This morning I’m running on three hours sleep. I’m not sure why sleep didn’t find me late night; it just wasn’t looking very hard. So, it will be a lost day. Do you ever have a lost day? I’ll get sleepy in about an hour, go sit in my comfortable chair, and be out like a light in less than five minutes. Right now, I’m drinking half-a-cup of coffee and pondering the word ‘dismayed’. That was the scripture verse in my e-mail this morning.
Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.
All of this applies to me today. I’m tired. Being tired brings a sense of the following, distressed, disappointed, in tears, saddened, and troubled. I could also throw in weary. It’s awful to wake up more tired than when you went to bed. I think part of it is the sadness I’m feeling watching the world going haywire.
There are so many tragic events happening right now. A person could get to the place that they wouldn’t want to step out of their door. So, to read this morning exactly what was needed for the day ahead of me, I’m thankful.
It’s hard not to be dismayed. Even the word is strange to my ear. I don’t remember the last time, if ever, I said to someone, “Don’t be dismayed. Everything is going to be all right.”
I have said the latter part many times because the thing that comes to dismay us eventually passes; it’s the passing through part that troubles. If I do rally enough today to do some writing, I’ll put this mood to good use. I’ll go to the story that has the character in the midst of their dilemma. They will understand how I’m feeling today. I find that on the days that I write with whatever I’m personally feeling, my characters are more colorful, honest, and relatable.
Here are a few of the books I’m working on.
For insistent, from Brook of the Willows
Wilber ran his heart out. He ran so far into the forest that stood across the open fields of the small community of
that he ran onto the bank of the brook. Wilber couldn’t run any further. He was heaving and gulping for air. As he lay on the bank about to draw his last breath, he heard the soft flutter of the Angel’s wings. Waverly Port
She gently drew the little rabbit into her arms and cradled him close to her hoping that her life would flow into his limp body. However, it wasn’t to be. The angel knew now why she’d been sent in such a hurry to the dying side of the little rabbit. All she had been told was his name and that he was very special to God.
Or this one, from Fallen, Broken, Mended
There’s nothing louder than awkward silence; A silence that screams words only heard by the heart. Martha Donnelly heard the screaming and wondered if it was her own. If having to make the decision to put your nineteen-year-old son on life support wasn’t horrendous enough, taking him off was unspeakable.
Martha’s heart became in tune with every rhythmic hiss that accompanied the ventilator sustaining Chris’ life. Unplugging it would be like unplugging her own heart.
As she watched the rise and fall of his chest, she couldn’t help but remember all the times he ran breathless into the house to tell her the latest astonishing thing he’d found out or drag her by the hand to come look at another of his contraptions.
Nothing that housed wires, gears, or tubes, or had wheels was safe from his imagination. Several times Martha was startled by her potted plants walking around the room seemingly on their own. Latter she found out that Chris had rigged an old vacuum cleaner motor under a wooden box on wheels that he controlled by remote from the other side of the room.
Martha had seen every imaginable object take on a life of its own. Now here she sat wishing that someone would walk through the door with the wherewithal to give Chris his life back.
Or this book of mine that is in progress, Casualty of Love
Brenda Marshal made it barely ten feet from the front porch before she fell to her knees and heaved her guts out. It certainly wasn’t a very well mannered way of putting it, for sure. Nevertheless, it would be the only way she would ever be able to describe what she did the day that her whole world crumbled down around her.
Her mind couldn’t focus on the chain of events that had unfolded in her household that morning and her body had finally protested. All she remembered screaming was how could someone keep living a lie all those years? Her mother’s answer was as matter as fact and controlled as all her other answers.
“Brenda, because the wealthy can hold to lies as truth to save face at all cost. It’s just the way it is. They believe the lie until it becomes the truth.”
“Grandmother knew the truth all these years and she never told anyone?”
It was in that moment that Brenda realized the worst possible truth about her own mother. Her Grandmother had told someone and that some one had become party to the family lie.
“Brenda, dear, you have to try and understand. What were the chances of this ever happening?” stated Caroline Marshall.
Brenda remembered whirling around at the nursery window at the hospital and grabbing her mother by the shoulders. She was sure she’d left bruises on her pale upper arms. She remembered slowly enunciating each syllable of her words in her mother’s face as she jerked her toward the window forcing her to look at the newborn baby in the adjacent basinet.
“There is the chance, mother.”
She still couldn’t comprehend the detached look on her mother’s face as she glanced at the infant through the glass. The child was the casualty. There might have been a slight trace of pity, but it only lasted a second. This event was like everything else in the Marshal household. If it didn’t fit his or her schedule, taste, or lifestyle it was ignored, overlooked, or simply dealt with by someone else who was paid to take care of it.
Or perhaps this last one, The Love Experiment
All Roger Burns could think of at the moment of impact was that when two objects collide the immovable one stands the best chance of surviving. Seeing that he was the moveable object it was no surprise when he flew ten feet into the air and landed on the hood of a parked car. The second thing that went through his mind was, “I wonder what make of automobile I just landed on?” It allowed him to hit and roll to the ground unharmed without leaving a dent in its hood. He’d have to be sure to write the company a letter telling them how body/crushproof their design is. It also wasn’t that strange for his next thought to be that he’d just wasted four bucks on a cup of coffee that was now all over the sidewalk and the front of his expensive suit. His day was off to one frustrating start.
Once he assured the driver and bystanders that he was all right, he retrieved his scattered belongs, dusted himself off, and headed toward his office. The woman who hit him seemed far more upset than he was. She’d insisted on him taking her insurance information, which delayed him even more.
Roger Burns was a self-motivated hard-hitting young executive who seldom let anything or anyone get in his way. He was driven. He’d not always been that way, but life has away of changing a person when they lest expect it. He was the middle child of three siblings in a family of high achievers. He was referred to as the ‘adopted child’ by his sisters. Being the only boy, was supposed to have propelled him to the top of the pile, but once he started showing his true personality, it demoted him.
You see, there are many characters that are in need of the feelings that being dismayed this morning has produced from my lack of sleep.
If I manage to wake up enough to advance any of these books forward, perhaps in another post I’ll let you know how they are doing. Right now, I’m headed to my chair, turning off the light, hoping sleep will come quickly.
Drat… Dragging out these books has wet my writing appetite. My books become like family and friends to me. I can’t leave them hanging for too long of a time. They need me to return and get their lives going again.
Soon, soon… (yawn) I’ll be back.