E.C. Stilson's Blog, page 71

I wrote a song about my divorce: Walk the Fire Alone

I may be the goofiest goofball, but I'm having a terribly hard time with my divorce.  So after thinking about a certain idea myself and then receiving timely advice from Dee Ready (Coming Home to Myself Blog) I decided to write a song about my divorce.  It's rough, but I hope you'll possibly like it.












Walk the Fire Alone



Lyrics ©2013 Elisa Morris




There's a storm and it's coming for me.
Will I be strong enough, and will it set me free?
Carry me, I can't make it on my own.
But you aren't here, so I'll walk the fire alone.

The wind's a rustlin' and the ground turns to fire.
Soon I feel, nothin' but desire.
The flames are creepin' closer to my feet.
But I will walk the fire alone.

Burn with desire...
as I walk my own way.
Burn with desire...
as the fire takes my pain away.

There's a storm and it's coming for me.
Will I be strong enough, and will it set me free?
Carry me, I can't make it on my own.
But you aren't here, so I'll walk the fire alone.

Burn with desire...
as I walk my own way.
Burn with desire...
as the fire takes my pain away.

There's a storm and it came for me.
I was strong enough, and it set me free.
Don't carry me, I can make it on my own.
You weren't there...
so I walked...
the fire alone...

Making Divorce Easier on Your Child(ren)

Experts say we should help our kids identify their true feelings--and that's fantastic.  But I say, we should help them have fun.  And like an awesome friend of mine said, we need to make new memories with them.

    Soooo...when we passed some sprinklers that were running on Main Street, I made my four kids get out and run through them with me!




  

We got soaked!

 

But they'll never forget it!






    
Then when we saw an abandoned shopping cart last night, we made this video.  I'm either the craziest mom, or the silliest.  But there's one thing that's certain: I LOVE these kids, and somehow we're going to make it through this divorce.



















P.S.One of my best friend's books was published today.  It's better than Percy Jackson--honestly.  If you're interested, click on this cover and go check out the awesome reviews.

I'm Going to be a Security Guard!

So, remember how I wrote about the bonsai tree on Monday? Read about that HERE . Well, on Tuesday, I posted this picture & text on my Facebook account:






After getting ready for an interview to be a
security guard...admit it, I look more like a could-be victim than
someone who would effectively protect lives and prevent crimes. THIS is
freakin' hilarious!
At least I'm laughing about life now.



Well, I went to the interview--it was the sixth (or seventh--who the hell is counting anyway!) interview I've had in the past two weeks.  And the whole time I kept thinking, there has to be SOME sort of sign when I find the perfect job.  Right then, I looked over and guess what I flippin' saw?!



Yep, a bonsai tree!




So I discretely took this picture--because let's face it, I'm a badass!

And guess who actually got the job!!!




You're reading a blog FROM A NEWLY HIRED SECURITY GUARD.  

I start next week and I can hardly wait!  Wish me luck.




(Maybe I will survive this divorce after all!)

I am now a bonsai tree

    Twelve years ago, an old gardener decided to plant two seedling bonsai trees in the same container. . . .








    At once, the two seedlings found one another, wrapping their leaves together, entwining until their very beings grew as one.  It was beautiful really, how the two became as a mangrove, even their roots wrapping together in places no one else could see.  

    The gardener perceiving their unified strength, gently transplanted them into some fertile soil outside.  At first they braved many storms, growing closer all the while.  But then as years passed, something changed.  It was subtle, maybe even so slow neither bonsai felt it at first . . . still, change they did.

    One bonsai grew stronger, slightly overpowering the other with sadness and anger.  The smaller bonsai tried to be strong, doing everything . . . anything.  But slowly, the smaller bonsai began losing strength.  And the bigger bonsai, unhappy in its own way, lost strength as well.

    The leaves browned.  Their bark no longer had a healthy feel.  They were dry . . . dying.

    And so, the old gardener, after watching their demise, decided to pull the two trees apart.  But he had to cut so much that by the time he'd untangled roots and branches, there was hardly anything left of either tree.

    He set them in separate containers, on opposite windowsills in his quaint little house.

    As the months passed, both trees grew.  The smaller bonsai, stretched and strained.  The larger bonsai, leaned toward the sun, reveling in the solitude.  And as summer came, both trees began to blossom.  And for the first time, both trees saw each other for what they were: The smaller bonsai had orange blossoms.  The larger bonsai had a thick trunk and reddish leaves.







   As the two bonsais felt each other across the room, they were no longer saddened, angry, or fearful, instead they saw the facts for what they were: they'd been two different breeds, and if you know anything about bonsais, it's that the only kinds that should be in the same container are those of the same breed.

And it all came crashing down...

Do you ever feel like your whole world is crashing down? Like
everything you believed in, hoped for, dreamed of, is suddenly gone?




It's all been taken away, by something I should have seen long ago. But I didn't want to see it.

So now where am I? Just in quicksand. That's all... Lost, and sinking.



Quicksand was terrifying at first because I struggled for years not wanting to go down deeper in the muck.

I'm not struggling now though. And I'm sinking slowly, slowly seeing it for what it is.



I always worried I'd die slow. I just
didn't know that the death I saw coming was the death of who I am.



So here I am sinking...quicksand. No one can really help though because it isn't a physical death I'm scared of. It's what comes after the quicksand.
I've dreamed of it many times. Hands reaching up from the River
Styx--except usually I'm in the boat as the undead beg me to pull them
out.




Not this time though; not after I've been in the quicksand.



This time I'm in the murky waters. Other dead souls are clamoring to
push me to the depths while they seek solace in the boat. I look at the
ferryman's glazed black eyes and watch as the poor living soul, who's
being ferried, tries ignoring all those reaching up to him. And as I
sink to the depths, I can't stop thinking, "That used to be me in the
boat. That used to be me..."





After 12 years of being married, Cade and I are getting divorced. I
won't go into details. I don't want you to think badly of either of us.
But it is something that needs to be done, and it's hard.

A Streaker in a Library: Memory Monday

Cade and I sneaked into a library where I used to work (reliving a moment from my book, Bible Girl & the Bad Boy ). 




 

 

Sorry I didn't post more about why I've been sad.  

I'm getting around to posting about it--I just haven't had the heart yet.

Memory Monday: Sand Jumping

My post is late today.  And honestly I'm really sad.  I'll tell you more about that tomorrow when I feel like sharing.  Right now I could cry--again.

    So, since I don't want to cry anymore, I'm going to post a video that makes me smile even when I'm sad. 

    This is my eight-year-old, the Hippie.  (Her birthday is Friday.)











And finally, my post for memory Monday:





That night, I had another dream that I went sand
jumping with The Boarder, but the sand had turned to mud. When I landed, big
rocks gouged my feet and legs. I rolled to the bottom of the hill, but no one
was there to catch me.



-Excerpt from "Bible Girl & the Bad Boy"



This is symbolic of my realization that my childhood had truly ended.



If life weighs me down too much, I'll dream about this again, about having fun with my old best friend, only to land on rocky ground.  Do you ever dream about symbolic things like this? Longing for youth?



Cade and I visited the place where I used to go sand jumping.  Here's a picture of me there--Cade said it would make a cool shot if I stood on the van (too bad my right shoe got stuck in the mirror and it took some persistence to get it out).







Then after navigating my way onto the van, I had a difficult time getting down!








It was an adventure though.

Why dream about youth when I can have so much fun now?



I'll tell you tomorrow, why I'm so sad today.

--I hope you're having a great day.--

Watch My First TV Interview HERE--What do you think of it?

Here's the video of my interview.

I hope it'll help someone else out there.





For more info about "The Golden Sky," please go HERE .

Do they have KSL in Heaven? My Big TV Interview is Today!

Before starting this post, let me share some big news:

Today (7/23/2013) I'll be LIVE on TV.  (I can post the video here after the show airs.) THIS
is the show I'll be on (channel 5--KSL) 11:00am-12:00 MST.  I'll be on
for a few minutes in the middle of the show (11:30-ish).  









View "The Golden Sky" Audiobook Version HERE





--Now, onto the post of the day--
I'm sitting near blazing TV-studio lights.  The whole time I'm remembering an important violin concert from years ago, when I practically went blind, wanting to stare at the lights instead of all the faces beyond them.

    It's almost my turn to be interviewed on live television.  A deep breath fills my lungs and I wonder again, why I'm doing this.  That's when I close my eyes for a moment and think of my boy in Heaven. . . .




source
Zeke sits beside an old man on the side of a misty riverbank. They throw their fishing lines into the water and talk. 

    "What do you think your parents are doing?" the old man asks, tilting his fishing pole at a thirty degree angle.

    "I don't know," Zeke says. "I didn't live long enough to know much about the living. And I don't get to see my parents unless they're hitting some sort of milestone."

    The old man smiles. "Your Mom's hittin' one today, boy." Zeke raises an eyebrow incredulously. "Just look into the water."

    Zeke peers into the heavenly river, so pure it smells like rain.  The waters swirl and suddenly Zeke sees something, more than he'd expected. . . .




Source
In my mind's eye, I'm walking along a beach.  I find myself holding someone's hand even though we
haven't seen each other in years.  I keep gazing up at him and smiling. 
"I've dreamed about this," I say, tears in my eyes.

    "So have I."

    We keep walking, for miles and
miles.  After we've traveled across many sandy beaches and rocky shores, we turn to the sunset.  "Once," I say, "when I was very young, when colors seemed more
important than a career, and playing the violin in a nearby cave was
more desirable than anything, I said a prayer."

    He smiles.  "And what did you pray?"

    I look out at the tumbling waves.  "I asked God to give me a sign that He still loved me."

    "Did you doubt His love so much?" he asks.

    "I guess I did." I pause, wondering over the small
moments that make up our lives. "Well, nothing happened for the entire
day that I prayed.  I painted and drew.  I went to my cave and played my
violin.  At one point, I knelt next to a rock and so much sadness
overcame me.  I asked God if He even loved me anymore."

    "Did He answer you?"

    "I
didn't hear it at first, but before long
the words filled my very being and I FELT them.  'Of course,' a voice replied and the air smelled of incense.  'Look,' the voice said.  I looked at the sunset and my
breath stopped.  It was unlike anything I'd ever seen in that area.  The
clouds stretched orange and gold.  They were my favorite color, chosen as my favorite not because of its
hue but because orange represents eternity." I know he understands that this reveals more about me--about the desires of my
heart--than almost anything.

    "How interesting; eternity is what
you truly long for," he says.  "Some wish only for fame,
fortune, or even death after years on Earth--you . . . you, seek eternal
life." He pauses, still holding my hand gently. "And you knew God
loved you . . . because of the beautiful, orange sky?  You thought he
answered your prayer?"

    "I know He
answered it.  In some way, it made me realize how He painted the sky for
me . . . for each of us, every single day.  His love shines
everywhere, through almost everything."

    "And that's what you hold onto
whenever bad things happen in your life?"  He studies a shell by our
feet and I don't say a word.  "You remembered that, even when I died . .
."

    "Yes."

    Zeke--MY son just nods. "Orange is my favorite color too, a reminder that
someday we'll be together in eternity."

    Tears fill my eyes. He's so strong
and healthy, much different from the infant who died after two and a
half months of struggling in the hospital.

    "I'm so proud you're my son. I've done everything I
can so people will know you; your life won't be forgotten.  I can't
make up for the past, but I'm trying my best for the future.  Every day I
spent putting my journal--the moments from your life--into the computer
. . . Every moment brought pain, but with it, you came back, just like
today."

    My eyes close and a deep part of
myself starts fading. A heart once full, seems a bit empty, and my
fingers close on themselves because he's no longer holding my hand.

    I breathe slowly, willing peace to come again.  "Please know I won't forget you," my voice drifts away just like
my son did.

    I look back, but Zeke really is gone, washed away with the wind and the waves. 



"Elisa?  Elisa? It's time for your interview," a sweet woman breaks my reverie, calling me from the side of the stage.

    I stand and begin walking to my seat in front of the cameras. My hands fold as if in
prayer since the warmth of my day-dream still lingers.

    Zeke, I love you.  Always will. 
My heartbeat slows and I remember the one question that always plagues me.  Do you still love me? I wonder although he's been dead
for years and I'm almost to my seat on stage. 

    The interviewer smiles kindly, but I feel as if my knees won't quit shaking.

    Then, I feel something--it's just a
nudge at first, but so much peace comes with the words.  Of
course, I love you, Mama. . . . Look.

    My eyes turn forward.  The studio lights are
so vibrant, those yellow and orange colors wrap around me just like a surreal sunset. The faces below them glow blue, an endless ocean of hope and endurance.

    I no longer simply long for eternity, but I realize the
truth in its meaning--eternity is part of right now, just like my
memories and my dreams. Just like Zeke.

   "Thanks for joining us," the interviewer says kindly.

   "Thanks for having me," I say, wondering if they really do have KSL in Heaven. 

    That's when the interview begins. 




Well, Cade and I are leaving to the studio soon.  Wish me luck! 

Memory Monday: Answered Prayers & Metallica

Cade and I played Celtic music at the Cathedral of the Madeleine (reliving a moment from my book, Bible Girl & the Bad Boy ). 







As I knelt at the altar, dim lights flickered around paintings of the saints that seemed to look in my direction. My arms and back warmed from the heat of the cathedral's lights, and the maroon carpet hardened under my knees.

    “Dear God,” I prayed, folding my hands, “please help me find my way.”

    A chill went through my body as I remembered moments from my past.



    A bonfire twisted at a friend's house. The day before, a few pastors had asked us to bring evil, secular things (CDs, books, posters, anything non-religious) to burn.

    The leaders expected everyone to bring something. I only owned one item that was “secular”—a set of three fantasy books.

    My brother had scrimped and saved to buy them. He read the entire trilogy to me when I was little. But . . . they were secular. I still remembered us deducing and clutching after plot twists, laughing and joking about one dwarf’s wit—yet when the pastors asked me to take my turn, I stood with those books at the bonfire. Those same books my brother had given to me because he loved me.

    “What did you bring?” the pastor asked.

    “Fantasy books.” The ultimate offering.

    He reached for them. I held the volumes to my chest, but in the end, I handed each of them over, showing what a follower I was. I watched as the pastor ripped them up. With each tear, my breath caught. He chucked the first two in the fire, and I felt as if my own flesh burned. “These are the work of the devil!” he shouted and everyone clapped. “By burning these, Elisa has loosened demonic ties attached to those books! Burn them!” he screamed. “Let them burn like the host in Hell and you'll be free!” He handed me the last book. “Go ahead,” he whispered. “Do it. We’re all behind you.”

    I gripped the book. My hand turned white as I stared at it and then the dozens of kids who hungered for my next move. They all hushed because it was my turn to let go of secular belongings, to cut ties with the demonic realm.

    The fire heated my arms, reminding me of Satan’s lust for humanity. I still couldn’t move, though. I stood there longer than anyone else had.

    The book practically cried for me to spare its life, and for a moment I thought I’d rather burn in Hell than lose something my brother had given me in love. The pastor nudged me, though, and my heart turned to ice.

    I thought of all those hours my brother had read to me. I thought of all that time he’d invested.

    I couldn’t throw it in; not the last book of the trilogy. That funny little dwarf stared at me from the cover. Then, I closed my eyes. I stepped so close to the flames they almost ate my skin. I tore the book in front of those kids. I put on quite a show throwing in a section at a time because I couldn’t stand sending the whole thing in at once. When the last pages went up in flame, and the dwarf on the cover curled with death, I dropped to my knees and cried. The kids all hooted and screamed in ecstasy, thinking I’d been freed, when the ropes of religion had just twisted tighter.

    That night, when I told my brother about the books, his lips pursed in pain, just like that dwarf as he burned. “You . . . you should have given them back. You. . . . But I gave those to you.” Then he walked from the room.



    I cried at the altar, seeing things so clearly: I’d been a religious zealot. These memories were my own fault.

    I sighed, praying hard then, my words a blur of repentance. “God, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for my actions. Please forgive me. Please help me forgive myself.”

    The saints still turned toward me. Their eyes seemed kind. But although I felt as if God might forgive me, I couldn't forgive myself.

    My thoughts shifted to my brother again, and another flood of memories hit. The most important one, the thing that made my heart clench, kept replaying in that moment. It had happened months after the bonfire.



    We’d all gone to church, my mom, my brother, my sister. I sat by my boyfriend instead of my family. We sang and held hands. The sermon uplifted everyone—except me. There was no real reason to be sad that day, just the fact that I felt lost. So, after the sermon ended and all the people chatted in the back room, I sat in the front pew and cried. Someone put a hand on my back. It didn’t bother me; no, this hand felt pure, angelic, and filled with hope.

    My tears subsided and when I looked behind me, there sat my brother.

    I stared at him. I can’t explain the emotions I felt. Even though I’d burned those books, even though I’d judged him for listening to Metallica, he still loved me and would be there as much as he could. I’d done such horrid things, but still he showed more compassion than I deserved.

    I hugged him after that, and tears flooded his cheeks, too. It was the best example of God I’d ever felt in my life.



    I studied the patterns in the cathedral’s carpeted floor. If my brother and God could forgive me, maybe it was time to forgive myself.

    “Thank you, God,” I said, “for the memories, for the forgiveness, for allowing me to go through things that would help me change.”

    I waved to the saints as I left the building. When I got into the car, I turned my radio from Christian listening to my brother’s favorite station.

    I drove home, crying from the peace inside—the peace I’d always longed for.

    I listened to Metallica and realized, downfalls aren’t always bad after all.




Excerpt from Bible Girl & the Bad Boy


Tomorrow (7/23/2013), I'll be LIVE on TV.  (I can post the video here after the show airs.) THIS
is the show I'll be on (channel 5--KSL) 11:00am-12:00 MST.  I'll be on
for a few minutes in the middle of the show (11:30-ish).