Lent 2023

Lent began last Wednesday, February 22, as a time for self-improvement, and to grow closer to our Lord. I hope to post one of my reflections based on Scripture over the few weeks.

Because he himself was tested through what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested.                          Hebrews 2:18

Jesus took human form for thirty-three years before his crucifixion to enable us to have a relationship with God and open the gates of heaven. Because he became a man, he experienced the same emotions we experience. This gives me the determination to follow the path he illustrated for us through his ministry.

When I feel like shouting at someone because they upset me, I can turn to our Savior for strength. I can ask him to help me use my two ears to listen instead of my one mouth to make the situation worse.

When I feel like giving up and walking away from the situation, I can turn to our Savior for grace to persevere. Did he want to walk away from his suffering when he prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane but prayed to do God’s will instead? I can pray for the grace to do the same. They will be done.

Discouragement, frustration, sorrow, joy, gratitude – every emotion I experience,  Jesus knows how it feels. This gives me the confidence to get out of bed each day. To put one foot in front of the other. To turn to him over and over.

I can do this but only with the grace given to me as a gift from Jesus.

Thank you, Jesus.

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July 11

Gail and I shared high school teachers, high school friends, and over thirty years of experiences. We both started our married lives in 1975. Babies arrived in each of our families in 1976, 1978, 1980, and 1982. As our similar troops of four little ones grew, our families met often. While the children played, the four parents enjoyed some much-needed adult time. We discussed our busy lives and the challenges that came with parenting four young children. We shared laughter, exchanged stories, parenting tips, and partied with mutual friends. But, in 2011, a calendar date became the most important thing that we shared.

July 11, 2011. Sleep had eluded me in the early morning hours, despite my efforts to turn off my brain and rest. I tried my usual trick – I turned on the television, the DVD player, and popped in a movie I’d watched so many times I knew it by heart. Most nights this routine lulled me back to sleep. But that night, my method of insomnia management didn’t work. So, I went to my desk, turned on my computer, and decided to reminisce about another sleepless July 11, thirty-one years earlier.

As the memories tumbled from my brain to my computer screen, I smiled. That morning, I couldn’t sleep during in the early hours, either. Overdue with my third child, I counted the minutes between contractions. I remembered the painless labor, and the quick delivery less than thirty minutes after our arrival at the hospital that gave us our only daughter, Amber.

But, I also thought about the many challenges we (Amber, her dad and I) faced together. In 2004, Amber, stricken with the brain disorder, schizophrenia, moved home with us at the age of twenty-four. Together, Roy, Amber, and I battled against the nasty symptoms schizophrenia imposed on her. After four years, with the help of doctors, therapists, medication, plus Amber’s desire to recover, she resumed an independent lifestyle. I felt so proud of her and her determination to regain her health despite those difficult years when the symptoms had tried to beat her down.

Usually, I did my best to dwell on the positive changes and not the heartache that came with her illness, but sometimes it crept in just the same.

On July 11, 2011, I concentrated on the good memories. As I wrote that morning, I recalled the joy of her birth, and how bright her future looked now that she lived in recovery. Once I felt satisfied with my piece, I settled on the couch in the living room for a quick nap. Success. When I woke, I felt refreshed and ready to take on my day.

After my coffee, devotions, breakfast, and a shower, I walked to the addition of my house where I operated my home embroidery business. I planned to call Amber during her lunch break and sing Happy Birthday to her. My employee arrived around nine o’clock and together we worked on a stack of embroidery orders. We chatted as we worked. Around ten o’clock, the phone rang. I snatched the phone from the wall cradle.

“Good morning. This is Virginia. How may I help you today?”

“Virginia. This is Gloria, Gail’s sister.”

“Oh, hey, Gloria! How’ya doin?” I said excitedly to hear from her and ready to take an order.

“Not good. I’ve got bad news this morning.” She paused. I heard her heavy breaths. “Amanda took her life last night. Gail called me a few minutes ago. Andy found her this morning when he got up to leave for work.”

I felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach. I don’t know if I gasped out loud, but the joy I had earlier evaporated as I inhaled the horrible news,

Amanda, the daughter of my good friend, Gail. Amanda, the same age as Amber. Amanda, my daughter’s playmate from years ago when our two families met for picnics and parties. Amanda, beautiful Amanda, with her ringlets of walnut brown hair, her crystal blue eyes, and a wide smile with perfect teeth was gone. Beneath her striking exterior lurked an unseen invader. A demon that we couldn’t see; one that doctors couldn’t find with a simple blood test, but it picked away at her ability to cope. Hidden from the visible eye lurked the gnarled fingers of mental illness. It had snaked its way through her personality until most of the Amanda we knew had disappeared. Amanda wanted to fit in, to be a good mom and a trusted employee, but her brain disorder gnawed at her strength. Now, a husband, a daughter, a son, a mother, a father, a sister, two brothers, and more broken hearts than I could count mourned her exit from this world.

Amanda died after a long battle with mental illness, not just another suicide statistic, but the daughter of a good friend. I don’t remember exactly what I said. I imagine I said a hollow remark like, “I’m so sorry,” or “Let me know what I can do.”

I hung up the phone and attempted to work. I planned to go to Gail and her husband, Nick after I finished work for the day. But, I had put an unrealistic expectation on myself to think that I could concentrate on my job. I felt numb, and shaken, and devastated, and worried about Gail. Only a few hours earlier I had written about my daughter’s birth and rejoiced in her success while at the same time, my friend dealt with the horror of her daughter’s death.

Something that I had feared for my child had slammed into their world without mercy.  I thought about the days when I lived in fear. I lived in a state of constant worry that Amber would take her life – that she would lose the battle against schizophrenia. I knew the high possibility. I knew that 50% of those stricken take their life. As she made small strides toward recovery, I worried even more. I had read this time was the most crucial. It was when the illness subsided, that people felt strongly enough to attempt suicide. I remembered the pain I had in my gut, along with the continual fretful feelings as I scrutinized her every move.

I thought about Amanda and Gail. Guilt set in. Why? Why did my child live and thrive while her child left this world because she couldn’t find the help she desperately wanted and needed? I tried to put myself in Gail’s shoes. I imagined my reaction if it had been Amber instead of Amanda. My stomach churned as the feelings assaulted me over and over. “It could’ve been you. It could’ve been Amber.”

I couldn’t handle my worry and dread for Gail any longer. I sent my employee home, shut off my machines, locked my shop door, flipped the sign to CLOSED, and rushed to the side of Gail and Nick.

The pain in my chest that had been there all day exploded when Gail fell into my arms as I walked into their home. She sobbed as if she’d never stop, and I unleashed my pent-up emotions and joined her. Our anguish mingled through our tears. I wanted my arms to absorb some of her pain. I knew they couldn’t, so I just held her as we cried.

I listened as she shared feelings that no parent should have to face. I knew I had similar thoughts at times in my life, too. They seemed to come with a diagnosis of mental illness.

“You’re not alone with those feelings,” I assured her. The tears that followed didn’t wash away her grief, or my feelings of guilt as we wept together.

Why did my child dwell in recovery, while her child lost her battle? Why did we, two ordinary women get one-way tickets into the world of mental illness? We didn’t want those passports into the heartache. Our daughters didn’t want those badges of pain, so why?

Questions with no answers pounded in my mind and threatened to overtake my resolve to support my life-long friend. I pushed them aside as I chose to concentrate on the grief before me. For the next several hours, I listened and allowed Gail’s memories of Amanda, both painful and beautiful, to flow and seep into an untouchable corner in my heart. I knew that nothing out of my mouth could ease her agony. So, I listened, held her hand, wrapped my arms around her when sorrow, remorse, anger, and the torment of Amanda’s death by suicide sliced at her. As I listened, I picked up the bitter morsels of raw desolation that scattered around Gail.

And then I returned home. I had to allow her private time to grieve in a way that worked for her. I tried to keep in touch after the services for Amanda, but she wanted time to mourn alone. So, I stepped back. It slashed at my contentment to watch from a distance as she withdrew from activities such as weddings, anniversaries, and other joyous occasions. I’m guessing the pain paralyzed her, so I just made sure she knew I cared. I left the door open and kept her in my heart and prayers. I sent her notes on the anniversary date of Amanda’s death, and Christmas cards to try and leave the doorway of comfort ajar for her. But, that doorway didn’t open wide enough for me to come in for a long time.

One summer morning, after several years of almost zero communication, I called her and invited her to meet me. “I plan to take my granddaughters to the aquatic center after lunch. Would you like to join me, bring your grandchildren, and we can catch up?”

My heart leaped when she said, “Yes,” and a few hours later we sat, sipped cool drinks, as we watched as Amanda’s son and my granddaughters splashed in the water. We talked non-stop. Time had allowed her grief to form a scab, but she told me that she kept it guarded – she kept hidden it from most of the world. People that she thought she could trust didn’t understand. They pointed the finger of blame: “You should’ve…” “Why didn’t you…?” “It happened because…” Terrible words that did nothing to alleviate her pain. It only exposed her wound and broke it open again and again. Before long, Gail refused to talk about Amanda.

That afternoon, friend to friend, we compared our scars as we talked about our faith, our trust in God and that one day we will both understand. We shared our hope that Amanda is with our Savior who saw her agony and gathered her to himself. We held hands as we basked in our love for our daughters. We remembered the date we’ll forever share – July 11 – the date when I celebrate the birth of my daughter while she mourns the death of hers. We parted with a hug of support and a promise to meet again. My spirits swelled with gratitude for our friendship and for the chance to talk about Amanda with Gail.

I still don’t understand the why, nor do I expect I will this side of heaven. I healed a little more that afternoon. I know I can’t bring back those who lose their battle with mental illness, but I can walk beside their survivors as they navigate their path of desolation. I can try to fulfill a promise I made myself years ago – to react as the Bible verse Romans 12:15 states.

“Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.”

Roses, Thorns, and Fragrances

Roses – most of us love roses. I have a beautiful rose in my kitchen – a lovely gift from a friend. When this rose is in the glass bowl, I can admire it, inhale the soothing fragrance, and feel grateful that someone grew it for my enjoyment. If I had to pick one out of the rose garden that I wish I had, but in reality resides only in my imagination, I’d probably get poked by the thorns.

I feel like I’ve been poked by thorns as I travel through life. At times, the thorns disappear completely and the beautiful flower is all I see. Other times, the thorns stick in me and it’s hard to see the petals through the tears.

It’s when I bleed from those pokes that I learn the most. If I’d been given a choice about having a child with a mental illness, I would have run in the other direction. And in the midst of the chaos when symptoms manifested and until the doctors found the correct treatment, I think I bled – a lot. My heart shattered into bits as I watched her suffering. In my determination to help her, I learned about the brain. I read everything I could get my hands on to figure out what caused this to happen to her.

As I learned, I changed. I understood that
1. this was not her choice.
2. She was as confused as I was with the changes going on in her.
3. She wanted a return to good health for herself as much as I wanted it for her.
4. She needed support to achieve her goals of recovery.

As I traveled the journey with her to recovery, I learned that I needed to still myself so I could inhale the fragrance – the beautiful bouquet that stayed the same whether I saw the beauty of the flower or felt the prick of the thorn.

I found the balm for my wounded spirit in my prayer life. It took on new meaning as I focused my gaze on my creator. I gained the strength that I needed to face the next step ahead, or to recover when we took two steps back. As she made improvements the scent of hope settled deep within me.

Today, thirteen years later, she lives in the garden of recovery. This doesn’t mean that the thorns stay away. Sometimes they prick us again. For there is no cure – not yet. But a good life, a full life, a life filled with joy is our reality. Somedays are harder than others. When she has a bad day, like everyone does, I ache with her. During those times I try to discover the perfumed scent that lingers from the good days because I know those days await her. Her bad days are just that – bad days. Short-lived and overcome. She inspires me with her determination.

Fragrances of hope that I’ve discovered:

1. I know that she makes a difference in the lives of those around her through the life she lives.
2. I’ve heard from many readers that reading our story gave them an understanding of schizophrenia that they didn’t have before.
3. I found out the support system around me that I didn’t realize that I’ve always had.
4. Humor helps me relax. I can still laugh, even when it hurts.
5. Focus on why I think God created me. This helps bring clarity to my journey through life.

These are just a few things that I’ve discovered since her illness and Broken Brain, Fortified released. They remind me that amidst the thorns, beauty will always exist. It’s up to me to stop
and
Smell.The.Roses.

Mother’s Day 2018

Tomorrow is Mother’s day. I’ve celebrated this day for the past forty-two years. My first-born arrived the day after Mother’s Day that year, but I wore flowers that morning to church in anticipation of the upcoming event. That year, hubby had finished planting corn on Mother’s Day afternoon. As we visited his mom that evening, I announced that I planned to have the baby that night before he had a chance to start planting beans on Monday. I hadn’t started labor, I just made a flippant remark. Little did I know that labor would begin in a few hours – ten days before my due date. I held our newborn son the following afternoon after twenty-four hours of intense preparation.

Over the next six years, two more brothers and a sister joined in our yearly celebration of Mother’s Day.  I am quite biased, but I think all four of them are amazing people. I’m proud of each of them for their compassion and caring attitudes for others and the goals they’ve each worked hard to achieve in their adult lives.

Last year, I wrote about my feelings about my journey with my daughter as she battles mental health issues. I still say, “Happy Mother’s Day to me! I am so grateful for my four children.”

I felt honored when The Mighty chose to post it for Mother’s Day.

 

 

Mother’s Day 2018

Tomorrow is Mother’s day. I’ve celebrated this day for the past forty-two years. My first-born arrived the day after Mother’s Day that year, but I wore flowers that morning to church in anticipation of the upcoming event. That year, hubby had finished planting corn on Mother’s Day afternoon. As we visited his mom that evening, I announced that I planned to have the baby that night before he had a chance to start planting beans on Monday. I hadn’t started labor, I just made a flippant remark. Little did I know that labor would begin in a few hours – ten days before my due date. I held our newborn son the following afternoon after twenty-four hours of intense preparation.

Over the next six years, two more brothers and a sister joined in our yearly celebration of Mother’s Day.  I am quite biased, but I think all four of them are amazing people. I’m proud of each of them for their compassion and caring attitudes for others and the goals they’ve each worked hard to achieve in their adult lives.

Last year, I wrote about my feelings about my journey with my daughter as she battles mental health issues. I still say, “Happy Mother’s Day to me! I am so grateful for my four children.”

I felt honored when The Mighty chose to post it for Mother’s Day.

 

 

Gifts …

In the past twelve hours, I’ve received gifts that didn’t wait for later in the month.  These gifts lifted my spirit.

There were so welcome after the past of days of my melancholy attitude. It started with a phone call that left me disappointed in someone and then morphed into a giant of oppressing sadness. I couldn’t shake the “poor me” thoughts that pounded at me.

Until the gifts from yesterday…

First, I spent part of the afternoon with people, which always lifts my mood. Yes, I’m an EXTRAVERT. I get my energy from people. The past twelve hours recharged me and changed my attitude. I needed a major gratitude adjustment.

First I sat next to a friend as I watched a Jr. High Basketball game. I hadn’t expected to see her there, so we chatted and caught up with each other’s lives. Pure gift.

From there I went to a holiday party with my local NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness) chapter. I spent the evening with friends I’ve known for years, and the new ones I met as I taught a twelve-week class, Family to Family, this fall. The best part of the evening came as I heard about the successes of their loved ones. I rejoice as I hear the words, “doing well,” “has a job,” “great relationship between us.” So many times I’ve heard, “The class changed my life. It was the best thing I’ve ever done for my loved one and me.” What a gift!

This morning when I checked social media, I approved the tag for this Facebook post, Free the Strange by Andrea Berns. This courageous woman shared her journey to wellness. Her talents shined through her words, as well as her determination to work towards recovery. She asked me to write the forward for her chapbook. What an honor! Congratulations to Andrea, and to all the success stories that we need to tell and celebrate with them.

Gifts come in all shapes, sizes, and look different to everyone. I received good news all around me yesterday, and I am grateful for them.

 

Gratitude – November 30

At the beginning of this month, I gave myself two goals:

1. To write a daily reflection on gratitude. I think it’s an important method to happiness . To look around and feel grateful. It’s too easy to fall into a negative thought process because things don’t always go in the direction that I’d like. I came up a few days shy of making my goal. But, I accomplished what I wanted – to look around for reasons to feel thankful.
2. To take the NaNoWriMo challenge. I wanted write a novel during the month of November. I needed to write a minimum of 50,000 words. I hit my goal on Monday,  the 27, but I guess I’m too wordy. I need more than 50,000 words to finish the story. I plan to continue until I finish my rough draft. This puts my New Year’s resolution in place – to edit it and get it ready for another set of eyes to read.

My December plans include sewing a few gifts, plus Santa gave me a list to complete for him as one of his elves. In other words, back to my day job.

I thought it appropriate on my last day in November when I concentrated on gratitude to find a note in my messenger inbox. A new review for my book posted yesterday on Amazon. My heart overflowed as I read her thoughts about my book. Each time someone takes the time to read, write, and post a review for my book, Broken Brain, Fortified Faith, I am filled with gratitude. Thank you, Colleen, and everyone who posted a reaction to our story. Here’s few of her thoughts:

     This is a powerful and compelling autobiographical account of one mother’s journey through the nightmare of mental illness. Virginia Pillars’ daughter, Amber, developed schizophrenia in her early twenties. As Virginia, her husband, Roy, and their sons became aware of the alternate world Amber was living in, they reached out to her. But where to begin to help her out?
…Virginia’s account is honest, compelling and revealing. It is painful as you journey with Virginia and her husband as they look for the treatment Amber needed. The disturbance that severe mental illness causes in the home life of family members is very challenging. The Pillars’ journey, like so many families, is not one of instant success…
. ..The story is very well-written. Once you start reading, it is hard to put down. There is a natural curiosity and hope that the Pillars can find the mental health professional with the right treatment for Amber.                                                                                                                        …There are many out there with family members who suffer from mild to severe mental illnesses. Virginia’s honest account opens the door to what one family experienced. It is not unique. Many families are suffering in this way. Her book does a great service in sharing the challenges and pain and the hopes and victories in navigating the road to recovery. I encourage everyone to read it and share it with others.

For the complete review and others, you’ll find them at Amazon, and Goodreads.

Thank you to all of you who followed along for my month of gratitude. May your December be a season of preparation and joy.

 

Gratitude – November 28

Laughter. Today, I’m grateful for laughter.

Last night, a member of our household returned from a trip. He’d gotten sick just before his flight home, which made for miserable plane ride. Now, the circumstance didn’t have a shred of humor in it. Not until my hubby got involved in the conversation.

He proceeded to tell of a time that he had similar symptoms when on a trip across the ocean. He described his reaction, complete with sound effects. The three of us laughed so hard we couldn’t sit up straight.

For a few minutes, we forgot his misery as we shared Roy’s hilarious memories.

Now, don’t get me wrong. We don’t think illness is funny. Nor do we dismiss another’s problems. Instead, we look at ourselves, our own reactions, and look for the humor.

It helps us cope to laugh at our mistakes, and the silly things we do. Laughter can diffuse a tense situation. It helps us look past the walls that we sometimes build around us.

Laughter releases endorphins (a feel-good hormone) which can ease stress, boost our immune system, improve our mood, increase our pain tolerance, and improve our cardiovascular health. Wow, all that from a good joke. It also releases the neurotransmitter dopamine.  Think of this as a reward for our brain, which may motivate us to continue with our laughter. Maybe that’s why when I start to laugh, I can’t stop and everything sounds funny.

Maybe we should change the saying from “An apple a day keeps the doctor away” to “A laugh a day keeps the doctor away.”

Think of the last time you shared a belly laugh with someone. It felt pretty wonderful, didn’t it?

I love to laugh. I’m grateful for laughter, and the forty-two years with a husband who can make me to laugh so hard that I can’t breathe.

Gratitude – November 24

Twas the morning of Black Friday, and all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring, except for the mouse…

Okay, not really true, because I’m up, but the mouse part is close to the truth. The little critters must think we offer free rent in our house, so I’ve declared war, as I do every year. But anyway, back to my gratitude reflection…

I hope my readers had a relaxed day yesterday. I know, I did. I ate turkey, which for me, is an annual treat that I dream about in anticipation for weeks. Why? My body reacts to foods that others can eat without any issues. Turkey, chicken, eggs, chocolate, and wine trigger migraines for me.

I can eat tiny amounts (of poultry, not chocolate) once in a while without problems, so once a year, my taste buds rejoice as I savor a helping of dark, turkey meat. I enjoy the homemade dressing and gravy, along with the sweet potatoes, squash casserole, and of course, the green bean casserole. I finished the meal with a slice of pumpkin pie and a cup of coffee. My mouth remains in a state of contentment this morning.

Yesterday, my family surrounded me – our three sons, three daughters-in-law, our daughter, and three of our four grandchildren. Our fourth grandchild made it to his eternal home over eleven years ago. He’s with us in spirit for every event. I call us the “Even Dozen Club,” but in reality, we are probably a bit odd.

We have fun together. We compete like Olympians as we play games, work together, and of course, tease each other. I’m certain I will hear about the year I forgot the sugar in the pumpkin pie for the rest of my life. And if I know my family, they’ll share the story at my funeral.

Oh, we do love to laugh at our mistakes.

After all, life is too important to take it seriously. I laugh at the silly things I do wrong, and revel in the things that go right.

My devotional readings this morning remind me to stay grateful.

I’m thankful for my life, and that I don’t feel the need to fight the crowds today to shop. I plan to write a few chapters for my first-ever novel. And eat another piece of pumpkin pie with my coffee.

Happy Black Friday!

Gratitude – November 23

Today, like many across our nation,  I plan to gather with loved ones to celebrate Thanksgiving. After I help my 91-year-old Mom in an hour, I will spend the rest of the day with my family.

Some of the top things on my gratitude list.

1. My mom. At 91, she lives in her own home. She doesn’t get around very well, but she stays cheerful and thankful for every little thing that anyone does for her. She’s taught me to live in gratitude.
2. My husband. We’ve carved out a wonderful life together for the past 42 years.
3. Health. We’ve dealt with major illnesses in our family. We won most of the battles, and are grateful for our family’s health.  We both feel younger than our years. We enjoy our work, and our time away from it.
4. My four children. All of them are successful as they travel their path of life. Today, they will  cook most of the our Thanksgiving meal. I bring the pies. If I beg, I may get to help with dishes. Most years they shoo me out of the kitchen.
5. Our grandchildren. Enough said.
6. My home. It’s comfortable and more than adequate. Plus, it’s clean enough to be healthy, but dirty enough to be happy.
7. Life adventures. During a recent game with my grandchildren and nephew, we each counted the countries that we’ve visited. I counted twenty-one! I’m grateful to enjoy so many different cultures in my sixty-two years of life.
8. I can read, I can write, I can create projects from fabric, therefore I never wonder what I can do to keep busy. I think I need another life time to read all the books on my TBR list, and sew all the fabric in my closet.
9. I have nutritious and delicious food every day.
10. I have the freedom to live my faith. I live in confidence because I know I am loved more than I can ever comprehend. Everything else is frosting on the cake.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Gratitude – November 21

I spoke last night with a group in a local library. The more I share our story, the more I understand the statistic that one in four families deals with mental illness. I meet many of them.

• I hear the heartache that accompanies them on their journey.
• I witness the deep love they have for their family member.
• I see the pride they have when their loved one manages it with success.
• I see the hope that fills them when they see baby steps of improvement.
• I witness courage, both in the families and those who are affected.

These families inspire me to continue to spread the word that mental illness is a brain disorder, not a character flaw.  I want to share that recovery is an option. I want to share that it’s hard for the families and those who are affected.

• I dream of a day when mental illness is discussed the way we talk about diabetes, or cancer.
• I dream of a day when our culture reacts to mental illness with the same compassion and support that happens when a family deals with cancer or other traumatic events.
• I dream of a day when a blood test reveals the exact medication needed for the brain to function properly.
• I dream of a day when we have adequate doctors, therapists, and counselors to assist those who need their expertise.
• I dream of a day when every family I meets shares a success story with me.

Until then, I stay grateful for the health of my daughter.

• I’m grateful the doctors found the correct cocktail of medication that allows her to overcome the symptoms of schizophrenia. She works full-time, and I know she makes a difference in the lives of the people around her.
• I’m grateful that she understands her brain disorder and that she knows how to take care of her own health.
• I’m grateful to have my daughter back. Twelve years ago I feared the worst. I remember crying out, “I just want my daughter back.” I’ve met too many families whose loved one lost the battle, and I weep with them.
• I’m grateful for her recovery. Therefore, I want to shout it from the mountaintop – I want the world to know. The Lord walked beside me through our journey because I invited Him in to my day to day world. He helped me cope.

I live in gratitude.

• I’m grateful for the people who come to my presentations on mental illness.
• I’m grateful for those who support my work with a book purchase.
• I’m grateful for the people who share the book with their friends and families. It helps bring undertanding to those not affected.
• I’m grateful for those who take time to write a review. It helps keep our story in front of others.
• Last, but not least, I’m grateful to the publisher, Familius, for the publication of Broken Brain, Fortified Faith and offering it right now for at half-price for those who wish to share our journey.

Together, let’s make a difference. Thank you!

 

 

 

 

Gratitude – November 20

Sometimes, discouragement tries to get the better of me. Self-doubt reigns high.

Last Wednesday, I had such a day. I pushed myself all day to stay the course with my writing, in spite of the nagging thought – this isn’t any good. Who wants to read this? There’s so many great authors and stories out there.

Enter Thursday morning. I found an annonymous thank you note in my mailbox that told me to continue to shine the light of Christ in the world. Wow!

Then, I had an unexpected visitor within a day. We had a wonderful conversation about allowing the Holy Spirit to work through our lives. He affirmed via a text that he saw that in me. Wow #2.

To complete the gratitude adjustment, I opened my e-mail to an invitation to present for a group in early January. Wow #3.

Within twenty-four hours, three unrelated things gave me a boost to stay the course.

I’m grateful to the God winks that came at the exact time I needed it. And I’m thankful.

Happy Monday.

 

Gratitude – November 18

I got to spend some time with my daughter, Amber, today. I enjoyed the few hours we spent in conversation face to face. Most of the time, we talk on our phones because she lives a couple of hours from me. This morning we went to breakfast and chatted in her livingroom with our feet up. It was so relaxing.

So today, I’m grateful for time spent with her, and the communication that was made easy by the invention of the telephone. It’s been around for a long time and most of the time I take it for granted. I’ve always had a phone. As a little girl on the farm, we had a party line that we shared with the neighbors. We each had a unique ring and you were supposed to answer your ring, and no other rings. Which we did, most of the time. I admit, when Mom and Dad were gone, I listened to the neighbor girl talk to her boyfriend. Shame on me.

When I first married Roy, we had a party line, too. That didn’t last long and we had a private line with just our ring coming into the house. One phone on the wall in the diningroom was sufficient.

Over the years, we added extensions in other rooms. This seemed like a luxury. We rarely made long distance phone calls because of the expense and used them with caution.

Enter the first hand held phones. We felt new freedom with our phone. We could walk from one room to another as we talked. Wow, we thought, can it get any better than this?

It could, and it did. Cell phones. Our first one looked like a purse, but boy, we sure enjoyed it. As they got smaller and more powerful, we upgraded until now we carry one almost all the time. It slips into our pockets. We take photos on them and share them instantly with whoever we please.

We communicate with ease with friends, family and business acquaintances without a second thought.

Today, I”m grateful for telephones.

Gratitude – November 16/17

I look around and see volunteers who work tirelessly without pay or even recognition. Today, I am grateful for these good people who work for the benefit of others behind the scenes.

Today, I want to spotlight a group that many people have not heard about, and are not aware of their hard work and important service they provide. NAMI – The National Alliance on Mental Illness.

This national organization began in 1979 because a few families dreamt of a day when families received support as they dealt with their loved ones’ mental illness. It spread across our nation to reach people in all fifty states.

I found this group of wonderful, supportive people when I needed them the most. Our family was in crisis and I felt so alone. They drew me into their circle of education, comfort, and support as we dealt with the confusing world of mental illness. Through this fantastic organization, I learned about what my daughter faced, and I changed me. This helped me cope and support her in a way that enabled her to rebuild her life. She battled against her brain disorder, schizophrenia, and won. Today, she lives in recovery as she manages her illness with grace and dignity. She works full-time, manages all her own affairs (both medical and financial), lives on her own and has a social life that makes me tired.

Today, I tip my hat to the people who work to improve the lives of families everywhere, both in this wonderful organization, and to all the volunteer organizations that go about their mission to improve the lives of people they will never meet.

May God bless you in all your work. And thank you.

Gratitude – November 10

I grew up with games. I can still remember sitting around the table after our evening meal with my brothers as we played a game. We spent many hours with the traditional board games and a variety of card games. We grew up a competitive bunch, passed the family tradition down to our children, who, in turn, shared this trait with their children.

Last night, I reaped the benefit of the “inherited” attitude. Two of my three grandchildren visited me. After we finished our evening meal, we cleared the table and the competition began.

The game started with plenty of challenges, and big talk. My nephew, who lives with us, my grandson, my granddaughter, and I had played this game a few weeks ago and everyone felt a determination to win. As the game progressed, the intensity increased until the four of us stood around the table anxious for our turn. “Hurry. Your turn. Don’t do that, Noooooo!” were a few of the comments tossed back and forth like an exchanged game piece. An abundance of groans accompanied moves that involved sabotoge, and bold reminders that Christmas was just around the corner.

As the game concluded, we’d share a roomful of laughter and a large dose of humility (for me.) The grandson schooled me with almost twice as many points. The nephew came in right behind him, while my granddaughter and I came close to a tie for last place.

We made a memory last night as we shared a family tradition, enjoyed a game, but mostly, the company. An eighteen-year-old, a fourteen-year-old, an eleven-year-old, and a sixty-two year old, who stayed up past her bedtime, had a blast as we enjoyed an evening that knew no age boundaries or restraints.

I’m a grateful grandma this morning. I missed posting my gratitude adjustment yesterday, but these three young people came in first on my list of priorities.

I spend my time with them in gratitude.

Gratitude – November 8

“God bless you.” I grew up hearing this every time I sneezed. My mom, grandmothers, aunts, uncles – it seems that everyone had this response. Now, I react in the same way – “God bless you.”

So, today, I’m grateful for tissues. Yes, tissues. I grab one to wipe my runny nose, dab my eyes when something touches my heart, or hand to someone who needs it for the same reason. We got through boxes of them each year in our home.

We take them for granted. Before the wide distribution of them, people used cloth made of cotton. The movies illustrated to me a couple uses: women dropped them for the gentlemen to pick up and hand to them, or people offered their personal handkerchief to someone who needed one as a gesture of kindness.

I thought about this the other day. I’m glad for those portable tissue packs most women carry in their purse. I, for one, take comfort in the fact that when I’m offered one, it has not been used already to wipe a brow, or worse yet, a nose.

When someone asks me if they can borrow a tissue, I refuse. “No, you can’t borrow it. I don’t want it back when you’re done. I’ll give you one and you can keep it,” I say as I respond with a smile. It’s falls into the same class as a band-aid. I really don’t want it back after it’s used.

Tissues came about because of a shortage cotton during World War I. Kimberly-Clark developed cellucotton, an absorbent cotton-like material for surgical bandages on the battlefield and in the hospitals.

After the war, they had a surplus and looked for a new use. They marketed the product as a cold-creme remover cloth to Hollywood and Broadway. Soon, women complained that their husbands blew their noses in them.The demand by consumers for something to use on their nose switched it to our current product.

In the early 1920’s, the invention of a cardboard pop-up tissues box, propelled them into what is now a common household necessity for most of us.

I’m grateful for disposable tissues.

The photograph for today? Last spring, as I visited libraries across our state to talk about mental illness and sign my book, I spent time in new communities. I explored the local shops and tried to leave a bit of my pocket-money with them. I found this wooden tissue box in a second-hand furniture/craft store. I bought it as a decorative reminder of my journey across the state, plus I thought it fit my decor and personality.

Happy Wednesday.

And, God bless you.

 

 

 

 

Gratitude – November 6

This month, I challenged myself to look around and find gratitude for things I often overlook. Things I take for granted.

Right now, at 5:35 a.m. on Monday, my kitchen sink is full of dirty dishes. Not an ideal way to begin the week. But since I like to use Sunday as a day of rest, I didn’t want to wash them last night. Neither did either of my family – hubby or nephew (who makes his home with us.)  Worn out from the week, my bed’s invitation ranked higher than the sink’s.

Today, I’m grateful for dirty dishes. Why? Because we had plenty to eat yesterday. We had breakfast, a nice meal after church, and popcorn for our supper (our weekly tradition.) Lunch consisted of baked chicken, (I had salmon,) potatoes, butternut squash, green beans, and ice cream for dessert. The potatoes and squash were from my backyard garden.

I did take time yesterday to freeze the last of the kale from my garden. (For me, this falls into the same category as the sheep in the pit Jesus referred to in the book of Matthew – timing. I couldn’t let it go to waste.) It’s a wonderful feeling to know I can go to my freezer multiple times this winter, pull out a bag of kale, and toss it in a pot of soup.

I went to bed last night with a full and happy tummy.  I know I’ll get what I need to eat today, tomorrow, and more than likely, every day for the rest of my life. And for that, I’m very, very grateful.

What can I do with this? Me, one person?

I can make donations to food kitchens, food pantries, and other organizations that feed those who don’t have the same privilege.

Happy Monday. Live in gratitude.

I think I’ll go wash the dishes.

Gratitude – November 5

Yesterday, as I searched the junk drawer in my kitchen – the place where everything that needs a home lands – I found a slip of paper from a fortune cookie from who knows when..

I smiled. What timing!

On November 1, I took the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) challenge to write a 50,000 word novel during the month of November, my first attempt at fiction.

I’ve had the idea rolling around in my head since 2015. I decided the time is now to bring the characters to life.

After only four days I wondered if I could do it? Can I stick with the writing schedule I gave myself? Write 1700 or more words each day?

Discouragement set in.

And then I found a reminder on how to enjoy the process: “Keep your ideas flexible and don’t ignore details.”

This told me: Lighten up; just let the ideas flow. Let my creative side go free, without censor. And don’t forget to add details to keep it interesting, but make sure to stay consistent with facts.  Above all – have fun with it.

All this because of an open drawer, a long-forgotten fortune, and a resolve to stay the course. Simple things that melded into motivation. This reminds me stay alert for signs to guide my way – to watch at all times for these things I call God winks. And for that I’m grateful.

Happy Sunday.

 

 

 

 

 

Gratitude – November 4

Shoes.

I put them on each morning. I take them off each night. Sometimes, I change during the day into a different pair. Just for fun, I counted my shoes. I have a two pair of sports shoes – both black; dress shoes –black and brown; sandals – again, black and brown; Mary Jane style flats – black and khaki; and, boots – black, knee boots and snow boots. Me, one person, owns ten pairs of footwear.

Perhaps, many people might think ten pairs is a lot, while some people may think it’s not very many. But it works for me. I have what I need, plus a few extra, and for that, I’m grateful.

For I’ve seen poverty, real poverty, when one pair of shoes for a six-year-old boy was like the golden ticket to him. I remember the day with clarity.

In 2011, I visited an orphanage in Africa. Each child lived within a family type unit. Each unit had a house-mother, actually two women who rotated their live-in role on a two-week basis. The “family” ranged from the youngest toddler or infant to a teen, with all ages in between.

That day, one young man in particular stands out in my memory. As I sat in the immaculate front room on a comfortable couch, his “Mom” asked him if he wanted to show me what he’d just received. His face brightened and he scampered back to the bedroom that he shared with his “brothers.” He returned with a simple box. But, he carried it as if he had the jeweled crown of England on a pillow. He walked up to me, slowly and carefully. He stopped in front of me and held out his treasure for my inspection.

“I got shoes. Now, I can go to school,” he said. The pride in his voice almost brought me to tears.

The box contained one pair of black, dress shoes. 

“He can go to school, now, that he has shoes,” his “Mom” said. She, too, beamed with pride for the young man in her care. 

My view of shoes changed forever.

I’m grateful for my abundance of shoes.

            What fills your heart with gratitude today?

Gratitude – November 2

When the world around me feels like a hurricane, or when I’m feeling a bit lonely, or just too tired to do one more thing, I know I can find another world and escape. Even if it’s only for an hour or two, I can join someone else in their world and forget my troubles.

When I look at it that way, it does seem bizarre. Leave my own problems only to immerse myself in a different one? The difference is – mine are real, but I can escape into a world created in the imagination of someone else. I can walk to my bookshelf and find a book, and relax.

As far back as I can remember, I’ve loved books. Mom took my brothers and me to the library in a near-by town almost every week. I always checked out a stack of books. I devoured them, often by the light of the lamp beside my bed. In the morning, I didn’t want to get out of bed, so I often skipped breakfast and dashed out the door just in touch to catch the bus. Read. School. Repeat.

Today, I’m grateful for the world of books that have surrounded me since I can remember, and the authors who wrote them. As a young girl, I solved mysteries with Trixie Belden, Nancy Drew, and Encyclopedia Brown. I went to the circus with Toby Tyler, plus I had an eclectic collection of other adventures. As I grew, so did my interests. I found biographies, and autobiographies. I felt inspired by the qualities exhibited through the lives of strong-willed people.

As a young mom, with four small children, I had a little time to read, except stories to the children. Once they all went to school, I carved out time in January and February to “indulge” in my passion. I took a “stay-cation” with my books long before someone coined the phrase.

I’ve had a friendship with books throughout my entire life. Today, I’m grateful to all the authors who’ve accompanied me through the years. Now, I collect books signed by the authors. These books feel extra special. I hope to continue to meet new friends and books as I move forward.  My list of “Want to Read” books grows taller by the day.

What are you grateful for today?

 

 

Gratitude

Later this month, many of us plan to gather to celebrate Thanksgiving, an American holiday. A popular quote, with many variations, that floats around the internet states, “What if you woke up tomorrow with only the things you thanked God for yesterday?”

It’s a valid thought. I think most of us take too much for granted. I’m as guilty as the next person. In an effort to zero in on the many ways I lead a comfortable life, I plan to write a short piece each day of November to remind myself of the little things that I neglect to notice. Please join me. I hope you’ll be inspired to find one thing each day that helps you feel grateful.

November 1.

Outside the wind is sharp, the air is cold, and here I sit in my recliner. My feet are up and a warm, fuzzy blanket covers my legs. I can look out my semi-clean window and see rust-colored leaves cling to the branches of an oak tree. I have a cup of coffee to my right to wash down a snack of nuts and dried cranberries. Behind my back, a cushion supports me as I rest my computer on my lap.

After I turned fifty, I discovered a new hobby. I’d always written the dreaded Christmas newsletter and sent it to my friends and relatives, but I hadn’t given serious writing any thought until 2008. Now, the thoughts and stories I want to record bounce around in my head most of the time.

Today, I’m grateful for this quiet, cozy atmosphere where I get to write that includes a recliner, a blanket, coffee, computer, and a beautiful tree.

How about you? What fills your heart with gratitude today?