By John W. Vander Velden
A Broken Teacup
By John W. Vander Velden
If you searched the cupboard of a woman I once knew, you would find at least one broken teacup, standing unused in the far reaches behind all the unblemished. Once I drew out a bit of china examined how it had been carefully reassembled, the yellowed glue the only sign of its repair. “This cup is beautiful, why don’t you use it?”
“It’s broken,” the only response. And I wondered why she had gone to the labor of putting it together, piece by piece.
In life every person faces blows, physical, emotional, spiritual. On occasions most of us find ourselves unable to withstand the force of the impact we must face. Things bend us, things at last, break us. For, though few would acknowledge, we are as delicate as bone china.
I am a broken teacup, shattered by trials and pains of life. My pieces have been scattered, laid out, but never lost. Mended over time, none can see the fractures, few know they exist.
But I do not find myself upon the shelf, not yet anyway. For my God places me among others, which seem pristine, upon the table. Through my tears I say. “I am broken and ugly.”
And God responds, “I have gathered all your pieces, the small as well as the large. I have bound them together and have made you whole again. Broken time and time again but mended by My hand. There is yet much you can do.”
Through my breaking and repairs and in my truthful examination of each chip and crack, my compassion for others grows. I have been mended…and yes, there is much I can do, for my task remains incomplete. So I say, “Fill me Lord.”
You see…I am a broken teacup…perhaps you are as well.
(299 Words) 12-24-2015
Only One More 7-2-2013
By John W. Vander Velden
Shutter at the thought…that there could be a time when I would only be able to write one last piece. Would I choose something meaningful to a family member…some words of wisdom to pass? Would I find a desperate need to explain a past deed of beg forgiveness for some grievous action. Would I pour myself into something masterful…that I would hope might endure. I fear I would squander away the time and opportunity by the inability to make a decision.
Perhaps it must begin with what I hope my simple words could accomplish…why I write in the first place. I am first and foremost a storyteller…It might be considered my crown or my curse. Many stories roam around, within my cranium, yearning to find life upon the page. What do these stories have in common…that is other than having the same source…well sorta’? I feel each has some lesson buried inside…some obvious…others not so much. But each of these stories are an extension of ME…whether I like or not.
So what would I wish to say in my final written words? Maybe it would be time to stop beating around the bush…go directly to what matters most. So what matters most? What truly needs to be said? Decision time again… I believe in the basic goodness of people…some might disagree. The news shows so much of the other side, it would be easy to believe that all goodness left on the “last train to the coast” (Don McLane, “Bye, Bye, American Pie”). And I will not debate that we are all so very far from perfect. But I would wish I could convince others, that we are made by GOD and “GOD don’t make no junk”. But how?
Maybe that’s what I’m doing. Perhaps all the stories I have composed…perhaps all the stories I will create are patches on a quilt made up of their sum. The happy stories…the sad…the serious works and the lighthearted…the short essays and scarce bit of poetry…the short story and the novel are all bits of the whole. That together they make up the one thing I am to write. Just as it takes many bricks to build a house, perhaps it takes all these stories…those written and those begging to see day’s light, to become the one thing that really matters.
(403 Words)
Journey
By John W. Vander Velden
Each day, we resume our journey. The journey most calls their lives.
And as we venture forward, one way or another, we interact with others. Most of those “others” are the same “others” that we have had connected to before. The circle of acquaintances that make up our lives, which include family, friends, coworkers, neighbors, and a random assortment of people that have become an important to us in other ways as well.
On this daily trek, opportunities arise that introduce us to some, whose own journey would not seem to intersect with ours in a meaningful way. Perhaps by chance, thought I believe those encounters are nudged along by greater forces, we come to meet…someone. And there are times what appears a random encounter proves to become something greater.
Friends and how we gather them, has always been, an enigma to me. Maybe that is how it should be. For friendship cannot be forced and last, but true friendship lasts throughout our lifetime. Perhaps longer. And it is not the number of friends we have accumulated, but the bond our friendship forms which truly matters.
I write these ramblings, with a relatively new friend on my mind. Our life’s journeys only brushed lightly in their passing, but in those subtle contacts, something larger than I had imagined came to be.
Friendship.
Now this friend comes to my mind often, as that particular friend faces life’s challenges. I am reminded that each of us must deal with the unwanted situations and the unexpected demands that living gives. And such is the situation this friend faces.
I pray for this friend, as I pray for many others. You see it makes no difference how this connection came to be or how long our friendship has existed. This person is a friend, and I care about my friends.
Isn’t that the way it should be?
Empathy, caring, is part of the man I am. It has its price. At times that price is very high. But Empathy also has its rewards.
You see, because I care, I have a new friend, and friends are the most genuine gems, we accumulate as we move forward, on this journey called life.
(367 Words) 1-14-2023
Shouting Into the Void
By John W. Vander Velden
Many times I can’t help but wonder if these “Ramblings” really reach anyone. Days when it feels as if I am standing on a hill in a large pasture at midnight shouting out to the darkness, shouting out to the stars, shouting into the void.
I check my blogs statistics. I see the number of page views that slowly grow. I see the names of countries across the globe, the places people live, the places people access my feeble words. These things should bring me satisfaction. Reinforce my resolve to continue. Yet I wonder, often, does my words really mean anything, or are they but mumblings of a fool.
I had selfish goals when I began this experiment on March 1st 2012, to build a following, an audience. I was told a writer needs an internet presence, and blogging was a way to generate that presence. I knew nothing of blogging at the time. I’d only read a few. But I decided that if I would blog it would require a commitment…six months minimum. I had twenty posts written before I posted the first…that’s four months’ worth. Like I said commitment.
The work required has always made me wonder if it was the best way to spend my “writing time”. And taken on the surface, the hours required for each week’s post would seem to be better spent on other projects. But with the passing of time my opinion has changed…some. Though I still hope to generate a following, it is no longer the reason I sweat over these short piece. It is my hope that I have something to say…don’t we all…but more, to have something to say of relevance.
For those that have these years read this blog, whether weekly or at random intervals, I thank you. But times I ask the question. Do my words matter? Do they mean anything at all? Or am I simply shouting into the void.
(335 Words) 2-23-2016/7/25/2024
New Green
By John W. Vander Velden
I am reminded, with the fresh new leaves that show themselves first in early May that spring has come. Mom told how “new green” was her favorite…her favorite color…her favorite time of the year. Strange how so many decades as I toiled to prepare for another crop, carrying unending demands, immense responsibilities, I never noticed…really. Spring came and with it the race I ran, a race with too few days, containing too few hours. I drove myself, focused but unseeing.
But the long race and past’s burdens, has left its mark. Youth’s stamina has abandoned and in its place just a few moments to, as I catch my breath, see some of what was overlooked before. Weary bones and aching muscles remind me of my mortality. This old horse ain’t what he was. But that’s alright. It is probably too much to ask GOD for another thirty years. But whether HE gives me thirty years or thirty minutes I should not squander a one. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t take the time to walk the spring woods, whisper to the violets that sprinkle the ground with their blossoms. It doesn’t mean that I should not whistle back to the cardinal that calls to me from the treetops. It does not mean I should not fill my lungs with the fragrance of lilacs or allow the warm spring breeze to muss my hair. Life is a gift an adventure of many facets. I will force myself to be content with past’s accomplishments, accepting my failings as well as victories. But I remain excited about tomorrow…and all the tomorrows that lie before me, be they one or twenty thousand. And I will take the time to notice the “new green”, and I expect it will be my favorite as well…. 5-16-2016 (302 Words)
The Optimist
By John W. Vander Velden
I would consider myself an optimist. I think being an optimist is a good thing. It means that you are hopeful about what lies before you. Seeing the better, if not the best, drives me to trust others. But being an optimist carries a price…and sometimes that price is high. For seldom do things follow the perfect path and often optimism leads to disappointment. Disappointment leads to questions, questions about many things, but most often whether my hopes have been well placed to begin with.
I am not a fool, or at least I hope I am not a fool. During those times I have been crushed, I recognized that hopes and reality rarely mesh completely. Yet, I continue to hope for the best but remain certain I will have to settle for what comes. Seems a bit ridiculous doesn’t it? Maybe it is. But, to me, it beats the alternative. Should I expect disaster on every turn and be surprised when destruction does not come? Would living in such a “dark cloud” improve my daily life? Yes, living so would eliminate the moments of disappointments, but would not everyday be filled with depressed feelings of a world filled with impossibilities.
That type of existence does not seem a “living life to the fullest” kinda’ life. But perhaps I understand that darkness more than others. For though I would call myself an optimist, I deal with a chronic darkness. Few would know that facet of my health. I do not mention this weakness for sympathy or some misplaced honor, but rather as a statement of fact…it is something I have to deal with every day. Everyone has battles they face, unknown to all but their closest, and this is one of mine.
Perhaps optimism fuels depression. Who can say? Perhaps feeling deeply about things fuels it. I couldn’t tell you. But I am an optimist. I hope for things that seem beyond the normal range of possibility…even though I understand those results are unlikely. Optimism sees the candle in a dark room. Pessimism stands near that small light and only sees the blackness. Which would you prefer to be?
I see God in what others might believe a cold dark world. If that is the only light I see…then let me be the optimist!
(387 Words) 3-7-2017
