Tender Truth. Part 1

                              Tender Truth
A short story that is based on research, but completely made up by my own imagination. This is the first section. More to come...

Isaac tenderly lifted Emma, his sleeping beautiful girl, cradling her inside the safety of his arms. Beauty and the Beast and bed time had collided onto the floor with Emma's favorite stuffed animal and blanket and left her dreaming, with her thumb in her mouth. It was in the moments, such as these, that Isaac would be tempted to stay awake all night just to watch her, that frame that held him in such wonder and amazement! Emma did not know it yet, but she was one of Isaac's biggest motivations to keep going, she kept him steady in the storms that swept over him daily. It had only been 15 months since Lila had passed away, Isaac's wife and companion. He loved her, fully, but on nights like this, he felt a lack-and wished desperately for her to see their child asleep in his arms, to have her gentle touch on his back that prickled his skin and awakened desire. Quietly he walked to Emma's bedroom and tucked her in, kissing her with a prayer for good dreams and health. Thick with emotion and heavy feet, Isaac made his way to the side of his bed and dropped to his knees, allowing the heaviness in his heart to be taken to the throne of Jesus.

Morning routines were becoming much easier, and Emma cried less as he dropped her off at daycare before heading to work. Isaac was making headway in the development of the project that his boss had given him two months prior. He had been asked to research, as any good journalist would be, and write an article on the affects that post-abortion has on women. Many women can empathize in ways that men could never aspire to do, in this particular topic, but Isaac had been asked to do the impossible and try. Perspective does what experience sometimes is not be capable of, and Isaac was gaining much perspective by reading, and interviewing therapists, doctors, nurses, and very knowledgeable people with the department of heath. This week held his most disheartening assignment: interviewing the very women who had chosen to have the procedure done, and were suffering with the affects. 

                                                         ~

Chelsea Gray sat on a bench in the soothing sun, the chatter of birds overhead and a quiet breeze blowing through the leaves in the trees that surrounded the lovely park. It had been a busy afternoon at the hotel desk, taking calls and dealing with impatient guests, and this break was much needed before she began her evening shift at the diner down the street. Chelsea closed her eyes and listened, hoping that nature's sounds would be louder than the thoughts that plagued her mind. She could not get away from the pain, discomfort, and very heavy shame that clouded every second of her days and even nights. It had been three weeks since Ethan had broken up with her, only three. He was all she had left, and now she felt emptier than the afternoon her parents disowned her. The worst feeling any human being can experience is being unwanted, to be shoved out of lives because of a mistake, to be treated like less and thought of without dignity. Chelsea knew, she knew very well, how awful falling in love with Ethan and displaying that love had cost her, she knew of the consequence that presented itself in her womb. She felt it had been a consequence, one that could be eliminated and forgotten. Ethan had been the one who suggested she get rid of it, to have a fresh start with him, so she could finish school and he could get a decent job. Bitterness swelled and she fought the tears that often came with his name. A tear slipped out of her control and landed on the midsection of her shirt, just a little insignificant droplet of salt filled with rage, but its placement daunting!

                                                      ~

Chelsea’s evening was slow at the diner, the regulars sat with their coffee and gossip, a few new faces stood out, but they were friendly and etched with a need for some nutrients. She delighted in serving the community their dinners, to see the same faces regularly, though she knew more of their lives then they knew of her own. It was a small town, but those who preferred to be known were and those who kept to themselves were only known by assumption.

The door jingled with two lovely mid aged women entering with an appetite. Chelsea greeted them and sat them in the booth with the window she liked to gaze through the most. They both ordered sweet teas and the daily special. With two cold teas in her hand, Chelsea came toward the booth and overheard their conversation. “Norma Jean told me that her husband’s company, Stericycle, is being investigated because of their disposal of fetuses after they are aborted, it is just medical waste, and I do not understand why they are in so much hot water!” Chelsea slowed her steps, her body stiffened. 

The lady opposite her, shrugged her shoulders in agreement, and emphatically replied, "I think that Stericycle is doing the duty in a much more humane way than other places, I have no problem with incineration!" 

Chelsea felt the nausea, felt the eyes of the customers as she dropped off their glasses and quickly headed for the restroom, she was not ready to take their order, even if they were. 

                                                       ~

Thoughts, dark and thick with a tangibility of fear and guilt were dancing around the room, seducing her vulnerability; asking her to flirt with the edge of life, as Chelsea lay in her bed that night. Why had she never asked herself what would be done with her child's remains, how could she have blocked out such important information? The internet was a powerful source of condemnation as she read site after site of stats and facts, each adding to the disconcerting emotions that left her hopeless. The desire to live drained out of her veins, and she did not want to fight it. The letters "PASS" came up in her search engine and she clicked on it. "Post Abortion Stress Syndrome" is what it stood for she found, and tears again streamed down her distressed face as she read the very thoughts that had been plaguing her journal for months! The website gave a number that could be dialed for anyone suffering to have some help, even just an ear. 

Grace and my flesh

Sunday in Church we began a new series, "What is a Christian?" It was fabulous! I am looking forward to next Sunday, very much :)
I drive a wonderful friend home every week, she is new to America, and still a bit overwhelmed by all this "Christianity." We were able to have some quiet reflection as the miles went and then began to digest what was heavily on our hearts. It was frustrating and delightful to hash out some of the mistaken identity in what a Christian should be like; to put it bluntly, it forced us both to want to dig in to the Bible to get a very clear understanding of who Christ is-that we may be associated by His likeness. It is a journey, discipleship tends to be :) I have no doubt that it is going to be messy, difficult, joyful, and exciting as we try to lay aside the stereotypical view and try to focus in on Christ alone as the example, that we may truly be called Christians!
This week I began reading "The Ragamuffin Gospel" by Brennan Manning. It is certainly refreshing! One particular part has glued it's truth to heart, and I HAVE to share it!! I think that out of context, it still will jolt that flesh and massage your Spirit :)
"Our response to the love of Jesus demands trust. do we rely on our resume or the gospel of grace?"