My Story About A Story

I wrote a book, and it was published.

Wait, what?!

Yes.  And it’s a myriad of feelings swirling around about this.  Fear, excitement, hesitation, gratitude, humbled, vulnerable, and much, much more. 

Let me tell you the story behind the story.  And not to be cheesy, (well, maybe a little) but the book is actually called, “The Story Becomes the Song.”  I began actually putting it together around 2019, but through some important events in 2020, and the last few months of that year with heavy sadness saying goodbye to my mom for a while, I shut my laptop one day and just couldn’t work on this project any longer.  And truly couldn’t conceive of when I could begin again, if ever.  I chalked it all up to maybe that work had simply been a work for my own heart.  Also, working through the honest to goodness inner dialogue that said, “Who are you anyway?  Why would you think you have something worthwhile for others?  You are so imperfectly flawed.  Just let other’s (who are smarter, better writers, and steadier) share their hope and this work was simply for you.” 

But that little tug kept showing up in my heart for maybe the possible insight I could give others from my own struggles.  Pain is something we all go through, and I just kept thinking if there’s one little way I can help others, that would mean a lot to me.  A way to pay it forward, all the love and support I have been so freely given.    

One day as I unboxed some of my mom’s belongings, sat on the floor of my bedroom, surrounded by boxes heaped around of her precious things, I found her last birthday card written to me.  “How odd,” I thought.  The pink envelope was sealed still; she never gave it to me.  I opened it up, through a flood of tears, and read her sweet, large, cursive handwriting, and in it she told me how she loved me, and was proud of me, and she also reflected back on how in childhood I had loved to write stories and told me I should write again.  I felt so lost in that moment of time.  So many changes had happened in my life so quickly.  Everything felt uprooted. Or, like a ship without an anchor, trying to find a safe harbor. 

I began work on the book again.  Working through edit processes, and feedback from a few sources of continual help on this project.  They cheered me on.  They encouraged me.  They told me the writings helped them and they believed they would help others.  They believed in me, when I couldn’t believe in myself. 

After working with a few publishing companies, it seemed I kept coming up against the need to alter who I am a little bit, in order to fit for marketing strategies, or brand of the individual company.  Some of the alterations were just deal-breakers for me after reflection.  So, then, I thought, “Well, I was right.  This project was just for me and my healing!”  La tee Da.  I did feel a little guilt over all my supporters that had invested so much time and continued to cheer me on.  All the while, I had begun to work at some point with KDP and an independent publisher, but decided against that, too. 

Are you hearing what’s going on in my head at this time, really? 

Fear.  And not healthy fear.  The kind of fear that sneers at you and says, “You’re not enough.  See, I told you.  You’re not good enough to be seen or heard.  Your perspective doesn’t matter.  Your story will be judged and rightfully so, you’re just a mess.” 

Thennnnnnn, a sermon series began at my church that spoke to me so frankly.  My pastor talked about giving our all, from the heart and testimony of our own lives – flawed, forgiven, free, but willing to share it all, for the Love that had changed everything for us. A Love that isn’t about what I have done, or will do, but about how He does it all and changes everything in spite of us.  On the final Sunday sermon of this series, I went home, told God, “I hear you.”  And I hit the submit button to publish through KDP.

I am a mess. A mess God loves and continues to show His powerful love to, and I hope in some small way, through.

A realization struck me, my ship isn’t meant to be at the harbor. One day, it will. My mom’s is. She is receiving her rest and reward. My ship is meant to sail on, to keep pushing through with whatever my heart and hands have the strength to do, to love those around me.

The book may encourage one person, and if it does.  It is so absolutely worth it.  I am here today because other people did not hesitate to share their love with me.  They didn’t let their own ego, or fear stand in the way of letting me know, that wounds do heal. And there are helpers out there when you have needs.  And Love changes everything when you are willing to let it. 

So, that’s my story about a story.  🙂

If you would like to purchase my book, here’s a link: https://a.co/d/3PCbpv3 Let me know what you think, if you’d like and have the time.

Every Day

Four shirts I remember she wore on a day to day basis during the spring time. A light pink, with a spray-painted look print and blue hearts. A safari neutral type of thing. A white t-shirt with two, big, blue denim hearts. And a vertical striped.

I never noticed the worn-out shoes she wore. And yet, I did. I guess I just never thought about it, back then at 9 years old.

She wore an old, black cardigan or a tan jacket when it was chilly out. I remember wiggling my fingers in the holes of the black cardigan when I laid in her lap, or snuggled against her shoulder. The sound of her voice was so soothing.

She was the most beautiful woman on this earth. She didn’t need name brand clothing, or the latest style shoes to earn that title to me. Or how you possibly viewed her, maybe if you knew Debbie? I bet you never even noticed her shoes, because her smile was too beautiful. 🙂 Her delicate makeup she applied, that she received from my Mema (her mom who sold Avon), was just the right, gentle enhancement for her.

Yes, her dark hair and eyes, and lovely skin all made her beautiful. But, at the risk of sounding trite, I must say, it was the sparkle in her eye and the love in action for all fellow creatures that made her beauty radiant.

I was trying to think of which story to tell you today; the one about her calming an overwhelmed outburst, or writing me a meaningful card about self-worth in my preteen years, or when she sang quietly to me “Have Thine Own Way, Lord” in a distressing moment in my life.

I think instead, I’ll tell you what impacts me the most today.

Every day feeding the chickens together. Sometimes chased by the Rooster together.
Every morning beginning our day with a talk about life.
Every day routinely cleaning the kitchen together.
Every day knowing we would watch either an episode of Andy Griffith, Little House, or The Walton’s.
Every morning waking to the sound of her voice singing and the record playing a bright, morning, wake up song.

Every day I knew she prayed for me. I just knew.
Every day listening to her talk to all the animals.
Every day she was always a listening ear for me.
Every day she was always wearing one of those shirts.
Every day we talked about either our favorite book character from our current read or replayed a plot from a recently watched movie.
Every day we told each other if we had a dream the night before. And all the details.
Every day I watched her at some point stare quietly out her kitchen garden window at her bird feeder.
Every day she wore her hair in a pony tail, unless it was a dress up occasion.
Every day she always smiled and laughed at some point.
Every day she thought about how she could make the world a better place for another person or animal in her care.
Every day, every minuscule moment of that day, I knew she loved me. I miss you, Mom.

Go Fish

One of my fondest early childhood memories is found sitting on the light, beige carpet at Mama and Papa’s “camp” house. Cross-legged across from my paternal grandmother with the majority of the deck of cards in my hand, holding it close to my face. My nose wrinkled, her eyes twinkling. Most of the time still in my swimsuit, wrapped in a towel on a hot summer Texas day, because it for sure wouldn’t be long before I was back in the icy cold creek swimming.

Our family affectionally called this place, “The Camp,” but when visitors came, they would laugh and say it was no mere camp house. Sat on over 80 beautiful acres, a lovely brick home, horse stables, shady pavilion for reunions and best of all a swimming hole in the McGraw Creek. A diving board, trolley and aesthetically gorgeous rocky dam made it a spot of blissful repose.

When I think of my Mama, it may come as a surprise to her, but I think she really taught me the treasured value of patience and mindfulness. Living in the now. She never ever rushed time with me. Whether it was playing cards, cooking my breakfast to my specialized order, helping me practice swimming, or taking me clothes shopping, she never, ever rushed me. As an adult, looking back, I now see the loving patience she had for me. And not just me, each and every person she encounters. She takes her time to listen to details, to clarify if she doesn’t understand, and never seems annoyed by how slow I may go.

I am so grateful that she taught me to carefully wipe off my shoes at the door. And to not drip my wet swimsuit on the carpet. She showed me how to properly make a bed. And she also taught me how to properly iron a shirt, what a lost art in our busy world. She took the time to remind me to hang up my clothes, and slow down when eating – to truly enjoy my food. When a loved one was in the hospital, she dropped everything to attend to their every need; sometimes staying months at a time sleeping on a couch in the hospital room. Never, ever complained. Always only concerned for their well-being.

I know her early years were difficult. This amazing woman who turned 97 this year is no stranger to pain. She lost both her father at 10 and her mother in her teens, and yet to this day, I’ve also never heard her utter a negative thought about how challenging life was in those days for her. Or complain about being born in a time when her world struggled to survive, then rebuild in The Great Depression Era.

She only speaks of the blessings of her life.

Well, you’re a blessing in mine, Mama. You inspire me, and I am who I am because of your patient love in my life.

Mama always keeps up with the current events – news and sports and such. She can give you all the latest stats, (especially basketball) and frequently is the first one to tell me of a major current event happening.

But those events never take precedent over the event currently and momentarily happening in her life.

That event so often was a little six-year-old girl, with dark braids, and an eager ear to listen for that beautiful laugh that warms my heart to this day, saying, “go fish!”

Help

Be where your feet are. 

My Pastor has just completed a very inspiring sermon series to begin our 2024, and several times during his messages shared this really compelling phrase: Be where your feet are.

It has been a phrase I have found myself contemplating the meaning over and over for myself. Where am I staring over my shoulder behind me, and where am I gazing off distantly into the future? Years ago, my family went on snow ski trips annually. One thing I discovered quickly (and not without a few experiences to remind me) is that I could not ski and look behind me over my shoulder, and I also could not gaze too far ahead the path or I would miss necessary situations in front of me. Looking too far ahead or behind me, created disturbances in my present experiences. 

It’s hard, isn’t it? When our past imprints on our brain to be hyper-vigilant and when our need for control can’t seem to focus anywhere but on the future. But a wise woman once said to me, “You know, control really is an illusion.” 

Be where your feet are.

So true, my past is there, it exists. But I am not my past, and that is not where I exist. My future is yet to be unseen, and I could never control what that will be. What I can do, is take the next step in front of me. Do the next right thing. Be fully present, embracing all the pieces of life surrounding me now.

But, it is so scary at times. Maybe the thing that is scary is the responsibility that comes with living where my feet are. Maybe we would rather focus on what we can’t control, than courageously face what we can?

This is where help comes in. I know I can’t do this on my own. That’s the scary part. But God has recently reminded me again, He is my helper. Help doesn’t mean He takes over control of me, or that He magically makes everything feel just right. 

“I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
    where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
    the Maker of heaven and earth.

 He will not let your foot slip—
    he who watches over you will not slumber.”

Psalm 121:1-3b

The word help here in the original language (Hebrew) means a strong presence, an aid without which humankind would be unprotected and vulnerable to all sorts of unsettling situations. It reminds me that as I walk out my path, focused on each little step in front of me, He is there. He is my help. He does not leave me alone or unprotected, and I don’t have to fear. Even of my own blunders. Even of other people’s blunders.

He is greater. 

Trust Him with those feet. 

Dusting the Keys

As I dusted the keys today, I slowed down… something I need to do more often…and I actually admired the beauty of this instrument. My thoughts went back to my first meeting with this old Wurlitzer. Maybe around the age of six, and I was transported back to some of the flickers of happy memories. Smells of my mom’s kitchen as she baked some homemade bread. Watching wide eyed and excited, as my grandpa and some helpers hefted and heaved to move this piano up some steps, across the porch and into our old farmhouse. My grandfather, or as we affectionately called him Pa-Pa, had retrieved this old piano out of a house fire project he was working on as an insurance adjustor, and acquired it for myself and my two sisters (at that time) to learn how to play.

I always tell people, I don’t know why or how I became so interested in learning music. But, today I thought about where it came from… him. My Pa-pa. The man who grew up during the depression, and told us stories of the worst and extreme poverty conditions that he lived in. Yet, somehow, as a young boy, he acquired a harmonica. His stories of playing that harmonica, hiding from his family in a quilt box never grew dull. I wish I had a video to share with you of how amazing he was on that little instrument. Better yet, sometimes he would dance as he played.

I can still see the excitement in his eyes, the look of sheer joy as he brought that piano into our living room. Old, scarred and beaten from the house fire, but able to be restored. Almost forty years later, I have the precious gift of watching my sixteen year old son play those same keys, with beauty that I am so grateful for. Moments of sheer joy. As he explores this gift that is endless.

Sometimes all we need to do is slow down.

Spring, Mud and Sunrises

My favorite season is and has always been spring. Even tho’ in Texas lately, it’s like a game of peek-a-boo. Little taste of spring time and the birds are found singing and soaring, flowers are blooming, and Mr Sunshine smiling big and bright. Then comes the rain. . . rain . . . rain. Then we jump from 75 degrees and blue skies, back to our notorious cold and muddy backyards. This concept of tension, of the waiting, of the two things true at the same time. It just keeps coming up for me. Maybe it’s because I need to continue recognizing that flowers only bloom after a season of cold, wet, winter. Just like the sunrise. It comes back every day. But, sometimes the nights can be long and dark.

Have you ever been lost in the woods at night? It can be so scary. Especially in the deep piney woods of SE Texas. Where you’ve heard rumors of panthers and you’re a 9 year old girl armed with a stick and wearing flip flops without backs (this is important when you need to run!). You wait crouched in the woods, trying to be small and invisible, waiting on the sun to rise to guide your pathway back to the comfort of your mother’s arms. It’s also scary when you’re a fifteen year old sitting on a curb in a downtown city area and you know that certain night life, that could be scarier than a panther, is lurking somewhere. You wait, and wait. Hours and hours. You wonder where your ride is, but you know in your heart you’re the last thing on your dad’s mind. His addiction has called him away. Sunrise, please show up. Place me in the light, so I can see the danger.

And, the light and the springtime are so pure and so consistent. They do come. It may feel at times like it never will. Yet, the waiting is never in vain. Maybe you’re in a season of waiting right now. It may feel muddy and heavy, or dark and fearful. My friend, some promises are real. Some promises are believable. And, we have a Father who always is faithful to keep the seasons rolling along and the sun setting as it should. A God, that I don’t always understand, but Who always sits with us on that curb. And, the One who tells the sun about its rising the next day so big and so bright to light our path away from what lurks in the dark. Always with us.

Four Years

Four years. That’s how long it takes apparently to become a moderate level guitar player, learn a new language fluently, the in-between time for US presidential elections and also how long it is between the Olympic Games. There’s a bit of nonsensical trivia for you. You would think since I’ve taken four years to write, I could come up with something better than that! The truth is for me in four years now I’ve gone through a divorce, completing my Master’s, some challenging exams, working on a book, baseball games, basketball games, football games, college graduations, high school graduations, moved twice, new job, one hurricane evacuation, an ice storm, COVID-19 chaos, birthdays, Christmas, illness, surgeries, reuniting with my violin (my friend), understanding what holding space means, losing my precious mother, and God’s stillness in a new way deep in my soul.

Four years.

And, yet here I am. With two things true always at the same time. Grieving and Grateful. Tired and Strong. Humble and Learning. Resting and Growing.

Some friends once gave me a little sign that said, “Sometimes He calms the storm, and sometimes He calms the child.” He has always been there. He’s always near. There’s so very much I don’t understand, and I’ll leave those big concepts and answers safe in His heart until I can understand. For today… for this moment, all I need to know is what’s right in front of me. Do that thing. Do it well. Do it with love.

Treading

My devotional this morning pointed me, as always it seems, with a right lens for my day.  Maybe you, like me, feel that the storms just keep coming.  I remember once, when I lived in Florida as a child, going to the beach and having a contest with my sister to see how long we could tread the water in the beautiful Atlantic Ocean.  We both stubbornly kept the contest going for quite awhile, and I remember my legs beginning to ache.

My heart feels that way sometimes.

I keep treading and treading with that little word. . . hope.  My head is bobbing up and down, legs aching, staying afloat. . . But, can this be over?  Can my contest end?

My devotion this morning reminded me that there’s a difference between despair and desperation.

Despair = not so good.  There’s no point in it all.  I quit. 

Desperation = Jesus, you are my only hope. I look to you for my help, where else would I go?

Just when my strength runs out, is the same place where I give it to Him.  And, that is where my heart belongs. . . safe in His loving hands.

A Clear Lens to Look Through

First thing this morning, leaving my driveway to take my son to school, I realized my visibility through my windshield was quite poor.  My windshield had a dewy blanket left on it, and the problem was that my car is, let’s say, less than perfectly clean.  I turned on my windshield wipers, they swiped back and forth only to smear more and more filth across my windshield, causing less visibility, defeating my need and purpose.  Then I pressed the button to spray the washer fluid, only to smear even more and cause even less visibility.  Have you experienced this before?  Or, just me?  🙂

I’m in a class currently that is challenging me to think about the mindsets that I view my relationships, my ethics, my purpose, and my daily tasks through.  What is my lens?  How is my visibility?  How often do we trudge through our day only viewing the moments we live in with an entitled, selfish, inward focus?  To be honest, I believe that we do more than we realize.  I do, sometimes automatically, and my emotions signal me.. feeling irritable, short fused, or even sorry for myself. Let’s look at a simple, little heart checklist:

• Am I defensive and immediately annoyed anytime someone disagrees with me, questions my viewpoint, or has criticism for me?
• Do I gossip?  We all know when we do, and we justify as we do it.
• Do I dismiss my own weaknesses or sins with little justifications inside, only to look at others with more condemnation?  (I was tired, lonely, sad, had a bad day, not treated right, etc.)
• Do I have a woe-is-me attitude?  No one else understands me, and no one else tries as hard as me, and no one else appreciates me…
• Do I expect other people to be interested and enthralled with my pursuits, but don’t show similar interests for theirs?

It’s a start to cleaning our windshield!

There are many more reflective questions that we could add to this list, but intentional heart prodding helps us find a starting point.  Selfishness and an entitled lens leads to losing our clear visibility directing our needs and purpose.  We don’t see others, or ourselves in the light of who God created us to be when we allow only our self-gain to direct our pathways.

So, how did God create us to be?

Quite simply. . . To Love and Glorify Him. To Love Others.

“And he said to him, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment.”

Matthew 22:37-38, ESV. 

Changing our visibility doesn’t just happen with only acknowledgment, it happens when we work on it; accepting responsibility and making changes.

What are some ways we can do this?

Give God each moment of our day.  We are His creation, His children, and the display of His image on this earth.  Choose to reflect His Character.

We must know His character; What He says about us, others. We must continually sink deeper and deeper in the knowledge of His love.  How do we know?  We begin by studying God’s word, and processing it out with others who seek and follow Him.

Be grateful. Notice the mass amounts of blessings and surprises of grace in each day.  The sunrises, smiles, good meals, friendships, and so much more. Not only should we count them, but we should act.  Say thank-you.  Tell God and others about our appreciation.  Cultivate a culture of gratitude in your soul.

Practice otherness.  Tip your waiter or waitress. Be kind and attentive. Fill out the survey form for the store employee who asks you (literally takes 5 minutes, and you know you *have time* to spend that on Facebook) it may give them a raise eventually or needed kudos from their place of employment.  Let someone into your lane.  Volunteer.  Spend time with others.

Be Wholehearted.

Our Creator said that it’s better to give than receive.. He also said that what we do for the least of these, we do for Him.  He knows us! He made us.  When we function this way, it not only benefits others, but it gives our soul true peace.

Check out this article that really is insightful for us! 7 Scientific Benefits of Helping Others

If we don’t check and change our lens for the way we view things, trying to fix things on the surface level will be difficult, tiring, and frustrating.  This can lead to, “Look at all I do for everyone else!”  And, that is not true gratefulness and loving others, right?  That’s just more about ME.  Just smearing the dirt more on my windshield.  Checking the very motives and conditions of my heart and then acting on it, gives it all a good cleaning… giving me the visibility I need.

Hope you find this encouraging, it’s definitely all been working overtime on this old heart, and I wanted to share with you.

(By the way, I plan to wash my car tomorrow for those concerned!)

Motivation, Application, Wisdom & Joy

“For am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God? Or am I trying to please man? If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ.”   ~Galatians 1:10

Why do we do what we do? 

Simple question….lengthy answers? Or could it be a simple answer? 

During one of my life’s most difficult seasons, my Pastor Reg’s response to my gauntlet of a whirlwind of questions was, “Ask yourself with each decision… What is the wise thing? What is the right thing… what is the wise thing, what is the right thing?” 

What is the wise thing? 

What is the right thing? 

Since then, I cannot tell you the countless times I whisper this question over and over as I face the next thing.

So, why do we do what we do? 

Pride? Ego? People pleasing? Fear of failure? 

Serving myself?  Serving other’s whims and pressures?

Two things that I have pondered ever since that conversation with my Pastor… 

1. I won’t know what the wise thing is unless I actively seek the giver of wisdom. 

That Bible that sits on my nightstand…  It contains the words from my Father. Why is it so much easier to seek every other source in the world when I face decisions, than to go immediately to the source in prayer?  Am I daily learning more about God, and His ways?  Are my roots growing deeper?  Do I intentionally seek?

You don’t gain knowledge about math without listening to instruction, studying, applying and working it out.  You don’t increase in ability at your sport, or musical instrument, or workplace without listening to instruction, studying, applying, and working it out… See where I’m going with this?  🙂

2.   I often know the wise thing, or the right thing… but I choose otherwise. 

Entertain my silliness for a moment, but when I ask myself, “What is the wise thing..?”  before I decide to eat that huge piece of cheesecake for lunch… well, I do kinda know the answer.  However, I eat it anyway.. and an hour later I feel sluggish, heavy, and I haven’t fed my body the proper fuel for my day to be the best in productivity.  Now, I may make that decision again because that cheesecake is so yummy!  Lol.  But, at least I need to own the consequences.

There are some decisions that carry much more severe weight, and consequences.. and owning our unwise choices is not silly, or trite, but vital for our life and those we love around us.  We grow when we face our wrong decisions square in the face, and work it out with God’s ways accordingly.  One wrong decision doesn’t have to turn into a snowball of more, and more and more wrong decisions.  I did you wrong?  I need to face it, apologize and change my behavior.. But, when my ugly pride and me sits on that throne… I ignore the question of what is right (or talk myself into a solution that isn’t godly) and instead of making it right, I cling to the wrong one, justify it, and continue to walk serving someone other than God.

I don’t know about you, but when I’m carrying my load wrong, I get tired. The absence of God in my decisions and thought processes makes me feel burdened, confused at times, and alone. But, the presence of God is my fullness of joy. And joy is my strength. See how that works out? “He will make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.” (Psalm 16:11, ESV). He’s a good Father – He’s not going to keep the wise thing or the right thing a secret from you… seek Him today with your every question. 

And may our motivation for what we do be all about Him, through Him, and because of Him.