Friday, December 31, 2021

A New Excerpt from My Next Novel - to start the New Year

 

   The Tables Turn - 2008

 

The day of Ginna’s seventeenth birthday, she and Danny were tossing a baseball back and forth in their backyard.  Lauren had wanted to throw a party for her, like last year’s, her Sweet Sixteen Birthday.  But Ginna said she didn’t want one.

          “Mom, it’s too much expense for you.” Where was this new thriftiness coming from?  “Besides, I don’t have any friends here that I want to invite.”

          Yes, last year’s party had been awkward, Lauren knew.  By this time, she was hoping Ginna and her brother would have begun to fit in with their peers at school. 

          Watching them play, she reflected on how Danny was doing.  He’d always been more of a loner than his sister, quiet like his Grandpa John.  In the deeper recesses of her mind she sometimes wondered if he was keeping the same kind of secrets his father had about his sexuality.  Almost every day, she prayed this wasn’t true. 

          Today was just another example of how her children took refuge in each other.  For a while after Ginna started high school, they’d started acting distant and argued a lot.  They must have patched things up through the next couple of years because now they were closer than ever. 

          So many things Lauren wished she could change, but all she could do was try her best.  That’s what being a single mom is, she told herself for the millionth time.

          Just as she turned away from the kitchen window to do some dishes, Danny threw the ball over Ginna’s head.  She scrambled back to retrieve it, and when she bent over to pick it up, her hand went to her back, rubbing it.  With a start, it came to Lauren that this gesture was all too familiar.  She’d done it often whenever she was pregnant.

          No, that can’t be.  She’d never get promiscuous on me.  In spite of herself, though, Lauren began noticing other clues over the next few weeks.

          At last she couldn’t stand it any longer.  One night after Danny had gone to bed, she took her daughter into the kitchen, where he’d be less likely to hear them.  Once they were seated in the straight-backed chairs at their small wooden table, Lauren stared at Ginna, searching for words.

          Trying to keep the anger out of her voice, she began, “Is there something you need to tell me?  I’m a mother, and I know what pregnancy looks and feels like.  There’s no denying that none of your jeans are fitting now.”

          “Hey, who are you to criticize me?” she retorted.  “You’ve been sleeping with your boss for months.” 

          That’s a low blow. “So this gives you permission to sleep around?”

          Lauren was surprised when Ginna shook her head. “I don’t know.”

          “What don’t you know?  Who’s the father of this baby?”  Her voice grew sharp, as unstoppable waves of anger and disappointment swept over her.  “How many men have you slept with?”

          Ginna stared at the tabletop, tears filling her eyes.  “Mom, in the sense you’re saying, I’ve never slept with anyone.”

          “What is that supposed to mean, young lady?”  Tears began pooling in Lauren’s eyes.  Ginna turned, looking out the yellow-curtained window above the kitchen sink.

          “So, are you telling me someone raped you?” Lauren whispered.

          Ginna turned back to face her and shrugged.  “Would it make you feel better if it was, Mom?” 

          This comment sent a jolt through Lauren’s gut.  Suddenly, she remembered how Ginna had tried to warn her against having an affair with Dave, with the text she’d received in the elevator.  A text she should have read, but shoved aside.  Guilt and regret bubbled up from deep inside.  The tables were turning now.

          “But who?  When?  Was it date rape?”

          “You have no reason to hassle me,” cried Ginna.  “You’re the one who’s been sleeping with a married man.”

          Again, her daughter’s words hit like a physical blow.  She knew she was reaping what she’d sowed.

          By this time Ginna had stalked into the living room and collapsed on the worn brown couch, burying her sobs in a yellow pillow.

          “Cry if it helps,” Lauren whispered, sitting beside her and smoothing her short, brown hair with her hand.  “We can sort this out.  I’m sorry I got angry.  This is just so unexpected.”

          Ginna nodded slightly under Lauren’s hand.  “That’s for sure.  I can’t explain it, Mom,” she murmured into the pillow.  “It’s complicated.”

          “What’s so complicated?  Either you practice safe sex or you don’t.”  

          “I never meant to lose my virginity.”

          “What?  You must have let yourself be drawn into a situation where it could happen.”

          “Not really, Mom.  Like I said, it’s really confusing.  You wouldn’t believe me if I told the truth, anyway.”

          “Try me.”

          “It’s like a bad dream.  Maybe I’ll wake up and it will all dissolve into nothing.”  She gulped a breath.  “Danny and I have met some time-travelers from another dimension.”

          “Wait, this sounds like a great fable.”  Lauren almost laughed.  “Can’t you come up with a better excuse?”

          “Mom, I’m not lying.  I knew you wouldn’t believe me if I told the truth.”

          “Well, I have to admit it’s the most imaginative excuse I’ve ever heard.  Whose science fiction book did you get this from?”

          “Forget it then.”  Ginna pulled the pillow on top of her head, and sobbed into the couch.

          She kept her face toward the back of the couch and didn’t speak for another moment or two.  When she began, she didn’t raise her head, but kept it against the cushion.  Her words were muffled, so Lauren could barely hear them.

          “These time-travelers—"

          “Wait, you’re saying some time-traveler raped you?”  Is this just an elaborate scheme to make me feel guilty, after all?

          “Mom, I’m so confused.  I didn’t even understand what was happening to me at first.  I was afraid I was gaining too much weight.  I know I’m just a huge disappointment to you now.”

          At this, Ginna sat up and pulled her into a desperate hug.

          “Except that I’m the one who failed, not you,” Lauren murmured.  “How could you have a good example, when I—"

          “Don’t say any more, Mom.  I can tell you still don’t believe me.”

          Lauren couldn’t deny this.  For whatever reason, Ginna wasn’t able to face the truth. 

Through the rest of the pregnancy, all Lauren could do was mull these thoughts over.  This tale of Ginna’s was unbelievable, but she never tried to give any other explanation.  Lauren decided it must have been date rape, and Ginna couldn’t handle it.  Perhaps someone at school, because as the pregnancy began to show more, Lauren had to force her to keep up her senior year of high school.  She came home in tears almost every day.  Her emotions were on edge because of the pregnancy hormones, but Lauren wondered if there was more to it.  They both were thankful when the high school teachers finally agreed to continue her studies at home during September and October, as her pregnancy entered its last months.

 

***

           

          Oddly enough, Lauren and her daughter did draw closer.  She supported Ginna in her decision to keep the baby, even though it meant taking on the responsibility of child-rearing all over again.

          Still, there were days when she was in a waking-nightmare.  Her first impulse was to seek comfort with Dave.  Even if nagging guilt began growing, her sheer need for him kept overwhelming her doubts.

          Of course, he could sense something was off and asked one night when they’d slipped off to their favorite motel in Fort Collins, “What’s bothering you?  Have I done something wrong?”  They were already lying in the tangled bedsheets.

          “Not you, just me.”  She tried not to echo the testiness in his voice.

          His dreamy eyes stared into hers, full of puzzlement.  “What’s that supposed to mean?  Sounds like an excuse I’ve heard before.”

          This wasn’t what she needed to hear.  “So you’ve had other affairs.”

          “Hey, they were just fun and games, Lauren.”

          “I’m not a fun and games person,” she snapped.

           He took both her hands in his.  “You’re a deep person,” he whispered into her ear.  “I’ve never known anyone like you.”

         

          “You probably say that to all your lovers.”  Though she was trying desperately to brace herself against his charms, she wasn’t succeeding.  “Your hands are so warm,” she sighed.  “I sure could use you in my drafty old house.”

          “Is that the problem?  You want more of me?”

          “Yeah, that’s part of it.  I don’t feel right being just your mistress.”

          He blinked but didn’t give a quick reply, so she went on, “The bigger problem is my daughter has gotten herself pregnant.”

          “What’s that got to do with us?”  

          She cringed.  His response was too quick and sharp.  Again, she needed to take some deep breaths before she spoke.  “I tried to raise her with morals, Dave.  Now that she sees what I’m doing with you, well—I’ve totally blown my credibility.”

          “Credibility?  Hey, this isn’t the Nineteenth Century, you know.  Values have changed.”

          “I know, but she’s my only daughter.”

          “Take it easy,” he murmured, pulling her closer.  “I know you love me, and you know I love you.  That’s enough for us.  Just put it aside and enjoy what we have.  Your daughter’s problems are her own.  You’re not responsible for every decision she makes.”

          Despite herself, she leaned into his embrace and nodded against his chest.  “I want to believe that.  Still, there’s something inside me like a judge saying ‘Guilty!’”

          He made no reply, but turned her face up toward his and kissed her lips, then nuzzled just below her jaw line.  He already knew this was one of her erotic zones.  There was no way to resist him.  Her body was responding in spite of her doubts. 

          Later, as they both lay on the hotel’s bed, she could hear his deep, even breathing in sleep.  All she could do was stare at the ceiling and blink back tears.  Why was she so weak?


 

Tuesday, December 21, 2021

Winter Solstice Greetings from Saturn?

 

Yet another new year will soon arrive!  I’m sure almost everyone is glad to see 2021 go away. Old Father Time, known as Chronos (the source of words like chronology and chronometer) to the Greeks, and Saturn to the Romans, is still a feature of our new year celebrations.  You know, the old bearded man with the scythe, who hobbles away as the old year passes.

 

When I took high school Latin, we were told “Io Saturnalia” meant Merry Christmas, sort of.  Most of Roman history was pre-Christianity, so Saturnalia was actually a pagan holiday celebrating the arrival of the New Year, as well as the Winter Solstice, when the days gradually become longer (in the Northern Hemisphere).

 

Saturn was the "grandfather" of the Gods, the father of Jupiter (Zeus in Greek) who was, in turn, father of most of the rest of the gods in Greek mythology. I find it interesting that old Saturn still shows up this time of year as Father Time, the thing we cannot control, because it just marches on. 

 

The planet Saturn was in the news in 2020, because Saturn and Jupiter were closer together in our viewpoint here on earth than they’ve been for over 600 years.  Some hoped this was a good omen for the year 2021.  Now that 2022 is on the horizon



, we need all the hope we can get!

Sunday, December 12, 2021

Chapter 1 - The Lie

 I'm going to start posting chapters from a book I started years ago and set aside.  Hope some of you find it interesting.

Lauren Parker had been lying to her daughter.  She sat behind her desk at work, staring at the phone, knowing she needed to call and tell her she’d be late again.  Dread held her back.

Ginna was sixteen years old.  Was she old enough to understand?  Before she could change her mind, Lauren grabbed her cell phone and punched the speed-dial for home.

          “Hello, Mom?”

          Lauren breathed a slight sigh of relief when Ginna answered, instead of her thirteen-year-old son.  This would make it easier.

          “Hi, honey.  I’m going to be late again tonight.  Don’t wait supper on me.”

          “I know, just fix something for the two of us.  Oh, yeah.  It’s just me.  Danny isn’t even here.   He’s sleeping over at a friend’s.  How come I’m always the one left home alone?”

          Lauren tried to overlook the ache Ginna’s sarcasm caused.

          “So you’re working late on that public relations project?”

          “Partly that.  Dave has asked me to join him for dinner, too.”

          “You mean Mr. Cameron, your boss?  I thought his name was John.”

          “Yes, he’s John David Cameron, but he goes by his middle name.”

          “Isn’t he nearly ten years older than you, Mom—and married?”

          Here goes.  “Yes, he is.  But you don’t realize that ten years isn’t as big a deal when you’re thirty-five.  It’s not as much of my lifetime as for you at sixteen.”

          “Yeah, Mom, I can do the math.”

          “Please.  I need to see where this will go.  You have no idea what I went through when your father left.”

          “Danny and I went through a lot, too.”

          “I know you’d like to go back to the home we had before.  You’ve told me that often enough, but it’s all gone.  Your father took it from us when he walked out five years ago.”

          She had to stop, her throat closing up in a choke.  These were feelings she never wanted to dredge up—the deep, sharp pain of rejection, the feeling that she was worthless, and didn’t deserve to be loved, ever again.  How could he choose to love a man instead of me?  This was the part she couldn’t bear to tell Ginna.

          “Mom, are you all right?” 

          So she could hear the pain.  Her daughter had always been perceptive.

          “I’m fine, Honey.  Don’t wait up for me, okay?”

          “Okay.”

          Well, that could have been worse.

          Just then, Dave tapped on her half-open office door.  Hastily, she wiped the tears from her cheeks and smiled up at him.

          “Ready?”  His voice had a rich, deep tone that always warmed her deep inside.

          “Sure am.”  She grabbed her purse and walked out the door with him into the nearly empty hallways of the High Plains Nuclear Plant in eastern Colorado.  This was the job that had opened almost miraculously after the divorce.  Her bachelor’s degree was in public information, and once he left--I refuse to even think his name—it was all she could turn to. 

When this job showed up on an Internet query, it was too good to pass up, even though it meant leaving Texas, where all her family was.  The move had been harder on her children than she’d expected.  They had ended up in a small rental house at the edge of tiny Deer Path, Colorado.

          At times, she felt guilty that the lives of her children weren’t enough to keep her happy and occupied.  But she needed this job as a way to feel valuable, contributing something to the world.  Besides, Tim--ugh! I thought of his name-- was very lax in paying child support, so they needed her paychecks to get by. 

          By now, she and Dave were standing in front of the elevator that would descend from their third-floor offices to the ground level.  While they were waiting there, her phone buzzed. 

          “You have a call?” he asked.

          Glancing  quickly at the phone’s screen, she shrugged.  “Just a text, probably from my daughter.  I’ll read it later.”  She should read it now, but her heart was pounding, with him standing so close.  She didn’t want to mess up this moment.

          With a chime, the elevator arrived and the door slid open.   It was empty, and her heart began to race as they stepped inside.  As soon as the door shut, he took her hand and drew her close.  When the light for the second floor came on and back off, he tilted her face up, his fingers weaving into her blonde hair, kissing deeply.

          “Oh, Lauren, I know you’re probably hungry, but I just want to be alone with you.  That’s what I’m hungry for.”

          She looked up into his shining gray eyes.  He wasn’t a truly handsome man, but he had a magnetism which set her head spinning.  It was so good to have value to someone again, especially to someone important in the company, like Dave.

 

Thursday, October 28, 2021

How Did a Turnip and a Beanstalk Lead to Jack-o-lanterns?

 


One Celtic tradition that crossed the Atlantic with many Irish and Scottish immigrants was the “Jack Tales.”  The one familiar to most of us is the story of “Jack and the Beanstalk.”  Recently, I’ve learned that there are many more of these tales of a sharp-witted trickster named Jack.  Here’s one for Halloween:

The Celts have long observed Samhain (pronounced sah-wheen) on October 31, marking the midpoint between the Autumn Equinox and the Winter Solstice.  As the northern nights grew longer, the Celts believed Samhain was the night when the world of the dead and the spirits was closest to the world of the living.

From this has grown our tradition of ghosts and goblins abroad in the night.  In ancient times, people dressed in costumes to scare the real ghouls away.  Offerings of special foods were set out to appease the ghosts so they would leave without committing mischief.  Hence our tradition of “Trick or Treat.”

The popular Jack-o-Lantern was also part of this tradition.  The tale goes that Jack’s spirit roamed the earth on Samhain, but decided he needed a light to better find his way.  In a farmer’s field he found a very large turnip, hollowed it out, cut eye-holes, and put a candle inside.  Thus was born the JACK-o-Lantern.

Perhaps others in the world of the living took Jack’s idea and turned it into a light to keep the ghosts and ghouls away, placing the lights on their porches or in a window.  In America, pumpkins were more common than turnips and easier to carve.  And so our tradition was born.

Wishing all of you a Happy Halloween!

Saturday, October 23, 2021

The Morning After

 Just a teaser: excerpt from a new book I'm working on.  (MFE)

Lauren woke with a start, wondering where she was.  Then she heard the deep breathing beside her and glanced over at the lanky form sleeping there.  His arm was lying underneath her.  White sheets were wadded all around them, and she suddenly saw she was naked.

          Then a rippling shock flowed through her,  What have I done?  Now there’s no turning back.

          Here she was in the silence of a hotel room, feeling a parade of emotions.  First there was fear and regret.  Have I compromised all I thought I believed?  But Dave seems to really care for me--I hope. 

          As she rolled and turned her face toward his, a slight smile played at the corners of his mouth, sending a throbbing thrill through her, echoing the[Ma1] warmth and pleasure of his intimate embrace.  For the first time in a long time she felt loved and safe.

          Now his eyelids fluttered open, and his smile grew larger and warmer.  “Awake now?” he murmured.  “Are you alright?”

          She nodded and drew closer to him.  “I’m fine, for the first time in years.”

          “I’m glad,” he smiled, and then kissed her lips gently.

          She flowed into him, their bodies no longer two separate entities.  There was nothing left to do but let the heat burn on between them.

 

***

 

          They couldn’t be together every night, even though she ached for it.  He needed to find ways to keep his wife from getting suspicious, so she had to be ready to change plans at a moment’s notice.  At first, this didn’t bother her.  After all, it wasn’t as though she had much of a social life.  Just transporting her kids to and from their activities.  Ginna had her driver’s license now, but they couldn’t afford a second car.  This wasn’t a huge problem, since Lauren had few other obligations outside of her job.         

          Soon, she was willing to drop anything to be with Dave, at whatever secret rendezvous he found.  Her needs began to outweigh her thoughts of her children, dear as they were to her.  Hunger for Dave kept growing within her.  Sometimes it caught her in an unexpected rush. Her lower abdomen would get an urgent contraction, then warmth, followed by quickened breathing, and often tears in her eyes.  She’d never realized hormones could do such powerful things to her body.

          Some days she’d get angry for reacting this way, telling herself she shouldn’t feel this intense attraction to someone else’s husband.  But her body was unable to listen.

          As the weeks went by, she stopped counting their encounters.  Whether this grew out of guilty feelings or not, she told herself not to care.  Things began to blur.  All she could focus on was when they could be together again.

          One Friday after work, he drove much farther than usual, west toward Denver.

          “Where are we going?”

          “Someplace special,” he grinned.

          It was late fall and the days were growing shorter, so everything was dark, and stars were appearing by the time he pulled into a lane with a sign reading Palisade Estates.  The road was unpaved and rough, so he took it slowly.  Evergreen trees loomed high overhead, blocking the stars.  Then just as he rounded a corner, a mountain vista opened with a small log cabin in the foreground.

          “Well, what do you think?”

          “Oh, Dave, it’s really romantic out here in the wilderness with only the stars to see[Ma2]  by.”

          “I’m glad you like it,” he smiled.  “It’s been one of my favorite places for a long time.”  He gathered her into his long arms.

          For an instant, she wondered if he and his wife had come here often but dared[Ma3]  not ask.  Instead, she took a deep breath to clear her mind as they got out of his car.

          “Why didn’t you tell me we were coming so far?”  she asked, an edge in her voice.

          “I’m sorry.  Is there a problem?”

          “Well--I guess not.  My kids are both sleeping over at friends’ places since it’s Friday.  But I need to know if I’m going to be gone more than one night.”

          He covered her hand with his large warm one.  “Your hands are cold,” he whispered.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t forewarn you.  I guess I’m only thinking of my needs.”

          My kids are old enough to manage.  She wanted to believe this—to stop the feeling of guilt growing in her chest.  Then her physical need for him began to override these thoughts.

          By this time, he’d pulled her closer and was gently moving his thumb across her cheek.  “You are so wonderful for me,” he murmured.

          Even though she wanted to reply, her voice caught somewhere in her throat.  Gazing over his shoulder, she could see the full moon rising behind him.  Soon his hair was outlined in a halo of moonlight.

          As they stood on the small cabin’s porch, his hands moved to her shoulders before she realized he’d even lifted them.  In the next instant, her sweater was being pulled over her head and his hands were working their way into her blouse.   One of his arms was behind her shoulders, pulling her toward him in a fierce embrace.  She’d never felt such urgency and power in him.  His lips pressed hard and hot against hers.  Gradually he moved his lips down her neck, and she moaned in pleasure. 

          Then he carried her in his arms through the cabin’s door, both of them pulling off clothing and tossing it aside as they made their way to the tiny room’s bed.


 


 [Ma1]comma

 [Ma2]maybe wilderness instead of wilds

 

 [Ma3]no comma after often

 

Monday, September 27, 2021

TURN, TURN, TURN

 As the seasons change, I have begun to analyze the thoughts of change flowing through my mind.


Many people in my generation probably have heard the songs of the “Folk Revival” of the 1960’s.  Things like “Where Have All the Flowers Gone?” “If I Had a Hammer”, “We Shall Overcome” and “Blowing in the Wind”.  There were others that were composed as songs protesting the Vietnam War and pleading for peace.

One of my favorites was “Turn, Turn, Turn” recorded by the Byrds.  It was an adaptation of verses found in the Bible book of Ecclesiastes (chapter 3).  The words are almost identical:

“To everything (turn, turn, turn) there is a season (turn, turn, turn), and a time to every purpose under heaven.”  It goes on to list many cycles of life:  “A time to be born, a time to die, a time to kill, a time to heal,  a time for war, a time for peace…” etc.

With the way our world is going these days, these words mean even more now that they did in the 1960s.  To me it seems like history is repeating itself—the mistakes and problems, not the good things.

This idea of the unending cycles of life is highlighted in the old folk song, “Where Have All the Flowers Gone?” as well.  I believe this is an adaptation of an old Russian song, though I’m not sure.  It begins with the title question, and answers that young girls have picked all the flowers.  Then it goes on the say that all the girls have gone to young men, the young men to soldiers, the soldiers to war, then to graveyards—every one. 

The final verse asks, “Where have all the graveyards gone?” and answers “Gone to flowers everyone.”  The cycle resumes.

The most poignant part of the song is the phrase that ends each verse, “When will they ever learn?"  When will we ever learn?

Thursday, September 2, 2021

As the World Gets Colder

 September has arrived at last.  Lord, these fall days are so beautiful here--crisp mornings, changing colors, shorter days, and colorful sunsets.

But we humans have marred and scarred your lovely creation with violence, sickness, and death.  Thank you for sending your Son to pay the price for all of this, all our sins.

The past few years our world appears to be in a prolonged Autumn, moving inexorably into the death of winter.  This happens in people's hearts, and in our relationships.  I depicted this in a spiritual fantasy called, "When the World Grows Cold."  (You can find it on Amazon or order it in any bookstore.)

As frail humans, our days here are limited.  But after winter comes spring, the time of rebirth and hope.  Lord, I pray that our world will someday be reborn and made new, restored and perfect again.

mferler@peaksandbeyond.com





Sunday, July 18, 2021

Shoulders of Giants

 The first and last time I read Isaac Asimov's Foundation Trilogy, I was in college, in the early 1970s.  I loved it then, and now that I've just re-read it almost 50 years later, I still love and admire it.  

This science fiction classic is older than I am, but it still holds a wealth of truth and meaning, even though many outward things have changed in my lifetime.  When I was born, man hadn't been beyond our planet's atmosphere, there were no cordless phones, let alone cell phones.  Scientists were just beginning to understand the mysteries of the atom.  The stars were fuzzy shapes seen through earth's atmosphere.  Computers were rooms full of reels, tubes, and wires.  The whole control room at NASA's Johnson Space Center hadn't been developed yet, and when it was it carried the same capacity that we can fit in our pockets now, or on our wrists.

So how can it be that books written before 1950 still have something to say to our modern age?  Because I believe Asimov in this series has dealt with the fundamentals of human thought and behavior.  And he's done it the way only a very skillful and well-educated scientist/author can.

For me it boils down to the truth that human nature doesn't really change.  We can be in a setting far in the past, such as The Clan of the Cave Bear, the less-distant past of the European Middle Ages, the more contemporary settings of most modern fiction set in the twentieth century, or the far distant future that most sci-fi writers use.  Human beings, no matter when they are living, all have the same mental processes, emotions, foibles, faults, and all.

As an author of fiction (mostly science fiction, I confess), I am seeking in my own small way to emulate great thinkers and writers like Asimov.  Perhaps I'm hoping to catch a better glimpse of some far-off truth by attempting to stand on the shoulders of these giants who came before me.  (I know there's a quote to that effect somewhere, but I can't remember who said it.)  And I'll keep on looking for this "Great Beyond" until my dying day, I suppose.

Thursday, June 24, 2021

The Amazing Gift of Grace

 I ran across a very interesting quote today:  "The Gospel, it is said, comforts the afflicted and afflicts the comfortable."

True in my experience!  The second verse of John Newton's hymn, Amazing Grace, says this well, too:  "Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved."

What does grace have to do with the Gospel?  Everything!  If God wasn't being gracious to us, none of us would have any hope of measuring up to His standards.  He sent his Son to provide what we couldn't do for ourselves.  I've seen an acrostic like this:

God's

Riches

A

Christ's

Expense

Some denominations don't like this particular verse of Newton's hymn, though, and exclude it from their hymn books, saying it crosses what they see is a definite line between the action of God's Law and God's Gospel of Grace.

Yes, St. Paul talks about the different roles of Law and Gospel in his letter to the Romans.  But there is more of a gray area or overlap between these concepts in real life.   In an individual life or heart, comfort and affliction often co-exist.

In my humble opinion, God works according to His ways, not always by the rigid definitions we humans prescribe.  He sees the whole picture, and we don't.

Saturday, May 29, 2021

The Trials of Parenting a Tourette's Child

 

NOTE:  Here is a continuation of an excerpt from a book I'm working on, called "Far From Magnolia Drive."  It's a story of a mother and her family, echoing some of my own experiences, but not a memoir.  If you want to read the first excerpt, it's in my archives.  Hopefully, there will be more chapters to come.


Lying sleepless in bed, she listened to Rick snoring softly.  The sound didn’t really bother her.  She was just envious that he was asleep.  Her mind was whirling around, trying to pray, but her thoughts kept wandering.

Turning onto her right side, produced an angry meow. 

“Sorry, Tiglet,” she whispered.  “Didn’t know you were there.”

The tiger-striped cat they’d been given last year curled up between her knees and arms, in the hollow made by lying on her side.  They had always been cat people, so after Rick’s first cat Tiger died, all of them longed to have another brown-striped cat.  Since this one was a kitten, the name Tiglet came naturally.  He felt warm and cuddly, and the sound of his purring began to relax her.  Still the thoughts kept flowing:

          She remembered when they first noticed Jay squinting his eyes and blinking a lot in kindergarten.  Sometimes his mouth twitched, too.  When they took him to the eye doctor, they learned he did need glasses, but glasses didn’t stop the blinking.  When they asked the pediatrician about it, she said he’d outgrow it.

          The next thing that came along was the constant throat clearing, with clicking sounds interrupting his speech.  About this time, she saw a feature on Tourette’s on one of those news shows, probably Sixty Minutes. That’s when she began to wonder, but no one else noticed.  Maybe I’m being paranoid, she told herself at the time.

          Next they took Jay to an Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor, who said his noises weren’t caused by allergies, and maybe he was becoming a stutterer.  This turned out to be another dead end.  She decided God was making her work too hard at learning patience.

         

How she wished she could go to sleep, to keep these thoughts from carrying her away.  They just wouldn’t stop tonight--like a dam had burst in her mind, with all kinds of old suppressed feelings flooding out.  She kept petting the cat, and he purred.  But her mind reeled on:

          By second grade, Jay’s vocal noises were a disruption in class.  The teacher sent him to the school counselor, who suggested getting a full psychological evaluation.  The nearest child psychologist was over sixty miles away.  Though their health insurance didn’t pay for any of this, they went through with it, wanting to help Jay as much as they could.

          After the psychologist’s long session with Jay, he sent them to a neurologist.  When were they going to get any answers?  The neurologist did a battery of tests, too, including an EEG.  They had to drive over an hour to the doctor’s office for each test.  Jay was deathly afraid of needles, and by the end, he didn’t like doctors either.  After all that, the neurologist said Jay probably had Tourette’s Syndrome. 

If only they’d explained beforehand that there’s no definitive test for Tourette’s, but all they can do is rule out every other possibility.  What an ordeal! she sighed. I’m not sure who it was harder on, Jay, or Rick and me.  I still hadn’t learned enough patience apparently, for this was only the beginning.  The neurologist said we had to wait a year before trying any medication.  I guess they were waiting to see if anything else showed up.  

She knew she’d been hoping for some miracle drug that would make things all better.  But there never was one for Jay.

          Denial set in, especially on Jay’s part.  He wouldn’t even let them use the word Tourette’s around him. She and Rick had to meet with his teachers every year to explain Jay’s condition, to let them know that Jay wasn’t being intentionally bad. 

There are so many misconceptions about Tourette’s.  It was barely even mentioned in the psychology courses I took for my teaching certificate.  She mouthed these words to the cat.

Still stroking Tiglet’s head behind the ears, where he liked it best, she mumbled aloud, “I wish I was a cat.  My life would be so much simpler—just eat and sleep.” 

Almost as though he heard her, Tiglet put a paw on her hand.

At this point in her life, she felt a desperate need to get all these scattered memories collected into some kind of order.  Maybe it was a symptom of aging, this need to look back, to try to convince herself that life had been worthwhile.

Right now, the memories bounced around in her mind like popcorn flying out of a pan with the lid off.  Somehow, she must corral them, maybe try to put them on a string, like the popcorn garlands they used to make for the Christmas tree, when Amy and Jay were young.


 

Thursday, April 29, 2021

I'm Choosing Love

 Chapter 4 of the first epistle by the Apostle John, has long been one of my favorites.  Today I read it in the "The Message" for the first time.  Eugene Peterson, the pastor who wrote this paraphrase of the Bible, has a way of shedding new light on many old familiar verses.   So I feel the need to share it with you.

"God is love.  When we take up permanent residence in a life of love, we live in God and God lives in us.  This way love has the run of the house, becomes at home and mature in us, so that we're free of worry...

"There is no room in love for fear.  Well-formed love banishes fear.  Since fear is crippling, a fearful life--fear of death, fear of judgment--is not yet fully formed in love.  We though, are going to love--love and be loved.

"First we were loved, now we love.  God loved us first.  If anyone boasts, 'I love God', and goes right on hating his brother or sister, thinking nothing of it, he is a liar.  If he won't love the person he can see, how can he love the God he can't see?"

It makes me very sad that the world's view of Christians is based in our finger-pointing, our antagonism, and even hatred.  What ever happened to "They'll know we are Christians by our love..."?

I've been reminded recently of what happened in Germany in the 1930s.  The Fascists, who thought they were "right" and were on the Far Right, used fear of Socialism to lead that country far astray.  Our country needs to beware of that path.  Especially Christians.  For while we're looking so hard toward the Left for the appearance of the Antichrist, he may sneak up on us from the Far Right.

Remember, Satan can disguise himself as an Angel of Light.  He prowls about like a lion, who silently stalks its prey. 

Monday, April 12, 2021

A REWRITING EXPERIMENT

 I'm doing an experiment in changing the point of view and the verb tenses of a book I'm working on.  My hope is the post a chapter here each week.  If anyone cares to follow along, I'd appreciate it.  If you came in the middle of the process, all you have to do is look at previous blogs to catch up.  

This story "Far from Magnolia Drive" is based in part on personal memories, though it has been fictionalized in order to give it more readability, I hope.

You can find me at mferler@peaksandbeyond.com or mferler@blogspot.com



1.   Walking in the Dark – 1994

 

The moon was barely peeping through the East Texas piney woods as Mary Anna Evans walked on her dark country road.  Stalking along the grassy shoulder, she rubbed at the tears streaming from her eyes.

My first big mistake was asking God for patience, she thought.  He sent

our son Jay fourteen years ago, and I’m still trying to learn to be patient. 

Today Jay stormed into the house after school screaming, “I hate the school bus!”

          “What happened?” she asked as calmly as she could.

          He replied, “They kicked me off the school bus for standing while it was moving.”

“But why?  Doesn’t your driver know where you get off?”

“She was a sub,” he moaned. “I was only trying to tell her where my stop  was, and she gave me a ticket.”

          “A ticket?”

          “Yeah, I can’t ride the bus for a week, and you have to talk to the school principal.”

          This wasn’t the first time Jay had trouble at school.  He had Tourette’s and Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.  If things got out of his view of what the world should be, he exploded like this.

          She stared at him, lost for words.  What am I supposed to do, God? she thought.  When Jay gets like this, there’s no stopping the outburst.

          He didn’t wait for any reply, storming into his bedroom and slamming the door.  She had learned the hard way over the years not to open that door.  He always needed time to calm before he could focus on anything.  

God, why are you doing this to me? she cried to the empty night as she

walked.

No answer.

Can’t you ever give me a break?  And what about Jay?  Why does he

have so many difficulties in school?  Rick and I try so hard to help him, but nothing seems to work.

Again, the silence of the night replied.

As she dashed away more tears, she wondered if he inherited this from

her.  She, too, was overly emotional sometimes.  Her husband Rick often said, “You’re just as bad as he is, Mary Anna.”  He was probably right.

A cold wind rushed into her face as she turned the corner onto their

rural road.  She’d already walked a mile in this unseasonable chill for a Texas November.  Taking a walk was the only thing to do when tempers were boiling over in their house.  If only there was somewhere she could run.  She didn’t really want to go home right now.

She knew Rick tried, but sometimes he felt as caring as a porcupine.  Get

too close and the quills would get you.  They’d tried many times over the years to come to grips with how to raise Jay, but seldom agreed.  He wanted to use tough love, but she feared this would fuel their son’s frustrations and lack of self-confidence.

They’d tried counseling with their minister, but he was one of those

conservatives who equated self-confidence with pride.  In her mind they weren’t

the same at all.  Maybe he and Rick are right though.  Perhaps I am too

lenient with Jay.  I just don’t know she sighed into the chill dark sky.

          Life with Jay was like a constant walk on T-Rex eggs.  One wrong step, and a ferocious creature rose up and raged.  His jerking tics often caused painful muscle spasms, and his involuntary noises made people wonder if he was crazy. 

Who wouldn’t have a short temper, if they had to live with this all the time?  Jay tries to cope as best he can, and he wants so much to be ‘normal’ like his peers.  Again, her heart was asking, God why?

The tics and facial grimaces began when he was small.  They tried neurologists, counselors, and medications.  Moving around for Rick’s job hadn’t helped, either.  There hadn’t been enough consistency, for either Jay or her.

 Ever since they married, Rick had worked for an oil company, so they’d been following the oil fields of the Overthrust Belt.  Jay was born in Wyoming, a brown-eyed boy with her dark coloring.  Daughter Amy was born in Montana.  She was her blond, blue-eyed baby, taking after Rick.  Like him, though, her hair darkened to golden brown with the years.

Leaving Montana was hard for Rick.  He loved the mountains close-by and the wide-open spaces.  She’d grown up in East Texas, though, so was hoping they could get more settled there, especially now that the kids are getting into their turbulent teens.

The moon was now above the treetops.  Nearly full.  If only something or

someone would shed more light into my life.

For the past couple of years, they’d moved among many small

Texas towns like gypsies, following the oil explorers.  So often she wished they were closer to a city like San Antonio or Dallas, where there would be resources to help with Jay.  But driving two hours, plus traffic, was too great a cost to join a Tourette’s support group.  And the good counselors were just as far away.  There had been days when she thought about packing herself and Jay off to Dallas so she could take him to a good neurologist or counselor, maybe even trying to live there on their own.  But I’m too much of a coward to do something as bold as that, she thought.

Talking to Rick helped a little.  Like most men, he tried to fix everything.  But she didn’t need that as much as someone to listen.  Someone to share her burdens.

This past year, it was as though her life had drained into a hot desert. 

Where is the living water you promised, God?

Having a diagnosis for Jay’s problems was a relief at first, but Jay hated

going to the neurologist almost as much as he hated taking his medication.  Sometimes the meds seemed to help, but he still had a lot of tics and jerky movements.  His short-fused temper was the worst part.

 

          Soon she was approaching their driveway.  The wind was picking up and there was nowhere else to go, so she walked slowly toward the front door.  An owl hooted in the distance.  Off in the neighbor’s woods a couple of coyotes began howling and yipping.  Were they talking to the moon, too?

She glanced up at the silvery orb suspended above their front yard.  “If only you would answer me,” she said aloud.

          The only reply was the owl.

          Climbing the concrete steps to their little front porch, she took hold of the door handle.  The hinges creaked as she pushed it open.  Then she could hear the loud, throbbing music coming through Jay’s bedroom door.

          “So, you finally came back, Mary Anna,” said her husband’s voice from the family room.  He was watching TV as usual. Since he used her full name, she could tell he was mad.

          “Where else could I go?” she grumbled.

          “Any great new thoughts?” he asked.

          She made no reply to his sarcasm.  Instead, she walked down the

carpeted hallway to her daughter’s bedroom.

          As expected, eleven-year-old Amy was sprawled on her bed doing homework.  Every night was the same.  Three hours or more.  I know she’s trying her best, but she isn’t a fast reader, she sighed to herself.  This year, her teachers are really piling on the work.  Probably because she has a different one for each subject, instead of one general classroom teacher.  None of them seem to pay attention to how much homework the others are giving. 

But she didn’t tell Amy this, fearing it would only increase her frustration.

          She seated herself on a desk chair next to the bed.  “Anything I can help with?”

          Amy looked up and shrugged.  “No, Mom.  Thanks, but I’m almost finished.  Maybe tomorrow we can take turns reading my English assignment, though.”

          “Sure,” she smiled.  “I like reading with you.”

          “I’m glad, Mom.”

          Amy’s blue eyes shone into hers.  Some days she was so tired and drained from dealing with Jay that she had nothing left for Amy.  This bothered me, but she was trying to do her best. 

 

***

 

         

Later, lying sleepless in bed, she listened to Rick snoring softly.  The sound didn’t really bother her.  She was just envious that he was asleep.  Her mind was whirling around, trying to pray, but her thoughts kept wandering.

Turning onto her right side, produced an angry meow. 

“Sorry, Tiglet,” she whispered.  “Didn’t know you were there.”

The tiger-striped cat they’d been given last year curled up between her knees and arms, in the hollow made by lying on her side.  They had always been cat people, so after Rick’s first cat Tiger died, all of them longed to have another brown-striped cat.  Since this one was a kitten, the name Tiglet came naturally.  He felt warm and cuddly, and the sound of his purring began to relax her.  Still the thoughts kept flowing:

          She remembered when they first noticed Jay squinting his eyes and blinking a lot in kindergarten.  Sometimes his mouth twitched, too.  When they took him to the eye doctor, they learned he did need glasses, but glasses didn’t stop the blinking.  When they asked the pediatrician about it, she said he’d outgrow it.

          The next thing that came along was the constant throat clearing, with clicking sounds interrupting his speech.  About this time, she saw a feature on Tourette’s on one of those news shows, probably Sixty Minutes. That’s when she began to wonder, but no one else noticed.  Maybe I’m being paranoid, she told herself at the time.

          Next they took Jay to an Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor, who said his noises weren’t caused by allergies, and maybe he was becoming a stutterer.  This turned out to be another dead end.  She decided God was making her work too hard at learning patience.

         

How she wished she could go to sleep, to keep these thoughts from carrying her away.  They just wouldn’t stop tonight--like a dam had burst in her mind, with all kinds of old suppressed feelings flooding out.  She kept petting the cat, and he purred.  But her mind reeled on:

          By second grade, Jay’s vocal noises were a disruption in class.  The teacher sent him to the school counselor, who suggested getting a full psychological evaluation.  The nearest child psychologist was over sixty miles away.  Though their health insurance didn’t pay for any of this, they went through with it, wanting to help Jay as much as they could.

          After the psychologist’s long session with Jay, he sent them to a neurologist.  When were they going to get any answers?  The neurologist did a battery of tests, too, including an EEG.  They had to drive over an hour to the doctor’s office for each test.  Jay was deathly afraid of needles, and by the end, he didn’t like doctors either.  After all that, the neurologist said Jay probably had Tourette’s Syndrome. 

If only they’d explained beforehand that there’s no definitive test for Tourette’s, but all they can do is rule out every other possibility.  What an ordeal! she sighed. I’m not sure who it was harder on, Jay, or Rick and me.  I still hadn’t learned enough patience apparently, for this was only the beginning.  The neurologist said we had to wait a year before trying any medication.  I guess they were waiting to see if anything else showed up.  

She knew she’d been hoping for some miracle drug that would make things all better.  But there never was one for Jay.

          Denial set in, especially on Jay’s part.  He wouldn’t even let them use the word Tourette’s around him. She and Rick had to meet with his teachers every year to explain Jay’s condition, to let them know that Jay wasn’t being intentionally bad. 

There are so many misconceptions about Tourette’s.  It was barely even mentioned in the psychology courses I took for my teaching certificate.  She mouthed these words to the cat.

 

Still stroking Tiglet’s head behind the ears, where he liked it best, she mumbled aloud, “I wish I was a cat.  My life would be so much simpler—just eat and sleep.” 

Almost as though he heard her, Tiglet put a paw on her hand.

At this point in her life, she felt a desperate need to get all these scattered memories collected into some kind of order.  Maybe it was a symptom of aging, this need to look back, to try to convince herself that life had been worthwhile.

Right now, the memories bounced around in her mind like popcorn flying out of a pan with the lid off.  Somehow, she must corral them, maybe try to put them on a string, like the popcorn garlands they used to make for the Christmas tree, when Amy and Jay were young.