FROM THE SOUL SUNDAY: "Solitude Day"

SIDENOTE FROM PRESENT-DAY ERICA: I was early to an eye appointment last week and wandered into a used bookstore to pass the time. I figured this would be much better for my New Year's goals than having my face pressed against the glass bakery case at Nothing Bundt Cakes. I looked around trying to get inspired for some upcoming projects. I skimmed the titles of western novels, urban fiction books, and African-American history literature as I made my way around the store. At this point, I was bored out of my mind, deeply regretting my choice. I could've been forcing an unassuming cashier at the bakery into deciding what dessert I should have for my second breakfast.

"Ten minutes left. Hmm..." I thought to myself. "I wonder if any of my childhood faves are in here." I felt like Barry Keoghan mazing through what felt like Mr. K's labyrinth, desperately trying to find Jacob Elordi (redacted) the Young Adult section in its center.

"Okayyyy..." I scoured. "The Boyfriend List by e. lockhart. Not here. The Clique by Lisa Harrison. Nope. Faking 19 by Alyson Noel. I guess that's not really for kids. Ugh. What else?" Tears filled my eyes when I saw the cover.

Out of the Dust. "Found one!"

Out of the Dust by Karen Heese is a free verse poetry book that I read and (originally) hated in the fifth grade. It was from the pov of a little girl named Billie Jo who documented her life experiences during the Dust Bowl. I didn't like the book because of how greatly it differed to normal poetry books. It didn't rhyme, it had no vibe, and worst of all, it was sad. I had to get out of reading it.

I learned something very early on in life that a few of my peers failed to: if you're a teacher's pet, you get power and access that most students will never have. Mrs. Hamrick, my 4th/5th grade Montessori teacher and I always had a good rapport. So obviously, ten pages into the book, I'm telling her that it sucks. I mean, we were girls- of course she'd go against state standards and assign us a new book, right? Wrong. She challenged me to continue reading it. "Don't focus on the stanzas, focus on the story."

Okay, Barbara...I sighed. Not you actually being a disciplinarian. I laid my head into my desk and continued reading as Celtic Woman played in the background. I did this again the next day. And again at home. I eventually finished it and LOVED it.

Now as an adult, I still find it strange that we went from reading funny, whimsical poems like Shel Silverstein's Falling Up to analyzing depressing half-sentences about poverty, death and dust. Out of the Dust ultimately became one of my favorite books because it opened my eyes to the paradoxical beauty of poetry. It could rhyme or not. Be long or short. It could be happy or sad. Or both.

The author communicated Billie Jo's emotions and circumstances in a way that was simple, but not babyish, and imaginative, but also not overly descriptive. It was very refreshing - short storytelling, but not a whole novel. Free verse is now a form of poetry that I gravitate towards when I'm feeling reflective. Shout out Mrs. Hamrick.

Thanks for reading this really long intro to a poem I wrote to God five years ago on a solo date to the mountains. Hope you enjoy.

These backroads are something out of a southern novel

Based in a town where every cow pasture is the same, but different

With cattle roaming aimlessly behind slanted wire fences

Every house is an antique; the same, but different, too

Slanted, like the dated smiles of the bumpkins who still call them home

For sentimental reasons, I’m sure

It’s foggy this morning

And the rain is meeting this winding, yellow-lined concrete

Like it always does this time of year

The very last of the rust-colored leaves are holding on for dear life

In the breeze of a shifting season

The trees are almost bare

Something about this weather makes the ride to the North Carolina border

The only answer to what’s stirring in the depths of me

A longing for solitude, not to be alone

But to be aware that I am not

Something about these mountain peaks remind me that God is holy

Completely good and utterly satisfied with every detail of creation

I find it crazy that a God this big

Smiles at the thought of a girl like me

One hesitant of adventure one second

And scaling a cliff’s edge the next

Taking a risk is terrifying, but liberating

It’s like dying and becoming alive at the same time

“Do not fear.”

You say that so much

I think I finally know why

Something about bravery shuts the Devil’s mouth

And helps me to know true freedom

With every step of faith, I am conscious of Your presence

You are always here and in you, I have a friend

Your perfect love assures me that I can do anything

So maybe this is less of a poem and more of an obituary

Announcing the last breath of the person Fear told me I was

The sacrificial blood of Jesus

Again, has the final say

It’s freezing out here

Something about these clouds nestled within the valleys gives me new breath

It’s like I’m seeing the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen

For the first time all over again

You always meet me at my seeking

There’s nothing general about time spent with You

This moment was made for us

I’m alone at the top of this mountain with a God who is near

I recount Your faithfulness and goodness

I celebrate your rescue

Again, I say yes to the things that scare the hell out of me

And unfold Heaven's power within

This journey back home through the rural fields of Pumpkintown

Reminds me of an ancient and holy place

“Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”

The Son who went up a mountain and prayed