Glimpses

Welcome to my world.

Oh, give me a home where boxes don’t roam!
Where the shoes and the dishes all neatly lay.
Where seldom is heard a single ‘mov-ing’ word,
And the house is not cluttered all day!

Home! Home on the new block.
Where the towels and the sheets will all reappear.
Where seldom is seen a single box ever a-gain!
And the tape dispenser officially disappears!

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The sound of silence...golden? Or just lonely?

The person who seeks all their applause from outside has their happiness in another's keeping."
---Claudius Claudianus, Egyptian Latin Poet
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Writing is a solitary occupation.

On my writing days, many times I'll go for hours at a time without any real verbal communication. From the time I sit down at my desk with a steaming mug of coffee around 8:00 a.m. until I finally tie up loose ends around 3 or so, I am alone.

Although I talk - basically all day.

Or maybe I should say I listen.

I listen to Ella and to Luke...to Emma, Jackson...to Reggie...And - right now - to Faith and Marshall.

My characters constantly whisper in my ear, their animated conversations reverberating through the hallways of my mind, playing on the front porch of my conscience. They smile, they cry,they shout, and call for me, always urging me to stay around and hear what they have to say.

Is it any wonder then that on some evenings my family glances at me in curiosity, wondering if I'm okay. "Why are you so quiet tonight?"

I'm a talker by nature, a full-fledged communicator, and they know this. And yet, for these few moments I crave the silence, the peace of just...being.

I shrug. "I don't know...I guess I've used up all my words for today."

It's at that moment that I realize something. In the process of my work day I had spent six hours at the computer - hearing, feeling, seeing - a kaleidoscope of emotions, all played out on the big screen of my mind.

I've said it all.

I've heard it all.

I've felt it all.

It's time to recharge.

And how do I do this?

Solitude.

Some folks recharge their depleted proverbial batteries by losing themselves in a crowd of people. They draw a much needed jolt from the energy that is radiated off others. Though they may enter the room exhausted, this type of person will leave at the end of the night renewed, invigorated.

And then there's folks like me.

Put me in a quiet room, dim the lights, turn on some soft music, and close the door. It's only then that I begin to feel like myself again. The noise around me and inside me becomes muted, raw emotion loses its ragged edge, and calm begins to seep through the pores of my skin. Bit by bit, minute by minute, I'm infused with regenerated inspiration, renewed enthusiasm, and optimism that but a short while ago seemed all but impossible.

It's in those times, those moments of solitude, that I hear the voice of God the clearest. In my vulnerable state I'm at the very place where His gentle probing and prompting can make its way with ease through my soul.

Once again I feel the tingles of inspiration.

I see with clarity the plan He has for me.

And I listen with bated breath as He whispers encouragement to a soul that has grown parched and weary throughout the day.

It's as close to heaven as I've come, and I've learned to look forward to these times of solitude. For me, being alone is the farthest thing from lonliness. Instead, it's where I draw fresh strength, examine weaknesses, and learn the things about me that only He can teach.

Do you hear that...?

...the sound of silence calling to you?

It's golden.

Introspections

When I started this blog, the intention was to give tiny glimpses into a writer's mind. Not necessarily a writer's life. 'Cause let's face it. The writing life - most days - isn't that grand! Instead, it's a lonely road, one you want to detour from often, just so you can *see* folks again. Feel connected to the real world.

That's on most days.

But then - quite unexepectedly - comes that morning when you wake up, your blood pumping just a bit quicker, your heart fluttering with excitement, nerves calm, fingers itching for the keyboard, your soul full to overflowing.

Fresh annointing.

A renewed one-on-one connection with God. The assurance that you're on the exact path He has laid for you. The certainty that the stories on your heart - the ones that won't leave you alone at night, even hours after you've logged off the computer - are the ones you're meant to write.

You, and you alone.

Those mornings, those days - as rare as they sometimes seem - are worth everything.

Worth every hour I spend staring at the blank page, certain I'll never come up with another intelligent, inspired sentence again. Let alone a whole book of them.

Worth every hour I shut myself into my office space, refusing to free myself from my self-imposed prison until I achieve my daily word count.

Worth every rejection I receive from well-meaning publishers, who love my writing (okay) but "don't see your stories fitting the direction we plan to go at this point."

It's all worth it. And the reason for it seems so simple on those rare mornings.

I've found favor with my Maker. I'm doing the very thing He's asked of me. I'm writing, and I'm writing the stories, the characters, the events He lays on my heart, imbeds in my conscience, and pierces through my soul.

I'm content in obedience.

Thank you, Lord, for this call to write. Thank you for the privilege of having days free to pursue this calling. Thank you for trusting me - ME - to tell stories that, in faith, will one day minister to specific needs in the lives of people I've never met.

I love being a writer.

Today.

I'm a happy girl.

Oprah recently asked a studio audience to take a "happiness quiz" to see just how satisfied most folks are with their life. A handful of people took the test on stage and then their stories were used on the show.

Peggy was a 44-year-old married mother of two teenage boys who works as the bookkeeper of the family business. Last year, both her father and her sister died, and her mother has been diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. Noreen was a 52-year-old divorced mother of two college kids. She's an avid swimmer and works in the operations department of a major airline. Lachelle was 27 years old, married and has no children. She works two jobs and has two dogs. Last year, four of her friends and two of her family members died within six months of each other. David was 53 years old, and he's been a funeral director for 30 years. He is married and has two sons. Lorrie has been married for 15 years and has six children. She works in retail and also serves as the vice president of her PTA. The question Oprah posed to her audience was this: Can you tell by the appearance of these five folks who has the happiest, most fulfilling and satisfying life? Peggy, David and Lachelle scored the highest on the satisfaction scale, while Noreen and Lorrie scored the lowest. Although their respective stories each involved deaths, personal tragedy, and dealing with death on an everyday basis, they have tapped into truths that seemingly evade others. According to my psychology book, researchers have found that happy people tend to: have high self-esteem be optimistic, outgoing, and agreeable have close friendships and/or satisfying marriages have work and leisure that engage their skills have a meaningful religious faith sleep well and exercise However, happiness (contrary to popular belief) seems not much related to other factors such as: age gender education levels money and/or worldly wealth parenthood (having children or not) physical attractiveness In the today's culture, where our validity seems to be centered on things we accumulate: money, possessions, relationships - I'm afraid that we're missing out on what the real meaning of happiness is. "Things" bring temporary elevated levels of adrenalin (not necessarily happiness) that tend to plummet as soon as we adjust to our new acquisistions. A noted Dutch psychologist had this to say, "Continued pleasures wear off...Pleasure is always contingent upon change and disappears with continuous satisfaction." So that new car, new clothing, new house, new relationship, may very well bring pleasure and contentment and certain levels of pleasure...for a time. But when "the new wears off" we need something deeper, more permanently grounded within our souls, if we are to be the joyful creatures that God intends for us to be. I learned a long time ago, from a close friend, to practice the law of attraction. We can draw people, circumstances, and even certain "things" by daily practicing optimism, outward signs of joy (smile, even when you don't feel it), and - most importantly - exercising that small mustard seed of faith. Happy people attract happy circumstances. That doesn't mean that illness, hardships, and tragedy never crosses their path, but it does mean that they are not shaped by the circumstances of their life. Instead they shape their life and bring meaning to those circumstances. I'm thinking happy thoughts today. Practicing the law of attraction. Surrounding myself with like-minded people. Cherishing the relationships in my life that mean more than worldly wealth ever will. Clinging to a faith in God that has never failed me. Yep, it's official. I'm a happy girl.

I just need to load the wagon.

I jumped off the merry-go-round a few days ago.

Just...jumped.

For weeks the hurry and scurry of schedules, exams, motherhood, writing, studying, advising (see motherhood), selling & packing a house, nurturing (see motherhood), papers, planning a graduation party (see motherhood), research projects, and everything else that was somehow sandwiched in between had me spinning...

Faster and faster I spun, with no concrete destination, no end in sight (well, okay, I knew there was an end to most of it but I certainly couldn't see it), and with growing panic squeezing my insides with each subsequent turn.

By late last week my proverbial vision was blurred and all sense of what was up, down, right or left, right or wrong, had successfully evaded me. My internal scheduler went on the blink, my ability to reason and rationalize went on the fritz, and - can I just be real here? - I became one irritable human being.

Sometimes I struggle with just how open to be on this blog. Making myself vulnerable is never comfortable and yet, as a writer, I feel the need (even on this blog that is read by "tens of people") to share truths as I learn them. And the truth I re-learned these past few days is that there is only one place to go when I finally realize that the load is just too much for one lone girl to carry.

Maybe one day I'll learn to leave everything at the Cross before it becomes overwhelming. Wouldn't that be a novel approach?

After several days of feeling faint twinges of annoyance at even the most simple of conversations, the most minute of inconveniences, I began to feel the effects of spinning way too fast for way too long. It was only after one *particular* phone call late in the week that I realized that all the conflicting issues that were all of a sudden popping up and banging on the front door of my mind must...<gulp> be stemming from ME.

That, folks, is tough to admit. But you know what I mean, right? It's fortunate (though sad) that I finally had to come to the realization that if I was at odds with that many people, then most likely I just needed to give those people a break and take myself out of the equation for a few days.

So that's what I did.

I jumped off the merry-go-round.

No emails. No blog reading or blog writing. No phone calls. No text messaging. I. jumped. off.

For two days I stayed as quiet as possible, staying inside of my home and attending to only those things of "hearth and home." As the hours passed and I gradually let go of all the issues, circumstances, and events that I was trying (unsuccessfully, I might add) to micro-manage, I slowly felt my soul begin to refuel. Where I'd felt parched and dry before, new rivers of joy and inspiration began to - little by little - forge their way through until I felt like myself again.

I was behind a fancy Dodge truck this morning on my way to class. Stenciled in beautiful scripted font, on the tail of the truck, were these words: "Don't worry about the mules. Just load the wagon."

Now I'm no cow girl and I'm not entirely sure of the meaning. But I do know what I took away from the sentiment. I don't need to know the answers, the reasons why or why not, the endings, the WHATEVER, for every little thing I have going on in my life.

I need to merely load the wagon.

Load it by making sure I'm prayed up. Load it by fulfilling my responsibilities first and my calling next. Loading it by loving the people God has so strategically placed in my life with all that is within me. In the room that's left I can then layer in the extras. When it's full, I need to just accept that it's full. There will be time enough at a later date to load more.

And then I need to relax in the knowledge that I'm not the driver of this load. But, instead, my life is totally in the hands of the only One who knows my past, directs my present, and is already preparing me for my future.

So even though I'm back on the merry-go-round today, I now feel that tingle of excitement again as the spinning commences. The thrill is back, the sheer exhileration of freedom making me want to throw my head back, close my eyes, and enjoy the ride.

Do parents often say they "admire" their children?

I don't know.

But what I do know is that I truly admire you and the way you're learning to live your life.

It's not just your adventurous spirit, or the creative side very few people are privileged to see, or even the way you set goals and then go after them with courage and enthusiasm - although, of course, that's part of it.

No, I think it's more the sense of personal integrity that I'm beginning to glimpse as you've matured these past few months. As I watch you approach high school graduation and make plans for college, I'm seeing a young man that is impressing me.

I know I don't tell you that often enough and, even when I do, I'm not sure that you truly know just how much I am proud of the person that you are.

You face your relationships with generosity and honesty and your loyalty to those you care about is impressive.

It's all of these things (and more) that make me love you and admire you so very much - that make me think of you as the wonderful person I've always been proud to call "my son."

Enjoy these last few weeks of high school, Jorge. You are embarking on a whole new adventure that will thrill you, scare you, mold you, please you, disappoint you, and somehow fill you with joy and apprehension - all at the same time.

It's called Life - and it's waiting to see what you have to offer. Bring the best of yourself to the game, Son. And always know that all the support, love, and encouragement you could ever need will continue to flow from us - your family.

I love you.

It just takes one.

My agent tells me this whenever we receive another bunch of rejection slips. "It just takes one."

One call. One person. One event.

And the whole course of - virtually anything -  can be changed.

I was sitting in my office (in my "work" clothes and a pony tail) a week ago Friday, working on my manuscript, when my phone rang.

Not recognizing the number on caller ID, I considered not answering it. Either it was a wrong number or someone inquiring about the house. I had been fielding the calls on the house, taking down the info folks wanted, and then returning their calls later. Since we'd not yet placed a single ad in a paper or subscribed to any MLS listings, the calls were few and far between. But that morning something urged me to answer. I reached for the phone.

"Hello? Yeah. I was just looking at the house down the street and noticed your sign in the yard. I'm standing outside of your house. Can I see it now?"

My mind went into a stall, torn between knowing I would have to perform a mad dash throughout the house - picking up, straightening, finding time to dress in something other than work pj's - and not wanting to pass up the opportunity to show the house. The sign had been in the yard just six days, but this was the first person to ask to see it.

"Sure." I answered. "Just give me a few minutes."

I took one arm and swept my manuscript notes and folders into one tall and only semi-neat pile and then flew through the house, quickly inspecting each and every room. Five minutes later - appropriately dressed, hair tidied, and rooms approved - I opened the door and met the gentleman.

He looked at the house, walking into each and every room while I waited with bated breath and a bit of nervousness (showing the house by myself is not my idea of a great time) just inside the opened front door. Coming back into the living room he inquired about the asking price.

"Is that your final price?"

I mumbled something intelligent about how he'd need to speak with my husband about the details and would he like to leave his name and number? He did, indeed, pausing to add as he walked out the door, "Have him call me soon. I may make an offer."

He didn't have to tell ME twice. I called Mike, who just happened to be in town and working at the office that day (miracle of miracles!), and promptly filled him in on the morning activity. Mike called him back, and they set up a time for him to see the house again that night.

But ...!

Pat (that's the man) called back not even two hours later. My friend, Denise, was sitting in my living room at that time so she is my witness to this incredible part of the story.

"Hello?" I had recognized his number this time, and was mentally praying he wasn't calling to cancel the appointment for that night.

"Yeah, this is Pat again. Listen, I'm going to buy your house."

"Okay." For the second time that day my brain stalled. "I'm sorry. Can you repeat what you just said?"

By bedtime that night we had inked a contract. Still finding it difficult to believe, we waited a suspenseful two days until Pat called after a meeting with his bank and mortgage company with a green light and a closing date of April 27th.

This is our God-story. One that makes me smile every time I think about it. After showing our home just five times during a seven month period last year, selling it after only six days with a mere sign in the yard and no ads was...well, staggering.

Just the week before I'd been praying for the future owners of our home as I planted red and pink geraniums in the front flower beds. I prayed that they would find joy and peace within these walls and that the hallway and rooms would be full of love, laughter, and good friends. In my mind, I suppose I envisioned a young family, maybe with one or two small children.

I certainly didn't imagine Pat.

And yet I have no doubt that Pat is exactly right for our house. That's just like my God to orchestrate in ways that are so far beyond my simple comprehension. He works outside of the box, with timing that is both impeccable and unquestionable. While I may never have envisioned a "Pat," God knew all along where those prayers were directed.

All it took was one.

One sign. One call. One buyer.

 

So much fun.

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Texas UPC Women's Conference 2007