E.C. Stilson's Blog, page 69
January 8, 2014
What Makes Us Who We Are? Part 1
I'd like you to take a moment with me and think of three times when you didn't respond to a situation well, and three times when you did.
What comes to mind? Even grab a journal and write them down if you want to!
What about that time you shared with someone? Or when you didn't have enough money, so you stole something from the store? The time you talked badly about a friend because they'd hurt your feelings? Or when you helped a stranger simply out of the goodness of your own heart?
As you write these down, look as if you're an outsider. Can you forgive yourself for the poor choices, are you touched by the good ones?
I thought about this today, because if our actions really define us, looking back--from human standards--can we see our true essence? A bunch of bad choices? A life lived for the sake of others seeing that we always chose correctly?
Will looking at the good make any of these bad choices seem better?
Or am I looking at this wrong? Doing this exercise, will we see something more:
Imagine a computer programmer who makes a program designed to alter photos to look like paintings. He's intentionally made the transformation process a bit flawed, hoping the final computer product will look man-made. Is this how God engineered us, to be perfectly flawed?
I'll post a story about a "bad choice" tomorrow.
But at the end of this exercise, I hope a greater point will be made.
Until tomorrow. . . .
What comes to mind? Even grab a journal and write them down if you want to!
What about that time you shared with someone? Or when you didn't have enough money, so you stole something from the store? The time you talked badly about a friend because they'd hurt your feelings? Or when you helped a stranger simply out of the goodness of your own heart?
As you write these down, look as if you're an outsider. Can you forgive yourself for the poor choices, are you touched by the good ones?
I thought about this today, because if our actions really define us, looking back--from human standards--can we see our true essence? A bunch of bad choices? A life lived for the sake of others seeing that we always chose correctly?
Will looking at the good make any of these bad choices seem better?
Or am I looking at this wrong? Doing this exercise, will we see something more:
Imagine a computer programmer who makes a program designed to alter photos to look like paintings. He's intentionally made the transformation process a bit flawed, hoping the final computer product will look man-made. Is this how God engineered us, to be perfectly flawed?
I'll post a story about a "bad choice" tomorrow.
But at the end of this exercise, I hope a greater point will be made.
Until tomorrow. . . .
January 7, 2014
The Art of "Eff Ewe"
When I was in sixth grade, a little boy WOULD NOT STOP being mean to me. Every day he would come over and say, "F. U.."
"Eff Ewe?" I'd ask, seriously having no idea what he was saying.
"Ewe, like a sheep?" I asked, sheltered.
"What? No! You like you!"
"Ewe?"
"You! As in you are so stupid."
The whole class would laugh. This would happen every day, until I consulted the ultimate guru . . . my brother.
"What does F. U. mean?" I asked.
"F. stands for Fabulous."
"And U.?"
"That stands for you as in you. Fabulous You." He pointed to me, patted me on the shoulder and smiled. The guy tried walking away, but I wouldn't let him.
I grabbed his arm. "Well, if he's calling me, Fabulous You, why are all of the other kids laughing?"
He looked troubled and I knew he cared. "You want him to stop?"
"Yes," I said.
"Well, I'll tell you what to say, but you can't tell Mom. Like that time I taught you the word 'fugly.' You CAN NOT tell mom this time. Promise."
We made the ultimate pact; we even pinkie swore!
"When he says 'F. U.' I want you to say . . ." Then my brother made me memorize a comeback.
"What in the heck does that mean?" I asked after memorizing it.
"Nothing really, but it will get him to stop calling you . . . fabulous."
"He's not calling me 'fabulous' is he?"
My brother just stared.
"Are you sure I can trust you?"
"When could you not?"
He was right. When it came down to it, my brother always had my back. So, I followed his advice. I dressed really nice for school the next day. I did my hair and wore lip gloss. I actually looked like a tom boy turned cute. When that boy walked up and said "F. U." in front of everyone, I said what my brother taught me.
"I know you want to, but you never ever will." I put my hand on my hip and stuck it out like Sandy at the end of Grease. "And when I grow up, you'll be a yucky guy. Then you'll wish you could."
"F. U.?" he said again, weakly. All the kids laughed AT HIM this time. Then after a moment all the rage in the world came out. "I'd never want to do that . . . ever! Who wants to be with a freak anyway."
I barked his shin when the words left his mouth.
As the teacher pulled me from the classroom and toward the principal's office, she asked, "What possessed you to do that?"
I stared at her. All those days I'd gotten made fun of and she never stood up for me, yet I was going to the office?
"Well, answer me! Who taught you how to do that?"
I'd never tell her it was my brother--never. My lips sealed shut. My soul became a tomb. They could string me up in detention, pluck my hairs one by one. They could pull out my liver and sell it for school supplies--and STILL I'd never rat on my angel of a brother. He'd saved my life.
I turned back and saw all the kids watching me from the classroom.
"F. U. Boy" cried in the corner and somehow I knew he'd never bother me again.
"Eff Ewe?" I'd ask, seriously having no idea what he was saying.
"Ewe, like a sheep?" I asked, sheltered."What? No! You like you!"
"Ewe?"
"You! As in you are so stupid."
The whole class would laugh. This would happen every day, until I consulted the ultimate guru . . . my brother.
"What does F. U. mean?" I asked.
"F. stands for Fabulous."
"And U.?"
"That stands for you as in you. Fabulous You." He pointed to me, patted me on the shoulder and smiled. The guy tried walking away, but I wouldn't let him.
I grabbed his arm. "Well, if he's calling me, Fabulous You, why are all of the other kids laughing?"
He looked troubled and I knew he cared. "You want him to stop?"
"Yes," I said.
"Well, I'll tell you what to say, but you can't tell Mom. Like that time I taught you the word 'fugly.' You CAN NOT tell mom this time. Promise."
We made the ultimate pact; we even pinkie swore!
"When he says 'F. U.' I want you to say . . ." Then my brother made me memorize a comeback.
"What in the heck does that mean?" I asked after memorizing it.
"Nothing really, but it will get him to stop calling you . . . fabulous."
"He's not calling me 'fabulous' is he?"
My brother just stared.
"Are you sure I can trust you?"
"When could you not?"
He was right. When it came down to it, my brother always had my back. So, I followed his advice. I dressed really nice for school the next day. I did my hair and wore lip gloss. I actually looked like a tom boy turned cute. When that boy walked up and said "F. U." in front of everyone, I said what my brother taught me.
"I know you want to, but you never ever will." I put my hand on my hip and stuck it out like Sandy at the end of Grease. "And when I grow up, you'll be a yucky guy. Then you'll wish you could."
"F. U.?" he said again, weakly. All the kids laughed AT HIM this time. Then after a moment all the rage in the world came out. "I'd never want to do that . . . ever! Who wants to be with a freak anyway."
I barked his shin when the words left his mouth.
As the teacher pulled me from the classroom and toward the principal's office, she asked, "What possessed you to do that?"
I stared at her. All those days I'd gotten made fun of and she never stood up for me, yet I was going to the office?
"Well, answer me! Who taught you how to do that?"
I'd never tell her it was my brother--never. My lips sealed shut. My soul became a tomb. They could string me up in detention, pluck my hairs one by one. They could pull out my liver and sell it for school supplies--and STILL I'd never rat on my angel of a brother. He'd saved my life.
I turned back and saw all the kids watching me from the classroom.
"F. U. Boy" cried in the corner and somehow I knew he'd never bother me again.
January 3, 2014
What will you do, just to make friends?
I wanted to be their friends. Things have been like this for as long as I can remember. The two women and a lady I call "the Snoot" laughed and talked. They looked so happy except when they looked at me. I stood next to the car and tried talking to those three ladies. But things never go how I hope. After all, those women are boot wearers. They look super fancy all the time with perfect hair and nails. They know how to layer their eye shadow--an art I can only dream of. Anyway, I smiled and waved. Even their body language showed how much they dislike me. "This should be a fabulous year," one woman said, putting her back to me. I guess that's when my feelings really got hurt. I refused to give up though, and I thought of how I could make it into their click. I'd just read this story in Guideposts: Choosing Words to Live By
There are a few amazing blog posts about it, too, and all of them really spoke to me. It's about picking a special word for the year, one word to live by. I turned to those women as they quieted down. "I'm excited for this year, too," I said. "Oh . . . how nice," one lady said. "And I just led a safari in Africa," the Snoot's eyes practically bragged! "Anyway, I read a story about how you can pick a special word to live by." They finally turned to me. I cleared my throat as if a spotlight shone on my face and I talked into a microphone. "If you could pick one special word to live by for this year, what would it be?" The first woman stood poised. "I'd pick the word makeup. This year I've vowed to look my best. I won't be this young forever and I want to make the most of it and shine while I can."
"But there are other words. Comfort. Kindness. Hope."
"No," she said. "I'd just prefer makeup more than anything." O-kay. I hadn't heard of anyone picking that word yet. The other woman nodded. "That's a good one. I would pick money. The one thing that will get me joy this year is making more money and saving it so I can get a big house." I cleared my throat.
"My word," the Snoot said with her nose in the air. "My word would be motherhood because that's what I emulate every day of my life. Some people wish they could be more like me, but instead they spend too much time working out, or making money. They even spend too much time trying to make friends with people who are better than them. This year I want to be the best mother ever. Because I know that's what I really am inside." Her words were so condescending--so RUDE! Instead of thinking how much I want to be like them, I kept wondering, how do I always meet such weirdos! "And you, what's your name again?" Max Factor asked. "Elisa." "Elisa, what word . . . would someone like you pick?" I thought of last year. Then, I thought about how much I've changed and how proud I am of that. "Well, you picked makeup," I pointed. "You picked money . . . and you picked motherhood." I closed my eyes, nodded and laughed. "The word I'm going with. Well, I guess my word for this moment and this year would have to be bullshit!" You should have seen their faces. I smiled at them before walking away. I sat in my van, pulled out a paper and wrote. It was a symbolic piece, something to share another time. But for today, I thought I'd share my word of the year with you. I would have picked JOY, but something else slid into it's place for a second. It was probably terrible what I did, but the fact remains, I'm tired of them putting me (and others) down, 'cause they think they're better and that's just a bunch of bull.
January 2, 2014
Love Sucks a Big, Hairy Eyeball
This morning I received a scathing email from one of my readers, upset that I WAS (did you catch the tense) dating a married man. Yes, I'm still in love with him. Does that make me a terrible person? Maybe. But the list goes on . . . and apparently I'm here to be transparently honest--to the point of full-on confession! So--happy freakin' New Year, people--since someone already cast the first stone, how about I throw some for the team?
For the days when you'd just like to jump off a cliff.
Who is EC Stilson? (yep. that's still me.)
1. I've killed my own child.
2. I've said "yes" to a proposal and then taken off with the ring the next day.
3. I've been the "other woman."
4. I've lied.
5. I've cheated at cards.
6. Once I peed in a church.
7. Once I said "shit" in a church.
8. Once I farted and blamed it on the fat kid next to me (everyone believed the lie.) **This DID NOT happen in church.**
9. I killed a rabbit--and I would have shot a deer, but none showed up.
10. I got implants and . . . they weren't in my mouth. (Rachelle21 inspired that line--she's soooooo awesome!)
Wanna cast some more stones? Go ahead. How about we examine the list, shall we?
1. I've killed my own child.
Most of you already know this story, but here goes anyway.
He was on life support. It was the toughest decision of my life. So yeah, I was responsible for my own kid's death. And it was the kindest flippin' thing I could do. And sometimes I still get choked up about it because he meant the world to me--and I would have given my own life, to give him the ability to breathe as I watched him suffocate for time-on-end. And STILL people criticize this decision--like they could have done better.
2. I've said "yes" to a proposal and then taken off with the ring the next day.
It saved us some divorce fees! AND I mailed the ring back a while later. He probably even made interest on it!
3. I've been the other woman.
I fell in love with someone else going through a divorce, so sue me. And it was romantic and exciting . . . until I found out his divorce wasn't going through. Then I nearly died because I'd just gone through so much to feel betrayed and lied to . . . again.
THEN when things went sour, I didn't want to be one of those desperate girls who texts someone constantly, so I took out my OWN cell phone battery, went to the post office and mailed the stupid thing TO MYSELF. I. Am. Such. An. Idiot. AND I miss my phone. The battery was supposed to arrive today, but I think it's lost in Bermuda. Or maybe it went where all the lost trinkets and socks go? So now I have a broken heart and I don't even know what time it is--or what precise time my heart fully broke at--who uses a watch when they have a cell anyway!
And all I want to do is curl into a ball and cry on my un-vacuumed carpet (why doesn't it just vacuum itself--I'm at the end of my rope!) as I try forgetting the rude emails I got today about the sin of "dating a married man."
Okay--I suck. Thank you!
4. I've lied.
A lot, but not on this blog. NEVER on this blog. *winks
5. I've cheated at cards.
Suckers! Wait, then why did I still end up losing . . . *facepalm
6. Once I peed in a church.
Have you heard they even have bathrooms in Heaven?
7. Once I said "shit" in a church.
And then Jesus laughed. And a chorus of angels sang as another angel got her wings . . . and they were brown like goose feathers or . . . .
8. Once I farted and blamed it on the fat kid next to me (everyone believed the lie.)
Wait. . . . There's no coming back from this one. Maybe I should friend him on Facebook and send him a giftcard? Would that atone for the sin? The card will be from Starbucks and everything!
9. I killed a rabbit--and I would have shot a deer, but none showed up.
That rabbit will be waiting for me--with a baseball bat--at Heaven's gates. And the rabbit shalt be ten feet tall. And it shalt smite me with its laser vision. (Ya know, like on X-Men.) And then I wilt know the vengeance of bunnies EVERYWHERE. Bwa-ha-ha.
Ummm. . . .
Sorry I got a bit carried away on this one. . . .
10. (The REAL #10) I left a good friend when he needed me most.
I was scared for my life. And yet, I will never, ever forgive myself. We all carry our burdens. Now you know my biggest ones.
So if anyone else would like to kick me while I'm down, go for it. Kick. Kick. Don't it feel good? . . . Said no one who's currently being kicked. I know I don't always make the best choices. And the worst sins are those that hurt others (yep, I got a few of those). Plus, my stupid excuses won't cover my sins. I guess that's what Jesus died for. Maybe it's time for me to pray and buy that one kid a giftcard--just for old time's sake.
Signing off,
The Biggest Sinner on Earth--for the fifth consecutive year in a row--Elisa
For the days when you'd just like to jump off a cliff.Who is EC Stilson? (yep. that's still me.)
1. I've killed my own child.
2. I've said "yes" to a proposal and then taken off with the ring the next day.
3. I've been the "other woman."
4. I've lied.
5. I've cheated at cards.
6. Once I peed in a church.
7. Once I said "shit" in a church.
8. Once I farted and blamed it on the fat kid next to me (everyone believed the lie.) **This DID NOT happen in church.**
9. I killed a rabbit--and I would have shot a deer, but none showed up.
10. I got implants and . . . they weren't in my mouth. (Rachelle21 inspired that line--she's soooooo awesome!)
Wanna cast some more stones? Go ahead. How about we examine the list, shall we?
1. I've killed my own child.
Most of you already know this story, but here goes anyway.
He was on life support. It was the toughest decision of my life. So yeah, I was responsible for my own kid's death. And it was the kindest flippin' thing I could do. And sometimes I still get choked up about it because he meant the world to me--and I would have given my own life, to give him the ability to breathe as I watched him suffocate for time-on-end. And STILL people criticize this decision--like they could have done better.
2. I've said "yes" to a proposal and then taken off with the ring the next day.
It saved us some divorce fees! AND I mailed the ring back a while later. He probably even made interest on it!
3. I've been the other woman.
I fell in love with someone else going through a divorce, so sue me. And it was romantic and exciting . . . until I found out his divorce wasn't going through. Then I nearly died because I'd just gone through so much to feel betrayed and lied to . . . again.
THEN when things went sour, I didn't want to be one of those desperate girls who texts someone constantly, so I took out my OWN cell phone battery, went to the post office and mailed the stupid thing TO MYSELF. I. Am. Such. An. Idiot. AND I miss my phone. The battery was supposed to arrive today, but I think it's lost in Bermuda. Or maybe it went where all the lost trinkets and socks go? So now I have a broken heart and I don't even know what time it is--or what precise time my heart fully broke at--who uses a watch when they have a cell anyway!
And all I want to do is curl into a ball and cry on my un-vacuumed carpet (why doesn't it just vacuum itself--I'm at the end of my rope!) as I try forgetting the rude emails I got today about the sin of "dating a married man."
Okay--I suck. Thank you!
4. I've lied.
A lot, but not on this blog. NEVER on this blog. *winks
5. I've cheated at cards.
Suckers! Wait, then why did I still end up losing . . . *facepalm
6. Once I peed in a church.
Have you heard they even have bathrooms in Heaven?
7. Once I said "shit" in a church.
And then Jesus laughed. And a chorus of angels sang as another angel got her wings . . . and they were brown like goose feathers or . . . .
8. Once I farted and blamed it on the fat kid next to me (everyone believed the lie.)
Wait. . . . There's no coming back from this one. Maybe I should friend him on Facebook and send him a giftcard? Would that atone for the sin? The card will be from Starbucks and everything!
9. I killed a rabbit--and I would have shot a deer, but none showed up.
That rabbit will be waiting for me--with a baseball bat--at Heaven's gates. And the rabbit shalt be ten feet tall. And it shalt smite me with its laser vision. (Ya know, like on X-Men.) And then I wilt know the vengeance of bunnies EVERYWHERE. Bwa-ha-ha.
Ummm. . . .
Sorry I got a bit carried away on this one. . . .
10. (The REAL #10) I left a good friend when he needed me most.
I was scared for my life. And yet, I will never, ever forgive myself. We all carry our burdens. Now you know my biggest ones.
So if anyone else would like to kick me while I'm down, go for it. Kick. Kick. Don't it feel good? . . . Said no one who's currently being kicked. I know I don't always make the best choices. And the worst sins are those that hurt others (yep, I got a few of those). Plus, my stupid excuses won't cover my sins. I guess that's what Jesus died for. Maybe it's time for me to pray and buy that one kid a giftcard--just for old time's sake.
Signing off,
The Biggest Sinner on Earth--for the fifth consecutive year in a row--Elisa
January 1, 2014
From triumph to failure--honestly
This has been the hardest year of my life (only coming in second to the year Zeke died). But what's funny is that looking back, it's actually been quite amazing as well.
The Triumphs In January 2013, my 6th book, "How to Avoid Having Sex," was released.
Amazon.com Widgets
Over the following three months I was interviewed on radio stations across the US ranging anywhere from Florida to California--even being interviewed by the famous host and author Patrick Walters.
Three of my books were turned into audiobooks!
During the summer of 2013: My name/bio was added to wikipedia (see that HERE )! Two dear blogging friends flew out to see me. I was also interviewed on a large local television program (watch that interview HERE). Wayman Publishing grew more than we'd imagined--and I thanked God for everything! But then my life changed... The Failures In August 2013 it became very apparent that I needed to get divorced.That same month I had to stay in a women's shelter. There weren't enough beds for myself and the children, so I slept on the floor.The experience--AND THE PEOPLE STAYING THERE--were . . . life-changing. In September, I had left the shelter and started interviewing for work like crazy.Despite my twig-like size, I ended up getting a job as a security guard of all things.
In October, I got implants. Yes, I'm flippin' honest![image error] In November, I fell completely head-over-heels in love with someone else going through a divorce.The day before Thanksgiving, my divorce became official. While the man I love . . . is still married. In December Wayman Publishing went out of business. But was able to finish one last project: Amazon.com Widgets And even though this might sound like a breeze to some people, I still cry sometimes. When I'm working, I miss being with my kids. I miss the comfort that comes from being married to someone who knows EVERYTHING about me as I know EVERYTHING about him.And it really isn't as easy as I'd hoped. But I have something awesome to tell you: I've learned so much from these hard times. The women's shelter taught me once again to have compassion for those in need. Those women did everything they could to make me and my four children feel at peace. The women there faced such horrific struggles: Some had just come in off the street. Others were escaping scary relationships. And yet we worked together, to make things easier for each other. I've never known such a sisterhood, made completely from strangers who felt like family.
Working as a security guard taught me the joy of making new friends. My co-workers at that job make life shine for everyone around them. They selflessly listened to my stupid problems, rarely passing judgement and always saying things that brought a smile to my face. Falling in love again taught me that although I'm thirty, I'm not really that old. Life can still be exciting and fun--if we decide for it to be that way especially for ourselves (and in my case my children).So honestly, this year has sucked. But in retrospect, it's also been one of the most amazing years of my life. I've grown tremendously. We all make mistakes. We ALL have struggles. Life is about living and learning--and that's what 2013 really embodies for me.I know I'll keep making mistakes. But as long as I stay strong for my kids and keep learning through all of this, I figure it'll all be okay. Signing off,
Elisa
(Like my blog's name implies, this really is the crazy life of a writing mom!)
The Triumphs In January 2013, my 6th book, "How to Avoid Having Sex," was released.
Amazon.com Widgets
Over the following three months I was interviewed on radio stations across the US ranging anywhere from Florida to California--even being interviewed by the famous host and author Patrick Walters.
Three of my books were turned into audiobooks!
During the summer of 2013: My name/bio was added to wikipedia (see that HERE )! Two dear blogging friends flew out to see me. I was also interviewed on a large local television program (watch that interview HERE). Wayman Publishing grew more than we'd imagined--and I thanked God for everything! But then my life changed... The Failures In August 2013 it became very apparent that I needed to get divorced.That same month I had to stay in a women's shelter. There weren't enough beds for myself and the children, so I slept on the floor.The experience--AND THE PEOPLE STAYING THERE--were . . . life-changing. In September, I had left the shelter and started interviewing for work like crazy.Despite my twig-like size, I ended up getting a job as a security guard of all things.
In October, I got implants. Yes, I'm flippin' honest![image error] In November, I fell completely head-over-heels in love with someone else going through a divorce.The day before Thanksgiving, my divorce became official. While the man I love . . . is still married. In December Wayman Publishing went out of business. But was able to finish one last project: Amazon.com Widgets And even though this might sound like a breeze to some people, I still cry sometimes. When I'm working, I miss being with my kids. I miss the comfort that comes from being married to someone who knows EVERYTHING about me as I know EVERYTHING about him.And it really isn't as easy as I'd hoped. But I have something awesome to tell you: I've learned so much from these hard times. The women's shelter taught me once again to have compassion for those in need. Those women did everything they could to make me and my four children feel at peace. The women there faced such horrific struggles: Some had just come in off the street. Others were escaping scary relationships. And yet we worked together, to make things easier for each other. I've never known such a sisterhood, made completely from strangers who felt like family.Working as a security guard taught me the joy of making new friends. My co-workers at that job make life shine for everyone around them. They selflessly listened to my stupid problems, rarely passing judgement and always saying things that brought a smile to my face. Falling in love again taught me that although I'm thirty, I'm not really that old. Life can still be exciting and fun--if we decide for it to be that way especially for ourselves (and in my case my children).So honestly, this year has sucked. But in retrospect, it's also been one of the most amazing years of my life. I've grown tremendously. We all make mistakes. We ALL have struggles. Life is about living and learning--and that's what 2013 really embodies for me.I know I'll keep making mistakes. But as long as I stay strong for my kids and keep learning through all of this, I figure it'll all be okay. Signing off,
Elisa
(Like my blog's name implies, this really is the crazy life of a writing mom!)
December 29, 2013
Bobby the Red-nosed Reindeer--the "real" story!
You have Dasher, Dancer, Donner, and . . . Bobby! The most famous reindeer of them all!
December 24, 2013
A Miraculous Angel Named Mr. Miyagi
A Miraculous AngelThe computer tech reminded me of a young version of Mr. Miyagi, wise and reassuring. At the quaint computer store, Miyagi Jr. quietly accessed my laptop and said he could fix it immediately and be done within a half hour. So I waited and before realizing what happened, that man gave my four kids candy--we joked and laughed about life--my mood AND the mood of the store changed, becoming brighter. When it came time to pay, he wouldn't let me. "This is on me," he said. "You have to let me pay," I said. "Look at all the work you've done." He eyed me thoughtfully, stroking his long goatee. I thought he might see straight through me. Maybe he'd understand that something rested beyond my joking and laughter. Zeke's birthday was fast approaching and I didn't want to feel the ache that day always brings since my son passed away. Miyagi Jr. nodded and said, "There's a pizza place around the corner. A man always works there at this time. If you'd really like to thank me, go order a pizza and visit with the man who's working there. Visit with him just like you visited with me." Visit with the man? It sounded strange. What could he possibly mean? It was my turn to study him. "All right," I finally said, then grabbed my youngest kids' hands and stepped toward the door. Just as the bell rang above the exit and I walked outside, I heard another tech ask Mr. Miyagi, "Are you sure you should send her over there? You know what happens when some people go there when he's workin--" The door shut and I didn't hear another word. "Mama, where are we going now?" my four-year-old son asked as I buckled him in his seat. I inhaled a big breath. "Well, that nice man wouldn't let me pay. So we're going to buy him a pizza." The pizza place was tucked back at the edge of a dilapidated parking lot. People swarmed to other businesses around, but no one went to the forlorn restaurant. "You stay in the car. Keep an eye on the babies," I told my oldest daughters. "Mom, are you sure you should go? This whole thing sounds weird," my second-oldest daughter said. "I'm just getting a pizza. The computer tech needs to get something for all of his hard work." I turned music on for the kids, stepped from the car and locked the black doors. The pizza place didn't have tables, chairs or benches. But the spotless counter gave me a good impression. As the smell of fresh breadsticks wafted toward me, my insides warmed with childhood memories. I stepped forward and rang the metal bell. "Hello?" I said. "Hello?" Someone moved in the shadows at the far end of the kitchen. A man lumbered forward. At first I couldn't see his face because he'd turned it down and away. "Those breadsticks smell amazing!" I said. Then he fully turned toward me and I gasped. The left side of his face was so handsome. He had a striking brown eye and perfectly dark skin. But the other side of his face drooped and bulged. The forehead on his right side stretched a fist taller than the rest of his face. His right eye couldn't open, nestled below his nose. Click the picture for more information about how to help people with this condition.
"What do you want?" he mumbled. I nearly cried, feeling so badly for gasping seconds before. I blinked hard, collecting myself, and instantly donned a smile. "How are you today?" I asked brightly. "I'm . . . all right," he said, turning so I only saw his profile. "And you?" "I'm having a fantastic day. I went to that computer repair place over there. They fixed my computer for free. So I'd like to order a large peperoni pizza for them." His curious eye darted toward mine. "They've been very good to me as well." His words came out slowly and cautiously. I wanted to make an impact, then. But how? I could have told him that my first son had birth defects. Explain how Zeke had a cleft lip and palate. My stomach knotted, remembering how I'd wanted Zeke to be born perfect, live a good life, and die long after I did. I looked at the pizza man and wondered for the millionth time, why do birth defects exist? But instead of talking about Zeke, Miyagi Jr.'s words drifted into my mind. Visit with him just like you visited with me. So I shot the bull with him as he made the pizza. I told jokes about how I worked at a pizza place once. "When I was on the clock, they were always running out of pineapple," I said. "It's my weakness, really." "I know what you mean," he mumbled, then laughed. "I always eat the pineapple too. It's a good weakness though.""Agreed." When he finished the peperoni-extra-cheese, he came over to the counter. "Don't worry about bringing this to them. I'll bring it for you and tell them an angel bought them lunch." I've been a lot of things, but I've never been someone's angel. As I gazed into the man's eye, I thought of how hard I try doing everything right--so I can see my son in Heaven. But I never feel good enough. Tears welled in my eyes and I couldn't look away from the man. No. I wasn't an angel, he was--smiling and laughing despite his lot in life. It could take years to learn what that man had suddenly taught me about gratitude. I lingered because so much kindness shone from his deep, dark eye. "Thank you. You have yourself a wonderful day," I said, turning to leave. Just as I pushed the door open, he stopped me. "Wait," he said, and I turned. "Thanks for coming in here today. It's a cruel world out there, but people like you make it a better place." I held the door open for a minute longer. "Not people like me," I said. "Wonderful people like you." I smiled one last time. "Hey, enjoy the pineapple, it is the best part of working at a pizza place." "I will," he promised and I left the store. As I drove home, clouds grayed the sky overhead. The sun shone brightly in the east, shedding light even through the storm. I told my kids the story. "I don't know who was more of an angel, the pizza man or Miyagi Jr." "Mom, you haven't said a word about the guy's face. I saw him through the window. Didn't you notice something was really wrong with him?" There hadn't been a reason to mention his physical defects. "He was born with problems like Zeke was. But just like Zeke, he was beautiful inside. It makes me wonder though. . . . Why do you think the computer tech sent me to the pizza place?" I asked my oldest daughter. "Maybe he realized you treat everyone with the same kindness no matter what. That says a lot about you, Mom." "No," I sniffled. "It says a lot about him." I pulled off and parked on the side of the road after that. I got out and looked into the storming sky. I thought about my book The G olden Sky --the book about how God and Zeke changed my perception--how sometimes beauty comes right after the storms of life.
As I gazed at the widening clouds, a raindrop fell on my nose and somehow I felt like Zeke was looking down on me, beaming.
-Elisa
December 23, 2013
Do you ever doubt what you believe?
The mud bubbled and boiled, popping into the crisp morning air. A voice boomed high above, unintelligible to anyone except the forces of nature.
The mud boiled further, until becoming a cacophony of snaps and cracks. To anyone watching, it may have seemed at times that the mud actually took shape, slowly coming together and then apart, ebbing and flowing as if breathing on its own.
As the mud came together one last time, God sighed. So this was the beginning of humanity. This little puddle of mud would be the beginning of wars, heartache, death, and famine.
He could end it now. Forget the story of creation, and quash the creature being formed in the mud. . . . Awe, but God knew there was a point to everything. Despite the future generations who might blame God for all of their own trials, He knew that through pain comes joy. Through loss . . . understanding. So he breathed onto the mud (and it was a minty breath--because let's face it, God invented spearmint before Wrigley's was even in business!)
At this point, an actually man stood from the mud pot, some darkened clay mixture slicking off his tanned body. "Adam. Son," God, said to the man. And He smiled, seeing all that He had made and knowing that it was "Good."
Inspired by Genesis 1:31. And the fact that I LOVE spearmint!
God saw all that He had made, and it was very good.
I don't feel very "good" lately. In fact I feel like the biggest sinner on earth.
I joined a Christian band, but I told them I'll only stay for practice. I don't want to get up on stage where people can see me play the violin.
The leader is kick a**--see I'm not as straight-laced as I should be. Let me take that back; she's very cool. She said that just 'cause I feel like a sinner, that doesn't make everyone else exempt. And that everyone else might be better at hiding their sins, but for me, I'm as transparent as cellophane. Pretty hilarious because it's true.
It's not that I'm the worst person. It's just that sometimes I don't know what I believe anymore. And I get confused because I may be making the "wrong" choice, but it feels "right."
Granted, I've been through some horrific things lately. And the one solid thing I know is that I love God. I'm not sure where life will go. I can look back and feel amazed that I've made it through some of the hard things that I have... Maybe I just need to remember this romantic notion (since it's getting me through):
If God knows the past, the present, and the future, that means He knew what humanity would be like...even down to little ol' me. And if He thought His creation was "good" even knowing all the crappy things we would do, maybe I'm not so bad off after all.
So, I still won't fiddle up on stage in front of everyone--because I've never been excited about hypocrisy--but I was wondering, do you ever feel like this? Do you ever make "wrong" choices that feel right? Do you ever doubt what you were raised to believe--and then feel like your disbelief is sinful?
Signing off,
A Violinist Who May Be A Little Too Honest?
The mud boiled further, until becoming a cacophony of snaps and cracks. To anyone watching, it may have seemed at times that the mud actually took shape, slowly coming together and then apart, ebbing and flowing as if breathing on its own.
As the mud came together one last time, God sighed. So this was the beginning of humanity. This little puddle of mud would be the beginning of wars, heartache, death, and famine.
He could end it now. Forget the story of creation, and quash the creature being formed in the mud. . . . Awe, but God knew there was a point to everything. Despite the future generations who might blame God for all of their own trials, He knew that through pain comes joy. Through loss . . . understanding. So he breathed onto the mud (and it was a minty breath--because let's face it, God invented spearmint before Wrigley's was even in business!)
At this point, an actually man stood from the mud pot, some darkened clay mixture slicking off his tanned body. "Adam. Son," God, said to the man. And He smiled, seeing all that He had made and knowing that it was "Good."
Inspired by Genesis 1:31. And the fact that I LOVE spearmint!
God saw all that He had made, and it was very good.
I don't feel very "good" lately. In fact I feel like the biggest sinner on earth.
I joined a Christian band, but I told them I'll only stay for practice. I don't want to get up on stage where people can see me play the violin.
The leader is kick a**--see I'm not as straight-laced as I should be. Let me take that back; she's very cool. She said that just 'cause I feel like a sinner, that doesn't make everyone else exempt. And that everyone else might be better at hiding their sins, but for me, I'm as transparent as cellophane. Pretty hilarious because it's true.
It's not that I'm the worst person. It's just that sometimes I don't know what I believe anymore. And I get confused because I may be making the "wrong" choice, but it feels "right."
Granted, I've been through some horrific things lately. And the one solid thing I know is that I love God. I'm not sure where life will go. I can look back and feel amazed that I've made it through some of the hard things that I have... Maybe I just need to remember this romantic notion (since it's getting me through):
If God knows the past, the present, and the future, that means He knew what humanity would be like...even down to little ol' me. And if He thought His creation was "good" even knowing all the crappy things we would do, maybe I'm not so bad off after all.
So, I still won't fiddle up on stage in front of everyone--because I've never been excited about hypocrisy--but I was wondering, do you ever feel like this? Do you ever make "wrong" choices that feel right? Do you ever doubt what you were raised to believe--and then feel like your disbelief is sinful?
Signing off,
A Violinist Who May Be A Little Too Honest?
December 22, 2013
When life gives you lemons, grab some vodka
I'm not gonna sit here and lie; sometimes life sucks. Like the fact that the hot water no longer works in my shower. Every time I get in there, I turn to ice. And I'm not sure if I get completely clean because two seconds after washing my hair, I feel like I have hypothermia, and I have to hover over my bedroom vent just so my fingers and toes thaw evenly and don't fall off! And forget how long it takes pouring a "warm" bath for the kids in that bathroom. I end up boiling water and dumping it into the tub repeatedly, just like Little House on the freakin' Prairie!
...Or the fact that my van's left window doesn't work anymore. (That makes visiting the drive-thru a real dream!) Or how I have to disconnect and reconnect the van's battery every time I turn the thing off. Or how it sounds like a commercial airplane getting ready to take flight. . . . I'm sure whenever I start my van, the neighbors two streets over yell, "That single mother with the bad hair must be heading out to work again!"
But lately what bothers me isn't the shower, the van, my hair, or even the fact that terrible rumors have spread about my life now that I'm divorced. No, what really chaps my a** is the fact that someone keeps toilet papering my house. This shouldn't be a big deal. None of this should be. I could live in a country without running water--and I'm damn lucky to have a vehicle! Hell, one of these days my fingers COULD fall off--but they haven't yet! And I have family who loves me--AWESOME kids--and I'm not bald.
But still, last week, after I dropped off my four children to Cade for the weekend, I pulled into my driveway only to see A MILLION YARDS of toilet paper covering my roof. That's when I cried.
I got out of my van, sat on the cold concrete and wondered how people can be so cruel. Was this someone who knows me? Or just some teenagers who picked my house randomly? It didn't matter--what hit me was that I'm exhausted and now I had to clean up another mess. As I hugged my knees, loudly bawling in my driveway, I didn't care who saw me. I wasn't trying to please the neighborhood, pretending to be the "Single Mom of the Year"!
After mascara had smeared all over my face, and several concerned citizens had rubber-necked as they drove past, I thought that instead of causing a traffic accident, I should pull myself together. I remembered that saying about turning lemons into lemonade. That whole saying is so overused AND I'm allergic to lemons, but as I sat pathetically rocking on the concrete, a fantastic idea dawned on me. After all, the toilet paper was two-ply!
So, before climbing out the bedroom window leading to the roof, I put on cute clothes, cleaned up my face and did my makeup. (Sometimes even lipstick can make life better right now.)
Then I climbed up on my roof and started wrapping that Charmin Ultra-soft (yes, I'm a TP expert) around my left hand. I wound and wound until my hand and arm looked like the Michelin Man!
A car honked and two teenagers pointed and giggled. I waved with TP streaming from my arm. Whatever they thought--to me, it WAS hilarious! After that, I exchanged pleasantries with a lady walking her dog. Did she realize how much her small, kind greeting lightened my load that day? And when I told her what I was doing, her eyes brimmed with tears. "Good for you," she said. "You're turning lemons into lemonade! You're gonna make it, honey. Just keep on movin' forward."
I'd suddenly regained my cheery perspective. Who cared about the stupid shower of doom, the van's broken window and its jacked-up battery? Who even cared about my hair--wait, that IS an issue. But anyway, someone had given me toilet paper, for free.
Maybe God knows how hard-up I've been this holiday season. This was like that time in the Bible when manna fell from Heaven; all those ungrateful sinners followed Moses and God still fed them. I can see Him now, wearing a toga--'cause that's what God wears. I bet he was just chillin' on a cloud, throwing manna over the side, waiting for it to fall like big hail-balls from Heaven. Wouldn't that make a great country song! Hail Balls From Heaven.
Yep, God provided again--and this time it was TP, probably donated by some pimple-ridden teenager!
After I'd gathered all of the two-ply goodness, I made myself a steaming cup of peppermint coffee, took a bath, and then I used that toilet paper to wipe my own a**! And I thought to myself, When those people TP'd my house, did they have any idea how positive I can be? Betcha they didn't--and now the joke's on them!
It'll take more than that to get this single mother down. WHA-BAM.
So the next time life gives you lemons--or someone TP's your house--remember, it's not always about the crap that happens. It's how we respond that makes the difference.
...Or the fact that my van's left window doesn't work anymore. (That makes visiting the drive-thru a real dream!) Or how I have to disconnect and reconnect the van's battery every time I turn the thing off. Or how it sounds like a commercial airplane getting ready to take flight. . . . I'm sure whenever I start my van, the neighbors two streets over yell, "That single mother with the bad hair must be heading out to work again!"
But lately what bothers me isn't the shower, the van, my hair, or even the fact that terrible rumors have spread about my life now that I'm divorced. No, what really chaps my a** is the fact that someone keeps toilet papering my house. This shouldn't be a big deal. None of this should be. I could live in a country without running water--and I'm damn lucky to have a vehicle! Hell, one of these days my fingers COULD fall off--but they haven't yet! And I have family who loves me--AWESOME kids--and I'm not bald.
But still, last week, after I dropped off my four children to Cade for the weekend, I pulled into my driveway only to see A MILLION YARDS of toilet paper covering my roof. That's when I cried.
I got out of my van, sat on the cold concrete and wondered how people can be so cruel. Was this someone who knows me? Or just some teenagers who picked my house randomly? It didn't matter--what hit me was that I'm exhausted and now I had to clean up another mess. As I hugged my knees, loudly bawling in my driveway, I didn't care who saw me. I wasn't trying to please the neighborhood, pretending to be the "Single Mom of the Year"!
After mascara had smeared all over my face, and several concerned citizens had rubber-necked as they drove past, I thought that instead of causing a traffic accident, I should pull myself together. I remembered that saying about turning lemons into lemonade. That whole saying is so overused AND I'm allergic to lemons, but as I sat pathetically rocking on the concrete, a fantastic idea dawned on me. After all, the toilet paper was two-ply!
So, before climbing out the bedroom window leading to the roof, I put on cute clothes, cleaned up my face and did my makeup. (Sometimes even lipstick can make life better right now.)
Then I climbed up on my roof and started wrapping that Charmin Ultra-soft (yes, I'm a TP expert) around my left hand. I wound and wound until my hand and arm looked like the Michelin Man!
A car honked and two teenagers pointed and giggled. I waved with TP streaming from my arm. Whatever they thought--to me, it WAS hilarious! After that, I exchanged pleasantries with a lady walking her dog. Did she realize how much her small, kind greeting lightened my load that day? And when I told her what I was doing, her eyes brimmed with tears. "Good for you," she said. "You're turning lemons into lemonade! You're gonna make it, honey. Just keep on movin' forward."I'd suddenly regained my cheery perspective. Who cared about the stupid shower of doom, the van's broken window and its jacked-up battery? Who even cared about my hair--wait, that IS an issue. But anyway, someone had given me toilet paper, for free.
Maybe God knows how hard-up I've been this holiday season. This was like that time in the Bible when manna fell from Heaven; all those ungrateful sinners followed Moses and God still fed them. I can see Him now, wearing a toga--'cause that's what God wears. I bet he was just chillin' on a cloud, throwing manna over the side, waiting for it to fall like big hail-balls from Heaven. Wouldn't that make a great country song! Hail Balls From Heaven. Yep, God provided again--and this time it was TP, probably donated by some pimple-ridden teenager!
After I'd gathered all of the two-ply goodness, I made myself a steaming cup of peppermint coffee, took a bath, and then I used that toilet paper to wipe my own a**! And I thought to myself, When those people TP'd my house, did they have any idea how positive I can be? Betcha they didn't--and now the joke's on them!
It'll take more than that to get this single mother down. WHA-BAM.
So the next time life gives you lemons--or someone TP's your house--remember, it's not always about the crap that happens. It's how we respond that makes the difference.
December 19, 2013
Not your average cat.
Simkhaw wasn't your average cat...
Point #1
She had tom cats looking for her--from miles away.
Once they found her, she'd kick their butts and then romance them. Atta girl!
#2
She liked to play chicken with cars.
I watched on several different occasions as cars raced down the street. Simkhaw would saunter into the road, wait in the cars' paths, calmly knowing the vehicles would have to stop. And shockingly the cars always did! They'd slowly swerve around her. After they were long gone, Simkhaw would strut back to my side and bask in the sun. My heart would've been racing, 'til I knew she was okay! After getting over the shock, I'd just shake my head and continue drinking my coffee. That's how Simkhaw got things done!
#3
She understood English.
Cade told Simkhaw she couldn't come in and she gave him a full-on crusty face. (Cade should've known WE didn't own the house, SHE did!) Simkhaw walked away until she was a quarter of the way down the block. "Come back, ya stinker shit!" Cade had said. Simkhaw's ears perked. She turned, and without ever looking at Cade, she went right up to the front door and gracefully stepped inside. Home, sweet home!
#4
She could kick a dog's ass!
Once--when Simkhaw was over ninety years old in cat years--she lounged on the stairs, looking quite weak and lethargic.
Simkhaw (at the human age of seventeen) Suddenly my huge white husky jumped from around the corner!
Me (still in my PJ's sorry) and Luna (when we still owned her)
I panicked, thinking Simkhaw might die. But instead of lying there like a wimp, Simkhaw jumped right onto Luna's back and stayed there rodeo-style for the longest time, as Luna bucked around the house!
#5 She'd mastered the art of deception. Simkhaw got very ill in her 18th year. I brought her to a vet who peered down at her sadly. "Yes, she's ready to go. Look how weak she is." He lifted up her limp front paw. "All right, Janice. I won't need help with this one," he yelled back to his assistant. "I'll be back, Ms. Hirsch," he said to me, "we just need to take some blood so you'll know, without a doubt, that you're making the right choice." That gem of a doctor--that vet, who apparently couldn't read animals very well--decided to take Simkhaw into the back room ALONE. I think the whole state of Utah heard him scream as Simkhaw clawed him over and over. About fifteen minutes later, the vet limped back into the room. (Well, maybe not completely limping, but pretty close!) Scratches lined his arms and even face! "She's pretty . . . spry . . . for being eighteen years old. It took all six of us to finally get her under control."
So this is my tribute to Simkhaw. She's now buried under her favorite tree in my backyard. I've had her since I was twelve years old; now I'm thirty! I'm gonna miss that character--she taught me a lot about life. I love you, Sim. I hope you'll keep Zeke company in Heaven.
If you don't know who Zeke is, and would like to, please visit this link: Today, my son would have been 11
Point #1
She had tom cats looking for her--from miles away.
Once they found her, she'd kick their butts and then romance them. Atta girl!
#2
She liked to play chicken with cars.
I watched on several different occasions as cars raced down the street. Simkhaw would saunter into the road, wait in the cars' paths, calmly knowing the vehicles would have to stop. And shockingly the cars always did! They'd slowly swerve around her. After they were long gone, Simkhaw would strut back to my side and bask in the sun. My heart would've been racing, 'til I knew she was okay! After getting over the shock, I'd just shake my head and continue drinking my coffee. That's how Simkhaw got things done!
#3
She understood English.
Cade told Simkhaw she couldn't come in and she gave him a full-on crusty face. (Cade should've known WE didn't own the house, SHE did!) Simkhaw walked away until she was a quarter of the way down the block. "Come back, ya stinker shit!" Cade had said. Simkhaw's ears perked. She turned, and without ever looking at Cade, she went right up to the front door and gracefully stepped inside. Home, sweet home!
#4
She could kick a dog's ass!
Once--when Simkhaw was over ninety years old in cat years--she lounged on the stairs, looking quite weak and lethargic.
Simkhaw (at the human age of seventeen) Suddenly my huge white husky jumped from around the corner!
Me (still in my PJ's sorry) and Luna (when we still owned her) I panicked, thinking Simkhaw might die. But instead of lying there like a wimp, Simkhaw jumped right onto Luna's back and stayed there rodeo-style for the longest time, as Luna bucked around the house!
#5 She'd mastered the art of deception. Simkhaw got very ill in her 18th year. I brought her to a vet who peered down at her sadly. "Yes, she's ready to go. Look how weak she is." He lifted up her limp front paw. "All right, Janice. I won't need help with this one," he yelled back to his assistant. "I'll be back, Ms. Hirsch," he said to me, "we just need to take some blood so you'll know, without a doubt, that you're making the right choice." That gem of a doctor--that vet, who apparently couldn't read animals very well--decided to take Simkhaw into the back room ALONE. I think the whole state of Utah heard him scream as Simkhaw clawed him over and over. About fifteen minutes later, the vet limped back into the room. (Well, maybe not completely limping, but pretty close!) Scratches lined his arms and even face! "She's pretty . . . spry . . . for being eighteen years old. It took all six of us to finally get her under control."
So this is my tribute to Simkhaw. She's now buried under her favorite tree in my backyard. I've had her since I was twelve years old; now I'm thirty! I'm gonna miss that character--she taught me a lot about life. I love you, Sim. I hope you'll keep Zeke company in Heaven.
If you don't know who Zeke is, and would like to, please visit this link: Today, my son would have been 11
