Joy E. DeKok's Blog, page 7
July 24, 2019
Not Another One ~ A Tender Moment
I don’t remember why, but I was in a hurry that day. It’s possible the temperature and humidity were on the rise, but a leisurely, quiet walk in the garden wasn’t on the agenda. Instead, I was determined that a fast, short trip was what I needed.
And I had a request to the Maker of Heaven and Earth – please Lord, not another yellow flower. Something different would be so much better. I wanted a little variety.
I thanked Him for the redbug picture – it is still one of my favorites.
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Isn’t it cool? Talk about a bug on a mission!
And there was the fill my cup Lord blossom.
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It had me singing that song for days.
I thought this one that sort of glistened in the golden hour of the day was the best of three, and that was enough.
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When I glanced at another yellow blossom on my way to something better, it was empty. I wanted to move on, but for some reason, my eyes stayed put as a “wait a moment” feeling came over me.
My internal foot tapped.
Then, despite my hurry and demanding mood, God allowed me several beautiful moments with this blossom and this butterfly.
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As I drew closer, the butterfly danced gently, collecting nectar from the yellow blossom. He or she stayed long.
Watching the delicate creature, a passage from the Bible came to mind.
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made. John 1:1-3 ESV (Note: the pronouns in this passage = Jesus)
A hush fell over my hurried self.
Jesus made the yellow blossoms, all the butterflies, me, and our wildflower moments. Oh, the wonder of this truth: He made every single thing!
No longer in a hurry, I wandered back to the house the long way and thanked Him for yet another yellow blossom holding a butterfly in its lovely cupped petals.
Has God surprised you with a tender moment in a way you least expected or wanted? I’d love it if you’d leave your story in the comments.
Until Next Time,
Joy
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July 4, 2019
Cancer Changes Things
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On a recent walk around one of our wildflower gardens, I noticed the beautiful faces of many of my favorite tiny asters were facing away from me. It was a cloudy day so they weren’t following the sun. They were just being blossoms.
And yet, a familiar knowing rose in my heart. A God and me moment was on the way.
Standing still, I waited and prayed eagerly for what He had for me. After several deep breaths (the asters smell like honey!), thoughts and questions as hot and humid as the day zinged through my mind.
They had everything to do with getting things done for God and writing and what that might look like in my cancer altered life.
Because cancer changes things.
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I asked Him about unfinished writing projects and all the ideas I have.
Where I once assumed I’d be writing until I was much older than I am, I now wonder how much time I have left to write.
Yep – cancer changes things.
A gentle breeze blew across the wildflower field and I breathed a little deeper. Okay – it was more like a big inhale and an even bigger exhale. Some might call it a dramatic sigh. It was followed by a cacophony of questions.
“Lord, there are novels I want to write and stories I yearn to tell and God moments I long to share! Will I have time? Which ones matter the most? What if I don’t get them done in time? What was once crystal clear is now sort of blurry.”
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My questions went on for some time. Sweat ran into my eyes. So did some tears.
Finally, I took another honey-scented breath deeper and louder than the ones before it and asked Him, “What do You want me to do all of the days of the rest of my life?”
These verses from His Word brought the lesson He was preparing my heart to receive.
23 Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men,24 knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ.
Colossians 3:23 & 24 (ESV)
16 In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.
Matthew 5:16 (ESV)
I smiled into the soft gray sky, let the breeze dry my tears (and some of the sweat!), and looked at the blossoms I love so much one more time before moving on. That was when I saw these three, their sweet faces “looking” in my direction.
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Although they don’t in any way represent the incomprehensible majesty of God, or have any spiritual symbolism, they were a tender reminder that of the One who is the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit is the God who knows me.
He will give me the courage to serve and shine even when my body requires a nap and especially on the days when two naps are essential.
And I am certain that God and I will accomplish His will for my life in the days He gives me.
I believe this truth like never before because cancer changes hearts and things.
Until Next Time,
Joy
P. S. Here is a prayer I’ve been whispering to Him based on the verses above:
“Lord, help me to write and take pictures heartily for You alone because I know that my reward and inheritance come from You. I serve You, Lord Christ. And Father, please show me how to let my light shine before others so they will see my good works and glorify You. In Jesus Name and Power, amen.”
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May 27, 2019
Dearie {A Legacy Post}
A few weeks ago, Jon and I were out to breakfast. I was enjoying his company, his smile, the coffee, and knew the coming food was going to be delicious.
I wasn’t looking for a blessing beyond what l already had, but one arrived anyway when an older woman (even old than me!) said to her granddaughter, “I love you, Dearie.”
Tears of delight gathered in my eyes because my Grandma Joy often called me Dearie. That sweet endearment took me right back to moments with her and to our love.
Memories of her and I made their way across my mind and out into the open as I shared them with Jon even though he knew most of them.
“Mama said it was special between us from our very first moments together.”
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“She was always willing to listen to me, and I was always chattering. I loved touching her pretty pins gently. I was always welcome in her arms.”
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“I rode the bus to her house (Rochester MN to Worthington MN) whenever the funds allowed. It was different back then – I started riding alone when I was about seven. The drivers looked after me and helped me change buses in one of the towns along the way.”
“When I became a teenager, life got busier, but Mama and Daddy still provided the trip money, and I learned to ask my bosses for time off. And she came to us when she could.”
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“And I was always her Dearie.”
“She was so frail that last Christmas. But still, she patted my face and said, ‘I love you, Dearie.’”
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The memories and the words kept coming between bites of my yummy breakfast.
“I remember waking up at her house to find her reading her Bible and praying. I’d try to stay quiet, but she always knew I was awake. She’d invite me to follow her into the kitchen where she put frozen raspberries (an expensive treat back in the day) in bowls, fixed us cups of tea, and fried four slices of crispy bacon.”
And I wasn’t done yet.
“Then we’d get ready for the day which almost always included one errand, her piano students, and often a visit to the hospital or one of the two nursing homes in town or coffee with one of her dear friends. She loved sharing us with each other.”
Our conversation changed directions, and Jon got a few words in himself while I finished my food.
One thing that stands out to me about Grandma was serving others was as natural to her as breathing. She didn’t call it that – she called what we did running errands and visiting. And because we dressed up in our almost Sunday best, it also felt like a celebration of sorts.
On the way home from breakfast with Jon, I prayed silently, “Thank You for Grandma Joy and although I’m not sure this is how You do things in Heaven, if it’s okay with You, please tell her Dearie loves her.”
Because I did and I do and always will.
Legacy Moment:
All it took to remember was a cherished word. I know there are words we’ve all heard in our lives that lead to many different memories. But is there a kind word someone spoke to you that lingers in your heart? I hope you’ll consider writing about it today so you can enjoy it now and then.
Are you interested in starting to write the legacy that is your life? Why not give The Legacy Challenge a try?
Until Next Time,
Joy
P. S. Have you heard the news? I’m part of this way cool new author group and we have a new Facebook page for readers. You’re invited to check us out! Click on the graphic below.
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April 11, 2019
Wandering & Wondering
Jon and I love to go for rides and stop along the way. He uses his drone to capture amazing views, and I walk around with my camera looking for little things that catch my eye. Recently, on one of these quiet wandering adventures, I did a lot of wondering. I have no idea where some of these thoughts and actions come from, but here they are.
One of the first things that drew me in was the remains of last year’s Wild Cucumber. (To learn more about this plant click HERE.)
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I love seeing these pods in the summer and maybe more so now in their fragile beauty. I thought: “Lord – I can hardly wait to smell the new blossoms!” I noticed as I clicked this photo I took a deep breath as if hoping the scent of last lingered. It didn’t, but that was okay because then I almost stepped on these beauties.
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Aren’t their little caps delightful? And the cracked acorn – the seed still inside. A potential tree with the potential to leave thousands of acorns across the land etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. (Said with my version of Yul Brenner’s accent in the King & I.) Grinning (I felt my lips do this.) I looked at a fallen branch near my feet.
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As I bent closer to get these pictures, I heard myself say, “Lord, Your creation is so much fun. Who else would make a bit of lichen look like a tiny moth or a group of them look like seashells?”
When I stood up straight, I saw this . . .
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. . . and wondered which gust of wind tore the branch piece from its tree and left it to hang here. It didn’t feel random. When I zoomed my lens in, I thought, “Cool – this was once a woodpecker café!”
A few steps later I saw where a squirrel had a good meal as well.
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I hoped he or she enjoyed the tasty tidbits.
Not too far away, I saw a bit of green. It’s likely a weed, but after winter, green is good! And I said to myself, “This is a lovely little bunch of leaves looks like they are bubbling over with happiness.” No, I don’t think they know happiness, but they reminded me of the way I feel when someone makes my heart happy. It’s an overflowing kind of thing.
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Leaf landings always fascinate me. They seem to cling to the place they wouldn’t normally be. Is that a good thing or not? I guess it depends.
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On my way out of the brambles I had climbed into and snagged my jeans real good, I noticed evidence of a human who had been there before me.
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I wondered who it might have been and again felt a grin stretch my now very dry lips out. “I don’t know, but You do, God!” I found that thought deeply satisfying.
Looking down again I saw a bit of green and one word came to mind: tenacious. I hold a grudging respect for these painful yard predators. I know from personal experience how much their spikes hurt on the bottom of bare feet. But that day, I also respected this one for showing up so early in the season.
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When I turned toward the van where Jon and the dogs waited patiently I almost stepped on this tiny juniper tree. I heard myself ooh and ahh as if seeing a new puppy (or baby anything), a brilliant sunrise or sunset, or the first hummingbird of the season.
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I got in the van then got right back out. I’d seen a tiny puddle. Although not clear here, it held the reflection of a large Juniper – sort of a living photo.
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On the way home I wondered about the many things I’d seen (I haven’t shown you all the photos!) in such a small space in about half an hour. At one point I said to myself, “You are easily entertained.” My inner voice was unkind. I rejected it and asked God to give me a gentle lesson or two from my wandering time because I believe all of our moments are important to Him.
The nudge that came was to keep noticing.
Lately, I’ve noticed something about this noticing: when applied kindly and gently to people, I see things that lead me not to do or speak but to pray to the One who can do what no one else can. Although I love to pray, it remains somewhat of a mystery to me why the God of the universe wants me to talk to Him about what He already knows, but I know this: it’s a privilege, and it’s part of our relationship with Him.
And that leads to all kinds of wonder!
Until Next Time,
Joy
P. S. Have you heard the news? I’m part of a fantastic group of authors! I’m so excited and honored. Please check out our website.
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March 6, 2019
From First to Final Draft – Writer’s Life
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I would love to write a flawless first draft, where every word on the page is beautiful, complete, and polished.
The voice in my mind chuckles and says, “Dream on.”
Sometimes people ask me how I get from an idea to a finished manuscript. Immediately I have the urge to sound super professional because I am a serious writer. There is a huge time commitment, financial investments, plus publishing steps and details, each one vital and describing the process is lengthy.
Most of the time I’m able to stop myself before the words escape out into the open because as they traipse through my mind, I realize the inquiry is kind but hearing the details is sort of like hearing about someone’s whose neighbor has an aunt who has a friend who had bunion surgery last week. Of course, we care about the person’s recovery, but the details and the distance? If we’re honest, not so much.
I think to these good people, I might sound sort of like Charlie Brown’s teacher. “Wha, wha, wha, wha, wah.”
For most writers, the work from start to finish is at times arduous, exhausting and is the hardest, (Que up Poor, Poor Pitiful Me by Linda Ronstadt!) most challenging, fun, and satisfying, jobs we’ve ever had.
And when a project is done, we begin again because even the most difficult stages are worth it.
Even after a hard day with the words, when I think every letter I managed to put on the page is garbage, I can hardly wait to get back to them.
But how in the world could I say that to my kind-hearted non-writer friends? Or even to those who write and already know the steps.
Yesterday, sitting in one of my favorite Caribous I watched car after car flow by, and the answer to the above question came.
Here’s what I’m doing to get Whimsy’s Way from the first draft to the final draft:
Chapter by chapter I’m telling myself Whimsy’s story. In the coming weeks, I’ll retell myself her story again and again until it’s done. Then you’ll be invited to read it.
Here’s the simplified version of my writing process these days:
I read the last chapter I wrote yesterday.
I write the next 1000 words and take a 15-minute break.
I cycle back and read those 1000 words and write the next 1000 and take another break.
I cycle back to those last 1000 and read them again and if I have the creative energy, I write another 1000 words.
If you’re a working writer, how do you get from the first draft to final draft? Please share your short answer in the comments.
If you’re a new writer, I hope you leave this page infused with the courage to get your words on the page because they matter!
Until Next Time,
Joy
Unless otherwise noted, all the graphics in the Writer’s Life posts are from the generous photographers at Pixabay.
I would love to write a flawless first draft, where every word on the page is beautiful, complete, and polished. Dream on!
Tweet ThisChapter by chapter I’m telling myself Whimsy’s story. #FirstToFinalDraft #AmWriting
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Have you signed up for The Legacy Challenge yet? If not, click below to learn more.
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February 16, 2019
My Satchel & Steamer Trunk Stories ~Your Life a Legacy
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A Girl God Heard ~ My Satchel Story
I have always enjoyed going to church – even when it meant sleeping with my hair in pink foam curlers, wearing shiny shoes that blistered my heels and pinched my toes, and itchy petticoats under my dresses.
In my teens, I asked the leaders in my church questions like, “Can I know God?” I watched in surprise as their faces turned red in annoyance. They offered me overly simplistic or predictable answers that left my already restless soul agitated. One patted me on my head and told me to “run along.” I was not content knowing about Him and knowing He knew about me; this was personal. After hearing empty answers, I went to my room and had a talk with God that went something like this:
“I know You’re busy running the world, watching over the living and the dying, and the wars and stuff and I’m not sure You hear the private prayers of girls like me, but just in case You do, here I am. I want to know You. Is that possible? I think it is, but I have no idea who to ask. Who to trust. I know it’s important to ask someone who already knows You – someone who will tell me the truth. I can’t drive yet and have no idea where to look, so I’m asking You to send someone to me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.”
This was not my first prayer, but it was my first intimate prayer. I’d been thanking God for our meals in unison with my little brother for years, and at night, after being tucked in, we prayed together again for those we loved. These were tender talks with God that we meant with all our hearts.
But still, I wanted more.
A few days after my bedroom prayer, a man knocked on our front door, and I answered it. He introduced himself as Pastor Carl Calloway. He told me that the church where he worked had a bus that drove right by our house on Sunday, and he offered to have them stop and pick me up.
I boldly put him to the test and asked him, “Can I know God?” His answer surprised me. He didn’t talk down to me. Instead, he looked me in the eye, and said, “Yes, you can know God.” The kitchen timer interrupted us. I explained that my mom had gone outside to do something and left me in charge of the cookies baking – I had to get them out of the oven immediately. I asked him to go to our back yard and tell my mom I wanted to give his church a try. He did, and she told him we could visit.
Early the following Sunday morning my brother and I waited on the boulevard. We heard the bus coming for blocks. The old vehicle was loud, but it was the voices inside that got our attention. Kids were singing at the tops of their lungs about Jesus. They sounded so happy and sure. I got on that bus wearing my best dress-up suit which included a shirt covered by a jacket, a mini-skirt, and platform shoes. I learned later my attire caused some moms to worry about their boys.
I wasn’t there to meet their sons – I was there to find God and get to know His Son.
When I heard the Good News, I eagerly believed what the Bible said about Jesus, my sin, and forgiveness. I was forever changed.
Although not yet a kid in trouble, I was a girl on the brink. An older girl had invited me to get to know a boy she knew. He was movie-star handsome, and he’d “go with me” if I promised to have sex with him. I wanted to be cool and belong, if not to a popular group of kids, at least to a handsome boy. The two of them gave me a deadline. The day after I believed in Jesus, I gave them my answer: no thanks. The God of the universe heard the prayer of a fifteen-year-old girl who cried out to Him from her bedroom.
God loved me, and I belonged to Him. Wow. It was real, personal, and powerful. It still is.
Although I love Him deeply, study His Word, and pray, I have not succeeded in serving Him with perfection. I make mistakes and sometimes sin intentionally. He keeps forgiving me, and He graces me over and over again, I learn more about Him. The greatest thing about God is that He is who He says He is.
The Good News of Jesus as experienced by me is my eyewitness Faith Legacy.
If I am remembered for nothing else than my faith – that would be so cool. The rest of my faith story is woven into my Legacy one experience at a time and one story at a time. The driving force behind my Legacy stories is my desire to testify that Jesus Christ is Lord.
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A Steamer Trunk Story
What’s In Your Wagon?
This picture of my daddy, our dog Cindy, and me was taken in the summer of 1959. When I found it in a pile of old photographs, it caught my heart and was the beginning of a journey into my soul. Here, dear readers is my first Steamer Trunk Story.
Have you ever wanted to please someone so much you put yourself in danger? I gave in to this yearning on a hot summer day when I was five. One of my favorite toys was my wagon.
I loved it when Daddy pulled me around in it and later when he showed me how to “drive” it myself around the neighborhood. With one leg on the outside, I rested most of my weight on the knee of the other leg, and with the handle bent in for steering I used the outside leg to push.
My wagon was also my fort, and I could pull it over and color or read at will. I could take my dolls and a favorite stuffed animal or two for a ride or snuggle with them on a folded blanket and daydream.
Then came the day when some older neighbor kids invited me to play at the top of the road in our neighborhood. I pulled my wagon up the hill as fast as I could go. I remember the sound of my wheels on the rocky tar and the way the day smelled like sunshine and wind. At the top of the hill, they told me if I wanted to be friends with them, I had to ride my wagon all the way down. They’d give me the required push to get me going. I swallowed my fear and agreed. Then they told me I needed to ride with both legs inside the wagon – no braking. I sat on my knees and waited for what I thought might be a gentle nudge. Their push startled me with its force, and soon I was careening down the road with no way to stop. Behind me, I heard them yelling at me, “Stupid!” The lump in my throat was a combination of fear and the deep sorrow because they lied to me and was the butt of their mean joke.
I cruised through two normally busy intersections, relieved there were no cars coming. I knew I had to ride it out or crash. When my wagon slowed and then stopped, I got out and walked home on shaky legs. Hot tears rolled down my scarlet cheeks as the kids, who were following me on foot continued to yell and call me stupid.
On my way home, the empty wagon bumped along behind me as I decided they were right. My heart seemed to weigh more as I accepted the sentence they imposed on me.
I got bigger and my wagon wore out and could no longer hold me safely but the stuff I now carried in the wagon of my heart made itself at home. Over the years, I added to the load. If I disappointed someone, regretted something I said, made mistakes, or intentionally did wrong, I stored all the shame and sorrows deep in my heart for way too many years.
Eventually, I read the passage in the Bible where Jesus says in Matthew 11:28-30 (NIV), 28 “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” At first, I was offended – oxen wore yolks, and I wasn’t sure I liked the comparison, but I was weary, and the burden was so heavy as I sat in an internal ditch of my own making, no longer able to pull the load.
I knew there was a reason for this biblical metaphor, so I researched yokes. Did you know that because oxen were so valuable, that when owners can afford it, they have the yokes made for the animals the way designers make exclusive dresses for wealthy women?
Something shifted inside me.
Yoke makers hand carve the wood to fit the animal exactly, so the weight of their load is evenly distributed, lightens their load, and leaves them uninjured and able to do the work they were made to do. Their names were often burned or carved into the wood to be sure each beast wore the right yoke.
Animals with designer yokes outwork and outlive those that don’t have them. Their labors rest easy on them.
After learning this, I wanted the yoke Jesus was offering.
After I took Him at His Word and left my internal wagon in that imaginary ditch, I felt Him erase the word “Stupid” that had felt branded on my heart for so long.
I hung my head and waited for Him to say something like, “Shame on you.” He didn’t.
Life is still work. There are heavy places full of ruts carved out of regret and potholes of hurt so deep it seems impossible to plow through them, but guess what? The yoke fits.
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February 9, 2019
A Public Legacy ~ Your Life a Legacy
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I’m often asked what to do with stories Legacy Givers want to share in a bigger way.
This topic always excites me because I believe all of your stories can influence and inspire others beyond your family and friends. But how?
Here is a list of possibilities. You can find dozens (probably hundreds) of books on these subjects on Amazon and lots of free material if you Google the topics that most interest you. Your local librarian can also help you find what the information you need. A hint for when you search: include the year you are searching because you want the most up-to-date online resources.
If your story is unique, you can look into traditional publishing. Before you start this journey, visit your public library and take a long look at Amazon to see what is already out there.
Another option (one of my favorites) is Independent publishing. All the work is up to you, but it’s a way to get your story out there.
Blog publishing is my favorite way to share my Legacy stories. You can build free websites, but I encourage you to learn more about owning your domain name and hosting with WordPress. Again, there are a lot of books out there on these subjects. One of the best ways to start blogging is to follow other bloggers. You can take a look at mine here: https://joydekok.com/blog/
A no-cost option is to utilize Facebook Notes. This is a fun and easy way to share your stories. Here’s a link from FB’s Help Center: https://www.facebook.com/help/1003591...
In case you’re wondering, I purchased my domain name from GoDaddy. My hosting is with InMotion. And I use the purchased WordPress platform.
Along the way, you’ll want to let people know about your blog. You can share it on Facebook and other social media sites, and you can invite your family and friends personally. If they love it, you can encourage them to invite others.
I’m not good at math (at all!), but I do know this is the organic power of multiplication.
Your Story Matters!
Joy
Thanks to Pixabay for the free use of the graphic used in this post.
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February 5, 2019
When the Writing Hurts {Writing Life}
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His scars make me wonder what battles he fought and won.
The writing life is an adventure full of highs, lows, and plateaus. There are always risks and sometimes deep wounds.
Point to Ponder: We have to decide up front that If we let the hurts linger, they have the power to fill us to the brim with the kind of fear that paralyzes the words and stunts our growth as authors.
Rejections come. Negative reviews happen. The words come, but they stink like rotten eggs. Stories crumble. Life, grief, and illness steal our joy and rob us of energy. Our courage fades, sales dry up, and our hard-earned dreams dwindle into sometimes to the point of despair.
When they all happen in the same week or on the same day (yes – it happens) I wonder if it’s time to consider new job options like Walmart. After retirement as an engineer and computer programmer, my dad enjoyed his job at the local super-store. Maybe I could too.
Or not. But it’s where my mind goes when new hurts stir up old scars, and the doubts multiply into discouragement.
I can’t say for sure what will work for you as a writer, but here’s what I do when the writing hurts:
I pray, and there are usually tears involved. And I read this verse because discouragement is exhausting. Matthew 11:28 Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
I walk a lot. If it’s nasty outside, I pace through our house. This is a private kind of walking connected to the point above.
Sometimes I vent to my writing friends. We speak the same language.
Other times I listen to my writing friends vent. For the same reason.
I take my fears to the Lord again.
Always, I talk to Jon. He is wise, and most of the time I listen to him. And even when I don’t, I believe him.
Finally, the time comes that I can embrace the lesson the hurt is teaching me. And it’s not always the lesson I’m expecting because most of the time I realize I was on the right track before the negative stuff did it’s best to derail me and my stories.
Finally, I consider the motive of the hurt-giver. In the case of a review on Amazon, I can’t always nail down the motive exactly although many leave enough of themselves behind to get a glimpse of what’s up. If the comments are intended to hurt, they must be dislodged and tossed the way one does a deep-rooted weed. It’s harder than it sounds, but they can only linger and do more damage if I let them. That part is on me.
These steps get me back to putting the words on the pages.
I read this quote by Stephen King again recently when I was considering applying for work, this time at McDonald’s . . .
“A little talent is a good thing to have if you want to be a writer. But the only real requirement is the ability to remember every scar.”
For a while, I wondered which of his scars are in his writing, and I started to ponder The Green Mile. I thought about the courage and innocence of John Coffee. And the long walk. I sure do like to let my mind wander around for a few minutes. Yes, this is likely a form of procrastination, but it’s interesting to consider the possibilities.
The desire for a cup of coffee brought me back to my world. While my Keurig brewed a cup of Dunkin Donuts I “heard” King’s quote more personally – like words from one writer to another. No, I don’t know him, but I’ve read his book On Writing where this quote is from, so it sort of counts. I like to think that each of us who read books on writing by those more successful than ourselves are one of the million reasons they wrote them.
Where was I? Oh, yes. Those hurts and the scars have the power to stop or strengthen me as a writer – the choice is mine.
What is one scar in your life you can use to grow in your writing journey? If you are comfortable sharing, please leave a short message in the comments.
Until Next Time,
Joy
Have you taken The Legacy Challenge yet? Click the banner below to learn more!
Learn more about Stephen King’s book, On Writing, click on the book cover below.
Unless otherwise noted, the photos in my Writer’s Life posts are from Pixabay.
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February 2, 2019
Writing Someone Else’s Legacy ~ Your Life a Legacy
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This is Grandma Joy. I love this photo of her!
Like most families, we have a ton of old photographs. Mama wanted our stories saved, but she didn’t want to write them down herself and decided the writing part was my responsibility. Our visits to the past were full of coffee, laughter, tears, and adventure.
The only shared regret we had was that we hadn’t asked more questions before the people we love and whose stories fascinated were gone.
In my lineage is a gangster’s moll (girlfriend), an aunt who ran a house of prostitution and read tea leaves as well as her Ouija board with accuracy aided by her occult beliefs, a great grandmother who in her twenties raised her three stepchildren and gave birth to three of her own – while living in a sod house on the prairie, two great uncles who ran booze to Chicago during prohibition, a grandmother who had a visit from John Dillinger, and a grandfather who was rescued by two angels.
There were also railroad men, an uncle who knew Hank Williams, Sr., grandparents who knew and loved God, and some brave men who served their country in World War II. There’s even a legend that we have royalty in our past. While pregnant with me, my parents witnessed the killing of a cop killer. What was at first only a headline on an old newspaper clipping became personal.
I’m one person with no fame or fortune to my name, and these adventurous people aren’t famous either. But their stories matter to my family and me. Your stories matter to someone too.
My family stories connect me to a long-gone past, entertain me, and when I take the time to consider the lessons woven into each one, I grow.
One thing that fascinates me when I write what I know from the Legacies of others in my family is the way we are drastically different and surprisingly similar.
I’ve never lived in a sod house, had Sioux hunting parties stare at my twin sons and me, or run a saloon in the prairie with a pearl-handled pistol within reach. However, like my great-grandmother, I love flowers, animals, pretty dishes, family, and God. My face is starting to wrinkle into the deep lines hers wore, which is part of our Nordic heritage.
Looking at pictures of my beautiful mother, one glamorous great-aunt, my always dressed just right Grandma Joy, and my great-grandmother’s beaded hairnets, I wonder if my attraction to clothing or accessories adorned with small beads on them are part of her Legacy to me. I don’t know and can only ponder the possibilities. Maybe it wasn’t just a girl thing, and I hope it is an us thing.
At the end of Daddy’s life, he shared a few stories. He was an incredibly private person and telling us about himself wasn’t easy. But I learned he started working when he was two years old because he was closer to the ground and could toss the potatoes his mom forked out of the earth, about the death of his best friend when they were in the first grade, and the fire that destroyed their home. There were good moments too like when he bought his first car and met Mama.
I’m grateful for every story and hope to record them all in the coming months on a private blog I’ve created for our family.
Here are some questions you may want to consider: (answer these first based on what you know and then with your wonderings)
What have you heard about this person?
What do you wish you knew about him or her?
Based on what you know, what touches you the most about this person?
Where do you and this person differ? Where are you similar?
What do others remember most about him or her?
Is there something about this person that makes you uncomfortable? What and why?
If you knew this person and they are gone, what do you miss most about them?
Their Stories Matter!
Joy
The post Writing Someone Else’s Legacy ~ Your Life a Legacy appeared first on Joy DeKok .
January 26, 2019
The Taboo Two: Politics & Religion ~ Your Life a Legacy
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All my life I’ve heard there are two topics to be avoided: politics and religion. In my childhood, the same people that taught me this rule often broke it, and I listened in mostly unnoticed while folding the tabs of my paper dolls’ clothes over their shoulders and at their waists.
Now and then tension zigged and zagged in the air. Some cleared their throats while I’d hear others shifting in their chairs as if a new position would make the moment easier. Finally, one of them would change the subject with a question like, “How do you think the Twins will do this year?” (which could be taboo too) Or they would talk about the weather, crops, and the prices of food and gas.
Other times, while coloring or reading, I’d hear people who agreed on both topics talking openly. If there was a voice missing from the conversation, I’d look up. He or she would be listening with their arms crossed. I knew they disagreed but didn’t want to start a fight.
Most of these discussions and debates were respectful and ended with handshakes and hugs; I love yous, and the spoken hope that we’d all see each other again soon.
Did you know that Elvis Presley was both a religious and political topic early in his musical career? If you liked his version of music, you were in danger of losing your salvation or a dangerous liberal who would vote for anyone and anything.
I thought the then King of Rock & Roll was handsome, liked his music, and thought it was cool he could move like that. When no one was looking, I tried a few of my own moves in front of my closet mirror. It was hilarious.
Years later I learned most of these critics had come to enjoy Elvis singing How Great Thou Art, and many knew the words to Blue Suede Shoes and Love Me Tender.
One thing I was sure of: Even when they disagreed, their political convictions came from hearts that loved each other and this country.
Politically Speaking:
Why do you vote the way you do?
What do you believe politically and why?
What do you believe religiously and why?
Do you believe we’re all hypocrites? Why or why not?
Who are your favorite historical figures? Why do you respect them?
Who are your least favorites and why?
When you consider the issues, which are most important to you and why?
Have you ever offered the other side harsh judgments? Was it worth hurting another person to get what you had to say said?
Is it possible that while the two main political sides are vastly different, the thing that drives all people is surprisingly similar?
Can you find any common ground with someone who believes differently than you do?
What about your Faith Legacy?
Your Faith Legacy may be the answer to someone’s secret prayer.
I was speaking to a large group of women about this and encouraged those gathered to write a short faith or belief statement. A woman stood up and got after me. I listened briefly to her list of offenses although I’d offered a disclaimer at the start of the session that I’d based the topic on my Christian faith (and we were in a church) She concluded, “As an atheist I don’t believe in God – I don’t have a faith statement!” I took a deep breath before I said, “Well, couldn’t you say, ‘I believe there is no God’?” She was a little startled. “Then you can write about why you have placed your faith in atheism.” She nodded, sat down, and started writing her statement of non-faith.
Sometimes we choose not to write about our faith concerned we will offend someone. At the most we say, “I believe in God” and leave it at that. But is that enough? Exploring this, I asked myself:
Is there a way to share my faith without intentional offense?
And if someone is offended because of my faith is that my problem or theirs?
My answers revealed the value of both a written and spoken Faith Legacy.
Spiritually Speaking. . .
Who do you believe in?
Why?
What do you believe?
Why?
When did you come to this belief?
Where were you when your faith journey started?
How has it affected your life? The way you love? The way you vote? The way you live?
If we write what we believe and leave out who, what, when, where, why, and how, we rob our Legacy of its greatest treasure: The story of our souls.
Your Taboo Two Matter!
Joy
To read the other Your Life a Legacy posts click on these links:
Welcome to the Adventure That is Your Life
Your Satchel and Steamer Trunk Stories
I want to thank Pixabay for the use of the photo used in this post.
The post The Taboo Two: Politics & Religion ~ Your Life a Legacy appeared first on Joy DeKok .
