Loving the Lost into the Kingdom

Being a Christian on a very secular college campus on the “Left” coast is not exactly a walk through the tulips. There are days, even weeks, where my very spirit is twisting and turning in agony. Some days, it feels like my tiny little prayers get sucked up into a bubbling, oozing tar pit of decay, and other days I can feel the air electric in spiritual warfare. My heart grieves for the vacant eyes I see walking by in search of what, they don’t know.  I’ll tell ya, it can be exhausting and downright uncomfortable. 

This week was particularly tough. It was “sex week” on campus and they had posters and booths set out in the quad with large crowds gathered around. What I found a little more than interesting was a booth that was set up right next to them with a prominently displayed sign that read “Homosex is a God Damn Sin.” I wasn’t so sure how to feel about that booth, and I almost went over there out of curiosity. It was still a few minutes before my next class started and I could have gone over there for a few minutes, but I refrained. I suspect some well meaning Christian or Christians decided to put that up, and it drew just as large a crowd as the other “sex week” booths. 

Let me first say, I am in total agreement that homosexual sex is a sin, and so is any sexual intercourse outside of marriage. However, this is not my judgment, but God’s judgment, so if others have a problem with it, then it’s something they must take up with God, not me.  Therefore, I don’t have a problem with the anti homosexual sex message, but I do have a problem with the nature in which it was delivered in this case. 

What these vacant eyes I see passing by me on campus are looking for is not more of the same empty crudeness they can find at the “sex booths.” They are looking for the joy and the peace and the love and the grace that we have. They can go anywhere and hear crude language.  In these days of “political correctness” simply saying “Homosexual Sex is a Sin” is plenty enough to shock and awe onlookers.  I would even venture to guess that the crowds would have been larger if they weren’t trying so hard to use shock advertising to get a Biblical truth out and draw crowds. What they did with that sign was open the doors to angry arguments rather than true discourse.

We should trust the Holy Spirit to be able to do the work for us.  People can go anywhere and get anger, disdain, and condemnation these days, so they surely don’t need more of the same from us. Yes, we must proclaim the hard truths of the Bible, truths that people don’t want to hear, but we must do it in love. That is what this world is so thirsty for, and that’s what we should offer them in Christ Jesus.

Presumptuous

During a jog one day, the Lord began to speak to me. (I hate to admit it, but it’s one of the few times He has my undivided attention.) Like I was saying, the Lord was bending my ear during a good sweat because for the longest time I was feeling static and even useless as a Christian. It seemed no matter how hard I tried, I haven’t been able to connect to my Lord. You know what I mean by connecting to Him? Like when you feel the very presence of God enter the room, He practically suffocates you with His love, and He leaves you feeling like a pile of jelly lying on the floor.

Well, I hadn’t experienced the jellies in quite some time. And, to top it all off, I was in a rut at work—like I was having the same day over and over again and there was no way the Lord could possibly be using me—and, then, I was laid off and I got to feeling completely directionless. I guess you could say I’ve been battling the woe-is-me’s for the past couple of years.

Thankfully, the Lord finally tapped me on the shoulder to help me understand all of this. First of all, my dry spell wasn’t because He left me, because He never left. Even when it doesn’t feel like He’s there, it doesn’t mean that He isn’t there. He’s always there. We’re the ones that are limited, He’s limitless. We shouldn’t base our standing with God on how we “feel.”

We need to persevere and pursue Him even when we don’t feel His presence. He said knock and it shall be opened to you. Thankfully, I kept knocking through it all, but I should have knocked longer and louder. To some degree, I let my feelings direct how close I was with my Lord. He should be able to count on our love for Him through thick and thin, just as we can count on His love through thick and thin.

Speaking of thick and thin, tough times are what living in this world are full of. We can’t escape the rough patches. I went from feeling useless in my old job to feeling useless and directionless after getting laid off. It made things even worse when I went back to college to get my master’s degree, and I found myself a bit out of practice and feeling intimidated, surrounded by people who not only don't believe in God, but they hate anything that has to do with Him.  

Frankly, I’ve been feeling tired of having to trudge through the mud bog of life and battle for everything all of the time without rest. Especially since it didn’t seem like any of all this struggling and drudgery was useful for anything anyway. I was feeling tired and even anxious for the Lord to take me to my reward. I know, pretty pathetic huh? Well, haven't we all been there a time or two?

Anyhow, the Lord informed me that I was being pretty presumptuous. First, in assuming that He hadn’t been using me, and, second, in assuming that my getting laid off wasn’t part of His plans, too. As a matter of fact, He said He had been using me in my hum drum job as an example to the others there--He even showed me which ones I made an impression on--and He has huge plans for me in the future, although He didn’t tell me what they were. In reality, I am fulfilling his plans every day. All of His children are. Each of us fit perfectly into His great big plan. Even when we are leading what we think is a boring life, He’s using us.

We are soldiers in God’s army, and we must fight, battle, and weather all the trials that we face on this earth for our Lord even when it’s boredom. Really, most of the time we don’t know how He’s using us. Sometimes our dry spells are just testing and training. If you think about it, it’s all pretty exciting. It makes me want to pick up and fight again to serve my Lord. I will gladly fight the battle of boredom, or whatever else this life on earth throws my way, so I can continue to serve my Lord.  I will never presume to know what the Lord is doing with me again.

 

A Day at the Gym

Since I’ve been out of work and not very successful in finding a job, my mother, God bless her, has decided to make me her personal project to get me out of my emotional slump. She figured she needed to get my patooty out of my office chair and away from my computer, so she signed us both up for visits with a personal trainer. “Patooty,” by the way, is our personal trainer’s favorite word to use when reminding us to squeeze our buns at every available opportunity. It’s becoming a word I absolutely hate.

We go twice a week, and I think we both dread those days, although neither of us will actually admit it. When we both pull up to the trainer's house my mother is usually wearing a forced smile and I’m inwardly groaning at the thought of what that trainer is about to do to me for the next hour. I continually remind myself that this is good for me. If nothing else, it’s great bonding time with my mother even if it involves both of us assuming some of the most embarrassing positions a body can assume, and, as the hour progresses, we start looking more like two sweaty, disheveled wretches than two respectable ladies.

As far as embarrassing positions, there’s an exercise called the Cat-Cow that we do. If you’ve never seen, heard of, or attempted this position, I wouldn’t advice it for any self respecting lady to pull off. One must place themselves on a mat on all fours, and that’s about the extent to which I am willing to explain it. Personally, I think all cats and cattle out there should take offense to it being named that.

I have to admit, though, for a 62 year old lady, my mother can really kick some patooty in the gym, and I’m delighted to be participating in it with her, even if my attitude toward the trainer, although it’s completely undeserved, is less than respectable. I’m just having a difficult time feeling all warm and fuzzy about someone who has that much power over me. Somehow I’ve formed this mental picture of the trainer as the “enemy.” No one should be able to make you experience that much pain and get away with it. It should be on the law books as a bonafide crime. (People say that our true character comes out in times of adversity, so I’m afraid I’ve got a lot to work on.)

My suspicions of my mother’s dread for these appointments were confirmed a few weeks ago when we showed up for our appointment and the trainer was auspiciously absent. (Due to the tough economy, our trainer and her husband/business partner had to downsize and work out of their garage. Believe me when I say that the downsize has not in the least changed the effectiveness of their workouts.) We knocked on the door and tried the gate, but to no avail.

I wasn’t about to show my absolute glee over this truly miraculous turn of events, I was already formulating everything I wanted to do for the next hour in my mind, but to my utter shock my normally calm and collected mother quickly turned to me, wide-eyed and frantic, and said, “Hurry! No time for talking. Let’s get out of here before she shows up.”

I always thought my mother put in ample effort in the cardio portion of our workouts, but the speed with which she turned heal and made for her car was quite an amazing site to behold. If there had been dirt instead of pavement on the sidewalk, I would have been left in her dust. We both jumped into our cars, started them up, and sped off down the street like race car drivers.

Unfortunately, the street the personal trainer lives on is quite a long street, and by the time we got half way down it, we saw the trainer turn her car onto the street heading for her house. I half expected to see my mother duck down behind the steering wheel to avoid being seen, but to my complete dismay, she flipped her blinker on to make a u-turn and headed back. It was all so surreal. I half contemplated continuing on home, but I reluctantly followed my mother’s lead, and to be honest, I felt like crying.

Once we arrived, the trainer was shaking a disapproving finger at us with a big Cheshire cat grin on her face. She made us pay for our little adventure with blood, sweet, and tears. Okay, maybe not blood, but it sure felt like it, and I’m sure we have amply learned our lesson. Although, I’m not sure that if it were to happen again, I wouldn’t hit the gas a little more next time.

Stalemate

Ever feel like you're in a stalemate? Come to think of it, that's a good name for this economy. Hiring is at a standstill, thus, I'm at a standstill. One peruses job listing after job listing with nothing to show for it. It's a suffocating and paralyzing experience for job hunters. and there are many of us out there. If one is lucky enough to get a job interview, the chances of getting hired among all the other applicants is minimal. Employers can pick and choose the cream of the crop at this point. 

I recently had a job interview with a company I would have loved to work for, I fit the job requirements very nearly perfectly, and I felt the interview went spectacularly. You can imagine my disappointment and surprise when they informed me two days later that they had chosen another applicant. I was at my very lowest since I had been laid off 10 months ago.

But, then the Lord has a way of directing us to paths that we least expected or really considered. Shortly after my huge disappointment, my father called to tell me to go back to school and they would help pay the expenses. Initially, I had mixed feelings about taking this route. I didn't want to rely even more on my family and I'm not exactly young anymore.

Then I prayed, and the Lord reminded me of how very blessed I am to have a family that is so supportive that they would allow me to go back to school and support me doing it. Sometimes he sends things our way because He has chosen another path for us to follow that we least expected. It's okay to accept help when we need it and when others wish to do it for us. It will likely bless them too. He also reminded me of how very much I really enjoyed college and how it literally saved my life at one time. I'm thinking it might be a life saver once again.

SET FREE

Salvation isn’t usually a simple process. The path is often messy and untidy. We stumble upon the stones of adversity, shaken to our very cores, filthy and disheveled, before our eyes are opened, finding freedom, healing, and forgiveness. Mine was such a path. It was slippery in many places, twisted with hair pinned turns, and insurmountable precipices loomed all about me where my very life hung in the balance on more than one occasion.

I grew up in a Christian home. My mother was a devoted Christian, took my sister and me to church every Sunday, taught us the Bible, gave us memory verses to memorize, and prayed with us every night, just after a tickle session and 101 questions from us, when she tucked us in for the night. I received the Lord as my personal savior at the age of four. I don’t know what it’s like not to believe in God or the fact that Jesus died for my sins. It’s a knowledge that has continually been with me throughout my entire life, but even a child raised in a Christian home can fall away.

Several events served to sway my faith. They brought me down dark foreboding alleyways that I narrowly escaped. I was attacked, beaten, and nearly killed by a family member who was babysitting me when I was seven years old. I fell into a deep depression, stopped playing, and hid within myself. Sweaty nightmares plagued my sleep for over a year, where I would wake up screaming in terror. My mother spent many long, gloomy, anguish filled nights holding me, weeping along with me, praying with me, teaching me how to forgive, and repenting for leaving me with that babysitter. She too struggled with the betrayal of that family member.

My wounded spirit gradually began to heal, but a dark heaviness never quite left me. It was subtle, but it was there. The joyful sunshine that entered my life when I invited the Lord to come in had seemingly disappeared. As I grew I could recite Bible verses and debate theological issues with the best of them, but there was no personal connection to my Lord. Then, when I was fourteen years old, satan had another plan of attack for my life up his sleeve.

I was raped by my uncle on the eve of Thanksgiving. That event struck me at the very core. My identity was robbed from me, and I lost all sense of self. My guilt was doubled knowing that having sexual intercourse outside of marriage was a sin, and incest was the one of the most depraved acts one could do both Biblically and among the secular world. Shame, guilt, and consuming anger overshadowed everything I did. The lessons on forgiveness I had received as a young child didn’t work this time. Everyone and everything in my slippery path of self loathing were easy targets.

As my world quickly fell into the depths of despair, running to the Lord was the last thing on my mind. I struggled just to survive the path of self destruction I began. I became an on-again-off-again alcoholic who dabbled in drugs on the side. Relationships with men came and went at a rapid pace. By the time I was in twelfth grade, I dropped out of high school, left home, and I was married. My life was a race course and I was steering out of control.

Eventually, alcoholism became a permanent fixture. My body began to give way to the poison I was feeding it every day and every night. I soon found myself in the hospital puking up frightening amounts of blood, shaking with DTs, and yellow with jaundice. I was dying. Yet, I was at peace with it. Living was a chore. I didn’t have the strength to go on any longer. I didn’t want to go on any longer.

I lost a considerable amount of blood before the doctors were able to stop the bleeding from my liver. Three more times over the next couple of years I landed in the hospital with the same problem. Each time it was worse, losing even more blood. With the final trip to the hospital, I had lost sixty percent of my blood and the doctors were amazed that I was still alive.

My mother stayed by my bedside each time fervently praying and shedding tears. She shared with me something that the Lord had shared with her about me when I was very young. She had a dream, and in her hands she held a tiny little baby, the size of a walnut, and the Lord said, ‘She is a light of Jesus shining brighter than gold.’ I thought, 'that’s nice, but I just can’t see it.' I wanted to escape the hell I was living, to stop drinking, to get back to God, but it didn’t seem possible.

When I went home from the last episode in the hospital, my sister stopped by to wish me well, and she said the most peculiar thing: “Lora, you know? You would make a great drug and alcohol counselor.” I was stunned. My sister thought I was capable of that? I was flattered, but how did that even enter her thoughts? What did she see in me as I laid there on the couch, pail and forlorn, sunk to the very bottom of a very deep and dark pit?

Her words pursued me. They invaded my thought life at every turn; even when I popped open my next beer. I began dropping on my knees quite regularly and crying out to the Lord to deliver me from my addiction. I had a few false starts but would succumb again to my weakness and begin drinking again. This went on for three months, when finally one day, I heard the Lord whisper in my ear, “You’re all done now.”

I set my half drank forty-ouncer down in the corner of my room, and there it sat for two weeks. I would stare at it sometimes and again the soft breeze of the Lord’s words would come back, “You’re all done now.” After two weeks had passed, I walked over to the bottle, picked it up, walked it over to the kitchen sink at arm’s length, like a dirty, filthy rag, and poured it out into the sink. I was done.

Still, my sister’s words pursued me. With her voice nagging at my mind, I took the GED, just for curiosity’s sake, and passed it. So, I decided to go a step further and signed up with the community college with the intention to just earn a certificate in drug and alcohol counseling.

At the insistence of my academic counselor I took a few assessment tests in the basics (e.g. math, English, science), and I was blessed with a great surprise. The evaluator told me I was extremely bright and that I could easily surpass the basic courses, take the honors courses in general education, and earn an Associate’s degree. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t destroyed my mind with all of the drugs and alcohol I took. I realized right at that moment that the Lord had delivered me both from alcohol and its effects.

I graduated at the top of my class, nominated to be graduate of the year, and signed up with a local university. Soon, I was double majoring in Psychology and English with an emphasis in creative writing. The dream of being a drug and alcohol counselor had worn off. By this time, I wanted to get away from everything that had to do with drugs or alcohol. It was something I preferred leaving in the past.

All through my college years I had experience a joy that had not been there in a very long time. But, oddly enough, my relationship with the Lord was still very small, like the faint light that peers just over the mountains at dawn. I was still trying to find my way and answer the questions that had haunted me for so long. How could someone hurt me like that? Why me? What kind of person does something like that? How do I overcome the pain? That was why one of my majors was in psychology when my real love was for creative writing. I wanted answers, yet it didn’t dawn on me to look to the Lord for the answers.

Then, one day, my mother gave me a book to read: "The Shack" by Wm. Paul Young. When I cracked that book open, I only expected to be entertained, but the Lord had something else in mind.

As I read, I laughed, wept, and learned to forgive once again. The presence of the Lord was so thick about me as I read, with tears streaming down my face, that I could hardly breathe. His presence was so tangible I felt I could reach out and grab his hand. He wrapped me in his arms, literally, and my body became limp and warm. The tension that had its grip on me for so many years drained out of me, through my toes, and into the floor. I was puddy in His hands. Then I began to laugh uncontrollably. It, the Thing that made my limbs feel heavy with depression, that had me in its vises for so long, was gone. Happiness and joy filled my every pore. Forgiveness and love for my uncle flooded into my heart and I began to pray for him. I was no longer a prisoner.

I finished my schooling with more joy than I can express and graduated magna cum laude with a double Bachelor’s degree, and free to become whomever the Lord wished. 

Since then, I've had a great job, was laid off, and now, it seems, He's led me to create a free forum for Christian writers where they can share, support, and encourage each other. It has turned out to be so much more than I ever bargained for, and I thank God each day for leading me to create it www.christiancreativewriters.com.

Small Blessings

How much thought do we give to the little things the Lord does for us? Like yesterday, I signed into my gmail to chat with my best buddy, as I do almost every day. After having a stressful morning, I was feeling very appreciative to have a friend I could count on and talk to, so I wrote, "Have I told you lately how much I appreciate you?" Shortly after that, it said that she was offline and could not receive any more messages. Today, when I signed in to talk to her, she explained that she really needed to hear that message because something at work was going terribly wrong for her. It turned out, that she was seeing the same message for me on chat and thought I had gone offline too. My message reached her in the nick of time to brighten her day before there was some sort of computer malfunction. It's so great to have friends to Love.

A few years ago, after having graduated college and trying to raise three boys at the same time, I didn't have one Christian lady to call a friend because my life had been too busy for friends. Sad, isn't it? Now that my college career was ended and I only needed to focus on work, I had the time. So, I had prayed that the Lord would send one my way, and he sent her to me.Friends are to be cherished and they are much more than small blessings, they help to keep us sane in an insane world. Thank God for friends!

Interview Misadventure

How did the interview go you ask? Well, it was interesting to say the least. I left well ahead of time, punched the address in the ol' GPS, and made my way down there. However, I think my GPS system had a hangover or something that day, because it failed to tell me which side of the street the address was on. On the screen, there was just a big bulls-eye in the middle of the intersection. On one corner there was a mall, and the other three corners all had big, sprawling, business parks cluttering them. I had twenty minutes to be there, so I felt pretty safe. But, after traversing the entire mall with no luck,  I was left with ten minutes. I started to panic. All my abilities to think escaped me. I had forgotten how to look for an address the old fashioned way, without GPS, and I started to pray like I hadn't prayed in a long time. "God, if you're there (as if he's only there sometimes) please direct my ways!" That day, I stopped thinking of GPS as a blessing. They only serve to stupify their users. I wanted to meet the person who invented it and give him/her a little piece of my mind. 

Nevertheless, after my prayer, I turned out of the mall and started heading for one of the other crowded business corners. Thankfully, it was the right one. The addresses were plainly marked on all of the buildings. But, which one you ask? That was what I wanted to know. There were at least a dozen of them dotting acres upon acres of asphalt. I felt bad, but I was racing around in circles running through stop signs, as though they were just suggestions, and whizzing past pedestrians who were thinking of crossing the street. (I asked for forgiveness later.) I was desperate with only five minutes left. Finally, the building was standing before me, stretching up into the clouds like a beautiful apparition, whispering "I've found you at last.."

With four minutes to spare,  grabbing my 'job interview' folder and my blazer, I dashed for the doors. Now, I had to find the office. I ran around corners and up stairs, with people looking at me strangely, hair flying, and sweat trickling down my temples (it was ninety-five degrees that day). Finally, a set of double doors yawned open before me with the right office number plainly displayed above them. I quickly smoothed down my hair, blotted the perspiration beading my face, straightened out my suite, and tried to hide my breathlessness when I asked the receptionist for Lisa.

By the time I was called in, no one was the wiser about what I had just been through. But, the interview turned out to be more of an interrogation. I was grilled on statistics and the methodologies of research (understandable, of course), but then they handed me a written test. I choked. My mind was blank. I filled it out the best I could, but I am sure it didn't measure up. So, I wasn't surprised when I didn't get the job. Thankfully, I had all of the uplifting writings to read that are posted on my new website, www.christiancreativewriters.com to come home to. So, I felt much better after reading some of that, and I'm still holding out hope that I will find a place to work.

Switching Gears

I've been very involved with the new forum I created at www.ChristianCreativeWriters.com, and my hard work is rewarded every day with new registered members and all of their fantastic work. I've also finished the twelfth chapter of my book. But, one does have to make money to live. So, when a company called to ask me for an interview it was a little jolting to the senses. First, I couldn't believe there are still companies hiring out there, and that one of them called me. And, second, I've been so immersed in the world of books, short stories, and poetry, it feels sort of like my life, as I know it now, is suddenly coming to a screeching halt and now I need to make a u-turn. My occupation deals mainly in statistics, analytical reports, and research. It's very different from what I've been up to lately. Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining. I'm ecstatic about having an interview, and I truly enjoy research. It just goes to show, there is still hope for all of us without jobs, and you never know what the Lord has planned for you. I don't know if I'll get the job, but it does boost my moral. 

Who Knew?

When I created my forum, I didn't think it would turn out the way it has. I figured I would make a few Christian friends who share the same passion for writing as I do. Who knew it would turn out to be much more than I ever bargained for? Christians from all walks of life are joining and sending me personal messages thanking me for creating it. There are pastors, pastor's wives, born again ex-cons, people who are hurting in terrible ways, young people trying to get their start, and just people on fire for the Lord. What a blessing it is to read all of their work and see the light of Jesus shine through. As it grows, I get busier, almost too busy, but I love it. I like to respond to each and every one of them to make them feel comfortable. It just goes to show, you never know what God has up His sleeve. It can be pretty amazing! I thank Him for blessing me in such a unique way.

Ordinary Writer's Forums are for the Birds

Have you ever visited the writers' forums that are out there? Well, I have. Just let me tell you, many of them leave a lot to be desired. If you post your work, one of two things will happen. Either you've posted in the wrong place, because the directions for the categories are unclear and are named all kinds of crazy things that are unrelated to the subject, and then you'll have moderators on your tail faster than you can sneeze. Or, you'll get all kinds of snide, rude, uncouth, inappropriate remarks about your work from writers who think they are God's gift to mankind. I was getting pretty desperate in my search for a good forum, as it helps when a writer has others who will criticize their work constructively. So, I left behind all my registrations to writer's forums and created my own. That ought to teach 'em. It's up and running and called Christian Creative Writers at www.christiancreativewriters.com . My intentions are to create a God fearing community of creative writers who will help each other grow in their talents rather than tear them down.  

Spread-Eagle

I keep letting life get me sidetracked from writing, but then every time I turn around someone says, "You should write about that," and I can't help but think that the Good Lord is gently trying to lead me back to doing this. Now people are even giving me book ideas, and they're not bad ideas either. The latest distraction was my littlest boy's birthday (he turned ten) among other things, and it was worth getting distracted over. As one of his gifts, my sister took him to a major water park here in Southern California, where she took video of him. In one of her videos, you can see him launch himself down what appeared to be a seven story slide where his legs promptly shot out into the splits, (a position not easily corrected once started). Water began billowing up between his legs and flowing up and over his face, (he looked like he was drowning!). All that was left to be seen of him were his little, spread-eagle feet kicking and flapping in the air. This torture seemed to go on forever before it was over. Upon reaching the bottom, my adrenaline filled son happily exclaimed to his two older brothers, "Let's do it again!"   

Yap, Yap, Yap

Yesterday I planned to get up, look for a job, and then do some writing. But, after searching for a job for hours, I lost every ounce of creative energy I had. Reading job description after job description turns one's mind to mush. For the job descriptions that are the size of a novel, I wish I could get revenge and send them a book for a resume and force them to read it. I can read fairly quickly because I read a lot, but one can only do so much with a job description whose equivalent in length is the Obama Health Care plan.  I can understand the compulsion to ramble on (after all I do that), but there is a time and place for it and a job description probably isn't one of them and neither is health care. What would it be like to work for somebody who can't shut up anyway? That's a thought I'd rather not think about. You'd be under the gun to get the work done with someone yapping in your ear all day, and then, fired, because you couldn't get your work done. Perhaps it's better to do the job search every other day and write on the days off. Thankfully, today will be a writing day.

Still Hoping and Praying

I'm averaging 2 to 3 pages a day. Not good, but I do have 61 pages. I don't know how to make this go any faster. I suppose if I stayed away from everything the Internet has to offer, like blogging, things would go a little faster. It's tough to stay focused sometimes, but I'm not giving up.  Just like I haven't given up looking for a new job. I can be stubborn that way. I know there is something out there for me.

I just learned of yet another friend who lost her job. It's gruesome out there. We need some relief in this country, yet I don't see anything improving any time soon. My prayers are with all those in desperate need of a job.

My Official Pledge

I'm finding that having a blog is a great way to make one do what they say they will do. I'm not sure I would have added 5 more pages to my story if I hadn't posted my intentions first. Although, I have to admit, I have been finding all kinds of distractions and the page count could be longer. It's hard to stay away from chatting with my buddies online, checking facebook for what's new, and just randomly searching the internet for absolutely nothing. Although, in the end, I did happen to find two more jobs to apply to. My fingers are crossed. Tomorrow, I pledge 5 more pages to be written. Let's see if that works.

Baby Steps

I'm finished!!! Done, done, done. I can hardly believe I managed to get through 50 pages of changing she, her, and Ruth (that was my fictitious name) into me, my and I. Whew, I'm so glad that's over. Now, it's back on the long road to story completion. The only problem is, I have fifty pages and I've only covered one year out of the fifteen years I want to cover. It's not that I wasn't doing anything for all the other years of my life (no, I won't tell you how many years that is), but these particular years were very significant. If the math holds, that will make the book about 750 pages long.  Who in the world would want to read a 750 page memoir? I'm not even sure I have the patients to write it. I need a good editor!

I think the coast is clear. I may be able to start writing a different story without my husband getting too bent out of shape, so whenever I need a break, I will definitely be giving it a try . Unfortunately, I'll need to come up with some story ideas of my own. It was easier working 40 hours a week.

Identity Crisis

I am terrible about organizing my time. Or, should I say, others are terrible about organizing my time. It seems that whenever I want to sit down to write, others have alternative plans for me. Uncles have medical emergencies and I have to travel over 200 miles to go help out, or kids get hungry and I have to spend all day shopping. Anyway, that explains where I've been for the past few days. Now that I have my chance, all I want to do is go to the beach, read, and decompress. I'm finding it a struggle to discover the proper direction to go in life. If finding a job doesn't seem to be something that is going to happen any time soon, perhaps the Lord has other plans for me. It's difficult to know if writing is what He really wants me to do. I mean, why else would He give me a passion for it? I believe He gives us talents so that we may use them to his glory, whether it be the ability to love others well and simply shine his light for others we work with, or to write and glorify his name in that way, or to travel to third world countries and feed the poor. But, then again, I have a bad habit of comparing myself to others, questioning my ability, and wondering if I really have a talent for it at all. Maybe I should start reading more contemporary works. I really can't expect to write like Dumas, Kipling, or Tolstoy, nor would many of today's readers want to read it if I could. Now that I've got all my whining out of the way, I'll just remind myself that the Lord knew what he was doing when he made me the way I am, and there's no other like me. He already has a Tolkien and C.S. Lewis and he doesn't need any more of them. Therefore, I will continue the tedious work of changing my work to first person so I can get back to telling my own unique story.

Procrastination or Self Torture?

I'm still going through and changing things to first person. It's taking forever, because as I read it over, I can hardly believe I wrote some of this stuff. IT'S AWEFUL!!! What was I thinking? So of course I have to change it all, or just cut it out. However, one must be careful of cutting things out willy-nilly that are referenced in some other part of the story, and only God knows where in the world that is. I told you this was a headache. Oh, and there's also the fictitious names I came up with to protect the identities of the people in my life. A lot of them have special meanings, but some of them are kind of out there. Like, I'm sure my dad is not going to appreciate being called Claude! (No, really, that's what I named him.) And, then there's my poor mother whose name is Tacey. It means, "Be silent." (I hope she doesn't get the wrong idea.) It's not that I want her to be silent (then again, I may have when I was a kid), but I named her that because she is such a quiet person. Unfortunately, to me it sounds like a little booger eating, pigtail wearing six-year-old. Maybe I'll just ask them if they mind me using their real names.

Little Writing Snafu's

I made a minor mistake and asked my husband if he had any story ideas. He's so sweet in trying to help me, but I briefly forgot how his mind works, and now I regret it. He does have some terrific story ideas, but I prefer to leave fantasy fiction to authors like Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. (Yes, I know they're dead.) I love to read them, but it's just not the kind of genre I like to write in. I prefer to live in the real world, or something very similar to it. Frankly, I've never tried writing fiction of any sort. I've always found real life to be much more amusing, interesting, and dramatic. For example, why does my cat meow every time I sneeze? Is she saying, "Bless you," or "Shut up! I'm trying to sleep over here"? Anyhow, not wanting to hurt my husband's feelings and blatantly not writing about his ideas, it's given me more motivation to give my memoirs a more concerted effort until the heat dies down. Perhaps it's a sign.

Spinning My Wheels

I got up this morning like a good, little, writing soldier, powered up the computer, and continued with the work of changing my memoirs from third to first person. I got sick of it after the first three pages and busied myself with facebook and email. There is no better way to waste time. Then, I proceeded to try a new story. My mind was empty, empty as my bank account. That's pretty empty. So, I tried some free writing with not a tittle of good material to go on. I think I'm trying too hard. Maybe I'll try again tomorrow after church. Perhaps the pastor’s sermon will give me a few, good ideas or the Good Lord will.

Don't fight with yourself. It's a losing battle.

I've come the conclusion that I will do both. When I get sick of fixing my memoirs, I'll write something else. Getting a handle on this beast will be a challenge. For example, I have fixed and re-fixed the following introductory paragraph so many times I can't see it straight anymore:

“Hi Lora, you can call me Delilah if you like,” said the smiling doctor searching my face for clues. I squirmed uncomfortably wondering what was really behind that big, phony smile. The doctor was sort of young and pretty. She wore a navy- blue blazer with a short pencil skirt, overgrown shoulder pads, rolled-up sleeves, big hair, and her make-up was overdone. It was 1986. Her book-worm glasses precariously clung to the tip of her nose as she looked up from her chart at us. In a final, desperate attempt to help me, my mother had dragged me to a shrink.

So, I've made a pledge to myself that I will not look at it anymore. And, the same goes for the first twenty pages...I think. It's hard to restrain myself. I'll just take baby steps and vow to refrain from the first five paragraphs. I think I can do that.