NaBloPoMo 2014 Day 2: The Weight of Silence


Break_The_Silence_by_shutteIn Much Ado About Nothing, William Shakespeare touts silence as “the perfectest herald of joy” (Act II, Scene 1). And I would agree. There are moments that strike us speechless, unable to find the words to express just how happy, ecstatic, or joyful we are. However, I would dare to pose that the opposite is also true. Silence can also be the fiercest vehicle of despair. Silence can fill our ears, stab at our hearts, and wound our very souls.

That conversation that is ignored.

The letter/text/email that is never answered.

The invitation that is never accepted or extended.

The relationship/friendship that is never tended to.

The prayers that never seem to be answered.

The dreams that aren’t acknowledged.

The questions that are never answered.

The efforts that are not acknowledged

These silences are sharp and painful, the type that slice past our defenses and heap stones inside our chests. Everyone has experienced it at one time and in one form or another, and I have yet to find someone who doesn’t consider it one of the worst feelings/experiences in the world. No doubt about it, though, sometimes silence is…well, it’s just easier. Isolation and silence can protect us, keep us safe from rejection by keeping us from reaching out and putting ourselves in a vulnerable place. Silencing our voice can prevent discord, disharmony, and confrontation. Silence keeps our secrets, our weaknesses, our pains, our hearts from being revealed, judged, compared, thought foolish, stupid, or even just from being disagreed with too vehemently.

Silence may feel safer, yes, but, in the other hand, it can be soul-crushing. Silence in response to our putting ourselves out there, to stepping out in faith, to the putting forth of effort in whatever situation it may be, can breed doubt, hurt, and far worse, if we let it. Silence can fill our minds with conjectures, our imaginings in place of the truth that we do not know and cannot expect to learn. Ofttimes, those thoughts, worries, and conjectures are far worse than what the truth might actually be, but those are the stones that are weighted into our chests and press on our hearts. Sometimes, though, silence is our cue to step back, to let go. But that can be just as difficult and heartbreaking. Letting go can feel suspiciously like giving up, which no one likes to admit to. I certainly don’t. But the other option is to give and reach until we give out or break.

I do not have a remedy for this. No magical words to make it better or easier. I haven’t figured anything out. Emotions and feelings cannot be cordoned off, magicked away, though they can be understood, commiserated, sympathized, and empathized with. Whether you choose to step forward or back is up to you. You may gain, or you may lose. Your way out of the silence is your way, no one else’s. I hope that you find it, and that it is good.

NaBloPoMo 2014 Day 1: My Hallmark Moments


You know those Hallmark commercials? The ones that make you cry? Yeah, those. Those were made for people like me. Because right after those commercials (or before or during or whatever), I immediately want to run out to Hallmark and stock up on greeting cards. One of the things that I enjoy almost as much as sending cards, is buying cards. I have five boxes full of stationary and cards and whatnot, all waiting to be sent. But I cannot explain to you the particular fun and joy that I experience when looking for and finding a card that says exactly what I would like to say, even if I don’t know exactly to whom just yet.

My first stationary box was actually from Hallmark. When I was in college 10+ years ago, Hallmark ran a promotion where you received a card organizer box if you bought seventy-five dollars’ worth of greeting cards. And that was remarkably easy for me. I cannot tell you how thrilled I was to be able to put my newly-bought cards into that box, mostly settled in the “Just Because” section. Over the years, I have kept that box and still use it to this day. It still carries my all of my Hallmark-bought cards, cards that speak my heart and thoughts so eloquently, even though I am not sure to whom I will be sending those cards just yet. The fact that they are there, waiting to be sent to just the right person (at what I hope is the right time), makes me smile and want to hurry that day along.

 

On the Eve of NaBloPoMo


Last year, I participate in National Blog Post Month, of course, piggybacking off National Novel Writing Month. Whether or not NaBloPoMo is actually in November or not, I’m going to do it in November this year again anyway. I am hoping that this exercise will get me back into a habit of writing and blogging often. Lately, I have felt stunted, like that bridge between my mind and the physical act of writing has been broken somehow or, at least, that it has several boards or pylons missing at the moment. I am hoping that doing this, committing myself to posting something here every day, will help me find a way to fix that bridge and enjoy writing again.

And I hope that you, dear readers, will find something to enjoy about it, too. 🙂

Boys and Girls of Every Age…


…would you like to hear something strange?

I am not a fan of Halloween.

Nope. Not really. Believe me, I’m all for candy; and I love costuming. But…no, I am not a huge fan of Halloween or trick-or-treating or It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. (Apologies if I upset you with that.) It wasn’t a common thing in my family household so I didn’t grow up with it as tradition. Sure, I’ll put Elizabeth in her little “Happy Halloween” shirt tomorrow, and, if she wants to participate in the future as she gets older, we will help her along with it. Right now, though, she’s barely two years old and Halloween this year will be COLD so I am not bothering carting her around in a costume and coat. I will leave out chocolate-covered pretzels for the neighborhood kids, Elizabeth with her grandparents, and I will go out for a nice dinner and quality time with some friends. That will be my Halloween.

And I’m all for that.

Reflection: Unglued Devotional by Lysa TerKeurst


“My Creative Best” – page 132

“A heart at peace gives life to the body, but envy rots the bones.” – Proverbs 14:30

“We get empty when we park our minds on comparison thoughts and wallow in them. […] No jealous thought is ever life-giving. Wallowing in jealous thoughts actually leads to death. Death of contentment. Death of friendships. Death of peace. And certainly death of joy.” – page 133

I really appreciate Lysa’s take on jealousy. Jealousy can cause emptiness in my soul through wanting “it” – whatever I think will make me happy or satisfied at the time – and when others get “it”, it causes my heart to hurt, which can easily lead me into a trap of jealousy. In response to jealousy, though, Lysa notes Galatians 6:4-5, which admonishes:

“Each one should test their own actions. Then they can take pride in themselves alone, without comparing themselves to someone else, for each one should carry their own load.”

This means that I should focus on reasons to celebrate what I have and what I am doing right (page 134, emphasis added). God has a creative best for my life, a plan for me to accomplish. I don’t want to waste my life and energy wishing for someone’s else’s life or blessings. As Lysa reminds herself when she feels jealous, I am not equipped to handle the good and bad of someone else’s life, and it is always a package deal with both. My life is what I have been equipped to handle. “All the things I have and don’t have are what make up the unique load I have been assigned. (page 135)”

 

When You Wish Not to Dream


I don’t often post about my dreams but this one has managed to stick with me, whereas that is far from the norm. Most of my dreams evaporate even before my eyes open, once my mind is woken from sleep, regardless of how detailed or long they have lasted throughout the night. Not this one. This one I remember just about every details, every emotion, and that might be because this was a nightmare.

I stood in line with Elizabeth at bakery or a deli, waiting for our turn to order and pick up what we wanted. Behind me, a man started to play with my hair, pick at it, saying I had “nits” in my hair. I was extremely uncomfortable and turned, telling him not to please not touch me. He just grinned in an unsettling way and reached for my hair again, which garnered a more forceful, “Don’t touch me!” A good Samaritan standing nearby interjected, reiterating to the man who I had said not to touch him. When the offender, simply shook him off and turned for me again, the man trying to help grabbed him up by the collar, dragging him from the line and away from me. I grabbed hold of Elizabeth’s stroller and tried to get out of there; I was scared, no doubt.

The first man, however, shoved off my defender and pulled out a weapon, a gun, which immediately set the store into a panic! I huddled in a corner near the door, covering Elizabeth in her stroller with my own body. I felt like I was drowning, my heart was pounding so fast and I was so afraid. The man with the gun grabbed another nearby woman. Holding her as a hostage and shield and pointing the gun at those gathered in the store, he ordered that everyone was to get down, no one was to call the police, and he was leaving. As they backed out the door, I clung to Elizabeth’s stroller for dear life, trembling. I heard him stop next to where I was crouched near the door, mutter something intelligible, and then the gun fired. And I screamed. I can still hear my scream, can still feel the bullet tear and burn through my lower back again and again.

I awoke in a fright, sitting up in bed. I turned towards Elizabeth’s room but hearing no disturbance there, I rolled over and grasped my husband and just cried, forcing myself to stay awake for as long as I could manage before exhaustion claimed me again. All day, that horrific nightmare has stuck with me. I can still hear myself screaming, I can still feel the burning pain in my lower back. It’s the only dreams lately that I have had that I can remember, and I really, really wish I could forget it.

Maybe writing it down here isn’t necessarily conducive to forgetting but I am trying to exorcise this from my brain so, hopefully, I can get some relief from it.

Stories Within Stories: Bilbo’s Last Journal Entry


:Property of Melissa Snyder, based on the creations of J.R.R. Tolkien:

Bilbo’s Last Journal Entry
~
September 9, Shire Year 1419

Only 13 more days to go until my 129th birthday; I’ll pass the Old Took yet, by thunder! Hard to believe time has just run on by, though it does seem to stand still here in Rivendell.
It has been nearly a year now since Frodo has been gone from the Shire, if my calculations serve me correctly. My dear, dear lad. Whomever would have thought him to be a Ringbearer? I am sorry from the top of my curly head to the tips of my wooly toes that my nephew had to bear such a burden that has, assuredly, left him scarred forever. But, from what I hear tell, he got the job done as sure as he’s a Baggins!
Messengers brought word today. Lord Elrond returns, but he does not travel alone. Gandalf, Frodo, and Company are also on their way to Rivendell. It will be good to see them. I am ready to hear new tables and old Gandalf’s voice again and also to have an extra pair of hands for a while. My book is in need of revision and Frodo must do it, for my hand now shakes and my eyes fade. I am feeling ever so much thinner and stretched out than I did 18 years ago, when Gandalf first arrived in Hobbiton for my eleventieth. I have enjoyed my holiday but am now in need of a very long rest. Where or when, I am not sure, but soon. Soon.
I doubt that I will enter my journal again, as I grow older by the minute, but I shall equal the Old Took yet. I have trouble remembering now and all such things. So now the task falls to Frodo, that none may forget what has happened to us Bagginess. So, good-bye, my friend, and I bid you a very fond farewell.

Mr. Bilbo Baggins, formerly of Bag End, Hobbiton, The Shire

Stories within Stories: Arwen’s Search


Author’s Note: This is from a collection of stories that I wrote years ago, based on and to fill in some of the gaps in Tolkien’s masterpiece The Lord of the Rings.

= = = = =

Arwen’s Search

Lord Elrond Half-elven seemed disturbed and worried; his daughter Arwen Evenstar perceived his mood and came to his side.

“Father, what ails you? Is all well?” she questioned him quietly.

Elrond shook his head gravely. “Nay, daughter. Something bodes ill in the forests beyond Bruinen. Aragorn should have arrived with the hobbits by now. I fear the Black Riders have waylaid him somehow.”

Arwen sensed the urgency of the situation. Her heart feared for Aragorn’s safety and for those whom he protected. “I will go and search for them, Father.”

“No. I have already sent Glorfindel upon Asfaloth; he will find them speedily. We must make ready in case someone of their party is wounded.” With these words, Lord Elrond left the room but Arwen remained, struggling with her heart and her desire to obey her father. Finally, her heart won out.

Going to her chamber, she clothed herself in gray, drawing a dark hood over her fair head. Taking up her sword, she slipped out to the stables and, mounting the horse Delathena, rode out of Rivendell and into the forests of Middle-earth.

~

For two days, she searched and searched tirelessly, catching sight of five Ringwraiths upon their black steeds. But there was no sign of Aragorn and his Halfling companions. Soon, heartsick, she turned towards Rivendell again.

“I hope Glorfindel found them,” was her heart’s prayer.

No sooner had she crested the hill beyond the river Bruinen than the thunder of hooves reached her sharp ears. Suddenly, Asfaloth burst from the trees and galloped across the river, a smallish figure upon his back! He paused on the opposite shore and Arwen’s spirit cringed as the terrible voices of the Nine cried out to Asfaloth’s rider.

“Come back with us, Frodo! Come back with us to Mordor!” they shrieked.

Arwen then realized that Asfaloth’s rider was a Halfling! In fact, he was the very Halfling that she had been seeking.

She saw the brave little creature draw his sword, warding the Wraiths back fiercely and desperately.

“Go back!” he cried. “Go back to the Land of Mordor, and follow me no more!”[1] But his strength waned. He was injured! Seeing his weakness, the Riders began to advance upon him!

Suddenly, words flowed from Arwen’s lips, stirring the air with Rivendell’s power.

Nîn o Chithaeglir

lasto beth daer.

Rimmo nîn Bruinen

dan in Ulaer.

Suddenly, the currents of Bruinen began to swell as a wall of water rushed over the Black Riders, sweeping them away! Arwen watched them for a moment but then quickly dismounted Delathena and ran to Frodo, who had finally succumbed to his weakness and fallen from Asfaloth’s saddle!

She cradled the hobbit in her arms, seeing that he was slipping from this world. Gathering him up, she mounted Asfaloth this time, for he was the swifter horse, and raced to her father’s house.

Noro lim, Asfaloth!”

The Elvish horses ran rapidly and soon arrived at Elrond’s house in the valley where Arwen sprang from the saddle and rushed into the bright hall with Frodo.

“Father! Father!”

Lord Elrond appeared with none other than Gandalf the Grey at his side. Elrond took the hobbit and they retreated to the east wing to care for him.

Arwen watched them disappear down the hall and then turned at the nearby voice of her brother Elorhir. “You may have saved the Halfling’s life, sister. You may have saved us all.”

She glanced at him with a worried look in her bright eyes. “I only hope so, my brother. I only hope so.” With that, she pulled the dark hood from her head and moved towards her chambers.

 

Two days later, Arwen heard that Frodo was awake and progressing well. This relieved her heart’s ache of fear for the brave hobbit. She gathered bouquets of elanor for his room every morning whilst he remained abed and even paid him a visit or two herself, when he was well enough to receive visitors. It seemed to brighten both their spirits, for he enjoyed her company very much and his regaining health pleased her.

One eve, all gathered for a merry supper. Arwen sat beside Frodo with Sam ever vigilant at his other hand and Gandalf across from them, Aragorn—known to his Halfling friends as Strider—at his side. Throughout supper, there was much lively chatter, songs, and stories. Frodo spoke quite a bit with Lady Arwen, Sam, and Gandalf but, after a while, the Lady dropped from conversation with the hobbits and wizard and exchanged a few words with Aragorn. Frodo’s alertness was fast returning and he noticed certain looks and manners with which Arwen and Aragorn regarded each other, even a secretive smile gracing either of their commanded countenances for a fleeting moment.

Leaning towards Sam, he whispered, “Are Strider and the Lady Arwen in love?”

Sam snuck a peek around his friend. “Aye, Mr. Frodo, I believe they are. Though they don’t fully act it in public.”

Frodo just smiled and enjoyed the peace of the moment, for—though unbidden and undesired—the next day was to bring a most tumultuous year into his life. A year that would change the world as they all knew it.

[1] The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien, page 241.

 

Windows to the Soul


Writer’s Write Prompt: Describe your love interest’s eyes without using a color.

They shimmer with thoughts and ideas innumerable, ringed with the desire to explore them. The pulse of emotion is there, tempered by sensitivity and patience. His eyes can be shuttered, unreadable, but still invite you to talk even as he chooses simply to listen. They can flash with rage but are then banked with resolution. When they glisten with heartbreak, one wants to decry the world for wringing tears from them. They are strong and softly veiled, open and deep as cave rivers. They may be windows, yes, or just the beginning of Alice’s rabbit hole.

All That Needs Said


For the past few weeks, I have been working on an article, amidst a great deal of drama, anger, tears, etc. (yes, even my own), concerning my chosen subject. A public, much-discussed, and often-contentious subject. You know me, I don’t soapbox except once in a blue moon, and there are so many voices and so many soapboxes in this conversation that I am unsure anymore as to where my voice fits in. And maybe it doesn’t or it’s unnecessary to the public at large. I don’t know. All I know is that this week has felt terrible. I feel surrounded and beset by negative emotion – on TV, on the radio, on Facebook, in articles that I read, etc. And as I read back over my own article draft, even though it was not my intent, it feels angry and condemning in its own right. And that is not the emotion I want to contribute to. It’s made my heart exceedingly heavy, wrung out a good many tears, and destroyed any confidence or bravery I had in posting this article or sending it off to a site. It’s even been difficult to put pen to paper at all this week, regardless of what it may be – journaling, stories, or even just letters. I’ve thought and I’ve prayed but it’s been difficult, I won’t lie about that.

A few nights ago, as I talked with my husband about it, he gave me a suggestion: “You do not have to solve the issue, Mel. Maybe the best thing you can do for people right now is to just tell them you love them. That is the point, right?”

And I thought about it and slept on it. (Probably dreamt about it, too.) And thought about it some more.

So here it is.

To my friends, family, and those in my life, regardless of race, color, creed, sexuality, faith, belief, or philosophy:

I want you to know, today and every day, that I love you and thank God for you.

That’s it.

I love you.

We may not agree on any number of things but that doesn’t change this fact. I love you. I am thankful for you.

Always, Mel

I may choose to publish that article some day but, right now, I think this is all that I need to say.

I love you. You are loved. And don’t you forget it.