Category: God and Girl

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

Today, is my 30th birthday.  I cannot believe it has been 14 years since I lost my Ellen.  I also cannot believe it has been 8 years since Dad died.  He had finally reached a point where New Visions had grown to a critical mass, as he called it.  But, no matter, Dad died of a heart-attack on a Saturday afternoon at home in late fall, while he and Mom were outside raking and burning leaves.

Two years after graduating high school, I believed I was finally ready to launch from the safe and secure little nest that had been my home for nearly twenty-one years. I knew it would be a launch that Ellen would so very much want for me.  I moved to Atlanta to start college. I chose Emory University because Mom and Dad both earned their graduate degrees there, and nearly as important, the quality of Emory’s undergraduate creative writing program.  It certainly didn’t come as a surprise to me that I wanted to be a professional writer, but just as important, probably more so, I wanted to teach.  Mr. Johnson in ninth and tenth grade Poetry classes convinced me that there could be no more rewarding job in the world than inspiring young minds to pursue, love, and immerse their lives in reading and writing poetry.  He always said that it can be the best vehicle for enabling a person to create meaning and find purpose in their lives.

After four years in Atlanta, and a year traveling throughout Europe—thanks Mom and Dad—I still wasn’t finished with my formal education.  I knew very few high schools or small colleges would seriously consider me if I didn’t have a master’s degree.  I chose the University of Virginia’s Master of Fine Arts program, concentrating in Poetry. After completing this two-year program, all while riding my bike and hiking over a thousand miles throughout the lovely mountains around Charlottesville, I lucked up with my dream job in Knoxville, Tennessee, teaching Poetry at Farragut High School.  This school has a rich history and is one of the top high schools in Tennessee.  I am now a little over a month into my fourth year living my dream, so motivated by Ellen to inspire young minds to seek, crawl, hobble, jog, and race towards truth, their own truth.

It is Friday and normally I would be teaching, but today I’m taking off to travel home to spend this evening and the weekend with Mom.  It is early, not quite 6:00 a.m., the sun just peaked inside my bedroom window.  I grab the bags I packed last night, toss them into the backseat of my Camry, check my bike to make sure it is still secure, and take off.  The drive south on Interstate 75 couldn’t be better.  There is nothing more beautiful than a Fall day in the south, especially in Tennessee and North Alabama.  The leaves are at their peak this weekend—at least that is what Stan at WBIR said last night on the 10:00 o’clock news.

I drive about an hour and a half stopping in Cleveland, Tennessee to buy gas and a sausage/cheese biscuit at Hardee’s. It will take about another two and one-half hours to reach Boaz, but first, there is something else I must do.

I continue south on Interstate 75 through Chattanooga and into Alabama.  At Exit 19, I turn left and head east on Hwy. 117 through Hammondville and Valley Head.  I arrive in Mentone around 8:45. I drive slowly as I pass familiar places, straining my neck as I look at the Mountain Laurel Inn, catching just a glimpse of the side porch.  I turn southeast and head towards DeSoto Falls.  I turn left on DeSoto Falls Road and pull off the road to my right and park besides the woods.  My mind is flooding back to the last time Ellen and I were here.  It was the weekend of my 16th birthday.  Her parents had allowed her to drive us in her old mare of a Mustang (truth is, she made me drive the entire weekend, said it would be great practice for my upcoming driver’s license exam).  We parked right here, right here where I am parked (truth is, we rode our bikes here from the Inn on Saturday morning, but Sunday afternoon as we were leaving Mentone, I drove us back here to make some pictures of each of us standing at the trail-head and beside her car). I grab a small backpack and a canteen of water, along with my hiking stick and set out into the woods and onto the trail.  It hasn’t changed in 14 years.  I walk nearly 20 minutes and find our rock, our Rock of Ages.

I sit down and look eastward out over the deep ravine and marvel at the multitude of red, yellow, orange, brown, and purple leaves, just like Ellen and I had done a long 14 years ago.  A cool breeze is blowing, and I almost wish I had brought a jacket. It seems a little cool for mid-October.  I lay back and close my eyes and settle my mind.  Soon, but not soon enough, I am laying here with my darling Ellen, and we are talking about trees and leaves and poetry and what love would look like sketched out on a canvas, what color it would be, asking each other whether it could walk and talk.  I could lay here forever, with Ellen pulling me onto her lap like she had done so many times, touching my face, my hair, my hands, my heart, so gently, so sweetly, softly raining words all over me, words that were beyond time, but inside the heart of pure love.  But, there is something else I had to do.

I must go for Always and Forever. I walk around the bend of the mountain, staying close to the edge, watching every step to avoid slipping into the abyss below.  I find the little thicket of brush and briers among the trees and walk a little further and find the spot with no vegetation, just flat, sandy rocks.  The little ledge I must maneuver to reach the cave is still unmoved and unchanged, just lying there waiting on me. I sit down and slide to my left, conducting a few butt-bumps for Ellen and a laugh. In a few minutes, I make it to the end with that sharp bending curve to the left.  I work my way up into a standing position and jump over the crevice to the flat ledge in front of the cave.

Quite frankly, I had forgotten how difficult it was to reach the cave.  I now cannot imagine what drove Ellen and me to sit down on that rock ledge and bump our butts into the unknown.  Then, I realized that act was the perfect representation of our entire relationship.  One of daring to venture out into a dangerous world, one where, especially in the community where we lived, only our feelings for each other, our deep commitment to each other, anchored us to our ship that would face tall and treacherous ocean waves that most 15 and 16-year-old pre-adults should have known to avoid at all costs.

I turn and look northeasterly and see DeSoto Falls.  It is the most beautiful waterfall I have ever seen, even more beautiful than those in Virginia—of course I am totally biased.  Without allowing myself from floating off into the one cloud above me, I get down on all fours and crawl into the cave. I stand up and make my way to my left and again take the crawling position. I make it the six or eight feet back into the tiny little chamber and the roadblock hasn’t moved.  The rock that stopped Ellen and me from continuing further into this side chamber hasn’t budged in 14 years.  I sit up on my knees and lay over the top of this altar-like rock and begin digging down in the ground on the other side. 

 I use my hands to move the soft dirt, thinking of Ellen, recalling that she was the one who buried our treasure, saying since she found our little angels she should be the one to bury the box, and that I should be the one to remove them on my 30th birthday.

I keep digging and finally I touch plastic.  I pull and push back sand and little pea size pebbles and clutch the top of the zip-lock bag and pull it up and over the rock as I’m sitting back up on my knees.  I back out on all fours, reaching out to pull the package every two feet I move.  Soon, I am sitting outside the cave, legs crossed together under me, with the package in my lap.

Fifteen years had passed since our first trip to Mentone. On that wonderfully golden, red, yellow, orange, brown, and purple leaf-colored weekend, we committed to each other that we would return today and recover Always and Forever, our special angels, those figurines that we had buried in this cave symbolized our dying to ourselves and becoming one with each other.  The figurines were nothing if they were not together—Always and Forever were one.  Just like Ellen and me.

I dust off the zip lock bag.  It seems it hadn’t changed a bit during all these years—still strong, still doing its job of protecting Always and Forever from decay.  I unzip the top of the bag and take out the shiny mahogany box. It is a little less shiny than I recall.  I remove the clasp and turn up the latch.  Before I open the lid, I recall, with perfect memory, what will be inside.  Always on the left and Forever on the right, both lying on a piece of dark maroon felt cloth, itself lying on top of two carefully crafted beds patiently and competently carved inside a separate piece of mahogany just slightly smaller than the sides of the box.  Opening the lid will show them side by side, asleep.  I imagine Always’ left hand just barely touching Forever’s right hand, I know opening the lid will awaken them.  I am ready to look once again deep into Ellen’s eyes.

I raise the lid.  I am not prepared for what I find.  The first thing I see is an envelope with my name hand-written on the front center.  I remove it and then see Always and Forever right where we left them exactly 15 years ago today.  I can hardly see.  My eyes are filled with tears.  I can only think and wonder how and when this envelope has gotten here.

I open the envelope carefully, using a little pin-knife I have in my pocket.  There are two sheets of paper, each folded separately.  The top one is a piece of stationery from the Mountain Laurel Inn.  Handwritten on the outside fold are these words: “Hi Ruthie, my rock, my once in life love, my Forever, please read this letter first.”  The writing is Ellen’s without a doubt.

I start reading as the wind picks up a little.  “Wow, how time flies.  I am sorry I am not sitting right next to you.  Happy 30th birthday my once in life love.  I know you are wondering how and when I placed this note and the attached poem (yes, that’s what’s in it!!!) here in the cave inside our mahogany box.  It was during our second trip to Mentone, the weekend of your 16th birthday.  Of course, this was supposed to become an annual event—celebrate your birthday, just the two of us, in Mentone every year.  You surely remember that poem assignment Mr. Johnson gave us—he called it the After-Death poem, I call it Journey to Love–a couple of weeks before your sixteenth birthday.  I know you will recall we were to write as though we had died and needed to say some things to one special person who was still living.  Of course, I wrote mine to you.  It was a weird experience, imagining I was dead and gone, but still conscious and knowing I had to communicate one final message to you.  Writing that poem really got me to thinking how life can be short, how it can throw a curve ball or two, and how one of us might not make it to come here together on your thirtieth birthday.  So, I decided that I would write you a letter and a poem and place them in the box with Always and Forever, just to make sure that if I died before then I could truly give you my thoughts from the other side.

You recall that we had reservations at the Mountain Laurel Inn since early spring.  We, as we did the prior year, came to our spot, our Rock of Ages.  That afternoon, after laying side by side for a long, long time, speaking silently to each other’s eyes, me on my right side, you on your left, we both lay back on our packs and fell asleep.  Or, I should say, you fell asleep.  I had planned a return trip to our cave a few days earlier.  I had been writing you this poem—don’t read it yet.  I had written this note in the Inn the night before, after dinner when you stayed and talked to Mrs. Bradford, while you let me return to our room to take a nap, since I was more tired than usual.  I made sure you were asleep and then made my little journey butt-bumping over the rock lip and into our cave.  It was no trouble to find our package.  It was right where it was supposed to be.  After placing these two letters inside, I sealed it all back up and returned it to its home beyond the rock altar.  Until now, Always and Forever, and these two letters, have rested comfortably, patiently, securely, waiting for our return and your release.  I was lucky to get back to you on our Rock before you awoke.  I guess our little angels had been patiently rocking you softly and singing an Adele love song to keep you enchanted and asleep.  

Now, when you are ready you can read my poem, no rush, I’ve got plenty of time to wait for you to read.  Please read it out-loud to me my love, just like we used to do.

Ellen, your Always.”

I am screaming with tears.  I need some time before I can read Ellen’s poem.  I decide to pack things up and head back to our Rock.  I am afraid that if I read her poem now I will become disabled to the point I cannot make the treacherous journey back.  

I place Ellen’s note and poem back into her envelope, fold it and place it in my front right pocket.  I cannot risk losing them down the side of the ravine.  I take a chance with Always and Forever inside their box. I secure my belt through the latch and attach the belt to my left leg, so I can drag the mahogany box along with me as I bump along the rock ledge. I take my time and am very careful.  I finally make it back to our Rock and sit down and breathe and let my mind settle.  Some way, I know Ellen is here, right beside me.  I am ready.  I take out her poem and start to read, out loud, as the breeze again picks up just a little, as though to play a musical refrain, readying the choir.  My spine shivers as I feel Ellen nudging even closer to my heart.

Journey to Love

“Ruthie, my one and only,

My once in life love.

Don’t be sad.

Since I left you earthbound

I am still traveling,

My earthbound phase is over.

Oh sure, absolutely, I wish 

We could have stayed together forever

Maybe growing up and moving 

To Mentone, finding us a little cabin,

Always finding time for our poetry.

Maybe Chaz would have given us a job

At the Wildflower cafe,

Or maybe we could have purchased

The Mountain Laurel Inn

And developed better house-keeping skills,

And really learned to cook Red-eye gravy. Yuck!!!

Buy it with the help of our parents of course.

Life with you, that phase of life,

Should have lasted 100 more years at least.

But, it didn’t.

Why, I still don’t know.

And, I guess I never will.

Ruthie, my one and only,

I am still traveling,

My heaven bound phase is just starting.

This is just part of our Journey to Love.

I believe you will join me someday, but

We have never parted, a little 

Transformation yes, but we are still walking

Together.  

Poetry allows us to do this,

You know that as well as me.

You must let yourself believe and know 

That we are still one, but we have

To create a new language now,

We must develop a new way

To swim,

To bike,

To sing,

To dance.

All the many ways we made love are

Foreign now, but the love remains, And new ways are within our reach, We will be creative.

We will build a vast library

Of love songs that we will share

And only you and I will hear, 

And only you and I will dance to them.

Ruthie, my one and only,

I am still traveling,

My heaven bound phase continues.

But I will never forget how

You changed my life, One day at a time By being you.

Every day we were together.

Whether you intended to or not,

Your life preached a powerful message. You showed me you were in love with life,

The kind you see and touch.

You also showed me there was life beyond life,

Life dancing all around, unseen, but as

Near as the wind, as pure as the rain.

Now, no doubt you didn’t have it all figured out,

But you were doggedly determined to know 

every detail, weren’t you?

You kept on searching and longing.

You believed that unseen life, a spirit you thought,

Was as real, really part of the same, as our love,

Our love was our hands, and our feet, our heads, 

And our heart, but it was also the air in our lungs,

It was the heaven in our kisses,

It was the manna for our souls. 

Ruthie, my one and only,

I am still traveling,

My heaven bound phase continues.

Your life’s words,

Convinced me that you believed in two

Rocks of Ages, ours in Mentone,

But also, another one you talked about,

Often not even in words,

The one Toplady wrote about in 1763

(sorry, but I did some research myself)

As he took shelter from the raging storm,

In the gap of that rock wall,

You believed that out there somewhere,

Maybe everywhere, there is a savior that

Takes care of big baby and little baby humans, 

Even little Ella down in that south African

Deep, dark cave. 

You believed this savior rocked her

Outward from that cave and upward ‘to worlds unknown.’ And that someday, that day soon or 

Far, far away, you will cling to that ‘Rock of Ages,’ and let Him hide you,

Safely and sweetly, always and forever.

Ruthie, my one and only,

I am still traveling,

My heaven bound phase goes on and on.

Don’t worry about me.

Live your life.

Go forth and be you.

While you are going about your life, I ask you to do something just for me.

Please find yourself a helpmate.

Sorry, but I know you haven’t done this yet. I know because Always and Forever stopped you, But now they empower you to move forward.

I beg you to move on, to find,

A friend, a lover, another heartbeat.   You do need a partner in that phase of life, One you can see, hold, and touch.

Remember, time, talk, and touch,

Is all it takes to raise up real romance.

Please, for me, find you another Ellen.

Of course, that will be impossible, Because I was perfect in every way. Ha.

But there will be someone in close second. It may just be that right now she is near, That you know her already.

Please, do this for me.

I can wait for you so much more easily Knowing you have found another joy.

Ruthie, my one and only, I am no longer traveling.

I am finally home, Home to my mansion in the sky, I now walk on streets of gold.

I now talk with friends untold. I am in His presence, And I am joyful.

Don’t worry about me,

I am doing just fine,

As I cling to my

Rock of Ages.

(I’m sorry I didn’t get to tell you

Face to face how much this song 

Meant to me, means to me).

‘Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee;

Let the water and the blood,

From Thy wounded side which flowed,

Be of sin the double cure,

Save from wrath and make me pure.

Not the labor of my hands

Can fulfill Thy law’s demands;

Could my zeal no respite knows,

Could my tears forever flow,

All for sin could not atone;

Thou must save, and Thou alone.

Nothing in my hand I bring,

Simply to Thy cross I cling;

Naked, come to Thee for dress;

Helpless, look to Thee for grace; Foul, I to the fountain fly; Wash me, Savior, or I die.

While I draw this fleeting breath,

When my eyes shall close in death,

When I rise to worlds unknown,

And behold Thee on Thy throne,

Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee.’

Goodbye for now my one and only, My once in life love.

I will see you again, 

I will hold you again.

Always and Forever, I will love you.”

I look down at the bottom of the page and see something else written by Ellen.

“Ruthie,

Sorry, but I have something else I must tell you.  There is another letter for you.  It is at the very bottom of the box.  It is under our special angels and under their little carved out beds.”

I open the box and remove the angels, the felt cloth, and the separate piece of wood that has had some special and unique carving done to make little angel beds.

“Dear Ruthie:

I am writing this on Thursday night before we leave for Mentone tomorrow—our weekend trip to celebrate your 16th birthday.  

I am sorry for not being honest with you right up front.  I should have told you about my brain tumor just as soon as I found out.  I found out the Monday after the pastor’s conference your Dad held at your church where you and I did all the videotaping.  You may or may not remember that my Mom and I were both absent from school that whole day.  I lied to you when I later told you that we had to carry my Father to the airport in Birmingham and that we had decided to make a day of it, shopping, eating out, and being together, just the two of us.  It seems that one lie leads to another as we have been told all our lives.

My plan, my serious plan, as I am sitting here right now, is to tell you about this life-changing information next Friday night, after we return from Mentone.  I know that we will be together, since that is when we normally finish up our team assignment for Biology.  That is when I plan on telling you that when Mom and I went to Birmingham, we found out I have an inoperable brain tumor and that it will kill me, in less than a year most likely, but it can be a lot quicker. But, the doctor said things could be quite normal for me for at least a few more weeks.  He said that I would start having dizzy spells at some point but most likely they would be very mild.  I insisted that the chemo and radiation not start until after we celebrate your 16th birthday.  The doctor finally agreed but made me promise to take the latest wonder drug, one that had just been approved.  It was supposed to stop the intensity of the tumor’s progression.  Naturally, Mom, Dad, and I were absolutely devastated by the news.

But, I knew how afraid I was to tell you.  It wasn’t because I didn’t think you could handle it or I thought you would stop loving me.  No, I never thought that.  I knew you would be faithful to me until the very end—forever.  No, I was concerned I might completely chicken out from telling you and that you would find out in a completely ‘wrong’ way, like seeing me one day at school with a wig on after my hair had started falling out from the chemo, or some other strange and hurtful way. Please know, that I sit here fully determined to tell you next Friday night.  I know it is the absolute right thing to do.  Again, forgive me for not telling you immediately.  Again, if by some chance something keeps me from telling you the FULL truth next Friday night or at any time after that, I wanted a way to ‘make’ myself tell you the truth, finally, even if it is 14 years later, therefore, the reason for this letter.

After we left the doctor’s office–actually, we were at the St. Vincent’s Hospital by then—I told Mom I didn’t want to talk, that I just needed to think.  My thinking was very strange.  One would think she would be falling apart because she had just learned she was dying, but I couldn’t think of anything but our trip to Mentone and how special a time it would be, just the two of us, again together in our favorite spot.  I decided I wouldn’t tell you until after our trip.  

I knew that if I did it would spoil our time together.  It would affect both you and me.  It would affect you in so many ways.  You would become my protective mother: ‘Ellen, you don’t need to dance, let’s just sit here by the fire.’ ‘Ellen, you don’t need to ride bicycles,’ ‘Ellen, you don’t need to (on and on and on).’ And, you would become so sad, so tearful, so lost. And, the effects on you would obviously affect me.  I couldn’t stand having two protective mothers, and I couldn’t bear to see you sad.  I wanted and needed the both of us to be totally ourselves during our last weekend in Mentone.  

I wanted our last weekend in Mentone to be REAL, or as best I could make it, knowing what I did know.  I wanted it to be like our first trip when my parents took us, but we were completely alone, when we celebrated your 15th birthday.  I wanted it to be even better than that trip.  I wanted us to laugh and love, dance and hike, bike and sing, and play and plan like we always did.

It’s funny, not really, but it is certainly mind-altering when you lie.  As you know we had talked about our trip for weeks including us getting to drive by ourselves.  That was a very big thing for us.  It certainly showed how much our parents loved and trusted us.  I had to wage an outright war with Mom and Dad to convince them to let us drive to Mentone.  I had to promise that I wouldn’t drive, that I would let you drive.  Now, you know the truth about why I insisted that you drive EVERYWHERE, during that weekend. No, it wasn’t because I was so generous and wanted you to get some great practice.  More lies, yes.  They do in fact reproduce rapidly right after the first one is born.

Ruthie, please know that I know the importance of truth to a real relationship.  It is the very lifeblood.  It is the foundation.  Without it, without it in full, there is a crack in the wall, there is a leak in the vessel.  I hope you will forgive me for my selfishness.  That’s most likely the reason I lied to you, why you didn’t know the truth during our last weekend in Mentone.  I was looking out for myself.  I wanted you to be able to show me your love the way I had experienced it so many times before.  That is the truth.  I selfishly interrupted the reality of our lives, all trying to avoid pain.  I guess avoiding pain today multiplies pain tomorrow. 

And now, I must also make sure you know something else of great importance to me—of course you should already know this because, just like the brain tumor news, my plan is to tell you this ‘faith’ news next Friday night, right after we return from Mentone.  But, by chance I get hit by a bus before I can tell you, my backup plan, my plan B, will assure me that you will ultimately know the truth when you read my ‘Journey to Love’ poem on your 30th birthday.  My ‘faith’ news is about my decision to pursue Christ.  

Again, this should be old news to you, but if not here goes.  When I learned that I was going to die, my outlook on the afterlife changed radically.  A fear overwhelmed me. It made me so scared I could barely function.  It drove me to searching for some peace, some security.  The Christian faith offered courage to counter my fear. 

Now, don’t get me wrong.  It was not like I suddenly started believing the Bible was without error and that I stopped believing that evolution is true.  But, it did make me think that there may be some truth in Scripture, maybe the core story about God sending His Son to save us from our sins and to make a way for us to spend eternity in Heaven. I continued to believe that there was no real Adam and Eve, but I felt there may have come a time in human evolution that God gave man a soul.  I reasoned that maybe the men who wrote the Bible, especially the gospel writers, got it right, in the main.  But, the thing that gave me the most peace and hope was our good friend, the Reverend Toplady.  He wouldn’t have known a whole lot about evolution back in 1763. He would have likely believed in Adam and Eve.  So, even though he lived without knowing the truth about some big issues, it sure seems he knew something about inspiration and about Jesus.  He says that he was inspired to write ‘Rock of Ages.’  His inspired song inspired me and my decision to pursue faith.  

And, there was another source of my inspiration. The Naledi people inspired me.  And, like Toplady, they knew nothing of evolution, yet they had some awareness that there was something beyond death, hopefully life, albeit another form of life. 

I must admit that part of my reasoning was that I didn’t have many other options.  I reviewed my former beliefs that when you die, you die, and that’s it—you simply cease to exist, to live.  End of story.  Given my death sentence I didn’t find much comfort in that because our story would end, our journey to love would be over.  So, my best option was faith in Jesus (sorry Jesus, but I know you value truth and you already know this anyway).  By the way, during this whole process, I never felt like our relationship was wrong—no, I never believed something so beautiful, so wonderful, so loving could be something God would consider sin.

So, as best I knew how, I confessed and believed. Here is my ‘Rock of Ages’ revision to better express my faith story:

“Naked, come to Thee for dress;

Foul, I to the fountain fly;

Nothing in my hand I bring,

Not the labor of my hands

Can fulfill Thy law’s demands;

Could my zeal no respite know,

Could my tears forever flow,

All for sin could not atone;

Simply to Thy cross I cling;

Helpless, look to Thee for grace;

Thou must save, and Thou alone.

Wash me, Savior, or I die.

Let the water and the blood,

From Thy wounded side which flowed,

Be of sin the double cure,

Save from wrath and make me pure.

While I draw this fleeting breath,

When my eyes shall close in death,

When I rise to worlds unknown,

And behold Thee on Thy throne,

Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee;

I must say it once more, please forgive me.

Yours Always,

Ellen”

I finish reading Ellen’s final letter, her confession, and close my eyes, feeling the wind transporting me back to the hospital that fateful Friday night, the last night of Ellen’s life here on earth.  About the time I returned to the Chapel after visiting Ellen in ICU would have been about the time Ellen would have told me her secrets if she had lived.  We would have been at her house most likely, working on our team assignment in Biology.  She probably would have turned her computer chair around and asked me to sit on her bed.  Then, she would have told me about her brain tumor, and her ‘faith’ decision, and asked me for forgiveness.

She never got the chance to confess to me, face-to-face.  Life abandoned her before she could.  Instead, she was lying on her death bed in the hospital.  Life had thrown us a curve, and I was ill-prepared to face it and the future.

Unknown to me at the time, in the prior few days before her accident, Ellen had been revealing her deepest secrets.  But, now I know.  Even though I knew Ellen was remarkable in so many ways, smart, determined, loving, kind, respectable, curious and creative, I had missed the raw courage she possessed.  She faced death and didn’t self-destruct as I had done.  She loved me too much to do that.  She, through rugged determination, fought off the death demons hovering all around her and put me and our love first.  She sacrificed greatly so we could build an eternal memory in Mentone during our final weekend.

Oh, so much more importantly than that, she revealed the softness and tenderness of her heart.  She allowed faith to fill her mind, body, and soul with truth.  Ellen found her truth and she was bold enough, strong enough, mature enough, to share it with me.  I should have seen it in the nursing home that Wednesday night she asked to go with me and the youth group.  It should have been obvious when she stood up for me, believed in me, spoke for me, when I could not speak, when I could not answer Ms. Townsend’s simple but complex question she posed to me: “What do you believe?”   

I think someway Ellen knew that she had to have a plan B, that things just didn’t feel like the stars would so align to enable her to have our little talk on that Friday night after our Mentone weekend.

Ellen, I love you more now than ever.  And, yesterday, I would have sworn that would be impossible.  You were so much more of a real human being than me.  I didn’t deserve you, but you thought differently, because you chose to love me with every cell of your being.

Finally, as early afternoon approached, it began to rain.  And, I rained tears, where they came from I will never know since I thought I had cried them out after the final letter.

Just like that Saturday afternoon 14 years ago, the rain became more intense the nearer I walked to my car and the trail-head.  “Hurry Ruthie, I have an idea.”  I could hear and feel Ellen say.  I knew that she was pulling and prodding me to get on our bikes and find that old red barn and have just one more dance.

I bolted out of my dream as I unlocked my car door.  I drove the next hour or so straight to Mom’s house in Boaz without wiping a drop of rain off my face and arms, supernaturally recognizing a courage building in my heart as Ellen’s inspiration soaked deep into my mind and soul.

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

Dad spent the next several days fielding calls from concerned church members and fellow pastors from around the southeast, most of whom he had met as part of the ‘Take a Stand’ program.  They all wanted to know what had changed, what beliefs had changed.

He told the truth.  He said he now believed that homosexuality was not necessarily a sin, that it depended on the circumstances.  That if two men or two women truly loved each other, and their sexuality was not based on lust, how could this be sin.  If two people were head over hills in love and their sexuality was simply an expression of the trueness and pureness of that love, then again, how could this be sin.  

Dad told the callers that the church doesn’t get bent out of shape over the lust that exist in the lives of many heterosexual married couples. Yet, these sins are known to exist, more likely, they are rampant in the lives of Christian couples.  Also, the church seems to look away from scripture when it concerns divorce and adultery.  

Dad explained that he believes the church’s stance against homosexuality is tearing the church apart.  Many members believe it is not a sin.  But, more importantly, the reason young people are either leaving the church or are totally uninterested in the church at all, is because the church is seen to them as ancient and bigoted, unwilling to acknowledge evolution and science discoveries over the past 150 years.  Young people are much more accepting of evolution and distrusting of the Bible as a historical document.  They are aware there is growing scientific evidence that homosexuality is genetic and not simply a choice, a sinful choice. They are not buying into the argument at all that being born black is totally different than being a homosexual.

Dad stressed that the church must stop ignoring evolutionary science and its impact upon the veracity of certain scripture if it wants to remain something more than a dying institution.  Dad pointed out that it is imperative that churches be more open about scripture and how they came to be, and not to be afraid of acknowledging known errors and being open to future, undiscovered errors.  Dad always was open about how the existence of God was not dependent on whether the Bible was literally true down to every word.

If the caller asked, Dad told them about his plans to start a new type of church.  He would always close his conversation by thanking the caller and by asking for their prayers.

I was proud Dad let me listen to a lot of these calls.  It truly encouraged me.

Dad’s decision to resign and his plan to start a new church greatly influenced my own recovery.

After Ellen died in mid-November last year, I was unable to return to school.  I had no interest whatsoever in life, especially not school life.

But, real interest in what Dad was doing with his new church, New Visions, was somehow triggered.  I don’t know for sure what caused it, but I started going with Dad to work.  He had lucked out (or something helped him) when he was contacted by Ann from the Guntersville ‘Take a Stand’ march.  She had heard of Dad’s decision and asked to be a part of the new church.  Her and Gina, Ann’s partner, encouraged and persuaded a lot of their friends and acquaintances to give New Visions a chance.

Dad, with me by his side, would do everything to get the word out.  We became very active on social media.  We did interviews with radio stations and newspapers.  Scott at WBSA was very helpful in the early days, having us back on his talk show at least three times.

There was never a time New Visions didn’t have at least a few people present at the Sunday morning service.  It did come close.  Those present during the first service were Ann and Gina and their friends Karen and Tina, and Mom, Jacob, Rachel, Dad and me.  Then, starting the second week, our numbers went up exponentially, well, to the 25person level.  Weeks and weeks kept coming and going but attendance also kept growing.

Also, when Fall came back around, when I should have been starting the eleventh grade, I started the tenth grade for the second time.  Mom, on a light note, told me that not many smart young girls like me get to start their 10th grade year all over again.  I told her that made me sad, but I appreciated her attempt to make me happy.

I was able to start and finish the tenth grade.  I graduated with only one B, and that was in Biology.  Two years later I graduated high school.  I was proud of that, even though I was a little sad not being able to graduate with my classmates that I had been with for over nine years.  School, high school, was very difficult because everywhere I went I saw Ellen.  And, seeing Dr. Ayers almost every day nearly made me call 911.  That wasn’t her intention of course but it simply took my mind back to Ellen and her house, thinking of spending so many hours together working on Biology team-assignments, swimming, dancing, loving and sleeping.  Someway I didn’t crash because I knew Ellen would want me to be strong and to be strong for her Mom.  In a weird sort of way, Ellen was with me every step of the way.

And I had New Visions to remind me that if it hadn’t been for Ellen, it wouldn’t even be a thought.  Dad would likely have never resigned.  Because he would have never learned firsthand what love looks like between two young ladies.  I thank Ellen every day that she loved me and was not afraid to let the world around her know that she loved me.  Her love was, in a sense, stronger than God, the church, the Bible, and all of Dad’s years of allegiance. The pull of Dad’s former Christianity anchored him down so solidly in waters, dark and deep, that had him blinded to the world around him, had him blinded to the love of God that was trying to turn the world upside down again, just like it had over 2,000 years ago.  

Thank you, Ellen, Dad, and New Visions.  You enabled me to get up and walk forward every day during my second attempt at 10th grade and throughout the remaining two years of high school.  I owe you for this.  But, I also feel I’m not ready to fly.

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

The holidays came and went.  But, I kept on screaming, not every minute, but three or four times a day, like seasons of the year, my voice spewed a chorus against everyone and everything in my path, living or dead, but mostly against God.  I finally realized it was doing no good, especially my verbal anger against God; God couldn’t hear.  He was either non-existent, dead, or simply didn’t care.

As the cold and lifeless shouts of my mind fell silent, my heart grew still and heard the faint but undeniable whispers from Ellen’s beautiful lips.  Her words motivated me to return to my writing.  And, I kept on writing.  Unsurprisingly, poetry became my salvation, although sitting in front of the fireplace in the den didn’t hurt.  The burning wood allowed me frequent trips back to Mentone with Ellen sitting beside me in the yard of the Mountain Laurel Inn with Chaz and his band playing on the make-shift stage.  We held hands and fed each other sweet-potato pie, and laughed and danced and sang:

“Tonight’s the night and it feels so right

What my heart’s saying to me

You’re the one and I’ve waited so long

So, let your love flow through me

Oh baby ’cause it feels so good

We can be this close

You’ve got me up so high

I could fly coast to coast

Come on and touch me when we’re dancing

You know you’ve got that lovin’ touch

Oh, touch me when we’re dancing

I wanna feel you when I’m fallin’ in love.”

Those cold winter nights by the fire painted for me a portrait, one of Ellen and me by the fire, and taught me that our imaginations were one of the most powerful forces in the universe.  This portrait and its eternal chemistry with poetry were my true salvation during the darkest days of my life.

Another saving grace over the past several weeks had been my Dad, to my complete surprise.  I was not surprised by his sweet smiles, tender touch, and morning and evening ‘I love you.’

No, it was our talks that fed me, that nourished my soul when it was already dead from starvation. It all started with him listening to me.  He gave me the freedom to speak my heart and mind.  He encouraged me too.  He never condemned.  He never judged, even after I had laid out a detailed outline of my thoughts, I HATE GOD FOR WHAT HE HAS DONE TO ME, and I DOUBT THERE EVEN IS A GOD.  Of

course, my rationality was suffering right along with my faith.  Most days I made no sense at all, I’m sure, but Dad listened and, slowly, started to talk with me.

One day, I think it was in late January or early February, Dad came after supper and knocked on my door.  It was already late, but he wanted to talk, even asked me for my thoughts. It was Saturday night and I felt it a little strange that he wouldn’t be headed to his study to complete his final preparations for Sunday’s sermon.  I just figured he needed to work on some guilt he was feeling for being away.  He had left the past Wednesday morning for a pastor’s conference in Nashville.  Mom told me later that he was in a cabin on Lindsey Lake in David Crockett State Park in Lawrenceburg, Tennessee. She said that Dad changed his mind as he was driving to Nashville and made his detour, saying that he needed a few days alone to think and make some sense out of his life.

I thought this was very odd for Dad, the man with the plan, the man with God’s plan.  As Dad sat down in Granny Brown’s rocking chair beside my bed, I told him I hoped he had a good time alone.  I told him I was proud that he had taken a little time for himself.

“Thanks honey.  The time was very rewarding.  The cold days out in the woods and by the lake killed off a lot of germs I have been unknowingly carrying around for quite some time.  The warm nights sitting alone by the fireplace resurrected buried feelings and beliefs that all men and women are on the same journey and that each of us have a responsibility to love and respect everyone, never judging, and always offering that cool drink of water.”  Dad said.

“Sounds like fireplaces have a way of transporting us to truth, reality, things that really matter.” I said.

“You are absolutely right.  Honey, I wanted you to be the second person to know that I have decided to resign as pastor of First Baptist Church.  When I was leaving my cabin, I called your Mom and told her.  It was a long phone call.  We talked nearly the entire time I was driving back.  I made her promise she would not tell you.”  Dad said.

“Why Dad?  What is going on?  What is making you do this?” I asked.

“I, like you, am on a journey to truth.  I have spent the past several weeks questioning everything I believe.  I have read and researched widely, even pulling out a lot of my materials from seminary.  You may faint when I tell you this, because it is unlike anything you have ever heard from my mouth.  I no longer believe the Bible is without error.  In fact, I believe it contains a lot of errors.

For example.  In the King James Version, Daniel 3:25 should read “a son of the gods” and not “the Son of God.”  Obviously, inserted to promote Jesus and Christianity.  First John 5:7-8 is clearly man-made. Pressure from the Catholic church caused Erasmus to add this Trinitarian formula (“in heaven, the Father, the Word, and the Holy Spirit, and these three are one. And there are three that testify on earth”). 

Again, inserted to promote the trinity and Christianity.

And, a very big error is found in Mark.  The original ending was: “Do not be alarmed. You seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has risen; he is not here. See the place where they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going before you to Galilee. There you will see him, just as he told you.  And they went out and fled from the tomb, for trembling and astonishment had seized them, and they said nothing.”  But, our church fathers didn’t like this ending because it said nothing about Jesus being seen after his resurrection. So, a human mind made up a new ending.  The King James editors included it in their Bible: 

“Now when he rose early on the first day of the week, he appeared first to Mary Magdalene, from whom he had cast out seven demons. She went and told those who had been with him, as they mourned and wept. But when they heard that he was alive and had been seen by her, they would not believe it. After these things, he appeared in another form to two of them, as they were walking into the country. And they went back and told the rest, but they did not believe them.

Afterward he appeared to the eleven themselves as they were reclining at the table, and he rebuked them for their unbelief and hardness of heart, because they had not believed those who saw him after he had risen. And he said to them, ‘Go into all the world and proclaim the gospel to the whole creation. Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved, but whoever does not believe will be condemned. And these signs will accompany those who believe: in my name, they will cast out demons; they will speak in new tongues; they will pick up serpents with their hands; and if they drink any deadly poison, it will not hurt them; they will lay their hands on the sick, and they will recover.’ So, then the Lord Jesus, after he had spoken to them, was taken up into heaven and sat down at the right hand of God. And they went out and preached everywhere, while the Lord worked with them and confirmed the message by accompanying signs.”

There are hundreds more errors in the Bible, things that rational people cannot explain away, that all reasonable people would conclude are errors.  A lot of these errors I learned about in seminary, but of course the professors didn’t call them errors.  They always had a way to explain these ‘oddities’ that reconciled with the Bible as the Word of God.

I can no longer, in good conscience, stand before a congregation and proclaim that the Bible is God’s Word, Holy Word, without error.

If the Bible is untrue in some areas, why isn’t it untrue when it comes to homosexuality?  Since we know a man, a human mind, added his own words to Bible manuscripts, how do we know that a human didn’t write-in his own hatred for homosexuals?  Whether this happened or not, I have been wrong in my stance against homosexuality.  I now have proof, living proof, real evidence, of how wonderful and beautiful a relationship between two young ladies can be.  Honey, you and Ellen, unknowingly, were probably my greatest teachers.  It was your relationship that got me to thinking.  How can homosexuality be a sin if it produces such love, such caring, such joy, such peace, such real romance?

The Bible teaches that sin has awful consequences.  The Bible never teaches that sin produces such beauty and wonder. Of course, it argues that sin, for a season, seems fun, but that is irrelevant in our case.  I know beyond doubt that your love for Ellen and her love for you will last forever.

I’ve also been reading your book, Why Evolution is True, along with a ton of related articles.  I now know why you believe evolution is true.  It seems rather ignorant not to believe that it is the best, and only, reasonable explanation science has for all living things and all things that have died.

The Bible is supposed to lay out the creation story.  As you clearly know, Genesis says God created Adam and Eve in His image on day 6, instant creation.  But, you also know that this just isn’t true.  Man has evolved over millions of years, sharing a common ancestor with apes and chimps.

I simply can no longer preach with my head in the sand.  I can no longer deny the truth like, so many Christians are doing, including well-respected theologians, such as John K. Pullman.  In 2008, he wrote the forward to a book titled, ‘God or Science: Do We have a Choice?’ Pullman is clearly wrong when he says “evolution is a guess.  It is just a hypothesis.”  

His stock value drops to near zero for me with this statement.  He chooses to ignore 99% of all real scientists.  They would all say that “evolution is a fact.”  And they could point to mountains of evidence to SHOW it is true. 

Pullman also said, ‘the biblical narratives of creation don’t obviously say anything that bears one way or another on the question of whether the evolutionary hypothesis might be true or not.’

Pullman obviously ignores the plain reading of Genesis as it clearly describes God creating Adam and Eve on a certain day–the plain reading is that these are normal length days.  The Genesis creation story is directly opposed to evolution.  Genesis obviously has lots to say that relates directly to evolution.  Pullman also is ignorant when he labels evolution a hypothesis.  He doesn’t understand the scientific meaning of hypothesis.  Evolution was much closer to that status in Darwin’s day.  Today, 150 years after Darwin, it has leaped into fact status.  Most scientists would say that ‘evolution is a fact’ just like ‘gravity is a fact.’ 

Pullman is typical in that he totally ignores the reality of science.  He knows an honest investigation would reveal his Bible creation story is far, far from reality.  He realizes–though never openly admitting it–that his hypothesis that the Bible is true, totally true, is losing ground fast, that the hypothesis, in fact, is no longer a viable hypothesis.  The evidence is in, and it reveals that the hypothesis has been proven false.  It must therefore be abandoned.  Pullman will never do this.  He will continue to crawl to higher ground, ground that is forming a tall, tall point, with no plane to stand on, no flat ground to pitch a nice tent.  When he reaches the point, the peak of the mountain, he will have to admit, at least to himself, that there is no more higher ground.

Pullman’s ignorance, and his attitude towards his ignorance–and the many others similarly situated–is likely one of the main reasons younger generations are either abandoning the church/Bible, or not in any way drawn to or interested in it.  Their minds being shaped and formed the way they are–let’s just say, minds that are rational/reasonable–forbid them from adopting opposite positions on the same topic.  They realize there is simply too much evidence from science to conclude that evolution is simply a hypothesis, that the first man and woman were Adam and Eve, and that they were created, instantly, by a God, that is either powerless to help millions of suffering children in the world, or worse yet, a God that simply doesn’t care.

Again, I no longer can stand before our congregation and lie. 

But, I don’t want you to think I no longer believe in God or think the Bible isn’t a great work of literature.  I just know that I have miles and miles to go before I truly know God.  But, I believe there is truth to be found.” Dad said.

“What will you do Dad?  I mean after you resign?”  I said.

“I want to start a new church, for want of a better name.”  Dad said. “I want a place that welcomes all, no matter their beliefs, no matter their color, no matter their sexual orientation, no matter why they have been marginalized before.  I want a place where we celebrate life. Life is love, it is literature, it is poetry, it is the sun, moon and stars, it is rainbows and mountain streams.  Life is our imagination and our curiosity. It is my hope that my new ‘church’ will be a place that people find community, a place to gather with friends and family, a place to sing, a place to pray if that is what they want, a place to love and be loved, a place of acceptance, a place without judgment, a place to worship and serve the true and living God.”  Dad said.

“Wow, you truly are a radical dad.  A radical for truth and freedom, real religious freedom.  I love it and want to be a part of it.” I said.

“Of course, you can. You will be my top adviser.  I mean it.  Honey, thanks for listening and thanks even more for opening my eyes and triggering my curiosity and imagination.  You launched me onto a great adventure.  We can search together.”  Dad said.

Dad said good-night around 2:30 a.m.  Surprisingly, I felt sad.  Does Dad know what he is getting into?  He is a Southern Baptist pastor in the heart of the Bible belt, the infamous bigoted Alabama.  I’m afraid he is soon to find out what real Christian love is all about.

Sunday morning at 11:00 a.m. came quickly.  I was at home as I have been every Sunday since Ellen died.  I turned to our local TV station and sat by the fire.

Dad was bold and confident as he stood before a packed sanctuary.  He preached a sermon of love and forgiveness, acceptance without judgment, a message, humans of every color and creed, would enjoy, a message from humanity about humanity.  A short message and an even shorter resignation: “It is a great day when a man or a woman wakes up to new truths, a new life.  Real life means full agreement between inner beliefs and outer walk.  For over 15 years, I have had a real life with you and this church because I have walked a walk totally consistent with what I felt and believed in my mind and heart.  And now, I must begin a new journey, a new walk, because how I feel and what I believe have changed and therefore now conflict with what the Bible says and what most of you hold dear to your hearts. I consider you as an extension of my family, many of you are friends.  I love each one of you with all my heart. I want us to remain family and friends.  Separation from family and friends is never easy and always brings sadness.  And, it is with a heavy load of sadness that I resign as your pastor effective immediately.  May God’s blessings be on you.”

With that I turned off the TV.  That’s the way I wanted to remember Dad the last time he stood before the church that he had loved and led so courageously for over 15 years, my entire life.

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

I opened my eyes and saw Mom.  It was as if I was looking through a foggy window pane.  I had never seen her look so sad.

“Honey, I am so, so sorry about Ellen.”

I lay my head back on the pillow and looked straight up at the ceiling.  I couldn’t think.  Ellen, gone?  I had been praying in the Chapel. Why?  I was so tired from sleeping on the floor.  Her Father?  He had been here earlier?  “She’s gone.”  Had he said this?  He had.

“No, no, no,” I screamed.

Mom lay beside me and held me close, tight, kissing my forehead.  

“Baby, all I know to say is I’m so, so sorry and that I am here for you. Oh, my baby, scream if you need to.  I love you.”

Through my tears, screaming, yelling, and I think a ‘damn you God,’ I heard Dad’s muffled voice. “Baby, I’m here, in all ways, in every way I can. I love you and I hope you know I will always be here for you.”

Lying in bed, unable to get up, Mom told me that her and Dad got the call early, around 5:00 a.m., and rushed immediately to the hospital.  I was in the Chapel with the Ayer’s.  We all hugged and cried and cried more.  Then, Dr. Spears and Dr. Baker, and Dr. Thornhill all came in.  They said that Ellen had died around 4:20 a.m. and that she had died peacefully, without pain.

Mom said that Dr. Thornhill had said the biopsy results showed that Ellen’s brain tumor was malignant.  He said that she probably had been showing signs for several weeks, but they would have been basically undetected, symptoms of a headache, maybe a light dizzy spell.  He did say that it is possible that she had a dizzy spell when she was driving, even passed out, and that may have been the cause of her accident.

Mom said I fell apart when I recalled that Ellen had run her bike in a ditch on the side of the road in Mentone.  Dr. Spears had ordered the nurse to give me a sedative.  Mom and Dad had brought me home and put me to bed.

I spent the rest of Saturday on the couch in the den.  Dad had gone out to have my prescription filled, strong narcotics.  I slept most of the day, dazed, depressed, and so very lonely.  It was good that the meds closed me off from reality.

Sunday morning, we all met at Carr Funeral Home to see Ellen one last time.  Her family was very private, and they didn’t want a traditional Alabama funeral, just a simple viewing and a memorial attended only by close friends and family.

I have little memory of what happened after I ate three spoons of Mom’s potato soup late Saturday afternoon, up until now, as we walk into the Chapel at Carr Funeral Home. I do seem to recall Ryan, Lisa, and Sarah coming by the house, but I don’t know when.

“Are you holding up?” Mom asked as we walked down the aisle toward Ellen’s casket and her Mom and Dad standing, looking down, holding each other.

“You are holding me up, Mom.  I have no strength and no desire to live.”  I said.

We made it to the front and the Ayers turned and hugged me, both crying, wailing. “We love you Ruthie.”  Mrs. Ayers said. “Ellen loved you so very much.  She came alive after she met you.  The two of you were our special angels.”  The Ayers walked away and left Mom and me and Dad and Rachel and Jacob alone, besides Ellen’s casket.

I turned and looked down at her. “Oh, oh, Ellen,” I moaned. I suffocated.  I couldn’t stand.  Mom and Dad and Rachel and Jacob all held me, propped me up.  I gasped for breath.

“She isn’t dead, she can’t be.  Ellen, get up. I’m here.” I touched her hands and pulled back suddenly, frightened.  Death, so this is what death feels like?  She was so cold.  Her hands were stiff, cold, lifeless.  Ellen was dead.  She was gone.  She was still so beautiful.  Her face, her long black curly hair, her lips, but she wouldn’t open her eyes. Oh baby, show me your eyes, let me look once more into your baby blue eyes.  I moaned, I couldn’t breathe.  “I can’t live without Ellen.  Carry me with you.”

I wanted to die.  I became so angry.  I hated this world.  Kill me, please kill me.  Help me God.  God damn-it.  God, how could you be so cruel?  You killed my Ellen.  You hate me, and I hate you.”  I said.

I was and am fortunate to have parents who are really in-tune, at least at times.  During my entire ‘losing it’ episode, my family just loved me.  They didn’t ever say, stop, or that’s not necessary, or that I shouldn’t be acting this way, at least not here.  But, they had a good sense about them that what was happening to me was natural, a response to the death of a loved one.  Of course, they couldn’t ever imagine how much I loved Ellen.  Only she knew how I truly felt.

And, now she was gone.

After I had screamed and cried, and shouted and cussed all I could, with every ounce of energy and life I had in me, Mom and Dad led me, upheld me, out and to the car and home and to my bedroom and to my bed.  Whether it was the absolute best or not, they mercifully fed me my meds and I slide and sunk down the vertical chute into the cave, deep, deep away from this world, up besides little Ella.  I say this now imagining, but then, as the meds kicked in, all thought had ceased, and I just floated away.

Again, I slept the rest of the day, all night, and until 10:00 Monday morning.  Mom later told me that around midnight I had woke up and said I was hungry and that I asked for cold pizza and was shivering from swimming.  She said I must have been hallucinating from the drugs.  

I sat in the car at the cemetery.  I didn’t have the desire to be with anyone, not my family or the Ayer’s.  I wanted to be alone with Ellen.  Mom had agreed to leave me in the car, but she stood about half way in between me and Ellen’s grave-site where everyone had gathered.  As soon as everyone left, or at least moved away, Mom came back for me as agreed.  The Ayers and the funeral home guys had agreed not to lower Ellen’s casket after the service, not until I had my time. Mom and Dad led me to Ellen, and left me and her, alone.

“Oh baby, I am here.  This can’t be happening.  This is a dream, a nightmare.  Honey, we must go back to Mentone, to our Rock, to our old red barn.  I love you my baby.  I can’t make it without you.  What am I to do?  Why are you leaving me here?  Why?  Oh, why?  I’m sorry I let you down.  I should have noticed something was wrong, especially when you ran off the road with your bike.  Forgive me.”

I kept on talking out loud to my Ellen, my baby, for a very long time.  Then, it started to rain, not heavy, but a steady rain.

“Ellen, I want to stay here but they won’t let me.  I’ll come tomorrow, and we can talk.  We will spend time together tomorrow, and we can touch.  Before I go, let me have one more dance.  Ellen, dance with me.  Dance with me like we did in Mentone, like we have so many times.”

Listen, my baby, and dance with me.

I don’t remember if I just spoke these words out-loud or whether I sang them, but Ellen and I did dance, our dance, that dance that only we could.  We were back in her car, windows down, singing with the radio as it played “Come Away with Me,” by Norah Jones, on our way home from Mentone, Sunday, just a week ago:

“Come away with me in the night

Come away with me

And I will write you a song

Come away with me on a bus

Come away where they can’t tempt us, with their lies

I want to walk with you

On a cloudy day

In fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high

So, won’t you try to come

Come away with me and we’ll kiss

On a mountaintop

Come away with me

And I’ll never stop loving you

And I want to wake up with the rain

Falling on a tin roof

While I’m safe there in your arms

So, all I ask is for you

To come away with me in the night

Come away with me

And all I ask is for you to come away with me in the night.”

As the rain fell, harder now, I collapsed in a ball beside Ellen, lifeless except for my fingernails scraping the side of her casket.  Finally, as the clouds drew darker and darker, as though night fell like a foggy blanket way before the proper time, Mom and Dad came and gathered me up in their arms. As they tried leading me, I collapsed again during my first step.

“Leave me here. Leave.  You two please leave.  Leave me alone and never come back, I half screamed, half whispered, fully crying.”

“Darling, it is time to go home.”

Dad picked me up and carried me like a baby back to our car, me screaming for Ellen the whole way home.

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

I received the call around 4:15 Friday afternoon. I was at home.  It was unusual for Dr. Ayers to call me.  Her voice broke the minute she said my name.

“Ruthie, honey, Ellen has been in a car wreck and we are at Marshall Medical Center South.  I don’t know how bad she is hurt.  They won’t let me back to see her.  I was still at school when I got the call and came straight here.  I know Ellen would want me to call you.”

“I will be there just as soon as possible.”  I said.

I fell apart.  And, I fell to my knees beside my bed.  I wanted to pray but felt so unworthy and so afraid.  I started crying and moaning uncontrollably.  My Ellen, oh my sweet Ellen.  I cannot lose you.  I can’t make it without you.  ‘Oh God, if you are real, if you hear me, please help Ellen, protect her, save her God from all harm.’

As I was getting up I felt Mom’s hand on my shoulder. “Ruthie, what’s wrong?”

“Mom, I need to leave right now to go to the hospital.  Ellen has been in a car accident.  Please take me now.” “Let’s go.” Mom said.

We grabbed our coats and headed out. It was a clear and cold day in mid-November.

We met Dr. Ayers in the Emergency Room waiting room.  Her eyes were red and puffy. “They are trying to get her stabilized, so they can make some x-rays and give her an MRI.”  Dr. Ayers said.

“Do you know how bad she is hurt?” I asked.

“I was told a Doctor would be coming out soon to give me an update.”  Dr. Ayers said.

We sat down in the corner of the waiting room.  There were several other groups scattered around, all hovering together, eager for news about their loved ones.

“I’m looking for Mrs. Ayers, Ellen’s mother,” the tall and boyish looking man said standing closer to another family group than ours. “Over here doctor.  I’m Emily Ayers, Ellen’s mom.” “Do you want to talk in private?” the doctor said.

“No, that’s not necessary.” Dr. Ayers said looking at Mom and me.

“Your daughter has been in a very bad accident.  Her condition is a little more stable than when she first arrived, but she is critical.  She has suffered head and upper body trauma.  I cannot say more right now.  She is on her way to X-Ray right now.  I’ll keep you posted just as much as I can.  I ask that you all be patient.”  The doctor said.

“Doctor, is she going to make it?” Dr. Ayers asked.

“We are doing all we can for your daughter, but I will not mislead you.  As I said, she is in very critical condition.  Just pray all you can for her.” The doctor said walking away, back to the Emergency Room.

We all just stood there, looking at each other.  And then Dr. Ayers virtually collapsed into a chair.  Mom sat down beside her.  I knelt in front of her holding her hands.  We all cried our hearts out.

After what seemed like an hour or more, just trying to comfort Dr. Ayers, I needed comforting myself.  I got up, told Mom I was going to the Chapel and to come get me if there was any new news.

I had seen the sign on the other side of the Emergency Room pointing towards the Chapel.  I went in and down a long hall and walked into the Chapel.  It was set up pretty much like a church, with pews and an altar before a large cross at the front.  I went and knelt at the altar.

Ellen, baby, I need you to be strong and live.  I felt a powerful force pulling me to pray.  It was the most natural thing.  I had spent my entire life in church, believing in everything my Dad said, everything he preached, all the Bible.  I couldn’t do anything but pray.

“Dear Lord, forgive me of my sins.  Forgive me for not being faithful to you.  Father, please help Ellen. God, you know how I love her.  God, I don’t believe that you condemn Ellen and me.  I believe you love us just like you love your Son Jesus.  Oh Father, I pray for a miracle for Ellen.  Touch her body, her mind, her spirit.  Heal her God.  I need her in my life.  Lord, I can’t make it without my dear Ellen.”

I stayed for a long time and continued to pray as best I could, as heart-felt as I knew how.

“Ruthie,” I heard my Dad’s voice behind me.

“Honey, I am so sorry about Ellen. Can I pray for her?”  Dad asked.

I agreed, and he prayed the sweetest, most gentle loving prayer I can remember.  It was as though Dad and God were sitting together right here in the Chapel and Dad was talking to God as a faithful and obedient son.  I could feel Dad’s faith, his belief in what he was doing. I could feel his acceptance of me just the way I am.

Dad was continuing to pray when Mom came in and told us that a nurse had told them that Ellen was back from X-Ray and that the doctor would be coming out soon.  We returned to the Emergency Room to await the news.

The same young doctor as before, Dr. Spears, said “the news isn’t good.  I’m sorry.  Ellen’s brain is swelling, and we are doing all we can for its release, a place for the pressure to go—that requires a shunt.”  Also, she has a collapsed lung and internal bleeding.  She is being prepped for OR right now.  I’m sorry to have to tell you that the MRI shows Ellen has a brain tumor.  We do not know if it is malignant or not. 

I have asked Dr. Thornhill to join the surgeon while Ellen is in the operating room.  We will know more in a couple of hours.  I’m sorry.”  The doctor said.

The next few hours were the worst time of my life.  By now, Mr. Ayers had arrived.  He had been out of town when he got the news.  And, probably 30 to 40 others had come—teachers, students, neighbors, and friends.

I couldn’t take the crowd. I told Mom I was going outside to walk in the parking lot and to come get me with any news.  I walked out, and Dad tried to join me, but I told him I needed to be alone.

I walked in circles around the side parking lot.  It was not as full and seemed fewer cars were coming in and out compared to the main parking lot in the front of the hospital.

I couldn’t think of anything other than what the policeman had told Dr. Ayers when she first arrived.  She had finally told Mom and me what he had said.  He said that she had run off the road and hit a tree head on.  He said that the road didn’t show any signs of swerving or braking.  It appeared that she had simply driven straight into the large tree without attempting to miss it or to slow down.  He said it was difficult to know how fast she was going when she hit the tree, but he estimates 40 to 60 miles per hour.

The policeman hadn’t said, or Dr. Ayers had not told us, whether Ellen had suffered.  But of course, she is suffering now.  I wonder if she can think about what happened and what is going on now. I walked, and I walked.  I could not think anything good.  Every thought I had was that I was losing my Ellen, that Ellen was going to die, that I was going to be alone and frightened.  Was I being selfish?  Why was I thinking of myself?  Oh Ellen, I want you to live, but I don’t want you to suffer.  You are the most important thing in my life.  I will sacrifice everything just so long as you do not suffer.

When I finally returned to the Emergency Room, Dad was telling everyone that he was going to the Church.  He invited folks to come.  He announced he is going to start an all-night prayer vigil and asked that everyone spread the news.

By 10:30 p.m. most everyone except the Ayers and myself had left.  I had made Mom leave.  She had finally agreed but said that she would be with Dad at the church praying.

Around midnight Dr. Spears and the surgeon, Dr. Baker, came out and told us that Ellen was in intensive care.  They told us they had been able to stop the internal bleeding and relieve the swelling on the brain.  They said Ellen was in a coma and on a breathing machine.  Dr. Thornhill said they should have the results from the tumor biopsy by early morning.

“Can we see her?” I asked.

“I really don’t think that is a good idea.  She has been through a lot. But, I will let you look through the glass into her room, if you will not try to go in.” Dr. Spears said.

We rode the elevator to the third floor and was met by a nurse outside ICU.  “Dr. Spears told me you were coming.  Follow me, being very quiet and do not go into Ellen’s room.”

We stood at the large glass wall outside Ellen’s room.  I could see her, less than 10 feet from me, laying there with tubes everywhere, a large one in her mouth for breathing.  Her head was bandaged.  I couldn’t see her hair. I could see her hands folded over her chest and stomach.  Her eyes were closed.  She looked like she was asleep.  She looked like she was at peace.  I fought back my tears.  Was this a dream?  I couldn’t believe this was happening.  Surely, I will wake up soon and I will be beside her, in her car, heading to her house for our Friday night routine, to finish our Biology paper by midnight.  A swim downstairs, playing our silly quarter diving game ending with an embrace and nudging kiss as we sink to the bottom.  Drying off while rushing to the kitchen for cold pizza.  Then to her room.  Adele on the radio with a slow dance, our clothes falling to the floor as we fall into her bed. Time, touch, talk. 

Everything in my being told me that our Friday nights together were over, that never again would I lay beside the love of my life and stare into her beautiful blue eyes.  I felt as though I was being pulled down into the ocean, into the deep murky water, without any way to breathe, I was being drowned by the evil clutch of death pulling me deeper and deeper.  I was suffocating.

“I’m sorry but I have to ask you to leave now.  We will do everything we possibly can for your dear Ellen.  Please know that we care, that we sincerely care for her and for you.  God Bless you.  Dr. Spears will keep you posted.”  The nurse said nudging us out of the ICU. We walked out, and I returned to the Chapel.  I stayed there until 5:30 a.m.  At some point, I had fallen asleep. I was lying in the floor in front of the altar when Mr. Ayers called my name.

“Ruthie, oh sweet baby, Ellen is gone.”  I heard these horrific words and him sobbing uncontrollably, and then I fainted.

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

After Poetry class, Ellen walked me to my locker.  Normally, she just heads out to the parking lot to wait on me in her car, or she will walk upstairs to her Mom’s Biology class.  

“I want to go with you tonight to youth group. Okay?”  Ellen said.

“Sure, as always, you are welcome.”

“I’m curious what you all do.”  Ellen said.

“Do you want to come by my house and pick me up and then us go together?”

“No, I have some reading to do so if it is okay with you I’ll just meet you there.”  Ellen said.

“No problem, see you at 6:30 in the Fellowship Hall.  Just park out back and come in the side door.”

We made our way outside to her car and I drove us to the Dairy Queen.  Just about the time we were about to park, she said she needed to go.

“I want to get on home.  I have that reading and I also feel like a nap.  You’re okay with that?”  Ellen said.

“Sure, you know I’m always available to talk if you need to.” “I know that my love.”  Ellen said.

I drove to my house and got out, watching Ellen drive off, wondering why Ellen was acting a little strange. I took a nap myself since no one was at home.  Mom came in just in time to take me to church. I needed to get there earlier to meet with Ryan to discuss tonight’s visit to Golden Living Nursing Home.  He was in charge.  We usually talk on the phone either Monday or Tuesday nights about our plans.  For two years we have alternated who is in charge.

“Hello Ruthie Kaye Brown. You turn 16 and start ignoring me.” Ryan said.

“I’m sorry I haven’t returned your calls.  It’s like I’ve been in another world since this past weekend.  I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted but I have a favor to ask.  I need to leave here just as soon as possible. I have that challenge exam in Calculus tomorrow morning.  I need to pull an all-nighter to cram.  I think I will be okay, but I will feel better if I review the prep guide.”  Ryan said.

“No problem.  What did you have planned for tonight?”

“We obviously are going to the nursing home, since this is the third Wednesday of the month.  The girls are teaming up.  I have the list here.  It includes the room assignments.  If all the girls show up, we will have 10 teams.  Each team is assigned three rooms.  The teams are to do some evangelizing.  They are to present the plan of salvation if they are given a chance.  I have written out the introductory script that I feel is a good way to direct the conversation.  The girls have been studying the FAITH tract for several weeks.  I believe they are ready.”  Ryan said.

“I feel you would do a lot better job at this than me. Maybe we need to wait till next month when you will be here.”  I said.

“Why are you so skittish about this?  You know this stuff backwards and forwards.  And, I emailed or texted everyone last night to be ready to do this.”  Ryan said.

“Here are the scripts.  I must go.  See you tomorrow.”  Ryan said as he dashed out the side-door just as Ellen walked in.

“Hey Ruth.” Ellen said as she walked towards me across the Fellowship Hall.

“Wow, where did the ‘Ruth’ come from?  You are totally serious about something when you do that.”

“I am serious.  I am serious about spending more time with you and learning more and more about what makes you a Bible thumper.  Ha.

Ha.” Ellen said half-silly but half-serious.

“Well my love, you will learn a lot tonight.  Here come the girls.

One or two will probably wind up the wife of a pastor, a Southern

Baptist pastor at that.  Oh, the horror.  Just kidding, I think.”  I said.

“Okay girls, take a seat and spend five minutes or so reading over the script I’ve placed on the tables.  I’m leading tonight since Ryan had to cram for a test.  I think you all should know we are visiting the nursing home and you will present the plan of salvation to residents.  The green sheet in the middle of each table is the team and room assignments. 

Study till I let you know when Mr. Gilbert is here with the bus.”

Mr. Gilbert was pulling up with the church bus by the time I had walked to the side-door and looked out.  “Okay girls, study time is over. 

Let’s go.”

The twenty young ladies are all responsible.  They’re six, seventh, and eighth graders.  Overall, they are serious about Christ, church, and our group.  Of course, there are a few who are getting pulled away, tempted away, by the world, its glitz and glamour, and the opposite sex of course.

After we arrive, and the ten teams head off to their assigned rooms, Ellen and I stand and talk with Mrs. Jordan, the night administrator.

“Thank you, Ruthie, for coming.  Be sure and let your Dad know how much we appreciate all your efforts on our behalf.  So many of our residents thrive on your visits.  Many of them do not have strong family ties, making for few visitors.  It seems like every Wednesday evening when I start my shift, I have two or three ladies ask if this is the night you all come.”  Mrs. Jordan said.

“You are so welcome.  Many of our girls are developing a relationship with one or more of your residents.  We certainly encourage them to.  We are working on an ‘Adopt a Grandparent’ program that we will tell you more about soon, hopefully before Thanksgiving.”  I said.

“Thanks again. Oh, sorry, but I’m late for a meeting with Mr.

Carlton’s son in 86B.  See you later.”  Mrs. Jordan said.

Just a minute or so later Leah and Rachel (yes, that is their real names) came rushing to Ellen and me and said that Ms. Townsend in 46A wants to talk with us but needed our supervisor present.

“Is that what she actually said?”  I said, totally confused.

“Yes. And we think it is a good idea too.  She is rather weird.” Rachel said.

All four of us walked down the main hall and to the right down another hallway to room 46A.

“Hello Ms. Townsend, how are you.  I am Ruthie.  And here is Ellen, and you’ve met Rachel and Leah.”  I said.

“Are you their supervisor?  They came in here a few minutes ago and told me their names and asked me if I wanted to be saved. I asked them, ‘saved from what?’ and they just looked at each other and that one (pointing to Rachel) said ‘from Hell.’ I thought these two dear ones were adorable.  I really liked their direct approach, but I thought they might need a little more training to satisfy the higher ups.”  Mrs. Townsend said.

“Thanks for allowing us to come.”  I said.

“Honey, what do you actually believe?” Mrs. Townsend said to Leah.

“Uh, uh, that Jesus was God’s son and He came to the earth and died on a cross for our sins and that He has saved me from eternal hell because I have believed him?”  Leah said.

“Oh honey, how old are you?”  Mrs. Townsend asked Leah.

“Thirteen.”

“Sorry my little one, but you are too young to know what you believe.”  Mrs. Townsend said.

“And what do you believe?” Mrs. Townsend said turning to me.

It was like I froze.  What a question.  And what a question right now.  Does she not know that I am a curious and creative one who has got herself caught out in the middle of the ocean, caught up in the perfect storm?  The high and turbulent waves of religion from the south, and the low and violent waves of science from all over the world?  I stood there for hours, it seemed.  I couldn’t think of what to say.  I was just about to say, ‘I don’t really know,’ when I thought that might not help Mrs. Townsend become a true believer.

“Ruthie has not been feeling well lately.  Let me tell you what she believes.”  Ellen said, saving my hide from an interrogation that was certain to take place at some point.  Dad knows everything that goes on when it comes to church.

Ellen had been standing kind of beside and behind me since we arrived.  She now walked out and right up besides Mrs. Townsend. “Have you ever heard of Reverend Augustus Montague Toplady?”  Ellen asked.

“No.”

“Have you ever heard of the song ‘Rock of Ages’?

“Well of course, do you think I’ve been living under a rock myself over the past ninety years?”

“Back in the year 1763 Reverend Toplady was walking along the side of a gorge, when suddenly a strong and powerful storm came out of nowhere.  He could fight the wind and the rain and make his way to a little gap in the rock wall.  Huddled up tightly in that little gap in the rocks he was struck by a song’s title.  It was as though God had inspired him.  So, he scribbled down some lyrics.”  Ellen said.

“Let me read a few of them to you.”  Ellen said pulling a foldedup sheet of paper from the back pocket of her jeans.  I could tell it was the same sheet I had given her in Mentone.

‘Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee;

Let the water and the blood,

From Thy wounded side which flowed,

Be of sin the double cure,

Save from wrath and make me pure.

Not the labor of my hands

Can fulfill Thy law’s demands;

Could my zeal no respite knows,

Could my tears forever flow,

All for sin could not atone;

Thou must save, and Thou alone.

Nothing in my hand I bring,

Simply to Thy cross I cling;

Naked, come to Thee for dress;

Helpless, look to Thee for grace; Foul, I to the fountain fly; Wash me, Savior, or I die.

While I draw this fleeting breath,

When my eyes shall close in death,

When I rise to worlds unknown,

And behold Thee on Thy throne,

Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee.’”

Mrs. Townsend, Ruthie here, my friend, believes that it is easy to believe in rocks, water, blood, fleshly wounds, hands, and tree-made crosses.  These things are visible.  She can touch them.  But, Ruthie also believes there are things all around her that she can’t see and touch. She believes strongly that she is blood, bone, and flesh, and she also believes that she has a spirit.  Like the wind moves a rocking chair outside on the porch, back and forth, her spirit is unseen but rocks her outward and upward. She believes in a Rock of Ages, one she can see and touch and cleave to and hide herself in.  She also believes in a Rock of Ages that cannot be seen, but she knows that out there somewhere, maybe everywhere, even right here in this room, there is a savior that takes care of little baby humans, maybe even those not even quite human. She believes this savior rocks her outward and upward ‘to worlds unknown.’ And that someday, that day soon or far, far away, she will cling to that ‘Rock of Ages,’ and let Him hide her, safely and sweetly, always and forever.”  Ellen said.

“Thank you dear.  May I have a copy of that?” Mrs. Townsend asked.

Ellen looked at me and then turned and handed her copy of ‘Rock of Ages’ to Mrs. Townsend. “Here is my gift to you.  You can have my copy.  Please read it over and over.  It has many secrets to reveal.”  Ellen said.

Our time was up.  Rachel and Leah and Ellen thanked Mrs. Townsend for allowing us to come.  I just smiled at her and walked out into the hall.  As embarrassed as I was I was thankful for this experience.  And, I was thankful that Ellen had asked to come along tonight.  She was so needed.  As we walked out and got on the bus I couldn’t help but be proud of Ellen.  She is truly curious and creative.  And, she is searching mightily for truth without varnish.

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

It’s Friday, Algebra II is over straight up at 10:55 a.m., and the weather is glorious.  Having packed last night, we are ready.  Mentone, here we come.

Ellen’s parents let us drive on our own.  Ellen had turned 16 this past July and developed into a very capable driver.  Which, I shouldn’t doubt, since she was so responsible—an alert, attentive and obedient driver. To my surprise, Ellen had insisted that I drive.  She said I needed the practice for my upcoming driver’s license exam.

We couldn’t believe it had been a year since our first trip to Mentone. Last year, my 15th birthday, and now Ellen and I are here to celebrate my 16th birthday. This has the makings of an annual event, a real Ruthie/Ellen tradition.  But, more importantly, we are here together, to celebrate us, our lives.  We are so blessed that the stars so wonderfully aligned to open the door for us to have met, and for our hands to have joined.

We followed last year’s routine and went to the Wildflower Cafe after checking in and putting our luggage away in our room.  We both had the chicken salad plate.  We didn’t see Chaz, so we didn’t linger.  We returned to our room and started watching a Netflix movie on Ellen’s iPad but soon dozed off.

We woke up around 7:00 p.m., changed clothes and went outside to the porch and our swing.  Last year we had sat here snuggling under a dark green woolen blanket after we had listened to singer wannabees, and watched couples, old and young, sit by the big roaring fire, roast marshmallows, dance and kiss and kiss and dance on the browning grass and piling leaves in front of the make-shift stage.  Tonight, the music hasn’t started, but we see Chaz and his gang building a fire and lighting the grills.

We finally walk down off the porch and make us burgers, heaped with mayonnaise, ketchup, onion, tomatoes, pickles, and lettuce—just like we like them.  Ellen grabs two slices of sweet-potato pie and we sit down by the fire.  By now it has grown a little cool, so the heat of the fire is welcomed, and welcoming.  We cut up with Chaz and listen for hours as three or four sweet, but terrible young boys and girls try to sing. 

Finally, the Mountain Men (Chaz’ group) takes the stage.  

The Mountain Men do an unbelievably good job of treating us to songs from the group Alabama, including “Love in the First Degree,” and

“There’s a Fire in the Night.” By the time they start ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ we are out of our chairs and bumping butts on the dance floor—for some reason I’m not as intimidated this year.  We let loose in every way.  Ellen moves her hips and her head pulling back her long black curly hair as she puts her all into looking sexy for me.  We laugh and cry like never. But, it is ‘Touch Me When We’re Dancing’ that makes it feel so right, makes me feel like my heart, with victory flag in hand, has finally made it across a dry and lonely dessert and has reached the promised land.  I see my heart pull Ellen’s up on a rock and plant our flag. We are victorious.  We are in love. 

Play us a song we can slow dance on

We wanna hold each other

Play us a groove so we hardly move

Just let our hearts be together

Oh baby ’cause it feels so good

When we’re close like this

Whisper in my ear

And let me steal a kiss

Come on touch me when we’re dancing

You know you’ve got that lovin’ touch

Oh, touch me when we’re dancing

I wanna feel you when I’m fallin’ in love

Tonight’s the night and it feels so right

What my heart’s saying to me

You’re the one and I’ve waited so long

So, let your love flow through me

Oh baby ’cause it feels so good

We can be this close

You’ve got me up so high

I could fly coast to coast

Come on and touch me when we’re dancing

You know you’ve got that lovin’ touch

Oh, touch me when we’re dancing

I wanna feel you when I’m fallin’ in love.

I wish the dance had never ended.  Our hearts were together, the love flowed within us and between us, and Ellen’s sweet, soft fingers felt so good, so loving, as she touched me while we are dancing.

The dance did end.  It was nearly 2:00 a.m. when we fell asleep in each other’s arms laying sideways across our big King Size bed with deep, soft covers, kissing with even deeper, softer touches.

Contrary to what we had planned, we slept late Saturday morning.  It was almost 10:00 a.m. before we got up.  We shower separately this year, dress for the outdoors, stuff some apples and oranges from the dining room into our backpacks and head out the side door.  Since we had slept nearly three hours later than we had last year we decided to skip our stroll through the Antique Store and the many little craft booths set up all around Mentone.

“Hey, we are The Mountain Women, do you think we can sing like The Mountain Men?  We could start off with ‘Touch Me When We’re Dancing.’”  Ellen said to me as we biked next to each other as we headed to Desoto Falls Road and our Rock of Ages.

“No.  You can’t sing.  But you sure can dance.”  I said as Ellen rode on ahead of me, her long, black, curly hair sexily dancing in the wind from under her safety helmet. I just can’t forget our slow dance.  I just can’t stop humming: ‘You’ve got me up so high I could fly coast to coast.’

We finally landed at the trail head.  We walked our bikes fifty feet or so down the trail, and then twenty feet or so off the side where we lock them up, return to the main trail, and hike thirty minutes or so to our rock, Ellen stopping us three times attempting to tease me into repeating her dance moves from last night.  I refused three times.  She is the sexy one, the one with the rhythm.  She has all the moves, and her moves move me up so high.

When we arrive at our Rock of Ages, we set aside our backpacks and stand side by side and look out over the ravine.  Once again, we are standing in the middle of paradise.  We see nothing for miles and miles, nothing at all but an ocean flowing with various shades of gold, red, yellow, purple, black, orange, blue, brown, magenta, and pink. Fall has become, for both of us, our favorite time of the year.

The Fall season represents the harvest.  A time when farmers gather their crops after spending months and months of care, of tender loving care. In a sense, Ellen and I are farmers.  We planted a seed in each other’s hearts—well, somehow the seeds got planted, maybe it was fate, or, was it God?  Those seeds sprouted immediately.  Maybe the seeds had lain dormant many months, or many years, before in our hearts, before we met some fourteen plus months ago, all the time waiting for just the right rain to ignite life.  Ellen and I had cared for our seeds so lovingly, so tenderly, so gently, ever since.  We had used the best tools to nurture and grow our seeds.  Time, touch, and talk had been the best ones.  Each of these had been carefully oiled with just the right words.  We both loved words.  We both loved playing with words, even inventing new ones, ones that became vital to us, important to growing our relationship into a strong and vibrant plant.  Harvest.  Our investment in each other was producing a harvest.  We were now reaping rewards of investing time, touch, and talk.  We were today enjoying a fruitful connection, real chemistry, that overflows from the lab of love, erupting from those times, those touches, those talks that we had mixed so creatively and so spontaneously for over a year now.  It was beyond rich to have someone in my life who I could share my innermost thoughts, no matter what they were, good, bad, ugly, beautiful. I was beyond wealthy to have a companion, a partner, who held my hand and spurred my mind, who set my spirit ablaze to know, to learn, to seek, and to sort truth from lies and lies from truth.  Ellen was me and I was Ellen.  We could be vulnerable with each other, the ultimate form of intimacy.

“Have you ever seen anything more beautiful,” Ellen said.

“Yes, but not quite as outwardly colorful.”

“Oh, tell me my love, about your crush.” Ellen said.

“You goofball. You know Ryan is much more than a crush.”

“I knew it.  You have been teasing me, just faking it, all to learn of my secrets, my secrets for a happy life.”  Ellen said.

“Seriously my darling, the trees, the leaves, and the wind we see and hear all around us are as beautiful as it gets, but they are darkness compared to your light.  But, I do love you more when you are wearing your Thanksgiving sweater of many colors.”  I said.

“Ha ha.  How about an apple?”  Ellen said.

“Sounds great but don’t be tempting me.” Ellen grabs us each an apple from her backpack, and I take out a blanket from mine, and a sheet of paper.  We sit down, cross-legged on our blanket and share bites off each other’s apple. 

After Ellen takes the last bite of my apple I say, “look what I brought.”

“What, a diamond ring for me, all folded up in that sheet of paper.”  Ellen said.

“Not today, I’m sorry, but soon if that’s what you want, I’m game.  You know we have been calling our rock, our Rock of Ages, since we first discovered it last year.  So, I found the lyrics online the other night.  I thought it would be neat if we read it, even sang it, here today.” “Oh wonderful, now she’s gonna make me love Southern Gospel. I feel a breakup coming.”  Ellen said.

“No, no.  This song can have wonderful meaning for us.  For some reason, we named our rock after this song.  So, put on your poetry cap and let’s see what it means to you, and to me.  I unfolded the paper and began to read:

Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee;

Let the water and the blood,

From Thy wounded side which flowed,

Be of sin the double cure,

Save from wrath and make me pure.

Not the labor of my hands

Can fulfill Thy law’s demands;

Could my zeal no respite knows,

Could my tears forever flow,

All for sin could not atone;

Thou must save, and Thou alone.

Nothing in my hand I bring,

Simply to Thy cross I cling;

Naked, come to Thee for dress;

Helpless, look to Thee for grace; Foul, I to the fountain fly; Wash me, Savior, or I die.

While I draw this fleeting breath,

When my eyes shall close in death,

When I rise to worlds unknown,

And behold Thee on Thy throne,

Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee.”

“I actually like it.  Rock of Ages is obviously referring to the Christian Jesus.  He has come to take away our sins and save us with His cleansing blood.  For those He saves, He is their Rock of Ages–rock solid, strong, eternal.  To the saved, He is a hiding place and a bridge to the next world, the one after death.”  Ellen said.

“You either are a fast learner or you know more about Christianity than I thought.  Maybe you are not an infidel.”

“Well thanks.  Infidel?  If your Rock of Ages story is true, then I must admit it is interesting and kind of magnetic.  I surprisingly am drawn to it.  It has an appeal.  I love the rhythm, the pace, the story.  Can I have the sheet?  I’d like a copy to read later.  Who knows there may be something to that Christianity of your Dad’s—other than the stoning the homosexual part.”  Ellen said.

“Here you go. I’m glad you’re interested because I am too.  I just want to know the truth about life and love, our past, creation and evolving, our future, life beyond death.  Let’s make this search an important part of our journey to love.  Okay?”  I said.

“Sure thing.” Ellen said standing up while holding the paper with the song, turning and looking to me, still seated, like she was my teacher. “As long as you don’t start evangelizing me.  Now, listen to this.  Here is a version, my twist on the song. I think we can love it together, love it here today, and all our tomorrows.  I also have a unique twist that we can take with us beyond our lives here on earth, out into Always and Forever (bless their soul way over there deep in that cave), the great afterlife, if there is such a thing.  Now, listen my love and make careful notes:

Let me hide myself in Thee.

Nothing in my hand I bring.

That’s the first part.  That’s us, me hiding in you, you hiding in me.  We have each other and nothing else matters.  Just me and you, us and nature, hidden in this rock.

Now, when we can no longer come here to celebrate your birthday, that day far into the future if you must come here alone, please remember:

While I draw this fleeting breath, 

When my eyes shall close in death, 

When I rise to worlds unknown,

And behold Thee on Thy throne,

Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee.

Even in death I will love and honor you, cherish you.  You will always be my special angel.  I will always and forever be beside you.”  Ellen said, and I cried.

“You know we have been studying a lot about human evolution.  I don’t think either one of us believes that the story of Adam and Eve as told in the Bible is a true story, that it actually happened, but is there something more important than whether that is really history?”  I asked. “Maybe, we are simply to use the Adam and Eve story, and all the other stories in the Bible as a source of meaning.”  Ellen said.

“So, what should we learn from Eve eating that apple and sharing with Adam?”

“Maybe, to watch out for temptations.  As the story goes, they were in a perfect place and had a perfect relationship.  That was a pretty good spot to be in, don’t you think?  Kind of like how I see us.  They let something come into their lives—represented by the apple—that wasn’t good, that drove a wedge between them.  I’m not sure what learning about their nakedness has to do with them, but they now had to deal with pain and hardship.  It would be hard for Eve to dance with Adam if she is bowed over with pain while having little Cain and Abel.  Also, Adam had to divert his attention to making a living.” Ellen said. 

“We can apply their lesson and learning to us today.  If we are not careful we might let children (don’t worry, I’m not ready for that), work, hobbies, friends, family, anything come in and crowd out our togetherness.  We must be serious about continuing to invest in us, invest real time and attention into caring for ourselves, our relationship, kind of like farmers must do all year round in producing a crop, a bountiful crop.  It takes more than planting and harvesting.  It takes the cold winter of planning for the upcoming spring.  It takes cold winter days in the barn, maintaining and refurbishing tools and equipment to be ready just at the right time, just when the seed needs sowing, the plant needs weeding, and the fruit needs gathering. Maybe Adam and Eve’s apple can be our symbol, our reminder that we need to always be alert to what can come crawling up beside us, inside our lives, to divert our attention from us as one, unto me as me, and you as you.”  

“I think you are right.  And, I know that is so much more important than folks, mostly Christians, getting bent out of shape over whether the Adam and Eve story, the whole Genesis creation story, took place 6,000 years ago.  When it comes down to it, we are humans, the smartest animal ever discovered.  We are not just humans, we are individuals, each needing special attention, each wanting and needing love.  Love is the answer.  If we all would just focus on that one thing and forget our differences, just take everyone for who they really are. 

Stop judging.”  Ellen said. 

“Christians say they believe the Bible and that it is God’s word.  But, the Bible has evolved.  What people believe about the Bible has evolved.  It’s funny that just as the Bible is against homosexuality and adultery, and it commands stoning for both the homosexual and the adulterer, we both know that the adulterer is given a free ‘get-out-of-jail’ card.  Christians and non-Christians alike divorce and remarry, just about in the same percentages.  But you don’t hear Christians up in arms over whether someone is an adulterer.  It seems Christians, not all, but many, just believe what they want.  They dislike homosexuals and want to stone them, maybe not literally, but figuratively.  The hatred is evident.  You know how my Dad feels, although I don’t think in any way that he hates homosexuals, but I do know that he has invested a lot of time in his “Take a Stand” program that really has just caused more division.  Dad should have focused simply on love, and how to bring homosexuals and every other person into our church and stop judging.”  I said.

“It seems we really haven’t learned a lot about love and caring for our fellow man since the dark ages.”  Ellen said.

“Get this.  You read my Biology paper about the Naledi’s.  How much more backward could you get?  They had no conveniences whatsoever.  They didn’t have a car, a house, clothes, a grocery store, a Walmart.  They only had what nature gave them, what was around them, dirt, rocks, water from a creek, trees, leaves, caves, and sticks.  Yet, they showed real love to each other.  And, we, modern man, have every convenience imaginable.  All man-made.  Maybe we have evolved into not needing love.  Maybe, we have forgotten how much we need love.  We sit alone, even though in the same room with a friend or family member, and read something on our iPads, even watch a movie, alone. 

We do this instead of talk or walk or build a fire and sit by it for hours talking about the stars, the wind, the rain.”  I said.

We continue to talk, continue sharing philosophy.  Soon we are laying back, using our backpacks for pillows and our talking slows to a crawl and then to silence.  I dream of little Ella’s body down deep inside the cave and I feel her spirit resting on my chest, her eyes, dark but tender, looking at me.  She is smiling.  I dream of her mom and dad, with no house, clothes, or pantry, spending every waking hour caring for the other.  The hardships they faced everyday were their reminder of how important and beautiful they were to each other.  They knew the value of their friends, family, neighbors—how they were all in this thing called life, in it together, interdependent.  

It seemed I dreamed for hours.  I woke up to Ellen’s kiss, soft, tender, genuine.

“Wake up.  It is 4:30, and it looks like rain.”  Ellen said.

“It can’t be that late.”  But it was I knew from looking at my watch.  We had been here since before noon.  “I hope you had good dreams as I did.” I said.

“Every moment with you is a dream come true.”  Ellen said.

“Oh, you are so good with words.  And, you know just when to say them, the order they roll off your lips is always perfect.”

“Funny, funny.  Let’s get going.  It’s starting to sprinkle.”  Ellen said.

By the time we unlocked our bikes the sprinkling had turned into a steady rain.  We didn’t have much choice but to ride as fast as we could back to the Inn.  As usual, Ellen led the way.

We were about half way back when I noticed Ellen staying straight while we were coming into a curve to our left.  I yelled out to her, but by the time I closed my mouth she was in a ditch thrown over her handlebars, never slowing down until she rolled into a big Rhododendron bush just beyond.  I stopped and threw my bike down just at the edge of the road and ran over to Ellen.  Her backpack had come off one arm but still was clinging to the other.  I pulled the backpack out of the way and turned her over.  She looked up at me with those darling blue eyes and smiled.

“What happened to you?”  I asked.

“I guess I just kind of dozed off.  I was so deep in thought I wasn’t paying attention.  But, I’m fine.”  Ellen said.

“You scared me to death.  Are you sure you are not hurt?” I said as Ellen sat up.

“I was deep in thought trying to figure out a way to get you in my arms, in this rain.  I just couldn’t wait until we got back to the Inn.”  Ellen said.

“That’s lovely, but you didn’t have to scare me so and be so dramatic.”

Ellen took my hands and pulled us both up. “Look, there’s an old barn.  Come on.” Ellen said as she started running toward an old red barn set back off the road behind the foundation of a house that looked like it had burned down years ago.

“Don’t we need to get our bikes and backpacks? I yell, over the roaring rain, as I run to catch up with Ellen.

“Spontaneity is a key fertilizer to real romance, real chemistry,” Ellen said as we ran inside the central section of the old fading barn.  The wood stalls looked prehistoric, fossilized almost, like something from Noah’s Ark.  The smell of mildew, and probably mold, hung heavy in the air.  It was drier inside but drops of water plunked down on my head from above, from a leaky metal roof, worn thin from years of rain, steam, and sun.  

“I guess down-pouring rain and soaked clothes is a necessary activator or trigger to make that fertilizer spur on love and kisses, romance and tenderness, dances and sexy looks.  Right?”  I said. “Oh, my dear sweet baby.  You are learning the science of romance.  I have full faith in you that I can mold and shape you for future spontaneity leadership.”  Ellen said.

“Well, I do love the teacher in you.  Do you have another lesson ready?  Or, have you used up all your spontaneity for today?”  I giggled.”

Ellen pulled me into her body, backing up against a dusty wooden and sagging stable gate.  I loved that we were so equal in height, even though she was a little taller than me.  Our lips touched, but we stopped, almost frozen, acting as though we were scared to kiss, scared to press our lips together.  Our eyes opened, and the dance began.  Without a word, I submitted.  She toyed with my upper lip with both her lips.  She sweetly and gently tilted up my head and kissed my neck from under my chin to under my left ear.  She lowered my head and this time played with my lower lip with her lips. Our eyes locked again, hers to mine, mine to hers.  Just as I thought she was about to speak, she pulled my head down to her shoulder and rubbed my back and stroked my hair.

We stood silently as the rain fell against the tin roof. The more I listened, the more I could discern a repeating pattern.  I leaned closer into Ellen’s shoulder and imagined the rain was playing a newly invented song, one just for us.  It, the rain, the rain’s brain, the rain’s owner, the new creature, the Rain, whoever, had woken to life as it had recognized the need for spontaneity.  The Rain wrote us a song, maybe borrowing a little from Augustus Montague Toplady’s 1763 song, Rock of Ages.  Story is, Toplady, a preacher, was traveling along the gorge when he was caught in a storm.  Finding shelter in a gap in the gorge, he was struck by the title and scribbled down the initial lyrics.

The Rain needed no further help from Toplady.  ‘Today, right now, this very moment, has been planned, it has been written in the stars for always and forever, since the beginning of time.  This moment is for you Ellen and you Ruthie.  Take your time, touch each other, talk to each other. For, neither of you will ever forget this time, the time in the rain, in the shelter of this old red barn, the one the house-fire couldn’t reach for it had a destiny.  No matter if you ever learn the truth of where you came from, what your life’s purpose is, or where you will spend eternity, you do know, right here, right now, that you are one.  The two of you no longer exist as individuals.  Ellen, you are hidden in Ruthie always.  Ruthie, you are hidden in Ellen, forever.  When one smiles the other smiles, when one is happy the other is happy, but when one is sad, the other spontaneously pulls her close and looks happily into her eyes, and when one is hurting, the other spontaneously throws down her bike and runs and pulls the hurting one in her arms and loves the pain away.’  

The rain finally begins to fade, and I opened my eyes for the first time since Ellen pulled my head down on her shoulder.  We had stood there for over an hour, silently, lovingly, our hearts joining hands committed to never letting go.  I raised my head and looked at Ellen’s face.  Her eyes were still closed, and she was smiling.

“We better get going.  I’m glad we have reflectors on our bikes.”  Ellen said as she took my hand and pulled me out into the darkness.

We slowly made our way back to the Inn, stripped down naked and both spent thirty minutes in the shower, giggling and listening to each other’s stomachs growl for food.

This year we were less formal in our attire for the Saturday night dinner, each opting for jeans and dark flowing blouses with pink collars, standing on three-inch stiletto heels.  We were giants and we were gorgeous, at least according to the many eyes that tracked our every move, as we followed Mrs. Bradford to our skinny little table against the back wall by the fireplace.  “Not again this year.”  We both said out loud as she walked away.  We someway ordered.  Then, we sat silent for what seemed an hour, of course, it wasn’t.  After our food arrived, we willed ourselves to love a plate of shrimp overlaying cuttlefish noodles, with cauliflower and smoky ‘duck ham’ on the side.

Afterword’s, we went outside and sat in our swing for a couple of hours before returning to our room and watching ‘The Best of Me,’ by Nicholas Sparks on Ellen’s iPad while cuddling in each other’s arms.  As the movie ended, Ellen fell asleep first, with my left arm across her side, and her back touching my stomach, my legs nestled into the back of hers.  As I listened to her breathe I thought of the song playing on top of the old red barn.  I thought of the burned-out foundation that once was a house, filled with children and loving parents.  A couple who once lay back to front, one asleep, one awake, with her listening to her partner’s breathing and hoping and praying that life would continue and forever remain the same.  At some point, I too fell asleep but feeling the heat from the roaring flames engulfing the house while standing with my children in the hallway of the old red barn watching the clapboard and shingled flesh of the house disintegrate while the weakening and glowing trusses and sidewalls crumbled to the ground finally melting into a pile of ash.

Sunday morning, we took our time getting up, showering, getting dressed, and eating a full southern breakfast while talking with Mrs. Bradford about the creativity involved with our clothing choices.  After breakfast, we loaded up our bags and our bikes and drove to DeSoto Falls Road and parked.  We had decided during the movie last night to come here and make some pictures of each other standing beside the trail-head and Ellen’s car, and hoping we could flag someone down to make a few pictures of the two of us together.

Our photo shoot was perfect in every way inspiring Ellen to take a thousand more snapshots as I drove us home.  “You definitely need the practice.” Ellen kept saying.

I drove us straight to Ellen’s and spent the rest of the day swimming and sitting by her pool.  Mom and Dad even let me miss church and stay until they picked me up.

“See you tomorrow.  I had a great weekend.  Our weekend could not have been better.”  I said walking to Dad’s car, turning around to make sure Ellen had heard me while she stood by her front door. I could see her smiling. And that was the perfect ending to the perfect weekend, my 16th birthday, spent with Ellen, spent with my once in life love.  It didn’t seem life could get any better.

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

Mom dropped me off at Ellen’s around 8:00, right after youth group at church. We must complete this week’s science project no later than Thursday night since we are leaving for Mentone at 11:00 a.m. on Friday.  Therefore, I have come to Ellen’s Wednesday night, to stay as long as it takes to at least complete a first draft.  

“Let’s knock this paper out tonight even if we have to stay up all night.  I don’t want to work on it at all tomorrow night.”  Ellen said.

“Fine by me, I think I can talk Mom into letting me stay over.”  I said.

This week’s assignment was from Jerry Coyne’s book, Why Evolution is True, on how amphibians evolved from fish.  Ellen and I had earlier decided we wanted to study the fossil species, Tiktaalik roseae.  It is transitional between fish and amphibians and was discovered in 2004. 

“You start us off.”  Ellen said.

We normally attacked our team-assignment by both reading the materials before we got together, then we would just talk our way into the most relevant parts trying to develop a working knowledge that we could dialog about.

“Since I didn’t read the Chapter very closely, I’m going to quote some and paraphrase some for now.”  I said.

Ellen sat up straighter in her chair and cupped her hands behind her ears. 

“Around 360 million years ago there were tetrapods, four-footed vertebrates that walked on land.  Prior to then, say 30 million years earlier, the only vertebrates were fish. These tetrapods had flat heads and bodies, a neck, and strong legs and limbs. Kind of like modern-day amphibians.  But, they also had characteristics like much older fish, more like the lobe-finned fish. These fish had bony fins they used to hold themselves up off the bottom of a lake. The tetrapods also had scales, limb and head bones.

So, the key question is, how did fish with fins evolve into land dwelling amphibians which obviously had limbs for walking?  Okay, your turn.”  I said.

“Okay.  Evolution, as we have learned, is pretty good at predicting. The fossil record showed the lobe-finned fish but no land vertebrates around 390 million years ago but showed the land amphibians around 360 million years ago, so scientists knew they should find a transitional creature in between these times. And, that is what happened, although it took years of hard work to find these transitional fossils.

It was in the Canadian Arctic, Ellesmere Island, that scientists found the transitional fossil.  They called it Tiktaalik roseae.  It had gills, scales, and fins like a fish, but it also had a flattened head like a salamander, with eyes and nostrils, not on the side of the skull but on top. ‘This suggests that it lived in shallow water and could peer, and probably breathe, above the surface.  The fins had become more robust, allowing the animal to flex itself upward to help survey its surroundings. Like early amphibians, Tiktaalik had a neck.  Fish don’t have necks.  Their skulls join directly to their shoulders.’ And, to show its ability to move on land it had ribs to help in pumping air into its lungs.  Ribs also helped move oxygen from its gills.  Note, Tiktaalik could breathe with both lungs and gills. Also, it had big, stronger and fewer bones in its limbs than lobe-finned fish had in their fins.

At some point down the line the grandchildren of Tiktaalik had the courage to walk onto land on their strong ‘fin-limbs,’ for reasons such as finding food or avoiding enemies.  As we have learned, natural selection would continue to shape these transitional fossils into modern day amphibians if there was a benefit to living on land.”  Ellen said.

“I like this statement, it seems to be a good summary statement we might can use. ‘That first small step ashore proved a great leap for vertebrate-kind, ultimately leading to the evolution of every land-dwelling creature with a backbone.’  And, I might add, land-dwelling creatures including humans.”  I said.

“Okay, enough for now.  You know we do our best work in phases, with each around 30 minutes long.  So, it’s time to dance.”  Ellen said.

We slow-danced to Adele with each of us mouthing words to each other as our eyes stayed locked.  I could almost feel our hearts shedding their fins and their limbs, legs and all, and growing wings.  Our time, our touch, our talks, started off earth-bond, water and land, but now our romance was starting to fly.  I felt as though we were soaring above the earth, our wings touching so softly, so sweetly, so gently, on every down-stroke.  Having Ellen by my side, in my heart, and in every cell of my being was something more than what is possible if we had come from fish and Tiktaalik’s.  It was spiritual, heavenly, a fairy tale that came to live, instantly, from nothing, when we reached out to each other that night over a year ago at Ryan’s by the fire.  We didn’t even touch.  The reaching out had been more verbal, a word, words, and more visual, a look, looks.  No matter, the words and the looks electrified the instant they were launched.

Our thirty-minute dance lasted nearly an hour.  Then, we raced to her kitchen and spooned out two bowls of creamy/cheesy potatoes, sitting at her bar playing airplane with our spoons, feeding each other, laughing and giggling, sometimes unintentionally spewing potatoes onto the bar.  Finally, we literally slapped each other’s delirium and sleepiness away and trudged back up to her room.  We had a hard time getting back on track, evidenced by our silly and scary sketches and our human-like play-dough molds of Tiktaalik. “Okay, we have to focus.  If we want to leave school early on Friday to go to Mentone we must finish this thing tonight.  Get your laptop.  I’ll start off.  You just get some words down.” I said, because there was no way I would miss being in Mentone this weekend for my 16th birthday, and with my Always.

Two drafts and twenty edits later we were finished. At 4:15 a.m. we finally lay down for a two-hour nap.  We didn’t even care to push wads of paper and eight Popsicle sticks off the bed.

Almost asleep, I couldn’t help but be proud of our work. And, I was proud of Ellen.  Together, we had waded out into the murky water off Ellesmere Island and had seen for ourselves, learned for ourselves, a little more about where we came from, at least our bodies.  I was so proud of Ellen because she is so resilient, focused, tough, determined when she needed to be.  She is so in love with life and learning, and of course, me.  Yea.

Thursday was a very long day at school.  Ellen’s Mom woke us up when she was leaving at 6:30. She said for us to be ready to go by 8:15, that Ellen’s Dad was coming home from work to take us to school.  She said she would cover for both of us, especially since we were having a first period pep-rally for the football team that was still in the playoffs.

Someway we made it through the day without an ISS (in school suspension) nomination and were eager to head to Dairy Queen afterwards.  I don’t know why Ellen ordered a foot-long hot-dog with extra mustard and sour-kraut, but it sure did smell good, smelled better than it looked.  So, I bought one for myself, along with an Oreo Blizzard.  I guess last night’s marathon, and today’s lunch-skipping, spurred our appetites into pigdom.  It might have been the same two things that triggered our conversation for the next forty minutes.  Of course, it might have been all the sour-kraut.

“It seems rather clear that science has proven modern day humans and apes and chimps all descended from a common ancestor.  It also seems clear that amphibians evolved from fish, and birds evolved from dinosaurs.  There is just overwhelming evidence for evolution.  But my quest, our quest, is truth.  Just because evolution is real doesn’t mean there is no God and no afterlife.  I think evolution disproves the Bible in so many ways, just start in Genesis with Adam and Eve. Could it be that the Bible writers just got a few things wrong?” I said.

“When was the Bible written?”  Ellen asked.

“I’ve read that the Gospel of Mark was written around the year 70 AD, with the Gospels of Matthew and Luke written between 80 and 90 AD.  The Gospel of John was not written until sometime in the second century, although there is some who argue it was written at the end of the first century.  Others have said John was written by several different writers over a period of 25 to 30 years, that none of the words that Jesus purportedly says in John can be attributed to him.  Also, some say that none of the miracles written in John were performed by Jesus— like turning water into wine or feeding 5,000 people with five loaves of bread and two fish or raising Lazarus from the dead. In addition, some scholars say that many, if not most, of the characters in John are literary creations, that it was never intended by the writers for them to be taken as actual, living, breathing people.”  I said.

“Did Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John write their own gospels?”  Ellen asked.

“No, the Gospels were written by anonymous authors.  As we’ve seen, the gospels were written generations after Jesus’ crucifixion in what is thought to be the year 33 AD.  It is most likely that they were written by very educated men, smart scholars, in Greek, not Aramaic like the disciples spoke.  Most of the men and women living during this time were wholly ignorant peasants.  They certainly could not read or write.” I said.

“The writers of the Gospels may have been the brightest and smartest, the most educated, of their day, but I suspect they didn’t really know too much about evolution.  They had never met or heard of Lucy and the Naledi’s.  Right?”  Ellen said.

“Of course, you are right.  They likely hadn’t even heard of Adam and Eve.  There is argument among Biblical scholars as to when the Old Testament was written, and by whom.  Some say Genesis, or at least the creation story itself including the creation of Adam and Eve, was added to the Old Testament during the time the gospels were being written.  Until I started reading and researching these topics a couple of years ago, I had always believed that the Bible could be taken literally and that it was written by eye-witnesses pretty much, and that it was written by a lot of different writers, all separated in time and place, but all under the direct inspiration of the Holy Spirit.  It seems this is in no way true.  When you get to looking carefully you learn that even the Gospels have undergone many revisions since the first drafts.  Mark even had a new ending tacked onto it.   

As you say, all the writers of both the New and Old testaments knew so little about the world.  It is easy to see how they got a lot of things wrong, especially if science was involved at all.  

Does this mean there isn’t any truth in the Bible, that there is no God, no Jesus, no afterlife?”  I said.

“I think too many people think it is all or nothing when it comes to the Bible.  That you must either accept or reject the Bible.  You and I seem to be carving out a new path, a new way of thinking.  At least for us.  We certainly are no scholars.”  Ellen said.

“I agree we are not scholars, but we are curious, and we are creative.  I also agree that there is a better way, a third way of thinking that holds promise for me and you at least.

Why can’t we accept that evolution is true, that the Bible is a wonderful literary creation that is only partially true?  Those parts are relevant to today.  Just because the writers of the Gospels didn’t know about evolution they may have known something about Jesus even if they were not themselves eyewitnesses.  It is very believable that some truths can be passed down as oral tradition.”  I said.

“It seems the crucifixion is vitally important to Christianity.  It is the key, the absolute key.  I agree with you, writings can be false just like spoken words can, but also writings and spoken words can be true.  If Jesus died on a cross that is something people who witnessed it would remember and tell their wives and children about, over and over.  And, these children would grow up with that story and they would tell it to their children and it would become an oral tradition.  Obviously, parts of it would change but hopefully the core truth would be maintained.”  Ellen said.

“It seems a shame that modern day Christians—let me say, Southern Baptists because I have firsthand knowledge about them, including me—believe we have the absolute truth.  Don’t you think it is almost guaranteed that 2,000 years from now scholars, pastors, and church members, will have learned something, both about Christianity and the world?  It’s inevitable there will be zillions of more scientific discoveries.  I would also bet there will be new findings, maybe even some revelations.  It may be by then that a whole new Bible has been written and in it the story of Jesus being married. I guess we better not anticipate that a new Bible will reveal that Jesus was married to John.  Dad would just die.”  I said.

“What a thought.  I mean, to look 2,000 years down the road and compare the knowledge then to now.”  Ellen said.

“And let’s not ever forget that the Naledi believed in an afterlife.  Maybe, they didn’t, but they at a minimum had a burial ritual.  That need, that belief, came from somewhere.  I want to think I am close to believing, that they thought death was not the end of life.  And, get this, they had never heard the name of Jesus.”  I said.

“Or God.  At least not in any language any human in the past 100,000 years could understand.”  Ellen said.

“I want to continue pursuing our third way of thinking.”

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

“I have a special assignment for you.” Mr. Johnson said as the bell rang.

“I started this last year and believe it can be quite meaningful for you.  And, it is a good way for you to stretch your creativity.  I trust it will cause you to really think.

Here is an overview.  Also, in a few minutes I will hand out a sheet describing your assignment in more detail.  

I want you to assume that you have died and that you are still conscious.  You can imagine that you have gone to Heaven or to some other place.  Or, you can imagine that you are lying in your casket.  You think of someone.  It is the one special person you know and whom you have a unique relationship with here now in this life.  This can be a parent, a sibling, a cousin, a classmate, or a former or current friend.  You pick but take the time to think of the one person who you need to come back to and have one final talk.  Assume you yourself will not be able to come back, at least in bodily form, but that you will mail or otherwise transport your words back to that person.

Obviously, you are to create a poem.  You may follow any form you want. It most likely will be free form prose, but you can decide what you like most.  Your poem can be any length, but please no more than 10 pages.  I do have to read them all.

Your poems are due no later than the Wednesday before

Thanksgiving. Please submit your work to me through Blackboard.

Please spend the rest of the class in private contemplation of your assignment.  Please no talking.  This is a very individual assignment.  Try to make this as real as possible.  I believe this will greatly improve the quality of your work.

Joanie, would you give one of these to everyone?”  Mr. Johnson said handing her a stack of papers.  

I sat quietly across from Ellen and looked over at her.  Our eyes met, and we smiled but we didn’t say anything, just as Mr. Johnson had instructed.

He had a policy starting with the first-class last year.  If you are working here in class on an assignment, you can move to any empty seat in the room.  He knew that the fewer distractions around us, the better our ability to get in the poetry zone, he liked to call it.

I took my notepad and pen and went to the back of the room next to a large window.  I turned my chair around, so I could have the sun’s light warm my face, and maybe inspire me to where I needed to go with this interesting but somewhat troubling assignment.  I faced the window and the sun with my eyes closed.  I had closed my eyes, so I wouldn’t be distracted by all the outside activity.

The room was quiet, a little eerie. The sun was much warmer than I had thought it would be.  It was as though the rays coming through the window were being magnified. I even began to sweat just a little, which was unusual for me.  I removed my sweater, but I didn’t back away from the window.  I had learned that sometimes in pursuing my poetry I encountered life more intensely.  Maybe it was just me being more observant.  Either way, I liked using nature, or allowing nature to be itself, to reveal itself to me in new ways.  

It reminded me of the time I was at the City Park, in my secret spot.  It was a Sunday afternoon and I hiked up the steep hill that was behind me.  I had done this a million times before.  That day I was troubled about what my Mom had told me, how when she was young she had fallen in love with a guy and they had a sexual relationship.  Mom was very young, in the ninth grade—like me.  I was wanting to write about this because it was so dominating my thoughts.  That’s when I decided to take my little hike, hoping to spur my memory and my imagination.

As I started up the hill, I decided that I would go blind, that I would pretend I was blind.  I took the bandana that was around my neck and blindfolded myself.  I didn’t think I was being too risky because I knew this patch of woods.  I started back walking but was nearly overcome with a sense of newness, of almost being in another world.  And in fact, I was.  I was in a world, a dark world, where rocks and trees are moving, jumping here and there, of low hanging limbs crawling, and spider webs lunging at my nose and eyes. I had become unstable, unbalanced, so I stopped next to a tree that had reached out and touched my hand as I was feeling forward for something similar and substantial.  The tree was probably six or eight inches in diameter.  I didn’t know what type of tree it was, but it had mountains and valleys, pointed and steep.  These vertical grooves were always there, always when I had come before, without blindfold.  Maybe I had touched this tree a million times.  But never noticed how perfect the ridges.  It was as though the tree held itself out to the world as a straight and narrow tree with its skin, its bark, being much like the other trees around it, around it in its neighborhood.  I imagined this tree had some secrets down in one or more of its valleys.  I tried but my fingers were all too wide, too thick, to feel down between the bark ridges, down into the valleys.  But, I knew they were there.  What secrets did they hold?  Would the neighboring trees be shocked to learn of this tree’s secrets?

I couldn’t help but think again of Mom.  I even felt naive.  Why had I never learned this lesson before? The lesson that we really don’t know those around us very well at all.  Yes, we know she, speaking of mom, is kind, gentle, encouraging, loving, a great cook, a faithful wife, a committed and dedicated professional teacher.  I’ve heard serial killers have this side to them.  Gosh, I’m not thinking Mom is a serial killer.  What about Dad?  What would I be shocked to learn about him?  What about Ryan and Lisa and Sarah?  Oh my, what about Ellen?  Do I really, truly know my sweet Ellen?  My mind raced.  It seems to do that when it was put on a thought slide.  Is Ellen a serial killer?  Seriously, what is the most shocking secret that Ellen keeps locked down in her heart, way back in the dark dungeon, deeper than the chamber where little Ella enjoys her eternal sleep?

“Ruthie, Ruthie, it’s time to go.”  Ellen said as I returned from the hill above the City Park.  The sun had done its thing.  I was sweating as though I had hiked up and down that hillside a dozen times.  The sun’s inspiration had led me down a surprising path, not one that I would have guessed when I first sat down.  It seemed like I had wasted the last thirty minutes.  It seemed I had gotten off on a tangent.  I was disappointed that I hadn’t made any progress in finding a good direction to pursue my ‘After Death’ poem.

“You look like you’ve been running.”  Ellen said.  “Or, have you been dreaming of me?  I do have a way of getting you to sweat.  Ha, ha.”

I got up, walked over for my backpack, and walked out into the hall.  Ellen followed asking me what had gotten me so worked up.  “Later my love, remember Mr. Johnson’s instructions, this is a very private assignment.  At least for now.  Once it is complete, I suspect we will share our creations.  I know I will.  And, I hope you will too.  I must grab a book from my locker.  I’ll meet you at your car in a few minutes.” “Okay, I’ll be waiting.”  Ellen said.

I had to have a few minutes to myself.  I felt I had to put a bookend on what I was thinking when I was ‘awakened’ by Ellen.  The question I hadn’t posed but now had to, just as always when I am deep in thought.  What does this mean?  I was referring to my blindfolded walk, and more specifically, the tree’s secrets, Mom’s secrets, my question of Ellen’s secrets.  Is this what I am to draw from that walk?  Is this something I need to pursue in my ‘After Death’ poem?  I don’t really know yet, but I must engage with it in writing.  I never know for sure until I have written about it.  It’s like I don’t know what my thoughts truly are until I have played around with them on paper—just like Virginia Woolf I guess.

I grabbed my World History textbook from my locker and walked to Ellen’s car in the parking lot. 

“The usual?”  Ellen asked.

“Always and Forever.”  I said.  For several months, we had been going to Dairy Queen after school.  It had become a ritual, more like a tradition. A Butterfinger Blizzard was calling my name.

Ellen dropped me off at home a little before 5:00.  Dad was already home.  Early for a Thursday.

Mom had her usual great supper prepared.  And for me, a salad.  She didn’t much like me having my dessert before dinner, but she chose her battles carefully.

It has always been a requirement that whoever is home at meal times must eat together.  I sat down and poured a ‘quart’ of Ranch dressing over my salad while Mom passed the cheese-less broccoli to Dad.

“Honey, how was your meeting?” Mom asked Dad.

“Pretty standard.  I met with six pastors from Walton County, Georgia.  All but one of them was from Monroe, the county seat.  It is about half-way between Atlanta and Athens. The churches with the most interest were First Baptist, Grace, Faith, and Calvary Baptist churches. I laid out the entire ‘Take a Stand’ program.  They said they intended to encourage the Walton County Baptist Association to call a special meeting of all 110 churches to discuss adopting ‘Take a Stand.’  Dad said.

“Do you think your marches, literature distribution, talk show appearances, and social media blitzes are doing any good?”  I asked.

“I have to believe they are.  Certainly, we are raising awareness of the attack on our religious liberties.”  Dad said.

“From what I hear and see on the news, you are doing a good job of isolating the church, of building a wall between the church and the world.  It certainly seems the world is moving away from the church and towards less judging and more acceptance and love.”  I said.

“Sounds like you are getting more and more entrenched in the homosexuality philosophy and rejecting your faith.”  Dad said.

“No Dad, I’m searching for the truth.  And, the more I read and study, the less importance I find in holding on to the idea that stories such as Adam and Eve, and Noah’s Ark, in the Bible are historic facts.  What I see is that one group of people, the group that should know better, your group Dad, is creating a caste system.  You are saying that Christians have all knowledge and they, therefore are superior to homosexuals and anyone else who doesn’t believe like you do.”  I said.

“Honey, do you think the grouper is too spicy?” Mom said to throw a stick into the racing wheel that was spinning hotter and hotter.  “Truce you two.  I am setting down a new rule.  It is now off limits to discuss politics or religion or anything similar at meal times.  My food, as good as it is, is not enjoyed when we are disagreeing and arguing.  I’m serious.”  

“Okay, I agree.”  Dad said.  “But, when can Ruthie and I debate this world-changing issue?”

“On your own time.  The two of you need to spend more time together anyway.  You might find that there is some common ground between you, if you would both set aside your pride and truly listen to each other.”  Mom said like a true political science professor.

“Okay Mom.  I agree too.  I truly must go now.  I have school projects to attend to.  Dad, don’t worry. I still love you, even though you are a bigot.  Ha, ha.”

“Thanks darling.  I love you too.  As I always say, infidels need love too.”  Dad added.

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

Dr. Ayers loved my paper and gave me an A.  My Fall semester grade was also an A, as it was in all my classes.

The holidays came and went as winter continued.  Ellen and I had carefully built a deep and wide foundation for our relationship.  Our daily patterns and routines became predictable, but our ways of expressing our love were quite spontaneous, quite new every day.  Thoughtfulness was not simply a characteristic of our relationship, but it was a mighty mission.  One of us was always surprising the other with a sweet note, a goofy, but love-enlightening text, or an ugly shirt, purse, or pair of shoes from The Sand Mountain Thrift store, with the clothing item always finding a unique way of showing up—in the mail, in an icebox sat by the front door, hung outside a window, or crammed into a school locker.  We were both masters of thoughtfulness.  We were both missionaries, even though our mission was not religious, we were just as zealous.

Our ninth-grade year came to an end with straight A’s for both in all subjects.  Ellen and I spent our summer riding bikes, swimming, eating and more eating, and sharing trips with our parents to beaches and mountains.  The roots of our love grew deeper and deeper with every summer rain.  Summer started with a slow jog, but ultimately raced to the finish line.   

Our tenth-grade year seemed to start as suddenly as our ninth grade had ended.  World History became American History, and Algebra I became Algebra II.  Thankfully, Biology, English Literature, and Poetry continued.  Art was gone.  I had lost interest, as it seemed to divert my attention away from my poetry.  Thank the universe for poetry.  Without it, the big bang would have gone bust.

I have known Ellen now for over a year.  Today, she holds my heart, molds my mind, bolds my hope, and rolls my imagination a zillion times more than just yesterday.  She lives inside every cell of my being.  I can’t imagine life without the gorgeous and glorious Ellen.  There would be no life without my one and only Ellen.