Think of Laura written by Stephie Goldfish 
Monica gave me the news. She would be moving to Chicago for her
Ph.D. in psychology. But she already had someone in mind for me to see after she was gone. So we set up my next appointment
where I would meet my new psychologist. Monica and I had started
to work on issues surrounding my recent divorce and the grieving process, the symbiotic relationship my twin sister and I
have with our mother, and as this was the second time I had moved home to Huntington, WV, I was also having thoughts of fleeing
back to New York City, like I did the first time I moved home to Huntington when my husband and I had first separated. But my other well-known piece of history that was causing me great conflict
was the “religion” I was raised in or the place where I worshipped, known as the Kingdom Hall of Jehovah’s
Witnesses. Contrary to popular opinion, although I was having a spiritual conflict, not one of my doctors or psychologists
has ever said for me to leave “my religion” that I was raised in from a babe. They have all been very supportive,
saying that it was probably the only foundation that was ever stable in my life, because of having moved to 16 different schools
within only twelve years of schooling (grade school, junior high school, and high school). At my next appointment with Monica, I anxiously looked forward to meeting my new psychologist,
and I was very sad that my therapy with Monica would be ending.
And then there was Laura. Laura and I were introduced and left
to talk alone and we began to build upon our relationship. I had thought that after I had been in therapy with Monica, I wouldn’t
be able to bond with yet another psychologist, especially after being in New York City where I had had a wonderful psychologist.
But from the moment I met Laura I could sense something special, and I knew I was in good hands. As time passed, and as I got to know a little bit about Laura and she got to know my situation
better, our relationship turned to where I think it had to turn. I had been struggling with the idea of moving back to New
York City, and Laura said something to me that I’ll never forget that went something like this, “Perhaps if you
don’t go back to New York City now, I’m afraid you’ll be so paralyzed with fear that you won’t be
able to go back.” This hit me so strong, but it was true.
I had been stagnant in my hometown, and dealing with the chaos and dynamics of my family. Laura knew my strengths and talents
of being an artist, and, having had most of my success in finding work in NYC, I decided she was right. I thought, “If
I don’t go now, I probably never will.” This was the hardest move back, because I would miss Laura, and basically
had to start over again in NYC. Although our time together
was short, about three months, I felt Laura helped me more than anyone. Laura is so unselfish and caring. We did talk about “the religion” and I would ask her questions, and sometimes
she answered what she felt would be helpful to me, and sometimes left off the answer to let me try not to be influenced by
her. She didn’t reveal too much about herself then due to the nature of our relationship, but somehow I believe she
planted a seed in my heart that was growing without me knowing it.
After I moved back to NYC, I had one surprise visit to see Laura about 6-8 months later. She had good news. She was going
to be having her first baby and she and her husband were moving to be closer to Charleston, WV. So we said our good-byes. Flash forward 15 years later—2010—emails, Internet, Facebook,
Twitter, and High Calling Blogs. As I said, there was a seed
planted and God kept the seed growing. In 2005, about five years after 9/11, I found myself needing to make a move to a calmer
and warmer climate due to physical health issues I have, and had had to leave work also because of my illness. So, I moved to North Carolina, after having visited a longtime childhood
friend who lives here in North Carolina also. I often
thought about Laura while I was in NYC, and as the social media tools such as Facebook have brought so many people together
after such long times, I did a search for Laura on Facebook. I saw her beautiful photo and wrote her a message to see if she
even remembered who I was after so many years. “Of course she remembered,” she said, and she was even cool enough
to accept my friendship. What I didn’t know about Laura
in the early days was her love for writing and that we both share this love. We shared our websites, and I went reading on
her blog, and one post led to another post. And I couldn’t stop reading. Her voice came through just like I had known
her 15 years ago. And her posts led me to HCB. Again, I couldn’t stop reading. And without even asking Laura if she
would mind or not I signed up on HCB. I have been seeking a community where I could share common values and trust between
others, but mostly those who share a deep devotion and love to God.
And I reasoned that, if Laura is a part of the HCB community, it has to be a special place where one can feel comfortable,
safe, and loved. Yes, “We are real” is right. Laura and I have emailed and tried to meet for coffee a few times as we
both share our home state and little valley of WV. And I still have family and friends there as she does too, but my circumstances
have been “crazy” each time we’ve tried, but we do intend on meeting face to face again sometime soon. The first time I met Laura I came to put her in my heart. Laura is truly
a spiritual person. I was so fortunate to have crossed paths with her, and now I feel indebted to her and to life, and more
impressed than ever to continue walking in the way I’ve been walking. Now that we’ve made contact once more, I
see a shimmering ray of hope. Hope for life and what’s next. I feel it has been a divine intervention. As Julia Cameron opens one of her paragraphs with this quote by Kabir, “Wherever
you are is the entry point.” And as our King and Redeemer invites us, saying “Enter into the Kingdom”, may
everyone have an opportunity to enter in a relationship with God, and never take it for granted.
This article was written in response to "You
Are Real," a Community Writing Project over at The High Calling. To read more "You Are Real" stories
please click on the following link:
We Are Real!!!
A New Day Dawned written by Stephie Goldfish 
As I entered 388 Greenwich that day, I stopped for a second to catch my breath. I
glanced up into the crisp, clear, blue sky. Hovering over the building with the famous red umbrella was a crescent moon. I had just started the 8:00 A.M.
to 4:00 P.M. shift about a week earlier, and had already developed a routine. This particular morning was usual. I logged
onto the computer, went down to the cafeteria and toasted a bagel, filled a small plastic cup with scallion cream cheese,
mixed my coffee the way I like, and headed back up to the 37th floor satellite area where I was designated for
this day. Before
I entered the satellite room on the 37th floor, I glanced up at one of the bankers sitting in her office on the
south side of the building. She was on the phone, and we acknowledged a good-morning smile. I sat down at my computer, ate
my bagel, and drank my coffee. Anthony
had arrived and we talked a little. We surfed the Internet while we waited for the bankers to come in with some info for a
graphic or map they needed. The
satellite area where Anthony and I were sitting didn’t have any windows except for the large picture glass window that
faced a hallway that led either way to where all the bankers sat in cubicles or offices that ran along the outer edges of
the building. :: We heard a loud thunderous noise,
followed by shrilling screams of those out in the main area of the floor. Anthony and I ran out of the room and everyone stood
looking out the windows in shock. The scene was surreal. We just stood and stared at the gaping hole in the north tower. Some
young women were crying, breaking down. The woman in her office whom I had seen just a few moments earlier was on the phone and describing what we
were witnessing. Everyone thought it was an accident. I thought, how in the world would anyone get to those people who must
be trapped, and how in the world will the building be repaired. The next few minutes were spent trying to reach husbands, wives, family members, co-workers,
and friends. I tried to call my sister who was at home and scheduled to start work on the second shift at 4:00 P.M.,
but I couldn’t get through. I called my husband who was over in New Jersey at work, and then I called my mom in Huntington,
West Virginia. My mom quickly turned to the news channel, and she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. I got off the phone fast, and
just as I was going back out to the main area of the south side of the floor, I heard shrilling screams of which I had never
heard before, screaming out, “Another
plane has hit the south tower!” The view now south of us was horrific. An engulfing ball of fire blew out of the middle of the south tower,
and hurled up its side. “It’s
terrorists!” we screamed. “Get out of the building.” I gasped and my heart was pounding harder than ever. Utter chaos, it seemed, broke
out. :: Our department, known as the
Presentation Technology Department, had been undergoing major changes and upheavals. One of our weekend managers, Indira, had
been promoted to Manager over the entire department. We had previously been divided into the Word Processing department and Graphics department, with
a small Proof Reading department, until our new manager, Indira, wanted to integrate all the departments into one. During this time, there
was a lot of resistance to this change. One of the changes Indira implemented required that both Word Operators
and Graphics Operators learn all aspects of both departments. Graphics Operators had to make sure they knew at least the minimal
skills of creating and editing word and excel documents. Word Operators had to improve on graphics skills and graphics applications.
And, some of us took on roles of training our co-workers, creating tutorials, teaching new tricks, etc. One of the major changes that we all underwent
was to break up onto satellite areas throughout the banking floor divisions, which meant we all went from being on one floor
where we had fostered a team spirit and camaraderie of friends to being down to a team of only one or two other
persons spaced out onto nine different floors. We were a 24/7 department, so these new changes affected everyone
on all shifts, including the weekend shifts. Although it was hard to see then, Indira said these new changes were done for the
good of the bankers and for the good of our department. The bankers would have convenient access to satellite
areas on their particular floors, and it would be more proficient. And for us, it would give us an opportunity to develop
higher skill levels as well as develop relationships with the bankers who brought us their work. :: During 9/11 and the weeks and months that followed, I learned
a lot from Indira. After witnessing 9/11, and seeing the disaster site, I personally thought we’d be out of work for
a month. But, within two days of 9/11, we relocated to another facility and set up a loss and recovery center. Although most of us were not
able to functionally do anything, due to not having all our normal equipment, computers, etc., at this particular location,
we were mainly recovering emotionally from the trauma and magnitude of what had just happened. One day as we were gathered around a table discussing
plans and things, it was very hectic, and there were bottles of water sitting around, and Indira grabbed what I
thought was my bottle of water, and she took a drink. Not wanting her to get my germs and without thinking, I said, “Oh,
that’s my bottle of water,” and Indira said, “Oh, I’m so sorry!” And she handed me a $20
bill to go get some more water. As I walked down that busy midtown-Manhattan street I felt what had happened was so magnified
in my mind. The point was that here we were in a very big crisis and I was worried over her getting my germs from my bottle
of water. But, when I returned, with more bottles of water, Indira had forgotten the incident, and was on to Bigger problems. We had a bomb scare while we
were at this temporary facility, which required all of us to leave the building and go on to yet another facility. So,
we all began walking towards the direction of that building. Even though, in Manhattan terms, the building was close by, Indira
saw that I was having a hard time walking and breathing, so she suggested we take a taxi. She paid for the taxi
over to the building only to be told it was a false alarm and she got us another taxi back. :: One of the main things I learned from Indira is that change
is inevitable in any size company or in anything actually that we are involved in. When we get married, our married life changes
due to new additions of the family, and as the children grow up too, things change. In life, we go through physiological changes
in the seasons of our lives. And so, we go through changes in the work place too. Change is relentless, I've learned. So why
resist change. And
another valuable lesson I learned from Indira is don’t sweat the small stuff. If your boss, or someone else for that
matter, drinks from your water bottle, it’s no big deal, there’s plenty more where it came from. Needless to say there were a
lot of lessons learned from Indira. She has since moved on to become one of the CEO’s of one of the major
overseas divisions of this big corporation. ________________ This article was written for a Group Writing
Project over at High Calling Blogs, prompted by Bradley J Moore of www.shrinkingthecamel.com, with the theme being about "Bosses". Please join us in reading other articles about bosses and share a comment or two over at: A Father Close to My Heart written
by Stephie Goldfish
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| A photo of the charcoal drawing I did for Dr. Heydarian |
In
1983, when I was on the edge of seventeen years old, Dr. Mahmood Heydarian searched through the echo of my heart and found
a one inch in diameter hole that's been present since birth. In an instant, he discovered what was causing me to be so blue
and short of breath.
Dr. Mahmood Heydarian, a pediatric cardiologist in my hometown of Huntington, WV, first made my diagnosis,
Ventricular Septal Defect with Eisenmenger's physiology, and, afterwards, sat down in a chair and just shook his head in dismay.
He couldn't believe that no other doctor had found what he had taken less than ten minutes to find. His discovery called for
a work up of more tests in order to be sure. And, as it turned out, I had to go to The Cleveland
Clinic to have a cardiac catheterization to see if surgery to repair the defect was even possible.
As
a young teenager, with my whole life ahead of me, receiving this news made me very sad and depressed. But Dr. Heydarian let
me and my family know that he cared very much for my well being, and that he would be there for us. He even gave us his home
phone number so that we could call him personally if there were any emergency.
One day I found myself crying so
hard because I was afraid of what I might face. My mom called Dr. Heydarian, and he talked to me right then on the phone for
several minutes like a father would talk to his daughter. He showed me tender compassion and kindness.
Dr. Heydarian
is also a very thorough doctor. He even did an echo of my twin sister's heart, to make sure she was fine, and he found her
heart in good condition.
Eventually, the doctors at The Cleveland Clinic found that the hole in my heart
had caused irreparable damage to my lungs over time. The doctors at Cleveland agreed with Dr. Heydarian, saying the only potential
cure for me would eventually be a combined heart and lung transplant operation.
I
came home from The Cleveland Clinic feeling a little numb and disillusioned, but I set my heart on whatever future I had.
My twin sister and I graduated high school with high honors, and that summer we each dedicated our life to serving God symbolized
by water baptism.
That fall my sister and I went on to Pittsburgh, PA to attend art school and then landed our
first computer graphics jobs in New York City where we lived and worked for the most part of twenty years.
(I'm
45 years old now and haven't had to have a heart and lung transplant, as of yet, and I have done so well that I've amazed
all the doctors' expectations. Even so, my heart and lungs are still monitored closely and I've been put on groundbreaking
medicine that helps some.)
Over the past 27 years, Dr. Heydarian and his wife, Christina, have become quite close
to me and my family. Each time I have moved back home to stay with my mom and to recuperate from NYC living, Dr. Heydarian
resumed care of my cardiac condition. Even though I am quite older than all of his pediatric patients, he has never made
me feel awkward or out of place. Dr. Heydarian always makes room for all of his young (or older) patients and takes special
care of each one like they are his own.
When I first met Dr. Heydarian and his wife, Christina, their daughter
and son were small children. Now, both his son and daughter are pediatric cardiologists following
in their father's footsteps.
There are times, now, when I go back to Huntington, WV, I can just go visit Dr. Heydarian,
and he takes time out from his busy schedule to sit and talk and really listen to me.
Once when I had moved
back to Huntington, WV for about six months, he asked me if I would draw a picture for him. The small photo he wanted me to
draw was of an old man at a sewing machine. (I guess the picture reminded him of his home and people in Iran.) I was so happy
to return a kindness to him that I spent about two or three hours a night for about a month drawing this picture for him.
The original now hangs up in his home, and he says that all the physicians who visit his home comment on the painting.
What I find so special about Dr. Heydarian is that he has been a fine example for other doctors to follow, he set
a proper role model for his children, and he is still standing by his wife who has MS and it has progressively gotten worse.
His marriage to his wife, Christina, has been a marriage that I felt I would have liked to have emulated. Also, I feel grateful
that Huntington, WV and the tri-state area have such a wonderful doctor, as Dr. Heydarian. He stayed in an area where there
is a great need for his expertise and specialty.
I feel Dr. Heydarian should be given father of the year award
in my book. He also comes from a culture that he still believes can someday walk hand in hand with the rest of the world in
peace and harmony.
Thank you Dr. Heydarian for listening to my heart. Thank you for being there through some
of my ups and downs. And thank you for showing me how a true father really shows genuine love for those he cares for. __________________
This story was written for a community project over at
High Calling Blogs in honor and celebration of all fathers on Father's Day.
You can read the feature article "Lego Lessons On Parenting and Leadership" by Marcus Goodyear and enjoy reading more
Father's Day poems and stories from other members of HCB by clicking the following link:
"Lego Lessons On Parenting and Leadership" by Marcus Goodyear
The following poem
was written in response to a Random Acts of Poetry
prompt over at www.thehighcalling.org in celebration of a new book of poetry by Marcus
Goodyear called Barbies at Communion: and other poems
She Wanted A Barbie Written by Stephie Goldfish on May 29, 2010 She wanted a barbie
with flaxen hair
and
blue eyes, tall and lean
with slender waist, robust
bust, and bright pink
lips. Instead, she got a
chubby-faced cloth doll
that looked more like a
cabbage.
She wanted a barbie
that rode around
in
convertibles with hair
flying back, driving to
the beach to get that
golden tan, and in the
passenger's
seat, Ken,
her soulmate. Instead,
she got a big yellow
Mack toy dump truck.
She wanted a barbie
like Ken to be her
soulmate, with his
chiseled cheek-bones
and tall muscle
build,
the epitome of the
sweet All-American guy.
Instead, she fell for the
tall, dark, and handsome
foreign-accented guys.
She wanted a barbie
life with Ken, someone
to build a home with and
have
2.5 children with,
a dog, a piece of the
American dream. Instead,
she became a statistic
in what is otherwise
known
as the great-American
divorce.
She wanted a barbie.
 To read more about Marcus Goodyear's new book, and read some other poems about Barbies click on the link below:
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