The Fixin’ Place. Doesn’t that sound like somewhere you’d like to be?

Check it out here. 

I believe we are all broken people. We come into this world with the absolute likelihood that we’ll face issues that can wreck us.

What if there were a place you could go for healing, i.e., the fixin’ place?

I got to thinking about that a while ago. And, because my mind works in such a convoluted way, that simple thought gave birth to a book, a novel, which is now available.

It’s called The Fixin’ Place. Shocker, right? And it’s available on Amazon, in paperback and on Kindle. You may be able to read it for free on Kindle, if you’re a part of the Kindle Unlimited program. But if not, I’m reducing the price for the next week or so from $4.99 to .99.

I’ve been writing since I was a little bitty guy. My classmates from elementary school on up will attest to that. I was constantly writing short stories and would read them to any willing victims in the bandroom or wherever. I lost just about everything I’d ever written in longhand in a flood in my hometown of Elba, Alabama.

So I’ve tinkered and dabbled and scribbled off and on over the years, and finally, some years ago, I wrote a novel, Reign of Silence. It kind of galumphed along for a while until I made it available on Kindle. I’ll be danged that if within the first week it was available on Kindle it more than tripled the sales I’d had in paperback. That was a for-sure eye opener. I love the heft and feel and smell of a “real” book, but what I learned from that is that content is king, no matter how it’s delivered. Still, I love my visits to the library.

Back to The Fixin’ Place.

It’s not a sequel or prequel to Reign of Silence, although it’s placed in the same fictional town of St. Helena, Alabama. Here’s your cover copy:

Can death be postponed? Or even reversed? Are supernatural healings possible? If an individual had the ability to heal, would there ever be a time when using that gift would be wrong? Does all healing come from God, or can Satan perform counterfeit signs, wonders, and even healings? Thomas Alexander, a 14-year-old boy growing up in the small south Alabama town of St. Helena in 1968, is faced with a series of incidents that cause him to confront these very questions. A new high school teacher, Silas Shepherd, moves to St. Helena and shows more than casual interest in Thomas’ recently widowed mother. It becomes apparent that the charming and winsome Shepherd is not all that he seems to be – elements of a shrouded past and current fixation on the Alexander family trouble Thomas.

Thomas’ rock is his grandmother Lois, who supposedly has the biblical gift of healing – her home is known to townspeople as “the fixin’ place.” So when Shepherd is diagnosed with cancer, Lois Alexander has the opportunity to attempt to cure him. From the story’s first introduction of Silas Shepherd, to the gradual discovery of the truth about him, until the final revelation of Shepherd’s generations-old relationship with the Alexander family and the shocking yet redemptive finale, The Fixin’ Place is a story to both cherish and fear.

That’s a pretty fair synopsis.

I was thinking about that opening statement – can death be postponed? Or even reversed? That’s intriguing. As a person of faith, I recognize that scripturally that death was reversed on more than one occasion. There are, of course, also plenty of accounts of Jesus raising people from the dead, and even more incidences of Him healing others. Do those kinds of miracles happen today?

That’s where all this began. With The Fixin’ Place, I wanted to explore that in a fictional way.

I’ve had writing courses in college, and sometimes they come across as too rote and routine. (I won’t try to make a case that I’m an “artist” and, as such, not bound by tradition and rules [see Dead Poet’s Society for further reference.]) I just like telling a story, and I only have my own sensibilities for direction. Where I may get weird is that I don’t necessarily write with an end in mind. I just have an idea of the story, put my characters in that situation, and just start writing. I’m as intrigued to see what happens as the future reader, because I don’t know how it’s going to end.

That’s kind of freaky. When my mojo’s really working, it’s like I’m just observing what’s going on and trying to get it all in writing. Maybe that’s common among authors. I just don’t plot heavily … I don’t want it to feel plotted.

Birth.

When I was writing Reign of Silence, I was able to write about two-thirds of it in a week. There were some folks in our church that had a farmhouse and were kind enough to let me borrow it for a week. I wrote in a fit. It scared me senseless a couple of times … a couple of nights I barely slept because I heard every noise in the house. And it rattled Teresa when I’d call her after a particularly frenzied writing session to tell her “you’re not going to believe what just happened.” Creepy, yes?

The Fixin’ Place was much the same. There are a handful of passages that I sure didn’t see coming.

Now it’s been loosed on the world, and I wanted to share it with you.

If you’re so inclined, it’s available on sale for this next week on Amazon. I happen to like it (and I don’t always like my handiwork.) I love these kids in it – it’s funny. While I didn’t intend for it to plant so squarely in the tradition of “coming of age” stories, it has. I wasn’t trying consciously to emulate the vibe of books and movies like Stranger Things, It, Stand By Me, The Goonies, etc., but that’s what’s happened. (I’d much rather it feel like To Kill a Mockingbird, but since I’m a mere mortal and not Harper Lee, I’ll have to be content with where it landed.) Actually, it’s closest antecedent is an Alfred Hitchcock movie from 1943, Shadow of a Doubt. That was Hitch’s favorite movie, and it was written by Thornton Wilder, best known for Our Town. At least I borrow from good stuff.

I’d love for you to hang out with Thomas and his pals. He’s full of adolescent angst, but you’ll like him anyway. Hop over to Amazon and get to know them. And, if you want the paperback, order it. If you like, I’ll send you a signed personalized bookplate for you to put inside the cover.

So, that’s The Fixin’ Place. I would be honored if you’d take a look.

I hope I never get to the place where I take friends for granted. What good are friends, anyway?

I have a gazillion or so acquaintances. There is a significantly smaller percentage of those I call friends. Then there is a scant handful of folks I would consider true friends. What good are they?

Lord knows I can be negligent of them. It’s not because of some sinister design, of wanting to push people away. It comes more from a sense of self-protection. Or I just forget to keep up with them. And, to my everlasting grief, I tend to be all or nothing. Either I benignly neglect you, or I’m obnoxiously all-in.

For instance – if you’re my friend, and I reach out to you, then you can be assured that I’ve let you be a crucial part of a tiny circle. That’s by personal design. (And, candidly, if you’re in that circle and I reach out to you and you blow me off, I won’t love you any less, but I’m done.)

I want friends in my life who will have those rich, convoluted, dense conversations with me. Or not; sometimes it’s nice to share time together in silence. It just depends. I’m just not sure of what it depends on.

I don’t feel that I need a lot of friends. Just a few suit me. I like having plenty of folks around I have an affinity for, but to invest myself in someone who is only interested in shallowness? Uh-uh. I don’t have the energy or capacity for that. I’ll smile politely, and be congenial. That’s as far as it will go.

I’m guessing you have your own criteria that dictates what kind of friends you want or need. I just puked mine all over you. You can come up with your own.

I would say this: We were created social animals. We’re part of a tribe. How that works out in real-life terms for you depends on your makeup. I don’t think you need to apologize for that, or pretend to be something you aren’t. You just be. I don’t know that being a total hermit is ideal, but again, to thine ownself be true.

Just don’t overthink things (which is exactly what I’m doing right now. Ack.)

Rather than letting this be a passive blog that you read and toss aside, would you accept a little assignment from me? You can do this in your head, of course, but it might be informative for you to grab some paper and a pen.

I made myself a list – these are 10 traits I value in my friends. This gets back to my “What good are friends, anyway?”question.

1. Loyalty. I don’t have a lot of use for those who’d ditch me, unless I deserved to be ditched. I want folks who are supportive, encouraging, and at least attempt to be understanding.
2. Sense of humor. You either have this one or you don’t. I want folks who can laugh at themselves and their own absurdities. If you take yourself too seriously, you’re gonna annoy me. And as awful as the world can be these days, you gotta admit that some things that people get all worked up about are actually pretty funny.  Even absurd. (Maybe this is an “eye of the beholder” thing, so keep your hate mail to a minimum.)
3. Compassion. Your default attitude should be “grace and mercy.” Care, and care deeply. Be empathetic. Don’t pretend that you care when you really don’t. Have a cause, and be patient and understanding with those who don’t share the same passions. They have passions of their own. Don’t devalue them – and don’t let them devalue you, either. I think it’s a matter of seeing the world as God sees it.
4. Understanding. That also has a lot to do with tolerance. Be willing to say, “I see.” Going back to our hard-wiring, we all have different world views. Here’s a trait I want in a friend: Be able to try to understand other viewpoints before trying to explain your own. Look: I have some stances that are non-negotiables. If you try to change them, I will give you a polite hearing and not devalue you, even if I think you’re an idiot. (That’s a joke. Sorta.) There is still room in society, to some extent, to have a “live and let live” attitude. At least try to understand where the other person is coming from. That doesn’t mean you have to accept their views. Just listen, even when hollering might be more fun for you. (A caveat: if you are a Christian, and are dealing with a brother or sister in spiritual or scriptural error, don’t forget we’re accountable to each other.)
5. A “ministry of presence.” I don’t know where I first heard that term, but I love it. If you’ve ever been in a situation facing death or a critical illness in someone else, you may have wondered, “What am I supposed to say?” I mean, you don’t want to make things worse. That’s where this “ministry of presence” thing comes in. Just being there, even being silent, is always the right thing. I want that in my friends, even if I’m well. Just be there. You don’t have to keep me engaged in conversation.
6. Honesty without cruelty. Yes, please, be honest with me. But do it in the context of loving me. If I’m wrong, I need to know that. Just don’t be mean. Honesty is always a virtue, but it’s not a club to beat someone up with. Just because you can say something doesn’t mean you have to. And if your exercise in honesty is designed to make some point, and to make you feel superior, your motives are screwed up.
7. Godly. I think this should have the first position in my list (even though they’re not in any particular order.) If you don’t have Jesus, then I can’t share the most important thing in my life with you. That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. It just means that there is a missing component that will keep our relationship from being as rewarding and complete as it could be.
8. Patient with me. I could camp on this one for days. I have this well-developed ability to be awkward – say things that I regret, or that don’t make sense, or simply look and act uncomfortable. Just ride that out with me, okay? I mean well. My motives are mostly pure. But if I talk like I’m a cross between a babbling two-year-old and a stroke victim, you’re going to have to understand that.
9. Lets me be authentic. I don’t want to have to tiptoe around you. I want to be able to be real. I can sense a phony a mile away. Don’t ever lie to me. I’ll know it, and you’ll know that I know it, even if I don’t call you out. Being real is one of the highest virtues. I want you around me if you’ll give me that freedom.
10. Forgiving. For the life of me, I can’t find a loophole in this forgiveness command from God. You always forgive. Always. It doesn’t mean that you approve, nor does it mean you have to maintain an intimate relationship with someone who has wronged you. Just forgive. And forgive me – I can assure you, if I’m your friend, there will be times when I will disappoint you.

Now. Go make a list of your ten. I think it’ll be an eye-opening exercise.

What good are friends, anyway?

God sends them.

Allow God to give you your friends. The friends He sends your way will be there when you yearn for those long talks – for listening to you when you’re breaking down, during the days that are struggles and the nights are unusually long.

Those friends bring the sun when you’re drowning in the rain.

 

Your comments, as always, are encouraged and welcomed.

What do you do when you want something for someone worse than they want it for themselves?

I’ve always prided myself on being able to build solid, lasting relationships.

I don’t make friends easily. Now, I can’t imagine anyone not liking me, although I’m sure it’s happened and I was unaware. There have been a couple of times when I knew someone didn’t like me, but because of who it was, I didn’t particularly care.

I’ve just been selective in who I invest in. It’s an introvert thing. If we’re friends, you’re stuck with me, unless we move on because of distance, interests, or something else. 

But what if you DO care?

For those of you who know me well, I’m going to deal in hypotheticals here. So don’t spend a lot of time trying to figure out if I’m talking about one specific individual. This is a fictional character – or, at most, a composite.

Let’s call her Martha.

I first met Martha my sophomore year in college. She was supercute. We had a couple of classes together. I don’t know if there was any “chemistry” there, but it was pretty obvious early on that we could have a relationship.

We became friends first. Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to happen? She had a wry sense of humor, was somewhat introverted, but could still strike up a conversation with anyone. Actually, I didn’t know of anyone who didn’t like her.

There was this unspoken thing between us, and we were both sensitive enough to know it. We would never be anything other than friends. And that was just the way it was supposed to be. If the relationship had gone to another level, it would’ve messed everything up. So friends we remained. Really, really good friends.

We were sort of inseparable. We were so, so open and transparent with each other.

Invariably our conversations gravitated toward two things. We were both Christians. Martha was well read, and we’d have these late night theological discussions about the most obscure tenets of our faith. We tended to have the same beliefs.

The other, of course, was romantic relationships.

We’d talk about the differences in males and females – especially the vast chasm between how we looked at dating life. Martha got plenty of attention from guys. I wanted to vet them all. And she did the same, and more than once she kept me from really messing up with some girl. Fortunately, that personal threshold between us was never crossed. While I was astutely aware of just how pretty she was, and I kind of enjoyed being seen out and about with her, a dating relationship was never an option. Which was good; sometimes I think a friendship can be one of the most pure, uncomplicated relationships around.

Growing old together? 

I thought that’s what was going to happen. We’d joke about that. We’d talk about both of us being in the nursing home with our spouses, spending evening playing dominos. We talked about being in each others’ weddings.

And then, the bad thing. 

It was over a guy. Wouldn’t you know it?

I knew Charles vaguely – we didn’t run in the same circles, but I was on a decent enough acquaintance level with him. He was handsome, of course, and charming, and always at ease. I liked him well enough.

He and Martha had grown up in the same town, went to the same school, but he’d graduated a year earlier than her. While they knew each other growing up, they really hadn’t had anything to do with each other.

Now – for reasons unknown – they’d rediscovered each other.

Bottom line is that they started dating. She’d asked me what I thought, and I’d observed them together. I’l spare you my “A guy knows another guy” lecture, but the simple fact is that this cat only had one thing on his mind. You don’t think I could look in his two eyes and tell you what he was up to?

So I told her what I thought.

She’d asked me what I thought, right? But what I said wasn’t what she wanted to hear. I told her that he was decent, but that she could do better. I told her that he had the capacity to tell her just the stuff she wanted to hear. I told her I thought he was capable of manipulating her and the relationship.

She took it in stride, but I knew she was gonna do whatever she wanted to do anyway.

My mistake? I couldn’t let it go.

Truth and not fiction here – I want to fix everyone and everything. I want everyone to be happy, to get along, to be at peace. Maybe that’s some sort of weird codependency thing. I’m not sure.

So I kept warning, giving advice. Finally, one night, Martha said, “Tony, you’re gonna have to give this a rest. You’ve said all you need to.”

I feigned hurt, told her that she’d misunderstood, that I wouldn’t hurt her for the world, all that.

She blew up. I don’t mean just telling me to back off. She went Vesuvian on me. It was awful. I didn’t see it coming, and I couldn’t even respond.

Martha spent a good ten minutes peeling the hide off me, accusing me of meddling, of misunderstanding, of being sanctimonious and holier-than-thou. She said I’d been that way with her and others for a long time.

There was more, but that was the gist. She cried. A lot. I couldn’t string together a coherent sentence in my defense. Blindsided doesn’t even begin to explain what happened to me. “I’m sorry,” I said over and over again.

And that was it. 

She stormed off after that exchange, and you know what? It was the last real conversation we ever had.

I reached out to her through friends, because she wouldn’t take my calls. When we were in proximity to each other, what little conversation we had was brittle and uncomfortable.

I wanted to patch things up, to make things right. She would have nothing to do with it or me.

I’ve spent a lot of time on this story. Here’s why, and here’s my takeaways. Maybe they’ll be yours, too, because I’m fairly certain you’ve had a relationship go south yourself. Maybe you didn’t handle it appropriately. Maybe you aren’t over it yet.

• You aren’t exempt from loving that person. Nope, you don’t get a pass. If you’re a believer, hate isn’t an option. You are commanded to love them (love your enemies, right? That’s a non-negotiable.)
• Love, in this context, isn’t a feeling. You will feel what you will feel. That’s not what this is about. Love, here, is a purposeful act that exists apart from your emotions. (I don’t know how to tell you how to disengage your emotions from this. You just choose to.)
• Relational issues may be objectively obvious to you as you observe someone else. But etch this in stone – if you want something for someone worse than they want it for themselves, you will experience horrific grief. 
• You have to develop the skills and sensitivity to know when a relationship can’t be salvaged. If you’ve reached out in good faith, had an attitude of accepting and receiving forgiveness, and done all that decency and Christian faith have required, and you’re still rebuffed, it’s done. But refer back to that first point.
• Sometimes you genuinely have to mind your own business. Enough said.
• I don’t want to address self-care too much here, but you do need to protect yourself from emotional pain. There can be a breaking point when you’ve done too much to try to fix things.
• Ultimately, you may need to simply close the door. Or even slam it. 

Which brings me to the title of this blog. I mean what it says. Sometimes you just have to be done with someone. Not mad. Not upset. Just done.

Our challenge is to be done with them in love. Do this, and allow God to do the healing. Perhaps, in His providence, He’ll restore that relationship, and you need to be sensitive to His hand as it works in your life (and the other persons’ life.) Until then, take care of yourself.