tu·mul·tu·ous

adjective /t(y)o͞oˈməlCHo͞oəs/  /tə-/  Making a loud, confused noise; uproarious - tumultuous applause Excited, confused, or disorderly - a tumultuous crowd - a tumultuous personal life

Dear World,

I’m trying hard to be brave but it’s hard when everything means starting all over. I should be excited, but the thought of being alone is so overwhelming that I don’t even know how to face it. Maybe this is a mistake, but I somehow know it’s not. Clarity, I know one of you at least has been praying for clarity, because I think I finally found it.
I don’t know if I can do this, but I know it’s the right thing to do. I know it’s what I should do. Thank you.

Ps, if this all works out right, I’ll have happy news soon.

Love, Teri Sue

I have phone conversations with you in my head.

They probably will never happen because the thought of actually calling you makes my hand shake a little, but my imagination does pretty well. You’re always so sensible on these calls. So grounded. I’ve told you this before, haven’t I? That you’re a rock in my world, so steady and solid while everything else seems to fly around you. On the phone I hear your laugh, and I know its all okay. I see that I’m blowing it all out of proportion because it is so incredibly obvious to you. Just as right and wrong always seem so obvious to you. In these conversations we talk effortlessly, words spilling out of my mouth and reactions forming from yours. Everything begins to make sense, I put the pictures together, and I know the reason why we are so unlucky. We are unlucky because we got off center when we weren’t given a chance. When that chance was pulled away by my doubts and my insecurities and my foolishness, it knocked the planet just enough to give us both bad luck. We could fix it, you realize this, right? If you could give me one more chance; I know I could fix it. Over the phone in my head, we do fix it, and before we hang up we both know that soon, so very soon, we will talk again. And the world returns to spin on axis.

It should be well

If peace like a river came my way

And sorrows ceased now to roll

Would the beauty begin to fade away

With no pain left to cause it to stay?

If in a mighty fortress I could live

A bulwark that never fell

Would I waste away from lack of pain

Would I forget the feel of lost love’s stains?

If I were there ten thousand years

Everything shining like the sun

Would I remember what tears brought me there

Or would I sing on forgetting that I once cared?

If the lepers spots were truly changed

And this heart of stone were melted

Would I know all my days

That love is the only thing that remains?

If all fears were finally stilled

And strivings could forever cease

Would the lack of struggle bind me down

Causing me to slowly drown?

Would I always wonder

What pain could make me see?

Would I always feel

Like I wasn’t truly free?

Or is it possible to have enough

Of good to fill this hole

Is there a way to truly sing,

“It is well, with my soul.”

Rain

The rain of Taiwan isn't like the rain of Indiana. When it begins it smells so sweet and the air gets sickly sticky with humidity. The dark clouds roll in and dump out their troubles onto the earth and then leave tired, as if exhausted from a good cry. Leaving behind a dirty, wet smell and a heat that threatens to drown whoever might be walking in it. Here there is no smell before it rains, and the humidity doesn’t precede the dark clouds. Instead the rain is isolated. Alone in its feel, smell, look. When the sun comes up the air dries and the pavement turns back to a dull grey. In Taiwan everything is connected, the rain is felt before it begins, the storm is sensed even after it has left. In Indiana the rain startles, and when it ends it is almost as if it never happened.

“Maybe I was made this way,

To think and to reason and to question and to pray,

And I have never prayed a lot,

But maybe there’s a loving God.”

Written on Receipts

For lunch we had muffins. Big fat ones filled with blueberries and bananas and oatmeal. We argued over which was healthier bananas and oatmeal or the blueberries, deciding in the end that our raspberry, lemon teas were probably the least healthy of all. I remember your big sunglasses and deeply red lipstick, and wishing I was even close to as brave as you. Later, we walked down to an antique store where you filled your arms with anything that had owls on it. You always knew what you wanted. Sometimes I wonder if you remember that day. If I had your number I’d call and ask. I’d call and say, “I looked it up, mine was healthier.” And hopefully you’d laugh.

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