20 posts tagged “writing”

Thank you guys for all your thoughts and prayers.

Thankfully, we received encouraging news.  Though one of Grandma's arteries was 99% blocked, the rest of her heart is remarkably strong, especially given all her medical issues.  She'll stay in the hospital for a few days but her prognosis is good beyond that.  She has been through such an array of medical complications this past year and a half.  Her doctors are quite amazed that she's not only survived everything thrown at her lately, but soldiered through with such grace and wit.  That's just how we roll in our family I guess :)

And I also owe you guys an update regarding Mom's hearing.  Short story is that we still don't know anything.  It was a very trying, humiliating, and exhausting experience for her.  Basically the lawyer grilled her for nearly 45 minutes and watching her struggle to find words, to speak, to be heard... it was heartbreaking.  But Linz and I got to speak on her behalf as well, and I feel like in a combination of the three of us, we told her story.  The judge will be deciding in 2 weeks and we should know in about 10 weeks.

Meanwhile... my benediction for tomorrow.  I was scheduled to read it at the 9am tomorrow, but will miss it because the girls seem to have a stomach bug (and I think I'm getting it too).  Regardless, someone will read it and I hope the right hearts hear it.  It's been in mine for awhile, though I didn't know quite how to get it out.

Psalm 143
 
"O Lord, hear my prayer, listen to my cry for mercy. 
In your faithfulness and righteousness come to my relief."
 
In the darkest of times, my prayers are the most simple.  Usually all I can muster is a simple "please" repeated incessantly aloud and in my head.  A syncopated supplication broken only to take a breath and to interject our Lord's name.  Though the syntax is simple, the petition is not.  I cry not just for relief, but for knowledge, acceptance, guidance, wisdom, peace. 
 
Please says "I don't know how to handle this alone."
Please says "I'm not ready for this loss."
Please says "This is not my plan but yours."
Please says "I know, Lord.  I know."
 
"Teach me to do your will for you are my God.
May your good Spirit lead me on level ground."

I feel completely disconnected from my writing right now.  Which is so unfortunate as I have so much to write about.  New marriage.  New job.  New experiences and growth and change and joy.  There is a lot of wonderful available and I should be tapping into it, but I can't.  I'm trying to live instead of write, experience instead of overanalyze, and exist in the joy/worry/anger/love/humor of the moment as it happens instead of obsessing about it endlessly.

I don't know if this is a good thing.  Sometimes I think it is.  It's good to stop and live.  It's kind of like the difference between photographing a memorable even and just watching it. I don't think it's a permanent condition.  In fact, I sense it's nearly over and I have a lot churning in my head right now.  I guess I just need to verbalize and rationalize to myself how I went from writing and photographing everyday to almost not at all.

I love and miss you, writing.  I'll be back before you know it.

Sometimes during our church service, I look around and see people dancing along to the music.  Swaying or rocking out or raising their hands.  I'll clap if prompted, but that's about it.  The music is good, don't get me wrong.  I mean we basically have a Robbie Seay Band concert every week.  It's good.  I just don't know that I'd sway unless prompted to.  I cry every now and then, if a song particularly talks to something in my heart at that moment, but that's the only obvious outward emotion I have during church.  It makes me feel broken somehow.  I don't doubt the veracity or the strength of my faith.  I've been tested on that many times and only come out stronger.  But I wonder why I don't have that passion, that fire, that makes me want to dance in the aisles or bang my head in time with the drums.

Strangely enough, it was just this question I was pondering on Saturday evening when I got an email from the service coordinator at church, asking me if I could give a benediction for the 9am service on Sunday.  I was already on the schedule to run Powerpoint at the 11am, so I would already be at the church early so I couldn't claim I wouldn't be there.  I was panicked.  I'd had weeks to prepare the last benediction and even then I feel like I just squeaked by.  I panicked and selfishly hoped Ron's migraine would last into the next day so I could have a legitimate excuse to stay home.  Alas, he bounded up the stairs full of smiles, laughter, and bad cockroach jokes.  There went that excuse.

It's not that I didn't want to do the benediction.  I'm honored and flattered that my church leaders like my writing and want me to share it with the congregation.  These people are hugely talented and have written books (BOOKS!  PLURAL!) so their compliments definitely carry a lot of weight for me.  It's just that when it comes to religious writing, I feel like a hack.  A fraud.  A fake.  I love the benedictions that Kelly writes.  Her words are beautiful and evoke a definite imagery and she definitely has that writerly aura about her.  As does J.  Their writing is awe inspiring and I can't think of a higher compliment to give.  But it also makes me feel inadequate.  I feel like they are dancing lyrical ballet with their words while I'm doing my best to tap my toe to the beat.  (If only I could grow a pair and talk to those women about their writing.... but that's another post altogether.)

As I was tucking the girls in bed that night, I said their prayers with them.  Typically, they repeat a standard prayer of thanks: for the beautiful day, their wonderful family, and then for one item of their choosing.  It's important to me that they don't see prayer as a nursery rhyme, but that they learn with some training wheels on too.  That night, Allie was ready to take the training wheels off and make up her own prayer.  It was very simple: "Thank you Jesus for all that you do, for all your work and for making us a happy family.  For all the stars in the sky and everything beautiful.  Thank you so much, Jesus.  Amen."

And that right there was the most beautiful prayer.  It was simple, it was heartfelt, it was honest.  I had my inspiration for the benediction.  I got out my Bible.  I prayed.  I set out with a purpose.  But then doubt crept in.  My writing wouldn't be as beautiful.  I couldn't even pray beautifully.  And beleive me, I come from a long line of talented praying people.  I tried again.  "Lord, I want to speak about finding your miracles in the simplest of things. About not needing superfluous fanciness or grand gestures.  I want to speak of how that sleeping six-year-old downstairs can be more profound than many people at their most verbose."  And for awhile, the words came.  I took inspiration from Psalm 19 "The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.  Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they display knowledge."  But I kept doubting myself.  Over and over for hours and hours.

All the while, Ron encouraged me.  Assured me that I was overthinking things.  Which I totally was, I just didn't know how to stop.  "It's easy!" he said, to which I responded "Okay hotshot.  You do it then."  And of course, 30 minutes later he had written an absolutely perfect benediction.  I told him that I was reading it and he didn't quite beleive me.  But he's prone to not beleiving me when I tell him what an amazing writer he is.

I read it at the end of the 9am service on Sunday, and immediately after, the pastor told me how amazing it had been.  I immediately fessed up and said Ron had written it.  "Eh, your married now. One flesh and all that," he responded with a good-natured pat on the back.  I was later asked to read it as the invocation for the 11am service, and could I please write it down for someone to read at the 5:30.  So for all that worrying, it went incredibly well, though I'm not the one who wrote it.

And I'm still left wondering, why don't I get it?  Why do I align myself more closely with Allie on a spiritual level than with grown ups?  Is it because I've always grown up in my faith?  I've had it from such an early age maybe, that I'm still able to retain that childlike trust, that simple gratitude?  That's a good thing right?  I'm not prone to screaming or clapping or getting all that outwardly excited about anything, that's not a flaw.  Is it?  I don't know.  Hopefully, I can sit in the shadow of those blessed with a more eloquent and more beautiful faith so I can learn how to flesh mine out.  Meanwhile, at least now I've got a benediction ghostwriter in my pocket....

As we leave this place of sanctuary to resume our lives in the flood of everyday circumstance, deliver us in your righteousness like your servant David:  Rescue us, guide us, strengthen us.  We have exhausted ourselves trying to overcome these obstacles on our own and we are now a reproach – even to our neighbors.

But you have seen our futility and in your loving kindness bring us joy.  We feel broken, we feel afraid, we feel forgotten.  But, we know healing, we know comfort, we know love.

Let us leave with this courageous hope and in this strength, let us love in kind.

Allie has decided to write her very first song.  It is for her kindergarten boyfriend, Landon.  All spelling errors are her own:

When the the stars begene to shine

With you and me,

Love and you, with you and me.

Just you and me.

Remeber wat we did togeter

You smilde at me :)

We weer next door

You always stearde at me

Wehen we allwas begen to screem and play.

Wonder if I could get her to write my benediction for tomorrow.

I know I'm derelict of duty in writing about the wedding and the lovely days after that. But there has just been so much going on since then, I haven't had a chance to sit down and breathe, much less write everything out that I want to. I promise I haven't forgotten you, so please just be patient.

It'll be worth it, I promise.

Meanwhile, I've gotten a lot of questions about my benediction. At our church, the benediction is performed by a different person each week. Two of my favorite women write their own poetry to read, some people sing, or simply share their reflections on a certain Psalm. When the pastor of our church read my blog a few months ago, he asked if I would consider being part of this team and writing something to share. Panic quickly followed my excitement, but I was somewhat releived when the service coordinator never contacted me to perform.

Until finally he did. Initially, they asked if I could do the benediction the Sunday morning after my bachelorette party. And not wanting to serve the Lord while reeking of cigarettes and blueberry vodka, I declined. (Plus I was on the schedule to do PowerPoint that day. Hooray for valid excuses!) But I had the GENIUS idea to volunteer to do a reading the Sunday after my wedding.

"What a wonderful way to spend my first full day of marriage," I thought.

"I will have family in the congregation for moral support," I told myself.

"What the heck was I thinking?" I realized that morning at 6am when I awoke
with champagne breath, and 273 bobby pins poking me in the head (I had
somehow forgotten to remove them the night before.)

I had already written what I had planned on reading. But I was worried that it wouldn't match the sermon, since our regular pastor wouldn't be speaking that week. At the last minute, I decided I would rewrite the entire piece, taking inspiration from 1 John, which my sister-in-law read at the wedding.  I gave up about halfway through and stuck with what I had because I had grown to like it at that point and didn't want what I wrote to seem forced. My greatest fear was that what I wrote would sound contrived, insincere, or like I was trying to copy those who went before me. After praying and realizing it wasn't about ME, the words came more freely and truly. It is as follows:

Love changes us. Not sappy, overwrought, nauseating newlywed love (though that's nice too.) God's love is stronger, more thorough, completely unexpected and graceful. God's love for us is a storm. With winds to blow us off course and onto a better path. Lightening to shock us awake and open our eyes to the truth before us. Rains to drown what we don't need and quench a thirst we didn't know we had. Without sorrow, we cannot experience the miracle of hope. Without injury, we cannot heal. Our scars create a new shape in our hearts, in our minds, and in our lives.

Even when everything in life feels like its swirling around and upside down… even when nothing makes sense and all the answers just bring about more questions. I know that He will love me and remind me of everything that is right with the world and right with me. I believe in love and it's power to make me maybe not a better person, or even a stronger person --- but certainly a more complete one. Go in peace… and love.

I panicked about halfway through the reading and skipped some of the best lines. I've never seen the church more packed, and found out later it might be because Donald Miller (the author) was in attendance. But no one threw eggs and me, no one laughed or belittled me, and in the end, I felt good about what I had written and very blessed to be able to share it with my church, and with my family.

Oh, and the sermon ended up being from 1 John, so my rewrite would have been perfect! D'oh! Maybe next time....

Sorry so MIA.  Starting a writing business is a pain in the ass.  But it's worth it, right?  I've been terrified and doubtful and skeptical and fearful and about ready to just go find a job being someone's secretary for 6 months until I get fired again for missing work for my children again.  I'm incorrigible you know.  But at church yesterday we had the most amazing speaker.  Her name is Shauna Niequist and her book is called Cold Tangerines.  Go out and buy several copies.  Unless you're related to me in which case I'll be giving you one for birthday or Christmas or both.  She preached about Esther and fearlessness and finally read a passage from her book that touched me in a way I didn't beleive possible.  Ron too.  He summed it up perfectly by saying "I want to cry, vomit, and breakdance all at the same time."   Here it is (in part)

Art slips past our brains straight into our bellies. It weaves itself into our thoughts and feelings and the open spaces in our souls, and it allows us to live more and say more and feel more. Great art says the things we wished someone would say out loud, the things we wish we could say out loud.

It matters, art does, so deeply. It’s one of the noblest things, because it can make us better, and one of the scariest things, because it comes from such a deep place inside of us. There’s nothing scarier than that moment when you sing the song for the very first time, for your roommate or your wife, or when you let someone see the painting, and there are a few very long silent moments when they haven’t yet said what they think of it, and in those few moments, time stops and you quit painting, you quit singing forever, in your head, because it’s so fearful and vulnerable, and then someone says, essentially, thank you and keep going, and your breath releases, and you take back everything you said in your head about never painting again, about never singing again, and at least for that moment, you feel like you did what you came to do, in a cosmic, very big sense.

I know that life is busy and hard, and that there’s crushing pressure to just settle down and get a real job and khaki pants and a haircut. But don’t. Please don’t. Please keep believing that life can be better, brighter, broader, because of the art that you make. Please keep demonstrating the courage that it takes to swim upstream in a world that prefers putting away for retirement to putting pen to paper, that chooses practicality over poetry, that values you more for going to the gym than going to the deepest places in your soul. Please keep making art for people like me, people who need the magic and imagination and honesty of great art to make the day-to-day world a little more bearable.

And if, for whatever reason, you’ve stopped — stopped believing in your voice, stopped fighting to find the time — start today. Do that. Do something creative every day, even if you work in a cubicle, even if you have a newborn, even if someone told you a long time ago that you’re not an artist, or you can’t sing, or you have nothing to say. Those people are bad people, and liars, and we hope they develop adult-onset acne really bad. Everyone has something to say. Everyone. Because everyone, every person was made by God, in the image of God. If he is a creator, and in fact he is, then we are creators, and no one, not a bad seventh grade English teacher or a harsh critic or jealous competitor, can take that away from you.

So to all the secret writers, late-night painters, would-be singers, lapsed and scared artists of every stripe, dig out your paintbrush, or your flute, or your dancing shoes. Pull out your camera or your computer or your pottery wheel. Today, tonight, after the kids are in bed or when your homework is done, or instead of one more video game or magazine, create something, anything.

Pick up a needle and thread, and stitch together something particular and honest and beautiful, because we need it. I need it.

Thank you, and keep going.

So I'm going to keep going.  Because God told me too in a very clear and direct and forceful way.  My bills might be late, I might have a very undecorated wedding, and I might be hungry (best. diet. ever.) but I know that I've got to keep going.  This is my chance.  It is my right and my responsibility. 

Back to work I go.

Oh, and the beautiful and gracious Shauna Niequist (who actually let me hug her while sobbing afterwards) can be found here  http://www.shaunaniequist.com/  and her book can be (will be and should be) purchased at Amazon.  

What was the best blog post you wrote this year?  What was the best post or blog you read?

I've been trying to figure this out for awhile.  The easy answer is that I like all of them.  It's because of my blog that I'm where I am today.  I remember sending Ron the link to my blog in maybe the second email I sent him.  About .07 seconds after hitting send I smacked myself on the forehead and said "What the hell were you thinking?" and expected to never hear from him again.  However, he claims that it was my writings here that really intrigued him.  Basically, I snagged Ron with all my $5 words and rampant sarcasm.  Who knew that would even be possible? 

So the diplomatic answer is that I love ALL of my blogs.  It reminds me of when my sister and I would fight when we were younger.  We'd inevitably accuse mom of loving daughter more than the other.  She'd respond with "I love you both the same.  That's like asking me to pick which leg is my favorite.  I need both to walk."  Linz and I, being very wry and sarcastic at the ripe ages of 12 and 8 would respond "Well I would pick my right leg.  My left one has a funny scar on it."

Ahem.  (Can we tell Ashley needs to get back on her meds after a holiday break from them?)

In no particular order, I like the following:

First Date   Because, well duh.

09-10-01  Because I think it's a pretty decent piece of writing, if I do say so myself.

March 14, 2006   and  Peace   and  Before and After  because they are all about my mom and her aneurysm.  I think most of the writing I've done in the past year is about that event and the more I write, the more it helps me make sense of what happened and how that one 15 mm piece of artery could change so many lives.

Story Time  Because it's such an accurate picture of my girls and how they are with me and each other.  Even though I just dropped them of at Grandma's 2 hours ago, reading this makes me miss them already.

The Official Cruise Recap/Novel  Because I'm really lucky to have such badass friends, even if I only get to see them sporadically.  Like once every 5 years sporadically.

On Being Alone  Because it's funny how much I don't miss it.  Now I have all the good parts of being alone, but with the added bonus that I've got a smart, funny, sexy person (who is not me) to share it all with and who also teaches how to broaden my cultural horizons.  (By reading Wonder Woman comics and watching Smallville on DVD, but hey.... culture is culture, right?)

As far as the best blog post that I read, hands down it would be the piece Heather Armstrong wrote about her depression (here)  and her husband Jon's response on how he handles it (here).  I didn't think anything could top Heather's insight, but then I read Jon's.  I had never given much thought as to how my depression can effect those around me, but now that I'm living with someone who has the same mental "blessings" that I do, it gave me a new appreciation for what it's like to live with me and a perspective on how I can make that easier.

I'm working on my resolutions right now, because I know you're dying to know what they are.  But first I have to do a tally of how I did with 2007's resolutions.  I'm keeping score and it's not pretty.

Love you bitches!

I've been thinking about my mom and her brain a lot lately.  Pull up the aneurysm tag and you'll stumble across most of the story if you don't know it.  We're working on getting her in with some neuropsych people to prod her recovery just a bit.  She's doing so well and I'm so proud of her.  I love her so much and have been missing her lately.  I stumbled across this tonight.  I wrote it a few months ago.  It's the beginning of something, I just don't know what.....

There are defining moments in life which serve as clear markers, delineating one part of one’s life from another.  Some of these are apparent and expected:  Before graduation, after graduation.  Before marriage, after marriage.  Before kids, after kids.  Some are unplanned, but normal and preparation is possible:  Before divorce, after divorce.  Before one career.  After another.  Sometimes they might come along without your knowledge, and only in retrospect do you realize their significance.  Before meeting someone.  After that person is in your life.  But some are so completely and wholly unexpected, that you cannot possibly plan for them, nor can you hope to regain any sense of before in the after. 

I have a before kids, after kids.  I have a before divorce, after divorce. Now, the most defining mile marker in my life is before aneurysm, after aneurysm.  And it wasn’t even in my brain.  One sunny day in March, the world was spinning as it always did and my dramas were small and petty on the grand scale.  The next, sunnier morning, a 15mm portion along the internal carotid artery in my mom’s brain decided it was really worn out from keeping all that blood in one place.  It put it’s feet on it’s desk, clocked out, and quit doing it’s job unleashing a torrent of trauma into Mom’s subarachnoid space, and into all of our lives.

She didn’t believe us at first.  When we said aneurysm, she rewarded us with a furrowed brow and a confused tilt of her head.  When she finally regained cognizance about a month after the rupture, she found herself weak, drugged, and unable to speak.  All she knew was she couldn’t talk, couldn’t remember, couldn’t comprehend what had happened.  Surely we were exaggerating.  Surely she had just had a migraine yesterday and now we were trying to scare her.  Surely she was just a little wiped out from the meds they’d given her and everything would be back to normal by next week. 

I don’t know what she thought because she couldn’t tell us.  That lazy artery wall had leaked blood all over the part of her brain that controls speech.  I could see the questions in there, the words bouncing around in her brain.  Everything multiplying exponentially and crowding up in that space.  The pressure of their isolation showed in her eyes.  She’d spent nearly 50 years being the most outspoken and eloquent person and now….now…. Her tools, her weapons, her thoughts, her loves, her words wouldn’t come.  They stayed in her head.  Reluctant to leave her mouth and be seen in the light.  Stubbornly denying her her voice.  The brain which had served her so well, which she prized, by which she defined herself and attained every goal to which she aspired… it was now her enemy.  After aneurysm.

It could have been worse.  We tried to explain how lucky she was.  How those initial phone calls from the doctors in Louisiana held no hope, only grim statistics and admonishment to drive the 300 miles as fast as safely possible.  How we were preparing to say good-bye at worst, and preparing to care for her in a vegetative state at best.  I did what I do best and googled.  I found stories with worse outcomes; it wasn’t hard.  Mention an aneurysm to someone and the stories told back to you are those of a relative who died.  Always unexpected and always tragic.  Maybe 1 in 10 will be a shared story of survival.  I printed medical texts that detail in black and white those same grim statistics hammered into my brain by the doctors.  50% die before reaching the hospital.  Of those who make it to the hospital 30% die within 48 hours.  Of those who survive that long, the next 30% die within a month.  Those lucky percentages left either die within the next year, or survive with significant deficit. 

She beat all the odds.  She survived the surgery.  She ruptured fully while on the operating table.  Had they waited even 10 minutes to operate, she would likely have died.  She survived post-operative complications, never having a stroke from vasospasms.  She didn’t get pneumonia.  She wasn’t paralyzed.  She walked within 2 weeks.  She could see and hear and taste and swallow.  Mom!  You can swallow!  Isn’t that awesome news!  Her confused and frustrated expression was answer enough for that ridiculous question. 

Before aneurysm: Project Controls Analyst working on a multi-million dollar project for a major energy company.  Avid reader.  Accomplished scholar, gifted musician, loyal friend, and doting grandmother.  Active, articulate, intelligent, beautiful and amazing woman, who taught, guided, supported, and inspired.  After aneurysm:  You can walk!  And eat!  And breathe!  All by yourself!  Aren’t you proud?  Aren’t you fulfilled?  We know your before aneurysm self is still in there.  We see it waking up, flitting about, screaming to get out and straining against its new bonds.  We hear it in our own minds and know it will be strong one day.  But for now it tires easily.  Go rest and gather strength.  It will come back.

The words began to find their way out.  Furry and vaguely malformed, but coming to the party finally.  The cloud of confusion gradually lifted.  The puzzled look was permanently affixed for a few weeks.  We had to retell the story a few times and learned to limit the length and detail.  After awhile, we didn’t have to tell her.  She knew she had crossed a line and was in the after of something. 

A quote from the inimitable Heather Armstrong (of dooce.com)

"I don't think they make a capsule strong enough that it could totally stand up to the wrath of the female hormone.  One minute I'm perfectly fine, sipping a cup of coffee, flipping through a magazine filled with photos of meticulously art-directed living rooms, thinking I'd very much like thosesquare acrylic tables or that pillow covered in suede. An hour later I'm having a panic attack at the thought of taking a shower, the energy it would require, how it seems so dumb that we keep having to do it over and over again, and then extrapolating that to every task in day-to-day life, making the bed or washing the dishes, it never ends. It just keeps going on and on, there is no destination, just the work of trying to get there. Maybe I'm just too sad to push that rock up the hill today.

And then I'm all, shut up. You smell. Go wash your hair.

For those who don't know, Post Secret is an ongoing community art project in which people from all over the world mail in postcards bearing a secret they've never shared before.  Some are funny, some are heartbreaking, I'd really just be running down adjectives in the Thesaurus were I to try and accurately describe them all.  Usually about 20 new secrets are posted every Sunday, and several books have been published. 

I don't check the website regularly, but it appeals strongly to several parts of me.  The voyeur in me enjoys the glimpse into other peoples thoughts; the schadenfreude takes a perverted comfort in the knowledge that other people might have worse problems; the artist in me is inspired by the craft evident in many of the creations; and another part of me wonders if I might not create one of my own.

Not that I have any big dark secrets or confessions.  I'm usually pretty bad about keeping secrets, my own especially and am more inclined to reveal too much than too little.  It's the writer in me (or so I'm told) that wants to share everything in excruciating detail.  But I know there are some thoughts rattling around that I might not dare utter.  Would it be liberating to get them out?  To send them anonymously into the world and know they might give hope to someone else with the same thoughts?  Or would it be a burden?  Would I regret voicing those thoughts, and worry that my anonymity was an illusion?  Would I make someone feel worse?  Would I be thought selfish or horrible? 

As much as I feel the compulsion to overshare on a regular basis, I think some things should remain unsaid.  I'm glad there is a forum for those who need it, to express what is driving them, or plaguing them, or even amusing them.  But for me, I think that if I'm going to put something out there, then I might as well do it where I can control or at least gauge the reaction.  As a writer, I'm learning that I can create things both wonderous and terrible, though I can't always accurately predict which will be the reception.  So anything that needs to be said by me will be said here; but meanwhile, check out the books and website of Post Secret.  If nothing else, it will give you something to think about...