My Name is Hope
I want you to meet a new friend. She is a funny, spunky, courageous woman who has a cancerous tumor she’s named “Tiberius.” She loves sour candy (the more toxic the better), toe socks and 80′s music.
I asked her to share her story and she said, “Yes”.
Jill’s Next Great Adventure
The other day I was searching the net and found a woman I knew you would love to meet. So I emailed her and asked her if she would allow me to post her turning 40 story. Jill is a busy working mother of three living in Bowdoinham Maine. She enjoys Running 5K races, cooking italian food and making out with her gorgeous husband. Sorry ladies, no pictures.
If I could add anything to that it would be to say, she has some great friends, and wonderful sense of humor! She also knows how to TLC herself and take care of the mom, the wife, the wonderkin friend and adventurer!
Enjoy her story and check out her blog. I know I sure could relate! RLAG! Kathy Vick
Jill Parker, http://www.running2fourty.blogspot.com
Turning Forty
Well, here I am….it’s my birthday and I am now……40 years old! And you know what? I feel freaking fantastic. I have a fresh manicure, pedicure, eyebrow wax…..I feel like a hundred dollars. All day, I have received warm thoughts and messages from friends far and wide wishing me a happy birthday. How great is that!?! I went out to lunch at the Sea Dog with Matty P. and we had fun putting together his new Lego Pirate Raft (It’s my birthday and he gets a present-go figure). I came home and worked in the yard for a few hours and now I just cracked the cork on a lovely Pinot Grigio. A good friend is coming over shortly to help me celebrate my 40th birthday happy hour. It’s all good. So, the day I have been dreading is here and it ain’t half bad. A friend at work got me this book, it’s called “How not to look old.” She did it as a goof, but I must tell you, I love it. Since I started reading it I have switched lipstick colors, reconsidered bangs and had my eyebrows shaped differently. How handy! I am always amazed at the thoughtfulness of others. A dear old friend who I haven’t seen in years because she lives far away sent me the most amazing care package. It included a big ol wine glass (we all know I can use that) a “Seventeen” magazine (you’re never too old for boyfriend tips) and a Super Leopard Print Snuggie Deluxe….aka the WTF blanket. This little package made my day. Not merely for the contents, but more for the warmth and caring that went into it. It’s amazing because this woman changed my life when I had the honor of working for her because she was truly one of the greatest leaders I have ever encountered, but now today, so many years later, she still continues to make an impact on me. Thank you Jody, you are still an Amazing Woman and great friend. Another great friend got me this book called, “Run Like a Girl, Igniting the spark for your next great adventure.” It is beautiful and perfect and such a thoughtful gift, I get all Vklempt just reading it.
So, to all of you who I have been whining to about my 40th birthday for months and months….sorry. It’s actually not bad at all. I feel great….my boobs are still in the right place….I still have the greatest husband in the world who loves me unconditionally….I still have the best friends anyone could ever ask for….I have a strong faith in God…..and a truly blessed life. I am looking forward to the next 40 years. I hope you all come along with me for the ride on my “next great adventure.”
Ten Items Or More
I want to introduce you to my college roommate, affectionately known as the ‘Pineapple Princess’. Nani is a woman who finds joy wherever she goes, even if she finds herself in, say, Minnesota. A strange and crazy place for someone from Hawaii. Nani knows how to care for her ‘girl’ spirit, how to renew her energies and fill her soul. She makes a habit of noticing and practicing the things that delight her, make her laugh and feel pampered. Why is this so important? Because it is these things that help us recover after tragedy, and setbacks. They help us maintain balance when the pressure is on and keep us on and in the game.
Run Like A Girl Intention#8 Be in the game: Stay in tune with your balance, energy and soul.
By Nohealani Stewart
Recently I saw a movie entitled, Ten Items Or Less. It got me to thinking about ten things that make me happy. Then, last week when I went shopping, I noticed there is now a sign that says, “Twenty items or less” at the grocery store. I had to laugh because I got to thinking, “Wow, NOW I get twenty items instead of just Ten!” And guess what? The thought of TEN MORE, made me smile and feel like I had WON something.
So, here’s MY “list” to remind ME each day of those NOUNS (people, places or things) that I have in my life to keep me “up and running” like a fine tuned gal. In making my – list, I’m not denying that I don’t have worries or concerns. We are all very aware of our responsibilities that cause us to put our heads down and plow ahead with our lives. This is just my way of helping ME to keep things balanced in a life that has been unbalanced a lot lately and over the years. Can you feel me, sister? Yep, YOU! I know YOU know what I’m talking about….. with “our” lives being unbalanced.
Anyway, as you read my list, I hope you will be inspired to create your own “20+” list and find your way to the girly joy of playfulness, laughter and smiling as we each walk our days & write our nights of this adventure we call OUR LIFE. Life is for savoring and relishing. Like the saying goes,”Life is short, eat dessert first!” Happy Indulgence!
My List
1. Getting a phone call, IM, email, text message or note from my husband, sons, sister, family or friends.
2. Petting my dog, the neighbor’s dog or most any good smelling animal that I’m not allergic, to. Important: Good Smelling ONLY, no stinky pets!| 3. Feeding the wild animals who come to our home, and thinking about the squirrels that I used to feed my leftover peanut butter toast to while in college some 35 years ago at Seattle University with Kathy.
4. Knowing that I have 116 pairs of colorful & crazy socks.
5. ALL good smelling flowers, except the one that blooms only once in its lifetime and is called the “stinky flower.”
6. Christmas decorations, and how much my Mom used to love putting them up…and how much I enjoy doing the same now.
7. Having the sunshine on my face…sunscreen or not.
8. Watching the sunrise…and then the sunset, with a nap in between so I can stay up for both.
9. Having my very own bar of soap to bathe with. Hubby has his manly smelling one, I like MY own fragrant bar.
10. The aroma of soup, chili, pie, cookies, cake or anything yummy as it simmers, cooks or bakes.
11. Knowing that my sons are happy with their lives.
12. Watching planes or hot air balloons fly by.
13. Listening to the phone ring, and ring and not have a voicemail come on.
14. The smell of gasoline, tar and chocolate…individually, of course.
15. Watching heavy equipment move…Vroom-Vroom!
16. Riding our John Deere tractor or using our Snow Plow
17. Visiting someone in the hospital, Hospice or someone who is lonely.
18. Driving my Hybrid car & knowing that I’m doing something good for the environment.
19. Being able to read anything.
20. Having lots of Frequent Flyer Miles so I’m able to travel or surprise others with an airplane ride.
So take some time to think about the twenty items or more that you could put in your arsenal. Make a point of noticing and practicing those things the delight you. It will make you a better mom, wife, daughter and friend. Life is a balancing act so make your list, and share with us!
Kathy Vick C.L.C.
www.fluentlifecoaching.com
www.runlikeagirl.org
503 886 9642
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Be The Twist In The Story
Run Like a Girl Intention #2: Turn negative stereotypes around: To acknowledge that nothing is impossible, the process of redemption is the twist in the story that no one expects. Be that twist.
When I was a girl, I didn’t run. I had a profound, gait issue that would cause me to trip. I became the proud owner of corrective shoes that looked like small leather prisons on my feet. I was a hostage in more ways than one. It is interesting to me that my life has taken me this place where I encourage, support and advocate for women to run like a girl. It’s God’s twist in my story, and I so love good endings.
The story of the month is about the twist in Karen’s Sjoblom’s story. Karen is a great writer, trusted friend and an all around wonderful woman. I hope you read it and leave a comment for her. I want you to take this story into your hearts and remember that you have a twist in your story too.~Kathy Vick
In the interest of disclosure, I need to say that Kathy is a dear friend and we both have the requisite bias required for long-term relationships. She has said that I am her hero. And I believe I’ve gotten far more out of the friendship than she has.
Regardless, in asking me to write about Intention #2, Kathy’s saying, essentially, that she sees things in me that I cannot, which is what we do, all of us, in and around each other. And part of turning negative stereotypes around, besides surrounding yourself with good and honorable friends, is acknowledging and accepting that, in both good and bad ways, we can be blind to ourselves. There most likely is redemption if we peer into our souls, if we can get out of our own way to do so. And if we’re willing to go into that dark place and flash some light around, we may find ourselves pleasantly surprised.
I am not by nature an optimist. I categorize myself as a fatalist with a good sense of humor. So much of this is environmental: I was raised by grim-faced Midwesterners who believed in hard work and self-denial. And lots to drink. We had lots of alcoholics in my family. Rumor has it that the beginning of the (long) end of my parents’ marriage arrived concurrent with my birth. I now know that it would have been tough to grow up there under most circumstances, but factor in a freakishly oversensitive child who observed everything and everyone, who can remember the slightest details, and it’s a recipe for disaster. I grew up feeling too much, and what with everyone else’s problems and issues, I found myself all too happy to carry the burdens. If you drank too much, it was my fault. If you weren’t happy or fulfilled, it must be me. And if you needed to let loose on your bitter disappointment with life, I was your girl. I soaked it up at the cellular level: I was a problem, an irritation, a disappointment who’d never amount to anything. Even God didn’t like me.
It would have been handy if I, too, drank, but I chose other methods of coping: food, perfectionism and control. I tried to numb out so I didn’t have to feel so much, and I tried to control so that fewer things were left to chance. I turned my back on God at age 14, because He seemingly wasn’t powerful enough to solve my many family problems. By that point, I’d had years of abuse despite my best efforts: If I was going to be saved, I would have to do it myself.
So I became a striving young woman, judgmental and perfectionistic. I worked harder than you. I suffered more than you. I made fewer mistakes than you. And this somehow made me better than you, if only for a moment, until the bad voices in my head would start chewing on me again: Loser loser loser. Author Anne Lamott cleverly categorized this thinking and behavior as a classic egomaniac with an inferiority complex. I was both/and: grandiosely above reproach while feeling like something on the bottom of someone’s shoe…worthless.
I got married at 30, so incredibly happy that he didn’t drink. But I found he had other addictions, and a secret life, and I couldn’t trust him or get him to mind. And so we did what any couple in our situation would do: We had a baby, thinking that would fix things. And it got worse and worse until I threw out an ultimatum: We were going to counseling, or 12-Step, or whatever else, and we were going to get free of these addictions, or we weren’t going any further.
I came back to God on my knees, totally busted. I admitted my own wiliness was shot and I was fresh out of clever. I was willing to do whatever: stay or go. I didn’t know how to do either, frankly, but I was willing. And so we started, He and I, to look under some icky rocks together. We looked at my lack of trust. We looked at my being molested. We looked at alcoholism, and self-loathing, and control. And we looked at whether I was a loser in His eyes, or just mine.
And we looked at my then-two-year-old daughter, sitting precariously on the brink of repeating that life.
After a great deal of counseling and prayer and trying and hoping, I gathered that He had some work for me to do that perhaps I would not get accomplished under the current circumstances. With no forward movement on the addiction front, I ended up filing for divorce. It took 19 months to get out, but my daughter and I landed in a little place of our own, one without secrets. It’s not fancy, but it’s ours: There is peace here.
I cannot say it’s been easy, because it hasn’t. But as I’ve walked through this process and continued working on my faith, I’m learning something amazing: God likes twists. He’s not the cut-and-dried kind of guy I thought. In the middle of all my angst and worry and fretting, of feeling like I blew it too badly to be able to come back into the fold, I found I was not only welcomed back but given a ridiculous assignment to boot.
Before and during my marriage, I confess to having some disdain for single mothers, thinking they should have thought about birth control if they’re now complaining about how hard it is to be a single parent. I mean, please. And then, I found myself as a single parent, thinking, “Crap. This is really really hard.” And through a long and involved process, I got the feeling that God wanted me to talk and walk with other single moms, so we could (All together now!) say, “Crap. This is hard. But thankfully we have each other and The Big Guy.”
So God introduced me to Cathy Brewer, another single mom and my business partner, and we started hatching Eve’s Daughters—a place where we long to live out the wild love of Christ by walking alongside single moms in crisis. Our personal motto is that, even with over a dozen years of single parenthood between us, we’re still in crisis most days: Only the topics have changed. But I see that even someone as hardheaded and driven and introverted as myself could be changed and loved on enough to admit my needs, my loneliness, my failures and turn me into a woman whose heart breaks for other single moms. There’s some righteous indignation and there are tears and there are black-humored laughs…but there’s no more judgment.
We have so much work to do in starting a non-profit. But I’ve come to believe if you’re not anxiously breathing into a brown bag, maybe the dream didn’t come from God. He seems to have so much more belief in us than we do in ourselves. So if it’s too big and too overwhelming and too much all the way around, I’m guessing I’m on the right track. And that’s the twisty part of the redemption: getting lost, getting found, getting saved, getting busy. And that He can use me for any of it comes as the most beautiful twist of all.
Karen Sjoblom is a freelance writer/editor and non-profit birther living outside of Portland, Oregon. She’s the single mom of a fabulous 10-year-old princess wannabe, a colorful daughter of an astounding Father and an avid coffee drinker. Hobbies include music, reading and thinking too much. She blogs at http://searosecreative.blogspot.com/ and http://evesdaughtersoforegon.blogspot.com/ and is trying desperately to finish a more functional website at www.evesdaughters.org.
Mother’s Day: Live Weightless (Intention # 3)
I would like to introduce you to my friend, Cheri Hardaway. She is a mom, a writer and so much more! I met her through The Christian Writers Forum last year and have enjoyed seeing both her writing and calling come together. I know you will enjoy her ” Run Like A Girl” story. It is one every woman can relate to as a mother or a daughter. May it encourage you to live weightless in your relationships and to extend grace to yourself.
___________________________
I stood in the greeting card aisle, stifled a sigh, and reached for another card. I’d done it again, put off buying a card until the last minute. I hated shopping for Mother’s Day cards. They were all just so . . . wrong.
This one read:
The dearest gifts that heaven holds,
The very finest, too,
Were made into one pattern
That was perfect, sweet, and true;
The Angels smiled, well-pleased, and said:
“Compared to all the others,
This pattern is so wonderful
Let’s use it just for Mothers!”
© Helen Steiner Rice
Ugh. Too sappy. I reached for the next one—another monologue declaring that Mom had always been there for me . . . as a Mom, as a friend.
My heart was a rock inside my chest. How could I send her that? I wouldn’t mean a word of it. She hadn’t been there. She’d been drunk. For ten solid years of my youth, from age ten to age twenty, she was drunk. I could still remember waking to the sound of the pop top from the kitchen, knowing she was already drinking beer, before I even got out of bed. I could still picture the empty beer cans hidden in my baby sister’s closet.
Yes, now that I was grown, I understood why she’d turned to alcohol. We’d talked about it several times after she’d gotten sober. And yes, she was sober . . . now. Had been for the past decade.
I reached for another card. It read:
Mothers have a special way
Of saying ‘I love you’
A love that God has given them
A love that will hold true
For Mothers sacrifice so much
Providing for the home
Creating there an atmosphere
That reflects God’s love alone.
© By M. S. Lowndes
I held the card, lost in thought. I saw again the wonder in my toddlers’eyes, leaning against Grandma as she pointed out the ladder up the side of her Christmas tree. They couldn’t get over the little elves that hung from some of the rungs, as if they were scrambling from top to bottom and back again, with holiday goodies. It was a tree straight from a fairy tale.
My kids didn’t know the same mom that I remembered. They knew a wonderful woman who desired their every happiness. It gave me joy to see them with her and know that they wouldn’t know the same woman I knew from that painful time in our past.
I rejoiced God had brought peace to her troubled heart and helped her to stop drinking, so my kids wouldn’t have to know her like that. I gave thanks they knew the same woman I’d known in my younger years, the one who sat up until dawn sewing Barbie clothes for my Barbie doll on Christmas Eve.
And then it hit me. She had been there for me, until life threw her a curve ball that she couldn’t get past. It was only then she’d trusted the alcohol instead of God.
Things happen, I thought. No one’s perfect. What if life throws me a curve ball? Will my own kids find it difficult to buy a Mother’s Day card for me too?
That thought hit hard. I knew how much I wanted to do right by my children. And suddenly I realized that my mom had wanted the same thing . . . still did. In fact, I knew God today because she’d taken me to church as a youngster. She’d instilled the truth of God into my heart, and though I’d walked away from it for a time, I’d come back to it. I knew God forgave me.
Mother’s Day reminded me of the prayer, “ Forgive me as I’ve been forgiven.”~ Matthew 6:12
Had I forgiven my mom as I had been forgiven? I went down my ready list:
God, You know what an embarrassment she was to me in high school . . .
I couldn’t bring my friends home . . .
When I had a problem, I couldn’t talk to her, I got so sick of her negativity . . .
“Excuse me.” I was nudged back to the present when a frazzled-looking woman reached past me to grab a card. She attempted to read it, as the toddler in her cart fished items from behind and dropped them on the floor with a gleeful giggle.
The young teen by her side just shook her head and watched the scene. “Mom, you said we were leaving. I need to get home now.”
“I know. I know. I’m sorry. I just need to grab a card for Grandma.”
The young girl folded her arms across her chest, with a dramatic hmpff.
“It’d be quicker if you’d help with your little brother, you know.” The woman sounded tired.
The girl reached for the toddler’s bombs and threw them back in the cart, finishing with a kick to the tire. “Don’t know why you need to get her a card. She never speaks to us anyhow.”
The woman shot me a glance, tossed the card into the cart without reading it, and turned to leave. But not before I saw the tears in her eyes. I heard her mumble, “I’m sorry,” as she walked away.
I didn’t know if she was sorry she took the time to get her mom a card . . . sorry I’d overheard the family skirmish . . . or just plain sorry she’d gotten out of bed that day.
I swallowed past the lump in my throat and bowed my head there in the middle of the greeting card aisle. Father, I have no idea what was happening between that mother and daughter, but I know You allowed it to happen in front of me. I’m sure the mom has her issues, and the daughter obviously has some, too. Thanks for reminding me of my issues– I am keeping score of things that happened over ten years ago.
Help me, Father, to forgive Mom. Help me to remember that she didn’t hurt me intentionally. Help me live weightless–forgiving as I’ve been forgiven. Amen.
I re-read the card in my hand:
Mothers have a special way
Of saying ‘I love you’
A love that God has given them
A love that will hold true
For Mothers sacrifice so much
Providing for the home
Creating there an atmosphere
That reflects God’s love alone.
© By M. S. Lowndes
No, Mom hadn’t been perfect. Neither was I. She tried her best. She introduced me to Jesus–the only one who makes me completely weightless.
My prayer, as I paid for Mom’s card, was that one day my own children would understand the lesson that God had just taught me–bitterness weighs heavy, forgiveness gives wings. How much better to better to forgive and live free . . . love free . . . run free . . . like a girl.
© By Cheri Hardaway, February 2009
All Rights Reserved.
RLAG: Intention #1 – Surrender Your Fear By Julie Arduini
I want you to meet my friend, Julie Arduini. In the last year, I have watched her walk fearlessly through the door of opportunity. I know her story will inspire you to take courage and surrender your fear. - Kathy Vick
As a little girl the last thing anyone would have said about me was that I ran, ever. I was an awkward child who as a baby wore braces on my feet.
What people remember me by is that love to read, write, and talk. As a child, I memorized stories to pretend I was reading. I scribbled on pages of paper — it was my book. My first grade report card noted that I loved “to chat.”
Despite that foundation, I’ve only recently been actively writing. The little girl who loved to read and write stories grew into an older child who was overweight and the object of ridicule. During those years, writing was my refuge because I could control the characters’ lives during a time in my life when so much seemed out of control. Our family was navigating its way through alcoholism in a day when not much was known. Our way of dealing with it was not to deal with it. Writing was everything to me. By high school when I found the courage to share my writing with others, a teacher told me that a correspondence class had only invited me to join for their profit, not because I had talent. A student shared how sad it was I never had great English teachers because I didn’t get the proper skills to write seriously. Add all that up and I was an angry young adult who decided to play life safe.
Although I graduated in Communications, I made sure my classes were ones that would not challenge me. I gained a reputation in school as a strong interviewer and reporter, but I was too sensitive to dare pursue journalism. In my career, I worked with senior citizens, created publicity, partnered with the media, and I did my share of public speaking. Any spare minute I could, I wrote stories. Still, I would not share those stories in public.
Although it didn’t happen overnight, over tens years or so, I began to trust God as my Heavenly Daddy by believing in His Son, Jesus. In small ways, my anger evaporated towards all those difficult childhood memories. Our family was able to experience unity and total peace before my dad passed away in 2004.
Yet one thing from my childhood remained: fear. I had a strong marriage, two children, and a stay-at-home position I longed for. Those stories were on my bookshelf, and I had so many story ideas I wanted to put to paper. A family member paid for me to take the apprentice course with the Jerry B. Jenkins Christian Writers Guild. Yet the words from high school haunted me. As the days passed, there was a competing voice. It wasn’t audible, but it was strong just the same, a stirring in my heart I knew was God. He was asking me to write for Him. I was terrified.
Again, writing actively wasn’t something I started right away. I prayed a lot. I worked with Mothers of Preschoolers (MOPS) in a role that was easy, safe, and comfortable, but I knew God was asking me to do more. After a few weeks of praying, I strongly felt I was to resign. I prayed for the next step.
There were different writing options to choose. I could submit articles for payment. I could dust off the old stories and polish them with the skills I acquired through the Christian Writers Guild. The direction I took was two-fold: I became a member of FaithWriters.com and I started researching blogs.
FaithWriters, with its supportive, family atmosphere, sharpened my writing with hope, not criticism. By faith, I entered the weekly challenge, quickly moving from the beginner to the advanced level in a month’s time. I joined the message boards and made friends who encouraged and advised me.
At this point I sent out invitations to friends to join my support team. I had a strong sense that being covered by their prayers was an important step in my writing. The group was in place before I wrote a single word.
I spent two months researching blogs. I learned what I liked, and what I didn’t. A friend helped me come up with a title about a Scribe. On December 31, 2006, 11:30pm, I published my first post as “The Surrendered Scribe.” The blog was my place to test the writing waters, to be transparent, and to try new things.
Within eight months the blog gained enough respect online that the administrators at the Christian Writers Forum asked for my input on how to start a blog. The concept is “A Day in the Life” where aspiring writers share their journey against the backdrop of their season of life. I remain the Sunday “mommy” blogger.
FaithWriters continued to open doors for me. I put my work in the free reprint section, which let ministries use it as long as they gave me the byline. By October 2007, what started as a free reprint story about overcoming fear after our daughter’s near death experience was featured in Lori Wagner’s book, Quilting Patches of Life.
After a year I felt it was time to branch out with something that would require deeper faith. I knew of two other women who were feeling the call to write but were unsure of how to start. I felt they were to join me with a new blog we would write together. At first they didn’t think it was meant for them. Together we became the Narrow Gate Girls. Our blog, the “Narrow Gate Invites,” tackles our experiences in Christ—our mistakes, our time in the Word, however God leads.
Eventually, two of my works were published in the Jan Ross/Jeanice McDade anthology: Women of Passions: Ordinary Women Serving an Extraordinary God. I also had a few stories on their main site, Heart of God International, newsletter.
The next step that was out of my comfort zone was writing fiction. I submitted a story for the Peculiar People’s Project. It will be featured in the Postcard Project, tentatively scheduled for 2009. Three other fiction works will be in future FaithWriters anthologies. I am absolutely convinced these things stem from my obedience to write, even when afraid.
Today besides the blogging, I am a monthly columnist with Take Root and Write, an online magazine that ministers to Christian women. More than 25 writers tackle over 40 subjects important to women. I write a column on “Finding Freedom Through Surrender” and recently signed on to write a column about striving for marital oneness.
Although the blog that started it all is called “The Surrendered Scribe”, I confess there is nothing surrendered in me yet. I’m in a constant state of surrender, and, I think I’ll always be. Just as I get comfortable, I feel the call to try something new. Even now I’m praying on the right timing to join American Christian Fiction Writers. Each new step I’m afraid. What if people make fun of me? What if I’m rejected? Those same little girl thoughts go through my mind. This time though, I don’t let fear stop me. Although I have awkward knees and turned in feet, I run like a girl when I write. Why? Because I embrace the idea that God doesn’t call the equipped, He equips the called. I’m living proof.
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If you want to:
- Surrender your fear
- Turn negative stereotypes around
- Live weightless
- Honor your age
- Embrace a free spirit
- Celebrate who God meant you to be
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