E.C. Stilson's Blog, page 77

Random Acts of Kindness Week #2 -- Little Caesars Harlem Shake

Random Acts of Kindness Week #2


It all started on Wednesday. That was one of the best days of my life.  Wayman Publishing was featured on many websites including CBS, ABC, and FOX News.  I just sat at my kitchen table, completely floored.  I work so hard for Wayman, hardly making anything, and suddenly it's starting to succeed!  I kept visiting the websites, speechless.

   Well, I finally decided to take a break and check the mail--guess what was in my mailbox?  Look!






After getting this, I couldn't control my excitement anymore.  I bawled, so overwhelmed with gratitude for life, for kind people--for you. I still have no idea who sent this, but it means the world to me.

    Even though it was for our clunker (that I wrote about HERE), I couldn't keep the money.  I instantly decided to pay it forward.



Recap: I've vowed to do a random act of kindness (and
write about it) once a week until the end of May--when the R.A.K. Blogfest starts. 



Well, this is what I did today with the generous, anonymous gift.



In northern Utah there's a man who makes everyone smile.  Ray, better known as the "Little Caesars Dancing Man," works tirelessly, always happy, always kind to strangers.  

    And he's quite talented too.






He spins the sign on his foot.






He spins it on his head.




And no matter what kind of crappy mood I may be in, this stranger always makes my day better whether he's waving or smiling at me and my kids.  

    I remembered a day not too long ago, when I'd just been to get a blood sugar meter.  I was terrified after seeing the doctor, because apparently I'm a pansy.  Anyway as I drove back home, I saw the Little Caesars Dancing Man rockin' away.  The light turned red and I watched him--his exuberance for life lightened my burden.  I felt better from his random kindness.  And I realized, he's kind 24-7 even though he's out there working in the blistering sun, and that man needs to know he's appreciated.

    So today the kids and I went to where he dances.  I met Ray in person, even shook his hand and got a picture with the awesome guy!







I told him about what an inspiration he is--how he might not know it, but he makes life better every day for people like me and my family.  I gave him the $20 from anonymous and asked him to pay it forward. After that we talked for a minute and he showed me this video that was just posted on youtube by another fan of his.







 

 

So, I had another great day, almost as great as Wednesday. I hope Ray had a great day too.






In closing, my big radio interview is Friday night (4/12) .  I'll be talking about infant loss, love, redemption and
hope.  I'm praying that someone will hear my story and see that even if
they're going through a hard time, God is still there for them.



Here's that info:

Join EC Stilson April 12th, 2013 at 8:30 PM Eastern Standard Time Zone on Triangle Variety Radio.
Patrick Walter's interview will last for 1(one) hour here: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/trianglevariety

"But the Lord will deliver them out of them all."

When I knew I carried a baby with birth defects,
a guest speaker--who had no idea what I went through--visited our
church. At the end of the service he called me to the front of the room.
He didn't even know me, just pointed, and told me to stand.
In front of the whole church he said that God gave him a message meant
for me. He said, "Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the
Lord will deliver them out of them all." Chills ran up and down my body
before I started crying. 

    My baby, Zeke, ended up passing away. But I never
forgot that scripture because somehow it helped me recover from the
death of my son.



To learn more about Zeke, please click on this picture.








If you'd like to hear a live interview about Zeke and his story, visit THIS LINK on April 12th, 2013 at 8:30 PM Eastern Standard Time
Zone.   




The interview will last for 1(one) hour.
 

I'll be on the radio this Friday! Will you come listen?

As quoted from a PRWebs press release:

"Stilson's been a homeless musician, a grieving mother, a celebrated author, a publisher—a failure and a success."



Patrick Walters, of Triangle
Variety Radio, will be interviewing me about my memoirs (The Golden Sky & Homeless in Hawaii), as well as about Wayman Publishing, on April 12th, 2013 at 8:30 PM Eastern Standard Time
Zone.   


The interview will last for 1(one) hour here: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/trianglevariety  


I'm so excited!  Here's to hopin' that it'll go great--that many lives will be touched--and that no one will think my voice sounds like a little girl's. *still smiling*

Would you feel bad about this if you were me?

Inspired by Janie at dumpedfirstwife.blogspot.com


Preface . . .

Once upon a time I was accepted into a local university nursing program.  I volunteered at a rest home, and even though the nurses treated me terribly, often making me and the other volunteers cry, I stayed, hoping to learn. 



When ninety-year-old Rose talked, the past came alive.  She'd met her best friends and later her husband at extravagant dances and parties.  She'd been quite a prankster, witty, rich; I saw it in her sparkling blue eyes.  In her picture, sitting on the tiny dresser, Rose looked like a movie star.  Yet now she sat in a stained chair, and wore faded clothes.  She frequently felt too cold despite warming weather, or the crocheted scarf she wore every day.  

    I spent my breaks with Rose because she was something special.  On my last day, I asked her why no one came to see her.  "They're all gone," she said.  "The older generation has passed on.  The younger ones are too busy.  And it seems as if I'm the only one left."  Her shaky hand picked up the picture of herself, still stationed on her dresser.  She used her precious scarf to wipe dust off the glass.  It felt strange seeing her wrinkled hand next to what she'd looked like decades before.

    "It's your last day?" she asked, and I nodded.  "Promise you'll come back.  I get so lonely."

    "I promise." I hugged her thin frame close to myself.  "I'll be back when I can.  Things are busy at home with my kids, but we'll make time. We'll all come to see you."

    Rose opened the top dresser drawer and gently handed me something wrapped in tissue paper.

    "For me?" I asked, trying to be careful with the gift.

    "I've been working on it since the day I met you.  I hope you'll like it."

    I slowly took off the tissue paper, revealing the most beautiful jewelry box.  Rose had crocheted it, using some type of stiff material to keep everything together.  "It's amazing!  I'll never forget this."  I hugged her again, and then went out the door to finish my shift.




This (blue one) is similar to the jewelry box.




At the end of that day, I went to the nurses' station to grab the jewelry box, my coat and keys.  "What's that in your hand?" a short, brown-haired nurse asked.

   "It's a jewelry box. From Rose," I said, wondering if that nurse's picture is in the dictionary--under the word bitterness.

   "Ya know, Elisa . . .," she said, digging her fingernails into my arm before I could leave.  "I never figured you'd be one of them." 

    "One of who?"

    "Those volunteers who take advantage of old people."

    I gasped.  "I would never--"

    "Yet, you have.  Does Rose have much in this life?"

    "Well, no."

    "And you've taken something from her?"

    I thought hard.  "But she made it for--"

    "And you took it from her.  Didn't you?"

    "Yes." That was all I could say.

    "Elisa, you took something from a woman who doesn't have anything. YOU are a terrible person. I'm ashamed any teacher would recommend you as a volunteer."

    Tears came to my eyes.  That stupid nurse glared up at me, finally smiling.  That sickening red lipstick practically symbolized her craving for discord.  That's all I could focus on as she spoke slowly, her lips moving over bleached teeth.  "I'm glad you're done volunteering. And I hope you'll never come back. We don't need users like you."

    I hated myself. My own skin crawled with heat and embarrassment.  I clutched the jewelry box closer, knowing even then that I would never see Rose again.  Not because I didn't adore her, but because I was too scared to face that nurse.




    Thinking about the Random Acts of Kindness Blogfest, I've decided to do something extra nice once a week for the next two months.  My action this week was to go see Rose and tell her how sorry I am. But she was gone.

    I've learned something.  I should have gone back to visit my dear friend.  That friendship would have been a blessing to both of our lives.  But instead I listened to a cynical pessimist. 


Life's not worth living for other people, especially if we compromise our convictions just because of fear.    


    I keep thinking about Rose, waiting and waiting for me to come back. I once heard that if God gives us "a mission" that we pass by, He'll give it to someone else.  I hope this is true, that a wonderful soul started visiting Rose--and I hope they stood up to that nurse!





Maybe next week's random act will be more uplifting.  But this time around, learn from my mistakes.

Random Acts of Kindness--I NEED Your Help!

I'm at a crossroads.  Standing on the beaten path.  And suddenly I have this strong desire to do something wonderful.


But I need your help!  
    See, I've been writing about some pretty amazing things that have happened to me.  






   Why do these acts of kindness mean so much that I keep writing about them?  Well in 2003, after my son died, Cade lost hope in humanity.  He didn't take his pain out on God, or life, or hospital staff.  He took it out on everyone, not wanting to trust a soul, guarding himself from strangers.

    But since The Golden Sky came out--the story of our son's life and death--Cade has seen the selfless generosity of many people.  And I've watched Cade change.  This means more to me than almost anything--that your kindness has helped Cade heal.

    Well, last week it happened again--a miracle.  An amazing person read my blog (this post to be exact: If you've ever read my blog, please read this post.)  and decided to anonymously send Wayman Publishing an iPad Mini for the giveaway!  Cade and I were initially funding this giveaway (trying to help Wayman's authors gain exposure and succeed) nonetheless stressed, wondering how we'd afford the prize.  Then to get an iPad Mini in the mail. . .  It was a tremendous answer to prayer.  And after God didn't heal Zeke, I've often wondered if He hears my prayers at all. . . .

    So, how could I possibly thank someone for this?  How?  Especially someone who wanted to remain anonymous.  I think I've found a way.







Random Acts of Kindness Blogfest
Favor #1

   In May--27th-31st--I'd like to have a huge blogfest where people can share love and joy, by writing about random acts of kindness that have been bestowed upon them in their lives.  Imagine, visiting the blogosphere and reading about so much hope!

   If you have a blog, would you sign up and write something for this?  If you don't have a blog, would you refer people to this link, so the word will spread?

    For the blogfest, you can write something for any/all days, just make sure your main post is up on May 27th--that's the post I'll link to the blogfest :)




Here's the button for the blogfest:
 


 








Please leave a comment or sign up at the bottom of this post!

 

Random Acts of Kindness Anthology
Favor #2  

    After the blogfest (if participating authors are interested and posts are approved) Wayman Publishing would like to publish an anthology from the posts written during this blogfest.  ALL profit for this (through 2013) will be donated to charity!  The kindness will spread even more.



This is the donation Wayman made from the last anthology,  


Open Doors: Fractured Fairy Tales .



 



Giveaway
Favor #3 



If you add the following info in your blog post, then you can email your blog post link to waymansweepstakes(at)gmail.com and you'll get five entries, for a chance to win the iPad Mini!



Info to add (listed in italics): 



Buy any of Wayman Publishing's books—some only 99 cents—and automatically be entered into our iPad Mini Sweepstakes! Visit this link for more info: ow.ly/jsQVv 


Want to join the blogfest? Go HERE to sign up! 










Will you join me?

I can't do this without you.  Will you help me make this event an amazing experience for everyone involved?  You've all been so kind to me.  The iPad Mini was an AMAZING act of kindness.  I want the kindness and joy to spread.






If you'd like to be part of this blogfest,  May--27th-31st,









    

Please leave a comment or sign up here :






 

How I Got My Big Break!

    The mountains called to me, so I drove east.  In our city, most major roads lead straight to the mountains.  As my car bumped along, I took a deep breath and smiled.  Yes, this is where I was meant to be.



    I ended up at the mouth of a big canyon.  I'd brought a notebook and a pen.  I hiked up the icy trail, wishing I'd worn more than a jacket.  Cade watched the kids so I could take a few hours alone.  The cold wind nearly froze my cheeks, but I wouldn't complain--this was fate and a break from the children.

    So, I hiked, up and up until the city no longer sat beneath me and all I saw was snow, ice and a beautiful river on my right.

    As I walked, I thought about how strange life is.  I grew up in a home with threadbare carpet.  Paint cracked from the walls.  We weren't poor--no we were far from that.  My mom used to tape scriptures and notes on aged mirrors, telling each of us kids how amazing she thought we were.  My father worked construction for years on end, providing for us.  Yet still, I remember friends coming over and saying the house was embarrassing.  Didn't they know how silly they sounded?  Sure the house was falling apart--but that was the same place that held so much love.  Why would someone be embarrassed about that?

    My mind turned to other things--recent things--how God has given me so much and I'm not sure how to thank Him enough.

    You see, several times I've considered giving up writing.  It hasn't been easy.  I've shared so much of my life--myself. . . .  People either love my honesty or hate it.  I've gotten PILES of rejection letters.  But despite that, amazing things have happened.  Like last year, when God brought me an angel.

    I clutched my notebook then, as I hiked.  I couldn't continue thinking about that--it would make me cry, it always makes me cry lately.  

    When I was a little girl, my grandma was always there for me--a tower of strength encouraging me to write and be myself.  



    "Grandma," I said when I was in elementary school, "I keep going to church to get saved over and over."

    My grandma was a different religion than me and she thought that was hilarious. "Wasn't once enough?" she asked.

    "Maybe," I said.  "But maybe not.  God's punishing me.  When I close my eyes, I can't make the words stop.  I keep seeing stories in my head.  I pray that God will save me AND stop the words.  He's punishing me for when I've been bad.  That's why He's making me see the words."

    She laughed so hard.  "Seeing the words?"

    "On a keyboard," I said.  "Someone's typing them."  It was always the same.  I'd see these crazy hands typing more . . . AND more.  A stupid red mug--with swirly paint--sat by the keys which never stopped clicking.

    "Maybe it's you . . .," my grandma said.  "Maybe you're meant to be a writer."

    I laughed.  "No.  It's just God's punishment."  But as the thought sunk in I did smile.  "If I am meant to be a writer, there's just one thing I'll need."

    "What's that?"

    "Someone who's really good . . . I'll need that person to teach me." 

    That's when I found a dream.



    I stopped in some shade and stared at the river.  My hand went up to a frozen tree limb and I held it tight.  My grandma died years ago.  She's the only grandma I've known.  Whenever I wanted to give up on anything, she would be there cheering me on.  She's the reason I went to Hawaii with Cade.  She's one of the reasons I stayed strong after Zeke died (his story is HERE).  And to be honest it's hard now that she's gone.  

    One day--months ago--when I thought of giving up, I remembered my grandma.  Where was she?  Where was she to cheer me on?  Pitying myself wouldn't help though.  She isn't here--she left just like my son did.





    Watching the river, I remembered how months passed and I didn't give up.  Some hard knocks came at the beginning of 2012.  Deadlines were lost.  Serious financial issues came into play.  Although "The Golden Sky" did so well, in 2012 it wouldn't be realistic for me to keep writing. I told a friend about it and she paused before saying, "If you want to send me your manuscript, I'll help you." I was thrilled.  Maybe everything would be okay.





    As I continued up the trail, I thought of how strange it felt not having my violin.  Normally when I go into the mountains, I'll hike to a cliff, so I can play my violin at the edge, hair blowing, music drifting away.  But it was a good thing I hadn't brought it.  The trail ahead got so icy, I couldn't keep going unless I used both hands.  I looked up.  Was it even worth it?  I wouldn't have my violin or my paper and pen to write with.  To continue the course, I'd have to give everything up.  I tucked my notepad next to a snowy rock and decided to bravely move on.  It reminded me of my journey to publication. . . .

   

    Now, when this woman said she would help me, I had no idea who she really was.  I'd only known her a short while, and I already loved her as a person--she's one of the kindest people I've ever met.  I didn't realize she'd been an editor for various big name publishers or worked with famous authors.  I didn't know she's sold thousands UPON THOUSANDS of copies of her book--in multiple languages.  

    Climbing that mountain reminded me of what this woman--my Yoda--did for my book.  I had to leave everything behind.  It was me, bare and with nothing to give.  I was the student and I still have so much to learn.  She called me every day.  She'd read the chapters earlier and then at night we'd spend between one to three hours revising them together.  I went from knowing little about writing, to learning more than I'd ever hoped for.





    I made it to the end of the hike and stood in front of a huge waterfall.  Half of it was ice, but the other section bubbled over itself falling down the mountain.

    The sight was amazing, so worth the hard work, the slippery climb and the fact that I'd left everything else behind.  In that moment, I thought of one of my last conversations with Yoda.



    "I started helping you edit your book.  I was amazed with how fast you learned."  I'd wanted to reply and tell her I soaked up everything I could because this is my dream--having a mentor to teach me.  "And I'm amazed with how wonderful your story is," she went on, believing in me more than I believe in myself.  As if hearing me, she continued, "You need to believe in yourself.  I've read many, many authors. . . .  You really have something special."

    "You're so good to me." I couldn't fathom that much kindness. When someone has given so much . . . it's proof that true angels exist.

    As she spoke to me, I wrote some of her words down.  I looked at the keyboard.  My crazy hands typed more . . . AND more.  Then I noticed the stupid red mug--with swirly paint--sitting by the keys which never stopped clicking. 

    I tried to keep my emotions under control, but it was so hard.  I stood, remembering the whole time how I'd seen that same vision as a kid.  I thought of my grandma and how much I miss her every day.  She'd always been there to believe in me--to cheer me on.  Somehow I wished she could see me and give me a sign that she's proud of what I'm trying to do.  Would she be proud?

    "Elisa," my mentor paused, taking me from my thoughts, "I told a friend the other day . . . you've endeared yourself so much to me.  We started editing this and we were good friends, but now I feel as if I have a granddaughter."

    I cried then because it meant more than she could possibly know.  She felt like family to me too--but for her to say that meant so much!  She's given more than I've ever deserved.  But that's how angels are . . . and people who moonlight as Yoda.

    "I'm so proud of you," she said then, and I could almost see my grandma smiling, reaching down from Heaven.  I swear she brought this woman into my life.  

    Somehow I always thought God was punishing me, but He wasn't, not really.  He showed me a piece of what was to come--to confirm that I was on the right path.  And then, to top everything off, He let me meet someone who would change my life forever--He let me meet my dream.  

     I'm still in awe of the kindness shown to me.  I want Yoda to know I will never forget this, and I will NEVER give up.  Because I thought my grandma stopped cheering in my corner, but I've realized she's still there even if I can't see her.  But she isn't alone.  She's standing with a selfless editor who gave me one of the greatest gifts I've ever known--a chance.



    

    As I came down the mountain, I picked up my supplies and started writing this story.  The trail was so much easier to navigate coming down--that's how it is when you know what blessings await you after you've survived the journey.  

    When I finally started driving home to my wonderful husband and four rambunctious kids, the whole drive seemed bright.  I saw clearly how beautiful life is.  The gas prices . . . the potholes in the road . . . even the old burger joint that has terrible food.  They all reminded me that I'm alive.  How many people in the past would have done anything to see the future--this future--the one we're living in?

    

    So, I'm sorry this post is long, but I just wanted to tell you, that if you have a dream--go after it and don't quit.  Everyone has something to offer.  Everyone has something special to share.  

    This is the story of how "The Sword of Senack" got a chance.  Imagine what your story could be. . . . 



If you'd like more info about my book, please go here:


Amazon Paperback

Amazon Kindle ebook

Smashwords - multiple ebook formats
 

'TIL DEATH DO US PART?

First off, I'd like to congratulate Fishducky.  Her first book was published today and I'm so proud of her.

    I hope you'll check it out HERE.

    I've already had the pleasure of reading it and it's absolutely hilarious.



 

Now, onto some other news.

    Jaimie Engle will be guest posting here today.  She's an amazing author.  And Wayman Publishing was lucky enough to sign her debut middle grade novel, coming out near the end of this year.  Details to come. 

    Enjoy!





 

AN OLD WIVE’S TALE

By: Jaimie M. Engle

Marriage.
 It’s blissful and painful, magical and mind splitting all rolled up in
‘til death do us part’.  Yes, I’m a woman, but this is not a piece on
male bashing or on what the husband’s are doing wrong.  This is
addressed to the wives who hold more power over the happiness of their
marriage than they know.


For
starters, let me explain a basic truth of men and women.  Men need
respect.  Women need love.  Wives, if you respect your husbands they
desire to love you.  Wives who feel loved desire to respect their
husbands.  When this circle gets broken it feeds itself, morphing into
two separate lines which move farther and farther from each other until
eventually becoming parallel.  

Did
you know that wives do not have the right not to respect their husbands
if they are not feeling loved?  I know some of you just gasped deep
enough to suck a few letters off of the page, but hear me out.  As a
wife you are called to honor your husband.  This is not an ‘if-then’
statement.  It is your vows in action under the covenant of marriage.
 The problem arises when wives treat their marriage as a contract and
not a covenant.  

In
a contract, “if” one party shrugs their responsibility “then” the other
party has the right to suspend their responsibilities, even to the
point of legally breaking the contract on grounds that the contract was
not fulfilled.  Marriage is a covenant.  It is a lifelong promise to
remain faithful and unified as one flesh separated only by death.  Are
there exceptions? Of course, but this piece is addressed to the majority
and not the circumstantial.

In
my observances of my own marriage and the marriages of others, there
are five major flaws that wives consistently do which have long term,
detrimental impacts on their marriages.  They are categorized as
belittling, not being a helper, withholding sex, poor communication, and
pride.







Alright,
let’s break those down.  Belittling is an insulting action which cuts
your husband at the core.  It goes against everything you are to be as a
wife.  By belittling your husband you are stating, “Not only do I not
respect you as my husband, but I also think you are stupid as a person
and I am better than you.”  If you just shook your head in agreement,
let me pose a situation:  You are standing in a group of people and your
husband has just asked you to get the keys.  You return empty handed
telling him you couldn’t find them in the bag.  Your husband says, “I’ve
got to do everything myself.  Women are useless,” then walks away.  How
do you feel?

First
of all, most husbands are way too courteous to treat their wives like
that in public.  If they did, imagine how much worse you’d feel if
suddenly all the husbands chimed in and began wife bashing on your
behalf?  Doesn’t this sound like a typical conversation when wives get
together?

How
many wives complain that their husbands won’t help out with the chores
or the children and then tell them that they are doing it wrong and push
them out of the way to do it ‘right’?  Are we really that much smarter
than our husbands?  How do they perform at their jobs without our help,
being as stupid as they are? What happened to excitedly listening to
his advice and coaching when we were dating, hanging on his every word,
and lovingly expecting him to ride in on his horse and sweep us off our
feet? Too accurately, we’ve probably stabbed that man to death and
buried him six feet under.

Wives
are helpers, remember?  That whole deep sleep, rib thing, in the Garden
of Eden.  Why then do wives degrade their husbands and insult their
intelligence?  Just imagine how you’d react if your husband spoke at you
and belittled you the way you do him.  I doubt you’d respond as kindly
as he does.

Speaking
of being a helper, are you?  Wives, I am about to get old school on
you.  At your root you were created to be a helper to your man first and
foremost…not his mama!  If you are a stay at home mom, you are
responsible for the home.  While your husband is off at work, you do the
shopping, the cleaning, the laundry, and care for the kids.  This is a
typical trade-off.

I
hear women complain that while they sit at night folding laundry, their
husbands sit uselessly by watching television in the recliner.  The
only problem I see is that the wife is still working instead of spending
time with her husband.  Yes, I said it.  See, hubbie is out working all
day long.  He doesn’t want to come home and do your job too.  I mean,
how would you feel if he called you from work complaining that you
weren’t helping him make sales calls, manage personnel, or lay tile?
 Again, I’m certain your response wouldn’t be as kind as his is when you
give him the silent treatment, yell and complain, or withhold sex
because he won’t help you.

Which
leads me to my next point:  be fruitful and multiply.  Having sex is a
crucial part of your marriage.  The kind of sex you had during the first
year of your marriage, not this bi-monthly “favor” by letting him have
some.  And you like to be romanced, don’t you?  What about your husband?
 He does, too, just not the way you think.  Your husband remembers how
you behaved when you were dating, when you held hands, played hard to
get, and acted like you were actually attracted to him.

Why
not text your husband that you’re thinking about him and want to mess
around?  Do you think he’d notice that girl at the office if you were
flirting like that?  Be dressed up when he comes home once in a while,
hold his hand on the couch, or make out after the kids go to bed.
 Remind him that you think he’s sexy and you are still attracted to him.
 Don’t leave him to initiate all the action and then act annoyed when
he does, because I promise you some woman out there thinks your husband
is attractive and unlike you, she’s not afraid to show him.

I
know you many not always be in the mood, but sometimes my husband isn’t
in the mood to talk when I am, but he still does.  And I don’t know
about you, but I have never had sex with my husband and when it was over
thought, “Thank God that’s finished.  I had such a terrible time!”  I
have always enjoyed myself.  Many times when I’m not in the mood I
remember that, and it changes how I feel and act immediately.  But
really, I find the more I flirt, the more I genuinely want to have sex
with my husband, and the closer our relationship is.

So
now, let’s talk about poor communication.  It goes something like this:
 “But, he should know…” or “I shouldn’t have to ask/tell him.  I
dropped enough hints.”  Listen, point blank, your husband is not a mind reader.  And he isn’t selfish or insensitive on the whole, anymore than
you are when you don’t meet his needs.

See,
when you find yourself moving into this school of thought, you have to
decide either he loves you or he doesn’t.  If he loves you, then you can
assume he wants to be a part of your life, be helpful, and see you
happy.  So if he does anything that contradicts these thoughts, then
there must have been a miscommunication, because he loves you.  If you
answered no, you don’t think he loves you, than you need advice from
someone much smarter than I am.

For
the rest of you, wives, you need to talk to your husband as if you love
him and he loves you.  I mean, would you speak that way to your
girlfriend?  Would you set such high expectations on her?  Would you get
as angry with her if she let you down or hurt you, as you do with your
husband?  My guess is no.  My advice is lighten up!  This man is
supposed to be your best friend, and at best many husbands feel more
like you’re their parole officer than their wife.

Communicate
what you feel with respect and love.  Don’t nag and yell or tell him
where he’s fallen short.  Instead, tell him how you feel and ask him to help find a solution with you.  Respect his right to be a human being independent of you and embrace his strengths and
his weaknesses.  In all reality, your husband probably thinks
differently than you, does things differently than you, and processes
things differently than you.  Instead of competing with him, learn from
him and grow with him.  

To
truly become one flesh, you have to believe that he fills areas where
you are lacking and you do the same for him.  If you don’t, then you
believe that you are a complete human being by yourself and you have all
the answers to all of life’s problems, in which case you shouldn’t have
gotten married.  And this type of thinking is the basis of the last
detrimental flaw I’ve observed in my marriage and the marriages of
others, and that is pride.  Pride is at the center of everything I’ve
written about and it will fuel the fire of discord in marriage.

The
bottom line is wives have so much control over the happiness of their
marriage and unfortunately many of them do not use that gift to their
advantage.  I mean, who wants to spend ‘til death do us part’ counting
down the days!  Marriage is a blessing.  It’s a lifetime partnership
through good and bad, learning and growing, and supporting each other as
equals.  Wives, love your husbands.  Respect your husbands.  Honor your
husbands.  Remember those widows who would trade with you in a
heartbeat the next time you are picking his socks up off the floor.
 Think of those single moms who would give anything to have a husband to
interfere with her bedtime routine and let the kids stay up late.  But
most importantly, think about your husband the way you did when you
first met him, and make an effort to be that woman who he fell in love
with.




Feel free to drop in on Jaimie at www.jaimiengle.com.

"Bible Girl" is under Contract!

The book practically cried for me to spare its life, and for a moment I
thought I'd rather burn in Hell than lose something my brother had given
me in love. The pastor nudged me, though, and my heart turned to ice.
    I thought of all those hours my brother had read to me. I thought of all that time he'd invested.
   
I couldn't throw it into the fire; not the last book of the trilogy.
That funny little dwarf stared at me from the cover. Then, I closed my
eyes. I stepped so close to the flames they almost ate my skin. I tore
the book in front of those kids. I put on quite a show throwing in a
section at a time because I couldn't stand sending the whole thing in at
once. When the last pages went up in flame, and the dwarf on the cover
curled with death, I dropped to my knees and cried. The kids all hooted
and screamed in ecstasy, thinking I'd been freed, when the ropes of
religion had just twisted tighter.



-Excerpt from Bible Girl and the Bad Boy, the first book in my memoir trilogy.



This book--along with many of Wayman's other eBooks--is 99 cents for a limited time.   Go HERE if you'd like to check it out.











And today's BIG news is . . . 


"Bible Girl" is currently under contract to be an audio book!   You can expect that in June.  I'm so excited.

This is just an allegory--that's the reality

I'm running up a hiking trail.  Dust swirls from the people in front of me; the dirt mingles with my sweat, then makes me cough.  But I have to keep going.  I don't know why.  I just have to.

    After a while, I pass many racers my age.  They want to walk instead of run, hold hands and enjoy the scenery.  

    Time passes until only a few of us are left sprinting ahead.  We're all different ages, moving into the shady areas where a stream trickles softly to the right.  

    This is it.  The moment that makes life worth it.  

    Most people stop running then, tired and wanting to enjoy life.  But I can't understand it; they're missing the wind in their faces, the adrenaline of going faster and higher.

    I ask them to keep running, but they wave me on.

    And like an idiot, I go.  Who cares that my legs feel like jelly, and my hips ache.  I want to make people proud.  And then while standing at the top of the stupid mountain, I can be closer to God--because I made it, and He'll know how hard I tried . . . for Him. 

    So I keep going, awfully happy at this point, thinking I'm living to the fullest.

    But then the wheezing begins.  The world spins out of control and nausea overtakes me.  I can't run.  I can't even stand up without blacking out.  And I'll never make it to the top, near God and my plan for myself.  

    My knees buckle, until I'm lying in the dirt.   



Other racers move past-- 

--like I never even existed in the first place.  



    And the whole time, instead of thinking about the damn race, and how I can't run anymore, I'm worrying about my friends, my family and my God.  Won't they be disappointed, to see how badly I failed?  

    Who cares that my other dreams never came true.  Because my real dream was merely to gain their approval.










    Multitudes of people pass, and I'm left crying on the trodden trail.  That's when Cade finds me.  "You don't care about me anymore," he yells, shaking me while I'm already down.    

    "Yes, I do." 

    "You never want to spend time with me.  You're always so tired."

    "I love you.  I swear.  I'm just never good enough, that's all.  Never.  I want to try harder for you, the kids, my business, but . . ."

    "But what?" he asks.

    "I don't know."  I pause.  "I love you, Cade.  I'm just tired."

    "Elisa, you can't be everything to everyone."  Then that strong man, who just yelled before, picks me up in his arms, and selflessly carries me up the trail.

    "It's so beautiful," I whisper, hugging him with the last of my strength. "All the things I never really took the time to look at, they're just so beautiful." 

   

    --End of allegory--  



 

   So, I'm meeting with a dietician today, to find out what I can (and can't) eat.  I'll also get a meter for this hypoglycemia thing.  Hopefully I can get my blood sugar under contr ol.   Two nights this week I went to sleep at five pm and woke up at eight the next morning.  I'm so thankful that Cade helped me, even if he doesn't completely understand what I'm going through.



    I'm sorry to vent, but this is scary.  I'm that girl running on the trail, pushing, always trying so hard.  But I'm also that girl lying in the dirt, so worried things will change forever.  And then everyone will forget me, my books and the memory I tried carrying on for others, that's when I'll be left behind.



    Do you ever feel overwhelmed? 

Do you believe in signs?

The Beginning
From the beginning, I've asked God to bless Wayman Publishing.  It may sound silly, but every time a book has gone through the review process and been accepted, there's always been some type of sign to show us we're on the right track.

    Since the company started with a book about Zeke (my son who died), it's almost felt as if he's been guiding me, leaving hints that we're on the right path.  I suddenly know what to do, or how to talk with the editorial board.  We'll create new ideas and it's been strange how things have fallen into place, always working toward something that will help everyone (authors, readers, editors and the small press).  




A New Book
Well, that's what happened with author Thomas M. Sullivan. His book had already made it through Wayman's rigorous approval process.  (While accepting submissions, we get about ninety queries a month and only publish 10-20 books per yer.)  

    The review team raved about Mr. Sullivan's humor and keen writing skills. We quickly sent a contract and I was thrilled to be assigned as the final editor, working with Joshua Carstens to polish the MS.  




The Sign
The manuscript came to me last.  I eagerly read it, and after finishing over half of it, really wondered if there would be a sign.  I paused, grinning and tapping my pencil on the pearly pages of the manuscript. Does God really have time to give me a sign every step of the way?  Honestly, He's probably awfully busy making thunderbolts and such.

    So, I thought there would be no sign, and there didn't need to be; the book was fantastic with or without supernatural validation.  I took a break after that.  Someone called then, criticizing my endeavors.  "You'll never make it," she said.  "Why try reaching for the stars?  You have four kids at home.  You need to quit writing, quit editing and quit publishing!"

    "But this is where I'm meant to be," I said.  "I think there have been signs all along."

    "There you go with those stupid signs again.  Are you still superstitious about fortune cookies?"

    I gulped.  The answer was "yes."  Would it be bad to lie and say "no"?

    "Sometimes you're so happy, people just need to take you down a notch," she finished, grinding me into dust, finally.

    We hung up, and I prayed. "God please give me another sign.  I know it's stupid to keep wishing and hoping for your divine hand in my life, but I need you.  I asked you to heal Zeke. You didn't and ever since I think it's stupid to pray.  You don't listen to all of us, right?"

    I opened Mr. Sullivan's book again, So Much Time, So Little C hange , and you'll never believe what chapter I started editing!

    "Zeke Was Here" the title read.  ZEKE--the rare name I hardly ever hear, the name that brings so many emotions into my heart because he's the reason I started writing and why I want Wayman to flourish.  I don't want his memory to be lost, ever.  And Mr. Sullivan's chapter blew me away, about a funeral and the hope that followed.  "Zeke Was Here."  Wow--the words themselves gave me chills. 

    

    So, this post isn't supposed to be some superstitious thing.  I just think there have been some interesting things happen through my writing/editing/publishing career.  Call it what you want, but signs have been everywhere.  Like the woman who found Zeke's book at the cemetery, or the lady who drove several hours to meet me at a signing because a phone psychic told her to--or the man who bought books from my brother and me, confessing that the last book he bought at a signing was from Obama before he became president (talk about a customer having the golden touch).  I'll write about those later this week.  Right now I wanted to tell you, that if you have a dream, go for it!  If you look hard enough, I think you'll find signs like I have.  Because even if we doubt God, maybe He's still up there, smiling down on us.




   In closing. . . .
    Here's my official review for Mr. Sullivan's book:












I read So Much Time, So Little C hange at a point in my life when I
needed a good laugh. I found so much more, a way of looking at life that
will help me get through the good and bad times.

    Thomas M. Sullivan can make any situation funny.  It's a great lesson for all of us, to try seeing situations in the best light.     

    From being on the Terrorist Watch List, trying--despite all hope--to fix up a house, and later attending an outdoor concert where the author got more than he bargained for, these short stories are absolutely hilarious and
well worth the read. 



Here are the links where you can check it out:




Paperback

eBook