Katdish.net

The following is my first attempt at a short story and is part of the One Word Blog Carnival: Patience hosted by Bridget Chumbley at One Word at a Time.

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She was 17, just a few months away from graduation and looking for a fast way out of a bad situation. She’d heard her dad promise her mother he would stop hitting her; had been hearing it for years. And her mom waited for him to make good on all those promises. Patiently.

She’d seen so much hurt in her young life that when she saw the “health care professionals” booth during the career day at school, she thought being a nurse would be a good fit. She wanted to help some of the hurting stop. So she filled out the necessary paperwork to enroll in nursing school, mailed it off and waited to hear back. Patiently.

Five years later, she’d made a good life for herself. She loved being an ER nurse. The money was enough to get her a place of her own. A good life in many ways, but also a little lonely. So when the handsome EMT took more than a professional interest in her, she agreed to dinner and a movie. When dinner and a movie turned into a something more, she wasn’t so lonely anymore. Sure, he drank a bit more than what she would have liked, but he worked long hours and needed a way to unwind. Besides, he promised her he would quit after he got the promotion he was working so hard to get. So she waited for the promotion to come and the drinking to stop. Patiently.

A year later, the promotion still hadn’t come and the drinking hadn’t stopped. She got up the courage to tell him she was leaving one night, but instead she said yes to him as he took her hand on bended knee and placed a ring on her finger. He must really love her, and she knew she could love him back.

She paced the floor of their tiny kitchen, waiting for him to arrive home from a late shift. The pregnancy test had confirmed what she already knew – they were going to be parents. Surely the added responsibilities of fatherhood would make him stop drinking. He said he never wanted to be a drunk like his dad.

When he finally arrived home much later than expected, he smelled of bourbon and sweat. She was angry and probably shouldn’t have told him he was going to be a drunken dad just like his father. That was the last thing she remembers before she saw his fist coming towards her face. Then everything went black.

She woke up the next day in the hospital with her husband by her side. When the doctor started asking questions about her multiple injuries, her husband’s cold stare and the tightening grip on her hand drained any courage she had left out of her. He had already convinced the police it was an accident. Surely he could convince the doctor as well.

Twenty years and two children later, the drinking and the beatings continue. So do the empty promises. And just like her mother, she still waits for her husband to make good on all those empty promises. Patiently.

***

According to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence:

One in every four women will experience domestic violence in her lifetime.

An estimated 1.3 million women are victims of physical assault by an intimate partner each year.

85% of domestic violence victims are women.

Most cases of domestic violence are never reported to the police.

The National Domestic Violence Hotline website features a “quick escape” button that will immediately redirect you to an unregistered site in case you think your computer may be monitored, or you can call them toll free, 24/7 at 1.800.799.SAFE (7233) or 1.800.787.3224 (TTY).

If you are being abused, there is help out there, and no one has the right to raise a hand to you. This story is a work of fiction, but sadly, all too real for many women. You can find other, real life stories here: Love Fraud dot com

To read a story with a much better ending, please visit Recover Your Joy.

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Next time I won’t order the fish. That’s what I thought after he left. If I would have ordered chicken or steak or shrimp I would have gotten my food earlier, which meant I would have prayed earlier, which meant he wouldn’t have seen me. But he did, and like they say, that is that.

Lunch time for me is a sort of take-it-when-you-can thing that depends on how busy I am and how far I want to drive. Most of the time that places me inside a small restaurant downtown, just a few blocks from my work. Nice place with nice food. Very friendly, very tasty, and very quick.

So. The fish.

An extra ten minutes, the waitress said. “You sure you don’t mind waiting?”

No.

The man came in five minutes later and was shown to the table across from mine. We smiled and nodded like friendly folk do, and I was fairly certain that would be the extent of our interaction. It wasn’t. Because soon afterward my fish arrived and I offered a very silent and inconspicuous prayer.

He was staring at me when I opened my eyes.

“So you’re a churchgoer?” he asked.

“Yep,” I answered. “You?”

“Never,” he said in a tone that seemed rather proud.

I nodded and went back to eating.

“Don’t believe in God myself,” he said. “Just seems like a waste. I guess that means I’m going to hell, huh?”

I’d been around long enough to know when I was being baited into a conversation I really didn’t want to get into. This, I thought, was one of those conversations.

So I just said “Not my call” and raised another bite of fish.

“Not your call,” he repeated. “That’s typical.”

I chewed and thought about the last little bit of what he said. It was more bait, of course. And it was still a conversation I didn’t want to have. But maybe it was now one I should.

“Typical?” I asked.

“Yeah, typical. You people like to use those pat little answers for questions you just don’t know or are just too afraid to face.”

“Like whether you’re going to hell?” I asked.

“Sure. That just bugs me. Christians say that God is love, but if you don’t go along with the program then you get eternally punished. That doesn’t sound like love to me, that just sounds hypocritical.”

I shrugged. “Not really. I reckon God’s spent—what, fifty years or so?—trying to get you to pay attention to Him. He’s arranged circumstances, given you a glimpse of things you don’t normally see or think about, even spoke to you. There’s no telling how many chances you’ve gotten to say ‘Hello’ to God after He’d said the same to you. But you have a choice. That’s how He made you. You can choose to listen or not, choose to believe or not, choose to accept or not. I take it that so far, it’s been not. So if you spend your whole life telling God to stay as far away from you as possible, He’s gentleman enough to do just that when it’s all over. So yes, I suppose if you keeled over right here right now, you’d go to hell. But it’s not me who’s gonna send you there, and it’s not God either. It’s you.”

He looked at me. I looked back.

“Alright then,” he said.

We both continued our meals. Ten minutes later he squared his tab with the waitress and left, pausing at the door to offer me a smile and a tip of his hat.

The waitress focused on me then, asking if I’d like more coffee or just the check. I asked for a check and an answer.

“That fella come in here a lot?”

“Sure,” she said. “He’s the preacher at the church next door.”

“He’s the what?” I asked her.

“The preacher.” Then she smiled and added, “Was he havin’ a little fun with you?”

“Don’t know if I’d call it fun.”

“He likes that,” she said. “Likes finding people who call themselves Christians and tests them. Sees if they know their faith or just accept it. These days we have to be ready to defend it, don’t we?”

“We do,” I said.

And that’s the truth. It isn’t enough to just accept our faith nowadays. We have to stand for it. And this is the truth, too—next time I go there to eat, I’m ordering the fish. Maybe he’ll stop by.

***

To read more from Billy Coffey, visit him at at his website and follow him on the twitter at @billycoffey.

I’ve seen hard times and I’ve been told
There isn’t any wonder that I fall
Why do we suffer, crossing off the years
There must be a reason for it all

I’ve trusted in You, Jesus, to save me from my sin
Heaven is the place I call my home
But I keep on getting caught up in this world I’m living in
And Your voice it sometimes fades before I know

Hurtin’ brings my heart to You, crying with my need
Depending on Your love to carry me
The love that shed His blood for all the world to see
This must be the reason for it all

Hurtin’ brings my heart to You, a fortress in the storm
When what I wrap my heart around is gone
I give my heart so easily to the ruler of this world
When the one who loves me most will give me all

In all the things that cause me pain You give me eyes to see
I do believe but help my unbelief
I’ve seen hard times and I’ve been told
There is a reason for it all

I was planning a twitter post for today, but…well…I’m honestly just not up to it. (Sorry/you’re welcome) So I thought I would repost one of my more impassioned speeches about Enriching lives through the power of social media (aka the twitter). May I present for your reading pleasure (or not)…

On the Tweetdeck:

image courtesy of photobucket.com

I have often heard the prompting from the Holy Spirit described as “the small, still voice within.” And while I have no doubt this is the case for countless people, that small, still voice within me has too often been drowned out by a brain that is typically going in at least ten different directions. Fast.

So when I do hear that voice, I listen carefully. Ten months ago, after reading a post (and leaving a snarky yet adorable comment) on a little blog called “What I Learned Today”, that voice was clear and persistent. He said, “Offer to help this writer. His words will encourage others and will draw them to Me.” And that’s what I did. It’s what I continue to do.

I have used this blog to share stories, random silliness and the occasional rant, but one of my favorite things about HLAC is that it affords me the opportunity to share space with other voices – better voices – many of them accomplished or aspiring authors.

I have “met” some great people through this blog; cultivated wonderful, real friendships and have been blessed to read the words of some amazing writers. I have done my best to be an encourager (albeit a sarcastic one) to those whose paths I’ve crossed. I’m fairly certain this is part of what I’m supposed to be doing here. (Or so the small, still voice keeps telling me.)

But until a few weeks ago, I haven’t heard that persistent, clear voice quite so loudly. So when I did, I paid attention. Again. This time He said, “Her story needs to be told. It’s important, and I want you to help make sure that happens. Help her, too.”

So that’s what I’m doing. I’m paying attention and I’m being obedient.

For those of you who are not yet familiar with Amy Sorrells, it is my pleasure to introduce you to her.

She’s an absolute doll, and an incredibly gifted writer to boot. And no, Amy, I’m not just saying that because I have an affinity for hillbillies. Although, I gotta say, it doesn’t hurt!

Amy got “The Call” recently from literary agent Rachelle Gardner (Who just happens to be Billy Coffey’s agent. Which is awesome because now I can bug her even more.) and is currently working on her first “non-fiction narrative” which is not at all boring even though “non-fiction narrative” sounds kinda boring to me…But it’s not. Because I read the proposal and it’s excellent.

You will be hearing much more from Amy Sorrells in the near future. In the meantime, you can follow her story at

her website: Amy K. Sorrells

on twitter: @amysorrells

and Facebook: Amy K. Sorrells

Now go say “Hi” for me, will you?

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Some people have asked me why I started using comments moderation. It’s a fair question. There are a few reasons. First, I get spam comments every day. It’s easier to reject those comments than to go back and delete them after the fact. Second, I don’t like anonymous comments and I typically don’t publish them. I made an exception this week, but only because I was able to verify that the person was who they said they were.

But the main reason? Simple. This is my blog. I control what content I choose to allow here, and this includes the comments. As I’ve said before, I think the comments on this blog are often better than the posts (at least the posts I write). I love the sense of community here, and even if I don’t get a chance to respond, I read all of them. I know your time is valuable, and I am honored you would take the time to read my silly little blog.

What this blog is NOT about is mean spirited, ugly and/or argumentative soap boxing via the comments section. And I’m sure the hell not going to allow rude comments on a post someone has been gracious enough to submit to me.

There are people who troll the internet looking to pick a fight. If that’s your M.O., I suggest you keep moving, because like I said before, This is my blog.

And if anyone is going to rant incessantly, it will be me.

Love,

Katdish

Some of you may be wondering (or not – I don’t know) what the qualifications are to guest post on Hey Look a Chicken. Well, they’re pretty loosy goosey actually. They are people I have found through twitter and/or other blogs and I like their writing. That’s pretty much it. The first question I get is typically, “Is there any topic in particular you would like me to write about?”. My answer? Anything you would typically post to your blog. I found Rob Johnson through twitter. If you follow him (and you totally should), then you know he’s very funny and often ridiculous. (Not at all like me.) Here’s a sampling of some recent tweets:

Post Lost spoilers & I will come to ur house, stop up ur toilets, let ur dog out onto the street, & erase ur DVR settings. I mean it.

@fotomaven No. I don’t drink either. In my mug you will find horrible tasting water. In its defense, however, it’s gin.

When Tweetdeck gives me a Mention without the little ‘chirp’ sound I feel cheated.

Okay, so maybe he’s like me a little…

Anyhoo, when I asked Rob to send me a guest post, I was expecting ridiculous/funny. This is not that at all. It’s like all smart and stuff. And I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I have. (Even if my brain hurts a little.)

My Take on Darwinian Evolution in About 500 Words

I want to thank the lovely and talented Kathy Richards for the opportunity to make a guest blog post here. I enjoy reading this blog and the positive spin it takes regarding God. It has inspired me to revisit a subject many non-believers use as a crutch when they think of the world as we know it: evolution.

Darwinian evolution was an unguided, unplanned process of random variation and natural selection. However, evolution via random and gradual mutations can’t explain some very complex biological systems. Contrary to Darwinian evolution, it appears (and is widely accepted by scientists), that biology itself shows signs of a “designer.” This deduction is arrived at via design deduce of the physical structure of a system.

Aspects of biology strongly appear to be designed. Even Richard Dawkins says, “Biology is the study of complicated things that give the appearance of having been designed for a purpose.” (The Blind Watchmaker 1996, p.1) Dawkins doesn’t believe biological structures were a product of intelligent design, but he admits they “overwhelmingly impress with the appearance of design.”

There are structural obstacles to Darwinian evolution, coupled with physical reasons to think that Darwinian evolution can not do what its proponents claim for it. The structural reasons are “irreducible complexity.”

Irreducible complexity contradicts the premise that evolution could operate slowly and gradually one mutation at a time. An irreducibly complex structure cannot evolve that way, for this simple reason: you have some system and it has a number of parts and they act on each other and they are all necessary for the function to exist. You take away one or more of the parts and the function is no longer present.

Think of it this way, and by example, the mousetrap has various parts: a spring, a wire hammer, a catch, a board that holds it all together. Take away any part and you have a meaningless and purposeless collection of parts. There is no way that it could slowly evolve into that complexity.

Another example is a bacterial flagellum. The flagellum is a whip like propeller that a bacterium spins to move. Any part of the flagellum apparatus, without all the rest, is purposeless. Like a mousetrap without one of its necessary parts, this one would be broken as well.

Critics and militant atheist’s responses to irreducible complexity are wishful thinking. They argue that someday they will be able to explain them by random events and such will contradict the designer postulate. Nevertheless, they continue to make grand Darwinian claims as if this evidence already had been discovered. Such claims are urban legends.

Evolution can explain many things, but not everything.

I believe in multi-verses; worlds without number and without end, each of different degrees of glory and far more glorious than that in which we reside.

How utterly horrible would it be, to believe that Life begins, and has its ending, in this temporal sphere. I believe in an Intelligent Designer. One who has my best interest at heart, if only I have Faith. And yes, my faith has evolved. But that is a discussion for another time.

***

To read more from Rob Johnson, visit him at Rob from the Internet and follow him on the twitter at @InkPanther.

If there is anyone reading this that has not seen the movie Groundhog Day, the following preview will provide a good overview of the movie:

If given the opportunity, would you subject yourself to reliving the same day over and over until you get it right?

I love this movie so much. (Yes, I know it’s old, but still.) Phil Conners is a self-indulgent, jaded weather man who finds himself reliving the same day over and over again. There are some hilarious scenes in the movie, but the lesson is poignant. After many attempts to “get it right”, he finally figures out that a life lived in the service of others is a life truly worth living.

We don’t have the luxury of getting a do-over for the same day, but in some ways each day can be a do-over. We can choose

love over indifference,
encouragement over condemnation,
courage over fearfulness,
integrity over popularity,
grace over revenge,
twitter over facebook (just wanted to see if you were paying attention),
prayer over worry,
confidence over insecurity
fellowship over isolation,
humility over self righteousness

and on, and on…

In the movie, Phil goes to unbelievable lengths to be the man of Rita’s (played by Andi McDowell) dreams. With reckless abandon, he does whatever he feels he needs to do win her heart.

And I wonder, how might we change the world if we pursued the heart of Jesus like that every day?

Your turn.

What will you choose today?

Photo courtesy of flickr.com

Sexist I’m not, though I must admit I believe there are a few things men have a firmer handle on than women. Just a few, mind you.

Chief among these is the proper handling of the television remote control. This is most likely due to an almost childlike ignorance concerning its proper function on the part of the female. The remote is not used to simply turn the channel or adjust the volume. It’s purpose is much more intricate–to obtain an overall grasp of station selections, striking an elegant balance between quality viewing and commercial evasion. Or, in more simplistic terms, to channel surf.

My wife has long abandoned any hope of holding the remote control. Not that I do not trust her with it. But watching her use it is painful to me in the way that a composer would be pained by watching a hillbilly use a Stradivarius. It is a skill, the handling of a remote. Something that cannot be taught but must be inborn.

Over the past few weeks, however, an insurrection has begun over our family’s remote control. One led not by my wife. Not even by my son.

By my daughter.

It began innocently enough. I walked into the living room one evening and found her on the sofa and the remote on the ottoman. During a commercial break on her favorite cartoon, I decided to see what else was on. When I reached for the remote, however, I found a hand already there. Hers.

The ensuing standoff was both temporary and bloodless, and my Alpha role within the family remained intact. But as these remote control battles increased in frequency, I began to lose a bit of face. The last one, yesterday, ended in a tickle fight that was only broken up with my son whopping me with a pillow.

I’ll be honest here. I really don’t understand the whole remote control thing. I don’t really know why it must be in my hands and no one else’s. I am not a callous snob. I will gladly watch what my family wants. But I must be the one to turn the channel.

True, there is a certain amount of power involved in the remote. Those buttons are alluring. I have a control over the television that is not offered in my life. Possibilities that are difficult at least and impossible at best.

Zoom, for instance. With a push of a button, my remote will enlarge a certain area of my screen and bring greater detail to the larger picture. The ramifications are enormous. I have outwitted both Shawn Spencer on Psych and the dude in the vest on The Mentalist by the careful manipulation of that button. I don’t miss anything. Which is quite unlike my own life, in which I miss too much.

And there is the Swap button. A wonderful feature that lets me instantly trade what I’m seeing for something else. Easy on my remote. Harder in my reality.

The Exit button is even more handy, enabling me to quickly escape from a screen I have no idea how I managed to get to. The Exit button works wonders for me when it comes to the television. Not in life, though. Most of the time I have to find my own way out of all the self-inflicted confusion.

I would also like to have Pause, Rewind, and Fast Forward buttons in my life, just so I could take a break or try something again or skip over the parts I don’t like.

Play, too, would be a necessary function. I would like more play in my life.

That, I think, is why I’m so passionate about the remote. And if you’re honest, I don’t think you can blame me. Because no matter who you are, we all want a little more control over our lives.

I will say, however, that there I have one function in my life that is much better than its counterpart on my remote control: the Guide button. A push of that button and I know how to navigate around on my television. Handy.

But handier is the Guide in my life, the One who can navigate me through all of those parts in my life I would like to skip over or redo or exit. The One who can help me zoom in on what needs to be seen.

And Who can help me swap earth for heaven.

***

To read more from Billy Coffey, visit him at at his website and follow him on the twitter at @billycoffey.