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Real Love
Committed
For those who have lost loved ones, Valentine’s Day has a different meaning.
COMMITTED
No matter how hard I blow
Into the winter air
You are no longer by my side
Acting as my guide
I’m alone and petrified
Only my heart remembers you
I search for warmth
Between cold sheets
Alone in our bed
But nights haunt me
Antagonizes
Dares me to sleep
Everything around me
Rekindles thoughts of you
Unworn shoes, neckties
A razor unremoved
I really shouldn’t
But can’t help it
I dream day and night
Of massive hands
Curly strands
Warm smiles and
Snappy styles
Woodsy balm
Clasped palms
A stubbled face, indeed
A rat-a-tat-tat
For home repairs
You always in the lead
Funny how I still see you
Rolled up tight
In our linen, me naked and
Snuggling in the night
I keep hoping any day now
You’ll come ‘round the bend
To kiss me, squeeze me, fondle me
Until I have no wind
I want to feel
Warm arms
In dead of winter
Cozy by a fire
Hear senseless jokes
Romantic words
Feel tender touches
In places known to us
Day by day when
The horizon burns
It chills me to my bones
To be reminded once again
How much I am alone
I hate the dusk
Lie down I must
So I do my best to pray
That I won’t dream
Feel your breath
Warm upon my neck
You spoon me
I soothe you
In a tight embrace
I want to sleep
Only sleep
Not commit to you again
Rather cling to hope
And measured light
To see me through tonight
But it seems to me
No matter what
I’ll always think of you
How you loved
And cared for me
Oh, so tenderly
by Donna B. Comeaux
Tulsa, Oklahoma
January 21, 2017
Aging and The Fear of Death
Several years ago, my husband and I wondered where we should relocate. I got distracted by his shaky hands. I thought about aging. My aging. His aging. That hadn’t worried me before, but I found myself suddenly wondering what in the world would I do without him. I plummeted into a funnel of nostalgic memories.
Our wedding day came to mind—me in a light blue mini dress; he in his red OU jacket. I couldn’t have been one hundred pounds dried and powdered down. A strappling six feet tall, he had a buffed, muscular body, a flawless wide and naughty grin. His afro-styled hair—thick, neatly edged. Fuzz on his upper lip highlighted a handsome, stubbled face. Romantic at heart, he had serenaded me, whisked me off my weightless feet, and swung me around while swearing to care for me all the days of his life. Like so many giddy females before me, I bought into that line. (By the way, guys, that line still works.)
Now, I wondered how long it would be before I might have to take care of him. Unable to face the possibility of losing him, I grabbed his hand with both of mine and looked into his dark brown eyes.
“Should I be worried?” I asked.
“What? What are you talking about?” He frowned and pulled away.
“Your hands. They’re shaking.”
“So. What about it?”
“How long has this been going on?”
“It happens sometimes. I don’t have any other symptoms so it’s nothing. Now, will you stay focused. We need to make a decision to take this job or not. Will it be Savannah? Or Washington?”
As important as the decision to change jobs and move away from home was, I couldn’t indulge in the activity of decision-making that day. I had to figure out how much longer he would be with me.
I got off the couch and moseyed into the kitchen, to the dining room, then upstairs to the bedroom where I cried my eyes out. Rustling leaves tapped against my skylight window above my tub. The sight brought me back to our younger days soon after we married.
I remember walking to the OU campus where I worked at the Law School as a word processor. Our first fall together was a lonely one for me. The strappling football player I married was like a soldier called off to war—gone more in those fall months than I’d expected. I thought we should spend more time together. But when he wasn’t away playing in a football game, he’d be at practice or studying half the night.
I’d only seen snow once in my life. As a young girl, about eleven, it snowed in the deep south for a small portion of the day. It was gone by morning. But outside my office window in mid-October, snow flurries fell from Norman, Oklahoma’s overcast sky. Unbelievable to me, I ran out into the cold and stood on the sidewalk and looked at God’s wonder. Within moments the flurries turned to large flakes and gusty winds forced me back inside.
Right now I ask myself: “Has it really been that long? Forty-one long years?” It didn’t seem that long ago when young football players’ wives and girlfriends laughed and giggled as they dressed for the OU games. We stayed up half the night doing each other’s hair and eating whatever we wanted. After the game, we parted ways, mainly because our chrisitianity wouldn’t allow us to mingle with late night drinkers and party half-naked.
When I heard my husband’s footsteps climb the stairs that day, I was forced to return to my dilemma. After I had dried my eyes, I braced for an inquisition.
“What are you doing? Why did you leave? I thought we would decide this together?” he had asked.
“I can’t do this right now. Can we try again tomorrow?”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m not sure. I think the idea of moving scares me.”
“Well, you think it over. I’m going to the store. You want anything?”
I shook my head. Before I could stop him, he was gone.
As the garage door sounded below, I remembered our first car—a two-door, green Gremlin. It lasted two months before we had it towed to wreckage. Then many months later, after weeks of walking everywhere we went, we bought a four-door blue and white Chevy Impala. A heavy car that proved reliable for the two years we had it. He saved money by doing repairs on the car himself. He made sure I was safe.
He’s spoiled me over the years. I’m as rotten as a teenage girl. I bat my eyes and get any and everything I want. I pout. He appeases. I throw a tantrum. He caters to my every whim.
I look toward heaven and sometimes I plead with God to let me go first. I can’t stand to watch him grow old. I can’t watch him wither away like that. But no matter how loud I cry, my pleas go unanswered. God is nothing like my husband. He can’t be tricked or manipulated. In a way I appreciate God’s silence because sometimes I’m not sure I fully understand what I’m asking from him. It’s not until my spirit is calm that I conclude there’s no comfort in me going before my husband. Death will be hard for us both no matter who goes first.
But he’s not gone yet. Years later, he’s still here with me. He’s healthy. Aging, but healthy. I realize that he’s not the only one getting old. So am I. I smile as I wonder how is he seeing me. Am I still the woman of his dreams? He still spoils me, so I guess I am.
That day long ago, I finally collapsed in a chair and waited for his return from the store. I was anxious. I wanted to press my head to his chest and hear his heartbeat. I wanted to gaze my large brown eyes into his then touch his stubbled face, kiss him warm and tender, grab his large linebacker hands and wrap them around my bulging waistline.
Although our hair is thinner now, our waistlines have disappeared, and we’ve been robbed of our youth, we still have each other. It took me a while, fighting against time, trying harder to control the process of aging, before I realized that it no longer matters how old we get or what condition we’re in when faced with our departure. As long as my husband’s love lives in me, he’s never far away. God is walking me through a process, daily teaching me to spend more of my days enjoying the moments rather than fearing the inevitable.
Donna B. Comeaux
Freelance Writer, Novelist, Poet
You can find my new book, Selfish Ambition, at http://www.Smashwords.com or at http://www.bn.com. The book is FREE.
I Promise . . .
I can’t begin to explain how many times I’ve made promises I couldn’t keep. At one point in my life, promises were so frequent that I knew before I finished my oaths that I wouldn’t succeed in keeping them. It’s awkward to have a friend, loved one, fellow christian shun you because you’ve failed them. Again. You’re embarrassed when you come face-to-face with those you’ve made promises to. Your eyes meet for a moment, but the pain and anger behind their eyes linger long after you part.
You find it hard to sleep at night. You kick the dog, yell at the children, burn your dinner, leave work assignments incomplete, irritate your spouse. All because of your guilt. It eats away at you. Apologies burn the edges of your lips, but you can’t find the courage to expose your wrong. How many times will you trick yourself into believing there’s no way people you’ve wronged will remember what you had promised to do? But deep in your gut you know they remember. You can see it in their eyes. You can feel it as they come ever nearer to you.
What are you to do?
God made a promise to Abraham. The promise didn’t depend on Israel’s faithfulness. God made an oath and kept it. When things got way out of hand, God punished Israel and made them wander in the desert for 40 years. Later, when they continued to disobey him, he had other nations enslave them. He constantly reminded them that he is the Lord God (Deuteronomy 4:32-40) and that they should keep his commandments. But not once did he ever say he’d renege on his promise. They would inherit the land just as he promised even if it was a generation or two later.
Too often you and I can’t see past our next 24 hours before we’re bombarded with the what ifs of this life. We stack one task after another onto our plate and refuse to use our common sense to say “no” when we can’t do any more. What if the musician doesn’t show up for the school play? Ever thought about going a capella? The kids know the words to the song. They’ve sung it a thousand times.
Some of us are just—can I be blunt here?—lazy. We hide behind our hurt and refuse to do anything for anyone. We’ve been wronged. And we can’t get over it. Someone somewhere made a promise and didn’t keep it.
Others use godly ministries as a springboard to success—to build our resumes so we can prove worthy. Our interchange with one another is driven by this self-inflicted pressure. This pressure determines our way of speech, our out-of-character friendliness, our dismissive behavior toward those of lesser stature. We want to look important; to out-do the next fellow; to be known as the one people seek for advice, leadership, love, and benevolence.
The god in your life has become an earthly tabernacle of greed; a self-serving ministry.
To get rid of this stigmatism that you’ve created for yourself, you continue to take on more and more work that you can’t possibly fulfill.
I would suggest you delegate the work to others, but even that becomes part of your power-hungry struggle to feel important. Bossing others around is the perfect fuel for your self-serving ministry, don’t you think?
What are you to do?
Stand still.
What?
Stand still.
Why?
It’s time for you to stand still and recall each and every infraction made against your brother. You might ask: “Won’t this overwhelm me?” Of course it will. But you’ll also begin to experience some of the pain others feel over your inability to keep your word.
I promise . . .
How many promises have you broken?
Trust is the most sacred thing among men. Long ago, to seal a transaction, all two men had to do was shake hands. Try doing that today?
People trust and respect those who keep their word. People will give their last meal, last coat to those who keep their word.
A promise is all Jesus had before he made the ultimate sacrifice. Jesus relinquished ALL control and trusted God to raise him from the dead. And God kept his promise. After being enslaved for many years, the prophets reminded Israel what they must do to gain God’s favor. Without hesitation, they knew God would keep his word. How did they know? They remembered how God gave birth to a nation out of a nation (Deuteronomy 4) and brought them to a land flowing with milk and honey. They remembered the ten plagues; the pillar of cloud by day and fire by night. They remembered . . .
Today when cancer comes out of a doctor’s mouth, we hold tight to God’s promises:
“Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the old heaven and the old earth had disappeared. And the sea was also gone. And I saw the holy city, the New Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven like a bride beautifully dressed for her husband.
I heard a loud shout from the throne, saying, “Look, God’s home is now among his people! He will live with them, and they will be his people. God himself will be with them. He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.”
And the one sitting on the throne said, “Look, I am making everything new!” And then he said to me, “Write this down, for what I tell you is trustworthy and true.” And he also said, “It is finished! I am the Alpha and the Omega—the Beginning and the End. To all who are thirsty I will give freely from the springs of the water of life. All who are victorious will inherit all these blessings, and I will be their God, and they will be my children.” (Revelation 21:1-7)
And we hold on to these promises whether we remain in this life or not.
When a man and woman marry, they made a promise to stay together until death separates them. When either party breaks this vow, there is a brokenness beyond words that forever hovers over them. And so it is with those with whom you’ve made promises.
I promise . . .
I promise . . .
Tell me again how many promises you have broken?
When you promise to buy your child a uniform, save money for her college education, take him to a baseball game, or attend her school function, you are exposing who you really are. If you keep your word, you gain favor and respect from your child. If you don’t, the trust is broken. Perhaps forever. Before long, not only can’t your child depend on you, your employer can’t depend on you either. Neither can your spouse, your family, or your neighbors.
Then the walls of your self-serving ministry collapse. You are left wondering who is to blame.
If only I hadn’t made all those promises . . .
I promise to never make another promise again.
But didn’t you just break the very promise you vowed not to make.
Seems hopeless doesn’t it?
If you’ll stand still for a moment and go through all the broken promises, how do you think you’ll feel? Can you possibly feel any worse than the person with whom you made the promise? No. But you can come close. No one feels good after going back on his word. Though it’s unfortunate, everybody loses. No one is left untouched.
The promiser is ashame.
The person to whom the promise was made is angry.
Those that witness the guilt and hurt lose trust.
Children learn to look at this despicable sin as normal.
And so the cycle continues.
To heal, you must end this sinful cycle and “confess your sins one to another” (James 5:16), no matter how embarrassing it may be. Apologies are like salve for the wounds. People need to hear your apologies and feel your sincerety. However, be mindful to not confuse excuses with apologies. Excuses and explanations only get you into deeper trouble. Besides, can you really explain away a broken promise? Rather, apologize by simply saying “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I did not do what I committed to do for you and I apologize.”
Your next step is to slow down and analyze what you are physically capable of doing. That takes guts! And honesty! At times, you’ll cringe at what little you can do. There’s only so many hours in a day. And you only have two arms. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with stopping in the middle of a conversation and giving the request some thought before you commit. Remember my words: “A moment of thought can avert potential shame.”
Always be in prayer, about everything.
If you’ve been overwhelmed with too many commitments, ask God for relief. The moment someone comes up to you, or calls you on the phone and says they’ve given someone else the job, don’t become bitter or angry because you wanted the job for yourself. Know that it’s an answer to your prayer and glorify God all the more.
To God be the glory! Amen!
Donna B. Comeaux
Freelance Writer, Author, Poet