Category: Dream

CHAPTER NINE

Published on by Glenna S. Edwards2 Comments

CHAPTER NINE

Every valley shall be raised up,
    every mountain and hill made low;
the rough ground shall become level,
     the rugged places a plain. Isaiah 40:4

Sweat drips down my jawline. I promise myself that I will not pull out the map copies that Paul helped me memorize. I like them because each part of our path is blown up in 8.5 x 11 fashion. I have twelve pages for one week’s worth of hiking.

SunFloJo has mentioned a couple times that she has the official AT hiking map—perhaps the best one made. It is an accordion style single piece of paper, laminated. She took a class about how to read the terrain markings.

I do not want to insult the best map with my wrinkled papers. 

But I am a concerned about our situation.

If the backpack and I could melt into the ground, that would be ok with me. I have odd thoughts about weight such as maybe the staple holding my papers together is too heavy. Every unneeded item in the pack needs to be reassessed.

We reach a 4-way trail stop with a post marker on the AT trail near a small place in the woods called Rock Spring Cabin. There is a trail that leads down to the miniature cabin roof in the distance. There is no way we are taking extra steps to see that. We do not even discuss it. My eyes scan left, right, forward and behind me. Green and brown woods stretch as far as I can see and tall above us.

We are still new at reading the occasional four feet tall with four sides concrete markers with their slivers of metal inscriptions nailed around the top. The thin metal is stamped with minimal words and mileage that probably makes more sense to an experienced hiker. 

There is no ‘you’ve got this’ or ‘yes, Idiot, go that way’ written anywhere. I could use some assurance or encouragement at this point in the day.

Six miles over rocky terrain, with steep angles, straight up hill and then straight down hill all while carrying heavy packs began to create an intense kind of tired.

Standing at the post, SunFloJo furrows her brow. She pulls out the official map.

The girls ponder the pole, touching the words as if feeling the raised letters will help somehow. 

I set down my backpack to rest. Dropping it to the ground feels so good. My back can breathe.

I wait while SunFloJo continues to look puzzled.

Nervous, I ask, “Do you want me to get out the enlarged print outs of each area?”

SunFloJo says, “If you have a better map, then sure.”

 “It’s not better. Just a different type.”

This is SunFloJo’s plan, it is her dream. I want to respect that. She prepared for months. I watched YouTube and huffed and puffed around my neighborhood for a few weeks.

She nods to get them out, so I retrieve the papers for each day and trail section.

SunFloJo inspects the papers for comparison, then confidently points, “This way.”

We follow.

Surely, we are getting close to the end of the first day? I fantasize about setting up camp, cooking with JoAnn’s little stove. I would like to sprawl on the ground with nowhere to go until morning.

We trek on. And on. And on.

The trail becomes narrow. The path is 6-12 inches wide along a mountain’s edge. I did not anticipate walking along another mountain edge today. One slip of the foot and any of us could fall into a valley. To our right is a deep drop off. To our left, the dirt is taller than us.

Lots of rocks are under our feet. I am thinking about staying steady and not falling off this cliff. I send telepathy thoughts of thanks to Paul for insisting I take trekking poles. Wow, was he ever right about that. In challenging spots, I use the trekking poles like handrails to get me up and over rock or tree root obstacles. Was this really supposed to be a beginner course?

We turn to rest with our packs leaned on a rock. Everyone’s hair is in frayed ponytails to counter the heat. Delighted that the day could almost be over, I gain energy and decide to take off first. I lead our foursome for the first time on the trail.

No one seems to want to pass me, so I continue to lead along the narrow stretch. I try not to think about how closed in by leaves and branches we are. Or about Lyme disease. Or ticks. Don’t think about any of the bad stuff, Surrender.

Brown is the dominant color in this area. Branches reach out to scratch me. I am glad to wear long pants. We keep a decent pace while being silent as each person carefully assesses their steps so they do not fall. I can probably keep up this pace until the next time we rest.

I focus step by step until I see something slither left to right just one foot ahead of my foot. 

My brain registers what it is. My body freezes and my hands shake then slam down the trekking poles by my sides onto the rocks. My heart is on fire!

Before the trip, I researched what snakes to look out for in this region and am sure that was a bad one. Of course, are there any good ones when you are out in the woods like this?

The snake crossed my path but is still on the right side of the trail at this point. Its head looks back at me.

My abrupt stop reverberates through the group.

“What is it!?” I hear Sunshine and Stalker C say.

“Sssnake,” I muster from my locked-up body.

“Ooo,” SunFloJo is interested. She passes my stiff body to take a look.

“Mmm hmm,” she affirms. I imagine the girls are wide-eyed behind me.

“Yep, that’s a rattler wiggling on its tail.” SunFloJo is calm.

I have not moved. Gripping my poles, I mentally flip through Internet pictures. With multifaceted brown shading and a rattle, I know we have encountered a poisonous Timberland Rattler.

I watch the snake. Finally, it decides not to eat us and continues toward a tree on the cliff side.

Whew. I feel like moving my rusted Tin Man body now. Dehydration helped me not pee my pants.

I am nervous to pass the Timberland’s general area, but we must pass the snake and continue the trail. There is nowhere to run. There is no way to get off this ride. I try not to think about how many other snakes are probably nearby too.

We hike.

And we hike.

Then we hike some more.

I naturally slide to the back of our line, struggling to keep up with the group.

This day is taking forever. How could we be on top of a mountain, then at the bottom of a valley, back to the top of a mountain…then in another valley, only to begin climbing another mountain again? Wasn’t Day One supposed to be our short day?! 

According to Sunshine Rat’s Fitbit, which I am now starting to call the boob-o-meter because she keeps it in her bra, we have walked eight miles. 

Eight miles on a flat track or a road through town sounds doable. But with rocky terrain, multiple inclines and declines and a backpack that must weigh 45 pounds…well, I am about to die.

My feet swell inside my half-size-too-small magic boots. I am grateful for them, but the magic is gone.

We climb another steep hill. The path is evolved to 2 feet wide. The forest appears lush green again. I see a small stream of water flowing down the mountainside. If this was the beginning of the day I might be impressed and loving the beauty. 

At the end of the day, this is hell. Hell I say!  Everything hurts. Every muscle, my feet, and my toes shoot sharp pain with each step. My toes would feel better if I could cut them off.

I do not speak. Every effort must be spent on moving toward the end of this day. Dirt mixes with my sweat. My mind searches for coping mechanisms.

Please let the end be soon. 

If this is how each day is going to be, then I do not think I can do it.

I am going to have to find a place to park my body for the next few days. There are campgrounds somewhere. They can come back for me Saturday. 

SunFloJo is talking to me, but I do not hear her. One foot in front of the other: that is all I can do.

Sunshine Rat and Stalker C lead. After not seeing other humans for a long time, I hear them meet a couple. Sunshine asks, “What are your trail names?”

“I am Stinky-Braids,” A lady about my age says.

“I’m Other-Brother,” The man says.

Stalker C repeats, “Other-Brother?”

Stinky Braids chimes in, “His real name is Daryl.”

I catch up in time to smile at that Other Brother Daryl TV show reference while they all are laughing. I sit down to rest while they converse.

Then Stalker C & Sunshine Rat catch the next energy wave and are determined to climb what we hope is the last big hill of the day in front of us. The hill is straight up. I probably cannot do it without using both my legs and arms to hold onto rocks and trees. The girls storm ahead, soon out of sight. SunFloJo hangs back to look out for me. I hope she does not feel saddened by my lagging. I do not want to ruin her trip.

We start to see people come down the hill for an evening hike. They look fresh and free without heavy backpacks.

Strangers tell SunFloJo that our destination of Big Meadow is just at the top of the hill. In my exhausted state, I am not sure I believe them.

We join the climb while my head spins in disbelief. If I live to get to the top, I need to noodle my best plan for surviving this week. I am not sure I can do this adventure. I am more rattled than that snake’s tail earlier.

This is SunFloJo’s dream, her recon mission.

No matter what, I do not want her to quit because of me. She must keep going…even if I am the one who must call it quits. 

SunFloJo scales these trails like they are nothing. She is in shape. I am not.

Hopefully, I can convince her and the girls to keep going after tonight. I will find a spot to be safe for a few days alone.  

My body becomes one with the hill. I pull myself up with tree limbs and steady my poles on rocks as needed.

I wrestle to the top and practice how I will convince SunFloJo and the rest of the team to keep going. I know SunFloJo will not want to leave me behind, but I will be fine and they will do much better without me.

At the moment, I see no other solution except to quit.

If you would like to listen to the audio version of this creative work, please check out my Podcast: SURRENDER ON THE TRAIL.

Also, if you’re new here and want to start from the beginning, go to the SURRENDER ON THE TRAIL page of this website for the collection of chapters.

© Copyright 2016 Surrender On The Trail – Glenna S. Edwards Thanks for reading or listening. Check back next Sunday for CHAPTER TEN.

Uber Stress

Published on by Glenna S. Edwards

There was no calming my heartbeat. Blood rushed through my body. My back and head hurt. I was scared.

It took me 3 weeks to set up Uber on my phone. I knew how to use Uber as a passenger. I did not know how to be a driver. The app is so simple that I was confused. I watched driver YouTube videos and tutorials, uploaded my car related documents, but understood little. I gathered that in order to learn, I must go do.

I told Hubby Saturday evening that I was off to try my best. We are in the 10 day financial crunch period of the month so this gal’s gotta make extra dough.

Seemed like there is not much trip action for drivers in Kentucky so I nervously headed toward Ohio to a sketch neighborhood that showed fares available on the map. Gotta rip the band-aid off, I told myself.

Suddenly the phone beeped while I was still in Kentucky. I had a trip request. I pushed “accept”.

The app directed me to Bonefish Grill. I looked for a human, then realized I was there for a food pickup.

Ooohhh.

Inside the building, I felt the little kick in the stomach that sometimes comes when I see couples out having fun. Couples without wheelchairs everywhere.

Aside from that soon squelched jealousy, I wanted to scream, “This is my first time with Uber!”

So many thoughts.

Servers brought the food bag. I hoped it was all in there. I glanced at the number of containers, but I am not familiar with that restaurant’s food.

Off I went 10 miles to find house numbers in the dark.

A nonchalant woman took the food after I called her.

8 dollars earned. Was that enough of a trial run or should I continue?

I see a “$5 bonus for 3 series” trip on the map. I am not far away so I head that direction thinking, What type of person needs 3 back to back trips? Will this be a grandma who needs to run a few errands? At 930pm?

Shows how clueless I am. That was simply an enticement to stay in an area and do multiple trips.

Which was fine, bonus either way. My first passenger was named the same as my best friend’s daughter. That gave me comfort. She was a sweetheart too.

At one point, I felt lonely on top of my newbie anxiety. Then inbetween trips, I received a text from my bestie seeing if I was out giving Uber Driver a go. It meant a lot to be checked on and she reminded me of Joshua 1:9 at the very moment I had made $19.19.

Then our 17yo texted at 11:30pm to ask, “Everything ok?” before he went to bed. That warmed my soul.

I stopped around midnight with 5 total trips and 45 dollars. Thank you to Madeline and Autumn who tipped. I can’t figure out if there is a way to say thanks through the app.

That is all I could handle on a first go. No matter how I tried to be calm, I couldn’t manage to be relaxed in this new arena yet.

I’ll keep my car clean and try to pick up more this week.

For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go. Joshua 1:9

One Less Thing

Published on by Glenna S. Edwards

I realized my self-talk whispers “ok, one more thing” over and over each time a new daily challenge arrives. This came to my attention when suddenly I experienced a fifteen minute window where I soaked in the joy of One-Less-Thing instead.

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My car dashboard mirrors my life with its scattered warnings. The tire maintenance light is forever “on”. I’ve had 5 nail punctured tires over 5 months.

The service engine light greets me each morning. The oil change guy hooked up a gadget reader to tell me the light is nothing to worry about, but I wonder. The brake light won’t go out even when the emergency brake is released. I stopped looking up what the other lights mean in the manual.

The dashboard reminds me of the running narrative in my mind. It goes something like this: I’m still sick. Stress is not helping me get well. Drop the kid off at school. Go to work. Repeat. My voice refuses to come back. The cat puked. -One more thing. I need to make dinner. Sweep the house. Keep trying to sell the house. Clean the bathroom. Move the laundry. I really should write a letter or send a care package to our deployed son. What just fell off the house?! -One more thing. If you sit down, you’ll fall asleep. Get up. Give Hubby the light weight fork because it is easier for him to manage. Position his shoes in a way that will help him be less likely to fall. Move his phone to his next location so he is not thrown off balance by carrying something when he travels inside the house. Help the remaining kid with college applications. I need to go to Lowe’s. Heavy duty caulk. A new vacuum bag. Take out the trash and recycling. Prepare for presentations at work. Who do I need to call back? Have I followed through on all work tasks? Scoop litter box. Check personal email to see if anyone has responded to my manuscript query letters. Send more queries. Do we have gas in both cars? Pay bills in a way that hopefully does not cause an overdraft. It’s going to be close again this month. Is Hubby breathing? Is the cat breathing? I really need to make a vet appointment. -One more thing. There are other people I want to check in with. I text them. There are other people I would like to be there for. My capacity is too narrow. I can’t believe he hasn’t been able to work for a year. We need some mobility equipment. That will have to wait. The kid needs an eye appointment. -One more thing. I can’t make that work financially. How many hours of sleep can I get if I go to sleep right this minute? Why can’t I fall asleep? And so forth.

I try not to complain out loud. “Just keep swimming” as Dory says. But seriously, if there is a Santa out there who wants to buy our house so we can leave and start over, that would be GREAT.

Today I uprooted this tree growing into our fence and felt delighted by the image. Yes, we are ready to be uprooted.

In an attempt to make extra cash, I placed an ad to be a Pet Sitter. I can squeeze in dog walking and more cat litter scooping. I can love on animals and give neighbors peace of mind. The first response? Someone needs help with a cat until they get out of jail in February. So many thoughts. Bless their heart. Sigh….

One day I will not feel so stuck. I visualize selling a manuscript and being in an affordable and accessible home. One day I’ll be in the land of all three. I have learned hard lessons. I can do better.

This week our youngest got a job. Go kid! And he broke my heart by saying, “You won’t have to worry about Christmas, Mom, ’cause I’ll be able to buy my own presents.” The sentiment is good. The reality hurts.

A new job means he needs new pants. We make a plan to go to the store Wednesday. I secretly stress about how to afford the pants, but I think we can make it work. I don’t want him to know how close we are cutting it.

On Tuesday evening I drag my work bag into the house as the guys say, “We have a surprise.”

There on the kitchen table are new pants one day early. Hubby even used a coupon. In my book, that’s hot. Hubby had a decent afternoon and they worked together. I hear that the wheelchair got stuck in the JCPenny door, and they figured that out too.

In the moment, I physically felt something fall off the to-do list. One. Less. Thing. This felt magical. I soaked in the joy for fifteen intentional minutes. I smiled in my own home. This surprise felt so good!

This was a glimpse that things can be better. Will be better. I will trust the process.

To all those who struggle, I send you a giant cyber hug. You can do this. We can do this. Deep, slow breaths.

And now I must go.

The cat puked.

Love,

Glenna

One Light Town

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After a 12 hour hot date with Nyquil, I opened my eyes at 10am. It’s been a rough week healthwise. I feel much better now.

I live on the edge by wearing a favorite pair of jeans that are so thread worn in the booty that I should have thrown them away months ago. Clean and dressed, I head to the annual Books By The Banks festival in downtown Cincinnati, Ohio. Hubby reminds me as I go out the door to look for two writers with connections to his hometown.

McKee, Kentucky’s population is approximately 1,000. The town rests in a deep valley between mountains in Jackson County. There is one traffic light. If the light doesn’t stop you, it takes 20 seconds to drive into and out of McKee.

I have traveled to McKee to see family for 27 years. I love the rich green vines that cover trees and the bright starry nights. I sense nature’s peace there and less electricity in the air. The oxygen is dense. I often leave feeling rested even if I slept on someone’s floor.

The first thing I do upon arrival to Books By The Banks is to attend an author panel. I learn a few tidbits about publishing. The talk affirms that my work is heading in the right direction.

Then I head to the sea of authors and books in a large conference hall. I find Gwenda Bond. Her new book is the prequel to Stranger Things. [How cool is that?! We LOVE the Netflix show Stranger Things at our house!]

Gwenda is the daughter of Hubby’s high school chemistry teacher. I shared our connection and asked Gwenda how her mom is doing. She gave me an update to take home to Hubby and signed a book for us. She has other books I hope to read also. Her website is www.GwendaBond.com.

Next I find Keven McQueen. His books involve spooky tales from various areas of the country. Keven was a year ahead of Hubby in high school. He signed our book “Jackson County High School Forever!” Me, Mrs. Messenger, caught up a little with him. Keven and Hubby are friends on Facebook so they could connect later too. His website is www.KevenMcQueenStories.com.

How about that? Two best selling authors from Eastern Kentucky. Big wishes for much success to them and all the authors at Books By The Banks yesterday!

Before leaving I scanned my Instagram stories and realized one of the books I put on my read soon list is there too. The book is Midnight at the Blackbird Cafe. The author, Heather Webber, is represented by my current dream Literary Agent. I walk back to meet Heather. She confirms her agent is as great as I estimate from research.

I posted this on my Insta story:

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Too much? I dunno.

It was a good time!

Author Heather Webber’s website is www.HeatherWebber.com.

The world is big and small at the same time.

Love,

Glenna

* The authors included in this post said ok to picture posting and to me blogging about the experience. Other cool things happened too, but I didn't ask permission to share those moments. Join me next year at #BBTBCincy!

In the Stillness

Published on by Glenna S. Edwards1 Comment

Chronic illness and caregiving are lonely places to be. And a lonely place can be smack dab in the middle of your own house. It is easy to be forgotten when you don’t show up hardly anywhere social anymore. It’s easy to miss friends even when you talk to them a lot via text.

This is one of those posts that is scary to write because I certainly don’t want to hurt Hubby’s feelings; however, he has said to me before maybe if you write the truth it will help other people not feel as alone.

I try to look at our situation like we’re lucky because we have each other. If you’ve ever lived this type of life, then you know that’s just as funny as it is true. I hold onto what I can. I miss him. And I hate that he feels (in my opinion) sick 80+% of the time. We each silently regret some of the things we could have been out doing in our early years together.

There is sweetness too. When he verbally appreciates my weak effort to do house chores. When he offers me quiet time in the house because he knows the silence soothes me. When he will go to the end of the Google search engine to research anything the boys or I need. And, I have my thoughts about him always being a man of integrity. That is one of the things that attracted me to him long ago. Recently he agreed to do an audio book club with me. I am hopeful the first book discussion will be fun from our different perspectives. I’ve listened through chapter 9 so far.

I ponder if this time of both rest and stress ultimately helps me focus more time on writing projects. The quote below got my attention this morning after waking up from another nightmare for the sixth morning in a row:

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Writers need a platform. Mine is growing. I am thankful that my Twitter followers are 18 away from 1,000 (as of the time of this post) which I read is an important step in jumping onto a propulsion algorithm. We shall see. Fingers crossed. It’s not about “likes” for publishers. It is about “would anyone buy her book?”. Since I am 60% introvert and 40% extrovert, this writer life climb is filled with internal conflict–hence the nightmares? Being on a team is joyful for me. Putting my neck out there solo causes a touch of angst.

I enjoy getting to know a little bit about people in the writing world who live around the globe. That part of the journey is fun. I just cyber-met someone who is on number 200 of her 300 bucket list items. How cool is she? Go girl, @VickyJones7.

So in this life filled with challenges, I say: Carry on in the stillness. Carry on in the Light. Carry on, dear readers, carry on.

Much love,

Glenna

Exodus 14:14 The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.

What We Think vs. What Is, Plus Tea

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Dear People,

I admired her. I wanted her to like me. I hoped we’d be friends.

And–I was fairly sure she didn’t think anything at all about me.

That lady was busy doing important things that I liked being part of even if on the fringe. She might not have known my first and/or last name.

I attempted a conversation or two. I doubted my spoken words connected to her brain.

Isn’t that how it goes sometimes? We like someone. We share similar ideas with them. They do work we think is cool. We are confident they have zero interest in getting to know us.

Years later she calls me. Wha…wha…what?

She wants to meet at a restaurant.

So I go.

And it turns out she likes my brain too.

She has been reading my blog and asks me to help her think through a couple things.  Then she asks me to pray for her weekly in the months ahead as she works on a project.

I say…ok.

Like, O and K together softly, genuinely.

Before agreeing I took a few seconds to think about whether I could fit her request into my life. Which, I gotta say, is one of my most grown up moments. To consider if I could make time for something new, to think about if I could honor her and my word, ah, yes, that is an adult moment for me.

Connection isn’t always obvious, dear readers. Sometimes less is more. We don’t have to force anything. Be present. Be kind. Carry on. Don’t compromise. Be you. Things come around if they are meant to be.

This example gives me hope that a relationship with a literary agent will come into my life too. It’s happened for others. It will happen for me too. I’ve written two novels in three years (dog gone it) while in the midst of serious life changes.

The pressure is on and off at the same time. My coal is being pressed. I’m learning all I can about who might be my #DreamAgent. It will happen. I know you’re out there.

Until then I am sipping Hot Cinnamon Spice tea on a Sunday morning. I’ve learned that quality tea and taking time to breathe is valuable. I’m putting my mug out there and wishing peace for you and your dreams too.

Love,

Glenna

 

I love you, Ariel Gore

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She showed up for me.

We never met in person, but her words knew me.  I feel my face smile chapter after chapter of Ariel Gore’s book How to Become a Famous Writer Before You’re Dead.  My eyes enlarge and my head nods each page turn.

Is this what it’s like when a writer encourages the deep inner being of another writer?

Yes.

Ariel,  thank you.

Around page 79 an unexpected tear escapes and a memory flashes through my brain.  I remember the day no one showed up.  Not a soul.  Every other college student had parents, grandparents, maybe aunts and uncles too.  Dang.

The ceremony is held in a red brick colonial style building with tall windows trimmed in white.  The large room has plenty of chairs, food that I am too scared to touch, and lemonade that I dare to enjoy.  I am thirsty.  My writing professors say hello and are pulled away because other people’s people want to meet them.  I find a seat in an empty row on a green cushioned chair with a straight backrest made of metal painted white.

While today that scene cuts me a bit, I assure you that on the actual day I am joyful and feel justice is about to be announced.  I am 22 years old and delighted.

“This year’s Best Graduating Senior Writer goes to…Glenna S. Edwards for her submission Bertha.”

I make my way to receive the certificate and $500 check.  Only on rewind do I remember the surprised audience members whose faces turn to question that the alone girl is a winner.  The money is a bonus compared to the certificate that I want most.  I need someone to say I am a good writer.  And they do out loud and on paper.  Boom!

This was the vengeance I longed for because four years earlier at a smaller scale spring time writers event, no one said anything.

That was high school.  Back when I participate in many extracurriculars, but the only award I ever hope for is the Golden Pen award.  A plaque hangs in the English department where the new winner’s name will be engraved.

Sitting in the cafeteria listening for the announcement, my 18-year-old mind practices being a good loser.  The only other candidate who might win deserves the prize too.  I will remain kind and congratulate her then run home to lament.

I also practice remaining calm and gracious if I do win.  I will not jump up and down though my legs may try to betray me.

The other possible winner may throw a fit.  She has a reputation.  She has publicly wailed sometimes when things did not go her way.  I try to remember her personal story about how her mom didn’t know she was pregnant until she went to the hospital for extreme food poisoning but came home with a baby.  For reasons I do not fully understand while in my youth, her tale helps me be patient with Miss Could-Make-A-Scene.

The teacher says into the microphone, “Thank you for coming tonight.  This concludes our evening.”

What?!  They must have forgotten.  I see the other candidate ask about the Golden Pen.  The teacher pretends not to hear.  We all go home never to know exactly why the 1990 Golden Pen is not awarded.

My adult self has multiple guesses why 1990 was skipped.  And I remain thankful 1994 happened.

To my writer friends, read Ariel Gore’s book How To Become A Famous Writer Before You’re Dead.  It is encouragement served all you can eat buffet style.

To be fair to those who knew me in 1994, I didn’t know to ask for representation.  I realize now why the obvious choices didn’t jump at the chance.  Me becoming a writer terrified blue-collar adults around me.

To Ariel, I promise never to use the word p_ _ _ _ _ _ _ mentioned on page 82.  I get it.

Much love & peace to all readers & dreamers.  oxox

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Eyeballs On Row4ALS

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They finally caught my full attention after months of me casually following them on Instagram.

“They” are a team who is preparing to row across the Atlantic ocean!

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On board will be the first person with ALS to be part of such a feat.  You can read Alan’s story on their website http://www.row4als.org.

As I type the Row4ALS team is in Spain preparing for their December to February journey.  Their goal is to raise money to cure ALS.

I am concerned that they do not have enough social media followers!  Please follow or like Row4ALS on Instagram or Facebook!  They have a Twitter account too, but it does not seem as active as Instagram and Facebook.

As readers know, ALS has hit our family hard.  I am inspired by the Row4ALS team.  Most mornings when I wake up, I pull the covers up and ask for a hug from Jesus.  Then I read verses from the Bible.  Then I look to make sure Hubby is breathing.  Then I watch the latest on Instagram from Row4ALS.

Go Alan & team!  Thank you for seeking a cure!

Deuteronomy 31:6 ~ Be strong and of good courage, do not fear nor be afraid…; for the LORD your God, He is the One who goes with you. He will not leave you nor forsake you.

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I’ll Tell You First

Published on by Glenna S. Edwards2 Comments

I ponder who to call.

The friend who will cheer for the dream despite disappointment?  The problem solving friend?  The friend who will wallow in the sadness with me for a few minutes?  The friend who will say what I want to hear?

Stars are visible in the night sky.  I drive silent.  The Holy Spirit touches my heart and I sense a, “How about you tell Me first?”

This leads me to ask myself, How many times do I tell God last?  

Answer:  Often.

This time I choose differently.  I turn off the car and sit in the driveway to converse with our Creator before approaching the threshold into house chores, next day work prep, mom, wife, and caregiver roles.

Dear God,

The publisher that stayed in touch since June and seemed to seriously consider my manuscript finally sent the decision email.  I’m sad, Lord.  She’s passing.  I really thought she was the person to take next steps with me.  Please show me what to do going forward.  I surrender to Your will for this book.  Amen.”

One thing I’ve learned especially in the last two years is that every time I am perplexed the best choice is to surrender.  Immediately.

What to do will become clear soon.  For now I will be still and listen.

Exodus 14:14. The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still.

Love,

Signature GSE

 

In About A Year…

Published on by Glenna S. Edwards2 Comments

She energizes me every time we are together.

We make a plan of attack.  We let go of stress.  We choose to focus on our project and nothing beyond the scope of that project.  We slash 12-15 occupied hours from our week to make this happen.  This is bold and brave in my tangled world.  This is unpaid time to create something bigger, better, broader.  This choice frees our minds and invites creative space.

We have been so busy delivering the service that we miss consistent time to compile, gather, and finish content for the workshop series.  We’ve done the research.  Now we write what we’ve wanted to complete for three years.  More youth and children can have access to the opportunity in upcoming days when we hit pause so we can adjust our work.  As a different friend says, “Sometimes you need to take a minute.”

We pick a date for our next meeting and hit the bi-weekly calendar repeat button.  It feels good to be with a fellow creative person.  And she’s so smart.  She’s done the surrender work in her own life.  She is at peace.  I want peace.

Back in the car I think, In about a year we’re going to meet our goal.  Maybe in six months!

My car rattles.  I make my way to the highway, then catch myself.  No.  Not in a year.  Not in 6 months.  We will do the work and it will happen as it happens.  This project will unfold as it is meant to be.

I will not force it.

I will surrender to the process.

I will do my part of the work and we will see the reveal in time.

I pray, Show me the way.

I am a planner who can also be spontaneous.  I get hung up in the goal setting and walk in circles around the straight line that would be the easiest route.  I make things harder.  Not this time.

Make me a new vessel, Lord.  Guide my path.  Not my will, but Yours.  I don’t want my work-all-night-to-meet-a-deadline mode of operation.  No.  Not this time.

And so, the project begins with fresh air and a relaxed attitude.

       Proverbs 37:7 Rest in the LORD and wait patiently for Him; Do not fret….

In about a year…  We will diligently do the work with an open mind and see what happens.  I will rest when it’s time to rest and I will work when it’s time to work.

Does this make sense to other artists/writers out there?  Does surrender lead to a better way through life’s path?  I welcome your thoughts.

Pictures from the Cincinnati Nature Center on 9/17/18.  I was there for a training event.  The instructor gave us time to explore.  I saw deer, frogs, turtles, and I watched the leaves begin their seasonal descent.

God bless you,

Signature GSE