Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘Free to be me’ Category

Sound bytes. That’s all I seem to have time for these days. It’s easy and I’m lazy. Period. I’ve had a love hate relationship with blogging and a love love relationship with Facebook. It’s true. Just ask one of my 1600 closest friends. Pop on in for a pseudo-conversation and a peek at my latest flair or mobile upload. Stop by here and see the dust collecting on my pretty daisies. It’s sad really, my laziness. I love writing, so why don’t I make the time to put fingers to keys and produce something worth reading? Laziness. Oh how I hate that word. Poor time management. Yes, that too. I like Facebook. Did I mention it’s easier?

I fondly remember the days when my blogging buddies and I frequented each others pages, spreading our encouragement, laughing at each other’s silliness, praying each other through the crappy days, and recommending books, music, movies, and other blogs. Many of them have abandoned blogging all together. Me? I’ve been treading water for a long time, trying to decide if I was circling the drain, just out for a lazy (there’s that word again) float, or if I was just taking a little break from the exercise.

Blogging used to be fun. Then I joined a writer’s group and it became not-so-fun. (Yes, I worded the sentence that way on purpose.) What was once spontaneous and gave me a public voice, became a millstone around my neck as I learned about platform, audience, self-promotion, and the words, “If you want to be successful, you NEED a blog.” Uh oh. Did I sense a bandwagon approaching? Is that what happened? Someone told me that I NEED a blog, so my rebellious spirit rose up to prove them wrong? I had been blogging for 5 years at that point. I didn’t NEED my blog, but I wanted it.  I watched as friends who had no desire to blog, created their sites and dutifully (another word I’m not fond of) clicked away to build their network. I hopped on over to Facebook and began getting friend requests from writers who don’t know me but wanted me to “be their fan” and help promote their work. Sure. I can do that. But me? Forced to blog because that’s what writers do? That rebellious spirit planted both feet, squared her shoulders up (can you see her hands on her hips and the challenging gleam in her eyes?) and said, “Wanna bet?”

Who likes being told what to do? How do I reign that girl in? How is it August already and I haven’t posted since January? I’m feeling it again. I want to blog. I want to connect through the written word and I want to have the freedom to use more than 140 characters, so I still fail to see the point of Twitter. Sorry. Facebook is my friend, but I miss my old friends, so here I am. I’m back again.

How have you been?

Read Full Post »

ymca-lodge-in-winter1

In two weeks I’m headed to the beautiful YMCA of the Rockies for my first ever writer’s conference.  As I prepare for that few days away from my family, I am filled with excitement and a little apprehension. My friend Kristi and I will be staying in her cabin in Estes Park, and I will know a few people at the conference, but I’m intimidated by all that I don’t know. We talked about conference preparedness at one of my writer’s groups last week, which helped, but I’m feeling a strong need to be myself even if I might do things a little differently than some of the more experienced attendees. I want to fit in and yet stick with what works for me, you know?

The 4 day conference will be filled with making friends, general sessions led by phenomenal speakers, and what I’m most excited about, attending a variety of workshops.  There are so many to choose from! I started marking off  those I’m most interested in, and quickly realized I’m totally on the non-fiction track. I think that suits me. I’m looking forward to soaking up the knowledge the speakers have to share with me.  Here are a few of the workshops I’m planning on attending: Writing Compelling True Stories (Creative Nonfiction), Writing in the Niches: How to Identify, Connect With, and Maximize Your Audience, Map to Magazine Writing, and The Literature of Personal Disaster.

So where does the apprehension come in? Being asked, “So what do you write?” and not knowing how to answer. Do I say I’m a blogger? An anthology contributor? I know what I am NOT, and I’m still figuring out what I AM. Is it a good thing to be clearly defined? It is in the writing world, and I’m not there yet. I’m hoping this conference will give me some direction and confidence about where I’m headed. I’m going to do my best to leave my expectations at home.

All the talk I’ve heard about “selling yourself” makes me nervous too. I hear this is one of the more relaxed conferences where jeans aren’t totally frowned upon, which is good since that’s what I’m most comfortable wearing. I can dress jeans up a little with a cute shirt, so I’m going to dress like me and not worry about looking “professional” this time around. I’m not planning any meetings with Agents or Editors, so no business suits, but no pink fuzzy slippers either. 🙂

“Write His Answer” is the theme this year. The website says, “If you long for your words to make a difference in the lives of your readers, if your heart’s desire is to be encouraged and equipped to write about a God who is real, who is reachable, and who changes lives…”  Yes! That’s me!  Please pray that God will give me His direction in how to accomplish that goal like only I can.

http://writehisanswer.com/Colorado/

Read Full Post »

Today’s post will make more sense if you read this one first. Also, Tawnya’s post titled “God’s little gifts” is related as well.

Three weeks ago today I sat on this very rock. I was hurting and broken-overwhelmed by the unfair hand life had been dealing me lately. An upcoming trip had me nervous and on edge. I had been awakened that morning by a horrible dream that left me feeling dirty, exposed, and shamed. I had asked God to purify me before my feet could hit the floor and to help me release and get rid of the images seared into my mind. Our worship service that morning had left me wanting to escape, and I shared an awkward moment with a friend whom I’d never felt that tense with before. It was hard. I was feeling lost and not like myself.

God had given me a song that morning, as He often does. “My Rest in Faith” played over and over in my head. It was a comfort, but I needed something more. I needed to get away and I needed to give some struggles and fears to God. My friend Heather had posted on her blog about a healing exercise she did on July 4th. I found it inspirational and decided I would do it too. Paula and Heather picked me up and we drove an hour into the mountains. We had lunch in a cozy little cafe in Georgetown, and then drove further up the mountain. There was a road that wound down and around leading us to a stream. We parked and Paula pulled a big blanket from the trunk which we laid on the ground and then we dropped to our knees. My friends held my hands and prayed over me, and in the middle of her prayer, Paula began to sing one of my favorite worship songs.

All who are thirsty, all who are weak

Come to the fountain, dip your heart in the stream of Life.

Let the pain and the sorrow be washed away in the waves of His mercy

As deep cries out to deep, we sing:

Come, Lord Jesus, Come.

As tears formed mini rivers down my cheeks and my nose began to drip, I thanked God for meeting me there and comforting me through my friends. It was a good thing we had remembered to bring Kleenex. After a long, beautiful prayer, I took the plastic bag I brought with me from the car and began to gather rocks. Heather settled in with her journal while Paula went for a walk. All of us were lost in our own thoughts, yet somehow together. I set out looking for stones smooth enough to write on. I came across a small round one and picked it up, letting the coldness of it sink into my hand as I thought of King David. He too had gathered stones once. Five of them, though he only needed one.

“I need a rock, Lord” I told Him. “Can you please just give me one heart-shaped rock today? Please Lord?”

I dropped more rocks into my bag, and then sat down on a big boulder away from the road. I talked with God for a few minutes and even sang a song to Him. I thanked him for my friends and the blessings in my life. I told Him my plan for the sack of stones I was carrying. When I stood up to start back up the path to the stream, there right in front of me in the middle of the path was my answered prayer. A sob escaped my throat and the tears came quickly as I cried out loudly, “Thank You Lord!” I wept as I picked up my granite gift. Almost immediately I asked the Lord for another one. Isn’t that just like me…asking God for what I want, Him giving it to me, then me asking for more. Later as I retold this story to Benny he pointed out that maybe I had not asked for enough in the first place. Interesting point he’s got there.

As I settled in on this rock hanging out over the stream, I pulled my hot pink sharpie from my pocket and grabbed the first stone. One by one I wrote a word on a rock, explained to God what it meant to me and why I wanted to give it to Him, then threw it into the rushing waters to symbolize me giving it up. FEAR was the first one to go. Then Lust. Then self-hatred. That was followed by pride and anger. I tattooed rocks as fast as the thoughts came to me. Some I threw as hard and far as I could, and some I carefully positioned to drop into certain parts of the rapids. Some made me cry, and some just brought flooding feelings of relief. The words of Forrest Gump came back to me then, “Sometimes I guess there’s just not enough rocks”. And I cried some more.

When I couldn’t think of anything else to write, I asked God if He had anything in mind. The words He gave me came in waves as I acknowledged each thing He reminded me of. When it was finished, I had seven rocks left. I smiled…my favorite number…the name of our ministry…God is funny like that. Twenty-one rocks sank to the bottom of the stream that day. Seven came home with us. Not the ones I had left over. I took those and named family and friends, prayed over them, and released them to God as well.

By the time I was finished, a soft rain was falling. It was cool and healing, and I took it as a sign. He was washing away the residue from the things I had just given to Him. As I went to find my friends, I found two more heart-shaped rocks. We met back on the blanket, and I showed them what I had found and we laughed and delighted in God’s abundance. Then I walked back down to the stream to wash the marker off of me and found two more in the clear flowing water– which I presented to each of my friends. We packed up to leave and talked about how good it felt to get away like that and to meet God in His beautiful creation. We also talked about how glad we were that we had brought jackets. 😉

We decided to take the long, scenic route back to Denver, and as we drove over Guanella Pass, we came to a waterfall on the side of the road. I had to get out of the car to get a better look, raining or not. There in the gravel that lined the road, I found the last two rocks of the day. Seven in all. Though I saw several more, they were too big to carry home. I was surprised that they just kept coming, so Benny’s comment made sense to me. While I was more concerned about being selfish in my asking, God had more for me than what I was asking for! Why do I do that? How do I get over that?

Today Heather and I returned to that spot and I spent some time on that same rock that had been my platform of freedom three weeks ago. I journaled a bit and began writing this post. And guess what? A soft rain began to fall and I was reminded once again that God is renewing me and restoring my soul. I also found two heart-shaped rocks. I remembered not to sell God short this time. After all, He loves to show me how much He loves me, and Forrest was right…sometimes I guess there’s just not enough rocks!

Read Full Post »

« Newer Posts