Sara R. Turnquist's Blog, page 34

“Off to War” – Chapter 3, Scene 7

 

“OFF TO WAR”

Chapter 3

Scene 7

Abigail sat in front of her vanity, putting the finishing touches on her appearance: a pair of earrings Elizabeth had gifted her at last year’s birthday celebration. They were simple, beautiful pearl earrings. Elizabeth wasn’t much for elaborate ornamentation. But Abigail treasured them. All the more today. They made her feel as if Elizabeth was with her.

Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, not a hair was out of place; her gown had been pressed for show. Yet they were out of place with face that looked back at her. Her features were downcast, true, but it was her eyes. They were soulless. As if the life had been drained from her.

She was as ready as she’d ever be. What other preparation could be done? But something was still missing. This feeling had haunted her since Elizabeth’s flight. What was this emptiness? Is this what it felt to lose one’s child?

Thomas came from behind her and kissed the side of her face.

“You are beautiful, darling. Even if you must wear this ridiculous hat.”

Smiling in the mirror at him brought life to her features, but not to her eyes. Still, she gave him an amused look. Thomas never understood women’s fashions, the hat least of all. He couldn’t comprehend why she needed such a collection.

Thomas stood once again and fingered his tie. The knot was askew. Had he attempted to work it himself?

“I don’t know why you won’t let someone help you with that.” Abigail sighed as she turned. “Here.” She batted his hands away. “Let me.”

“I don’t have someone help with it, because I prefer when you do it.” He winked.

She afforded him another smile. What a charmer she had married! Even after all these years, he could make her smile. “I appreciate you coming to this event,” she said, her voice serious. “It’s very important to me.”

“It’s important to me, too.” He put his hands on her arms as she finished, letting her hands fall. “Elizabeth is, after all, my daughter too.”

“Of course.” She let her eyes linger on his. Could he see what she had seen in the mirror? She hoped not.

“Besides,” he said with a sly smile. “You and Charlotte have been working night and day to make sure this is the grandest party of the season. I want to see it for myself.”

“I just hope everything goes as planned,” she moaned, her brows coming together. What if it wasn’t? What if the hall…?

“I have every confidence it will.” Thomas pressed another kiss to the side of her face. “We’d best get you there before it all falls apart,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

She gave him another smile and allowed him to lead her down the hall. Soon enough they were helped into their coverings and ushered out the door to the waiting carriage.

The ride to the Event Hall was quite unremarkable. Abigail busied herself going over her mental checklist. But Thomas kept talking. What was he saying? Something about the weather? She needed to focus. He continued with his questions, his eyes beckoning her to respond.

“What?” Her reply was sharper than she’d intended.

His eyes widened.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I’m…distracted at the moment.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

Thomas spoke not another word the remainder of their ride.

But she still couldn’t focus her thoughts. She shouldn’t have been so crisp with him.

They arrived at the Hall in short order. And Abigail would crawl out of her skin if it took one minute longer. How was the decorating going? Were they following the plan?

Stilling her movements, she allowed Thomas to get out first though everything in her seemed to stretch forth.

Thomas reached a hand in for her.

She took it and he helped her down. Then she took off. Had he offered his arm in escort? Most likely. Could she wait for him to escort her into the event space? It was not physically possible. Abigail moved as quick as polite society would allow inside.

As she stepped inside, hands laid hold of her wrap. She slid it off with only a nod in the direction of the hands. The space captivated her. Banners were hung, flowers were on display, food tables were being prepped. Almost everything was done. And Charlotte stood in the midst of the hustle and bustle, directing it all.

Abigail shook her head. Of course Charlotte was here. How could she have given it a second thought?

“Charlotte,” Abigail greeted her friend, crossing to her. “I should have been here to help you.”

“Abigail!” Charlotte paused to embrace her friend and co-host. “Nonsense, I promise I just arrived myself.”

“It seems as if everything is running smoothly.” Abigail let her gaze wander over the hall, admiring the realization of all their planning. The hall looked better than they’d imagined. Tonight would be a success. She had to believe that.

“Appears so. I haven’t checked the registration table yet. Would you mind?”

Abigail nodded. “Consider it done.”

The next half hour became a flurry of activity as the final touches were put on the space and the two women worked side by side to make sure even the tiniest detail was managed. By the time the guests arrived, everything was set and running like clockwork.

And so the following half hour became a different kind of din. People checked in, milled about, conversed, enjoyed the décor, and partook of the refreshments. Everything was going well.

The time came for the guests to be properly welcomed. This particular task fell to Abigail. Now that she prepared to sneak in front of the crowd, shaking hands touched her necklace. Why was she trembling so? These were her friends and people from her community. And this event was for Elizabeth. She clasped her hands together to still them. But the quivering came from inside of her.

An arm snaked around her waist. She jumped back from the contact. Who? But arm held her fast. And the presence seemed familiar to her. Turning, she met the eyes of her husband, her rock.

Thomas leaned toward the side of her head and whispered into her hair, “You’ll do fine.”

Abigail took a deep breath and smoothed over her dress.

“Trust me,” he said, pressing a kiss to the side of her face.

She nodded, squeezing his arm. The shakiness had subsided somewhat. Adjusting her hat, she then stepped up to the podium. But the crowd seemed too engaged in their own conversations. No one noticed she had stepped up to address them. Searching out Charlotte, she became desperate. Her friend was nowhere.

Clink, clink, clink. The sound drew her attention to where she had just been standing. Thomas used a spoon to bang against his glass, trying to get everyone’s attention. As members in the audience noticed her at the podium, they joined in with their glasses. Soon, all voices paused.

Once all eyes were on Abigail, she began, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. “Welcome, esteemed guests and friends. As you know, this is a fundraiser for our brave soldiers who, as we speak, are fighting for our country. We hope you have come feeling patriotic and ready to give of yourselves for the sake of those men who are sacrificing that our nation be made whole again. As many of you already know, our men need many things, so we accept all manner of gifts. Foodstuffs and monetary support are the most crucial at this time, but anything you can give will help.

“Tonight, we would like to put a face on this issue. I want to introduce my dear friend and co-chair for this evening’s event, a woman who has given tirelessly to this cause herself and stands as a model of patriotism: Mrs. Charlotte Taylor.”

Abigail prayed Charlotte would have appeared by the time she turned. Applause sounded as she turned her head in time to see Charlotte moving toward her to take her place. And Abigail clapped for her friend, never more relieved as she stepped to the side, allowing room for Charlotte to take center stage.

As Charlotte began her speech, Abigail moved off to find some water. All of a sudden, she was parched.

“Thank you, Mrs. Thompson, for that wonderful introduction and for your efforts in making this event possible. And thank you all for being here. Some of you may know that my son, Dr. John Taylor, is on the front lines fighting for this nation. Let me tell you a little bit about my son. John…”

Thomas came up behind Abigail and put his hand on the small of her back. “You were great,” he whispered in her ear.

“Thanks,” she said, not taking her eyes off Charlotte. But she wasn’t truly listening to her either. Would that she were allowed to tell Elizabeth’s story!

It was not a well-kept secret that Elizabeth was no longer at home and some even knew she had fled to help out with the war effort. But, Abigail would never be able to step up to a podium and talk about it. What Elizabeth had done was respectable, even admirable, but definitely beneath her station. Women of their station did not go prancing off to war. They did just what Charlotte and Abigail were doing.

Oh, if only Elizabeth were here she could make a compelling speaker! But she wasn’t. She was miles away in some war camp doing God knows what. No, Abigail had not come to peace with Elizabeth’s decision. And she did not think she ever would.

Applause erupted around her. Abigail set her drink down and joined in.

“Enjoy yourselves and please don’t hesitate to see any of the women in the Booster Club if you have any questions about donations.”

Charlotte stepped down from the podium and the din of the crowd rose again. But Abigail’s thoughts were numb. She stared straight ahead. There was movement in front of her, but she looked through that and beyond somehow.

“How was that?” Charlotte appeared in front of her. Where had she come from?

Abigail focused on her friend’s face.

Charlotte’s eyes begged for reassurance, eyebrows raised.

Abigail wished she had been listening better.

“It was great,” Thomas interjected. “John would be proud.”

“Yes,” Abigail said, nodding. “Of course he would.”

Smiling, Charlotte seemed relieved. “Thank you.”

“I think we’re bound to get donations after all of this,” Abigail said, sweeping her arms over the Event Hall.

“For certain,” Charlotte agreed, looking around.

The three stood in silence. For a handful of moments, it was amiable. And then it became awkward.

Charlotte took Abigail’s hand. It felt warm. Was that because Abigail’s hand was cold? “If you’ll excuse me, I need to find Franklin.”

“Of course,” Thomas said. “I think the last place I saw him was over by the refreshment table.”

“I have no doubt.” Charlotte sighed.

Abigail squeezed her friend’s hand before she walked away.

“Forgive me,” Thomas said, his words coming out slow and careful. “But you seem as if you are miles from here.”

Abigail looked back at her husband. “I am.”

“Thinking of Elizabeth?” He reached up and touched her hair, his fingers grazing her locks.

Abigail nodded, fighting tears. Why did it sting so? These thoughts?

Thomas waited for her to speak.

“She should be here,” Abigail started, tears welled, threatening to spill over. She stopped speaking, trying to gain control of herself.

Thomas pulled her to the side, to a corner where they would be less conspicuous. He kept his hands on her arms. It brought her some measure of comfort.

“She had no business running off! There is so much more good she could be doing here!” Abigail cried.

Thomas’s eyes seemed deeper somehow in that moment. And his voice was soft, not much more than a whisper. “Can you not see that she did it for love?”

Abigail let out an exasperated gasp. She was in no mood to entertain such schoolgirl notions.

“We need not understand, my dear. We can only try to accept it.”

“And what if I can’t?” She looked up at him.

Thomas had no words to offer in response.

The post “Off to War” – Chapter 3, Scene 7 appeared first on Sara's Desk.

The Line Between Involved and Over-Involved

 

I’m one of those people who likes to be busy. I thrive on the craziness. But that was before I took on the responsibilities of being a mom and wife. That adds quite a bit to anyone’s plate. So, I’m realizing I can’t add as much more to that plate as I used to be able to. So, where is that line? While I don’t believe I am on this planet to indulge myself, but rather to give of my gifts for others, to pour into other lives for God’s glory, I also believe that my children and my husband are my primary mission. So, what’s a girl to do? How involved is too involved?

Check your priorities at the door. This has to be the number one thing we all do. We must be constantly cognizant of our priorities and how this new task/organization/leadership role fits in or disrupts our priorities. What are your priorities? If I’m at the top of the list, something’s not right. If taking on this new role will put my top priorities in jeopardy, it may not be the best option for me.

Check your heart at the door. We must also be mindful of our intentions, our heart for taking on leadership roles and, specifically, ministry positions. If it is to bring the spotlight to shine more brightly on us, something’s out of whack. If we feel called and know that God has gifted us to serve as a member of His body in that capacity, may God bless your efforts and I believe He will make a way.

I mean, what could be wrong with Christian service? I fear that too often, we are well-intentioned about our service and sacrifice the priority of our personal relationship with God and do not give a first (or second) thought to whether or not God is calling us or equipping us for a leadership position because (let’s be honest here), we are so flattered that someone in authority has singled us out of the group and asked us to serve. And, hey, we’re supposed to serve the body, right?

I’m not saying that I am perfect at this. Or even that I do this well at all. I feel this challenge in myself and see it in my dear sisters (and brothers). I’m not asking you to NOT serve. By no means! Please do. We are called to give of ourselves. But not to the detriment of all else. Not at the risk of our primary relationship. Service should be an outpouring of what God is doing in your personal walk with Him. I suppose, then, that I’ve answered my own question. If you are giving of yourself only, that is the line. But if you are giving of what He is doing in you, that is the other side of the line.

So, please be discerning of spirit, dear brothers and sisters. Keep your eyes on Him first and then turn around and love others as it gushes out of you.

The post The Line Between Involved and Over-Involved appeared first on Sara's Desk.

“Off to War” – Chapter 3, Scene 6

 

“Off to War”

Chapter Three ~ Battle

Scene 6

The battle raged on. All Elizabeth could do was sit and listen to the cannons and gunfire in the distance, grimacing at every sound. There was no laundry to do, no sewing that was called for, nothing to be done. Just sit and wait for news. It was the longest wait of her life. Looking at the water, she couldn’t help but imagine the laundry that they would have to do the next day. She envisioned the blood discoloring the water as they would work to clean the dark blue uniforms. Shaking her head to clear such morbid thoughts, she tried to think of something more pleasant. Nothing came to mind. What was there to think of at a time like this? Nothing but war and bloodshed. Not for the soldiers, and not for her.

Though she had long since been released from duty, she found herself unable to leave her post. The camp seemed abandoned with the troops gone, the hospital staffed, and the other women…where? Where were the other women? Waiting and praying in their tents? Elizabeth sank to her knees by the water tub and sobbed, praying for the men in their unit that were facing their mortality even then.

“Father, Keep Your gracious hand on these brave men. It is my will that You keep them safe from harm, but I know that it is Your will not mine that we should seek. Comfort those who are wounded. Give the doctors wisdom and skill. Be with John.”

“Elizabeth!” Melanie interrupted her thoughts. “Elizabeth!”

Elizabeth got to her feet. “What is it? Is there news?”

Melanie was almost out of breath as she stopped by Elizabeth. She nodded. “The fighting is over, but there are many wounded. They need help in the hospital. I told them I would bring you.” Melanie grabbed her hand and walked in the direction of the hospital.

Elizabeth froze. She wanted to help, but how could she avoid John in the hospital? He would see her and her plan, and her time here would be over. Her head fell. What purely self-serving thinking! There were men wounded and in need of care, and she was worried after something so selfish! Embarrassed by her reaction to Melanie’s request for help, she turned away.

When Elizabeth didn’t move, it caused Melanie to jerk back. “Come on. What are you waiting for?” Melanie asked, confused.

Determined to do what she could to help these men who were in such need, she took Melanie’s hand and followed her, rushing toward the hospital tent.

Nothing could have prepared Elizabeth for what she saw at the hospital tent. The battle had been gruesome. Every space available was filled with men in all states of horror. She did not have time to take it all in before a nurse approached.

“Take the men water, sit with them, and tell them the doctors are making it around. Do you know how to clean a wound?”

Elizabeth was numb to everything around her, but she nodded. Melanie shook her head.

“Good,” the nurse said to Elizabeth. “Do only superficial cleaning. You’ll find supplies over there,” she indicated a shelf at one end of the tent. And you,” she turned to Melanie. “Come watch me for a couple of patients and you’ll learn.”

Looking over the tent full of men in agony, being recognized by John was the furthest thing from her mind. Elizabeth made her way over to the shelf and grabbed some supplies. She stopped at the first man near the shelf unit. He was young, much younger than John. His sandy-blonde hair fell over deep brown eyes that looked up to her as if to find some reassurance that all would be well. There was a fear there. Fear remaining like an echo from the emotion of the battle and fear that nothing would ever be the same. Fear of what might happen to him. Elizabeth knew that she would never forget the look in his eyes.

“Hello, soldier.” She put on her best smile for him. “I’m Elizabeth. What’s your name?”

The man was shaking badly, with a terrible leg wound. He was in shock. In all likelihood he would lose the leg.

“A-Adam.”

She offered him some water. He drank it, thanking her. She began to clean the wound, but she didn’t see much point in it. The leg was in need of a deeper cleaning. Still, she did as the nurse had instructed her and basically put a strip of cloth on a gunshot wound.

“I-is it b-b-bad?” Adam asked.

She shook her head. “You’ll be fine,” she told a half-truth. “The doctor will see you in a while.”

Man after man, wound after wound, all Elizabeth could do was offer water and assurances that the doctors would see them soon. She could tell by looking at some of these men that they were not going to make it and it broke her heart. But she put on a brave smile for them, and spent more time by their bedside, talking with them, singing to them, praying with them. A few of them passed on while she was with them, but she refused to cry.

After a couple of hours, she noticed that she had not had to duck from John’s view. Glancing around the hospital, she couldn’t spot him anywhere. She excused herself between patients to find a nurse.

“I’m looking for Dr. Taylor. Dr. John Taylor,” she said, knowing her voice betrayed her worry.

“A doctor will be around to see each patient in turn,” the nurse said, a little annoyed.

“No,” Elizabeth grabbed her shoulders, desperate. “I’m looking for Dr. Taylor.”

The nurse stopped to think. “He went to the front lines to patch the wounded there and prepare them for transport. He hasn’t come back.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. She whirled around and took off running. Where to, she did not know. At first she turned this way and that, confused about what she was going to do. Then, she was struck with a plan and ran for the laundry. It was easy enough to get her hands on a small enough uniform, carry it back to her tent, and slip into it, binding her breasts. Shoving her hair up in a cap, she rubbed dirt and mud on her face to disguise her feminine features. And, making her way across the camp somewhat unnoticed with all of the mayhem from the recent battle, she ran toward the battlefield.

The field was littered with bodies and limbs. Elizabeth had thought the hospital was bad, but this was a million times worse. There were no words to describe the grisly state of the men there. She felt the urge to vomit, but held her stomach. Taking several deep breaths, she reminded herself that she was here for a reason, she had to find John. He might need her.

Walking the battlefield, she looked for signs of her beloved. With the front line a little ways in the distance and to the left of her position, she could search here for a while before risking being discovered. What was he doing out here in the first place? Why would he come? Hadn’t he promised to stay a safe distance from the fighting? But she knew he would go where he was needed. Stubborn, selfish fool!

She was getting close to what had at one time been the front line when the bodies thickened and the number of gray uniforms matched the blue ones. One look to her left told her that she was almost in line with the current front line, just in a section that wasn’t being patrolled. She found herself being forced to move bodies in order to check for John. Having to touch the bloodied corpses ended up to be too much for her stomach and she did vomit. But, her determination took over and she moved onward.

As she came upon one particular Union soldier stabbed with a bayonet, the blade protruding out of his back, she could see that the man underneath him was a Confederate soldier, so she turned to move on. But a hand shot up toward her. He was alive!

“Help me,” came the weak voice of the man trapped underneath the dead Union soldier.

Something in her told her to run, but another part of her bid her to stay. Gray uniform or blue, this man needed help. How could she, in good conscience, leave him to die knowing she could have saved his life?

With much effort, she pushed the dead soldier off of him and saw that the Confederate soldier had a wound in his upper arm. It began to bleed out. The weight and body of the Union soldier must have put enough pressure on it to stop the bleeding. Thinking quickly, she tore off enough sleeve from the Union soldier to fashion a tourniquet.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice still weak.

That’s when she looked into his eyes. It was hard to imagine that this man, whose blue eyes she found herself gazing into had played a part in the destruction around her, had killed men, perhaps this Union soldier she had just moved. But it was true.

There were sounds in the distance and she jerked her head up, standing when she saw more Confederate soldiers headed her way. What was she going to do?

“Stop! Thief!” One yelled out, raising his gun. He fired.

A hot searing pain in her left shoulder whipped her around and threw her to the ground. Elizabeth was still conscious when her head found a rock as she landed. And then all was black.

The post “Off to War” – Chapter 3, Scene 6 appeared first on Sara's Desk.

Off to War – Chapter 3, Scene 6

 

“Off to War”

Chapter Three ~ Battle

Scene 6

The battle raged on. All Elizabeth could do was sit and listen to the cannons and gunfire in the distance, grimacing at every sound. There was no laundry to do, no sewing that was called for, nothing to be done. Just sit and wait for news. It was the longest wait of her life. Looking at the water, she couldn’t help but imagine the laundry that they would have to do the next day. She envisioned the blood discoloring the water as they would work to clean the dark blue uniforms. Shaking her head to clear such morbid thoughts, she tried to think of something more pleasant. Nothing came to mind. What was there to think of at a time like this? Nothing but war and bloodshed. Not for the soldiers, and not for her.

Though she had long since been released from duty, she found herself unable to leave her post. The camp seemed abandoned with the troops gone, the hospital staffed, and the other women…where? Where were the other women? Waiting and praying in their tents? Elizabeth sank to her knees by the water tub and sobbed, praying for the men in their unit that were facing their mortality even then.

“Father, Keep Your gracious hand on these brave men. It is my will that You keep them safe from harm, but I know that it is Your will not mine that we should seek. Comfort those who are wounded. Give the doctors wisdom and skill. Be with John.”

“Elizabeth!” Melanie interrupted her thoughts. “Elizabeth!”

Elizabeth got to her feet. “What is it? Is there news?”

Melanie was almost out of breath as she stopped by Elizabeth. She nodded. “The fighting is over, but there are many wounded. They need help in the hospital. I told them I would bring you.” Melanie grabbed her hand and walked in the direction of the hospital.

Elizabeth froze. She wanted to help, but how could she avoid John in the hospital? He would see her and her plan, and her time here would be over. Her head fell. What purely self-serving thinking! There were men wounded and in need of care, and she was worried after something so selfish! Embarrassed by her reaction to Melanie’s request for help, she turned away.

When Elizabeth didn’t move, it caused Melanie to jerk back. “Come on. What are you waiting for?” Melanie asked, confused.

Determined to do what she could to help these men who were in such need, she took Melanie’s hand and followed her, rushing toward the hospital tent.

Nothing could have prepared Elizabeth for what she saw at the hospital tent. The battle had been gruesome. Every space available was filled with men in all states of horror. She did not have time to take it all in before a nurse approached.

“Take the men water, sit with them, and tell them the doctors are making it around. Do you know how to clean a wound?”

Elizabeth was numb to everything around her, but she nodded. Melanie shook her head.

“Good,” the nurse said to Elizabeth. “Do only superficial cleaning. You’ll find supplies over there,” she indicated a shelf at one end of the tent. And you,” she turned to Melanie. “Come watch me for a couple of patients and you’ll learn.”

Looking over the tent full of men in agony, being recognized by John was the furthest thing from her mind. Elizabeth made her way over to the shelf and grabbed some supplies. She stopped at the first man near the shelf unit. He was young, much younger than John. His sandy-blonde hair fell over deep brown eyes that looked up to her as if to find some reassurance that all would be well. There was a fear there. Fear remaining like an echo from the emotion of the battle and fear that nothing would ever be the same. Fear of what might happen to him. Elizabeth knew that she would never forget the look in his eyes.

“Hello, soldier.” She put on her best smile for him. “I’m Elizabeth. What’s your name?”

The man was shaking badly, with a terrible leg wound. He was in shock. In all likelihood he would lose the leg.

“A-Adam.”

She offered him some water. He drank it, thanking her. She began to clean the wound, but she didn’t see much point in it. The leg was in need of a deeper cleaning. Still, she did as the nurse had instructed her and basically put a strip of cloth on a gunshot wound.

“I-is it b-b-bad?” Adam asked.

She shook her head. “You’ll be fine,” she told a half-truth. “The doctor will see you in a while.”

Man after man, wound after wound, all Elizabeth could do was offer water and assurances that the doctors would see them soon. She could tell by looking at some of these men that they were not going to make it and it broke her heart. But she put on a brave smile for them, and spent more time by their bedside, talking with them, singing to them, praying with them. A few of them passed on while she was with them, but she refused to cry.

After a couple of hours, she noticed that she had not had to duck from John’s view. Glancing around the hospital, she couldn’t spot him anywhere. She excused herself between patients to find a nurse.

“I’m looking for Dr. Taylor. Dr. John Taylor,” she said, knowing her voice betrayed her worry.

“A doctor will be around to see each patient in turn,” the nurse said, a little annoyed.

“No,” Elizabeth grabbed her shoulders, desperate. “I’m looking for Dr. Taylor.”

The nurse stopped to think. “He went to the front lines to patch the wounded there and prepare them for transport. He hasn’t come back.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. She whirled around and took off running. Where to, she did not know. At first she turned this way and that, confused about what she was going to do. Then, she was struck with a plan and ran for the laundry. It was easy enough to get her hands on a small enough uniform, carry it back to her tent, and slip into it, binding her breasts. Shoving her hair up in a cap, she rubbed dirt and mud on her face to disguise her feminine features. And, making her way across the camp somewhat unnoticed with all of the mayhem from the recent battle, she ran toward the battlefield.

The field was littered with bodies and limbs. Elizabeth had thought the hospital was bad, but this was a million times worse. There were no words to describe the grisly state of the men there. She felt the urge to vomit, but held her stomach. Taking several deep breaths, she reminded herself that she was here for a reason, she had to find John. He might need her.

Walking the battlefield, she looked for signs of her beloved. With the front line a little ways in the distance and to the left of her position, she could search here for a while before risking being discovered. What was he doing out here in the first place? Why would he come? Hadn’t he promised to stay a safe distance from the fighting? But she knew he would go where he was needed. Stubborn, selfish fool!

She was getting close to what had at one time been the front line when the bodies thickened and the number of gray uniforms matched the blue ones. One look to her left told her that she was almost in line with the current front line, just in a section that wasn’t being patrolled. She found herself being forced to move bodies in order to check for John. Having to touch the bloodied corpses ended up to be too much for her stomach and she did vomit. But, her determination took over and she moved onward.

As she came upon one particular Union soldier stabbed with a bayonet, the blade protruding out of his back, she could see that the man underneath him was a Confederate soldier, so she turned to move on. But a hand shot up toward her. He was alive!

“Help me,” came the weak voice of the man trapped underneath the dead Union soldier.

Something in her told her to run, but another part of her bid her to stay. Gray uniform or blue, this man needed help. How could she, in good conscience, leave him to die knowing she could have saved his life?

With much effort, she pushed the dead soldier off of him and saw that the Confederate soldier had a wound in his upper arm. It began to bleed out. The weight and body of the Union soldier must have put enough pressure on it to stop the bleeding. Thinking quickly, she tore off enough sleeve from the Union soldier to fashion a tourniquet.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice still weak.

That’s when she looked into his eyes. It was hard to imagine that this man, whose blue eyes she found herself gazing into had played a part in the destruction around her, had killed men, perhaps this Union soldier she had just moved. But it was true.

There were sounds in the distance and she jerked her head up, standing when she saw more Confederate soldiers headed her way. What was she going to do?

“Stop! Thief!” One yelled out, raising his gun. He fired.

A hot searing pain in her left shoulder whipped her around and threw her to the ground. Elizabeth was still conscious when her head found a rock as she landed. And then all was black.

The post Off to War – Chapter 3, Scene 6 appeared first on Sara's Desk.

Want To Read a Fresh, Clean Romance With a Fairy Tale Twist?

If you have been reading my blog for a while, you already know that I have fallen in love with this clean Historical Romance author: Melanie Dickerson. Dickerson has written a few different series of books. One is her “Fairy Tale Romance Series” which, for the most part, is a retelling of those fairy tales we all know. But in a very clever and artful way. Another series she has is her “Medieval Fairy Tale” series. Which, as far as I can tell is not connected with established fairy tales, but is her own weaving of events set in during these centuries. Her other series is “The Regency Spies of London” series. Of which I have not read (but intend to), so I cannot comment.

The long and short of it is that Dickerson is phenomenal. Once I stumbled upon the book, The Golden Braid, (part of the “Fairy Tale Romance Series”) I began to consume her other fairy tale and medieval stories at an alarming rate. The other books I read include: The Healer’s Apprentice, The Fairest Beauty, The Captive Maiden, The Merchant’s Daughter, The Princess Spy, and The Huntress of Thornbeck. In fact, I loved these books so much, that I started buying them on ebook, but soon converted them to my “permanent” collection. (I had to have them in paperback as well.)

I love the way Dickerson draws the reader into the story and sweeps us along with the journey of the characters. We are no longer on our couch, in our comfy chairs, in the doctor’s waiting room. No, we are in the mythical city of Hagenheim with Rapunzel fearing for our safety or struggling with our mixed feelings about a certain knight. Every emotion feels like my own, the danger seems real to me, and the story becomes believable as I am caught up in this well-known fairy tale brought to new life through Dickerson’s craft.

If you enjoy clean Romance in any way, shape, or form, I would strongly recommend these books. Most of them are, again, beloved fairy tales that Dickerson has breathed new life into, taken the mystical and magic out of, and made believable in the real world. Let me give you a taste of what these books represent:

The Healer’s Apprentice ~ Sleeping Beauty

The Fairest Beauty ~ Snow White

The Captive Maiden ~ Cinderella

The Merchant’s Daughter ~ Beauty and the Beast

The Golden Braid ~ Rapunzel

There is an order to these books, but I’ll be honest, I read them out of order and was just fine. But I do recommend reading them in order as there is some small amount of story that ties in to the series that works best if you read them in the order intended.

Happy Reading!!

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“Off to War” – Chapter Three, Scene 5

“Off to War”

Chapter Three

Scene 5

Jacob scrambled for cover as shots rang over his head. The battle had been raging for what seemed like forever. He was surrounded by cannons exploding and men screaming in pain. It was nothing like he had ever imagined. This was the worst kind of horror he could have pictured. He wished he could recall some of his training, but it was all a blank, replaced by images of bloodied soldiers. One by one, he saw his comrades fall. Blue uniforms stained with red littered the ground around him. In the distance, someone shouted commands, but he couldn’t make out anything clearly amidst the muskets firing.

As he moved through the field, he kept low. Bullets whizzed past his head left and right. It was surreal. He was a target in this open field and his eyes searched in the haze created by weapons’ fire to find a safe haven. His drive to survive pushed through the shock until that’s all there was. Survive. Moving almost by instinct, he made his way, stumbling, through the field of bodies. By luck, he came upon a ditch protected by a berm and he ducked into the safety it offered.

Many other soldiers lay in this ditch, fighting from this position. They had crawled up onto the berm on their bellies and were firing into the enemy line. Leaning back against the cool earth that made up the wall of the ditch, he took a few moments to catch his breath. His emotions washed over him. He was alive! And that was all that mattered.

Having survived the first wave and made it to a safe position from which to keep fighting, the thought to remain here throughout the rest of the battle was tempting. But he knew those men on the berm needed him. They counted on him to help them defend their position or else they would all be lost.

After he got a hold of himself and steeled his senses, he climbed out of the ditch and up onto the berm, staying on his stomach lest he create too much of a target. The man to his left nodded as he took position and began firing at the Confederate army. He did his best to aim at targets, as hard as they were to see. On occasion, he saw a glint of steel in the distance or the profile of a soldier running. And he tried his best to hit those targets. It was difficult to tell if he was successful.

That’s when Jacob spotted a dip on the far left flank. The Confederate line had shifted to the right in response to the Union’s first wave offensive. As the minutes of realizing he was alive passed, his confidence began to return. Then he remembered the briefing from his unit’s commander and the mention of flanking the Confederates on that side. It seemed their offensive had started to work, but something had gone wrong.

Jacob cursed himself for not listening more closely and instead assuming his platoon’s sergeant would be here to keep things in order. Then he remembered the plan of attack.

“The left unit. Hey! Where is the left unit? Aren’t they supposed to be moving in on the second wave?” he shouted to the others crouched with him behind the berm.

They looked at each other, more confused than he.

“I think they got pinned down back there,” one soldier responded, his thumb pointed behind them.

“What’s your name again?” Jacob asked.

“Daniel.” His voice broke for just a second.

“The Confederates have responded to the first wave and are moving to the right. It is up to us to move in to that dip over there and flank them from the left.” Jacob pointed to the weak spot in the enemy’s line.

Daniel nodded, probably ready to take orders from anybody. Jacob had a renewed sense of purpose, thinking that his ability to run fast might just pay off.

“We’ll split in half. Daniel, me, and you,” he said, tapping the soldier to his right. “We’ll make a fast run for that spot while you continue to cover us. When we get there and start shooting, the rest of you will follow. That may hold back the Confederates just enough for the rest of our unit to catch up and take ’em!”

The rest of his new war brothers nodded in quick agreement.

“I’m Steven,” the soldier he had tapped said, his voice shaking.

Jacob shook hands with him. He and his small crew loaded their Springfield muskets and gathered up to the left edge of the berm. With a quick visual signal to the others, they broke out in a fast run. Jacob’s legs flew. It was as if he rode the wind. Jacob soon noticed how far their target truly was. Could they make it? I’ve made it this far, we are going to get there!

Loud artillery fire boomed. It was deafening as it hit a spot they had just passed. The shock knocked him to the ground. Daniel and Steven were just as startled. They both looked to Jacob. Their courage and morale hinging on his own, he dragged himself to his feet and continued, as fast as he could. His comrades were close behind. As they ran across the fury of the battlefield, they wove around fallen soldiers. It was a bit much for Jacob, but he somehow held it together and kept moving.

How far is that dip in the line? How long does it take to get there? It seemed like an eternity. A moment later, he saw it! Jacob had pulled out well ahead of the others when a piece of shrapnel ripped through his jacket. Falling to the ground, his eyes feverishly sought out the direction it came from. Here he was, sprinting like it was a race, forgetting that they were fighting for their lives. Steven and Daniel caught up to him with wide eyes. Looking at the spot where he had been grazed by a ball, he felt a sting of pain. And he saw a torn part of his uniform near his shoulder, but then realized it hadn’t penetrated anything. Instead it had just missed him. While it left him a noticeable mark, it hadn’t entered his shoulder.

Jacob picked up his musket and started running again, at last diving into the dip in the line. Steven and Daniel had closed the gap enough to jump in right behind him. They raised their weapons, looking for targets. One enemy soldier looked in their direction. Was that the man who almost hit him? Before he could react, Daniel fired, and the man fell. Another Confederate moved up from behind the fallen soldier, and Steven took him out.

Jacob was shocked into action, eyeing his men as they hastily reloaded. Picking up his Springfield, he trained his sights on another Confederate rushing in. His fingers twitched, almost as if he couldn’t decide whether to accept the fate of killing another man. Everything had been surreal. Marching, inspections, field stripping, rations. Almost like a dream. But now it was real. This was what war was about: killing another man. In the instant it took him to trace his thoughts, he understood one thing: if he waited, he or one of his war buddies would be dead, so he pulled the trigger. He started to reload his weapon, when he felt the shakes and couldn’t keep it down anymore, vomiting on the ground.

“First kill?” Daniel asked.

“Yeah,” Jacob said, wiping his face with his sleeve. His legs were weak.

“I did the same.”

With that, Jacob crossed a threshold he never knew existed. His father had told him he looked like a real man. Those words echoed true. Jacob didn’t get lost in thought though. This plan would be a complete failure unless they provided enough cover for the rest of his unit to take this position. Having dropped three soldiers, there weren’t any more nearby. Most of the Confederate unit was much further down the line and just didn’t know they were about to be flanked. Filled with excitement, Jacob was about to tell Steven and Daniel to finish loading their Springfields when he noticed they were way ahead of him. Time to give the signal for the rest of his unit to join them and hold this position.

Jacob stood, more than he liked, but knew the men behind the berm would be looking for a signal. He took off his hat and waved, calling back to them. They were not quite visible, but as they grouped together on the left side, he could tell they had gotten his signal. Reaching over and grabbing his weapon, he put his hat back on.

The sound of more artillery firing in the distance shook him. Was it closer or further away? As he slid into the dip, seeking better cover, the crack of a rifle was followed by a hot, piercing pain in his left leg. Looking down, a lot of blood covered his leg. Stunned, his gaze shifted to take in his surroundings. The man he had hit earlier wasn’t dead, but had gotten in a final shot with his loaded weapon. Jacob let out a loud cry while Steven attacked the man with his bayonet. Then things started to swirl. Jacob’s vision blurred. As if everything was in a daze. Daniel came to his side, applying pressure to his leg. As he started to fade out, he kept looking back, wondering if the rest of his unit had caught up to them. And then, nothing.

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How I Cured My 13-day-long Migraine

Sorry I’ve been off the grid for a while. And I have something to share about that. The reason I was so out of touch for so long is that I had a MIGRAINE. For 13 days. That’s not only ridiculous, it’s pretty crazy. And my doctor did everything absolutely everything he could do to cure it, but to no avail. But, I’m getting ahead of myself…

Chronic Migraine Sufferer. First, you should know about me that I am a chronic migraine sufferer. That means, that without any medicinal intervention, I was having more than 3 migraines per week. Introduce Topamax. This is a prophylactic medication that I take daily to prevent migraines. I also have “rescue pills” for the occasional “breakthrough” migraine (or migraine I have despite the face that I’m on Topamax). I have been on several “rescue pills”, tried many in several categories and the one I’m on now doesn’t really work. But if I have the random intense migraine, I can go into the clinic, get the shot cocktail, go home, sleep, and be fine when I wake up…usually.

Something Different. This time, I went to the clinic and got my shots. Okay. I’m going to be fine. Woke up with the same headache. What? Went back to the clinic. They increased my Topamax dose, gave me another round of shots, and sent me on my merry way. Surely that will work. Nope. I waited, in pain, a few more days. Had a conference with my doctor over the phone. He wanted a CT scan. CT scan came back normal except for a sinus infection on the left side (Migraine is on the right side), probably not the cause. So, antibiotic, another prophylactic to work with Topamax, and another round of shots…yay! But I’ll be good to go now, right? Only…not so much.

Could There Be More To It? I visited my counselor and we talked about the spiritual and emotional underlying issues that can contribute to and even cause migraines. All right. We work through a lot of junk. I actually feel better. A lot better. Next day, migraine is back. I have a different type of therapy session (splankna) with my friend. God is dealing with a grief issue. It helps some. Obviously, there is more to this issue than simply physical. And I know several of my friends are praying for me at this point. But my friend says something interesting to me at this therapy session…that I should get an essential oil scan done. Mind you, I am ready to try anything. I mean, most people truly cannot imagine being in pretty intense pain fairly constantly for 13 days straight.

The Essential Oils. I’ve always been a bit of a skeptic when it comes to Essential Oils. I do believe in their aromatherapeutic value. Always have. But, as I’ve been dipping my toes in the waters of knowledge of oils, I have been impressed with what they can do. They have silenced a stomach bug in me twice now. Eased my symptoms through a cold/sinus infection, among other things. And I had been using Young Livings PANAWAY, applying it and diffusing it to assist with the headache symptoms. And it was taking the edge off the pain, but not much more. But I figured I didn’t have anything to lose, so I did have the scan done and was not at all surprised with the kinds of oils that showed up I needed. Interested in a “that’s weird that that thing knew what I needed” kind of thing, but not at all shocked.

The Cure. The doctor, in the meantime, put me on yet another “rescue pill” which did not work. And the oil I walked away from the oil scan with (M-GRAIN) was not taking care of the headache either. I was just ready to consign myself to perpetual pain. But when I notified the wonderful lady who did my scan, she recommended an oil regiment using THIEVES, PANAWAY, and M-GRAIN. I did it and the headache started to dissipate. I couldn’t believe it. She had told me to do the regiment three times, once every 10 minutes. The second round, more dissipation. By the third round, it was gone. And it didn’t come back.

I was BLOWN AWAY. Incredible is not quite adequate to describe it. The doctors with their powerful drugs had not been able to do what simple canisters of plant oil in the right combination could accomplish. Narcotic free! Now, I don’t blame you if you are still skeptical. I understand. But, as for me, I’m a believer.

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Course Correcting Your Marketing Plan for Authors

Both of my jobs are “high feedback” situations. As many of you already know, I work seasonally as a Zoo Educator, teaching kids of all ages about animals. There is no end to the feedback I get from my management and co-workers. All with the hope to improve my performance. As a writer, I get tons of feedback as well – from reviews, mentors, my critique group…just to name a few. So, what do you do when this feedback calls for a course correction?

Always Listen. It is important to take in the advice. This is another perspective on your work. And, hopefully, as we are all adults, this person is looking out for your best interest. They are wanting you to succeed and improve. Another set of eyes or ears on your work can only benefit you.

Respect. Even if you don’t agree with the feedback, I would advise you to be respectful. Even if the person is not published or is newer to the field than you are, it doesn’t mean their opinion is not valid. I would challenge you to consider what they have to say. Is there any merit to it? There may be. Maybe not. But let’s be careful to not be defensive. You never grow and improve that way.

Consider the Advice. Take some time to consider what the other person is saying. Seriously consider it. Especially if they are asking you to make a big change. You may initially balk at it, but there may be a good reason for the big change or maybe there may be smaller changes that can be made to improve your craft.

What does all of this amount to? Well…there is a story here. I was recently at a writers conference. And I had the opportunity to meet with a mentor. I had planned on doing a mock pitch to get feedback, but when she sat down, she started asking me questions about where I was in my career. Through those questions, she discovered what I already knew – that I was kind of weak in the area of marketing myself.

Well, why was that? I’ll share with you. I blog, tweet, and post to writers for the most part. But my audience (that I write for) is not necessarily writers. That is not really the audience I am hoping to attract. So, there is a problem. Not that it’s wrong for me to encourage other writers, but I need to also reach out to my target audience. So, I need to consider what that will entail and rethink my whole marketing strategy.

It’s generally a good thing to re-evaluate your marketing strategy periodically anyway. What is working? Why is that working? What isn’t working? What can you do to fix that?

What about you? Ever get advice that made you re-evaluate something you were doing?

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“Off to War” – Chapter Three, Scene 3 & 4

“Off to War”

Chapter Three

Scene 3

Troop movement outside the thin fabric walls of the tent awakened Elizabeth. They would have risen before dawn in order to practice maneuvers. If she strained her ears, she could hear the artillery unit doing the same thing, loading cannons to prepare for battle. Would it be today? Would the men head to the front lines today?

Making slow movements, she sat up and stretched. Looking over, she saw that Melanie still slumbered. Elizabeth was not so blessed to be such a deep sleeper. Sarah and Lily, of course, were already gone, their mats made up.

Elizabeth begrudgingly moved out of the tent and toward the women’s common area. How she longed for those cozy mornings when her vanity was but a few steps away from her warm bed and she could freshen up in the privacy of her own bedchambers! But she had become accustomed to this new level of modesty, walking about in her nightshift, nodding to the women she passed on the way to the common area.

Once she arrived, she gathered some water to pour into the simple bowl. She splashed some water onto her face, hoping to liven her features and waken her senses. Rinsing her hands as well, she then dumped the water so the bowl would be ready for the next woman who came by.

She was more alert on the trip back to the tent, but not always in better spirits. It was still too early and she was still in naught but her nightclothes. Upon returning to the tent, she made her way over to her bag and pulled out yet another simple frock she had acquired from the maid servant in her parents’ home. Time to get ready for another day.

Home. Ah. Just thinking of her parents’ home brought back memories that seemed thousands of miles away. It had been quite an adjustment for her to be wakened by troops or a bugle blowing. At home, she was roused from sleep by a maid coming into her room to open the curtains and help prepare her for the day. She was then helped into her attire and her hair was done for her. Next it was downstairs to a hot breakfast that was prepared by the family cook. Elizabeth could almost smell the aromas of the numerous pastries and breakfast meats that she could indulge in each and every day. Then her day would be filled with hobbies and the things she wanted to do, not the menial tasks that filled her days here. Yes, she had taken that life for granted. When she had made the decision to leave, she had known she would be leaving all of that behind, but she had neglected to realize what an adjustment it would be.

Once she was dressed and her hair pinned, she shook Melanie.

“Time to rise and shine,” she said in her brightest voice.

A groan was the only response she got.

“See you at breakfast?” Elizabeth said, it was not truly a question.

Melanie waved from under her blanket. That meant ‘yes, but get out of my face or you’ll regret it’. Her new friend was not a morning person.

Elizabeth grabbed her papers and charcoal and stepped out of the tent. She wouldn’t have a lot of time to herself. Breakfast would start soon and then they would be on to the tasks of the day.

Moving a little ways outside of the camp and up the hill to give herself a bird’s-eye view, she found a spot to settle. This little patch of grass was far enough away from the sentry’s post to not give him grief, but far enough up the hill to still have a good view of the camp. So, she plopped down and, without ceremony, began to sketch. She had not the chance to capture these morning maneuvers and now was a prime opportunity.

This had become a favorite spot for her as she could see the whole camp from her vantage point. There were the family tents, the mens’ tents, her tent, the hospital, the place the women did laundry and cooked whenever they had something to cook. On one side of the camp, the soldiers were marching in lines and on the other, the artillery unit worked with the cannons. Though the camp already buzzed with activity, she tried to capture it all on paper.

Elizabeth could never have imagined this place would affect her so, but she had already begun to form relationships with so many of the people she came in contact with. If anything happened to any of them it would devastate her. Yes, Melanie had indeed been right in what she had said. War changed people. This war was already changing this girl who had been born to privilege and never faced any real hardship in her life.

Looking with an artist’s eyes, Elizabeth’s gaze swept over the camp again as she put the finishing touches on her sketch. Two figures walking on the outskirts of the camp caught her attention. They looked in her direction and waved. She responded in kind. Seconds later, she realized it was John and Dr. Smith. And they were headed straight for her!

Searching for some place to hide, she came up short. There was no where to go. And they had already spotted her. Elizabeth swallowed hard. So this was it. John would finally discover her. It would only be seconds now until they were close enough. She braced herself for his reaction as the two men came ever closer. Any moment her features would be clear enough that he would know.

Boom! The sound of cannon fire filled the air. Elizabeth hit the ground, covering her ears. Had the troops set off a cannon by accident? As she sat back up, she saw that John and Dr. Smith were crouched down, looking around, perhaps wondering the same thing. A glance over at the artillery unit told her that they were just as confused.

From her perch on the hillside, she saw a scout flying toward camp from the south. His form appeared out of the forest line moments after the cannon fire. Spotting the scout as well, the two doctors ran toward the camp. Elizabeth followed suit.

The camp was in utter chaos. Elizabeth tried to make her way to her station to get some information from her direct report, but there were too many people moving here and there. The troops were all moving in one direction, like a wave. It was difficult to push against them. At last, she spotted Melanie.

“Mel!” She called out, “Mel!”

Melanie jerked her head in Elizabeth’s direction and grabbed for her hand. Together they pushed through the crowd and found a space next to a tent where they were out of the rush of people.

“What’s going on?” Elizabeth panted with effort.

“It’s the Confederates. They’re here!”

Elizabeth’s heart stopped. What would happen to them all? To John?

“The troops are marching out to meet them,” Melanie continued.

Elizabeth nodded, feeling numb. “What can we do?” Her voice shook.

“Pray. Pray and get to your station!” Melanie squeezed Elizabeth’s hand once more before heading back out into the throngs of people.

Elizabeth was surprised how level-headed Melanie was in the face of crisis. And though Elizabeth was on laundry duty this morning, the last thing anyone would need, she did as Melanie had said and headed for her post.

 

“Off to War”

Chapter Three

Scene 4

The Moore family was seated around their dinner table. From the outside looking in, one might never know this was a family torn apart by the war, a family missing two of its members as they gathered together for this special family time. But Henry Moore knew differently. Their presence was indeed missed by each member present. And their empty chairs served as reminders of their absence. Still, those there reveled in the closeness they shared. And they put on brave faces for the others in their company. It was in the final stretches of the meal when, as Martha Moore watched, her husband produced a letter from his pocket.

“Who’s it from, Father?” Susan asked, wide-eyed.

Martha’s heart stopped and her eyes met her husband’s.

“It’s from Jacob,” he said as he was able to pull himself from his wife’s gaze.

“Please, do read it, Father!” Susan all but jumped up and down in her chair.

“You know how we do things,” he admonished her. “We’ll read it in the parlor once everyone is done with dinner.”

“Let’s go then,” Susan begged, pushing her plate away from herself.

“I’m finished.” Martha laid her napkin on the table.

“Me too!” Susan followed suit, setting her napkin next to her plate. She looked up at her father with wide, expectant eyes, willing him to say he was finished so they might retire to the parlor.

He waited a handful of seconds, eyeing Susan and Martha’s expressions. “Alright, then,” he said at long last, laying his own napkin down, signaling the end of dinner. “To the parlor, then.”

Henry led them to the small family room where they huddled in their spots around the fireplace. He took a seat to the left of the massive structure, Susan took a spot on the floor near his feet, and Martha sat nearby on the sofa, picking at her cross-stitch. Taking the letter back out of his pocket, he opened it and began to read.

“Dear Mother, Father, and Susan, I hope this letter finds you well. I miss you all. We settled in our camp and I’m trying to get the hang of things. I’m learning all kinds of stuff. There are definitely things that Benjamin failed to mention in his letters, but I understand. He just didn’t think it was interesting enough to mention. Like how we get up every day before dawn. That’s boring stuff. But it’s important, I guess, since we do it every day.

“We spend most of our time doing things to keep us from getting fat and lazy. But no one here cooks as well as you, Mother, so I don’t think anyone is going to get fat. Don’t worry, though, I’m eating well enough. I have met some people here and am making friends. I rode the train down here with one of our camp doctors named John. He gave me some good advice about life. My tent mate’s name is Phillip. He’s a couple of years older than me. We get along just fine, but he doesn’t talk much.

“Well, I’d better head out to lunch before it’s all gone. I’ll write again soon. Love, Jacob. P.S. I am eager to hear about Benjamin.”

“Well that was nice that he became acquainted with one of the doctors,” Martha said, working her cross-stitch, moving furiously with her fingers.

And Henry understood. She’d rather not allow her mind to wander to those places every mother’s mind must go to when receiving a letter from the front. Would this be the last letter?

“I wonder what he eats there,” Susan said, looking up at her father.

“It’s not as good as what you get to eat,” Henry said, patting her on the head.

“But is it yucky food or just a bad cook?” Susan’s brow furrowed.

“I think they get rations for the most part,” Henry sighed, looking back over the letter.

“Rations?” Susan tested the word.

Henry nodded, “An allotted amount of food. Crackers, pork, and coffee, stuff like that.”

“Coffee?” she blanched at that. “Jacob doesn’t drink coffee!”

“Chances are he will when he comes back.”

Susan looked at her father, eyebrow quirked.

“Susan, there may be other things that will have changed about Jacob and even Benjamin when they come home.” His voice softened. He’d rather not say more than he already had.

“Like what?”

She was so innocent to the goings on of war. Too innocent.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Henry forced himself to continue the conversation with Susan. “It’s just something I want you to know.” He prayed that would be enough for her.

Susan shrugged it off, “Okay, Father. Will you read the letter again?”

“Of course. ‘Dear Mother, Father, and Susan…’”

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“In the Weeds”: When You Find Yourself Over-Committed and Overwhelmed

Once upon a time, I was a server. Now that can be a stressful job. And it’s the right now kind of stress. That night-before-a-big-test, can’t put it off intense stress. I don’t miss it. In that industry, when you are overwhelmed and have too much happening that you just can’t keep up, you say you are “in the weeds”. That’s a cue to the others around you that you’d appreciate any and all assistance they can offer you. Do other professions have similar phrases for this state of being? I don’t know. If they have such a term for a writer/stay-at-home mom, that’s me this week. I’ve got “too many irons in the fire” and “too much on my plate”. Don’t get me wrong, I thrive on being busy and having a full schedule, but there is definitely a line there full and over-committed. So, what’s a person to do?

Think about your “beam“. I’ve written before about Jen Hatmaker’s gymnastics beam illustration. How you have the things you commit to “on the beam” and the things you delegate away or eliminate from your life “off the beam”. Well, let’s take a look at the beam first. Are there things you’ve allowed on the beam that shouldn’t be there in the first place? If so, let’s do what we can to remove them, either from the list altogether or from your list and onto someone else’s.

Delegate well. So, we’ve cleaned off the things that shouldn’t have ever been on your beam. Now look and see if anything on your beam can be delegated. There are others in your life that can take on things and do them very well. If you are anything like me, you feel responsible for the things on your beam and you want to keep a hold on them so you can make sure they are done properly. But you have to trust your village as well. By “village”, I mean your people, your circle, your family and friends. Can your spouse handle some of the kid stuff? Can a friend at church take on your duties there for one or two Sundays or on a more permanent basis?

The “TO DO” List is Your Friend. Make a list of everything you have to do in the next week, month, however long. Just get it all down on paper. No matter how scary it is. Break the bigger tasks down into its smaller steps. Then prioritize this list. Now, get out your calendar. Mark in your set appointments and fill in the to do list items, starting with the higher priority stuff. Plan on just 2-3 items per day. Don’t overwhelm yourself. If you get more done, that’s fabulous! But set yourself up for success and be realistic with your expectations on what is possible to get done. Especially if you are like me and you have a family and house to care for as well. Or a full time job on top of these other things.

Protect Your Routines. I have an autistic son. So, I know all too well how important routine is. For myself, I find it very helpful to have somewhat of a night ritual where I go over my schedule and to do list for the next day, so I have some idea of what’s happening. I also do better when I keep a consistent morning routine (mine involves coffee, looking over my to do list again, and a time of quiet reflection and prayer). It just sets the right tempo for my day, a better mindset for myself, and an overall calmer me.

Keep Your Eye On the Prize. Have goals. Life goals. Weekly goals that feed into those life goals. Know that you are contributing to something lasting and something that matters to you. Keep your goals written out and posted where you can see them often. Let them motivate you.

Again, I don’t have all of the answers. And perhaps the best advice of all is to guard your time on the front end. Your time is valuable and you are the gate-keeper. If there isn’t now, there will be others clamoring for a piece of you from multiple angles. The best word you can learn is “no”. It is not wrong or selfish to use that word. It is wisdom to know when you must.

Any other tips for helping someone “in the weeds”?

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