Nudges and Mentors

Why do I feel guilty for writing this post today?

Because every minute I spend here is eating away the minutes and word count for  NaNoWriMo .

But I’m compelled to thank two people, whom I started following in the last few months. (Not in a stalker sort of way, that would be creepy.)  Two gifted writers/mentors who’ve encouraged, prodded, and destroyed all my excuses for not jumping in with both, shall we say, hands:  Gwen Hernandez  and Jeff Goins

So here’s my shout out. Thank you, Gwen! Thank you, Jeff!

My little blog is one unique snowflake on Mt. Blog Everest. But we all know what happens to a little ball of snow once it gets rolling and picks up speed. “Look out, below!”

Okay, I’m outta here. I’ve got a mountain to conquer by midnight, Nov. 30th.:

Climbing it one word in front of the other, eyes focused on the peak.


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Sunsets and Hope

I’m a night owl by nature.

I’ve seen far more sunsets than sunrises over my lifetime. I never tire of preserving them in digital posterity.

Time is visual, tangible, as the Sun speeds toward the hungry horizon. My thoughts immersed, clinging to fading, golden light.

Disappointments are buried in this death of a day. I will rise in hope, tomorrow, with fresh light to see this path I’m traveling. Thankful, for the grace of a new day.

A new day to: love, learn, grow, dream…

Sunset over the Pacific~ Oct. 2012

Creation’s Symphony

flames ripple in
languid sun-kissed reflections
amid craving fauna.
muted mirrors
illuminate liquid sunsets.
nature bows in praise,
glorifying creator
of heaven and earth.

This was my first acrostic poem. Did you notice? If you guessed it, leave the answer in comments. Thanks.

How do Sunsets inspire you?

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My Mighty Pen

Poetry was my first love.

My Lair

As my writing cravings grew, prose wooed me away.

I was torn between two lovers.

Why must I choose? I wont! I can’t.

I will hold you both in my arms; come what may.

We will learn and grow, mingle and love each other.

Our fruit will be vivid, nourishing, life-giving.


I wrote this fun poem a few years ago, as I was musing over these thoughts:

My Mighty Pen

Ah, quiet.
Desires stirring.
Characters growing,
filling up the recesses of my mind.
Light floods in.
The dam breaks.
My pen ebbs and flows across the scene,
keeping rhythm with the dictates of my thoughts.
“Mom, What’s for dinner?”
Visions die on the tip of my pen.
Faces recede into the shadows.
My pen is transformed into a sword.
I wield it with abandon till all has been conquered
and thrown into the pot.
Ah, one more hour to simmer and dream…


How has your writing branched out and mutated over the years?

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What is Life?

Some would say I’m an old soul.

I have always felt a little out of place in this world, more of an observer than a participator. An intent listener, selective with my words. Conversations usually sputter and die in the shallow waters of pleasantries. I literally feel a weight in my chest as conversations dry up. It’s a thirst quenching occasion, indeed, when one ventures into deeper waters, to contemplate and explore the secrets of the universe with me. I feel invigorated after these immersing communions.

“What is life?” As a child, this question haunted me in the night as I lay staring, listening to the wind, shadows and moonlight fighting for my allegiance. I don’t remember when my late night musings turned to prayers, I must have been 5 or 6 years old. “If you’re there God, if you are real, give me a sign. Make that reflection on the wall flicker three times”…it never did. Such are the ways of childish prayers.

I liked going to Sunday School.

My Dad would drop my sister and I off every Sunday morning.


I’ve always been drawn to beautiful churches.

I enjoyed singing the songs with the curious words I never heard spoken at home. I liked the way my dime clinked in the offering plate as it passed by. When the Reverend dismissed the children for Sunday School, I always wondered what mysteries I was missing out on. The longing look in my sister’s eyes, as she headed to Catechism, made me feel curiously homesick. I’d picture her sitting at her desk, alone, in our bedroom, frustration etched with tears running down her face, dutifully trying to memorize long answers to lofty questions about God.

After church, we waited with growling stomachs for Dad to pick us up. I passed the time in guilty amusement, sneaking peeks at the Reverend in his flowing, black and white robe, the smoke of his cigarette anointing the exiting Parishioners. The ride home always seemed longer than our stomachs could endure. The fragrant aroma of French toast and bacon were the first to greet us, followed by our Mom and little brother.  My heart is filled with wistful, cherished memories of those Sunday brunches with my family.

I have vague recollections of truths learned, the few years I attended Sunday School. My teacher said, “Never pray, ‘…if you will do this God…’ or ‘…I hope you can do this God…,’ that shows a lack of faith in God’s greatness.” It would be many years before I understood the truth of these words. I was most excited for church at Easter and Christmas time. I loved the unfamiliar contentment I felt, my siblings and I wedged between Mom and Dad, dressed in our finest, as we joined in singing familiar holiday hymns. All three of us children were baptized on Easter Sunday, I was eight years old. We stopped going to church after that. My prayers faded back to musings.

I was twelve when my parents divorced. There are some memories I wish I could go back in time and change…even now, after all these years. I was bitter through most of my teen years, my revenge displaying itself in distance and silence. That sounds so calloused; divorce has a tendency to do that to a young heart. Inside I was hurt, disillusioned, numb. Why couldn’t my parents see past their own hardened hearts and into the broken hearts of their children? It took many years to find compassion and empathy for what they did to us. I understand now. I forgive them.

Along with divorce came freedom, and far too much for a teenager. Mom had no choice, she had to go back to work. She was single again after being married sixteen years, only 34…and beautiful. My older sister tried to fill the void; I resented her for that. My friends became my world: life was a party. I experimented with drugs and boys. I loved what we now refer to as “70’s Rock.” I’d listen to and contemplate their lyrics for hours, searching for some secret code of meaning not comprehended by my hazy-brained peers. I felt like I didn’t belong, like I was on the other side of a window, looking in.

I didn’t like what I saw on the other side. Every now and then, a beckoning light would cast my own reflection onto the window and I would stare into glazed eyes wondering, “What is life?”. I couldn’t ignore the darkness of my own soul any longer. Musings became prayers, again.

I love to be alone with my thoughts and books. But, I was never a loner. My chest of treasured family and friends has grown rich through the years. I have much to be thankful for in this life.  God’s call is mysterious. I kicked and screamed and questioned the call…God always wins, I’m thankful He does. Saint Augustine said, “You have made us, O Lord, for yourself, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.” I have now been resting in God’s cleansing love and grace for 34 years. I will save those stories, with all their joys and messiness, for another day.

My heart is pounding, fingers trembling, thoughts swirling as I stumble on this cluttered path of words. Words, words everywhere, vying for their place in the light, bottle-necked at my finger tips.I remember the spark that spurred this flame, like a torch being passed on an Olympic journey around the World. His words, his voice, seared into the pages of time to ignite dormant desires in the hearts of the called. He used the pen of a seasoned writer, but my soul heard his voice through the words. How could a quote, one little sentence, make one’s heart burn with such certainty?

Easter 1968 ~The year my siblings and I were baptized.

About twenty years ago, as I was flipping to the next month on an inspirational calendar,  my eyes were drawn to a quote. My breath hitched, a torch was lit. I had an epiphany as I read: “There are a thousand thoughts lying within a man that he does not know till he takes up the pen to write.” ~William Makepeace Thackeray (how fitting is his middle name). I prayed, and I knew from that moment that being a writer was in my veins and in my future. The words and musings in my head would have an audience someday. Starting, today.

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True Love Covers All (Our Nakedness)

Love takes many forms.

I love my friends, but not the way I love my children.
I love my husband, but not the way I love God.

God’s love informs my love for all.

(Revealing the selfishness and blindness of the way I love others- and God.)

I choose (sometimes, kicking and screaming on the inside) to love my family and friends with unconditional love. (The battle sucks, but the victory is sweet.)
Meaning, my love towards others is not based on how I’m treated-
Not, “do unto others as they do unto you,”
but, love others the way you want to be loved, the way, I know, God loves us in Christ.

God’s love is not based on how I behave towards Him or others. (This is Good News, indeed!)

God is Love.

If humanity (me and you) could truly believe and comprehend the width, height, depth, and length (picture a cross) of God’s love toward us, we would all be utterly  humbled.

This world has turned love’s focus inward. (That’s the nature of sin, folks.)
Self satisfaction is what motivates all of us to love.

“If you make me feel good, then I’ll show ‘love’ to you,” -is shown through how people treat each other with such judgement, disrespect and lack of compassion.

People cut humanity into groups, elevating some and degrading others.

True love is selfless.

True love is compassionate, strong, holds you tight when you feel weak.
True love forgives many times. (So thankful for this kind of gracious Love.)

True love mirrors love to others, to show them love’s true path. (John 14:6)

True love is empathetic, kind, lovingly truthful, patient, giving, courageous, wise.

Almost seems too good to be true, doesn’t it?

Maybe that’s why, so few will go to the One who is Love…
It’s much easier to be selfish, than admit that we are.

Love Comes From God  1 John 4:7-10 (ERV)

Dear friends, we should love each other, because love comes from God. Everyone who loves has become God’s child. And so everyone who loves knows God. Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love. This is how God showed his love to us: He sent his only Son into the world to give us life through him. 10 True love is God’s love for us, not our love for God. He sent his Son as the way to take away our sins.

1 Corinthians 13:4-7 (ESV)

…4 Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful;it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things… 

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Our Surety of Life, Realized.

Our Surety of Life, Realized.

Welcome to my life.

I wear many hats: Daughter, Sister, Wife, Mother, Grammy, Friend, Mentor, Teacher, Writer…all of my “hats” hang on the tree of my faith in Christ.

This blog is about the journey of faith in all of life’s joys and messiness.

Christ is: “Our surety of life, realized.” (based on Hebrews 7:22-25; 11:1)

For “In Him we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28)

Does this sound strange to you, or make perfect sense?

We are all on this journey together. I hope my surety of faith will spark empathy and bring encouragement to your own journey through life.

Come, walk with me…

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