1800 dollar dog

1800 Dollar Dog
by collette mcfarland
09/25/06

Cuzn Buzz was partially named by my nephew. We had the name Buzz already picked out and when Nick visited one day he asked if this was his new cousin. Hence, Cuzn Buzz.

The first time I met CB he was pulling a cord with a large lamp attached to it across a room of yapping, prancing, active puppies. I was in a puppy mill. I realized this after the woman took me to the back to select a baby. There were dozens of cages stacked on top of each other, filled with bitches feeding their pups. The bitches wouldn't let your hand near them. They were absolutely breeding material only. I was totally shocked and wanted to leave. No way I was going to take anything from this breeder. She was inhumane and no telling how the puppies would be.

But...as I was leaving it was then I noticed my soon to be valiant CB with his lamp pull toy. Head held high, not discouraged by his three-pound weight and the size of his trophy, happily convinced he had done something to be proud of.

I couldn't leave this brave little child here. I offered to buy him. At first the breeder insisted he wasn't for sale, she was going to use him for production but some how the money I offered her reached it's destination, her pocket and I left with my rescue project.

My female shitz-su, soon to be CB's wife rejected him instantly. Then she rejected me. How dare I bring another participant into our relationship? It was perfect, just the two of us with the occasional exception of my husband who she used as a sparing partner. For a week I was ignored and CB was shunned. Eventually though he was allowed semi participation in her live. He was never fully appreciated by her but at least she allowed him to eat and breathe and sleep in her castle and she kept me on as the hired help. What good is a castle without serfs?

The first time CB and NIkki were intimate was the last time. Nikki reproached Buzz so badly he never attempted to violate her again. She had him cowering in the corner for hours. But the union produced four babies, one of which remained with us who we named Leftie because he was the puppy that was left over! My family had grown by yips and yaps.

Buzz still holds his nose high in the air as though trying to touch the sky with his nostrils, just like it was when he initially caught my attention. He's the last to return to the house after going outside and his son waits for him at the front door. As Buzz eagerly passes Leftie, Leftie pounces on him for taking so much extra freedom. Buzz, nose pointed up, just brushes past, letting the reprimands fall off his back.

I once had a waterbed mattress. Now I have a regular mattress. Cuzn Buzz is responsible for this switch. I noticed the edge of the bed was damp one morning. I erroneously suspected Buzz relieved his bladder there. But... water continued to soak through the sheets. More water than would fit in the half-cup size container that CB possessed. I discovered a hole in the liner as a result of Buzz's nails digging up a comfortable mound. The regular mattress is actually much better for me than the floaty, swishy predesessor.

Now, he's not totally incapable of bad manners. My first night back from a particular vacation I laid in bed reading, head on my pillow with Buzz, Nikki and Leftie up with me. Suddenly I heard a whizzing sound. Turning my head slightly I caught "Mr.-Boy-am-I-mad-you-went-off-and-left-me", Buzz letting go full stream unto my pillow, inches away. Some say he would have just been a fading spot on the wall by now in their homes, but with my sick sense of humor I found it hilarious. What a way to demonstrate being pissed at someone!!!!

Hopefully I never leave anything in my car after I get home. If I need to go recover something, three furry projectiles bound past me and launch into the passenger seat ready for an excursion. So, it's around the block and back again. Then they all vault out the driver's side to disembark. One day, Buzz stayed stationary. "Come on Buzz, the rides over." Nothing. I reached over to give a persuasive tug. Nothing. Stroking my hand down his back to his tail I discovered the hair on the end was closed in the door. He was shackled, but not hurt. I had to laugh while his soulful eyes admonished me.

I suspected Buzz's hearing was going, but it was confirmed one day when he was in front of my car and I blasted the horn at him. He didn't flinch. Dogs yards and blocks away howled, but not Buzz. From then on, I used hand motions to summon him. He knew what each wave of my wrist meant. It meant to come in or go out. Of course, there was also a motion that indicated treat time was here. He memorized them perfectly.

Now, one day, a month after his wife died suddenly, at thirteen and a half, I noticed Buzz having trouble with his hind legs. They wouldn't hold his weight but he seemed pain free. I took him to the vet, crying uncontrollably, I couldn't take another death. I feared he had had a stroke and I'd have to put him down, but was relieved to learn it was "just" a knee problem. It could be fixed for a mere 1400 dollars. Buzz was worth it.

All systems go, Buzz was deposited at the hospital and under went knee reconstruction. I wasn't allowed to see him for a day before surgery because he was a non-happy camper. He'd never been caged. Never. Then I had to let him adjust to his recovery for a few days post op. When I was finally allowed admission to see "my" dog I felt and heard my heart explode. He lay there, listless, sore and non-interested in life. The ICU he was in was loaded with barking, angry dogs. This is the first time I recall being grateful he'd lost his hearing. He'd never get any rest if he heard the catter-walling taking place. There he lay, his snout inches from his favorite, undisturbed meal. His shaved hind leg was enlarged and multiple shades of ugly. I never felt such remorse in my life for subjecting someone to this misery. I went home more hurt than the patient.

Weeks of rehab followed where he stayed at the hospital. The doctor had a bariatric chamber that was used on Buzz twice daily. I got to come by every night and take him outside and retrain him to walk but he couldn't come home till he used all four of his legs. He could only gallantly use three legs, and he used them to hobble to my parked car. He wanted to come home!!!

Finally. He was home for the nights but we returned him everyday to the hospital, like taking a kid to day care, for continuing therapy. This mighty prince, who never liked being caged, voluntarily entered his confinement and patiently waited for my return each day. He had some variety in his life now and could walk again. The final bill was 1800 dollars for a thirteen-year-old dog. It was worth it. That was only four months ago but it seems longer. The happy, eager- to-be-fed and walked pooch that meets me at the door every day was worth it. The excited face that jumps up at me at treat time was worth it. I was with him every step of the way. I experienced his pain and recovery.

Kind of reminds me of another story. A man found me in a puppy mill, the world, and bought me, with his blood (that cost more than 1800 dollars or the lifetime of maintenance). He saw my potential and took me home. He stayed with me through my faults, health and illnesses. The entrees and treats he feeds me are in his word. When I get deaf to his voice he finds other ways to communicate (His sign language is hitting me on the noggin with a two by four.) When I get pissed off I don't know if he laughs but I know he still accepts me. He wouldn't throw me against a wall or replace me. He knows anger is a part of our frame and should occasionally be honestly expressed. And I can't wait to see him everyday, like Cuzn Buzz's enthusiasm to see me at the beginning and end of a day I look forward to my time with Jesus.

why did i do it

Why did I do It

This question pops into my head daily. Well, daily since the arrival of Tessie.

Tessie is a eight month old Shitz Su. Actually, I'm not sure she wasn't bred with a kangaroo. She jumps over every barrier I place in her way to confine her. She hurls over gates like an Olympic athlete leaving my two older male shitz sus behind. I wonder if there is an event for the Doggie Gold. I might have a mint on my hands! My oldest know their boundaries; she is always testing her's. "No, Tessie". Swat.

Tessie is full of energy. I went to get a blood transfusion for her with reduced red blood cells. Not possible says the vet. I definitely don't offer her vitamins. She'd be the first dog on the moon. She runs after, jumps on and attacks the older dogs. That's fine for Leftie, the youngest one, he needs some exercise. Even if it is used for self-defense. Serves him right anyway since he is constantly attacking the back yard German shepherd, Shep. Leftie has the little dog syndrome. I keep pointing out to him the size difference between him and Shep, but he chooses to ignore me. Since Tessie has come into the house I believe Leftie has lost some weight. The role reversal agitates him. He used to be the house hold terror.

Tessie is continuously reminding me of things to hide. She gets into the wastebasket in the bathroom. "No, Tessie." Swat. She gets into the waste basket in my bedroom. "No, Tessie," Swat. Waste baskets now sit on counters and dressers, she has us trained. We couldn't locate her one morning till we noticed the clothes hamper swaying. There was Tessie, buried in the laundry chewing on our undies.

She has transformed my good SAS sandals into chew toys, and my closed toed SAS shoes into sandals. "No, Tessie!" Swat. Shoes sit on counter tops next to the wastebaskets.

As I climb over the kitchen gate she clamps onto the seat of my pants (or body parts not mentionable) and holds on. "No, Tessie!" Swat.

I'm on my tread mill and she snaps at my feet. "No, Tessie!" Swat.

While I'm doing sit ups she sits on my face. "Double No, Tessie!" Swat.

When I open the front door to go to work, she squeezes by. "No, Tessie!" Swat.

I'm sitting on the couch watching T.V. she jumps up and nibbles on my hands. "NO,
Tessie!" Swat. (This time I splash blood around, MINE!.)

Instead of eating from her doggie dish, she eats her doggie dish! Little pieces of plastic scrapes are all around the kitchen. "No, Tessie!" Swat.

I try to brush her hair, she attacks the brush and the extremity holding it. "No, Tessie!" Swat, slinging more of my red corpuscles. I'm getting anemia from this darling.

Walking through the house my heels get snipped. "No, Tessie!" Swat. Follow the trail of blood to the first aide kit, and you'll find me.

My oldest Shitz Su, Cuz'n Buzz, had 1800 dollars’ worth of knee surgery. She body slams him, and I yell, "No, Tessie!" Swat.

Cuz'n Buzz is deaf, thank heavens for him, he can't hear Tessie's yapping so he can ignore her simply by turning his back to her. She'll sneak up behind him and slap his back with her paws to get him riled. "No, Tessie!" Swat. Now there are wastebaskets, shoes and an old dog on the counter tops!

She empties her water bowl on the floor, causing me to slip and land on my....fanny,(what did you think I would say?) "No, Tessie!" Swat. Now guess what's on the kitchen counter.

Something on the kitchen table or counter attracts her superior sniffer and she leaps up, occasionally getting hold of something to pull to the floor. "No, Tessie!" Swat.

When I mop or sweep, her little spiked dental tools attach themselves to the end of the poles and hinder my house cleaning. You guessed it, "No, Tessie!" Swat.

I laid my glasses on the end table. They had to be replaced at fifty dollars. Something to do with teeth marks. "No, Tessie!" Swat.

I found my cell phone on the floor in pieces. Fifty dollars to replace that. “No, Tessie!" Swat.

I find Tessie lying peacefully under the kitchen table. I poke her to see if she's okay. Zoom, I hit the "on" bottom and she's off in search of more adventure. "No!" I swat myself this time.

Why did I do this? I'm too old for makeshift toys all over the floor. For doggy safe teething devices I use the lids off of detergent jugs and she just loves my empty water bottles, so my floors are littered with what others would consider trash. She is amazed when I actually offer her something to masticate on. She'll take whatever I present to her and run, afraid I'll rescind my offer. The cardboard toilet paper holder is treasured by her for all of five minutes till it implodes all over the carpet. I'm constantly monitoring a toddler that's as inquisitive about her surroundings as an explorer in the field discovering unknown territories. Each day brings new discoveries, for her and me.

At day's end, exhausted I finally recline on the couch. Tessie jumps up beside me, encroaching on my space. She approaches me fearlessly. Kissing my cheek she gently lays her head on my leg. Meeting my eyes with her's, she yawns and closes her's. In minutes she's snoring, safe and content. I run my hand over her lightly expanding chest and back, feeling the warmth, the love, the trust. This is why I did it. Puppies and humans are very similar in God's eyes. We both test limits, we both need boundaries, we both need love. We both thrive on forgiveness and acceptance. If I'm quiet enough during the day, I can hear God say, "No, Collette!" Swat. Probably more times than I swatted Tessie. That's love. That's guidance. That's incredible. I close my eyes and enter my slumber, peacefully laying my head on God's chest. What's that I feel? God's hand massaging my soul. I've spent my day depleting God's reserves, now he can relax till morning, merely supervising trivial things like terrorism and hurricanes! I wonder, does he ask himself daily, why did I do it?

the victim

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church visitation

Church Visitation
by collette mcfarland
08/16/06







 I sat on the couch scratching my dog, Scruffie's, ear wondering why. Why did I answer the door? Why did I let these people in? Why don't I just ask them to leave? Why? Why?

 I knew Millie, that’s why I let them in. What a fool, I should have recognized the look. She and her male friend were carrying books when I opened the door. I've had people on my doorsteps before trying to sell me their religion. I just didn't see the books in time. The "Bibles". Well now I've sat here for hours nodding and smiling. I hope I said "yes, m'am, no sir," in the appropriate pauses. They droned on and on. Meanwhile my mind went to dinner planning and what I would make, what ingredients did I have in the kitchen? When would I eat? Would I ever eat? I felt my blood sugar sinking.

 I tried to maintain eye contact, tried to demonstrate some interest, thinking to myself I was making a big mistake, it only kept them talking. If they had been strangers I would have been ruder, more assertive. They wouldn't still be here if it wasn't for Millie. They threw out words like love, grace, repentance, blood sacrifice and I just stared at their foreheads designing my evening menu.

 "Do you know God came to earth in the flesh just to die for your sins?" The man asked.

 This was it,  my chance to end this endless torture. "You know, I can't respect a God that can die. If he's so smart there must have been some other solution."

 "He's a just God and the only way to atone for sins is with blood." said the man.

 "He did that on the cross for you, can you kneel at the foot of his cross?" Millie asked.

 "Sorry, I can't believe in a God that can die. I want one a little more permanent than that. If he's so great he can come to me."

 They started closing their books. Yea, it was almost over. The man buttoned his jacket and Millie picked up her purse.

 "Well, I guess we ought to get going and let you have dinner. Mind if we pray with you before we go?"

 "Yes, I do." I wish I could have read his mind when my answer registered in his brain. Must have been the first time someone refused to be prayed for on his shift.

 "Good night, see you at work tomorrow." Millie said, politely, stiffly. I hope I hadn't embarrassed her but I had gotten quite annoyed by now. Really, people shouldn't intrude on a person's dinner time. Low blood sugar combined with topics of sin and salvation brings out the worst in me.

 After I shut the door behind them, locked it, closed the curtains and turned off the lights in the front of the house to discourage more church visitors, I went to the kitchen to stuff my face. Gods dying on crosses; how absurd. If he really wanted me at the foot of his cross he'd definitely have to take me there himself," I mumbled to Scruffie who had had curled himself into a nice little relaxed ball beside the stove, completely uninterested in my monologue.

 Abruptly I heard the neighborhood weather siren. I rushed back to the front door and looked outside. There was large black cloud coming down the street. Wind was blowing every which way and debris was flying past the house. Trees were bending to the ground. Hail pelted the grass. A tornado.  Scruffie went running out past me into the street, barking hysterically, yelping when frozen water the size of dominoes pelted him.

 
"Scruffie, NO!" I yelled, catching up with him in the middle of the road. I had barely scooped him into my arms when the funnel caught me up into its grip.

Around and around we went. Hail, trash, dirt, wood, leaves, all kinds of junk was swirling about us. We were plastered with rain. My breath was sucked out of me. We were in the eye of hell. I tucked Scruffie under my t-shirt and hung on to him for dear life. This was the end of us. I had no doubt we would die together. Oh, God, help us, I prayed. Give me a chance to understand the cross. I knew full well it was a useless prayer, but somehow a prayer seemed natural. I've heard men in fox holes always prayed but I’ve never met anyone who had prayed through a tornado ride.

 The wind seemed to lessen and without warning I was bashed against something solid. I slid down a shaft of wood and hit the ground—unconscious.


 I guess I was out cold all night; the next thing I was aware of was Scruffie licking my face with enthusiasm. I felt the sun against my back and I slowly opened my eyes. I had one hell of a headache, tons of scratches and badly tattered clothes but nothing broken that I could tell. Scruffie was completely unharmed. Not fair since it was his fault we were here. Voices were coming to me from somewhere. I discovered we weren't on the ground but on some steeply slanted roof. I crawled to the edge and carefully looked down. People were cleaning up the yard below of garbage deposited there by the storm. Furniture was strewn about and cars had been heavily dented by the hail. It didn't look like the land of Oz but everyone seemed small because I was up so high. They weren't really munchkins, were they? I searched for a pair of legs with striped stockings sticking out from under the building. Nope. I'm still in Texas—maybe.

 "Hey, I'm up here, help!"

 Everyone looked up and started pointing at me. Someone headed for a phone to call 911. I got to my feet and waved at them, glad to be alive. The sun, rising in the sky behind me cast my shadow onto the ground far below. There was a distinctly shaped shadow beside mine. I froze. I stared. I began to sweat. Then I slowly turned around to see the source of the additional shadow.

 A huge wooden cross stood in the center of what I now realized was a church roof. If I hadn't hit it last night I would have fallen from the sky to the concrete parking lot four stories beneath me. I had been saved by a cross. God had indeed brought me to the foot of his cross.

death row

Here I sit, by myself, alone and scared. The jury handed me the death sentence, I've been tried, judged and convicted. The minister who would return with the jailers to escort me to my final minute, just finished attacking my conscience. At least the electric chair is history in this state. Death by lethal injection was voted more humane. Is legal murder really humane? My only job now, is to wait and ponder, and I've done my share of pondering. As I sit here on death row, I've reviewed my life and it's not been pretty. I've stolen. Taken things that weren't mine from my place of employment, aces, syringes, dressings, and medical ointments. Sure, I can justify what I did, but the word is the same, theft. Who cares it only amounted to small pennies, if everyone did the same the pennies become dollars.

I've lied, and used foul language, but those stories are too numerous to even mention. Just suffice it to say, it was a multi daily event. I wasn't a great kid to my parents when I entered my rebellious teens, but who ever is? So my talent for stretching, coloring, adding to, subtracting from, changing completely or just plain fabricating the truth with obscene wording was an asset, that once cultivated assisted me through young adulthood onward.

I've also purloined my friends' husbands. No big deal, they were handed back in the same shape they were in when I borrowed them. My friends weren't any the wiser, every one was happy and satisfied. I only used them occasionally, on nights I couldn't sleep. They weren't seen entering or leaving. Everything was very discreet. I never kept them, where's the harm in that? I don't get the big deal. Do you not get it: no one was hurt! Let it go!!!! And I didn't borrow all of them: some were pretty darn ugly.

Now the murders I've committed, that is where the situation becomes sticky. You can't be expected to be let free if you're a serial killer. They never found the bodies, how could they pin the crime on me? But it's there, in black and white. It's in the book. Someone was aware of my murderous tendencies because it's on the record. I've stabbed a coworker to death. She was continuously playing gospel music at her desk, despite my requests to the contrary. I followed her to the parking lot after a particularly abusive day and slashed her to bits, actually, after several particularly abusive days. I plunged sharp blade after sharp blade into her sternum and watched her bleed to death on more than one occasion, lying on the concrete staring at me in recognition, while I played acid rock, and gyrated in rhythm to add insult to injury. (In reality, watching me dance would have been torture enough without the stabbing) I killed her serially, that is repeatedly. She kept returning to work, don't ask how, I'm mystified, those were really sharp blades and aimed with great precision.

My husband also was murdered by my hands, or should I say fenders. I've followed him on his many bike rides and "fendered" him to death. He deserved it for his insensitivity to my needs. Before he devoured my home cooked meals that I spent hours preparing, (okay, minutes in the microwave) he felt free as a bird to high tail it on his bike. I'd track him in my car wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses (me, not the car) as a disguise against witnesses, (as though they wouldn't recognize the car!) and, clipping his bike with my fender would send him to his painfully deserved demise, on an empty stomach, down a lonely hillside, throwing his dinner down on top of him, while it was still hot, for his last meal. It should've taken days for them to find his decaying body being demolished by scavenger birds, yet he always returned home. The look of curiosity on his face when he saw my surprised look! How did he do that? I performed many violent acts on him, yet he seemed totally impervious to fatality, which benefited me somewhat, as he did make the bed, feed, water and walk the dogs, take out the trash routinely, and secure the house before he left for work.

So that is why I'm sitting here on death row...waiting. I've seen fellow prisoners walk the aisle, in my mind's eye, a jailer on either side and a minister in tow, praying over the soul of the soon to be dearly departed. What good were their prayers? The convicted didn't look the least remorseful. In fact they seemed to taunt the system. Arrogant bastards! Haven't they heard, their maker is waiting for them on the other side.

No! I won't go with a guilty conscience. Bowing my head in remorse I prayed to Jesus, asking him to forgive me my sins and receive me into his grace. It was a short prayer, modeling the preacher's that had read me the last rites. I could only hope it was effective.

Here they come. I hear the footsteps falling of those who've come to take me to the injection room. I kept my head bowed in conversation with my creator. I'd be led to death humbly apologizing. When I meant him on the other side we'd continue this little chat, with me on my knees begging for forgiveness, crying without shame.

Three pairs of sandals stopped at my cell door, which squeaked open, echoing through the empty prison. Sandals aren't standard issue guard footwear. I looked above the sandals to three flowing robes. One robe was stained in shades of red. Looking further up I found the central figure was oozing blood from forehead wounds that drenched his face and cheeks. The middle of his chest displayed gore that dripped red corpuscles to the floor. He stepped forward and hugged me fiercely, with bloodied hands, smearing the red fluid over my heart. Yuk, I'd better not find out he had anything contagious! Oh, wait, I'm going to die in minutes anyway, what the hell, I hugged back.

The fatherly looking gentleman stretched his arm out to the unlocked door and announced I was free to go.

"I've been convicted to death," I stammered.
"I'm sorry, I see no record of any misconduct on your behalf." He stated examining a very official appearing ledger. "My firstborn son here must have paid the penalty for you. There are many lines in your file that have been blotted with blood. They are unreadable and therefore, inadmissible. I declare you to be blameless."

The third ghostly appearing gentleman asked me to give him my hand, when I complied he stamped my palm with an impressive seal. It was more permanent that a tattoo, and would remain with me forever. Then the wispy man transmuted into a flame of fire and rested on my head, yet without burning me!

A fourth figure entered the hallway and cursed at the other three. Sorry these words are so vile I refuse to taint this story with their repetition, boy is that ever a change of character or what! He was upset that I didn't earn the reprieve on my own. It wasn't fair, he'd had me dead to rights, he roared, suffocating me with his sulfurous breath. The newcomer jabbed at me with a pitchfork through the cell bars. I raised my hands reflexively and, spotting the seal, Mr. Potty Mouth snorted ashes through his nostrils and slunk away, defeated.

Leaping aside I stepped out into the aisle and practically ran to the end. Gospel music filled my ears as I neared the pulpit to give my life new meaning: to accept my justification. I responded to the benediction, to make my faith in Jesus public.

My husband came to stand by me, he was glowing with pride. He had been working on me for years. My coworkers and friends with their husbands came to shake my hands, to welcome me to the family. I could hardly look the husbands in the eye. If they knew about my night fantasies using their bodies would they still welcome me to the family of God? Maybe so, I wasn't so bad! My husband also would remain clueless to all the angry endings I conjured in my imagination whenever I felt annoyed with him. My old live had been expunged. I was a new creature in Jesus, but I didn't deceive myself, the road ahead would be as equally hard as it was blessed. Satan would be working double time on me now, trying to get me to slip, but at least now, my fate was sealed!

Math 5:27-30
Luke 4:18
John 8:36
Acts 2:3
Rom 5:1-5
Eph 1:13-14
Col 2:13-14
1 John 3:15

death pact

Death Pact

 

 

The four of us held hands around the table. We had just made a monumental resolution together; we were going to our death in the morning as a team. None of us were pleased with our present lives and agreed it was time for a change. We were ready to go on to the next level, to leave our wretched lives behind and start over on the other side, on a higher plane.

 

"So, it's settled, right?" I asked.

 

We all nodded our heads, tears flowing down our cheeks as relieve flooded our souls. I pushed the box of Kleenex to the table's center and watched as white tissue absorbed the facial moisture. We closed our “Basic Instructions before Leaving Earth” books that had been our guide in this fantastic resolve. We had researched our decision extensively; we were not making an impulsive move.

 

"Well, let’s go home and do what has to be done." No sense in letting grass grow under our feet, it would grow better over us!

 

I grabbed my purse and walked out the door arm in arm with my three new best friends. We had so much in common; we lived the same lifestyle, one not worthy of applause. In fact, one of the three had been my accessory in crime. She would divert attention from the back door at the theater so I could slip in without buying a movie ticket. Who would get hurt by that? They still had to show the movie for four people or forty. One of the others was a journalist who specialized in slander, hey- who wants to read the truth?  She always posted a retraction but the original articles were more widely read than the small print in the back pages. And friend number four had a problem with lust. She couldn't tolerate others having what she wanted, so, she would help herself to what wasn't nailed down, it's called kleptomania by the specialists.

 

At home I called my daughter at college and informed her of my intentions, not wanting her to receive second hand news. Things like this were better to handle with a little preparation time.

 

"Mom, you're crazy, No way will you do that." Then she laughed at me. I invited her to come to observe and she laughed harder.

 

"Yea, right, like I'm going to waste a perfectly good morning just made for sleeping late." Oh, well, I tried. Maybe in time....

 

I then dialed the numbers of some of my closest friends.  After explaining to them my regrets about the “good times” we’d shared, I requested their presence at my euthanasia party in the morning; I even offered them the choice to participate. One after another they attempted to persuade me to reconsider, not the least bit convinced that dying would be for the best. They were only concerned that they would lose me. They tried to convince me I was a good person, no human would execute me for my life style, and no court of law on earth would convict me for what I now viewed as criminal acts. They didn’t get it, for me being good wasn’t good enough, I was a perfectionist. I wanted to be better and couldn’t so death was my only option. I requested all to attend, even be evolved, all declined. They wanted to cling to their sad lives not wanting to chance taking the final plunge with me or witness my demise. Well, the four of us would show them we were serious. This was no laughing matter, no joke. It was for all time; a permanent end to a pathetic existence.

 

My last chore consisted of writing a note to my slave driver boss informing him he would no longer have me as a mindless servant. After signing my resignation I held it over a match, watching the flames ascend upwards. Odd, they were going in the wrong direction to reach the recipient. Oh well, I'm sure he'll get the news soon enough.

 

The morning trip was on me, I went to three houses to collect my fellow death seekers. No one had wavered from their steadfast determination.

 

"This is the last the world will see of us!" we exclaimed, practically in unison. The drive to our destination was quiet as we reflected on our past.  A flock of doves flew in front of us, slowed, followed us then returned to the lead position. Were they escorting us?

 

A small crowd had gathered at our chosen spot, they would be accomplices, encouraging us to the end. I scanned the group to see if any of my family and friends had had a change of heart and come. Nope, I‘d be exiting this life alone, well somewhat alone. We got out of the car and were accosted with hugs and tears. So much crying, would it ever end?  A table abundantly burdened with food had been set up under the trees for the celebration that would follow our deaths. Morbid? Maybe not.

 

After a small pre-funeral ceremony we stepped into the river one at a time, dressed in filthy rags; after all we deserved nothing more than what we were worth. The cold water sent horrific sensations up to my brain. I nearly ran back to shore but refused to embarrass myself, I planned to die today so die I would. Deeper and deeper I went, the water covered my face, soaked my hair, and buried me under its current. Hands held me down. I was gone, buried in a watery grave! I saw my life float past me. Somewhere deep below the earth I heard a loud roar of defeat that faded under the sound of ovation that rang out above me in the heavens. Death was painless.... at least for me. Two men lifted me up and deposited me on the ground next to my three comrades. I gasped and choked. My lungs expanded and filled with air. I felt warmth from a ray of sunlight that chose to light on my head. As I gazed up I swore it resembled a tongue of fire. My eyes popped open wider as a rushing wind assaulted my nostrils engorging my pulmonary system. I felt the urge to speak to angels. Everything about me seemed to glow in newness, though I’d been here before it all looked fresh, different. Hope-full.

 

Our four dead bodies jumped to their feet and praised the Lord!  More hugging, more crying. A oneness of purpose infused the gathering as we tearfully rejoiced. Our old lives were gone; we were reborn into the family of God, no longer slaves to sin but heirs of righteousness. We changed into clean, dry garments as new creations ready to follow our Lord. We were now in the witness protection program, witnesses of God’s grace and protected by his Holy Spirit as promised in our guide books, “Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth” commonly referred to as "The Bible."

 

 

Isaiah 64:6

Acts 2:1-4

Rom 6:1-14

Rom 6:15-23

2 Cor 5:17

Col  1:1-17

Col 3:1-17

 

mary, letter of explanation

Letter of explanation

I don’t' know what made me do the things I did. I always heard voices telling me , "Go ahead do it, it'll be fun." And the voices never agreed on what to do. Conflict upon conflict crowded my mind. I never kept friends for long. Mostly because they dropped me after they found I slept with their husbands. The last guy I slept with was the last. We just finished having a good time when the door flew open and there stood his wife. She ran screaming from the room. Seconds latter if not sooner the room was filled with neighbors. I barely had time to wrap a sheet around me before I was hauled outside. Sharp things pelted me. Beer bottles were breaking beside me. People were slapping and kicking me.

This was it. The end. I wouldn't walk away from this. No one was going to call for help. Suddenly calm. More calm. My heart was pounding so hard that’s all I could hear in my ears. I peeked out of the sheet I had pulled over my head, feet were walking away. They had stopped tormenting me. Timidly I lowered the sheet and looked around.

A group of men were sitting a ways off watching me. One of them walked over and handed me his long coat. "Try not to get into anymore trouble, okay?" He helped me to my feet and left.

I got up and raced home, showered and dressed. I felt something different. I didn't feel anything. Something was different, I always felt something. The voices were gone. This was strange. No one ordering me around.

I sat and drank some tea and reflected on things... for a long time. The sun set and rose again several times. I didn't go to work at the bar. I didn't feel like stripping for a living anymore. The desire to shock people had left with the voices.

A few days passed and I eventually stepped out of my house, no one recognized me as I had washed the goop off my face and was wearing a modest outfit. Strolling no where in particular I noticed an assembly in the park. There he was. The guy who gave me his coat. He must be some kind of story teller, an actor or something. I couldn't get close enough to ask him where he was staying since he was performing. Off to the side were some of the guys I recognized from that horrible night. I approached them to get his address. They politely gave me directions and told me when I could find him at home.

I couldn't get there fast enough with his coat. I really wanted to thank him for helping me. I didn't know the right way to thank him though because I usually expressed thanks physically and some how I didn't think that would go over big this time. I actually didn't even feel drawn to have sex with him or any of his buddies for that matter. When I arrived where he was staying there was another group of people. Man, was this guy ever alone? Such is the life of performers. Women and men were spilling out of the house having a good time. They wouldn't want me around. They were out of my league. They seemed like nice people. I never mixed well with nice people. I'm the girl every one's mother warns about. Then I saw
him coming down the street. He was limping. His feet looked sore. I got to him first and offered him my shoulder to lean on the rest of the way home. He quietly accepted my offer. When we got there I took off his shoes and noticed a blister on his big toe. I inquired of his friends where the bathroom was and went for a wash rag and some water to clean his foot. Damn, I'd forgotten a towel to dry his foot with. I didn't want to leave him again so I undid my braid and used my long hair pulling it between his clean pedal digits. It tickled his feet and we shared a comfortable laugh. He was really easy to be with. I had some perfume in my purse so I scented his feet with it for fun.

A long and wonderful relationship started between us. Since I was now out of work I followed him in his story telling trips and helped cook for the entourage. He hadn't been on the road long. His was a new act. It was a combination family counseling, medical treatment, entertainment show. We were cleaner than Walt Disney and no comparison to the Hare Krishna’s. There were a lot of men and women devoted to him. We were a mixed bag of nuts but completely family. The people I thought were upper class clean cuts were from the same dysfunctional ,maladjusted drug pushing, alcoholic back ground as me. I loved him the most. But strangely nothing sexual ever entered my mind. I'm guessing it didn't enter his either because he never made a pass at me. For the first time since I'd been on my own I was treated respectfully and I was beginning to like it. And what's more I had female friends. We shared makeup tricks and intimacies that I never got to share with anyone else before. We all had weird backgrounds, lots of excess baggage we dumped somewhere and actually walked away from.

Some of the established acts resented my new friend's apparent success. They had seniority with their acts and didn't like the throngs leaning towards his stage. His gimmicks and tricks really attracted attention. One day a group of jealous, murderous felons grabbed him and tortured him before they killed him. The law closed it's eyes to the event. No one wanted to take the blame or point a finger. He didn't even have a descent funeral. Someone just took his body and dumped it in a hole. I went with some friends to see that justice was done on his behalf and put him to rest properly. We looked all over for him. He was no where to be found. I got frantic. Life wasn't fair. He was such a quiet calm man. He hadn't looked for trouble, he just loved telling peaceful stories, stories that gave you that feel good about yourself feeling.

Suddenly we saw an explosion. I say saw because we didn't hear anything, just saw a bright light that covered half the horizon, then we felt the earth move, we fell to our knees and covered our heads. After a few seconds we regained our footing and hurried in that direction. As we got close two men ran past us, I remembered seeing them in the mob that killed my friend. The front of their pants were wet and they were babbling incoherently about ghosts and zombies, their faces were severely contorted. We weren't sure we wanted to investigate the explosion anymore and started to retreat when a young man walked up to us.

"We're looking for a body, have you seen it?" I asked him.

Then he said my name. It was him. He was radiant, not a sign of the beating he'd received was left on his body, except for a few scars on his hands and feet. We all fell at his feet and kissed him. Pulling us up one by one he told us to go tell his staff where they could find him.

As per his instructions we gathered on his favorite mountain to meet him. He gave us some instructions and encouraging words and told us he wasn't staying here anymore. We all wanted to go with him. We could start over also. He didn't have to go by himself, his enemies were our enemies. As we were begging him to take us with him his head looked taller, looking down we noticed his feet were not on the ground anymore. The more we looked the higher off the ground his feet rose till we were looking at the bottom of his shoes. We all stepped back. Was this an other one of his wonderful acts, if so it superseded them all. Higher and higher he went till we saw him no more. The silence was deafening. No one wanted to admit what they saw. There were hundreds of us yet none of us believed our own eyes.

A voice attached to a white willowy figure informed us. "Close your mouths and go home, He'll come back again in the same fashion, keep your eyes open for him." The wispy figure dissolved into the air and we stumbled home filled with awe and a deeper love for mankind than I can ever explain.

We all broke up and went in different directions to spread the story of Jesus, our best friend and now our savior. My name? Mary Magdalene. And no, I never slept with him or any of his followers for that matter. Leave my name out of that gossip mill.

demons

When dad met mom he was a mess. She was his reason for changing. He reinvented
himself into something desirable and went after her full steam. Eventually he
convinced her into marriage and they produced three off spring, I'm one of
them. Ultimately his old personality resurfaced. He had failed to replace the
old habits with new ones that would stick. Apparently his love for mom was not
sufficient for permanent alteration. His demons came back and brought numerous
acquaintances,(demons don't have friends). He resumed gambling, drinking,
sexual explorations on the web, spending over his income and even though it
wasn't mentioned I wonder about pedophilia. Mom must have also because she
sent him packing one night after he came to my room to give me a nighttime hug
after a drinking excursion.

He moved into a private, quaint cardboard box with other deviants and
misplaced humanity near the old cemetery. The cemetery went back years and
hadn't been used for decades so the living homeless moved in. I would go down
there an watch him from a distance. I was afraid of him, he wore barely no
clothes and got into tons of scrapes with his fellow rejects. I would spy on
him as he cut and beat himself till he bled or got worn out. He was a
terrifying sight but he was still my dad and part of me loved him dearly. Mom
and I prayed for him every night. I am beginning to doubt that God is
listening, however.

One late afternoon as I was hiding in the bushes a group of tired looking
hobos approached the homeless camp. They looked like they had been walking for
a while, their feet and clothes were dusty and they needed a good bath but
they actually appeared decent. Good upbringing shines through even hard
times. They asked a few of the people if it was alright for them to bunk down
there for the night. Most of the residences ignored them, and a few grumbled
acquiesce. The group pulled out tents and camping gear and set up housekeeping
on the periphery.

After some time they had a campfire going and food stewing. The aroma spread all the way to me. My salivary glands started watering. Some of the old timers gathered around the new fire. The new comers invited the onlookers to join them. Soon there was laughing and talking and partying, but without alcohol. Oddly there seemed enough food for all who came and they did keep coming. I couldn't see the size of the pot through all the people but I couldn't imagine it feeding so many. Some of the old timers brought food to
add to the menu. No one was sent away.

I was tempted to approach but feared my dad who was by himself and between me and the goings on. He had a scowl on his face that was intimidating. He was shaking and sweat was pouring from him.
Withdrawals? Without warning he ran to the assembly with a sharp knife, cursing profanities. One of the new hobos stood up and palm upward motioned for all to be calm. The old timers were afraid of dad, they had seen him hurt too many so they cowered in a huddle. The brave man walked towards dad slowly
and calmly. His hands up to show no aggression or bad will. Dad stopped short right in front of him and fell to his knees crying. I inched forward in the bushes, amazed

Dad started talking first, “I’m so sorry, I know who you are but these voices in my head are screaming at me to kill you!"
"How many voices do you hear?"
"Thousands, I can't distinguish them!"
"They are leaving you now!" the stranger proclaimed raising his eyes to heaven and pointing at a flock of
crows. Sparks flew at the crows that got agitated and soared upwards. Butting heads and knocking some out they tangled up in each other and fell down into a barbed wire fence getting trapped where they would stay till they died.

All was silent except for the cawing crows. The company around the campfire were all eyes and ears. No one talked. The friends of the newcomer didn't looked surprised. They could predict the next few moments of conversation, yea, they could recite it verbatim if they wanted to, but they just watched and smiled.

Dad stopped crying and hugged the man's feet and ankles. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, I'm your humble servant. I intend to follow you forever and care for you."

"Nonsense. You have a family that needs you. Go to them now. Caring for them will show your
appreciation for what I've done."

Who told him about dad and us? None of the old-timers would know. Dad was after all not very
social or outgoing. The newcomer did something else that astonished me. He looked over in my direction at the bushes I was hiding in.
“Come get your dad and bring him home!" I slipped out of cover and hesitantly approached. The man's eyes were soft and gentle.
Dad stood up astounded and resuming his role as daddy asked, "What are you doing out at night over here? This is no place for you."
"Nor for you, come home with me." I extended my hands and brought dad home.

It didn't take any convincing for mom to let him in. Standing at the open door, staring into the dusk she seemed oddly prepared for his return, with a bath drawn and his clothes over the bed. She knew he'd be back tonight! She had been sitting with her bible open when a fantastic premonition hit that urged her to be ready for something dramatic.

Dad demons were replaced with good spirits after this event. He volunteered at the homeless shelter and starting teaching Sunday school and did so with authority, as one with a personal knowledge of the
savior. His old boss rehired him and mom got to quit work stay home and care for us and the next three additions that appeared. What a wonderful life I have now, far better than Jimmy Stewart's! (except for the extra babysitting I'm drafted for!)

the encounter

The Encounter
by collette mcfarland
09/12/06




He came in and took a booth in the back. I had my eyes on Him waiting to see if anyone would join Him. He wasn't a regular. I don't think I'd ever seen Him around town. After my third drink I sauntered over, my legs somewhat unsteady. He would do till some better prospects arrived.

"This seat taken?"

"No, please." Standing he pulled out a chair for me. Unusual.

"Alone?" I asked

"My friends and I are passing through. They're out grocery shopping." He answered. "Would you mind buying me a drink?"

Oh, brother. A dead beat. "Men are supposed to buy mine." But I motioned for the waitress.”

What will you have?"

"Just a coke, please."

At least I won't be out much, I thought, as I ordered his drink and a refill for me. He passed his hand over my glass, "Sorry, I thought I saw something on it." He explained.

He had the saddest expression as he observed the customers around us.

"So many hurting people." He said, more to himself than me.

"This is where they come all right. Alcohol is a great pain killer." I drained the last drop of my drink and ran my tongue around the rim, seductively. He didn't pick up on it. I ran my fingers down my cleavage.

"So big boy, what do you do for a living?"

"I work with my dad. We have a restoration business."

His eyes looked into mine so deeply I felt my soul being stripped. I didn't mind exposing nude flesh, but my heart? Then it started, words just spilled over themselves to fall on the table. It didn't take long to fill him in on my whole life. My marriage, divorce, marriage, divorce, ad infinitum. Things I'd never told a living soul, and things I hadn't even admitted to myself. I didn't have a clue as to what caused the hinges on my jaw to flap wildly; I'm not the talkative type. It just seemed as if nothing about me was a secret to this man. I buttoned up my blouse, inconspicuously, one button at a time, and pulled my skirt down lower to cover my knees.

People started coming in for happy hour. As they passed our table their ears would bend and before long they became part and parcel of the conversation. So many recitals of hurt and agony slopped out of broken vessels. So many "let me tell you about this" stories. He just sat and listened, and let tears slide down his cheek. Then He shared truths that caused us to see things differently. Somehow all the mistakes that led me down this road seemed reversible.

Chairs scrapped across the floor as our group expanded. Then tables were pushed together to add more entries to our cluster. Adulterers, drunks, gamblers, liars, thieves, and druggies, and dozens of them were patrons of mine. We all met on common ground and nothing offended this clean-cut young man. No topic was off bounds, no language was corrected, but over time foul words evaporated and were replaced with acceptable substitutes. Alcohol flowed freely, yet no one seemed to get intoxicated. It was as though we were drinking water. In fact the more I drank the more sober I became. Someone told the manager to turn off the jukebox. None of us wanted to be distracted from this man's wisdom. It wasn't long before God became the central topic. Odd none of us took to our feet and ran, we weren't after all the church going types, more like church burners. It seemed so natural to discuss God in this bar. Never once was religion brought up, however. He made God sound like a personal friend of ours who, who'd known us from before the cradle.

"God is a spirit. He is wherever we are. He doesn't want to hear from us for just an hour on Sundays". He explained. "He loves it when he's talked about, or to, anywhere, bars included." He sounded like he and God were on first name basis.

Eventually some more strangers showed up. His friends, I guessed. One came up to him and whispered in his ear, "Sir, you don't need to be seen with these riff raff. That's a whore you're next too!"

"Look again. I think you're mistaken." He replied, firmly, laying His hand on mine. He wouldn't argue in my presence. That was obvious. So gallant. I felt esteemed. My reputation hadn't been defended in years, if ever.

"We're done shopping. Let's go eat." another friend of His suggested, meekly.

"I've already eaten." He responded. His friends glanced at each other. Only pretzels and peanuts were on display. Surely this wasn't enough to satisfy Him after the long day of work.

We all got to our feet to beg Him to stay when He was finally ready to continue his journey. He promised this wouldn't be His last contact with us, and he was sending a friend to guide us. We all escorted him to the door like a parade. It was hard to believe we'd only known Him for hours. Some of us slipped money into His hand. Only the proprietor seemed relieved He was on his way.

I went to my car, keys ready, and I looked at the gaudy neon sign in the parking lot. Jacob's Well: Drinks and Strippers. I would never be seen here again. No part of me. Ever. I wasn't even going home to my latest shack up. He wouldn't miss me me until the rent was due. I was going home to my family, to beg their forgiveness. He never did reveal his name. I did notice initials on His shirt, though. J.C. Wonder what they stood for. For me they stood for, "Just Cured!" One thing I know for sure. He was definitely in the restoration business. Restoring souls and lives. And hope.

John 4:1-26
Math 9:11
2 Cor. 5:17
John 16:7

covers

by collette mcfarland
07/22/06


Look at all the covers. How can I tell what I want to read. I know I want
something short, something with romance and a good plot,lots of action. There
are so many books to choose from. I pick one up. There's a man that looks like
Fabian on the cover leaning over a girl that looks like the girl next -door's
ugly third cousin twice removed. He thinks he's God's gift to woman and she
thinks he's her birthday present. The story makes her out to be some insecure
female not worthy of his attentions. Like he's the type that would have a
relationship with a wall flower! Give me a break! He would be dating some other
empty headed well contoured body with a face designed by her plastic surgeon !
It's a harlequin romance, all these stories are the same. Boy meets girl, girl
is intimated, hates, or is otherwise not interested in afore mentioned boy.
Pursuit, run , fall , capture , tame. Now how often does that happen in real
live. Guess that's why it's called FICTION! The book is too long and phony to
keep my interest.

Here's another book. A house with a face on it. The face looks evil. Story plot
is about demon's possessing a house. Too much inside this book for me. I'll
sleep with the lights on and sprinkle holy water around my bed and on my pillow
and wake up to the aroma of mildew. I like a good fright but this book will take
to long to read so the nightmare will last for several weeks.(At my reading
speed). Besides it's been made into a movie. I could rent the move cheaper and
watch it in an afternoon and forget about it by bedtime.

The cover of another book draws my attention. Guns, violence, drugs, sex,
espionage are all promised on the book jacket. These books are usually to hard
to follow. You never can figure out the plot or whose who. Too many charactors.
Here's another book. No picture on the cover. I pick it up and look to see how
thick it is. It seems too large. I might loose interest in the story. Then I
flip through the pages to see how large the print is and if there are any
pictures. There is no indication on the back cover about the contents. Only the
title is on the front cover and spine and it's not in English, the title is
some greek name. It looks like it's filled with many short stories though. It's
divided in sections. I could read it in parts. The captions on some of the
pages lead me to believe it's got a wide variety of tales about sex, lots of
sex! Men sleeping with married women, men looking for wives, women sleeping
with ex father in laws, brothers killing brothers,rape, wars, peace,
dysfunctional families, loyal daughter-in -laws (that part must be the fictional
stuff)...unwed pregnancies. Oops, I see some nightmare stories in here too.

This book is wild. It has every thing I need in small doses. I can read it
slowly chapter by chapter and not loose track. It will cover my need for
romance, violence and love. I examine the stack of books I picked this one up
from. It's an enormous pile and it's in the back of the store. Does anyone buy
this book? Maybe it's not such a good idea for me to get one. No one else seems
interested in it. In fact they are staring at me just for holding it.
Well I've never been swayed by popular opinion. I think I'll buy it and give it a try. I
can always bring it back for a refund. I believe I've heard of a movie by the
same name before, I don't think it was a great success. Not many movie theaters
presented it. Well I'm off to give it a try. I'm not expecting much though.

At the register the cashier informend me,"This is a great book."

"It doesn't look like many people have bought it."

"This is our second shipment this week."

"Have you've read it?"

"Oh yeah, several times. It had a good ending for me."

"Don't tell me how it ends!" "It doesn't end the same for everyone."

"How's that?"

"Read it and see for yourself."

After I replaced my credit card in my wallet and headed for the door the cashier called after me,"Enjoy your new Bible!"

the family reunion

Family Reunion
by collette mcfarland
07/14/06
For Sale

Family reunion

 I sat behind him holding on for dear life. The wind blowing in our faces splattering our masks with bugs. The ride has been hard and arduous. Sitting on a motorcycle for days is anything but delightful for me right now. I used to

enjoy it but my recent weight gain, centrally located,  has made it uncomfortable.

 We are on our way to meet Joe's family at a reunion in a little farming town in the heart of Arkansas. The

first since our marriage. I've not met most of his relatives and the one's I do know are not singing my praises. They cautioned Joe to reconsider marrying me.  I'm too young to be faithful, having gotten myself in the family way, and by their theory, not by Joe. I have excess baggage, I have mental disorders, illusions of grandeur.  You name it, they've said it. No one in the band is on my side. My Joe though thinks I’m worth the trouble. He's heard the same voices as me, seen the same visions of the future that I’ve had.

 “We’re almost there, “Joe assured me, patting my hands that were wrapped around his waist. 

 I can't wait to see his ancestral home as it has been in his family for centuries. His relatives have had numerous difficulties keeping hold of the home since farming has suffered over the years with droughts and other various problems. 

The night was thick around us, our lone headlight lighting the way along the narrow back roads, trees and open fields whizzing past. We swerved several times to avoid deer and stray cattle that stepped out from the darkness. I was pretty sure we'd survive the trip whole as the lord of the universe was with us.

 Joe asked me once if I wanted to stop for the night and continue on the next day but I knew he was anxious about getting me to a soft bed. I didn't want to add to his worries about me. I promised him I'd be okay. Even I can tell lies.

Every muscle in my frame hurt, my head ached, and I was chilled despite the leather jacket Joe loaned me. He will be a fantastic husband and father some day. I laid my head on his shoulder, grateful he was in this with me. God found

the perfect husband for me.

 Joe nudged me, I don't know how but I must have dozed off? Up ahead were some wooden structures that had the glorious appearance of a farming residence! We ere here. Happy anticipation and ugly dread welled up in me simultaneously. I was looking forward to a hot shower and a goose down filled mattress. But I

surely wasn't looking forward to the freezing stares and back biting that would surface in the family. Joe had offered to come alone but we both knew we'd be running for our entire lives so we decided to face the jury early, together and

unified. Family support should be expected, not begged for. My parents have disowned me saying I disgraced them, They had reasoned with me and Joe when we announced our intentions to marry someday, promising an elaborate wedding if we waited three years till I was eighteen but instead we eloped, giving an illogical explanation. 

 Now they abhorred Joe for sweeping me off so secretively, where once they had admired and respected his integrity, even though they thought he was way to old for me at thirty. My friend's parents restricted them from associating with

me. I wasn't a nice girl anymore. Being an honor student and god fearing girl once, at the synagogue as often as the doors opened, I had now slipped into immorality. I was an outcast to everyone I knew. I had only one cousin that

believed the story of my pregnancy. One cousin out of dozens wasn’t saying much, and this one was

something of a clairvoyant;  my family thought her incredibly unreliable since she was up in years and dealing with a husband who’d recently lost his voice about the time she became pregnant herself, as much to her shock as the community’s . So Joe and I had to start out married life under the burden of heavy disapproval and would probably have  to do a lot of unwanted traveling to protect our secret. 

 Joe parked in the driveway and helped me off the rear. Lights were on in the house but no cars were outside. It looked deserted. Joe went to the door, discovered it was locked, and found the note. Everyone had gone down the

road to his uncle’s, he was  invited to join them and he could bring "that woman" with him. Me, that woman.   His gaze swept over me measuring my exhaustion and he opted to stay here till they returned, we had ridden enough for now. 

  "Let's go in the barn and rest." he suggested, getting our gear out of the storage unit. I followed him on heavily swollen ankles, my body feeling restless.

 In the barn, lying on a mattress of straw, I became alarmed. I was in pain so severe I can't describe it. All my muscles bunched up and tried to squeeze the life from me, literally. Joe's eyes widened in trepidation.  

"I'm going for help!" he stated. 

 "No, don't leave, I'm scared!" I yelled, grabbing his arm, breaking skin with my nails.  

 It was too early for this. My doctor advised against this trip warning that I had two more weeks to count down if I was careful. I never knew such pain was possible, I had conned myself into thinking I would be spared

this misery, that giving birth would be as heavenly as the conception. I was convinced Joe was going to faint but something got into him and he took over the situation, fully in control.

 He laid some horse blankets down on the hay and eased me onto them. My construction worker husband, never exposed to human child birth in his life, acted experienced as he helped deliver our baby. "A boy", Joe confirmed, though

we already knew that, even without sonograms. A son all covered in blood an goop. He didn’t look a thing like I expected. His face all red and scrunched up with crying. If this was considered a miracle he looked like a mess to me.

He even peed on me as he lay on my abdomen where Joe placed him before he   severed the umbilical cord. Joe must have done some heavy reading of first aide material! Or being raised by farmers had served a good purpose. Our baby would be told repeatedly that he had been born on the same family land as had generations before him. Finally something positive to say to him as he grew up. Hopefully it would improve the reputation of Arkansas, not much good has ever

come out of this state. We weren't big fans of Clinton. Sorry. I was criticized but he avoided impeachment, give me a break! 

 I lay there in the straw and equine blankets, sweaty, bloody and depleted of all physical reserve. There was a explosion of lightning outside over the hills, or was it a falling meteorite? The lightning was followed by hundreds of

falling stars. Were the heavens collapsing? Would the fields burst into flame?  And then a choir broke into song somewhere in the distance. It sounded close and was comforting. I held my son close and marveling at him we fell asleep

together serenaded by the music.

Soon afterwards people started trickling home. I could hear slow footsteps approach the barn. Joe opened the door and saw his family shuffling about in the light that fell from the lantern he was holding. They looked oddly

uncomfortable, afraid to approach a relative they had known for years. Joe went out to explain to them what had taken place, but he was astonished to discover they already were informed of the event. They had received an announcement from an invisible choir. It shook them up so badly some of the group had wet spots on their overalls. They were real hesitant to admit they might have made a mistake about cutting me down. They were begging Joe for forgiveness and wanted a pledge we wouldn't call down a curse on their heads. My Joe, always the honorable man, informed them there was nothing to forgive and to not be ridiculous, he had gone through the same agonizing reflections as they had

months earlier and had time to come to terms with circumstances. He too, had had visitations from unseen sources, family insanity must be hereditary, he joked. They laughed nervously. 

  Everyone entered slowly and reverently, awestruck by the miracle of birth considering, as farmers, they were well saturated with the phenomenon. They wanted to get me on my feet and into a clean bed.  Joe's old eccentric, widowed Aunt Anna supported me, as his even older cousin Simeon, lifted the babe into his arms, proclaiming he was now ready for death,. Odd thing to say, I thought, while holding a newborn. 

 I could almost feel the warm shower I was about to receive and taste a hearty country meal melting in my mouth before I climbed under homemade quilts. All anxiety flowed out of me, I even forgot the pain I had just under gone. It’s a

wonder the human race has continued. If it had been up to me the world would be childless.  

 Crossing the driveway to the house I heard one of Joe's brothers comment on the sky. "Where did that star come from? I've never seen one so bright!"

math 1:18-2:12

luke 2:25-38