remembering those who can't forget

there's a man where i work. an IT professional with a suit and tie. thin-rimmed glasses. he gave a talk last tuesday. it was non-mandatory, and the conference room was sparse. he began his story slowly, in front of a white wall, with no visual aids. he talked about flying over vietnam, and how his plane was shot down. the tanned faces of his captors. about being taken from little town to little town, paraded around like a trophy. the stones thrown. the jeers. the spitting.

he talked for two straight hours about the torture. the months in solitary confinement. at one point, he reached into a small black bag and pulled out a pair of simple cotton pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt. "i asked to keep my prison pajamas," he explained matter-of-factly. he proudly displayed his metal POW bracelet, mailed to him by a little girl. he talked quickly, strongly, with no breaks. it was an informative wartime recount told by someone who had been there. he explaned in incredible detail the interrogations, the statistics of losses, and how it felt to sit in a dark room for hours, waiting on a guard to come in. i marveled at his ability to detach himself from it, to speak in the tone of a history professor, not a victim.

then, when the questions were finished and people were beginning to fidget, he looked at the ground, and talked in a different tone.

"there was one time, i was asleep in my cell. there were no windows and no sunlight. i didn't know day from night, nor did i know what day it was. a guard came knocking," he said.

"i opened the door and the guard said, 'don't you know what day it is?' and i replied 'no.' then the guard looked at me and said, 'you should be sad. today is christmas eve. your family is at home celebrating. and you might never see them again.'" he looked around the room at us and sighed. "that was 40 years ago."

with that, he took off his glasses. and wept. openly in front of interns, executives and CFOs. we sat there with him and did not speak. then, we quietly gathered our things and returned to our bright offices.

death lurks all around the war. and this day is significant in remembering those taken while in battle. but sometimes, it's only a part of a person that dies. both are hard. both are worth remembering.

just until my skin turns brown, then i'm going home

when i was a toddler, i went to the beach with my parents. they took me a little ways into the water, and a current came that almost swept me and mama away. of course i don't remember, but mama said she was terrified. she lost contact with me for a second and in that second lost her world.

the ocean has a way with me. of sweeping me in and under. of swallowing me.

robert and i are off to the coast for a long weekend in the sun. i plan to lose myself in the water's pull. not entirely different from when i was a child and got swept away. because sometimes, being swept away is just what i need.

a surprise from my sister

after a long day at work and a 20-minute traffic jam during which i moved maybe, maybe, a foot, i came home to this.

not from robert, mind you.

from my sister. my sweet sister home for the summer. she snuck in our house and prepared this spread. a gorgeous bouquet of spring flowers, and the most moist, delicious bread i've ever had. for no reason in the world.

she's gorgeous, smart and kind. and even though she's younger than me, i hope with all my heart i'm just like her one day. i love you, carly!

summer scenes

these three socks have been hanging there for weeks. their matches just up and walked away, i'm convinced.

the shed is kittenless and the sky is cloudless.

muscadine vine out back, flowering and full.

 

the little trail behind the blueberry bushes. where i stand with mama and robert and pick the little berries all summer long.

goodness, can i just say how excited i am that summer has arrived in north carolina? in our little cottage? everything is green, lush and alive. and i am likewise.

however, as beautiful as nature can be, i am very aware of its destructive power. its ability to destroy. hurt. shatter. and my prayers go out to everyone affected by the awful storms. may you have rainbows soon.

to be an adjective

  xxx

they wanted, as we say, to ‘call their souls their own.’ but that means to live a lie, for our souls are not, in fact, our own. they wanted some corner in the universe of which they could say to God, ‘this is our business, not yours.’ but there is no such corner. they wanted to be nouns, but they were, and eternally must be, mere adjectives.

 -c.s. lewis, the problem of pain

 

as poets like page breaks that feel like deep breaths, so a creative writer loves adjectives. my descriptor of choice is lovely. my best friend in middle school loved the word crisp. there are just some words that, when added to a noun, enhance tremendously. they add depth, meaning and image.

but as any elementary school teacher will sweetly inform you, adjectives that stand alone are meaningless. pretty. small. big. without a subject, they lose their form and become half-shaped. like the victorian house on the edge of our road, standing tall against the heavens, with cracking paint and loose shutters. almost perfect. almost special, but not quite whole.

i am not the sun. but there are summer days when the sunshine reflects off my cheeks. my eyelids. my nose. and i feel it and radiate with it. likewise, i want to stand so close to the Son that i am a mere reflection of His glory. and brightness.

in my Christian walk, it is only an adjective i aspire to be. but so often, so incredibly, unknowingly and sometimes purposefully, often, i become the noun. my little world revolves around the subject of Me. and yes, Christ is a part of it. He is present and there and totally within reach, but only to support my goals and end desires. in effect, an adjective to my noun.

but if we switch. if we just swap places, what a beautiful, whole, complex sentence we would be! and the sentences of my peers, my family, my friends and all the population would swarm together to create a beautiful story. the most beautiful one in history. in His story.

a sunday kind of love

the weekend was warm, the first balmy saturday in weeks. the community pool opened. the one where mama spent all her teenage summers. the one i lifeguarded for five glorious, frozen lemonade-filled years.

with sun so high and humidity wetting the wispy hairs around my forehead, there was little to do but just be. be still. be silent. be outdoors. and soak up all God had painted.


when it gets like this out in the country, the last place i want to be is over the stove. over the oven. over any source of heat at all. so sunday supper was easy. a simple salad under the shade trees. i tossed together a little baby spinach, bleu cheese crumbles, apples, blueberries, dried cherries, and sliced almonds. drizzle a little balsamic vinegar and olive oil, and you've got a meal.

being outside is magical, and when the sun sets, and the beating heat cools to a warm teasing breeze, i'm reminded of why i stayed in this one-stoplight town. and why i'm so glad my high school sweetheart stayed too.

b-a-n-a-n-a-s

one of the upsides to being miserably sick with the most awful head cold to end all head colds?

i have rediscovered my love-nix that- my absolute obsession with, banana popsicles.

by themselves, bananas are a bit odd and not one of my favorite foods. but things that taste like bananas? perfection. the banana-shaped runts candy? i dare say it is the best runt of all. i also adore banana bread, not to mention banana bread cereal from post selects.

then, just yesterday, i saw an advertisement for this. a machine that turns bananas into ice cream with the push of a button? the concept alone sells me!

here's to wishing your weekend is filled with warm sunshine, grass between toes, and your favorite fruit variation, even if it's just a strawberry slurpee from 7-11. as long as you're getting your fruit in, i say.