I'm working on a non-fiction project called Bohemian Forgiveness: 5 Unconventional Paths to Forgiving What You'll Never Forget.
I have a literary agent. And submissions to publishing houses are underway. Meanwhile, a graphic designer is creating a collateral design that will feature 25 excerpts. This is a sample!
I'll keep you posted as we progress!
copyright 2018. Ame B. Design
You know how when you view a television program it's actully created prior to the air-date? Well, such is the case with last week's post: Learning to Take the Hits; affectionately stored in blog category: Divorce 101.
Truth is, the day I blogged about my examination was the day I actually received the results. As I said before, it was humiliating. What I didn't say is that it was SO humiliating that I regretted not taking my friend, Amanda, up on her idea of how I could use my inappropriate sense of humor to bring laughter to an otherwise cruddy experience.
[Conversation with Amanda before doctor's appointment]
Me: I'm WAY overdue for an STD screening. It's time. I know it is. But I don't think I can handle anyone assuming I've been slutty when I haven't. [See disclaimer at bottom of page in regards to my use of the word slutty.]
Amanda: If that's what you're worried about then dress slutty.
Me: Wait, what?
Amanda: Dress the part. When you get there toss one of those travel bottles of vodka on your clothes. And then make up a story. Say you had sex with more than one guy this week and you need to be checked. I'll go with you. Then you won't have to worry about what they're thinking cause you'll already know.
Me: (Ever the writer.) We should totally do this! Then I could blog about our adventure in STD screenings.
It turns out, I didn't do this. And boy, did I ever wish I had.
Imagine, if you will:
Me to front desk lady: Hi. I'm here through no fault of my own. Just trying to take care of myself.
Pee-in-this-cup lady: I'm just here because I think my ex-husband cashed in his marriage vows, and I'm just now in a place (emotionally) where I can do this.
Nurse: Hi. I'm here through no fault of my own. I have reasons to believe my husband was unfaithful.
Doc: Hi. My marriage just ended after 18 years. I think he was unfaithful and this is humiliating.
Lab tech: I'm here because of someone else's poor choices. I'm just trying to be responsible.
Check out lady: ". . . . . . . . . ." (Seriously, you get the picture.)
Pimply faced boy working the register at Walgreens: What's this medicine for?
Me, praying to myself: Jesus in heaven, sitting at the right hand of the Father, help me. Help me. Help me. . . . Help. Me.
July 3rd. I get "the call." Pap, normal--No HPV. (Yay!) HIV, negative. (Yay!) Hep C, negative. (Yay!) But there is ONE thing we must address. (Huh?)
Loyal reader, it's only natural for you to wonder what the ONE thing is. I get it. And when I'm a little further out from the roller coaster of emotion Life assigned to this phone call, perhaps one day I'll be specific. For now, I'm grateful it's not life threatening and it's treatable. Why share something this personal? Because I am not alone in my circumstances. I represent countless women who, like me, now face the tedious distance between the hope they know to be true in Christ, and the sudden waves of righteous fury that are often self-righteously quieted from the pulpit with "Don't let the sun go down on your anger."
Today I'm good, but just three days ago, Anger was kicking my butt and taking names. I actually called my ex a *&%$# right to his face. And then I made a can-you-come-over-because-I'm-hanging-by-a-thin-thread call to Amanda.
Me: Why did I say that? I mean, I know why. But why? It doesn't change anything.
Amanda: Did it make you feel better?
Me: No. It made me feel worse. It's not who I am.
Amanda: Honey, you're still operating in grace and dignity whether you think so or not.
Me: Really? But clearly I'm not operating at full capacity because I just called him a name right to his face. Can I have one of your cigarettes even though it's going to make me sick?
Amanda: Okay, maybe not at full capacity, but give yourself a break, Sweetie. Here, take two cigarettes.
So, that was life for me (sick from two cigarettes) last Saturday. Wholesome language faded into gray as this non-smoker smoked and vowed to shake the dust off her most recent meltdown and embrace afresh the mercy of a new day even though the day (which she wished would end already) was only half over.
I proclaimed in my last blog that no matter what, God is good. He loves me. And He loves you. Loves. So instead of offering you an excerpt from the Bible today, I offer you one from a song. A biblical promise that is yours for the taking if you are post-emotional meltdown. And still up for grabs even if you're not.
Jesus loves me!
This I know,
For the Bible tells me so.
Little ones to Him belong;
We are weak, but He is strong.
Yes, Jesus loves me!
Yes, Jesus loves me!
Yes, Jesus loves me!
The Bible tells me so.
I can't think of a better way to counter "melt down" days. What's God saying to you today?
You are not alone,
Disclaimer about my use of the word slutty. It is not my intention to inflict judgement on anyone who's healing from promiscuity. Back in the 90's, true to form, Jesus used an ex-prostitute named Valerie to set my heart straight on this subject. I was observing her one day, feeling self-righteous because in regards to sex I saw myself as a "good girl," when BOOM! . . . Jesus said to me, "The reason you withheld sex is no different from why she offered it. Control."
Published on Tuesday, July 15, 2014 @ 3:15 PM CDT