The Unraveling of a Yellow Shirt

I have this favorite shirt that I wear all the time. It’s yellow (my favorite color), fits me perfectly (just lost some weight so yay), and has pretty detail on the front. The problem is, the pretty detail has begun to unravel. I haven’t snagged it on anything so the culprit can only be the washing machine. And while I admittedly wear it more than perhaps intended, they knew it was going to be washed when they made it, so why didn’t they make it stronger, more durable?

Yesterday while sitting at my desk wondering how I would make it through every day without my Christopher, I began to question God in the same manner. Why didn’t he make my heart more durable? Isn’t this what it was made for? To love? To express kindness and allow people to become close to you? So why I ask you does it come unraveled so easily? Admittedly I may use mine more than his average creation but still, he knew. He knew and he should have made my heart stronger, me stronger.

But he didn’t. So I feel unraveled and hope someone has a needle and thread. I’ll be needing it.

Wait Till Helen Comes

When I was in..oh I think it was about fourth grade the mobile book fair came to my school. I remember the smell of new books mixing with fumes from the bus when I stepped in. I had read a few things before that, I think perhaps a Judy Bloom novel or two. My eyes scanned the rows and I was just about to settle for a unicorn bookmark when the cover of a book caught my eyes. It was Wait Till Helen Comes by Mary Downing Hahn. I had to have it.

“It’s going to scare you,” my teacher told me.

And holy crap she was right. It scared the crap out of me and God help me, I loved it. Every second of it. Every word and flip back to the cover to study the little ghost girl’s profile, making sure I had the right images in my head because that’s where the story was playing out. The words were making a movie in my head.

That pretty much did it for me. There was no turning back. I read everything I could get my hands on and yes, I had a tendency to get my hands on the paranormal books. To this day, I can’t pass up the opportunity to be scared half to death, whether it is by a movie, or the movie in my head. If you ask me if I believe in ghosts I will say no. Do I believe in the paranormal sightings people claim to have? No. But I want to and I wish I did.

Maybe that’s why I write about these things. Because I hope that one day, it won’t be fiction I am writing. I’ll be telling a true story, that happened to me.

Photobucket