A Short Exerpt from The Curse

Note: This is a short story I have been working on. The second installment will probably be posted at some point if I receive any interest in it. If not, then I haven't wasted any time, as the second installment has not been written. "Pragmatism" has a much nicer ring to it than "laziness."


They were talking about a waterless well in India on the radio this morning. No water in it, they said, but piled high with baby parts. The commentator described the pieces: skulls and ribs and femurs and spines, all stacked high in the well. It seems that a lot of people in India do not want girl babies. Being born a female is a curse. Hide them deep in the earth before anyone finds out it's a girl baby. I wonder who stumbled on the well. Was it a bright-eyed boy catching grasshoppers who happened across the uncovered grave? Did he wonder at first if it was a pile of animal bones? And then, kicking up the sand, running to his mother, crying out to come look at what was in the well, and what is it mother? She ambles over, laughing, wondering what her curious boy stumbled upon. The intake of breath, the gasp as her hands fly over her mouth when it settles over her, the macabre vision of those tiny wrist bones and arm bones and chest bones and toe bones all stacked down in the dusty, abandoned well.
Why is there such evil in the world? Who has taught us that boy babies are better then girl babies? A mother and a father must live out the rest of their lives never having loved and cared for their daughter. Every pink bonnet, every ballet slipper is a reminder of the void left from dropping their daughter into a dry, dry well. Something must shrivel inside after such an act. Death can dwell among the living. There are those whose weakness betrays them, those whose souls have been claimed by darkness. This is not a story about them. This is not a story about the weak, or the dark; this is a story about the victorious—the women who wrestle with the destructive powers and pin them to the ground. This is a story about triumph.

***
I met Miku at the park on a chilly Thursday morning. My son was swinging upside down on the monkey bars as I sat on the bench, wrapped in a warm parka, sipping my Starbucks. Miku was straddled atop a blue Schwinn, her dark eyes soaking in the children kicking up the fall leaves. Their air smelled of fall: wood fires and wet leaves. Eventually, she wheeled the Schwinn over to my bench. We smiled, the polite distant smile that strangers give.

“Which one is yours?” I inquired, assuming that she was there with a watchful eye on her child, just as I was.

She gave a self-conscious laugh. “Oh, none of them,” she replied. “No children, myself. How about you?”

“Over there,” I pointed. “Riding the tire swing.”

We sat chatting about the weather and the new library being built—those mundane things that you discuss with strangers.

“Well,” Miku announced, standing up and mounting her bicycle, “I better head off. Nice to meet you.”

I watched her ride off in the same direction I had walked. She was hunched over the handlebars, her dark pony tail blown about in the wind. I turned back to my son, wondering why I was left with a weighty sadness at her departure.

I did not give much thought to my brief encounter with Miku until the following day, when I saw her wheeling her bicycle across the road near the grocery store. I caught her eye and gave a little wave as I turned my minivan into the parking lot.

“How are you?” I greeted her as I stepped out of the van. “It's strange we never met before. It seems that we frequent the same places.” I bent over to lift my son out of his car seat. Miku smiled down at him.

“And what's you're name?” She asked him.

“Jason,” He replied, gazing at her curiously.

“What a good helper, Jason, to go with your Mommy shopping,” she said with a smile.

Inner Peace

“A life of peace, purity, and refinement leads to a calm and untroubled old age.” -Cicero.

Inner peace is one of life's enigmas: the more vigorously it is pursued, the more elusive it becomes. Many spend their entire lives chasing after the next experience or achievement they believe will grant them the gift of personal peace, only to be disappointed once the initial high wears off. So how does one harness this feeling, and what are the best ways to live a stress-free life? I believe that the answers to those questions are best explored by coming to an understanding of one's identity through a relationship with their Creator.

The demands of our lives increase exponentially with every new technological leap, bringing along with them the side effects of stress and worry. I find that if I would mentally give myself over to the nagging worries that plague me, I would spend most of my waking moments under a burden of self-doubt and fear. Did I say the right thing in the meeting? Will I be able to please my boss? Am I good enough, smart enough, funny enough? Whenever I feel myself slipping into an unhealthy thought patterns, I go back to some advice bestowed upon me: Tell yourself the truth. The truth is that I am valued by a Creator who thought that I was important enough to breathe life into and to place in this world. The truth is that He has an eternal purpose for my life. Whenever I am unable to see past the daily stresses and anxieties of my life, I can find rest by looking at myself through His eyes. Going back to these fundamental truths, seeing myself through the eyes of a loving God, gives me perspective and peace.

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you.” -Jesus

All attempts to achieve inner peace through outward means will be futile if the spiritual being, the inner core of one's soul, is neglected. The fascinating truth is that all of us were placed on this earth intentionally, and we are valuable to our Creator. No matter how busy and stressful my day is, no matter how insignificant I feel, meditating on this truth sustains me.

Dealing with the difficult (people, that is)

I would like to preface this by saying that I, myself, am never a difficult person. In fact, I am really not so opinionated that I would EVER try to convince you that I was right, nor would I argue my point of view. Of course not.

I talked to Beth the other night and asked her the secret to subtle manipulation. She thought maybe it had something to do with using phrases like "so what you're saying is...", and other mirroring methods. Sometimes I say phrases like this over and over again, hoping that the person on the other side will say to me: "What I'm saying is that you are so incredibly smart and your point of view is so valid that of course I will do exactly what you want me to do." The day that happens is the day I am buying a lottery ticket.

Sometimes it helps to use your fake voice. Stop pretending that you don't know what the fake voice is-- you've probably used it on me (don't think I can't tell!). But when you use the fake voice, that pleasant, patient, sweet tone that says "I have all day, please, go on telling me about your stamp collection, of course I want to hear", sometimes it actually helps. Sometimes the secret to dealing with difficult people is to smile on the inside so that you can smile on the outside. They never have to know exactly why you're smiling...just paste it on and hope for the best :)

Is it just me???

I feel like I should be writing one of those "top ten" columns. Like top 10 reasons you know you're a redneck, or whatever. This column should probably be entitled "top 10 indications that I'm getting old". I went to a new church this Sunday, one that is within walking distance of Grove City College. I'm not kidding, I think college freshman are now being admitted at the age of 16. I was surrounded by a sea of fashionably dressed midgets. And what is with the lack of independence? A third of the church is sitting empty, and there are probably 25 students crammed in directly behind me and "oh, we need to save seats for Susan, and Troy, and Doug." On one level it did make sense that they could cram into that row because they all seemed so...tiny. Most of the conversations I heard seemed to revolve around things that are not even worth putting into words. Was I ever that vapid??? Don't answer that. [As a side note: one indication that these were Grovers that we were dealing with here (and you Grovers know who you are) was that I heard an entire conversation detailing the grammatical errors in the bulletin. ] So, I walked out feeling a little...old. But, as I watched all of those freshman trudging back to campus in the rain, I felt very thankful for my car, my house, no homework, and best of all, a life outside of the bubble.

Dishing it out

Self-deprecating humor is the mainstay of the stand-up comedian, providing strong fodder for anyone attempting to cover insecurities. On the surface, this seems to be a solid tactic. I usually make light of both my occasional mental slips and the raised volume of my vocal chords before others have the opportunity. This helps break the ice--it lets others know that I am aware of the areas where I fall short of perfection (as minuscule as they may be), and also allows for a good laugh at my expense. My advice to all future comedians is to develop some thick skin (when I say thick, I mean like an elephant-hide thick). If you joke about your thinning hair, you had better be ready for everyone else to comment on it....their witty remarks accompanied by roaring laughter. In my case, if I neglect to see the hilarity when others are commenting on my "built in PA system", I risk looking like a spoilsport. However, for those of you who think that your imperfections will remain unnoticed if you point out others' flaws, please note: Not only do elephants have thick skin, they also have long memories.

Music and (bad) Lyrics

Recently, more than ever, it has become extremely apparent that song writers are running low on creative fuel. Take, for instance, the popular song belted out by Toby Keith with the chorus "High maintenance woman don't want no maintenance man." I realize that grammatical correctness has fallen by the wayside, but is too much to ask for lyrics that are not so corny that they require their own side of butter? Or, perhaps you've heard the song "Fergalicious". This one is even better than "My humps". If anyone can figure out how the Black Eyed Peas have managed to hang on despite atrocious vocals and lyrics that can only be described (and I'm being generous here) as juvenile, please fill me in. And while we're on the subject of the Black Eyed Peas, has anyone heard the folk rendition of their "junk in the trunk" song by Cheryl Crow? I'm really hoping that Cheryl recorded it as a parody because there is no other explanation for the lack of judgement that this particular choice represented. It is embarrassing to watch artists passionately perform these songs. Today's artists would do well to take lessons from such lyrical greats as U2 or Johnny Cash.

Living life

"It is very easy to think of the poverty far away and forget very quickly. Today a great disease is that feeling of terrible loneliness, the feeling of being unwanted, having forgotten what human joy is, what the human feeling is of being wanted or loved. I think this is found in very well-to-do families also.

We may not have people hungry for a plate of rice or for a piece of bread in New York City, but there is a tremendous hunger and a tremendous feeling of unwantedness everywhere. And that is really a very great poverty."

-Mother Teresa

I recently had a conversation about anxiety and fear and their increased prevalence in today's society. Heinous crimes are committed by those who are searching, longing, begging for love and acceptance. While we may never know the cause behind the Virginia Tech killer, it's obvious he was plagued by the demon of loneliness. This does not, by any stretch of the imagination, explain or condone his crime in any way; however, I believe it is worth noting that loneliness is a powerful motivator. May we cast off our shrouds of fear and loneliness, living life as it is meant to be lived, with exuberance and abandonment.