Multiple Choice Question:

When you are driving and the dessert trifle in the seat next to you tips over, you...:

A. Reach to grab it
B. Take your eyes off the road and look at it
C. Run into the neighbor's mailbox
D. All of the above

For Melissa Sturm, the answer is D. For that is exactly what I did this morning.

It's odd how the little things in life fill our minds. On Sunday morning I had two goals: don't forget my Bible (which I had done two weeks earlier) and get the trifle to the car without dropping it. I accomplished them both, only to meet the mailbox down the street a moment later. Obviously, this run-in was not on my Sunday morning agenda. Or on any agenda of any day that week...or lifetime.

I guess it's safe to say, I saved the trifle. The top didn't look perfect, but it didn't spill and tasted fine. I didn't save the mailbox, even though I swerved to avoid it when I saw it right in front of me. Nor did I save my car. At least, I didn't save the right side bumper.

If dying means you no longer think, then I died for about five seconds today. Because for that amount of time I literally thought of nothing. My Bible on the floor, the mailbox I sent flying or the car that made funny noises at me because I didn't have my clutch all the way in. When my mind finally reconnected to my body, I knew to do only one thing. I put the clutch in, shifted to reverse and backed carefully into the neighbor's driveway. I turned off the car and gathered what wits I had left. I was visibly shaken.

Now the phrase "visibly shaken" is often used by authors to exaggerate the feeling of their characters in a moment of fear or terror. But I mean it literally. I really was shaking. I shook all the way to the other side of my car where I checked out the damage. (Which, on first perusal didn't seem that bad, second look seemed much worse, final look later that day proved I got off easy...some scratches to my bumper, the side light/reflector shattered and bulb blown, the plastic covering of the light destroyed but light perfectly operable, and a slight dent in the hood.) Then I shook as I found the mailbox, picked it up and walked to the front door. I also shook while I knocked and waited for an answer.

A woman answered the knock, probably saw I was shaking and couldn't have missed the large mailbox in hand. The conversation went something like this:

"Hi. I'm sorry, I just ran over your mailbox."

"Are you all right?"

"I-I'm fine."

"Is your car all right?"

"Yeah...will need the light fixed, but it's fine. I'm just really sorry about your mailbox."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Oh, I'm all right."

Pause. The lady studies me briefly and then says, "You know, you're really very cute."

"Um, thank you."

(Upon later reflection, I determined that now I'm 30 I should be beyond "cute" but, hey, it works.)

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"Oh, I'm fine. I am just really, really sorry. I'll pay for the damages. I live just down the street."

"Oh, that's fine. I just really appreciate your honesty. That curve is awful, and more people have hit our mailbox. Usually they just leave and don't say anything. I have a teenage son. I'll get him to fix it this afternoon."

Then she gives me a hug! And I end the conversation by once more apologizing - for both the mailbox and disturbing her on a Sunday morning.

"Oh, that's fine. I'm just going to go get ready for church."

As I got back into my car, I was still shaking a bit, but it didn't last very long. I wondered how late I would be getting to church, but didn't care. (One accident is enough for one day - and one lifetime.) I wondered why I had to have a run in with a mailbox and scratch up my car. And how much was this little episode going to cost me. But, funnily enough, it never crossed my mind to shake my fist at God for this Sovereign run-in. I just shrugged, and then realized how much I had to be thankful for.

For one, the damage even with a mailbox could have been MUCH worse. In the long run, it may cost me a bit if I want to repair the bumper and all that, but up front the sole cost will be one plastic covering for a headlight and a mailbox. Secondly, it was a mailbox. It wasn't another vehicle. And I didn't harm myself or anyone else. Thirdly, the mailbox didn't fight back. For while I would have rather hit my grandfather's mailbox which is smaller, and wobbly and sits upon narrow iron bars versus the large plastic one atop a thick piece of wood I did hit; at least I didn't hit the one on the other end of the street which is entirely brick. Fourthly, the woman was very kind, understanding, and more concerned about me than her mailbox. And lastly, I can laugh about it. And laughter is a good medicine.

Fearfully and Wonderfully Made

Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them. Psalm 139:16 (ESV)

Every time I read Psalm 139, I am amazed at my Creator. It is astounding how much He thinks of me. He gave me my blue eyes, my dark hair (that started out bleach blond), my high cheekbones, every single line etched into my skin, and the dots called freckles. Everything I both like and dislike about myself, He made with loving consideration.

But as I read this Psalm today in the ESV version, I found the above verse more amazing than ever. For I truly believe in a sovereign God who knows my beginning, every day inbetween, and my end. And, yes, He knew them before I was born. But its more than He simply knew them - He has formed every single one of them.

If my math is correct, I have lived 11,145 days. And every single one of them was expressly designed moment by moment for me. The big events: 13 moves, the first day of Kindergarten, high school graduation, first job, the birth of eight siblings (and death of one), chickenpox, first car, innumerable friends, the day of my salvation...and the list continues. Or the small events: every sun rise, snowstorm and rain fall; book reports and books read; waking up and going to sleep; brushing my hair and my teeth; shopping; eating; drinking.

Just think about it for a second. In eternity past, God knew that Melissa Michele Sturm on her first day of Kindergarten some time in August of 1985 in the little town of Lewisburg, Tennessee where she lived in the upstairs of a rock house with a quilted bedspread made by her mother would stand at the end of her gravel driveway and wait for a yellow school bus that did not pick her up. Instead, a yellow school bus driven by a white haired lady realized the mistake and stopped for this little girl carrying her rainbow backpack and dressed in her favorite Strawberry Shortcake dress which her mother had made even though the said bus driver had already dropped off her load at Marshall Elementary School on the other side of town. So, Melissa Michele Sturm took the long way to school that morning (via Connelly Middle School where her parents had attended junior high "ages" ago), prayed she would not get off at the wrong school, and arrived to walk down the hall of Marshall Elementary just in time to reach her classroom. Where her teacher was Miss Cummings and where - over the next nine months - she would meet Katie Lovett (whom she still corresponds with 25 years later, although Katie is now married and the mother of two), lose her first tooth, have a boy in the class draw on her doll's head, and be introduced to Saint Patrick's Day when she did not wear green because she did not know she was supposed to and got pinched. And those are just some of the details she remembers. God ordained each of them, plus the millions she has completely forgotten. And He ordained each of them before Melissa Michele Sturm even existed. Or her parents existed. Or her grandparents. Or...you get the point.

It's very, very easy for me to forget God's ordaining grace and love. So many days, I simply focus on survival (especially in Texas). And other days, I get caught up with thinking about the future and despairing of things I hold dear - marriage, kids of my own, living among cold weather and mountains and trees, having a book published - that haven't happened and might never. Then I read Psalm 139 and marvel that I live with my head stuck in the sand and forget that my God loves me dearly, would never give me a snake for the fish I asked of Him, and NOTHING will ever happen to me that He has not already graciously ordained. Now, of course, that does not mean I will not face trials - maybe even worse than the ones I have already had - but He's seen me through them, hasn't He? And even though I wouldn't wish them on my worse enemy, I would never give up the lessons they have taught me. Because my Heavenly Father knows BEST. And He has already ordained it.

For us, surprises happen (like canceled airline tickets - long story). And they make us upset (very upset). But why? Because we forget how great our God is - and how He has formed every piece of us and our lives. And while some people might not like that fact, I treasure it. For no where else will I find a love like that.

Charm Bracelets

When I was a little girl, I loved Mom's charm bracelets. They were especially fun when the pastor decided to get a bit long winded. I believe she has three of them, and I never tired of looking at them. At one time, I probably had all the charms memorized. I knew the stories behind most of them. I found that most interesting. Even a little charm has a history - a history that tells me about my mom.

I received my first charm bracelet the Christmas I was fifteen. It was silver and had a heart already attached. Over the next ten years, I collected charms until it was full. The Christmas I was 26, I got a new one. So, I decided charm bracelet #1 would be for the first 25 years of my life. Charm bracelet #2 will be for the next 25...should I live that long.

Charm bracelets reveal a lot about their owners. A couple of girls at church and I were discussing that several weeks ago when I stopped to admire one of their bracelets. It told me she loves elephants and every year she was on a Bible drill team she had a charm made to go along with the theme. I never thought of an idea like that.

This week I was wearing charm bracelet #2, (#1 is in my dresser drawer in Indiana) and I got to thinking about what my bracelets tell about me. It's rather interesting, actually.

Charm Bracelet #1:

• 3 picture charms, one of me at age 2, one of Katey and I just after Katey was born, and one of Katey and I a couple of years later: to prove I really did have bleach blond hair! And I loved being a big sister
• flute: I played the flute for nine years
• state of Texas: I lived there - now three times
• carousel: I love carousels
• computer: I can't say I love computers, but for some reason I'm good with them
• mustard seed: to match my mom - I loved that charm on her bracelet
• engraved circle: reads "Graduation, 1998", when I graduated from highschool
• state of Rhode Island: where I was born - hooray!
• graduation cap: engraved "12/5/2005", when I graduated from college
• Sweet 16: self explanatory...and a long time ago

Charm Bracelet #2:

• Navy symbol: I was born a Navy brat - Go Navy! Beat Army!
• heart with a citrine stone: my Indian name from camp is "Conscientious Citrine"
• blue M&M guy: my initials are M.M.S.
• fall leaf: beautiful New England autumns
• Confederate flag: where all my sympathies lie, even if the South doesn't rise again

Maybe some day I'll have little girls of my own. During church when the pastor waxes eloquent, they'll finger my charms and imagine when they're grown up and can have bracelets of their own. And after church, they'll say, "Mommy, what's this one for?" And I'll smile and say, "Well, many years ago..." And remember my past and all the Lord filled it with.

Today my "baby" sister turns 17...


Happy Birthday, Charlie!

One Year

Yesterday I woke up from my Sunday afternoon nap and had no clue where I was. At first I thought I was home in New Hampshire. Then Indiana. Then camp. It took a few moments before I remembered. I’m at Grandpa’s. In the guest bedroom. Where I live – and have lived for one year now.

If you’ve read any of my blogs over the past year, you’ll know I don’t like Texas. I despise it even more now than I did when I arrived a year ago (some things do not grow on you). I won’t make out the list of all the whys Texas is so awful. Over the past month, it’s gotten worse. Maybe because it is August and every day is over 100 degrees without rain. Or maybe because brown grass adds nothing to what they have of landscape. Perhaps the things the Lord has brought into my life as late are extremely hard to deal with, I feel confused, I don’t know which direction to turn, and nothing I could say about it would change anything. It could be that next month I have to get the tags on my car renewed. (And unlike every piece of correspondence the state sends me, I don’t “Check the date, love your state”. I renew my tags because I believe laws should be obeyed – period.) Or maybe because in 23 days I will board a plane and see my family – what I wouldn’t give to be on that plane right now.

It’s just really hard to live in a place you don’t want to be. When I drive to church every Sunday, I dart right past the DFW airport. I see the planes leaving and watch them longingly, wishing I was on one of them and leaving never to return. When I drive north, I imagine my car full of my things and dream of driving over the Texas border never to see it again. But over the past year, every plane I’ve boarded has a counterpart. And the one time I drove over the Texas border, a week later tears came to my eyes as I drove right back.

But while I could list complaints until the cows come home, the truth is the Lord has given me ten things to rejoice in for every one I cry over. My tennis skills have improved – a bit. I’ve spent hours with my friend Jenny, whether walking all over her neighborhood, or watching movies, or shopping, or going out to eat. The Lord truly answered my prayer with a good church, where I know all of two people rather well but the Word is preached, the old hymns sung, and fellowship is sweet. Other friends have had me out to coffee, lunch or whatever. I have had a good place to live. And even though I could do my job in my sleep, it is a good job. I get paid well, my boss is good to me, and the people I work with are great, kind, patient, appreciative and have become friends. My writer’s critique group has been an encouragement to me, for even though I don’t have as much time to write as I would like, it spurs me to write something and have a bit of confidence that I can write decently. Besides, it’s nice to spend a few hours with people as crazy as I am. For if it is insane to want something nearly impossible to achieve, then at least I have company in my insanity. It has even snowed! And, every day, I survive. By God’s grace and strength, 365 days in Texas have been accomplished. Not perfectly, but I can stand and witness God’s mercy in them all.

And I can praise God for His promises and reminders that He does have his eye on this little sparrow. A few weeks ago, I was up early and out pounding the sidewalks. (If you want to avoid some of the heat, early rising is necessary.) The moon was full and surrounded by dark, rainless clouds. And between these clouds and the light of the moon, rainbows twinkled through the darkness. I’d never seen anything like it, and I will never forget it. A show of God’s promises.

Yesterday evening on my way back to Grandpa’s from church, I was praying and crying. The Lord had reminded me of much that day, and I had a lot to think about. I wasn’t feeling on top of the world – more like buried under the ocean. I turned a corner and there it was: a rainbow. No rainclouds – just sun – and a rainbow. I followed it for fifteen or twenty more minutes, reminded that my God hears, and knows, and doesn’t let anything happen to me He will not see me through. And, yes, it may be hard. But as the pastor said that evening, “God isn’t out to make His children happy. He wants to make them holy.”

Be still, my soul: thy Jesus can repay from His own fullness all He takes away.

~ from the hymn “Be Still, my Soul” by Katharina A. von Schlegel

Facebook

So I decided this week that if I got a nickel for every time someone told me to get a Facebook, I could quit my job, move back to NH and be quite happy living on my nickeled-income for the rest of my life. Because - NO - I am not on Facebook.

You might say I'm a freak of my generation, but that isn't so. For if you recall the history of Facebook, its a few years behind me. When I was first introduced to this "great" thing, I was at camp surrounded by college students. They all had Facebooks, but I could not. Why? I was finished with college and it was only for college students. Case closed.

And so why don't I have a Facebook now? Do I have moral holier-than-thou reasons? Not really. The truth is, I simply haven't the time. I'd get the silly thing and it would sit for months with no activity. Then I would feel like I have to catch up every time I logged in. I'd rather be reading a good book.

The Facebook question comes up at almost every writer's critique meeting I go to lately. One lady there - an illustrator - is using it to hook up with other writers, editors, agents, illustrators, etc. She doesn't push her work on them, but if they friend her they see the art she's posted, and she can chat with them. Truly, it is a tempting reason to use Facebook. But I got a Twitter account for the same reason and have been on it, um...once over the past six months. A lot of good that's doing me.

"Of course," Kelly continued this past week as she pitched Facebook as a publishing tool onto us, "not all the agents or editors want to be my friend. At first, it hurt when they rejected me. But I don't care much now. I've got lists of agents and editors to find on there."

"You mean Facebook is another way to get rejected?" Karen, who has Facebook but never uses it, asked sarcastically. "I could add all that to my pile of rejection slips. I just love getting rejected!"

And since rejection has become a daily occurrence in my life over the past three or four weeks, maybe I have good reason to get a Facebook account. Pile it on!

Titles

Titles are really fascinating things. They tell us more than we realize. For instance, the titles given to people: Mr. (which is very general), Mrs. (for married women), Miss (for unmarried women), Dr. (for who knows what exactly these days as you can a doctorate in anything under the sun) and Ms. (which just tells you how depraved we are when women don’t want to be considered married even if they are). And, if you’re in England, there is duke, lord, king, queen, prince and all those lovely royal titles. For those who love college, there are all kinds of letters you can tag on to the end of your name which the rest of us can’t interpret but that’s okay if writing out half the alphabet makes you happy.

Books are the same way. Think about the famous titles of books we all know:

The Grapes of Wrath: This is a tale about people during the Dust Bowl of the west which occurred during the Great Depression. But with a title like that, I used to think it was a murder mystery that occurred in a vineyard.

Wuthering Heights: In America this title confuses us because we don’t use the word “wuthering” as the British do. It is a term used to describe the sound of the wind whipping across the moors. Thus, this book occurs out in the middle of the moors of England. Most of us also know it is an epic romance of Catherine and Heathcliff. But if you have read it, you know it is the awful tale of passionate love gone awry and deadly revenge. It’s awful. If you must read a Bronte, read Jane Eyre.

Of Mice and Men: A classic because of its title more than its contents. It’s a tragic story of two migrant workers, but it’s easy to imagine it might be about rodents and their owners, or lab creatures and scientists, or even men who are scared of tiny, furry animals.

Richard II and III, Henry IV, V, VI and VIII: Pretty self explanatory. Each play is about the man of the title. Shakespeare had a lot of creativity, but not when it came to entitling plays about kings. He also didn’t have a titling committee at his publishing company.

I’m sure you can think of hundreds of other titles that are intriguing, self-explanatory, practical or even bizarre. But have you ever met one that made you laugh? I did on Saturday at a used bookstore in town. And with a title like that, it was worth plucking down four dollars. I just hope the book is as good as the title:

The Faceless Fiend: Being a Tale of a Criminal Mastermind, His Masked Minions and a Princess with a Butter Knife, Involving Explosives and a Certain Amount of Pushing and Shoving

Day Off!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So, I am taking today off from work. It's the first time I've done this for anything besides a holiday or vacation to some other state. But the timing is perfect. Grandpa is up in Indiana, so the house is as quiet as a tomb. And I'm about ready to scream from being in an office day, after day, after day.

But what is Melissa going to do with her day off? The primary reason for it is to actually accomplish some writing projects (like editing, and rewriting, and writing letters to publishers so at least they're ready to be mailed when the first chapters are done). But, hey, there's lots of other things to do to enjoy your day off:

• Have a friend over for dinner last night, play Scrabble and watch a movie
• Stay up until midnight - nearly falling asleep on the couch even though Bob Hope is funny
• Sleep late (well, until just after eight...)
• Stay in pajamas until nearly eleven
• Dress in a t-shirt and capris - no nice slacks, skirts, or blouses!
• Write, write, write - imagine, imagine, imagine
• Wash and vacuum car (okay, it's work, but there's just something satisfying about a clean car...)
  
• Have another friend over for dinner and a movie tonight
• Not even think about work!
• Read, read, read
  

Tall Tales of Texas

Yes, Texans drive me crazy – for many reasons. At the top of that list is their inflated pride. Only in Texas do you see bumper stickers that read, “I wasn’t born in Texas, but I got here as soon as I could.” I want one that reads, “I wasn’t born in Texas, and you couldn’t pay me enough to stay.”

So I really had to laugh this Sunday when I was reading the newspaper. I came across an article on O. Henry, the famous short-story writer renowned for his surprise endings. The writer of the article was lamenting that the 100^th anniversary of O. Henry’s death was not celebrated in Texas this past June. It certainly should have been, the writer declared, for was not O. Henry practically a Texan? I think the writer just wanted him to be one.

The fact is that O. Henry spent only sixteen or so of his forty-seven years in Texas. That’s about one-third of his life. Granted, the highlights of his life occurred in Texas. He married, had two children (one whom died in infancy) and supposedly embezzled funds from the bank he worked for in Austin which sent him to prison in Ohio for several years. After that, he never came back to Texas. I don’t blame him.

Another fact is that of O. Henry’s 274 stories, 43 of them take place in Texas. The writer of the article pointed that out as if it was so great thing for the state of Texas, but perhaps he didn’t do the math on that. That’s a mere 16% of his stories. And it doesn’t include O. Henry’s most famous “The Gift of the Magi”. And, actually, the most poignant thing O. Henry had to state about Texas is not very flattering. He warned tourists who might come here in August: “Take up your scalpyouler, and sever the jugular vein, cut out the brachiopod artery and hamstring him, after he knows what you have done for him he will rise up and call you blessed." Amen.

If you ask me, it’s no wonder the 100^th anniversary of O. Henry’s death came and went without comment (except probably in literary circles) in the state of Texas. But Texas is like that. They borrow heroes where they can find them, chalk them up as Texans and hope nobody notices.

For instance, did you know that the Texas State Capitol building is the tallest in America? This is because of the Goddess of Liberty statue which graces the top of its dome. Originally installed as the building was completed in 1888, it was replaced with an aluminum replica in 1986 so the original would not fall off and be destroyed. When it came time to place the replica on top, no helicopter company could be found in all the grand state of Texas to do so. They had to call a crew from Tennessee. Of course, it would never do to have Tennesseans put a statue on the top of the Texas capitol. So, they were sworn in as Texas citizens for the day.

I guess the powers to be forgot that Tennesseans gave them their beloved state. Davy Crockett was born there and Sam Houston considered that state his own, although born in Virginia. Texas’s other heroes? William Barrett Travis was from South Carolina, Jim Bowie from Kentucky and Stephen Austin (“The Father of Texas”) hailed from Virginia. Even the Bush family is not from Texas. Both junior and senior were born in New England.

Naturally, borrowing history is not purely a Texas thing. How many places along the east coast boast “Washington Slept Here”? I just wish Texas would remember that it doesn’t have the monopoly on greatness. It doesn’t have to claim every famous person that walked through its desert as Texan. It might want to stop and consider that without America, it wouldn’t be. For the armies who came to fight against Mexico did not consider themselves Texans. They fought for America. And, later, they fought America’s Civil War. O. Henry didn’t write to glorify Texas. He is an American author. And, if I’m ever famous, the only thing Texas gets is a credit as a stomping ground – literally.