Say It Enough, You'll Start to Believe It
|
No post today. Part of believing I can means I have to do it. Today I feel the creative juices flowing and I need to work on my book. I’ve got Hershey’s chocolate by my side, a mug of pumpkin coffee, Mozart playing in the background and two hours to myself.
And have a great weekend! Any fun plans on tap?
Want another peek? This is Frederick, a Nazi soldier stationed in Kiev in World War II. He is a torn character who is ugly and horrifying and completely and totally sympathetic. I have really loved writing his story.
I was ten years old the first time my father took us all to Berlin. The year was 1934 and the memory dances through my mind in moving pictures, every emotion joined together in fluid motion. I remember the sights and sounds of the bustling city as we exited our train at Berlin’s Lehrter Bahnhof and moved to the Nazi provided car. The officer appointed to transport us was solemn and stern and I shrunk back in fear when he looked at me prompting my Father to pinch the back of my neck in annoyance.
He always hated when I showed any semblance of fear and I felt his disappointment as we slid into the plush car.
That trip to Berlin was the first time that I remember being in awe of my father’s status. He was so revered that as we exited the car, hotel staff hurried to us, picking up bags and rushing to our room to set it up in a fashion that was worthy of someone with such great importance.
We stood in our expansive room on the top floor of the Esplanade and looked out over the beautiful city. Talia and I pressed our noses to the cool glass and pointed out the cars and people walking far below us. I was awestruck at the bustle and energy that buzzed through the city.
“The cars look like small toys,” I cooed just before my father stepped up behind us.
“Stand up children,” he snapped, his words sharp and clipped. Talia and I stood and faced our father, my heart beating like a drum. “Good. Now, who can tell me what we worked on earlier this week.”
Because I was always so frightened of my father, it seemed to take me a long time to register any question he asked. Panic that I would produce an unacceptable answer left me mute. Talia thrust her hand in the air.
“Talia?”
“We learned to remain quiet and calm and to not speak unless asked a direct question,” she said with a smile, her bright red hair cascading over slender shoulders. Father smiled and ran his hand down her cheek.
“Very good, my darling,” he said. “Now, Frederick,” he said turning to me. “How are you to greet any official that walks your way?”
My heart raced as I searched for the words to answer my father. I couldn’t find them, so I merely thrust my arm in the air, straight up above my head. Father sighed and shook his head.
“Yes, Frederick,” he said with a heaping portion of annoyance, “but what do you say when you greet them?”
My hand, still high above my head, shook as I searched for the greeting that I knew so well. Why did I always feel so incompetent in his presence?
Talia snapped her heels together and threw her arm up next to me. “Hile Hitler!” she said, throwing me a sideways glance.
“Hile Hitler!” I repeated after her and Father nodded at us both.
“Very good,” he said. “Now go prepare yourselves for dinner.”
©Kelli Stuart, October 2012
You know what that is?!
That is our NEARLY COMPLTED STACK OF ADOPTION PAPERWORK!!
We are waiting on two pieces of paper and the completed home study, which all should arrive any day now. When it arrives, we will make all the copies, get everything notarized and ship it to our agency.
I thought that when I completed all of this, I would be done with paperwork.
Then I began applying for grants.
Than I almost cried.
Then I got over it because each paper gathered is a step closer to meeting our daughter.
Day 10: I believe we are going to make it through the paperwork phase. The light at the end of the tunnel is getting a tiny bit brighter.
I’m taking a break from my 31 Days topic because, quite frankly, I’m a little bored with it. I can only be serious for so long, folks, then my brain starts to smoke and tremor with the need to be ridiculous. I am not what you might call a “deep thinker.” I mean, I can pontificate (look out now – big word!) and dwell on things now and again and from time to time, I do feel the need to dig deep and write and talk pretty.
But then the silly must come out and I have to release the inner dialogue of humor that runs on a constant loop in my head or so help me, I will end up bursting out laughing at the most inappropriate of times.
Like church.
Or a funeral.
Or pretty much any situation that requires a certain amount of decorum and maturity.
So basically, I’m a twelve year old boy.
*this is the part where I eloquently transition to a new topic*
I shipped the kiddies off to school today and came to the beach. Because…well, because I can. Don’t hate. I’ve seen you all on Facebook talking about apple picking and pumpkin patching and wearing your scarves and boots and drinking your yuppy Starbucks.
blah, blah, blah…
All I have right now is the beach. Somebody call the Waaaambulance…
For the next three months, I will be desperately missing St. Louis. Just brace yourselves for it. It is what it is. I miss the pumpkin patch. I long to visit Eckert’s and stock up on 52 lbs of apples that we will never be able to eat before they all rot.
I miss the chill of fall and my boots. Sometimes I sit on the floor in the closet and whisper to my boots tenderly. I remind them that they’re still loved and I run my hand over them so they know they’re not alone. I may even whisper My Precious now and then, just so they know I’m here and I miss them.
While I am longing for autumn, I will fall back on the only thing I have. A rockin’ pair of sandles and the sunny shoreline of my favorite beach. And I will remind myself that Jesus probably likes the beach better than pumpkin patches and apple orchards, too.
And I will feel better.
Come January, I’m sorry, but I will no longer miss Midwest weather. I won’t miss snow and ice and temps that make you feel like your nose is falling off the second you step outside. I will walk outside with glee, and my boots and I will probably be reunited a few times before it gets too hot and I must send them back to the closet.
And that’s all I have to say about that.
*insert clever transition sentence here*
It’s a rough time to be four years old in the Stuart household these days. In the last two days, the four year old in our midst has colored on the bedroom carpet with purple marker…and the wall. He has slammed into the curtains in a moment of preschool insanity and pulled the curtain rods from the wall. And he has dropped and shattered a glass jar on the tile floor.
Guess what happens when your entire house is tiled and a glass jar shatters?
Glass. Goes. Everywhere.
You know what? Discard what I said above. It’s not hard to be a four year old right now – it’s hard to be the mother of a four year old right now!
I feel like this right here:
I bet she has a four year old bird back at the nest who is slowly, and completely by accident, destroying everything, too. I feel her pain. I just might curl up next to her and bask in the sun. She totally has the right idea.
*pretend I say something wildly hilarious here*
So I’m gonna go now. I’m sitting in a coffee shop right by the water and the beach is calling my name. Literally, I hear it. The waves lap the shore and each time they do I hear, Keeelllliiiii….Cooooommmmeee….Plllllaaaaaayyyyyy.
I shall not ignore the ocean any longer lest I be smote.
Have a good Tuesday. I feel so much better having released the nonsense inside my head.
Nine and a half years ago, I set out on quite the adventure to make my dream of writing a book about World War II Ukraine come true.
I had a publisher lined up at the time for what was supposed to be a non-fiction book entitled Letters to Kelli. For roughly three years, Ukrainian World War II vets had been sending me letters with their stories of the war. I met a school teacher when I studied in Kiev in college who believed in my love for the culture and history of her country and she began this Letters to Kelli series in her school newspaper.
I was five months pregnant and figured it was as good a time as any to take off for Ukraine for a month. I had planned on going alone, as Lee had to work, but my husband and parents put their foot down and insisted my mom accompany me.
Sometimes I’m a little too adventurous for my own good.
I arrived in Kiev, Ukraine on March 16, 2003, days before we went to war with Iraq and the very same day SARS became an international epidemic. In other words, I had perfect timing.
Want to build your husband’s faith? Take your pregnant body overseas during a time of international upheaval and call him the day after you arrive with a deep, chesty cough. He’ll thank you for it.
Or not.
Bless his heart.
While on the trip, my Mom took perhaps the most epic pregnancy picture ever. You’re welcome for this:
Epic
For one month, Mom and I travelled the Ukrainian countryside interviewing veterans, walking on land ripe with history (did you know Hitler had an underground bunker in Ukraine and an assassination attempt was made on his life in that country?!) and falling more in love with my home away from home.
It was a hard trip, but it was also beautiful. I heard story after story of survival as aged men and women shared with me their wisdom from years lived under Soviet Rule and the days spent fighting Nazi brutality. I spoke with soldiers who shared their stories with such passion and emotion. As they spoke, I could see them reliving the moments.
“We were more than just soldiers,” one man said to me. “We were people.”
To me, these were just stories, but to them they were memories – experiences come to life.
I spoke with women who fought. I spoke with those who joined the partisan army, performing underground maneuvers to thwart the Nazi’s quest for domination. I spoke with Christians who fought to protect the persectued Jews and who were gravely punished for their protection.
Did you know that Ukraine had the greatest loss of life per capita than any other country in the world during World War II? Ukraine’s population was largely Jewish and the Jews were being attacked and persecuted by both the Nazis and Soviets. In addition, Ukraine was known for its rich soil and land ripe for harvest and Hitler made it a point to focus on that region of the Soviet Union.
I heard these stories from the men and women that lived them and I came home with a new vision. Just translating their stories wasn’t enough, and I couldn’t get legal permission to use the stories verbatim anyway.
So my book is based on their stories. My novel compiles their tales together into four characters and my deepest desire is that it honors them the way they deserve to be honored.
Why has it taken me so long to finish the book? When it’s all said and done, I will have been working on this for a decade.
I didn’t want to let them down. I love those people fiercely. Most of the men and women I spoke with have passed away at this point, but I want their stories to live on in a way that honors their memories.
It’s taken so long because I can’t afford to mess it up.
I wrote 1,500 words this morning bringing my total word count to just over 86,000. I’m getting so close. I’m going to do this!
Day 8 of 31: I am one step closer to accomplishing this dream.
Join me and the hundreds of others who are participating in Nester’s 31 Day challenge.
Oh, and if you are interested in donating to our adoption fund, we would really love to hit the $1,000 mark this week. I plan to share more about our heart for adoption soon, but for now we would love for you to join us on the journey. There are miracles happening, friends…
Choose courage over safety, chance over predictability.
Happy Saturday.
This is the sixth post in my 31 Day Series on embracing confidence and living boldly. For more 31 Day posts, click here.
This morning I woke up and checked Facebook. My uncle had posted this as his status, an excerpt from my cousin Sean’s amazing book, People Who Sing Jesus. I told you all about the book here. Have you read it yet? You should. It’s amazing…
People who sing Jesus understand that before they can do anything for God there is the humbling realization that God says about each of them: “I made you and I love you. You have no idea the great thoughts I have about you.” The essence of the first commandment is the ultimate expression of the Divine declaring intimacy with humanity. No matter your faith tradition, before any person can actually do or not do something for the Creator, there is the matter of God’s real presence making the first call. Anything we do for God is a response to Divine action and initiative. The focus is not on human activity but on the enduring work of the gospel that the Holy Spirit initiates in every time zone, zip code, and culture of the world, including each of our lives. We take action inspired by the Creator who took original action pre-genesis.
Sean Cooper – People Who Sing Jesus
I was created to be a writer. I was created to be a wife to my husband. I was created to parent these three amazing children. I was created with a love for people. I was created with stories to tell. I was created to one day adopt.
I was created to love Nutella!
I was created with so much purpose.
I do all of these things out of response to the Creator who knit them inside me from the beginning of time. I was created to sing His praises. I was created to love and be loved.
So knowing these things, why wouldn’t I walk forward in complete confidence?
The Nester has challenged all of us to take 31 Days and write about one topic. This is part of my series of embracing who I was created to be and walking in full confidence.
In seventh grade, I sat in the musty gym of Crestview Middle School for yet another pep rally. This time, we were to hear speeches from the nominated candidates for Class President. There were three current eighth graders/soon-to-be ninth graders who were running for the coveted title of Crestview Middle School Student Body President.
Of the three I only remember one of them.
Her name was Tracy Something and she had the most amazing permed hair (early nineties, friends – we all had permed hair) and her bangs were teased into a perfect flower on her forehead. She was the epitomy of cool and her looks alone already had my vote. But then she took to the microphone and gave a speech that brought the house down.
“As your student body president,” she shouted into the mic, “I promise to make changes around this school, starting with the bathrooms.”
*cue hearty applause*
“I promise to get rid of those terrible square toilet paper holders and have them replaced with round ones so that the toilet paper actually unravels for us all!”
Screams. Applause. Laughter. Foot stomping.
This was good stuff.
You see, the toilet paper holders were a nuisance. They were square pieces of metal, so the round rolls of toilet paper were shoved onto the square holders making it impossible to actually unroll the toilet paper. You had to unravel it, one square at a time, and given that it was paper thin 1-ply toilet paper, this was often a cumbersome and annoying task.
Needless to say, Tracy Something got voted in and when we came back the following year, I fully expected to see her promised changes. On the first day of eighth grade, I went to the bathroom only to be disappointed. The toilet paper holders had not changed.
“No worries,” I thought. “Tracy Something promised to have these replaced, so I’m sure she will get it done by the time the first quarter is over.”
But she didn’t. In fact, I rarely heard or saw from Tracy Something at all that year. And all year long, I continued to unravel my toilet paper one square at a time, continual evidence of a promise unkept.
Last night, I watched the Denver Debate and listened as both condidates made promise after promise, but I’ve learned a thing or two since eighth grade. I’ve learned that political promises only take you so far. A political promise is just a game for votes. It’s a high stakes guessing game where each candidate tries to assess what will garner them the most support.
They are promising us round toilet paper holders, and to sweeten the deal, they each guaranteed we’d have at least 2-ply toilet paper.
Promises don’t mean a lot in politics. I get that. I watched with amusement as every Obama supporter on Twitter screamed “ROMNEY IS A LIAR!” (I know they screamed it because they used ALL CAPS!) And on the other side, Romney supporters bellowed “NO WAY! OBAMA IS THE LIAR!” (I know they bellowed because they used ALL CAPS!)
Could it be that both are lying? Could it be that both are making promises that will be impossible to keep and they know it?
Let’s all share our toilet paper with one another – that’s the American Way!
No! I promise you’ll each have your own share of toilet paper and you won’t need to share it unless you want to!
I’ll give you 2-ply! But only if you make a certain amount of money. If you make too much money, I’ll have to use your toilet paper to help everyone else!
I’ll give you 3-ply! And I’ll create toilet paper factories around the nation so everyone will have all they need and more!
I’ll give you the softest dang toilet paper you’ve ever known! Then we’ll join hands and sing Kumbaya because I’m gonna make the world a better place!
And on and on it goes…
Listen, I understand that politics are rough. It’s a tight little dance a politician must do in order to stay true to what he believes and still make The People happy. No politician will ever be able to follow through with everything he says he will. It doesn’t matter if he’s a Republican or Democrat.
The system is set up in such a way that no president can keep his promises.
We have square holders and round rolls. That’s all we’ve got! So we do the best we can do with what we have and at the end of the day we realize that our toiliet paper will probably never unroll on it’s own. And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not have someone in the stall trying to unravel it for me.
So I’ll think about and remember Tracy Something and her awesome hair. I’ll listen to the issues with an open mind and I will vote based more on facts and less on emotion because in the end, I know that I will still have to unravel my toilet paper one square at a time.
And I’m honestly okay with that.
I’d rather take care of my own messes anyway…
*disclaimer: I am not trying to start a fight, nor am I trying to be cynical. In fact, I find it all amusing at this point. Let’s all have a good laugh together, ‘kay? We can even sing Kumbaya if it would make you feel better…
*disclaimer two: I realize this seems like I’m veering away from my 31 Days topic, but actually I’m not. This month is all about me embracing confidence and shunning self-doubt. Normally I would be afraid of making you mad, so today I’m believing I can have a little fun with politics without angering the internets.
Ever so slowly, I chip away at my novel. Just like The Little Engine that Could, I find myself slowly chugging up the mountain, straining to reach the top. The problem with writing a novel (particularly a historical fiction novel, which relies as much on historical accuracy as it does creative license) is that it’s an up hill climb the whole time. And simply finding the time to write is proving to be the biggest hurdle of all.
I need another week in California to knock this thing out.
Just sayin’…
Whatcha think, Babe? Think I could sneak away for five more days?
You wouldn’t miss me…right?
*sigh*
Here is another sneak peek at the novel that I am fighting to finish. I hope you enjoy.
Set up: Maria and Polina have been sent from Kiev, Ukraine to Northern Germany to work in a slave labor camp assembling armaments for the Nazi’s. The conditions are poor, just a step above those in the concentration camps.
A deep, rattling cough has settled in Polina’s chest and I see her movements slowing down steadily. She is sick and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Nothing but offer her half a piece of stale bread and a hand to hold on to in the dark.
It’s been a little over a year since the war began – since everything changed. I have nothing left of my former life but the memories that haunt my dreams – the echoes of laughter and sorrow that mix together in a swirl of black and yellow each night. I worry about Sergei and wonder where he is and what he’s doing. Is he alive? Is he well?
I have convinced myself that Anna is safe and refuse to consider the possibility that she might not be. I’ve heard from the other girls that when they examined our hands at the train station, they were looking for strong hands that could perform hard labor. If the hands looked too soft and the girls too dainty, they were sent to another part of Germany to work as housekeepers or nannies.
I pray this is where Anna is, because then I know she must be safe. In a house full of children with only the chores of cooking and cleaning, Anna will be in her element and it gives me hope for her survival.
I cannot think of Mama and Papa without my chest burning with sorrow. How frightened they must be with all of us gone and no hope for knowing where we are. It is the thought of them that gives me the most heartache.
It’s dark tonight and we are finally heading home. We work sixteen to eighteen hours a day and the labor truly is wretched. We stand the whole time, sometimes lifting heavy containers. My fingers are raw and rough from the long days of moving metal and turning and screwing on the caps that will seal the fate of one of my countrymen.
Polina wheezes steadily next to me, her chest giving off a deep rattle. She is so sick.
“You shouldn’t work tomorrow,” I say, my voice thick with fatigue.
“If I don’t work, they will kill me,” she responds.
“I thought that’s what you wanted,” I answer quietly and immediately regret my words. Polina labors forward a moment in silence.
“Yes,” she says finally. “It is what I want, but…” She grows quiet and I wait as a coughing fit racks her body. Stopping to lean forward, I hear her coughing up fluids and spitting bitterly in the grass at our feet. I cannot see her in the dark, but I can guess that she is spitting out blood and my heart goes cold.
Taking a breath and straightening up, Polina pulls hard on my arm. “Help me back,” she whispers. I hear the sound of the German boots coming up swiftly behind us.
“Walk quickly!” he snaps, jabbing me in the side. Polina and I stumble to catch up to the moving line.
“I don’t want to die at their hands,” Polina whispers, her voice tight and constricted. “I don’t want them to have the satisfaction of hearing me moan as they burn my body alive. I want to die on my own.”
It’s true, what she says. I know that it is. I haven’t seen the ovens where they burn the bodies, but I’ve heard of them. They are real and sometimes girls are still alive when they’re lit. Tears prick my eyes, hot and bitter as we step across the threshold of the camp, our home in hell.
“I just need to lay down,” Polina says and I nod. Most of the girls make their way to the bath house where they will wash off the grime of today’s work, but I turn with Polina and we slowly walk back to the barrack. I pull Polina through the door and set her down gently before heading to the lamp and striking a match to light the wick inside. The single, burning lamp gives a light orange glow which dimly flicks at each barren wall with a sorrowful shadow. I pick Polina up under the arms and drag her to the small pallet on the floor that is left for the sickest girls who are unable to climb into the bunks along the wall.
She is so light, her body nothing but skin stretched taught over bones.
©Kelli Stuart; October 2012
The Nester has issued a 31 Day Challenge in which we write for 31 days on a single topic. Over 1,000 people have joined in and the internet is ripe with learning and encouragement right now. I have chosen 31 Days of Believing I Can. Scroll down for more of what I’m learning as I embrace confidence. Today, I believe I can finish this book…by the time I die. Let’s just go with that.
Do you remember being in awe of nature as a child? Did you ever sit beneathe a black-blue sky dotted with a milliion stars and gasp at the wonder of it all? Did you marvel at a sunset or watch the clouds float by in an array of shapes.
An alligator! An elephant! A one-legged dog!
I remember specifically being around nine or ten years old and we had gone on a camping trip to some Jellystone Park in somewhere Wisconsin. While my parents worked hard to crank open the pop up camper, my brother and I romped in the wooded fields around us as the sun sank lower beyond the trees. And then we both stopped and gasped.
The glow of the moon lifted above the treeline before the moon itself appeared. It was huge and orange and seemed to hover just above the ground, willing us to reach out and touch. I remember standing breathless for several moments. I wanted to step forward and cross the expanse of sky to enter the golden, shimmery world that seemed to be just steps away.
As a roaring fire cackled and we prepared to bunk down for the night, I stole continual glances at the moon, which continued to rise up above the Earth, the orange hue fading and morphing into a brilliant white. A diamond in the sky.
I remember the magic of that moment, and it’s not the only time the moon’s nearness has stopped me in my tracks. There is something so glorious about the moon and it’s nearness and proximity.
Saturday night, we were in Clearwater with the boys while Tia spent the night at a friend’s house. The boys played football outside while Lee and I enjoyed a few rare moments of adult conversation. As the sky faded to a dusky grey, both boys came tumbling into the condo, screeching and motioning us to come.
I had a glass of wine in my hand, my feet were propped up and I was enjoying the grown up conversation. But something in their eyes beckoned me to set the glass down and follow them out.
“You halfta see this!” they cried, motioning wildly. Lee and I followed them out and we stopped and gasped. The moon hung low over the Earth, bright and orange and filled with a golden magic.
“Isn’t it amazing?” Sloan asked and I remembered that night in the campground, when I felt it entirely possible to step off of Earth and run amongst the stars.
This month, I believe in living life with childlike wonder.
This month, I am participating in The Nester’s 31 Day challenge, in which over 1,000 participants have chosen to write about one topic for 31 days. I choose to spend 31 Days Believing I Can. If you are stopping by from Nester’s site, welcome! Let me know in the comments so I can visit your site in return.
|
Recent Comments