Doors and Windows

The tick seems louder. The clock on the wall of my office once hung on the wall above the breakfast bar between the kitchen and dining room in my childhood home. It’s a wood-framed clock with a two-paned glass door and the face of the clock is embroidered. I’m sure it was made from...
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Daddy clung to the old rugged cross. He laid down his trophies and clung to the shame, the reproach and the anguish of the cross of Jesus Christ without apology. Galen Ray Courtney was an intelligent man, full of ingenuity and genius. He held a patent for an original design while employed at AT&T; he...
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If you’re a teenager, you probably think your Dad is a dork. His quirks, habits and rules seem so alien that you swear you’ll never be like your parents. Good luck with that. I used to call my Daddy “Mr. Safety.” He seemed so obsessed with safety precautions that I dreaded riding with him in...
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Daddy didn’t talk much. Every morning he woke up at five, exercised, read his Bible then left for work. When he got home, he read the paper, watched the news, read a book or sat with the family for a while before calling it a day. His profession as an electrical engineer also kept him...
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I was packed for a cruise to the Bahamas when I got the call: Daddy died of a massive heart attack. Details were sketchy, but his last minutes on earth were spent snow-blowing his driveway. This month marks one year since he left. I repacked my suitcase to accommodate the New Hampshire winter, but kept...
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Rachel lingers on the bench outside the Afterglow Journey Center. She pulls Mrs. Stone’s book of poetry out of her briefcase and reads the next poem. It’s 10:20 AM. We sit on the couch an inch apart, a sea between us. He grips my hand as a line thrown to a drowning man ~ The weight of...
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Rachel is absorbed in Mrs. Stone’s book of poetry amidst a restless sea of defendants and plaintiffs, all waiting for their day in court. It’s 9:45 a.m. When lies are love and love is a lie When truth is pain one can’t deny How does a heart fulfill its vow When fear ...
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Rachel’s court date is delayed. She stuffs Mrs. Stone’s journal in her briefcase and heads out. It’s 9:05 AM. The first poem in Mrs. Stone’s journal was short, but drenched with pain—my pain. Betrayal and lies all wrapped up in a cloak of romance. It stung, and dredged up nasty...
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Rachel walks to the elevator with Mrs. Stone’s journal in her hand. It is 8:45 a.m._____________________________________________ I don’t remember walking to the elevator. In fact, I don’t remember anything from the moment Mrs. Stone handed me her journal until I opened it and began reading. “Read this before you go...
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Mrs. Stone’s story of the late Russell Stone hit a nerve in Rachel. It is 8:30 a.m. ___________________ The anger rising in me was shocking. I wanted to run like villagers do when the volcano they live by day in and day out starts rumbling. Mrs. Stone could see the eruption forming...
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