If you live upstairs from another human being and are going to do anything in your apartment, anything at all – even just situps or moving around while you talk on the phone – do it on a part of the floor that does not squeak. I’m just saying…
Category Archives: Musings
Listening
Two friends have called me an angel. And neither one said it in a “aren’t you sweet” kind of way. They each said it was like an angel had come into their lives to help them. I didn’t think I deserved that at all. I just listened to their problems and encouraged them. I didn’t even solve their problems.
God listens. And if you pay attention, he answers too.
The Effect of a Story
In Finding Nemo Marlin was reluctant to tell his story to the sea turtles, but when he did, two things happened. One, as the story spread through the ocean, it reached Nemo, gave him hope, and encouraged him to try again to escape. Two, it caused Nigel the pelican to recognize Marlin and save him when another pelican tried to eat Marlin and Dory on the dock.
In A Little Princess, when Sara offered to share her fanciful stories with Becky, the much-abused scullery maid, she got this response: “Then,” breathed Becky, devoutly, “I wouldn’t mind how heavy the coal boxes was – or what the cook done to me, if – if I might have that to think of.”
A good story can help us bear our burdens. It can give us hope, endurance, and the spark we need to try again after we think we have nothing left inside. It can touch the lives of people we never meet.
Your Girlfriend is a Steak Sandwich
Sure, Edward said a million times it was really hard being near Bella without killing her. But I didn’t really get it till I walked past a restaurant and the smell of grilling steak wafted over me. Imagine dating a thick, juicy steak with mushroom sauce that just happened to be able to walk and talk and attend high school. That guy was a masochist all right. See work-in-progress Midnight Sun at http://www.stepheniemeyer.com/ for “Twilight” from Edward’s point of view.
The Exotic Country You Live In
One of the highlights of my trip to Nepal in 2000 happened when the vehicle I’d hired had a flat on the way back to Kathmandu from Kodari near the border of Tibet. The driver had to take the tire on a bus to another town to get it fixed. He left me with a family that lived by the road. The kids had just gotten home from school and they were thrilled to have a foreigner dropped on their doorstep.
The boy was older and spoke English pretty well. The girl only knew a little English, but her fascination was clearly evident. I sat outside at first, but as the time dragged on they invited me inside to watch TV. The girl was itching to search through my purse. She loved how smooth it was. I showed her some things I had, then found my photos.
I had brought just a few photos with me in case I got homesick – my friends, myself with a music group I liked, and my home. Both kids were eager to see them, but the boy in particular held the pictures close to his face and looked at them hungrily. “This is America?” he asked. I said yes, and he seemed to be trying to see every little detail in the pics. I wished I had brought more. I also wished I had brought a small map of the US to be able to easily point out where in America I live.
I was there for several hours because this was a festival time in Nepal and many businesses were closed, forcing my driver to go to more than one town to get the tire fixed. When I saw him putting the tire on the car I went to talk to him, and he immediately said “Are you very angry?” He probably didn’t believe me when I told him I wasn’t. It had been a really cool experience.
I had already seen animal sacrifices, temples, Himalayan roads with hairpin turns, and the buses that make you back up on those hairpin turns because there’s no room to pass. Women washing clothes in streams that flowed down the mountain over those same roads. Women in bright saris riding on the backs of motorcycles going to celebrate the festival. Heard Nepali disco music (again – my driver).
I realized that it was basically people going to work, doing their household chores, going to worship – just an ordinary life.
And to these kids living alongside the road between Kodari and Kathmandu, I was the exotic one. My country was interesting and strange.