Looking Forward

Don’t take this the wrong way. I’m not complaining. BUT! I need to get something off my chest.

I miss... kissing my husband. Yes, he wears a mask in the grocery store. Yes, he washes his hands upon returning, and yes, I sanitize the kitchen counters and door handles, but since asthma puts me at high risk, he’s determined not to expose me to Covid-19, so we settle for air hugs and kisses blown from a safe distance.

I miss... hugging my children and grandchildren. Not that we’re able to be together that often normally, but because both families live in rural areas, virtual options for connecting are limited.

I miss... seeing my students and colleagues. Zoom classes just aren’t the same.

I miss... going out to dinner. These days, our romantic date nights consist of dressing up in our best sweats to cook then eat dinner while sitting in our recliners and binge-watching “Heartland” on Netflix, followed by washing dishes and cleaning up the kitchen. But, since there’s no kissing involved...

I miss... going to real church instead of virtual church, being greeted by friendly faces and firm handshakes, and joining in robust hymn singing.

I miss... visiting nursing homes. My heart aches for “my ladies” and others who must be feeling lonely without their usual visitors.

I miss... observing people in public settings where I get my best ideas for stories and characters.

I miss… concerts and baseball games and sharing a glass of wine with friends and neighbors.

No, I’m not complaining. Rather, I’m looking forward to the return of simple, everyday activities. When thousands (maybe millions) are suffering, dying, and mourning, I’m reminded to be grateful for good health, daily walks, family, and this extra time to read, pray, and write.

Until the return of "normal," let’s use this time of waiting to pray for the physical and spiritual healing of our country and our planet, and let’s boost each other’s spirits with hope and faith for a new and better normal.

Cindy L. Freeman is the author of numerous award-winning short stories and three published novels: Unrevealed, The Dark Room and I Want to Go Home. Website: www.cindylfreeman.com; Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/cindy.l.freeman.9. Her books are available from amazon.com or hightidepublications.com

Men Have It Easy

Have you ever noticed how easy men have it? Here’s a case in point. I was telling my husband, Carl, that I needed a new dress for our granddaughter’s wedding, whenever that might be rescheduled after the pandemic. He said, “That’s easy. Just order one online.”

“You must be kidding,” I responded. “Women cannot order clothes online. They never fit.” I haven’t ordered clothing online since my last traumatic experience some ten years ago when I had to send the items back three times before I finally got the right size.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Carl continued. “You know your size, right? Just order your size.” This from a man who can walk into a store, pick up a shirt or pair of jeans and take them home without trying them on. They always fit. Men have it easy. Why? Because men’s sizes are both simple and consistent. Men’s shirts go by neck size and sleeve length. Period. Men’s pants are sized by inseam and waist. Period. Shopping done.

Women, on the other hand, have too many fashion choices. Even before considering a size, we must choose among the categories of Women’s, Petite, Junior, Half, or Plus. Once that decision is made, we might be able to wear any size between 6 and 14 depending on the fabric, the cut, the brand, and the style. Furthermore, if you shop at Chico’s, the sizing is totally different. At Chico’s, I might wear a size 1 or 2. That’s hilarious!

For women, even the length requires a decision. In dresses and skirts, you have mini, midi, maxi, or street-length—whatever that means—each of which could hit anywhere from the thigh to the ankle, depending on whether it is Women’s, Petite, Junior, Half or Plus. Slacks for women can be long, short, regular, petite, cropped, flared, skinny or boot-cut. Need I go on?

The fact is, I never knew I was a Petite until I was in my fifties. You see, I’ve always been slightly overweight. Do you see where I’m going with this? The word, petite, by definition, means slender, small or tiny. How can it make sense that someone who is slightly overweight is also slender, small or tiny? Well, in the fashion world, Petite refers to clothing made for women who are short in stature and short-waisted with short arms, which means it’s possible to be a 16 Petite. Isn’t that an oxymoron along the lines of deafening silence?

So, men, take my advice. The next time you are waiting impatiently outside the women’s dressing room, sitting in the “husband chair,” holding your wife’s purse on your lap, and watching HGTV on the television provided for your entertainment, try to remember it’s not her fault that she has been in there for two hours trying to buy one dress. When she finally emerges for your opinion, out of breath, hair disheveled, with sweat beaded across her forehead, the only appropriate comment from you is, “Honey, you look beautiful in that dress.”

Cindy L. Freeman is the author of numerous award-winning short stories and three published novels: Unrevealed, The Dark Room and I Want to Go Home. Website: www.cindylfreeman.com; Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/cindy.l.freeman.9. Her books are available from amazon.com or hightidepublications.com

People of Faith

“It’s a small world.” This is something we say when in an unexpected place we meet or hear about someone we know. I remember voicing that very sentiment in London several years ago when my husband and I spotted a display of peanuts from the Williamsburg Peanut Shop in Harrods Department Store. Then there was the time I ran into a family from my music school in Williamsburg during a trip to the Bahamas. It was unexpected, and it felt like the earth was much smaller than its 25,000-mile circumference. Today, with the technology to access people and news across the globe, the world seems small, indeed.

I will never forget the moment during junior high school when I heard about the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. It was a chilly November day in 1963 when my principal, his voice shaking, announced it over the intercom. At the age of thirteen, I felt like life as I knew it was ending. Kennedy’s presidency had brought hope and optimism to our country, and now he was gone. The future was uncertain, and all US citizens, regardless of party affiliation, joined in mourning tinged with fear. We didn’t have the internet then, but we stayed glued to our TV sets for days.

I remember clearly the live television broadcast of Good Morning America that I was watching September 11, 2001 as I dressed for work. The image of one plane, then another, crashing into New York’s Twin Towers was surreal and paralyzing. Even the anchor, Charles Gibson, was too stunned to speak for a moment. The earth stopped, seeming to shrink in size as countries around the world weighed in on this unspeakable tragedy.

We are in the midst of another such world-shrinking event, one we will remember for the rest of our lives. My high school students, who already have so much on their plates with schoolwork, exams, college prep, athletics, and social issues must add concern about whether they or a loved one will contract the virus. They are feeling like I did in 1963: worried, fearful, and wondering if life will ever return to normal. Their school administrators and teachers are doing everything possible to ease their minds and accommodate their learning until they can return to campus, but it’s a challenging time of uncertainty, especially with wide access to media coverage.

So, how do we cope amid a pandemic? Last Friday, our principal called an assembly to announce that the school would be closed for at least two weeks. The students sat very still and quiet. As I glanced about the auditorium, I observed tension in their body language and faces. It was like they were afraid to look at each other, afraid or unable to react. That Friday was supposed to be opening night for their musical, 42^nd Street. The students had worked tirelessly every day after school since January, and now their performance was postponed until further notice. Other students learned that all athletic activities were suspended, including a tournament, and my All-State Chorus delegates soon heard that their event would not take place. Many students began to weep silently in disappointment.

Amid their dismay, the most important statement by our principal may not have sunk in, but it stood out to me. She said, “Remember, we are people of faith.”

Ours is a Catholic school founded by The Sisters of Mercy. We start and end every day with prayer; we hold monthly Masses; at each level, the students are required to take a theology class; and every student must accumulate service hours. Mercy Core Values underscore our curricula.

At the Upper School where I teach, our students are typical high school kids with all the typical high school behaviors. There are cliques; there is boundary testing; there are negative attitudes and inappropriate comments. Some get into trouble and receive demerits or attend Saturday detention; some earn poor grades and must be placed on academic support, which might include dropping extracurricular activities. They are normal American teenagers. The difference is not in the students we serve, but in the learning environment we provide.

As a Mercy School, our faith education and service to the community, both local and global, are at the forefront of everything we teach. This faith-based education is evident in the way we handle issues and relate to each other. That’s what the principal meant by “We are people of faith.” She was saying that people of faith in God don’t need to panic or live in fear, not because we are exempt from disease or suffering, not because we’re better than people without faith, but because we have assurance that God walks with us through all of life’s ups and downs, even a pandemic, and sustains us with His unconditional love. We recognize that God is sovereign.

Our students may not yet be mature enough in their faith to believe that they can cast all their cares on God, but we, the faculty and administrators, are committed to modeling mature, merciful faith and unconditional love for them and each other. With God’s help, we will get through even this together as "people of faith."

Cindy L. Freeman is the author of numerous award-winning short stories and three published novels: Unrevealed, The Dark Room and I Want to Go Home. Website: www.cindylfreeman.com; Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/cindy.l.freeman.9. Her books are available from amazon.com or hightidepublications.com

Using Imagery

I’ve discovered that conducting a choir is a lot like writing a novel. Maybe that’s why I love doing both. Making music and writing a book are creative activities that fully engage the brain. Notice I didn’t say “listening to music and reading a book,” which, while valuable pastimes, are not the same as writing and active music-making. Whereas listening to music tends to be passive—The Mozart Effect was a flawed study—singing, playing an instrument, and conducting are active, engaging the whole brain. Likewise, creative writing causes brain cylinders (neurons and dendrites) to fire, especially in the frontal cortex.

As an early childhood educator for many years, I studied the effects of music on the brain. Again and again, scientific studies confirmed that music making stimulates all areas of the brain, causing neurons and dendrites to fire. That’s why early childhood music is so beneficial for young children whose brains are still developing.

Recently, I found a 2014 study by German researchers published in the journal Neurolmage. These neuroscientists observed the brain activity of people as they wrote stories. According to the study, the brain activity of creative writers, especially long-time writers of fiction, is “similar to the brains of other people skilled in complex action like musicians.”

Scientific research notwithstanding, my experience in both fields has taught me that the most pronounced similarity between music making and creative writing is in the use of imagery. As a choral conductor, when I ask my singers to visualize the tone or mood of a musical piece, they respond more accurately than when I simply use musical terms like smooth (legato) or detached (staccato), strong (marcato) or light (leggiero), loud (forte) or quiet (piano). While they are familiar with these terms, both English and Italian, their response is far more immediate when I use imagery. Instead of asking them to sing smoothly, I might suggest the image of hot fudge dripping down the sides of vanilla ice cream. “Sing like a diva, not a wood nymph” shows them clearly that I want them to use a fuller, richer tone. “Think of a tennis ball bouncing on pavement or a stone skipping across the water” gives them an image of light, detached singing more effectively than saying, “Sing that phrase staccato.”

In a similar way, creative writers continually work to “show, not tell” their stories. Experienced writers know what this challenging process entails. We understand that, when our narrative engages all the senses, our readers’ brains are activated to produce images.

“Show, don't tell is a writing technique in which story and characters

are related through sensory details and actions rather than exposition.

It fosters a style of writing that's more immersive for the reader, allowing

them to ‘be in the room’ with the characters” (blog.reedsy.com, Jul 11, 2019).

An excellent example of showing rather than telling is this passage from Ken Follett’s bestselling novel The Pillars of the Earth. He immediately sets the stage in the first chapter where the townspeople are waking and starting their day in anticipation of a public hanging:

“Candlelight flickered behind the shutters of the substantial wood and

stone houses around the square, the homes of prosperous craftsmen

and traders, as scullery maids and apprentice boys lit fires and heated

water and made porridge. The color of the sky turned from black to gray.

The townspeople came ducking out of their low doorways, swathed in

heavy cloaks of coarse wool, and went shivering down to the river

to fetch water.”

Follett could have stated succinctly: It was a cold, winter morning and the townspeople were waking up. But by showing us the candlelit windows and shivering people “swathed in heavy cloaks” he engages all of our senses with powerful imagery that causes our brains to form pictures. We feel like we are right there in the town square with them, experiencing what they are experiencing. In one brief, expressive paragraph we discover the book’s historical setting, the time of day, and the time of year. We know that the people are wealthy with servants. We see their sturdy houses. We know how they dress and what they eat for breakfast.

It has taken many years for me to realize how much music has helped my writing and writing has helped my musical expression. In both fields, words must be used in such a way as to activate the brains of our readers/singers, forming vivid images that leave no doubt about what we want to convey.

Cindy L. Freeman is the author of numerous award-winning short stories and three published novels: Unrevealed, The Dark Room and I Want to Go Home. Website: www.cindylfreeman.com; Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/cindy.l.freeman.9. Her books are available from amazon.com or hightidepublications.com

Messenger of Forgiveness

History abounds with people who have risen above bleak circumstances and remained steadfast in their purpose and their faith. When I think of true heroes of faith, Corrie ten Boom comes to mind. She and her father were Dutch watchmakers and devout Christians who hid Jews in their home during the Nazi occupation of Holland. Eventually, the ten Booms’ risky actions were discovered, and they were sent to concentration camps where both Corrie’s father and sister died. Corrie survived, and after the war, she wrote about her experiences, traveled the world and spoke about God’s grace and forgiveness. As a teenager, I read her books, Tramp for the Lord and The Hiding Place, books that changed my life and influenced its direction. I never imagined I would get to hear her speak in person.

When the Billy Graham Crusade came to the Hampton Coliseum sometime in the 1970s, the church choir I directed was invited to sing in Graham’s crusade choir. Corrie ten Boom was the guest speaker at that crusade. I will never forget listening to her accounts of unwavering faith amid one of history’s most atrocious events. She recounted numerous instances where only God’s hand could have turned an impossible situation into a blessing. One example was how an unexpected distraction during the body searches caused her to be passed over miraculously, allowing her to smuggle her Bible into the first concentration camp where she and her sister Betsie were interned. There, they were able to organize and lead secret prayer meetings without being detected by the guards.

I’ll never forget Corrie ten Boom’s powerful account of an incident that happened after the war. She said she was speaking to a church group in Munich. She had gone to post-war Germany for the express purpose of telling the German people about God’s forgiveness. In her message, she mentioned that she had been a prisoner at Ravensbruck Concentration Camp. As she was leaving, a man approached her with his hand outstretched. Immediately, she recognized him as the cruel Nazi guard who had processed her and Betsie at Ravensbruck. He didn’t remember her specifically, even though she and Betsie had been forced to march naked past him. It was the same camp where Betsie had died a slow, painful death. Immediately Corrie’s heart filled with hatred toward the former soldier who said he was now a follower of Jesus Christ. He told her that God had forgiven him for his awful actions. When he held out his hand, asking for her forgiveness, Corrie couldn’t grant it. She stood frozen as horrific memories flooded her mind.

All these years since that night in the Hampton Coliseum, I still have a clear vision of Corrie ten Boom’s crystal eyes and outstretched hand as she relived the most difficult decision of her life, a decision that no act of will on her part could have accomplished. Yet she knew God was calling her to forgive this man who had once been an agent of evil. I remember her saying that when she uttered the simple prayer, “Help me, Jesus!” a warm surge of love flowed through her body and into her stiff, reluctant arm as she grasped the man’s hand. In her heavy Dutch accent she proclaimed that she never felt the love of God so powerfully or so completely as she did at the moment she was able to say to her former captor, “I forgive you, my brother.”

Jesus’ followers are called to forgive others as He has forgiven us. It can be a tall order to forgive those who have gossiped about us, said hurtful words to our face, made false accusations, or betrayed our trust. For Christians, this Wednesday is known as Ash Wednesday when we are reminded that God stands ready to forgive our sins when we confess them in sincere penitence. How, then, can we refuse to forgive those who have wronged us? Like Corrie ten Boom, we must learn to cry, “Help me, Jesus!” and then allow God’s love to fill us with the miraculous power of forgiveness.

Cindy L. Freeman is the author of two award-winning short stories and three published novels: Unrevealed, The Dark Room and I Want to Go Home. Website: www.cindylfreeman.com; Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/cindy.l.freeman.9. Her books are available through amazon.com or hightidepublications.com

The Fixer

I’ve been busy preparing for a new semester at school and editing two novels. Running the vacuum cleaner hasn’t been high on my list of priorities. So, it was no surprise when my husband, Carl, decided to do a little vacuuming. Perhaps it was because I’ve hardly touched the vacuum cleaner since Christmas or maybe he was irritated by the little dust bunnies that had taken to following him around and attaching to his slippers. You see, cleaning and laundry are designated as my household duties, while Carl accomplishes the grocery shopping, cooking, trash removal, and numerous other chores. Anyway, I heard him complaining from the other room. “This vacuum cleaner sucks!”

“Isn’t that what it’s supposed to do?” I called, trying to be helpful.

“No, it sucks...as in it doesn’t work,” he clarified, followed by the all-to-familiar sounds of him taking apart any object that annoys his retired-engineer sensibilities.

Within minutes, he was walking toward me carrying something that resembled a medium-sized rodent. “When’s the last time you cleaned the filter?” His question sounded suspiciously like an accusation, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

“I empty the canister once a month,” I answered with confidence. Because I do empty the canister once a month. In fact, I’m quite proud of the fact that I remember to empty the canister monthly.

“No, the filter,” he repeated. “When did you last empty it?” 

“Well, since I didn’t know it had a filter, I’d have to say...um...never.”

“Well, no wonder it doesn’t work.”

Now I was sure of the accusation but decided to ignore his comment and mind my own business as I heard a variety of strange noises coming from the garage. Some wives refer to this behavior as puttering, but my husband doesn’t putter. He fixes...and he does so immediately. If something is broken, it cannot wait. Carl won’t be able to sleep until it’s fixed. In fact, he has been known to get up in the middle of the night to fix things, especially computer issues. If he needs a part, does he wait until he’s going out for another errand or appointment and consolidate his trips? No. He must go to Lowes or Ace Hardware that very minute. Failure to do so could result in him suffering a stroke.

Our children seldom call their father just to say, “Hi, Dad” or “How are you, Dad?” They might begin the conversation that way, but chances are the greeting will be followed by them asking his advice on how to fix something.

Carl’s reputation as The Fixer reaches far and wide. Friends, neighbors, former neighbors, children, grandchildren, and other relatives call on him for help with their problems whether electrical, plumbing, automobile, or computer. They know if he can’t fix it or tell them how to go about it, it probably can’t be fixed.

As for me, I can fix a meal; I can fix my hair; and I can fix my gaze on a beautiful sunset, but for everything else, I’m grateful to be married to The Fixer...and yes, he fixed the vacuum cleaner.

Cindy L. Freeman is the author of two award-winning short stories and three published novels: Unrevealed, The Dark Room and I Want to Go Home. Website: www.cindylfreeman.com; Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/cindy.l.freeman.9. Her books are available through amazon.com or hightidepublications.com

Embarrassment is not Fatal

I’ve heard it said that it takes six weeks to incorporate a new habit, six weeks of practicing that behavior consistently. Well, I must be a slow learner because it took me four years to purge sugar from my diet, and it is taking a lifetime to stop beating myself up when I backslide. I just did it again! I called myself a “slow learner.”

The truth is I don’t like to fail. I don’t think anyone does. Failure, even a small botch, feels humiliating. When I mess up, my first instinct is to berate myself. Self-flagellation is nothing new. It was a part of early Christian history, especially in monasteries and convents. Even Martin Luther whipped himself as a means of atoning for sin. I don’t whip myself when I find I have disobeyed God or made a foolish mistake, but I fall into the unproductive habit of self-blame. My instinct is to waste mental energy shaming myself; making myself feel less-than; forgetting that I am a forgiven and renewed child of God.

What if, instead of engaging in unproductive mental self-flagellation, I turned immediately to God in prayer, confessed my shortcoming, and asked for help in making things right? What if I trusted the promise of Romans 8:38-39 that “…neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor heights, nor depth, nor any other created thing will be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus?” Perhaps Paul’s list of ‘nors’ should include nor embarrassment. 

What if, instead of getting discouraged by problems and embarrassed by mistakes, I remembered that God loves me no matter what blunders I make and stands ready to show me how to solve problems? What if I focused on my innumerable blessings, turning my attention from minuscule earthly issues to the grand scheme of God’s purposes?

I’m not advocating ignoring issues and hoping they’ll go away. Denial never solved a problem or made a situation better. Rather, I’m trying to develop the habit (resolution, if you will) of facing life head-on and dealing with embarrassing mistakes without falling into a blame-and-shame funk. 

    

After all these years, I’m still working to develop healthy responses to stress. Worry, self-doubt, and self-flagellation are not healthy habits. If God has already conquered death, how can I allow myself to be discouraged even for a moment by life’s inevitable challenges?

Another verse from Paul’s letter to the Romans reminds me to put problems and perceived failures into perspective: “And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose (Romans 8:28).” In other words, God has my back; God is in my corner; and every negative experience provides a teachable moment with the potential for growing in wisdom and faith.

Cindy L. Freeman is the author of two award-winning short stories and three published novels: Unrevealed, The Dark Room and I Want to Go Home. Website: www.cindylfreeman.com; Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/cindy.l.freeman.9. Her books are available through amazon.com or hightidepublications.com