Joy E. DeKok's Blog, page 3

A Glimmer of Green Along the Way

 

I got up early today to walk in the cool of what is predicted to be another hot day. With my camera in my hand, I headed out with my camera in my hand and a question for God in my heart.

After getting a few lovely photos of blooming grass and other blossoms, I almost headed back into the house for coffee with Jon which is one of my favorite things. But the question on my heart lingered so I kept walking. Besides, I wanted something from God to take with me into the day ahead.

At one corner of one of our wildflower gardens, I asked Him the question resting heavy on my heart, “What does it mean to be a fervent pray-er?” A few steps later I asked, “Is there a cost to this kind of praying – besides confession which is a biggie, I know. And I’ve been doing that with my friends, at Bible study, to Jonathan, and sometimes on my blog.” Oh, readers! The things these trusted ones know about me!

The questions on this topic kept coming and I kept walking. The last question I asked was, “What does fervent look like?”

Near the other corner of the field, I saw a glimmer of green shining in the morning sun. An iridescent glimmer on a coneflower. It’s hard for me to resist this kind of sighting – something in me insisted I look closer.

That’s when I found this little bee.

I moved nearer.

Her saddlebags were already partly loaded with pollen, but she wasn’t done.

When she stood on her head, I heard my laughter spin into the air as she, again and again, went deeper. A single word crossed my mind and my laughter stilled.

“Fervent.”

I stepped back onto the path, delighted God used a bee to illustrate His answer to me.

A few minutes ago, I turned to the verse that led me to this moment along the way with God this morning.

Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The earnest (fervent KJV) prayer of a righteous person has great power and produces wonderful results. (Italics mine) James 5:16 NLT

And to Strong’s Online Concordance. I didn’t want to misunderstand or misrepresent the Word of God. The Greek word is, Energeo. It’s a verb and can mean to “put forth power.”

I turned to Merriam-Webster too. I do love dictionaries! Here’s what I learned about the word fervent there: it’s an adjective used to modify a noun (in this case, prayer) and some synonyms are: intense, passionate, and on-fire.

My take-away: Praying this way for each other requires an investment of energy driven by the a holy fire. 

It is so cool the way a desire for something from God and questions that pressed on my heart,  led to a longer walk and then to the glimmer of green that was a pollen-seeking bee that led me to a new desire: to pray fervently for those who ask for it.

Do you have a prayer need today? Please leave a short request in the comments and I will pray for you.

Until Next Time,

Joy

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Small Things Along the Way – Gentle Moments

Last Saturday, I took a walk. Along the way, God used these small things to remind me of His goodness and greatness.

As always, during the blooming season, I was drawn to the wild roses. To this blossom. While I saw the gorgeous pink and the white star that seemed to shine from the middle, it was the “sun-burst” that shone into my spirit and felt like encouragement from Heaven itself.

Oh, the loveliness!

As I walked, I was drawn to more small beauties doing their best to do what flowers do despite the hard, dry ground that needed life-giving rain.

Biting flies tried to distract me. Their bloodthirst threatened to drive me into the house, but I said, “No.” Out loud. It did nothing to decrease their efforts, but it increased my determination because I knew I was on the cusp of a gentle lesson, or perhaps I should say a gentle reminder.

Of who God is. His greatness. His significance as King, Creator, Savior, and Comforter of Souls. The truth that He is the God who sees, hears, and most of all, who loves.

These tiny things on this small piece of Earth Jon and I call home brought to mind the vastness of God, and His Creation as often happens out there. Of the stars, the sun, the galaxies. And the tiniest of blossoms.

Walking, pausing, standing, and pondering worship refreshed my spirit the way the breeze cooled my sun-warmed cheeks.

When a coneflower in the distance danced to the tune of the wind, I wondered to Him, “Did that delight You too, Father?” I can’t say for sure, but maybe.

Continuing along the way with Him, I remembered He created me too and that while in His gigantic universe, I’m tiny – I am wonderfully so because of Him.

For a second, I thought that was the gentle lesson – the reminder supported by a verse I know so well. But there was a familiar nudge, and here it is for all of us to ponder.

Standing at the edge of one of the wildflower fields, I told God a truth about me He already knew. I wanted to tell Him and at the same time didn’t want to. You know?

They were so hard to admit. But it was time.

I whispered to the God who knows, hears, and loves me anyway, “Lord, I know that even with cancer, I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”

My confession didn’t shake Heaven, but it shook me.

Even now, I write them, tears flow.

Because it’s hard and sad BUT ALSO (please don’t miss this – it’s the biggest part of this whole struggle!)  because of the wonder of it all. He is God, and He is greater than great. He is the greatest. He is all-knowing. He knit us together in our mother’s wombs. He knows every molecule in everybody.

I BELIEVE this about Him and so much more.

Now for the question and the confession . . .

Am I thankful for cancer? Not yet. Maybe He’s moving me in that direction but right now? So far, I’ve made it to being thankful in the midst of the disease.

Perhaps one day, God will get me to that for place, and maybe I will discover a new kind of freedom I’ve never known. Right now, I’m a hesitant ponderer grappling with the kind of gratitude that, while a choice on my part, takes courage only God can provide.

Like most of us who believe, I’m one of His children drawing closer to Him step by sometimes small step.

And trusting Him to use the smallest of things to teach me the biggest of things.

Until Next Time,

Joy

 

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Why Me? ~ A Writing Encouragement

Why Me? A Writing Encouragement ~ Joy DeKok

Before writing a sentence in this series of posts, I asked myself, “What is my reason, my purpose for these words?” My answer came immediately: To encourage people who believe in Jesus and want to write, are writing, or who want to write again.

Then came prayers, resistance, and rebellion.

In my twenties, I started taking personality “tests,” hoping to discover the definition of me. One strength, with these synonyms, made its presence known at the top of all the lists: Encourager. Advocate. Champion of others. One who infuses others with courage.

At first, combining my spiritual gift with my love of writing sounded like the perfect fit. What could be easier?

Well, there was that one thing . . .

I’m not famous or successful by any of the normal definitions. Yeah. That.

And there’s this other thing – my stage 4 breast cancer is back for the 3rd time. Yes, this.

These might cause you to ask me, “What right do you have to advise anyone about writing?” Or you might wonder, “You consider yourself an authority on this subject?” Or perhaps, “Don’t you have anything better to do in your limited number of days?”

And now we’ve reached the root of my hesitation. Fear. The kind that does its best to scare me away from writing and sharing these posts. The kind that accuses and belittles.

My answer comes to you in a whisper. “Because I am writing and have written and have readers. And one of the desires of my heart is to give you a touch of hope and invite you to please join me in putting your words on the pages.

So far, after writing this piece and editing it more times than I’m going to admit here, I’m back.

The yearning to write these posts does not go away no matter how hard I shove it into a dark cellar where the sound of rats scurry, and loud nasally squeaks celebrate and gnaw on the root of my fear.

While they chew, I reason to myself, “All fear (other than reverence) is a warning from God that I should listen to and avoid and protect myself.

Never mind the number of times God’s Word says, “Fear not . . .”

Eventually, even as I scold (silent, internal yelling) and try to shame these posts away, something deep inside me kicks the rats out like tiny ninjas (the size of dragonflies).

I suggest to myself, “Perhaps if I write them, they will leave me alone.” I hear giggling from where the little warriors peek at me, their little lights glowing the darkness away.

Yes, this is the way my mind works.

Over and over, I’ve prayed and asked God to remove this deep wanting from me. Finally, I turn again to Romans 12:8 (NLT): “If your gift is to encourage others, be encouraging.”

It’s hard to argue this verse that feels like a command and not a kindly suggestion.

Only you can decide if my posts are the right fit for you. The best part is, we all win because God will lead you to the right encourager, and some of you will come here. Our God is in the details. How cool is that?

Until Next Time,

Joy

S. Another reason I’ve been waiting to post this . . . as some of you know, on Tuesday (June 15, 2021), I had a Mayo Clinic day. The results were not what I’d hoped. For those who don’t know, I have stage 4 breast cancer and am experiencing my 3rd recurrence. I thought maybe if the results were negative, this want to would go away. Instead, it grew. I may have mumbled, “Uffdah!” before whispering, “Okay, Lord.”

Here’s more on my cancer journey. https://www.caringbridge.org/visit/joydekok#journal-anchor

“Are you paralyzed with fear? That’s a good sign. Fear is good. Like self-doubt, fear is an indicator. Fear tells us what we have to do. Remember one rule of thumb: the more scared we are of a work or calling, the more sure we can be that we have to do it.”  Steven Pressfield, The War of Art  https://www.amazon.com/War-Art-Steven-Pressfield-ebook/dp/B007A4SDCG

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Just a Minute or So . . . June 9, 2021

Hello Dear Readers!

After a chilly spring, summer arrived with 90+ degree temps. But June, the month butterflies and bees return to the gardens and parent birds bring their babies to the feeders. These things make the rest bearable.

I enjoy sharing what my author friends are up to. This week, it’s Naomi’s turn.

Naomi Musch, Author ~ www.naomimusch.com 

Mist O’er The Voyageur is next on my reading list! I hope to be turning these pages by the weekend. Click on the cover to learn more.

2022 is looking like a great year for Naomi and her readers! These two will be available in January and February. Why not pre-order and get your winter list started? (Song for the Hunter is the sequel to Mist O’er the Voyager)

And . . .

Click on the Lumberjacks and Ladies cover to learn more about this story collection. You can also sign up for Naomi’s newsletter for updates HERE.

Here’s a bit of news from me . . .

These five baby orphaned raccoons came to us, years ago, in June. We had the privilege of raising them to the age of release. Raccoon Tales is their real-life story for children. And until June 15,  2020, the ebook (the graphics are beautiful!) is 99 cents! 

AmazonAll Online Stores

And . . . if your kids like to color, you can get them 2 free coloring pages here. 

Until Next Time,

Joy

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Woodland Wildflowers and Outlining – My Writing Life

When I found this lovely bouquet of Dutchman’s Britches, a writing thought zigged and zagged across my mind.

That happens to me a lot. I do love thoughts and ideas and pondering.

As I focused my camera lens, I “saw” the way I outline writing projects these days.

I get the essential ideas strung together one after the other – this is the rawest stage of the book.  No details. Single sentences. Choppy. Easy to rearrange and add to or subtract. Next, I let the story flow onto the pages as I know it at the time.

This way is much more fun than when I spent weeks (sometimes months) outlining and charting and often discarding it all and starting over because it was overwhelming. Instead of listening to the story, I was overthinking every little thing.

Now I follow the advice of William Faulkner, who said, “Get it down. Take chances.”

His words hold the adventure that can be writing if I let it.

Example: The Prologue for Behind the LiesOlivia and McKenna’s first date – for Pete’s sake.There are nerves, social interaction, delicious food, and . . .Later, there is a kiss followed by a KISSThe evening ends with a promise and an interruption that could have ruined Olivia’s evening, but it doesn’t because she and McKenna will have another date – for their sake.

I wrote the prologue right after making this bullet list to test the waters. When chapter one was written, the second and third lists were waiting to be bulleted and saved. The story has moved ahead each day. I’ve had the energy to write at a comfortable pace. I delete the bullets after the chapters are written, knowing the details will show up, as they always do, in the 2nd and 3rd drafts. A few more will come or go in the editing stage and again after my professional editor blesses me and the story with her insights.

Bonus:  Olivia and I have fewer arguments because she is the “voice” of the outline.

Until Next Time,

Joy

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This & That – May 1, 2021

I hope you enjoy this newsletter post.

THIS …

What I’m reading: (Click on the book titles to learn more about each one.)

Mind of the Raven by Bernard Henrich 

My fascination with animals started when I was a little girl and my parents introduced me to Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom on Sunday nights in the early 60s. I daydreamed about being able to understand be understood by wild animals. Move over Snow White! (Okay – I dreamed about being her too and talking to woodland animals and little guys with a jewel mine!)

Then I read The Soul of an Octopus by Sy Montgomery (this is an amazing book! If you only click on one link in this post, let it be this one!

Ravens fascinate me too.

Agatha Christie – An Autobiography

This line from the preface, written by the Grand Dame of Mystery, caught me by the heart and I cannot get enough of her story.

“I like living. I have sometimes been wildly despairing, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing.”

Me too, Ms. Christie!

Two Reasons to Run by Colleen Coble I do love a good mystery/suspense book.

Writer’s Doubt by Bryan Hucthinson

I have a term for my first attempts at any writing projects – they are so raw, they are my sushi drafts. All the experts I’ve ever read teach that all first drafts are crap. This has always bothered me so imagine my surprise when Bryan Hutchinson wrote, “Your first draft is not crap no matter how far from perfect it might be.” He also shared this quote from Michael Lee: “The first draft reveals the art, revision reveals the artist.”

What encouragement!

Lessons From a Sheep Dog by Philip Keller

Lass is a dog considered worthless because she was determined to be untrainable. When the author took her into his care, she became a magnificent sheep dog (the author’s words). This story is connecting me tenderly to my Savior. Again.

What I’ve read recently:

The Bottom of the Pool by Andy Andrews Here’s a quote that challenged me in a good way: “Be careful about what you think you know. Because you can’t always believe everything you think.”

Two Lives by Reeve Lindbergh This is from the beginning of this book: “I’m pretty sure that I’m not alone in living two lives. I think most people do this to some degree.”

Deadlocked by Heather Gilbert – Deadlocked is book 3 in The Hemlock Creek Suspense series. And Night Fall by Nancy Mehl is book one in her current series, The Quantico Files.

Fault Lines by Voddie Baucham, Jr. brings clarity out of the chaos being screamed at us today. The author digs deep into today’s most dividing issue. He reveals facts the media and others haven’t told. He did all the hard homework. He writes with respect about those who have hidden the truth behind headlines. A quick FYI: Fault Lines is not the first book I’ve read on this topic. It is, however, the best I’ve read.

And That . . .

A few of my online favorites:

Andy Andrews The Professional Noticer.

I read Seth Godin’s blog almost every day because he writes something new out there that often. I enjoyed this one on identity very much.

The Write Conversation – an award-winning blog for writers.

I visit this wildlife photography site often. Suzie Eszterhas.

And now, a little something from me . . .

A blog post:

Book 1 in The Mississippi Queens series:

I hope you found something you like!

Until Next Time,

Joy

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My Jax Jar

Jon and I love to go for rides, get coffee at Caribou on the way out of town (or wherever we’re headed to), and listen to books. We also listen to podcasts, and one of our favorites is Andy Andrews, The Professional Noticer.

Listening to one Andy did with Jon Acuff recently led us to a new book to read as we ride: Soundtracks.

Before I get too far along, we’re not on a first-name basis with Andy – he has no idea who we are. But we sort of know him from reading most of his books and this podcast.

Back to the book …

It’s a cool read, and it led to this for me:

Jon Acuff had a habit he wanted to break, and while I listened to his story, I realized I had a habit I wanted to make bigger. You’ll have to read the book to learn about the author’s, but mine is a Jax Jar.

When I was so much younger than I am today, Mama bought me Jax and taught me to play. I loved everything about them – even the smell of the red ball. Well, not everything. I dropped one without knowing it when putting them back in the little bag they belonged in and found it later with my bare foot. I’m a determined walker, so the memory lingers.

While listening to the book, I got excited and shut the Audible app off. I had to tell my Jon that I wanted to have a Jax jar and then checked Amazon to see if I could get at least 300 of them. When I found out I could, I giggled, and we started to listen to the book again.

Over the next couple of rides, I had similar experiences. One involves a word I will write about later. It’s a tender and very dear-to-my-heart thing. It will take me some time to wrap it up in words on the page.

When the box of Jax arrived, I giggled again.

Then I got a Mason jar ready and spilled the 300 Jax onto my desk.

Yes, this jar with its Jax gets its own doily.

It matters this much to me.

I love to write, but lately, I’ve been more than a little fatigued and a little lackadaisical about getting it in. And I’d been saying some stuff to myself that was making it worse.

Listening to Soundtracks, I didn’t want the writing part of my life to be this way anymore.

Excitement rose in me the way it did when I was again, a whole lot younger, filling up cheap spiral notebooks with old BIC pens that sometimes left ink blobs on the pages.

Now, I wanted to see and hear what I wrote in a fresh way. I learn by seeing and hearing, so this felt like a natural fit. When I dropped the first Jax into the jar, the soft clink delighted me so much I took it out and dropped it in again.

I can hardly wait to see what 300 days of writing look like.

Yes, I can print off all the pages, but I only do that for novels at editing time, and that would be a lot of paper that would get thrown away. Besides, this discipline (that makes me smile like a little girl) isn’t about words or pages written.

It is a visual of the DAYS I put words on the pages. 300 days of Jax. 300 days of writing.

It feels gentle and kind and fun and important.

And oh, that clink! The sound of success so powerful it silences the negative soundtracks that I’ve let rule for so long.

This is almost written and I can hardly wait to hear that sound again. Who knew the soft falling of a Jax into a Mason jar could cancel the lies I’ve been giving space in thoughts? There’s only one in there right now, but it changed something inside me that matters.

Now and then, on my Facebook Author Page and in my This & That blog posts, I’ll give you a Jax in a Jar update. I hope you’ll read Soundtracks. It’s more than worth the time and the price of the book.

Until Next Time,

Joy

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A Pause in the Wind – A Nature Essay

A Pause in the Wind ~ A Nature Essay by Joy DeKok

The other day was windy, with gusts of up to 40 MPH recorded. I still went outside with my camera, hoping to get a couple of miles walked and a photo or two.

Some things weighed heavy on my heart that day. Walking and talking to God is medicine for my spirit.

I’d been out there for an hour or more when sunshine on the hydrangea bush in our yard drew me to it. The angle was wrong (into the sun), and last year’s fragile blossoms were at the will of the wind. I stood still with my camera focused on the one that caught my eye, just in case.

I had to plant my feet firmly so the wind couldn’t shove me around. I considered giving up and moving on. There might be better opportunities behind the trees that form a windbreak. Instead, I stayed put waiting and praying for one good shot.

Then it happened. The wind stopped. In the sudden silence, I had time to snap this photo and a couple of others.

Moments later, I heard the wind coming across the wildflower fields. It hit the bush and me with the same intensity as before.

I know the wind ebbs and flows – it’s a scientific fact. But to the poet in me, it was like it inhaled, paused, and exhaled.

In Job 28:25, it says that God decides how hard the winds blow. And Psalm 135:7 says He brings the wind out of His storehouses. He’s in charge of when, where, and how hard it blows. These are facts, too – written to us by the God of Creation and science.

You might be wondering if I think God was distracted and looked away from all the sorrow and chaos in the world so I could take a picture of last year’s hydrangea blossom. I don’t know why He paused the wind in those moments, but I do know He is all-powerful. All-knowing. Omnipotent and omnipresent. I also know His eyes remained focused on everyone everywhere else when the wind in our yard paused.

He is God.

Now it’s possible if we were having coffee, you might want to ask if I honestly believe this moment was an answer to prayer. That would be silly, right? Why would He do that? After all, I’ve asked Him for great answers to prayer, and I haven’t received the answers I long for, so really? A pause in the wind so I could take a picture?

Yes.

Why? Perhaps He wanted to teach me that when I wonder if He’s listening, He is.  Maybe He let me get this photo as an illustration of that lesson. It is also possible He has more lessons for me wrapped in these moments that I haven’t discovered yet.

Here are three other God ponderings that wandered through my mind as I wrote this:  Was there someone else somewhere else who prayed for that pause in the wind too? Did the wind behind the pause catch up with the wind ahead, filling in that momentary windless space? Did it delight God when what He did took my breath away?

Not all my God questions have answers. That’s the wonder and mystery of God. For a woman with many questions who wants answers to them, there is peace in my spirit knowing He knows all there is to know, and that is enough—more than enough.

Until Next Time,

Joy

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Her Song – A Nature Essay

Her Song

A Nature Essay by Joy DeKok

They came together, and at first, she let him eat. A few minutes later, they changed places, and he watched over her while she ate.

As I talked to her, she relaxed her crest. It was a compliment of sorts. Her eyes showed no fear – even when I shifted positions.

A few minutes into our time together, another female cardinal showed up and settled near the male. She moved closer to him, and it seemed to me she was flirting with him. He kept his eyes on the lady he came with. I liked him for that.

The newcomer fluffed her feathers ever so slightly the way a woman might her hair. I watched him, but he seemed not to notice. I liked him a little more.

Not a quitter, the late arrival moved closer. He kept his gaze on lady number one. My respect for him grew.

Then, the one he came took flight, offering him a gentle call.

Without a moment of hesitation, he rose into the air and followed her song.

I liked him very much for that.

He reminded me of Jonathan. My beloved. Although I’ve seen others fluff and flirt, he has faithfully kept his eyes and heart on me. All these years, he has lovingly heard and followed the song of my heart.

I love this about him.

Until Next Time,

Joy

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Stringing Beads

I took this photo in July of 2020. I loved it and named it String of Beads. Lovely beads of dew strung on the silken strings of a spider web.

Stringing Beads ~ Joy DeKok

A memoir about me? Am I famous? Nope. Have I done great things? No. They why? Because – that’s why. Not a very satisfying answer is it? But for today, it’s the one. No reasons. No excuses. No explanations or self-defense.

These memoir posts are about the unwinding I feel in my spirit.

It is like the way Mama used to wind down after a busy day. Hers started with the newspaper. She sat in her chair and read with a cup of coffee (or an iced tea in summer) on the end table and the paper held high, covering her. Looking back, I wonder if it gave her the same feeling a blanket fort gave me – the place I loved to go to enter my pretend world, although, in all honesty, I rarely left that world for long, no matter where I was.

Were those printed pages a soft barrier from her day-to-day life where she stepped into the much larger world? I never asked, perhaps because it didn’t cross my mind until now.

Later, after supper, when the dishes were washed and dried and favorite TV shows were over, she’d remove her shoes – another step in her unwinding. They would be nearby if she needed to answer the door because she was almost always ready but shoes off was her way of settling gently into the night. She might read the rest of the newspaper or a book from the library.

My unwinding, in words, will be peaceful and prickly. Gentle and bold.  Tender and raw. Lovely and not. Polite and unruly. Revealing and concealing. Glad and grumpy. Disappointment will show up, and so will contentment. These posts will overflow with faith and will admit to the occasional doubt. You’ll see me unraveled by life and mended by God. Speaking of Him . . .

If you read these posts, be prepared – I’m a testifier. Jesus will show up on most of these pages. That’s the way it is with God and me. Not because I am great – I am NOT. But God is the greatest. 

I will ask questions – lots of questions and many times will have no answers. There will be times of remembrance when love won and when it got misplaced and at times lost. I’ll share times of rejection and acceptance.

These memories are not so much a confession of sin, for that belongs to God, but an admittance that I do sin. I will write about failures and successes, not always recognizing them correctly because sometimes when I put them into words, they reveal victories I missed.

There will be anger now and then. Sometimes righteous and other times not. And forgiveness – God’s and the ways He helps me forgive.

My grammar and punctuation will likely cause a few to shake their heads. I write the way I talk.

These stories of my life are not a rebellion or a revolution. I’ve read some that are one or both, and I’ve left them intimidated.

My goal is simple: to be me in words.

To name this memoir, which those who have taught me is essential, I prayed and waited, not for a lightening but a gentle knowing in my heart. The answer came as a remembering because that’s what memoirs are.

I saw myself as a little girl sitting on the linoleum floor at my grandma Joy’s house with a shoebox of beads, my own set of needles from Ben Franklin, and a couple of spools of thread – white and black.

She encouraged me to cut the strings holding the beads together and restring them in a new way. I don’t remember any specific instructions, but I put them together in ways that felt good and acceptable. Tame. Safe. Nice. Calm. Pretty.

There was, however, this other day.

I cut all my restrung necklaces apart, letting them fall into the shoe box. Then, I pulled a very long string from my black spool, knotting it at one end. My excitement grew as one bead left my needle, slid down the thread, and another followed, and none of them went together except that they did. Perfectly I thought. A yellowed pearl chased a tomato red glass bead, and a fake topaz was next in line with a plastic white one following close behind. My creation got heavier, and I somehow knew to add a knot here and there to give my work of wonder a bit of strength.

It was an hour of humming along and tapping my foot to the secret rhythm inside me.

There was no order. No rules. It felt outrageous. Bold. Wild. Free. Brave. Silly. Happy. Different in a way that mattered. It was the exact right necklace for me.

Finally, I tied the last knot at the end of my string to the first knot and slipped it over my head. It didn’t hang around my throat in my normal dainty, lady-like fashion. Nope. It draped all the way to my waist and hung wonderfully heavy and bulky.

I stood in front of the mirror and wound it twice and then three times over my head, and it still rested on my chest. I pulled the first loop a little tighter and had a choker with doubled longer lengths below.

I loved my string of mismatched beads.

When I modeled my necklace for Mama and Grandma, they looked at me, then at each other, and finally at me again, eyebrows slightly raised. My stomach lurched a little, my happy wiggling halted, and I tensed. They meant no harm but wondered where I would wear it? My answer: everywhere. One of them asked what clothes of mine it matched? My answer: all of them.

Daddy entered the design discussion with one word: gawdy. (I spelled it the way he said it – the w emphasized.)

Again, no one meant to hurt my heart. These people I loved so dearly and who loved me were expressing opinions that opposed mine, and I had no idea how to handle that. I was probably ten years old at the time. But I’d been so sure they would see the loveliness I saw and would recognize that I was beautiful wearing my energetic, enthusiastic necklace of many colors, sizes, and shapes.

I tucked my beautiful to me string of beads away. A few days later, I cut the thread and set the beads free using Grandma’s manicure scissors. I remember putting the lid on the box, but I don’t remember opening it again. No one demanded this of me. It was my decision.

Over the years, I wore bead necklaces that matched my outfits, and most of the time, I was fine with them.

But I missed those beads I’d loved.

That was when I knew my memoir would be me humming and tapping my internal foot to the internal rhythm inside of me and stringing one unmatched story after another on the thread of my life.

I hope you’ll read the stories that are my life and if you are writing yours, please let me know in the comments where I can find them.

Until Next Time,

Joy

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