Life's Circle of Life

Did you ever think you'd hear from me again? I had my moments. I sent many prayers to God to either cure me or kill me. I was that sick. I'd been sick since around Valentine's Day or there abouts. I had the most severe virus I'd ever had in my life. I went to doctors, hospitals, clinics, and had tests afters tests all to learn it was something more severe than the Norovirus and very contagious. I was sent home and restricted to bed rest for six weeks.

SIX WEEKS!!!!

This was no vacation illness, either. I was SICK!!!

My poor, darling, blessing of a husband worked full time then came home and took care of me and our dog and our parrot. He attempted laundry, dishes, the kitchen, and meals. I don't know if I can ever thank him enough.

I spent most of the six weeks sleeping. Nearly 24 hours a day. When the doctor declared me well enough to venture forth from the bedroom, I spent the next two weeks huddled in a chair in the living room, mostly sleeping, between taking care of the dog by walking him and entertaining the parrot and attempting to keep food in my shriveled stomach.

Finally, I was well enough to attend church again. Oh, how I had missed church and my church family. Just walking into the doors I and inhaling deeply did my body good. Receiving healing hugs and wondering blessings did more for me than any pill.

I was still so very tired. One of my doctor's suggested a Myers' IV Therapy session. So, I started that. It consisted of six weeks of IV therapy based on a 1960's nutrient mixture by Dr. John Myers. It helped. I increased my dog's walks from once a day to twice a day.

I'm still recovering. I have been slowing adding activities back into my routine as I gain energy. I go to Bible Study every week again, and have recently added my weekly writing class.

I have over 3,000 e-mails to review and file or discard based on their content. I have so many websites, communities, blogs, and other social media sites to return to and let them know I haven't fallen off the face of the Earth.

I also have dropped some activities from my responsibilities plate. I resigned from the Board of Directors of Florida Writers Association. I've curtailed my involvement in the Women Marines Association. I have decided to close WRITECOVERY, INC until I'm at a stronger point in my life and can handle the stress of starting a new business.  And, I will no longer be giving Writing Workshops, so Succeed At Writing will go away. I've suspended my pursuit of becoming a Journal Writing Instructor until I can be strong enough to pursue it full time.

I can't emphasize enough how serious this illness was to my life. And, how much of a struggle recovering from it is going to be. Not just for the "regular" person. But for the "bipolar" person. I have to be so very careful that I don't turn any one thing I do again, into an obsession and become so absorbed into it that I forget about all other things in my life. And, I didn't do that with just one thing. I did that with MANY things.

This illness was a blessing because it helped me stop and realize that I had been so caught up in so many projects I had no life. Now, I am slowing down. Re-prioritizing what is most important. Taking on only those activities that truly fit my life and my family's life.

I truly believe I am following God's will. "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding." -- Proverbs 3:5

God is clearing my plate for something special and I want to be ready for Him.

Have a blessed day.

God's Promise to Parents

"If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask Him?" - Matthew 7:11

Though many family dynamics aren't perfect, the love a parent has for a child can be the most giving, sacrificial relationship that exists.

What would you do for your children?

What do you do for your child?

Mothers and fathers pour out time, energy and money to care for their children. They'd give their lives to protect their children. Ideal parents deal with each of their children on a personalized level, catering teaching and training to the style that most effectively helps each child.

Do you help your child dream?

Do you want the best for your child?

You also want your child to be happy, don't you?

As parents you want to love your children. You make yourselves available to comfort them, encourage them and simply have a good time with them.

The parental relationship is the basis of all earthly relationships.

Think about this: As much as you, a parent, loves your child, it's truly staggering to realize that God loves His children even more than the most perfect parents on earth.

God makes Himself available to love you, comfort you, and encourage you. He's glad to be your divine Father. Relish the closeness you can have with your heavenly Father.

Scripture from God to parents:

"Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long upon the land which the Lord your God is giving you." Exodus 20:12

"Fathers do not provoke your children, lest they become discouraged." Colossians 3:21

"And these words which I command you today shall be in your heart: you shall teach them diligently to your children and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up. You shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and they shall be as frontlets between your eyes. You shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates." Deuteronomy 6:6-9

Being Still Amid a Busy Life

A woman has a very busy life. There are kids, family, husbands, bosses, friends, pets, finances, homes and more that take up her time.

Studies show that not only is the average woman busy from the time she gets up to the tie she goes to bed, but she also is reducing her sleep time because she has too much to do.

Does this sound like you?

You must learn to slow down. It takes self-determination and control. But it can happen.

Being busy all the time not only affects a woman's physical life, but their spiritual life as well. I know. It's really hard to slow down for anything, even for God.

God can help put your life in perspective. To do so, you must be still and know God. When you take time to be with God, you can build a better relationship with Him. When you focus on God, you can remember how vast He is. God knows everything. Always remember that.

God is everywhere. He's the focus of the universe. Knowing all of this really puts your life into perspective, don't you think?

When you are still, you are refreshed spiritually. You gain a new sense of how important you are to God.

Just think about it.

Be still. Listen for God's voice. He loves you. God whispers his love, support and reassurance to you.

Can you do it? Can you be still enough to hear God's voice?

Be still and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the Earth! -- Psalm 46:10

My Escape from Childhood

The front porch of my childhood home wasn’t a porch at all; more like a stoop or just a step. Concrete, about eight inches high, it separated the front yard from the front door. To everyone else it was just “the front step,” to me it was much more. It was where I perched my bottom on the cold concrete and waited. At first, I didn’t know what I was waiting for, only that I didn’t have it.

I sat on the front stoop and watched cars drive by, restricted from going any further away from the familiar confines of my home. As I grew older, I sat and waited for friends to come over to play or for parents to visit on “their day.” Hundreds and hundreds of days came and went, with visits and later with disappointments when the clock ticked away the minutes, then hours until I could no longer deny that no car would pull into the driveway; no parent would swoop in and take me away. On that stoop I dreamed and I waited. What was I waiting for? I waited for my chance to escape.

With an overwhelming sense of understanding, beyond my young years, I knew I didn’t belong. I didn’t fit into the life I’d been born.  I only existed; floating between the other lives that continued on around me. Born to a mother who couldn’t love my father she married another who gave me his name. Parents and stepparents drifted in and out of my life; so much so that I lost track of their names and faces. Nothing was real, only the cold realization growing inside of me of an unknown desire to escape.

My pursuit for escape took a dramatic turn in the early 1970s. Escape encompassed my desire to disappear; disappear from my family, my school, but most of all, from my life. Unsure of how to fulfill my desire, I searched for a solution to what I envisioned as my problem.

It didn’t take too long to discover the key. It appeared, almost as if by magic.  Eager, excited, and full of anticipation, I watched it take shape. For many months, from the window of my school bus, I kept an eye on the builders as they moved concrete blocks around and poured cement. First the foundation, then the walls, and finally a roof appeared as if right before my eyes. Large glass doors and plate glass windows gave the building a wide, gaping, friendly look that seem to say, “come in, I’m here for you.”

The two small windows from which tickets were sold balanced the smiling face. Unblinking, they beckoned to me, “come in, I’m here for you.”  I knew it was meant for me.

Opening day arrived. I paced, checking the time every few minutes until I could find an excuse plausible enough to satisfy the adults in my life. Rushing to the door, I reigned in my excitement, certain that if my joy were detected, it would be taken away.

As casual as I could, I opened the front door, stepped onto the front stoop, and closed the door behind me. Tense, my spine stretched tight, waiting for any noise from inside to call me back. Nervous, I took the first tentative step off the stoop, slowly at first then gaining in speed as I covered more ground across the lawn. Out of the driveway and finally on the road, I could start to relax. I was on my way.

I walked the two miles from the house with the front stoop to the first walk-in movie theater in our town. The two miles seemed insurmountable, although, with each step, I knew it brought me closer to my destination. I kicked at gravel along the side of the road and swiped at waist-high weeds along the ditch. With each kick I wished I were already standing in line for my ticket. With each swipe I willed myself to already be sitting in my seat.

I spent most of my teenage summers huddled in a soft seat in the darkened theater staring up at the wide screen. Nearly every weekend you could find me in the cool, dark shadows, far away from the realities of divorce, step parents, and becoming a teenager. In the theater I didn’t have to think; only see.

I absorbed every horror film shown, devouring them over and over again. I couldn’t get enough of the creepy, campy horror films of the early 1970s. No matter that I had nightmares every night. I was addicted. They were my anti-thesis. I endured life, knowing the dark theater with its visual trips to far away places would comfort me in times of need.

The characters in the movies became an extension of my identity. In observing their evil deeds I could manifest my inaction through them. I watched a young boy train rats to attack people in Willard and then watched Ben do the same. Not truly understanding the significance, I pretended that those in my life who hurt me would end up in the same predicament. They would pay for their misdeeds.

Trainable animals gave way to intelligent vehicles. My appetite for horror was voracious. Just like the gasoline truck in Duel, I plowed my way through more and more films.  It was when I first saw Carrie, that I understood my reasons for watching these shocking shows. Here was someone that dispensed justice to those who harmed her. I silently rooted for Carrie while those in the theater around me were frightened. 

My life took on a new twist – graduation. I found a new escape from that small house with the small stoop - I lived.

The theater is still there although it no longer shows first run films. Age has caught up with my once favorite refuge, just as it has caught up with me. Wrinkles on my face and the gray in my hair mirror the cracks in the building’s concrete surface as it shines dully in the sun showing pits and broken cinder blocks.

It’s been a very long time since I sought to escape using horror films or theaters. Today I write my dreams in journals. I no longer ache to escape a dreary life, but to embrace its beauty. Every morning I thank God for having one more day to live. Every evening I thank God for giving me that day. Life has become valuable. And I am grateful to a small, hometown theater for rescuing me before I ever got the opportunity to understand that life truly is precious.

Please Don't Go - Short Story

“Mommy, where is daddy going?”

 "Away." My mother didn't turn away from the sink as she washed dishes. The sun streamed in through the kitchen window making her hair shine as if made from gold.

 I ran to the door. "Daddy!"

Daddy stopped, put down his suitcase, turned to me. "Come here." He knelt down on one knee, opening his arms.

I rushed to him and threw my chubby little arms around his neck. Patting the blond curls atop my head, he kissed my face and told me to be a good girl. I kissed him back and begged him not to go. I held his hand tight between my two small ones as he walked to the door.

"Good-bye, baby." Daddy didn't look at me.

"Bye, daddy." I followed him out the door and watched from my seat on the stoop as he put his suitcase in the trunk of the car then climbed behind the wheel.

The car engine roared with anger. I winced at how loud it sounded.

I waved.

Daddy waved back. Then he was gone.

"Please don't go, daddy." I whispered.

 A dark evening, twenty-eight years later, my son said, "Mommy, where is daddy going?"

I heard the question but didn't know how to answer. I cuddled my little boy close. I breathed deep of his special baby smell trying to commit it to memory. I wanted to block out the rest of the day and only remember this one single moment  holding my son close to my heart.

"I'm packed."

I looked up to see my husband with a suitcase in his hand and a garment bag over his shoulder.

I nodded, afraid to use my voice.

"Daddy, please don't go."

My husband knelt down to absently brush away a wisp of golden hair from my son's forehead. "I have to, son." He patted his arm. "You be a big boy and take care of mommy."

Such a large load of responsibility for a tiny boy. I pulled him back into the safety of my arms. I whispered into his ear, "We'll take care of each other."

He snuggled closer. “You promise you won’t leave?” He asked with his child-like innocence.

“Never. Ever.” I crossed my heart. “We’ll be together forever.”

He turned in my arms and buried his face in my bosom. I held him tight as his father walked out the door. In the tiniest whisper, I heard him say, “Daddy, please don’t go.”

One day, thirty years later, I couldn’t stop myself from crying out, "Oh, mama, please don't go!" I held her  fragile hand tightly in mine. The sun shone through the bedroom window and created a soft halo of light around her head. Her pale, white hair luminescent against the pillow.

"Hush, darling. It's my time." My mama whispered the words as I leaned closer to hear her.

"I'm going to miss you so much. Don't leave me."

"I'll never leave you." She ran her fingers through my hair like she did when I was a child. "I'll always be with you." Her bony fingers shook as she touched my chest, above my left breast. "Right here." Mama drew a shallow breath and sighed. "Always."

Tears swam in my eyes as I watched my mother take her last breath.

"Oh, mama, please don't go." I whispered.

For as long as I could, I breathed in and out, hoping to never hear my son cry out those lonely words. I lost the battle seventeen years later.

“Mama, please don’t go!”

My son had grown into a tall, handsome man. I loved him so much. My heart, heavy in my chest, ached for him. “Don’t cry, baby.”

“Mama, you can’t leave. You promised to be with me forever.” His face, although lined with age, still held a boyish glow in the afternoon sun that streamed in from the window across from my bed.

“Darling, How could I ever leave my baby boy?” I touched his beautiful face. I held tight to my delicate grasp on life. I pulled him close to my chest and lay his head on a bosom long dried and useless. I gently brushed at the lock of sandy hair that continued to fall over his brow. His tears pierced through my thin cotton gown, straight into my heart.

“I love you, mama.” My son sobbed has he held me tighter than I could ever hold him again.

“I’m sorry, son.”

“For what, mama?” He hiccupped then took a deep breath.

As I closed my eyes, I gently touched his strong hand with mine. “For breaking my promise.”

The End

Being Happy with Who You Are

 Happiness.

It's elusive, in a mysterious kind of way.

Ask yourself, Are you happy?

What makes you happy? Is it your family? Your career? Your friends? Your pets? All of the above? Something else, entirely?

I thought at one time that to be happy I had to have a great career and work a lot and make lots of money.
Thank God, I don't think like that anymore. I had some serious life lessons that taught me that a great career is not the road to happiness.

My faith is my road to happiness. With faith and trust in God, nothing is impossible. I am a very happy person.

I feel that I live a well balanced life. I don't let stress or other triggers get to me and build up until they spill over into a Bipolar episode. I am diligent about tracking my moods and keeping away from anything that might be a trigger.

I trust in God and follow his Word by reading it every day.

So, how are you going to find happiness in your life? What would you give up so that you could be truly happy?

Do you need to find balance in your life? What could you do to help yourself achieve the right balance in your life?

I "gave up" a stressful career as a Technical Writer and now I write whatever I want. Whenever I want. I've had five novels and two novellas published. I'm currently working on a Bipolar memoir. I set my own schedule. I keep up with several blogs, this one, My Balanced Life and Your Writing Coach.

I have hobbies like doing jigsaw puzzles. They're great for relieving any stress and anxiety.

I have two pets that I adore and give me great pleasure. An American Eskimo dog and Sun Conure parrot.

Best of all, I have the love and support of a wonderful husband who understands and accepts me for who I am.

I am a happy person.

Are you?

Five Minute Friday - Brave

It's time for the "Five Minute Friday" blogging post. The inspiration comes from Lisa Jo Baker. 

What you do is set your timer for five minutes and write whatever you want according to the prompt Lisa places on her blog every Friday. Then you go back, link your blog and give support to those who posted before you. And, we connect on Twitter with #FiveMinuteFriday.

Ready.

Set.

Go.

Brave

The word "brave" conjures up so many things in my life. I was brave when I accepted the news I had Bipolar Disorder. It took me a while, but then I was brave to share that news with others. First my family who I thought would accept me no matter what. Then with friends who I felt would be there for me in good times and in bad. The more acceptance I got, the braver I got and I started sharing with other people in my life. Doors slammed (not literally) in my face. Friends left me. People turned their back on me. I no longer felt brave enough to tell others about my struggles or journey through Bipolar Disorder. I hibernated. I snuggled into my own corner of the world and didn't come out. I withdrew.

Then, I read some books on Bipolar Disorder and read stories of people who shared similar experiences. I read how they pulled up their big girl panties and went on with life. Not letting the opinions of one or two mar them for life. I too could follow their advice. I did. I pulled up my big girl panties and joined the world. Not as a Bipolar person but a person who has Bipolar.

Stop.


Click on the Five Minute Friday logo below and see what others have written for their prompt. Have a great day.

Five Minute Friday

Never Waste An Opportunity to Say "I Love You"

There are 1,440 minutes in the day. That equals 86,400 seconds. How many seconds does it take to say "I love you"?

Maybe 3, 5?

Look at all the opportunities you have in your day to tell someone that you love them.

There are no "real" second chances. You can't re-wind time. There is no Dr. Who to help you travel between time and dimensions.

Jules Verne is not going to build you a time machine.

Think of all the people who cross your path every day. How many of them would benefit from hearing you say those three simple words? What kind of benefit would you get?

The best kind of benefit ever. The knowledge that you were able to tell someone you love them and mean it with all your heart.

You love your spouse.

You love your children.

You love your parents.

You love your siblings.

You love all members of your extended family.

You love your friends.

You love your neighbor.

You love your Christ family.

You love.

Show how much you love by taking a few seconds every day and telling those around you. You not only will make them happy, but you will be happy as well.

It's reciprocal.

To Love is to be Loved.

"And the Lord make you to increase and abound in love one toward another, and toward all men, even as we do toward you:"
-- 1 Thessalonians 3:12

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Sharing some laughs During this Holiday Season

I was perusing the Sunday newspaper last Sunday and I came across the Funny Papers. That's what us old folks call the Comics section of the newspaper. The Funny Papers.

Among the comics, I found a few gems I thought I'd share with you today.

The first is Arlo & Janis. I've read Jimmy Johnson's cartoon of a couple who have a son and I've watched as the son grew to a young man, go off to college and fall in love. Now, it's just Arlo & Janis again, and I can relate so well to this cartoon. Our children are all with their own little families and they've grown up and moved on. Such is the circle of life.

The second comic comes from Scott Hillburn and his Argyle Sweater.

It's not as Christmas--themed as the other cartoons, but it speaks to me as an author. And, it's a pun, which I truly love.

Last but not least is B.C., by Mastroianni and Hart. It reminds all of us to do a double check on whatever we do, just to make sure we've done it correctly and haven't harmed anyone in the process.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, to everyone, and may your trees be full of bright lights, shiny ornaments and no grizzly bears!

--

Vicki