Courage

Sometimes I have very deep thoughts, but mostly I don't.

I think about life and friendship and family and God, and so many other things. I always think that I have some deep insight, but really, all I have are my emotions.

I had a conversation with a friend and she made me realize how shallow I am. I have a dear friend that suffers from all sorts of depression and anxieties and fears. The normal stuff everyone else has, but amplified to a painful degree. I thought about this friend and how much I love her. And I truly do. My heart broke to learn of some of the pain that my friend lives with every day and here I sit. I tell her things that everyone tells their friends; "I love you" "I'm here for you" "Just let me know if you need anything" "You can always come to me" or the worst "I know how you feel"

All are well intentioned, and heart-felt but they have one thing in common. They don't require anything from me. The ownership goes to the friend - you come to me and I'll help you. You make the first move. You tell me what I can do.

Looking back, I say this a lot; 'you just let me know what you want and I'll make it happen.'

But, that's no help at all. Although I truly mean what I say...I want to be there for my friends. I want to be the go-to person when they are in need, I want to be trusted and loved and confided in. I want my friends to know that I love them and would walk through fire for them.

I look at my normal, everyday life and realize that if someone said those things to me (and they have) I would never call on them. Not because I don't want them to be there, but because I wouldn't know what to ask for. I could never say, "I just need a hug" even if I needed that more than anything. I could never say, "can you just come over and sit?" "just tell me that you love me" "just tell me that it's all worth it"

Those are things that we all want at one time or another, but at the risk of sounding needy, vulnerable, weak, out of control, lonely or whatever, we leave them unsaid and wish, hope, pray, that someone would just do them for us. Sometimes, they do, but more often than not, no one does. Not because they don't want to, but because they don't know there's a need. We don’t want people to know we're broken anymore than they want us to know they are, but what's totally wrong about this situation is that we all really want someone to know that we're broken. We want to hide behind our strength and have people see through it at the same time. We don't want to admit anything, but we long for our friends to just somehow know.

I want to be one of the people that sees past. I want to stop saying "You tell me what you need" and instead I want to say "Here, I’m doing this for you"

I don't know if I'm brave enough to do it. It's scary to put myself out there. To become open to your rejection. To allow myself to feel all of those sticky emotions that I've hid from for 40 plus years. To touch you, to hug you, to love you openly and honestly. But, I want to be a friend, not just someone you know.

P.S. This posting was inspired by one very important friend (I hope you know who you are) but I want to apply it to my life - to all of my friends. How much better would life be if instead of wishing we could do the right thing, we just did it without thinking. Maybe we get rejected, or hurt, or embarrassed, but isn't that better than looking back and wondering what would have happened?

Labor Day Weekend - It's over!

Good morning all. I hope your weekend was as nice as mine.

I spent last weekend on my couch, trying desperately to complete a novel in three days. It was an eye-opening experience to say the least!

I learned that an outline is an invaluable tool when trying to form a story around a very vague idea.

I learned that balancing writing and spending time with my family is very hard, even with a deadline.

And I learned that I want to be a writer. I want to quit my job, set up a home office, get up early, stay up late, and do nothing but write.

I had a few bumpy hours, but I knew in my heart that I could do it.

I knew I could do it because I have an incredible network of friends and family that offered support before, during, and after the designated 72 hours.

I am blessed with people all over my life that lift me up, and even knock me down when I need it.

People that tell me I'm great when I'm not feeling so great, and people that tell me I need to check myself, when I'm feeling overly-great.

So, for those of you that have asked, I should hear how my book fared in the contest sometime in mid-to late October (or mid to late Octopus, according to the auto correct on my Android phone.)

And, no, you can't read it yet. I only made it to the half-way point but I plan to complete it soon. If I win the contest, it will be published next fall. If I don't win, it will published as soon as I can find someone to print it. Or, I might self-publish and put it on Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

We'll see what happens. Thanks so much for your support!

Labor Day Weekend - Oh My Gosh

Hi Friends!

I'm sitting here today, still sick, but now I have some medicine to help me get over myself, and I realized that it's almost the Friday before Labor Day. That might not strike terror into your heart, but it is giving me some definite uneasyness.
As you might know, I entered a contest to write a complete novel in three days. That's just 72 hours. It might seem like a lot - it did when I decided to sign up. But now it's upon me and 72 hours is nothing.
Let me break it down.
We'll go out Friday, which is fine, because I can't technically start writing til after midnight. So, we'll get home around 2. I won't want to write that late at night, so I'll go to bed around 3 and probably get up, let's say around 9 just to make sure I get good and rested. I have to eat, so that probably means Waffle House, after my shower and blow dry and trip to WH, it's going to be 1:00 easy. So I'll write until I have to eat again, which I'm guessing to be around 6 or so. MONA is playing at WO Wrights (you should go!) I think that starts at 7, so I'll get home again around 12 and we'll probably go out to finish the night. That puts me home and in bed again around 3. Up Sunday at 8, off to church and to volunteer in Harvestland, then I go see my dad, and then we'll eat lunch, after we decide what to eat. I should be able to really dig into my writing around, say, 3. I'll probably be very flustered and jam out some pages that I hate and then delete them and start over. This is when I'll start crying because I only have one more day to write and so far all I have is "It was a dark and stormy night." I'll decide it's too stressful and that'd it be OK to go out to eat, I'm thinking Steak n' Shake at this point. That's at 5, back at 7 (we probably need to go to Kroger for more wine) then down at the computer with a renewed spirit. Reread what I've written (that'll take an hour) I'm typing like a mad man starting at 9 - for real this time! By one in the morning, I'm bushed and ready to sleep - I still have all day Monday after all.
I over-sleep and we need to mow Dad's lawn Monday, so I start to write around 4 after we've eaten...you might notice here that the only day I decided to shower was Saturday...I take the laptop to my Dad's because he doesn't have the internet and I can't get distracted with Facebook there. I write til 8:30 when my man brings me a pizza (because as long as I'm making things up, I might as well get fed) we eat, he asks how the book is going, I start crying again because I'm dumb and should have never thought that I could write a novel, let alone write one in 72 hours! He tells me I'm not dumb and I'm a great writer and then he says that I can't come home until the book is done, and not to even try.
I suck it up. Sit down, review my progress, it's now 10:30 and I'm typing like a professional. The clock chimes 12:00 as I write the last 2 words and I am officially done! I've written the 3 Day Novel in only 26 hours!!
Then, I submit the novel, it wins first prize, Oprah comes out of retirement to do a special "author of the year" show where I meet Ted Dekker, Stephen King, Dean Koontz, and Janet Evanovich - they all ask for me to sign the fist edition hard cover of my book. Charlaine Harris was supposed to come, but she was too nervous about meeting me.
Wow- maybe I can do this! Thanks for bearing with my rambling. Stop to think of me occasionally this weekend, and if you want to send me pizza - I like Donatos works (no green peppers please!)
Wish me luck - I really don't care if I win or not, I'll be crazy-happy just to finish!!

About the Tithe

Short posty today. I'm sitting here wondering about the tithe. So, you may or may not know that a tithe in literal terms is one tenth. God says to bring the full tithe - all of it - all one tenth into His storehouse and he will bless you to the point that you can't even hold the blessings! He'll give you so much in return for you obedience that you'll have to give that away too, or else you'd be flooded with blessing! Makes me think of the hoarding shows.
This is one of the only times you'll ever see God saying "test me in this."
I'm no Bible scholar, so I can't tell you where to find the passages - I'll look them up for you if you ask me to though. But I also know that God tells us to give with a willing spirit. In order to receive God's blessings, we have to give Him whatever He asks, and we have to do it willingly.
Today, I'm a little confused. I'll tell you this, I've tested God's Word by tithing, it was not an easy test, I consider myself in the "broke to poor" salary range. But, God can't lie and when he says He'll bless you, He will. I know this to be true. I've seen it in my life as well as my bank account. I'm still poor, but since tithing, I've never been broke, or overdrawn. I always have a few dollars to spend and a few to save. I'm not rich in money, but I've seen other blessings from my obedience. It's nice.
So, if I know all of this to be true. If I know in my heart that God will do what He says and He will reward my obedience, how is it that I find myself reluctant to obey?
I've talked to people, and heard about people, and read stories about people who tithe faithfully, the full ten percent, and I hear them say the same thing. "We were tithing regularly, and it became easier to let go of that money each week, then God asked for more. Even though we knew He'd be faithful, it was hard to let go."
Now, I sit here on payday after God has asked me for more. I don't know why He needs more. Well, that's not true.God doesn't need my money, He craves my obedience. He craves my willing obedience. I've got the obedience thing down (as much as I can) but it's the willing part I'm struggling with. I want to be willing. I want to want to hear and obey. I want to receive the blessings - I want the blessings to flow out of my windows and onto my neighbor's lawn - but how do I get the willing spirit? Does God know that I want to be willing - but I'm having a hard time with it? Like a child that is sorry, but has to be forced to apologize, does the "I'm sorry" really still count?

This is new

So, this might be a good idea, and it might not...who knows. This is not a typical post. No brilliant words of wisdom or funny insights. Maybe the first chapter of something...or maybe something else. Let me know what you think, and what should happen next.

 

It was a dark and stormy night. No, seriously, it was. The rain was beating the sidewalk like it was collecting a debt. I needed to go home, but I really, really did not want to get wet. Granted, my car was parked only forty feet from the front door of my store, but by the time I got the doors locked, ran down the steps to my car, got it opened, and found myself safely inside, I'd be soaked to the bone!

I own a small used book store called The Nook, I didn't name it, I inherited it when the previous owner, Gus,  was murdered. I had intended to change the name of the store immediately, but somehow that seemed callous so I waited, then it just seemed silly to change anything. There is a lot of work involved in changing the name of a business, not to mention it's not free and if things didn't pick up soon, I wouldn't have to worry about what the store was named because it wouldn't be mine to worry about.

My name is Mac Cartwright - Mac is sort of short for Michelle Allison Cartwright, it's my initials, get it? My dad thought it was clever when I was four, and it stuck, clever or not. I don't mind being Mac instead of Michelle. Michelle makes me think of black strappy dresses and big froo froo hair. While I do have a nice little black dress, I much prefer my Miami Heat jersey and jeans. As for the hair, well, I have a lot, but you couldn't call it big.

I stared out into the pouring rain, weighing my options. I could sleep in the store. I didn't love the idea, not because I thought the ghost of Gus roamed the isles, but because there was nowhere comfortable to sleep. Trust me, I'd tried it before and it was not something I was looking forward to trying again.

I could just suck it up and run for it, or I could try to wait it out. The downside to running was getting wet of course. The downside to waiting was that there was no pizza in the bookstore. I was starving and I was starving for pizza from Antolli's. They have the best thick crust Sicilian this side of Italy. It has giant chunks of roasted garlic in the crust, homemade sauce that sticks to anything it touches. Joe Antolli makes the sausage by hand and…oh to hell with it, I decided to make a run for the car.

I dug my keys out of my purse, secured said purse around my neck and used the key fob to unlock my car. I took a deep breath and prepared myself to get soaked, no amount of rain could keep me from my pizza tonight!

I opened the door, jumped out, and slammed it shut all in one fluid motion. I jammed the key into the lock, twisted it, and extracted it in one move, then turned to bolt down the steps, lost my footing and landed on my butt right in the middle of the newly formed Lake Ohio. So much for not getting wet. And to top it off, I was pretty sure my tailbone was broken.

I was in no hurry to get up. I couldn't get any wetter and my pride had been just as bruised as my tailbone.

I sat for  a minute and thought about crying, then decided that there was no point in crying, no one was here to comfort me, so, I mustered all of the dignity I could find and stood up. The water in the street was at least ankle high and my shoes would never be the same again. Mental note: go to the mall tomorrow and buy new shoes.

I heard sirens approaching as I slammed the driver's side door shut. My shoes were squishy and a huge puddle was forming under me. I wondered if I could convince my insurance company that I drove into a lake? It was sort of true, only the lake had formed around my car.

I sat for moment, waiting for whatever emergency vehicle was coming  to round the corner and go on it's merry way. A fire truck and several police cars screeched around the block at hypersonic speed. I was pretty sure on of the cops was my sometimes boyfriend Bolton Davis, but it was still raining so hard that it was impossible to make out any of the drivers. The emergency vehicles sped off into the night, I could just barely make out the sirens as they drifted farther away, headed toward the other side of town. I started my car and pointed it the direction of Antolli's.

Luckily, the restaurant was on my way home, and they weren't busy. I ordered my pizza and a side of bread sticks with extra marinara and garlic butter for breakfast the next day,  then went to stand by the door to wait. I was sure Joe didn't want me getting his entire restaurant wet, so I tried to limit my wandering.

The television above the counter was showing breaking news of a fire near the mall.

"Hey, Joe can you turn that up? Where's that fire?"

Joe reached under the counter for the remote and pointed at the television. The volume went up, but just barely. "You'll have to come drip closer to the set. Speakers are full of olive oil." Joe laughed at his own joke and went back to washing glasses.

I watched with mild interest until I realized where the fire was. It was Edie's apartment building. I'd met my best friend Edie a while back during a purse snatching, her purse was snatched and I let the guy run past me. I could have avoided so much trouble had I just tripped the guy, but hindsight is 20/20 and maybe things worked out for the best anyway.

A blond reporter was standing in front of the building. Edie's apartment was in the front of the one story building. The last apartment on the right as you face the building. I stared in disbelief. Flames shot out of the last two windows in the building - Edie's apartment! The fire department was spewing water directly into both windows, but it didn't seem to be helping. The fire was growing and as I watched, the first window blew out with such a force that the reporter ducked to avoid getting glass in her hair.

I was numb, my feet took over and propelled me towards the door.

"Hey Mac! What about your pie? You wanna pick it up later? I'll keep it warm for you!" Joe yelled after me, he knew I'd be back. If I were anymore of a regular, I'd be getting a paycheck with pizza stains on it every week.

It was still raining as I ran to my car, opened the door, jumped in and started it. I drove as fast as the weather would allow, maybe faster, I was on auto pilot. Trying desperately not to think, but the thoughts were creeping into my mind anyway. I just knew Edie was OK. Or dead, or probably fine but most likely dead. I shook my head as if I could fling out the images.

ALL IMAGES AND CONTENT COPYRIGHT 2011 SUSIE REED

When Friends Break Up

Day 11 of 95

When I was in high-school I was sort of a loner. I knew lots of people, but only had a handful of friends. I think most people are probably this way, even those that would seem "popular" by any outward standard.

I don't remember the exact grade but I do remember what happened. My best friend broke up with me because I was so insecure. I remember that she'd been avoiding me, nothing big, just high school stuff. She didn't respond to my notes (no email or text in those days) she said she'd call but didn't, she said that she was grounded, but then I found out she went to a party with another friend. I finally got brave and asked what was up. I asked for her honesty and to her credit, she gave it to me.

She told me that my constant insecurity and neediness were wearing her out and she couldn't take my depression any longer. I made her tired. She was tired of telling me I was funny, or pretty, or not fat. Most of all though, she was tired of constantly assuring me that we were actually friends. She liked me. She liked me a lot, so she couldn't understand my fear of her changing her mind.

I find it funny (not funny "ha ha") that my fear of losing a friend is exactly what chased my friend away.

I see this behavior in myself - even now - after losing a few friends to my insecurity. It's a vicious circle. I avoid making friends because of my insecurities,  and then when I make one, I drive them off with those same insecurities.

I see this behavior in others and I'm baffled at why they can't just accept my friendship at face value. See the irony? I understand why I don't feel worthy of someone's friendship, but for the life of me, I can't understand why they don't feel worthy of mine.

I'm working on it though. I know there are many people that feel exactly like I do. I know this because as a good friend pointed out, if you can find lyrics to a song that tell exactly how you feel - someone else feels that way too, after all, they wrote a song about it!

I guess today's point is that if you're my friend, I love you, and it doesn't matter what you look like or what you're weight is. It doesn't matter that you're probably taller than me and you might be funnier than me (might). You might be smarter or prettier or any number of things "better" than I am, but none of that makes me like you less, it's probably why I liked you in the first place. If I'm driving you nuts with my insecurity, just realize that the more insecure I am about our friendship the more I like you…so you should be flattered (?)

OK, I've got issues…well, maybe I've a subscription!

Bear with me, if nothing else, when I start publishing my novels you can say you knew me when I was just an insecure crazy person. Broke but funny.

Don't Wait for Monday

Weight Loss Journey Day 4 of 95

Today is Monday.

Perhaps the most dreaded day of the week. There are jokes and comments flying all day long. "I'm ok for a Monday" "Is it Friday yet?" "Mondays suck" we've all heard them all. But I try very hard not to say any of those things. I don't like to say things that make it sound like I’m wishing my life away. I want to be thankful for each and every day I'm given, and I don't want to spend my life waiting for this day to be over, or for another one to begin. Don't get me wrong, I look forward to things, and sometimes I can't help but wish a special event day was already upon me, but for every event I've ever looked forward to, there's always been a day after. The day where I think back and see that I spent days, weeks, or even months in anticipation of the event, then BOOM, it 's the next day and it's over. It's bittersweet of course, because after the event, I have the memories and maybe pictures, but it's also over and I don't have it to look forward to anymore.

Mondays have another ominous undertone. Monday is the socially accepted start of the week. So, that's when most people start anything new. I'll start my diet Monday. I'll start exercising Monday. I'll start saving for that trip Monday.

But, what happens on Monday when you sit down at your desk and hear the gleeful singing of "Happy Birthday" one isle over. At my company, we do morning birthdays - which means Breakfast Cake. Oh happy delicious breakfast cake. If you're not familiar with breakfast cake, it's a delight. It's birthday cake, served any time before 11:00am. Preferable completely consumed before lunch time, so that we can all head over to the Mexican restaurant to celebrate the beloved co-worker's birthday with chips and salsa. This means on any given birthday a person could have up to three pieces of breakfast cake before heading off to chimichangas with extra sour cream and all the free chips and salsa you can stuff into your face. Since joining my company three years ago, I have gained over 30 pounds.

Why? Is it because my co-workers aren't supportive and don't realize that I can't resist buttercream icing before noon? Is it because I sit at a desk all day, only getting up to get a snack? Is it because I work within about seven miles of any type of food I could possibly want, and I have an hour for lunch? No, I have to blame this one on Mondays.

See, I decide, normally on a Thursday that I'm going to start…something…on Monday. If Monday doesn't work out, it's sets the tone for the whole week and I just plan to start next Monday. Sometimes Monday does work out, I start my plan and I stick to it. One time, I stuck to it for three whole weeks! Then, one Monday, I came in to work, there were doughnuts. No problem, I'm going to the gym at lunch. Lunch time came and it was raining. The next day I went to lunch with a friend. The next day I had a meeting. The next day, I decided to start again next Monday.

I started this new journey on a Friday. I did not randomly (or even consciously) pick a Friday, it just happened to be Friday when I decided that I'd had enough. I've had enough waiting for Monday, then waiting for the right Monday. I've had enough food-slacker weekends. I've simply had enough.

I started Friday at my "starting weight." I ate well Friday - not great but well, I made small changes. At lunch I had a grilled chicken salad. I did not eat all of the bread and butter that the waitress very kindly placed on our table. I did have one piece, and it was multi-grain.

I ate pizza Saturday night with my family. But, rather than the super cheese - which is a deluxe with an extra 2 pounds of cheese - we had the deluxe. No, it wasn't a salad with fiber crunchies and no fat no sugar no taste dressing, but it was a little change. A small decision that meant I didn't spiral into a guilty eating cycle that would add a few extra pounds for me to try to work off on Monday.

I even had Dairy Queen. I had a small Blizzard. I have never, ever in my life ordered a small Blizzard, even though I can't finish a medium, but I made that one little change.  

I saw some results this weekend as well. I didn't drop 10 pounds, but I didn't gain an ounce.

So, today is Monday, I’m not starting anything, I'm continuing what I already started! 

I can't tell you how great it feels to have already started!!