Off

Posted on February 11 2012 by J.W. Richmond

A couple chords into the song and I am right back there again…

Leaning back on the arm of that cushy chair in the large, open living room, staring at the wood ceiling of the cabin, with my headphones on. It was a cold, winter day in the mountains – crisp, but sunny.

I didn’t know what,
       but something was wrong.
Something was
                             off.

I could add up the pieces I had, but I was missing many.

She wasn’t there. That was the biggest piece.

I wasn’t aware at the time that the song I was listening to
          was filling in the pieces for me –
                   before I ever knew the truth.

Without knowing the meaning behind it, I listened to the song over and over, because it meant something. It was repeating something important.

Remorse.
Guilt.
Shame.

Apology.

Other pieces were revealed later. She had been with someone else, and he was married too. They had started down the road to an affair, and it had all surfaced that morning.

When I got home, I called her. We were just starting to become friends, but I still felt like I should have known – somehow.

She and her husband hadn’t been doing well for a while. She loved him, but she had also developed strong feelings for this other guy. They had crossed significant lines and she was embarrassed about what had happened, and about other people knowing.

She said she just wanted her husband to pay attention to her.

She was sorry. For all of it.

And she had never meant to find that somewhere else.
       She had never meant to find someone else.
       She hadn’t even realized she had been looking elsewhere.

How did everything get so out of control?
 

'I can only give you everything I've got…
I know fine well that what I did was wrong…
And I don't know where to look
My words just break and melt
Please just save me from this darkness'

– “Make This Go On Forever,”
    Snow Patrol

Plot

Posted on February 10 2012 by J.W. Richmond

I would love to write a novel someday.
Or at least something bigger than a short story.

But I am horrible at plot.

What do I need in a movie
                             TV show
                                or
                             book?

                             Plot.

But everything I come up with
                    seems like it has been done before.
              It’s derivative.
              Or incomplete.

I’m not so bad with characters
                           voices
                           dialogue
                           situations
                           setting. (I think.)

But that essential plot
                       is deficient.

Maybe it’s because my life is basically plotless.

The other characters – people,
       their specific voices,
       the dialogue between them
                        around them
                        with me,
       the situations where we or they interact, and
       the setting where everything takes place,
                      leave no room for plot.

Do I have conflict?
          Absolutely.
Do characters change over time?
          I think (hope) so.
Do big things happen that impede daily existence?
          Not every day,
               but more than enough.

Is a big dramatic element present?
          I don’t think so.

My life could never be a reality show.
               Which is totally fine by me.

But I would probably never read that book.
And I turn those shows and movies off.

I just wish sometimes that I could

                         insert

          some small but great version of a plot,
                  purely for the sake of the story
                            that could be written.

Hiccup

Posted on February 4 2012 by J.W. Richmond

I try to hold it back
          stifle it
          quiet it,
                and OUCH.

If I could just force myself
                 to stop breathing for a second,
                          I could almost – OUCH – get a word in.

But if I let myself breathe
      or try to hold my breath
      or try to not breathe at all –
                                         OUCH.

And I can’t help it.

It – OUCH – forces itself into the conversation
                                            thought
                                            sentence
                                                    and interrupts

                                                    OUCH

                                                    everything.

Us

Posted on February 1 2012 by J.W. Richmond

As long as we are a team, I think I can push through anything
                            and force myself to keep going.

But when Jeff and I are disjointed
     when there is something between us
     when we aren’t a team about something – anything,
                                      it’s like I lose my ability to function.

I was so independent before him.

Allowing myself to need him – in any way –
      and learning to trust
                     that he wouldn’t change his mind
                         or decide to leave at any random occasion
                                 has been a journey worthy of Edmund.*

But things inevitably get in the way. All it takes is that one tiny thing to introduce a crack in the team. If there was something slightly split in the first place, that tiny splinter could sever it entirely.

That little, practically nothing expletive splinter
                          can work its way into your bloodstream,
                                        travel to your heart
                                                and kill you.

I can handle it – whatever it is (I think) – as long as we are us.

But as soon as that is put into question,
              if we aren’t on the same page,
                 I lose my footing and the loud,
                                                   pounding,
                                                   fast,
                                                   impending music starts to play
                                          and my body jerks
                                                     as it slams back into the corner.

I can’t even form actual words,
                   much less fight
                              or push on to an actual cause.

The concept of team doesn’t even describe it.
It’s so much more than that.

We are intrinsically linked by a supernatural force that keeps the universe in harmony.

And when there is any sort of interruption,
                      the entire core shakes,
                      and threatens to shatter
                                      and smash everything
                                                        into tiny,
                                                              chewable
                                                              pieces.

We need to be us again before I can function in any other capacity.

Jeff is important to my basic survival – because I vowed that day that I would be with him.

Always.

It was a commitment to prioritize us
                  and never let anything else separate us –
                  which is why I have this driving need for us to be okay,
                                                             for us to be a team
                                                             for us to be linked
                                                             for us to be a partnership.

Because as much as I need to make sure I don’t lose myself in this crazy world, being us is far more important.

When we aren’t right, I can’t even breathe.

Saying I love you doesn’t – and didn’t – mean it feels good right now to say these lovey-dovey, cutesy words.

It means we are connected to each other in a way
                                                            that is bigger
                                                                   than just us.

 

*The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis ©1950

Gossip

Posted on January 28 2012 by J.W. Richmond

I’m not perfect. But I do (usually, hopefully) learn from my mistakes.

I got dumped. He called and asked me to go over to his place so he could do it and not expend any extra energy in the process.

Classy.

I had been praying about the relationship and wondering if it should continue.

God’s solution: dumped. Not the nicest way to answer, but it at least it was clear.

A couple months later, a friend of mine was filling me in on the latest in the guy’s life. We were washing vegetables at In-N-Out before the store opened for the day, slicing tomatoes and ripping up lettuce as we looked out the window over the drive-through.

“He got a girl pregnant,” she said.

No way! <Shock. Un-shock. And not as surprised as I should have been.>

She told me about the girl, and about how upset the girl’s parents were.

“And she’s married.”

What!? <Shock.> Seriously? It was a crazy soap opera story, and I couldn’t believe it was reality.

A new co-worker walked up behind us as we were talking. He had just started a couple days before. “Do you know who you’re talking about?” he asked.

My ex-boyfriend.

“And my wife.”

No breath. <Speechless.>

Yeah.
That happened.

Wow, I blubbered
          stammered
          barely got out.
I’m sorry.
Sorry, oh my gosh, sorry, and – of course – we had no idea.

He was clearly hurt. I had been so wrapped up in one side of the story that I completely ignored that there was someone – anyone – else involved.

I had completely ignored that it was all gossip. Because it involved me, right?

Nope.

I was no longer in the picture. I was no longer involved. It wasn’t my business anymore.

I learned my lesson.
I think.
I hope.

Because I never want to put myself or someone else in that situation again.

Pray

Posted on January 26 2012 by J.W. Richmond

I’m not sure I pray – enough.

Not enough
     as in long enough
        or often enough.
Although I’m sure both of those are true.

But thoroughly enough.

I’m not sure I always pray through
             the possibility of what God may want
                                                         or do
             with whatever He has placed in my life –
                      no matter how much I may hate whatever it is.

Because whatever it is, is so bad
     that no one should ever have to live it
                                                endure it
                                                exist in it.
     And I would never wish whatever it is on another person.

Anyone else who doesn’t have some horrible malice or vendetta against someone would come to the same conclusion about my circumstance. Right?

So why wouldn’t He think that too?
Or bother to remove it from my life?
     Because I know He can.

Am I doing something wrong?
What if I prayed for something different?

I can what-if that scenario to a bloody mess
     and never have any actual answers.

What do I know is
                     He is God.
                     And I am not.

I’m not praying for something bad
                                         wrong
                                         immoral.

But – maybe – there is something He knows
                                                     that I don’t.

And maybe I should be praying
                                       differently.

What would
         could
         might happen next time
              if I think past my prayer
                        that isn’t necessarily wrong, but incomplete?
              If I think past my immediate distress
                                      or gigantic in-my-face circumstances
                                      or admittedly sometimes selfish needs
                                                 and pray more thoroughly?

Would my tiny change in prayer
     really make that big of a difference?
Would it fix things
                  circumstances
                  outcomes?

I don’t know.

But maybe it would make a difference in how I view
                                                                  see
                                                                  perceive things.

And that might make a difference
                                in how I perceive Him.

Know

Posted on January 21 2012 by J.W. Richmond

I don’t know how.

All I do is answer the phone and my mom knows already.

Are you okay? You don’t sound quite right.

Sad.
Upset.
Sick.
Tired.

It doesn’t really make a difference.

Mom just knows.

It’s not that I’m trying to hide anything; I just don’t put it all out there on display. But she picks up on the subtleties that I don’t generally put out there.

When I did try to hide stuff back when I was a kid, she spotted the inconsistencies, the untruths. (A lot of the time, at least.)

I hated it back then, because I was usually trying to get away with something I shouldn’t have been doing in the first place.

But now I realize
          she knows
                    because she loves me that much.

She paid attention to me.
She watched me
      listened to me, even though it didn’t always feel like it
      cared, enough to back off and try to give me space
                                 but still keep a very watchful eye.

She knew and knows the depths of me in a way I never had any clue about.

I wonder if I have limited my view of God to that of a parent. Not the unconditionally loving, patient, compassionate parent, but a weird combination of hovering and inattentive at the same time.

I believe God created me and knows everything; nothing is hidden from Him. But I have always just assumed He knew because He knew. Not that He knew because He cared enough to know.

Enough to know every little detail about what I do, think, and just how I am (Psalm 139:2-3).

Maybe
       I have been the kid
                 who assumed He just didn’t – or wouldn’t – understand.

And maybe, even if I can’t see or feel it, He cares too.

Nerd

Posted on January 16 2012 by J.W. Richmond

I forgot how much I enjoyed being a student.

Sitting in class, taking notes, reading and highlighting the textbook.

Sure I doodled in the margins, but I loved the learning.

Yes, I’m a nerd.

What I don’t miss about being a student are the tests – and the money. If I could go back to school and not have to take any tests, and not have to pay such an insane amount for it, there is a very good chance I would do it.

I could study all the things I wanted to when I was in college. All the things I never got the chance to try.

The money weighed down my decisions. And so did my GPA, which apart from some yellow cord I wore at graduation, has never mattered since.

Not that all that work was worthless. It was an accomplishment. I guess.

I just think I could have enjoyed it more. I could have taken some chances. I could have tried some classes that I may have really loved.

Art – Mixed Media, Portraits or Pencil Rendering.
Existentialist Philosophy.
Criminology – Everything.

But I was focused on graduating and high grades.

Intro to advanced, the classes I took had to count toward the degree, so the money would be well spent. Because I was given scholarships that I had to live up to, and my savings were depleting rapidly.

There is something to be said for degrees in History or Philosophy or Art.

They may not add up to a job in that field later, but I would have loved to have that strong interest in something then and delve into it. To have some underlying significance in what I might do with my life, even if it meant not getting a job right after graduation, which I didn’t anyway.

I would have liked to explore more, try more, enjoy more. Not just push myself into getting a degree.

Which is where Academy comes in – a six-semester class at our church where we study the Bible and theology.

Attending class now is so different.

I like letting the teaching soak in, and tracing the different edges of it all to decide if I agree or disagree. I love that I am learning more about the Bible I have read for years, and have a little more understanding of now. And I like figuring how to apply the text to my life.

I still keep up with all the homework, because something in me just has to.

But I am learning to be okay with letting go – a little – and sometimes listening to the podcast later instead of having perfect attendance.

And I can enjoy it, because it is for my edification.

And there are no tests.

Cigarette

Posted on January 14 2012 by J.W. Richmond

My friend spotted me sitting on the curb across the street. Her eyes turned toward me, and like an evil step-mother in a Disney story, she became livid. The anger on her face was only underscored by the volume of her voice.

It was one cigarette. No big deal.

But it was such a huge deal to her – and she was not afraid to tell me that.

It wasn’t like she was my mom or something. She was my age, and neither of us were even old enough to buy cigarettes.

But there are always ways.

I didn’t even like it. It tasted gross and I couldn't stop myself from coughing. But I felt stifled at the time, and this was one step I could take that was slightly out of the boundaries I had been pushed into.

It also opened up conversation with people. A cigarette was, as I learned later, like holding a cup of coffee.

My friend chucked aside any excuses, any reasons. She was adamant that there was a better way, and that I was worth more than that. And she had no problem calling me out on my crap.

She was willing to be hated in order to tell me the truth. That truth was more important than her being liked, and she was willing to put our friendship out there and hold it in front of me as a choice – and an unspoken agreement.

As hard as it is to be called out on something, it is much harder for me to put myself in her place: to be willing to stop everything and point out something in a friend’s life that isn’t good for them.

I have had those conversations, usually reluctantly. Some went fairly smoothly and some had bumps that would rival turbulence in a puddle jumper.

But I hate starting those conversations. I know I’m not even close to perfect. I have enough junk in my life that they can throw back in my face. And even the idea of starting a conversation is difficult, because I hope those interactions turn into conversations at all.

The hardest part for me is not getting through the conversation or having the other person get defensive or angry.

It’s that first word.

How do I start?
Where do I start?
How do I approach this person?

I think I need to take a lesson from my friend and just let myself react from my gut sometimes. Not back myself into a corner and think through the thousands of possible directions for each word I could say.

Because I appreciate that she spoke the truth – for me.

Stroke

Posted on January 13 2012 by J.W. Richmond

It hurts to even hear the word.

A year has passed and my dad is doing so well that if you met him now, you would probably never even know.

But if I were an actress, I could use the memories to cry – instantly – in the midst of the silliest moments. All it takes is one small mention of the word and the tears are just beneath my eyelids. Burning.

Jeff’s grandpa had one last year and is no longer alive.

Friends tell stories of their mothers or uncles or grandfathers who have had one and I have to remind myself to take a breath.

A character in a movie has one, and I stop breathing until it’s over – or turn it off and quit watching altogether.

And then there are the jokes.

A friend is shocked by some news
       and jokingly says it just gave her a stroke.

The fish that can’t swim straight,
                      so they say it had a stroke.

The snowman on Gilmore Girls* with the crooked mouth,
                                                      or stroke face.

I know it’s not intentional; they don’t mean anything hurtful. It’s all meant in jest, and I get that.

But it slams into me with tremendous strength.

Every single time.

And I hate that my dad lives so far away, because every time I hear the word, all I want is to hug him.

 

*Gilmore Girls ©2000-2007