed in.  “Well, we love babies, of course.  But we’re already overdue to go home, and Dan couldn’t take you with him.  It was breaking his heart, poor boy.”

            “But now that you’re pregnant, we can take you with us.  We can’t leave Dan’s child behind.”

            I stared at them, my soup spoon halfway to my mouth.  David and Millie were from another planet.  Dan was an alien.  And the baby I’d been so happy about would be only half human.

           Minnie patted my hand.  “I know it’s a lot to take in,” she said.  “But Dan really does love you.  You do love my son, don’t you?”

            I nodded helplessly.

            “Then it will all be all right.  You’ll see.”

            I still couldn’t process this.  I sat there dumbly, as David cleared away the dinner dishes, and  followed Minnie upstairs when she took my hand to lead me there.

            “Dan will be here soon,” Minnie told me, as she helped me into a nightgown and tucked me into the bed in Dan’s childhood bedroom.  “You’ll feel better when he’s back.  It’s going to be fine, Jessica.  I promise.  No one will hurt you.  We love you.”

            I found myself comforted by that, and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

A Year With God

I broke my habit of blogging every day.  Right now, I am too overwhelmed by other things in my life, and I lack the energy for it.

We have a plan in place, and hopefully--prayerfully--things will work out soon.  But I am taking a break, much as it pains me to say.

I still feel rather empty inside, but not in a despairing way now.  I just need to refuel my soul with joyful and positive things, and it seems that's going to take a little while longer.

Earlier this week, I was at the park on a beautiful sunny day, watching dogs run and play happily in the grass, and it felt like a chore to be there.

I'm thinking of that line from Psalm 123, 'He restoreth my soul'.  I need my soul restored, and some still waters to walk by.

And I know God will provide it for me.  He always does.  I just need time for it to soak in.

Thank you.

A Year With God, Day 134 of 366 (belated)

I have not posted much over the past week or so.  I have been feeling very depressed, worried, scared.But things are turning around, so I am starting to feel better.  A little time, a little peace, and a lot of prayer and I will feel like myself again.

Yesterday, the pastor at my church talked about how thinking affects what we do and who we are.  And after church, I went to lunch with my mother and sister.  Mom had some shrimp with pineapple on top.

As I was driving home afterwards, I thought, 'I would never order that shrimp dish.  I don't like pineaple.'

But I ate fresh pineapple once, and I did like it.  I might not care for canned pineapple, but I can't make a blanket statement that I don't like any pineapple.

So why do I still think I don't like it?  Habit.  I need to break the habit of reflexively thinking I don't like pineapple. And I need to break the habit of thinking poorly about myself, and focusing on the down side.

I need to set aside what happened in the past, and look forward, at what I can do, and not worry about what I can't do.

A Year With God, Day 133 of 366

I feel as though I've worn myself down to nothing, and there's nothing of me left any more.  I can't think of anything to say.

A Year With God, Day 130 of 366

I need all the prayer I can get today.  Please help.

Thank you.

A Year With God, Day 128 of 366

Sometimes, a day of rest is not very restful.  I had today off, but it seemed I spent the whole day running around.  I had to drop paperwork off at work, then take the dog to the park, then pick up a presciption and a few groceries.

Then I baked a cake and started dinner.  These were mostly things I wanted to do, but at the end of the night I found myself exhausted and close to tears.

This is why God specified the Sabbath as a day where no work should be done.  It's too easy to fill a day with tasks, and leave myself no time to simply relax and feel His presence.  And that is something I need--a little quiet time each day.  Or a lot of time, because I am easily distracted.

A Year With God, Day 127 of 366 (belated)

Today, I admitted something to myself out loud for the first time.  I don't like getting angry.  I never have.  And I realized that there have been a few times in my life when I have been so angry that I scared myself.

I have been in a few situations--like three or maybe five times total--when I've been so angry I literally couldn't stop myself, even though some part of my brain was still thinking, 'This is stupid. 
This could get me in very big trouble.'

And I never quite remember how I've gotten out of those situations.  Though it's always happened without anyone getting hurt.

But I work very hard to control myself now.  And it's not a conscious thing.  But now when I get angry, I choke on my words, and I can't make myself speak, and I can't even say how I feel.

I really try to argue better, but every thing I think of to say seems to be designed to hurt the other person, and I can't see that as constructive, so I end up not saying anything.

I think I need classes for arguing. 

I don't know if there are any verses in the Bible that address this.  I guess I'll have to look.

A Year With God, Day 126 of 366 (Belated)

I realized something interesting today.  I spent seven hours today with a lady who only opened her eyes for maybe a total of two minutes the entire time I was there.  And yet somehow, I still came away with a very clear impression of her personality.

We are who we are, even when we're asleep, even when we're sick, even when we're comatose or nearing the end of our lives.  A person's personality is still clear in her face, even if she can't or won't speak to anyone.

It was another of those very simple but very profound things.  I don't exactly know why it struck me as beign so important.  Perhaps because God's craftsmanship is so consistent, that we stay who we are, even when we're not aware of ourselves.

And I find that rather reassuring.

A Year With God, Day 125 of 366

I had a thought earlier today, and it was something about not appreciating what you have until it's gone.  but I can't recall right now exactly what prompted that thought.

Simple things like having a tissue to blow your nose, or a candy bar when you're really craving chocolate.  Or remembering a blog idea a few hours after you think of it.

I'm sure I had some profound point to make about it all, or at least a point that makes sensse,b tu I can't remember it now.

To paraphrase what a character in a Lois McMaster Bujold book said about his mother, God is like air.  You never notice it until it's gone.  And once it's gone, you need it back right away.

Perhaps tomorrow I'll wake up remembering what it was I meant to blog about.  And if I do, I'll post it.  And knowing my luck, it will be something silly.

A Year With GodDay 124 of 366

Today is my sister's birthday.

And it made me realize something.  I have four older sisters, and each is wonderful and wise in her own way.  I have been blessed with the family I have, and the sisters I grew up with.

Thank you Lord, for my family, even if they annoy me sometimes.

A Year With God, Day 123 of 366

There is a difficulty of living with somene with an anger problem.  Lately, I find myself reflexively snapping back, because I expect anger, even when he is not angry.

Pain and stress and depression is hurting my husband, and I don't like what it's doing to him.  But I have come to realize that it's doing things to me, too.  And I don't like what it's doing to me, either.

I am once again at the point where I don't know how we're going to pay bills, and I hate it.  I do my best to trust God to take care of me, but I just want to be out of this situation so badly.  I desperately want enough to money to pay bills and have enough left over to buy myself a new pair of cheap sneakers.

I don't think that's greedy.  And I am working as hard as I can to make it happen.  At least I think I am. 

I don't know what to do, and I don't know what to pray for.  So I just keep thinking, 'Help me, Lord, please.'  And then I have to trust him to do so.

A Year With God, Day 122 of 366 (belated)

This was a day when I could think of nothing to say.

A Year With God, Day 121 of 366

Today, I got to thinking about walking a dog.  I talked to a dog trainer once, and she said, 'a walk is not Excercise, it's a leadership exercise.'.

And it's true.  Walking with a dog is not relaxing.  You have to constantlty monitor the dog, to make sure she's not running ahead, or lagging behind, or chasing a cat, or eating something disgusting, or preparing to run into oncoming traffic.

God is called the Good Shepherd, with references to the amount of care that sheep take.  But He could also be the Good Dogwalker. 

When it comes to my walk with God, I am a lot like my dog.  I always want to rush ahead to things I'm not ready for.  I tend to lag behind and dwell on that past.  I am easily distracted by the wordly things around me.  I sometimes corrupt myself with sin.  And occasionally, my self-destructive tendencies make me want to dive into dangerous situations.

Luckily God is patient and kind.  He tugs gently on the rope when I get too far ahead or behind, to remind me that I need to by right there by His side.  He only yanks hard when I am about to get hurt, and when I've ignored his more gentle attempts to direct me.

And best of all God knows the path we're taking, even when I don't.  I need to trust him to keep me on the right path.  Because without him I'm just dodging cars and hoping for the best.

A Year With God, Day 120 of 366

So, the last few days, I have had the song, 'Manic Monday' stuck in my head.  The girl in it complais about all the stuff she has to do, and how her life is always so busy and stressful.  And then she wishes it was Sunday, 'That's my fun day, my I don't have to run day.'

That's how Sunday should be for believers.  Going to church should be a fun thing-- something to look forward to instead of a chore one has to do. 

I occasionally feel like staying home, instead of going to church on Sunday.  Sometimes, I do stay home.  But whenever I make myself go, I'm always glad I did.  There's something refreshing about beuing in God's house, surrounded by people who believe in Him. 

It might be hard to make myself go to church, especially after I haven't gone for a while.  But once I do, I remember what a fun day Sunday is, and I want to go back next week.

A Year With God, Day 119 of 366

This morning, I went to wash my hands, and I found myself staring at the towel rack.  The image of a towel just stuck in my head.  It seemed like a strange topic for today's blog, but then I thought about it.

God is rather like a towel.  You never notice He's missing from your life until you need Him, and He's not there.  If you've ever stepped out of the shower, and reached for a towel, only to realize you forgot to hang a fresh one up after you started that last load of laundry, then you know what I mean.

And like that towel, if God is missing, it's because we forgot to put Him there, not because He didn't want to be there for us.

So like The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy says, always carrry a towel.  And always bring God with you, too.

A Year With God, Day 118 of 366 (belated)

Yesterday I woke up just feeling sad and depressed.  I'm not sure why.  It just felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on me.

Then I went to work.  I had a split shift with a two hour break between the two shifts.  My husband needed the car, so I walked over to my mom's to visit her, since she lives near where I was working.  As I was walking, there were clouds in the sky but no rain.  There was a nice fresh breeze blowing.

And suddenly I realized I felt good.  It's rare lately that I have a few minutes completely alone, and I need that.  I used to walk for miles and hours when I was a kid in the country, and I really really miss that.

That walk soothed my soul, as trite as that might be to say.  So, thank you, God for giving me that time.  You must have known I needed it.

A Year With God, Day 117 of 366

This morning, I stepped out in the rain for a brief walk, and as I went, I had a strange realization.  I was thinking back to when I was a kid, with my four older sisters.  My mother would make a big breakfast with pancakes every Sunday morning.  And I remember one day looking at my mom as she was cooking, and seeing a strange look in her eyes.

Today, it occured to me that sometimes she resented us kids--and possibly my father.  She had been making pancakes for probably half an hour.  I imagine she was hungry, but all of us were mowing through the pancakes as fast as she could make them, and she finally just took one and gulped it down while she kept cooking.

I think it's natural to feel resentment at times like those.  And it's not something I saw on her face every week, so I don't think it was a constant thing.

But it just makes me hope we showed her how much we loved and appreciated all the things she did for us, and the sacrifices she made--big and small.

And now it occurs to me that when the Bible says that God is like a father, maybe it doesn't mean that He's a disciplinarian, or that He makes the rules (or not just that), but also that He makes sacrifices for our good. 

I always kind of knew that, but thinking about my mom today, it suddenly clicked in my mind.  I hope He knows how much I appreciate His sacrifices, too.

A Year With God, Day 116 of 366

There is an episode of the original Star Trek that is titled, 'For the World is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky'.  At least I think that's the title.  It might have just been a line from the episode, but it stuck in my mind.

I believe the premise was that a race of people found out that what they thought was their planet was actually a giant spaceship.  I don't remember all the details, I'm afraid.

But it just makes me think.  The world is hollow, meaningless, temporary.  I, as a believer in Christ have touched the sky, because I know I am going to a place of unimaginable beauty when I die.

I shouldn't be so worried about the things of the earth.  My thoughts should be fixed on heavenly things, instead.  (I'm pretty sure Paul wrote something to that effect at least once.)

That phrase is pretty much Christianity in a nutshell--the world is hollow, and I have touched the sky.

A Year With God, Day 115 of 366

Today I made a start on a new way of thinking. 

It felt good.

I am reminded that while I can't control what others do or feel, I am in control of myself, my emotions and my actions.  And that is a good feeling.

Thank you, Lord for making me me.  I am glad you did.

A Year With God, Day 114 of 366

I came to the realization today that I am not happy.  A lot of it is because my husband has chronic back pain, which causes him to be grouchy and over sensitive a lot of the time.  The trouble is, it's hard for me to separate when he's in a bad mood because of his pain, and when he's in a bad mood because of something I did.  Or, most likely if something I did that was mildly irritating becomes a much bigger deal because he's in pain.

And I have gotten in the habit of letting it slide-- like when someone has a cold, or is injured, you cut them some slack because it's only temporary.  But this is no longer temporary, and that means I can't act like it is, because it's not working for me.

I am not sure how to deal with all of that.  But I am thinking of things that I need, and have decided to make a commitment to take care of myself.  Not to the exclusion of my husband, but just for myself.

1.  If I get up first, I will take my turn in the bathroom, before anything else.
2.  If I pour coffee for both of us, I will pour mine first, and take a sip before pouring my husband's.
3.  I will take a little time in the morning, while he is waking up and drinking his first cup of coffee, to write, either on this blog, or on a story.  That is my quest, the thing I passionately desire to do-- to write, and I haven't been doing much of it lately.
4.  I will work on defining how I feel, and expressing it better.
5.  I will find someone to talk to about this, who can help me communicate better.

I am sure there are other things.  This seems like such a short list, but it seems huge to me.  Small steps, for 1-3, and 4 and 5 terrify me, to be honest.

I know this isn't a God-centered post tonight, but I feel He's been trying to teach me something about this, so . . here it is.

And Jesus did say, 'love your neighbor as yourself', and I think I need to spend a little more time loving myself.

A Year With God, Day 113 of 366 (belated)

I have recently had the opportunity to spend time with an eleven year old girl.  It has been an interesting experience, to say the least.

She is very opinionated, and she sees everything in black and white.  If someone she knows says something, it must be true.  If one or a few people act or look a certain way, then that is how everyone must be.  She is sure she knows best in many things in her life.

I remember Jesus said that we must be like little children when it comes to God.  I suspect he referred more to that innocent sense of trust, and not so much the arguing and whining over every request made of them.

But young people (She laughed when I said that some her age might be offended to be called 'children'.)  Seem so sure of themselves.  I envy them that, even though I know it's an illusion.  Children hold tight to what they know, so they can counteract uncertainty with the familiar.  What has been always well be, because change is scary.

Now that sounds familiar.  And God, like a good parent wants to guide and teach His children, so they can grow and be unafraid as they walk through life.

That is a comforting thought.

A Year With God, Day 112 of 366

Today, I am reminded of the little songs we used to make up as kids.  The tribute to a friend's teddy bear, titled, 'Chocolate Ice Cream . ..  . Why did you go into the fire?'

(No teddy bears were harmed in the writing of that song, although the falls are probably still raining down upon the crawdads.)

Or the song about the fun crazy times I had in grade school-- 'I"m Majorly Insane'.

To those who weren't there, this probably doesn't make sense.  But to me, they bring back happy memories.  Getting anyone else to understand would take a lot of explanations.

I think that our relationship with God should be like that.  Something we can think of at any random time, and smile or laugh and feel good.  Enough that someone can see that it matters to us.  But explaining why could take a lifetime.

A Year With God, Day 111 of 366 (belated)

Yesterday, I talked about how I like my job.  But today is my day off, and I am in bliss at the thought.  I am going to do laundry, then laze around and spend time with my husband all day.  Then cook a nice dinner for the both of us, and get to bed before midnight.

And tomorrow morning, I will be going to church.  I thought I would have to work a morning shift, but I got the call yesterday, that they found someone else to cover it.

And once again, I think of how wise God is.  He tells us to take a day of rest each week.  And He tells us to spend some time in fellowship with others, praising Him and praying and meditating on His word.

And people need that.  I know I do.  Work is good, and rest is good, and God is good, and I need all of that in my life, and in the proper balance.

A Year With God, Day 110 of 366

I like my job.  I am working now taking care of people who are coming to the end of their lives.  The job has its ups and downs, but as far as the actual work goes, I really enjoy it.  (Thank you, Sarah and Mary for encouraging me to do it).

I have met some very interesting people.  Some sweet, some obstinate, and some with totally different values than I have.  I got along with some, with others not so much.  But even the most aggravating of them, I find myself valuing.

When it comes to that time of one's life, it seems, one has to decide what's really important, and focus on that thing-- or those things.  For some it's maintaining their lifestyle.  For others, it's extending their life.  For some it's just a matter of being made comfortable for the time they have left.  And some are worried about taking care of the family they'll leave behind.

I have always found people fascinating.  And I've been given the opportunity to meet some very fascinating people in the past few months.  It puts me even more in awe of God's ability to make each of us unique, and give us each our own way of dealing with things.

A Year With God, Day 109 of 366

All my blog ideas seem to revolve around being tired these days, I guess because I've been working long hours, and later at night.

I think of a song I learned in college-- Jesus Christ, The Apple Tree.

I'm weary with my former toil,
Here I will sit and rest awhile.
Under the shadow I will be,
 of Jesus Christ, the apple tree.

I am never so glad to be home as when I am tired after a long day--or night--of working.

I imagine going to heaven wil be like that, only much more so.  Because when I get there, all my toiling and trouble will be behind me.

A Year With God, Day 108 of 366

I bought my Easter candy a day or two after the holiday.  It was 50% off, which was much closer to my budget than full price.

 I think God doesn't care so much when we celebrate the events He planned, just so long as we remember them.   Like Communion-- it's 'Do this as often as you do, in remembrance of me'  Or however the wording goes.  It's not 'do this every month' or 'every year on the 17th of April'. 

So I don't think God would mind me buying Easter candy a few days late, as long as I remember what Easter is really about.

A Year With God, Day 107 of 366

What a difference a day makes.  One day was the difference between light and dark, between earth and see, between the great flood and the ark landing on the mountain.

One day's difference can be sunlight after rain, rest after sleeplessness, health after sickness . . . death after life, and life after death.

One day can be the difference between darkest despair and the tomb is empty, Jesus is Lord!

The Bible says, 'Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will take care of itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.'

And it's true.  If today was horrible for you, remember tomorrow might be totally different.  And if today was wonderful, savor that, for tomorrow might be a day of trouble for you.

In either case, remember God loves you.

A Year With God, Day 106 of 366

Tonight, I am tired--like bone weary, fighting to keep my eyelids up tired.

And so random thoughts are drifting through my head, and I find myself unable to focus on any one thought.

I am grateful for leftover pizza, and the fridge we can keep it in, so it doesn't go bad before we eat it.

I am grateful for our coffee pot, even though we have to be careful how we put the pot in, or it won't brew right.

I am grateful for the rain, even though it makes the ground soggy and muddy, and my shoes get dirty when I go outside.

I am grateful that there are programs that can help those who don't have insurance or the money to pay for medical treatment, even though the paperwork is so difficult to wade through.

I am grateful for my job, that I enjoy what I do, even though it means working odd hours, long shifts, and often with very little notice.

I am grateful that my husband is willing to cook me dinner, so when I come home at 10 pm, something hot is waiting for me to eat.

I am grateful for this blog, even if no one sees it but me, because it helps me in ways that I can't even define.

I am grateful for friends and family, nearby and far away.  I love y'all, and I don't say that enough.

A Year With God, Day 105 of 366

I am glad God designated a day of rest.  People need that.  I have to work on my day of rest this week, which makes me appreciate it even more.

P.S. Happy Birthday, Moma.

A Year With God, Day 104 of 366

Today was a day of ominous clouds and  things to do.  I got called in to work, which is a good thing, though I'd rather be home, to be honest.

But I am glad to be working, and to be earning money to help support my family.  I remind myself why I do this, and it makes it easier.

Not to say that I don't enjoy my work, but it's hard to be away from my home and my small family.  I am beginning to realize how much of a motivation it is, having someone else's welfare to worry about.  I guess that's how God feels about us.  We are his family, and His family is enormous.

I work hard for the benefit of my husband.  How much more would I be willing to work if I loved a million people as much as I loved my husband.

I am tired, and my brain is fuzzy.  Another advantage of working--it makes me sleep better.

A Year With God, Day 103 of 366

So once again I sit at my computer at bedtime, wondering what to write for today's blog.

I had a thought yesterday, so let me see if I can articulate it.  I was thinking about several books I've been reading that deal with Greek gods lately, and I was thinking about how thier personalities were rather like peoples'.  Because the gods came from men, so they reflect the character of man.

But then thinking about God . . . well in essence the thought I had came down to this:  If you asked every person in America what God was like, they would each give a different answer. 

And I think that's because how we think of God still comes from our own experiences--like the ancient Greeks I suppose.  But in contrast to the Greek gods, God made us in His own image, so instead of gods taking on certain aspects of humanity, humans are in fact a reflection of God.

God is immense.  He knows all.  He can do anything.  His personality is unfathomable.  But I think every person in the world has a little piece of God in them.  Perhaps if we could put together every personality of every person who ever lived, then we would have an accurate picture of what God is like.

And how hard is that to picture?  That is what God is like.

A Year With God, Day 102 of 366

So tonight in the shower, the scab on my knee broke open and started bleeding.  I went to put a band-aid on it, and dropped it on the floor.  The cover was still on it, so I used it anyway, though I had a moment's doubt about the wisdom of doing so.

Two minutes later, I heard my husband call out, 'You better not be using a band-aid that fell on the floor.'

I went back to the bathroom, took off the first band-aid, doused my knee with peroxide and put a fresh band-aid on it.

I am not sure how my husband knew that the first bandage fell on the floor.  Perhaps his hearing is just that acute.  Perhaps I was muttering louder than I thought I was.  Perhaps it was simply instinct, because he knows me very well.

Whatever the reason, my husband cares about me, even in the very small things like a scrape on my knee.  God is the same way.  He is watching over me, and cares if my scrapes get infected or my shoes get wet in the rain.  God cares about the little things.

And that is rather nice.

A Year With God, Day 101 of 366

Today, I fell down.  It was really the only thing of note that happened to me today, sadly enough.  I came out of my apartment, and my foot slipped off the edge of the sidewalk.  The next thing I knew, I was on my backside on the concrete with a scuff on my elbow and a skinned knee.

Aside from being embarrassed, it got me thinking.  Human beings are meant to get back up when we fall.  I almost said we were meant to fall down, but I don't think that's really true. 

But we have strong bone to bear our weight, and elbows and knees that bend to absorb impact.  Our spines twist and bend to keep us from falling on our faces (or at least mine did today, thought I'm not quite sure how), and our backsides are padded to cushion our landing.

I'm not sure what all this really means.  I'm sure someone could divine some deep interpretation of it all, but that someone is smarter than I.

I simply find it reassuring that God gave me a body resilient enough to get back up after falling down.  And I know that God, like my husband today, will be right there when I fall, ready to offer me a helping hand when I need one.

And that is enough for me.

A Year With God, Day 100 of 366

So today is the 100th day of my official blog, and I've written something for almost every one of those days.  I feel a sense of accomplishment because of that.

Have I learned anything from this so far?  I guess that there's something satisfying about sticking to a commitment.  It's like flossing my teeth. I do so every night.  There are maybe two days out of every year that I am too tired or sick to floss, and it bothers me when I don't.

The few minutes I take out of my day to write each entry mean something to me, though I'm not entirely sure what.  It's a little block of time when I block everything out but me and God, and I put my fingers on the keyboard and see what shows up on the screen.

I continue to believe that God is pleased by what I write, and that still gives me a feeling of . . . awe, I guess is the right word.

So I close with a prayer that god will continue to give me interesting things to write about for the next 266 days.

A Year With God, Day 99 of 366

So, today was Easter . . is Easter.    The pastor mentioned that verse in Romans 8, where Paul lists off all the things that cannot separate us from God.  And it says, 'neither death, nor life . . . ' 

Which I never really noticed before.  I thought, 'Life?  How could life separate us from God?'  And then I thought about it, and realized that it's true. 

The busy-ness and the worries and to-do lists are what does distract me from God.  Life gets in the way of living for God.

Which is a strange thought, but it makes sense to me, now that I thought about it.  Even good things can distract us from God, but in the end even all of that can't take me out of God's hands.

A Year With God, Day 98 of 366

Today, there was sun.  It's always nice to see the sun after a lot of rain . . . or snow.  It's like the rainbow, a promise of hope.

Funny thing about hope, I can be beat down and I can think I'm done hoping, and then there's a sunny after noon, or I find a quarter on the sidewalk, or some small thing happens, and without even thinking about it, I have hope again.

Hope springs eternal . . isn't that the saying?  It's true, though.  It really is. 

Funny, too how the same things come up in my life, and it's like I'm seeing them for the first time.  I have talked several times about hope here, and yet I am still surprised by it.

I think there's some deep meaning behind that, but I don't know what it is.

A Year With God, Day 97 of 366

There was a follow-up thought from last night's blog that I wanted to talk about tonight.  Now, what was it?

Oh, yes.  It's sort of the flip side of how hard it is to drop everything and follow Jesus.  And that is, that a lot of times, it's easier to be 'holy' when you're away from your regular life.  I've heard it referred to as the 'mountaintop experience.'

I think of how I moved to a town where I literally knew no one.  It was hard in a lot of ways, but I was able to define myself however I wanted to, and become the person I wanted to be.  (Or at least I had the potential to do so.  I'm sure I could have done better, if I'd put more thought into it.)

In the same way, it's easy to have faith and talk about following God when you're surrounded by people who feel the same way. 

But when you're back home, and it's Wheel of Fortune and Fox News instead of campfire Christian singalongs every night, and the mornings are filled with talk shows and water cooler gossip instead of devotions and inspirational speakers . . . well it's not so easy then.

I know it's hard to go and be a missionary and try to convert people who've never heard of the Bible, or those that are dead set against it.  But I think it can be even harder to do so in the normal life you've always lived.

And that's another thing I wish I could be doing better myself.