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.

Advertisement

When I’m Weak, I’m Strong

There 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.”

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

 

Frozen Paths of Creativity

Fears

Freeze ideas

Like

River paths

 

Uncharted

And Unexplored

They

Remain unseen

 

Along

Spring comes

Melting

Angst away

 

Trickling

Melodious Music

flow

Awakening wonder

 

Imagination

Sees possibilities

Giving

Details life

 

Ideas

Discharge scenarios

Blooming

Dreams alive

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

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 . . .

 

 

 

 

Foggy Morning in December

 

Bewildered, I roamed

In the mystifying beauty

Of the fog by the sea

My soul began to hunger

For a cryptic imaginative story

But, the fog quickly fled

With the change of the wind

And the warmth of the sun

Suddenly, the story vaporized

Leaving my heart with an ache

From an appetite for more

Secretive and ambiguous scenarios

Which only the fog can bring

Weekly photo challenge with the topic of fog from Tourmaline’s Blog

Dr. Hide and His Play Mate

(Fictional Story)

He sneezed on our hamburgers and fries.

I handed him a napkin and pushed my food aside.

He placed the scrunched napkin on the table and passed me a note.

I read, while he finished his rosemary flavored fries.

I’m breaking up with you. My therapist confirmed, my allergies worsen since I met you. Your hypersensitivity gave me an uncontrollable itch and a rash that will not go away. You know where. Without moving my head, I glance at him.

He slurped his drink, sniffled and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.

I reposition my body, faced away from him and continued to read, Your moodiness has left me susceptible to loneliness which has given me sleepless nights and my performance at work has declined.

He stretched his arm and yawned as he tilted back his chair.

I kept reading. Your need to bathe at night and shower in the morning, daily, has wiped my immune system with every illness known by my mother. Therefore, you must move out, then I can heal from your weirdness and get healthy again.

Carefully, I folded the note in the same way he had it, gave it to him, pushed myself away from the table, took out my hand sanitizer and stared at his pale face. Yes, I am a bit OCD. It worsen on my first year of practicing medicine. Which happened to be the same time I began to work with Dr. Hide. He kept asking me out and I kept letting him down easy. He was uptight in the surgery room and way too loose outside the OR for me.

With my arms folded, I said, “Stephen, I’ve put up with you long enough. Playing along with your fantasy world has gone to far. I agree to have lunch with you because, we are both professional adults.” I stood up and handed him my notice.

He opened the letter, read it, then screamed, “What? You can’t leave me. I’m moving out. Didn’t you read my note?”

The hospital cafeteria went numbly silent.

With a poised and calmed voice, I said, “Dr. Hide, I want to make it perfectly clear. We, never lived together only worked in the same room while I played along with your fictional plots. Now, you have to find another anesthesiologist who will play along with your make-believe stories. Maybe your therapist or your mother can help you find the one who can cure you from all the diseases I caused you.” I turn around and left my letter of resignation with the chief brain surgeon. Whom, I had actually fallen very fond of and his quirky games.

As I walked down the hallway, I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder. I glanced behind me. Stephen knelt on the floor.

I faced him.

With both hands behind him, he said, “Marissa, please, don’t leave me. You have been my favorite play mate.”

I dashed to him. “Dr. Please get up. You are embarrassing me.” I felt sweat beats forming on my forehead.

On one knee, he brought before him a blown up glove and said, “Will you marry me?”

A ring hung from the glove. Nurses, doctors and patients watched with elated expressions. Oos and awes seem to synchronized with the beeping heart monitor.

I said, “What took you so long.”

He stood up.

We hugged.

He whispered, “So, you will stay?”

With a smile I responded. “I never was going away.”

“Oh, you got me. You got me good. I was scared that you were truly leaving me to face my unorthodox behavior all alone.” He chuckled and turned beat read.

“Never, as  long as I can start bathing at night and showering in the morning.”

“Can I join you?”

We kissed.

Everyone laughed and applauded.

Posting for You, Because I Care

Posting for you, because I care.

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

Where ever you are and what ever you may be facing, please know one thing, beauty is around.

Find her and she will show you the way to the One who will give you what you need where ever you may be.

May Love, Peace and Joy fill your heart, soul and life

today and every day.

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

One word challenge – Communal;

Blogging; a communal space to encourage, assist, lift, promote, inspire, write, through concepts, drawing, painting, sculpting or photography. This community gives and receive from many artist all over the world. A safe gathering sight to interlock with one another through our craft.

Six word challenge – Posting for you, because I care.

 

 

 

 

 

Letting Go Made Room For Insecurities

Fiction: Short Story Thursday

Slowly, his fingers slide between mine. My body melted in his embrace. Unwilling, my lips left his. My boyfriend held my face and whispered, “I must go.” He neared, nibbled my ear, then said, “I’ll call you.” He pulled away.

Speechless, I stare into his brown eyes.

He took a step back, blew me a kiss and got in his car.

My lips trembled. My heart raced. I couldn’t speak. Don’t go.

With his Volkswagen packed, he drove away.

His promise, “I’ll call you” splashed on my soul like an ice-cold shower, awakening insecurities. What if he doesn’t call? What if he never return? What if he meets another girl in grad school? Why didn’t I say, I love you?  Tears draped my eyes, I tightened my fists. His hands no longer in mind. I grasped the hope that he will come back and I will not be abandoned. 

Grateful ~ Liebster Award

My boat rocked and I was blown out of the water of creativity when I read a message on my blog from Megha’s World.

Megha nominated met to an award I knew nothing about, the Liebster Award.  Minutes earlier, I read on her blog, of her two nomination by two bloggers and wondered what the award was for. Not sure why, I overlooked my blog among the other nine she had named for this recognition.

Let me tell you what I like about her blogs , her poetry has its own unique style and flavor. Her writings are open-minded and heart touching. She weaves her own experiences and perceptions in a way which makes the piece easy to read. I enjoy the topics she addresses and her suggestions. Take time and visit her sight, if you haven’t been introduce to her style of creativity. You will not be disappointed.

I feel honored and grateful for Megha selecting my blog. I’ve learn much in the process of writing this blog Thank you very much for this recognition, Megha.

My questions for the blogs, I will recommend later, will be on part 2 of this post. Why? I don’t like to write long blogs and this one is super, duper long.

Here are my answers to Megha’s questions. 

Why did I get involved in writing?

Over ten years ago, my best-friend Julia sat and read a story of mine and said, “Lidia, this is good. Very good. Do you know how many people could be benefit from your story?”

I learned, my short stories did help others. Women, I  counsel, read my stories and receive comfort. I kept hearing over and over again that I should publish these stories. My friend’s and the women’s encouragement sent me on a quest to improve my writing skills.

Getting published is not an easy endeavor. For the last six years I’ve been learning everything I can to write well. Mistakes still slip, but they don’t stop me.

What event in my life taught me the most?

Keeping the theme of writing I would have to say, it was the evening God sent me to unburied my talent. It took a long journal entry to find the gift of storytelling. That same evening, a short story was born. Six years later, the story received first place at the Cascade Awards from the Oregon Christian Writers. 

This experience taught me to see myself as a true writer.

What is the one thing that I like about myself and why?

Wow! I had to think on this one, because it is something I don’t evaluate about myself. I would have to say, my ability to capture natures beauty through photography  and write an insert from the photo.

Nature captures my attention and sets my creative process free.

Who is my favorite writer and why?

My mentor, Marion Duckworth took me under her wing five years ago and didn’t give me slack as she edited my work. With every critique came hours of work. It wasn’t all about the written word, but the heart of writing. She would ask me questions like, why do I write and what message do I have to tell the world? Who is my audience?

The one question she asked often was, “Is writing a calling?”

If I would had said, “It’s a quest,” then she would have told me, “Then you can quit any time. But, if it’s a calling and you quit, then it’s all between you and God.” She doesn’t sugar coat anything. Always tells me like it needs to be heard. Without her and God, I wouldn’t be answering these questions.

Marion Duckworth, is ninety-one and she just published another book on kindle. She’s an amazing woman of God. 

What is the definition of being successful in life?

Honestly, success intimated me.  Why? Because success can shrink hearts and enlarges heads.

I would have to say, success is when one of my story helps many, yet it will not shrink my heart.

How do I handle fear?

My first instinct is run and hide the fear. Fear will climb on my shoulders, weighing me down, not allowing me to do what I desire to do. I’ve realized, if I face my fear and ask it questions, it actually can help me.

Here are some questions I ask fear when it appears. Why are you here? What is it that you don’t want me to see about myself? Where did you come from? If I know the answers to these questions then I know if it’s the past, present or the future that I’m trying to avoid.

Fear is a friend and not an enemy. It comes to warn me about myself more than others, or forces outside of me.

I do find myself wanting to tuck fear in the “later box” which, I keep in my heart, I still react and flee. This is something I’m still working on and possibly an ongoing task.

Would I change anything about me?

Me, in the inside, no! Because that’s who I really am and where my stories come from. Yet, me on the outside, must change, or the circumstances that come my way will devastate me. Even though I have lived fifty-nine years, life, always has something new to show me. My dog, who has passed away, taught me, that an old dog can learn new trick on his last year of his life. He had to learn to live with the cancer that killed him.

Our world is changing, if I don’t change then I will become brittled and my stories will not be read. Instagram and blogging has changed the way I think and write. They are kinda scary, but fear doesn’t cripple me anymore, it propels me to move forward.

Who is my favorite Author?

Honestly, I do not have one. I have never been able to say he or she is my favorite, beside the author of life. I’m a very different bird than most writers. Maybe it is because my brain is wired to be more of a mathematician than a writer.

Let me tell you, why Jesus is my favorite author, He is my example for living my life. He helps me write my stories and ideas. He keeps me striving to be better than I was yesterday. He teaches me when it’s time to adapt, change, improve and grow. He reminds me, that I can’t stay small. I must get taller, wider and deeper with my thinking and understanding or I will die inside.

What inspires me most about writing?

Two things, other writers. 

The second, stories which transform, inspire and move the heart of the reader. That’s magical.

Give myself a tagline.

“To be an illuminating lamp, who burns from the oils of gratitude and gladness.”

Thank yo for bearing with my long answers. Blessings.