Purple – Brett represented blue, and I represented red. When we became one, we became purple. You can’t ever turn purple back into red and blue. We’ve become something new.
Differences in dealing with conflict

Strengths taken to extremes become weaknesses

If you don’t read the Bible and pray, you will have relationship issues and will be less happy

Must focus on God

A cord of three strands is not easily broken

Learn about money management – read books by Larry Burkett if you think you know it all. Most marriage problems come from financial issues and bad habits.

If you are determined to stay married, also determine to be happy, not miserable. Don’t use the inseparable bond as an excuse for treating each other badly.

Find a solution that is win-win for both people.

You are on a team; therefore, if your teammate loses, you lose.

(From Sonia) Read “The Five Love Languages” by Gary Chapman. You have no room to complain about any relationship issues unless you’ve read it!

Brett: Don’t throw things. Give backrubs often.

The list will never end–take one day at a time.

She sings with all her breath. The stress leaves her; the rock-hard muscles in her shoulders loosen.

Her mind floats, her thoughts pause. Others sing next, behind, in front, but she doesn’t notice them.

She is singing to God.

She is enveloped in His presence, His love, His kindness.

I wrote this in my fiction writing class in response to the escape scene of Shawshank Redemption. I guess I took the moment when he lifts up his arms in victory and tied this to the way I feel during worship to God.

“It’s amazing, alright,” Tom said, also turning his attention to the west. “I love the way the way the orange comes streaking out of the sun, like an orange dreamsicle that has melted into happy oblivion.”

“I love orange dreamsicles,” Mike said.

“Me too.”

“They are just the perfect mix of orange and crème; there’s nothing else like it.”

Tom turned from the sunset to Mike. “You’re making me hungry, seriously. If you keep that up, we’re going to have to go into this po-dunk town and hit every bait & tackle store until we find an ice cream cooler with orange dreamsicles. Knowing your propensity for getting lost and my uncanny ability to never find what I want in a store, we could be out all night.”

“Big deal. As long as we’re back for fishing at daybreak, that’s all that matters. Maybe we could meet other people to hang out with,” Mike said.

“Listen you may be single, but I’m not, man. My wife would have my hide if she thought we were out meeting anyone of the opposite sex,” Tom said, putting down his pole and picking up his lures.

“Even if we went to bingo with the old folks? You know there’s nothing to do here at night but sit around. There’s only one channel and that has such bad reception that you can’t even see what’s really going on.”

“We can play cards,” Tom said, making an offer.

“I’m tired of cards.”

“Well, we’d have fish to clean and eat if you would have lived up to your bragging. But then again,” Tom laughed, “I know we’ll never be able to count on that as a source of entertainment as long as you’re on the trip! I can only catch so many fish by myself.”

With that he pulled a stringer of three fish into the boat. They flopped around a bit, and Tom caught Mike’s eye. He smiled in superior silence.

“Maybe we had better take you into town and get you an ice cream,” Tom smiled again. “I wouldn’t want you to have a total bomb of a day.”

Mike crossed his arms and nodded his head, “Laugh all you want. Tomorrow I am unveiling the secret lure, and I think you’ll be the one needing an ice cream by tomorrow night.”

“Oh yeah?” Tom started the big motor. “You do like to tell tall tales.”

Before Mike could respond, Tom pointed the boat toward the shore and opened the throttle. The last moments of beauty were lost behind them.

This was a fiction sketch I wrote in tribute to my love for fishing. I do have a secret lure. And it works! Thanks to my dad for teaching me how to fish.

The most common grammatical error I see — made even by professional writers — is the use of a comma before “and” when combining two thoughts.
People often don’t use the comma when its critically needed…or they stick it in when it’s unnecessary.
Here’s the scoop:

A. When you are joining two separate stand-alone thoughts (complete sentences), you need the comma.

Example: I love correct grammar, and I shout for joy when it is right!

Quick test to make sure you’ve got it right: chop the sentence in half at the “and.” If the clauses stand alone (meaning they have a subject, verb, and predicate), then the sentence needs a comma.

B. When you are joining two fragments, you don’t need the comma.

Example: I love correct grammar and hate sloppy stream-of-consciousness writing.

Quick test: When you chop the sentences apart at the “and,” you can see that the second phrase can’t stand alone–it doesn’t have a subject!

This is an easy thing to remember…I hope you’ll help keep me sane by following this easy grammar rule.

He wished the ocean would flow over his messed up life, smoothing out the mistakes of the past. He wished that he could have another chance to start over, to make things right. He wished he could wipe away people’s memories, their anger, and their mistrust—with the restoring flow of an ocean wave. Why couldn’t each day start new with the tide?

If he did change, if he did start over, could he ever be free? He looked back. The water flowed effortlessly over his footsteps, smoothing out the pits, over and over again. Until, just minutes later, his footsteps were erased. He also found himself in a hole. Just like in life—stay still too long, you go stagnant. He had to move forward. He took a step toward the ocean. The water lapped at his feet, cleansing him. He looked up at the sky, exhaled, and took another step. The water washed away the past. Gone. All gone.

*This fiction sketch was written for my master’s class in fiction. It was inspired by Kirk Franklin’s song, “Imagine Me.”

“Wave your cell phones in the air…let me see you! Yea! That’s what I’m talking about!” Jake shouted into the microphone. Instantly he saw dozens of blue lights appear in the audience. Not quite the same as lighters, he thought, but times had changed. Too many bands were still shouting for lighters when no one carried them anymore. It didn’t matter anyway; it still had the desired effect. He could see all the people packed into the club. Their eyes were on him. He leaned into the mike again, “Are you having a good time tonight?”

The audience shouted, whistled, and hooted in response. He smiled, waved his hand in the air, closed his eyes, and listened. He basked in the attention, drinking it like a cool ice tea. These people loved him. Several girls on the dance floor swayed to the music, casting sultry eyes his way; he wondered what else they would do if he asked.

He struggled to see beyond the first few rows, but the spotlights blocked anything else from his view. The few guys that he could see looked up at him with a wistful envy. Jake was ready to play all night.

The band had just put on a stunningly accurate performance of Earth Wind and Fire…now, for the second set, they had returned to do a tribute to the Doobie Brothers. Not only were the music styles totally different, but so were the voices of the original lead singers.

Jake began to sing lead again, only this time with an uncanny likeness to Michael McDonald. For the first few songs, they would watch him, trying to figure out if he was really singing. Later, they would gather around the autograph table and say, “Man, you really threw me a curve ball when you came out singing with a totally different voice. I’ve never seen anything like that before. I mean that’s amazing. That’s a real gift.”

He had heard that so many times before. Everyone was always telling him how great the band was and how talented he was. It was true, he had mastered several different voices, and it made for great dance music. The band was doing well, but he wasn’t so sure it was a great gift to be able to mimic famous people’s singing voices. Maybe if he were a comedian. But at this point in life, all it had gotten him was the lead singer in a 70’s tribute band.

After the concert, he stopped Billy backstage. Although Jake was the “face” of the band, Billy was the leader. Billy was about fifteen years older than Jake, married with three kids. He had started the band a few years ago, carefully assembling strong, versatile talent.

“Billy, can we talk a minute?” Jake said.

“Sure. What’s going on?” Billy said, running his hand through his graying black hair.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about the band,” Jake said. “I’d like to create some of our own songs and see what happens. We’ve got some really great talent, you know.”

“You’re right, we’ve got great talent,” Billy said. “But I’ve been around this biz a long time. Do you have any idea what it’s like to play songs that no one knows or wants to hear?”

Jake nodded reluctantly; he visualized a pissed off audience, sitting stiffly with their arms crossed.

“Right now, our audiences love us because they love the music we’re playing,” Billy continued with his lecture. “And if we start playing our own music—however good it is—we won’t be getting the gigs we’re getting or making the money we’re making. And I need the money.”

Billy looked Jake straight in the eyes. “Besides that, who has time to write songs? We all have jobs!”

“Yeah, I know,” Jake said. “But how big can a tribute band get? Wouldn’t it be great to have all those people singing our songs someday?”

“It would be nice. But I’m ok with what we’re doing. I like the music, and it’s fun. It’s still performing.” Billy looked past Jake at the door. “I’ve gotta go. My wife’s expecting me.”

Jake nodded, glanced at Billy’s eyes, and then stared at the floor. “Ok. See you later.”

Jake kicked a wad of duct tape someone had dropped earlier during set-up. So much for that, he thought in frustration.

The next day, Jake was still upset. He half-heartedly got ready for the annual family barbeque. Normally, he looked forward to spending the day outdoors, eating grilled hamburgers, playing volleyball with his cousins, and shooting the breeze with the old folks.

But he felt cranky and unsocial; he didn’t want to do or say anything. He just wanted to stay at home and mope.

However, Jake knew he couldn’t do that to Grandma. The barbeque was her unofficial birthday party every year. She never wanted a party for herself; instead, she wanted her family to be together. So family had a picnic and brought along her gifts, even though she always insisted that they weren’t necessary. “All I want is to be with each of you,” she’d say.

At the park, Jake put on a fake smile and forced himself to walk around the party, hugging his cousins and making small talk with aunts and uncles. Grandma was surrounded with people vying for her attention, so he just walked by and patted her shoulder. She turned and waved,
“Hey, Jake! Glad to see you.”

Jake meandered around the barbeque, lost in his own thoughts. He took a few bites out of a hamburger, but he had no appetite. Finally, he settled on a park bench and watched the kids play on the playground. He didn’t know what to do; he felt deflated. How would he ever get out of this rut?

He didn’t know how long he was sitting there when someone tapped his shoulder. “Is this seat taken?” Grandma said, her voice soft and comforting. She was draped in a floral-printed tee shirt and navy blue slacks.

Jake shook his head. “No, it’s all yours.”

“Thanks.” She sat down on the bench. “How’re you doing? Anything new and exciting for my favorite rock star?”

“I’m ok. It’s just been a long week, Grandma.”

“That so?”

“Yeah. I talked to Billy last night about doing some original songs, but he thought it was a waste of time. Now I feel like I’m back to square one. It just really bums me out.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Yeah, he didn’t really even listen to me. I thought I could count on the band to help, but I guess not. Anyway, sorry for not being much fun.”

“That’s ok,” she said, throwing her arm over his shoulders. She gave him a quick squeeze.

“But I’m glad to hear that you’re been making some progress on your music. God has given you a special gift. He’ll show you what to do with it.”

The next weekend it was the same thing again. Jake went through the motions. Sing, play guitar, sing some more. He barely even noticed the audience.

After the show, he pulled out his cell phone to see what time it was. 1:00 a.m. He had a few missed calls, some from friends and a few from his mother. When he checked on the time, he was surprised to see that his mother’s last call had been 11:00 p.m. That was pretty late for her, but he was sure she’d be asleep by now. He wondered what was going on. Oh well, he thought, he’d call her tomorrow after we woke up.

Early the next morning he was jolted awake by the phone ringing. Jake rolled over and picked up the phone.

“Jake?” It was his mother.

“Wha?” The word barely made it out. Jake’s brain was still foggy.

“Grandma’s in the hospital. She had a stroke last night and she’s in a coma. They don’t know if she’s going to make it.” Her voice cracked as she struggled to finish the sentence.

Jake sat up, fully awake. “Oh, no.” He blinked quickly, trying to process her words. He pictured Grandma’s plump face—brown eyes framed by slate gray hair—laughing and telling stories when he’d saw her last weekend. She hadn’t looked sick or tired. This was the last thing he expected.

After a few seconds, he said, “I can’t believe it.”

“It’s a shock. But we’re believing that she’s going to be ok. She’s gonna wake up and get better.” She spoke forcefully, like she was still trying to convince herself. “I tried calling last night, but you must have been busy with the concert. I didn’t want to leave a voicemail.”

“What can we do? How can we help wake her up?”

“Waiting is all we can do, as far as I know. But I’m going to read to her and talk to her and play some music. The doctors say she might be able to hear.”

She paused. “Grandma’s in Room 203 at Turner Memorial. That’s where I’ll be if you need me. Visiting hours are until nine.”

When he hung up the phone, he lay back in the bed, staring at the ceiling. He felt numb. How can this be happening to Grandma? It didn’t seem real. But he knew that it was.

Would this be it? He kept thinking about the things that Grandma would miss if she died: his wedding, the birth of his children, and of course, the music he was going to create.

Grandma had always encouraged him to pursue the impossible, and she had always supported him. They had always been close, he and Grandma, ever since he was a small boy. After his parents got divorced, Grandma watched him after school so his mom could work. She helped him with his homework, played cards with him, and watched “comics” with him. But most of all, she listened with rapt attention to anything he wanted to tell her. He grew up showing her everything: pictures he drew, songs he learned to sing, instruments he attempted to play, magazine articles he thought were cool. Everything.

When he got older, she invited him over for dinner to keep in touch. At first, it would be difficult to find things to talk about. But she’d just smile at him, ask how things were going, and wait for him to answer. Usually, he’d get started telling Grandma stories about his half-brother and sister or his students’ antics at school. As the high school band teacher, he never ran out of funny stories. Then Grandma would give him an update on his cousins—Katie had a boyfriend, Justin was gaining weight, Chris snuck out of the house and got caught, and so on. It was always fun, and although she never put anyone down, he always left the house feeling good about himself.

He looked at the guitar leaning in the corner of his room. He got up and grabbed a worn notebook, where he kept his scribbles and ideas for songs. He’d made a lot of progress in the last few months. He wished he had told Grandma how much her encouragement had helped.

He remembered the pivotal conversation they’d had about five months ago. He was over at Grandma’s. Dinner was over, and he was staring at his half-eaten plate of mashed potatoes and fried chicken—his favorite.

“How’s your music coming along?” Grandma asked.

“Ok, I guess. The band is doing very well; we’ve got gigs every weekend, and our rate is going up every month.”

She peered at him inquisitively. “That’s good,” she said slowly. “What else is going on? You seem lost in your thoughts today.”

“Well, I’ve been trying to write my own music, but to tell you the truth, Grandma, it’s been really hard. I don’t know where to begin. I spend all of my time singing like other people. I don’t know what my voice even sounds like.”

“Hmm…that’s a problem, for sure. Goodness knows I wouldn’t know anything about it,” she said smiling at the thought. “You know how well I sing! Well enough to get the neighborhood dogs excited.” She looked at him, and her tone softened. “Don’t give up so easy. You’ve got a wonderful voice inside of you. It’s there. You just need to take enough time to find it.”

“But what’s the point? I can’t make a living with it. And no one cares anyway.”

“Well, I care and you care. Why not give it a try? No one else may ever care besides you and I, but isn’t that enough? You’ve got a gift, and you know that I love hearing your voice.

Maybe you could bring joy to others too. If nothing else, then at least you’ll know that you tried. Either way, you can move on with life.”

He’d taken her advice to heart. Since then, he had dutifully sat down with his guitar and notebook. He wrote what was on his mind, converted that into lyrics, and then developed a melody to accompany it. But he still struggled with the singing part; he kept slipping into the familiar rhythms of other men’s voices. It was frustrating, but he remembered how Ray Charles had a similar problem when he first started because he could only sing like Nat King Cole. Ray had gotten over it. So he figured he would too, if he kept working at it.

Jake walked to the corner and picked up his guitar.

He arrived at the hospital at 8:00 p.m. Jake was hoping that everyone else was gone. He wanted time alone with Grandma.

He walked down the empty hallway, watching the shiny white floor pass under his feet. He found Room 203.

Inside, Grandma looked like she was sleeping on a cloud—white bed, white sheets, white blanket, and white pillows. He was relieved to see that her cheeks and lips had color. All in all, she looked pretty good, except that her hair was a mess. She’d be upset if she saw that hair, he thought. Jake walked over to her, kissed her cheek, and tried to fix her hair. He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “I’m here, Grandma. It’s Jake. Why don’t you wake up and say hi?”

She didn’t respond.

Jake sat down in the chair next to her and took his guitar slowly out of the case. He touched her arm. “Grandma, this is for you. I hope you can hear me.”

He looked at the ground and took a deep breath.

When he began to sing, it was a voice no one had ever heard before. It was his own.

Flashlight. Check.
Binoculars. Check.
Running shoes. Check.
Black stocking cap. Check.
Directions. Check.

Melanie nodded her head and smiled in satisfaction. She folded the list and tucked it into her purse. She slid into a puffy black parka and pulled the stocking cap over her head. She was ready.

Twenty minutes later, she reached her destination under the cover of darkness. Melanie turned onto the street slowly, looking for the best place to park. Tall trees lined the road like sentries. Wind blew their limbs, sending leaves dropping like rain to the concrete. She squinted, examining the mailboxes for 108. It was ahead on her right. She stopped in front of the house next door, about 50 feet from 108. Melanie scanned the front of the brick ranch. She could see light in both windows. Excellent. She turned off the engine and leaned back. She unfolded the blanket sitting on the passenger’s seat and laid it on her legs. It was going to be a long night.

The cold slowly invaded her Honda, chilling her toes. The streetlight illuminated cloudy water spots on the windshield. Melanie absentmindedly traced the streak left by the wiper as it arced across the windshield. She shifted in the seat, pulling her feet back, bending her knees, and readjusting her back. Melanie twirled one of her long black curls, thinking about Linden. Was he worth all this effort? He had reeled her in so easily–even when she had always said that she wouldn’t date a divorced man. Too much baggage. Sometimes she wanted to kick herself for falling for his easy smile and kind eyes. But then again, she was quickly nearing old maid status. The biological clock had started to tick. Loudly.

She wanted to love Lin, to freefall into this romance. But she couldn’t, not yet. First she had to know.

Melanie had decided that tonight was going to be the night she got her answers. She had planned the stakeout as best she could. In the next few hours, if everything went as planned, she would know what she needed to know. But if it didn’t, she could end up losing the very thing that brought her here. The cops might even come. Melanie tapped her fingers on the steering wheel nervously. She didn’t like risk. But she also didn’t like the constant pressure of uncertainty.

The suspicion had started a few weeks ago.

She and Linden had driven to a state park a few hours away. The sun beamed its blessing on them as they hiked the rocky trail to the top of the bluff overlooking the river. Huge rocks scattered the hilltop. Linden scaled a boulder six feet tall and dared her to follow. She couldn’t resist the challenge.

They had played like children all afternoon, laughing and chasing each other, jumping between rocks. Finally, exhausted, they collapsed on a ledge and ate their sandwiches. The sun was beginning to wane. The air had a slight chill and smelled like wood burning in a fireplace, but the rock warmed them. They sat close, legs straight out before them, arms propped behind their backs, looking at the trees below.

Lin leaned his head on Melanie.

“Mel, you know you are something special, don’t you?”

She stared at her feet, but snuggled closer to him. Her pulse began to beat faster. Was he going to say it? Was he going to say the “L-O-V-E” word?

“I really enjoy being with you.” He turned her face toward him and looked her in the eyes. “I hope you are interested in spending more time with me because I really like you in my life.”

She threw her arms around his neck. She kept her mouth shut because she was afraid she would say something stupid. Besides that, all the relationship books said that men liked women who were mysterious.

Lin pushed her back on the rock and kissed her.

On the way home, Melanie was a mass of wiggles and giggles. Her feet tapped a lively beat on the car mat as she thought of names for their first child. Sure, Lin hadn’t said the “L” word yet, but it certainly seemed like he was serious. She couldn’t wait to call her best friend with the latest update and scream in joy.

Lin’s phone chimed. He grabbed it and pushed a few buttons quickly, looking at the phone intently. His face softened and his lips curved into a slight smile. He looked amused and…smitten. Melanie’s brain shouted, “Alert: another woman! Alert!” She craned her neck, trying to see who it was. No avail. She turned her attention back to the windshield. “Did someone leave you a voicemail?”

“No,” he said. “It was just my ex-wife text-messaging.”

“Oh.” Melanie felt the grip of fear. “You all still talk, eh?” She wanted to shout, Why! Why do you still talk to her, stupid man?

“Yeah. Now and then. We’re friends.”

“Really…Hmm…didn’t she cheat on you?”

“Well, yeah. But it’s been two years. Since then, I’ve come to grips with the things that I did wrong too. Brenda wasn’t the only one who made our marriage fall apart.”

“Oh.” What was going on here? Was he still in love with her?

“Does it bother you that we talk?”

“Why should it? I’m sure she’s a very nice woman,” Melanie said nonchalantly. She was lying through her teeth. Why would she want him talking with his ex-lover?

“Brenda’s a character, that’s for sure,” he said, laughing. Melanie heard something in his voice. Was it admiration? Devotion? Attraction? Or worst of all, love? Whatever it was, it cracked Melanie’s ball of shining optimism.

In the days that followed, Melanie couldn’t get that uneasy feeling out of her mind. Every time she was with Lin, she analyzed what he said, his expressions, even how often he checked his messages. She was looking for clues, for any sign that she should run away from this relationship. If Lin was still in love with his ex, she didn’t want to be caught in the crossfire. For the first time, she realized that he never talked about their future together, and for the first time, it bothered her.

Melanie shivered. She cast a furtive glance in the direction of 108, looking for signs of life. None, just the same lights glowing out of the same windows. She turned the key in the ignition and flipped the heat to high. She knew what she was doing was strange. She probably would have shrugged off her feelings of jealousy and suspicion if had not been for the events of the morning. The day had started out badly. First, before she could even rub the sleep out of her eyes, her best friend, Robin, called.

“Oh my God, Mel, you won’t believe what I just read in, ‘Redefining Mars and Venus,’ Robin said.

“Is this a different book than you were telling me about last week?” Melanie said, stretching and yawning.

“Of course. This one really applies to your situation. You’ve got to hear this. Hold on, I’ve got the page marked.”

Melanie could hear the pages turning.

“Ok, ok. Here it is: ‘If a man doesn’t make the decision to end the relationship, it is always an open door, and he may return to his previous lover if given an opportunity.’

“Uggghhhh…that’s not good,” Melanie said.

“Oh wait, there’s more. The book says that ‘this is especially true of a man who has been left by the woman for another man; he will always have a longing to prove his sexual prowess.’ You know what that means, Mel–a man’ll go back to his cheatin’ woman,” Robin said, singing the last few words with a country song twang.

“That’s crazy.” Melanie said. “I don’t know where you get this stuff. Why would a man want to go back to a whore?”

“Dunno. Since when have men ever made sense? I thought you’d be interested in that since you had some concerns about Lin and what’s her face.”

“Brenda.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just be careful. Don’t be his stomping mat. He could be one of those. Talk to you later.”
Robin’s call delivered a considerable dose of doubt.

Then the phone rang again, delivering the second blow.

“Hey, Mel, it’s Lin. I wanted to give you a call first thing. I’m not feeling well today, so I think I’d better cancel for tonight.” He coughed.

“Oh, what’s wrong?” Melanie said, with sympathy oozing from every syllable.

“I think it’s probably just a cold. My body aches and someone turned on a faucet in my nose. No big deal.”

“Do you want me to come over and bring you something? Soup? Hot cocoa?”

“No, no. Thanks, but I think I’d rather just sleep this thing off,” he said.

“Ok. Let me know if you need some company later,” Melanie repeated her offer.

“Thanks again, Mel, but I don’t think so. I’d rather be alone. Sorry to bail out on you. Can we have a raincheck for next weekend?”

“Sure.” She mumbled. “I hope you feel better.”

Linden hung up the phone.

Melanie felt like she’d had the wind punched out of her.

Was Lin really sick? Or was he really planning on spending the night with Brenda? Was he just using her until he won back his first love–and gained back his damned ‘sexual prowess?’

Melanie began cleaning the kitchen, feverishly scrubbing the counter. How dare he do this to her! She flung silverware into the sink. She would not be taken for a fool! She would show Lin; she’d catch’em together tonight. Melanie abandoned her dishrag on the counter and headed to the computer. Too many times she’d sat back patiently and hoped that that everything would work out, that her dream man would come. This time that she wasn’t going to just sit back and wait. She’d find that bitch’s address and find out the truth, once and for all!

The car vibrated as it idled. The heat blew on Melanie’s face, and she wondered how long she could let it idle before it hurt the engine. A light went out and Melanie caught a glimpse of a blonde woman walking around. Brenda must be getting ready to go somewhere. Finally! Now that her anger had mellowed, Melanie was ready to get this adventure over with.

Melanie put her car into drive, ready to follow Brenda’s car. The clock’s green numbers glowed 8:30; Melanie was drawn to the flashing colon between the hour and minute. This woman is a slow mover. Finally, when the clock had crawled to 33, she saw the garage door open.

A white Toyota backed out of the driveway and headed down the street. Melanie hesitated and thought about going home. But after a slight delay, Melanie slammed the gas. She focused on keeping up with the white Toyota. How did Magnum P.I. tail people? How much distance was she supposed to leave between her car and the Toyota? Before Melanie had a chance to figure it out, the Toyota turned into the parking lot of TastyMart.

Melanie pulled into a spot at the end of the lot and watched as Brenda’s trim silhouette disappeared into the grocery store. Wait outside or follow her inside? Melanie tried to think about what Magnum would do. She pictured his relaxed, mustached smile, and knew he would be up to the challenge…from a safe distance, of course. Melanie followed Brenda into the store, hastily pulling off her cap. She grabbed a cart with one hand while attempting to smooth the static from her hair with the other. Melanie caught a glimpse of Brenda’s blond hair turning the corner in the fresh produce. She’s heading to the meat. Melanie began the chase.

She rounded the corner at breakneck pace, nearly knocking over an old lady examining the bananas. Brenda was strolling, pausing to grab lunchmeat and hamburger. Could that be all? Was she really grocery shopping on a Saturday night? Brenda was not living up to her adulteress reputation. Wouldn’t it have been more appropriate for her to be out buying sexy lingerie? Of course, food could be sexy, Melanie thought. Brenda could be gathering all the fixings for a late-night romantic dinner for two.

Melanie knew that if she was going to learn anything useful she’d have to get closer; she decided to stage a drive-by, face-to-face. Besides Melanie was dying to see what her nemesis looked like.

Melanie bypassed the canned good aisle–where Brenda was dawdling before the Campbell’s display–and zoomed over to the cereal, two aisles away. She threw in a couple of boxes of Frosted Crunchies–to add to her cover–and then briskly marched to the next aisle and waited. She pretended to examine Jello flavors as she waited for Brenda to enter from the opposite end. After a few minutes, she decided to move back a few feet to avoid drawing attention to herself. Still no Brenda.

Without looking behind her, Melanie pushed her cart back a few feet. She bumped something and turned to see what it was.

It was Brenda. Melanie’s eyes widened. How in the world did she get back there? They were face-to-face. Wow, she was good looking. Brenda looked like a Barbie-doll TV news anchor: short straight blonde hair, cut stylishly, but with a slightly wind-blown look. Blue eyes. Lips shiny with gloss. Petite. Nice boobs. Stylish even in a velveteen jumpsuit and tennis shoes. Melanie could only imagine what Brenda thought of her all-black sweatsuit and static-cling afro. Melanie mumbled, “Sorry.”  Brenda nodded an acknowledgement.

Melanie continued pushing her cart down the aisle, ready to give up this stupid stakeout. Brenda looked like a perfectly normal person. Melanie had found no evidence that anything was going on with Lin. Why chase Brenda around like she was some kind of desperate man snatcher? Why would she want Lin back anyway? She left him. It seemed absurd.

Then Brenda’s cell phone rang. The curiosity was too much for Melanie; she paused in front of the cake mixes and eavesdropped.

“Hey, baby, I was waiting for you to call,” Brenda said.

Baby? Who’s that? Melanie wondered. The doubt creeped back in. Could it be Lin?

“I’m not up to much,” Brenda said. “Just doing a little grocery shopping. What about you?”

Melanie leaned close to the shelf and closed her eyes. She still couldn’t hear the other person’s voice, so she focused on the words Brenda was speaking.

“Sure, I’d love to see you. Feel free to stop by later if you want to. I’ll be home in about half an hour.”

It was definitely a man. Brenda was being too sugary.

“Ok. We can just chill out and watch a little TV. Don’t worry, I’ll make you feel better. I’ve got a few really effective remedies up my sleeve,” Brenda said.

Feel better? Was it just a coincidence that Lin was sick today? Melanie’s ire mounted again. She wanted to shove Brenda’s flirty little head up her sleeve. It had to be Lin.

The stakeout wasn’t over yet.

Not long after, Melanie followed Brenda back to the house. However, Melanie had to abandon her parking spot by the neighbor’s house and drive further down the block; if Lin was coming, she didn’t want to have her Honda parked out front. This time, she’d have to hike to the back yard. Melanie put back on her stocking cap.

The night was chilly and damp. After just a few feet on the slippery grass, she felt water soaking through the tops of her tennis shoes. Shoulda worn boots. That was one thing she’d forgotten on her checklist. She scrunched her head down and jogged slowly through the neighbors’ yards, hiding behind trees. Melanie’s left toe caught on something, and she fell forward, smacking the ground. Ouch. She crawled to her knees; her right knee slid on something squishy and slick. Uhhh, not that. Oh, please not that! She lowered her nose to her knee, but quickly yanked her head back up. She closed her eyes, exhaled deeply, and shook her head–like she was trying shake off the smell. Disgusting.

Melanie stood and continued her trek, only this time with more care. She considered turning on her flashlight, but she was afraid of being noticed in the backyard blackness.

Finally, Melanie reached the back of Brenda’s house. A large window to the left of the patio had a clear view of the living room; the blinds were only partially shut. Melanie sidled up to the window, keeping her body pressed closely to the sandpaper-rough brick. She counted to three and then peered into the glass. It’s safe. Brenda couldn’t see Melanie. Brenda was sitting on the couch, watching T.V., with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

Melanie mentally toured the room, starting with the front door: a couple of flower-patterned couches, an entertainment center with a television, stereo, some books, and a few framed photos. A glass-topped coffee table was cluttered by magazines, books, and abandoned drinking glasses. Nothing out of the ordinary. With her binoculars, Melanie scanned the room–looking for any sign of Lin. He wasn’t in any pictures. She examined the framed snapshots: the first was Brenda standing, with a wide smile, next to two friendly-looking elderly people. Probably her parents. In another, Brenda’s arms were wrapped around the shoulders of two other blond women who looked about the same age. Brenda seemed pretty cool.

Melanie stepped away from the window. What went wrong between Lin and Brenda? From what she knew of Lin, he was a great guy, and Brenda seemed like a pretty decent person too. Melanie crossed her arms and hugged her self tightly. How could she stop the same thing from happening to her? How could she ensure that she wouldn’t get hurt?

She experienced a wave of the uneasiness that she’d felt ever since she became suspicious of Lin. Only worse. The “What If’s” bombarded her mind. She wanted to escape. She wanted to return to her comfortable, solitary life, where her biggest risk was eating a bag of fat-laden potato chips. Where her heart was safe. She missed the security of boredom.

And yet, Melanie remembered all the lonely nights, all the times she’d wished for someone to hold her. She loved being with Lin. Felt so alive. She wanted him to be a part of her life.

Melanie straightened. She was ready to be in love. She was ready to take a risk. Even if it had disastrous results, it had to be better than isolation. She inhaled the cold air deeply, savoring the crisp smell of fireplace smoke. Even if it didn’t work out with Lin, there’d be someone else. Yeah. She smiled. She’d give trust a chance. Well, after tonight anyway.

By the time the doorbell rang, Melanie couldn’t really feel her legs; the cold had made movement awkward. Melanie carefully slid to the window and watched. Brenda opened the door for someone. It was a guy. With short dark hair. Lin had short dark hair. They hugged. And kissed. Brenda kept blocking her line of sight. Finally, Melanie saw his face. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in surprise. She whispered, “No way!”

It was Lin’s best friend, Pete. Brenda was dating Pete…Melanie couldn’t believe it. She put her hand over her face and shook her head, embarrassed. Silly, silly, girl. She didn’t know what she was thinking. Some detective alright. Even Magnum would be laughing at her stupid, inflated suspicion.

When she looked up, she caught her reflection in the window. She was covered in mud. And who knows what else! She looked like the psycho stalker from “Fatal Attraction.” Now who’s the one looking the fool?

She had definitely gone overboard. Totally. But Melanie didn’t regret it. She was glad she’d stepped out. Left the comfort zone. Done something brash. Taken control of her destiny. But it had served its purpose. No more extremes. And hopefully, she looked down at her black-stained, foul-smelling pants, no more punishment.

Melanie started the trek back to her car, meandering back across the backyard jungle. She switched on her flashlight.

When I was ready to throw away my prescription receipts, I noticed how well they also told the story of healing. From 2000 to April 2002, you can see the chronic sinus problems and resulting medicine. After that date, my need for sinus medication, specifically antibiotics, dramatically reduces. I still get sick, like all healthy people do, but it is no longer a constant dread in my life. I am no longer a sick person.

3/28/00 — De-Congestine (antihistamine & decongestant)
3/28/00 — Doxycycline (antibiotic)
6/01/00 — Amoxicillin (antibiotic) & Allegra-D (antihistamine & decongestant)
7/05/00 — Biaxin (antibiotic) & Albuterol (inhaler)
7/21/00 — Zyrtec (antihistamine)
8/22/00 — Rhinocort nasal (nasal spray)*
11/21/00 — Rhinocort (nasal spray)* & Allegra (antihistamine)
1/03/01 — Allegra (Fexofenadine, antihistamine)
1/09/01 — Biaxin (Clarithromycin, antibiotic)
2/15/01 — Augmentin 875 (antibiotic)
3/14/01 — Zephrex (antihistamine)
3/14/01 — Augmentin 875 (antibiotic)
3/14/01 — Zephrex (pseudophedrine, antihistamine)
3/20/01 — Atrovent (nasal spray)
8/16/01 — Cyclobenzaprine (muscle spasms) after car accident
7/17/01 — Biaxin XL (Clarithromycin, antibiotic)
9/04/01 — Biaxin XL (Clarithromycin, antibiotic)
9/13/01 — Tobradex Ophth susp (eye med)
10/17/01 — Guaifen-Pse ER (Pseudophedrine & guaifenesin, antihistamine & decongestant)
10/17/01 — Augmentin 875 MG (antibiotic)
10/19/01 — Prednisone (steroid used to decrease severe congestion)
11/12/01 — Biaxin XL(Clarithromycin, antibiotic)
11/27/01 — Methylprednisolone (corticosteroid, steroid used to decrease severe congestion))
11/27/01 — Levofloxacin (antibiotic)
1/13/02 — Biaxin (Clarithromycin, antibiotic)
2/01/02 — Tequin (antibiotic)
2/24/02 — Biaxin (Clarithromycin, antibiotic)
3/08/02 — Guaifen-Pse ER (Pseudophedrine & guaifenesin, antihistamine & decongestant)
3/08/02 — Tequin (antibiotic)
—–
4/05/02 — Amoxicillin (antibiotic), medicine in healing story
Received healing
—–
7/02/02 — Flonase (nasal spray)*
10/22/02 — Flonase (nasal spray)*
11/20/02 — Amoxillicin (antibiotic), took for virus turned infection
May 03 — Good friend died–cried so much that I got a sinus infection
5/08/03 — Biaxin (Clarithromycin, antibiotic)
5/08/03 — De-Congestine (antihistimine)
5/12/03 — Amoxicillin (antibiotic)
5/23/03 — Amoxicillin (antibiotic)
9/23/03 — Amoxicillin (antibiotic)
10/23/03 — Nasocort (nasal spray)*
3/04/04 — Nasocort AQ (nasal spray)*
2/11/05 — De-Congestine TR (antihistamine & decongestant)
11/04/05 — Amoxicillin (antibiotic)
11/04/05 — H-C Tussive Syrup (cough syrup)
12/17/05 — Astelin (nasal spray)*
12/14/05 — Amoxicillin (antibiotic)
12/21/05 — Amoxicillin (antibiotic)
2006 — No sinus infections (as of 12/17/06)
*Nasal sprays are preventative

I stared at the pattern of the dark wood on the restaurant wall; it was the only stimulus I could handle. My brain was fogged in a sinus infection. I was on day four of an experiment in faith, and so far, the experiment was looking pretty shaky.

A few months earlier, I had joined a church-sponsored Bible study about applying faith in God to everyday situations. When I showed up the first night, the leader asked us to write down a list of specific areas where we had a desire to grow our faith—not just the easy stuff, but the things that seemed impossible.

I quickly listed: finding a husband, writing a book, and then hesitated as I wrote what seemed impossible, healing for my sinuses. It was hard to write those words on the page. I felt vulnerable and exposed as I admitted my deep desire for God to heal me.

I had wanted healing so many times before, and it had seemed as if my prayers fell on deaf ears. Would this time be different? What if I was let down again? It was daunting to believe that I could be better because chronic sickness had been a fact of life for all of my 26 years.

When I was a baby I had constant ear aches, which transitioned to sinus infections as I grew older. I became intimately acquainted with the bubble gum medicine, doctor visits, and trash cans full of crumpled tissues. Exhaustion, grogginess, and nausea became part of the normal routine. I was diagnosed with a long list of allergies, but the normal treatments didn’t work. By the time I reached college, I was having continuous sinus infections that would go on for months with no avail. The antibiotic dosages kept climbing with each occurrence, but had increasingly less impact. Finally, at age 20, after six months of misery—vomiting every morning, barely being able to smell or hear—I underwent sinus surgery.

I had a reprieve for about ten months, and I can still remember the hot tears of disappointment when I began having sinus infections again. After college, I took a job that involved traveling. I returned from every trip with the characteristic stuffy nose, pressurized head, and queasy stomach.

When I began the study on faith, I had reached the end of my rope. I was desperate to find a way to stop the infections; I was willing to do anything. But I had done everything I knew to do. I was willing to do more, but what else was there? Even the doctors were out of solutions.

I plunged into the study on faith. Brett, my soon-to-be boyfriend, and I did our homework for the course together, searching the scriptures for insight on faith and healing. The weeks passed quickly.

We examined every instance where Jesus healed — not once did He ever turn away anyone who was sick or tormented. He always healed, but He often requested that people respond to their faith by taking action. For the first time, I realized how critical it was for those seeking miracles to apply faith their faith through obedience and action.

It wasn’t long before I had the opportunity to put my faith to the test. I woke up one morning with a clogged nose and a tender throat: the classic signs of an impending sinus infection. I got the sinking feeling of doom.

My knee-jerk reaction was to call the doctor and request medicine. This was my normal strategy: race against time to stamp out the infection while it was still in the early stages. If I waited too long, I would be at the mercy of the bacteria and no amount of medicine would help. Two weeks of illness would stretch into two months.
But then I remembered everything I had learned in the faith study. If I believed that Jesus had healed me, then I needed to behave like it.

This time—for the first time—I decided to take a stand. I continued in my daily routine without any medicine, believing God’s Word of healing over the symptoms that I felt in my body. It was an experiment in faith that I hoped would prove true.
After a few days, the pressure in my head was so intense that I felt like it was going to blow up. And yet, I dragged my body out of bed, quoting the scriptures I had memorized. I floundered through the motions of life, looking pasty and feeling nauseated. I asked everyone I knew to pray, knowing that I was nearing my limit. I was about to give up.

By the fourth day, I wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep. I called the doctor and requested medicine. And yet, I still didn’t want to give up on my faith experiment yet. I wanted to come to a point first where I felt like I had stepped out and really given this healing thing a chance. So I refrained from taking the medicine and kept waiting for things to change for the better.

So there I was, staring at the wood paneling in a steak restaurant, willing myself to make it through dinner when the aroma of meat and mash potatoes turned my stomach.

As we looked at the menu, I felt despair. It seemed like my faith experiment was a wash. So far, I hadn’t had any results. I was disappointed.
Brett was sitting across from me. “What are you going to eat?” he asked, disturbing me from my depressing thoughts.

“I don’t think I can eat anything,” I said. “My stomach is unhappy.”
Instead of pitying me, his eyes got intense. “What would a healthy person order?” he challenged.

“A healthy person would order a steak and eat every bite of it!” I replied with gusto, my faith in my still unseen healing restored. “Because healthy people eat steak!!!”
I ordered a huge 12 oz. rib eye. I could only eat 3 bites, but something changed in me. I had crossed a bridge of faith, and now I knew that the experiment was over. I started feeling better during the meal, and I knew that it would not be giving up to go ahead and take the medicine. I knew at that point that I was healed, and that these infections would never dominate my life again. I didn’t have any tingling sensations or out of body experiences, but it was mysterious and wonderful all the same. I was a healthy person.

It’s been nearly three years since that day, and I no longer have chronic sinus infections. My doctors don’t know what to think. I told them about my faith experiment, and they said that research shows that there are many parts of the brain that we don’t use to its fullest extent. I just smile and thank God.

Want read more? See the facts: check out my sinus prescription history before and after I received healing.

Why did you leave His way
Leave me
Leave what we believed
And leave me to believe
By myself

It grieves me
A hallow sadness
For lost potential
Lost dreams
Lost love
Lost hope

I look into your eyes searching
for an answer
But I can’t find one

So I go on believing…
Hoping…
Knowing that someday
Someday you’ll come back

I believe. I keep on believing.