What kind of a Christian can’t find her all in all in Christ? I was supposed to have the joy, joy, joy down in my heart to stay, right? If I was really following Christ, He’d instantly transform all this grief into joy, right? The heavens should open up and light pour down, chasing away all this darkness.
141 days tiptoed past my shuttered window undetected their spun cotton gait a mirror of my reticence When darkness pressed, worry devoured my muse relentless words withered off each fingertip, scattered petals 3,384 silent hours slid, sleek and stealthy unrecorded formless and void without frame of language When the churning tides of… Continue reading After the Silence
You see, I still, after all these years and all these lessons, I still succumb to my eating disorder daily. Don’t get me wrong, it looks a lot prettier than it used to. I don’t pop laxatives like candy and I don’t end a feast on my knees in front of the toilet. I don’t even eat to the point of pain anymore, no third or fourth or fifth servings- no half-gallon of ice cream straight out of the carton. Yet I still…
Because all the #MeToo’s has me wanting to remind women, you can tell your story and it can be healing. There was a day A day she began To crave the destruction Of hands raised in fury Of jagged edged words Of nostrils flaring over thin lips There was a day A day she decided To… Continue reading There Was a Day
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.