Good Morning, World!
Today, I am thankful for good friends! Friends who go shopping with me for hours, keep me from purchasing MORE movies, share fries dipped in a chocolate shake, and lend me their power cord when mine breaks.
I am thankful for christmas lights, dropping temperatures that mean snow is near, and firelight on a cold and starry december night.
I am thankful for warm blankets, a new toothbrush, and just dance 3. Those three things aren't really related, except in that I am thankful for all of them.
I am thankful for good memories, discovering habits handed down from grandparents, and old friends, as close to me as family, who love me as me and don't expect me to be anyone else.
I am thankful for my family; father, mother, and brothers, my sneaky dog, and my sweet cat. Thank You, God, for parents who care for and support me, brothers who love me, a dog who comes when he's called, and a cat who loves only me (and my mother on good days).
And I am thankful for you, whoever you are, far or near. Thanks for reading, commenting, and challenging me and each other.
What are you thankful for?
So here it is. Our story.
I may never meet you. But if I could choose, the following is how we could meet. Could fall in love, marry, and live for the rest of our lives. Or at least a lovely, albeit realistic, option.
Perhaps we will live in the same neighborhood. And being environmentally conscious we walk or take public transit to work. We may have the same taste in coffee shops. And need caffeine to wake up each morning. And for several weeks, perhaps months, we will have lived parallel lives. I enter Starbucks as you leave, you take the 6:50 train, I the 7:10. Perhaps you occupy an apartment in the modern skyscraper across the street with the polite doorman that I smile at every morning as I exit my well established, far less expensive though nearly as glorious, apartment building. We may shop at the same bodega, perhaps order from the same thai place on 5th. And you may order something new every time you call in, wanting to embrace the vibrant offerings. While I stick with my usual “sesame chicken and brown rice” and never dare to expand beyond. I’m certain we don’t read the same books or watch the same television shows or even listen to the same music. Those things seem too trivial to matter. But perhaps we laugh at the same jokes and accept new friends in the same warm and open manner. You must be a little older, I insist. And you will likely have more experience in the ways of affection and love. As I have none. We will likely have experienced similar frustrations, unable to find a willing partner until now. I would prefer if you had never felt you loved someone before you met me, but I am aware that is highly unlikely. And perhaps you should know now. Before this goes too far, that I will have loved none but you. A young girl’s crush, I’ve had. Infatuation, I’ve fought. Like? I’ve liked a lot. But love? Never love. You’ll be the first and I want you to be the only. So when we meet in our coffee shop after a mix up with our drinks. And you pursue me, as clueless as I will be. If you ask me, please mean it.
That’s how we’ll meet, I think. Some joke told while waiting in line. A string of words that will be completely lost on my coffee deprived mind, but I’ll smile and give you a half laugh. Turn away confused and thinking too much about what you seemed to have said. You may be discouraged from pursuing any further conversation, I’ve certainly missed my opportunity to confirm my interest. But you won’t give up. You see something in me. Feel something. Something that you’ve been missing. Something you’ve waited to find. Something that only I have. So you will press on. You must be direct, no one has ever succeeded before, in fact, I don’t recall the last time someone tried. Being direct but careful is the only way to make an impression on me. I will doubt your meaning, your intentions, and perhaps assume that you are joking in some cruel manner. So be consistent and pursue me.
A week or two will pass until you figure out how parallel our lives are.
I will have figured it out within an hour but will not point it out until you read this. (I’m much too quick about these things and it’s my side of the story so I get to be the brilliant, and oft times too cocky, one.)
And suddenly, we’re in the periphery of one another’s lives. You conveniently begin running five minutes late and we continue to line up, sit, and walk in our normal routine, but within such proximity that it’s rude not to acknowledge one another. So after receiving a week of my polite, yet warm, smiles. You summon the courage to begin a conversation with me. Perhaps we make a game of it. A contest of who can tell the best joke, make up the best story about a fellow commuter, or share the most profound secret. You will win because you will risk. I will win because I will listen and hear your heart. Keep opening up to me.
We likely continue in this pattern for weeks. Gently relaxing into an easy and comfortable relationship of pleasantries. Then you offer to buy my coffee one morning. And the next, you have it in hand as you wait for me outside our shop. I protest, but you insist. I hide a thank you note in your briefcase one morning. You tuck it in your wallet and I happen to glimpse it one day. Nearly every morning, I find you with my coffee in hand, standing outside the shop, waiting. I feel guilty for taking advantage and I find a way to slip a little something onto your person about once a week. One time, a small pack of your favorite gum in your coat pocket. Another, a stick of lip balm. A baggie of my top secret family recipe chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. A fortune cookie. And then, in a feverish burst of courage, I write my phone number on the inside of a matchbook and drop it into your coat pocket.
You don’t call. Hours pass, a day, a week. Nothing. We continue our coffee dance but I hold off on any small tokens. Two weeks. One morning, you miss the train and I get my own coffee on the way to my office. The next I have an early morning meeting and drive into the city, you drink both coffees and eat the apology scone you purchased to make up for missing the day before. You wonder where I am and also why you’ve never thought of buying two coffees before, you’ve never felt so energized at work. Our meetings thin out to nearly less than once a week due to vacations, business trips, oversleeping, and just the simple complications of life. Then a month passes, and I don’t see you.
I consider calling you, but I have resolved to never google a man until he’s asked me out.
TBC...
Isaiah 45:9; 64:6, 8
Each person’s life is different, each a work of art - copies are worth less - only the original is worth the highest price.
God’s design for me is different than what he has planned for you.
God is in control - not me. Who am I to tell Him what He’s doing isn’t fair? Do I ever say life isn’t fair when someone else is going through a tough time? Do I tell God that I should have just as many difficulties as that person has?
Marcy
“I am the teacher!” she spoke with such force that the birds quieted in the trees. In frustration, she kept up her anger march through the jungle. Her face turned upward and she railed at the sky. Her students were driving her mad. The three rotten monsters had forced her to contemplate chewing off her arm. Their refusal to cooperate and their insane annoyance pervaded her mind. Suddenly tripping, she fell onto the road, flat on her face. Face down, she pounded the dust with her fists before hoisting herself up. She brushed off her dress, and her arms stilled as her ears perked at the sound of coming horsemen. A quiet scan of the trees revealed a likely prospect. Hiking up her dusty dress she shuffled her tracks and tiptoed to her pick. Within half a minute, Marcy was high in the tree visiting the monkeys with a finger to her lips. Soon a whole host of riders passed beneath her eyes. The leader slowed and stopped, commanded his men to spread out across the road and into the jungle. Marcy held her breath, not daring to move even though a million pairs of monkey eyes bored into her skull.
Cora
Once upon a time in a land far away...
A small village, the local storekeeper, and his five beautiful daughters. The two eldest, Abbey and Brita, about to be married to local boys - fine upstanding citizens - future mayer and judge - and quite handsome as well. The two youngest, Delia and Emily, young, flighty, and boy-crazy. The middle girl, always of her own mind, headstrong, and stubborn, the independent Cora. Working for her father at the store and over at the library. Cora filled her free time by cooking and baking any extra food stuffs to take to the poor families that lived on the outskirts of town.
I don’t know why Cora worked so hard, perhaps she felt the need to prove to the world that she was just as desirable as her older sisters and smarter than the younger girls. In any case, Cora was the most beloved of all five girls in town mainly because she had time to care about people while her sisters were involved in other pursuits.
In the spring, the Royal Guard returned to their training grounds at Fort George, just two miles from the village Night time activities erupted with the arrival of the soldiers. The pub overflowed and campfires glistened on hillsides every evening.
During the day, the enlisted, those who had time off, would lounge outside the store, on the wooden rocking chairs. Staring through the glistening windows into the neat and tidey room full of mounds of goods carefully arranged across tables and on shelfs. Beyond the store were four more large rooms were the females of town would wash so to pay for food stuffs from the store.
