Come and See, The Chosen. A Review…

I have never written a review. I don’t consider my opinion to be one that others would think would accurately describe something, so I have avoided such things. A couple of weeks ago, a Christian blogging page I follow asked a question if God had ever asked you to do something out of your comfort zone in your writing. This is it.

We watched the first season of The Chosen a year ago. We couldn’t stop watching. We have seen the first shows of season two. Each episode has brought tears to my husband and I. Our hearts have been touched by what we have seen. Still not enough to write a review. Then… How many times has there been a then…? In my life, there have been several instances where there has been that time and several times I have ignored that prompting. This time I cannot. So, here goes…

My husband and I were born again in 1977. We were overseas and I know most of our friends and family thought we had gone off the deep end. Our letters were filled with ramblings of the excitement we felt in ‘meeting the Lord’. Scriptures filled our pages as we desperately tried to convey our newfound love for our Lord. I can only imagine the groans of my sisters seeing a letter addressed to them from our FPO address, thoughts of another lecture on righteousness. I know that I have since appeared to be a goody two shoes, one who doesn’t do much. If only they knew how I truly am. They would see differently.

Then comes this show, The Chosen. I see my sisters talking about it, glowing reports of how wonderful the show is. I watch. Once more, they are right.

I half expected when I tuned into the show that I would see Jesus portrayed as a constipated person. I don’t mean that to be sacrilegious it’s just that most actors are so stern at playing Jesus, they come off looking constipated. At least that is my opinion (again, why I do not review). This Jesus is how I have pictured Him. Real. Approachable. Smiling. Exhorting. Encouraging. Laughing. Dancing. Caring. Healing. Restoring.

The writers, the actors are portraying onscreen what I have fumbled and failed to convey when talking about my Savior. They have expressed the comfort, the love, the safety I feel when I look into the eyes of Jesus during prayer time or when I am reading my Bible.

The episodes give a backstory to the people we know through Sunday school, sermons, reading. You see the humanity that most likely we could see had we lived in that time. Instead of the glossed over images that covered felt boards in a Sunday school classrooms, you see a living, breathing human being, flawed and normal. The disciples did not walk around with halos appearing over their heads. They were like me. Having a temper, having doubts and fears, having good days and bad days. They laughed, I have always believed my God has a sense of humor, after all, He created me. They cried. They danced and rejoiced. Same as we do.

This series is a gift to me. A boost to my heart. It does not replace my need to fellowship. It does not replace my need to read or pray. What it does is encourage me to be more. It reminds me of that excitement I felt in 1977. When, for the first time I had my heart opened up by my Creator. He sparked in me a joy I had never experienced. I truly felt alive for the first time. Like Matthew, in the series, when he was called, he left everything behind to follow Jesus. I have experienced that. I have felt that call and walked away from how I was raised, what I was taught and followed. Again, this series reflects what I have failed to convey happened deep within me.

I recommend this series to those of you who have not seen it. You can catch some episodes on You Tube, you can also download the app on your app store. Come and See what the hype is. I know you will enjoy it. Thanks for stopping by, Cathi (DAF)

A Memory of A Friend…

Friendships grow out of a shared experience, a shared time, a shared interest. Sometimes you are thrown together unexpectedly, and it turns out that it was a divine appointment. A meeting that was ordained from God.

Such was a friendship that began so many years ago. When we arrived in Japan in 1976, we were put onto a housing list. We could not get into government quarters (translated an American type home) until our name came to the top of the list. We arrived in June of 76 and until November of that year we lived in a cute little Japanese apartment.

When our name came to the top we drove up to Yokohama to look at houses. There were three couples who were looking at three houses. As typical in military communities, rank took priority. Hubby and I had second choice of the three couples.

The first home was cute, and the couple ahead of us commented on how cute it was. So, we knew that house was taken immediately. One to the second one, it was nice, not as nice as the first. I knew I could live there with no problem. I heard the wife of the third in line couple say, ” I really like this, but, it will most likely go to the other couple.” The third place we were unable to go into. We went to the third place, which overlooked a cute little grassy area. I loved it. So, each of us got our wish for our houses.

We settled into our place and thought no more of the other couples, until one day I was grocery shopping and ran into the second couple. They invited hubby and I over for tacos. We went and from that simple beginning, a friendship that became family developed.

So many things I do in daily life remind me of them. And like family, thoughts, prayers and memories happen with the simplest of things. Last Saturday, Cindy passed away. Her health has been failing the past few years. We have talked, but, as is true, not often enough. Hindsight is generally filled with regret. The should-haves flood your heart as you think of missed opportunities. Such was true for me.

When I heard the hard words from her daughter whom I have known since before she started school, my heart broke. I knew she was now whole, able to see again, able to walk and run (although I could hear her laugh at that thought) and that she was once more healthy. No more would she be trapped in a body that was failing her, she would be free and looking into the face of her Creator.

Cindy was a dear friend. One who listened with a caring ear. She would encourage me, laugh with me, cry with me, and challenge me. Her quiet way was filled with strength. When we talked we would say our hellos and then start to laugh and cry at the same time each telling the other we needed to not take so long between calls.

She leaves behind her husband who is my brother from another mother, and three beautiful girls all with their own families and stories. We were able to spend time with them and it was like walking into home to be with them. They had grown, they had families, but, it was still the same in so many ways.

When I was younger I would hear older people say how dear Heaven is. I never quite understood that saying. I thought how can Heaven be so precious when there is so much of life here. I now understand, with the passing of each person I know Heaven is becoming a treasure, a place I long to be, to be reunited with friends and family and once more laugh with my friend Cindy.

Thanks for stopping by today, Cathi (DAF)


Sunday is Easter Sunday. For some, a time of Easter baskets filled with chocolate, jelly beans, marshmallow bunnies and other goodies. For others a time for a new spring dress, hats, accessories. Still others go to church for their yearly obligation to be fulfilled.

I was raised as a Catholic. Easter week was spent mostly in church. I truly loved the tradition of the church, the services that were held, the music on the pipe organ that resounded in the cathedral-like church with the stained glass, the gothic arches and the brick flooring. Thursdays we had communion in remembrance of the Last Supper. But, Good Friday was my most poignant of memories. For on Good Friday the church was silent. Stillness echoed inside, no music played in respect for the death of Jesus on the cross. All statues were covered. All was darkened, still. It was a somber reminder of what the holiday was truly about. On Saturday we went to Easter vigil. It started later in the evening, I believe it was around 10 p.m.. The beginning of the service was to bless the new candles and to do the traditions, most of which I have forgotten over the years being a non -practicing Catholic. But, at midnight the pipe organ rang out in glorious melody. The statues were uncovered, voices rang out, Christ the Lord is risen today! The celebration began.

The Savior rose, He defeated death and it’s power.

Long ago I became a born-again Christian. I know it caused confusion to my family and to my friends. Me, who had talked of taking vows to be a nun, became one of those ‘Jesus freaks’. But, it was one decision I have never questioned or regretted.

Now, each day is a celebration of that resurrection for me. I remember fondly those times in my growing up church with love. They formed a foundation in me to honor our Lord. They established in me the awesomeness of the meaning of Easter. They gave me the desire to know more deeply our Savior.

This week I have thought of last year. At first I tried to remember what we did last Easter. Who we spent it with, what we had for dinner. It then occurred to me that last year my Easter outfit was pajamas as we watched church online. I did make a nice dinner as we had to have something for Easter. Last year we were alone, as was everyone else in the world. There were no family gatherings, no church services, no joining in together in song and praise. Each of us were alone, eating our holiday dinner alone, no joined in laughter over old family stories. Just caution for what was going on.

This year, we are going to church. It is still not normal, the sign to refrain from hugging and shaking hands prominently displayed in the foyer. The temperature taking station at the door. But, we can see one another and steal a hug in disobedience. We can worship together, praise together and celebrate the great news, Christ the Lord is risen today!

We were created to be together. We need one another. We were made to encourage each other, to hold another up in prayer, to give that reassurance that troubles last for a season, and while we can we can prop each other up in support.

I look forward to Sunday. To be reminded in song and sermon that Easter is much more than the chocolate rabbits (although they are wonderful and delicious), more than the pretty spring wardrobe, that Easter is truly a celebration. Christ the Lord has risen indeed.

The One About Waiting….

I am a good wait-er, not to be confused with being a waiter (that would be disastrous). I have written about waiting several times in this blog and I find it is a subject that I come back to often. We all wait, we all know what it’s like.

As a child, we would wait for the bell to ring for recess, lunch, or dismissal. We waited for summer break. We waited, although to many, it was just life.

This past Monday I was waiting in the car and started to think of all the times I have waited. A number of times came quickly to mind. Waiting for my wedding day, waiting for orders (this was a regular occurrence in the Navy), waiting for babies to arrive. When hubby was on a ship, waiting for my ship to come in (literally!). Sometimes it arrived on time, other times, it could take up to 3 hours past the docking time. Later, waiting for my girls to come into the car after school, waiting for them after choral rehearsals, or waiting for them to get off work.

I have spent countless hours in a car waiting. I would hate to tally up the hours, honestly. We have all done it though. You sit in the car, looking around. Watching people park their vehicles wondering if they are going to hit the other cars. Watching people get out of the cars. Some people jump right out of the cars, and move swiftly through the parking lot. Others take a long time, like they are cataloging everything in the car and checking and rechecking to see if the car is in park. They lumber getting out of the car and are purposeful in closing the door behind them. The walk through the parking lot is fraught with caution and care. Still others race into a space, parking quickly, taking up several spaces and are putting themselves together as they go across the lot.

After people watching I tend to start rolling down windows, getting some air to circulate and relieve the stuffiness inside. I grab my phone and start going through my pictures. Do I really need that picture of the play-dough rose I made for Little Miss? Will she truly miss seeing it the next time we are together? Will hubby actually use that picture of a screw that he found when he didn’t have his phone on him? These questions are usually answered in the negative and the deleting of photos commences.

After the three minutes of that activity I play games until I can no longer do that. The glove box is next in my sights. I go through the coupon book in it and wonder if I will ever really use any of the coupons or if, this December I will just toss it. This all happens within the first fifteen minutes.

Since we can no longer sit in the waiting room with our spouses, this is becoming a ritual, especially if you need to be there in case you need to drive your spouse home after the appointment. Such was the situation this past Monday. The appointment was last minute, so I expected to sit for a while. It was a pleasant day so all the windows were down quickly. The breeze had a touch of chill to it, but the sky was bright blue and the temperature was spring-like.

Like I mentioned, I thought about waiting. Some waits are easy and quick. Some seem endless and ominous, like waiting for a dental appointment. That feeling of unease and dread while listening to drills resounding in closed off rooms. Some waits are exciting. Seeing wrapped presents under a tree ready for little hands to tear into them. Waits vary, but we all do them.

After all the musing of waiting and the different types, it occurred to me that presently I am in two concurrent waits. Ones I don’t give a lot of thought to, but nevertheless they are very present in me. One is waiting to be called home to be with the Lord. A wait we all are doing at the moment. I know it’s morbid, but death is one thing no one is going to avoid. The other wait is for the glorious return of our Lord.

I Thessalonians 4:15 – 18 says, “15-18 And then this: We can tell you with complete confidence—we have the Master’s word on it—that when the Master comes again to get us, those of us who are still alive will not get a jump on the dead and leave them behind. In actual fact, they’ll be ahead of us. The Master himself will give the command. Archangel thunder! God’s trumpet blast! He’ll come down from heaven and the dead in Christ will rise—they’ll go first. Then the rest of us who are still alive at the time will be caught up with them into the clouds to meet the Master. Oh, we’ll be walking on air! And then there will be one huge family reunion with the Master. So reassure one another with these words.” (The Message)

So, wait, I will. Thanks for stopping by today, I appreciate your visit, Cathi (DAF)

66 and holding…

A couple of weeks ago, I turned 66. Honestly, I never thought I would see this age. My mother was in her early 40’s when she passed away and I always thought that the best part of life would happen before that age.

So, when it appeared that I was going to outlive her, I thought that aging should be graceful. Thoughts of elegant women in flowing clothing is how I pictured coming to this age. I figured that somehow I would reach this age and be elegant. HA! I reached this age like I have all the previous ones. Rushing headlong, like the proverbial bull in a china shop.

And now, that I am here, I confess that although I creak and crack a bit more, mentally, I still feel and think like I did at 16. Well, truthfully, some thoughts are different. I may have some of grumpy old lady tendencies lurking in the corners, but I am not ready for the rocking chair full time.

I suppose I should take inventory and make goals as to what I will miraculously do this year, but, the older I get the more honest and blatant I get. I dream of doing so much, but the reality is that I get tired. I grow weary and I hesitate. I could say this is part of aging, but, I have been this way for a good forty years! I do know that I am still trying to put my mark in this world. I strive to be everything our Lord created me to be. I know the bulk of my life is behind me as I know I do not have another 60 years left (what a frightening thought!). So, this year I wait to see what happens. Will I write more than the opening of that novel that lays dormant in my mind? Will I teach and minister to women? Will I actually clean out my junk room? It all remains a mystery. So, instead of flowing, graceful clothing, I will once more put on my raggy jeans, stained tee shirt and tennis shoes and live my life just like that bull in a china shop.

Thanks for stopping by, Cathi (DAF)

Oh, There You Are…

One of my all time favorite movies is Hook, starring Robin Williams as a grown up Peter Pan. In one scene one of the lost boys goes up to a grown up Peter and takes his hands and moves the cheeks to reveal a younger looking man. At that point, the lost boy says, “Oh there you are Peter”. The boys did not recognize the grown up Peter, but, hidden underneath the age is Peter Pan.

I thought of that quote last week as my hubby and I had lunch with some friends. I glanced over during a conversation and there in the middle of talking came this quote, although the name was different, the thought was the same. “Oh, there you are Debbie”

Beside me sat my first true grown-up friend. The friend I met after growing up. I didn’t know her since kindergarten or from high school. I met this women after being married and living away from all my established friends and family. She is a kindred spirit. The kind of friend you recognize immediately. You don’t often find these precious individuals and when you are blessed, as I have been (for me, only a couple of times) you cling to these friends and hold them near to your heart. They take up residence in your heart and when thinking of them you wonder how you ever lived without them.

Debbie and I met in Japan. We lived in the same housing area. We would walk back and forth from our homes. We laughed often. She drew me in with her contagious laughter and her expressive communication, mostly with her hands.

She and my oldest now live minutes from one another. With each visit to our daughter, hubby and I meet at least once a visit for lunch with our friends. Last week was no exception. We have found a place that has become our place. It is the usual spot to meet. We find a table and spend an hour or so catching up, laughing and continuing the conversation started forty-three years ago. It is wonderful.

During lunch last week, as I mentioned, I had a lost boy experience, I looked over at my friend, now older, a bit heavier(aren’t we all?), and a face of an older woman. I looked at my friend talking and my mind raced. Here was someone that I have great respect for, she has been an example to me of unconditional love, she gives love and support to her family in a way I admire. She gives when she has nothing left to give, I know that is a cliche, but for her it is true. She is a woman of faith and freely shares that too. She has bolstered me in several times of hardship. And, here she sat beside me, talking (yes, with her hands) and I saw the younger Debbie. The dark haired, energetic and bubbling Debbie. I smiled, yes, there you are Debbie. I see you. I recognize you. To others around us, we were four senior citizens, maybe talking louder than normal in our excitement. I am certain the young people thought it was nice that we four were still able to get out and about, To me it was a gathering of devoted friends. Age was erased, gray thinning hair was replaced by full heads of hair, clear eyes, young bodies and lives that were not worn down by experience.

I loved the time together and look forward to the next visit. It has been a bit since I last wrote, and this I felt needed to come out of my thoughts. As it is December 22nd, I wish you all a very blessed and Merry Christmas. I had one of my best gifts during lunch last week, I spent an hour with my friend.

Thanks for stopping by. Cathi (DAF)


Almost forty-two years ago we left Japan for Maine. I remember standing in the living room of our government quarters in Bangor, ME with tears running down my face. I was homesick. Not homesick for my hometown, but, lonesome for the familiarity of living in Japan. I wanted to be able to walk down the street and turn down to where my friends lived. To knock on their door and see a familiar face and know I could laugh and cry and be myself. But, I was standing in my living room of my house in Bangor not knowing many people feeling sorry for myself and praying.

At that time I felt like the Lord showed me a scrapbook. As I remember it, I looked at the book and it was filled with people and places and adventures from Japan. I had stopped crying while this went on. As the scrapbook closed, I remember feeling like the Lord told me I could go to that scrapbook any time I wanted, but, I could not live there, it was time for a new adventure.

Maine was a wonderful place to live. It was filled with so many dear people and it’s own adventures and events. I loved living in Maine and when it was time to leave I left a part of my heart there. We were moving to San Diego and I really did not want to go to San Diego, although we felt like we were being sent there for a purpose. We left Maine and arrived in San Diego in late July. As we crossed the mountains from Yuma, AZ into San Diego, I felt a heaviness inside and I knew that we would be there until the Lord moved us.

We were there for almost 27 years. During that time we bought our first home, raised our babies into toddlers, little girls and adults. We had recitals, concerts, proms, first kisses, broken hearts, broken bones and life.

What brought all this to mind was memories that appear on facebook. The past few days the memories have recorded what was going on eleven years ago. As I slowed down tonight, it occurred to me that eleven years ago this week we left San Diego for a new adventure in South Carolina. I remembered as I turned the key in the lock of the front door as we left that it was closing the chapter of our life that I had reluctantly began so many years previous. I got into my car and cried going up the driveway. Memories flooded my mind, and they are still crisp as I write this. Seeing glimpses of my daughters growing up, hearing echoes of conversations. But, eleven years ago this week the big moving van backed down the driveway and in two days filled the truck with a lifetime of memories.

A week later we were in Charleston, SC in an empty house waiting for our things to fit into a new space. And fit, they did. The past eleven years have seen us move two more times, and now we are in our forever home as we call it. We have seen health concerns, cancer diagnosis, broken bones, torn tendons, Little Man born, Little Miss born and memories made.

As I think on my life, I remember the scrapbooks I have had. Those I have filled up with ticket stubs and old love letters, and post cards, and those that are carried in my heart. The ones filled with faces of friends we have loved and lost, friends who have become family, and family. Those heart scrapbooks hold the tears of joy and sadness. Celebrations, births, weddings, funerals. Each event tucked carefully into the recesses of my heart. I pull them out often. On nights like these I dwell on certain pages, people I would like to hug once more, people I would like to have lunch with or a cup of coffee with. Laughter echoes and smiles linger, tears roll down the cheek easily at these times. These volumes of my life that I cherish and hold dear.

Thanks for stopping by, Cathi (DAF)

Fear Mongering…

This afternoon, hubby and I had a conversation about fear.   I had mentioned that everywhere I looked and everything I read had an element of fear.   There is no one area of life that is not covered in fear.

Fear of health situations.   Fear of wearing masks for fear of catching disease, fear of not wearing masks for fear of catching a virus.

Fear to state your opinions because they do not line up with what others are saying.  Fear of not saying what’s on your mind for fear you are not living according to your beliefs.

Fear that the wrong person will win the election, fear that the right person will win.  Fear that our country is going to hell in a hand basket.   Fear that freedoms are being stripped away.  Fear that our way of life will disappear.   Fear that we can’t do anything about it.

Fear of kids going back to school.  Fear that they won’t go back to school.   Fear that if they go back to school awful things are going to affect their health.

Fear.   A four letter word.   Another ‘F’ word  that should not be used as much as it is.

This evening I went to the store.   As I pulled out of my driveway I realized it was the first time in months and months that I actually was driving in the evening.  Also a first in a while was driving in the rain.   I had a momentary and fleeting feeling of fear.   What if it started to rain so hard I didn’t see a deer?  The what ifs were short lived and I had a pleasant drive to the store.

On the way home, I looked in the sky, it was still just twilight.  Part of the heavens were black and filled with stormy clouds, another part was bright blue with white thunderheads.  Streaming down through the clouds was a rainbow.  A bright one that filtered through the white clouds behind it.

I looked at the rainbow and smiled.  I actually said out loud, “You do great work, God.”  I went on to tell Him how much I loved His artistry.   And then I started to remember verses from the Bible and quotes I have often heard.  It was a wonderful drive home.

Genesis 9:13 in the New Living Translation says: ” I have placed my rainbow in the clouds. It is the sign of my covenant with you and with all the earth.  God promised never to destroy all life with a flood.  I think of this each time I see a rainbow. ” 

In 1933 FDR said in his inaugural address, “We have nothing to fear, but fear itself”.

2 Timothy 1:7 in the New King James Version says,  For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” 

John 14:27 in the New Living Translation says, I am leaving you with a gift—peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. So don’t be troubled or afraid.

All of these echoed what hubby and I talked about today.   We can look at circumstances and situations and world events and live in fear or I can choose to look to God, and live in peace.    Today I have chosen to live in peace, knowing that nothing is going to change if I live in fear.   Fear will cripple me, harm me, cause me to withdraw and not see the beauty around me.  Fear will hold me prisoner and there I will not have the freedom to live, to be me.  So, while the world and our media blares fear in deafening tones, I will strive to quiet myself and see that even in storm clouds a rainbow can be seen.

Thanks for stopping by.   Cathi (DAF)






Wedding Cake Topper…

Growing up, my Mother’s bottom drawer of her dresser held a treasure trove of mementos for my sisters and I to explore.   Inside that drawer were photos, her wedding shoes (satin shoes), and her wedding cake topper.   She had these sugar bells that had once graced her wedding cake.   I loved those.  So, when I married, to honor her, I had bells at the top of my wedding cake.

I love my cake topper.  There are satin and sugar bells with some tulle at the top.   Glued to the main bell are two little hearts.   Perfect for me.   This cake topper has always held a place on my dresser as a reminder of that day.   Unfortunately, I never got anything to place this topper in and so it has been standing in the air, collecting dust  through these almost 46 years.

During this quarantine time, hubby and I have been redoing our master bedroom. It has been an extended project, taking much longer than either of us expected and truth be told, we wanted.   We moved everything out of our room, and since then, we have furniture and usual dresser top things strewn throughout our house.   We have taken up residence in our guest room and that looks like the most disrespectful guests have been there, with our normal bedroom things cramped into a smaller room.   Our master bedroom gets put back together this week and for that I am doing a major happy dance.

This morning as I was walking through our dining room, I glanced down at our dresser items placed in neat piles at one end of our dining room table.  Sitting there, in a place of prominence, is our cake topper.  It was like the first time I actually looked at it in a very long time.  wp-1595081206044.jpg

I almost did not share a picture of it, it looks so beaten up, but in order to make my point, you had to see this photo.

This poor cake topper has been everywhere with us.  It was not put into anything that would protect it.  It has been through each move with us.   Wrapped countless times and countless ways, shoved into boxes and shipped all over the world.  When it has reached its destination, it is unpacked, unwrapped and mindlessly placed back on top of my dresser.

45 and one half years ago today this cake topper was new and white and lovely as it sat upon our cake.  We had just said the words, “For better, for worse, for richer for poorer, to love, honor and obey, in sickness and in health, til death do us part.”   At the time those were just words to make it official.   We didn’t have a clue.  We, too, were new and white and lovely.

Since that time, we too, have been exposed to the elements.  We have been wrapped and unwrapped and moved around the world.   We have seen colds and flu and viruses, and cancer, broken bones, broken hearts, fears and doubts and everything in between.  We have experienced life.

Today as I looked at my poor little cake topper, I realized that my initial thought to finally get rid of it was wrong. This ugly thing still needs a place of honor because it truly does reflect what our life together has been like.  Chipped, broken, a bit worn and some residue along the edges, but, if you look close enough, you still see the two hearts glued together in the very center of it.

Thanks for stopping by today,  Cathi (DAF)


Fear and the Written Word…

Yesterday I commented on a blog that if the writer had found my writing mojo, please send it back to me.  I said it half in jest, half in truth.   Some may say I have had writer’s block, but, I think in truth I have just not written much out of fear.

The beginning of the month saw me take a huge step in submitting a couple of pieces of work for consideration for an online magazine.  Years ago, I would submit pieces without a second’s thought.  It was part of who I was and what I did.   Somewhere along the way, I stopped.  It wasn’t out of discouragement, as I thought with each rejection at least someone had read my words.   That in itself was a plus for me.   I think it was a healthy attitude, and I still do think it’s a great response for rejection of submissions.

There are many reasons I can rattle off for ceasing to submit pieces,  life got in the way, I started something else, I didn’t think it was worth the time, I got lazy, I rethought my priorities.    All of these could neatly fit into the reason I stopped.

But, personally, and if I am honest, fear is the reason I stopped.  Fear of inadequacy of saying what my heart is feeling and fear that it won’t resonate.   I do this with my blog and with my book.

Each Sunday, I silently pray during church services for strength and courage to write.   I pray about it daily, but somehow it’s those quiet prayers during service that speak to me.   Each Sunday I feel the prompting to just do it.   I leave confident and raring to go.  I get home and look at my laptop and freeze.

I was proud of myself for being obedient  and stepping out and submitting my works.   Yesterday I was supposed to hear if they were accepted.   I anxiously checked my email several times, hoping, but not expecting to hear anything.   I did not.  Am I discouraged?  Should I be?   That answer comes quickly, NO.   I know I did what I felt I needed to.

But, in thinking of this, I realized that my lack of writing mojo is fear of my written word.  It defines me, as what is written comes from deep within me.   So, yes, I have a fear of the written word, it is a reflection of me.  I have many wonderful people who read my words and encourage me, more than I could mention here.  I could not write without their encouragement and love.   This is a personal threat to me.  I put the phrase on my blog, “Ramblings from a would be writer”.     I think that needs to change.   I need to reflect what I write with how I see myself.  I need to see that brick wall of fear and either scale it or blow it to pieces, but, most of all I need it to be gone and get on with it.   Right?   So, once more, thanks for going through this with me.  Do you have a brick wall of fear in front of you?  How are you going to make it disappear?   I’d like to hear your thoughts.  And yes, I will change that little sentence to read, “Ramblings from a writer.” I will also remember that words on a laptop can easily disappear thanks to that little backspace key… so much easier than white out from the old days!

Thanks for stopping by today.   Cathi (DAF)