By eight years old, I was already skilled in the art of fetching my stepfather a drink. Not yet tall enough to reach the large glasses on the top shelf, or the liquor cabinet above the stove, I’d hoist myself onto the counter. Next I’d grab a plastic tumbler from the first cupboard, one of those ringed by four smart rows of penguins marching neatly round. A few steps of my bare feet across counter-top brought me to the highest cabinet where a bottle of Seagram’s 7 always fronted a handful of options.
Since childhood I had held my personal night at bay with artificial light of my own design: third helpings of pizza and forgetting myself in five books a day, outrageous lies and sexual exploits, hash laced joints and lines of meth, camel menthols and twelve hour workdays. I had always lost myself in a hundred things so that I never had to face the night inside.
There is a very common and very real enemy of adult education students. An enemy that doesn’t want them to succeed. One that whispers lies to sabotage them.
My momma’s heart that morning was heavy, my mind racing with worry, anxiety roiling my stomach. The cause for my worry? My eldest daughter. Mini-me.
Long ago, I erected an idol in my mind of the Christian Woman.
The Christian Woman found the time to blow-dry her hair before church. She and her childhood sweetheart and their well behaved brood of children arrived each Sunday with their clothes right side in and their shoes on the right feet. She taught Sunday school and sipped tea at ladies’ functions. She found the time to cart casseroles to potlucks, kiddos to soccer practice, and donations to the food-bank in her mini-van.
I once heard a speaker claim that one of the biggest problems with Christians was a lack of imagination. I don’t remember anymore who said it, or the topic of the speech it was used in. But that part stuck. A lack of imagination? Maybe other Christians! But me? Me!?! I’ve got a vivid imagination.… Continue reading The Problem with Christians
In the middle of a monsoon with my eyes pressed down tight gulping in moist mellow lungfuls of saturated air I am almost almost home where the air is pregnant with dew painting the land vivid and fertile a green unknown by desert dwellers and washing my soul. Gusts of wind buffet my face but… Continue reading Almost Home