Gully Washer - Friday Fiction

>> Friday, June 4, 2010

My very good friend, Vonnie, is hosting Friday Fiction today.  Won't you go there and read awesome stories?  You won't be disappointed!  Happy Friday!  

My story didn't place yet again, on the top 40.  How sad is that?  But...I like it and I hope you do, too.  The topic was inspiration or writer's block.

Gully Washer

I slouched in the chair, computer on lap, television remote in hand, flipping through channels. Totally uninspired, I groaned and moaned. My husband walked by to check out the noise.

“What’s going on? Sounds like you’re constipated.”

“I can’t think of what to write. Actually, that’s what it feels like…constipation. I’m blocked – completely.”
“I could run to the pharmacy for you.”

“You’re so clever. Wish you could, though. Oh, to pop a pill or eat prunes to get my creative juices flowing again!”

Rich left me to my misery. I supposed he figured we both shouldn’t have to suffer for my inadequacies. Constipated and inadequate…wow! I decided I was out-of-balance. How I came to that conclusion, I’m not really sure, except that’s usually my problem.

I closed my laptop...tight…done for the night…maybe for life.

‘Tossed and Turned’ would be a good title for my sleep. Sweat poured off me, and I kicked away the covers. I believe I kicked Rich a couple of times in the process. Constipated, inadequate, out-of-balance, and add hot flashes to the mix. What a sorry excuse for a ‘Proverbs 31’ woman I was! My eyes began to drizzle down my cheeks and my nose plugged up.

“What now, Kay? I’m trying to sleep.”

“I know,” I hiccupped. “I’m sorry.” That’s all I could say before the drizzle turned into a gully washer. Rich flopped the other direction, his back towards me, of course, and snored, deep bass snores that keep me awake almost every night.

That got my thoughts swerving in a different direction. After almost twenty-seven years of marriage, Rich no longer looked at me the same. The thought made me cry even more…high-pitched, hiccupy cries that I couldn’t stop if I wanted.

I rolled out of bed to fill the front room with my misery, and filled it I did: constipated, inadequate, out-of-balance, hot flashes, and frumpy. I curled up in the recliner, tissues nearby, and my Bible perched on my lap.

I fell asleep, Bible unopened. A deep sleep rested my soul until a voice woke me.


I jumped up and hobbled to our room to see what Rich wanted. He lay there sound asleep, still snoring, so I went back to the recliner until I heard it again.

“Kay, are you listening to me?”

I jumped up and ran back to Rich. Still sound asleep and snoring.

This time it took me a bit longer to fall asleep myself, and then I stayed in that dreamy half-awake state when I heard, “Kay, I’m here to help. Are you listening?”

I stirred a little, “God?”

“It’s me. I’m here to unconstipate you. “You need to unplug and listen.”

I proceeded to blow my nose since it was rather plugged.

“Not your nose, Kay, unplug from all the distractions in your life that pull you away from Me.”

After our ‘chat’, I fell back into a deep sleep. In fact, I probably snored myself, but a more feminine noise, ‘Puft, whiff, wooo.”

Amazed I slept all night in that chair, I tentatively stood and stretched while I listened to the crackle of my bones.

I looked up ‘whisper’ in my Bible concordance and it led me right smack to 1 Kings. The Lord didn’t speak through the wind or the earthquake or the fire. He spoke to Elijah in a whisper. God had spoken to me in a whisper just enough to get me unconstipated – His words, not mine.

My laptop called to me and I surely hoped God didn’t mean to unplug that. My fingers swept across the keyboard. Sentences filled the screen. I hardly breathed until my thoughts were exhausted and a complete story written.

God pulled me through that crisis. I sat, ‘relieved’ from my torture in more ways than one, if you know what I mean, but then tears threatened to spill again. Wow! I wonder if all middle-aged women have such a roller-coaster ride through this time of life.

A quick learner, after only about fifty times God’s taught me this lesson, I ran directly to Him, no phoning a friend, or griping to my husband first, either.

“Okay Lord, You took care of the constipated writer part of me. Now can You work on the inadequate, out-of-balance, hot-flashing, frumpy me?” Light drizzle, a little heavier, weather alert’s going off – and there goes another gully washer.

Post a Comment

Related Posts with Thumbnails
Powered by Blogger.

  © Blogger template Simple n' Sweet by 2009

Back to TOP