twenty-four years later

...i have stuttering relief. it comes in the form of a little hearing aid-esque device that slips sweetly and neatly into my left ear. it is removable, which is a plus because it amplifies every.single.sound. and is hard to wear 24/7. but it is beautiful. and the joy and freedom it grants me is beyond belief. it's slow, methodical process, this healing and reforming. but i didn't get here overnight and it won't disappear overnight either. it is no sprint. rather, it's a walk, a saunter through the meadow at times and a trudge through snowy grounds at others. but i'm glad God chose me to take this path, however difficult and embarrassing and downright hard it can be. because finally, blissfully, there is a glimmer of light appearing from the shadows, a distant end to this tunnel. and it's like i just got new walking shoes.

to order vanilla

 xxx

i grew up eating chocolate ice cream, because i couldn't say vanilla.

-speecheasy video

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.

the second line, or how i will never finish a story

it didn't used to be this way. i would sit for hours in my dorm room, rocking back and forth in the wooden chair. the same wooden chair that held scores of students before me, in that same room with the bunk beds and exposed brick wall. i would rock, and while rocking, think about how to start my story. my essay. my report. microsoft word pulled up, with the cursor tauntingly blinking in the upper left corner. it's not that i didn't have anything to say. i had plenty. but starting it took time.

now, i can write a thousand opening lines. words flow from my fingers and spill out onto the screen. it's the meaty part that's hard. the second line. that's where my mind clams up and my heart races and i'm afraid i'll never match the beauty of the words before. there are stories tucked in my journal that are nothing more than one-liners. to flesh out an entire novel seems impossible for this girl who loves simplicity. loves short sentences pregnant with meaning.

hemingway wrote a six-word story once. just to prove he could:

for sale. baby shoes. never worn.

i think that's my fear. that i will sit down one day in front of a computer in a room unfamiliar to me now, but by then, wholly my home. and i will write. and maybe the words will flow furiously or maybe it will take years. and i'll never match the meaning of those six words. that my opening line will be a story in and of itself and the rest will be filler. fluff.

there are words in this heart. and stories and tales. but like the writer, they are simple. and i'm scared of suffocating them. with dialogue. with descriptions and details.

so i keep them tucked away. until i have enough breath in me to share with them. and its this symbiotic relationship that will redeem me until i can form, shape, mold and create them enough that they live entirely on their own.

via

my own little world

currently listening to this song.

the lyrics get me every time, especially these:

Father, break my  heart for what breaks Yours
give me open hands and open doors
put Your light in my eyes and let me see
that my own little world is not about me

xxx

i want to remember these words. more than as lyrics. more than as rhymes. as a mantra that i can chant silently and actually live. because it's so hard to. live unselfishly, that is.

to not wait for opportunity to knock, but to walk up to the door, break it down, and meet opportunity face to face. to minister, share and love on people, because that's what we're called to do. to listen and fellowship and give.

because if i wait until i have "open hands" chances are i'll always have a tightly bundled fist. the hard part is opening up my own hand, not waiting on others to reach out to me in need.

the challenge is to live like our Father in a world that tries to inundate with the idea of self. to maintain that root, that special tie, to the heavens when walking on the pavement.

one of my favorite Christian t-shirts says "be ye fishers of men...you catch them, He'll clean them."

i'm casting my net today. and slowly, fearfully, but faithfully, leaving the shore.