The Mean Ones

See, there's this thing called biology...

I have long since come to accept this thing that happens, this thing where I will testify to the goodness of God, to the honor and love of men, to the way women are treasured and loved within Christianity, and some lunkhead will come along and present himself as a living, breathing, walking, testimony that proves me wrong.

It’s downright uncanny. If I am with a non believer who hates the, “misogyny of Christians,” I can almost guarantee you we’re going to pull up to the gas pump right behind the guy with the fish stickers and crosses all over the back of his car. Sure enough, he’s going to be the one guy having a full-blown meltdown, cursing up a storm, and displaying his outright contempt for women in as many vile and colorful ways as possible.

I’ve lost track of all the times people have looked at me…

View original post 763 more words


Part 2, Sarah

“You didn’t think. ”  Her voice was steadily getting louder. She choked the forceful tone back, swallowed, then abruptly rose and made a beeline for the bathroom down the hall. She wrestled with the anger force that tried to bubble up in her, and managed to gently close and lock the door.  The tiny bathroom had maybe 10 square feet to it, taken mostly up by a free-standing, lime-scaled sink, a toilet in an odd shade of green, and a full-size bathtub in the same earthy green.  With everything being older, it never looked clean.  Their fixer upper.  She slowly lowered herself onto the toilet lid, hot tears leaking out.  Maybe I should do the movie thing of go over the sink and splash my face with water, she thought.  Instead, she pushed the heels of her hands into her eyelids.

Sarah allowed herself to weep for a bit, then it tapered off.  Finally, she just stayed in the same position, and a raw dryness inside throbbed.  They had been working so hard.

“Lord, we are supposed to be a team.  Why wouldn’t he ask me?  I know I am his helpmate, but don’t you want us debt free?  Don’t you want us to each put the other first?” She rubbed the back of her hand over her cheeks, her nose, ran fingers through her tangled hair.  So tired.  Rising, she exited the bathroom.  She stopped at the entrance to the living room.  Her husband had cleared everything off, and the scent of candle smoke hung in the air.

“I am going to turn in.  I have to go to work early.”  She could hear the hoarseness in her voice.  His back was to her in the wood-paneled kitchen, at the small sink.  She heard the start and stop of the water and clanking of dishes, and he said something quietly, that she didn’t catch.  Dully, she turned around and went into their room.  This room had only the absolute essentials of a closet, dresser, and bed in it.  She quickly undressed and collapsed into the bed, pulling the comforter up to her nose.


Next thing she knew, the alarm’s urgent call blared.  A huge sigh and yawn escaped her, and she started to pull the covers up higher, then thought better of it and forced herself to stand.  Just had to get past that initial wall of drowsiness by moving, and she would be ok. Sarah glanced back and saw her husband sleeping, his back to her.

In the shower, she barely moved at first, while the needles of water hit her.  On impulse, she caught some of the shower water in her mouth, swished, then spit it out.  A quick head-to-toe soaping and shampooing up, rinse, and she was done.  She didn’t want to get caught in the cold water.

Dressed in record time, she went in front of the mirror to apply her little bit of makeup that made her look less tired.  Lord, grant me the grace to do what needs to be done today.  Thank you for a new day.  Please help me act as I should to my husband, and give me the wisdom to know what’s right.  In Jesus’ name, Amen.  As she finished her quick prayer, there was a tentative knock at the door.

Lord, grant me the grace to do what needs to be done today.  Thank you for a new day.  Please help me act as I should to my husband, and give me the wisdom to know what’s right.  In Jesus’ name, Amen.  As she finished her quick prayer, there was a tentative knock at the door.

As she finished her quick prayer, there was a tentative knock at the door.

“Come in.”  She reached for her deodorant.

The door opened slowly, with a faint squeak.  Her husband had gray rings under his eyes, a five-o-clock shadow in a pale ginger, and glassy green eyes.  She could feel her hardened heart soften at his appearance.

“I’ve been praying all night,” he croaked, “and have decided to leave up to you if I go to the interview.  I didn’t mean to leave you out of the decision.  I love you, and am so sorry-”

She turned and wrapped her arms around him, her face pressed to his chest.

“I’m sorry I flew off the handle.  You can do this if you really are sure it’s in God’s will.  I will support it, as long as you are sure.  I love you.  I am worried about bills, but I know Jesus promised if we put Him first, he would take care of us.”

He gently embraced her in return, his voice lighter.  ” I will be really careful and really sure. Are you sure it’s fine with you, though?”  He pulled her back to study her eyes as she listened.

She smiled, and it was a real smile.

“I love you, and I am with you on this.”

As she headed out the door that morning, she started whistling.




Sarah Timmons had had a terrible day.  Her tall, lanky frame slouched.  Her blue eyes twitched.  Stress had quirked the corner of her lips.  Even her light brown hair let her down, with an impression from her taco bell visor over the crown of the head. Out of control curls from the bun she had worn all day streamed off the rest of the length.

“Tired,” she muttered, slamming the driver side door to her 1980 Ford Pinto.

Her heart lifted a little when she saw her husband, Chads, ’85 Chevy truck on the curb in front of the house.  The wrinkles on her forehead smoothed out,  and her unconscious tooth-grinding stopped momentarily.  In spite of her mental fog, the spicy gumbo smell from the house snapped her to attention, her stomach growling loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

“Payday,”  she told herself.   If they were indulging in something more expensive, like shrimp, it normally meant they actually had money.  She had forgotten it was the beginning of the month.  That meant she would be paid in a week, and they could knock out bills.

“Let’s see… Electric, Phone, student loans…” she trailed off.  They kept their bills to a minimum, so there was no cable or other extras to worry about. In spite of the dull, exhausting hours they both worked at their minimum wage jobs, their marriage was wonderful.  Sarah enjoyed the transparency, and genuine like and love toward each other.  Not having money actually seemed to add to the romantic atmosphere.  They worked, went to a .99 theater occasionally, and ate a lot of Ramen Noodles.

Sarah attempted to turn the handle, but the knob wouldn’t turn.  She pulled her keys out of her khakis to attempt to unlock it but heard Chad’s voice.

“Don’t unlock it!  Give me a second.”

Puzzled, she complied.

After a few minutes, the door lock ground a little, then the door swung open.

The sight of the dim, candle-lit living room greeted Sarah, as well as the clear smell of gumbo.  Chad had filled two bowls, placed them on two TV trays pushed together with a pillowcase and a single, blue, lit candle.

Sarah smiled.

“Is some of it for me?”

He laughed.

“Of course.”  He scratched at his short red hair, green eyes looking clear and happy.

“Smells awesome.” She smiled.

“Yup.  Something else, too.”


“Let’s sit down and eat a little, then I have something to tell you.”

“Ok, sure.”

Sarah plopped onto the faded gold couch and untucked her shirt.  She rotated her ankles, then pried off her faded running shoes.  After a quick blessing, they both started eating with zeal.

Sarah only had a bite or two left, when Chad drew a deep breath.

“Like I was saying, I had something to tell you.”

He never took his eyes off hers.  She didn’t react, so he went on,

“I’ve been offered a job, and I took it.”  The words tripped over each other as he explained.

“You know Tweetsie railroad? Well, they need a special effects artist for their costumes.  One of my friends hooked me up, and they want to interview me next week. I gave my two weeks notice at Aldi today.”

He sat back as her face froze.

“Well, what do you think?”

She searched for the words, and finally plunged in;

“Chad, you never asked me about this.  I had no idea this was coming.  You can’t just give notice without another job lined up.  We need both of our incomes if we are going to stay debt free.  Why didn’t we discuss this?  It’s ‘we’, right? ”

“The thing is,”  he answered, looking puzzled at her reaction, “He texted me today.  I had to make a snap decision, and you were at work.  I couldn’t call you for that.  You are emergency calls only, remember?  I would have called your cell, but you turn it off when you are there. ”

“I could have had some notice.  Could you not wait until I got home today to talk about this?”

“He said he needed a decision now.  I thought you would be happy.”

“I mean, I know this is something you wanted.  Right now, we have to make sacrifices, though, to get where we want to go.  Remember our goals?  Is it at least as much money as you normally make?  We have everything planned for to the penny.  Will this throw us off?”

“I didn’t think of that.” he admitted.

” You didn’t think. “She could feel the heat creeping up from her collarbone to the top  of her skull.

(Part 1, part  2  coming)




The Shaky Foundation

Hollowed out


waver, wind-blown,

knees up, abdomen shakes.


Profession without heart,

gentle without gentleness,

patient without patience,

passiveness the core motive.


Pray my toes touch concrete,

kneel, barbs from hand and feet


warriors armor in place.