I'll be spending the next 40 hours or so working more on the love story between Jackson and Violet, developing the characters of Sergio and Samson and moving Violet towards disaster. And by tomorrow evening I'll be putting a good twist on the plot for a great ending. :)
I'm determined to meet my goal of 100 pages! Stay tuned...
Lately my life feels a little like watching one of those cool artists who paints during seminars and conferences. The guy sets this huge canvas up on the stage and puts on cool music and starts throwing paint up there. It's a mess. But he is working so dramatically, and the colors are so vibrant, you keep watching. And at some point it begins to take shape. And then all at once you realize...there was a plan all along, and the scattered spots and swipes of paint take shape to make a beautiful image. And everyone gasps and begins cheering and we all ask each other: why couldn't we see it earlier? Here's an example if you've never seen it before:
I'm not gonna lie; the last couple of years have been rough. I've struggled with clinical depression and worked through some tough personal things. I couldn't really see where God was going with all of it. It felt messy, and pointles…
And I ride, shaky and sick, up the elevator to the third floor and turn the corner and stand with my back against the wall outside ICU. I stare up at the cameras and I stare at the doors and I just stand there, staring, dumb and afraid.
And then that Momma, she comes slipping out of those doors carrying her phone and looking like she just swam the entire ocean and back again. And she says to me, "Hi".
And what do I say? What do I say when her boy is laying in that hospital bed with tubes sucking things out and forcing things back into his broken body? Everything that's rolling around in my mouth feels meaningless and flat. I'm just dumb. Dumb and shaking and afraid.
Me and this sweet Momma, we've poured our tears out over the years; when our boys were doing things they shouldn't, going places they shouldn't, smoking things they shouldn't. And we would just shake our heads at each other and smile th…
Of all the animals, the boy is the most unmanageable. - Plato, Greek philosopher, 2300 years ago
I know what it’s like to raise boys; to live too long with too little sleep and too many worries. I have had dozens of forks stuck in my ceiling, countless shattered dishes and lamps and sliding glass doors, numerous stretched-out bandaids clogging up the bathtub. I have learned that feet can actually smell exactly like puke. Ew. Trust me, I could tell you stories for days about what it’s like to be a mom of boys.