Cafe-Girl: A Novella

Deborah placed her cell phone smack dab in the center of her unmade bed. She stared down at it, willing it to ring, and when nothing happened she flipped it over, disgruntled and sat heavily upon the floor of her rented bedroom. She leaned against the bed and hung her head. Her go-cup coffee that she had purchased from Matt just a half an hour before, but which seemed like millions of eons ago, sat dejectedly on her chest of drawers, getting cold. She stared at it, willing it to float over towards her, so she wouldn't have to rise from her slumped position, depression stretching inward upon her like a familiar yet unkind friend.

Suddenly, the phone rang. She leaped up, almost as if her whole body rose into the air, and reached for it. The number was unknown, as in not listed in her friends, but the area code was familiar. Her heart raced as she pressed the button to answer.

“Hello?” she called out. “Hello? Hello?”

But, no answer came. “Is anyone there? Who is this?” she implored more forcefully, with a little bit of spice. “Stop clogging up my phone by calling and calling!” And, she hung up with a ferocity and threw the phone across the room, it ricocheted off the dresser, knocking the coffee cup over, and fell to the floor as the cappuccino liquid slipped down her dresser to the carpet below waiting to be stained Was this a sign of something? Some signal, a truth, of things to come, of her pouring her life and heart away on some guy who would not come through yet again. She sighed and moved to right the coffee cup and begin the process of soaking up the liquid before it stained, wiping the drips off the dresser. It was probably just her crazy ex-boyfriend after all. God! She groaned. Won't he ever ever leave her alone?

In the coffee shop, Matt, however, was not trying to avoid calling her or laughing over her goof of thinking his flirtations were anything more than a barista trying to garner some tips, but was being simultaneously distracted by the conspiracy ravings of Shaggy, the mixed rants of conspiracy and crazy ex of James, and Ray's urging that once he get off work they go get some beer and begin their version of “church”, rather where they all hike as far as they can go into the surrounding mountains, sip their 40s, smoke joints, and sort of meditate, sort of explore where ever they are led. Inwardly, he was hoping for one moment of peace between all this to call Deborah, to hear her sweet voice, hear her laughing jokes echoing his back to him with mirth and merriment.

“9-11 was an inside job,” Shaggy was exclaiming. “Bush and the CIA, Daddy Bush, planned the whole thing in order to make the masses feel fear and vulnerable, in order to keep us under their control--

“My ex made me feel vulnerable,” James mumbled and when they all swung around to look at him, he added, “She was a crazy bitch, slept with everyone in town, right?”

They nodded. They'd heard the story what seemed like a thousand times a day it seemed. Sometimes James seemed like a broken record, begging for anyone to listen, to feel some sort of pity for him. Matt wondered about him, sometimes. He himself had left a crazy ex that had in fact cheated on him numerous times but recently he had found peace with her and moved on. And, James it seemed, after discovering the likeness of his story with Matt's, wouldn't let it go. Matt wondered why but couldn't ascertain the answer to that question. He shook it off yet again, hoping James would find the peace and answers on his own someday.

Ray was pulling at his shirtsleeves, metaphorically, like an anxious young child, wanting to know “are we there yet? are we there yet?” Matt looked at his funny friend, long straggly reddish-auburn hair, gnatted with dreads scattered about the threads of his hair, a nose red and large from too much of the drink, a frail build from living the hard life, too many drugs, not enough good food, a ski-cap propped upon the top of his head, and grinned at Ray.

“Hey, Ray,” Matt began. “Has anyone ever told you, you kind of look like a lawn gnome?”

Shaggy and James looked over at their friend, Ray and nodded, laughing.

“Yeah, you do,” joined in Shaggy. “But you are tall so like, king of the lawn gnomes!”

They all laughed mirthfully.

“King of the lawn gnomes!” They all cheered and the three of them bowed to Ray, who extended his hand in deference and approval. It was right then that Barbara, the remaining new girl, walked up and stared confusedly at their actions before her.

“What the hell?” she exclaimed. “What the hell is going on?”

“What the hell does he look like?” exclaimed James right back, and Matt cringed. Sometimes James seemed harsh to women, he didn't know why.

“Um, Ray,” Barbara said, slightly wincing and moving towards the door. Matt leaned into her and whispered in her ear, 'Lawn gnome', she turned back and looked Ray over.

“Oh my god, yeah,” she laughed.

“He's the king of the lawn gnomes,” explained Shaggy.

“Bow down!” commanded Ray and Barbara gave him a little curtsy. She hurried into the coffee shop to begin her shift and Matt followed her to officially clock out.

“Not to busy today?” Barbara asked, turning to him, with a smile. He smiled back, somewhat reluctantly. He wasn't too attracted to this girl, she was a little on the plump side and a little too pushy when it came to the area of love for his taste, always trying mostly unsuccessfully to push her way into his world, his line of view.

“Nope,” he said. He grabbed his time-card out of his cubby and scribbled out the time. Placing it back, he grabbed his coat, knapsack, and hat, putting it on with a flair of a 1940s movie star, that which he was unaware of the affect he had on the opposite sex. He nodded, hat on head, pulling his jacket on, swinging his knapsack on his shoulder, and turned and walked towards the door towards his awaiting friends.

“All signed out?” asked James. He nodded. Shaggy shook his head and Matt felt an oncoming rant of conspiracy about to spew forth.

“Its just sad that the government, or the forces behind, have us so wrapped up in being a number in order to give us more meaningless numbers in a computer that we use to--”

“Yeah, we get it,” barked out Ray. “Let's get some beer before I start to puke.”

“His majesty has spoken,” said Matt, smiling somewhat apologetically at Shaggy.

They all headed off, following Ray, in a single-file to the nearby minute market.

While his team, his rag-tag friends, busied themselves with the all too important task of picking the right beers for the trek inside, Matt leaned against the outside wall and pulled out his phone and the napkin with Deborah's phone listed on it. He found it interesting that for some odd reason her number seemed to already be in his “outward” calling list, but he did not have any memory of calling her. He stared down at his phone, debating inwardly whether he should call her, whether he had the time, what his friends would think of her, if she really liked him, if she was even single. All these questions filled his mind as he stared down at the screen of his cell-phone, the number, for some reason already dialed, before him. The door of the minute market dinged open and Ray exclaimed, “Mission Accomplished!”

Matt slammed his phone shut and stuck it forcefully in his jeans pocket.

“All set?” he set to his somewhat giddy friends. They nodded. “All right, Ray, Your Majesty, lead the way!”

The hike wound them up farther and farther into the forests and wilderness above the city. Matt looked back over his shoulder, over the city that he knew so well, where every corner, every alleyway echoed a memory of so many years, and thought of her, tucked away in some room, some apartment, some home, he knew not where or which, and longed for her. He wondered, he hoped, if they had a chance, if he could finally end this quest to find the one, to end the emptiness of longing for love and understanding. Would it ever end, he wondered, when would he have his happily ever after?

Life In A Coffee Shop

Cafe-Girl A Novella

The Saturday morning early winter air filtered through the half open window. Deborah stared out at the grey skies and stretched. No work today, no running around chasing little toddler kids while she wondered what she really wanted to do with her life. Maybe instead she will have time to catch up on her reading, her writing...maybe head to a certain coffee shop and see...him.

It had been a few weeks since their meeting, she'd popped into see him but the shop had been busy, in flux of last minute tourists riding on the coat-tails of the ending season, seeing the final theatre shows and buying up the last minute touristy store items. Deborah was so glad she was no longer working at that boutique down-town.

Yes, Matt had been busy lately. One of the new girls had recently up and quit and he was left filling in the gaps. When he wasn't busy, he was sitting outside on the small patio, crowded together with a wide assortment of his guy friends, a guy who always wore a suit, an older hippie man, a tall lanky fellow with dark floppy hair, and the one who always wore black and hunched over his coffee, brooding, seemingly. Deborah always wanted to join them, wasn't sure what to say, but she'd always wanted to be one of those sorts people who hung out at coffee shops, the edgy sort. The kind that sat and stared at their dark coffee, talking about all sorts of dark things, intellectual things, and the like. There was that one brooding dark guy that sat on the porch with Matt and his friends, she was both afraid of him and intrigued by him. She was also nervous to join them all on the patio because she was still not sure if Matt liked her, although she suspected she did, knew she did. That was pretty clear to her now. But, what if he didn't feel the same but saw her as another nice customer or something? How did this thing work? She could never figure out the dating game, as it were.

Having recently gotten out of an extremely bad three year relationship, Deborah was still reeling from the after effects. Could she trust another guy? Could she trust herself to fall in love again? Did she even want to? Her best friend, Mari, who was a devout Christian was adamantly husband hunting. They had to find husbands, in fact, that was the sole purpose of looking for a man, to bed him and wed him. Well, maybe not the bedding part according to Mari, however, Deborah knew that Mari was not a virgin, rather a self proclaimed born again virgin, born again and again and again and again...

Mari had taken Deborah to church a few times. She wasn't sure what she thought of all of that. Mari had taken her under the rouse that she needed to find the Lord, although Mari didn't out and out say that, but Deborah could tell. She also watched as Mari anxiously flirted with all the young eligible bachelors at the church, even there devout in her sole purpose to marry, no other goal in sight. Deborah thought that the church setting was almost as bad as the nightclub setting, just couched in some form of a Christian safety net.

If everyone in the whole world, just in different circles, was telling her how to date, how to fall in love, who to date, who to fall in love with, and how, when, who to marry, then why was she still confused? Why hadn't any of it worked yet? Maybe that was really the point of it. Love was undefinable, unexplainable, it existed but was elusive at times, and always uncontrollable.

She pulled her journal out of her near by backpack, a pen tucked inside from where she had stopped writing the night before, and started pouring out these thoughts on the paper. She wrote and wrote feverishly pouring out every last drop of concern, worry, even desire...until her soul felt satisfied and she threw down the pen to get ready...ready to make her way to the coffee shop.

At the coffee shop, Matt stood on the patio, alone at present, smoking a cigarette and sipping his third espresso of the day, looking anxiously up the street, waiting, hoping that she would come. His friend, Stephan, already dressed in his suit for work, approached.

“Waiting for something, Matt?” Stephan asked.

“Not really,” Matt shook himself. “Get you something? The usual?”

“Yeah, to go please,” Stephan went on. “I've got to get to work.”

They both moved into the coffee shop. There was a smattering of customers sitting about the various tables, engrossed in their lives, one was reading a book, the other the paper, and one was just staring dumbly out the window, lost in thought. Matt handed Thomas his steamy black cup of coffee in a go-cup and Thomas laid three dollars on the counter. Matt snatched it up, ran it through the cash register, and handed Thomas his change, which he tossed into the tip jar.

“Thanks, man,” Matt said. Thomas shook it off and moved over to pour some cream into the cup.

“Got to cool it down,” he explained, without reason.

“Yeah, of course,” and Matt started to move out to the patio, following his friend, but a new customer entered the store. She asked for a frapacino and Matthew inwardly groaned and Thomas said,

“Yeah, you want Starbucks up the street!”

“Oh, thanks,” she said and turned, quickly leaving. Matt and Thomas looked at each and rolled their eyes.

“Tourists,” Thomas said.

“Right,” Matt agreed and they headed out on the patio. Matt sat down at the table while Thomas waved and headed for his day at work, just beginning. Matt had only a few hours left before the one remaining girl started her shift. His best friend, aptly known as Shaggy because he greatly resembled the cartoon character rambled up, followed by the coffee shop's very own old man hippie, Ray.

“Hey guys,” he said in greeting and he put down his still unlit cigarette and followed them into the coffee shop, with his cup to get a refill as well.

A few minutes later, he saw his friend, James, the new guy in the group, heading down the street towards the coffee shop. His long black hair falling over his face and his eyes dark. His black clothes and long trench coats were not the only thing that gave Matt the willies, actually he couldn't put his finger on what it was about James that seemed odd. I mean, all his friends were a bit off so he really didn't pay much attention to it. He knew James had just recently divorced his wife, James talked about it and how crazy his ex was a lot. A lot more than Matt did and he too had recently gotten the dump.

James entered the coffee shop and he passed out the morning cup of joe and muffins to each of his friends. James headed quickly out to the patio and sat in the chair Matt had recently vacated, facing the street. Ray and Shaggy lingered around the counter with the milk before Shaggy headed over to the computer.

“I found something online last night,” Shaggy explained, calling up the internet. “Something very suspicious, wanted to show you guys. That okay?”

Matt looked over at his friend. This conspiracy theory fascination was new and not how he had been since high school. So too was his express desire to be known only as Shaggy, 'the better to hide from the government', he had explained. Matt worried about his friend and truly hoped this was a passing fancy.

“Yeah, yeah,” Matt said and came around to stand behind Shaggy at the computer. Ray stood on his other side and both leaned over to see the web-page detailing some crazy government cover-up Shaggy was so convinced was real.

Meanwhile, Deborah, adorned in European style clothes complete with black pea coat and warm scarf, neared the coffee shop. On the patio, she saw James sitting alone and she hesitated at the steps to the coffee shop.

She looked up at him, biting her lip, in anxiety and intrigue, and said, “Hi.”

“Hello,” was all he said. And, then Deborah quickly passed into the coffee shop to find Matt huddled over the computer with his other friends, engrossed in some website or something.

“Hi, can I get some service here?” She called out, laughingly.

Matt turned and looked over at her. A big smile spread across his face and he headed towards her, happily, bouncing in his familiar walk. And, he hugged her. Surprised, she put her arms around him. They awkwardly pulled away from each other, somewhat reluctantly.

“How are you?” Matt asked, looking at his feet. “Another cappuccino?”

“Yeah, I'd love one,” she smiled. “And I'll even pay.”

Matt moved behind the counter and started making her drink. She pulled five dollars out of her wallet and waited.

“So, how have you been?” she wanted to know.

“Eh, didn't sleep well last night,” was all Matt said while he concentrated.

“Yeah, sorry to hear that,” Deborah was really concerned.

“Not really been sleeping the last few nights, actually,” he explained. “Stupid insomnia.”

Deborah cocked her head to one side and thought. Her mind raced as an idea sprang into her head. Should she or shouldn't she? Meanwhile, Matt finished her cappuccino and set it on the counter before her. She handed him the five and he rang up the amount in the cash register. She moved over, grabbing a napkin from the counter with the milk, and before she lost her nerve, jotted down her name and phone number on it. She moved over to him and as he handed her his change she said, nervously,

“Here's my phone number, if you want to call me when you can't sleep,” she said and held out the napkin to her. He smiled down at her and handed her the change. She took the change and smiled her good-bye and left, passing the patio with now three of his friends, the old hippie one, the tall lanky guy, and the scary dark boy.

A few minutes after she left, Matt crossed down to the patio, with his refilled mug in hand. Still holding the napkin, he held it up to his friends.

“She gave me her phone number!” he exclaimed.

“Nice,” said James yet Matt thought he heard a hint of jealousy in it. Yet he shook it off. This was good news and nothing was going to damper his happy moment.

Deborah walked down the street, grinning broadly. She had done it and now she waited to see if he actually called. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and looked at it, as if he would call right then and there. She knew she had to wait, he was at work and who knew what he was doing after work, what he had to do, or if...she gasped...what if he already had a girlfriend or liked someone else? Her heart broke a little inside, shame spread over her face. What if she just made a complete and utter fool of herself. She could never ever go back to that coffee shop, never. She couldn't face him or his friends. A pang of disappointment consumed her as she made her way home.

Love's Recovery

Cafe-Girl: A Novella

The misty rain poured hard upon Matthew as he left his house that early morning for the coffee shop. It wasn't a hard soaking rain but a gently falling mist that would still leave his clothes dew-drenched and damp upon reaching his destination and perhaps through the whole morning. He pulled his wool grey beret down over his ears and pulled his sweater down around his hands, then set off on his bouncy walk towards his place of work, his knapsack swinging by his side.

Today felt like any other morning in the last year, the weather may change from the blaring hot sun of summer to the many colored leaf-strewn pavement of the Fall to the misty wetness of early winter, that he had been working at the coffee shop. Every day the same, really, because most of the time he was the opener of the small coffee shop that resided on a side-street down the street from the main drag of his small town, the town of which he had grown up. Most of the other small staff, the two new girls that were recent hired, were not amicable to working the morning shift so off he went to do the usual day, the setting up of the tables and chairs, the baking of the muffins which were such a major draw to his regulars, roasting the coffee, etc etc etc. The music on the CD player always skipped and he'd spend most of the morning jumping to get it unstuck. Maybe that wasn't the best idea for the CDs, since there was such a limited variety, but he was so tired of having to dust them off, clean them, etc etc etc. Sometimes he put on the local NPR station, but usually once the customers came in, they found that distracting.

When he reached the coffee shop, he unlocked the backdoor with a reluctant sigh, stamping out his cigarette in the sand-bucket provided on the back step for employees that smoked, well, just him. He was grateful for the newly hired new girls, not just because they were cute, but because he didn't have to pull so many double shifts, him and his boss, Tom, sometimes the only two faithful devotees to the Soul Cafe besides the smattering few customers who came daily, his friends.

He gazed around at the small one room cafe, a charm singular to a few folks. A few of the “hippie” folk, more obscure than those “hippies” who frequented Garo's, the main street alternative-style coffee shop. These were his friends, he'd grown up with the majority of them, and they had a style all their own, a way of looking at life understood by the main population, of which they all provided themselves upon.

As he gazed around at the tiny coffee shop, the tables in various places, a few by the windows, a few lined up against the walls, a computer, a bookshelf, the bar where the cream was kept, the refrigerator for the other drinks for non-coffee drinkers, the counter, (his home base while at work), and the fireplace. He sighed. Another added job for today was starting a fire in there, the day was just cool enough. He sighed, removing his sweater and beret, to reveal his curly short red hair and shaking the dew off, he moved into the kitchen, hanging his coat and hat in the provided employee location. Now, to start the muffins.

Maybe today, he thought, maybe today something extraordinary will happen, well, at least out of the ordinary.

The morning dragged on. A few customers came in, two ordered and left, one walked in, looked around, asked if they made 'frappacinos', to which he sarcastically replied with a smile, “You want Starbucks up the street.” Off the went! Usually he could spot those types before they even entered the coffee shop and he would use his Jedi mind tricks, waving his hand a la Obiwan and saying “this is not the coffee shop you are looking for”, and then they'd abruptly turn even before opening the door. There is power in the barista!

He leaned against the wall behind the counter, staring straight ahead, waiting....waiting....for what? His shift to end, another customer, his friends to get their lazy asses out of their bed and come amuse him. Chopin played on in the background. What he did not expect, then happened.

She walked in. She wasn't really anything unusual or even special at the time. Lots of cute girls came in, but there was something that stood out to him about her, specifically. It was something he couldn't quite put his finger on, but nevertheless he felt a draw towards her. She approached the counter and looked at him, yes, really looked. Her eyes, full of warmth and acceptance, looked into his and she smiled. He smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. This wasn't so unusual, if anyone else was around to see him, he often flirted with the female customers, of all ages, well almost, because...yeah, better tips!

“Um, hi,” the girl said at last, with a nervous giggle in her throat.

“Hey there,” he smiled back. “What can I do for you?”

This was his usual request when a pretty girl approached the counter, as opposed to the male customers, “What can I get for you?”

The girl smiled up at him, her dark shoulder-length hair falling over her face. She pushed it back and looked at him, biting her lip, nervously.

“I'd like...a...pound of coffee or something,” she breathed out.

“A pound of coffee or something?” he asked furtively.

“Well, its a birthday present for my room-mate, she likes coffee, not me,” the girl explained.

“Oh, we'll have to remedy that,” Matthew smiled. “What does she like, dark or medium?”

“Excuse me?”

“Its the style of roast,” Matthew explained slowly.

“What do you like?” She asked, her eyes gazing up at him, imploringly. Ah, there it was, the draw towards her pulling him stronger and perhaps his first in, help the damsel in distress as it were.

“Oh, I'm partial to the Moka Java myself,” he said flirtatiously.

“I'll have a pound of that then,” she flirted back. He turned to pour the coffee beans into the brown paper bag. He looked at her over his glasses, waiting, and then he finally said,

“So, what's your name?”

“Oh, sorry, I'm Deborah,” she responded quickly. “And you?”

“Matt,” he smiled at her.

“Hello Matt,” she said with a delicious smile tossed his way. He smiled back and set the coffee bean bag on the counter before her. “How much?”

He looked at her, confused for a moment, and then realized she was referring to the bag. So pulled towards her, he had momentarily forgotten everything around him. Maybe he was just horny, it had been awhile after all, but no...there was something more about this girl.

“It's 12.99,” he replied. “You get a free 12 oz cup of coffee with that, if you'd like.”

“I don't know, I am not really a coffee person, I don't really partake,” she began.

“We'll have to change that, as I said,” he interjected.

“Is that part of your evil plan to take over the world? Convert the world to coffee?”

“I am a barista after all,” he smiled down at her. She bit her lip again under the weight of his stare and he so wanted to kiss those pink lips.

“Oh, I get it, like a drug pusher or something, only legal?” she continued the thread.

“Something like that,” he threw back at her. “So?”

“So what?”

“So, the coffee, you want it?” he asked.

“Well, I'm not much of a coffee drinker, as I said, too bitter, well I used to be, I spent a semester abroad in Italy and they KNOW coffee, but then when I came back it really didn't measure up so I gave it up, you know,” she rambled on in an unnecessary explanation.

“Yeah, well I aim to show you American coffee can be good,” he said flirtatiously.

“Or at least American baristas!” she blurted out.

“What?” he asked surprised. She blushed under his gaze and looked away. Quickly he said, “You know what? I'll make you a cappuccino, on the house, all right? It will be a good introduction.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said, still not meeting his gaze, her face still red. She laid a twenty dollar bill on the counter and waited while he made the drink.

“So, you are a student?” he asked, really wanting to know.

“Just graduated, actually, you?”

“No, not really, I mean, a student of life, I guess,” he stumbled out, fumbling with the cash register he'd used a million times but now in his embarrassment for his lack of a life against her accomplishments he seemed to forget. His loss loomed up in front of him, what could she possibly want with him?

“That's awesome,” she said, and he noticed not condescendingly. “I wish I did that, so are you from around here?”

“Yeah, born and raised,” he seemed to relax with her encouragement.

“So, you are a townie?” she said excitedly. “My first townie!”

“Yeah, I guess I am,” he laughed and she joined him. They shared a moment. He handed her change over to her, she placed it in her wallet.

“So, now what?” she said looking at him, expectantly. What did she want? How could he keep her here a little longer?

“Taste it,” he smiled at her, motioning towards the cup on the counter. She looked down at it and placed her hands around the warm mug.

“Oh, I love the design,” she smiled up at him.

“Yeah, thanks,” he said gratefully. “Sometimes I read the fortunes in the lattes.”

“Lattes? But this isn't a latte,” she said, truthfully. “Could you still show me what it means?”

“Well, I guess just this once,” he smiled at her and moved his hand over to the mug, his fingers touching hers. “Ah, I see.”

“What?” she wanted to know as she looked at the drink, then at him, then at the drink, then back at him. “What do you see?”

“Well, its difficult to explain but I can say you are in for a real treat here,” he began. “And not just the drink, an adventure is about to begin.”

“What do I do?” she breathed out, playing along with his role-playing of the barista/fortune teller.

“I can only advise that you taste it and enjoy for all its worth,” he smiled at her, knowingly, daring her. She reached for the cup, her fingers trailing along his hand as she picked it up and he moved his hands away. She tasted, took a big sip, and then smiled up at him, happily.

“Mmmm, delicious,” she said at last.

“And, that is just the beginning,” he explained. “Keep going.”

“There's more!” she finally said, after another drink.

“Just wait and see,” he said, flirtatiously. “Just wait and see.”

“I could say the same to you,” she said, holding the mug just in front of her mouth and smiling over it. “Not too busy today.”

“Yeah, it can be slow,” he said.

“Want to join me on the deck?” she asked, biting her lip behind the mug.

“Yeah, I'd like that,” he smiled. She moved towards the door and he stopped her with, “You don't mind if I smoke, do you?”

“No, no, that's fine,” she nodded and moved out of the door. He watched her set the mug down at the one patio table and sit near the window. He saw her take a deep breath and then smile expectantly, and a smile twitched at his lips. I've got an in here, he thought hopefully.

 Falling Slowly

Not Another Blog With Biblical Scriptures

"Forgetting what lies ahead and straining towards what is ahead, I press on..."--Philippians 3:13

Basically, I don't see anything wrong with this verse, as moving forward from the past is the only path we really have in this life.  Time on this earth is linear, we move forward into the future and as of yet time travel has yet to be accomplished.  

So, I get it.  Its healthy to not linger on the past, to forget what is behind in order to continue forward towards your goals, in order to achieve your dreams.  Good idea, sounds reasonable.  

On the surface.

But, when I read it, a whole plethora of memories not so good floods up at me.  A painful realization of a time in my life when pressing forward was more important than honoring, remembering, and cherishing the past.

During my time at Calvary Chapel, I spent most of it in Sonoma County, the place of which I grew up.  In its belief that they had the final say on the literal translation of the Bible, Calvary put an emphasis on this verse.  And, in the place where I had memories from before, old class-mates, childhood friends, and the like, it became a pit of an emotional disaster.

As I mentioned previously, Calvary was very exclusionary in their world-view, not just towards the Non-Christian or Non-believer, but even going so far as to exclude other similar minded churches from being called " Truly Christian".  In addition to that, as I have mentioned before, emotions, intellect, advanced education, reading other books besides the Bible or those not dictated by the leadership was strongly discouraged, even frowned upon.  Your spiritual walk and obedience to Christ was questioned if you partook in any of the above activities.

What this resulted in, I have discovered, is a loss of understanding of self and identity as well as the inability to think for yourself.  

From some thorough examination, I have discovered Calvarys heightened focus on the "forget what lies behind" part of this verse to be disastrous to one's understanding of self, identity, and life purpose, even one's own spiritual walk.  For at Calvary, we were persuaded that any outside relationships with non-christians, whether past friends or current, were to be dealt with in the light of "bring them to church and get them saved", for there could be no closeness with someone who did not walk with Christ, at least in the Calvary worldview.

What this resulted for me, and I think for others, was a depreciation for the experiences and relationships of childhood friends, classmates, camp friends, even families.  Now seen through the eyes of what the church taught, my past memories with these friends were skewed by the judgment of the sins committed.  You were forgiven but it was constantly, by the church, drudged up about all the bad stuff you did in your BC (before Christ, for those not familiar with the lingo) days.  Thus, you were constantly in a state of shame for these past indiscretions.  What were you to do then was to move forward to heal.  The only way to change was to forget.

But, that is not possible.  Healing from the past never works if you try to merely forget.  We all have our past issues, pains, and grievances.  Stuff we carry around with us that color our understanding of our current relationships and situations.  Not dealing with that leads us to continue the cycle of destruction over and over again.  Perhaps that's Calvary Chapels true motivation, keeping the people submissive is easier if they are constantly in a place of shame.

During my time at Calvary, I had my breakdown and subsequent diagnosis with Bipolar.  The only thing that really healed and helped me was therapy, both group and individual.  Real therapy, not Christian where you read the Bible, studied some verse, and felt better.  No, that's band-aid therapy, that's almost a kin to doing a drug to cover the pain.  Very much like, in my opinion.

During my years of therapy, I did not dwell in the past or live there.  In actually, the years I spent trying to forget I dwelt more, whether living in regret over past mistakes or reliving old hurts.  In short, I didn't move forward no matter how much I said I did.

Therapy brought about true healing and forgiveness for those wrongs and hurts I caused and had done.  Through extensive therapy, I looked back, re-wrote the past, and then released it.  

However during my Calvary years pre-breakdown, I cast aside the childhood friends I care so much for.  After the breakdown and the therapy, I sit face to face with them, remembering the lovely times of our shared pasts yet cheering each other on as we move forward to our glorious futures.

Its those long-time friends that, despite my treatment of them during the Calvary years, that have remained with me.  Its the Calvary friends that have now cast me aside, choosing themselves to continue to "try and forget".  I do so hope that works for them and if not I pray they find true healing.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0wBDDAZkNtk

Never Fred. Ever.

To My Lucky # 13,

 ...I am home-sick...

You are my Doctor. I love your smile, your eyes, the way you laugh at all my jokes, the way you make me laugh, and the way it feels to hug you.

I know I have my 'human companion' but I can't help thinking I want to fly off & explore time & space with you. Does that interest you? 

If so, I'll be waiting. You know how to get a hold of me, what to call me if you really need me...

Your,

Romana

PS Can you remind me what kind of animal is your favorite kind of puppet? 

Tea With Teresa

The Nightbirds Sing

Dreamcast by Catherine Hansen