The pursuit of a million dollars is an arduous task for a sixth grader trying to figure out why he was being ridiculed for not fitting in. This path leading him to believe that he needed to start planning sooner, rather than later, or else he'd be forced to accept the identity being defined right before his eyes. Ascension above an adolescent mediocrity began after he realized if his ship wasn't coming in, he'd have to swim out to it. Unexpectedly, the man he grew into finds a love he settles for rather than letting the Lord settle it for him. After going through the motions of deciding which he wanted more, he discovers that self-defining a treasure map of sorts is the best solution to curtailing any further adverse relationship decisions. Landing a job at Delta Airlines he recognizes that questions he was asking were being answered by the lessons learned while flying through a cloudy perspective to suddenly arrive at the bluest skies he'd ever seen. Through the clouds is his journey through those sometimes turbulent skies as he was trying to figure out what was most important. Would he find himself so far up a million dollar dream that he isn't open to a love who finds him wanting? Or would he stay below the clouds long enough to wait on what God was planning all along?
Through the Clouds
A Journey of Self Discovery and the Lessons I Learned While Flying Through the CloudsBy C. Wes MercierAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2012 C. Wes Mercier
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4685-3824-3Contents
1. Who Am I?..................................................................12. The Picture Of Mediocrity..................................................133. Yeah, That'll Be A Table For One!..........................................254. The Covered Dish Delight ... And What Do I Bring?..........................455. Am I Mr. Right, Or Mr. Right Now?..........................................566. Can This Really Be Love?...................................................697. The List...................................................................908. Barrelling Beyond Before...................................................1009. The Chutzpah Of Columbia County............................................11110. Lincoln Logs ... Building Something Out Of Nothing.........................13711. A Departure From Normality.................................................14712. A Russian Bride Without Being Anywhere Close To Russia.....................16713. Looking For Love In All The Wrong Places...................................18014. A Cup Of Instant Instanbul, Please.........................................18815. The Emphasis On Ephesus....................................................20216. My Own Little Fairy Tale For A Million Dollars, Alex!......................216
Chapter One
Who Am I?
THIS QUESTION HAS PROBABLY BECOME THE QUESTION OF ALL questions in our lifetimes, and its answer may solve some of the problems we have about defining ourselves. The belief is that if definition can be given to a single object, then that object may present itself to us, in a formatted version of the truth. So where do we actually find a solution then? As for me, I begin somewhere between the road to nowhere and childhood. A road paved with good intentions while entering those peculiar years of adolescence. In high school, I never had the vigor or the self-esteem to finish anything. Yeah, I'd begin it, and with passion that would have William Shakespeare proud. But then as I wondered within my own realms of reality, I'd find the end result was just too far out of reach, that I wouldn't even bother progressing.
North Augusta, South Carolina is a small town for sure. To an extent, it has aspirations to acquire that big city feel while maintaining an ever prevalent quaintness. There's even a hint of fresh air steadily blowing off the banks of the Savannah River. And in those early years, we always found our way down there for aquatic refreshment whether my mother knew where we were or not. I can imagine this particular town being just like many others of its size. With or without the river, I believe every town has its ups and downs. People who are actively involved in just about anything they can get their hands on, and then those who aren't. There were the mothers who couldn't bear to send their little tadpoles off to school. As if they were going to follow them down the halls securing a seat for their kid at the popular table. Oh! And how about the fathers who were at every football practice, whether their son was any good, or not? To me, that was the funniest thing about small town America. They would rather sacrifice any kind of success just to placate an active booster. There were some of us who thought we were talented enough to play. But yet, for some ungodly reason, we were left to sulk into our own sense of stardom on that beautiful place we called the bench. I remember there being coaches who were no bigger than a jockey from the nicely manicured racetracks of Kentucky. You would've thought they ruled the athletic world from what they were saying about themselves.
There on a hot steamy August afternoon, I was sulking that even though I was as big as anyone on the team, I wouldn't play one play. If I wanted to be part of North Augusta Yellow Jacket Football, I would have to do so from where, you guessed it, that all so purposeful bench. I got so disturbed one time that I came home to vent my frustration. Maybe even to quit. But my mother or father wouldn't hear of it. She said, "You chose to start this season, now just finish it, and next year you can do what you want!" Needless to say there was always something about a mother's reassurance that would turn a big boy into the child his mother still saw him as. So doing what I had to do, I suppressed my anger and vested my time within the solitude of that sweltering practice field.
The consensus was that I'd persevere and just finish the season. But life as I knew it was about to change. What I didn't know was there was Coach Long who coached Defensive Line, and he was about to give me an opportunity of a lifetime. A powerfully built defensive line looking man who himself had successfully completed his high school career at North Augusta, howbeit a lot earlier than I. So Coach Long looks at me in those befuddled eyes of mine, and directed me, "Mercier, I want you to come here and play over here." He was pointing at the tackle position on the Defensive line. And as excited as I was to be taken from the tackle dummy position, I still pondered as to why he chose me. Maybe it was because I was so tall and I could knock the ball down in the event that the quarterback threw a screen pass or something like that. To this day, I don't know why. It really isn't important though. But what is important is that I will always be thankful that he gave me that much anticipated time off the dummy's dinger. And then there was the day when those Jockey coaches would see the way I tackled.
We had a scrawny old Head Coach who didn't seem to want us to tackle. At least tackle correctly anyway. I believed that this should be done as to stop the other player from going anywhere. That's the point right? You immobilize your opponent as to keep him from moving forward. So why was this man trying to conceal the art of tackling from us? His belief was this would only be done at game time, and only during game time. The instructions he gave us seemed as if he was trying to hold us back. Wait a minute, I just said us, as if I was part of that group that he would look at, and then bark out his commandments. I have to remember I was the one he would look through just to see someone else. Until that day anyway, I thought I was invisible to this man. Coach Long had strategically positioned me with his starting defensive linemen. Taking what was unfamiliar territory, the all so sacred practice field, I'd look around the linebackers to wave to my buddies on the tackling dummies. As if they were routing me on. It really was a nice thing to see. So, being placed somewhere I thought was so far out of reach that there must have been a look of bewilderment on my face. But I stood there confidently among the giants within my own state of a beanstalk mentality.
So there was our Head Coach, let us just call him Coach Jockey. He looked at the defense and barked in what seemed to be a West Virginian dialect, "All right guys, I want you to go 110%." Excited to be standing there with marching orders in hand and I was free to show them I could play. The belief was that I could actually go full steam ahead when I truthfully never heard these "All Out" words before. It seemed like to me that finally, we were doing what it took to win football games. The offense broke huddle. The first team players placed their hands gingerly upon the...
