My FMF Thoughts

TWO: Two boys. Two sons. Two bundles of joy, tears, belly laughs, lizard keepers, bug collectors, mud messers, scrapes, funny t-shirts, stitches, crazy ties, cool haircuts and dos, dinosaurs, Hawaiian shirts, school pride, rock gathering, tattoos, bike rides, and copious amounts of pride in both of them. I’ve always joked that God knew what He was doing when He gave me boys because I wasn’t sure I could deal with the little girl squeals and other stuff that can come along with that gender. But more so, God knew what He was doing when he gave me these two PARTICULAR boys. They’ve made me a better person.

Older first made me a mom. He’s the one who pushed me through those beginning years of being away from my family and friends just by being curious about life, animals, gardens, and learning to be a big boy. The one who started talking early and has kept up a lively conversation with me ever since. The one who would rather do things his way, on his own time schedule, listening to his music, and prefers people to stay out of his way when he’s in work mode. The one who showed me what perseverance through our struggles means … FMF STOP … the one who doesn’t necessarily enjoy reading the written word as much as I do, but who loves learning, listening, and doing … maybe more so than me.

Then there’s Younger. I’d like to believe that he helped me become a stronger and wiser mom. He’s the one who hit the ground, practically running, the day he was born, three weeks early, on his schedule. My maximus independentus child. The one who outgrew his need for my schoolwork help way sooner than either of us expected. Definitely sooner than I wanted. The one who jumps in feet first and learns along the way. The one who’s reached for the sky and made it more times than I can count but is still mightily hard on himself. The one who shares loud music and patience with me as he teaches me new technology. The one whose schedule is always jam packed, but still makes time in there for those important to him.

Individually, they’re monsters. As a team, they’re a beast. They both emulate kindness and goodness. Maybe not always in the traditional ways that others expect, or even see. But in the ways that are important. They’re usually the first to offer help to those in need. Quietly. Often anonymously. Many a move has been helped by these two. Carrying boxes, setting up beds, directing the best way to make more room. Getting things done. Not to mention the yards that have been cleaned, the planes improved, the videos directed and edited, photos shared; the careers of others pushed forward through mentoring, training, and connections; the donations sent with no names, the lives that have quietly been helped, and the hugs given when needed.

I’ll take all the fishing, flying, school papers, pets, friends, hunting, and hilariously told stories I can get from these two. They are the two gifts from God that He saw fit to loan me and their dad. I couldn’t be more grateful than to have these two sons I get to call mine.

ADVANTAGE: Is there an advantage to being a Christian writer? Sometimes it doesn’t feel like, or even look like it from the outside.

I’m not speaking of being a Christian who writes. There are many of those. My question is in regards to being a Christian who writes with a decidedly Christian viewpoint – specifically fiction.

Many authors I know have a wider audience because they don’t write with this specific viewpoint. They seem to be able to sell more books, get more eyes on their words, and have a wider availability of events to attend. But is that better? Is that an advantage for them?

Writing with a Christian viewpoint tends to bring with it a stricter guideline of what is and isn’t acceptable to agents, editors, publishers, and the reader in general. It also seems to bring a tighter scrutiny into if we, as the writer, are good … FMF Stop … Christians? Do we follow all and everything that we should? Do we have strong enough “credentials” of a “good Christian” to write with that viewpoint.

Here’s my take on all this backdoor wondering: I am not, and do not claim to be, a “good enough” Christian to be a Christian fiction writer … but my God is. He is the advantage I claim. I fully believe He gave me these words, He put the people in place that I needed to consult, and even though this has taken way longer than I could have imagined to get my first book out (currently scheduled for publication mid-2025), His timing is perfect because the book is better for the growth in person and writing that I have endured these past years.

Am I a “good enough” Christian to write in this viewpoint. You better believe I am NOT. I have a mouth on me that gets away from itself (and me) sometimes. I am not “good enough” in many other ways. Including the fact that I am abysmal when it comes to remembering Bible passages. (A glitch in my brain for memorizing.) But He IS good enough. He is more than enough. He forgives me and gives me these words anyway. He knew ahead of time what this story was going to be about and who it will reach. He gave me the advantage of my own story and experiences woven together … the good, the bad, and the ugly … into my protagonist’s world.

And that wider reach for an audience? He will give me the reach He sees fit to give. Smaller or larger. He has never failed to provide what is needed. His timing isn’t always mine but as I look back, His timing has always been right. And who knows? The seeking heart He has given me and my protagonist, may just be what a new reader is searching for. THAT is my ADVANTAGE.

MATTER: What matters most? That’s the question that has been stumbling around in my brain for awhile now, as the year starts to wind down and I begin to search for My One Word (MOW) for 2025.

Do my personal goals matter? It doesn’t always feel like it. They often get pushed to the wayside as other aspects of my life encroach and take over the “this matters more” space.

What about my Christian life? Does it matter? That I can say with a definite yes. If I didn’t have Jesus to lean on and hold me up during tough times, I don’t know what I’d do. Lately, I’ve been trying to let Him know that more, especially during the good times, because those are the hardest for me to remember to say “I need you” and “thank you.”

But still, what should matter most for the next year? My MOW and accompanying scripture (a habit one of my best buds got me started doing along with MOW several years ago) hasn’t … Stop FMF … quite solidified in my thoughts yet.

MOW has been a program I’ve followed and practiced for many years. Several years I’ve known my perfect word by the end of September. Others, have taken until December, and a couple have even taken until the wee hours of the old year and into the new. But it’s all good. Once I pray about it multiple times, know that the word that keeps popping into my thoughts and the corresponding scripture makes sense with it, print it out and frame it in my designated MOW frame, then I am certain that word is what matters to dwell on and hold in my heart for the coming year. I’m curious what God has in mind for My One Word to be for 2025. We shall see what matters.

If you’d like to learn more about the My One Word process, visit: https://myoneword.org/description

HISTORY: This is such a loaded word, and so filled with different meanings. History in the sense of the world and what has happened in the past, HIStory from the Bible (which, admittedly, still confuses me, but I keep plugging away), my own history from (cough, cough) many years ago through the present and heading into the future.

But what do I want the FMF prompt word of today to mean to me?

History. In my mind, today it is the history I have with certain people in my life. Not family, but friends. We have hiSTORY. Meaning behind our friendships. There are many but a few come to mind easily.

Take for instance the girl (now a woman) that I moved next door to when I was around seven and she, a couple years younger. We are still friends to this day. I have to be careful not to call her my oldest friend … lol. Completely separate lives that come together every once in a while with a visit, phone call, or card in the mail; similar to stitches in fabric that holds things together.

Then there are the two sisters who, through their family, married into and out of my own. Though their parent hasn’t been with my family member for years, the three of us are still friends. We laugh at some of the silly antics we enjoyed as children and mourn others, who shared in those goofy days, no longer with us.

After that, I think of my sweet friend, who helped me get through the first few years of … FMF Stop … motherhood. Far away from all my family and friends, she became my family and friend, all wrapped up in one person. (I wrote about her in an earlier FMF thought, with the word LOVED.)

And finally, you have the mother and daughter duo that I lived across the road from for many years. Mom and I navigated through some tough parenting times and spent many hours chatting about many things, usually over a cup of coffee at her kitchen counter. We had each other’s backs then, and still check in with each other once in a great while, even though we live clear across the country from each other now. Daughter, although my own kids’ age, has become a trusted friend and my secret weapon in the writing world. I may write that story another day.

History. It’s all there, laying a stable base for me … metaphorical-brick-by-metaphorical brick … while still leaving room for more history built with them and those that have and will add to my life with more stories of history together. It’s going to be a magnificently solid edifice some day!

USUALLY: What is usual any more? Usually, even after my kids grew up and moved on with their lives, meant getting out, doing things, visiting, going places. Now? Now it’s just holing myself up in this room and working on writing, editing, learning, researching, more writing, more editing and … I enjoy it. I feel “me” here. But it’s lonely. Is there an actual usually any longer? I don’t think so.

My usually now consists of pushing myself to get back to once was, in a way that my anxious mind can deal with. It’s getting better. I’m getting better. I can fake it better when my usually anxious and overthinking brain tries to take over a situation and makes me think I can’t deal. But I have come to realize that it isn’t being helpful. I lost more of me back there a few years ago than I realized.

My current usually is just that. Current. Not forever. I can make a new usually and realize that … FMF STOP … usually means, most of the time. Not all the time, but most of the time. Now, I’m good with: Most of the time, I can deal. Most of the time, I can handle my anxious brain. Most of the time, I can tell my overthinking self to “calm down and be quiet, you’re overthinking things again.” Most of the time, I can do what I love and still remember to come up for air, go visit someone, get out of the house, and come back for more. Usually.

DEFEAT: Admitting defeat is hard. Especially when more than one defeat comes at me at a time. And that’s been the case lately. I’ve had to admit defeat in business and in health. But the weird part is, once I admitted that defeat, victories started showing up.

First, I had to admit that I could no longer maintain the contentious partnership I had with my former website program. Nearly 10 years we were together but my site was down more than up and readable. Younger (son) had been trying to get me to switch to the program he was familiar with for the past three years. But he and his brother didn’t get their stubbornness—let’s rephrase that to “sticktoitiveness”—from nowhere. But after many phone calls and exhausting all my resources, I was at an end. And … FMF STOP … had to admit defeat. But within weeks, my new website (the one you're on now) was up and running and available!

To top it off, during this time a health crisis reared it’s ugly head again. I finally had to admit defeat, see a specialist, learn—thankfully—that I didn’t have either of the diseases that I’ve had multiple tests for over the years (only to come back “inconclusive”), but also discovered another health issue was on the rise again and if I didn’t change my diet AGAIN, I’d likely be on medication for the rest of my life. Medication and I do not play well in the same sandbox. So new diet it is. Except … this new diet (thankfully only needed for a few weeks) conflicts with the one that I’m already on for another health issue and life-threatening food allergies. A conundrum for sure.

Defeat? Maybe. There is a chance I may have to give up some of my favoritest foods. Mushrooms, pumpkin seeds, onions, and garlic. Oh, I so hope they don’t end up on my “NO!” list. But I am already seeing the blessings a bit each day as my body responds to the change. I don’t feel great yet, but I feel better.

So, as much as I dislike the word and action of defeat, sometimes it is necessary to admit in order to accept forward motion and maybe, just maybe, even victory..

IMPORTANT: This post originally appeared under the “Fledgling Writers Community” phase of this website.

I thought I knew what was important. I mean, afterall, we all went through 2020’s pandemic and life as we knew it shutting down. Learning from work-at-home experiences, family members being around ALL the time who weren’t previously, not being able to go and do what and when we wanted. Not being able to travel when my beloved (step)dad’s health grew precarious. Not being able to assist my mom with his care, per doctors orders because I live in a hotspot clear across the country. That year, I learned family, friends, home, and space is more important than I ever imagined.

I thought I knew. I was sure of it. Until I wasn’t. 2021 dawned with the promise of “return to normal.” Except it didn’t. And it got worse … FMF STOP… for my family. My dad’s health grew worse. My mom was collapsing under the weight of his care without consistent (and sometimes competent) help. I could hear it in her voice during our nightly phone calls.

We couldn’t be with my mother-in-law on her huge milestone birthday as planned. Halfway around the world, foreigners were still severely restricted—that included us.

We continued to plug away at life. Keeping what seemed (and was!) important in the forefront. Remaining in touch with family and friends as best as possible. Phone calls, visits across driveways, emails, texts, video chats and meetings. Working around erratic schedules in our home. Trying to give four adults much needed space and place in a small house.

What I didn’t realize was that what was important in this season of my life was being shoved to the side. Me … more accurately, my mental health.

I tend to think about what others want, what others need, how to help them, what to do to lessen their burden. What can I get for them. What can I do for them. How can I change my schedule to fit their needs. Afterall, I work from home. I write. I edit. I’m not making a steady paycheck. With little thought to my own calendar pages and the same 24 hours in a day, I change my schedule, I rearrange my route, I add a stop, I add minutes and hours for them. But I still only have 24-hours, which means my own time, or schedule, or sleep, takes a hit.

It doesn’t go unnoticed (I’m often thanked), it isn’t taken for granted, it just … it’s always been this way. I am usually the one a friend can call to take them to the doctor. I am the one who can run the to store when an ingredient is forgotten.

When I was younger, I started to believe my own pages, appointments, wants, and dreams weren’t as important as others. But I’ve come to realize, in trying to make life easier and helping all of them to become their best, I became … less. Not in their eyes, not even in my own. But somewhere along the line my importance in life diminished. My mental health, precarious from a young age, took a hit. As did my faith. And then another, and another.  I realize now that I still hadn’t fully recovered from all the changes necessary in 2020. Then, 2021 kept piling on top.

I had eye surgery. The recuperation was not as easy as predicted or expected. It required me to take stock of part of my business and make a final decision. One that I’d been shoving away for months on end. Not being able to see a computer screen well will do that to an editor. But it was one of several goodbyes I had to say to business dreams.

Then my dad passed. A blessing for him. A huge loss for us. We laid him to rest on one day and quietly celebrated what should have been a big milestone birthday for my own mother the next. And then the guilt flooded in for both of us. Did we do enough? Could we have done more? Did we make the right decisions? And we bumped into each other’s lives in more ways than one.  After I returned home, the questions continued with little answers. And I had to resume … what? I guess it’s best to describe this period as resuming the quest to figure out who I am again. And discover what’s important.

ANNOYANCE: This post originally appeared on the "Up in the Attic" phase of this website.

START WITH ANNOYANCE

Another dreary day in Texas. So unusual. The weather here is so often sunny, to the point of annoyance, sometimes. But I miss the warmth, the heat, the sunshine. Having to put on sunglasses and sunscreen if I leave the house. And even the sweat trickling down my back as I climb in my overheated car to run yet another errand. Heading out wherever I want to go. Not an option right now.

But it seems the dreary weather is keeping company with the even drearier feelings of myself and all those around me. COVID-19 has changed the landscape. No more running here and there whenever I want. Heading to the library because I’m sick of staying indoors and working by myself, for yet another day as a freelance writer and editor. No more … at least not yet. Not for awhile.

Now, I deal with “another.” Another day with my husband lost. Not in his element of work, his norm. Where he knows who he is and his worth as a manager. Another day of … FMF STOP … questions. Where is this? Can I help him find that? What am I up to? When will I be able to …? Another day of staying out of the path of the questions I am not used to  answering when I am here all day by myself.

MOVE TO WORRY

Another day of worry over my adult children who work outside of the home as “essentials.” Worry they will get sick. Worry that they will bring something back to this house of compromised immunity that will attack our little fortress.

Another day of concern when I have to make the dreaded run to the grocery story because we are out of milk, bread, eggs, and patience. Do I have another clean mask? Did I wipe the cart down good enough? Did I remember everything I needed so I don’t have to do this again until next week.

THROUGH PRAYER

Another day of prayer. Prayer that my husband can weather the storm of worry over our finances. One he’s already had to chart us through as we lost everything except our home (a hair’s breadth away), our family, and our dignity during the recession of ‘08. Prayer that we once again pull together (as a family) and find creative ways to balance the incoming with the outgoing. Fun ways to BE family, even when we’re sick of being cooped up together in a house small enough to hear conversations from one end to the other.

Prayer for my sons as they navigate working with other people who are scared, concerned, and grumpy. Let them be a calming light to others, as I hope they have learned from home. Let them remember to wear the masks and take the temperatures as necessary. Wiping down the shared vehicles morning and night. Let them remember the protocols of safety and the process of peace.

And prayer that our country will turn back toward each other instead of away in divisiveness. Back toward helping not only family and friends, but neighbors as well as strangers. Back to being what makes us who we are. A community. I pray that my own heart turns back toward that comfort and care and community of thankfulness that I know is just around the next corner.

AND FINALLY, THANKFULNESS

Thankful two of us can work from home another day.

Thankfulness for my husband. For the job he still has and is allowed to do for another day. Even if he is commandeering our bedroom every day where his office is. Thankful we found that perfect office armoire only months prior to COVID, instead of the little student desk he’d been working on for the past eight years. (Not an easy task at 6'1".)

Thankful for my boys, who still come home from work after another tiring day. But they are home. To eat dinner, chat with us for a while, and head to bed to rest before starting another day all over tomorrow.

Thankful for a job where I can choose what to do, learn, and produce. A job where I can look out my window and see neighbors–who would normally be at work at this time–walk their dogs, race their kids, and go on safari hunts for bears left in windows for the kids to have something to do on these long, unusual, uncertain days.

Thankful for yet another day to be annoyed, prayerful, thankful and oh so blessed to be here and able to experience all this.

LOVED: This post originally appeared under the "Up in the Attic" phase of this website.

I have a hard time telling people outside of my family that I love them. That word is bandied about so easily by some, but I freeze nearly every time I try to use it with a friend.

I’d like to be on friendlier terms with that word. But thankfully, I can show it through my actions … jumping in to help where needed, phone calls, prayers, care packages, little emoji’s on texts and FB posts. And hugs. Many and deep hugs. Sometimes though, making a change in my routine is the best way I can show a friend my love. Changing up a calendar page, sitting and talking as if years have not passed, sharing pictures on phone screens to catch up family milestones, missing a meeting (Dallas traffic didn’t help either), all so I can grab a couple unexpected hours with a long-time, much missed friend.

I might have a hard time saying “I love you.” But they know they are LOVED.

Do you say or show or both?

FMF STOP