E.C. Stilson's Blog, page 84
November 22, 2012
Black Friday--More FREE eBooks
These eBooks will be FREE on Black Friday only.
Amazon.com Widgets
Additionally, Homeless in Hawaii has been released today.
Click the picture to find it for 2.99 on Amazon.
Amazon.com Widgets
Additionally, Homeless in Hawaii has been released today.
Click the picture to find it for 2.99 on Amazon.
A Thanksgiving Prayer: Part 2
This is a continuation from yesterday's post.
To recap:
I bought a fancy necklace for my grandma's viewing but while getting ready, I realized it had vanished.
"Time to go," Cade said, breaking through my thoughts.
I sniffled, wiped my eyes and decided to be strong, necklace or not, I'd be tough. My grandma always saw the best in things. Maybe losing the necklace was meant to test my spirit.
Little did I know, she'd planned a miracle. A sign that she was watching out for me. And it all revolved around the necklace.
Grandma Beth
She was the only grandma I had--and she was amazing. Sometimes I'd imagine what my other grandma would be like if I could pick her. She'd be wonderful too--if she existed somewhere.
Too bad I thought she didn't, because when my only grandma passed, it was terribly lonely.
How do relationships begin? When you meet someone do you instantly know they'll change your life? Become like family? Be the person you'd once hoped to meet? It's fascinating, really. There can be two people, miles apart, destined to meet each other somehow. Yet how many times will they cross paths until they finally understand?
After my grandma's death, I would often think of her words to me. "Everyone deserves two sets of grandparents. And if you prayed for your other grandma, maybe you'll be surprised with what God might bring your way."
Those words made me smile. I remembered being in junior high. Everything was so dramatic. And I'd imagine if I had another grandma, how she'd be more like me than anyone I knew. We could talk about everything. Maybe she'd even have a religious background. Of course she'd laugh a lot and love animals. She wouldn't take Grandma Beth's place, no, she'd have her own special place in my life--if I could just find her.
Four years passed after Grandma Beth died. I told my daughters about my silly childhood imaginings about another grandma. "Can you believe someone like that could exist? She's too perfect."
"Maybe," the Scribe said. "Stranger things have happened."
"Yeah, like how my necklace went missing at Grandma's funeral. Now that was strange."
As time went on, I forgot about the necklace and my imagined grandmother. I focused on being a decent wife, and mom who didn't ALWAYS burn dinner. I also vowed to somehow share Zeke's story with the world. That's when I started blogging.
It happened slowly at first, but I had some success. I met people and finally connected with others. We became good friends, reading each other's blogs and celebrating in each other's lives. Zeke's story really took off. With everyone's help, more readers started learning about my baby's life and how he made me a better person. That year all of us bloggers shared our lives through our words, our joys and sorrows. Then as time passed, something happened. Many of you started feeling like family to me.
It wasn't until recently, that I realized I met people who resembled aspects of my dream grandmother. She wasn't just someone I'd hoped to meet, but someone I'd hoped would actually exist in our world. Because people like her would make this world a better place. She would be a sign that humanity isn't too far gone. Yes, there are people who abandon kids to join the carnival. But there are others--in our dreams--who shine with so much goodness. And I see that goodness in all of you.
One person, in particular, has shown me so much kindness this year. I thought of her and nearly cried because I'm so thankful and blessed to have her in my life. As I thought of her, I cleaned the Hippie's closet. My hand fell across something pointy and cold. My fingers gently closed around the object and I held it near my face. While blowing the dust from the green necklace I'd lost before my grandma's viewing--five years before--a lump caught in my throat.
I thought of my sole grandmother--the one who always wanted the best for me. I thought of my dream grandmother--the one I finally found. And I cried.
The rediscovered necklace was a sign to me. Goodness exists. My grandma is watching out for me, just like she always did. And miracles can still happen.
Maybe good things are out there waiting for each of us to find them--just like that necklace waited for me.
This Thanksgiving, please know how very thankful I am for all of you.
To recap:
I bought a fancy necklace for my grandma's viewing but while getting ready, I realized it had vanished.
"Time to go," Cade said, breaking through my thoughts.
I sniffled, wiped my eyes and decided to be strong, necklace or not, I'd be tough. My grandma always saw the best in things. Maybe losing the necklace was meant to test my spirit.
Little did I know, she'd planned a miracle. A sign that she was watching out for me. And it all revolved around the necklace.
Grandma Beth
She was the only grandma I had--and she was amazing. Sometimes I'd imagine what my other grandma would be like if I could pick her. She'd be wonderful too--if she existed somewhere.
Too bad I thought she didn't, because when my only grandma passed, it was terribly lonely.
How do relationships begin? When you meet someone do you instantly know they'll change your life? Become like family? Be the person you'd once hoped to meet? It's fascinating, really. There can be two people, miles apart, destined to meet each other somehow. Yet how many times will they cross paths until they finally understand?
After my grandma's death, I would often think of her words to me. "Everyone deserves two sets of grandparents. And if you prayed for your other grandma, maybe you'll be surprised with what God might bring your way."
Those words made me smile. I remembered being in junior high. Everything was so dramatic. And I'd imagine if I had another grandma, how she'd be more like me than anyone I knew. We could talk about everything. Maybe she'd even have a religious background. Of course she'd laugh a lot and love animals. She wouldn't take Grandma Beth's place, no, she'd have her own special place in my life--if I could just find her.
Four years passed after Grandma Beth died. I told my daughters about my silly childhood imaginings about another grandma. "Can you believe someone like that could exist? She's too perfect."
"Maybe," the Scribe said. "Stranger things have happened."
"Yeah, like how my necklace went missing at Grandma's funeral. Now that was strange."
As time went on, I forgot about the necklace and my imagined grandmother. I focused on being a decent wife, and mom who didn't ALWAYS burn dinner. I also vowed to somehow share Zeke's story with the world. That's when I started blogging.
It happened slowly at first, but I had some success. I met people and finally connected with others. We became good friends, reading each other's blogs and celebrating in each other's lives. Zeke's story really took off. With everyone's help, more readers started learning about my baby's life and how he made me a better person. That year all of us bloggers shared our lives through our words, our joys and sorrows. Then as time passed, something happened. Many of you started feeling like family to me.
It wasn't until recently, that I realized I met people who resembled aspects of my dream grandmother. She wasn't just someone I'd hoped to meet, but someone I'd hoped would actually exist in our world. Because people like her would make this world a better place. She would be a sign that humanity isn't too far gone. Yes, there are people who abandon kids to join the carnival. But there are others--in our dreams--who shine with so much goodness. And I see that goodness in all of you.
One person, in particular, has shown me so much kindness this year. I thought of her and nearly cried because I'm so thankful and blessed to have her in my life. As I thought of her, I cleaned the Hippie's closet. My hand fell across something pointy and cold. My fingers gently closed around the object and I held it near my face. While blowing the dust from the green necklace I'd lost before my grandma's viewing--five years before--a lump caught in my throat.
I thought of my sole grandmother--the one who always wanted the best for me. I thought of my dream grandmother--the one I finally found. And I cried.
The rediscovered necklace was a sign to me. Goodness exists. My grandma is watching out for me, just like she always did. And miracles can still happen.
Maybe good things are out there waiting for each of us to find them--just like that necklace waited for me.
This Thanksgiving, please know how very thankful I am for all of you.
November 21, 2012
A Thanksgiving Prayer: Part 1
My grandma died in August of 2007.
I only had one grandmother. My other one abandoned my mother at the age of two. It sounds ridiculously tragic--and it is. After her husband died, my grandma, Rose, left to join the carnival and didn't see my mother for over a decade after leaving.
That didn't just affect my mother and her siblings. It affected us grandkids too. Rose had left a hole inside each of us.
I always wanted two grandmas. I know it seems selfish since some kids--like my mom--don't even have parents because one died and the other likes roller coasters. And growing up, my dad's parents lived towns away and I felt pretty isolated from extended family.
I loved my dad's mother. But still, we only saw her twice a year, and I felt like someone was missing. So I asked my mom if we could meet the famous (or infamous) Rose. To a ten-year-old, she sounded dangerous, maybe even exciting. The meeting was arranged and . . . it was terrible.
"I love you," Rose said, smoking a million cigarettes one after another. Kissing them instead of my cheeks. "Wait, what's your name again, Hon?"
"Elisa." I held back the tears. I wanted to steal her cigarette--smash it--and throw it into the wind. Maybe then SHE'D feel what it's like to have something taken away.
"That's right." She didn't even look at my face. "You're name's Elisa. And I love you."
As time passed, I learned Rose didn't even remember my mom's birthday correctly. I bet she sucked at memory games.
I knelt down a few nights after meeting my second grandma and I prayed. "God, that woman isn't my grandma. Isn't my other real one out there somewhere?" I imagined her then. How she'd be so sweet and nice. How we'd care about each other and even remember each other's names--if we tried hard enough. She'd cook inventive things and laugh easily, like Mary Poppins, without the purse. I swear I imagined her all the time, knowing someday--even if it was years down the road--we would meet.
It was my greatest dream. That and praying the Indian children would get food. Those commercials were always on about kids starving and how you could adopt one for a dollar a month. I had nightmares about those poor kids with cleft lips. Little did I know, almost a decade later, I'd have a baby with that same defect.
During Zeke's life my sole grandma called every day. I didn't want to talk with anyone, but she'd stay on the phone, even when I remained silent. Zeke died, and still the phone calls continued. 'Cept it was me calling her once a week. A few years passed and I started healing. "Happy Saturday." I'd call my grandma and grin into the phone. She'd giggle. Then I'd tell her some crude joke and she'd act offended before laughing hysterically.
"Do you ever wish you had two grandmas?" my grandma asked me one day. "You used to tell me that when you were little."
"Yeah, I made one up. I'd imagine her all the time. But I'm an adult now. I've realized I just have one grandma--and you're better than two put together."
I knew she smiled, humbly. "Still though, everyone deserves two sets of grandparents. And if you prayed for your other grandma, maybe you'll be surprised with what God might bring your way."
Good luck with that, I thought. Leave it to my grandma, the eternal optimist.
For five years we grew close, talking every Saturday. Then my grandma passed.
My dad asked me to play the violin at her viewing. I spent more money than Cade and I had, trying to look extra nice. I donned a gorgeous outfit and bought a necklace for thirty dollars! But when we arrived at the hotel, the expensive necklace was gone.
"Grandma, I put it in my bag. I wanted to look nice for your viewing. You know, in case you came to see how I'd dressed. You always complimented my clothes."
"Time to go," Cade said, breaking through my thoughts.
I sniffled, wiped my eyes and decided to be strong, necklace or not, I'd be tough. My grandma always saw the best in things. Maybe losing the necklace was meant to test my spirit.
Little did I know, she'd planned a miracle. A sign that she was watching out for me. And it all revolved around the necklace.
What a character.
Grandma Beth
To be continued tomorrow . . .
I only had one grandmother. My other one abandoned my mother at the age of two. It sounds ridiculously tragic--and it is. After her husband died, my grandma, Rose, left to join the carnival and didn't see my mother for over a decade after leaving.
That didn't just affect my mother and her siblings. It affected us grandkids too. Rose had left a hole inside each of us.
I always wanted two grandmas. I know it seems selfish since some kids--like my mom--don't even have parents because one died and the other likes roller coasters. And growing up, my dad's parents lived towns away and I felt pretty isolated from extended family.
I loved my dad's mother. But still, we only saw her twice a year, and I felt like someone was missing. So I asked my mom if we could meet the famous (or infamous) Rose. To a ten-year-old, she sounded dangerous, maybe even exciting. The meeting was arranged and . . . it was terrible.
"I love you," Rose said, smoking a million cigarettes one after another. Kissing them instead of my cheeks. "Wait, what's your name again, Hon?"
"Elisa." I held back the tears. I wanted to steal her cigarette--smash it--and throw it into the wind. Maybe then SHE'D feel what it's like to have something taken away.
"That's right." She didn't even look at my face. "You're name's Elisa. And I love you."
As time passed, I learned Rose didn't even remember my mom's birthday correctly. I bet she sucked at memory games.
I knelt down a few nights after meeting my second grandma and I prayed. "God, that woman isn't my grandma. Isn't my other real one out there somewhere?" I imagined her then. How she'd be so sweet and nice. How we'd care about each other and even remember each other's names--if we tried hard enough. She'd cook inventive things and laugh easily, like Mary Poppins, without the purse. I swear I imagined her all the time, knowing someday--even if it was years down the road--we would meet.
It was my greatest dream. That and praying the Indian children would get food. Those commercials were always on about kids starving and how you could adopt one for a dollar a month. I had nightmares about those poor kids with cleft lips. Little did I know, almost a decade later, I'd have a baby with that same defect.
During Zeke's life my sole grandma called every day. I didn't want to talk with anyone, but she'd stay on the phone, even when I remained silent. Zeke died, and still the phone calls continued. 'Cept it was me calling her once a week. A few years passed and I started healing. "Happy Saturday." I'd call my grandma and grin into the phone. She'd giggle. Then I'd tell her some crude joke and she'd act offended before laughing hysterically.
"Do you ever wish you had two grandmas?" my grandma asked me one day. "You used to tell me that when you were little."
"Yeah, I made one up. I'd imagine her all the time. But I'm an adult now. I've realized I just have one grandma--and you're better than two put together."
I knew she smiled, humbly. "Still though, everyone deserves two sets of grandparents. And if you prayed for your other grandma, maybe you'll be surprised with what God might bring your way."
Good luck with that, I thought. Leave it to my grandma, the eternal optimist.
For five years we grew close, talking every Saturday. Then my grandma passed.
My dad asked me to play the violin at her viewing. I spent more money than Cade and I had, trying to look extra nice. I donned a gorgeous outfit and bought a necklace for thirty dollars! But when we arrived at the hotel, the expensive necklace was gone.
"Grandma, I put it in my bag. I wanted to look nice for your viewing. You know, in case you came to see how I'd dressed. You always complimented my clothes."
"Time to go," Cade said, breaking through my thoughts.
I sniffled, wiped my eyes and decided to be strong, necklace or not, I'd be tough. My grandma always saw the best in things. Maybe losing the necklace was meant to test my spirit.
Little did I know, she'd planned a miracle. A sign that she was watching out for me. And it all revolved around the necklace.
What a character.
Grandma Beth
To be continued tomorrow . . .
November 20, 2012
I Suffer From Compression
I'm feeling really sick today, so I thought I'd repost one of my favorite stories from January. Here it is:
Unfortunately, I have the stomach flu today. I've probably been fighting it off for a few days because sleep seems too fleeting and blogging has nearly killed me with headaches. But I'm almost to my 365 day straight goal and I can't quit now.
In the middle of the night I took some medicine and after going to sleep, I had THE WEIRDEST dream. I've had some strange ones lately, but this took the cake.
A little man stood in front of me. "What you suffer from, my dear, is compression."
"Excuse me?" I said.
"Compression," he cleared his throat. "Everyone talks about depression. Well who cares if you're feeling a little lower than normal. Compression is what you need to be worried about."
In my dream I just gawked at him and even thought to myself, I'm never taking cold medicine again.
"Assuming you aren't completely nutty," I said. "What is compression?"
"I'd worried about that."
"What?"
"That you'd be as dumb as you look. Compression is far worse than depression. You feel as if everything is closing in. Too many worries; too much on your plate until you feel out of control . . ." He straightened his back, proud of himself. "Compression."
"And how am I supposed to fix this, oh mighty, SHORT one."
"Simple," he smiled. "Become unpressed."
"Like a shirt that hasn't been ironed?! Oh this is rich."
"Laugh all you want," he said. "But there comes a time in everyone's lives where they can't do everything. Choices must be made. Things must be cut from you life, or you'll stay compressed FOREVER, until implosion occurs."
With that he vanished and I woke up sweating. The Scribe brought me a thermometer because it was morning and she'd apparently been hovering over me for awhile. "What's your temperature," she asked me after I checked.
"102.2," I said. "This whole thing is making me feel so tired . . . And utterly compressed."
"What does that mean?" she asked.
I just looked at her. "it's hard to explain, but some day I'm sure you'll understand."
"Are you really going to write a blog today?"
"Yes." I nodded. "I've almost blogged for a year straight, and I'm not going to mess this up now. Compression, sickness or not, when I set a goal, I accomplish it or die trying."
Unfortunately, I have the stomach flu today. I've probably been fighting it off for a few days because sleep seems too fleeting and blogging has nearly killed me with headaches. But I'm almost to my 365 day straight goal and I can't quit now.
In the middle of the night I took some medicine and after going to sleep, I had THE WEIRDEST dream. I've had some strange ones lately, but this took the cake.
A little man stood in front of me. "What you suffer from, my dear, is compression."
"Excuse me?" I said.
"Compression," he cleared his throat. "Everyone talks about depression. Well who cares if you're feeling a little lower than normal. Compression is what you need to be worried about."
In my dream I just gawked at him and even thought to myself, I'm never taking cold medicine again.
"Assuming you aren't completely nutty," I said. "What is compression?"
"I'd worried about that."
"What?"
"That you'd be as dumb as you look. Compression is far worse than depression. You feel as if everything is closing in. Too many worries; too much on your plate until you feel out of control . . ." He straightened his back, proud of himself. "Compression."
"And how am I supposed to fix this, oh mighty, SHORT one."
"Simple," he smiled. "Become unpressed."
"Like a shirt that hasn't been ironed?! Oh this is rich."
"Laugh all you want," he said. "But there comes a time in everyone's lives where they can't do everything. Choices must be made. Things must be cut from you life, or you'll stay compressed FOREVER, until implosion occurs."
With that he vanished and I woke up sweating. The Scribe brought me a thermometer because it was morning and she'd apparently been hovering over me for awhile. "What's your temperature," she asked me after I checked.
"102.2," I said. "This whole thing is making me feel so tired . . . And utterly compressed."
"What does that mean?" she asked.
I just looked at her. "it's hard to explain, but some day I'm sure you'll understand."
"Are you really going to write a blog today?"
"Yes." I nodded. "I've almost blogged for a year straight, and I'm not going to mess this up now. Compression, sickness or not, when I set a goal, I accomplish it or die trying."
November 19, 2012
Thank YOU! My Books are #1 & #2 on Amazon!
Thank you to everyone who downloaded
The Golden Sky
&
Bible Girl
. They're currently #1 and #2 for women's memoir. It's amazing thinking so many people will learn about Zeke and his strength.
If anyone else is interested, those books are still free today. Go HERE .
I had a funny story to write today, but I'm too excited. Maybe I'll write it tomorrow.
If anyone else is interested, those books are still free today. Go HERE .
I had a funny story to write today, but I'm too excited. Maybe I'll write it tomorrow.
November 18, 2012
My Late Son's Birthday & a Miraculous Angel
Zeke Jackson was born on 11/18. At the end of January the following year, he died in my arms.
Today, to honor my son on his birthday, three of my eBooks are available for FREE download. Here they are:
Amazon.com Widgets
Zeke would have been ten years old today. I'll never forget him or the lessons he taught me.
A Miraculous Angel
The 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.
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 shiny 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. I turned, wondering why he'd asked me to wait. "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 , 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.
Happy birthday, Zeke.
Today, to honor my son on his birthday, three of my eBooks are available for FREE download. Here they are:
Amazon.com Widgets
Zeke would have been ten years old today. I'll never forget him or the lessons he taught me.
A Miraculous Angel
The 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.
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 shiny 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. I turned, wondering why he'd asked me to wait. "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 , 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.
Happy birthday, Zeke.
November 17, 2012
I've Been a Published Author for a Year!
Last year,
The Golden Sky
came out on November 18th--Zeke's birthday. This has been an amazing journey. From new-found friends, the kindness of strangers, signings and other events, this has been one of the best years of my life.
I posted a video exactly a year ago. My feelings remain the same.
So to honor Zeke, The Golden Sky as well as Bible Girl & the Bad B o y , will be available for FREE download all day November 18th.
This is also a great time to download these since the final book in the Golden Sky Trilogy will be released early on Black Friday.
Thanks again for everything. I have a special post ready for tomorrow. I hope you'll come back then. I promise it won't make you cry. It's about a miracle and a stranger I met the other day.
I posted a video exactly a year ago. My feelings remain the same.
So to honor Zeke, The Golden Sky as well as Bible Girl & the Bad B o y , will be available for FREE download all day November 18th.
This is also a great time to download these since the final book in the Golden Sky Trilogy will be released early on Black Friday.
Thanks again for everything. I have a special post ready for tomorrow. I hope you'll come back then. I promise it won't make you cry. It's about a miracle and a stranger I met the other day.
November 15, 2012
The Zombie Elf & a Turncoat
Poor little Zombie Elf. He finally woke up from the anesthesia yesterday, and I brought him home. He felt dizzy and stumbled whenever he tried walking. After a while, he gave up and eventually rested on the couch. "I'm tough," he croaked. "I didn't even cry."
"I know, buddy," I said. "You're amazing. They made you sleep for over two hours and you're the toughest little Zombie ever!"
Another voice whispered near him. I realized Doctor Jones, my two-year-old girl, had gotten onto the other side of the couch. She frowned, snatched a blanket and bawled. "I sick. I sick, Mama."
"Ummm . . . no you aren't." I played with one of her brown curls before turning back to the Zombie. "What makes you so brave?" I asked my boy.
"I'm the bravest kid," he strained, wheezing, then coughed. I held him close and smoothed his hair back. "Mama, can you tell me why I'm so brave? I'm tired of talking. It hurts."
So I told him what he tells me nearly every morning. "You're brave because YOU pet a real shark in California. YOU wear crocodile-skin boots. YOU don't even cry when you go to the dentist. YOU'RE the bravest of the brave. YOU'RE the toughest of the tough. The cutest of the cute. YOU'RE the Zombie Elf!!!"
He nodded proudly, then closed his eyes. He didn't even smile because that's a serious mantra.
"I SICK!" Doctor Jones wailed, quite disgruntled at that point. You'd think the Zombie's surgery was harder on her than him.
"Shhh, honey. The Zombie needs me."
She stuck out her bottom lip. That child has rosy cheeks, dark brown curls that go down her back, and a sassy attitude that never ends. "I am sick," she pouted, folding her arms.
When the Zombie Elf fell asleep, I moved over to Doctor Jones. "Baby, you're sick? Really? Where does it hurt."
"My toes."
"Your toes? Where else?"
"Ummm. . . . My fingers?"
"How about your eyelashes?"
"Yeah!" she said blinking.
"I have just the thing," I said and playfully scampered up the stairs to get a small bowl of water and a cottonball.
When I headed back downstairs, I had to lean against the wall and smile. Doctor Jones had woken the Zombie. "It's okay. I make you better." She danced around in the stilted way all two-year-olds do. She patted his forehead, held his hand. Sang and sang. I cleared my throat and when Doctor Jones saw me, she froze for a moment, then sprinted to her side of the couch, and pulled a blanket over herself. "I sick," she groaned. I could just hear her thoughts. That wasn't what it looked like, Mama. I swear!
"Do you need to go to the Doctor?" I asked her.
"Yeah, Mama."
The Zombie Elf's eyes widened. "No, Doctor Jones. They might do this to you."
"That's good," Doctor Jones said. "I brave. I not scared of nothin'."
"Wow, you really are tough," my Zombie whispered. Then he gathered enough strength to tell her his mantra, except this time it changed just a little. "Doctor Jones, you're the bravest of the brave. The toughest of the tough. The cutest of the cute. You're my little sister!"
Doctor Jones giggled with pure joy. "I funny," she said. "I really not sick, Zombie. I just brave."
Thanks to everyone for your prayers. I'm so thankful my boy is feeling a little better today. The Zombie Elf is sleeping right now and Doctor Jones is still watching over him. She hasn't left his side for even a second.
Also, thank you, Janie, for mentioning Homeless in Hawaii on your blog today. That means so much.
"I know, buddy," I said. "You're amazing. They made you sleep for over two hours and you're the toughest little Zombie ever!"
Another voice whispered near him. I realized Doctor Jones, my two-year-old girl, had gotten onto the other side of the couch. She frowned, snatched a blanket and bawled. "I sick. I sick, Mama."
"Ummm . . . no you aren't." I played with one of her brown curls before turning back to the Zombie. "What makes you so brave?" I asked my boy.
"I'm the bravest kid," he strained, wheezing, then coughed. I held him close and smoothed his hair back. "Mama, can you tell me why I'm so brave? I'm tired of talking. It hurts."
So I told him what he tells me nearly every morning. "You're brave because YOU pet a real shark in California. YOU wear crocodile-skin boots. YOU don't even cry when you go to the dentist. YOU'RE the bravest of the brave. YOU'RE the toughest of the tough. The cutest of the cute. YOU'RE the Zombie Elf!!!"
He nodded proudly, then closed his eyes. He didn't even smile because that's a serious mantra.
"I SICK!" Doctor Jones wailed, quite disgruntled at that point. You'd think the Zombie's surgery was harder on her than him.
"Shhh, honey. The Zombie needs me."
She stuck out her bottom lip. That child has rosy cheeks, dark brown curls that go down her back, and a sassy attitude that never ends. "I am sick," she pouted, folding her arms.
When the Zombie Elf fell asleep, I moved over to Doctor Jones. "Baby, you're sick? Really? Where does it hurt."
"My toes."
"Your toes? Where else?"
"Ummm. . . . My fingers?"
"How about your eyelashes?"
"Yeah!" she said blinking.
"I have just the thing," I said and playfully scampered up the stairs to get a small bowl of water and a cottonball.
When I headed back downstairs, I had to lean against the wall and smile. Doctor Jones had woken the Zombie. "It's okay. I make you better." She danced around in the stilted way all two-year-olds do. She patted his forehead, held his hand. Sang and sang. I cleared my throat and when Doctor Jones saw me, she froze for a moment, then sprinted to her side of the couch, and pulled a blanket over herself. "I sick," she groaned. I could just hear her thoughts. That wasn't what it looked like, Mama. I swear!
"Do you need to go to the Doctor?" I asked her.
"Yeah, Mama."
The Zombie Elf's eyes widened. "No, Doctor Jones. They might do this to you."
"That's good," Doctor Jones said. "I brave. I not scared of nothin'."
"Wow, you really are tough," my Zombie whispered. Then he gathered enough strength to tell her his mantra, except this time it changed just a little. "Doctor Jones, you're the bravest of the brave. The toughest of the tough. The cutest of the cute. You're my little sister!"
Doctor Jones giggled with pure joy. "I funny," she said. "I really not sick, Zombie. I just brave."
Thanks to everyone for your prayers. I'm so thankful my boy is feeling a little better today. The Zombie Elf is sleeping right now and Doctor Jones is still watching over him. She hasn't left his side for even a second.
Also, thank you, Janie, for mentioning Homeless in Hawaii on your blog today. That means so much.
Christmas Anthology Publication & Great Prizes
Here's the Christmas Anthology I was published in.
It was just released. So to celebrate, they're having a
Christmas Lites Happy Holiday Giveaway!
Grand prize
Print copy of Christmas Lites and Christmas Lites II
$25 dollar Amazon gift card
Angel Ornament
Other prizes:
eCopy of Carnival of Fear – JG Faherty author of The Burning Time
eCopy of Violet Midnight by Lynn Rush
eCopy of Awaited by Lynn Rush
eCopy of Wasteland by Lynn Rush
2 eCopies of The Priest by Monica La Porta
eCopy of The Golden Sky by EC Stilson
eCopy of Sword of Senack by EC Stilson
10 eCopies of Family Magic by Patti Larsen
eCopy of short story Prophecy’s Child by Tish Thawer
2 angel ornament made by Misty Baker
3 eCopies of Ranger’s Tale by Mysti Parker
3 eCopies of Serenya’s Song by Mysti Parker
Set of ebooks (Just Nonsense, More Nonsense and True Nonsense) by Melynda Fleury
Print copy of End of Mae by Angela Yuriko Smith
eCopy of End of Mae by Angela Yuriko Smith
Paperback copy of HEART Animal Rescue Anthology
2 Paperback copy of Christmas Lites II
a Rafflecopter giveaway
It was just released. So to celebrate, they're having a
Christmas Lites Happy Holiday Giveaway!
Grand prize
Print copy of Christmas Lites and Christmas Lites II
$25 dollar Amazon gift card
Angel Ornament
Other prizes:
eCopy of Carnival of Fear – JG Faherty author of The Burning Time
eCopy of Violet Midnight by Lynn Rush
eCopy of Awaited by Lynn Rush
eCopy of Wasteland by Lynn Rush
2 eCopies of The Priest by Monica La Porta
eCopy of The Golden Sky by EC Stilson
eCopy of Sword of Senack by EC Stilson
10 eCopies of Family Magic by Patti Larsen
eCopy of short story Prophecy’s Child by Tish Thawer
2 angel ornament made by Misty Baker
3 eCopies of Ranger’s Tale by Mysti Parker
3 eCopies of Serenya’s Song by Mysti Parker
Set of ebooks (Just Nonsense, More Nonsense and True Nonsense) by Melynda Fleury
Print copy of End of Mae by Angela Yuriko Smith
eCopy of End of Mae by Angela Yuriko Smith
Paperback copy of HEART Animal Rescue Anthology
2 Paperback copy of Christmas Lites II
a Rafflecopter giveaway
