I'm Stuck

>> Saturday, July 29, 2017

July 29, 2017 – Thoughts on a warm summer afternoon sitting in my swing on my patio.

I need help. I’m stuck. I survived three years of my husband’s cancers and two years of grief over his death. Where do I go now? I desire to be a positive influence in this world.

How do I do that?

I reflect on my relationships. I am blessed to have a village. My children go out of their way to care for me. Close friends would come to my aid if I asked. I have enough money to take care of my needs…and lately my wants.  Twice I’ve walked where Jesus walked. How very memorable that was. I live my days thanking God for His presence, for His protection, for His outpouring of love. I sleep soundly at night.

So is that enough? Not for me. I want to make a difference. And so I’m back to how. Each time I ask myself that question; the answer in my head is my writing.

That’s where I’m stuck.

Right now I have a blog I’d like to write. Yet instead here I sit on the patio. Thoughts collide. I’ve had no training. Would my words really help someone? My life is such an example of overcoming obstacles, if I write it is it bragging?

So instead of writing, I eat. My religious upbringing told me drugs, smoking, drinking and gambling were all sins, but overeating was okay. I didn’t buy it then and I don’t now. Overeating does damage to my body. But it’s my comfort. I enjoy it.

That brings me back to being stuck.

And so I think of blogging this…being totally vulnerable to you. But see, if I let you read this, then you will feel obligated to tell me wonderful things about me so I’ll feel better. That’s not what this is about. This is a sincere longing deep within me to make a difference in another person’s life. I can name the ones who did that for me. They opened my mind and poured in a new way of thinking.

No, I’m not depressed. No, I’m not lonely. No, I’m not asking for advice. I’m trying to empty myself on paper in hopes of uncovering the answer that’s buried deep within me. And yes, I’ve prayed about it repeatedly. And yes, I’ve asked for God’s guidance repeatedly. Today’s guidance was to put my thoughts on paper so I could see them.

So here we are. Am I afraid of failure? What exactly would that look like to me? No one buys my book? Is it pride holding me back? If I can’t be really good then why try?

Right now I want to go eat something.

Do I believe God gave me this talent? If so, then by not writing am I throwing it back in His face? I have a sign on my desk that says:

Here am I
Write through me

How can He if I avoid sitting down to write?

See, I’m stuck.

I copied this page from the book Savor by Shauna Niequist and have it on the front of my refrigerator.

“Every once in a while, when I write, I feel that feeling of a thousand slender threads coming together, strands of who I’ve been and who I’m becoming, the long moments at the computer and the tiny bits of courage, the middle of the night prayers and the exact way God made me, not wrong or right, just me.

I feel like I’m doing what I came to do.”

See…her words help me. That’s what I long to do for someone else.

And so this blog is a request for your prayers.



>> Wednesday, July 19, 2017

She never raised her voice. But the tone and diction she used told me I was not to argue. She said, “jump” and I asked “how high?” 

I was afraid of my mother. 

They spoke softly and with a smile. I felt loved in their presence. The situation presented a conundrum. I desired to be around them, but mother declared they were going to hell.

I longed to be near my Catholic neighbors.

Oh the stories they told, punctuated with gestures and laughter. When I was with them I felt safe and secure.

My brothers sought to protect me, even though it was long distance.

I’ve been yelled at…mocked…criticized…and berated with words to cut me down. And it worked. I had no value. When I breathed, I was using air someone else needed.

Manipulation by others kept me in my corner; head bowed and as invisible as I could be.

Quietly he communicated his concept of God’s love. I sat spellbound. His words quenched a thirst within me of which I had been unaware.

That day I learned of a God quite different from the one my mother had described.

We have all had voices in our lives…some good…some bad. But what have we done with the consequences of hearing those voices? I chose to re-program the bad…which was not an easy task.

But my question today is not about the voices that spoke to us, but about the voice we are using in speaking to others.

Recently I witnessed a young mother interacting with her small daughter. What I heard in the mother’s voice was anger, resentment and weariness. What did her little girl hear?

What is my voice telling others when I speak? How about yours?

“Words are powerful; take them seriously.” Matthew 12:36 (MSG)


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