Short
Stories
Voices
She sat in front of me in a booth at the Chick-fil-A on our college campus. I just met her but she seemed like an old soul. We connected like old friends. I love meeting people and hearing their stories. Hers was no different. I don’t remember seeing her again. But her words have stuck with me. She told me of how she moved from her home. How she changed her voice. How she hears pieces of it again and she replicates it as soon as she finds herself among southerners. She told me never to change the cadence of my tone. She told me my accent was unique and that I should never change it for anyone. Six or seven years later I found myself on a webinar with an astronaut sharing his story about his time in space. I spoke up and asked him a few questions because I’ll always be a journalist at heart until the day I die. He shared with me his answers and a compliment about my accent. He too used to sport a Carolina twang until life in Texas smoothed his tone to a deeper cadence. He said my voice reminded him of home. Over the years in my previous role as a news reporter at a small county newspaper, I’ve used my voice a lot. Countless voicemails, questions, interviews and moments with my big ugly laugh. I’ve spoken to politicians riding waves of euphoria after winning their political bids, I’ve spoken to victims of crimes with this voice. To children, to grieving parents, to angry residents, to myself. I’ve used my voice to calm, to soothe, to encourage and to get down to the truth. I hope that when I spoke they found comfort in my voice. I hope when I speak now that I can share that same quality with others. Because maybe a southern accent isn’t a crutch or an accessory to overshadow intelligence. Maybe it’s one of the greatest gifts of all. Maybe it’s a little piece of hometown heaven that everyone loves. So when I use it, I’ll be more proud of the power it holds. I’ll be more conscious of the way it sounds. And I’ll be more inclined if I must to raise it. I never knew the power of my voice until others shared their thoughts and reactions. Maybe you don’t know the power of yours yet. Oh but my friend, when you do, I hope you never forget it. May your voice tremble no more when you are afraid. May you use it to stamp out fear and to proceed with bold confidence in who God called you to be. May you never hate it but never love it more than God’s voice. Though your words have power, the voices that bring them to life are the very catalysts that can determine their impact. Without tone, words carry no meaning. May we all choose wisely and never forget the power of our voices.
Characters
I hear their voices. I feel their souls as mine. But, I’m not schizophrenic. I carry them with me every day and I miss them when I don’t share their stories. I wonder how they are, where their stories end. Or will they continue until mine ends? Each time I scribble words on paper with pen, I connect with pieces inside of me each time I type it out and read it over again. I connect with old friends. I imagine life as it could have been. I live anew in another place and time. These folks are with me forever because they are my storybook characters. They are strong and feisty and they lead with their hearts on their sleeves. I think of them and smile, knowing somehow, some way I am looking at a picture of me. I wonder if I will ever do them justice. Will I ever finish their stories and publish them into novels that make it to the big screen? Will others love them like only I can? Will others love those pieces of me stained on the pages?
 I look out the window as I ride in the car. Trees pass fast. The sky grows dark. This journey is long but only a vapor. I think about my life. What will it be like when I meet my Maker? Does He too look down on my countenance? Has He planted within me these dreams that spring up inside like fountains? He knows my story from beginning to end. Yet He desires for me to convene with Him and walk with Him as a friend. Does He too, like me, feel the pull between reality and who He has intended me to be? Does He anticipate new chapters for me or plan for my good and water my dreams like a good father would? Maybe He wears me on His sleeve and He dreams up new dreams as He shares blessings with me. I’d like to think I’d be like Him, writing with grace and loving people who make mistakes. No one is perfect, no character for sure, yet we root for them and our love for them endures. The best part truly is this moment, this story, this life is all yours. When your chapters end, what will your novel say? Will it inspire others? Or will it bring dismay? For we all are but characters in this great comedy of life, we’re figuring it all out. We laugh, cry, and fall down. But, we rise again. Maybe God has put within all of us that desire to connect with Him, that desire to share our stories with others with no regrets. I believe He does. So here I am. With all these characters in my mind, all this love in my heart and this pen in my hand. I anticipate each meeting, each adventure with them. No matter what, they are and will always be some of my favorite parts of me.
“It begins with a character, all I can do is trot along behind him trying to put down what he says and does.” - William Faulkner
“When I write, I live with my characters… to define the nuances of everything that’s happening with them and to find the element of their lives that is fascinating enough to record. That takes a lot of doing. - William Kennedy
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Hummingbird
I watch as they circle the porch, so tiny, so fragile yet so beautiful. They buzz by me, the hum of their wings captivating me as I watch them dance around the feeders. I always look forward to the summer. I always look forward to their sound. The sight of their playful and territorial movements. They come so quickly and leave in the blink of an eye like fireflies lighting up the summer skies. Hummingbirds always enchanted me. But now they remind me of her. Her laughter, her stories, her sweet smile. She too was fragile and intricate and captivating as she spoke of her life, lessons learned and memories as a mother, grandmother and wife. I loved to listen to her voice. I loved to laugh with her. And just like those hummingbirds, she danced into my life. I loved her as my own grandmother, and she too knew she was mine. When it was her time to migrate to a beautiful mansion in the sky, I knew I’d see her again. I knew I’d hear her voice again. As I sit at this dining room table and look out, I smile. There she comes again, a sweet memory, a familiar tune and a visage she loved so in the form of a hummingbird she came to me again to let me know there is peace and joy in the unknown. And I too will dance as she does when I reach my heavenly home.
Radiant
I'll never forget this moment. He's all that I see. I watch him catch a single tear with his handkerchief before putting it back into his tuxedo pants pocket. This is everything I hoped for. "Slow down," Daddy tells me. We are halfway down the aisle. I thought this moment would never come. Not that I doubted I would marry. But, I have waited and waited and waited so long. Everyone is married by 25 it seems with two children on the way in new homes with new cars. I have stood in wedding party after wedding party. Always the bridesmaid or maid of honor...anyway, this is my moment. I take it all in knowing it is all mine and no one elses. My soulmate infront of me. A wedding party of family members. A church of loved ones and friends. Just like I always wanted. In this moment, I remember the words I wrote to myself with tears rolling down my face: "when it is your moment, you will be radiant." I hug wedding guests at the reception. "You are the happiest bride I have ever seen," one guest remarks as I smile. She has no idea the pain that I have endured to get to this moment. The doubts. The heartbreak and betrayal. The love and the loss. But I do. And this is my moment, my memory to cherish. And today, I am radiant. Today was more than anyone could hope for. And I will cherish it for the rest of my life.
Growing Pains
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His face lights up. He will never admit it, but he loves to be the center of attention. Rightfully so, he's so good at entertaining everyone and he's the funniest guy I know. "Happy birthday, big brother," I say as I hug him. So much has changed since last year. A marriage. A home for me. A companion for him in the shape of a small dachshund with the name of a popular Disney princess. I scoop her into my arms. "Thanks, rat," he says with a smile. His dog licks my cheek and I laugh. Life is good. But it wasn't always good. Sometimes I look back to appreciate all that I have now. From the grueling workload of a newspaper reporter to public relations, or "the dark side" as we used to call it. ' I remember the moments I thought the good times would never come. Three years ago "What's not falling down needs to be torn down," a councilman stated. I sigh. Here we go. More presentations of future businesses downtown take place with eager individuals seeking to make a difference and move forward with proper permits to make it happen. "I'll support any business," he said. "If it's a bar, drag show, heck, a brothel...I'll be the first man in the door." The meeting continues with drainage conversations and comments from citizens whose shower drains emit fumes of sewage when it rains. Back and forths and words that ignite controversy. A town council meeting with everything, yet nothing at all. Politicians with good intentions, politicians with strong opinions and politicians with looks of bewilderment. This is the first of two late nights this week. At least I can finish this one from home. I dread the meeting two days from now that I will have to complete in an empty lobby of the local McDonalds filled with employees eager to close shop and go home after a hard days work. How did I get here? She smiles at me. The lovely Thalia Rosen, who is clerk to the board. She knows it all. I'd elect her to be mayor. The local fire chief pats my back. "I can't wait to read this one," he says with a chuckle. I shake my head. I speed home and spend more time writing the story than the 45 minute meeting. The next day I am bombarded by mistakes from the last two stories I wrote. Am I even cut out for this? I remember how passionate I was about journalism. How much I wanted so desperately to change the world. Now, I want out. My cellphone vibrates. It's him. I smile. We exchange words about our day and plans for the weekend. I take a deep breath. The weekend comes and he washes his steak down with a cold beer. I struggle to finish my food. We watch television from across the room stretched out on two separate sofas. He passes out. I check my phone. Time to go. After a reproach from his mother, he walks me to my car. There has to be more than this. Months pass and I feel like I am muddling through each day. I pray for more, I pray for blessings. I pray for healing. I pray for direction. Then I decide to stop praying about it. Maybe this is what God wants for me. My phone isn't working properly, as it hasn't for months, so I take it to the store to upgrade. I call my boyfriend on the store phone as I begin what would be a four hour process to update and transfer phone data. He tells me a fun story about his night. I reminisce on the number of weekends since I saw him last. Something feels wrong. Very wrong. My mind drifts back to this morning, a dizzy head of anger. A phone call from my brother. I'll never forget his pleading with me. His concern over my depression. His anger for my erratic behavior. I never saw a way out until one Sunday morning. When I walked into the front doors of that beautiful Baptist Church with my bestfriend, I knew things would be Ok. The sermon was everything my broken heart needed. I could feel healing on the horizon. I take a deep breath. Present Day My husband smiles at me. The ring on my finger reminds me of all the magic our love is, the beauty our lives interwined have become. The love we have reminds me of the strength I gained when all of the relationships I had failed. God does restore. There is beauty in the pain, in the choice to praise and to sit with God in the quiet. I wish I had known that growing pains lead to good. I wish I had known all that was waiting for me around the corner. If I had, I'd do it all again.