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Sleepless nights …

were made for blogging.  There is just something about being wide awake in the middle of the night that makes me want to write; makes me want to share things that mayhaps I wouldn’t share on a normal day.  I imagine many bloggers have an agenda that they follow religiously.  I have no agenda.  The filter between my brain and mouth fails with distressing regularity and ergo, the often off the wall, “what in the world was she thinking” blog posts become reality.  This night is no different from my life on a daily basis, a life that is filled with inconsistencies, confusions and ethereally beautiful moments.  Therein lies the problem; the differences are  not easily discerned until it is too late to turn back..

I have so many thoughts going through my mind right now that focusing on simply one is nearly impossible.  I am trying ardently to deal with, what I truly believe to be the answer to a prayer that I have been praying about.  The answer was not what I wanted to hear and not the outcome I had hoped for.  Nonetheless, I did ask for an answer and was given one.  So there you have it.  Question asked, answer given.  Whether or not I am pleased with the answer is irrelevant because it is not my will I am working to achieve, but my Father God’s.  He sees the big picture, the whole thing, all of the edges and I am left in the moment I am in at the  particular moment I am in.

That’s the thing about praying.  I ask for guidance and answers and, while I should be leaping with joy when I receive an answer from God, I find that sometimes, despite my best efforts, I question Him.  In this particular instance, I realize that I have been through a very similar scenario four times at this point and all four times, the outcome has been the same.  I am disturbed by this.  Not by God’s infinite wisdom, but that I am so predictable that I would take the same path, though with different beginnings, that lead to the exact same outcome.  One that offers no closure, but simply an abrupt end to what was thought to be a wonderful thing.

Life is confusing at times.  Though it has moments that are so beautiful, it hurts my  heart to look at them, I find that, for the most part, I am looking for answers to questions that have no answers.  It seems that the questions, more often than not, are riddles and I have never been good at riddles.  I threaten, in my  mind, to simply write people off and never try to correspond with them again, and then my conscious click in. There are times when I wish I didn’t have a conscience and could think and do whatever I wanted to whomever I wanted to do it to and not have a moment of guilt over it.  But were I to go there, then Satan would be as happy as a witch in a broom factory.

Throughout my life, I can think of four distinct relationships that have ended without closure.  Without reason or explanation.   Four distinct experiences that have, for reasons unknown, ended the same way.  I am certain that there is a lesson to be learned here, but obviously, I have not yet learned it.  I trust too much, share too much, give too much and then wonder why I am left standing, empty handed and alone, at the end of the day.  One would think that after so many experiences that end the same, there would be a red flag; a warning sign or some other type of blinking light that says “you don’t want to go there again”.  But there isn’t.

I am too trusting, too gullible, to easily manipulated.  I know this, but it doesn’t seem to help me learn from past experiences.  It is difficult, though, when each experience starts differently.  It is impossible to know, at the beginning, how it will end.  It doesn’t make being too trusting, too gullible and too easily manipulated any easier to swallow at the end of the day.  It leads to disappointment, as much in the deceiver as  in myself and adds layers to the wall that has to be rebuilt in order to preserve my sanity.

Friends come and go.  Some are much better at deceiving than others and, as I said earlier, being a gullible sort, I fall for the “we have so much in common”, “we are cut from the same cloth”, “I feel like I’ve known you forever” line.   I think that, in the future, I will be oblivious to this line of thinking.  I don’t like being used and am saddened that I have, once again, been simply a sounding board and ego booster that, once the course has been run, am nothing more than a  blast of wind on a summer day.

I wish I had the answers.  I wish I had the knowledge that is not revealed to me.  I live my life walking on faith and sometimes, the faith is misguided.  That is no-one’s fault but my own.  I am gullible and I do have a seeking heart.  That makes me an easy mark for those who’s only agenda is lifting themselves to a higher level.  I don’t hold it against them as they are doing what they do.  I hold it against myself for enabling them and allowing my thoughts and feelings to feed the fire and come to the realization that they thrive on this enabling and then forget me completely.

It is an humbling experience to learn that, even though I should know better, I still fall into the same traps of wanting to be a part of something important, something beautiful, something exceptional only to realize that I was only a stepping stone.

I want to be angry, but that is not in my nature.  I will cry and I will berate myself for being a fool, but know that, most likely, I will repeat the same cycle over and over again.  The complexity of my heart and mind is, in reality, simply too much for most people to comprehend and so they just pretend that I never existed.

I don’t mind it, overmuch, but with each transparency, I learn that I will likely never learn.  Such is the nature of my life.  But I’m ok with that.  I figure if I walk through a door with my eyes wide open then any surprises that come up are on me for, when I walked thorough the door, I did it willingly.  In my mind, I go to places unknown, with no stresses  or pain; no insecurities or moments of foolishness, but only the beauty of God’s Amazing Grace.  I am blessed even when I feel  more like I’m being punished.  No one can ever punish me as much as I punish myself and as long as I take it, it will continue.  Praying for the strength to break the cycle, even when it hurts.  I am me.  I am Gina.  I am not a doormat.  I will work each day to remind myself of these basic facts.

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Happiness …

is waking up one morning, brushing my teeth, finishing my morning exercise routine, showering and dressing only then to realize that, for the first time in my entire life (I say entire, but the first three years are pretty fuzzy) my thighs no longer touch when I walk.  What an incredible life moment.  I think of all the people I could call at six am who would find this interesting and can think of no one.  I think of all the people I could text who would find this amazing and again, I can think of no one.  Facebook?  No, not really the kind of thing people want to read about first thing in the morning.  Twitter?  Again, TMI at such an early hour.  So what do I do?  Blog about it, of course.

Unless you have been there, overweight, I mean, there is really no way to find excitement in the fact that you can walk without the “shhhh … shhhh … shhhh” of  your legs rubbing together.  It’s hard to describe the beauty of the moment when that is no longer an issue.  I’ve struggled, as long as I can remember, with my weight.  A couple of years ago, though, I decided that enough was enough.  I started exercising and going on hikes, which, since I always had my camera along, renamed “trail shoots”.  As the weeks and months passed, the trail shoots became more difficult and arduous, requiring strength of body and mind in order to complete.  It was better than Sudoku for my brain and made me feel strong and (nearly) invincible.

As the pounds fell away, well, that is really pure nonsense as they didn’t fall away but took effort, a great deal of effort actually, hard work and self-control, I found myself even more motivated.  First 25 pounds, then 50, then 80 and, to date, 96 pounds have been shed.  Self-control is not my strong suit so implementing that was more work than I anticipated.  As I learned to control my physical condition, however, it spilled over into other aspects of my life.  It is, after all, one of the fruits of the Spirit and something that I wanted to master.  I haven’t mastered it completely but feel that I have, in the words of the old Virginia Slims commercials, “come a long way, baby”.

A recent injury to my shoulder has inhibited my ability to hike to the difficult places I like to go, so  I have had to increase my efforts at home.  I hate exercise as much as the next person; the repetitions encouraged by the ridiculously toned, way too blonde, much too excited to be doing crunches individual who happens to be on the video I am following, but until I am able to resume the weekend jaunts that leave me feeling strong, toned and energized, I have little choice but to endure them.  Yoga has also become a new pursuit.  I find that, while I am quite flexible, I have a long way to go before I can fold myself into a box and be happy about it.  And Yoga, while it may seem to be a simple form of exercise, is actually quite strenuous and requires a great deal of concentration and focus, neither of which come easy to me.  At times, I find my enthusiasm lacks what is required to do it regularly and then I remember just what, once I am able to contort myself into a pretzel, I will be able to accomplish. As I sit here this evening gazing at the lights on my Christmas tree, enjoying the feeling of accomplishment, I think of what is yet to come and all I can think is that, in my heart of hearts I know; I. Can. Do. This.

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For the first time in years …

a Christmas tree is in my home.  I don’t really  know what to feel about it.  There are so many emotions swirling through my mind and heart that I find it nearly impossible to separate them.  There is, first and foremost, the pure joy of having a lighted tree in my house that I am moved to tears, over and over, moved to tears.  The smell of cedar permeates the very existence that I know.  The lights blink, fade and flash, making me wonder if perhaps I am having a spell of some sort.  I have only lights on the tree as anything else seems to take away from the beauty. I am enamored and find myself staring, nearly hypnotized by the purity of that which is before me.

I hadn’t really planned on having a Christmas tree.  It has been so long and the thought made me feel sad and anxious along with a myriad of other emotions  and to be perfectly honest, I was afraid.  Afraid of the thoughts it would provoke and the memories it would invoke … but as I look at and dream with the lights, I realize that it is not made of things past or memories best left unearthed, but perfect beauty.  I am  awed by what I see and know that the memories I am making are my own, not those that are carried over from time past, but mine.  I don’t know that I have, before now, had memories that didn’t include someone else, memories that, in my heart, belonged only to me.  But now I do, and so I will cherish them.  I can’t say for certain that when Christmas comes around next year, I will have a tree, but I hope I will.  I hope for many things and hope is a good thing … maybe the best of things.  As long as hope is alive, no good thing ever dies.  I am grateful.  I am thankful.  I am content.  I find that being content is, without doubt, one of the greatest feelings ever.  Yes, there are people I am missing in my life, friends that I seem to have lost touch with, loved ones who are far away, but contentment is something that comes from within.  It has little to do with the outside world and everything to do with how I feel when I am alone.  Being alone does not have to be coexistent with being lonely. I am not lonely.  I am, at times, confused, and possibly discombobulated, but not lonely.  I have everything I need right here.  Yes, I am content; a beautiful thing indeed.

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The reflection we see in the mirror …

is all too often a misconception, a lie on the most basic level, depicting only the things we find wrong with ourselves on a superficial level.  There is nothing of the heart, spirit or soul that is seen when watching ourselves through a looking glass.  The imperfections of the physical can take on a life of its own if, when we look at ourselves in a mirror, we see only what is reflected back.  But there is more … much more.  The mirror cannot reveal what lives inside our hearts; the joys, sorrows, insecurities, strengths and weaknesses.  The image can be deceiving if we fail to look past the obvious.

How many times in life do we hear “you can’t judge a book by its cover” and then do exactly that when looking at our own cover.  We judge ourselves by the reflections of the physical and forget, sometimes, to remember that there is so much more to us than what is portrayed on the outside.  We ignore the beauty that lies within ourselves and forget that we have the capacity to relay our life experiences to others seeking a kindred spirit; our experiences with all the joys and disappointments that go with them.  The smiles we smile, the encouragement we, sometimes unknowingly, give, the experiences we have to share, the wisdom we have to pass on, the love we have that wells up, looking for a place to land, another soul to share it with, another heart to give it to; the possibilities are endless.  Hurt and disappointment are all around us; wayward souls looking for a bit of understanding, sympathy, empathy and encouragement.  Often the waywardness reminds us too much of what we already know and makes us want to close off, to forget the bad things that life has dealt us;  in doing that,  however, we forget the goodness that has come our way as well, hiding the joys and wonderment and then we become as lost as we thought we were to begin with.

All that is good and wonderful is within our grasp to give. The ability to share what we know and feel is something that, though sometimes difficult, is freeing on a level that will take us higher than we have ever been before.  When we give of what we cannot see from the outside it allows us to forget, for a while, that which looks back at us when we look too closely at our reflection.

I am as guilty as the next person.  When I look in the mirror, I see a plain-looking woman with blemishes and scars, eyes that are too big, brows that are too thick, lashes that aren’t long enough; the list goes on, the imperfections many.  Those things, however, are the superficial and dwelling on them is self-centered and vain.  But there is more to me than what I can see  when I look at a reflection of my physical self.  It often, though, takes the needs and desires, the hurts and disappointments, the joys and sorrows of those around me to remind me that I have more to offer than just what can be seen at a glance; a courage we often think we do not have within us.  Yes, it takes courage to share what lies deep within us so that others can find  understanding through our experiences.  In my daily work, I often see people at their lowest point; sick, disheartened, disenchanted with life and sometimes, at their rope’s end.  It is at those times that what I look like on the outside has no bearing on anything whatsoever, but what I have to offer from the depths of my heart that matter and make a difference.

The next time you look in the mirror, stop and think about what others see.  Wonder instead about the words you speak, the prayers you pray, the empathy you are able to embrace.  It will make the reflection in the mirror seem insignificant; for what we see of ourselves often has nothing in common with how others perceive us.  It is important that we see with our hearts and not simply what is perceivable with our eyes, for our eyes will often deceive us and when that happens, we are of little use to the whole of humanity.

Always strive to be who you are, not who you perceive yourself to be because of the reflection in the mirror.  The physical image is just that, but the spiritual and soulful image, well, that’s another story altogether and one that is begging to be told so that others, who feel they are alone, will learn that they are not.  Once they know that, they can begin to see themselves in a place other than in a looking glass.  And the impact has the potential to change the world, one person at a time.

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Joshua 1: 9 ~Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the LORD thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.

When you don’t get to say goodbye …

it leaves a void; a hole that can never be filled, a wound that never quite heals.  No one ever thinks that the last time you see someone will be the last time you see someone.

It doesn’t matter if it is a friend, husband, wife, mother, father, sister, brother, child.  It just doesn’t matter.  We always expect to have the next time.

But sometimes there isn’t one.

Sometimes life takes an unexpected turn that leaves us bewildered and wondering what, if we had  been given the chance, we would have said.

I found this out myself, first-hand, a few years ago.  I said goodnight to my husband and the next morning, as I did every day, left him sleeping when I went to work.  .

I, as every day before, left him a note telling him good morning and that I loved him, but didn’t wake him because there would be plenty of time when I got home for idle chat.  While I was working and running petty, unneeded errands, he left this world and when I got home, ready to share my day with him, he was dead.

There was no next time.

No next moment.

No next day.

I was devastated.

How could something like this happen?  How could there be so many things left unsaid?  So many dreams left unfulfilled?  So many moments that never found their way into the reality of every day life?

It is disheartening to find oneself with so many unanswered questions and unsaid words of love and devotion.  It seems that as time passes, there are even more words that come to mind that, if there had been the chance, I would have said.

We, none of us, have a promise of a single minute other than the one we are currently living in.  I learned a valuable lesson that day.  I learned to say what I was thinking, speak my mind and share my heart with the ones that are important to me.

But as all things, as the world continues to turn and time continues to pass, old habits find a way of re-entering my life.  I find that there are things I want to say, but wait because I am certain that now is not the time.  Or maybe I can’t seem to find the courage to speak that which is in my heart.

Either way, it means that I really didn’t learn anything from my experience and that all the pain and sorrow I suffered was for nothing.

What is it about being human that makes us hold what we feel so close to our vest?  To keep the thoughts and wanderings in our minds, hearts and souls to ourselves because we either feel that we will be misunderstood, ridiculed or simply ignored?

What is it that makes us feel that we are less than we are simply because we doubt our own importance in an ever-changing world?

I don’t want to be that way.  I want the people I love and care about to know that I love and care about them.  I want them to know that I think about them often, sometimes daily and sometimes several times a day.  I want to have the courage to tell people when they have hurt me so that they will know what moves my heart.

Time is fleeting and life is too short, even when there aren’t extenuating circumstances.

I look at my own life and instead of embracing it for what I have learned, I compare it to the lives of those around me.  I belittle my own experiences because in my mind, they are mundane when placed side by side with others.  I make excuses to keep my thoughts to myself and find reasons not to say what I need to say.

But if I don’t say what is in my heart, then if, while I sleep, I die, those words and thoughts will die with me.  The same goes for everyone.  There isn’t always another chance, another day, another moment in time.

Sometimes the last time really is the last time.

I try, sometimes, to remember the last words I said to my husband and I can’t.  I know at some point, I told him I loved him, but did he know just how much?

Did he know how I respected him for his knowledge and contribution to my growth in life and spirit?

Did he know that I needed him?

I can only hope where he is concerned, but in the here and now, with family, friends and loved ones, I have the power to tell them what I need them to know.  The power is mine and mine alone and if I choose to keep the words to myself, then if some unknown event occurs, the power that was mine will become a weakness I will be given no choice but to live with.

Life is short.  Don’t waste a moment.  Don’t miss an opportunity to tell someone you love them, are proud of them, are happy for them, miss them, are praying for them.  Don’t let the sun set on words unsaid for there is no promise that the sun will rise on that life in the morning.

Be well, my dear ones, and give each other the words that only your heart can say.  For tomorrow may not come and then the words will have no place to go.

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Standing still as shattered pieces fall …

and cut me over and over is something that I know intimately, but I realized today that though I know it, I only know a little piece of it.  I have tried to imagine, even while I know I cannot fathom such an atrocity;  losing a child.  Then to realize that not only have I lost my child, but that nineteen other children were lost at the same time is immeasurable.  I find that each time I think of such a horror, I burst out in tears for those who are facing that situation even now.  Knowing that the world is mourning my loss would be of little or no consolation when faced with an empty bed in an empty room in an empty house in a now empty life.  Knowing that there were nineteen different families who found themselves in the situation I was in would bring no comfort, only more bafflement, anger and grief.  I think I would find it hard not to be bitter even as I was grateful, that there are parents everywhere holding their children safe this night.  There are no words, no gestures, no deeds of goodwill that can even begin to bring comfort after such a senseless and brutal death of a child.  No human words or gestures, anyway.    Losing a child is losing a child, be it from sickness after months of hope and prayers or because that child is taken by the hands of a madman, a stranger, who decided to gun them down in cold blood for sins that the children had not committed. The little children are innocents and because of it, the battle becomes not one against nature or sickness, but of one against evil.  It doesn’t make the loss any less painful, but it does make it different.

I have spent the better part of the evening trying to wrap my mind around what a relatively small, close-knit community must be feeling at this moment.  I have not succeeded.  Each time I picture in my mind’s eye the tiny bodies lying shot to death, I have to remind myself that I live in a country where young children are not gunned down as they attend kindergarten class.  I tell myself that surely, there has been some mistake and that twenty children were not killed for a reason known only to a madman.  I tell myself that it couldn’t possibly happen where I live and then immediately seek out my nieces and hug them so hard that they complain about it.  I find that I cannot let them go.  They squirm and complain, but letting them out my arms before I have breathed in the scent of them, touched their sweet little lips to mine and stroked their downy hair is not an option, not for a while, not until I am convinced that they are real and safe and accounted for.  Something that twenty families in a small town in Connecticut will never have the opportunity to do again.  The sorrow and pain that I feel is no more than a drop of rain in a writhing ocean compared to theirs and that in itself makes me cry even harder.  I want to help.  I want to console.  I want to encourage.  I want to bring comfort.  But it is not in my power.

I cannot comfort them with words or gestures.  Their lives have been irrevocably changed for the worse.  What likely started as a normal day for these families ended in bone-crushing sorrow and depths of despair that cannot be described within the confines of this blog.  The cries and screams of mothers and fathers will echo down every valley and soar above the highest mountains for days and weeks and years to come.  Such sorrow cannot be contained and even though I did not hear them with my ears, my heart breaks at the sound I know is there and I find myself sobbing, yet again, for what cannot be changed.

I will do the only thing I know to do for them and that is to pray for comfort in a time of sorrow so black and so deep, an abyss that seems to have no way out.  Time, it is said, is a great healer, and from personal experience, I know that to be true … but time has never had to heal me from the loss of a child and I find that while I have compassion and a deep, deep sorrow for the loss, I cannot even begin to comprehend it.

Lifting up, in the name of Jesus, those who will be unable to stand for a long time is the only recourse I have.  But stand they will and fight they will and remember they will.  The road will be difficult and strewn with landmines and  obstacles that will take them backwards more than forwards; at least for  a time.  They will never get over it, may not get past it, but hopefully, can one day, come to terms with it enough to get out of bed in the morning.

This night, as the nation and the world mourns the needless loss of little children, may we join together and pray collectively so that a veil of protection can be woven around the grieving families.  Let us tear our clothing and throw ourselves to the ground to wail for that which threatens to suffocate us.  They have suffered enough for a lifetime.  Let us pray that that they can face it tomorrow, and the day after that and the day after that.

The little children are in the hands of God, but the hands of their parents are empty and their hearts are shattered.  Join me as I pray that they will be able to find some measure of comfort in some aspect of this tragedy and that in time, the memories that hurt them so deeply now will somehow bring them the comfort they seek.  I don’t know what else to do.

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Romans 12:21 Be not overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

Dogs are man’s best friend …

up until the point when they start barking all night, every night,  just outside the window; then friend becomes past tense and nuisance takes its place.  What is it that makes dogs want to bark at air?  When I was a kid, I often heard my dad say to me and my sister that he wasn’t talking just to hear his head roar, but I have to wonder if the same is true when it comes to dogs.  Do they do it simply to ensure to themselves that they are still able to make the sound?  Or perhaps they perceive, in the black and darkened nothingness of the middle of the night, some kind of being that is unperceptible to the human eye.  Unperceptible is not, as Merriam-Webster will tell you, a real word, but in my life, at this moment, and every moment for the past few nights, it is real; I am coining it even as I write this post.

Living on a farm in the mountains, in the middle of nowhere, is supposed to be a peaceful, wonderful, life-altering experience; one that allows you to get closer to nature, closer to God and just feel good about being alive.  It used to be that way for me, up until the moment when the dogs all went crazy.  I had the spotlight out last night trying to see what they were barking at, thinking that the enemy had finally infiltrated the camp and we were all destined for death.  I didn’t see anything but rocks.  So I yelled at the dogs and they stopped barking; for about five minutes.  As I tried to drift back off to sleep, the sound started up again.  This time, when I yelled at them, or mayhaps, more aptly, squalled at them, it wasn’t quite so nicely.  Again, they stopped barking for about five minutes.  I remember praying that they would not bark anymore that night, but I suppose that God had more pressing things to attend to at the moment than barking dogs.

When they started up again, I began to think of all the ways that I could murder them.  But it was dark, cold and I was still half-asleep, so the choices were limited.  I don’t own, now have I ever fired a gun, so that was out.  The cast iron skillet would have made a dent, but as I said, it was dark and cold and I was in my sleep attire, which is not suitable for dark, cold nights in the back yard chasing dogs with a cast-iron skillet.

When three AM came along and the sound of their barking woke me once again, I became desperate.  I searched my house for an adequate weapon to use upon the creatures that I had loved dearly, at least up until this moment.  I found the lids to a couple of pots and took them to the back door.  I yelled loudly words that I dare not print and banged the lids together.  The dogs, all three of them who were causing the ruckus, tucked their tail between their legs and went into the warm, hay-filled shelter that my dad makes for them each winter.  I didn’t hear another peep all night.  Needless to say, I have my pot lids close by and am ready if they start their nightly bark-fest.  I am starting to realize that while I still love dogs, it is only during daylight hours.

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If you’re too sick to go to the doctor …

you probably have the flu.  It is that time of year.  Actually, it’s a little early, meaning that the season will be in full swing by the time everyone starts traveling to visit with family and friends during Christmas.  There will be many who will have a fever and feel as though they have been beaten nearly to death with a hammer, but will travel anyway because, hey, Great Aunt Ethel will be disappointed if she doesn’t get the pair of socks they spent two minutes picking out.  They will hack and cough, sneeze and sniffle, wipe their eyes and forget, at times, to cover their mouth, touch everything and leave their germs behind for dozens of others; kind of like paying it forward, but in a bad way.  Unless they are walking around in a bubble, they are going to give it to many unsuspecting people, who will in turn, give it to many other unsuspecting people.

Imagine yourself on a plane, closed in with a few hundred others, a third of whom may have or have been exposed to, the flu.  Breathing the air, touching the surfaces.  There isn’t enough soap or hand sanitizer in the world to protect you.  Now imagine yourself on the subway platform with all the same scenes.  Now imagine yourself on the train, or at the rest area, or in a restaurant, or at the mall … I could go on for pages, but first, multiply the  above by a hundred thousand or so.  If you or someone you know hasn’t yet tested positive, just give it a little more time.

The flu virus can live outside the body anywhere from a few seconds to 48 hours and on your hands for about an hour.  The vaccinated have a better chance of avoiding the flu than the un-vaccinated, but there are no certainties either way.  It is important to wash your hands or use sanitizer between every contact with every surface.  Will it make you feel like the skin on your hands is going to fall of?  Of course.  What can you do about it? Use lotion.  That will make  you even more susceptible, but at least your nails will look good.

Jesus is the reason for the season, but flu is the reason for the sneezin’.  Try to stay well everyone …

The Pianist …

was in the mood to play.  This has been one of those rare spaces of time that I live for.  Moments that move me past my everyday life and touch the very core of that which makes me who I am.  A time when emotions show themselves and then are pushed aside as the sheer joy of  music fills my spirit.  Before tonight, I didn’t realize how low my Spirit was feeling.  Putting on a smile for the onlookers is easy.  Those who don’t know what they are looking at take it at face value.  I had begun to almost believe it as well.  Until tonight.

I got all jazzed up and found that I was only going through the motions at the employee Christmas party.  Afterward, however, was the turning point of the evening.  I stopped by the house of two of my dearest friends. There was laughter, friendship and camaraderie that one can only get from those they are closest to.  And then the offer came.  The offer to listen as he played the piano.  After the first song, I simply burst into tears and was moved so deeply as they ran, unashamedly,  down my face.  It was as if the notes on the page weren’t there at all, such was the depth of the music.  I found myself feeling freed of every negative thought that was swirling in my mind.  The profoundness of the notes were so moving that my Spirit had no choice but to open itself, becoming released from burdens and sadness that I had not really, until then, been aware were there.

I felt transcended; removed from time and space .  There was nothing in my world at that moment but the musician and the music he made; his hands flying over the keys, the sound touching me intimately,  stimulating every cell in my body.  I felt awakened and content; calmness and exhilaration blending to become an emotion of its own.  Thoughts that had filled my head for days and weeks were swept away, leaving nothing but the serenity of hearing such brilliance being played in my presence.

It is hard to explain what the sound of a piano does to me.  It makes me feel breathless and full of something so wonderful that the world can’t touch. I consider myself immensely blessed to have a piano man in my life; and am thankful beyond what I have the capacity to relay in mere words that he plays for me.  I suppose it isn’t really for me, but for himself, but I like to think it’s for me because he knows I love it so.  Thank you, my friend, for sharing your gift with me.  I am richer now than I was only a few hours ago because you took me somewhere so ethereal that even my vivid and encompassing imagination has a hard time comprehending it.

Even as I write this post, the rain is beginning to fall.  I can now say, without reservation or hesitation that this has, without a doubt, been the best evening I’ve had in a very long time.

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Isaiah 55:12 ~ You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands.

Being a greeting card designer …

was never  in my plans; it wasn’t even in the back of my mind.  A thought not yet thought, a dream not yet dreampt.  It never really occurred to me that I could design greeting cards until one day, four years ago, when I was looking for a place to make a birthday card for my friend Len.  I wanted to use a photograph of our Great Pyrenees dogs to upload to a card in order to wish a happy birthday to my dog-loving friend.  I had looked up such sites before, but could find none that would allow me to upload my own photographs onto the card.  And then, out of the blue (always a sure sign that a blessing is in the midst), I found Greeting Card Universe.  It was exactly what I had been looking for and the site said that I could upload my photographs and make cards out of them and actually make money off of them.   I had an overwhelming urge to do just that, caring about the photography and not really expecting to make any money from what came out my heart and head.  The site said that it could take several months to sell a card and it could be years before any revenue was made.

My husband, who was still living at the time, encouraged me to make more.  To put the words in my heart with the photographs that I had been given.  I had to come up with a name for the store and because I give God all the glory for what I see through the lens of my camera, Through the Eyes of the Spirit just popped into my mind.  Jim was one of my biggest fans and a sounding board for new ideas and thoughts.  He was brutally honest and I appreciated that, as honesty is very important to me.  I began to put words to the photographs I had taken and created cards that I could scarcely imagine that anyone would want. I was at a crossroads.  A place where I had two choices; share what I had been given or cowardly hide it away because I couldn’t fathom that anyone would want anything that I had created.

So I did it. I took the leap of faith and uploaded a card with my own photograph and my own verse and prepared to wait for months or even years for anyone to take an interest.  Eleven days later, I sold my first greeting card.  The feeling was one of jubilation, honor,  humbleness and, quite honestly, disbelief.  I simply could not believe that there were people who had an interest in the words I had to say, words that were given to me, those not my own, but placed in my heart by a faithful God.

I immediately considered the first sale a fluke and then more came.  And more after that.  It seemed that I had a knack for coming up with the words that people wanted to say, but didn’t quite know how.  I made card after card, the verses rolling off my tongue as though they were native to me.  What inspiration and joy I had from each one and every time I had a sale, I was thankful and gave thanks to the Lord who had given such a wonderful thing to me.  It became a ministry.  One of encouragement to the downtrodden and suffering.  It wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be.  Many times I cried over the verses for they were born of life experiences and hardships that I would never have dreamed could ever be anything more than a burden.

It has been four years since I joined the world of greeting card design and more than 20,000 cards have sold.  Yes, you read that correctly.  Twenty thousand.  I am stunned.  I continue to be stunned.  And with each sale, whether it be for one card or 500 cards, I feel the same as I did when the very first one sold.  The thrill and exhilaration has not faded.  Each time I get a notification, I first thank God, for it is all for His glory.  My name will fade from the mind only moments after hearing it, but His name will still be on the lips of His people until the end of time.  I am  honored that He has chosen me to be a part of His ministry through something that I love as much as my life itself.

In my heart of hearts, I am a photographer.  I see things differently and that, in itself, is a blessing.  I would love to be able to thank every single person, from all fifty states and thirty different countries for their support.  It isn’t possible.  I  don’t know who buys my cards.  All I am privy to is the location from which the card was purchased, but that doesn’t impede my desire to pray when I sell a card for “loss of mother” or “college graduate” or “thank you from bride to father”.  I am grateful for each one and feel a sense of gratitude and humbleness that out of  hundreds of thousand of cards, someone picked mine.

I don’t take this blessing lightly as it has had a profound influence on my life.  And I am, as I said, very grateful.  I am blessed beyond what I have the words to say and at times when I am feeling low, He lifts me by using the talents and gifts He gave to me to bring joy that would otherwise be absent.  I am in love with Jesus and take great pleasure in knowing that He loves me more than I can ever love Him.  Although life has a way of kicking me down from time to time, it cannot compete with what lives inside of me.  Life will go on whether I am a part of it or not, but how wonderful to know, that through the gifts given to me, that I am able to bring joy and encouragement to others.  That, without doubt or reservation, makes my life worth living and for that, I am grateful beyond words that I can say.

So again I say, to everyone who has ever purchased a card from Through the Eyes of the Spirit, I hope you got even a tenth of the joy from receiving the card as I got from creating it.

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Isiah 41:10 ~ So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.