Archive for April, 2012

April 28, 2012

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Have you ever…

…been led by an overpowering heart to encourage someone? I have for a few months now, I doubted, feared and ignored until one day the message was so loud that I could no longer bear it. I had not been sent to Nineveh and I did not foresee the belly of a whale in my future, however God met me where I was to get my full attention. The quiet in my life that I love and hold dear was overwhelmingly noisy, things became louder and louder until I finally cried unto the Lord for peace… when I finally shared my heart, the message I buried, that was not mine to keep, my world regained its composure and peace. For MB, i love you in Christ, my brother.

Just thoughts

I traveled this life, oblivious until I dug into my creative side.
As i read blogs and opinions from other writers, musicians, etc… the more i find that no matter how hard being an independent artist is the better off you are. The “big boys” that set the rules for main stream media want main stream art that sells and they will suck the independence and freedom you wish to evoke in your art right out of it for the almighty dollar.
It makes me wonder if JK Rowling started out writing a fantastic adolescent book that does not resemble the Harry Potter we know today.

Random thoughts

1. In the city, on the freeways, it is not uncommon to drive 10 mph over the limit. In a rural setting the rules are different. It is likely that when someone passes you, because you are driving 52 in a 50, you will see ‘party lights’ in honor of the impatient one. Karma…just sayin’!!

2. To all my friends who live in other parts of this country, I regret that you do not get to see the beauty of the snow capped Cascades; the endless blue or gray of the Pacific Ocean; the desert of Eastern Washington; the eclecticness of the people in Seattle, where you can go to a symphony and sit next to a couple dressed to the nines on one side and a couple in ‘punked’ clothes and multicolored mohawks  on the other, and you all enjoy the beauty of music; the buildings of the same city, where a 100 year old building in all of its fine architectural details sits right next to a sky scraper of glass and metal; and rainforests that are covered in mist and moss.

3. Why, every time I cook bacon, does my brain think the same string of thoughts… a very rude sailor I couldn’t stand that went to training with my ex in the early 80s, the neighbors that used to make pasta para duros, what if a bacon burger was just that, a hamburger bun with 1/2 inch of bacon in it.

4. When companies started putting horrid chemicals in things, were they doing it because they thought it would make their product better? And if they thought that who told them? Scientists? If so, why do we put so much trust scientists to tell us what is good for us still? Or did the companies one day say…Hey this will make it addictive so they will crave our product and not be able to live without it.

I was 18, about as smart as a rock when it came to motherhood or giving birth. But there I was, the most incredible pain I have ever had and not a familiar face anywhere. It was Easter Sunday, they had sent my husband home somewhere around midnight because “it was going to take forever since this was the first baby”.

April 19, 1981…my due date. An uneventful pregnancy. No classes on breathing, no classes about being coached, I made it to my appointments and took my prenatal vitamins and didn’t drink or smoke. I stopped drinking coffee, eating chocolate. I couldn’t afford to call home and ask any questions and my own Mama didn’t know I was scared to death. I was stubborn, refused to admit to anyone I was scared to death. I was 18, I was invincible, I didn’t need anyone but my husband and my baby.

There I lay, in a labor ward in the hospital at Travis AFB in Fairfield, CA. One of four women in labor, one doctor and three nurses watched over us. I had asked the nurse for an extra pillow and with every contraction I stuffed my face in that pillow and cried and hyperventilated. I asked the nurse to call my husband repeatedly and she kept telling me it wasn’t time. What part of  “I need someone beside strangers around me” did she not understand? I swear, I may be as dumb as a rock about childbirth but she had me beat on compassion… she was incredibly lacking. Could she not hear me asking God if this was going to kill me with every contraction?  Soon I was crying in that pillow non stop, afraid this childbirth thing was going to kill me.

Suddenly a soft loving voice broke through… “Is your name Amy”?

I looked up from my pillow and the woman in the bed next to me… her belly was bigger than mine… she was smiling at me. She told me I was going to be fine. She had lived through 2 of these. She asked if I had been to Lamaze classes. I shook my head no and said my husband was in school at night when they had the classes. Then she told me about some breathing technique that for the life of me sounded like the most idiotic thing I had ever heard, but I was willing to give it a try, after all, I had nothing to lose.

I sounded like a fool… hee heee heeee heee heeee heeee…then a whoooooo. Between contractions, hers and mine, she comforted me. Her smile was so nice to see since the old battle axe of a nurse never seemed to smile. I asked this angel next to me why the nurse was so cranky… she replied something about Easter Sunday and working…sigh!

Shortly before 6 a.m. there was a lot of commotion and I overheard nurse Battle Axe say that all 4 of us were going to have our babies at the same time and there was no time to call in a second Dr.

Panic struck my heart and I finally sat up enough to see the other three women and I asked… is this your first baby? All three replied no. I called dibs on the doctor then because he had to know more about this than that nurse did.

In a matter of minutes I was transferred to this bed that had handles on the sides. I knew instinctively to grab the handles and and with every contraction getting stronger I pulled on those things with all my might. Screw the pillow and tears.

The pain came in waves so rapidly that I had no time to think. I saw Battle Axe coming and I think I growled at her loud enough that she finally understood I didn’t want her there. The Dr showed up at my side, smiled and put his hand on my forehead. He comforted me and said I was going to be ok.

He took his place  and was talking me through this thing when he said…”just a few more pushes hunny”. Ten pushes later he said “Come on, harder…harder”!!

For the last push I grabbed those handles and took a deep breath and pushed.

There was a rush of adrenaline that hit me like a wave and at 6:36 a.m. the pain subsided in its intensity and I was the proud mommy of a 7 lb 14 oz baby girl.

My first question on my journey to motherhood was “where do I put this handle I broke off the bed”?

My Beautiful State

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I have been truly blessed to live in the Pacific Northwest. Would like to share part of its beauty with you all.

Happy places

Memories of being such a wee little thing and Mama hollering to not play there as the tide came in. Thank the Lord in heaven above for a tall brother 10 years older than I and a “walking/poke sea creatures with a stick” stick.

its have been almost 4 years since i began my life over…it feels like a lifetime ago that i saw his face. Things weren’t great, for if they were we would still be married.

I find that there is one thing out of my control…for the life of me, i cannot grasp it, i cannot conquer it. It is loneliness. I still sleep with my folded clothes on one side of my bed so it feels like someone is there. The sound of snoring is gone… i miss that too. After almost 28 years of marriage the silence was incredibly difficult to acclimate myself to.

But the more people i talk to the more i discover, this quiet loneliness i feel…isn’t so alone after all. So many people are at places in their lives where they have lived in complacency for too long and do not how to return to the conversation. So many think the other doesn’t care so they feel like there is no hope, no turning back.

Whether there is hope or not, know one thing…you are not alone and you probably have way more in common to that one in your life than you believe.

Before you decide t move on in your life, have the critical and crucial conversations, listen as well as you speak..and for heavens sake, do not walk into someone else’s life when you have unresolved issues with life you had with another.

Slumber seeks, yet i do not listen.

The haunting dreams of love beckon me.

My soul cries longingly for desire slipped away.

Seeking, wanting…reaching for spirits unseen.

I sit alert, guarding my heart.

Fear of falling t0o soon, i dare not dream.

Vigilance, it is mine to keep as my eyes close,

To dream of a love, beckoning me.

There is no escape…

Sleep is the shackle that binds me to my captor

Love is my captor.

On this Easter Sunday

Looking back on early days in my life…

My first memory was from around 18 months old, starring my brother Tom, 14 years older than I, dancing with me to music we picked out on a juke box for a dime. I can shut my eyes and have a little movie play in my head of it. So many memories are like that, photographic…and the older i get the more i tend to collect. I cannot shut it off and many times I wish I could because I think my head is getting full!!  Certain memories seem a bit faded like old photographs but detailed all the same.

There is a memory that I do recall that has been ever so vivid, my entire life. The day I bowed my head and asked my Lord and Savior to live inside my life and guide me. This memory has never faded, it is as real inside my heart as it was the day it happened.

At a very early age I went to the Church of the Nazarene in Yerington, Nevada. I went with my best friend Debby and her family. They brought me every week, Oh how i loved Sunday School!

This particular Sunday School lesson was not reading from a book but taking the time to work on a project we got to take home for our parents. It was a piece of pine wood, that had been cut in the shape of a key. We were supposed to decorate it and take it home the next week when the paint had dried. On it were little tiny holes drilled so we could screw in little cup hooks that keys could be hung from. While other kids were painting or coloring I sat and looked at mine. Finally the teacher came by and asked if there was a problem. I said no, all i needed was one marker so I could write on this wooden key. When i finally found a brown marker i wrote at the top “Jesus is the key to your heart” then i screwed in about seven cup hooks and held it tight to me. I did not want to wait until the next week when all the others had dried.

The teacher continued to ask if there was a problem. Again I said no. She bent down and quietly said to me… but there are no decorations on your key. I remember looking up and stating, matter of factly, “Jesus didn’t need anything fancy about him to get attention.”

A few minutes later i was sitting in the pew next to my best friend’s Mama. Mrs. Little was the best second Mama ever. I don’t remember song service but remember that I sat ever so quietly, hugging my wooden key, listening to the guest pastor speak. A few minutes before noon this man asked us all to bow our heads and shut our eyes. I did. Then he asked if anyone wanted to commit their life to God to raise their hand. I raised mine and heard this pastor say “thank you little one.” It seemed like an eternity waiting for him to thank anyone else that may have risen their hands…nothing… absolutely nothing. Dread filled my heart, my mind raced “why did I have to raise my hand?? WHY????”

Well God had a surprise in store for me… a little miracle. He knows my heart, He knows my mind, He knows my fears. I opened my eyes and the pews were empty. Not a soul was in that church between my salvation and me. I turned side to side, looking for everyone in their Sunday best. I looked ahead at the pulpit and saw a very plain looking man looked back at me. He smiled and walked down from the pulpit and stood near me. He knelt close to me and asked if I wanted the Lord to live in my heart. “Yes Sir, please” was my answer. Then I stopped and looked at him and asked him if it was ok that I hold my key while I prayed. His smile warmed my heart as I heard him say yes to me.

I repeated the sinner’s prayer after him. I invited my Lord and Savior into my heart. I prayed with all my might. When I opened my eyes most of the congregation was back in their pews, a few stood around me and hugged me tight. The guest pastor again knelt near me and hugged me, his voice was calming as he said “Welcome to the Lord’s family”. When he stepped back up I looked at him, Even though he was wearing the same clothes as the man who led me in prayer he wasn’t the same man.

I have fallen away from my walk with my Savior many times and had to face my pride, my fears, my downfalls and recommit to Him. I look at my life, the trials and all, and there is only one constant in this life… my Savior who was nailed to a cross, beaten, persecuted, had His wounds wrapped in cloth and vinegar poured over them then had the cloth ripped off again, reopening His wounds. He walked with a timber on His back when He ever so weak, He had been betrayed by His closest friends, He had been mocked, guards gambled for His clothing as He hung on the cross, a tortured and dying man. Yet, He died for me, that I may have eternal life.

Romans 1:16. For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth…