spring

my shoulders relax as the sun defrosts my body,

the stress, the cold that made me ache melts away.

my mood lifts as the temperature rises

and I feel that I'm alive again, I'm being renewed.

the sky is bluer, the air is warmer.

I can hear the birds once again, the breeze is fragrant.

the wind doesn't cut through to my bone, down to the marrow.

I welcome the rush round my face and through my hair.

the clouds are golden as the sun sets after dinner.

I don't mourn its departure, for I know tomorrow,

tomorrow it will rise before I do and wake me with its brightness,

and the day will be new, fresh, and light.

once again death is held at bay, the cold is banished.

for a time we will revel in the sun and heat

and remember that no cold will ever stay forever

and death will never win.

an excuse of absence

In case you are one of the 14 people that read this blog and wonder why I haven't posted for the last six months... there is a reason.  I have been focusing my efforts lately on fiction, poetry, and finishing some projects.  So I may be posting some of those stories soon. :-)  Thanks for reading!

two guitars, a keyboard, and a good father

Sometimes I worry when I write (more often when I don't write), that I've lost it.  I'm going to sit down at the Mac and have nothing to say.  And that does happen sometimes.  The cursor sits blinking at me and I have to walk away.  But it's never completely gone, eventually there is always something to write.

Tim gently reminds me that God is not a bad father.  He's not always looking for a chance to steal a gift away from you.  A gift that He gave you.  Father's give gifts to their children, and they expect them to use them, not worry about losing them.

My Mom and Dad gave my brother, sister and I two guitars and keyboard for Christmas one year.  We were taking piano lessons at the time and my parents signed us up for guitar lessons with Charlie Daniels (no, not the Charlie Daniels, the other one who sold instruments in Fresno, California).

My Dad encouraged us to practice the guitar as much as possible, we even brought the guitars in the van and practiced on the way to a track meet.  I think he hoped we would start our own rock band eventually, but we were all a little too shy for that.

In the end, I didn't practice that much.  My brother is the only one of us who can play the guitar, and I took a shortcut and married a guy who could.

This reminds me of how God gives us gifts.  My parents chose to give us those instruments, and encouraged us to "use" the gifts.  The only reason I can't play guitar is because I didn't want it bad enough for myself (and the strings hurt my fingers).  My parents didn't take the gifts away from us, they gave them to us freely and enjoyed seeing us use them.

God gifted you uniquely and it pleases Him to see you use the gifts and talents He has given you.

I think we worry a lot about what God's purpose is for our life and worry what gifts we should pursue.  We lie awake for hours wondering if we should have been an artist, engineer, camp director, missionary, or veterinarian and don't do the simple things.

Love God and love people.  After that, play your guitar, crunch numbers, go fishing, work your job, write your stories, raise your children, and live the life God has given you.

Someday God may take the gift away for a time.  Or you may grow old and not be able to move with as much ease as before.  But that doesn't mean He doesn't have something else for you, something even better.

What makes you feel close to God?  I would imagine it is when you are communicating with Him, just like any good relationship.  For me, it is when I write to Him and for Him.  I encourage you to seek out those places.  Maybe it is when you sing, maybe it is when you are outside, maybe it's when you care for His children.

Revel in the gifts He has given you and thank Him while you work and play.  He's a good Father, you bring Him joy when you live the life He has designed for you.

"Do not be deceived, my beloved brothers.  Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.  Of His own will He brought us forth by the word of truth, that we should be a kind of firstfruits of His creatures."  James 1:16-18

the waiting room

"Bob? Right this way please."

The nurse lead an elderly gentleman with a cane to his examination room.

There were seven people left in the waiting room.

"I told you Steve, I was in the meeting. Jefferson was very clear about what his expectations are for the next quarter. We are going to need every last sale in our territory. I'm working on fine-tuning our plan for the next two weeks right now," a woman in business attire with a bluetooth and open laptop continued her work day in a chair near the door. She was very distressed earlier when there wasn't an available outlet for her laptop.

A seat away from the business woman sat a construction worker with his arm in a sling. He had been injured recently on the job in a machine accident. Workman's comp paid his way. He was in for a follow-up. He was watching an Oprah re-run in between paragraphs about the NFL Lockout in a month-old Sports Illustrated.

Across from them sat a couple flirting. The man talked about his recent outdoor adventure; he had been hiking and canoeing for ten days near Lake Superior. He was wearing a black and red plaid shirt and had well-manicured stubble. The woman was blinking repeatedly and leaning in towards him with her arms folded under her bust-line. She occasionally interrupted his story with oohs and ahhs, and expressions of disbelief.

Close to the television sat a mother and her young son. Her son's nose was bright red and he sniffled in between sobs.

"Why don't you play with the Legos, Alex?" Alex shook his head and buried it in his mother's lap. Across from her sat a man with a bottle of hand sanitizer.

"I bet he has an ear infection. Little kids always have ear infections. I used to get them all the time." He squirted his hand with sanitizer and wrung his hands together several times.

"Do you worry about getting sick with something just by coming to the doctor?" the sanitizer man asked Alex's mother.

"No, not too much," she said. "Usually we are already sick, so I don't really think about it."

"Well, I'm not usually sick when I come. I just come to get checked on for my diabetes and asthma. I worry that I'm going to get the flu or shingles. I'm so afraid of shingles."

"Did you get chicken pox when you were little?" asked Alex's mother.

"Yes, it was terrible."

"Well, you don't have to worry then. It's unlikely that you'll get shingles."

"But you can get them. It's not a 100% guarantee. My cousin had both. You have a 20% chance."

"Well," said Alex's mom, "I guess you could get it, but I don't think you should worry."

Sanitizer man squirted his hands again and rubbed them together vigorously.

"You can never be too safe ma'am. Uh, what is your name?"

"Cindy."

"Nice to meet you Cindy. My name is Gary. I'd shake your hand, but, you know."

Cindy nodded.

"How old is your son?"

"Alex, how old are you?" asked Cindy, encouragingly holding up three fingers. Alex buried his face deeper in his mother's lap, then turned his head to peer at Gary with one eye.

"Three years old, huh? I don't remember being three. I remember being four. I got sick and was in the hospital overnight. My mom stayed on the chair next to me and my dad brought me a teddy bear. I got stuck 8 times before they found a vein for my IV. I hated needles ever since then."

Cindy winced and looked down at Alex, hoping he just had an ear infection. "Do you use needles for your diabetes. I mean, to check your blood sugar?"

"Yes," said Gary, "I hate it."

"Alex?" called the nurse, "Mrs. Roberts?" Cindy started to get up.

"Well, it was very nice meeting you Cindy," said Gary. "Good luck with the ear infection Alex." Gary saluted the little boy and started to watch Oprah.

Gary pulled a notecard out of his back pocket. On the notecard he had scribbled, "back mole," and "insomnia." He looked over the card and rehearsed in his head what he would say to his doctor.

"Well Doctor, there is this mole on my back. I have been measuring it for the last ten years and I think it may have grown. Can we check and see if it is cancerous? Also, I have hardly been able to sleep lately and I worry that I am suffering from insomnia. Is there anything we can do to remedy these issues?"

Gary folded up his card and placed it back in his pocket and turned his attention back to the television. A new segment was starting on Oprah. She was going to interview a doctor on early dementia. They were going to talk about cases of dementia before the age of 50. Gary breathed in deeply. He had forgotten his sister's birthday last week. He pulled out his card and scribbled "dementia" under "insomnia."

The business woman and her bluetooth were called into the doctor's office. She huffed past the nurse and muttered something about time being money. The waiting room was much quieter now. Only the couple's flirting conversation could be heard interrupted at regular intervals by the construction worker's snoring.

Gary tried to relax and thought about buying a belated birthday card for his sister at the drugstore on the way home. He would probably need to pick up a prescription anyway.

The door opened again. The construction worker was called in and Alex and Cindy walked out. Cindy finished signing out and paying at the front and walked over to Gary.

"You haven't been called in yet Gary? You were here before we got here." Cindy looked concerned.

"Oh, it's okay. I come here so often they figure I can wait a little longer I guess. How's Alex?"

"You were right, Alex had an ear infection. The doctor gave us a prescription and said it should clear up pretty soon. How did you know?"

"I've seen it before, experienced it myself." Gary shifted uncomfortably. Alex had walked up to him, put his hand on his knee and was motioning towards the Legos in the corner.

"Well, I'm very impressed," said Cindy smiling. "We'll see you later Gary."

"Bye Cindy, Bye Alex. I hope you feel better soon."

orchard house

On our trip to Boston we went to Orchard House, the home of Louisa May Alcott. Louisa wrote Little Women, one of my favorite books as a young girl.

It was so amazing to see where she lived and hear stories from the guide about her life. My favorite part of the tour was seeing her desk by the window where she wrote her books. Very inspiring.

It's a great experience to see the home of someone you look up to, it makes them more real, and more normal. It cuts away at their idol status when you see that their life is not always too different from your own. They just ran with their ideas and dreams, something that is not always easy to do.

This side trip was definitely encouraging to me as I've been dreaming about stories again (and hoping to write that novel one day). I just need to sit down and write, write, write.

Seeing Orchard House the day after Thanksgiving reminded me that is time to break out my Little Women dvd. I don't know what it is about that film, but I absolutely love watching it at Christmas time.

I am very grateful to my husband Tim and brother Isaac for making it possible for me to see Louisa's house. My brother kindly drove us there and waited for us while we took the tour (he had already been on it), and Tim made sure I got to see and hear everything about Louisa (even though he hasn't read the book yet:-)

If you are ever in Concord, and you love Little Women, go see Orchard House. It's well worth the trip.

to write a novel

I have been thinking about writing a novel. Problem. I don't know what I'm going to write about. I dream about the day I will be struck with that golden idea.... an idea that has the depth to last for two hundred or more pages.

I have had thoughts on what to write a novel on, and sometimes I think they have potential. But I worry that its me, not the idea. I don't know that I will ever have the skill or stamina to write an epic story. My efforts have been short and brief at best. Probably two pages.

How do I become Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, Victor Hugo, Charles Dickens, C.S. Lewis, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Ernest Hemingway, etc.? Maybe by not watching television, wasting time on the internet, etc. Regardless of how I currently spend my time, how I can I shape my mind to think like a novelist?

I like thinking about the book Les Miserables for the purpose of novel idea formation. This story has one of the best redemptive story lines, ever. It paints a beautiful picture of the human condition and the effects of grace without being heavy handed. I would love to write a story like that... a story that is full of grace, true to life (Flannery O'Connor-esque if need be)... real.

I want write about characters that are full, so well-developed that they rise from the pages and permeate your imagination. They stay with you, you reference them, you admire them, you loathe them, you love them.

I want to write a story that is familiar, in that it reminds you of life, of people you know. But it is unexpected, it looks at things from another viewpoint.

Les Miserables is a masterpiece, as well as all the other books by the authors I have mentioned. I doubt that I could ever light a candle next to those brilliant fires. I do want to try and write one good story before I die though.

Just writing this now brought to mind an idea I had long forgotten about... maybe I'll kick it around this time, sketch it out. You never know.