Non Accidental Events Lead to Intentional Good-True Story

Non Accidental Events Lead to Intentional Good

by: Ronovan

Sometimes you just don’t know how you ended up where you are. I’ve been in many ‘places’ over my many years and somehow they end up being connected in one way or the other. Oh, I don’t mean by actually connected in the sense that one thing knew the other but in that there was a reason one happened and ended and the next began.

Light at the end of the tunnelI had an interesting life growing up. I was born of two people who were picking oranges in the groves of Florida during a time of free love, or maybe at the end of that era really. My father from Tupelo, MS. who was a drummer, guitar playing singer who drove a truck and recorded at Sun Records in Memphis, TN. Yes that Sun Records, and yes, that’s where Elvis recorded. And no, he wasn’t Elvis.

He was also part of the Southern Mafia which led me into a few interesting situations. Ever been 3 years old and been chased down dirt roads in Florida by a man with a gun? No? I didn’t think you had. How about being back home in Tupelo, MS and having to be slung around in a truck doing a 180 because of some ‘men’ that had blocked the road to stop your father? No? Well then you didn’t get shot at and the windows shatter either.

There were other things that happened as well, all in the span of the years up to my 2nd grade in school. That’s when I ‘arranged’ for a girl on the playground to see the black belt mark across my back and run to the teacher. I had made a promise not to tell, and I was a good boy and kept my promises. I didn’t ‘tell’ anyone. After the police and social workers finished with me that day I never saw my bio father again. He and my mother were divorced anyway, so no great loss.

But through that and a series of not accidental events, because I know that all things are used for the good of life, I ended up in a situation where I worked with young people and helped many with home lives that were rough. Even the arrangement of time to work with them was an obvious non accidental event.

Even today, being here in the blog world and meeting new people, encouraging and being encouraged has been another non accidental event out of a life changing event. Good comes out of everything, no matter how bad it is, it only remains a negative influence on me/you if you let it be such.


© Copyright-All rights


Church Playground Memories

Church Playground Memories

by: Ronovan

 After I came home from the hospital even I knew something was missing, but I didn’t know what. I just felt incomplete somehow. For a person suffering from amnesia that probably doesn’t sound unusual, but this was something that I just knew was missing, I could feel it.

But I only had the feeling when I went to the doctor’s office, or some type of testing. My clothes were laid out for me. I had my wallet, keys (although not allowed to drive), a 10 dollar bill, and a pen. Apparently I always carry a pen.

My belt was in place, all of my clothing was the way it should be. It really bothered me though. I put it down as possibly my not driving. Maybe I just wanted to be the driver since I always drove everywhere. Perhaps I just was not accustomed to being on the passenger side of the car looking around.

Then one day it hit me. There was a burning in my pocket. I noticed each time I left the house, not actually my own house, that my right pants pocket felt lighter than it should. There was a spot that didn’t feel right. Even looking down at my pocket when seated there was something odd about how it appeared.

A flash of yellow came to me. And that made me think of the word, ‘pecan’. I wasn’t able to speak yet but I quickly wrote it down and shoved it toward the driver. She looked at it.

“Do I have a pecan?”

“Yes,” she said.

I held my hands out and shrugged.

“I don’t know where it is,” she said.

I quickly scribbled down my flash.

“Yellow toy box.”

“Yes. I know what you mean, beside your chair.”

A few days later it arrived.

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a pecan before. They are oblong and pointy on the ends, but not this one. This one glows and looks like polished wood. When the light hits it there is character and grooves you don’t see in a normal pecan shell.

When I touched it for the first time again, the smoothness of the shell was comforting and familiar. I instantly held it to my ear and shook it. I could hear the rattling inside.

My eyes closed and I ran my finger tips around the shell slowly and could feel the ridges that you normally didn’t realize were there. Maybe they normally weren’t. Then I slipped it into my pocket and the weight was right. My balance was right. Just a few ounces but it was right. When I sat down, the sight was right.

My mind tingled with it with me again.

“For you, Daddy.”


“Yeah. I found it for you.”

Of course the smile crossed my face and a big hug was given. “Then it goes right here and never leaves,” I said. I slipped it into my pocket. The smile crossed his face.

A pecan as a prized possession may sound a bit odd to some, but six years earlier my little son had walked up to me with a smile from the church playground and given it to me. To him it may have been just a find that day.

The grey shell had turned into polished brown like the finest piece of furniture. But this hadn’t been done by a machine. This had been done by years of being in my hands through the day, and living inside my pocket forever being polished.

My Pecan - Copy

Now that I had it back I was more at ease. Every night he comes to me and asks “Do you have your thing?” “Yeah.” “Okay.” He now knows how special it is to me. He knows I remembered it. He knows I know him. He knows I don’t want to lose it.

Some prized possessions may have monetary value to them, even family heirlooms, but for me, a moment of innocence that can never be captured again . . . that’s my prized possession. The pecan is a reminder of it, but the real possession is the memory of it. That’s what I have, that memory. Memories of your children can bring you back to life. That’s what happened to me.

Maybe you have a memory. Perhaps riding along with your child in your lap in a golf cart, or smiling up at you with such love in their eyes at an ice cream parlor, or giggling when you tickle them. Those are prized possessions.

Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites© 27, 2014.

Bursting Balloons

Bursting Balloons

by: Ronovan

Popping Balloon

Giving advice is kind of like playing Russian roulette. You load up and put that bullet out there and there is always that chance someone is going to pull the trigger and the bullet is going to come back at you.


Today I reblogged a piece from my friend at InsideTheLifeOfMoi regarding letting go of those things inside that hurt you. She used a piece of advice she had received about putting your hurts in a balloon and the letting it go. The POINT of the article was to Let Go of your hurts and pains caused by others.


Someone responded about how dangerous releasing balloons is to wildlife. You see, my purpose for reblogging the article was to help my friend Amanda out who has been on vacation for two weeks. I wanted to keep her articles circulating here and on Twitter where I would Tweet her articles along with her handle.

Continue reading

Lemon Squares and Stupid Boys

Lemon Squares and Stupid Boys

by: Ronovan

 Lemon Squares

“What’s wrong, Becky?”

“I don’t get it, Jonesy.” I kept my eyes on the people across the street. “Why would Old Chubs kick Mrs. P out? She’s lived here longer than anyone else.” 

“Your dad said her sons won’t help her pay the rent since Mr. P died.”

“Ugh! Boys are so stupid and mean!” 

“Really?” Jonesy asked. 

I glared at him. “You don’t count. You know what I mean.” 

Brown eyes stared at me.

“Besides, who is going to make us lemon squares now? Mom can’t make them. She pretty much sucks at those.” I thought for a moment. I thought so hard my brain hurt. “Wait! Maybe she could sell lemon squares and make money for rent.” I jumped up.

“Sit down, Becky,” Jonesy said. “It’s too late. They’re bringing her out now.” 

I watched a policeman help Mrs. P down the steps. Chubs stood on the sidewalk, and looked up at the window of the apartment. The flowerbox was full and overflowing with purple and yellow somethings. 

“I hate him,” I said. 

“Hate’s one of the biggest little words there is.” 

“Hush up, Jonesy.” I wasn’t in the mood to hear what was right and wrong. I knew people had to pay bills and stuff, I just hated that her sons were so stupid. Six sons and they couldn’t put in a little each to help her with bills? “She did all the nasty stuff for them when they were babies. They should do something.” 

The door opened behind us. “Becky, it’s time for lunch.” I looked up at Mom. She glanced at Chubs and frowned. “Make sure to clean Jonesy’s feet off before he comes in and hang his leash up. You keep throwing it on the floor. He’s yours remember, so you have to do things right.” Mom closed the door.

I looked down and scratched Jonesy’s golden head. “You better take care of me when I get older, Jonesy or no more hotdogs for snacks when Mom isn’t looking.” 

Jonesy licked my face. “Eww … Jonesy, I know where that tongues been!”


© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites© 25, 2014.

A Laugh in a Crowd

A Laugh in a Crowd

by: Ronovan


“So I went into the mall and there were all of these people just staring at me with blank expressions on their faces. I don’t know maybe it was just me. The never even blinked. I felt like I was at a Sinead O’Connor benefit concert or something. All the women were bald but they were well dressed. I still don’t understand why they had the price tags on their clothes.”


“You’re an idiot!”


“Hey, I’m talking up here. This is my time to be an idiot, you don’t have a copyright on it, sir. Where was I? Oh yeah, I hate crowds, I can’t stand them.”


“Then why are you here, you moron?”

Continue reading

The Notebook: A Life Lesson

The Notebook: A Life Lesson

by: Ronovan


“Hey, Ron, check out that box over there and see what we can get rid of,” said Chet.


I pulled the box to me and began going through the sweaters, magazines and umbrellas. I wondered how people could lose so many things in a church and just not think of what happened to them.


The Bible was beautiful. I opened it and saw the name, Orthel Hopkins. I shook my head. His mother should have been looking for this already. Or maybe he had been hiding something else in his Bible cover so she didn’t know yet. I set it aside and would sneak it to him another time.

Read. The word jumped out at me. It was my hand writing. It looked like one of my notebooks. But why was it here?

“. . . had a great time and posted some fun vacation pictures for you. . .”

“Chet, I’ll be back later.” I didn’t wait for an answer. I only lived minutes away. The car didn’t even have time to cool inside before I was pulling into the driveway. Continue reading

My Youth No More

My Youth No More

by: Ronovan


I was part of the group that had brought him to us. Sure, I had been one of those with some doubts but in the end I thought it would be best for the church as a whole. Little did I know that it would destroy my ministry.


There were a number of years you might have called me that Super Christian. I was of the younger generation in the church and thus willing to volunteer for whatever needed to be done. One such thing was youth ministry. As a high school teacher it was only natural that I was drawn to the youth group. I had watched from afar, and then God stepped in and led me to volunteer to help out only to discover weeks later the Youth Pastor was leaving for seminary school and the duty of leadership fell to me.


Even stranger is the fact this happened twice. I helped hire the next Youth Pastor and then slowly stepped back to let him take over. But then with the coming of the new Pastor to our church that I alluded to earlier, things changed.

Continue reading

A Mother of a Letter

A Mother of a Letter

by: Ronovan

I had no idea how it got there but as I slid to a stop on the trail I could do nothing but stare at the giant M.


Looking around I made sure there were no cameramen lurking about ready to punk me as I bent over, hands on knees and sucked wind from my run. My first thought was college prank, but no university around had an M in it. But it was obviously the letter from a sign.


I stood upright and started walking around the mother of an M. That’s when I saw a tag taped on the side with an address. Would have been great if it had been a phone number, but there was nothing else to do but to phone a friend.


“Al,” I said.




“Look up an address and give me the number for it,” I said and read the address to him. I stared at the letter with narrowed eyes as he gave me the information and then disconnected.


“You liar,” I said staring at it.


I dialed the number. “Walmart, this is Krista, how may I help you?”


© Copyright-All rights 06, 2014.

Brilliant George

Brilliant George

by: Ronovan

Dearest George,
I must admit a fondness for your brilliance. You shine in the sun with metallic glints. But it makes me wonder though, why you are valued at only 25 cents.

Much Admiration


Finding Freedom

Finding Freedom

by: Ronovan

Think about a person you hate. It doesn’t have to be someone you personally know. Seriously think about that person. Now think of the sucking of emotional energy from your body the mere name of that person does to you.

It’s similar to that feeling of falling in love in high school or even now really, and aching for the person and then it not happening. You feel like you have the flu you are so drained. Every part of you aches and you have no energy left.

Losing your mind of memories takes that away. As to how I know about how it feels . . . I’ve been writing for 20 years. I have a lot of notes and novels to look back through on that draining feeling. And . . . well . . . I go through it every day. Not the hate part though.

There is a blessing in having a Lost Mind…you have Lost Hate. I literally hate no one.

After losing my mind of memories a great many things became clear to me. I know that sounds a bit odd but having a mind clear of preconceived ideas was and still is something . . . liberating. Just think for a moment of that person from earlier. Do you have it yet . . . that feeling inside?

Now . . . imagine that name has no meaning to you. Imagine there is no emotional history attached to it.

The sad part is that I am reminded of what people are to me, or what they have done to me in the past. That information doesn’t go in my notebook. You may remember that I have a notebook where all the important memories go. I leave out the bad things and immediately begin to think of something else as soon as I can . . . kittens, puppies, hula dancers.

When you lose something you often think negatively. For me the initial loss was negative but even out of something that bad has come something good. I lost my memories but I found a freedom few people will ever be able to find. I found the freedom to live each day knowing people as they are and not how I think they should be.


Much Respect


Take the Pills

Take the Pills

by: Ronovan

Coffe and Pills

“Take the pills. They’re supposed to help you,” she said.

The pills looked familiar to me. The kitchen windows had that morning light blue glow. I like that time. “Why are there so many of them?”

“Because the doctor said you have to take all of them,” she said. “We have to go through this almost every day.”

I looked at her. “I just like to know is all.” I took the small medicine cup full of pills. Some of them were kind of pretty to look at and had cool shapes. A mouthful of water and I swallowed them all at once.

“I would choke on all of that,” she said. Continue reading

Pine Needle Forts and Tree Root Skating Rinks

Pine Needle Forts and Tree Root Skating Rinks

by: Ronovan

Pine Trees

At 12 years of age your priorities for home are different than as an adult. My father wanted land and a place for a huge garden. That meant country. For me country meant no friends, and no cable TV.


15-20 minutes outside of the nearest town is where we ended up. Not another kid for me to play with anywhere around, even though the school wasn’t far from the place. We lived in a trailer back then. It was nice and my father expanded on it quite a bit, I think that’s why I dislike the sound of power saws and that burning wood smell that it produces.

Continue reading

Maw Maw’s Lovin’

Maw Maw’s Lovin’

by: Ronovan

 Maw Maw

“Down home Southern cooking can’t be beat.

It makes us well rounded from our head to our feet.”


That may not be an actual saying down here in the South. By the South I mean the losing side of the Civil War in the US. Although I consider that loss to be winning in the grand scheme of things, don’t you? But that saying fits because of grandmothers in kitchens across these Southern states.


For me a celebration was any meal my MawMaw cooked. MawMaw would be Southern for Grandmother for those trying to speak the language, Southern that is. I’m looking at my New York and Ohio friends out there.


As a kid you sat either at a card table or at the coffee table. Be slow and it was the coffee table in front of the TV. Quicker and you were closer to seconds of the good stuff. You picked your preference. I didn’t watch TV.

Continue reading

Tears Do Fall You Know

Tears Do Fall You Know

by: Ronovan


I can’t believe this, he thought. A father, I’m going to have a little princess. I’ll call her My Baby Girl and she’ll be my Angel. I hope no one notices the tears. I’m too big to cry, but I don’t care. Every man wants this. Every man needs to have that little bitty thing to hold in his hands and heart. And she will never date or get married. She’ll always be My Baby Girl. He stared ahead still stunned by it all, shell shocked in the glory of the news.


The woman squeezed his hand a little tighter. Her mind raced with what to do. I know he wanted a boy, all men do. They want to carry on the family name and do ball games and all of that. I just hope he’ll be happy and love her just as much anyway. She can play softball and tennis and things like that, but I’m not going to force her to. He’ll have to accept her as she is. He’ll just have to get over it. Her grip tightened slightly in anger. She felt his hand give, as if not even there. Caught up in his self pity, she thought.


Another death in the family I imagine or he lost his job, the woman thought as her needles worked without thought. So many men cry in this park. Perhaps there is a misery attached to it. I could get Maggie to do an exorcism and cleanse the place. But then that might get rid of John too. Me and my John need our time together. She looked at the seat beside her, not seeing the green slates but the image of an elderly man with a bag of breadcrumbs for the pigeons. Her needles flew and the couple walked on. Poor dear, she thought.


© Copyright-All rights 12, 2014.

Blue Socks

Blue Socks

by: Ronovan


I sat at the bus stop and laughter announced the arrival of Rod and Emerile. Rod nodded, I returned with a weak smile. He picked it up the meaning, glancing to my right.

The figure held the brim of a black fedora, twisting it out of shape. Rod elbowed Emerile. Both went silent staring up the street and into the sun as if looking for the bus.

Fingers squeezed into fists around the felt. They trembled as they settled upon his knees.

An occasional sigh was cut off by chocking sounds. Aftershave fought with the exhaust fumes of passing cars. He placed the fedora over his knee and took his left hand in his right, thumb touching the ring on his finger as if afraid it would break.

People became silent as they walked up to wait for the bus. The honking of horns began silent as if they knew. The hiss of airbrakes signaled the arrival of the bus. The man stood up and put on the crumpled brimmed fedora.

Rod and Emerile stood to one side as others did the same. The man nodded. The dark black suit climbed into the bus revealing a glimpse of navy blue socks.

© Copyright-All rights 11, 2014.



by: Ronovan

 Two Men Talking

I sat quietly at the bus stop as Rod and Anton walked up.


“You can’t be serious, man,” said Rod.


“Hey, you’re belief that the number of choices indicates a lack of committing is not proven by any quantifiable research,” said Anton.

Continue reading

The Most Interesting Person I’ve Met This Year is…

The Most Interesting Person I’ve Met This Year is…

by: Ronovan


He walks a little slower than most with his head down in avoidance. You’ll see him move his head quickly, almost jerkily at a movement entering the edge of his vision. He cocks his head to listen for sounds that he won’t hear but does all the same.


People look at him oddly as he walks through the store. It’s not that he looks that differently than anyone else, but they can tell something is not quite right. If they could see his shaded eyes they might be able to see more than they would care to.

Sunglasses Continue reading

Love Letter Found

Love Letter Found

by: Ronovan

Love Letter Envelope


I would give it now,

If only you could be found,

Other than in tears.


© Copyright-All rights 06, 2014.

A Loss of…?

A Loss of…?

by: Ronovan

Loss: The experience of having something taken from you or destroyed.-Webster Dictionary


Everyone loses something in their lives. Sometimes there are happy losses, like you lost that hideous sweater your aunt gave you for Christmas one year, actually your mother’s aunt so you had to wear it, until it mysteriously was ‘lost’.

Most often the word loss brings about feelings of sadness. I’m no different, in a way. This is a story of something I lost.

August is unbearable in the South. The sun burns through the walls of your house to tickle your skin with a glisten of perspiration. I’ve said in poetry that the sun is a jealous lover, and I say that with knowledge.

Early Sunday mornings are for relaxation and rejuvenation in most small southern towns. You make sure your clothes are straight and unwrinkled and you sneak in the back door of the steepled building with seconds to spare before the opening prayer of your class.

That’s an ordinary Sunday.

August of 2013, the first month of my life, wasn’t an ordinary Sunday. The sun had taken its toll on me over the course of the previous week and it was about to take revenge on my having enjoyed life in spite of her.

My Sunday sneak in for prayer did not happen. My brain ached, my world spun, and I needed a splash of cold water on my face. Or so I’ve been told. Mistakes are made without warning. You walk down a hallway you’ve walked down thousands of times before, passing slowly from the bright white walls lit from the living area through the grayed area midway and into the dark.

 That is when IT happens.

 Broken Glass on Floor

gettyimages © Original Photo by Matej Michelizza

Was it passing from the bright lit walls to the dark? Is that what turned my mind from light to dark? Was that passage what made me lose my mind?

A few hours later I was in the hospital with strangers around me. Everyone was a stranger.

Days went by as white coats came and went along with brief hopes that quickly vanished. I say I write through the eyes of a Lost Mind. That’s what I lost that day. I lost a filled mind. It is empty now, except for brief flashes of what might be memories.

“It’s so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.”
― John Steinbeck, The Winter of Our Discontent


© Copyright-All rights 05, 2014.

The Soundtrack of My Life

The Soundtrack of My Life
by: Ronovan

When you go through the history of your life you hear music, or at least I do. Music isn’t a big part of my life these days. After suffering an injury during the previous year I can no longer handle sounds and live basically in silence.

In my mind music plays at various times when I write. Some of which I am not sure where it comes from but others bring a flood of memory and a pause as I think about those times. Continue reading