“Once upon a time, there was a handsome prince. Being the
eldest son, it was vital that he marry quickly and well. Other rulers offered
their most beautiful daughters as a match, but he turned them all away. His parents
began to worry. Would he be eligible to wear the crown when the time came?
“The search was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a
dragon. Every knight volunteered, but the prince shouted them down. There had
been a prophecy: His future bride waited in the clutches of the dragon. He
would go alone or never marry, allowing the kingdom to fall into ruin.
“What choice did they have? He set out on the eve of the
harvest moon, the ring of destiny in his ears.
“But when the prince arrived at the watchtower by the sea,
he found no wyrmling but a gargantuan beast. It fell upon him with claws and teeth
and flame as he retreated into the surf. Hemmed in by death, the prince marshaled
his courage for what he hoped would be a fatal blow.
“But before he could strike, the dragon let out an unearthly
scream and fell dead in the sand.
“A girl wielding a bloody sword emerged from behind the carcass.
She thanked him for his distraction and offered to take him home since his
horse had been eaten.
“They’ve been together ever since.”
The queen gripped the king’s hand as another spasm shook his
failing body.
“I remember,” he whispered.
This story is part of No Novel November, a daily microfiction challenge. If you'd like to know more and/or join in, click here.
Madam ZuZu’s Psychic Pservices isn’t her full-time gig. She spends
her days answering phones for a local telecom, rushes home to scarf down a Hot Pocket,
then Ubers to her downtown storefront just in time for the bars to start
swinging.
She’s barely wrapped her turban when the doorbell jangles. It’s
a blonde guy, maybe 25, with sad eyes, no ring, knockoff shoes, and stone cold
sober—the worst kind of customer.
“Welcome, stranger,” she says, pitching her voice low. He
starts to speak, but she rushes on, “Yes, of course I can tell you about her.
Come.”
Blondie’s eyes widen, but he obediently sits down across
from her at the “crystal” ball.
She stretches her fingers out and grimaces as if in pain. Then
with a sudden, indecent moan, she says, “You will meet a tall, dark stranger.
She will sweep you off your feet. It will be soon.”
It’s the most obvious, bogus cliché, but his excitement is real.
Dude is desperate.
With heart-shaped sparkles in his eyes, Blondie puts $100 in
her hand, then steps out into the neon-lit night.
Where he’s knocked down by a brunette blur in a short skirt
and high heels.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” the young woman exclaims, helping
him up.
Madame ZuZu watches as the two laugh apologies until it turns into a date at the wine bar next door. She shakes her head, smiling to herself. Even a phony psychic gets it right once in a while.
This story is part of No Novel November, a daily microfiction challenge. If you'd like to know more and/or join in, click here.
I don’t know how the argument started, just that it started
in the middle of my favorite show and went on way, way too long. One minute we
were cuddled up on the sofa, bodies softly conforming to each other, breathing
and hearts synchronized; then somehow it was three hours later, and we were at
opposite ends, balled up in individual protective shells.
Maybe it was because I cried when the wife wound up back in
the kitchen after her “kooky scheme” to be a jazz musician failed. Maybe it was
because I laughed too hard when the husband’s prized Chevy was crushed by a falling
piano.
Whatever it was turned our romantic comedy into a soap opera.
There were dramatic monologues, significant pauses, impassioned pleas, artful
tears—all reaching a shrill crescendo, then fade to black.
I waited until the end of the anthem before I looked up with
breath drawn for another try. But all I saw was the test pattern reflected in
his eyes. Perfectly blank grey and black circles.
That’s when I knew it was time to leave. That’s when I knew that nothing worth staying for would be broadcast on his channel ever again.
This story is part of No Novel November, a daily microfiction challenge. If you'd like to know more and/or join in, click here.
At long last, the story of our 10-year vow renewal. A resurrection story told in vows, photos, scripture, and song.
As you may recall, my husband and I decided to renew our vows for our 10-year anniversary back in June. And while the actual event was for less than 40 people in a small backyard, it was the most important event in our lives, second only to our salvations.
And because it is such a big freaking deal, I naturally wanted to write and tell you all about it. But I don’t know how.
So instead of trying to capture the fullness of it in a story, this post is a collage of moments that, I hope, reveal the tenderness of this day that was more like a baptism—a consecration, a resurrection—than a wedding.
Dear Ellie, I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for my moments of faithlessness, and how that hurt us. I’m sorry for my anger, and the chaos it caused. I’m sorry for not listening, for being more focused on being right than being compassionate. I’m sorry for the times I didn’t cover you, for the times you were left to figure things out on your own. I’m sorry for the man I was when we met, and that you had to be present as I figured out who I was and what mattered.
Most of all though, I’m sorry I didn’t lead us to Christ sooner, that it took things falling so far into seeming hopelessness before suggesting that, perhaps, we could find reprieve in God.
Before you, our friends, our family, our daughter, and our God above, I repent for these things. Please forgive me. (I do.)
In the past ten years I have learned, essentially, that C.S. Lewis was correct about love, and my own understanding was flawed. He says: “Ceasing to be ‘in love’, in the way that we were in love the day before our wedding, need not mean ceasing to love. Love in this second sense — love as distinct from ‘being in love’ — is not merely a feeling. It is a deep unity, maintained by the will and deliberately strengthened by habit; reinforced by the grace which both partners ask, and receive, from God. They can have this love for each other even at those moments when they do not like each other; as you love yourself even when you do not like yourself. They can retain this love even when each would easily, if they allowed themselves, be ‘in love’ with someone else. ‘Being in love’ first moved them to promise fidelity: this quieter love enables them to keep the promise. it is on this love that the engine of marriage is run being in love was the explosion that started it.”
I couldn’t phrase it better myself. God, work, commitment, grace, and habit—these things are the new foundation of this marriage.
Ellie Di Julio, I promise hence forth…
To love you unconditionally, without expectations or conditions, without reservation, and to choose to do this every day no matter what struggles we may be facing.
To cover you and our family with Godly wisdom, and to lead our house in all ways, regardless of how uncomfortable it may make me.
To focus my attention on you, every day, and to choose you as a priority, as my favourite human.
To remain steadfast in my faith and work daily to keep our family on that narrow road which leads to life. Whether in the good or the bad, to remind us that He is a good God.
To be slow to anger, patient and understanding, eager to listen, that I might benefit from your wisdom and your gifts.
To be faithful to you, and only you, from now till the end of our time here.
These things, in front of all assembled and our Heavenly Father, I promise to you.
I never thought we would be standing here.
12 years ago, I wasn’t interested in getting married. 7 years ago, I didn’t know Jesus. 6 years ago, I thought we were getting divorced. But here we are.
The marriage we’ve had over the past 10 years is not the marriage we have starting today. Because God has rewritten our stories, individually and together.
Today we have the chance to honor God’s miraculous healing of our relationship by making a completely new covenant.
To me, that begins with washing away the old one. And that begins with repentance and forgiveness.
I repent to you, Lino. For punishing you with expectations. For being unfaithful. For giving up. For my stubbornness, my withholding, my distance, and my rage. I’m sorry for the thousand cuts of the last ten years.
Do you forgive me? (I do.)
And I forgive you, Lino. For hiding from me. For straying. For silencing my conscience. I forgive your stubbornness, your withholding, your distance, and your rage. I forgive the thousand cuts of the last ten years.
Do you receive my forgiveness? (I do.)
All of this is washed away, now, by the precious blood of Jesus.
And because 10 is the number of completion, now we get to close the book on our old marriage and start over fresh. A new marriage full of new promises.
Lino, I promise you that I am here, with you and for you.
I promise to back your play, to look out for your best interests, and to believe in you when you don’t believe in yourself.
I promise to have right priorities. To put God first and to put you ahead of myself; to allow you to have your rightful place as the leader of our family and to honor your decisions once they’re made.
I promise to fight fair, to speak the truth with love, and to receive correction with as much grace as I can muster.
I promise to protect my heart, to be fully yours in every way, to seek you out first and only.
I promise to stop throwing away your stuff without asking first, to cook breakfast for dinner at least once a week, to always cry at the end of 300.
I promise that I will love you for who you are and for who you’re becoming, through all our changes, inside and out, until God calls us home.
I saw Heaven and earth new-created. Gone the first Heaven, gone the first earth, gone the sea. I saw Holy Jerusalem, new-created, descending resplendent out of Heaven, as ready for God as a bride for her husband. I heard a voice thunder from the Throne: “Look! Look! God has moved into the neighborhood, making his home with men and women! They’re his people, he’s their God. He’ll wipe every tear from their eyes. Death is gone for good—tears gone, crying gone, pain gone—all the first order of things gone.” The Enthroned continued, “Look! I’m making everything new.” [Revelation 21:1-5 MSG]
This is my resurrection day Nothing’s gonna hold me in the grave This is my resurrection day Nothing’s gonna hold me down Say goodbye to my yesterdays Ever since I met you I am changed This is my resurrection day Nothing’s gonna hold me down . Rend Collective, “Resurrection Day”
I deserved to get a parking ticket after what happened. But I didn’t. And that made me feel some things.
I put all my money in the meter for an hour and a half in the public parking lot, way more than was strictly necessary. If it took the dentist longer than that to file down one pointy filling, I would definitely have to switch docs.
When my “you have 10 minutes until your meter expires” alarm went off, I asked the receptionist if everything was okay. She hustled away, then back, then speed-walked me into a chair at the back.
In and out in under 3 minutes after waiting for over an hour past my appointment time.
Five minutes left on the meter.
I did my own speed walk through the winding corridors of the mall, sprinting across the street to my car. And as I passed the huge SUV parked next to me, I saw it: yellow paper folded into my windshield wipers.
A parking ticket.
I looked down through the glass and saw that my dash was empty. I must have left the car unlocked and someone took it. Frustrating, but not unusual downtown.
I swore not quite under my breath and snatched up the ticket, already planning to fight it, even without the proof of the missing receipt, boiling with righteous indignation.
I unfolded the paper and, instead of a list of charges, it said:
“Please ensure your ticket is displayed on the dash. Have a good weekend.”
That’s when I noticed the white paper lazing upside down on the steering column. My heart tied itself in a knot. It must have slipped off when I shut the door earlier.
I reached out and turned it over.
One minute to spare.
This happened last week, and I can’t stop thinking about it. I even keep the ticket up on the kitchen shelf where I can remember it as an object lesson.
Parking enforcement is srsbizns in downtown Hamilton. I’ve been ticketed for parking within 30cm of a driveway and for being parked too long at the curb despite having moved my car two blocks because the chalk on my tire ended up in the same position as it started.
Ruth. Less.
But that day? The day when I was whizzing through task after task–both for the big move and my nascent freelance biz–and was frazzled after being patient too long with an overflowing dentist’s office?
That day, I got mercy.
When I didn’t deserve it. When it was my fault for breaking the rules. When it would’ve been a poetically just cap to my hectic, frustrating day.
Because that’s when mercy matters: when we least deserve it.
Not getting a parking ticket is a small thing. But the relief I felt, the rush of endorphins when I realized the parking officer had every right to punish me and chose not to–that mattered. It straightened my perspective. It reminded me to hold on a little looser, to breathe a little deeper–to remember that love shows up in the strangest places but never fails to change things.
It also reminded me to make sure my dang receipt is on the dash next time. Geez.
