i grew up eating chocolate ice cream, because i couldn't say vanilla.
one day in middle school, mama laid a newspaper clipping on my pillow. a new device had been created. a teeny, in-ear mechanism that would essentially create an echo of one's own voice when speaking. the tool was heralded to greatly reduce stuttering, as many stutterers experience relief when speaking in unison, and the device's choral effect did just that.
so the speecheasy was born. but at fifteen, i was more interested in cheer practice. in that awful algebra class. the boy down the row at the cafeteria who whispered to me during silent lunch. so i tucked the clipping away, lost in the tupperware container under my bed, the one filled with photo albums. movie stubs. printed-out AOL conversations too sweet to delete. forever doomed to be lost among the relics of my youth.
but then i grew up. dated then grew apart from the boy from the cafeteria. graduated and got a job in a city. that algebra class gave way to a master's program. such is the ebb and flow of life.
but last week, it hit me. this realization that while i am special and perfect just the way God made me, there is this technology out there. this special work of man that could give me just a little, a smidgen, of relief. from the tense, locked jaw and squinted eyes i get every time i give a presentation (i actually stopped halfway though my speech last time and apologized to the crowd.)
so i researched the speecheasy. and became discouraged. the sum of money expected for something no bigger than my thumbnail was through the roof. and for this frugal, thrift-store-loving woman, it was enough to send my heart to my knees.
but then, at eleven o'clock last thursday night. with pablo asleep under the lamp and a blanket around my knees, robert came into the den, an envelope of money in his hand.
he had saved all year, hoping to open up a retirement account in december. self-employed, he doesn't have a 401K. so he had squirreled away, week by week, in hopes to start a nest egg for himself and for us.
but that night, he just reached out his arms, and handed me the envelope. i want you to use this, he whispered, for your speecheasy.
it was the exact amount, to the dollar, i needed. every last penny of my need met, by draining every last penny of his. a God moment so spectacular.
it was entirely selfless, incredibly beautiful, and enough to send me into a gut clenching sob.
my appointment is friday.
and i am nervous. i am anxious and scared and full of questions. but there's this man who sleeps to the left of me, and this morning he left me a love note on my laptop. and finally, nine years later, i'm ready to take that step. with one eye on Him and the other on him. oaring my way through these seas. a beacon of light on the shore.