An apology between friends That kiss of words on lips Seductive in its subtlety Longing to make things right When love’s been abandoned Tossed like so much dice A startling black on white Acquiescence of a sort Designed to mollify To knit a pattern of beauty That will stand time’s test And yet it ends … Continue reading This Modern Guilt
She loves him. I can see it in her eyes when he pulls her into his arms and holds her close. It’s like a fairy tale as they talk and laugh, as he plans a future for the two of them, and as she says nothing to dissuade him from those plans. They’re dressed in dinner wear, the handsome couple that turns everyone’s heads when they go out on the town. He even brought her home to meet his entire family, and they too could see the love between them. A week later he is in tears because she said she doesn’t feel the same way about him as he does about her. Now. At this late hour. And the cameras are rolling when he gets the news.
No, this isn’t real life, but it is at the same time. This is a television show, but it’s unscripted, and the “actors” are real human beings who want a legitimate shot at discovering love, at finding their own “happily ever after.” Is it right to throw these desperately longing creatures together in a house with their rivals and hope for the best? Is it okay to think that having one woman determine their fates is the best way to treat their fragile emotions anyway? And why am I so fascinated by the show?
After watching the latest episode last night, I thought back to bachelorette Andi’s hometown trips, where she did a very good job of making it seem like each of the four guys was the only one for her. Four mothers told her how much they could see the attraction and emotional connection between her and their son, but one of those mothers either lied or was seriously mistaken — Marcus’s mother. She wanted the best for her son, having already lost two other children in tragic circumstances, and she had us viewers thinking that Andi was that proverbial best. A week later Andi was breaking her son’s heart on national television.
And we all watched. Well, I watched anyway. Continue reading “The Unorthodox Nature of Dating on TV”
Dear Journal, Honestly, I don’t know why I spend so much time thinking about what other people think of me. A long time ago I tried telling myself I didn’t care, but it became such a flimsy lie that one day I just stopped saying it altogether. Because, yeah, I do care, and I care … Continue reading Dear Journal: Love Me
I don’t even remember my first hug, but it is probably my mom who can claim it. I know I always felt safe and secure with her, and a good hug can be a great catalyst for those feelings. Why do you think that when people are sad a hug can comfort them? Because it’s … Continue reading How to Hug
“Now ain’t nobody tell us it was fair. No love from my daddy ’cause the coward wasn’t there. He passed away and I didn’t cry, ’cause my anger wouldn’t let me feel for a stranger.” -2Pac, Dear Mama
Mothers are the singularly most amazing human beings on the planet. They give more of themselves than it seems possible to give,and then they give some more. So often a mother’s job is never done, because to her it is so much more than merely a job. It’s a calling. When her child screams out in the night, a mother’s ears are tuned to pick up on it and respond, even before she herself is awake. A mother seems like she’s in all places at the same time because she often has to be in order to take care of her myriad responsibilities.
A mother doesn’t complain, though, not even when she isn’t appreciated, because she knows complaining doesn’t get things done, and she has no time for excuses. But one thing a mother can never do is be a father, and that’s okay.
For the most part, I grew up in a single-parent home. My father was never around, but even when he was his mind was elsewhere. I had probably five, maybe six, solid, concrete moments with him when I was younger when he made a positive impression on me, but I have a plethora of those type of memories featuring my mother. I just saw her this weekend, and it’s amazing to me how fresh those memories still are, and how we continue to make those memories no matter how old I get. The bond between a mother and her children should be an enduring one, and it often is, but can it make up for the absence of a father?
I hear so many people extoll the virtues of single mothers by saying, “She was both a mother and a father to me.” But that can’t be true, can it? Expecting a mother to be a father is like asking an Irish man to be Chinese. That’s because we need different things from each parent, and while many of us make it through childhood just fine without a father, it doesn’t lessen the yearning for one, or fill the hole caused by his absence. Continue reading “Why Mom Can’t Be Dad (and why that’s okay)”
“Oh, my life is changing every day, in every possible way. And oh, my dreams. It’s never quite as it seems. Never quite as it seems.” -The Cranberries
I had this dream last night, and in it some people had broken into my car. I don’t remember where it was parked, but something tells me it was at the mall, in one of the outside slots, where the eighteen-wheelers like to park across several spots at the same time. I’m not sure why it had to be there, but of course that made it more appealing for thieves. And I couldn’t recall if I had locked the car or not, if it was a passive break-in or an active one, but I sensed that somehow I had locked it and they had smashed in the back window with a crowbar or some other such implement.
I’m not even sure where I was when this was happening, but I showed up moments after the thieves left. I could even see their own car pulling away, but I didn’t have my keys so I couldn’t follow them. They were driving away but looking back, taunting me because I didn’t have my keys. Then one of them, a sandy-haired youth, tossed the ring of keys out of a back window, and then they were gone. Just disappeared, car and all. I went to grab the keys but they weren’t mine. In fact, they were a set that kids play with, the large plastic multi-colored keys. And I remember feeling stupid that I hadn’t realized I had brought them instead of my actual car keys. Of course they belonged to the baby, but if you had asked me what baby I wouldn’t have been able to tell you.
Then I went back to check out the car, to see what other damage they had done besides bashing the back window in. The passenger side doors were wide open, open even wider than they can actually go, and the car looked pretty immaculate inside. Nothing seemed out of place at first glance. They had even brushed the glass off of the back seat and I could see the shards glittering against the pavement. Then I noticed that my iPod was missing, and I broke down in huge, gasping sobs, knowing that my world was over. Continue reading “Premonitions”
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Exploring life, love, lifting, and (almost) literally everything else, frequently aided by laughter and libations
Just a small town girl who writes about Christian stuff.
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