After my father passed away in September, I had a couple of days where it felt like I had to just chin up and keep going through life and certain responsibilities. We got the call on a Saturday morning, and it wasn’t until Tuesday night that I could finally sit down at the piano to pour out my heart a bit without feeling like I had something else to prepare for or occupy my mind.
I played for a little bit, thinking of the song I had written for my father (which I was fortunate enough to share with him in July).
As I played, I considered what it must be like to respond to that invitation to “take My hand” — what it must be like after years of declining health for my Dad to suddenly find himself in a body not merely restored or healed, but upgraded into eternal glory.
I thought of the hallucinations that terrified him at times… the weakness and shaking in his limbs from Parkinson’s disease… the withered legs of the man who used to sprint down the street racing against my brother and me…
For the faithful, to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord… and what a tremendous joy that must be.
I didn’t get to share this one with my Dad, obviously. I only got to imagine what it was like for him to open his eyes to wonders and splendor beyond our comprehension.
Maybe one day, he’ll tell me his side of the story. I can’t wait to hear how much better it was than what I pictured.
Maybe it won’t matter, because we’ll have better things to do.
Until then, Dad.
Eyes Open
You take His hand
And your grip is strong and firm again like His
Rise to your feet
And your legs feel like they’d outrun space and time
Open your eyes
To the wonders of the sights more real
Than any of this world you left behind
Awoken
To Heaven
Eyes open
True living
There’s no more pain
In a body uncorrupted by decay
No darkness remains
All the fearful visions scattered in the day
Trembling now
Only when you’re filled with wonder
At the majesty and glory on display
Awoken
To Heaven
Eyes open
True living
Arisen
In splendor
Eyes open
Forever
I can hardly imagine all the suffering you went through
I can’t understand what all the pain was like for you
But I take comfort in the thought of what it must mean
To be made complete and new
And that one day I’ll join you
Awoken…
To look upon the face
Of the One in whose image you were made
Take My Hand is the song I wrote for my father before he passed, and a “prequel” to this song.
Back in July, I received an unexpected call from my Mom. Actually, I kind of expected a call from her — we had sent her copies of her memoir that I edited and published on Amazon KDP, and when I saw her number, I assumed she’d gotten the package.
“David,” she said, “Dad’s ‘transitioning.'”
I didn’t know what that meant. (It turns out, that meant that his gradually declining health due to Parkinson’s was likely taking a sharp turn for the worse.)
I didn’t know how long he had left. (No one did. When I spoke with his primary nurse, she said it could be a week, or it could be months.)
I didn’t know what to expect or if I could even get to him in time. He had already been confined to a sick bed, needing oxygen and almost complete assistance with anything physical. He had been suffering hallucinations. He wasn’t able to keep food down, and his skin color was changing in a bad way.
I got my ticket and worked out time off from the company, but all of the unanswered questions and unknowns occupied my mind. As I usually do in those times, I sat at the piano and started playing my feelings, expressing the jumble of confusion and concern that I couldn’t put into words.
Memories came together and stood out — interactions with my Dad that shaped the rest of my life.
I wrote this song just before flying home, and was able to share it with my Dad in person. My Mom used it as part of my Dad’s celebration of life after he passed in September.
For those who have lost someone, I hope it’s a comfort. In Christ we grieve, but with profound hope. (1 Thess 4:13)
Rest in peace, Dad.
Take My Hand
I remember walking down the railroad tracks
The Bible says train up a child, oh how you loved to joke ‘bout that
And I’d always try to balance on the rail
But I’d stumble or I’d slip or find some other way to fail
Then I’d hear you say
Take my hand, son
You can hold on
I’ll keep you up when you can’t do it on your own
Set your eyes on the horizon
Step by step, Let’s see just how far you can go
Until it’s time to head on home
I remember when I struck out on my own
My new job would take me far from everyone I’ve loved or known
In a panic I remember calling you
Cause I didn’t want to go, I didn’t know what I should do
Then I heard you say,
Take God’s hand, son
Then just hold on
He’ll keep you up when you can’t do it on your own
Set your eyes on the horizon
In His steps You’ll see just how far you can go
Until you make a place your home
And we both’ve had our share of falls and stumbles on the way,
But the love and grace of Jesus never falters, never fades
Until the day the shadows of the valley of death dissipate
And you see His face
And you hear your Savior say
Take My hand, son
You can hold on
I’ll raise you up Into a new life of your own
Set your eyes on the horizon
Where golden streets Lead to a glory-blazing throne
My son, it’s time, come on let’s go
Well done, and welcome to your home
Note: After my father passed in September, I wrote a follow-up to this song, imagining the other side of that first experience of Heaven.
I’m listening to music as I get ready for church this morning, and there’s a song that speaks right to me. I’m going to be a little vulnerable, and even throw in a [content warning: thoughts of self-harm].
When I think about my past—the mistakes I’ve made, the hurt I’ve caused, the wreckage I’ve left behind in my life and the lives of others—sometimes it can get overwhelming.
Not many people know all of my junk and my mess. Most people know “the nice guy,” the dude that sings and plays piano at church, the co-worker that’s willing to listen to what’s weighing you down.
Some people even look up to me in various ways. I don’t know if that helps or hurts more.
Because I know the rest of the story. There’s a darker part of me that still whispers and claws at the back of my mind, bringing up the past and stirring up doubts about the future.
Some days, that voice says I should just sink under the water in the bathtub and not come back up. Some days, when I look out at the ocean waves, that voice wonders if I shouldn’t just start swimming toward the sunset until I can’t go any further.
I never really feel suicidal, and I don’t think I would have the guts to act on any such impression if I truly felt like doing something.
But the voice whispers nonetheless, and the memories and regrets float like ghosts through the recesses of my mind.
Enter the power of forgiveness.
I grew up in church—heard all the stories about salvation and Jesus dying on the cross for our sins, prayed a prayer to ask Him into my heart before I fully learned to read, and so on.
Grace and forgiveness are familiar concepts—too familiar sometimes.
When you’re four, “Jesus saves” sounds nice, but you probably don’t understand what it means. Saves from what? What danger was I in? Was I not going to get a snack in Sunday School, or worse yet, was I about to be put in time-out?
When you’re over forty, on the other hand, you might have some things you look back on with regret and shame.
The Gospel message is that Jesus took all of our sin—all the hurt we cause others, all the hurt we cause ourselves, all the failures and moral weakness and rebellion—and put it on His shoulders to carry. He bore the brunt of the justice of a holy God for our wrongdoing, and to us, He extends a hand of mercy and forgiveness, of freedom and the chance to be like new.
When Christians enter into this relationship with God through Christ, we go through a ritual of baptism—usually involving being submerged under and rising up out of water, a symbol of joining in Christ’s death and resurrection.
We go under the waves, and the thought is that the old “me” stays there, dead and gone, while the new “me,” Christ in me, rises out of the water.
Consequences still remain. The cross doesn’t magically fix every relationship or heal every hurt. Baptism doesn’t wash away the scars of years of wounds inflicted on someone else. Healing relationships means walking a long and tough road, and that opportunity may not be available in many cases.
But the Gospel does give us hope. Grace does give us a reason and the power to change. Forgiveness does hush the whisper of the past. “Your accusation may be accurate, but your condemnation isn’t.”
This weekend, I had plenty of time to consider my past, to get overwhelmed by the weight of what I’ve done. I also experienced a measure of grace—unmerited kindness—from the people around me as we work through all of this.
At one point in the Gospels, a woman deemed sinful by her community comes to Jesus, anoints His feet with perfumed oil, washes them with her tears, and dries them with her hair. The outwardly righteous religious leaders look on with scorn. “If he knew the kind of woman that was touching him right now,” they think, “he would have nothing to do with her!”
Jesus replies that one who is forgiven much loves much.
If I’m too familiar with grace and forgiveness, it’s like, “yeah, yeah, Jesus died for my sins, for God so loved the world and all that.” Sounds pretty good and all, but let’s not get carried away.
When I stop to really consider it—or when I can’t help but think of how desperately I needed it—then it draws a much different response from my heart: praise and gratitude.
I could have gone under and stayed there… but His hand reached out to draw me up from the depths, and that gives me a reason to sing.
“I can’t believe you support (political opinion)!So I guess you hate (groupof people) and anyone who thinks (other political opinion) now, or something? I thought you were a (political affiliation), but now I’m not sure what you are or what you believe.”
Fun, right? Laughs a-plenty.
So much of today’s American politics feels like an all-or-nothing fight, a game of extreme positions with no in-between. If you say you support X, people assume you must completely support Y, and are 100% opposed to Z.
Yet politics—and pretty much everything meaningful in life—is more complex than that. We’ve been fed a steady diet of Either/Or and false dilemmas, so it seems like some of us have forgotten what it’s like to find common ground or work toward a compromise.
Ooh, they have graphics for cognitive biases as well!
If I post something that relates to Black Lives Matter, unless I write an additional paragraph of explanation and caveats, people assume I’m 100% in agreement with all of the organization’s stated political and cultural goals, and must therefore hate all police officers.
If I argue against someone’s interpretation of something President Trump says or that his administration does, people assume I believe everything the President tweets and support every action the Republican party takes.
Sometimes I question the more extreme folks on the Right, or challenge the assertions they make when it seems like their position is unfounded or disturbing. Immediately, commenters jump to the conclusion that I must be a bleeding heart liberal or some freedom-hating socialist. It’s as clear as day to everyone; obviously anyone who questions The Narrative is one of them, and not us.
Sometimes I question the more extreme folks on the Left, and challenge their assumptions about how our society should be organized or corrected. That leads to assumptions that I’m going to rallies along with Nazis and racists and calling them “good people.” Once again, obviously anyone who questions The Narrative is one of them, and not us.
I’ve been told that I hate America, and asked why it seems like I care so much about American politics since I don’t live in the States… even though I am a citizen and a veteran who served America’s interests in the military for 24 years.
I’ve been asked whether I’m struggling with some burden of white guilt, and have been told that I hate the groups I identify with. I’ve been asked “What happened to your logic and critical thinking” when I didn’t blindly go along with one side or the other, and have had my religious faith questioned for taking positions that don’t match what someone expected.
I’ve been told that it seems like I’m virtue signaling when I post so much, since someone didn’t see enough posts from me on a given subject in the past… but I am somehow also criticized for always and only posting about the same old subjects.
And of course, if you post something that seems to even tiptoe over the line to the Left or Right, people on the other side will assume you dove into the deep end and started drinking up the political pool water like Kool-Aid.
There are two boxes, only two, and you must be completely in one or the other. Nothing else exists… to the extent that we can become blind to any evidence or reasonable argument from the other side.
Well. That’s a probably too-long intro to a post no one will likely care about, but it’s a chance to get things off my chest.
So.
I’m concerned.
I’m concerned and grateful for the police—for people who I believe are generally putting their lives on the line to do an often thankless and dangerous job in order to keep people like me safe. I don’t walk in their shoes or claim to know the stresses they deal with on a daily basis, and I wouldn’t want to.
AND I am also concerned and disturbed when it seems like there is a significant pattern of excessive use of force against the civilians they protect and serve. The police act as agents of the government authorized to use lethal force. When there are so many instances of unwarranted force followed by false reporting that require civilian video footage to expose, it erodes trust and causes deep concern for how the authorities are exercising the power they wield.
Similarly, I’m concerned that “black lives matter” is a necessary affirmation in our country. There are too many videos and reports of lives needlessly and violently cut short, too many instances where there was no opportunity to comply with the police, too many situations where “don’t break the law and you’ll be fine” wasn’t good enough.
I think these views are valid and non-contradictory. I don’t have to choose one or the other.
I’m concerned about violence and riots, damage of property, and most crime. I think societies flourish when there are just laws and harmonious order, and so I worry when people are allowed to create and continue a state of destructive unrest.
AND I am also concerned when unidentified agents of the government roll up in unmarked vehicles, detain citizens without any charges or explanation, drive around with these citizens for an hour or more, and pressure them to waive constitutional rights. I am concerned when representatives of our government say, “That’s been working well, so we want to do the same thing across the country.”
I think you can be concerned about riots and unrest, and also concerned about governmental overreach and abuse of power. These aren’t mutually exclusive. It turns out there are lots of options and degrees of concern to choose from.
I’m concerned by a trend of vilifying and canceling anyone who dares dissent with conventional cultural wisdom. There are certainly vile opinions out there deserving of condemnation. However, it seems like some folks learned that if you can just label someone a Nazi or a racist—even when, or especially when it makes no logical sense—then you can ignore anything they say and make everyone want nothing to do with them.
AND I am also concerned by the ease with which so many brush aside the scars and any discussion of America’s checkered past regarding race. I am troubled by the seeming inability of many on the Right to even consider the possibility that there is a discussion to be had or that there are hurting voices to be heard.
I don’t think we should be holding our fingers in our ears pretending not to hear … nor do I feel like we should be screaming louder than someone else in order to shout down or ignore what they’re saying. It’s possible to hold both those views. Neither method helps us move forward as a people together.
Let’s speed this up.
I’m concerned about government taking too much control of Second Amendment freedoms, AND concerned about our society being the only developed country in the world experiencing waves of gun violence. Surely there is some middle ground.
I’m concerned about the ability of our country to maintain control of our borders and handle a large influx of aspiring immigrants, AND concerned about the ways we treat the powerless while they are in our custody.
I’m concerned about the ability of our citizens to exercise their faith AND concerned about the effects of prejudice upon the ostracized.
I’m concerned about our ability to maintain American interests abroad AND concerned about our seeming inability to handle some of the basic needs of our citizens.
I’m concerned about bias in media AND concerned about rejection of or politicization of science.
I’m concerned about dealing with prejudice and recognizing bias…
AND concerned with perspectives on the issue that go to wild extremes like rejecting the scientific method as “white culture.”
AND concerned with a bunch of people that cling to the monuments and flag of those who fought to stop people of color from being recognized as fully human, yet seem unable to understand why that might be upsetting.
AND concerned with identity politics and ideologies that claim “if you are a part of this group, you MUST feel X, and believe Y, and you are automatically considered Z. Otherwise, you’re not REALLY one of us.” In other words, you better get in a box.
I’m concerned about a lot of things.
I’m concerned that most of what we need to address in our society are issues of the heart… ideologies and mindsets that exist beyond the power of the pen that signs a law or the threat of government power to enforce that law.
I don’t have a solution for that concern, but it seems like a little empathy, humility, and respectful discourse go a long way.
The world is messy, and complicated, and colorful, and multifaceted.
Societal issues are troubling, and complex, and galvanizing, and heart-breaking.
America is beautiful, and scarred, and aspirational, and flawed, and always striving for better, never satisfied.
I’m concerned… and I’m still proud to be a part of it.
As I contemplate Good Friday, and the sacrifice of Christ for the sins of the world, I thought it would be a good day to post this hymn I wrote a few weeks back.
You saw my weak and helpless state My suffering under heavy chains For Your name’s sake You did not wait But took my place and bore my shame The King of Glory scorned of men Whose every breath belongs to Him Yet in my sin You loved me still And took my place upon that hill
The spotless Lamb who knew no sin Drew down the justice meant for me And all my guilt was laid on Him The burden of iniquity To You the cup of wrath did come And crying out, You drank its dregs And in my place Your body hung And there You died and bowed Your head
Blessing and honor and glory be To the One who alone is worthy The Lamb who was slain Name above all names Jesus Christ, the King of kings.
You saw my full depravity Yet looked with mercy on my need The King came in humility And took my place upon the tree You bore my curse, You took God’s wrath Reserved for me, now I can stand In wondrous praise upon the path From Calvary to Promised Land
Now I will bow and sing the praise Of You who died and rose again God’s Only Son, High Priest who saves I’ll stand amazed and fully cleansed Worthy of more than words can say Be glorified eternally I come before the throne of grace And take my place knelt at Your feet
Blessing and honor and glory be To the One who alone is worthy The Lamb who was slain Name above all names Jesus Christ, the King of kings.
Though sun may set, and night consume The light of hope, replaced with gloom, The dawn will split the darkness soon. And though in death, they thought Him doomed, The Son arose, and from the tomb Eternal rest and life now bloom.
Sunday is coming.
Wishing you all a safe and meaningful Good Friday and Easter Sunday.
Here’s another spoken word style poem I wrote over the last few days… thinking of the tape or the playlist that often goes on in the back of our minds, calling out our failures and playing off our doubts. This one has a decidedly Christian bent — while acknowledging the negative thoughts that sparked the idea for the poem, I didn’t want to wallow in them.
HEADPHONES
Shut all the voices out, I’m trying to tune in Turn up the volume loud, the music is boomin’ Drownin’ the fear and doubt beneath all the rhythm Bobbing my head unbowed by my inner schism So long as I lock on the sound I don’t mind the prison And the feeling of coming unbound like light in a prism When the beat is starting to pound against the system I feel like I can rebound – I will not be a victim
Put the phones in, Try to home in
On the feelings and the voices that keep dronin’
All the echoing whispers condoning
Condemning thoughts I’m alone in
Awash in a well of emotion
Where I wade with the weight of the burden
And the heaviness hurts ‘til I’m groaning
But I keep it inside like I’m owning
All the pain that I hide when I’m hurtin’
So many voices, so many words
So many streams of empty air
Saying the same old things that I’ve heard
There ain’t nothin’ new out there
Under the sun, feel like I’m done
Broken down in disrepair
Thoughts that I shun come back and run
All through my head and leave me bare
Without a prayer,
Carry the care you wouldn’t dare reveal and share
All that you bear, ditch the despair
Don’t let ‘em see the wear and tear
Don’t let it scare the unaware
Wouldn’t be fair—not their nightmare
Just turn up the music and sway to the beat
Try to confuse all the voices that speak
Drown them in tunes that you put on repeat
Try to refuse to believe their deceit
All the abuse ‘cause they see you as weak
All the excuses you make for defeat
All the regrets leaving you incomplete
All of the fears from which you retreat
We’re all listenin’ to our own playlist
S’posed to listen more, try to say less,
But the voice in my head is a sadist
And the man in the mirror’s a menace
So I walk with my head down dejected
When my life goes to hell as expected
All the chances I dodged and deflected
And the burdens and shame that I’m left with
Tried to pass off the blame, got rejected
By the masses my game disrespected
And I’m groping for hope resurrected
But my options remain unaffected
‘Cause I’m leaving the efforts neglected
That would cure all my sickness—infected
By the ego that won’t be corrected
So I keep to myself, disconnected
While I’m tellin’ myself I’m protected
By the stories and lies I’ve collected
‘Cause the liar inside misdirected
And my purpose has been intercepted
Shut all the voices out, I’m trying to tune in Turn up the volume loud, the music is boomin’ Drownin’ the fear and doubt beneath all the rhythm Bobbing my head unbowed by my inner schism So long as I lock on the sound I don’t mind the prison And the feeling of coming unbound like light in a prism When the beat is starting to pound against the system I feel like I can rebound – I will not be a victim
But the playlist just keeps on repeatin’
All the ways that my sin’s got me beaten
All the failures and falls got me bleedin’
All the hopes and the dreams are receding
‘Til the song and the voices I’m hearin’
With their mocking and laughing and jeering
They get lost in the sudden appearing
Of a radiant Champion clearing
All of the fog and the doubt and depression
Turning my eyes from my inward obsession
Toward the prize beyond any possession
That He purchased for us through redemption
Every sin every failure—you name it
It’s been stamped with His Name ‘cause He paid it
The whole list is now His, He forgave it
Powerless to condemn ‘cause He nailed it
To the cross where He bought our salvation
And I need to get this revelation
That the God who says “No condemnation”
Is rejoicing in celebration
Over us and our consecration
As He’s working toward sanctification
Now that we are His brand new creation
And the echoes that kept up their whisp’rin’
Kept on pickin’ on me and all my sin
Well He shut off those tunes and He put in
A playlist called “Fully forgiven”
His mercies – they’re new every sunrise
His love – you’re the apple of His eyes
His grace – it cannot be diminished
His work on the cross – it is finished
‘Cause along with the song that He’s singin’
There’s a message of hope that He’s bringin’
So shut all the voices out, I’m trying to tune in Turn up the volume loud, the music is boomin’ Drownin’ the fear and doubt beneath all the rhythm Bobbing my head unbowed by my inner schism So long as I lock on the voice that freed me from prison And the glory in which I rejoice like light in a prism When Your mercy and grace overpower my limited vision And Your Spirit alive in me shouts that this corpse is now risen When the power of love You have shown has shattered the system Through the favor and grace You bestowed When You took my place and embraced the disgrace as a victim
So I take out the earbud a minute
And I think about what’s playin’ in it
And I know it’s not for me alone
That’s why I pick up this microphone
North Korea launched a long-range missile past the island of Okinawa today, ostensibly to launch a satellite, and quite probably as part of their ongoing efforts to develop a better ballistic missile program in conjunction with weapons of mass destruction.
My thoughts on this are a little rambly… to include the question of whether ‘rambly’ is a word.
I stood at the park with my 5 year old around noon, watching picture perfect clouds stacked in different layers coasting across the blue sky. He climbed on all the playthings at the park, and then I gave him a ride home on my back, listening to him laugh with delight.
The Dude on a recent trip to the park
I recently played a bunch of Fallout 4, exploring a ravaged Boston battered by radiation storms and post-apocalyptic cruelty. Coupled with today’s news, when I looked at those clouds it struck me that it would not take a whole lot to bring the beauty around us crashing down. Some combination of insane or fearless world leaders, political brinksmanship, and powerful weapons–that could do the trick.
My idealism wants to rail and shout. What sort of madmen would threaten something so pure and peaceful as a 5 year old climbing and playing with abandon on a bright sunny day?
My cynicism knows the horrors wrought by human nature, and my pragmatism understands that I and my family aren’t immune to or protected from events that can shake the world.
For a few minutes, while the Internet connection held, I played a video game for a while. Destiny is a sci-fi, first-person shooter with open areas on several planets in our solar system. My character stood on Venus, killing evil robots and aliens. My 10 year old son recognized the level and watched for a moment, then asked, “Wait a minute! Why is there grass on Venus? It’s super hot. That isn’t right!”
And that led to a conversation about the far-future, sci-fi dream / hope of terraforming other worlds to make them habitable for humankind. I laughed at the idea, but remembered a recent article suggesting the sort of “colony” we actually could put on Venus (in theory) in the distant future: a suspended cloud city that would rest not too high in the upper atmosphere as to freeze and not too low as to suffer the inhospitable heat.
But with all that comes the realization that this will almost assuredly never happen in our lifetimes.
So we talked about what it means for humanity to reach for the stars. “Basically, one meteor strike, one nuclear war, one significant enough calamity, and everything ‘human’ ceases to exist. We have this one planet, where every single human has ever lived and, for the near future, will ever live. We don’t want all of that swept away in an instant. People want to spread that risk out a bit.”
Questions of faith arise in our home. Is that like the Tower of Babel? Is that an expression of human arrogance or pride, making more of ourselves than we ought, or not being content with what we have? And how do we reconcile that desire with what the Bible says about the end of the world?
Oddly enough, my justifiable fear of what we know could likely happen to end the world aligns pretty well with the Bible’s promise of an end to this world–coupled with wars, famines, diseases, and calamities. And that raises challenging questions.
But I also find great hope–both in what my faith has taught me to expect if/when I see those promises come to pass, and in what the best and noblest expressions of human capacity show us is possible when we put our minds and resources toward fantastic, even ‘impossible’ goals. We’re coming to understand so much about the universe around us. We live in a world surrounded by knowledge and technological miracles compared to just a few decades ago, and that trend is on track to continue for the foreseeable future.
Depending, of course, on the paths we choose.
May our faith in something greater than ourselves and our hope for a better future guide us to always take the path that leads to a park at noon on a sunny day, and maybe even grass on Venus.
WattPad is running a contest / writing challenge for 2015. The goal is to write 10,000 words of a story within 30 days–originally within the month of August, but they’ve extended the deadline to September 30th to allow for those who may have started late.
After NaNoWriMo last year, 10K seems like nothing!
I’ve posted the first chapter of my Echoes story to the site. I plan to have some fun exploring the world inside Hope’s head, and the interplay between Forsephore and her soon-to-be-revealed nemesis. I’ve already got the climactic confrontation sorted out in my head, more or less… but I feel there’s a lot of winding paths along the way that I can explore.
Have you ever stopped and considered the “what might have been” options in your life? Those doors once open that now seem so unlikely? Those dreams and lofty goals that too easily find themselves set aside by the mundane demands of the daily grind?
“I want to run a marathon.”
“I plan to travel to Ireland, or Australia, or go backpacking through Tibet.”
“I could write a memoir.”
“I want to be an astronaut.”
I saw a link to a short story contest on my Stateside writers’ group Facebook page, and the urge to participate churned in my brain at once. And the more I thought about potential stories, the more my mind homed in on the concept of our deferred dreams and primary motivations. What are the principle visions of ourselves or beliefs about ourselves that govern so much of what we accept as possible or achievable?
We all have these grand plans and aspirations, but life sometimes buries them deep down beneath the crushing weight of bills, daily chores, menial but tedious work, and mindless entertainment to distract us from the numbing effects of our busy lives. Worse yet, there are “facts” we believe about ourselves that keep us from even attempting to achieve. “I can’t write.” “I’ll never have the time to spend on that.” “No one wants to see what I can create.”
For example, in my teenage years I distinctly remember a comment from my big brother telling me I couldn’t sing well. To be fair, my voice was changing, and everyone has bad days, so maybe his judgment that day was fair. Maybe it was an offhand comment or a big brother picking on little brother moment. He probably wouldn’t remember saying it.
That defined my ability in my head for several years. Rather than sing, I held onto the thought, the belief even, that I really ought not subject others to the sound. I could play piano really well; I should stick with my strengths.
It took a friend’s compliments and encouragement to get me to even try singing a duet with him in public. It took the praise of many members of the congregation to convince me I should keep doing it, and it took some time for me to really believe I could sing capably into a microphone where others would suffer the sound of my voice.
All because of an off-hand comment.
No judgment on my brother, whom I love dearly. I merely bring this up as an example of how easily certain parts of our personality can get crushed by the voices around us.
So my short story is going to be about these Echoes, the “could have beens” and “maybe one days” that all exist within the same jumble of emotions as “this is the best my life will get” and “who am I kidding, I could never…”
What happens to these Echoes when dreams die or when doors of opportunity close? What can motivate a person to change which voices hold sway in their mind?
When one of the Echoes starts to fade into nothingness, she finds a last chance at reshaping her Prime, the mild-mannered cubicle dweller to whom all the Echoes belong. To do it, this Echo has to avoid the judgmental ire of the current Alpha in charge, who is determined to maintain the status quo while enlisting the aid of other weakened dreams and forgotten hopes. Perhaps if enough of them come true, the balance of power can shift. But if not, then all those dreams might be lost forever.
Sound fun? If so, help me out… and maybe you’ll appear as one of the “Echoes” in our cubicle dweller’s head.
How? It’s easy to do, but maybe a little challenging to consider:
Leave a comment with a few of those deferred dreams or “I wish I had” hopes that you think might be clinging desperately to the thought of “maybe one day” in the mind of the cubicle dweller. These could be silly ideas you think a frazzled woman trying to avoid becoming a crazy cat lady might hang on to. Or on a more personal level, these could be your own thoughts of what could have been, wishes you never got the chance to fulfill.
I’d love your input.
Also here’s Shia reminding you to not let your dreams be dreams.
It’s time for a Saturday Storyline. Unfortunately, I misplaced the initial handwritten draft of the next part of my Worldmender storyline. So… here’s a Word of the Day post, based on “vigorish,” which was not at all what I thought at a glance.
The Fourth Street Diner in Berkeley… probably NOT the setting for this story!
Jonas Budyenko’s hands quivered as he dried the last glass and set it on the Fourth Street Diner’s bar. It rattled on the plastic until Jonas let go.
“Vanessa, who’s on the phone?” Please god anybody but Vitoly.
She didn’t even look him in the eye as she walked by. “AT&T, boss. Courtesy call. They’re shutting off your service again. Twice this month. New record.”
Jonas wiped his brow with the dishtowel. One more bill to juggle. I need to get a hold of Sarah at college. But I can’t pay the bill until I talk to Vitoly or Dom.
Dom hadn’t been around to collect in a couple weeks. He’ll come soon. He’s a ‘regular.’
Jonas rehearsed his plan for the fourth time. It ain’t much, Dom, but I got three thousand together this week, and with school startin up again, Mister Vitoly knows I’m gonna be good for the rest real quick. I’m gonna pay, promise.
The bell above the front door jingled and Jonas startled. Two college girls took the first booth and Vanessa brought them menus. Three weeks now, where’s Dom been?
Jonas caught sight of Ted, the Greek who owned the corner store. Has a spring in his step today. What’s he smiling about? Vitoly’s been on his back for months.
“Two triple chocolate,” Vanessa mumbled as she walked by.
He grabbed the scoop and two chilled glasses. Come to think of it, all the shopkeeps have been up lately. I’da thought Vitoly was dead the way they’re acting. But I saw Dom at the pier the other day, picking up monthly payments from the Romanian with the fish market.
Jonas set the pair of frosty glasses on the bar for Vanessa when the bell jingled again. His heart froze colder than the shakes in his hands. He’s here.
A wall of muscle with slicked back grey hair, Dom stepped in and tucked Ray-Bans into his leather jacket. Too warm for that coat today, unless you’re hiding holsters. Sweat dripped under Jonas’s arms. Oh Lord I’m not that far behind, am I?
Ice blue eyes fixed on Jonas, and Dom’s lips parted, showing white teeth in an awkward smile. Jonas attempted to return the gesture, but his clenched jaw made it difficult. Dom moved to the bar and took a stool. Even seated, his shadow loomed over the counter.
“What’ll it be, Dom?” Jonas managed to say.
The mountain grumbled. “Hmmm… you know, I never stopped by for casual. Always business,” he said with a shrug. Believe me. I know.
“What’s your best? I’ll try one. Special occasion and all.”
Jonas stood, staring at the big man. What are you playing at? Trying to make it look like you’re not here to threaten me? Waiting until there are no witnesses?
“Do you got a best?” If Dom noticed the hesitation, he said nothing. “Ehh, I guess you can’t really call one good. Makes the others sound bad, right?”
He turned. “Hey, ‘Nessa! What’s your favorite?”
“Red Velvet Cake.”
Dom turned back to Jonas. “Bit pricey, ain’t it? I don’t got money to throw around.”
There it is. Jonas opened his mouth to speak, ready even to beg. But his throat felt full of ash and dust. Tell him! No one’s listening.Tell him like you practiced. “I’ll get the money.”
“But I’ll try that.” He glanced at the waitress again. “Nice girl. Reminds me of yours… what’sername, Sarah, right?”
The ice cream scoop clinked against the glass as Jonas worked. Oh god oh god, that’s your play? I need to call her. But, the phone-
Dom continued, chatting like an old friend. “She’s gotta be in high school by now, right?”
“She’s in college, Dom. Third year.” Please god let her be okay. Vitoly isn’t that cruel.
“Oh. Jeez, where’d the time go, right?”
Dom laughed, and Jonas cringed. His stomach churned. Oh god, I’m gonna vomit right here, all over the bar, all over Dom. Oh god, he’s gonna hurt Sarah, and the three grand isn’t gonna be enough, and he’ll come for me and take me out back and–
“I’ve got three thousand right now in the safe, more next week, please don’t hurt her,” he blurted in one breath.
Dom shrank back, hands raised in protest. “Jonas, what the–”
“She’s all I got, Dom!”
“Whoa, Jonas, what are you–you mean, you haven’t heard?”
Jonas leaned on the diner, arms shaking.
“Old Man Gino died a couple weeks ago, right?” Dom explained. “So he had a stash he been saving up for years I guess. Got no kids, wife died three years back, so he left it to you guys. All you Fourth Street shopkeeps that played chess with him? He left money to pay off everything you owed Mister Vitoly.”
“He did what?”
“Yeah, paid it all. The whole she-bang. Your loan, plus Mister Vitoly’s modest interest rate.”
Jonas struggled to remain standing. Gone? It’s all gone?
“You’re not here for a payment.”
“Nope.”
“You’re not threatening my daughter.”
Dom laughed. “Jonas, I would’ve been by three weeks ago, but I thought you heard. And your phone was out.”
“Oh my god, oh my god, I gotta call Sarah.”
“Tell her I said hi.”
Jonas ignored the comment as he headed for the door. Vanessa can handle the place for a minute. Ted will let me borrow his cell.
The bell almost broke loose as Jonas burst out of the diner to catch up to his friend. He shook off decades of age and anxiety and started a shuffling jog. There he is… gotta let Sarah know.
He never saw the speeding car.
Jonas awoke to the steady beep of the IV pump and the too-clean scent of a sterile hospital room. He felt numb on his left side, but he smiled when he heard Sarah’s voice.
“Dad, you’re awake?” She rushed to take his hand, careful to avoid the IV tubes.
“Yeah,” he whispered, and offered a weak smile.
She hugged him. “What were you doing running into the street?”
“Oh sweetie, I was so excited… wanted to tell you the news.”
He looked into her bright eyes, and his heart filled with joy. “You wouldn’t believe–”
Then he caught sight of Dom.
“What’s he doing here?”
Her face fell. “Dad, you had several broken bones,” she explained. “A few surgeries. We… my job doesn’t pay well enough for those kinds of bills.”
No.
“So I talked to Dom, and he talked to Mister Vitoly. Everything’s taken care of. I got a small loan, with modest interest.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Now, what were you saying?”
He felt the old crushing weight settle back down on his shoulders, and he tried to fake a smile.
“Nothing.”
The home of David M. Williamson, writer of fantasy, sci-fi, short stories, and cultural rants.
Here’s another spoken word style poem I wrote over the last few days… thinking of the tape or the playlist that often goes on in the back of our minds, calling out our failures and playing off our doubts. This one has a decidedly Christian bent — while acknowledging the negative thoughts that sparked the idea for the poem, I didn’t want to wallow in them.
