The night at Harris Teeter

Last Thursday night I had an experience while grocery shopping. I’m not sure if this particular experience captures me, or answers any deep questions about who I am, but it most certainly paints a picture. It snaps a photograph. It shares some insight, perhaps, into a typical day in my life.

Harris Teeter welcomed me as I briskly stepped in from the awfully wet and freezing night. Only a few items on my grocery list, I headed toward the bread isle with an incredibly naive sense of efficiency. I was sure to be in and out in 20 minutes if I stayed focused and strictly avoided the vast selection (ie. Bermuda Triangle) of cookies on Aisle 4.

Bread. As I made my way past the organic vegetables and spun my cart around the corner, I noticed a young, attractive, well-dressed couple having an intelligent discussion about the differences of whole wheat and whole grain. My bread was at the other end of the aisle, so I followed standard Harris Teeter etiquette and politely smiled.

“Excuse me,” I said sweetly and easily pushed my cart past theirs. As I did this I noticed that the woman had peacock feathers in her hair.

I began scanning the shelves, and just as I reached for my honey wheat, I was suddenly surprised by the gentle placement of a hand on my shoulder. I spun around to find myself facing the husband of the peacock lady.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, raising his brows to emote his deep concern. “This is our first time in a grocery store.”

I quickly began laughing at the absurdity of his comment, assuming that he must have been joking. When I finally noticed that his concern only worsened the more I laughed, I became greatly confused. Is he serious? Sarcastic maybe? He continued to stare at me. Awkward. I smiled again, and wheeled my cart away. I was thrown off, but had not lost my motivation to get out of the store in a timely fashion.

Next on the list: Soup. Aisle 7.

As I stood in awe of the wall of cans, hoping to see something new and intriguing, around the corner of the isle came an old man, slowly pushing an empty grocery cart. He was a black man, short and stocky, and wore on his head a type of African tribal hat (or so I assumed).

“Hello,” I said, as I smiled and made room for him in the isle.

“Hello!” He replied emphatically in a thick African accent. “Are you from France?”

I was confused. “France?! Haha, no,” and thinking I was funny said, “Are you from France?!”

“Oh no no!” He chuckled, “No, Ah am from Connecticut.”

“Oooooooooo ok,” I nodded my head as if it all made sense.

“Oh, yes” he laughed and put his hand on my cart. “Ah almost died der’.”

I’m sorry... I was no longer interested in the time. “Whaaat..How did you almost die there!?”

“Well,” he sighed, “One day, Ah just jumped into de’ lake. And den’ Ah was like ‘AHHH!’” With this, the man wildly flailed his arms and reenacted his fear of drowning in the middle of Aisle 7.

I was indeed intrigued. “Why did you jump into the lake?!”

“Well,” he replied now exasperated, “it was so HOT!”

I tried to understand. “Was it too deep? Do you not know how to swim?”

Laughing, the man waved. “Of course Ah can swim! No, no, it was so hot so Ah jumped into de’ lake...” He raised his brows as he leaned in. “…and mah’ feet got stuck in de’ mud!”

With this, the man turned and waved, laughing as he disappeared into the frozen food section. He just left me there, with nothing but bread in my cart. Typical. Again, I was thrown off.

Moonlight

I wrote this story when I was a freshman in high school. I just had to put it up here, for memory's sake. It's always fascinating to read things I wrote a long time ago. It makes me see what time can do to a person. I think I've changed...a little anyways:)

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Driving...on and on. My mom was behind the wheel and I was in the passengers seat. We were out there on the plains of Texas, where cartoons of roadrunners, dust devils, rattlesnakes and tumbleweeds come to life on the edge of the road. We would sometimes pass an oilrig that had been pumping and working forever, grateful for anyone to recognize its hard work. And though mirages are never as convincing as you want them to be, anyone riding with us that day would have sworn they saw howling coyotes and Natives riding away on horseback.

The distance, a truly magnificent phenomena, seemed to sharpen to a point defined by land and sky. And the sky was somewhere between baby blue and gray, full of lazy clouds and warm air. The daze of the road numbed my mind…causing me to focus on the white blinking line in the middle of the lonely highway. There was a haze that sifted that forward void through our car, melted the moment over my 12-year-old body and then dumped it on the road behind us. My surroundings were never different, but always changing…a truly indefinable and shaky present. The static on the radio was an obvious sign of isolation and surrender to the road. We were at its mercy, impatiently waiting for it to take us somewhere exciting.

Sometime between minutes the gray turned grayer; the light disappeared and created dark silhouettes of plateaus in strange mystic shapes against the night sky. There was a time when I could not tell what was silhouetted against what, as if the earth and sky competed in deep blacks and blues. This competition had an audience of stars, cheering and waving in the night. The scene was lovely, but after a while, I could not force my eyes to work any longer, and my lids began to set upon my cheeks.

Suddenly, an intruding brightness peeked through the seam in the distance. At first I was confused.

“Mom, turn off the light please.”

But I got no answer. I reluctantly opened my eyes…rubbed them…blinked, and then rubbed again. Much to my amazement the brightness got brighter…and larger. Rising before my eyes was an astonishing dome of fire in the sky. It was like a swirl of burnt orange and red ink, and I knew it was larger and more powerful than me, the car I was in, and the world I was on. It was absolutely unreal.

“What is that?!” I asked startled.

“I have no idea,” answered my mom, completely speechless until this moment.

By now my eyes had totally forgotten about their weight, standing wide and awake, and I could feel the soft tickle of lashes under my eyebrows. I sat slumped and leaning on the edge of my seat, striving to decipher the image before me.

“Is it a water tower all lit up or something? Did an oilrig catch on fire? Is it Jupiter? Is the world ending??” No matter what I did to understand, I couldn’t. And then, just to make the situation more confusing, the fireball lifted off the horizon and completed its giant circle. Finally my mom dared to speak the last thought in my mind.

“Lindsey, I think that’s the moon.”

The moon?! There was absolutely no way that that enormous deadly creature in the sky could be the moon. I mean, had she ever seen the moon look like that before? Had anyone? I knew I sure hadn’t. But as the minutes passed we watched dumbfounded, as the fire rose higher and higher in the sky, gradually losing its color. Its brightness, however, lit up the night with an inevitable glow that invaded my vision even behind closed eyes.

Then I opened them. The moon now hung like an old friend, white and familiar in the sky above. Amazed, I knew I couldn’t forget what I’d witnessed.

“Wow, I can’t wait to tell my friends about how weird that was.”

My mom glanced over at me with a grin.

“The moon sure is gorgeous tonight isn’t it sleepy head?”

I nodded. Until then I was always sure of what was real. My life made sense, my days were always equal, and nothing ever changed. But something of a smile crossed my face that night as I realized the deep pillow crease in my cheek, the sudden loss of time, and the wavering image of a coyote howling in the distance.

Deception

The dark box beckoned. I held my breath, and cautiously inched my hand deep into the shadowy unknown. I curled my fingers slowly and pulled the unidentified object into the light. Gasp. I held it in my hands like the flag of the enemy. It was Jane Magazine.

**********************************************************

I loved Belmont in July. The day was thick and lazy. The campus was bright and calm. Warmth was always something I could count on. The afternoon lull had sucked me into my term paper for Educational Psychology, and my room was just quiet enough to hear the clocks ticking.

KNOCK KNOCK!

“Oh, Geez!” My shoulders jolted and sent my hands flying high above my computer.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!!

“I-HEAR-YOU!!” I shook my head and leapt out of the $9.99 Target office chair that had held me for the past two hours. File…and...Save.

I dreamily made my way to the door of my Hillside apartment, wondering if it was ok to still be dressed in pajamas. Wouldn’t be the first time, I thought, assuming I would soon be facing an R.A.

“Yes?” I stuck my head around the door and acknowledged an appealing, well-tanned young guy. He grinned.

“Hello!” He said with a mysterious accent. “How are you today?”

I cracked a smile. “I’m fine thank you…How are you?”

“Oh I’m wonderful Dear, just wonderful. What a beautiful day, the sun is out. Mmmm Mmmm!”

“Yep, it’s nice.”

“Yea, Sweetie. Now, tell me dear, where are you from?”

“New Orleans,” I answered proudly.

“Ah! Ok, ok…” He cocked his head and squinted. “Can you guess where I’m from?” he asked.

“Oh gosh,” I said pathetically, hoping to worm my way out of sounding ignorant. He didn’t budge. “Um, ok….Russia?” It was a shot in the dark, but I tried.

“Aw, so close.” He swung his hand out and patted my shoulder. “I’m from Bosnia.”

“Ah…” I nodded like Bosnia was my second guess.

“Listen Sweetie,” he kept calling me Sweetie, except it sounded more like ‘swittie’ with that accent. He leaned in as I stood wedged between the door and the door frame. Something something...he’s a foreign student…something about a competition…word word…scholarship program…something… raising points and magazines. I nodded and maintained eye contact, hoping he didn’t notice my inability to follow.

“May I borrow your table?” he asked, and he gently pushed passed me. He pulled from his pocket a pen and paper and casually sat himself at the kitchen counter. “What’s your name, Babe?”

“Lindsey Wells,” I shot out.

“Address, telephone number, and birthday?”

Again, I answered.

“Alright, for Jane Magazine…that will be $60.”

Wait…CONFUSION!! Was he was joking? Surely he was. I waited for the punch line...

“You can pay with cash, credit card, or check.”

I was not amused. “I’m sorry; I didn’t realize you were selling magazines.” I began to feel badly that I had wasted his time. “I can’t buy anything today.”

His grin vanished as sneakily as it appeared. “Why not??”

It seemed like an inappropriate question, but I answered it anyway. “Well, I don’t have $60 at the moment. I’m sorry.”

“But I haven’t seen my family in three years!” His stretched his head forward and gripped the table with both hands.

Ok…what? I had no idea. Did he say that already? This was a serious lack of communication. “Look, if I had the money, I would love to give it to—”

“Oh don’t say that!” He lunged off the stool. “If you really cared you would help me.”

I sensed that this was going somewhere bad. I tried to put an end to it. “Hey, I’m a poor college student too and I don’t have $60 just lying around.”

“You can pay with a check.”

“I’m out of checks.”

“Well what about a credit card?”

“No!” I couldn’t believe it. “I’m sorry but I’m not gonna give you my credit card number.”

“Why not?!”

“Because it’s unsafe!”

“Unsafe?!” he bent the word with his expression and shoved his hand into his pocket. “Everyone else gave me money!” He said, spilling a handful of cash and checks on the table. I stayed silent.

“Do you think that I walked around all day in the hot sun just to cheat people out of their money?” He bent to look me in the eye. “I believe in JESUS!”

There is a screaming Bosnian in my kitchen. I thought fast. “Ok, how about this. I will go to an ATM and get you cash.”….ie. Drive away and come back with the police.

“How long would that take you?”

The nerve. I felt my face heat & answered through clenched teeth. “Fifteen minutes.”

“Isn’t there an ATM on campus?”

Danggit. There was no escape. I just wanted him out of my apartment! He left me no choice but to go with him. “Yes…Let’s go.” I snatched my keys, shooed him out the door. We began walking.

The silence was painful and scary. I had to do something. “Sooo…Bosnia.” No response. “Why haven’t you been there in three years?”

He refused to look at me. “I came here for school.”

“Oh that’s cool,” I tried to lighten the hostility.

“I do have to say,” he stopped and turned toward me, “that you Americans are spoiled.”

Choosing to ignore. “And what family do you have in Bosnia?” I kept walking.

“Mom, Dad, a brother and sister. Last time I saw my brother was when I left for the war.”

“You fought?”

“Yes, in Bosnia you are forced to fight in the war when you turn seventeen.” Wow. We arrived at the exit gate of the apartment complex. I pushed the button and pulled the iron bars. Nothing. The gate wouldn’t open.

“How do we get out of here?”

“Well, when the gate doesn’t work, I do this.” In one smooth perfected motion, I fell onto the grass and slid head first beneath the gate. I was on the other side in record time.

“You’ve got to be joking,” he wrinkled his forehead.

“Nope! Do you want your money or not?”

He unenthusiastically bent toward the grass, the whole time producing sounds of exasperation. He eventually wriggled underneath the gate and sprung up, spastically shaking off imaginary bugs. “Is there anything on me?!” he whimpered.

“You’re fine. Come on.”

He was already thanking me when we arrived at the ATM. He handed me a yellow receipt that he had decorated with a smiley face. “Thank you, you don’t know what this means to me” he said, and hugged me. “Go to this website if you have any problems or don’t receive your magazines.”

I nodded and sadly forfeited the money. “You’re welcome.”

*****************************************************

I retraced our steps and arrived back at my apartment. Still in my pajamas, I sat back in my chair and faced the computer. I couldn’t help it. I had to go to the website on my receipt. The clocks ticked as I anticipated the truth…

“Desperate, young magazine peddlers are out there, roaming America in search of the next sucker.
Have you been conned?”

I glared at the screen. This was a new type of deception. I sat in disbelief in my peaceful apartment as the smiley face gleamed and gloated up at me. Sometimes it’s every man for himself. But sometimes you get what you pay for.

Idol Generation

So for those of you that don't know....I am a teacher. A brandnewstillfeellikebabymyselfandsometimesgetfunnylooksbecausepeoplethinkimastudent teacher. I don't know what happened between may (Belmont graduation) and august (good morning students my name is Miss Wells)...but my life has taken a HUGE swirve into grown-up land. The Music Education program at Belmont was absolutely amazing, don't get me wrong. It was what ignited the passion in me to teach in the first place. But I've realized that all of the observations and case studies and interviews and education classes in the world can NEVER fully prepare you for your first year of teaching. It's one of those things you have to learn by doing...and when you have an hour on the clock, and a room full of 20 seventh graders staring at you....it's sink or swim.

Things that I've learned so far (12 weeks of experience and counting)...

1. You must specify everything. Tell a middle schooler to sit down, and they will sit on the floor. Tell them to sit in a chair, and they will sit on the highest stacked chair in the corner of the room. Your commands must be iron-clad....something like, "Bob...in 3 seconds I want you to be seated in this chair with your feet on the floor and facing my direction."

2. Kids want to hate you more than they actually do. Get them to crack a smile...and you're in the club.

3. Kids know alot. More than they are given credit for.

4. My degree entitles me to alot more than a paycheck. People actually trust me to educate their children. AND I get to spend more time with their kids than they do. Crazy.

5. There will never....EVER be a dull day in middle school.

ANYWAYS... the whole reason I even began this post is this: Talent show 2009. We just had auditions tonight, and I was a judge! I can't tell you how weird it is to sit on the judging side of the audition table. I have spent the last 10 years of my life being on the OTHER side. Knees shaking, clearing my throat, trying to remember the words, looking into the judges' eyes for any hint of affirmation. And there I was....seeing myself in every shaky, breathless, vulnerable little body. I tried my absolute best to shine the light of Jesus out of my face during every audition. I wanted them to know that I thought they were wonderful. That they were talented. Mostly, that they were loved. And no joke...I am beginning to fall seriously in love with these kids. And if they get anything from me at all...I hope, I really hope they know that much.

Maybe its because they've grown up in the American Idol era....maybe it's because they live in Williamson County. Maybe it's because they all have vocal coaches and their parents have gold records hanging in the hall. All I know is, these kids are GOOOD. The amount of talent they possess at 12, 13, and 14 is unreal to me. Way ahead of me at that age, anyway. And still...they are kids. They are in such need of me...and my "good job."

Thank you God for providing me with a job that blesses and fulfills. I am amazed at what you are doing in and through these kids, and that you allow me to be a part of it. I love you Lord and praise you for them! Do incredible things this year in me, these kids, my fellow teachers, and Page middle as a whole. I love you so much! Amen.

love life

A preface:

Several months ago I decided to end my cable subscription. After lots of thought and prayer and fasting (insert smiley here) I came to the realization that cable tv is in no way healthy for me. I felt that I would be much more creative and insightful if there was one less procrastination method available to me in my house.

And so it ended.

It wasn't two weeks until I had worn out every DVD I owned. Deleted scenes, with and without commentary, trailers, stupid trivia quizzes...you name it. I quickly realized that I am nothing but an entertainment addict...ravaging the cabinet for just one more case of love.

And there it stood. My muscles relaxed at the sight of "It's a Wonderful Life" tucked quietly behind the other DVDs. It was as if it was waiting for me.

So on that thick August night...I forced myself into the Holiday Spirit, and began sympathizing with George Bailey and his financial woes. That movie really is one of my favorites ever. It wasn't until Clarence the Angel showed up that I realized how it epitomizes one of the most destructive sentiments of my entire life. Let me explain...

George Bailey is a man at the end of his rope...feeling hopelessly sorry for himself, and minutes from taking his own life. While standing on a ledge....an Angel named Clarence appears, and strives to convince him that his life is not all that bad.

"I should have never been born" George snaps at the old angel.

With the OK from the boss (insert winky here), Clarence begins to show George exactly what would have happened to everyone had he never existed. The distressing journey shows George's friends and family poor, lonely, and depressed having never known him.

Finally George turns to Clarence and demands to see Mary, his wife. "Where's Mary, Clarence? Take me to Mary!"

"No! I can't George! Don't make me! It's too awful!!" (Insert tense music here)

"You must Clarence! I have to see MARY!"

"Ok George" the old man angel resigns with tears in his eyes, "but I warned you!!!!"

The angel then takes George to the darkened stoop of the public library, where Mary, now old and haggard turns to lock the door.

"Clarence!!! What happened to her?!?!!" George cries in terror.

"OH George!" Drum roll! Brass! Violins! "She never married!.....She's an OLD MAID!!!!!" LIGHTING STRIKES!!! Screams! Fainting! Horror...the HORROR!!!

Now lets take a look at Mary before George's meltdown:

And after...

Exactly. I just needed you to get that in your head first. Maybe you'll have a bit more understanding of me and my slight aversion to single life. enjoy:)

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Oh, love life. To even mention it makes me squirm. But everyone always asks...and I know you want to know too. So here goes.

I am...as one of my girlfriends so eloquently put it....a perpetually single girl. Born to pine and sigh. I've never been good at dating. I rarely find anyone I want to give the kind of time and emotional energy to. And yet...I find myself pouring even more energy into wishing and wanting than actually having.

Maybe I have unrealistic expectations. All I know is that I am constantly wondering if this is the day I'll find that guy. It's exhausting.

Yesterday a newly married friend of mine talked about the importance of independence. She said that marriage brings two people together in EVERYTHING. What she spends money on. Where she goes. When she goes. What she does. Everything. She always will have someone to answer to.

When I asked another friend's perspective, she simply asked me, "Why do we all want to get married so badly? Why are we in such a rush? Think about it...you have to share a living space with someone for the rest of your life. You have to have a smelly boy in your bed forever. You shouldn't want to be married unless you find someone you want that WITH."

And I haven't found someone I want that with. So good point. When you put it that way...I don't know that I'm ready for marriage. I do want someone to share my life with. But I also want to be free to do anything and everything. I'm pretty dadgum independent...

God, wherever you want to send me. Whatever you want to do with my life. Do it, Lord.

Help me settle into your heart. Help me trust your plan, whatever it might be.

I have no idea why you have chosen me to be single right now. You do say in your word that those who are unmarried are so useful to you...because of their freedom. If anything, I don't need more obstacles in the way of following you anywhere.

Would you show me how my singleness is of great use to you? I know that you know my heart. You know exactly what I want, and what's best for me. You know me well, but I seem to have forgotten you. Your love for me is limitless. You created me for a purpose. You want to fill me with joy and make my life spectacular. You never withhold or harm or deny me the good things.

I want to see how my singleness is a beautiful, glorious, incredible gift from God. Show me that. Let me rejoice in the life you have given me. Give me joy and peace and patience and understanding.

I love you Lord.

Amen.

I have the craziest dreams ever.

And I have a favorite. About two summers ago I dreamt that I had been given a beautiful, old, leather-bound book that I could not wait to read. It was very mysterious...rough to the touch. It smelled like thousands of people...living rooms, hotel lobbies, train cars, buggies....still mornings and lonely afternoons. I remember I held it with such excitement...the kind you can only have as a kid.

So I sat down on the couch in my dingy, sonotmysteriousinanyway college apartment and I opened it...carefully as I could. I listened to the crackle of its spine and breathed in the must. And on the pages...every word was handwritten. Not like cheesy Thomas Jefferson calligraphy. No...this handwriting was more like the letters Great Aunt Ruby sent from her vacation to Niagra Falls in the 1950s. It was personal...very genuine...and glittered with a sense of whimsy and vintage romance.

After all my feeling, breathing, imagining, mentally and emotionally preparing....I finally flipped to the first page of script and....KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK! ...the door. Sigh...I walked over and opened it to find my friend Samantha. She stood there, in all her trendy friend glory, and something in me decided to pull the book out from behind my back and hand it to her.

"Wow!" She took hold of the book with the greatest of care.

"I want you to read this...and bring it back to me when you're done."

So she did...and I soon found her at my door again, with a gigantic smile and younger looking eyes. "What happened?!" I could tell that Samantha had not just read the book...she had experienced it.

"Ok...it was so cool!!" She led me to the couch where we sat down. "There was this part of the book where the character was walking through an enchanted forest. And the whole time she was searching for 'the Step' until she finally found it! It's like this little wooden block that was hidden under a root of some tree. And it glowed!! And when she found it, she set it on the mossy ground, stepped onto it with one foot, leaned forward and BAM!!!"

"BAM what?!?!" I was totally hooked.

Samantha looked me dead in the eye..."I was HER!!!!" She stood up to make better use of the room. "I was walking around barefoot in the forest with a flowy gown! And everything was iridescent colors like green and purple and blue...and there were moonbeams and dragonflies and enormous trees! It was like the Step opened a window into the story...and I ENTERED INTO THE BOOK myself!!! You have GOT to read it."

She slapped the book onto my lap and threw her purse around her shoulder in one quick swoop. "Let me know what happens when you do!"

And out she went. I sat on the sofa hyperventilating.

After several minutes of rationalizing...I lifted my hand to open the book's front cover. No sooner had I touched the leather than...

"KNOCK KNOCK!!"

Bah! I went to the door.

"Hey how's it goin....WOA! What's that?!" It was my friend Shanti. And nothing on God's green earth could peel her hands from that book. So...I let her take it...and told her to bring it back when she was done.

And so she did...and I soon found myself back on the sofa, listening.

"Lindsey..." Shanti lowered her voice to intensify the moment. "This book...KNOWS the heart of it's reader. AND...it can give you the things you want most deeply."

I leaned my head in slowly and widened my eyes. Ooookaaay...

"Like me for instance...I love to read in between the lines." I knew this about Shanti...she loves to be perceptive.

"Like look..." She opened the book to a random page. There was the original Great Aunt Ruby handwriting...until suddenly...it began to FADE! I watched frozen, as a new, unfamiliar, more rigid and uncomfortable handwriting began to appear between the original lines.

"FReaKy!!!!"

"I Knoooow!!!!" She slammed the book shut and put it on my lap. "You have GOT to read it!"

She stood up and out the door she went.... "Bye!"

Hyperventilating. 1...2...3...

...aaaaand..."KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!"

Lauren.

wow cool book.

Thanks, here.

omg. let's discuss it on the sofa.

This time the book was placed in my lap to begin with. "Lindsey, when you're done reading this book...you have to re-write it in your OWN words! Like this, watch."

Lauren opened the book to a new page, took a pen, and began to write over the original handwriting. I watched as the old words began to fade under hers.

"See? Here....You have GOT to read it!" And out the door again.

Knowing that the cycle would continue, I too decided to leave my apartment, and walked out the door. I took the book to a park bench, settled into a comfortable position, opened it to the very first page, and....

woke up. After all that...I never actually got to read the book.

But I did experience something awesome. An unworldly adventure. And excitement that I hadn't felt since childhood.

That's why its my favorite.