I Used to Have a Handle on Life when I Used to Have a Way With Words

Dear __________________

communityofreaders.org

I don't know how to say this. But I'll start by saying that I wasn't always like this. I used to have a way with words, but that was many years ago, long before you met me. I knew how to talk to the human race in a way that I though not many possessed. Often, as a child I would see my mother faced with an obstacle and in the evenings, I would have just the right words to sooth her pain, ease her fatigue and give her the strength she needed to carry on. Can you believe that at some point in my life I had the tenacity to believe that sometimes God used me to reach people and that sometimes He even spoke through me? But like I said, that was years ago, and now I have lost the most basic human function- that of comforting someone. Sure I can empathize with them- with someone who has lost a loved one for example- but even though I too have lost a loved one I do not know what to say to them or how to comfort them, because I feel that words are worthless and that we live in an era where words can no longer raise somebody from the dead. Nothing can.

What changed? Life, me - everything. I am usually at a loss for words, even when I know how I am feeling I usually do not know how to express myself. Most of the time though, I have found that if I sit down with myself and try to quiet the chaos, I do not even know how I am feeling. I find that most of the time I am living on the surface, not really allowing myself to feel much because my mortal defect is that I, unlike the rest of the world, do not have the ability to feel ‘normally’. Most of the time I can only experience extreme emotions and this is something that the world frowns upon. The world calls this 'melodrama' and 'attention-seeking' but I believe that long ago, this was called being human. Feeling neutral is a state that I have to work hard to feel by constantly counting my blessings, remembering that I am more fortunate than most of the world whilst at the same time shutting out the bad things in the world and in my life.

Imagine that life, which consists of feelings and emotions, was equitable to hearing. Dogs are said to hear four times better and than humans. I say ‘better,’ but as a little child I often used to worry that loud sounds would hurt their ears or that the world would be too noisy for them to ever get a good night’s rest. I have no doubt now that dogs have adapted to their hearing and know how to filter sound and drown out what they do not want to hear. I digress. If life is hearing, then I can say that the world’s hearing is that of a human and my hearing is that of a dog, or better yet, a human with hearing as acute as a dog’s hearing but without a dog’s ability to filter or escape from the noise. If this is all confusing at this point please forgive me and remember that I used to have a way with words, but not anymore.

Perhaps an easier way of saying this is that I feel in extremes that I cannot explain and instead of filtering or adapting to the ‘noise’ it builds up in me whilst I try time and time and again to drown out the noise of life- the pain, the nightmares, the depression, the joy of the simple things that others take for granted, the awkwardness, the Shona, the English, the swear words, curses and cries of a young woman who is just trying to be normal and speak ‘normally’. The solution for me is to numb myself and try and keep it in without imploding or worse still exploding- attempts I fail dismally at every so often and which result in everything spilling out of me, but not in words, in hot tears that turn cold from neglect, wails muffled by a pillow, violent thoughts, harm, hurt, sin and one-sided arguments with a God that I’m not always sure is impartial to my rudeness.

I feel in extremes that I cannot explain. I can no longer express myself or communicate in an efficient manner and every time I have to speak to somebody new it takes me back to the days when I did have a way with words and the scariest thing I had to do was public speak in front of a school of 500. One person to me is now 500.

I used to have a handle on life when and I used to have a way with words.

Yours faithfully

Lindiwe Dhlakama

A Blind Woman and a Pretty Little Girl

She was being led by a little girl of about five in a bright green dress.

The little girl seemed full of energy and maybe even joy.

The pretty little girl did not seem to mind that the old woman that was gripping
her arm was blind.

Her face was awkward.

In my weakness I turned away from her because I was embarrassed and did not want to acknowledge her suffering.

I sat there in the front seat of the kombi and looked at
my Nokia 5233, a new phone.

To my greatest distress, the little girl led the blind beggar woman to the entrance of the kombi I was sitting in, right next to me.

I thought that the woman was just going to beg a little, but no.

She let go of the little girls arm, stretched out a small green tin plate and began to sing.

No, she did not have an angelic voice that stopped people in their tracks and made them want to give her everything they had.

On the contrary, her voice matched her face- it was not sweet or particularly interesting, yet it was not ugly either.  

It was hard like the hard life that that woman had probably been through..

It was strange also like her face.

She sang a Shona song that said, ‘Of if  I could see Jesus (quite ironic in her blindness), I would tell
him of all my troubles.

Even if you people do not care about me I would turn to my Jesus.’

While she sang, the little girl played by herself behind the blind singing woman.

She played with an empty penny-cool packet, blowing it up and popping it up.

I felt so uncomfortable whilst this event was happening, maybe because I had no
money to give this woman or I just was not used to it.

I continued to look the other way and I wished she would stop singing.

Just as I thought she was finished, she started the lengthily song again!

When she was done, her bowl still empty, the little girl came and placed
her upper arm into the blind, old woman’s hand.

As they were turning away I allowed myself a glance.

Do you know what I saw?

I saw the old blind woman wipe away a tear from her cheek.

Many thought rushed through my head as I witnessed this.

I did not know who to feel sorrier for, the blind old woman who had probably had a
hell of a tough life, or the little girl who had been robbed of a
normal childhood filled with health, family, friends and peace.

Would that little girl cry if her older sister was mean to her like I often do?

Would she sulk and feel unloved if her friends did not talk to her for more than a week like I do?

Would she cuss and wish all hell lose on a boy who had passed an offside at her like (cringe) I do?

Would she be sad for the rest of the day if her dad asked her what form she 

Giacomo Ceruti - Little Beggar Girl and Woman Spinning

is in like I do?

Wait, was her dad even in her life and would she ever have the chance to reach my level of schooling?

Or did she have bigger problems?

I don’t know the answer to most of my questions.

I may never know them.

My family may be hard for cash and I may not be able to help that old blind woman and BEAUTIFUL little girl.

But I can promise you, I will never forget them.

They, today, gave me more than I could ever give them.

They gave me a reason to be grateful and to thank God for
what I do have and what opportunities I was born with.

Despite what many optimists may say, I have learned that LIFE IS NOT FAIR!

WE ARE NOT ALL GIVEN EQUAL OPPORTUNITIES!

So just thank God for what you do have and help and pray for those who have less.

Why Can't I Stop Thinking About Whitney Houston?

I can’t stop thinking about Whitney Houston. I believe that in my thinking about her God is communicating something to me.  I have always been interested in some of her songs, namely, ‘I want to Dance with Somebody,’ ‘I Will Always Love You’ and most recently, ‘I Look to You’. Every good thing comes from God. Therefore, I believe that all our beautiful talents and gifts undoubtedly come from the Father. It’s up to us to use them to His glory. If God gave you the talent of singing, you should use it to praise and glorify Him, and this doesn't mean singing ONLY gospel music but it does mean making sure that the beautiful creations that you do create with your music are building and do not dishonor God in anyway (Refer to Candy Shop by 50 Cent to see a great example of dishonoring God- that was the first one that came into my head).

There was a period in time when the topic of the illuminate was hot among teens in high school and someone told me that Michael Jackson was one of these offenders and that someone had seen him in hell and thus we should all steer clear of the late King of Pop’s music. I thought about this for a while and I decided that where Michael Jackson, or anyone else for that matter, had gone to spend eternity was really none of my business and also, I remembered that every good talent originates from God, and no one can deny that what that man had was raw talent, so I decided that I would help celebrate what God had given him by allowing myself to enjoy his music just as long as the content did not dishonor God. I love his music and I cannot name many musicians that exceed his level of sheer genius and talent. But, I digress…

When I look at and hear the music of the late Whitney Houston all I can think of is how beautiful this woman was and what a great legacy she has left, no matter how unfortunate the circumstances around her death were. I used to have a dog who would bark at selective people and we didn't think much of it until I saw that the people my dog used to bark at ended up stealing from us or doing something bad. I think my dog would have loved Whitney. Now, I will not pretend to have known her well but it saddens me that she died so young (I consider anything below 95 too young to die) with so much beauty left in her that would have contributed to beautifying the earth. What I also ask myself is should I judge her because she died of a drug overdose? What is God’s take on that? I have more questions than I have answers, but what I do know is that no one goes to hell for having a weakness or sinning if they know that Jesus is the way, the truth and the life. I just thank God for her life, and the lives of beautiful people and for the work that He does through them.

I’m not certain why Whitney has been so much on my mind lately but if I am to hazard a guess it would be that God is telling me not be judgmental like the rest of the world for we are all terribly imperfect. I feel that He is also reminding me to pray for strength to overcome the temptations of the world no matter what stage in life I am in but especially if ever I should be in the public eye. I pray that I create only beautiful things in my lifetime and leave a God-honoring legacy and that one day someone will look at my life and say, “that woman is beautiful, inside and out”, but also that even if no one ever does, that I am satisfied in who I am in Christ. It would be a great joy of mine if I could sing praises to God alongside Whitney in heaven.

I hope the lyrics of Whitney Houston’s song ‘I Look to You’ bless you as much as they have me. 

"I Look To You"

As I lay me down,
Heaven hear me now.
I'm lost without a cause
After giving it my all.

Winter storms have come
And darkened my sun.
After all that I've been through
Who on earth can I turn to?

I look to you.
I look to you.
After all my strength is gone,
In you I can be strong
I look to you.
I look to you.
And when melodies are gone,
In you I hear a song.
I look to you.

About to lose my breathe,
There's no more fighting left,
Sinking to rise no more,
Searching for that open door.

And every road that I've taken
Lead to my regret.
And I don't know if I'm going to make it.
Nothing to do but lift my head

I look to you.
I look to you.
After all my strength is gone,
In you I can be strong
I look to you.
I look to you.
And when melodies are gone,
In you I hear a song.
I look to you.

My levees are broken
My walls have come
Tumbling down on me

The rain is falling.
Defeat is calling.
I need you to set me free.

Take me far away from the battle.
I need you.
Shine on me.

I look to you.
I look to you.
After all my strength is gone,
In you I can be strong
I look to you.
I look to you.
And when melodies are gone,
In you I hear a song.
I look to you.

I Should Have Loved Him Better

This one is especially dedicated to people in challenging circumstances, remember to be grateful and make the most of what you have, because, the little you have could be gone in the blink of an eye.

                                  ************************************************************

I had been angry for as long as I could remember, even though I would never readily admit it. The subtle hotness of my wrath would subside when I was occupied with other things- school, friends, and the books I so willingly allowed myself to be absorbed into because compared to my life, the stories they told were perfect, full of victorious adventure and happy endings.

 “Let me spend some time with him”, I had told myself, “just sit in the same room and quietly bond.”

Feeling positive, I took my books into the dining room and sat opposite him at the long dining room table. He was fast asleep, his glasses askew on his face and a newspaper from several years ago open in his slack hands. To this day I wonder if he actually read those yellowed newspapers that he treasured so much or if he only pretended to read them. If indeed he did pass his eyes over the words in perfect order, did the words seep into his mind and make sense, or were they just words to him, unrelated and telling a story he could no longer understand? I didn't wake him; I sat opposite him and did my work quietly, hoping that our souls would bond in some sort of way. I would sit there and be pleasant and that would be my good deed for the day, proof that I was a good, strong person.

I day dream often, either I think back on events already passed or I create my own events- mostly wishes of what I want to happen. That day I thought back to a conversation I had had with my mentor.

“I try to love him,” I had said to her, “I just need to learn to love him for whom he is now.”

Today I curse myself for having taken so long to learn to love him, for taking so long to love the man he had become. I got up and went to my bedroom to get some stationary to do my homework and when I returned to the dining room table he was awake and staring at me with a concerned look in his eyes. Our eyes locked for a split second before I turned away irrationally irritated by the awkwardness of it all.

“Do you have a running tummy?” he had asked me.

My reply was dripping with irritation, or was it the anger that was starting to heat up? “Why?” I asked, perhaps a little too roughly.

“You keep getting up and walking to and fro so I thought you must be ill.”

The anger heated me up fast, and caused my blood to boil. I often asked myself who I was angry at. Sometimes it was at him, for not being alright, for not fulfilling what I thought to be his fatherly duties and taking care of me, advising me where to apply to university, what to study, for not being that cool dad that I was keen to show off to my friends, for being sick for as long as I could remember. But that is just it- he was sick and by no means was it his fault. He had not chosen to have Alzheimer’s and to forget simple everyday things or have thoughts and communication skills more child-like than those of an adult. It would make no sense for me to be angry at him, even though he was the recipient of my foul moods and sullen silences. Therefore, I was angry at God, for one simple reason- He let this happen. I am still angry today, but the heat of anger often melts into floods of sadness. Who am I angry at today? Maybe I am angry at myself for not loving him better whilst I still could.

I did learn thought, gradually, to love him better. My love was never perfect though, and never will be the mirror image of 1^st Corinthians chapter 13. I was fond of him; I would not leave the room when he walked in, even later when he was pushed in on his wheel chair, crippled by the cancer. Things about him that used to make me angry didn't upset me so much anymore; my mother had taught me not to think too deeply and to learn to laugh things off. I remember taking advantage of his feebleness and giving him a hug- something culture would hardly permit if he was well and able. He had smiled as I put my arm around him and he patted my shoulder ever so slightly. Warmth has risen up inside of me.

I did not get to actively love him for a long enough time to mask the guilt and regret I carry around with me now. By that time I was hardly at home and soon I had to go off to university. I did not get to actively love him for the remaining two months of his life.

We often take for granted the situations that we are in. Indeed they are more negative than positive and so we dwell on the anger, the pain and sorrow of it all. That is our human nature. I wish I had been good to him, I wish I could have done something for him, I wish, I wish, I wish. He himself once told me that if wishes were horses then beggars would ride. What a funny saying, one I still do not fully comprehend. I appeal to you reader, do not waste the precious time that you have with anyone in your life. Mend broken relationships yes, and let go of the ones God tells you to. Above all- learn to love, and may that love be as close to the love God describes in 1^st Corinthians chapter 13 as humanly possible. I love you dad.

Mum and Dad holding hands in the hospital

 

Behind Every Beautiful Thing There is Some Sort of Pain

Scene one

A small art exhibition is taking place and the artist is showcasing a particularly stunning piece of artwork to a small crowd.

Jamille

This last piece is named 'The Forgiving.' It took the longest time out of all of my paintings. It is in soft pastels. That concludes my art exhibition ladies and gentlemen. I would like to thank you all so much for coming out this afternoon and I'd like to thank everyone who made this event possible.

Her guests applaud and begin to leave. A smartly dressed MAN walks towards her.

Minister of arts and culture

Miss Feta, this was an impressive exhibition. I thoroughly enjoyed it and I am so glad that you are enriching our country's culture.

jamille

(Shaking his hand vigorously)

Minister, oh my gosh... I mean, thank you so much for attending, I am honored!

As the minister leaves, Jamille turns and stares at her artwork. She has a flash back. It is of her FATHER towering over her. In his hand is her school report card, which has an A for Art and Bs and Cs for other subjects. He waves it in her face and shouts at her. A sad song plays throughout her flashback so his shouts are inaudible, but his gesticulations are those of anger. Finally he takes off his belt and beats her. When he leaves she is crying. She wipes her tears and grabs a pencil and paper and begins to draw. The drawing resembles 'The Forgiving.'

Scene two

At a basketball court there is a team training. The focus is on a young man, BRIAN, who is obviously better than all the rest. He shows off his skills with quick, complicated moves and scores many baskets. The training ends.

Coach

(Coming up behind Brian and playfully slapping his bottom at which Brian jumps)

Hey man, you ok? Well played today, as usual! Get some rest.

Brian

(Looking uncomfortable after having his bottom slapped he sits down to pack his shoes into his sports bag.)

Thanks coach.

As people leave the court Brain sits and stares at the basketball hoop. He has a flash back. The flash back is of him on a bed lying on his stomach. There is rap music playing from his small radio but grunts can be heard over the music. A bigger MAN is on his back sexually abusing him. The abuser gets up, zips his trousers up, slaps Brian's bare bottom and leaves. Brian cries angry tears but eventually gets up, limps outside and begins to exercise, running laps and shooting baskets. He collapses.

Scene three

It is late afternoon. Jamille is walking out of the building where she held her exhibition. She is carrying a lot of paperwork and a smart briefcase. Brian, who is coming from his basketball practice, comes from the opposite direction and because he is sending a message on his phone he does not see her and bumps into her. Her papers fall to the ground and she stands there in a stunned silence.

brian

(Bending down to pick up her papers, among them business cards that fell out of their box)

I am so sorry miss, I have a bad habit of walking into people. So sorry.

Jamille

It's okay, my mind was elsewhere too, I didn't see you coming.

As Brian hands Jamille her papers they look into each others' eyes and smile. A couple of seconds pass in this position.

JAMILLE

I better get going then. Thank you... I mean, ummm... Thanks, bye.

As Jamille walks away. Brian looks down and discovers a business card that he missed when picking up her papers. He picks it up and makes as if to call after her but then he thinks better of it. He looks at the card, smiles to himself and carries on on his way.

The end

Enjoy The View

Scene One

ABIGAIL is a blind girl. She sits in her sister’s messy room on the edge of the bed. Her sister, NAOMI, is getting ready to go to a party with two of her GIRLFRIENDS, who are chattering excitedly. They are applying make-up. The silent Abigail smiles to herself.

FRIEND ONE

(brushing her hair)

Girl, you have such great hair! I can never get my hair to be that tame!

Friend two

I would trade my hair for your legs anytime! Look at you, all legs and boobs!

NAOMI

Let's get going otherwise we won't get the 'For Ladies free before 9PM' deal. Come, come!

The ladies excitedly file out of the room. As Naomi is about to shut the door after her she turns back and goes to her sister and squeezes her hand.

NAOMI

When I come back, if you are still awake, we'll do something fun, like listen to music!

She playfully taps Abigail's cheek before leaving the room.

Scene two

It is the following night. The same three girls are getting ready in Naomi's room to go to the movies. Abigail is perched on the bed eating a chocolate bar and peanuts simultaneously. As Naomi passes by her she reaches out her hand and runs it alone her sister's stomach.

ABIGAIL

Oh my word, you are wearing the satin dress I got you for Christmas!

NAOMI

Totally! I love this dress. Which reminds me, I got you something from the body shop the other day.

Naomi rummages through her purse and pulls out a little purple bottle of lip gloss, which she holds to her sister's nose.

Abigail

Blueberry flavored! Thank you!

Friend one

Dude, I can't believe our parents let us go out twice in a row!

Friend two

I told my dad that I was going to a study group session.

NAOMI

We need to leave now, otherwise we aren't going to get good seats! Let's go!

The girls excitedly make to leave. As usual Naomi turns to her sister, who is following close behind.

NAOMI

Abby..

Abigail

I was wondering if I could come along this time... Just to sit... just to... listen. I just want to feel like... a normal person.

Naomi's friends feel awkward and pretend not to listen. They pretend to fiddle with their phones.

NAOMI

Abigail... it's a movie... We are going to watch a movie... at the cinema. To watch a movie.

Abigail

I know, but I just-

NAOMI

(to her waiting friends)

You guys go on ahead without me. I'll catch you another day, yeah.

Scene three

Naomi leads her little sister up a small hill. The sun is setting. They settle down on a blanket.

Naomi

So, we are in our back yard, as you know. It is the end of a beautiful sunny day and the sun is setting so that night may fall... The sun is slowly sinking behind the green hills far, far away. the sky is all swirls of soft pinks and oranges.

Abigail

(Softly)

It's beautifu1... What do Orange and Pink look like again?

NAOMI

Well, let's see... Pink. Just imagine the love you feel when you are holding a new baby girl, fresh out the hospital... like when I held you for the first time. That feeling is pink. Orange, hmmmm, orange is the warm fuzzy feeling of a smile shared between sisters.

Abigail smiles and rests her head against her sister's shoulder.

The End

Give Me Love

[Background song- “Give Me Love” be Ed Sheeran]

Scene 1: The sun has just set and it is dusk but the street lights light the street beautifully. The scene is by a little restaurant outside. The chairs and tables are positioned in such a way that there is a small performing space in the center. Seated in the center, amidst the mixture of races dining there, is a beautiful black girl who is shyly but firmly strumming away at a guitar. The tune is the one in Ed Sheeran’s “Give Me Love”. She continues to strum as people come and go. There is one white American navy man (sailor) who is seated at a far corner who she does not see. At first he is lost in his own world drinking his beer but he soon fixes his eyes on her and keeps them there as the restaurant begins to close down. Unaware, she continues to strum as she stands and begins to gracefully sashay her hips to the rhythm of her guitar. After a while she turns and sees him approaching. Before she can walk away he stops her and shows interest in her guitar. Being one thing she is confident in she shows him and he begins to strum whilst she dances and laughs… This continues on the next night and the next until on the forth night we see them leave together. Laughing and smiling.

Scene 2: The handsome American man is seen at a navy base in a line with other men like him. They are being given instructions by a superior. Finally they are dismissed and he rushed off to his car, ignoring his colleagues that are calling after him. He drives along a lone road until he comes upon a cottage which he parks in front of. He knocks on the cottage door and as the beautiful black woman emerges he hold up the single rose he has for her. They enter into the cottage.

Scene 3: Takes place in the cottage which she lives in. He has his arms around her from behind and they are smiling and swaying a little. She takes his hand and leads him into the garden which is filled with fruit trees. They pick some and eat and walk until he stops by a small mound of dirt with a roughly hand-made cross protruding from it. She turns back to see what has stopped him and walks into his arms. She smiles a somber smile. The camera shows a picture of her performing at the restaurant as she always does with a content looking shaggy, black retriever dog sitting beside the tip-hat placed at her feet. The camera zooms out to show that they are back in the cottage and she is showing him the picture of the diceased dog whilst he stands behind her with his arms around her. He whispers in her ear and kisses her cheek sweetly.

Scene 4: They are seen to be walking down a street in a town where it is obvious by the crowd that blacks and whites generally keep to themselves. They giggle and hold hands whilst they walk and people of all races stop to look at them. As they walk past a particular café we see seated in there the sailor’s superior who happens to look up from his coffee date with a young woman just then. He stands up as if about to throw a fit of rage but then as the inter-racial couple walks past he gathers himself and sits back down although he is visibly distressed. The couple continues down the road oblivious to the rest of the world until they reach an old animal rescue shelter. They stop by the door and read the sign. They hug and she shyly pecks him on the lips. He is a bit surprised but more than that he looks at her with the eyes of a man who has fallen in love with a beautiful woman. They go in and are attended to by a kind, old white man. He walks them down a row of dogs needing homes in different shelters. They come upon a middle aged golden retriever who looks them in the eye. They simultaneously smile and when they do so he comes towards them and wags his tail. He fills out forms and pays whilst she fusses over their new dog. They walk out of the shelter, happy dog on leash and hand in hand.

Scene 5: Back at the navy base, the other sailors have just been released but the superior has detained our man. Our man stands to attention whilst the red-faced superior is bellowing in his face. His shouting obviously has something to do with the color of the skin of his lover. Meanwhile, our women and her dog are walking through the navy base sweetly asking the other sailors where she can find her lover. They ignore and scorn her. Bewildered and led by their dog that has a keen sense of smell, she stumbles into the room where the superior is lecturing our man. By this time our man looks dangerously angry with tears in his eyes. They both turn to face her in silence. Suddenly our man grabs her hand and together they run out of the navy base with shocked faces looking after them. They run and run through vegetated areas. She is visibly struggling to keep up but he keeps running. The dog is enjoying this. Finally he stops and whilst she is doubled over catching her breath he forcefully and passionately says something to her and then as she looks up he goes down on one knee and takes out a cheap ring. By this time they are both in tears and he slips the ring onto her finger and she crumbles to the ground into his arms. She rests her head on his chest and the dog sits beside them.

Scene 6: They are in a church which is visibly a black dominated church; it is a bit run down. She is wearing a simple white summer dress and he is in his sailing suit. Between them is a young black pastor who pronounces them husband and wife. Our two people kiss slowly and passionately whilst the dog barks in the background. The kiss develops into something more. Their fingers are interlocked and on each person’s left ring finger are their simple but beautiful wedding bands. Finally, they are at rest. He holds her in his arms in bed.

Scene 7: It is now in the morning in the cottage. Our man gets out of bed to investigate why their dog is barking furiously. He is about to open the door when a big policeman breaks through the door and enters followed by the navy superior and a few of his colleagues. As the door splinters our woman who has been sleeping serenely in bed suddenly opens her eyes. In them we can see a foreboding look. Our man is visibly confused and angry and tries to ask questions. His new wife who has heard the noise slips into her dressing gown and runs into the lounge where the commotion is. The dog is barking furiously and tries to attack the policeman who at this time is walking menacingly towards our woman whilst three men hold her husband down. The policeman takes out his gun and shoots the dog. At this the woman screams and kneels beside the whimpering dog before she is roughly lifted and dragged out of her cottage. The scene blacks out.

Scene 8: The three men hold our man down in a chair whilst the superior bellows in his red face. He maintains a poker face. Meanwhile, just outside some more men tie two ropes to a tree whilst another two hold on to our woman as she cries and screams for her husband who, calls back but is held back. The men tie the ropes to her wrists and pull her up. She continues to shout but as he is led outside to witness this horror he is too stunned to call back to her. The superior rips off her robe and pulls out a horse whip. He beats her with it over her night-dress which is not slipping down her shoulders as slowly we see a strip off blood staining the pink silk where the whip made contact with her flesh. As he watches her being whipped he stifles a scream and eventually he slumps down with a far away gaze in his eyes. He is no longer present as his mind shuts out the sound of the whip and the sound of her screams. He thinks back to the times when they would dance to the sound of her guitar in the center of the small street restaurant. He then thinks back to a flashback where he is happily chatting with his colleges on a ship out at sea. When we return to the present our woman is silent and hangs there limply. His colleges lift up our man who avoids looking at his wife as he is led to the waiting navy truck in which he sits, face neutral and face forward. Everyone jumps into a vehicle. The superior takes out a dagger and in one swift movement cuts the ropes that held up our woman. Her limp body falls heavily to the ground.

Scene 9: The navy cars drive away and the camera focuses on our man’s face. He is poker-faced and does not spare a backward glance at his wife as he is driven further and further away from her. As the cars disappear the camera focuses on our woman’s still body. The dog, which we can now see was shot in the hind leg, limps on three legs to her still body and whimpers whilst licking her face. He curls down beside her and tries to keep her still body warm. Finally, the still body shivers and her shaking hand reached out and touches the dog as her body convulses with pain and with the effort of sobbing. They slowly and painfully make their way to the cottage.

Scene 10: Many months later. The camera focuses on a photograph of husband and wife smiling happily lying on a hammock with their dog and her guitar nearby. As the camera zooms out we see our man holding it whilst standing in his uniform at the helm of a ship. It is windy and he deliberately loosens his fingers so that the photograph is blown out to sea by the wind. He stands rigid for a while, again, poker-faced, until a well dressed white woman comes and, unaware of his emotional state, excitedly leads him away by the hand into the closed off area of the ship. Before he disappears within, he looks out to sea as though there is something he expects to see… We see the photograph flying further and further away. The camera zooms into the photo again and this time when it zooms out, it is in the hands of our woman which are shaking slightly. There are tears in her eyes which she does not allow to escape. She sits by the stairs of her cottage with their dog right beside her. She closes her eyes and clutches the photograph to her stomach. She is visibly about seven months pregnant.

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The End

On Fifty Shades and Redeeming Love

Before I go further, here are two book reviews on the two novels that affected me so much that I had to write about them…

Fifty Shades of Grey be E.L James Book Review

Fifty Shades of Grey is the story of a college student, Anastasia, who begins a relationship with a 27 year old very successful and powerful businessman, Christian Grey, after interviewing him for her college newspaper. Ana loses her virginity to Christian, and he wants her to sign a non-disclosure agreement and a contract that keeps their relationship purely sexual and defines how their relationship as one of "dominance and submission."

The novel plays on tension over the nature of their relationship and the possibility of romance and love as well as Ana's sexual explorations. 

Fifty Shades of Grey fits into the genre of erotica, but has gained mainstream popularity rather than remaining genre fiction. Many credit the advent of e-readers as allowing women to read books without others knowing what they are reading.

(By Erin Collazo Miller. http://bestsellers.about.com/od/bookclubresources/a/What-Is-Fifty-Shades-Of-Grey.htm )

Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers Book Review

“Redeeming Love” by Francine Rivers, a more modern telling of the book of Hosea, tells the story of a woman who was born to a single mother as a result of her affair with a married man. At seven years of age Sarah had already learned just how harsh and cruel this world can be. Her father did not want her and her mother, fighting poverty, resorted to prostitution to make ends meet. When Sarah is eight years old, her mother dies, leaving Sarah in the care of her “Uncle Rab” who sells her into prostitution.

Fast forward to age 18. Angel, Sarah’s new name, is living in Pair-A-Dice, California. She has experienced several failed attempts to escape prostitution but has now landed herself in the employ of the Duchess and her bodyguard/enforcer, Magowan. Having been in this profession for 10 years, Angel has become hardened and exhausted. She wishes that she could just end her life, but lacks the courage to do so.

Enter Michael Hosea. One day, during one of Angel’s daily walks, Michael Hosea is selling his produce to the local store and happens to catch a glimpse of this beautiful woman. Immediately he hears in his heart, “This one, beloved.” Knowing that the Lord has spoken, Michael begins asking the merchant questions only to find out that Angel is a prostitute. Surely he has misunderstood the Lord. After a lot of soul searching, Michael Hosea knows that he has heard the Lord and that Angel is to be his bride. Using all the gold he has earned selling his produce, Michael spends several nights trying to talk to Angel and woo her to no avail. Finally frustrated and angry that nothing is working, Michael heads home. For days the Lord will not leave him alone about Angel and Michael fears that something is terribly wrong. Once back in town to sell more produce, Michael finds out that Angel has been beaten almost to death. That night he convinces Angel to marry him and takes her home to nurse her back to health.

During her recovery and for months after, Angel does all she can to push Michael away. He’s getting to close and if she lets him in she’ll fall apart completely. Michael continues to try to plow through her defenses. Though by no means perfect, Michael desperately wants her to see how much he loves her and wants her to be whole and free. Each time Angel runs away, he brings her back. Each time she pushes, he tries desperately to show her love instead of anger. Overall he’s tender and patient and accepting and begins to slowly work to climb the walls in Angel’s heart. But just when Angel’s heart begins to soften, she begins to feel unworthiness and fear and she continues to run. When she is finally able to let go and heal, it is because she finally feels the love of the One who will never let her go no matter what she does. Then, and only then, does she finally accept the love of her husband and is able to let him in completely; once again becoming Sarah, wife to Michael Hosea..
(By April McKinnon. http://peterpollock.com/2010/11/redeeming-love-by-francine-rivers-book-review-by-april-mckinnon ).

My Thoughts

Although I have not read more than two pages of “Fifty Shades of Grey” I have heard about it and I understood a lot from the two pages I read. I am not condemning the novel that has sold more copies than Harry Potter but something recently struck me about the two novels.
They have one big thing in common- Both their central themes are love. However, whilst in “Fifty Shades of Grey” there is a lot of sex and physical love/lust, in “Redeeming Love”, the love presented between man and woman has no explicit sexual content and represents a more pure and unconditional love. A good Christian, virgin man falls in love with a prostitute and does everything to get her to be his wife- unconditional love. Now think about this, in “Fifty Shades”, if Ana was missing an eyeball and had half her face burnt, would My Grey still feel so lustfully towards her?

What I am getting at is that “Fifty Shades of Grey”, sadly, represents a love that today we think is true love, but it is not. It is more like lust and infatuation. Our relationships are based on sexual attractions and lust fueled by social status, economic status and other materialistic things. Sadly, this is what people know and want to read. Can you not see? This type of ‘love’ is all about the gratification of our flesh. The same flesh that remains and decays after we die.

The meaning of love has been watered down and poisoned to the point where when someone says, “I love you” it is like saying “you are attractive enough for me to want to sleep with”. Hard as it may be we need to go back to the true, pure meaning of love.

The love represented in the Bible in the book of Hosea and in 1 Corinthians 13. God is love; let us learn from him, not from man.