I'm a Burden

    I’m a burden.       

Who wants to be a burden? It’s worse than being not wanted. A burden is responsibility a person is stuck with, can’t get rid of.  Imagine a mule loaded with heavy sacks of grain piled high on his back. If only some of the weight would be removed. How can a person, who is a burden, feel loved? How can a teen carry a not-wanted identity and not be scarred for life?

In my novel, Baggage burdens., Jill overhears her parents argue. She learns she is an unwelcome burden. From her very critical, often inebriated father Jill expects an unloving attitude. That she has lived with. But from her mother, the one she thought loved her, well that was unbelievable. To her mother she was a liability, a responsibility that was more than she could handle? Jill thought her impression had to be a mistake, but it wasn’t. Jill heard her mother words. Jill searched for another explanation. The alternative she conjured up implied that Jill was more than a burden. She was a painful burden. Jill guessed that the bruises and cuts that her mother tried to hide were really meant for her.  Punishment for Jill’s lack of discipline fell upon her mother.  ‘No wonder I’m not loved.’ Jill reasoned she wasn’t a loving person. She didn’t deserve her parent’s love.

The mold is cast. Jill’s identity is sealed. She isn’t a loving person. She doesn’t deserve to be loved. Jill’s parent’s overheard fight scars Jill for three decades. Her future friends and family will have to deal with that defined identity.

“What’s this junk doing here?” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll put it away.” 

Alice guesses her husband is referring to Jill’s homework assignment on the coffee table.

“What’s the matter with that girl? Can’t she ever put her own stuff away?”

Frank bends over the table like a huge bear in a stream looking for fish. He raises his arm high. Then he bats the cardboard structure. Jill’s creation flies across the room and crashes into the far wall leaving a trail of debris.

* * *

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

“Trying to salvage Jill’s home work. What do you think?” Anger slips out of Alice before she realizes it.

“I’ll tell you what I think. I think you’re doing a poor job of raising that kid.” Frank shoves himself away from the wall, grabs Alice by her arms and shakes her. “How many times have I told you? Tell her to clean up when she’s finished.  How many times?”

Fear replaces Alice’s anger. Half crying, she answers, “I don’t know.”

“Too many times. That’s how many. Too many times.”

Gripped by fear Alice looks for a defense. “She doesn’t listen,” whines Alice, feeling overwhelmed. Pain pierces her arms. “I can’t control her.”

“Doesn’t listen,” shouts Frank.

“Yes,” she pleads in desperation, hoping he’ll release his grip, hoping she’ll escape. With fear rising she adds, “she has a mind of her own. She's an independent spirit. I can’t do anything with her anymore.”

“Mind of her own!”

“Yes there’s no controlling her.” 

“She’s a spoiled brat. Starting right now here’s what will happen. Tell her clean up this mess,” he says, looking down at the caved in box. He shoves Alice toward the hallway that leads to the bedrooms and swings his foot at the box. He misses and almost loses his balance.

haiku capsule:                 

undisciplined teen     

whose job? mother’s? father’s?

a kid, a burden.

    Next blog: Blessings Abound   

N i g h t m a r e !

    NIGHTMARE       

Nightmare. Frightening! Most times after being awake for a while the sleeper concludes their dream was unreal. They have nothing to worry about. A peaceful sleep returns. When the same dream returns again and again, even if it has slight differences, dismissing the harrowing memory is very difficult. With the repetition comes tension, tension so great that one feels like a rubber band stretched to the point that it will snap. Logical explanations wilt in the face of a burning, glaring fear. Help is need. Telling someone else about having nightmare assaults leaves one open to being seen as crazy.

In my novel, Baggage burdens., Jill continually dreams about an accusing male voice.

Jill’s body sinks into the comfort of the chesterfield. She dozes. An hour slips by like it’s five minutes. In her sleep she kicks out and knocks the silverware box to the floor. The crash jars Jill. After determining what the noise was all about, Jill gives in to the chesterfield’s comfort and warmth. Her rest is a short-lived pleasure. 

“You phony.  Phony!  Phony!”  The deep male voice scratches Jill’s contentment like a cat’s claws raking her bare arm.  “Liar! Liar! Liar!” 

Jill cries out.  “Nooooooo.” 

“Can’t marry me until you know more about me hey?  When did Joseph gain that vital knowledge about you before he agreed to this marriage?”

“He thinks he knows enough,” whimpers Jill.

“And you know better. How dare you attempt to build a marriage without love? You know why you’re doing this? To hide from Dave.”

“Joseph loves me.”

“That means this marriage has only a 50 percent chance of success.”

“He’s happy.  What more do you want?”

“How about you choosing to make him happy?”

“I am making him happy. I agreed to a church wedding.”

“Good compromise, but does that mean you’ll be listening to God like he does?"

“Enough already!  Get out of my head.”

“Know this. Your marriage will tarnish like the silver you plan to polish.”

“Out!  Out!  Out!”  Jill’s shouting jerks her out of her rest.  She bolts into a sitting position. The back of her neck aches. She’s covered with perspiration.

* * *

The crash of the dinner plate in the kitchen fails to wake Jill. She struggles to unravel her attack on Joseph. Damning words come back: “You! You’re wrong! You can’t keep your hands off me. You can’t leave me alone. If you would have left me alone last Christmas, maybe later I would have been able to carry our new baby. But no, you couldn’t wait. You can never wait.”

“Well Miss Self Reliant. Letting your secrets slip out now are we.”  

The accusing familiar deep male voice frightens Jill. Her hands shoot up to protect her chest as if someone stripped her nightgown away. A cold sweat clutches her. She shivers.  

 “Don’t play innocent with me. You know very well what secrets. You finally revealed to Joseph that you blame him for the loss of Christine.” 

Jill mounts no defense. She knows she’s guilty of planning to unload the attack on Joseph when he really annoyed her, when he became too clingy.

“You use everyone, even your own dead daughter.” 

Jill accepts the bites as if they are lashes for her mistakes, for her assault on Joseph.

“You want to claim your attack on Joseph just slipped out, don’t you? Trouble is you’d have to admit you made a mistake. You aren’t in control like you think you are. Even worse. If you can make a mistake, others can make one too. That might mean you’re no better than anyone else. Trusting yourself is no better than trusting them. You might even have to forgive your mother, your father.”

Jill claps her hands over her ears.

“Didn’t you say when you and Joseph were buying a car, that you would forgive him if he did something wrong? Blame him for the loss of Christine. Kick him out of the bedroom. Hardly sounds like forgiveness. I think this so called marriage is built on a sandy foundation. It’s starting to crumble.”

 * * *

‘Maybe Joseph doesn’t love me anymore.’

Jill’s head sinks into the pillow with the phrase wife or substitute echoing.

An annoying phrase from a deep, male voice replaces it, pelting her like a throbbing headache: “fifty-fifty, fifty-fifty, fifty-fifty.”

Jill recognizes the devilish messenger.

“I give your marriage fifty percent chance of success. Heads I win, tails you win, heads I win, tails you lose, tails you lose, you lose, y-o-u   l-o-s-e.”

* * *

“Yesterday you attended a session that asked whether your family life was built on sand or a rock. You related some concerns that might suggest the family foundation might not have been as solid as you would have liked. That came back to haunt you. Studies have shown that when you sleep, significant day’s events may return as a dream. Depending upon how you’ve lived, certain parts of the day reflect more powerfully than others.”

Jill considers Bill’s information about her nightmare. After he sips his cooling tea, she says, “It’s more than that.”

The moment the words escape, Jill regrets it. The door is now opened to admitting she hears a male voice.

‘He’ll think I’m crazy,’ she predicts.

Bill’s patient silence convinces Jill to test Bill’s acceptance. Little by little Jill reveals the presence of a damning male voice. When Jill admits the male voice has haunted her for years, Bill sits up alert like a guard dog in the house who heard approaching footsteps outside.

“Does the voice threaten?”

“It accuses me. And sometimes it predicts, like last night.”

He asks, “Have you shared this experience with anyone else?”

“Are you kidding! And have someone think I’m crazy.” After a moment she asks, “You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?”

How do you help someone who is having recurring nightmares?

haiku capsule:                 

male accusing voice     

middle of the night attacks

sanity questioned

    Next blog: I’m a burden.   

Issue a Restraining Order?

     Issue a Restraining Order?    

 In my novel, Baggage burdens., Jill struggled to have absolutely nothing more to do with Dave Bossard. If she understood the law, she might have gone to court to request a restraining order against Dave. For Jill’s peace of mind would a judge, would you grant Jill that order?

Jill’s Evidence––Unwanted Attention

Dave shouts from the pantry. “Where’s the extra Doritos and salsa sauce?”

Jill turns and calls out the location. When she enters the pantry, he’s placing a couple of bags of Doritos on the counter top. He bends over looking in the lower cupboard for the salsa. As she nears him, he stands up holding a jar in each hand. A smile lights up his face. With one foot he closes the cupboard door. Then he starts to topple. In a swift motion Jill rushes to him and firmly grips the edge of the counter top with both hands. She braces for the impact of Dave’s body. Her swift action prevents Dave from crashing to the floor.

“Oooooo!” cries Dave as he struggles to regain his balance. “That could’ve been a disaster.” He laughs. His breath, heavy with the smell of beer, assaults Jill’s nostrils.

‘Too much to drink,’ she thinks. ‘And the party’s only started.’

For a couple of moments the two are frozen, as if each is enjoying the other’s presence. Jill recovers first. Clearing her throat, she leans away from Dave. Then she takes the jars from his hands, and places them on the counter.

The intoxicating warmth of Jill’s body tempts Dave. Still leaning heavily against the counter, he gently wraps his arms around Jill’s lower back and draws her closer. Jill pushes her head away from the stench of cigarette smoke on Dave’s T-shirt. Her hips press him into the counter. She feels his excitement as she leans against him. When her head is far enough away, she sees a foolish clown-like grin. It almost makes her laugh. 

“You know, you’re absolutely great! Have I told you that?” Dave’s words slur.

Jill shakes her head causing her ponytail to flap around. 

“I’d like to give you a small token of my thanks if I may.”

 “You don’t need to, really.”

“Thanks, I know it isn’t needed, but I’d still like to . . . .”  Dave’s hands lightly slide up her back to the top of her shoulders. 

“Really Dave, you don’t need to. Your words are enough.” Jill places her hands on the top of Dave’s chest. She pushes herself away. Dave offers little resistance convincing Jill she’ll be free.

“Just one kiss. It’ll be fun.” Dave’s hand cups the back of her head. 

“Daaave,” pleads Jill. ‘Let me go.’

“Come on. Just one kiss.” While holding her head firmly, he pulls himself so close to her face she feels the beer-tainted breath.

Seeing words won’t change Dave’s intent, she increases pressure on Dave’s chest. Suddenly she loses balance. The whole room turns. Gravity forces her against Dave, as if Mother Nature supports Dave’s desire. While plastered against Dave, his lips find hers. At first he’s gentle. As his passion grows, his hold strengthens, his breathing increases, his body turns into an oven. Dave moans as if savoring his favorite dessert.

Jill’s drive to escape momentarily vanishes. Then reality surfaces.

‘I can’t move! I’m helpless. I can’t do anything. No!’

A surge of energy rushes to Jill’s aid. As if overtaken by a seizure, Jill wildly jerks and twists. At first her futile search for wiggle room frightens her. Escape at any cost summons a stronger crazed energy. Then, as if someone opens a window, cool rescuing air enters. Her nightmare ends. The pressure on her back lets up.

Jill’s Evidence––Then He Pursued Me

“Jill, I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to make it later on in the day to see you in the Brick Theatre’s final performance.”

That’s the last thing Jill expected to hear from her loving grandmother. Josey’s excited voice fails to lessen Jill’s apprehension.

 “Don’t worry. I’ll be down Labor Day Monday,” adds Josey. 

Jill doesn’t ask why the delay. 

“I have a surprise for you. An old friend, a special friend, wants to come down and see you.” 

Robin momentarily flashes to Jill’s mind.

“He said he had to work on Saturday so we agreed to come down on Monday.”

“Dave,” gasps Jill in disbelief. “How did he find you?”

“Mrs. Maxwell put him in touch with me. She phoned and said she was really moved by Dave’s appeal to find you. Mrs. Maxwell asked if I would at least listen to him. I agreed. I understand that the two of you had some kind of falling out, but Dave seems sincerely remorseful. He said something about moving. What really impressed me is that he seems like he really wants to try to make amends. I sense he really cares for you. Giving him a second chance might not be a bad idea.” 

Mrs. Sommerveld can’t see the shock on Jill’s face. The long silence worries her.

‘What do I say? Don’t bring him,’ thinks Jill. ‘Then I’ll have to explain why. I’m not telling her what happened at Dave’s house. If I offer no reason why he can’t come, then she’ll just point out that Mrs. Maxwell and she think it would be a good idea to give Dave another chance.’ 

“Jill, you there?” Mrs. Sommerveld’s request jolts Jill.

“Y-e-a-h,” Jill responds trying to figure out what to do.

“ It is okay, isn’t it, if I bring Dave?”

What is Jill to say? With her grandmother’s help Jill moved to Brampton. Jill felt safe living in a different city? Now Dave found her. He even convinced Jill’s rescuing angel, Mrs. Maxwell, and her grandmother that he should be able to see her. Neither of them knows everything that happened in the pantry and Jill’s not about to reveal the ugly truth. What is Jill to do?

Is Jill’s fear of Dave sufficient to convince a judge to grant Jill a restraining order to keep Dave away from her? Would you grant Jill a restraining order?

haiku capsule:                 

a beer fueled kiss     

shatters the hoped-for friendship

pantry love is lost

    Next blog: NIGHTMARE    M Y S T E R Y    

Evangelist Spirit at Work

Evangelist Spirit at Work

Who would you accept advise from––one you know and trust or one you know but aren’t sure you should trust? Obvious answer, but what’s not obvious is if you, the caregiver, are trusted? You could ask.

In my novel, Baggage burdens., Bill thinks Jill trusts him to help Jill mend relations with her eldest son. When Jill’s actions cause him to question her faith in him, he asks, “You do trust me, don’t you?” Her response shocks him.

Even with a solid trust foundation and lovingly sharing how God cares for you, another person may still not be convinced.

“Leave an issue unresolved and you leave an open window for the devil to turn people against you,” says Bill.

“I don’t know.” Jill shakes her head slightly.

“It’s worth a try. Trust me.” Seeing Jill’s silence, he asks, “You do trust me?”

Bill’s question opens a wound that Jill tries to ignore. ‘My friend, the one I met in Chicago, the one I trusted, the one who sided with Joseph when Joseph said he wanted to divorce me.’ Jill recalls Joseph’s words; Even Bill understands why I’m so frustrated with you. ‘How could he? And now he asks me to trust him?’

Her betrayal memory burns like hot coals. She looks at Bill, sitting, waiting for an answer. Wrinkles of concern line his face.

The once buried grievance causes her to boil. She realizes that if Daniel has issues with her like she has with Bill then she should know about it.

Taking a deep breath she pokes the memory of Bill’s disloyalty. “How can you ask me to trust you? You betrayed me.” She’s surprised at the pain that instantly blankets Bill’s face. It takes a couple of seconds before he can speak.

“Whoa! Where is this coming from?” Bill sits up in his chair, as he tries to figure out what gives rise to this attack.

“You said you understood why Joseph wanted to leave me. Don’t deny it. Joseph told me. I thought you were my friend. Then you sided with Joseph? You betrayed me! Now you want me to trust you, to do something I’m not too keen on.”

Controlling his voice Bill responds. “You’re right. I did tell Joseph that I understood his frustration. Joseph agreed to buy a house for you that he felt he couldn’t afford. To make it work, he put in hours of overtime. Then you criticized him for not spending enough time at home. That I said I understood. Not that he leave you. He claimed you were incapable of being loving. I said I thought you were a loving person. I still think so.”

“You didn’t encourage him to leave me?”

“No. Remember. I tried to bring the two of you together to work out your differences.” He pauses. “As for you not being comfortable talking to Daniel, then don’t do it. If you have a better solution, go with that. Or if you think you can comfortably continue not to visit your grandchildren, then do so.”

Jill fails to see how to talk to her son about the tension between them.

“Something wrong?”

“I don’t think I can do it,” Jill confesses. “Whatever I come up with sounds like I’m making excuses. That’ll never work.”

“The fact that you can recognize what doesn’t work proves you will come up with the right words. And if you don’t, don’t worry. No one is perfect. You can do it. I’m sure of it. Trust me.”

“I don’t know.”

“Jill, you really have to work on that trust. Believe me when I say I know you can do it.”

“But I don’t want to blow it.”

“Do you want help?”

“You can’t tell me what to say. It has to come from me.”

“You’re right, but I know how I can help you come up with the right words.”

“How?”

“Pray.”

“Pray?”

“Yes. Pray. Ask God to lead you in your talk with Daniel.”

“I don’t know.”

“You sound like Moses when he said to the Lord that he didn’t have the ability to speak to pharaoh. Remember? God gave him the ability he needed.”

“That’s in the Bible. That’s a long time ago.”

“You don’t think it happens today?”

“Not to my knowledge. I’ve never heard anyone claim that God inspired them to say anything of value.”

“Then hear it now. Many times in talking with clients at the Wellness Center and even when I was the personnel manager I’ve said things I never thought of. Some times I said things in ways I wouldn’t have imagined. I’ve given thanks to the Lord for opening my eyes, or rather opening my mouth at the right time and saying the right things. Believe me, it pays to ask for the Lord’s guidance in uncertain times.”

Bill speaks with such confidence that Jill refrains from challenging him. Her doubts continue to plague her to the point of considering giving up on the idea of talking to Daniel.

Jill’s continuing silence prompts Bill to ask, “Would you like me to pray with you, to ask for the Lord’s leading on this healing venture?

Still more issues remain hidden and need to be resolved.

haiku capsule:        

             unresolved issue        

                               fogs a trust relationship     

                               hidden stumbling block

    Next blog: Judging Dave