Restless heart, hear me calling

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Dawn breaks early through my plantation blinds. I’ve been tossing for hours, drifting in and out of sleep. My mind has been racing, making lists of things I need to do and catalouging all that I’ve accomplished.

This light won’t help me return to sleep.

I’m drowsy as I lie here in this tangle of sheets, but rest will not come. I’ve surrendered instead to the urge to write. My eyes can barely see these words as I scribble them onto this notebook page.

Perhaps a mid-afternoon nap will be in order.

The lines that serve as guides on this page have long since escaped me. In this early morning light, only the first few words of each line are visible to me. Such is the angle at which my head lies.

I am so tired. Sleep, come.

Let’s fall in love – why shouldn’t we fall in love?

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I saw the UPS man stop in front of my apartment building and said to myself, “That better be for me.” When he knocked on my door moments later, those words echoed in my mind. It’s almost my birthday – my roommates better not be receiving packages now!

After I signed the UPS man’s pad and chatted with him about playing guitar (I was practicing when he arrived), I was alone and free to inspect the box in my hands.

It is delightful to hold a package addressed to you from amazon.com when you possess only a small idea of what may be inside. During my brief walk from the front door to the kitchen, questions tumbled over one another in my mind. “Who is it from?” (I had my guesses.) “What could it be?” (I was betting on a CD, based on the CD to book ratio on my wish list and the weight of the package.) “Which CD is it?” (I’ve really been craving some jazz today – could it be that Diana Krall CD I’ve been wanting? Or perhaps the Toad CD that’s high on my list – I could go for some rock as well.)

Once inside the kitchen, I reached for the scissors and sliced away the tape that separated me from my gift. (Have I mentioned that I love presents?!) I pulled out the several layers of packing material and found beneat them a small silver gift wrapped package. Aha! A CD it is indeed! Is there a card attached? (Surely there is. Who sends gifts anonymously?!) I pulled the CD out of its oversized box and held my new toy in my hands for the first time. I pulled the packing list off of the pretty paper. Yes! There’s the card! And what do you know – my guess on the sender was right. How fun!

(Clearly, it doesn’t take much to make my day!)

If you want my child, you gotta take my kin

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Family is a phenomenon that I don’t quite understand.

Everyone’s family is a bit strange – this is something I’ve been told time and again. I’d definitely say mine is no exception to that rule.

Before I go any further, let me preface this by saying that I love my family very much. I am related to them after all. While that doesn’t necessarily go with the territory, I think it should.

Still, I don’t fully understand the way that my family functions. We’re not terribly close knit – never have been. To be quite honest with you, I don’t understand families that are, though I do hope someday to have a close knit family of my own. But for my family, holidays have always been more of a time that we are forced to hang out together because that’s just what you do, not a time where we are excited about spending quality time with one another.

When I visit my extended family in Birmingham, I can’t help but think to myself, “I’m not so sure they even like me. Love me, probably. But like me? I don’t know about that.” We just don’t have that much to talk about. My sister is the bubbly, outgoing, entertaining one. I sit on the sidelines and observe. I don’t really know them, and they don’t really know me. I don’t know how to change that. Sometimes, I’m not even sure if I want to put the effort into it being any other way.

All of this concerns me. I don’t want these patterns to carry over into the family that I will someday co-lead with my husband. I want to have a good relationship with my in-laws, as well as see my husband interacting with my parents and siblings comfortably. I love my family, despite of their many quirks. (Hey, we all have them, right?) It’s important to me that the man I someday marry love them, as well. I pray, though, that the family the two of us will create together will still be altogether different than the one from which I originate.

Once, twice, three times a lady

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Scene 1: Flickering candlelight provides the room’s only illumination as the faint scent of honeysuckle lingers in the air. From a corner, strains of soft jazz spill out of the stereo. In the center of the candles that circle the room sits an introspective soul, lost in her solitude. She peers down from behind the curly tendrils that have escaped her ponytail in favor of framing her face. Pen in hand, her notebook paper is quickly filled with the ideas that have been rattling around in her mind. It seems only natural ‘ in her life, any pensive mood demands a pen, indeed. While the melodic rain falls outside her window, she takes another sip of chardonnay and sinks back into the pile of pillows behind her. Eyes closed, she soaks in the peaceful night.

Scene 2: Gone are the tulle and eyelet lace, as they find themselves replaced by pressed and starched cottons. The sun has risen, and a new day of work has begun. She is confidence and maturity on high heels. Her no-nonsense attitude gets her far in her career, but doesn’t allow her colleagues to come too close. Perhaps at the close of business she’ll let down her hair and join them for dinner and drinks. In the meantime, though, she’s got goals to accomplish and business to which to tend.

Scene 3: At last, the weekend has arrived. Jeans and a sassy tank top are the uniform of choice, and her eyes are now highlighted by her gold shadow and black liner. Odds are that she’ll don her favorite army green jacket and her ‘too cool for you’ attitude as she pursues whatever entertainment the days might hold. Here, she is at her most extroverted, and certainly her most flirtatious. She thinks it somehow appropriate when her curls are wild and free to release that aspect of her personality. Her coy smile and fluttering eyelashes betray the woman she is when she’s all alone.

These are days you’ll remember

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

A year has passed.

She sits at what she’s beginning to think of as “her table” in her favorite coffee house, soaking up the atmosphere and reflecting on the past 365 days.

It’s been a long walk to get here, and much of it covered rocky ground. Her feet are calloused, and her knees tender. As she looks about the coffee shop and sips on her strawberry tea, she again wonders why it happened this way. All things happen for a reason – a belief she clings to – but even now, she doesn’t know what that reason could be.

Perhaps she’ll never know. She thinks that to herself and nods. That would be okay; she doesn’t have to solve all of life’s mysteries. Ambiguity – in some instances – is acceptable.

In any case, she’s come to accept the circumstances of the past year as lessons well learned. The uncertainty and magnified insecurities were scary at the time, yes. But she looks back to who she was twelve months ago, and she knows the changes have been for the better. At last, she’s beginning to consider herself a woman, not merely a little girl lost.

She has become her own friend. She has the confidence to pursue her dreams, but the presence of mind to know that things won’t always work out as she hopes. She’s prepared to face either situation. Risks are no longer something only other people take, but journeys that she too is willing to embark on.

Tangible evidence of the changes of the last year is something that she lacks. The stamp left on her life, though, bears witness to the good that trials may bring.

Good coffee, strong coffee

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I’ve been a coffee drinker for only two years now, but in the time since developing a fondness for this beverage, I’ve made an important discovery. It isn’t so much the coffee itself that is important. While the caffeine and the flavors mixed with it are delightful, my real joy comes from the coffee shop itself.

Whether I’m sitting in Starbucks in Philadelphia, perusing my Bible alongside a Carmel Machiatto and several friends, or studying ADHD in Tallahassee’s own Aristotle’s, there’s something about the atmosphere in these establishments that is almost romantic. Coffee shops share that mysterious romance that bookstores possess. It is not necessarily one of roses and kisses, but the warm fuzzy feeling that arises is one to be treasured indeed.

In fact, the primary reason I find myself in coffee shops is seldom the coffee. I come here to enjoy conversation with friends, or to curl up on the couch in the sun to read my Bible and pray. The coffee is often an afterthought ‘ the price of admission to enjoy the comfortable atmosphere.

As I write this, I am sitting in my newly discovered favorite coffee shop in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. I knew that The Crimson Caf’ bore marks of a home for my heart upon my first visit. Being as intrigued by interior design as I am, the atmosphere of a space is important to me. Thus, I smiled as I spotted the worn hardwood floors that welcomed me. The plaster covered walls add texture to the shop, and the patches of brick peeking out from this fa’ade contribute character. The stone waterfall fountain in the corner invites my imagination to wander to places I’ve been. Oak Mountain and streams in North Carolina are welcome vacations for my often weary mind.

The burlap coffee sacks hanging from the walls and ceiling evoke thoughts of places far away as well ‘ specifically Javaheads in Tallahassee, Florida. I smile as I recall many treasured moments spent within the walls of that now distant coffee haven. Good times with good friends seem inevitable in such an establishment. Needless to say, I could spend hours here, daydreaming about many happy days gone by.

But naturally, The Crimson Caf’ invites many new memories to be formed. The well stocked shelf on the wall holds a variety of board games, just waiting for me to take them down and enjoy the camaraderie they create. My first visit here left me acquainted with the shop’s copy of Trivial Pursuit. We didn’t get far in the game that night, but somehow board games invite friendship quite naturally. The rabbit trails of conversation that we chased left us more familiar with one another, and a new memory to be held.

The furnishings are simple and serve not to detract from the atmosphere, but instead play a supporting role. The couches in the corner invite many a comfortable conversation, and the solid wooden tables and chairs throughout provide space for study groups and board games alike. The big screen TV on the stage like area provides customers with the latest news or the biggest sports event ‘ whichever might currently be of greater interest. (This is, after all, a football town.) I wonder if locals might set up on that stage and provide my ears with some joyful strains of music some night?

On a gorgeous day like this lazy Sunday, light streams in through the large plate glass windows. The room is filled, from floor to the exposed beam ceiling, with light and, for me, happiness. I may be new in town, but I know already that this place is clearly to be cherished.