Grocery Store Grace

 

I’m devouring Michelle DeRusha’s book, Spiritual Misfit: A Memoir of Uneasy Faith. Seriously hoping MD writes a hundred more memoirs for me to laugh my way through and reflect upon. I love the way Michelle writes. (More on this another day.)

In Spiritual Misfit Michelle depicts some grocery story accounts that hit close to home. I’m talking baseball ball cracking the window to smithereens close to home. Michelle shares of a run in with an intrusive woman at the grocery store she’s dubbed Owl Spectacles. Good ole OS has a thing or two to say about Michelle’s children.

Man, have I been there.

Picture this. I’m hustling my youngest (three at the time) into Stop & Shop to buy lettuce. Yup, that’s all I needed. I agreed to bring a salad to a get together in T minus two hours. It had been months since my husband and I had done anything considered social. I was desperate to get out of the house sans children.

Of course I allotted myself the smallest window of time to purchase the one item I couldn’t find in my fridge, the item essential to a salad—lettuce.

Let us go, then, I said to the young skipping child. Not two feet into the store, right near the shiny apples, young skipping child turned on me. Feel free to imagine the spinning head from The Exorcist. I know I was. Flailing. Low guttural noises spewing. Well, not quite. But you get the gist.

Along comes a spider (scratch that) a cheerful elderly woman who apparently wanted to do nothing but help assist me with my little “problem child.” I briefly explained my predicament, already frayed (or couldn’t you tell by I HAD TO GET OUT OF MY HOUSE comment above) to the Mother Teresa lady.

She gleefully offered to watch young swinging one while I dashed to snatch up a bag of lettuce. I hesitated, then thought, If only there were more women like her in the world. I reasoned, they’d remain within eyesight the entire time. I grabbed the greens, watching Mother Goose calm my child with Julie Andrews attentiveness. As I prepared to bolt, I thanked the woman profusely, gushing over her unexpected kindness. Meanwhile, I worked to grasp young slippery one in the same breath.

I must have thanked her too profusely because this is when she got all passive aggressive on me. I’m warning you, it isn’t pretty.

“Well,” she huffed, “You’re certainly not going to win the mother of the year award.” She stared me down as though I’d dropped my child to the bottom of a well instead of spontaneously deciding to put my faith in the Mother Teresa kindness of a stranger.

Then I did what most women would want to do at this moment. I slammed my fist into her . . . Okay, so no, I didn’t. I cried. That’s what I did. I tackled my child, somehow made my way to the checkout aisle, and whipped out my credit card with tears streaming down my cheeks. The checkout clerk said something nice, but of course that didn’t stay with me.

Fake Mother T’s words did. I internalized what she said. And I felt small. I could have recited the following lines from Spiritual Misfit word for word four years ago standing outside of Stop & Shop.

“But it was people—people with their comments and their judgments and their good intentions—who taxed my ability to behave as I should. My fellow human beings made the whole Christian attitude thing very, very difficult to achieve.”

I hated that I let Fake Mother T’s words sink so deep, hated that I’d handed over that power, hated how I was so skilled at internalizing everything—even the lies and things that sliced into me.

After reading Michelle’s grocery store tribulation it hit me. This Stop & Shop slaughter was an opportunity for me to grant grace, not only to Fake Mother T, but also to grant myself some grace.

Three takeaways from this post:

1.       Buy Michelle DeRusha’s book.

2.       Beware of Fake Mother T’s trolling the produce aisle at the grocery store.

3.       Know that every interaction, every hurt, every lingering sadness presents an opportunity to grant grace and to finally let go.

So tell me, do you have any grace-filled grocery store stories?

“Grace does not make sense. It’s not supposed to make sense. Grace cannot be calculated or formulated…it is all grace. It is all a gift. Life itself is grace. And when it comes to grace, the word deserve isn’t even part of the equation.” ~ Spiritual Misfit: A Memoir of Uneasy Faith

“To live by grace means to acknowledge my whole life story, the light side and the dark. In admitting my shadow side I learn who I am and what God's grace means.” ~ Brennan Manning

I Wish You Had Never Been Born

Two days ago I came across an article with the words “Wish . . . Had Never Been Born” in the title. I immediately flashed back to my preteen years, hearing these words shouted at me an incalculable number of my times by my strung out, mentally ill older sister. She wishes I’d never been born. Ingrained in me. Wrestled through. Words that stuck.

More than twenty years later, The New Yorker releases an article with a similar statement from Adam Lanza’s father regarding his son. Peter wishes Adam, his son, had never been born.

And while the sight of those words pierced me to my core, I can attest to how heartrending it is to be related to someone with a destructive mental illness. The embarrassing arrests. The suicide attempts. The lashing out I feared would or could one day lead to murder. As shocking as they sound, I will not judge Peter for his words.

The Newtown tragedy hit close to home for me for other reasons. It occurred in my native state the year all three of my girls were attending elementary school. Adam murdered twenty-six people.

Just as with the shootings at Columbine, everyone scuttles about what the parents did wrong. What could have been done to prevent these heinous acts? Good questions to ask. But sometimes more problematic to answer than it might originally seem.

A year or so ago I read an article listing all the ways a troubled actress had been acting out. Toward the end of the article the reporter wrote she just wished the actress’s family would be more involved, would help her straighten up. When I set the magazine down, I was overcome with a mixture of anger and guilt.

Don’t people get it? Don’t they see that we’ve done everything we possibly can? This is an illness! There are some situations that don’t have simplistic remedies. Some causes that can’t be pinpointed adequately enough—satisfying the need for someone to blame.

This brings to mind Defending Jacob, an excellent book club choice, portraying a father having to come to terms with what he believes about his own son’s guilt in a local murder case.

And it challenges my thoughts about how we as a culture need to continue to get more honest about mental illness. We need to be mindful enough to know that most people struggling with mental illnesses won’t walk into a school and mow down dozens of children. However, also be conscious enough to realize how haunting and disturbing it can be to live with someone whose mind is sick.

We need to stop blaming, work harder to understand, engage in honest dialogue, seek help when or perhaps even before necessary, and empathize more than we judge.

One of my book groups recently discussed Still Alice, a novel about a successful Harvard professor who begins to demonstrate early onset signs of Alzheimer’s. In one scene Alice expresses her shame about what she’s dealing with, how if she had cancer people wouldn’t be afraid to sit next to her as though it were contagious.

I wish I could fix my sister’s illness. Wish I could bring her back to the vibrant young teenager I remember her as before all kinds of chaos infiltrated and shattered her mental understanding of the world.

Sometimes I wish I could slide into her shoes to fight her demons off for her. But I can’t. And there is no easy fix, no easy cure for her. This breaks my heart every second I’m alive.

It is with unending gratitude that I can say I’m thankful I was born. And I’m grateful my sister was born, too.

 I may not understand why our roads are paved so differently. But I don’t have to understand.

I just have to do as Bono My Bono sings, “Walk on, walk on.”

 

*I realize Alzheimer’s disease isn’t a mental illness, but included the Still Alice point because people often treat anything influencing the brain, as opposed to the body, differently.

Writing Gets Physiological

As writers we tap into our inner child more often than we think. Every time we sit to write we act out a rendition of the beloved, “Head, Shoulders, Knees, & Toes.” Don’t believe me? Read on to see how.

We use our HEAD when we. . .

Let our imaginations run wild. There’s no brain like a writer’s brain. We’re constantly absorbing. Loved ones doubt we’re listening, but in actuality we’re not only listening, we’re taking mental notes about every facet of the environment around us. When we bang out words on the keyboard we’re transferring splices of these notes from brain to page. Synapses unite!

We use our SHOULDERS when we. . .

Use those painful experiences that have made us feel like we’ve carried the weight of the world on our backs. We’re more equipped to empathize with our characters when we’re honest about what has triggered royal cricks in our own necks.

We use our KNEES when we. . .

Walk the walk. When we practice our craft.

Knees are one of the largest, most complex joints in the body. There are ligaments in the knee that keep bones from sliding backward, forward, or from side to side.

Writers get physiological in the knees when we refuse to go BACKWARD with our work and our careers. We push on. We develop skills. We learn during every committed writing session.

We also take care not to shift awkwardly FORWARD. We don’t rush the process. By taking needed time we honor the story. We don’t simply throw in a quick fix or a convenient save. We respect the organic evolution of the narrative.

Writers are knee-conscious as our ligaments keep us from crunching from SIDE TO SIDE. We do this when we focus on our own craft. Avoiding the comparison trap keeps us from rubbing others the wrong way.

Knees also have cartilage that works as shock absorbers. In the current publishing climate we need a lot of shock absorbers.

We use our TOES when we. . .

Take what we’ve learned out in the world and incorporate it into our manuscripts. Our toes enable us to use life experiences—the miles and missteps our shoes have tromped. Each step or misstep offers ripe material. Oh, the tales our toes could tell. Bunions, hammertoes, warts  & all.

When is the last time you got physiological as a writer? 

See Dog Read

Remember this post? The one where I opened up about the dog we lost in September. Well, I have some exciting news. We were able to get another Samoyed sooner than we thought. And if you can’t tell, we’re just crazy about this breed.

Today you’ll see why!

Did you know Samoyeds can . . .

Play the trumpet

Help with the dishes

Make friends with elephants

Play lacrosse

Even read!

Just for fun I've decided our pup’s Native American name is Catching Leaf. Tell me, what’s your pet’s Native American Name? Lately mine is Gets No Sleep or Lives to Edit. ;-)

I Want You to Meet Amy Matayo

Know what I enjoy? Connecting with other authors online & finding ways to promote them. Today I’m

introducing someone I want you to know more about.

Amy Matayo

Doesn’t she have an infectious smile? Her book, TheWedding Game released recently, so check it out. (Excellent reviews!)

Asking Amy a few questions:

Wendy:  What has surprised you most since you’ve released your book?

Amy:  The support and encouragement I've received from so many people. I don't know why--I guess I just thought I would release a book into the world and then just kinda sit here and hope someone would notice it. But so many people have gone above and beyond to make the book visible--readers, bloggers, reviewers. It's been humbling and fun.

Wendy:   What is your all-time favorite book & why?

Amy:  Two books, actually, and they're extremely different. First, Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers. The story is beautiful--a vivid description of what it really means to selflessly love another person. Second, The Sea of Tranquility by Katja Millay. The story is sweet and true to life, but the writing is phenomenal. The strong writing gets me every time I read it. 

Wendy:   If you could have lived during any other time period then now, what era would you choose? Why?

Amy:  The twenties. I think I would have enjoyed being a flapper. Any earlier and I would've been forced to ride on a horse/buggy. I would NOT have enjoyed that. 

Wendy:   Give us a house tour. What are your decorating tastes? What do your kitchen counters look like? Coffee table or no coffee table?

Amy:  Decorating tastes are random--a little bit of everything. I do seem to like the colors brown, red, and green. Those colors are everywhere, and entirely mostly on accident. Kitchen counters--almost always clean. I can't function with a dirty kitchen. I can, however, seem to function when every other room is dirty. For some reason that doesn't bother me. Yes, a coffee table. Without one, I would know where to put my feet.

Wendy:   What is one of the most encouraging things you could hear right now?

Amy:  Above all, for someone to say I made a difference in their lives. A distant second, that someone liked my book.

Thanks Amy! I wish you great success with your writing career & I love that we’ve connected online! To read Amy’s interview with me click here.

More about Amy

Amy Matayo has a degree in Journalism from John Brown University. She worked for seven years as Senior Writer and Editor at DaySpring Cards until the birth of her first child. Amy was a freelance writer for David C. Cook before pursuing novel writing full-time—focusing on edgy, humorous books for women of all ages. She lives with her husband and four children in Arkansas. Please visit her online at www.amymatayo.com

Key Highlights

Here’s something valuable to remember. No matter what all appears to be shaking down on the outside, the show or the finished product, keep in mind there’s always a spin cycle taking place behind the scenes. Oh, how much fun it would be to share all the behind the scenes tidbits of my career or even of what was going on as I prepared to launch my debut novella, The Disappearing Key. Oh what fun.

Instead, I thought I’d  throw out a Letterman top ten.

Here are my favorite Top Ten Behind the Scenes Moments related to The Disappearing Key

10. While chatting with another mom at my daughter’s basketball game we kept trying to figure out if we’d met before. She told me more than once I looked familiar. I asked her if she was in a book club, which triggered it for her. She smiled and said my book was on her bedside table. 

9. I’ve delighted in how the book clubs I’ve been visiting exude creativity. Members show up wearing “key” bracelets, they bring key lime pie, they offer a “Lock & Key” wine, etc.

8. A woman who is a prenatal genetic counselor at one of the book clubs I attended was curious who I interviewed to get a grasp for Gabrielle’s vocation. She expressed how accurately I captured things that she deals with in her role.

7. An author whose work I’ve admired for years sent repeated notes of encouragement, indicating how much she enjoyed my novella. She let me know she even read it twice.

6. I beamed the day I looked on Goodreads to find another author I respect (Carla Stewart) had given my novella a five ***** star review. Grateful for everyone who has taken the time to review this work!

5. Getting texts, emails, and phone calls from my mom whenever one of her friends or acquaintances calls her raving about The Disappearing Key. One of her best friends, whom she was unsure had even read my book yet, surprised my mom by telling an entire room of women they had to read it. She received word from a family we used to know when we lived in England that they read and really enjoyed my book. So much fun.

4. Feedback from family members, including distant cousins, friends, and other authors (thanks again to the endorsers). Support like this is invaluable. I’ll always be grateful for the Facebook posts, the tweets (Sue Harrison and Heather Gilbert, etc.) and the shout outs (special thanks to the elementary school staff). I’ve also found it really cool to read reviews from strangers.

3. My launch party where nearly forty people showed up to support me.

2. My husband’s response after he read it. Still savoring his words.

1. Have to say the most meaningful experience in the aftermath of releasing my novella involved the woman I dedicated the book to (read her story here). Erin’s reaction blew me away. She offered further affirmation that I’m thankful I went with my gut and took a risk with this book.

What’s been going on behind the scenes with you? 

Closed Doors Days

Ever notice how neighborhoods switch into hibernation mode during the winter? Doors remain shut. Trips to take out the garbage are done in a hustle. Even shoveling is accomplished with low mumbled grunts and hurried waves. We crave the nests of our homes. Our caves. However, right about now I begin to desperately miss open windows. Open doors.

In the summer I drive with the my car windows down. At any given time you might look over into my soccer mom van and see me jammin’ to whatever music happens to be on. I’m not afraid to sing to you either. A little “I want to see you be brave” or “let’s get together and feel alright.” These days I’m using my window scraper and bouncing in my seat until my hands become warm enough I can trust them to steer.

So how do we step out of these encasements? How do we dare ourselves to walk outside in the cold to be pinpricked by the stars, to fall into our own snow angel, to converse with a lonely neighbor, to listen for birds (yes, there are still birds out there in winter)?

I think Nike was on to something with the whole “Just do it” slogan.

Open the doors. There’s a whole world out there! It’s been missing you.

Do you wanna build a snowman? ;-)