The following is an introduction to a short story I wrote about processing the last few years of my life to help make sense of where I am now. If you’d like to skip straight to the story, start below the horizontal line. Enjoy!
I tried my best to be as realistic as possible about post grad life. I’d heard enough negative adjectives from graduated friends to know that it wouldn’t be all sunshine and flower fields, but I don’t think any amount of preparation would have prepared me for what I’ve experienced. Though I’ve had some genuinely great moments, since graduating college in May life has been a struggle. Some of it is due to a few unique circumstances, but for the most part I think it’s normal struggle, just the growing pains of transition and getting older.
After being in school for the past 18 years and not having any other destinations to arrive at or opportunities to be entitled to, I’ve felt more directionless than ever. I didn’t realize how important direction is, but it is. Obviously you don’t have to know where you’re going in life because you can’t know everything that will happen to you anyway. But an ambition for something is important because without it you find fewer and fewer reasons to get out of bed every morning. In some cases, a growing list of reasons to hope you’ll never even wake up. As someone who is constantly preaching the beauties of life and hoping other people will see the value of their lives, my burden was growing heavier as I struggled to make sense of the value in/of my own life.
In Donald Miller’s book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years he talks about a story being defined as “A character who wants something and overcomes conflict to get it.” As simple as it is, this definition describes the exact type of ambition that I’d felt I’d lost. “A character who wants something” I didn’t even know what I wanted anymore. As I dived into the meat of this book over the past week I kept milling over that concept and came to the realization that I needed to define and redefine my story. From birth through high school, I’m pretty well acquainted with the story of Emma as a character who has wanted many things and overcome conflicts to get them. But Emma’s story has developed further since then and it’s in a new chapter now. How had it developed though? And where is it now? I wasn’t sure but I decided to find out a little bit through writing a story of my own using Donald’s formula.
So that is how the following short story came to be. Bare with the beginning that is extremely literal as I based it directly on the formula of asking myself who is the character? what does she want? what conflict did she overcome to get it? then the story kind of grew itself from there and that (in my opinion) is where it gets more interesting.
As always, enjoy!
Emma was a bold, wise, curious, uncertain, and scared girl who uprooted from her comfortable life with her family and friends in Colorado Springs to follow her dream of going to school in Los Angeles. Going to school in LA cost her many of her close friendships with people back home and broke her heart. She often struggled with the heartache of feeling caught between two worlds, her new one and the old one. Her desperate and failed attempts to live in the old one held her back for a long time from living in the new one. The tension eased over time but it never went away throughout her time at school.
Eventually this feeling of disconnection grew to fill almost every area of her life and she felt like she didn’t know herself anymore. At times she couldn’t see herself in her own body and didn’t want to live in it anymore. She didn’t recognize or understand what was real and what wasn’t. She always believed a God existed but a time came where she wasn’t sure he loved her. The world felt like a hurricane swirling in around her as she sat alone in the eye of the storm– too distant to call out for help from anyone in the old world and not sure enough to tap on the shoulder of anyone in the new. The storm only grew more damaging as she watched the stories of crazed men shooting innocent people, old countries start new wars, political and racial upheaval in her own nation and she was not sure how the God she believed existed could play a role in these things.
“Why am I even here? How do I know what’s true? Do you even care? How can I trust you??” she questioned.
She found many answers that helped her build a shelter from the storm and while the foundation was strong, the majority of the construction was weak. So the storms continued, some days easing more than others, but every day she had to patch up sides of the small house and rehang pictures to keep it from falling apart. Some days that’s all she did– work on the shelter to keep it together.
After three years, the shelter was pretty well fortified, maybe even beautiful, but it was small and she wanted to invite more people in. She invited people, but they mostly only stayed with her on the porch in sunny weather and would go back to their places with their people when the storms rolled through. Even though it was summer, the sunny weather dissipated and all but three days were grey.
Another hurricane hit and luckily Emma’s fortress had been built stronger this time but a shard of glass flew from a table and punctured her knee making it harder and harder to get up every day and make the necessary little repairs to the house. One day she finally got the courage to tell someone how much her punctured knee was impacting her. Much to her surprise she found out there was no way to keep patching the shelter and heal her body, let alone anyone around to help.
She laid out on the floor one night, palms to the ceiling, thinking of all the time she’d spent with God building the shelter over the past three and half years. As rain drops began seeping through cracks in the roof and falling right onto her face, she remembered those times when she couldn’t understand God. She remembered when she just wasn’t sure how/if he could really love her and still be full of justice. How could some people be spared from the pain and death they deserve and others live a life of torture? How can you be in control and know what’s going to happen but still expect us to try for anything? She remembered crying so much as she asked these questions and almost never received the answers when she wanted them. These were back in the days when they were pouring the foundation of the house. It was miserable. Rain would fall in buckets as Emma sat drenched in a hole in the ground, laying grids and grates, pouring cement through tangled hair and tears.
“How is it that we’re supposedly laying this foundation together but I feel like I’m doing all the heavy lifting?” She asked God.
*Silence*
Sometimes it was like that.
They’d work side by side for weeks in silence.
Sometimes she’d do all the talking.
Sometimes God would have a lot to say too, and those times were always exciting. But even then, often times he didn’t answer the questions she wanted him to answer.
She wouldn’t give up though.
They ended up having to rip up the foundation and start over many many times before they finally got it down. Emma smiled remembering how sometimes it really did seem like it was only her at the construction site but she’d return some days to find a chunk of the work finished that he must have completed on his own, so she knew he never completely left her. Both of them really had poured their blood, sweat, and tears into that foundation and that’s probably the main reason the shelter stood for so long.
She continued filing through the memories as if they had been photos in a memory box and hoped God was doing the same. She imagined how they’d be pointing to each other’s photos as they cried an emotional dictionary of tears. A drop of water fell from the ceiling and landed right in between her eyes as if to say “wake up.” She sat up in obedience and realized she was in a puddle of water. As she thought to determine what portion of the water was tears and what was rain, her musings were interrupted by an abrupt and quiet understanding that her time with this shelter was coming to a swift end. Almost as soon as the realization hit, for the first time in a long time, she also got the sense she was not there alone.
“Hello,” she announced confidently, as if to let him know he couldn’t fool her.
“Hello,” he smiled gently, “Those really are some memories, huh?” He sat on the ground beside her, seemingly unphased by the wetness.
“Yeah, they are,” she replied cooly, attempting to match his calm demeanor.
“You know why I’ve come, don’t you?”
She grew nervous in her knowledge, “I think I do,” she pursed her lips as her body folded inward. Finally she looked up at him in peace and confirmed what she already knew– “It’s time to go, isn’t it?”
“It is,” his response was firm. “The memories we’ve made here and the things we’ve built are truly special. You ought to cherish them forever. Take them with you and keep them in your heart wherever you go.
“But where we’ve built is no place for you to live, every season is a hurricane and you have weathered enough of those for now. Now you must go, return to those who will care for you and take pieces of this place with you.”
Before she could even respond he stood up in an instance of what seemed like magic. Around her what once appeared a sturdy, yet old, and slowly breaking shelter became like her personal palace. The floors and walls were made of marble. The windows and mirrors were lined with gold and silver. A rainstorm continued outside, but the floor was now completely dry. Her knee was still hurt, which caused her to get up quite slowly but her clothes changed from a raggedy t-shirt and sweatpants to a long, shimmering, gold dress and cape.
The corners of her lips started to curl up but so did her eyebrows as she shook her head from side to side. “I don’t understand anymore. What are you doing here?” In typical God fashion, he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he grabbed her hand as music played and they danced for hours. Clearly, he knew the ways of her heart because when they danced, nothing else mattered– not her questions, her concerns, her past or future– it was just the two of them. And it was beautiful.
They danced into the small hours of the night until she nearly dropped dead asleep and he was gone by morning. It was unfortunate that he hadn’t answered her questions before he left, but she knew him well enough to know they would arise in time. Their night together gave her all the encouragement she needed to push through her remaining time alone until the weather eased up enough for her to be on her way to her next adventure.
She continued wondering why he incorporated that Cinderella moment and how she could possibly take “pieces” of their place with her as he instructed, especially now that all the pieces were heavily in tact. The only thing she took when she left was a sign that said “Welcome to Our Home” in hopes that maybe wherever she lived next more people would come inside and stay during monsoon season.
A few weeks passed and their usual communication ensued– she talked most, he talked some, but hardly answered any of the questions she really wanted answers about. Until finally she started reading a book and felt mysterious taps on her shoulder every time she turned a page. God’s name was written all over it but whenever she turned around she didn’t see him.
One Friday morning, she decided to sit down and write about what the book had taught her. Because it was a book about stories, she ended up writing a story of her own. As she was writing, she looked up to see him sitting across the table with the same knowing smile he always had. Gentle as a sheep yet strong as a lion, he pushed a package toward her from across the table. With an eyebrow raised and a slight head shake, she pulled it close, wondering what mischief he had up his sleeve this time. He gave her a look as if to say “Go ahead and open it.”
She unwrapped the thin white wrapping paper to find a chunk of cement inscribed with the words “Everything is Made Beautiful in its Time.” Under it was another small package which she revealed to be a slender rectangle with a polished piece of wood on one side and a piece of marble on the other. Finally, a third smaller package under it all held a key– dingy and gray on one side, the shiniest gold she’d ever seen on the other.
“These are pieces of our shelter, aren’t they?” she mumbled as if she couldn’t decide whether she should be making a statement or asking a question.
“It is,” he replied, firm as always. “The foundation we built will be the strongest shelter you have for the rest of your life and I didn’t want you to be without it when the next storm hits.
“The other block is from a side of the house. The wooden frame is still there beneath the marble design work I added. I wanted you to know that so you would know how much I appreciated your hard work. I know you were frustrated sometimes when the panels kept falling off and you’d spend all day striving to keep the place together. I heard you when you questioned me and why I couldn’t have put up the marble on my own in the first place. I know I could have, but you would not have appreciated me or seen how much you are capable of accomplishing if I had. Our teamwork is meaningful and I want you to remember that.
“Finally, I left you a key because I wanted you to know that you have permission to walk through the doors and enter the rooms you sometimes hesitate to feel welcome in. You are strong, capable, and determined. After everything we’ve been through, you must know that. And now you know when you come across buildings without doors, you are capable of making one and you already have the key to open it.”
She didn’t have the words to respond but she understood, and she didn’t need them because he knew.
“Emma,” he exhaled in a way that signaled their time was almost up, “Your last story has come to a close. I understand the pain involved in finishing a good book, so give yourself permission to lament– BUT do not spend all your time rereading it. It’s time to let it go. Don’t even worrying about beginning your next manuscript either– just live your life and I’ll be sure to write the next chapter. You have what you need so it’s time to be free.”
He got up from the table and came around to where Emma was sitting with her notebook, pencil, and opened gifts to give her a hug. She felt silly as a tear rolled down her cheek and she hugged him as tight as she could. “I just have one more question,” she began as she pulled away– and just like that, he was gone.
“Typical,” she laughed. She sat back down, returning to her notebook to finish writing her story when she found the following words already written in black ink at the bottom of her page–
“I have put a taste of eternity in your heart so that you cannot find out what I have done from beginning to end ;)”
And so she knew their story would continue to be an everlasting series of questions and untimely answers. But she had a strong shelter for storms, a work ethic for war, and a key to unlock all doors, so she was prepared to live the stories of a lifetime.
The End
(For now)
lovinglifeasemma.com 