Maybe Tomorrow Knows

Maybe Tomorrow Knows

Writing prints thoughts, feelings, ideas, dreams.

Some thoughts I rather keep to myself never to be read or heard, then they’ll never be known.

Some feelings I stuff in a hole of my heart vanishing from my blood not seeing the light of white paper.

Some ideas do ignite only to be blown away by my insecurities before the image been typed, given no breath to be.

Some dreams I rather never dream again, even less giving them an identity for they have no right to form before me.

Yet they return at the sight of the sunset hoping to escape through a phrase, a poem, a story to touch a wordless soul letting them know they are not alone.

I am in control of my reality, so I think, therefore I put them all in my pocket till the glow of the sunset is gone for I know they will fall asleep within me.

I wonder, will these thoughts, feelings, ideas, dreams will actually exist to see the dawn of day?

Maybe Tomorrow knows.

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Rekindled Love

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REKINDLED LOVE

On a lonely beach
Dinner for two
Is what you chose

Heart pounding
Hands sweating
Mind unfocused

Speechless
Beside you
I stood

Arm in arm
You guided me
And whispered

Be with me
Stay with me
Live with me

Lighter than air
Softer than silk
Warmer than summer

You embraced
Me whole
With gentleness

You kissed
My lips
With tenderness

I reaccepted
A ring’s
Caressed

My heart
My soul
My life

Has been
It is and
Will be

Only for
My true love
You, my Husband

When I’m Weak, I’m Strong

20190413_093341-1.jpgThere are days, which I’m more than ready to go full stride with my writing without telling myself, “believe, believe in your giftedness.”

Then there are those days, like yesterday, which all I could do was to muster enough will power and not get lost on the path which I’ve been on many times. The path which accomplishes nothing.

I pushed myself to move, only to have felt the dragging of my steps in familiar groves. Fear of stumbling in the old rut of ‘lack of trust’ or twist my ankle from a previous deep footprint of ‘doubt’ entered my heart. I struggled all day and didn’t return to the road of progress, which I had hoped to be on.

On days like yesterday, I normally repeat to myself, Lord, I believe, please, oh please help my unbelief. Honestly, this prayer didn’t even cross my mind. For some reason I kept expecting something bad to happen. I couldn’t stay focus on anything long enough to do or accomplish what I long, to write, to be creative or even go for a walk. My body became fatigued. All I wanted was to return to bed and sleep. By the end of the day, I was exhausted.

Today, the verse about, “My Grace is sufficient,” came to mind.

My spirit remarked with sarcasm, really Lord? I don’t think so.

I went ahead and looked up the verse, for I didn’t recall the whole passage.

“Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” 2 Corinthians 12:8-9

When I read, “three times,” I felt my spirit harden. It told me, “I’m not asking three times. It should have been taken care of the first time, we asked “three times.” Why must the wait have to occur, every time? Why? I’m tire of waiting.”

For some reason, a spirit of pessimism overcame me.

I wondered, where in the heck did, I pick up this spirit? Or did it just floated my way and decided I was a perfect candidate? Well, I don’t know. But, wanting to get some writing done today, I thought I should do as Paul wrote, “boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” Maybe then this spirit would leave me, and my mindset be on Whom and what I believe God can do through me.

It’s difficult to write when low self-esteemed conversations arise over shadowing my creativity, and questions of my true ability drown the little confidence I hold inside. The idea of being a good writer quickly slips from my grasp, when my weakness of spelling, grammar and punctuation face me each time. Plus, the fact that the proper words I want to use don’t fruition quickly, only concepts float in my mind which frustrate my heart. Last, the critique in me wins more often than I care to admit, leaving me defeated.

Often, I ask myself, “why do you need to be perfect and want man’s approval when you have both in Christ?”

My mentors’ advice return, “write Lidia, just write. Don’t worry about the errors, go ahead and tell the story. Later, return and rewrite with the help of others.”

But I don’t want others to see my mistakes. Which in itself is another weakness of mine. Yikes! Why Lord, why do you fill my head with stories that I can’t finish and at times not even start? I don’t understand, why you gifted me with this talent of story-teller?

The Lord reminded me of His Grace as I struggle with the assurance of what God sees in me.

With truth, I responded, “Yes, Lord. I know your grace is sufficient.”

Then, I heard in my spirit my Lord say, “Lidia why don’t you do what Paul did, delight in weaknesses, in insult, in hardships in persecutions, in difficulties. It’s not a delight of your weakness, but while you are in the state of being weak, delight in the knowledge that my grace is sufficient and allow the errors to be made. In other words, trust me as you obey and make mistakes. All you need to do is believe Paul’s words. Believe, when Lidia is weak, then Lidia is strong.”

Truthfully Lord, it makes no scenes to me. How in my weakness, can I be strong? How will your grace be sufficient for me? I do understand your power, yet not how it is made perfect in my weakness. Could you allow the Holy Spirit to help me understand your “grace?”

I heard my Lord say, “My Grace is many things, but here it refers to dexterity. Through my Grace you will receive the ability for the artistry which I’ve blessed you with. When you face the struggles, challenges, insults, difficulties and persecutions, I will give you the tact require to be strong as you hold on and accomplish each story.

Believe in me, in spite of your disbelief in yourself. Write and accomplish the stories.”

Lord, bring me back to this lesson when my will doesn’t want to obey, my spirit toys with disbelief and when self struggles with my old ways of thought for they return only to taunt me. I don’t want the struggle of my weaknesses, but I do desire for your divine power to be seen in me and through me so that many will trust in you.

Therefore, I will learn to say, “For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

Nothing Is Insignificant

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Nothing of us is insignificant, nothing!

You matter.

You beautify.

You, yes, you.

You are valuable.

THE DESIRABLE ROAD AHEAD

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Incase, you want to know why I try to post positive and uplifting words and scripture?

Because they are my personal road map to myself.

Otherwise, the negative, put down, and hindering voices make me doubt on where to head. When they come, they not only want to hang around, but navigate my life. Telling me to go back where I came from.

Often, I return to a previous post only to read what I have told myself, slamming the door on the voices of doubt, insecurity, fear and insignificance.

With the Lord’s confidence, I remind myself, I am no longer that small, timid, shrinking back latina girl.

More and more, I voice, “I am bold and courageous and daring. I’m a pillar of fire whom can’t easily be put out.

I know God has gifted me with the ability to express my thoughts and see beauty to photograph.

Through my photography I soar like an eagle as I explore where life takes me. At places where the Lord allows my feet to walk, His Spirit helps me see the beauty around.

I only need to listen and go where the light shines and the wind moves. There, I see what God wants me to see and I can’t wait to share my finds and words here with you.

Thank you for taking the time to read my thoughts. God bless each of you.

Where Did Everyone Go?

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My dog died.

My friend’s cat died.

Someone’s grandma died.

Then, I died.

Yeah, really.

Death came and took me to a place I didn’t belong.

That grandma I read about on Facebook, was nowhere to be seen.

As for my friend’s fluffy cat, there were no meows of his to be heard.

Alone, I cried as I called, “Bo, come boy.” But, he never came to greet me.

Where did every one go?

The phone rang.

Sleepy I answered, “Hello?”

My best friend’s energetic voice greeted my soul like a beating drum.

It was then when I realized, I left death behind in my dream, alone.

Never, have I been so glad for a phone call to wake me and bring me back to y’all.

 

 

Flash Fiction – My Busybody Daughter

Alice, my busybody, imaginative, six-year-old placed a metal cross, a smash Twinkie and an empty wine bottle on the counter when she arrived home.

The vague items propelled me to ask, “Where did you get these things?”

“Father Don said,Jesus can’t be found.” I looked for clues by the clubhouse and the Burger drive-thru. Where people yell, Jesus, all the time. Someone kidnapped him.” She stood a dinosaur by the cross. “I saved him from the Holy Water after my” Alice whispered, “absolution.”

“Hmm, I see.” Filled with curiosity, I asked, “Did you find who took Jesus?”

Alice squealed, “I did. A sticker on a car had, “Jesus is with me.” Here’s the tags,” she grabbed my hand. “Let’s go rescue Him. You call dad at the police station and ask for the address. I will write it down. Dad can meet us there with the swat team.”

~~~~

In search of prompts to exercise my brain, I found a challenge to use the ten bolded words in a flash fiction of 150 words or less. Then before I could pinged it, I shut the sight. Then, I can’t find the blog.

Daily Prompt ~ Partake

At a restaurant, downtown Seattle, I frozen like a pillar. I stood by a small table which had a hand-size cake, a rose and a candle. A thought crossed my mind, If only he could join me.

“Please sit. Let me take your coat. Go ahead, take a plate and serve yourself a slice.  The red velvet cake is luscious, melting at the close of your lips. I will return with coffee.” I followed the instructions from the soft-spoken server, whose eyes never met mine.

Low melodious piano music played in the background. I looked behind me. White doors swung. The only other person in the restaurant was gone.

In a room filled with white cloth-covered tables, I sat alone, waiting only on myself to enjoy an exquisite moment of my favorite dessert. The single red rose and a small flicker candle in a Crystal glass accompanied my order. Shadows from the candle dance on the cloth to the rhythm of the hope in my heart. One day, he, who loves me, would join me here.

Without a thought, I slid my fork in the velvet cake, took a bite and closed my eyes. The cake did melt at the closing of my lips.

Slowly I opened my eyes. Then I realized, a moose stood in my backyard and my coffee was yet to be brewed.  I took a bite of my sliced toasted, buttered, rye bread in my hand and my daydream melted like snow on a warm spring day.

I thought to myself, one can always partake of a dream and escape the ordinary Alaska life.

Fictional Story

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WARNING ~ Nature Humbles

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Keep in mind, once you cross, you must return with less. Otherwise, how else will you be able to fit through that small passage and come back?

Seriously, being out in nature can help shrinks problems, lessens troubles, relieves tension, plus reduce our waist line, if we adjusts our perspectives.

WARNING! Being out in the wild-of-less, it’s a humbling experience.

Conversing With Self

Hurry! Go.  My soul whispered.

I rushed to where the fire danced and popped. It seemed unreal. Mesmerized, I squatted. In my mind, I stepped into the cozy hot coals. The bitter winter cold vanished even though the ruby-red flames contrasted against the grand gray snowy mountains around me.

Sounds from people, family and friend diminished. Mesmerized by the fluorescent red coals, I existed alone. While the fire burned, I listened within myself.

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Self: “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Me: Yes, like a ruby melting and reforming. If only I could stay here and write.

Self: “What would you write about?”

Me: “I’m not sure, for I haven’t been able to continue writing my stories. Silent, they hang on the tips of the roof of my mind like ice-cycles. I’m afraid they will melt and vanish one day. I will be left with the knowledge that I once had unfinished stories.”

Self: “Why do you suppose, they are no longer speaking to you?”

Me: “Not sure. Many times, I’ve quiet myself and sat in front of my lap top and nothing, not one peep. The only sound I hear is of an unseen ocean with my beating heart out there drifting on a boat.”

Self: “Why have you distance your heart from your stories? What are you afraid of?”

Me: “I’ve not distant my heart, wait, do you think I did this? No, I didn’t place my heart out in the ocean.”

Self: “Lidia, be real. Be truthful. See, your heart. You are the only one who can place your heart out in the ocean. Look out there for the boat. Don’t look away. Your fear could be telling you truth. You are afraid of truth. That’s why you allowed your heart to drift from your stories.”

Me: “Fear lies.”

Self: “Not all fear lies. This fear of yours is true. You’re not a good writer. Yet you are a good story-teller. Focus on the story, Lidia, just like your friends tell you.”

Me: “I’m tired of not writing well. I want to have a well written story, but my enthusiasm dies too soon after I get started.”

Self: “You have to learn to keep writing when the energy of the idea runs out. Don’t allow your story to become foreign to your own heart. Keep it close to you, pluck scenarios, story lines, details, thoughts and feelings of the character even if they may never make into the story. You have to keep the story alive. That’s your job. It’s your baby. If you don’t feed it, it will vanish. Now, start the fire and allow your story ice-cycles to melt and flow again. You have been given a gift to tell stories like no one else. Write and let someone else correct your errors. You will not create a perfect story. No one can, not alone. But you can crank on your generator.”

Me: “But, my fingers won’t move.”

Self: “Yes, your finger and thoughts will be stiff because of the cold of not being perfect. But, in no time the heat will get going and your thoughts will flow the story will breath and pump red blood again. Once it thaws out, details will drop into your mind as the ice-cycle melts. Get the page ready to catch the ideas. Remember, as you keep telling stories, your writing will become stronger.”

Me: “Thank you, for the talk.”

Self: “Don’t worry, I will remind you again, when I see that you’ve removed your heart for your stories. You are not just writing for others, but for me, self.”

Footsteps crunched the snow behind me. I came back to my surroundings. I heard my husband distant voice, “Are you coming and sledding or are you staying.”

With a smile, I answered, “I’m coming.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I started this blog back in December, and it wasn’t until today that I was able to finish it. It’s a major accomplishment for me. I’ve struggled with my writing for over a year. There are at least twelve unfinished stories on my files and I can’t seem to finish any one of them. From this self-reflection, I’ve learned that it wasn’t fear that kept me from my stories, instead it was truth.

Writing my blog posts, have been a great exercise to build my confidence and improve my writing skills. With short entries, I have less misspell words, less grammar errors and less wrong word usage. I still get wordy, but my skills are improving alongside my belief in my abilities to give what’s in my heart a voice.

To write a book, it’s much more challenging and difficult than a blog. But, if I can treat each couple of pages as a blog post, I might get myself going again and finish my next book. Now which of the twelve stories should I start constructing again?

Maybe, I will blog about my journey as I write my next book.

To be continued . . .