The Juggler

When I need to chew on a particular problem in my life, I often find that I end up cleaning.  While my close friends will tell you that I clean all the time—don’t listen to them.  They’re lying!  No, really.  Contrary to popular belief, I don’t clean all the time.  In fact, my husband and son often complain I don’t clean enough.  Which brings me to today and the current problem on my mind, thus my latest round of obsessive thinking aka cleaning.

I have an antique bookcase that sits atop my desk and every time I dust it, I wonder why in the world I bought the old thing.  Why did I spend hours lovingly restoring something that gets so messy in what seems like only a matter of days?   It’s that very question that brings me back to the problem at hand.

In case you didn’t know, I’m a type A personality, a real “All the way A” as my dear husband likes to remind me.  And while many of the character traits of A’s are a very good thing, the easiest way to topple us isn’t to yell or move a deadline or double book us.  Ha!  We A’s can handle that.  Disable our Wi-Fi or hide our phone and we get a bit more upset, but trust me, we rebound fast.  In my experience, we A’s get our knees knocked out from under us when we find our lives out of balance.  We like the world just so and have a strong sense of order, we A’s; a trait not unlike our analytic brother’s in arms that find themselves on the other end of many a personality test scale. 

So when I say I’ve taken to calling 2014 the year without balance, you can probably understand my angst.  I pride myself on doing the things I undertake well so I’ll be the first to admit when issues arise within my finely honed system, I don’t respond with any amount of grace.  None.  But I’ll also be the first to admit that after forty four years of life on this planet, I think I’ve finally started to realize I don’t need to be doing everything I currently find myself doing.  It’s an A thing, you see, rarely saying NO.  In my case, I usually pride myself on seeing just how much I can juggle.  But I can assure you this isn’t always the wisest plan.  And I can assure you juggling comes at a cost.

It wasn’t until recently when I scanned the board and looked at everything I was juggling that I realized where I was coming up short.  I've been holding the bag on a bunch of things I don't even really enjoy doing which brings me to the realization that I don’t want to be a world-class juggler anymore.  After some heartfelt reflection and a hefty does of prayer, for the first time in a very long while, I feel completely at peace NOT tossing five plates into the air and seeing how fast they can turn.  It's time to focus.

I have books to write and new ventures to launch and antiques to refinish.  I have a family I adore and I’m grateful I’ve finally realized they’re far too precious to juggle.  I have friends I cherish and I’ve realized they aren’t for tossing about, either.  At best, I think I’m in for juggling as a hobby.  Besides, I have a bookcase to dust.

Welcome, Spring Fling Hoppers

Hey, hoppers!  Glad you found me!  I'm excited to be part of this event and hope you decide to comment on the question I have for you at the end of this post.  

Even if you’ve never had occasion to need the serenity prayer, my guess is almost every person can recite some portion of it.

God, grant me the serenity 
to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can and wisdom to know the difference.

But did you know there’s quite a bit more to the prayer?  I didn’t either until a few days ago when the bottom fell out of what I would have called my otherwise typical, boring life.

Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time, accepting hardships as the pathway to peace.  Taking, as He did, this sinful world
 as it is, not as I would have it. Trusting that He will make all things right
 if I surrender to His will.  That I may be reasonably happy in this life 
and supremely happy with Him forever in the next.  
Amen.                                                                                                                       -Reinhold Neibuhr

My son is in his first year of middle school, seventh grade.  And while it’s been a transition I’m not sure I was ready for, as I look back over the year, it dawns on me the very things I worried about having to deal with as a part of seventh grade just a week ago no longer bother me at all.  Last week when a classmate took his own life, my son’s world changed forever and suddenly texts and first girlfriends and hours of homework didn’t seem to matter so much anymore.  At times over the last few days, the uncertainty has felt overwhelming.

But the truth is, I know there’s hope.  In this crazy world we live in, I hate that it takes a tragedy to see the good in people.  Although it often takes a backseat to flashier, more marketable news, good is out there, lurking in the shadows, at the ready to help in a crisis.  Ready to help right the wrongs and create the happy ending.

Which is why I believe writers write.  It’s why I write.  I can head to my office and lose myself for hours in the worlds I create, making life on paper as perfect or dysfunctional as I want for my characters.  God has blessed me with the ability to be largely transparent about the hurts and hang-ups in my own life and in turn, I feel he's blessed me with the ability to be able to use those things ripped from real life and spin them out in incredible ways on paper.  It’s my sincere hope that I can use the issues in the world spinning around me in a way that helps someone else make sense of their own wacky world.

I think we all want good to triumph.  For those of us that write our hurts and hopes into fiction, it’s why we want heroes to rush in and save the day.  It’s why we love to get lost in fairy tales.  It’s why we love to hate the bad boy in our stories but make sure the good guy gets the girl.  That's the part of the prayer I cling to, not as I would have it (this world) but trusting He will make it right.  That's where I find my hope.

Just as the hurts in life are sure to come, we’re sure to continue to hope and look for the good in those around us and we'll continue to write our stories.  And while I’m sorry it had to happen this way, hope is the very reason my son decided to put pen to paper this time last week.

Here’s more about my debut release, Hope 22…

In the aftermath of losing his wife and unborn son, professional quarterback Brody Jackson turns to his faith, making a vow to live a life that will honor those he’s lost.  Yet on a field of endeavor where outrageous antics get a player noticed and if it feels good, do it often seems to be the maxim, walking the straight and narrow path can be a hard thing for a guy to do.

Whitney Ryan is in the mother of all slumps, struggling to watch as her player ranking dips into double digits.  With three weeks to go until she’s slated for her next tournament, Whitney would rather be anywhere than on the tennis court and under her mother’s constant glare.  When Whitney decides to run away from her responsibilities, her resolve is firm—she doesn’t need anyone getting in her way, especially a know-it-all with problems of his own.

When two household names holding widely varying views on how to live life in the spotlight and measure success are thrown together, is there any hope they can call a time out and find middle ground?

Readers can find Hope 22 here...

GIVEAWAY time!

How about a $10.00 Amazon gift card and a copy of Hope 22?  All you have to do to enter is leave me a comment.  Tell me an issue you’d most like to see tackled in a story…  Check this post Monday, March 24, 2014 after 5 pm EST to see who wins. I’ll post the winning name and info on what to do next here.

Be sure to drop by Hops with Heart to continue hopping and don’t forget to enter the Rafflecopter below for a chance to win some really nice grand prizes.  Thanks for stopping by!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Why all this snow isn't so bad

Here in fabulous Indianapolis, we’ve received 50+” of snow in less than two months.  “Suck it up,” our friends from Michigan say.  “It is winter after all,” the native Minnesotans laugh.  “What’s the big deal?”  Plain and simple—we’re spoiled.  We’ve gotten used to mild winters.  While they say it takes twenty one days to start a good habit, trust me when I say it only takes one mild winter to set new expectations.  And that’s exactly the problem, we had two mild winters in a row before Snowmaggedon hit.  I’m talking don’t stock up on ice melt and replace the broken snow shovel mild.  You get the point.  And while I’m guilty of complaining, driving through yet another drift this morning, it dawned on me I might be looking at this all wrong.  That being said, here are several reasons why all this snow isn’t really all that bad:

1.  Never again will I have to endure my child praying for a snow day.  Yep—we’ve shoveled that prayer right out of him.  Now the words snow day equal hard work so miracle of miracle, he’s cured!

2.  Snow forces me to slow down.  Although I spend part of my day at a desk, as a stay-at-home mom, I also spend hours each day on the go.  As a result, I often find myself participating in many of those not so healthy habits like driving through for fast food and eating in my car or driving a bit too fast in an effort not to be late to my next stop.  There have been several days this winter we’ve been stuck at home and I’ve actually cooked a full meal!  And when we have gotten out, caution has prevailed over swiftness as it pertains to getting where I’m going safely. 

3.  Packed snow lessens the harshness of the speed bumps in the school parking lot.  I drive through that lot numerous times a day.  While it might sound petty, to my way of thinking this is a real perk.

4.  Snow lets me embrace my OCD in a new way.  50” of snow has proven my need to have the perfect driveway.  Or what my husband laughing calls a work of art.  At our house, we each take the side our car is on.  We each have a shovel we prefer over the others.  Mine’s blue with a metal edge.  At the end of the task, it never fails.  My side looks like ice sculptors came through and carved out the driveway while my husband’s side looks like a guy in a hurry came through and hit the high spots.  Then there’s the matter of the end of drive, that pesky section where the city has plowed leaving double the depth and mini glaciers.  I dig that out and use a floor scraper to clear away the hard pack while hubby’s side looks like a skating rink.  It’s true--I’m on my fifth bag of environmentally friendly ice melt this season.

5.  Snow gave us a reason to find new nicknames for each of our dogs.  Instead of Beamer, Bentley, Blazer and Bristol (I’ll let that soak in a second.  Yeah, they all start with B and they’re all named for cars) we now have Wuss Boy, Scaredy Cat, Ms. Over It and Snow Plow.

6.  It allows me the awesome opportunity to be in the trenches with my son.  Yes, we own a snow blower.  A nice one in fact.  One that shows little wear given those mild winters of the past we were so used to.  But snow blowers come with pros and cons of their own and I know in the early years, my son will be more invested in buying big screen televisions and projection systems than he will a snow blower so I decided to go old school this winter as a means of teaching him the value of knowing how to do a job correctly with just the basic tools.  And it’s this that has truly made all the difference in the world for our family this winter.  There’s my son, as tall as me and far stronger, taking on his dad’s side, trying to push a whole row of 6+ inches a full shovel width, going nowhere fast in the middle of the drive while I’m working my plan on my side, cutting a quarter shovel full row by row without issue.  I’m almost done (even with the mini glaciers) and if I do say so myself, my side looks terrific, and while he’s huffed and puffed quite a bit, the kiddo hasn’t even hit the quarter mark yet. But it’s then I hear the question I’ve been secretly praying to hear.  “I don’t know how you did that so fast but since you’re done already, will you help me?”  “No,” I respond, to which he scowls.  “But I will teach you my secret.”  He smiles at me and it was at that exact moment the Heaven’s opened and all this stupid snow truly became a blessing.

Valentine's Blog Hop

I'll be participating in a blog hop over the Valentine's Day holiday.  Please be sure to visit all of the authors on the tour and stop a moment to chat with us!  There's a Kindle in it for one lucky commentator!

Donna Steele                         
Jane Wakely

Nancy LaPonzina                    
JL Oiler

BethAnn Buehler                    
Jennifer Wilck

Lila Munro                               
Eleanor Tatum

Sheila Dool                             
Nick Santa Rosa

                                               a Rafflecopter giveaway ">

Two Days and Counting!

Surely by now everyone has received at least ten of these types of emails advertisements this season, right?   Only ten days left!  Hurry in!  You might miss out on something incredible!  What are you waiting for?  Hurry!  Hurry!  Hurry!  Only eight days left!  Are you stupid?  Three days, people!  Where are you?  HURRY!  You’re going to miss it!

If you’re anything like me, by the time you get done reading an ad like the one above, your heart’s racing and you feel a building anxiety over the fact you might just miss something if you don’t indeed hurry.  Even if all was well in your world before you even knew that ad existed.  Even if you had things well in hand this holiday season, the ad most likely did its job.  Have you ever noticed how marketers play on emotions that sit way too close to the surface for many of us?  They unsettle you (Am I ready?).  They place doubt (Did I get the best deal?).  They might even play on fear (Is what I’ve done good enough?). 

I’m the first to admit I can easily get caught up in this hurry frenzy.  As the baby of five kids, I never wanted to miss out on anything growing up and I can proudly say in just over forty years, nothing’s changed.  I still hate missing out.  I’m the first one up on Black Friday and I’ve even been known to follow a certain big brown truck to a nearby game store on release day for a kiddo I happen to adore.  I can hear you laughing but don’t judge me.  My guess is you’ve probably done this same type of thing, especially if you have children.  Whether it happens to you during the holidays or at some other time of year, like a birthday or special occasion, it doesn’t matter.  Even though my kiddo is older now, I can still hear his pleas from past holidays ringing in my ears.  But mom, you have to hurry!  They open at 4am on Saturday but you only have an hour.  If you aren’t one of the first three in line, they’ll sell out and I’ll be the only kid without a copy of the game!  It’s a boatload of pressure, I’ll tell you.  Like the little angel knew what he was getting anyway.  Yet there I went, running around town in a constant panic, wondering if I was going fast enough, afraid I’d miss out.

The morning I shared the details of the delivery man stalking incident to a good friend over coffee was right about the time I had the good sense to hit the pause button and insert a little sanity check into my life.  I heard the words coming out of my mouth, my confession if you will, but honestly, I couldn’t believe what I was saying.  I did what?  Why?  And then it hit me.

There’s a truth out there advertisers don’t want us to know.  Save for one or two new electronic items you might not even want or need, there’s nothing new this season that you’re going to miss is if don’t hurry.  While it’s true you might save a few dollars here and there, research indicates that stores only deeply discount a small handful of items banking on the hope you’ll fill your cart with other regularly priced merchandise while waiting in line to grab one of only five Hero Princess figurines being sold in the next ten minutes for fifty cents.  They’re counting on your trip to snag Hero Princess for under a buck costing you closer to a hundred dollars before you leave their fine establishment.

Whether you’ll be spending a quiet evening curled up with a good book this Christmas or circulating a room filled with family and friends, my guess is what you most need to hear you won’t find in any advertisement set to hit your inbox in the coming days.  Friends, you don’t need to hurry.  In fact, if you can find a few hours, let yourself rest and try hard not to feel guilty about it.  Remind yourself that most likely, you’re ready.  And if you’re not, force yourself to make a sane to do list you actually have a shot at accomplishing rather than a manifesto that will leave you feeling inadequate when you fall short.  Trust that you got the best deal.  If you learn that Hero Princess is going to be on sale for a quarter for five minutes on Christmas Eve, say a prayer for the sucker that’s going to be standing in line rather than diving for your wallet and coat.

Is what you’ve done good enough?  I bet it is.  If you share your heart with someone this Christmas, if you reach out and make vulnerable a bit of yourself you otherwise keep guarded, you’ll ace Christmas 2013.  And if you don’t find yourself chasing a delivery truck?  That’s some serious extra credit.

The Housekeeper

There’s a touching moment in the movie Spanglish when the soft spoken, big hearted housekeeper swoops in and saves the day, or rather she saves the shy, sweetheart of an overweight teenage girl from the disapproving shadow of her perfectionist mom. 

In this particular scene, the teenager again fails to measure up and can’t begin to hope to please her mother by fitting into the size four jacket the mom buys her as a birthday gift.  “It’s way too small,” the teenager offers, shame lacing her quiet words.  ”You’ll diet into it,” the mother taunts to which the teen turns away and sighs.  “Yeah, right.”  The jacket gets tossed and lands in the bottom of the closet.  It’s a mountain too tall to tackle. 

Enter the housekeeper.  She sees what goes down and manages to stay out of it for the moment due to the language barrier that exists between her family and that of her employer (and she’s manages not to backhand the mom in the process which makes her a better woman than me) but as you’re watching the movie, you know it’s far from over.  There’s more going on than meets the eye and there’s this mountain of unfinished business to tend to.  So the housekeeper snags the jacket when no one’s looking and the movie rolls into an unrelated scene.

It’s my belief this is how it is for many of us this time of year.  There’s more going on than meets the eye.  Trees are going up and lights are twinkling.  Carols are ringing and there’s a very big reason to hold on to thoughts of joy and renewal.  But for most of us, there’s also unfinished business.  And yes, it’s far easier to toss it, whatever it is, to the bottom of the closet and roll to an unrelated scene than it is to deal with our mountain.

In my own family of origin, our mountain is formed by grief and fear.  My sister has been gone several years, but if anything, her absence is felt more deeply now than ever.  As her beautiful children grow and thrive and move fully into adulthood, there’s reason to celebrate.  A job promotion.  Nursing school graduation.  There’s even a wedding to plan.  Our sorrow over the fact my sister can’t be here to celebrate these milestones in her children’s lives is so overwhelming at times it’s as if we can reach out and squeeze it between our fingers.  It certainly dims the lights on all those trees.  My brother is in the grips of a hideous addiction and every time the phone rings, the fear rises. It steals our words and drowns out the lyrics to familiar tunes speaking of joy and peace.  If ever there was a mountain, surely this is the highest. 

As I watch the film, I’m reminded that my own family needs a soft-spoken, big-hearted housekeeper in the worst of ways.  In the movie, the housekeeper has a plan.  She has talent and the good sense to put it to use.  In her spare time, our gal’s been letting out that new jacket, easing the seams and adding fabric until she gets the size just right.  Then she musters the courage to overcome the lack of common language that stands between she and teen.  She knows the girl wants the jacket.  It was the gift meant to be the highlight of the teen’s birthday.  It’s important and the reason has little, if anything, to do with fashion.

“It’s no use,” the teen says.  “It doesn’t fit.”

“Just try it on,” the housekeeper manages in fairly decent English.  She’s been practicing. 

The teen shakes her head.

“Just try it on.”

A second refusal.

“Just try it on,” the housekeeper urges with a bit more gusto as the teen looks on, not making a move toward the garment. 

I took a cue from the housekeeper and invited my mom to the Christmas concert at our church.  It was big ask.  My mom is struggling right now because of that big mountain planted smack dab in the middle of our family.  She has next to no Christmas spirit and every song she hears on the radio makes her cry.  Seems everything makes her cry these days.

“It’s for a good cause,” I offer. (Just try it on).  Yes, I bought three tickets when I only needed two.  I’ve seen what’s going down in my family and I’ve been practicing.

“The weather’s going to be bad,” mom counters.

“I’ll drive.”  (Just try it on).

“All that Christmas music is going to make me cry and I’ll be embarrassed,” she lobs at me in a last ditch effort to shut me up.

“This year’s a bit different, mom.  We’re mixing traditional Christmas songs with music from The Story.  We’ve spent thirty-two weeks reading through the bible and the music has been amazing.” (Just try it on).  My mom knows this yet I feel the need to remind her.  She attends our church once every couple of months when she comes to visit.  She loves our church.  “I think Heather’s singing,” I add quickly.  (Just try it on).  Ha!  I’ve gone for the jugular.  I’m in this fight to win it.  My mom adores Heather and it just so happens Heather is a key member of the vocal team at our church.  Surely she’ll be singing something at the Christmas concert.  Right?

When we took our seats and the lights came up, we were blown away.  Matt Bays and the vocal team at our church, Northview Church, blew the doors off both the music of the Story and of many traditional Christmas songs we can all name within three notes.  With every song the night got better.  By the time we got to Run, Run Rudolph, it dawned on me my mom hadn’t cried but had laughed and clapped and sang along and been moved all in one.  And the mountain trembled.  I know it because I saw it with my own eyes.  Which leaves me more determined than ever to see through the eyes of the housekeeper more often.  How can I help?  What can I do to effect change?  If not me, do I know someone that can help?  My answer came in the form of a Christmas concert hosted by some amazingly talented artists who crafted something with heart and vision.  But I had to learn the English and be persistent.  Just try it on.

While I don’t want to ruin the movie for you, it’s my sincere belief a perfect fit is possible for all of us.  You’ve just got to be willing to be the housekeeper.