I will hold this place
in my heart
I will see forever
I will hold this place
in my heart
I will see forever
“John sought stability,” I said. “He liked to eat, and he liked his life to be predictable and ordinary and he built his entire world around me. I didn’t always appreciate him, you know.”
Azariah said, “Sometimes you wanted more?”
“Yes, sometimes I wanted more. I just felt so trapped. I blamed John, but it wasn’t John. It was just me. I’ve spent my life feeling like there had to be more to life than just living and dying and not really making a dent in the way things are, and just going the way of the grave like all my ancestors had done before me. I have felt out of place every day for as long as I can remember, like I didn’t belong to anyone or any group. Don’t get me wrong. My parents were great, but there was always something missing in my life.
“I got married way too young, like a lot of Kentucky girls did back in the day. I gave my life to someone else before I even knew what life was all about and I ended up often resenting John because I felt trapped. I couldn’t leave him because he had nobody else and I didn’t want to hurt him, but I daydreamed about my freedom.
“He used to go to town and while he was gone, I would think about what if he didn’t come back. I would think about all the things I would do if I didn’t have anybody to always have to answer to. Then one day he went out to buy a gallon of milk and he didn’t come back. He had a heart attack in the grocery store parking lot.”
I choked back my tears. “I will never forget that day. I had been fussing at him that morning about all of his junk in the basement and I didn’t even want to give him a kiss when he left that day, but I did anyway, reluctantly. He said he loved me and I mumbled that I loved him, too, but in my heart I was angry at him and I just wanted him to go away for a little while and to stop always being here, always telling me what I needed to do, and telling me the time and the temperature and what the neighbors were doing and stop complaining about all the little things that didn’t suit him, and I wanted all of his clutter and junk to be gone. Then he died and I…” I was crying now. “I felt like I was a monster.”
Azariah stopped doodling and came over to me. “Anna…”
“I missed him,” I said. “I wanted to be rid of him but when he was really gone, I missed him so much. All the junk I hated is still in the basement. I couldn’t find it in my heart to get rid of it. All of the stupid little things he used to nag me about, I missed and all the big things I planned to do if I ever got the chance, I never got to do anyway.”
Azariah put his arms around me. “Anna,” he said again, “you live in a broken world with twisted rules and people who are blind to what they are or how they’re supposed to be. You are not a monster. You are not horrible. You are as Jane says, human….”
***the manuscript is “out there” floating around to agents and publishers and I hope that SOON someone will say a big fat YES to it:)
“Love makes us brave and gives us faith. Fear makes us selfish….”
Several years ago a little girl caught a small green caterpillar and placed it in a jar. She fed the caterpillar Queen Anne’s Lace leaves daily and watched as the caterpillar grew fatter and fatter, then one day she was surprised to find a chrysalis in the jar. She placed the jar in a safe place and put a damp cotton ball in there. One morning she woke up to find a beautiful yellow swallowtail flitting around in the jar, trying desperately to fly. Her mother told her that she needed to set the creature free so it could use its wings and do what it was created to do, but the little girl exclaimed, “It’s mine. I raised it from a caterpillar. I took care of it and fed it and watered it and kept it safe from my cat, so I want to keep it. It’s mine.”
“If you keep the butterfly in this jar it will die without ever doing the things it was created to do,” her mother said.
“But I love the butterfly,” the little girl protested. “If I take the lid off the jar it will fly away and never come back. Then I will not have a butterfly.”
The young mother knelt beside her daughter and spoke gently. “If you love something you must set it free when it wishes to go. Love doesn’t try to own another living thing. When we keep a thing because we can’t imagine being without it, then we don’t love, we’re just afraid. Love makes us brave and gives us faith. Fear makes us selfish. Do you understand?”
The little girl nodded. “Okay. I will set it free.”
So, they took the jar into the front yard and the child removed the lid. The butterfly first perched on the rim of the jar, then it flew into the maple tree and fluttered about from branch to branch, leaf to leaf. All at once it flew free of the tree, across the yard, and over the field beyond, going higher and higher, a flash of yellow in the sun. The little girl laughed. “Look at it go, Mommy! I am glad I set it free.”
Years later, a young woman loaded her belongings into her gray car and pulled out of her mom’s driveway. The now middle-aged mother watched her disappear over the horizon, a lonely tug in her heart, tears in her eyes. Her daughter was off to life in the world, to an apartment and a job and a man and a…a whole suitcase full of dreams. As her mother stared at the country road leading away from home she saw a yellow swallowtail light on the mailbox and folding and unfolding its wings and she remembered.
Love liberates. Fear imprisons.
Before I go into my spill, let me tell you a true story.
My dad used to tell me that if an animal wasn’t trying to eat me and I didn’t need to eat it, then leave it alone. That’s not to say that he never killed a wasp. He and my little brother were highly allergic to bee stings so when a nest of hornets decided to nest on our front porch, he did what he had to do to ensure that Mark didn’t get stung.
I don’t ever remember my dad killing a snake, either, and the things he did kill, we ate. Of course, our dog, Rusty (half pug, half chihuahua) had no qualms about snake killing. He once grabbed a copperhead just seconds before my brother would have stepped on it.
I do remember my daddy killing a pack of wild dogs, because one of them trapped my brother, Johnny, in the barn. Wild dog packs work in unison. One lures or traps the prey then the others move in for the kill.
If I remember correctly, Johnny had gone into the barn to feed his calf. At that time, our neighbor about a mile down the road had been having trouble with a pack of about thirteen dogs that were taking down calves and picking them clean, leaving only bones in the field. The wild dogs had become a real threat and Daddy had been telling us to stay close to the house. (Back in those days, we kids would wander a mile or more from the house, just playing in the woods and I was bad about wandering off to explore.) Johnny picked up a stick and was yelling, then my dad ran into the barn and started hollering at the dog, it ran out. I am not sure where Rusty was at, maybe off galivanting with me.
Later, Daddy made a decision that went against his nature. He and my uncle went pack hunting down on the creek. I can still recall standing on the front porch, cringing and feeling mixed emotions as I would heard gunfire and then a whimper several times. The dogs had a right to live, too, but I was relieved that my brother was alive and I knew my dad was doing what he had to do in order to protect us. This wasn’t an otherwise good dog in the henhouse like Old Yeller. This was a feral, hungry pack of predators, working in unison to bring down cattle and kids. Maybe they had once been somebody’s pets but their humans forsook them. I remember Daddy saying it wasn’t the dogs’ fault that they were hungry and wild, it was the sorry humans who dumped them.
Back then, people used to drive unwanted animals out in the “middle of nowhere” and abandon them. The dogs would find each other, form packs and attack anything that looked like a meal. We happened to live in the “middle of nowhere” and all of those strays made their way to our home at one time or another, either in the form of a friendly dog, looking for a human family or a wild pack, hoping for a meal. I used to be terrified that the pack would eat me. Even to this day, when I read a story about dogs attacking someone, it takes me months to move past it and I grieve for the families of such horrors. The story of little thirteen-year-old Cory Godsy up in Knott County still haunts me.
Then there were the CATS. In our world there was no such thing as a useless cat. They not only kept us rat-free but they also provided hours of companionship and fun. Some of my best childhood memories involve cats, but I won’t go into them right now.
………….and now………..my spill.
Proverbs 12:10 says, “A righteous man regards the life of his animal, but the tender mercies of the wicked are only cruelty.” Now, let me say that in my own words, “A person who seeks to be in harmony with God’s way respects the life of his or her animal and takes responsibility for it but a person who is out of harmony with the higher way of being does horrible things to animals and thinks of themselves as kind. They are spiritually ignorant and don’t have a clue.”
The following excerpt is from a post I did back in 2016 but it still holds true today…………………
“One after one, people are telling me of incidents where their family pets have been shot, poisoned or maimed and nothing was done, where officials brushed complaints aside and did nothing to investigate them, where people are literally afraid to come forward for fear of retaliation against their families...
…As I comb through state laws, my mouth just drops open at the unfair, lax laws and nonchalant attitudes some people hold in regards to cases involving children and/or animals...
…Let me highlight just two incidents. Someone recently told me that a little dog the children of Sparksville Kentucky’s Antioch Church liked to play with had been shot to death. Who does that? Who kills a friendly dog that an entire congregation of children love? I’m not even sorry to say that I think this is a type of cruelty, not only to the dog, but to those children!.
Sunday, a friend told me that her great-granddaughter… along with nine other children, was walking down the road with their dog in Columbia, Ky. The dog always walked with the children. A man came running out, screaming and cursing at the children. He pulled out a gun and fired eight shots into the dog. Eight red hulls fell to the ground. The children were about fifteen feet from him. He kept firing, even as my friend’s great granddaughter broke into a run toward the dog to try and save it. This man fired a weapon while a child was running toward it, risking her own life to save the dog she loved. The child, terrified and wailing, fell to the ground and cradled her dead dog in her arms. The man who shot it? He had no compassion, either for the child or the dog, nor the other nine children who were terrified for their lives. The girl’s mother took photographs of the dog and of the evidence, but the police, upon arriving on the scene, refused to do anything because when the dog fell, his head landed on the man’s property. The girl’s parents said they thought it was wanton endangerment of a minor but the police went on to say that because they were only children that their testimony wouldn’t amount to anything in court, that it would simply be the children’s word against the shooters. The officer didn’t have to go home with the little girl that night and hold her when her nightmares started. The shooter didn’t have to go to the hospital with her when she became so hysterical that she needed medical help. Furthermore, when the girl’s father stated that it was against the law to fire a gun in a residential area, the officers told him that it was a “misdemeanor at best.” However, I’m left wondering. How is this NOT child abuse? Would you want your child to witness that? To go through that horrific experience? Besides, officials told the mother that Kentucky laws were on the shooter’s side. The dog had no rights. And apparently, the families of those children have no rights, either. They were brushed off and now, they are afraid to come forward with names for fear of retaliation from a gun-wielding neighborhood bully with anger management problems.….update: the shooter discovered he had cancer not long after this incident and passed away from it. Maybe he was sick at the time of the incident and didn’t know it or maybe, what he sent out into the universe came back to him. Who can say?
…according to the Animal Legal Defense Fund, Kentucky ranks 50th in the nation in regards to animal protection. And, according to the Animal Welfare Alliance, we rank 56th! Even territories have better laws regarding the treatment of animals than we do! Kentucky is a state known for famous horses and award-winning cattle. Why aren’t there better, more humane laws in place to protect other animals, like dogs and cats?
I leave you with this quote from the Kentucky Law Journal.
Several studies demonstrate enhanced animal protection laws could significantly impact society by decreasing human violence. As one scholar states, “[t]he [l]ink between violence to human and animal victims is undeniable.” Cruelty to animals has been associated directly or indirectly with violent crime, including sexual homicide, homicide, and rape.. Large numbers of violent criminals begin as animal abusers. One study showed that 75% of prison inmates charged with violent crimes had an early record of animal cruelty. Additionally, adults who abuse animals commonly abuse their spouses and their children, as well as elderly people for whom they are caring. The FBI now officially recognizes a link between animal abuse and violent crime and has begun collecting data on animal abuse. John Thompson, deputy executive director of the National Sheriffs’ Association states, that “[i]f somebody is harming an animal, there is a good chance they also are hurting a human.” Thompson went on to say that “[i]f we see patterns of animal abuse, the odds are that something else is going on.” Putting an end to animal cruelty has the potential to drastically reduce the percentage of violent crime.Anthropologist Margaret Mead once noted, “[o]ne of the most dangerous things that can happen to a child is to kill or torture an animal and get away with it.”
For more information, visit the Kentucky Law Journal at:
A note on my personal beliefs:
*I believe there are only three motivations for every act of humanity: fear, love, and stupidity which I define as the willingness to remain ignorant in order to avoid personal growth and/or responsibility. Deliberate ignorance destroys lives.
When people fear being powerless they become greedy and cruel in order to feel that they have power, but love (gratitude, appreciation) causes faith (positive feelings and thankfulness for a thing coming to pass as if though an expectation has already been met, even before we see it with our natural eyes) to rise up within us and when we live in love, fear has no home in us. It can’t stay. Love chases it away. Animal abuse, actually any kind of bullying, narcissism, greed, or abuse is a result of fear of being powerless or not enough. When you realize that you are enough, you no longer have to fear not being enough. Animal neglect, however, is a result of biting off more than you can chew because you’re ignorant of your own limitations.
Kentucky is home to more fresh running water than any state other than Alaska. (So let me take a moment to say: when you visit our lakes and streams, PICK UP YOUR TRASH!)One of those rivers was made famous by John Prine in his song, Paradise, in 1971, when the lyrics said, “Daddy won’t you take me back to Muhlenberg County down by the Green River where Paradise lay….” But Green River is so much more than just words in a great song.
Green River is one of the most biologically diverse rivers in the world! It is 384 miles long and flows through a KARST landscape, the limestone of which gives it a green hue, and it has caves that open into the river bottom. Entire teams of horses, wagons and drivers have vanished in the “bottomless areas” of Green River. One such place that this occurred was Hidden River Cave in Horse Cave, Kentucky, where my brother, Mark aka Modo, was born! https://hiddenrivercave.com/
Green River is home to more than 150 fish species, more than 70 mussel species, and 43 endemic species (species existing nowhere else in the world; rare and exotic snails, mussels and fish). This includes nine endangered mussel species and endangered freshwater shrimp (the Kentucky cave shrimp). It is a 9,230 square-mile watershed. There are some pretty strange fish in that river, like the gar. An assortment of birds, such as the Little Blue Heron and the Bald Eagle frequent the river to “fish.” Green River gives life to more species of plants and animals than any other Ohio River tributary.
The portion of the Green River that occurs within Mammoth Cave National Park is designated as a Wild River. Green River is one of the best locations in Kentucky to view bald eagles (one man in Campbellsville photographed 14 at once) and contains the only known location in Kentucky for a rare plant species in the pea family.
Russell Creek, in Adair County, Kentucky, is a major contributor to Green River and Native American tools and artifacts have been found along the river.
Muhlenberg County’s, (once the largest coal-producing county in the nation) coal industry depends greatly on access to the river, as does the aluminum industry in Henderson County. The river rises from Kings Mountain, Kentucky, and winds along, fed by multiple streams until it reaches the dam at Green River Lake near Campbellsville. It then continues west and is fed by Little Barren River before entering the Mammoth Cave National Park where it is fed again by the Nolin River. Then continuing westward it is joined by the Barren River. It then takes a more northwesterly turn as it proceeds through western Kentucky. *original photographs taken by Darlene Campbell where Adair County’s Snake Creek empties into Green River.
In his book, Upper Cumberland Country, William Lynwood Montel talks about a culture that permeates Northern Tennessee and parts of Kentucky that stretches from Adair County at the edge of the Pennyroyal Region across Russell, Casey, Pulaski, Wayne, Clinton, Cumberland and eastward to the Cumberland Gap and on down into Tennessee. He calls this region the Upper Cumberland and says that in this region people are “wed to the land.” I suppose one could say that for those of us who’s ancestors arrived during the 1700 and 1800s , the land is sacred. There is a “spirit” in this place that has been here since long before the first European settlers arrived and once you fall in love with this land, it remains with you forever, no matter how far you travel. It calls you back. In that sense, those of us who understand the richness and the history of this place and what it meant to our ancestors, truly are wed to the land. The land which now forms the border between Kentucky and Tennessee was once the southwestern border of North Carolina and Virginia. Eventually, Tennessee and Kentucky were carved out of Virginia and North Carolina. If Virginia is Kentucky’s mother, then North Carolina is her father and Tennessee is her sister.
This region is known as the Cumberland Plateau which technically encompasses areas of West Virginia, and Alabama, as well. The river that flows through this land is now called the Cumberland, but that was not always the case. Once it was called Wasioto by the Shawnee men, women, and children who LIVED there (not just hunted or camped but LIVED). Wasioto was home to Mound Builders before the Shawnee. The river was sacred to all tribes in the area. One legend has it that there was a terrible massacre there when an encampment of Cherokee women and children were slaughtered at Yahoo Falls near what is now the Kentucky/Tennessee border.
In the late 1700 and early to mid1800s people settled along the Cumberland River in such places as Hawkins, Hancock, Scott, Fentress and Campbell counties in Tennessee and of course, there were no state lines drawn, so some of these families also settled in what is now Leslie, Harlan, Pulaski, Wayne, Clinton, Cumberland, Adair, Russell, Johnson, McGoffin, Whitley, McQueary, Bell, Knox, Laurel, Floyd, Johnson, Perry, Knott, and Casey counties in Kentucky. They came from the New River area of Virginia and North Carolina, many of which were descendants of the White Top Band of Sizemore Indians, some of which are documented as old “Cheraw” or remnants of the Saura people who had been decimated by smallpox. Other were documented as having been born at Fort Christana and a place called Catawba Town. They were a mixture of Tutelo, Saponi, Catawba, Saura and other tribes of the area which had come together due to being decimated by diseases brought over from Europe (mainly Smallpox) for which they had no immunity. Some had Algonquian ties, as well. In time, many of them referred to themselves as “Cherokee” because Cherokee became synonymous with “Indians from the Southeastern U.S.” And, in fact, many of these families did have people of mixed Cherokee, Shawnee, Chickasaw, Creek, and Algonquian tribes marry into their lines.
As their freedoms and rights dwindled in Virginia and the Carolinas, as their lands were stolen, they pushed westward into the mountains, cliffs, caves, valleys, swamps, and gorges of the Cumberland Plateau. They were seeking a place just “to be.”
Thanks to the Racial Integrity Act in Virginia that affected all the surrounding areas, census takers labeled these people based on their own impressions of them. There was a deliberate effort to eradicate the “Indians” by making them either White citizens or designating them as “Mulattos” or “Free People of Color.” It was a time period where being White meant you got to keep your family together, own land and vote. Being mulatto meant you got to live “free,” but you had no legal rights and being Indian meant you didn’t exists unless you agreed to go to a concentration camp (well, they were called Reservations but they were the equivalent of concentration camps.) So, it came to be that Kentucky, once a part of Virginia and North Carolina, had “NO INDIANS.” Of course not, they were politically ripped asunder, buried, ignored, and forgotten.
Due to their inability to point to themselves on Cherokee rolls, they were often denied tribal membership, not because they were not Native American but because they were not documented Cherokee. The descendants of these people make up much of the Upper Cumberland area today. They handed down legends, year after year, generation after generation, of a great-grandmother or great-grandfather who was “Indian.” Some of them remembered they were not Cherokee and used terms like Blackfeet, but many genuinely believed they were Cherokee because it was the only name they had heard repeated. They were made fun of and accused of being wannabe Indians, but the truth is that their heritage was stolen through genocide, sometimes accidental, sometimes on purpose, and in time, they assimilated and became “White” or “Black” just like the government had always wanted them to do.
Sizemore Indians and their kinfolk and neighbors—they often traveled in groups from the same areas, being a mixture of multiple Native branches and Scotch-Irish, Quakers, French and German–and their neighbors settled along the Cumberland River in what is now southern Kentucky and Northern Tennessee. Family names included Riddles, Starnes/Stearns, Bowman, Bolin/Bowling/Bollin, Cox, Wallen, Leach, Harris, Choate, Turner, Gipson, Sizemore, Greene, Smith, Marsh, Moore, Collins, Mullins, Phelps, Phipps, Tallant, Ramsey, Cooper, Harmon, Neal/Neil, Denny, Downey, Wells, Brown, Graham, Blevins, Fields, Fugate, White, Adams, and more.
Now back to the Cumberland River itself, Wasioto is almost 700 miles long and drains from a whopping 18,000 square miles! Multiple rivers and streams flow into the Cumberland River including the Red River, Big South Fork and others. At one point there is only about 2.8 miles of land between the Cumberland and Tennessee Rivers (which is fed by the Holston River, flowing out of what is now North Carolina and the French Broad River.)
The Cumberland Plateau, the world’s longest hardwood forested plateau, is home to many plants and animals found nowhere else.
The Cumberland Plateau rises more than 1,000 feet above the Tennessee River Valley to a vast tableland of sandstone and shale dating as far back as 500 million years. The rivers of this region, have eroded away the softer rock beneath, leaving rock houses (natural bridges), caverns, cliffs and caves along the river and stream beds. “From Williamsburg, Ky., above the falls, to the Kentucky–Tennessee state line, the Cumberland crosses a highland bench in the Cumberland Plateau and flows in a gorge between cliffs 300–400 feet (90–120 m) high.” (encyclopedia Britannica)
In 1952, Wolf Creek Dam was built to create Lake Cumberland, caves with petroglyphs (according to older local residents that I’ve interviewed) were flooded, never to be explored again. The community of Rowena as evacuated and flooded. The graves were dug up and moved to the nearby Watauga community and the community’s official records were sent to Burnside, Kentucky, a few miles upstream. Wolf Creek Dam is the 25th largest of its kind in the United States and Lake Cumberland is over 100 miles long and over a mile wide. It is the 9th largest lake in the U.S. and the larges man-made. It has a capacity of 6,100,000 acre-feet of water, enough to cover all of Kentucky in 3” of water.
Over the years the dam has had a multitude of problems and issues, including that fact that 19 years after it was built, sinkholes developed around the electrical grid near the base of the dam and caused a near failure of the dam. In the late 1960s, liquid concrete was pumped into the dam but that didn’t stop the leaks, so in the 1970s a concrete wall was inserted in the earthen part of the dam, but that didn’t work, either. Uncontrollable seepage continued all the way up until 2005 when the dam was on the verge of collapsing and obliterating the town of Burkesville, Kentucky. In 2007, the lake was lowered to 40 feet and a seven-year, $309,000,000 rehabilitation of the dam included a longer, deeper wall built into the dam’s earthen section. This wall, completed in 2014, is two feet thick and extends 300 feet into the limestone base. The dam is now considered safe by the U.S. Army Corp of Engineers. However, they say if the dam were being built today, it would not be built in its current area due to the nature of limestone and karst formations.
Not far from Wolf Creek Dam is the Dale Hollow Dam which forms Dale Hollow Lake. Clinton County, Kentucky, sits between the two lakes with Dale Hollow to the south and Lake Cumberland to the North.
Rich in history, beautiful beyond belief, wild and rugged, a tremendous area for trout fishing, home to abundant wildlife and trees found nowhere else in the world, the Cumberland River and surrounding plateau have their enemies, TRASH, DEBRIS, and GRAFFITI. The trash is a result of human carelessness, laziness, and ignorance. The debris is a result of homes too close to the riverbanks and the graffiti is a result of stupidity and ignorance. There’s just no other way to phrase that one. I end this little essay with a plea, if you swim the waters, or fish, or kayak or go white water rafting, if you live on the banks, or go on a picnic or a hike or do anything at all, please, please and PLEASE pick up your trash and don’t leave a mess behind you. It is a karst landscape which means everything finds its ways into the streams, caves, earth and waterways.
Cumberland Falls, first three photos by Scott Harris, fourth photo by Darlene Campbell
Big South Fork, photos by Darlene Campbell
Rock House Bottom/aka: Creelsboro Arch and Cumberland River, photos by Darlene Campbell
Left: Adair County, Kentucky, photo by Darlene Campbell. Left Paintsville, Kentucky in Johnson County, photo by Darlene Campbell and above: Old PennsStore in Casey County (part of the store and surrounding property are in Boyle and Marion Counties, as well.)
Upper Cumberland Country by William Lynwood Montell–1993 University of Mississippi Press, Mississippi
Life in These River Hills by Mary Etta Neal–2006, Old Seventy Creek Press, Albany, Kentucky
A Wandering Tribe: Dispersal of the Catawba Nation 1800 to 1900 by Steven “Pony” Hill | 2016–Backntyme Publishing, Crofton, Kentucky
Cherokee by Blood, Volume 1, Applications 1-1550 Paperback – December 30, 2019; Jerry S. Wright
History of the Cherokee Indians by Emmett Starr, originally published 1929. Now available here: https://www.amazon.com/History-Cherokee-Indians-Legends-Folklore/dp/0806317299/ref=pd_sbs_2/134-6893923-8755815?pd_rd_w=wyVES&pf_rd_p=f8e24c42-8be0-4374-84aa-bb08fd897453&pf_rd_r=X9PQGF4XQX1AZ8B6EJ4P&pd_rd_r=b0e52a4a-86f2-47e4-9ddb-48951c67f087&pd_rd_wg=fFXL2&pd_rd_i=0806317299&psc=1
I believe in being positive and affirming, even when it’s not popular, doesn’t sell books, make news, gain followers, or make money. I believe in living as peacefully as possible with all people, but in doing that, it means giving up the illusion of ego and the need to be right. Having said that, I’m going to speak my heart.
I just bowed out of a Facebook group in which I had been fairly active because I was constantly bombarded by messages of people screaming for someone else to define them, all the while bashing others who were in the currently “unpopular” camp. Amazing how “enlightened” folks can be so mean, vindictive, accusing, and closed-minded to anyone who has a different or currently unpopular opinion.
I can’t help but think that the Information Age has rapidly turned into a “Self-affirmation Age,” in which people define themselves based on their social media followings, “likes” and opinions of others rather than on self-examination.
In this sea of self-absorption, it’s easy to be removed from the fact that those on the other side of any issue are also human beings and they, too, are so bombarded with messages that they often don’t know what to believe. Some people get so emotionally swayed by digital messages that they literally turn against their own families, putting politics, current events and opinions of celebrities or people half a world away (who may or may not even be aware of their existence) between themselves and the people who have supported them their entire lives! Sometimes, to me, it feels like today’s world is made up of everyone screaming to be heard and nobody listening and as Charlton Hesston once said in Planet of the Apes, “It’s a MADHOUSE!”
It also seems that many people are so polarized. It’s either this or that? Trump or Biden, Black or White, Young or Old, Bigot or Tolerant, Vaccine or Anti-vaccine…but the world, the real one, the one that doesn’t depend on “followings” or have any “likes” or votes to get, isn’t quite so polarized, it’s more blended, muted and free-flowing. It’s the child, the one that has a Black dad, a White mom, and a Hispanic step-sister, sitting in my classroom with two missing front teeth and a big grin on her face, laughing and talking to the blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy next to her and the Vietnamese girl beside her. They’re writing a story and illustrating it together. It’s the little girl from San Salvador who tells me she was born in an Amish bathtub and is learning to speak German. It’s the little red-haired, freckled boy who speaks in a thick Appalachian dialect, telling me he wants to be a paleontologist and the little African-American boy who tells me that one day he is going to be an Art teacher and it’s me, telling him that he will be a great Art teacher and that I’m depending on him, because one day I’m going to get old and retire and I’ll want him to take my place, and it’s all the other kids, of many shapes and shades, filled with dreams and wonder, wanting to discover who they are. And it’s my co-worker who just won a battle with cancer and takes the vaccine because she’s so afraid she might die with COVID and it’s my other co-worker who is afraid of the vaccine because she is afraid of side effects. Neither of them are a villainess. They’re just people, each trying to do what’s best for herself and her family, yet there are people out there on both sides of the issue who pounce upon them and try to paint them out to be “monsters.”
Sweeping statements are blind and end up villainizing others. Anytime you hear someone say, “Those Democrats…” “Those Republians…” “Those Biden Supporters….” “Those Trump Supporters….” “Those Muslims…” “Those White People…” “Those Black People….” “Those Christians…” “Those New Agers…” you are hearing a message that pits polarizes and divides and turns regular folks into “villains.” Sweeping statements dehumanize those who aren’t in our circle of thought and somehow makes them less human, which makes us less humane. If I had a motorcycle wreck and was lying on the side of the road, dying. Do you really think it would matter what shade of skin the ETM trying to save me had? Or gender? Or who he/she voted for?
I remember reading Bury my Heart and Wounded Knee and crying to the point that I couldn’t finish the book and I could never endure Schindler’s List, because I couldn’t understand how people could be so inhumane toward other human beings. Now I get it, when you divide people into “them and us” and begin to view the other side as somehow “less than,” you find yourself capable of horrific atrocities in the name of what’s “right.” Remember, Hitler’s snitches were just being “good citizens.”
So, my point is that we are all human beings, regardless of who we voted for, where we live, which bathroom we use, or the shade of our melanin. When we find ourselves getting angry over someone’s “viewpoint,” perhaps it would serve us well as a species to step back and view them as parents, brothers, sisters, children. It takes self-awareness to step outside yourself and be open to the viewpoints of others. It doesn’t mean you have to agree with them, or forsake your own beliefs, but it will give you a sense of compassion and empathy for others.
I am thinking about Ghandi’s brilliant statement about how that if we live by the rule of an eye for an eye the whole world would be blind and how Jesus said that if we live by the sword, we die by the sword and then there was Saint Francis who prayed not so much to be understood as to have the ability to understand. Jesus said, “Love your enemies. Pray for those who despitefully use you.” What does love mean? In this context, I believe it means to show them basic human kindness, even when you disagree with them. Let go of the illusion of ego and embrace their worth as fellow human beings. I think it means to be humane.
The most wonderful part of writing is well, writing. There is such joy in letting a story flow right through you as characters come to life and act out an entire plot line of drama, comedy, suspense, love, relationships, and intrigue. There is something magical about pulling a person from your imagination and breathing “life” into them.
Then there’s the anticipation of having someone read your story and enjoy its unfolding as much as you enjoyed creating.
Even the editing and revisions, as tedious and tiresome as they can be, hold some sort of magic and power of their own. You’re left with the feeling of crafting something beautiful and original, of breathing your soul into a creation.
But somehow, once the story is complete, the main character’s journey has ended and all the subplots have neatly been tied up and tucked away, when the last comma has been properly placed and the last sentence punctuated, there comes that feeling of being in an eternal waiting room. I think it’s the absolute worst part of being a writer. You send out your queries, your synopsis, your sample chapters, your bio and marketing plan and wait for someone with “power” to tell you that your story is sellable.
Being accepted by an agent or a publisher isn’t a guarantee that you work is good, only that it’s marketable. Some of the classics of old wouldn’t stand a chance today because the standards have changed, or at least that’s what I tell myself. It makes it a little more bearable whenever the rejection emails (used to be slips in the mail) start coming or when you go for days, weeks on end, with no reply at all, to the dozens of companies to which you’ve submitted. You wait…and wait…and wait…and wait…to get rejected over and over and over, until finally someone says yes or until you get frustrated that they can’t see the brilliance of your work and decide to self publish or go with a vanity publisher. No matter which way you go, you’re left with the daunting task of marketing and promotion.
That’s where I’m at now. I just finished my newest work. I’ve sent it out there, not getting any responses from my usual publishers. Maybe it’s COVID related. Maybe books just aren’t moving like they were. Maybe tomorrow I will get that “yes” in the mail. Sometimes, I even welcome a no as opposed to the constant–waiting. Writers can be ultra patient while working on a story but this writer is not patient when it comes to waiting on responses. Oh, I know all the reasons it takes so long for editors to get back to me, and I am aware of how many manuscripts editors must see, but that doesn’t make the waiting any more pleasurable than knowing that your dentist is busy makes a shot in the gum less painful.
Tonight I sit here wondering, “Do I send out my letter, bio, synopsis, and chapters to another seven people? Or do I wait in hopes that one of the ones I really had my heart set on accepts it? What if I get accepted by a lesser company and sign a contract then a bigger more promising offer comes along?”
Maybe I set a six month deadline and keep my readers hanging on a while longer. Maybe I say to myself, “If it isn’t accepted in six months, I’ll just self publish it,” but I don’t want to self-publish. And what if I self-publish, then a week later, the publisher of my dreams says, “Hey, we’d like to publish your manuscript?” Eek!
So, I take a sip of chamomile tea, close my copy of Writer’s Market and say, “Wait a few more days. Then select promising candidates and send your unique story (sometimes unique is a hindrance because people like songs they already know words to, so-to-speak) out there again. One day, this new and different piece of work will find a home, be accepted and perhaps, become a familiar song and it won’t be a blues tune or maybe it will. Maybe a blues tune is the kind of story the world is waiting for.
Don’t wait for a thing to become reality before you are thankful for it. Be thankful, happy, rejoicing over it’s reality and THEN it becomes a reality. Don’t try to force life to happen. Make time to be still, to quiet all the voices of the outside world and listen to your own heart/spirit. Connect with the spirit inside you that is the Great Spirit/Creator and really hear what is in your heart. Make the choice that speaks to your inner being, your true self, in the moment where you are and let that choice guide you. If you try to justify your choice, you will talk yourself out of the very thing that may lead to your greatest self, your divine calling, your individual path. Each of us has a gift and a light, but we often let the opinions of others and fear of ridicule or criticism cause us to keep the gift unwrapped and the light locked inside a box.
I remember once being told to confess what I wanted in my life and it would manifest but I don’t believe that to be true anymore. I believe that when we really want something, we’re not ready for it. Wanting is the acknowledgement of lack. If I want something then I don’t have it. I just now recalled Psalm 23 where it says, “The LORD is my shepherd. I shall not WANT.” Yes, to want something is to LACK and to lack means you don’t have it. I say be thankful for it, embrace the joy of its existence, relish the reality of it and appreciate it even before you see it or in other words, see what you believe before you believe what you see.
The answers to our happiness in life aren’t found “out there” somewhere or a person we will find. The key to happiness is found through an inward journey into the depths of our spirits and psyches. It’s a choice, not a set of circumstances. I believe that gratitude is the key to living an extraordinary life. Gratitude is a constant praise to our maker, simply being thankful for ordinary things leads to extraordinary joy and draws beautiful things into our lives. When we complain and criticize, we draw criticism and bitterness to ourselves. When we fuss about the things we don’t have, we push them farther and farther away from us. Some people would not be happy with all the money in the world. They would never be thankful for what they had and would only want more. Those who worry about money NEVER have enough, no matter how much they have. It’s not what we have or don’t have that makes us happy. It’s the attitude with which we receive it.
I also think it’s important to remind ourselves that yesterday is a story already lived, like a chapter in a book that’s already been read. If we remain in the same chapter, we never finish the story. If we jump ahead to the end, we miss all the good parts of the story and the joy of the reading journey is lost. So it is with life. Yesterday is over, the good and the bad–all gone. We can’t go back and redo and holding grudges only dulls the present. We can’t jump forward for if we do, we miss the most important parts of our story. Love the moment you’re in. Notice the sunlight glinting off your drinking glass as it shines through the window. Taste the seasoning on your food and enjoy its complexity or its simplicity. Smell the flowers in your yard. Feel the cold wind on your face. Enjoy your break at work. Remember; your life is a story, one that has never been nor shall ever be again. And THAT story, YOUR story, is lived in moments with each moment being a new scene, every day a new page, every season a new chapter.
In a sense, we are just this moment. The old saying is true, today is a gift and that is why it’s called the present and no matter how bad the present may feel, remember “this, too, shall pass.” It’s a moment.
Some people are always looking behind and they feel sad and depressed that the world they once knew is gone forever. Other people are always looking for the future, looking for that perfect place where they can finally chase their dream or that perfect person that can finally complete them, but the perfect place is where you are and the perfect person is yourself. Maybe it’s time to stop chasing purpose and realize that YOU are the purpose.
Move moment to moment, listening to the Holy Spirit who will guide you in each step you should take. When we start listening to other people, or getting too wrapped up in our past or worrying about our future, we drown out this guidance system. Each of us has a true calling, a path to walk and it doesn’t matter if it’s logical or reasonable to anyone else. We have to listen to our hearts without justifying ourselves for being true to our calling.
Seize the Day!
pieces of art,
come without trying
Art, like life
should be air
On a perfect day
there would be no clocks
On a perfect day
there would be no clocks
I would awaken
when I was rested
sleep when I was tired
eat when I was hungry
drink when I was dry.
On a perfect day
I would go wherever
my creative muses led me.
I might wade a creek
or I might go to
sun on my face
ancestral winds at my back.
On a perfect day
I might drive over
to Penn’s Store
where I would meander
amongst fellow misfits
poets, painters, songsters.
No one would care
what I looked like
what clothes I had on
or how I wore my hair.
On a perfect day
no one would be nice
because of what I could give them
or do for them
or how I made them feel
No one would misread me
assigning desire where
only kindness was intended
or assuming anger when
quiet contemplation overtook me.
On a perfect day
I might paint, write
sing or dance
or stare quietly into space
not really knowing where
my mind had been
having an inspiration
an ah-ha, that’s it!
On a perfect day
I might make a memory
with another or a few
On a perfect day
I would be like a butterfly
landing where flowers bloom
All I would want
would be warmth and freedom
from jars, nets and insect zoos.
Once a young man named Jimmy who spent a lot of time alone and in his own thoughts, set out to find and understand love.
In Michigan he had a three month relationship with a kindergarten teacher and asked her, “What is love? “It’s knowing your own worth,” she replied. “And it’s understanding what you want and not settling for less than that.” Soon after that she left Jimmy and went to pursue what she really wanted, so he packed his bags and moved westward.
The young man took a job as a mechanic in North Dakota where he drank coffee at a roadside diner every morning and came to be acquainted with an elderly man called Bobbo who told him stories of the life he had lived.
“What is love?” Jimmy asked him one day.
Bobbo chuckled, “More than I’ve got.” He took a sip of his coffee and stared out the window. “Aw, I reckon it’s giving everything you’ve got to make somebody else feel better about the way they think things ought to be.”
Not long after that Bobbo passed away with lung cancer at the age of 95, the by-product of seventy years worth of cigarettes. Jimmy grew tired of his life in that town and moved to Oklahoma where he became friends with a preacher everybody just called, Brother Moe. As Jimmy listened to Moe’s stories and sermons he again wondered just what love really was, so one day while he helped Brother Moe paint the church he asked, “Brother, what is love, I mean, really, what is it?”
Brother Moe wiped sweat from his forehead, pushing his ball cap back, “Love, is what Jesus had for all of us when he said that we should love one another as he had loved us. On the one hand it’s basic human kindness, on the other, it’s being willing to lay down your life for another person and I suppose that means being willing to give up what you want in exchange for what they need.”
There was a pretty woman in Moe’s church called Sarah. Jimmy dated her a few times and asked her, “Sarah, what’s love?”
Of course, she thought he was trying to profess his love for her so she mustered up her best answer. “It’s compassion,” she said. “It’s that and romance and passion and it’s being strong for another person, listening to them, really listening and being willing to commit your life to them and lay it down for them and… it’s nurturing.”
Not long after that she started dropping hints about marriage and talking about children. Jimmy knew that it was time for him to fly. He wasn’t ready to settle down and “love” Sarah because he hadn’t resolved what love really meant to him. So, he said his good-byes and left.
For a couple of years, Jimmy lived in a tiny Texas town where he worked as a janitor in a factory. After work, he’d go to a small club and have a few beers with some of the locals. One night they all had a little more than usual to drink and got to talking about love. Each of the men at Jimmy’s table had an opinion on it.
One guy, John, said, “Buddy, love means setting boundaries and keeping your own needs and wants separate and….”
“That’s a load of crap,” another buddy, Chaz, cut in. “Love is hanging on tooth and nail to somebody and….”
“No, that’s what’s crap,” John said. “Man, love fights for the highest good no matter what.”
Ann, the waitress came by and chimed in. “You yahoos don’t know what love is,” she said. “That’s why ain’t none of you got any. Love is letting go and not being possessive or stupid jealous and letting somebody be who they are and not trying to change them and make them what you want them to be.” She picked up their dirty dishes and moved on.
“What’s she know?” a big red head named Scooter said. “She’s a woman. They don’t know nothing about love. They think it’s packing in the groceries in the middle of a big game.”
“You’re a brute,” a quieter guy named Bobby Joe said. “Love is action. It IS carrying in the groceries and it’s the gifts you get and the stupid mush that you say. It’s like rock solid care in motion. You know, the ultimate concern, the fabric of the cosmos and all that jazz.”
“You’re a geek,” Scooter said.
A fifth guy at Jimmy’s table, Liam, chimed in. “Love is the essence of life.”
“That doesn’t really tell me anything,” Jimmy said. “What do you mean the essence of life?”
“Well, it’s what you do to make somebody else’s life better,” Liam said. “It’s not like you know, an emotion. It’s way bigger than that. It’s what that nun over in India said, love is a sacrifice, giving up yourself and what you want for the sake of somebody else.”
Scooter banged his fist on the table, “Charlie Brown says it’s a man called Jesus.”
“Yeah, but he told us to love as he had loved,” Jimmy said.
“Love is not religion,” Bobby Joe said. “Jesus didn’t seem very loving when he made that whip and ran those money changers out of that temple.”
“But he was,” John said. “I ain’t no church man but I know he was taking up for the common people, the working folks, like us.”
Annie came back around to refill their glasses. “You guys still arguing about love? Take it from me. It ain’t about sex or lust or romance. All that stuff is a load of hype that Hollywood pushes to keep women buying more products so they can be baby-making machines and then the media downs ya for having kids. It ain’t about making babies or doing dishes or jumping every time a man hollers. I’m telling you, that if you love somebody you are willing to do what’s best for them, even if that means setting them free. Take me, for instance. I been married to my old man for twenty years and he thinks he loves me, but he don’t love me so much as he loves his own comfort. I honestly think that if he loved me, really loved me, more than he loves his own comfort, he’d tell me to go on a six month vacation by myself where I didn’t have to mop the floors, change the oil, mow the yard and do the dishes. I make sacrifices for him and love him because I’m supposed to, but most days of the week I don’t even like him.” She moved on again.
“He sounds like a real looser,” Jimmy said. “I wouldn’t like him either.”
“She’s a good woman,” Scooter said. “A real hard-worker.”
“Yeah,” Bobby Joe said, “and everybody knows that being a hard-worker is what constitutes your worth as a human being.”
Jimmy bade his friends goodnight and they went home, some of them to comfortable, predictable lives, some to chaos and turmoil, but Jimmy went home alone and lay in his small apartment above a professor’s garage and fell asleep on a twin-size bed. Two months later, he received a phone call from his sister in North Carolina, their father was dying and would he please come home.
Jimmy sat by his father’s bed all night, holding his dad’s hand. His siblings slept off and on but he never closed his eyes. He had been gone so long and had missed so much time with his dad. This man had always been strong and soft-spoken and now, he was as weak as a baby and fragile. Jimmy was thankful for the darkness so that his father couldn’t see his tears.
Every so often his dad would say, “I love ya, Son.” It was a faint whisper but Jimmy could hear it. Sometimes he would say, “I’m not afraid. It’s okay. I’m not afraid.”
He remembered the time his dad had taken off work to come watch him play a little league game, knowing that he would lose a half day’s pay. He remembered the time his dad had rescued him at 3 a.m. when he ran out of gas three counties over after a night out with his friends. He remembered all the nights his dad had sat at the kitchen table and told him stories before bed and the time when it snowed and his father couldn’t work and didn’t get paid, so there were no groceries in the house. He remembered how his parents had done without any meat, giving it to he and his siblings.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” he said. “For all the times I caused you grief and put you out and…”
“Love doesn’t keep score,” his dad muttered. He coughed, “I’d do it all….” he coughed harder.
“Don’t talk,” Jimmy said.
“I’d do it all again,” his dad managed to get out in his raspy tones.
Jimmy squeezed his father’s hand. His memories continued. He recalled how his dad had dreamed of playing in a bluegrass band and had pursued that dream for awhile. He had gone on several tours and would be gone weeks at a time. But eventually, the band fell apart and Jimmy’s dad didn’t seem to want to do it anymore. His father had pursued other dreams from time-to-time as well, but he had always been there for his family when they needed him. He didn’t know what his father did when he was away and in this moment, he didn’t care. His father had not been a perfect man but he had been a great man.
“I’m not afraid,” his father said again. He looked from Jimmy to each of his siblings with his glazed eyes. Jimmy wondered what he could actually see. “Love each other,” he gasped. “Let everybody be…be…themselves…be yourself. Help each other. Forgive…forgive. Love one another. Yes, Mama, yes,” he said, then he sat straight up, his eyes bright, a smile on his face and he left his body.
Jimmy and his siblings embraced. Early that morning he went outside to get a breath of air. It had rained all night and now, the sky was clear above the house. Jimmy looked up and saw a beam of sunlight bathing the little house where his father’s body still lay awaiting the coroner. He smiled.
“What are you smiling about?” his sister asked.
“I know what love is,” he said. “I can’t explain it, but I know it.”
I believe we are spirits.
We journey through this temporal (or rather time constrained) dimension which is bound by the laws of the physical universe for only a short while. Because it is a physical and temporal universe we must travel through it in physical and temporal vehicles, our bodies.
So long as these bodies are intact and whole, we can stay in them, but if they become too damaged by injury or by sickness, then we must vacate them, or sometimes, as in the case of a few people I know, a spirit so longs to go home that it simply leaves the body. I will borrow from C.S. Lewis (whose writings I love) and call this temporal dimension the Shadow Land.
When we enter this Shadow Land our spirits, or the eternal essence of who we are, becomes shrouded in flesh and blood. Our memory of that place we come from becomes clouded as we experience this world through our physical senses. We take on a persona, a soul. I will liken our souls to our emotions, our wills and our intellects. Yet, as we travel through this world, our spirit selves seek to learn and to grow. We could think of our time in this world like a long summer camp where we learn and experience things that we can only learn and experience in another place that isn’t home. We have left home to come here on this trip. It isn’t permanent and when it’s time, we each go back to where we came from. Just as there are laws of the physical universe, there are laws of the spiritual one. (Love, faith, hope, joy, compassion, gentleness, empathy, mercy, forgiveness, etc.)
So, we could say that we are spirits, we live (while on earth) in bodies and we have souls. When we leave this world, our bodies remain behind, either to decompose or to be preserved through embalming or in urns, etc. However, our spirits carry with them our souls and all the memories and lessons we learned while in this Shadow Land.
While we are traveling through this Shadow Land we each take on a persona, ego, personality (whatever you want to call it). This personality is based on our temperaments, our emotional development and our cognitive development. Our personalities may reflect our character, which transcends our personality. Spiritual awareness (*not necessarily religious) and understanding helps us reach self-actualization while in this world. (see Erik Erikson’s stages of development)
Some of us grow and help others to grow. Some of us get stuck in a developmental stage and may be a fifty-year-old adolescent. Each of us develops a system of cognitive pathways or preferences for interacting with this world. Carl Jung determined that these pathways determined how we perceived the world and how we made sense of what we perceived. He organized these functions into sixteen configuration or cognitive preference types. No one type is better than any other. Each type just takes a different pathway toward self-actualization and growth. Each type has its own unique sets of strengths and weaknesses to overcome. Understanding our own mental processes can help us navigate through our lives and can help us become more understanding and forgiving, propelling us toward self-actualization and spiritual growth, while fostering more positive relationships with other people.
*religion is humanity’s attempt to appease a deity, to work our way into heaven or an afterlife by doing good deeds, sacrifices, rituals, saying the right things, etc. Spirituality may exist within a religion but is not dependent upon a religion. Spirituality is the realization that we are spirit beings and that there is a spiritual dimension with a different set of values than those mandated by religions or man-made organizations or governments.
“A merry heart doeth good like a medicine but a broken spirit dries the bones.” Proverbs 17:22
I love to laugh.
I love to be with people who laugh.
Laughter is contagious.
Sure, there are times to be sad, to be angry, and to grieve, but I believe that even in the face of emotional, physical, and psychological trauma, joy and laughter can set us on the road to recovery.
I once read where Moe Howard (The Three Stooges) said that he felt like the only thing he was good at was making people laugh and believed that was his purpose in life. Minnie Pearl (Grand Ole Opry) talked about how she one day came to the conclusion that she would never be a raving beauty or glamour girl but she had a powerful gift to make a profound difference in the lives of others. She had the gift of making them laugh. Both of these people understood a powerful law of the Spiritual Universe. There is power in laughter and people need it. Laughter is a gift. Laughter is a healing balm.
The late comedians, George Burns and Bob Hope, who both lived to be over one hundred, believed it, too, that there is amazing power in laughter. According to Mayo Clinic, laughter can
An old Jewish proverb says, “As soap is to the body, laughter is to the soul.” Laughter can cleanse us. A deep bout of laughter can often be the cheapest form of therapy. Mark Twain, that master of satirical humor, once said, “Power, money, persuasion, supplication, persecution—these can lift at a colossal humbug—push it a little—weaken it a little, century by century, but only laughter can blow it to rags and atoms at a blast. Against the assault of laughter, nothing can stand.“
“Laughter is the sun that drives misery from the human face,” Victor Hugo.
The quotes and evidence that laughter is beneficial on many levels goes on and on. However, there is something even more important than a few moments spent laughing at a party or parked in front of your favorite sitcom and that is inner joy. Those people who have learned to laugh through and at anything have done so because they have learned the power of a MERRY heart, aka, a positive attitude.
Proverbs 15:15 says that a cheerful heart has a continual feast. Happiness is a foundation and joy is an expression of love. However, you have to choose joy. We all face things that bring us down. We all face disappointments. We can either wallow in them or find the light and focus on it.
I remember an old saying I read in a discarded, discount book called How to Stay on Top When the Bottom Falls Out that changed my existence. I was seventeen, shy, alone and in over my head. Trust me when I tell you that my bottom had fallen out. Within three years my grandmother had died of a heart attack, my brother had been killed in an accident and my thirty-eight-year-old mom had suddenly passed away. My father was sinking into grief and depression. I was struggling with anorexia and thoughts of self-harm. I felt there was something innately WRONG with me and that somehow I didn’t deserve to live. I felt like I was never good enough and that people expected perfection I couldn’t give them. To make a long story short, my young life was complicated. All the trust-worthy adults in my life were gone and I was expected to be the adult. I found that ragged paperback book in a box of junk someone gave us and in that book there was a quote, “Two men looked out of prison bars. One saw mud. The other saw stars.” The author went on to say that our perspective changes everything. He quoted another author saying, “Your attitude determines your altitude.”
I made a decision that day. No matter how muddy it was, I was going to see stars. On cloudy evenings, I would remember that the stars were still there, just on the other side of the clouds. And in the day time, a tornado may be blowing at the moment, but no storm lasts forever. The sun is always, ALWAYS going to shine again. I decided that I would choose joy and that every day I would find something for which I could be thankful. Somehow being thankful brings joy.
I have a saying that I sign my work emails with, “Happiness is a choice, not a set of circumstances.” (I think I made that one up, but most likely someone else said it first.) I can’t help but think that the secret to a happy life isn’t in the things we have. It isn’t in the grand experiences we can give ourselves or others. The secret to a happy life is found in taking the moment we are in and consciously being thankful for whatever positive thing presents itself. It might be as grand as dinner in a palace or as simple as a dandelion peeping through the crack in a sidewalk. Corrie ten Boom told of a time when she was in a concentration camp and saw a dandelion poking its head through the cracks in the concrete. She rejoiced. Her sister, Betsie, rejoiced over fleas in their barracks because the fleas kept the guards out.
Paul, a man who wrote much of the New Testament, said, “Rejoice always.” One of the laws of the Spiritual Universe is to choose joy. Gratitude brings happiness and joy. Joy brings laughter and laughter brings healing.