Month: September 2023

God and Girl is my first novel, written in 2015. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

It was the weekend of my fifteenth birthday.  Ellen’s parents had rented a cabin at DeSoto State Park.  The week before their trip, Ellen and I had spent our usual Friday night together discussing doing something special for my birthday.  I can’t truly remember but some way, including Google, we came up with the idea of going with Ellen’s parents.  But, we certainly didn’t want to stay with them.  After more searching we found Mentone.  The town’s website informed us that Mentone is a “welcoming mountain village nestled atop the west brow of Lookout Mountain. Natural beauty abounds, from scenic mountain-top views to the mists of a 104-ft. waterfall.”  It was only a few miles from DeSoto State Park, so it seemed like the logical answer to our quest. We thought about camping out at a little primitive campground right outside Mentone but we both agreed tent construction was much more challenging than poetry construction, and when it comes to nighttime, we both preferred a soft and cozy bed. Ultimately, we decided to stay at the Mountain Laurel Inn, a bed and breakfast right in the heart of Mentone. 

Ellen’s parents agreed.

We left school Friday morning around 11:00, totally psyched about a long weekend, out-of-town, and all to ourselves, our first trip together.  Ellen’s parents dropped us off around 1:30, along with our bikes and luggage, and an envelope with two pages of rules, regulations, and reminders, with the bottom of page two signed by Becky Brown and Emily Ayers. 

After we registered at the front desk and checked out our room, we decided on a walk.  It was before 2:00 and our stomachs were reminding us that we had skipped lunch and avoided Mr. Ayers’ special trail mix he kept trying to push on us as we sat in the back seat.  We kept refreshing his memory that we were staying at a bed and breakfast and that we lucked out with a special weekend package that also included Friday and Saturday night dinners.  But, now we were on our own and needing something to tide us over until tonight.

As we were about to walk out the front door of the Inn we saw a table with a bunch of brochures.  One caught my eyes, as it did Ellen’s.  On the front of a folded brochure was a pencil drawing of flowers out in a field backing up to a simple little cabin.  At the bottom were the words “Wildflower Cafe.” According to the map hand-drawn on the back fold, the Cafe was just across the street and around the corner.

We walked over and were not disappointed.  It was a very rustic place with hardwood floors, old tin ceilings and dividers between the booths, and antique-looking ceiling fans.  The tables were a unique assortment of shapes, but all made by cutting a slice from a big oak tree followed by much sanding and much more varnishing.  Ellen ordered the raspberry vinaigrette salad and Peanut Butter pie, which she shared. I opted for a chicken salad plate with grapes & slivered almonds, on a salad ring with tomatoes and parmesan cheese served with crackers.

While we were eating, a young man, I figured to be in his mid to late 20’s, came by and asked if everything was okay.  He thanked us for coming and asked would we be in town tonight.  We told him we would.  He invited us to hang-out and listen to music over in the big side-yard of the Mountain Laurel Inn.  We told him that’s where we were staying and understood that our dinner tonight was served outside.  He told us that his mother, Selena Bradford, owns the Inn.  We told him that we would see him tonight.

We finished our lunch and returned to our room for a nap.  We wanted to be well-rested for tonight.

We woke up around 7:00 and quickly changed into our new American Eagle Outfitters jeans and soft and sexy lace tanks, and matching pink Under Armor hoodies.

We walked out onto the side yard and saw Chaz on a make-shift stage.  He announced the names of about ten young musicians who would be entertaining us for a couple of hours.  They were each a solo artist just trying to find a path to the big time.  For most of them, I suspected this might be their first and last chance to woo the world.

We ambled over to three-fold-up tables with hamburgers and hot-dogs.  We chose a dog and added everything we could find, just like at Dairy Queen: ketchup, mustard, onions, kraut, and relish.  Mrs. Bradford saw us and came over encouraging us to try her sweet-potato pie.  Yuck was our hidden look at each other but we graciously obeyed.

We found two chairs by the fire and picked at our food.  Neither of us were hungry.  But, we both did like the pie.  And, we both enjoyed holding hands and just enjoying the silent music between us that flamed and crackled along with the fire.

After the ten young musicians were finished, thank you Chaz, he and his group took the stage.  This afternoon had he mentioned he would be playing guitar and singing?  His group was The Mountain Men. 

They were very good.

Chaz said that no outdoor gathering with music is right without dancing.  A few folks volunteered and shook a rug (Dad’s saying) to a couple of fast music songs. 

Ellen asked me to dance.  I was a little reserved since we had never danced in public.  Ellen can be powerfully persuasive.  She finally pulled me onto the dance floor when the Men began playing and singing ‘Country is my Rock’ by Trent Tomlinson (according to the real mountain man dancing beside us with Bud in one hand and Elle Mae in the other). Dancing there on the grass, Ellen showed me she could swing and dip and bump right up there with the winners of Dancing with the Stars, at least the Mentone version. I did loosen up a little and enjoyed a little butt bumping with the hot Ellen.  Our stars burst out and joined hands when the group played and sang Amazed by Lonestar.

Every time our eyes meet

This feeling inside me

Is almost more than I can take

Baby when you touch me

I can feel how much you love me

And it just blows me away

I’ve never been this close to anyone or anything

I can hear your thoughts

I can see your dreams

I don’t know how you do what you do

I’m so in love with you

It just keeps getting better

I wanna spend the rest of my life

With you by my side

Forever and ever

Every little thing that you do

Baby I’m amazed by you

The smell of your skin

The taste of your kiss

The way you whisper in the dark

Your hair all around me

Baby you surround me

You touch every place in my heart

Oh, it feels like the first time every time

I wanna spend the whole night in your arms

I don’t know how you do what you do

I’m so in love with you

It just keeps getting better

I wanna spend the rest of my life

With you by my side

Forever and ever

Every little thing that you do

Baby I’m amazed by you

Every little thing that you do

I’m so in love with you

It just keeps getting better

I wanna spend the rest of my life

With you by my side

Forever and ever

Every little thing that you do

Oh yeah, every little thing that you do

Baby I’m amazed by you.”

During the song, Ellen, holding me in her arms, looked at me and said that she loved me and wanted to spend her life with me.  I smiled, looked in her baby blues, and lay my head on her shoulder.  We rocked slowly until the song ended.

After our dancing, we headed back in, wanting to get some rest for our big day tomorrow.  But, we did get detoured by the side porch swing.  For the next hour we sat close, held hands, and talked, mostly silly stuff, about ‘the smell of your skin, and the taste of your kiss.’  Of course, silly can smell and taste so good.

We finally made it to our room a little after midnight, slung off our jeans, tanks, and hoodies and cuddled up in the middle of a feather bed.  We sang and kissed and kissed and sang as songs softly and sweetly poured from YouTube and Pandora.  We lost all track of time but finally fell hard into deep sleep long after we intended.

We woke up early, surprisingly, since we hadn’t gone to sleep until 2:30 (according to Ellen’s time-awareness skills), less than five hours ago. It was not quite 7:00 a.m.  We both thought long and hard about going back to sleep, but we wanted to spend the weekend awake, talking, walking, touching.  We could sleep back home. And, we had spent a lot of time planning almost every hour of this trip.

Our plan for Saturday was to have breakfast here at the Inn, since it was already included in our room charges.  We would then hang out around town milling around the big craft show that was taking place.  We would ride our bikes to DeSoto Falls in the early afternoon.  Then, we would return in time to shower and enjoy a fancy meal here at the Inn. 

We ate a southern breakfast that most northerners would enjoy.  One kind of like Mom makes when Dad is going to be home all-day Saturday and has planned one of his family work days.  Biscuits with maple or sorghum syrup, six types of jelly, gravy–the gray kind and the clear kind (yuck)–eggs anyway you want them except raw, cheesy grits, fried potatoes, smoked ham, sausage patties, thick-sliced bacon, all types of fruit, and about a half-dozen other things I couldn’t name.  Ellen and I both love breakfast. We each made a dozen pictures of each other, proving we ate with our mouths full and without napkins, since her mouth and chin hosted bright orange marmalade, and mine sorghum syrup.

After breakfast, we walked our bikes and backpacks over to Mentone Antiques and Unique Furnishings, just right across the street from the Inn.  We spent an hour or so looking around this large, two story museum that carried a wide assortment of furniture, books, trinkets, and other do-dads.  We spent most of our time perusing the book tables with Ellen finding a well-cared for copy of Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass.”  Before we left the store, we were upstairs looking in a series of display or curio cabinets when Ellen spotted two four-inch tall bone-carved figures laying side by side in a pretty box.  

They looked like angels with their features rather basic, rudimentary-carved in white, what I believed was real bone, very mysterious, almost with a small nub on each side of their shoulders, where their wings either were at one time, or were now developing for the first time.  We took them out of the cabinet and looked at them more closely.  Ellen was holding one and I was holding the other, each holding them up to the light that was filtering in from a tall window, to the east (I had been concentrating for weeks on learning my directions from the sun).  Almost, at the same time, we both spoke out loud.  She said “Always,” and I said “Forever.”  We had both noticed, carved across their backs, up towards their shoulders, these words.  That was it, we had to buy them.  We had, almost since we first met, developed and shared a language all our own.  We had discovered there were words and phrases that described our love and our relationship, words that others obviously knew, but held no special meaning. In poems, letters, texts, spoken words, and I suppose at some time, smoke signals, we had described our love and romance as a relationship that would be “Always,” that it would be “Forever,” and when we felt especially expressive, we would write or speak that “Always and Forever, I will love you.”

We put Always and Forever, our little angels, our special angels, back in their box, which was a treasure: sturdy, stained a bright mahogany, with a small latch and clasp for securing the lid.  We paid for Ellen’s poetry book and our figurines, a perfect purchase, a fateful discovery or a faithful one we didn’t yet know.

We spent the rest of the morning walking around looking at a million crafts.  Trades-people from all over—I even saw one sign that said, ‘All the way from Heaven—Dubois, Wyoming.’  It was kind of neat walking around a town where we didn’t know anyone, among mostly older folks, holding hands and smiling back at the many staring eyes.  We felt bold and beautiful, like our time together was crafting us, our relationship, into a thing of mystery and destiny.

We both grew tired of the crowd around 11:30. It was time to be alone out in nature, with whoever or whatever had painted today’s world atop Sand Mountain and Mentone. She sure knew what she was doing.  It was gorgeous and the weather cool but not anything like cold.  Fall is so beautiful and my favorite time of the year.  We walked back to the antique store for our bikes. I stuffed the mahogany box inside my backpack.  Ellen secured her book, and off we went, map readily available in Ellen’s right hand.

We had planned on riding to DeSoto Falls.  But, when we turned left onto DeSoto Falls Road, we noticed a car parked up next to the trees and woods to our right.  We also saw a trail headed into the woods.  I said, “let’s be adventurous and ditch our plan for now.”  Ellen agreed, and we rode our bikes onto the trail and out into the woods.  We soon realized our bikes were not the best way to travel—too many big roots and rocks, too many twists and turns.  So, we got off our bikes and walked away from the trail and found a spot not easily seen from the trail and locked them to two trees.  We took our packs and returned to the trail.

We hiked for thirty minutes or so and only saw two people.  We met a young couple, a boy and a girl probably around 18 years old, about 15 minutes into our hike.  We asked them what was ahead.  They told us to be sure and find the big rock, said we couldn’t miss it.  We did find it.  And, it was big.  It jutted out over a big ravine that contained a million trees, all dressed out in their beautiful fall colors.  The rock was flat on top and a perfect spot to relax and take in unbelievable beauty from the valley below, outstretched as far as we could see all around us.

We spent time during our picnic lunch in early afternoon looking at our angel figures as I called them.  We adopted our own figure.  Always was Ellen’s—her first name is before mine in the alphabet—and Forever was mine. Of course, she had found Always, and I had found Forever, back at the antique store.  We started getting a little stiff and decided to walk around a little.  We left our packs on the big rock–Rock of Ages I had called it–which spawned questions from Ellen’s inquisitive mind. We grabbed Always and Forever as I told Ellen that ‘Rock of Ages’ was a popular gospel hymn that our church had sung regularly since I could remember, but that I didn’t know its history.

We walked eastward, I think, back towards where we believed the Falls to be. We walked around the bend of the mountain, staying close to the edge, being slow and careful not to slip over into the ravine that fell sharply to our right, probably down 200 or 300 feet.  We encountered a thicket of brush and briers among the trees.  We took our time, stopping every few minutes to look north to northeast.  At just the right time, with the trees acting as though they closed their branches just for us, we saw DeSoto Falls.  One of the most beautiful waterfalls I had ever seen.  Finally, the undergrowth just seemed to stop with the ground becoming virtually barren of vegetation, just large flat rocks with an overlay of sand. We saw the boulders ahead of us, acting as though they had been glued to the side of the mountain which, itself was gaining elevation as we approached.  

We had seemingly come to the end of this route.  The deep ravine was to our right and the big boulders in front of us kept us from making our way forward around the bend of the mountain’s brow.  

“Look here.”  Ellen said.  “I think we could sit down on the ledge and make our way around. We could at least try.”

“I’m game if you are.”

We sat down on a rocky ledge that was just wide enough to make you feel you weren’t going to lunge forward.  The ledge was like a lip on a face, but more inverted, a little ‘U’ shaped.  We started sliding our way around the ledge on the lip.  At one-point Ellen started bumping along, a kind of butt bumping.  We got so tickled we probably could have fallen.  The rocky lip continued around the bend probably 30 or more feet.  Finally, the rock lip turned rather sharply to our left and we were startled by what we saw—a cave opening. But, it wasn’t going to be easy to get to. The lip we were sitting on ended just a few feet from where Ellen was.  In making the sharp turn, we had turned back towards the mountain and away from the ravine. Below our feet now was a crevice, a very deep crevice, and a mountain of rocks continued as far as we could see.  There is a rock wall, probably 30 or 40 feet tall to our left slanting back, like it is leaning backwards. Also, there is a flat ledge, probably five feet wide, maybe fifteen-foot-long, right in front of it, with the cave opening right in the center of the backward leaning rock wall.  There is a big rock directly above the cave opening.  The two together looked like they were mounted on a human face, a rather large nose, resting above a somewhat sunken- in mouth. There is only one way to get over to the flat ledge and to the mouth of the cave.  We had to stand up and jump over the crevice.  The lucky part of all of this is the crevice isn’t wide, maybe two feet.  We knew we could easily clear this space.  Ellen would go first.  She could pull her right leg up under her to give her some leverage. Also, she could find hand holds, really holds for her hands, the inside next to her wrists.  Slowly but surely, she stood up and jumped onto the flat shelf, something like a big upper lip of my imaginary hominid.

I shouted out a big cheer for her.  She encouraged me and talked me through the right moves.  Soon, I was with Ellen on the other side of the crevice, on flat rock.  We both felt a lot safer.

We turned and looked out towards the ravine and there it was again, DeSoto Falls, and the big pool of water 100 feet below.  We took in the cool air almost feeling and tasting the mist from the crashing water.  We both looked at the Falls for a long time but remembered why we had jumped over here.  We turned back to the cave door and got down on all fours and crawled inside.  Once in, we could stand up.  The cave was maybe 8 to 10 feet across, and about that same depth. It really wasn’t much of a cave.  But, around to the left, bending around another nose-type rock, there was a little space, somewhat of a separate chamber. There was room for only one of us at a time to explore this. I went first. I had to again get down on my hands and knees and crawl back.  I moved forward another 6 or 8 feet and came to a rock just popping its head up out of the floor maybe two feet or so.  This rock was just big enough to stop me from continuing into the chamber.  With the flashlight on my phone I could see that the chamber continued, farther than I could see, but it got narrower and narrower the further back I could see.  I was at a stand-still.  I could sit up on my knees and reach over the protruding rock.  I had to lay face down over the rock to reach beyond it and down to where it came up out of the cave floor.  I used my hands to dig in the soft dirt, mostly sand and thumb-end size rocks.  I kept digging and then had an idea.  First, I crawled back out and had Ellen retrace my steps inside, on hands and knees, to this rock.

“Come back out, I have an idea.” I told Ellen.

“You may think I am crazy but hear me out.  Why don’t we go get the mahogany box that Always and Forever came in.  And, come back here and bury them over beyond that rock we just found back in that little chamber.  We could use that big zip lock bag we brought our lunch in.  Plastic doesn’t deteriorate.  We could then come back in a few years and reclaim our little angels.  This act would symbolize our love, with Always and Forever waiting here for us until we come back someday for a family reunion of sorts.  What do you think?”

“I love it.  I just think, I just know, there was a good reason we found our angels and this cave.  You have noticed it is rather remote, rather hard to find, to get to, haven’t you?”  Ellen said.

So, that’s what we did.  We butt-bumped our way back around the rocky lip, hiked back to Rock of Ages, grabbed the mahogany box and the zip-lock bag, and returned to our cave. And, just as we had discussed and agreed, we buried Always and Forever, behind the big rock that blocked the smaller chamber.  Burying our figurines, Always and Forever, was symbolic of us burying ourselves, not unto death, but unto life. Ellen’s life into mine, my life into hers.

Ellen did the burying.  She said she wanted to since she had found our angels first in the antique store.  She told me that I would be the one to uncover them when we returned—since I had thought of the idea to bury them.  

After Ellen had buried the box, we sat down outside the cave.  We sat immersed in a sea of beauty, an outstretched canvas filled with colors unmatched by man.  

“When should we come back?  I mean, come back for our special angels.” I asked.

“Here’s an idea, maybe a great one. We are here celebrating your 15th birthday.  Right?  So, why don’t we come back in 15 years.  That’s double your age, mine too basically, even though I am three months older than you.  And, more specifically, why don’t we set an exact date to return and recover our Always and Forever.  I suggest we do this on your 30th birthday, exactly 15 years from today.  What thinks you?” Ellen said.

“I think it is perfect.”  I said.

 So, it was settled.  Fifteen years from today we would return and recover Always and Forever and reunite them with us.

We slowly made our way back to our rock, grabbed our backpacks, hiked to our bikes, and rode to Mentone, speaking few words, but connecting our hearts ever the deeper with smiles and sweet finger-tip touches, as we glided side-by-side along a red and orange, and yellow and purple path.

By the time we returned to the Inn, Ellen and I were both exhausted, not so much physically, but mentally, emotionally, even spiritually.  We stripped down and dove into bed, both asleep before the end of a sweet kiss.  We could have slept all evening and night, but we would get up, shower, and dress out in our formal finest.  There is no way we would miss Saturday night dinner at Mountain Laurel Inn. It was included in the price, which was nice, but it was an opportunity for us to experience and share our love in a classier setting. For two north Alabama girls (assuming Ellen has completely shed all her Chicago), our only knowledge of fine-dining was from Mom’s attempt to teach us how to properly set the dining room table, with all her fine china as she called it, in preparation for special dinners.

Formal dining in a mountain village bed & breakfast did not appeal to us.  We made it through the meal and hurried back to our room, stripping down again, and lay in bed watching a love story on Ellen’s iPad.

We fell asleep before the end of the movie and awoke just with enough time to shower and grab a sausage biscuit before Mr. and Mrs.

Ayers arrived to pick us up.

The ride home was filled with silence as Ellen and I sat in the back seat exchanging glances and smiles.  The clear and crisp dialog between my mind and my heart sounded like soft thunder and sweet lightning as I sat knowing that this weekend had changed my life for always, and forever.

God and Girl is my first novel, written in 2015. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

Dad’s “Take a Stand” march is today.  He has been working on it for weeks and has over 40 churches signed up to participate.  Early on, I promised Dad I would walk with him, be by his side.

Dad had intended the march to take two days, starting in Boaz and walking north on Highway 431 all the way through Guntersville and across the Big River Bridge.  But local law enforcement, with guidance from the local circuit court judge, just wouldn’t allow it.  They said it was not a reasonable exercise of our First Amendment right, that it was a substantial interference with others’ rights to move about freely, or something along those lines.  Dad finally acquiesced and agreed to a march across the Big River Bridge from the south end of Guntersville.  

Over 600 people participated in the march, most everybody carried a “Take a Stand” sign. I walked besides Dad and we talked about the importance of being grounded in our beliefs and being willing to stand up and speak out to show the world who we really are.

The road to the bridge was not flat.  It was an uphill climb the whole way.  Even the long bridge was more of a semi-flattened oval.  It was not until we reached the center of the bridge that we saw a sea of rainbow clothed people standing at the bottom of the bridge, where the bridge ended, and the highway continued towards Huntsville.  There seemed to be about twice as many of them as there were of us.  And, they also were carrying signs: “Stand for Love.”  I was happy they were not carrying and holding sticks and stones, but I was still scared.

Dad and I were leading our group.  We stopped in our tracks the moment we saw our opposition and felt a confrontation would be the natural thing to happen if we walked right up into their faces.

After what seemed like hours—it was just a few minutes—two women from their group started walking towards us.  Dad turned to his followers and said, “stay here for now.”  He turned again and started walking towards the two women.  I hesitated a few seconds but jogged quickly to catch up.  “I don’t have a clue what is about to happen but I’m glad you’re with me.” Dad said.

Soon we were standing right in front of them, out in the middle of the bridge, the sky bright blue, not a cloud anywhere in sight. “Hello, I’m Ann and this is Gina.  I assume you are Joseph Brown.”

“I am, and this is my daughter Ruthie.  Nice to meet you.  I think.” Dad said.

“Please know we come in peace.  We have no intentions of harming anyone, or of causing any type of ruckus.  But, we would like to have a polite and respectful discussion.”  Ann said.

“Okay.  I don’t see the harm in that.  Maybe it would be fruitful for all. How do you want to do this?”  Dad said.

“I suggest we all move in closer together.  And all sit down.  We can leave thirty feet or so of space between our two groups.  Enough space for a group representative to stand and walk around a little if she or he wishes.  I will speak for our group and I assume you will speak for yours. 

Okay?”  Ann said.

“Sounds like a workable plan.  I’ll go tell our group what is happening and we’ll all come back and sit down.  Dad and I walked back up the bridge to our group.  He shared what was going on and asked everyone to pile their signs over by the side of the bridge and to come sit down.  He encouraged them to let him do the talking.

After everyone had gathered around as agreed, Dad said it seemed right for Ann to go first. “Ladies first,” he said.

Ann got on her feet as Dad and I sat down.

“Thank you for the opportunity to meet with you here on this beautiful autumn day.  I believe it is a positive testimony to the beauty of humankind for what we have just accomplished here.  We all came in peace and sat down in peace and agree to listen to others who have different feelings and beliefs.

Some of us are Christians, some of us are simply spiritualists, some of us are atheists, some of us are agnostics, and some of us are unsure what we are when it comes to God and religion.  But, for sure, we are all humans. We want what all Americans want—to be safe, to have a roof over our heads, food on our tables, to have a family, to have love, to be in love, to live with purpose, and to contribute to the betterment of society.  We believe in treating our fellow man like we want to be treated.

I suspect you, Mr. Brown, and your entire group want pretty much the same things.  Of course, we have differences, or we would not be here today out on this bridge.  Some of us in my group believe that we were born as homosexuals, with a sexual orientation attracting us to a person of the same gender.  Of course, you and your group do not believe this.  Which is fine.

The only goal I have in my talk, the only goal we have in our group coming out here today, is to politely, respectfully, ask you and your group to consider us as equals, to give us the opportunity to live and work together to make our America a better place for all.  To join hands and fight poverty and hunger and homelessness, real life-threatening issues.  

We respect your beliefs and will fight to give you the right to hold onto your beliefs.  However, we must be clear. We believe in the rule of law, that the U.S. Supreme Court has spoken.  We believe we now have just as much legal right as you do to marry who we want.  We don’t want war.  We want peace.  Further, we know we must be willing to do much more than many other groups have had to do to earn your trust.  We intend to do that.  We simply ask you to treat us with real respect.  That, will get you much more than your condemnation.”  Ann said.

It was Dad’s turn.  Ann sat down, and Dad stood up.

“Thank you Ann for being so clear.  I appreciate what you have just said.  We do respect homosexuals as humans.  We wish no ill will on any of you.  We recognize that we all, your group and mine, are humans.  But, we can look back on history and see that not all human conduct is beneficial to society.  Please know that I mean no disrespect when I say that slavery was not a good thing—it produced untold suffering for America and the world.  The same can be said for Hitler and Nazism.  Again, please don’t think I am saying that homosexuality is just like slavery or Nazism.  However, I must be direct.  Our nation was founded on Christian principles, and the Bible is our clearest and best source for those principles.  The Bible is clear that homosexuality is a sin.  This same Bible says that all sin disrespects God and has consequences—the ‘wages of sin is death,’ it says in Romans 6:23.  If this is true, then it doesn’t matter in the end whether our U.S. Supreme Court has blessed homosexual marriage or not.  Even more to the point, if homosexuality is a sin as it says in the Bible, in the end it really won’t matter what we do from a church’s standpoint—the natural consequences will follow. And, they will not be good.

I am not saying that there is no legal right in this country for gays to marry.  Clearly, the Court has ruled on this and it is the law of the land.  I am not like some who say that the Court cannot make law, that it is just the opinion of five justices-lawyers, one politician calls them.

We always want peace.  We want and need friends.  But, when the Court approves of sin as a constitutional right, then what starts off as public policy enters our churches and one law leads to another.  Our stand here today is not a stand against you. It is a stand for our beliefs, a stand for Christian marriage, a stand for the institution that God created, that of marriage between one man and one woman.  Like you, we have a right to stand up and speak out.  We cannot, we will not, be swayed from our Biblical beliefs.  We will stand up for religious freedom.

I know it may seem hollow, but I do love you Ann and every one of you.  I do believe all of us have a responsibility to take care of the poor, the hungry, and the homeless.  I am happy you agree.  I am joyed by that fact.

Thank you all for coming today.  I hope you have felt welcome.  You are welcome to come to any of the 40 churches or so that are represented here today by our group.  Each one of us will do our best to make you feel welcome.” Dad said.

Ann and Dad shook hands again.  Nothing scary or violent took place, although I heard a few of Ann’s group say they heard nothing new, that homosexuals were as bad as slavery and Nazism, and needed to be exterminated.  Our group walked slowly and quietly back to our cars parked on the south end of the bridge.  

Very little was said on the way home. For some reason, all I could think of was writing a poem about the Bible and homosexuality.  I felt I could make some connections that would give me, and maybe even Dad, reason to think outside the narrow lines, lines that he and the other pastors who marched today would likely die to protect.

God and Girl is my first novel, written in 2015. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

Monday, oh wonderful Monday, here again.  I seem to have no memory of what happened before lunch, including lunch now that I think of it.  I thought it was probably because Ellen is absent today, along with her Mom.  I’m not sure why and she hasn’t returned my text from earlier this morning.

Hopefully, Poetry class will wake me up.

Mr. Johnson seemed quieter than normal as I walked in.  He was hovered over his desk reading something, apparently deep in thought.  He didn’t even look up when my chair squeaked as I sat down. I took out my pad and pen and waited.  It seemed like a very long time but a glance at the wall clock revealed it was only a couple of minutes.

“Good afternoon.  It has been several weeks since we started school and we have moved along quite nicely.  I’ve enjoyed reading each of your poems. Today, I’m going to give you my “Waking Up” speech that I give every semester. I want to try my best to wake each of you up to the real power and purpose of poetry.”  Mr. Johnson said.

“If you let it, poetry can truly change your life.  Would you agree with me that each of us is on a journey? It is rather simple to look backwards, over our lives, and see where we have been.  We probably cannot make sense of why our lives have taken the paths they have already taken.  But, looking forward is not as clear.  It is rather mysterious.  Some of us, maybe most of us, don’t really know where we are heading, what we really want out of life.  Many of you may think, what’s the rush?  I’m in the ninth grade so I’m just going to coast along.

Think with me, if you will, about what truth means to you.  You may think and believe that you know some truth. Truth may or may not be important to you.  But, let me promise you, as you grow older you will want to know more and more.  Of course, there are the age-old questions of ‘Where did I come from?  How did I get here?  What am I supposed to do with my life?  Where am I going?’ and these are all very interesting and important questions.

I believe poetry can become your framework, your way of both asking and attempting to answer these questions.  Not only these age-old fundamental questions, but pretty much any question you have.

Poems don’t have to be about truth.  You already know this.  They can be about anything.  They can contain half-truths.  Most importantly, they can contain your truth, what you conclude is true.  This may certainly change over time, say, over the course of your life.  Having confidence in how you feel, even though you may somehow know that you are missing some important, or vital information, can make a dark day in your life less dark than it would be without poetry.

Remember, there is only one rule in poetry and here it is: there are no rules in poetry.  You should have learned that the first day of class. With this rule always whispering to you from the back of your mind, you can create a thing of beauty, a poem that helps you answer the question or questions you need answering at that very moment in your life.  Now, don’t get me wrong.  Poetry, your poems, will not all be about these life questions.  But, my “Waking Up” talk today is limited to talking about showing you a powerful way that poetry can help you find your bearings and your pathway.

Let’s look at an example, one I’ve used many years in this class.  Please know that I don’t mean to poke fun at anyone whether they are religious or not, whether they are science fans or not.  My example is just for illustration purposes only.

Imagine you are religious, you have grown up in a religious home. One day a friend tells you your religion is full of holes, that it isn’t true.  Your friend goes on to tell you that you and chimpanzees came from a common ancestor and are therefore close kin.  Now, again, please know that I have used this example for at least six years—way before Dr. Ayers came along and started exposing our students to evolution.  By the way, a long time before you, Ruthie, were here—so I’m not picking on you for having grown up with a pastor dad in a religious home.

Let’ go back to my example.  So, your friend has basically called you a quack, and an apelike creature of sorts.  You may ponder this little conversation for days, you may be worried, or unsettled about it.  You may dismiss your friend’s statements as totally untrue, lulling yourself to believing that you know what truth is, and that you certainly know more than your friend.  No matter.  If you want, you have a way to deal with these questions.

You find a quiet and private place, take out a sheet of paper and pen and draft a poem.  Here are a few lines:

God is truth.

Adam & Eve are real.

Really?

I’m no ape.

My ancestors were not apes.

Really?

If Adam & Eve were apes,

So was God,

Since they were made in His image.

If Adam & Eve were not real,

God is not real.

Really?

God is real.

He is truth.

Apes are real.

Apes are truth.

If Adam & Eve were apes, I am too, God is too.

That is truth.

God is still real for me.

Really!

Here is a copy to look at, as I read it again.  One thing I want you to carefully consider, maybe even write this down and keep it close.  “We know so very little.”  Okay, got it?  Think about it. Make this a good thing.  The unknown is often mysterious.  If we knew everything we never would have a question, would we?  I’m encouraging you to take life as it is, often good, but very often bad, dark, lonely, troubling, and sinister.  Let’s look back at my somewhat silly little poem.  Ruthie, if you will, read it out loud for the class.”

I did so and was struck by its simplicity and its perplexity.  I recognized it as a thing of beauty, a model that I could use in my life, especially in my life right now.

“Thanks Ruthie.  We note that it’s okay to both know and not know.  Can we know and not know at the same time about the very same thing?  ‘God is truth.’  This sounds right, but what is the author saying?  Forgive me, I said author.  I meant reader, because that is the one who determines what a poem means.  Sure, the writer/author/creator of the poem had his own thoughts, meaning, truth if you will, of what he was writing.  This can be very different for a reader.  Could it be that he or she is saying ‘the God that I know from the Bible is truth, no matter what science or anyone else says?’”

This type of poetry is often written strictly for ourselves.  Again, the model I’m sharing with you is mainly for you to answer your own questions, to help you carve out the best pathway for you to follow as you make your way through life.

One final thing about what may appear a simple little poem.  Poetry is the perfect playground for connecting things that normally don’t connect, that don’t usually go together.  Notice what we have done.  We believe that God creates—man or apes.  We believe that God creates Adam & Eve—whether they are man or ape—in His image.  Look at the line ‘If Adam & Eve were apes, I am too, God is too.’  Here we are calling God an ape.  Something you don’t hear very often.  But, in this helpful little tool we now have, we can do anything.  

I had so much more I wanted to say about this, but the surprise fire drill in the middle of my lesson said otherwise.  We are out of time.  Maybe we can continue this subject later.  I encourage each of you to start playing around with this type poetry, even tonight if you have time.  Start with a question you have about the world, one that is close to you.  See if you can discover new ways of looking at truth, or of creating your own truth.”  Mr. Johnson said.

It was as though he had prepared today’s class just for me.  His talk was just what I needed.  Some way of dealing with my struggle. I believe poetry can give me purpose and peace.  It can give me truth, even though I may not like it.  I’m excited about becoming a real, live, breathing truth-explorer.

God and Girl is my first novel, written in 2015. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

It is way too early on a Saturday morning in late September.  It is 7:45 a.m. and Ellen and I are sitting in the media room off the auditorium balcony. Dad has spent the last several weeks organizing a pastor’s conference of sorts.  The purpose is to unite and organize and eventually kickoff his “Take a Stand” program with a march to Guntersville and over the big river bridge.

Ellen is here because she wants to be.  Last night was our recurring theme of staying together at either my house or hers and completing our weekly team assignment for Biology class.  For several days we have been talking about this conference and what it stands for and what she will likely hear.  Ellen says she wants to learn more about what I am struggling with in my faith.  I am glad she is here.

Dad had asked me to videotape the conference. He knew I was pretty good with the new system the church had installed a few weeks ago.  I think he also just wanted me here.  Some form of him appeasing his guilt for spending so little time with me.

“Okay, Pastor Williams is about to deliver his sermon.” I said.

“Good morning fellow pastors.  It is an honor to be here with you, and it is encouraging to see so many out today, ready to ‘Take a Stand’ for our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

Before I get into the scriptures, before I give you a detailed exegesis of why we are right, why marriage is between one man and one woman, let me give you a real short summary of why we are right to be here today and why we are right to take real action to oppose gay marriage.

We have a guidebook for living.  It is called the Bible.  In it we find that God created our world and that he created all living things including humans.  He created Adam and Eve.  Now, they were very different from the birds, the fish, the reptiles, and the mammals.  God created man and woman in His image.  This means He created them with souls. His purpose in creating Eve was to give Adam a helpmate, a partner in life.  He didn’t give him a man.  God knew that only woman could fulfill His purposes for man. God said be fruitful and multiply.  In God’s creation, only man and woman, joined as one in Holy Matrimony, can produce offspring.  So, we know, we easily know, what is true about marriage.

But we also have another question.  What do we do if we face opposition?  If we face opposition that threatens our ability to fulfill God’s wishes, His commands?  We ‘Take a Stand.’  We let the world know God’s plan.  The early Christians had to fight the Roman government and opposing religious sects to build the Kingdom of God.  If they had chosen not to, then we wouldn’t have our freedoms today.

This country was founded by men and women who were Godfearing believers, who had fled England, a place of little religious freedom.  They were fleeing a government-run church.  That’s why they, in our Constitution, gave us religious freedom.  That means they believed, risking their very lives to do so, every man, woman, boy, and girl had the inalienable right to worship as he saw fit.  This sounds as though I am saying that gays should have this right too.  I’m not.  Their marrying isn’t about worship.  It is about rejection and revolt.  They are rejecting the Christian religion.  As we will see in the Book of Romans, homosexuals are denying God.  Our Founders all believed in the Bible as God’s Word.  They never envisioned a day when our government and its Supreme Court would reject the Bible.  There was never a single component of religious freedom, as embodied in the First Amendment, that recognized sin as a form of worship, and therefore guaranteed the protection of the Constitution.

If we do not ‘Take a Stand’ then someday we, as pastors, will be forced by government to marry gay couples.  We will be forced to assimilate gay couples in our churches exactly as we do Christian couples.  Can you imagine going on a marriage retreat to Gatlinburg, like so many of us have done in the past, and sharing a room with a gay couple?

Fellow pastors, if we want to stay in the business of building God’s Kingdom here on earth, we have to shore up our foundations and ‘Take a Stand.’”

Pastor Williams spent the next 45 minutes diligently laying out scriptures scanning the entire Bible, from Genesis through Revelation.  By the end of his sermon he had the entire conference united and chanting ‘Take a Stand.’

The day was long, all the way up to 4:30.  After Pastor Williams sermon, there was a two-hour Q & A with a panel of five pastors fielding questions from the other pastors.  Then we had an hour for lunch.  The afternoon was committee work. All types of committees had been organized—everything from ‘Licenses & Permits’ for the upcoming bridge march, to ‘Media Management’ including how to handle radio, newspaper, and social networking.  Ellen and I had been asked to capture the core of what was going on in these committees all over the church. 

We each had a camera and each a list of committees and their locations. 

She went her way and I went mine.

Dad, Ellen, and I met after all the pastors had left to discuss the status of our media work.  Dad would later have Todd Barrett, the church’s media director, assimilate and edit all segments to prepare a complete video of the entire day.  Dad intended to use this piece to encourage other pastors, even pastors in other states, to start their own ‘Take a Stand’ program.

Dad gave Ellen and me $50.00 each for our day’s work.  I was not expecting this.  He didn’t have to do it, but he did.  And he even dropped us off at Crater’s for dinner.  We had arranged to meet Ryan, Lisa, and Sarah there for our Saturday night hang-out since Ryan’s parents were hosting a Sunday School party in their basement rec room.

Sunday morning came way too soon.  I was still very tired from yesterday’s pastors conference, but I had to stay awake through Dad’s sermon.  He always kept an eye on me to make sure I was truly listening.  I never could figure out how he could see me, at least enough to check my ears and mind to see how tuned in I was, especially with me sitting up in the balcony with Ryan and Lisa.  But, I came to believe he had special powers because sometimes his questions at lunch made me realize I was clueless as to the answer, and that it was probably because I had zoned out during that part of his sermon.

So, I marshaled all my energies to listen.  About halfway through the preaching, my body came to full attention when out of nowhere I heard someone raise their voice at Dad from the congregation.  “Bigot, King of Bigots.”  A man shouted.  Then, like a choir chiming in around him, “Gays are humans.  You say you love them.  So, love them instead of fight them.”  Then the one man repeated his ‘Bigot’ phrase.  It was apparent we had been invaded.  

Dad was ready, well he was ready to press his lifeline button.  A year or so ago, Dad had installed a communication device on the right side of his pulpit.  It was designed to quickly summon the police.  This was precipitated by all the school and church shootings.  I’m confident Dad pressed the button almost before the end of the first chorus. 

In the meantime, a group of men, church members, confronted the group. From where I was seated I could see there were at least 10 of them.  Our men shouted to them to leave, but they refused and kept up their ‘song.’  Then, one of our men, Tom Dalton I believe, grabbed one man standing at the end of a pew and started pulling him out into the aisle.  Before Tom got him out and before he could turn him toward the back exit, I saw another member of the gang jump over the back of a pew and swing a fist at Tom.  A lot more of our men rushed the melee and thankfully before guns came out, the police arrived and took control of the escalating situation and escorted all 10 men to the city jail. All these men were unknown to me and probably everyone else in church.

When the agitators left, Dad asked everyone to return to their seats.  He finished his sermon as though nothing at all had happened, never mentioning anything about what everyone had just witnessed.

After the sermon, Dad, as always, stood at the front of the church and shook hands.  Then, we went home.  It was a quiet ride; only silent words being spoken.

Later we found out that the 10 men gang was not a gay group at all, but a rag-tag group from North Jackson County that had recently affiliated with a new, but growing, national group called ‘Freedom from Religion.’  The national group had a website that declared that religion, particularly the Christian religion, was taking over the entire country and that it was organized to prevent the United States from becoming a theocracy.

Sunday lunch with the family was as quiet as the car ride home.  Getting up from the table and about to head to my room, I turned to Dad and told him that I loved him and that I was proud of him.  He just looked at me and half smiled, and half cried.

I changed clothes and rode my bike to Ellen’s as planned.  We rode our bikes to the City Park and went to our thinking spot.  The one I had for a very long time, my very own personal spot.  Now, it was mine and Ellen’s.  To me, we were one.

“Finally, alone with my love.”  I said after filling her in on what happened at church this morning.  “I feel dirty after being at the conference all day yesterday and at church this morning.  I have never felt this way.  What is going on?”

“Of course, I do not know for sure, but could it be that you are going through a time that milk and baby food is no longer as satisfying as it used to be, and that you are now enjoying hamburgers and French fries.”  Ellen said.

“Great analogy, but it breaks down pretty quick in my mind.  Everyone, did I say everyone, knows that a baby starts off on milk and baby food.  It is a natural part of life, and again, the world knows this.  There is no surprise, and nothing wrong, with a baby growing up and moving onto hamburgers and fries.”  

“You obviously think that there is a right and wrong in your life.  That church and God and heterosexual couples are right, and evolution and homosexual couples, and me, are wrong.  Doesn’t that sum it up right now?  Of course, today, right here, right now, you are greatly questioning whether church and God’s ways are right.  But, still, at your core, you are firmly rooted in your faith. Right?”  Ellen said.

“You are right.  As always.  Ha.  Let’s drop this for now.  I want to concentrate on you.  I have missed you so much.  I have missed your touch, our talk, our time.  By the way, I wrote you a poem.  It is more like a letter than a poem.  Last night after I got home from Crater’s, where we didn’t get much alone time, I just had to express myself to you. 

I hope it speaks to you, honey.”

“Can I read it out loud?”  Ellen said.

“Sure, whatever you want.”

“Lying beside you is a most wonderful, glorious experience.  I love your naked body against mine.  I love our interlocking legs. I love to caress your body.  I love kissing your body.  I love your eyes smiling into me as I kiss your lips, eyes wide open.

But, as heavenly as this is, I’m convinced that dancing, slow dancing with you, my hands touching your hands, is just as good.

As is, riding bikes with you.

As is, singing together, hand in hand, walking in the rain.

As is, reading poems to each other leaning together against our big oak in your backyard.

As is, writing you a poem or a letter,

As is, kissing your picture when I go to bed at night,

As is, pulling your hair outside your jacket when you have forgotten, or when you just want me to notice it there,

As is, your text ‘good morning my one and only,’ every morning at 5:30,

As is, everything we do together and alone.

Because, you are my life, my world, my multi-verse.  You are in every cell of my body.  Everything about you is about me. You make my life worth living.  You give me real purpose.  You hold my world in your hands.

Without you, there is no reason to live.

Thank you, my love, for loving me, for choosing me.  When you could have had anyone else in the world, you chose me.

And, I am yours,

Always and Forever.” Ellen read out loud.

“You are a good reader.”  I said.

“You are a good listener.  So, listen.  I also wrote you a poem.  But, darn, I forgot to bring it.  I want this moment to be equally special for you as it has just been for me.  Would you read this poem to me and pretend I wrote it, because my love, I feel exactly as you do?  Your words are my words.  Okay?”  Ellen said.

“Beautiful.  Sure, I will read ‘your’ letter out loud.”  I said.

And I did, and the sun shone brighter, the wind blew calmer and cooler, and I imagined the rain, wherever it was, fell more sweetly and softly on couples walking down little winding pathways in the woods.  I was happy, happy for these imaginary/real couples, and I was happy for Ellen and me.

I lay in Ellen’s lap for as long as I could.  And talked.  And talked.  Her pulling my long brown hair up and back, across my face and under my nose. And laughed. And laughed.  Holding my hand.  Caressing my side and arm.  Just loving me. And loving. And loving more.

We kissed softly before we left our spot and parted.  Ellen to her house, me to mine.  I hummed Adele all the way home.  Happy.  So very happy.