Hope you all had a safe and enjoyable Fourth of July. I was fortunate enough to watch a neighboring city’s fireworks from the comfort of my living room. If I hadn’t already put my nightgown on, I would have sat on the porch to watch. I realize how little so many of the holidays have an effect on me the more I age. I’ve really become a hermit type person. It’s a good thing I can use my creative nature to provide engaging activities. I have, however, lost my ability to be conversational. I tend to listen more than contribute when I’m with other humans. I don’t suppose that’s a bad thing. We do need to listen more to what others are saying, especially God.
In my silent observation of nature, I think about God and how He created us to be like Him. I know how far short I fall on this scale, and I’m humbled to know he loves me despite my imperfections. Our world is so full of chattering, with everyone trying hard to be the voice to be heard, it is difficult to sift through the noise and choose. Therefore, I have chosen to avoid the news, and the clamor outside and around me. I just want to hear what God is saying.
With Him I find peace. I’m a nature loving person who doesn’t have the courage to go off alone in nature any longer. I realize older people are vulnerable to those who see them as easy targets. I’ve become a bit paranoid, I guess. I miss being able to commune with nature when my hubby and I would travel together. But those times are over.
So now I sit on my porch or in front of my windows and look at the views God has created. And I listen. And I’m thankful.
Ever have a day where you feel as if you are stuck in quicksand? Not that I’ve ever been in quicksand, but today I feel that way. Nothing seems to interest me. I can’t get inspired or motivated by anything. Sigh.
There are many things I could accomplish, but I don’t have energy to apply. This happens to me occasionally, but I’ve never been able to understand what causes it. Perhaps it is not having any commitments, and not having anyone, human or pet, who needs my attention. Looking back over my life, it seems I’ve always been taking care of someone or following through on commitments (mostly work life).
Now I’m retired. I live alone. I am dependent on myself to make a good day. I’ve been thinking a lot about getting a fish. A fish wouldn’t require a lot of clean up, like a cat or dog. I know I’m missing my furry family a lot. I’m also missing my hubby. Someone who I can talk to, or who will interrupt me when I’m concentrating on writing.
I used to think I was an introvert who could live alone without any companionship. God showed me this isn’t true. So today I may venture to a pet store and purchase a fish. Maybe that will give me a branch to climb out of the quicksand. Anyone a fish fan?
My writing is usually about showing how God can take broken lives and mend them providing hope and forgiveness. However, my first two books were written for the secular marketplace and published through a traditional publisher. In order to offer the kind of books I wanted to write, I became my own publisher at a time when self-publishing was looked down upon. However, I knew this is where God was leading me.
My time with the publishers taught me the basics of the publishing world and I spent time learning as much as I could before publishing on my own. Since that time, the publishing world has changed drastically. Many, many people have begun self-publishing. This, to the extent, that a reader has a lot of choices. While my first two books remain showing on Amazon as unavailable, they can never be deleted. Sad. So when I republish them, they will have new titles and new covers.
With thoughts about turning things around, I decided why not use the two stories I wrote nearly 20 years ago and make them new? Resurrect them and give them new hope? Write them from a Christian viewpoint? So that is what I am doing now.
I have learned it is possible to write a good story without needing curse words or sex scenes. The books I write and want to continue writing offer a safe reading experience about real people, real emotions, and the problems they face. But they also offer hope and healing because God always has a better plan.
Look for two new books to be released this year that have been resurrected and given new life through God’s better plan! More to come…
Today I’ll be spending the afternoon with my granddaughter, who just turned 17, as we celebrate her birthday watching the movie Top Gun – Maverick, followed by dinner after. I have enjoyed sharing one on one time with my grandchildren for many years on each of their birthdays. The last birthday we do this is on their 18th. In three years, all my grandchildren will be 18 or older. Hard to believe how fast the years have passed.
I was thinking this morning of how special our grandchildren are to us, and how different from when our children are born. With our children, we learned with them as they grew. We made mistakes, we worried, we prayed and tried our best. Then one day, we were holding the child of our child in our arms. This little one became the responsibility of our child to raise. We were at a different stage of life and these little babies were ours to spoil and send back to the safety of their parents’ arms.
I’ve heard my children say many times: “That’s not the woman I grew up with.” And one day, they will hear the same thing. Life is a circle. I feel blessed to be part of a never-ending circle of life. As my grandchildren come of age, I no longer carry a picture album in my purse to show to everyone I meet. Times have changed. My grandchildren are getting married and having babies of their own. Now I hold great grandchildren in my arms. And when I do, I remember God telling Abraham He would make his descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky. He has carried through on that promise, and I thank God I am part of those descendants, as are my children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren.
I’ve been thinking about some books I’ve written about heroines scarred by living in bad foster care situations or with mothers who suffered addiction or mental disease. I have memories as a child that made me long to be with a mother who abandoned me for four years and my brother since he was two and my sister a baby. I will never know her full story because she didn’t ever want to talk about it. As a child, my imagination spun stories all revolving around my mommy coming home to get me.
I was different from my friends, who all lived in families with a mom and dad and siblings. I lived with my grandmother and grandfather and my brother lived far away with his dad, my stepdaddy. My baby sister lived with her aunt and uncle and was raised as their daughter.
Those early formative years for me began the process of making me an introvert. I never felt truly loved or wanted. Not even after my mom came to get me to live with her and my new stepdaddy. We all lived in a house with my new grandparents. I missed my other grandparents and cried and cried when I was taken away.
Throughout my growing up years, I never felt as if I belonged anywhere. I was a square peg trying to fit into a round hole. When I lived with my grandma and grandpa after mom left, we had running water, a bathroom and bathtub. After mom took me away, we lived in a house that had a pump outside where we drew water into a bucket. We didn’t have a bathroom with a tub and toilet. The toilet was outside in a little wooden house.
This was a huge change in my life. But children adapt easily. Except for a little girl, whose imagination, created stories of better places, better things. Stories made while riding a horse made from a stick and galloping into fairy worlds beside the creek waters.
This is the memoir I’m trying to capture for my family. The book I’m titling “The Child I Was.” The years they never knew me. I want them to understand what made me the woman I am today. So why did I begin this with the previous novels with heroines who had scarred childhoods? I think you can figure this out after reading the blog post. And also because in novels you don’t often find parents being a big part of the story. In many novels, the parents are deceased.
No one is perfect. We have children and do our best to raise them with good morals, hope, and lots of love. We make mistakes along the way because we are learning along with them, and our pasts help and hinder us.