May 4, 2018 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
Frankly, My Dear . . . : That One Time a Fox Joined the Team and Tied Everything Together
It’s not that I haven’t been doing anything. I just haven’t been doing anything on the blog. At least, not as much as I used to. You see, I’ve been working behind the scenes lately, editing NOLA, working some freelance projects, crafting my upcoming newsletter. (Now, everyone, nod your heads in sympathetic busyness understanding. Thank you.)
Lemmetellya, it’s a bit of a challenge. I wanna get it just.right for y’all, and well, for me. People say “write for yourself” and while that’s a good way to remain happy, it ain’t always gonna bring in the readers. So I am happily crafting my message for you, my beloved Swarm.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : An Object in Motion . . .
And as promised, since it’s a new month, there’s a new Media Menagerie over at New Inklings Press. Did you miss the big reveal on Instagram? It was a live video, my Nippers’s first actually. And of course he (okay, I) forgot to save it for posterity. So while I introduced you to the current members of our #MediaMenagerie, Nippers also asked what our May member should be. And the next day he whispered his answer in my ear.
Ladies, gentlemen, Southern Belles and Yankee Gents, I give you May’s Media Menagerie Member, Gypsy Skylark Walton.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Say Hello to Gypsy Skylark Walton
Gypsy is a fox. Foxes are crafty. They’re quick. They’re stealth-like (hmm, maybe like a ninja?). They’re beautiful. Foxes are smart, too. Problem solvers. What, think I’m wrong? Read Aesop’s Fables. People call them sly and crazy. (the foxes, not the fables).
Now, how did Gypsy get his name? Well, first, from the beautiful Johnny Mercer song, Skylark. Y’all know This Girl’s favorite inspirational movie is Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. And my favorite song from the soundtrack is Skylark. There’s a line in the chorus, “sad as a gypsy,” and it just gets me every time. It’s such a beautiful visual.
“Gypsy” can mean so many things. Romanian descent. Fortune tellers. But for me, it’s the wanderer, the free spirit, that my Bohemian self relates to. It’s like that old toy, Spirograph. You set your pen in a stencil and draw as it bumps you along the edges. A few ink color and shape changes, and in the end, your wandering pen has created something uniquely beautiful. You can’t have that without the wandering. As a creative soul, there’s nothing more effusing than to be able to just be who I am. Gypsies get that. It could also be that I’m currently addicted to Hallmark Channel’s The Good Witch series. Who doesn’t love a little good magic now and then?
And Walton? Well, that’s two-fold. John-Boy Walton was a writer. Sure, he was a fictional TV character in the 70’s and early 80’s. But still. What self-respecting aspiring writer girl back then didn’t have a crush on him? It wasn’t until I was an adult that I realized my fancy for the man was due in great part to his wordsmithing. Let’s not forget that greatest of all goodbyes, “Good night, John-Boy!” I say it often, mostly when signing off social media for the night. Which has led to others calling me Mary-Ellen. (Yah, I’m talking about you, Del and Caleb!). Which now brings me to Caleb. Affectionately known to me and my peeps as JB. Because his last name is Walton. And he’s from the South. And he grew up watching The Waltons and we still talk about our favorite episodes. Oh, and of course, JB (my “little big brother”, not the TV guy) is a writer. So there’s that.
Oh, but wait! There’s more. In chatting with JB recently (again, my JB, not the TV guy) [but if you’re out there, Richard Thomas, and feel like saying “hi,” I wouldn’t mind having you over for coffee!] and sharing Gypsy’s adoption, I realize his initial’s are GSW. Which, in NCIS world, stands for gun shot wound. Okay, not the Southern romantic history y’all were hoping for. But it’s NCIS. Which is another commonality I have with JB (and, well, about 13 billion other humans). And NCIS had the arc about Le Granouille (“The Frog”) which inspired my daughter and I to adopt the shaggy little frog now known as Nippers. And NCIS has a spin-off I may have mentioned once or twice. NCIS: New Orleans. Which is the location for my first City Series novel. Yup. We’ve come full circle.
I now own a stuffed fox named Gypsy because I wanted to be a writer with a frog. I know . . . It’s hard to be in my head sometimes. That’s okay. I know my thoughts. You just have to enjoy the outcome.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Say Hello to Gypsy Skylark Walton
Now I want to hear from you: How do you express your creative soul?
With a compass and a spirograph,
Happy wanderings.
~Molly Jo
And Frankly, My Dear . . . That’s all she wrote!
Oh, PS: If you haven’t yet taken my survey, and/or want to be added to my email lists for this blog, and/or Firsts in Fiction Newsletter, and/or Molly Jo Realy: Author, Etc. . . . just click on this photo to sign up. BONUS: You’ll get to tell me how you like your coffee. Thanks! (And super-shout out to my über professional graphic artist brother who worked with me to create this awesome visual.)
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Author, Etc . . .
Apr 15, 2013 |
THUNK.
And then, again.
THUNK.
That’s what my friend Lisa says these types of writings do for her. When God uses me to write His message on her heart. She gets thunked.
As you’ve undoubtedly noticed from my incredible lack of writing lately, there’s not been a lot of thunking going on. Sorry, Lisa.
I need a respite. A retreat. I need to find a way to afford a weekend getaway to disconnect from the world and reconnect with my daughter, my writing, and my God. I need nature. To spend time in His world and renew my view. I need refreshing.
I’m tired. I’m tired all the time lately. The Cookbook Project was so fulfilling, so successful. So exhausting. Through the end stages of ordering product and processing orders, I fell under a bout of anemia. It doesn’t happen often. But if I don’t take care of myself, it can affect me.
I was already tired. So I didn’t cook too much in the last month. We ate leftovers and easy fixings: toast, eggs, oatmeal. It’s not like a homecooked meal. But I tried. Sometimes. And sometimes I didn’t. Which is why my iron levels dropped. I didn’t make the connection until one morning the dark circles under my eyes were darker. And not going away. And neither was my fatigue.
And then I remembered. I’m borderline anemic and I hadn’t eaten meat for much longer than a week. Neither had I taken vitamins.
My eczema has flared up as well. Rough, dry, itchy patches on my legs and hands. Yeah. Real attractive, right? The problem with eczema is the more it flares up, the more I rub/scratch, the more it flares up. Ugh. Talk about your Catch-22. My eczema is a result of cold, dry weather, weather changes, dietary changes, and stress. Hmm. Any of those happen lately? Let me think… I’ll take (e) for All of The Above, Alex.
Just about ten days ago I made a wonderful discovery. Something I’d not known before. Something which makes people who hate the internet, appreciate this information highway just a little. Anemia and eczema are connected.
Awesome.
I mean it. What a sigh of relief to know I don’t have a buzzillion things wrong with me; but rather one thing that is affecting me in a buzzillion ways. If I can get the anemia under control, the eczema will follow.
I’m still tired. Greatly overwhelmed. But I’m hopeful. I don’t expect my body to rebound after one red-meat meal. It will take a little time. Hope is a beautiful thing: Hope, in itself, offers promise and peace.
The anemia isn’t the only cause of my eczema. I need to release my worries and concerns. I need my body to let go of the stress it’s holding on to. That’s so much easier said than done. Am I right?
Let’s have a show of hands: Who has worries? Who has concerns? I thought so.
Worries and concerns aren’t unique. Troubles are a natural part of life. But doesn’t it seem that there are more worries and concerns lately? Isn’t the world around you more troubled than it used to be? Are you losing sleep, too? The deep-breathing thing doesn’t always help, does it? Yeah. Me either.
There’s a lot I’m not doing because I’m so tired. I’ve been unable to tend to my yardwork. I haven’t visited friends as often. And I’m not writing. Not really. I haven’t touched the novel for over two months. I haven’t even read my Bible.
My fatigue makes me feel like a failure. And causes me concern. These projects that aren’t getting done: how detrimental are these delays?
Today was it. That moment when I finally spoke aloud the words I knew were welling up inside of me. “I don’t have energy to be happy right now. I need replenishment.” Thankfully, blessedly, God heard me.
Dot nudged me to go to Church with her. I wanted to just stay in bed. But she wasn’t having any of that. I knew there would be a reason for me to go, so I went. We unexpectedly met some of my Very Favorite People there, who invited us to lunch at IHOP after.
Hey. Free food. I don’t have to cook. And I get to enjoy their company? Yeah. I’ll bite that apple. [Yes, my chocolate-chocolate chip pancakes were delicious. Thank you asking, Kenny.] Two hours later we finally disbanded. And I felt fed. Loved. Comforted. And a bit replenished.
I’ve been waiting for a Big Miracle, when the little ones are right in front of me. I can’t conquer the world. But I can conquer one task. At least, I can start.
So tonight, rather than watch TV, I turned it off and decided to pick up my Bible. I subscribe to one of those little daily prayer magazines. I haven’t looked at it in months. I figured it would be a good way to edge back into the Nightly Prayer Routine. My focus is easily distracted these days, so I can use all the guidance I can get.
After saying goodnight to Dot, I went to my room where the first distraction came about. My adorable cats were cuddled up, waiting for me. I also wanted to post an Instagram photo of my new fox necklace. That’s a separate story; but this part is important: as I was looking at the photos from those I follow, one lovely young lady posted this:
“So do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be afraid or dismayed,
for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”
She posted it as a reminder to herself that He is always here. But I think God had her post it so she could THUNK me with it.
In this moment, before I started my Bible reading and prayer time, God is already soothing my soul. I am so very afraid of how terrible our finances are. I am so very worried about getting through each day. I don’t know what to do or where to turn.
But God does. And He chose someone else’s troubles to tell me.
And it doesn’t stop there. After reading that, and feeling a slight rejoicing well up inside me, I opened my little magazine. Today’s verse of the day is Isaiah 35:3-10. Isaiah is a book filled with stories of Strength and Endurance. Just look at the first word in these first two verses:
“Strengthen the feeble hands,
steady the knees that give way;
say to those with fearful hearts,
‘Be strong, do not fear;
your God will come,
he will come with vengeance;
with divine retribution
he will come to save you.'”
I guess now I should tell you that before I read, I wrote. My journal is full of letters to God. Pouring my heart out, praising Him in thanks, offering up prayers for others. As you can imagine, tonight’s entry was full of phrases like “Rescue me” and “Fight for me” and “Why is this so hard?” and “What do I do?” I knew He would hear me. Am I so tired that I’m not hearing the answer?
And then I read Isaiah.
That alone made me giggle a little.
You see, many years ago, in choir, I was known as the Teddy Bear Rescue Mission. I’ve always collected teddy bears. Still do, when I get the chance. About ten years ago, I was going through a very rough time and constantly seeking God’s presence. I asked Him to specifically show Himself to me in ways that were meant only for me. Over several months, He blessed me. With bears. Abandoned teddy bears I found on the side of the road, took home and cleaned up. There’s Roadie, Faith, and especially Isaiah. Isaiah was a brand new Ty Beanie Baby bear that happened to be in the middle of the road just as I drove up and stopped for a signal. I only had to open my door, reach down and pick him up. To this day, that bear is a symbol of God’s promise to care for me personally, individually, and intimately. He knows me and knows not only what I need for my body, but for my mind, emotions, and soul. He continues to refresh and replenish me. Even if the world doesn’t see it. Even if the bills still don’t get paid. Even if my anemia and eczema doesn’t go away.
Bears are awesome creatures. They are big. Strong. Yet cuddly. Furious and ferocious. And I have always loved them. And foxes remind me of Disney’s Robin Hood. They are beautiful, quick, quiet. Each of these wildlife animals command respect and admiration and awe. They don’t worry. They live the lives they are designed to live. You don’t see a bear trying to be a zebra, or a fox imitating a bird. They don’t worry about tomorrow.
There are approximately 365 mentions in the Bible to “not fear”. The variations are “Don’t be afraid,” “Do not fear,” and “fear not.” 365. That’s one for every day of the year. I’d say if God says it that much, He must have known we’d need the reminders.
I didn’t have to get away to connect with nature. I didn’t need a retreat to feel restored. And I don’t have to worry about my bills and budget.
I needed only to open my eyes. And be the best Molly Jo I know how. The rest will take care of itself. Somehow.
Faith Like a Fox
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote.
You may also enjoy reading:
The Bear Rug ~ A Heritage Story
A Lesson to Trust
Give Us This Day…
What I Learned on Women’s Retreat [The Big Whammy!]
Destination Mission Inn
Jan 20, 2012 |
Recently, my mother was certain she saw a fox in her front yard. A fox! That may not be news for some of you, but this is the desert of Southern California. We’re used to things like tumbleweeds and roadrunners and Wile E. Coyote.
Every so often we get things in our little city that come down from the mountains. Creatures like black bears and mountain cats. Bobcats have certainly been making the rounds lately. But, again, a fox?! Are you sure?!
And she was. But she almost doubted herself. Why? Because. Society tells us if it isn’t normal then it just can’t be. The word “impossible” permeates our vocabulary and gets into our very subconscious, fighting against what we know is true and right.
My mom saw a fox. Even if no one else saw it but her. How do I know? She’s my mom. She could have just said “I saw a fox today” and that would have been enough for me. But she went beyond that. She offered me verbal evidence: she detailed its appearance, its mannerisms. And for several days we checked facts online: how do foxes live, sleep, eat, raise their young? We saw the den it tried to make. We saw the leaves where it slept. Everything pointed to the same conclusion: my mom was lucky enough to make eye contact with a beautiful fox in her own yard.
It got me thinking. Recently I went through a bit of a discussion with God. I keep telling Him I trust Him. But I certainly don’t act like it. When the funds are low, I pray, “Thank you God for getting us through this day,” and then I cry to myself in fear and anxiety.
I read the Bible, full of miracles and awe and wonder, and I claim that same God as my own. But when I’m faced with stepping off a ledge, do I really believe He will catch me?
I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve let the physics of this world interfere with my Faith in His. For whatever reason, God brought to mind a conversation I’d had many years ago with someone from my church. We were talking about finances and life and all things in between and my friend suggested a necessary expense I thought was unaffordable. “How?!” I remember crying out. “How am I supposed to do that?!” Back then I was fairly new in my faith. But not now. Now I’m firm. Cemented in the Foundation that God Is, Was, and Always Will Be. And I’m still crying out, “How?!”
I already trust my Mom completely. I need to trust my Daddy-God more. Not just say it. I’m not afraid to ask Him for favors; why am I afraid to trust He’ll actually provide them?
The moral of this little post is this: If God tells me there’s a fox in the yard, I’m gonna believe Him. Period. I don’t need to find the evidence. That’s just confirmation of what I already know: He’s trustworthy. Period.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
