Currently I'm WRITING a memoir called When Stones Cry Out.
Updates on my progress can be found in my newsletter. Signup form to your left.
Also, I post some of my writing here. These entries are listed in the sidebar under Blog Subjects > Memoir.
Updates on my progress can be found in my newsletter. Signup form to your left.
Also, I post some of my writing here. These entries are listed in the sidebar under Blog Subjects > Memoir.
![Memoir Cover Stone Stack](/images/BrendaWilbee/Cover-Mug(1).jpg)
“I tell you,” he replied, “if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out."
“Teacher, rebuke your disciples!”
MY COFFEE CUP admonishes me every morning to write my own story. Its "write your own story" and old-timey typewriter wait for me to curl in the paper.
I’ve resisted. Who cares? Also, who was this skinny little kid who didn’t fit in, at odds with her culture, especially the church? If I were a jigsaw puzzle, I’d have to report myself a sprawl of pieces, box gone. I was without a picture. Was there even a story to tell?
Recently I was clipping seventy up the I-5 corridor of Washington State, when, just past Exit 199 going north, a radio interview with Dr. Thomas W. Boyce caught my attention. He’d authored a new book - The Orchid and The Dandelion: Why Some Children Struggle and How All Can Thrive. It dawned on me I was an Orchid, my defaut to fear driven by biology, not sin. He understood the science, housed at my molecular and cellular levels. By the time I took the exit into Bellingham, I understood myself not only an Orchid in a Dandelion world but also an Orchid in a Dandelion church. No wonder I chaffed. I resolved to order the book—my missing puzzle box. I read it cover to cover, turning the jigsaw pieces of myself right side up. OMG! Sooo Orchid! Fearful, yes. Confused, set apart. But also insightful. Can't overlook that. Orchids do come with benefits.
Maybe I should curl in some paper. I've learned something. But where to begin? Perhaps when I was nineteen and a man weaponized God to force me into marriage. But where did he get that kind of power, why did I cave? Perhaps the story begins when I was six and Jerry Harris knocked my crayons all over the floor at James Park School.
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![James Park School](/images/BrendaWilbee/SchoolMeDesks.jpg)
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