1. *I'd tell you what I think, but would you respect me in the morning?*
Principle: Speak in the Active Voice.
Zechariah 8:16 These are the things you are to do: speak the truth to each other, and render true and sound judgment in your courts.
Ephesians 4:25 Therefore, each of you must put off falsehood and speak truthfully to his neighbour, for we all members of one body.
SCENE #1 (Charlene, Kelvin and Roxanne enter a living room):
Charlene: They want to discuss Nicholas tonight. They think he's been stealing the donuts.
Kelvin: I've never seen him steal any donuts.
Roxanne: Well, he does eat more donuts than the rest of us, but I don't think he steals them. He eats them right in front of us.
Kelvin: Maybe that's why he's gaining weight. Well, maybe we shouldn't have donuts at the meetings anymore.
Charlene: For heaven's sake, that's not the problem! Listen, Nicholas is going to be there, and they're going to sit him down in the middle of the room and explain why he shouldn't be stealing donuts anymore, and how stealing donuts has destroyed all faith and trust in him, and nobody wants to be in the group anymore because he's a thief, and they don't want to be associated with a thief. And, if he doesn't publicly admit that he's a donut thief, and submit to prayer, that it will destroy the whole group and it'll be his fault.
Roxanne: I can't believe they think that—how can they think that? What proof do they have that Nicholas is a donut thief?
Charlene: Nancy told Debbie who told Frank that she counted the donuts before the meeting and saw Nicholas hovering around the snack table after he'd already had several. When she came back into the room, they were all gone. She says he stuffs them in his pockets.
Kelvin: That's not Nicholas, that's Nancy's dog. She brings her Great Dane to the meetings. I've watched him eat off the table with his great big head. That's why I eat before I come to the meeting. Nobody else seems to notice the dog, either.
Roxanne: Why didn't you say anything to Nancy?
Kelvin: I didn't want to rock the boat…dog people, you know what they're like. “Love me, love my dog.”
Charlene: Kelvin, you have to tell Nancy what you saw.
Kelvin: Me?
Charlene: Yes! You have to tell her that it's her dog eating the donuts, not Nicholas.
Kelvin: Oh, is it that big a deal? What will they do if they don't believe me?
Charlene: Yes, it's a big deal! Nancy told me the rest of the group has discussed the situation, and they would all leave. They absolutely will not tolerate donut thievery. She even said that sometimes she feels tempted to steal donuts herself, and she just can't allow that to continue. Bad company corrupts good character, she said.
Roxanne: But if it's not true, she's going to leave for nothing. And poor Nicholas! He'll be heartbroken.
SCENE #2 (During the meeting, a confused Nicholas sits in the middle of an assembly of people encircling him):
Nancy: (In a businesslike but gentle manner) Nicholas, we ask you to admit to us that you have been the one stealing the donuts. You must admit it for your own good. We love you, you see, and we only want the best for you.
Nicholas: (swallows hard) Umm…I haven't been stealing donuts. I--I only ate four at the last meeting. I'm-I'm sorry. I didn't know there was a limit, I know I tend to overeat. I promise I'll only have one next time!
Debbie: No, Nicholas. It's no good to pretend. We know you've been stuffing them in your pockets to take home with you. It's beginning to annoy everyone.
Frank: We just can't tolerate that. What if someone outside our group saw you? They would think we were all donut thieves. Think about how your actions are affecting us!
Nicholas: Well…I did put one in my pocket, but I was just saving it for later! I didn't think it was stealing.
Charlene: (Jumps up from her chair, looking at Roxanne and Kelvin, who were staring at the floor.) Stop it right now, all of you! Nancy, your dog has been eating the donuts, not Nicholas. Your great big Great Dane with the great big head, Nancy! Kelvin saw the dog eating all the donuts off the kitchen table while we were in the other room…didn't you Kelvin? (She touches his shoulder to get his attention.) Right, Kelvin?
Kelvin: (swallows, lifting his head slowly from the floor while the whole group stares at him hard) Uh—well…
Roxanne: Tell them, Kelvin!
Nancy: (Stands up and walks toward Kelvin, seated in his chair, her face hard.) It is impossible that my dog would eat donuts. My dog only eats IAMS. I know my dog…he is a disciplined dog. Are you calling me a liar?
Kelvin: Uh, no, not really, but---
Nancy: (turns to Charlene and continues) As for you, I can't believe you would bring such an accusation against my dog. It just reaffirms for me that I no longer belong in this group.
…After many weeks of arguments in this sad tale, Kelvin finally was courageous enough to admit that he did see the dog eat the donuts, but it was too late to convince anyone. Nancy was first to leave and the other disillusioned members trickled out one by one, until Kelvin, Roxanne and Charlene were all alone. Nicholas was shattered by the false accusation and never ate donuts again.
Have you ever been in a situation with a group of people where your point of view would decide the outcome? Do you back away nauseated from conflict? Do you bury your head in the sand hoping the situation will go away, or do you calmly pray, and try to make an objective decision regardless of negative responses? And how is your heart in that situation… are you angry, are you worried, fearful, grief-stricken? Or do you strike first as a defensive measure… are you combative, defensive, arrogant? Do you gossip about situations, or are you prudent?
If you are calm and objective, well done you. But for my part, I have difficulty making decisions. It's partly because I weigh and re-weigh the consequences of every action (which isn't necessarily a bad thing, although it annoys the quick decision-makers in my life). But it's also because I don't want to be responsible for failure. What if I get it wrong? What if I make a mistake? (a.k.a. Pride). I don't want to lose people's good will (a.k.a. The fear of rejection). Therefore it was my unconscious habit to get someone else to make the decision, or even worse, to align with braver people who felt the same way and were willing to speak up.
What a handicap! Instead of acknowledging my immaturity, I spent most of my life convinced that I was just a nice girl who liked to avoid conflict. This is a convenient, insidious contradiction…I may have certain convictions in a situation, but I share them only with the few who agree with me. I will not repeat this information to the larger group, lest I be responsible for creating bad feelings. Maybe someone else in the small group will speak for me and take the consequences?
So, I have been a liar and a coward, and acting contrary to the Scriptures. I was Kelvin, paralyzed by fear of conflict and the loss of relationship.
Some of us are the opposite. They are willing to risk relationship for what they believe to be the truth, even when their actions are damaging. They are confident in their discernment, confident that they are God's servants bringing God's warning. And with God in one's corner, who wouldn't be confident?
How do you tell the difference between what some consider spiritual “discernment” and your own opinion? It's so easy to mistake your own opinion for God's.
Without anger or malice, let's all be willing to make decisions and live with the consequences. Let's be better at predicting and accepting when consensus can be reached and when it can't, and let's not make decisions based on fear, but with God's love, wisdom, and truth. People aren't always going to agree. I can't let the fear of rejection keep me from speaking the truth as I see it.
Next time:
Excuse Me, Sir, But I Can't Help Noticing Your Faults
Principle #2: It's not my job to fix you.
As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another...Proverbs 27:17 If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone...Romans 12:18
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
What have I learned? OR, A few things every Christian should know. OR, For Heaven's sake, grow up
My husband tells me that if I want to be a writer, I should write every day and put it on the Internet, just to get in the habit (not because anyone is actually going to read it--but hope springs eternal). So, after many years of dilly-dallying and trying to decide what to wear, I’m going to bang out a few practical thoughts day by day about the Christian life—how we should relate to one another, and how we should act and think.
There’s nothing new or groundbreaking in the words themselves. If there is any value here it is in my life experiences which made the words real. I helped start an evangelical ministry 15 years ago which consisted of a singing group that performed drama and preached on the street, in prisons and churches. Later our plans grew to include more ambitious projects, including the renovation of a 10,000 square foot historic mansion. Things worked out differently than we expected over the years, for many reasons. After facing some difficult, draining experiences, and negotiating constant obstacles, we decided to move on. This ministry is now in the hands of others, who are developing something new out of something old. My husband and I have returned to regular church life in a different community and we are raising our children like all the other middle-class couples on our street. At first, because of emotional and spiritual turmoil, I was happy to leave it all behind. But later, I recognized that my identity and sense of purpose for nearly 14 years was wrapped up in that vision. Disappointments and dashed hopes left me unsure of who I was and what I really believed. How do you let go? The fact is gone, like the lover who leaves, but I dwelt on the memories of a torrid though doomed love affair, for a long time.
If people ask, I tell them that what I thought was a marathon turned out to be a relay race, and my part was completed in the first lap. Though it was a marathon that went unnoticed by passers-by, I still burned to communicate my experience in it. So here is my life, poured out on these pages. I hope that even though you weren’t expecting advice, you will still find it a useful and pleasant surprise, like a twenty-dollar bill you find in the laundry room, folded up and forgotten in your jeans pocket.
I will not bore you with the process of redefining myself, but rather with the lessons I learned, particularly when it comes to relationships. Some of the memories are fuzzy now, like petroleum jelly smudged around the camera lens. The pain is fading, with the bustle of life in the intervening years. Since the particulars are bound to be lost to clear memory, all that is left are a few principles, which I share with you now.
Christians of every stripe all have opinions about the general state of the church. Those judgments are formed by our experiences, some bad, others good. They can be harsh, infected with our prejudices and insecurities, the stuff of regrets. But no one can deny that the stronger the experience, the stronger the opinion. The trick is to recognize the choice we are faced with in our experiences.
How are we going to react?
The freedom Jesus won for us on the cross is never so apparent as when we are faced with the every day situations that require a godly response. Even though I tried to keep my personal judgments from creeping out between the lines on the page, like closing the door on a messy room one wants to hide from the guests, I may not have always succeeded. You may walk by some door and see my personal baggage seeping out underneath. If that’s what you see in the coming pages, I apologize in advance. At least you recognized it. (Or did you? Maybe it’s your baggage...)
Tomorrow:
*I’d tell you what I think, but would you respect me in the morning?*
Principle #1: Speak in the Active Voice.
There’s nothing new or groundbreaking in the words themselves. If there is any value here it is in my life experiences which made the words real. I helped start an evangelical ministry 15 years ago which consisted of a singing group that performed drama and preached on the street, in prisons and churches. Later our plans grew to include more ambitious projects, including the renovation of a 10,000 square foot historic mansion. Things worked out differently than we expected over the years, for many reasons. After facing some difficult, draining experiences, and negotiating constant obstacles, we decided to move on. This ministry is now in the hands of others, who are developing something new out of something old. My husband and I have returned to regular church life in a different community and we are raising our children like all the other middle-class couples on our street. At first, because of emotional and spiritual turmoil, I was happy to leave it all behind. But later, I recognized that my identity and sense of purpose for nearly 14 years was wrapped up in that vision. Disappointments and dashed hopes left me unsure of who I was and what I really believed. How do you let go? The fact is gone, like the lover who leaves, but I dwelt on the memories of a torrid though doomed love affair, for a long time.
If people ask, I tell them that what I thought was a marathon turned out to be a relay race, and my part was completed in the first lap. Though it was a marathon that went unnoticed by passers-by, I still burned to communicate my experience in it. So here is my life, poured out on these pages. I hope that even though you weren’t expecting advice, you will still find it a useful and pleasant surprise, like a twenty-dollar bill you find in the laundry room, folded up and forgotten in your jeans pocket.
I will not bore you with the process of redefining myself, but rather with the lessons I learned, particularly when it comes to relationships. Some of the memories are fuzzy now, like petroleum jelly smudged around the camera lens. The pain is fading, with the bustle of life in the intervening years. Since the particulars are bound to be lost to clear memory, all that is left are a few principles, which I share with you now.
Christians of every stripe all have opinions about the general state of the church. Those judgments are formed by our experiences, some bad, others good. They can be harsh, infected with our prejudices and insecurities, the stuff of regrets. But no one can deny that the stronger the experience, the stronger the opinion. The trick is to recognize the choice we are faced with in our experiences.
How are we going to react?
The freedom Jesus won for us on the cross is never so apparent as when we are faced with the every day situations that require a godly response. Even though I tried to keep my personal judgments from creeping out between the lines on the page, like closing the door on a messy room one wants to hide from the guests, I may not have always succeeded. You may walk by some door and see my personal baggage seeping out underneath. If that’s what you see in the coming pages, I apologize in advance. At least you recognized it. (Or did you? Maybe it’s your baggage...)
Tomorrow:
*I’d tell you what I think, but would you respect me in the morning?*
Principle #1: Speak in the Active Voice.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Get some perspective
Don’t get me wrong, I love my Grandma Louise, but she turned up at our summer cottage at the worst possible time. My best friend Gail turns seventeen this week and I’m going to miss the party because Gram brought someone “my age” to “spend time with”—aka entertain.
“Sarah, this is my neighbour, Julie Bunnell,” said Gram, introducing her guest. “Julie, this is my granddaughter, Sarah.”
“Hi, Julie, nice to meet you.” I offered my hand.
“Hey,” she muttered. It was a dead-fish handshake—more like a slap, really.
And so the week began. On Monday at our picnic, Julie “accidentally” spilled grape juice all over me and kicked beach sand into the fruit salad.
Tuesday, I caught her snooping around in my bedroom and reading my journal.
Wednesday, she ignored my warning about the neighbourhood millionaire, Jeremy Lucas, who doesn’t like talking to his fellow cottagers on his daily walk. He came to our place later that day and complained about being “accosted” on the road.
Thursday, I caught her drinking smuggled alcohol and smoking on the beach, activities that are expressly forbidden in my universe.
Friday, I complained to Mom and Dad about my houseguest from you-know-where. “She’s impossible to get along with. I can’t take any more abuse!” I grumbled.
“You’re right, Sarah, Julie has her problems,” Dad sympathized. “But which is more important—how you’re treated, or how you react to how you’re treated?”
“How I’m treated!” I replied.
Mom grinned and patted my arm. “I’ve felt that way myself, Sarah.”
On Saturday at the lunch table, all five of us devoured an assortment of leftovers.
“What are you girls doing for our last afternoon, Julie?” Gram asked, pleasantly. Julie didn’t answer, staring at her plate.
“We could take the canoe up the river and collect driftwood...for a campfire tonight,” I offered, eyeing Julie for a reaction.
“I guess so.” She said, shrugging as she stuffed potatoes into her mouth.
After lunch, Julie and I dragged the canoe over the low bank to the river’s edge. I handed her a lifejacket.
“I’m not wearing that,” she said, curling her lip.
“You have to, Julie—family rule,” I replied, throwing the orange vest at her. She let it fall to her feet.
“Do you always do what you’re told?” Julie smirked.
“Forget it. It’s your decision,” I answered. I crept to the steering position at the back. Julie pushed off the shore with one leg and sat down in the front. After a couple of hours we had filled the canoe from our stops along the shoreline.
“How deep is the water?” asked Julie.
“We’re pretty close to shore. Probably about four feet.” My clothing was getting wet from the paddle as it dripped in rhythm. I should have worn my bathing suit like Julie did, I thought.
“I think I’ll go for a swim,” Julie announced, putting her paddle inside the canoe.
“Sure, we’re nearly home,” I answered.
“No, I want to jump in right now,” she replied.
“But you’ll tip the canoe! I’ll get soaked! I’m not wearing—“
SPLASH.
I stood up, shocked and dripping, to see Julie swimming a few feet away and laughing uproariously.
“You look like a drowned rat!” she giggled. “You should see your face!”
“What did you do that for?” I fumed as I retrieved the drifting canoe. “Why do you enjoy making me angry?”
“Because it’s so easy!” she called over her shoulder, wading towards shore. “I’m going up to the cottage. Don’t forget the paddles!”
It took me an hour to collect all the floating driftwood. By then, Julie was clean and dry and sitting on the veranda, reading a book. I didn’t speak to her for the rest of the day.
An evening campfire on the shore was usually my favourite part of summer, but not tonight. Enveloped in a dark, starry blanket, the river was smooth like glass, barely lapping against the shore. Only the loons broke the calm, singing their songs as they paddled quietly in the channel.
“Do you want another marshmallow?” I asked, offering the bag.
Julie shook her head no. “Are you still angry about getting dunked? I’m sorry, okay?”
I didn’t answer her.
“I just thought it would be funny,” she persisted. “I didn’t realize you have no sense of humour.”
I resisted the urge to yell and tried to impale her with my eyes instead.
“This is a great place,” Julie admitted, poking at coals with a stray stick. “You must love spending the summer here. It’s so quiet...it’s like you own your own beach.”
“What do you know?” I snorted. “Try staying here all summer. There’s no electricity—no TV, no computer, no running water. I can’t email my friends or talk to them on the phone. It’s boring. I’d rather be in the city!”
“You spoiled brat!” Julie said with a sneer. “All girls like you ever do is complain.”
“Girls like me?” I retorted angrily.
“Yeah—girls that have everything but act like they’ve got it so hard!” Julie snapped, throwing her stick into the fire. “Your folks are nice people—they don’t fight all the time,” Julie’s eyes were wet in the firelight. “Your family owns a summer cottage—and you have a house with your own room. Not only that, you’re going to graduate in the same high school you started in. Anyone who had all this to grow up with shouldn’t complain about her life!”
“Who do you think you are?” I retaliated, trying to keep my voice from trembling. “I have gone out of my way for you this week and you have gone out of your way to make me feel stupid! As far as I’m concerned, you’ve got serious problems and I can’t wait until you’re gone!” The words carried boldly in the still night air.
Julie jumped up, stomping her way to the cottage. I was left alone awhile in the pitch black, the dying fire glowing orange and sinking into the sand.
I thought I would feel better venting my anger. But instead, I felt guilty. Had I hurt Julie’s feelings?
“Isn’t it a beautiful evening?” a voice exclaimed, interrupting my thoughts. Out of the dark behind me came Grandma Louise. “Can I join you? I was dying for a toasted marshmallow.” I nodded, too mortified to speak. Did she realize that Julie and I just had a fight?
“These campfires remind me of when your father was a little boy. We used to have them here every night. Your dad used to run to the river and dip his flaming marshmallow in the salt water before he would eat it! Can you imagine?” Gram laughed as she sat on a boulder. She stared off into the darkness, the flickering flames softening the lines on her face. “That was a long time ago,” she murmured.
Gram shook herself and placed her marshmallow stick in the glowing coals. “You know, we haven’t had much time to talk,” she said. “I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate the time you’re spending with Julie. I can tell that she’s really enjoying it here.”
“I’m not sure I believe that, Gram,” I replied. Especially not after tonight, I thought.
“Oh yes,” she asserted. “This place is probably like heaven to her. Her family just rented the house next door to me a few months ago. She’s moved eight times in the last four years and has to keep switching schools. Her parents are alcoholics, Sarah. I hear them arguing and throwing things night and day. Her older brother is in prison and her younger brother depends on her like a mother. That’s why she hasn’t run away.” She lifted her marshmallow out of the fire and examined it critically. “Oh dear, I’ve burnt it. I don’t like them that way.”
“I’ll eat it, Gram. I like the burnt ones,” I said, grabbing the hot, sticky mass with my fingers.
“Well, it’s past my bedtime, we’re having an early start tomorrow.” Gram put her hands on my shoulders. “Thank you again, Sarah. Julie will never forget everything you’ve done.”
That’s for sure, I thought uncomfortably. I smiled weakly as she returned to the cottage. I put the fire out and went to bed, but I didn’t sleep. Do I complain about my life? Doesn’t everybody? I wondered. I have stuff, good friends, opportunities, security and a family that loves me. Would I be jealous too if I were in her shoes?
Breakfast was at 6:30 am. Gram wanted to leave early. Julie and I were quiet amid the pleasant chatter of the others.
“I’m finished,” Julie rose from her chair. “Thanks for everything. I’m going to wait in the car.”
I pushed the eggs through the ketchup on my plate. Last chance to ease my conscience. “I guess I’ll go say goodbye,” I announced, trudging outside.
“Julie!” I called. She slammed the trunk of Gram’s car. This is so awkward. “I’ve come to say goodbye.”
“Yeah, you’re getting your wish,” she replied, giving me a hard look as she shaded her eyes from the bright morning sun.
“I shouldn’t have said that I couldn’t wait until you were gone. I’m sorry.”
“Forget it,” she said, opening the passenger door. “I’ve heard worse.”
“No, really...” Take a deep breath and continue. “I was angry about getting dunked and...other stuff, but you were right. I need to lighten up.” I saw her expression soften, but she didn’t respond. Keep going...“So, the next time you come, I thought maybe you could join us for our annual lobster boil. We usually do it in August, before us kids go back to school. All my cousins show up for beach volleyball...and we eat our faces off,” I joked. “I mean, if you’re into that sort of thing,” I added.
She looked confused, like she wasn’t expecting another invitation. “Uh...maybe I could come. Sounds good, I guess...if I’m not too busy.” Julie paused before getting in the car. “Listen, thanks...for everything. I had a good time.”
“You’re welcome.” I said.
After the customary goodbyes we watched our visitors pile into the car and rumble down the dirt road until disappeared in a cloud of dust. We started walking toward the front door.
“Well, now that Gram is gone, I suppose you’ll want to visit friends for a few days,” Dad said.
“Maybe next weekend,” I replied, smiling at their surprised faces. “I think I’ll have a campfire tonight.”
“Sarah, this is my neighbour, Julie Bunnell,” said Gram, introducing her guest. “Julie, this is my granddaughter, Sarah.”
“Hi, Julie, nice to meet you.” I offered my hand.
“Hey,” she muttered. It was a dead-fish handshake—more like a slap, really.
And so the week began. On Monday at our picnic, Julie “accidentally” spilled grape juice all over me and kicked beach sand into the fruit salad.
Tuesday, I caught her snooping around in my bedroom and reading my journal.
Wednesday, she ignored my warning about the neighbourhood millionaire, Jeremy Lucas, who doesn’t like talking to his fellow cottagers on his daily walk. He came to our place later that day and complained about being “accosted” on the road.
Thursday, I caught her drinking smuggled alcohol and smoking on the beach, activities that are expressly forbidden in my universe.
Friday, I complained to Mom and Dad about my houseguest from you-know-where. “She’s impossible to get along with. I can’t take any more abuse!” I grumbled.
“You’re right, Sarah, Julie has her problems,” Dad sympathized. “But which is more important—how you’re treated, or how you react to how you’re treated?”
“How I’m treated!” I replied.
Mom grinned and patted my arm. “I’ve felt that way myself, Sarah.”
On Saturday at the lunch table, all five of us devoured an assortment of leftovers.
“What are you girls doing for our last afternoon, Julie?” Gram asked, pleasantly. Julie didn’t answer, staring at her plate.
“We could take the canoe up the river and collect driftwood...for a campfire tonight,” I offered, eyeing Julie for a reaction.
“I guess so.” She said, shrugging as she stuffed potatoes into her mouth.
After lunch, Julie and I dragged the canoe over the low bank to the river’s edge. I handed her a lifejacket.
“I’m not wearing that,” she said, curling her lip.
“You have to, Julie—family rule,” I replied, throwing the orange vest at her. She let it fall to her feet.
“Do you always do what you’re told?” Julie smirked.
“Forget it. It’s your decision,” I answered. I crept to the steering position at the back. Julie pushed off the shore with one leg and sat down in the front. After a couple of hours we had filled the canoe from our stops along the shoreline.
“How deep is the water?” asked Julie.
“We’re pretty close to shore. Probably about four feet.” My clothing was getting wet from the paddle as it dripped in rhythm. I should have worn my bathing suit like Julie did, I thought.
“I think I’ll go for a swim,” Julie announced, putting her paddle inside the canoe.
“Sure, we’re nearly home,” I answered.
“No, I want to jump in right now,” she replied.
“But you’ll tip the canoe! I’ll get soaked! I’m not wearing—“
SPLASH.
I stood up, shocked and dripping, to see Julie swimming a few feet away and laughing uproariously.
“You look like a drowned rat!” she giggled. “You should see your face!”
“What did you do that for?” I fumed as I retrieved the drifting canoe. “Why do you enjoy making me angry?”
“Because it’s so easy!” she called over her shoulder, wading towards shore. “I’m going up to the cottage. Don’t forget the paddles!”
It took me an hour to collect all the floating driftwood. By then, Julie was clean and dry and sitting on the veranda, reading a book. I didn’t speak to her for the rest of the day.
An evening campfire on the shore was usually my favourite part of summer, but not tonight. Enveloped in a dark, starry blanket, the river was smooth like glass, barely lapping against the shore. Only the loons broke the calm, singing their songs as they paddled quietly in the channel.
“Do you want another marshmallow?” I asked, offering the bag.
Julie shook her head no. “Are you still angry about getting dunked? I’m sorry, okay?”
I didn’t answer her.
“I just thought it would be funny,” she persisted. “I didn’t realize you have no sense of humour.”
I resisted the urge to yell and tried to impale her with my eyes instead.
“This is a great place,” Julie admitted, poking at coals with a stray stick. “You must love spending the summer here. It’s so quiet...it’s like you own your own beach.”
“What do you know?” I snorted. “Try staying here all summer. There’s no electricity—no TV, no computer, no running water. I can’t email my friends or talk to them on the phone. It’s boring. I’d rather be in the city!”
“You spoiled brat!” Julie said with a sneer. “All girls like you ever do is complain.”
“Girls like me?” I retorted angrily.
“Yeah—girls that have everything but act like they’ve got it so hard!” Julie snapped, throwing her stick into the fire. “Your folks are nice people—they don’t fight all the time,” Julie’s eyes were wet in the firelight. “Your family owns a summer cottage—and you have a house with your own room. Not only that, you’re going to graduate in the same high school you started in. Anyone who had all this to grow up with shouldn’t complain about her life!”
“Who do you think you are?” I retaliated, trying to keep my voice from trembling. “I have gone out of my way for you this week and you have gone out of your way to make me feel stupid! As far as I’m concerned, you’ve got serious problems and I can’t wait until you’re gone!” The words carried boldly in the still night air.
Julie jumped up, stomping her way to the cottage. I was left alone awhile in the pitch black, the dying fire glowing orange and sinking into the sand.
I thought I would feel better venting my anger. But instead, I felt guilty. Had I hurt Julie’s feelings?
“Isn’t it a beautiful evening?” a voice exclaimed, interrupting my thoughts. Out of the dark behind me came Grandma Louise. “Can I join you? I was dying for a toasted marshmallow.” I nodded, too mortified to speak. Did she realize that Julie and I just had a fight?
“These campfires remind me of when your father was a little boy. We used to have them here every night. Your dad used to run to the river and dip his flaming marshmallow in the salt water before he would eat it! Can you imagine?” Gram laughed as she sat on a boulder. She stared off into the darkness, the flickering flames softening the lines on her face. “That was a long time ago,” she murmured.
Gram shook herself and placed her marshmallow stick in the glowing coals. “You know, we haven’t had much time to talk,” she said. “I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate the time you’re spending with Julie. I can tell that she’s really enjoying it here.”
“I’m not sure I believe that, Gram,” I replied. Especially not after tonight, I thought.
“Oh yes,” she asserted. “This place is probably like heaven to her. Her family just rented the house next door to me a few months ago. She’s moved eight times in the last four years and has to keep switching schools. Her parents are alcoholics, Sarah. I hear them arguing and throwing things night and day. Her older brother is in prison and her younger brother depends on her like a mother. That’s why she hasn’t run away.” She lifted her marshmallow out of the fire and examined it critically. “Oh dear, I’ve burnt it. I don’t like them that way.”
“I’ll eat it, Gram. I like the burnt ones,” I said, grabbing the hot, sticky mass with my fingers.
“Well, it’s past my bedtime, we’re having an early start tomorrow.” Gram put her hands on my shoulders. “Thank you again, Sarah. Julie will never forget everything you’ve done.”
That’s for sure, I thought uncomfortably. I smiled weakly as she returned to the cottage. I put the fire out and went to bed, but I didn’t sleep. Do I complain about my life? Doesn’t everybody? I wondered. I have stuff, good friends, opportunities, security and a family that loves me. Would I be jealous too if I were in her shoes?
Breakfast was at 6:30 am. Gram wanted to leave early. Julie and I were quiet amid the pleasant chatter of the others.
“I’m finished,” Julie rose from her chair. “Thanks for everything. I’m going to wait in the car.”
I pushed the eggs through the ketchup on my plate. Last chance to ease my conscience. “I guess I’ll go say goodbye,” I announced, trudging outside.
“Julie!” I called. She slammed the trunk of Gram’s car. This is so awkward. “I’ve come to say goodbye.”
“Yeah, you’re getting your wish,” she replied, giving me a hard look as she shaded her eyes from the bright morning sun.
“I shouldn’t have said that I couldn’t wait until you were gone. I’m sorry.”
“Forget it,” she said, opening the passenger door. “I’ve heard worse.”
“No, really...” Take a deep breath and continue. “I was angry about getting dunked and...other stuff, but you were right. I need to lighten up.” I saw her expression soften, but she didn’t respond. Keep going...“So, the next time you come, I thought maybe you could join us for our annual lobster boil. We usually do it in August, before us kids go back to school. All my cousins show up for beach volleyball...and we eat our faces off,” I joked. “I mean, if you’re into that sort of thing,” I added.
She looked confused, like she wasn’t expecting another invitation. “Uh...maybe I could come. Sounds good, I guess...if I’m not too busy.” Julie paused before getting in the car. “Listen, thanks...for everything. I had a good time.”
“You’re welcome.” I said.
After the customary goodbyes we watched our visitors pile into the car and rumble down the dirt road until disappeared in a cloud of dust. We started walking toward the front door.
“Well, now that Gram is gone, I suppose you’ll want to visit friends for a few days,” Dad said.
“Maybe next weekend,” I replied, smiling at their surprised faces. “I think I’ll have a campfire tonight.”
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