Warm Sunday afternoon sun flooded the car parked in front of the RH where inside Dad was quenching his thirst. Sister MF and I were forbidden entrance (unless we had to pee, then if we could “hold it” ’til we arrived at Mom’s employment, it was a far yet better thing to do).
Windows open on our four-door sedan, the hot Missouri breeze tussled our pixie cuts as we “drove” down Highway 5 on a shopping excursion to the C’ville mecca with an abundance of pretend dollars at our disposal and a recently purchased package of no. 2 pencils to replenish our school supplies.
Emulating Mom and JB during their many games of cribbage, we “smoked” pencils and called each other kid. Now, to smoke a pencil, it should be noted that it definitely needs to be a new one. The eraser end must remain to the outside because, you see, that is the “light”. The new blunt end will probably not cause as much injury to the upper palette if there is an unfortunate accident, as I will soon profess to.
I was “driving” as MF and I made decisions as to where our journey would take us, when a car came out of nowhere to park beside us. Old enough to be embarrassed caught smoking a pencil, I quickly ducked my head. And unlike a real “smoke”, the pencil did not bend or break! Oh, the pain! I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but that pencil was stuck in the roof of my mouth, taking some effort to remove it.
I don’t recall much bloodshed. Just the tears welling up in my eyes as I removed the rather stable protrusion, AND the horrified look on little MF’s face. How would we tell our parents I was smoking a pencil and was injured? We didn’t, or at least I didn’t. It was not mentioned by them, so I’m pretty sure MF didn’t either. But that, my friends, was the day I quit smoking pencils!
Years later, the pencil incident, the “man without a voice box” visiting our school to lecture us on the dangers of smoking and cancer, nor my grandpa’s death from lung cancer dissuaded me from smoking cigarettes. A (I can now say– nasty) habit I clung to off and on for nearly three decades.
I have quit nicotine and the physical habits that accompany it four times now. The last time being five years ago.
I’ve tried to start again — to calm my nerves — but they taste horrible and I notice people have a distinct odor. There seems to be nothing worse about the odor thing than an ex-smoker.
My desire to stop the nicotine habit derived from religious convictions. I was working with youth and knew that was a bad example for them — I didn’t want them smoking pencils. Every time I would “light up” I would pray, “God, I know this is not what you want for me and know that my body is your temple and I’m harming Your temple. Please forgive me.” Then I prayed, “God, I want to stop this crazy nicotine ruling my life, but I don’t want to eat like a horse, I don’t want to have the cravings for nicotine, and I don’t want it to bother me to be around others who do smoke.”
He’s still being faithful!
If My people who are called by My Name will humble themselves and pray and seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land. — 2 Chron. 7:14 NIV
Flutterbyes 