Five Minute Friday: Brave

It's Friday again. Glory be! Today I join The Gypsy Mama to write for five minutes on her weekly prompt. No editing or rewriting allowed. Click on the link to her site if you want to try it, too. The prompt this week is "Brave".


GO
I sit on the porch, my laptop on my knees. The "Sid book" as I so lovingly have called it for the past--ahem--many years, is now behind me. At least the creation of it is behind me. And so I must embark on a new adventure. I've been so wrapped up these past weeks with the "business" end of things, and with blog posts, that I haven't connected with my muse. I haven't been tapping my creativity.


So I place my fingers on the keyboard and wonder if it can happen again. This strange connection between soul and fingertips. Words flowing straight from the heart. I let it come in waves, slowly at first, then faster. In this quiet place where friends gather and the Creator is close to guide me. I lift a grateful heart as I become part of the process once again. A new Work in Progress has begun. Yes!
STOP


Now you know why I've been MIA for over a week! I went to Wimberley, Texas (near Austin) for a writing retreat with my dear old writing group. It was everything I was longing for. I may post more about that later, with photos. Have a wonderful Friday, dear readers.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times . . .

Last night as I was falling asleep, I was thinking about the friend I mentioned in this post. She’s my oldest longest friend. We met when she was born. I was 13 months old. Last night, I was thinking about what she’s going through now—the fear and the worry and the wondering if everything will be okay. I was praying for her, too, and pondering everything we’ve been through together over the past 34 years. How she’s heard all my heartaches and worries and disappointments. When she and I were fifteen and sixteen, we spent the week at camp fighting and I thought we might not be friends anymore. Now that seems like the silliest thought of all. She’s my “real life” friend, so she knows things I will never share on this blog. And she knows things that I might eventually write for the world. She’s one of a precious few who’s believed in me my whole life long.

A grainy photo of us from "back in the day".

That’s just some background. What I really want to share is my thought process last night. I was wishing I could do more than just pray for her. I know that prayer is powerful. I see that clearly. But as I lay awake wishing I could do something more to ease her suffering, I thought about my pregnancy with Camilla.

For the most part, my pregnancies were healthy and uneventful, and for this I am so grateful. But they were not without fear. I have Rh-negative blood. Now, I’m not a doctor, so my description may not be a perfect medical description, but my understanding is that if I were to have a baby with Rh-positive blood, there is a potential that the Rh factor could come into contact with my blood and possibly cause my body to build up antibodies that would cause it to then reject the baby, and any future Rh-positive babies. Thankfully, we have Rhogam now, which protects against these problems. Still, Rhogam is not generally injected until later in pregnancy and since I had spotting several times in early pregnancy, I was a complete mess of worry during my pregnancy with Camilla. I was afraid first of all, that I would have a miscarriage. I knew too many women who’d been through that pain. But I was also afraid that my blood would come into contact with the baby’s blood and I wouldn’t realize it. Then, not only would I lose this baby, I’d never be able to have a healthy baby.

This may seem far-fetched—and actually, it is unlikely in this day and age. But one of my mom’s close friends has Rh-negative blood and her first baby (who is Rh-positive) was born the year before Rhogam was developed. That child is healthy, but her next child is severely mentally disabled. And she went on to have several late-term miscarriages after that. Now, God has used this family and these situations in ways they never imagined, so I really should know that I can trust God to carry me through everything in my path and to use it for His glory, right?

Well, I don’t like the word “should”. I wasn’t at that point yet. Maybe I’m still not. But at that time, the idea of going through all of that was very real and very scary to me. I would pray that it would be absolutely clear to me if I needed Rhogam.

In the midst of my early pregnancy with the spotting and a dark fear of miscarriage hanging over me, God answered in another way. The night before my first ultrasound, when we would find out if the spotting was a sign of a major problem with the pregnancy, I had a dream.

It’s hard to describe something so personal as a dream right from God. I don’t analyze dreams for a living, or even as a hobby. But this one was straight from heaven. I knew it then. And I know it even more today. All I could think in those early days when I didn’t know the reason for the blood was of the women who had lost babies, that I was no better than they were, and what on earth was so special about me that I shouldn’t have to travel through that pain? And so I held back my faith. In my dream I was the unfaithful servant from the parable of the talents in Matthew 25:14-30.

I spoke to God much as the servant did in verses 24 and 25:

‘Lord, I knew you to be a hard man, reaping where you have not sown, and gathering where you have not scattered seed. And I was afraid, and went and hid your talent in the ground.’

My words were more like this, though, “Lord, I know you are not fair. You took the babies of these women that I love. So I don’t know how to trust You.”

And God said, “Invest all your faith in Me. Don’t hold back. I won’t let you down.”

Of course you know the end of that story. My baby was all right. She’s the kid who sasses me now. The one I cry over and can’t seem to stop loving. I still worried and fretted over every little thing during the pregnancy, but I clung to the promise God had given me in my dream. I needed it when I was given a false diagnosis of cholestasis of pregnancy and was told she could be stillborn if I wasn’t induced. But that’s another story altogether.

So you think you know the end of the story, right? Because she was born healthy and beautiful. But there’s one little part you might not know. She also has Rh-negative blood.

God knew it didn’t matter if I ever received Rhogam. My body could never build up antibodies and reject that baby. Interestingly, Adrian also has Rh-negative blood. When I was pregnant with him, I had a better doctor who explained how significant a bleed would have to be in order to cause a problem. That explanation, and (I hope) more faith, meant I had a lot less worry the second time around.

So why do I share all this? Just because I was thinking about my friend and it reminded me of my own story? Kind of. I’ve never been through anything as harrowing as her experience with this pregnancy. But my prayer for her is that she would have something tangible to hold onto. Some kind of promise like the one I was given. Something to give her a sense of how special her tiny little boy is going to be.

Think of it. There is already a battle for his life.

Won’t you join me in this prayer?

Five Minute Friday: Ache

It's Friday again. Woo hoo! Once again I join The Gypsy Mama to write for five minutes on her weekly prompt. No editing or rewriting allowed. Click on the link to her site if you want to try it, too. The prompt this week is "Ache".

GO
It comes and goes--at the sight of a sunset over Pikes Peak when I was twenty-one. Or now, when I catch something in one of my children's eyes, an innocence I know won't be there in a few years. When I hold a little body that fits just so in my lap. And a few minutes later a tall gangling one clambers up. I think, "This is how it goes." Always the ache. Always everything changing and missing people--for the rest of my life. They will grow up and leave and then I will ache for them even more.


But the ache is a sign of something, the real thing I'm missing. I'm longing for home. That why it's there when I read something and think I could die happy if I had written that. I ache for wholeness. To be complete. To reach my destination and be free as I was made to be.
STOP


Ah, yes. Back to the eternity in our hearts idea. There you have it. Have a wonderful weekend and remember why the ache is there.

A Sad Story

I am writing a post complaining about the weather. I never thought it would come to this. I know there are really sad things going on in the world. I do. But humor me people, okay?

See that photo in my header at the top of my blog? Yes, the one with the two most beautiful children in the world walking through a winter wonderland. Forgive me if you’re reading this post in a few months when I’m sure I will have changed the header photo. And also forgive me for being so html-un-savvy that the photo is not centered as it should be. I used blogger’s settings and they are sorely lacking. Someday I will learn how to blog like a grownup.

Back to the photo, though. It was taken in January when we had one spectacular day of snow for sledding and making snow angels. It was beautiful. I believe we went skiing the next day. 

And then it was gone. 

That was it. Now, if we lived in the Carolinas or Tennessee, I would understand. That would be a good winter. But we live in the north, my friends! And we like snow!

So here is the sad story of my poor children waking up one morning to see a thin dusting of snow on the ground and clamoring to play outside and when they got there, this was their snowy day.

That’s a sled in the background. They had to roll down the grassy hill rather than using it.

Sad.

And here’s what they did instead of sledding and making snow people.

We rode bikes all winter. Some people might think that’s a happy story. And I can’t honestly say that I wished I was putting hats on two little heads and mittens on four little hands every day for the past three months. No. I definitely had my moments of rejoicing that they could go play outside without much ado.

Still, it is about to be spring. We really haven’t had winter. We have months of mild weather ahead of us with precious few sweet snow memories to carry us through. Todd and I bought ski passes this year (of all years) and they were not worth the money we spent. I’ve hardly been able to curl up with a cup of hot cocoa and watch the snow fall outside my window.

Okay, so I am actually watching the snow fall right now, but it’s supposed to turn into rain later so I know it won’t last. I will enjoy it while it’s there, though. There’s nothing like a snowstorm.

All you snow-haters can rant and rave at me, but I remain steadfast. You can have your 60-degree winter. I like mine in the 20’s.  

Checking in rather late today

I am very pleased to report that I made it to the gym last Tuesday. Of course, I did not also run on Tuesday. I ran Wednesday instead. I ran four miles and at a faster pace than I have run that route in recent history. Pause for victory dance.

Thursday it was time for some cross training. Read that downhill skiing of a variety I have not enjoyed in some time. Most of my skiing recently has been with Camilla on intermediate slopes. Don't get me wrong, I love skiing with her and it's awesome that my five-year-old can ski blues without a problem. I also know that the day will come when she will be beating me down the double diamonds. That said, it was still very nice to actually ski with Todd for a change and hit some black slopes. It brought back sweet memories. I have no memories of this ever happening before, though. 

I really struggled with posting this photo. It's probably one of the most unattractive photos I've ever seen of myself. But it's the only one that accurately portrays the fat lip and brush burn I suffered when skiing into grass at a relatively high speed threw me into the snow face first. (So, really, how could it be attractive?) I had a perpetual snarl on my face for a good 24 hours. And all due to my attempt to avoid hitting a rock with Todd's snazzy new skis. Why was I using Todd's skis anyway? That is the question.
Back to running, though . . . I did another four miles with Ariana (and kiddos in running strollers) on Friday. Exhausted from skiing, I skipped the gym that day. I took Saturday off as well, citing exhaustion (and too much to do) as the reason. And Sunday I went by myself for a "long" run of a mere 7 miles. Each time I up my mileage I feel victorious. Yet I know I have far to go. Maybe I'll get to the gym twice this week. That would be glorious.

Five Minute Friday: Grit

It's Friday again. Woo hoo! I know I completely skipped last week's Five Minute Friday, but once again today I join The Gypsy Mama to write for five minutes on her weekly prompt. No editing or rewriting allowed. Click on the link to her site if you want to try it, too. The prompt this week is "Grit".


GO
I've always thought I had grit. Well, maybe not always. But I've always known I'm not a "prissy girl". Although I like to look pretty, I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty. I love the outdoors. It takes grit to hike the Grand Canyon rim to rim in 100 degree temperatures, right?
But that stuff is just external. True grit has to do with backbone of a metaphorical nature. Maybe it's all tied together but when I read Little House on the Prairie with Camilla, I think Caroline Ingalls had grit. She worked really hard, but that's not even half of it. It takes real backbone to take your family out into unknown territory when you are actually quite a refined woman. To give up the life you've always known, with the knowledge that you will probably never see your family and friends again. Ever. And to set up a new house from scratch. More than once. Yeah, I don't know much about true grit. But deep down I'm hoping she and I would be kindred spirits.
STOP


Okay, I totally got interrupted and had to come back to this. That's what happens when I don't do it first thing in the morning. C'est la vie. Happy Friday everybody!

Scattered Thoughts

I’ve had trouble focusing lately . . . a million ideas for topics have come to me, but none of them solidifies into a complete post. In my next life (maybe after I’m finished with the half-marathon), I would like to have a blogging mentor and really take this blog somewhere. So in the absence of a coherent post, I will share my scattered thoughts.

It’s Ash Wednesday and I’m contemplating giving up Facebook for Lent. Is it okay that I decided halfway through the day? I don’t know why I didn’t think about it ahead of time. I’m sure it would be good for me. Despite my grand plans for only using it intentionally and for only half an hour a day, I wasted approximately an hour this morning looking at absolutely nothing worthwhile or helpful. So why am I reluctant to go cold turkey? Well, I have had occasions recently to use it professionally. It can be helpful for social interaction. And perhaps after the Daniel Fast, I’m just a tad bit worn out with the idea of fasting anything.

That being said, I’m going to do it. I know it will save me from wasting time and God knows I need that right now! My blog will still post to Facebook. I can do that via twitterfeed and hootsuite without getting sucked into the vortex of the Facebook world. And I will make exceptions for professional reasons. But, do I really need it for anything else? My phone still rings . . . and you can email me--there's a "contact me" link on the side of my blog.

In other news, I just read this post about writing naked and have been both inspired and terrified. I’ve written before about the struggle between being a private person and having a blog. I DO believe in writing naked. I really, really, do. There’s no way I would have shared last week’s post if I didn’t. My struggle comes when writing naked also strips your family and your friends. You just can’t do that. It’s not fair. And in a sense I can’t be completely open without exposing loved ones. I also don't really know all of you that well. I may share something over a cup of coffee that I'm not willing to spout to the world at large. So I do my own little dance around the issues, instead of being completely real. I wrap a towel around myself instead of writing naked. Sometimes. Sometimes I hold up a towel to cover my friends. I write naked in my journal. And I write fiction.

Speaking of which, I need to start working on my next work in progress—or deciding what that will be now that my previous novel is “complete”. I once had a professor who said (regarding college papers), “It’s never finished, we just hand it in.” So I guess that’s how I feel about the novel I’ve “finished”. It’s time to move on, not that I won’t revisit that book before you see it on the shelves of your local bookstore.

And now that I’ve sworn off Facbook for forty days, I should have plenty of time to write fiction. Hmmm . . . perhaps I should seek an invitation to join Pinterest.