Feb 6, 2012 |
A few days ago I mentioned that I rejected a freelance writing opportunity.
While I know it was the right thing to do, I was disappointed. Disappointed with the lack of finances (and my need for more!), disappointed with a failed opportunity, disappointed with so much.
While endeavoring to be a paid writer I’ve also been trying to find a day job to pay the bills. That hasn’t offered much hope either.
So. I admit that God and I had a bit of a talk. Actually, it was more of a child kicking and screaming to get attention from the adult. Without actually throwing a temper tantrum, I admit that my heart really wanted to. I prattled off all my worries and concerns and the reasons I’m not sleeping as well as I used to and don’t forget the recurring knee injury and what is up with this cold weather and wind and by the way do you think just once I could win the lottery? Or at least a few decent writing assignments? Is that really too much to ask?
I learned a few things that day.
*First: It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be sad and discouraged. It is not okay to wallow or lose hope. But it’s totally okay be tired and cry it out.
*Second: Crying can be good. Admitting your disappointments out loud can be cathartic. Telling your worries to your mother over a tear-stained coffee cup can even lead to some unintentionally humorous conversations.
*Third: God loves me and will take care of me no matter what. Even when He doesn’t give me what I want, He gives me what I need and protects me from what I deserve. What I think I need is not what I really need. And that thought terrifies me because I don’t like the unknown. But if all I know is God will take care of me, and my family, then that’s what I have to go on.
*Fourth: Proverbs 22:1 (NIV): “A good name is more desirable than great riches; to be esteemed is better than silver or gold.” I could sell my writings almost anywhere. I could write the kind of stories that would sell big, but in doing so I would compromise my style, my faith, and my name. I could write for people who don’t care about quality. I could write, and get paid. But I’d rather keep my Good Name. Because in doing so, I’m trusting God for the rest. (See Bullet Three above).
I kept praying for direction answers my will to be accomplished. Until I realized this is the first of many rejection notices I’ll receive. I just happen to be the one doing the rejection this time. And I’m okay with that.
I’m a firm believer that when God closes one door, He opens another.
The same day I rejected this freelance opportunity, another one came my way. One that will be mutually beneficial to myself and the business I’m writing for. One that leaves me no doubt that God had this lined up before I even thought of rejecting the first one.
And then of course I felt pretty foolish for having stomped my feet and threw my fists in the air (no, not literally!). But it’s a good thing to know that God loves me know matter what. It’s an even better thing to know He knows what’s really in my heart.
Psalm 50:15 (NIV): ” and call on me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you and you will honor me.”
Yeah. I’m keeping my Good Name. Because it comes from My Father. And after all, Father Knows Best.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Feb 3, 2012
We’ve all heard it before. You can’t predict your life. Things happen. What you have designed for your life is not what God has designed for your life.
Blah.
Blah.
BLAH.
When I was a child, I lived in Michigan and planned to live in California and become a famous actress. Or a teacher. And I’d write about my dreams.
When I was a teenager, we moved to California and I planned to work at Disneyland. Or marry John Stamos. And I’d write about my dreams.
When I was in my 20’s, I went to college and planned to become an award-winning news journalist. And I’d write about my dreams.
When I was in my 30’s, I was a single mom trying to make ends meet. I planned to marry rich and spend the day being a carefree housewife. Or live in New York. And I’d write about my dreams.
Now I’m in my 40’s.
I thought by now I’d be married. I thought by now I’d be published. I thought by now my name would be known. I thought by now I’d be fairly debt free, fairly financially stable, fairly living where the grass is greener.
Life.
I still live in California.
I’m still a single mom.
I still believe in God.
And I still write. About my dreams. About my memories. And everything in between.
I write.
All the time.
“Life is what happens when you make other plans…”
I always tell people, I was born to write. I have ink instead of blood. I keep my fingernails clipped short to make it easier to type. I always carry a notebook and pen wherever I go. I have my own brand of shorthand, and I know how to write in the dark.
I can be inspired to write a sonnet by looking in a landfill of trash.
When I go to a movie, it has to be a really good one to keep me from being distracted with thoughts of “I could write that better” or “this scene should have been written this way”.
I have yet to make a living with my writing. I don’t have any national awards on my resume yet. People aren’t sending me fan mail. Yet.
But this I know:
I’m not settling for a change of plans.
I was born to write.
And I am really good at what I do.
I’m just waiting for the rest of the world to realize it.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
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!
Jan 10, 2012
I love my stability. I love my schedule. I love every so often letting loose and being spontaneous, because I know that I can return to my daughter, my recliner, my laptop, my cat, and my coffee. And I can count on those five things to be consistent.
I love having a routine. I love knowing what I can count on.
This is not news.
But this year, I’m daring to be a little more bold, a little more go-with-the-unknown. That’s so not the same as go-with-the-flow. The flow ebbs and tides, rises with the moon and sets with the sun. The unknown has no schedule for the moon or sun.
Today was my daughter’s first day back at school after over two weeks off for the holidays. She had a blast. She got to see her friends, her boyfriend, and was her typical social butterfly. She does great in school. I’m one proud Momma.
During her break, we took it easy and took each day as it came. Some were planned (holidays and friendly get-togethers), but overall we just woke up and decided to stay here or go there (lunch at Grandma’s, catch a movie). It was really a unique experience for me to be inconsistent for more than three days in a row.
I learned a few things about myself during the last few days. The first is, I like being laid back and semi-carefree. But I also like having the important things in order. I’ve learned what doesn’t cause me to lose sleep… and what does.
I’ve also discovered that having a plan and not following it can cause as much anxiety as not having a plan at all. ISN’T THERE A HAPPY MEDIUM SOMEWHERE?!
I feel better when I have a plan, a goal, a routine. Knowing what needs to get done, and planning for it gives me great satisfaction. Knowing what needs to get done, and ignoring it, pretty much cancels any need for caffeine. I hate being anxious over To-Do Lists.
So here is my happy little solution: Less To-Do Lists. More Unknown. Living in the Moment. Trusting God that as long as I’m doing what needs to be done, the rest doesn’t have to be scheduled, plotted out, planned for, or routinized.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a Not-To-Do List to write out.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Nov 17, 2011
As I write this, I’m preparing for a Girls Night Out with the Dot and our Second Family.
We’re going to do what has now become a tradition: we all get together for the midnight premiere of whatever spectacular movie is being released. Tonight, it’s Breaking Dawn, Part 1.
And I’m so stinkin’ excited.
Now, I haven’t read the books. I don’t really know how it will end. I know enough. It can’t be avoided when the instant media posts all the spoilers and traps and rundowns… and I live with a teenager who chats it up with her friends. But still… I don’t really know how it will end.
That’s only part of the fun.
Another part is, well, being with the VIP and Second Family. The VIP is my best friend, Julie. “Best friend” sounds so Junior High, though. Our friendship is so much more than that. As close as we are, we keep ourselves so busy we don’t get to see each other but once or twice a month, and even then distractions like family and chores and schtuff like that tends to interrupt. We can talk for two hours on the cell phones, and the only reason we hang up is because the batteries are going dead.
Then we call each other back within five minutes just to say, “Oh, I forgot to tell you…”
I love her kids like they were my own. And they love my daughter like she’s theirs. We’re so close, that when my daughter and I have a serious discussion and I reach for the phone, she says, “Mom, please don’t call Julie now.” But I do. I get her feedback. I treasure her advice.
Julie introduced me to the delight of jalapenos in my popcorn (boy, that’ll clear out any sinus issues you may have!), and the neccesity of Isabella (my KitchenAid Artisan stand mixer). Yes, I name my appliances… what? Is that weird?
Her oldest is my Second Daughter. Our girls are twins, separated at birth and by five years. Elisa is the role model I would have chosen for Hannah, but I didn’t have to. They met at school and became friends long before I ever met Julie.
Turns out our worlds collided several times before we finally figured out we were supposed to be friends. I was the consultant at a scrapbook party they attended years ago. Julie was the choir director at my church for a few months when I was toying with the idea of re-joining. Our kids know the same people.
The week after I met Julie at bunco (we had no idea we’d met before), she saw me again at the high school football game and came over to chat. I was so embarrassed; when she left I had to ask my daughter, “Who was that?”
Julie always has a story to tell, always has a prayer to offer. She is, in her own words, “fiercely protective of family and friends”. And always, always, always corrects me when I place myself in the “friends” category. No, she corrects. Family. Always, always, always Family.
Julie keeps me grounded. I’ve learned to slow down, and when in doubt, call her first. Especially when it comes to our kids. Because I, too, am fiercely protective. But that’s not always what my daughter needs. Julie’s taught me to step back and breathe. And talk more, act less.
And that’s why I love her them. They keep us grounded. They keep us involved. They keep us in the family. No matter what.
That, and we do so much together. We don’t spend every day together. But the moments we do have, we make count. Like go to midnight movie premieres. And laugh at the same things. And watch sports. (Okay, I’m not quite as much into hockey as they are, but I’m learning. Go Maple Leafs!). Julie even rooted for the Yankees this year. That’s a big deal for her!
I look forward to these Girls Nights Out.
We don’t have to get all dolled up. But we will. Because it’s fun.
We don’t have to pretend to be anything we’re not. They love us anyway.
And the best part of tonight will be, we each have our favorite Guy Character. So there won’t be any competition (I’m all about Carlisle, just in case you were wondering).
Just a lot of great togetherness. Girl chatter like we haven’t talked in ages. And jalapenos in the popcorn.
What are friends for?
