Cereal No. 3

If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,
    and the light about me be night,”
even the darkness is not dark to you;
    the night is bright as the day,
    for darkness is as light with you. (Psalm 139:11-12 ESV)

Conception

It was a dark and rough night, and all she could remember was the taste of cigarettes in her mouth. She always thought her first kiss would taste like spearmint gum, but these kisses left a bitter aftertaste. She knew she would kiss him that night, she had wanted to for weeks, but she didn’t know how to start.

He seemed so much more experienced. She had spied him necking with the girl next door, who was three years older than her. Even though he was three years older than her, too, he would still chase her around the yard and play tag. They grew up together climbing trees, building forts in the back woods and playing any kind of ball game. She especially liked it when he tackled her during football.

One night he asked her to play flashlight tag. And one thing led to another and he chased her into the woods. She could run or walk to the fort in her sleep, so she headed there without a thought. She ducked in and hid in the far corner behind a discarded bench seat from her parents’ old station wagon.

The beam of the flashlight penetrated the darkness. She stifled a giggle. Before she knew what was happening, he had grabbed her arm. She shrieked out of surprise. He put his hand over her mouth, and pulled her to the bench seat where they collapsed together. She liked being handled by him.

She impetuously kissed him on the cheek. He brushed it off, but then grabbed her face and the smoky, bitter kisses came faster than she could handle.

The next morning at the bus stop, she stood alone. Her first love had disappeared, and she never saw him again after that night. Oh, she thought she glimpsed him leaning against the back of the tavern smoking a cigarette, one time when her mother drove her to town. But it wasn’t him, his hair was darker. Weeks went by and no one ever mentioned the neighbor’s son.

Weeks went by and she felt her first ever wave of nausea. She thought it was something she ate, or maybe the stomach flu. But the nausea came religiously every morning for weeks. She secretly ate saltines in the bathroom before school. She noticed that her period had disappeared, too. She knew something was happening to her body, it felt like she had butterflies in her belly.

Posted on August 31, 2015August 29, 2015 by kelrohlf 2

Cereal No. 2

He determines the number of the stars;
he gives to all of them their names. (Psalm 147:4 ESV)

Multiplication

Truth be told she had more babies than she could count. As many as the stars in the sky, as they say. Or was it grains of sand on the shore? She could never remember which metaphor was more apt. But either way she had a lot of babies. And the babies had more fathers than she cared to recall.

She had a father once. But he was never the daddy she wanted. She wanted a daddy, who would carry her on his shoulders. A daddy who kissed her mommy ever day after work. A daddy who would give her a baby sister or baby brother. But no, she was his one and only child. A child he hardly knew existed. She could be a stray cat for all he knew. A little kitten mewing for attention, which he ignored or on a really good night kicked to her bedroom because he couldn’t stand her. Or so she thought.

Her mother was a stout woman, who scrubbed their wooden floors on her knees every Saturday morning, pulling out the chairs from the kitchen and corralling them with the couch and end tables. She would push all the furniture from one side of the room to the other to do the floors in sections. She never did clean under the TV console, too heavy to move.

The house was a two bedroom cottage with an eat-in kitchen, a living room and a full bath with an old claw-footed tub. Out back on a small enclosed porch was the mother’s prized possession, an electric wringer washer. Clothes were dried on the collapsible drying lines on a pole in the backyard. Summer or winter, didn’t matter, her mother hung the clothes outside. Her mother was quite proud of her washing machine. It was the only automated machine in the house besides the console TV, and the kitchen appliances, of course.

The little girl liked Saturdays. It was a day that she imagined the chairs were a long train taking her far into the countryside. She ignored the living room furniture, those pieces weren’t going anywhere except back and forth across the cramped living space. Her mother’s chess pieces that she moved about the room each Saturday. Never once did her mother rearrange the furniture, when she was done cleaning. Back each piece would go to its resting place on her chess board floor.

The little girl would gather her doll baby into her arms, and climb aboard the train. “All Aboard!” she would call quietly to herself and the baby. She would hold the baby close cooing to her with endearing words: “Your momma’s little tweety bird, aren’t you?” “Such a sweetie pie.” “You are the cutest little bug, a momma could want.” “Dontcha ever forget who you are my plum pudding girl.” “Your momma won’t ever forget you; no she won’t, no she won’t.” And the girl would giggle and the doll would stare blankly at her. But the girl didn’t care, they were going to see the world. She was going to leave the little country cottage and live in a big city.

On Saturday nights, her mother and father went out. The neighbor lady came over and snored on the couch while the TV played reruns of “I Love Lucy.” The girl crept out the back door with her doll baby in tow, she’d lie down under the empty clothes line and stare at the stars. “Too many to count,” she whispered to her baby. “One day I’m going to have more babies than the stars,” she declared to the attentive night sky.

Posted on August 28, 2015August 28, 2015 by kelrohlf 7

Cereal No. 1

so is my word that goes out from my mouth:
It will not return to me empty,
but will accomplish what I desire
and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.

(Isaiah 55:11 NIV)

Abstraction

She never had any babies in St. Louis. The babies she did have were all born. And now all she could remember was that none were born in this city. This city where she now lived and hoped to die.

She sat on the exam table , perched like an overgrown chicken on a roost, wobbling forward catching her reflection in the window overlooking the entrance ramp onto I-40 East. Where if she drove a few miles, she’d be able to roam Forest Park, to roam and remember all her babies. Babies that entered this world from an emptied womb, crying for breath. Clamoring for attention, nurture and even discipline. To her discipline marked the way to minimize the pain, the hurts and the boo-boos of life. Through order and control, she wanted to insulate them.

Isolated in an exam room, wishing she was there to see the obstetrician, rather than the gynecologist. Wrapped in a paper robe, undressed from the waist down. The routine, the annual exam, which always came back negative and lifeless. No need for a pregnancy test. Her ovaries were shriveling, her uterus shedding less and less. No more babies.

She would never wake with nausea again or be elated by fluttering in her abdomen. No more swelling to the size of a small watermelon, no more kicks inside her belly. She was empty.

Death crept in. Growing older and older, questioning how she would live with no more babies to be born. To birth something else felt so trite. To write a novel or play, or even a poem seemed like too much effort. Effortless life she ached for–but that was a lie.

A ripe lie. A luscious lie. A lie she could wrap her life around, but she was too worn with experience and facts. This lifeless lie was as illusive as all those babies she bore elsewhere.

In her head, she was lithe and supple and fertile and capable. In her head, she could bear up under any loss or supposed obstacle. In her head, she believed in a miracle.

She gazed out the window. How far would her credit card take her down I-40 East? How long before she tired of hotel rooms and fast food? How long before she remembered that she would never have any babies in St. Louis? She wondered if she could write a novel or a play or even a poem about this one thought. Could one sentence set a plot into motion? Did she need a stronger conflict? A more interesting character who thought about darker solutions to life and its lies? Or could this one sentence lead to another and another.

After about thirty minutes on the exam table, the nurse knocked. She told the woman to get dressed. The doctor had to deliver a baby that afternoon. “You’ll have to reschedule,” she told the waiting woman. The woman waiting, who would never have any babies in St. Louis.

(The first sentence came to me last year, while waiting, and so I gave it life on the page, and more sentences did follow.)

What are you waiting for?

Posted on August 27, 2015September 1, 2015 by kelrohlf 2

The Cereal Bowl Series

Pleasant words are as an honeycomb, sweet to the soul, and health to the bones. (Proverbs 16:24 KJV)

It’s about that time of the year, when I get restless. Summer is almost over, but not quite. I want to do something different. So I change my blog template.

Questions simmer in the back of my mind.

Why do I write? What is the purpose of this blog? As the questions begin to boil over, I remember. I write because words are my clay, my medium, my preferred way to express and to explore and to extract meaning from life. Words can be sweet or prickly, firm or soft. Words can cut and words can heal. Words like to play with multiple layers of meaning and definition. Their flexibility allows them to be one or more things at the same time.

So why this blog? Nourishment for my soul and for yours. Words to feed on, to comfort and satisfy, to restore our weary hearts and minds. Here is the space, where I find the freedom to publish ideas, stories, devotions, quotes and my musings about life. And it’s a place to practice my craft, hone my skills and to get feedback, if you will.

In this new series called “The Cereal Bowl,” I want to offer some creative writing morsels. Maybe a chapter of a book or just a kernel of a story. I don’t really know what it will look like yet. I’m hoping the series will be like eating a bowl of cereal for a snack. Enjoying the crunch and the sweetness, as you spoon your way to the last bite and slurp the milk for good measure.

Come back tomorrow, for our first “bowl of cereal” together.

Oh, and here’s a question for you…what was your favorite cereal as a kid? I liked the variety pack, with the small boxes that you could cut open and use as a bowl. My favorite was Fruit Loops. And the Raisin Bran was always the last box left, because what kid wants to eat Raisin Bran, two scoops or not?

Posted on August 26, 2015August 26, 2015 by kelrohlf 2

Celebrations and Random Journal Day #53

Let those on the hunt for you
sing and celebrate.
Let all who love your saving way
say over and over, “God is mighty!”

(Psalm 70:4 The Message)

Every good adventure has a beginning, middle and ending. The past few weeks have been filled to the brim with goodness, growth and even a bit of groaning at times. But mostly my two nieces and two nephews and I had fun during our summer adventure that we dubbed “Ant Kamp” a couple years ago.

Each year, I marvel how God meets us in the midst of memory making and activities that we want to try. Each child had the opportunity to be a teacher for one day. Our first teacher, set up his classroom and changed into his polo shirt and khaki trousers for his role as teacher.

We learned about England followed by afternoon tea. We harnessed electricity to make a jumping jitterbug, an aerial tram out of a soda can, and a water pump from a kit. We learned about first aid, and even had a couple adventures, in which we needed our kits stored in recycled medicine bottles. We created stop action movies that still need to be edited.

We enjoyed our own version of cupcake wars and made crafts with our friend, Tracy. We went to the water park, the zoo and the art museum. A mystery guest surprised us at the zoo, and then became our art museum guide. (He was also our guest judge on cupcake wars day. Thanks, Bradley!)

We survived the hot, humid days of July and early August. And we even had an impromptu camp out. Girls on the screened back porch; boys in their tent, which they put up all by themselves.

Our pace was fairly relaxed, and the kids were able to sleep in most days, so I had leisurely times writing in my journal and doing quick collages to feed my soul.

The night of the camp out, my soul was overjoyed. By the light of our electric lanterns, the boys sketched, while us girls wrote and doodled in our journals. We read about fireflies and watermelons. These kids are this creative aunt’s (ant) dream come true. I celebrate them and the God who created each one of us.

We endured bumps and bruises and a few raised voices, including mine, but we weathered this summer together and lived out the truth of Proverbs 27:17:

As iron sharpens iron, so a man sharpens the countenance of his friend. (NKJV)

On Monday, we will celebrate our adventure one last time before school starts midweek. What a privilege to share the summer and God’s creative work in each of our hearts. We sought God and He pursued us, too.

In celebration of Random Journal Day #53, I want to share a meditation on another Scripture that came across my page this past month, as well as some collage work from this summer’s journal. We tried our hand at a little Bible study method called S.O.A.P.

Scripture: “Endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ.” (2 Timothy 2:3)

Observation: hardness, difficulty, trials, hardship…life is hard, life can be endured…it is good to endure. endurance is a quality of a soldier. If I am a soldier of Jesus Christ, then he is my Captain, my Commander, My Lord…yet he is also my Brother, My Companion, My Lover (the One who calls me Beloved, Delightful and Beautiful)

Application: In these hard times, sometimes painful, sometimes frustrating, sometimes confusing, sometimes downright exhausting I will and can endure because Jesus is really all I need

Prayer: Jesus- Help me to endure the hardness of life…to enjoy your presence, peace and power in the midst of sometimes LONG days. Thank you for the joie de livre. I confess that my mind is all over the place…having a hard time settling in…please help me to settle…to sit still…and be set upon by your Holy Spirit wooing me to love, to ideas, plans and purposes for this day…Help me let go…Amen!