Ordinarily Extraordinary

Fences Can Almost Always Be Climbed

Fences line the country roads of my youth. Keeping the animals from escape. Keeping them safe.

How many fences do we have in our lives that keep us safe? Sometimes safe does not lead us to our purpose. Safe does not always allow us to grow. 

Do you build fences around your heart out of fear? Has your fear of failing built a fence between you and your dream? 

Do you ever feel others build fences to keep you from becoming who you want to be? Their expectations smothering your true purpose?

To be fair many times these expectations are assumed by us and not overtly given. Perhaps we observe actions or gossip causing us to realize our friends would not approve of the real us. So we hide part of who we are or what we believe. 

I have been a people pleaser most of my life. I have lived wanting everyone to like me. I could see what was on the other side. What I could accomplish. But the fences, their expectations, felt safe. If I decide to scale that fence they won't like me. If I verbalize how I truly feel about certain things they will judge. 

But this fear of failing? This fear of no one liking me? They have built fences around my dreams. 

While I am learning to overcome this need for people to like me, there are still days I hold back. The fear of not being good enough still attacks. 

The thing about fences though? They can almost always be climbed over.

Linking up with Peter Pollock for the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival.

 

Sunday, Monday

My mind stays hurried and unfocused recently. Accomplishing small bits of tasks here and there until eventually complete. Frustrating myself. Poor sleep, immediate technology in part to blame. 

Then Sunday afternoon closing out July I set aside the painting and scrapbooking I plan to do and instead curl up in my favorite chair with a book I started two weeks ago. The Help. I begin thinking I’ll read for half an hour and work on the painting that awaits me. Three and a half hours later I’m still reading. 

I have not lost myself in a book for that length of time in months. Taking a break to exercise I return later in the evening to read more. Another hour and a half later I turn the last page. 

Painting and scrapbooking and all plans other than the exercise abandoned. Something my mind and spirit needed. 

Today I check the mail. An already good day made even better. Our yearly update on our World Vision sponsored child. A new photo showing how he’s grown. Squirt asking again “Can we go to Africa?” “I wish it were that easy,” I reply. Shifting my mind to Writing Joy & other World Vision bloggers in Bolivia this week. Sharing stories of what World Vision is doing. That tug at my heart to apply for a World Vision blogging trips returns. 

Will you follow along on their trip as they share the stories? 

I continue counting the gifts.

476. For all the different birds playing in my yard as I sit on my porch. (7/25/11)

477. For the motivation to push through and write. (7/25/11)

478. For energy & motivation to run/walk four miles after three days off. (7/26/12)

479. For hummingbirds at my feeders. (7/26/11)

480. For cool breeze on a hot summer afternoon. (7/26/11)

481. For new clients emailing to book a session. (7/26/11)

482. For Sherry and Elizabeth. (7/27/11)

483. For getting to talk to Sarah Beth. (7/28/11)

484. Star gazing in the hammock. Seeing a shooting star. (7/28/11)

485. For motivation to move even though wasn't feeling well. (7/29/11)

486. For a day where I accomplished what I wanted to. (7/30/11)

487. For Ann. (7/30/11)

488. For Highlands. (7/31/11)

489. For an afternoon of hours of reading. (7/31/11)

490. For energy to run when all I wanted to do was take a nap. (7/31/11)

491. For losing two more pounds. (7/31/11)

492. For another shooting star. (7/31/11)

493. For a morning with a friend at the pool. (8/1/11)

494. For kiddo deciding he liked his painting he finished when he didn't like it at first. (8/1/11)

495. For energy to go run when all I wanted to do was take a nap. (8/1/11)

496. For our yearly update on our Word Vision sponsored child. (8/1/11)

497. Two afternoon thunderstorms with sunshine in between. (8/1/11)

Jesus, My Father, the CIA & Me by Ian Cron: a Review

I was hesitant to read Jesus, My Father, the CIA, and Me: a Memoir of Sorts by Ian Morgan. Not because I didn't think it would be worth it. I knew it would be after seeing reviews, but I have read so many memoirs recently that I wondered if I should try a different genre. 

I am glad I did. It is one of the best books I've read this year. 

In his "memoir....of sorts", as he calls it Cron chronicles his experience as the child of an alcoholic father who went from working for the CIA to dragging his family into poverty in Connecticut. He shows us a childhood never feeling the love and approval of his father and being disappointed time after time. He talks of his experiences as a child and sensing God in his early years in the Catholic church only to turn away as a teen when it seemed as if God was no longer there. Turning to alcohol in his teens he doesn't gloss over his own struggle with the addiction.

Yet his story never comes across as angry or bitter. While his sadness shows in his writing his words are ringed with grace. Not only is his prose beautiful, but his story compels us to give grace to our own childhoods.    

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher through the BookSneeze®.com book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

 

The Writer's Manifesto

I believe Jeff Goins was doing an interview via twitter with Michael Hyatt when I discovered his blog. Since that time I look forward to reading his blog each day. (Not to mention there is something about Jeff that reminds me of my Squirt. Maybe it's their red hair.)

Jeff recently published his first ebook entitled The Writer's Manifesto. Short and to the point The Writer's Manifesto is an encouragement for writers. Within the first pages he confronts one of the biggest struggles most writers deal with or at least I do, if I can call myself a writer. We want to be read. Whether a writer like myself who shares what I write on my blog or someone who does it for pay it is easy to become trapped in needing others to affirm our worth as a writer. 

Jeff proposes we rethink why we write and get back to the heart of writing. Do we write for adoration via comments, blog stats, or retweets? he encourages and challenges writers to rediscover why they love writing. 

The Writer's Manifesto can be read in one sitting and design wise is elegantly simple. Yet Jeff's thoughts will challenge each of us. Even if you are not a writer, any type of artist can benefit from the reminders in The Writer's Manifesto. 

Check out Jeff's blog to learn how you can get a copy free and join in the conversation on The Writer's Manifesto Facebook page. 

Not a Farm Girl

Foothills surround the valleys and farms of my childhood. While farms were a part of my life I was never a farm girl. Even being raised 'out in the country' I am unsure I was ever meant to be a country girl.

I remember many afternoons sitting on my great grandparents' porch on their farm. Snapping beans and shucking corn. Oh how I hated those chores. Temperatures were hot and I would rather have been reading. Escaping into a fictional world where I was a princess.

I live in a small town now. No longer the southern belle living near the farmlands. However there are aspects of the country I miss. Especially when I return to visit my parents and am reminded how a part of me will always belong amidst the roads and paths of the farmlands and countryside.

The Appalachian foothills that look almost blue on a sunny day. The horses grazing at a neighbor's farm. The cows bellowing at my uncle's farm.

The sounds of night are always better there. The pollution of noise and light confined to the city fifteen miles away. Only the occasional car passing by instead of the busy highway. Stars twinkle brighter and constellations reveal themselves with less apprehension than near the city. Frogs croak louder and crickets chirp faster. The nocturnals call out from the forests.

At night I sit on my porch here at the edge of our small town. I gaze at the stars although they don't twinkle as brightly. I listen to the frogs and crickets although the sounds of the highway muffle them somewhat. And I remember. I remember what I love about the farms and countryside.

And I'm thankful.

Linking up with Peter Pollock for the One Word at a Time blog carnival. 

A Wordle

Have you ever created a wordle? I did this one day with students when I was substituting in the computer lab last year. My interest was peeked again when L.L. Barkat posted about making poems from them on Tweetspeak. Here's the second wordle I did using my blog. The first one I'll be sharing next week along with my thoughts. I think I'm going to try some poetry using the words also to share soon.

Just Be

Just Be

Aching to deeply feel 

Not only to know. 

Eyes closed I sense it. 

There at edge of consciousness.

I reach toward 

Struggling to grasp. 

So near yet unheld.

Chaos surrounds.

Life pacing swiftly by.

Soul longing for stillness.

For within the stillness

His presence I will find.

There once again 

I can just be.

Please Stop Laughing at Me by Jodee Blanco

Before beginning Please Stop Laughing at Me by Jodee Blanco I knew it would not be an easy read. 

Blanco's incredible memoir of her childhood and teenage years as a victim of bullying recounts how it felt to be the outcast as well as the physical and emotional effects she experienced. 

While I experienced minor verbal bullying in school Blanco's tales of the brutality her peers subjected her to was shocking. Never feeling like she fit even as a child at ten years old. A heart for children with special needs, she was ridiculed for befriending them. Throughout the years Blanco tried to fit in by hiding her true personality, but the bullying would only ease for brief times. 

Not only is Please Stop Laughing at Me a memoir of one girl's life it also brings light to how even the most well meaning adults can be misguided with how they try and help victims of bullying. Blanco is also very honest about the feelings of anger and depression that surfaced as a result of the incessant taunting and pain she endured. 

If you have children or work with children in any way I recommend Please Stop Laughing at Me. No child should endure the horrors Blanco experienced as a child and teen.    

 

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher through the BookSneeze®.com <http://BookSneeze®.com> book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255 <http://www.access.gpo.gov/nara/cfr/waisidx_03/16cfr255_03.html> : “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

Mind Games

I'm linking up for the first time at the One Word at a Time blog carnival with Peter Pollock. I'm not sure this will even make sense considering most of what I have written are rambling thoughts from the past day or so. 

We play games with ourselves. In our minds at least. Or maybe we allow someone else  to play games with our minds.

I've been there. It's easy to allow those thoughts to take over. Doubts creep in and you wonder why things aren't different. The "if onlys" start. The loneliness sets in. You wonder if you'll ever have friends that can truly identify with you. I think these feelings are magnified for creatives who often feel misunderstood. Creatives are often blessed with hyper sensitive spirits. At times it feels like a curse. 

You give and give and give until you are just sick of pouring out. Sick of listening. Yes even sick of caring. Drained. If others do try to pour into you it’s difficult to hear the positives. Instead you hear everything you’re doing wrong. How you're failing. 

Thankfully God sends another voice to battle the game the negatives like to play if we will only listen. Reminding us we do not need the approval of others. Wrapping us in His grace. 

Oh the games those little voices play on the battlefield of our minds. Yet I'm beginning to believe we should guardedly listen. Is there a lesson to be learned? And which games in life are worth playing? We must listen carefully for the one voice that matters. For the only voice that matters in the games played in our minds. 

It's when we recognize that voice we know: which games we are supposed to play and from which ones we need to walk away. 

 

Five Minute Friday: On Distance

Distance. 

I walked over to our sister-in-law to tell her a quick good-bye as she greeted friends who have come to pay last respects to her dear daddy. I look to our nephew standing next to her. But this time I had to look up, way up, craning my neck to look him in the eye.

Distance.

The oldest of our five nieces and nephews. He was ten months old when I met my husband. I chased him around their house and neighborhood. Big brown eyes and brown hair. Adorableness wrapped up in an all boy toddler. 

Life moved them away to other cities. The distance only just over an hour now, but still enough to keep us from being involved in their daily lives. 

All of the five growing up. Oh sure I’ve known this. Every few months when we see them all they are a bit taller, a bit more grown looking. Each year a bit more mature. 

I miss seeing them more often, but in an odd way I am thankful for the distance. 

It’s the distance that makes me pause and reflect, to fully appreciate the young men and ladies they are all becoming.