Remember that charismatic church I mentioned in a recent post? Well, in the rear view mirror I can see so many reasons God had me stop there on my journey. One of them was to rescue or at least to provide a huge ray of light to a woman he cared for dearly. She had been a member of that church for many years.
She was one of a small number of single moms who had been drawn there and while she possessed an incredible knowledge of the Bible and a strong foundation in Christ, she was seen as a less than honorable woman based on the fact that she was a widow at a very young age and had a child out of wedlock as well as one from her brief marriage. At least that’s the way it appeared and certainly seemed interpreted in the very male-oriented construction of that church. The only women allowed to mentor or teach were those married to pastors or elders; well, except for two single women who happened to be very wealthy. They were held in high esteem and had preferential treatment very different than the single moms I was close to. This was a church that had long practiced a strict tithe of 10% of one’s income. I’m sure that their wealth have anything to do with their acceptance, although the other moms were on welfare.
I arrived at the church neither wealthy nor long immersed in Christian theology, however I had a strong love of the Lord and a feeling of full redemption from being saved that was unflappable. I was a breath of much needed wind of the spirit for my good friend of the now past forty years. We broke bread together often and our fatherless boys at least had an emotionally similar friend in the church community. There were things I loved about the music and worship, which was indeed the mainstay of this community, but I read the hearts and saw a lot of hurt concealed there as well. That wasn’t something I could fix, nor were the pastors interested in addressing it, but I always believed I was meant to be there for the time that I was. It was part of an incredible ‘real time’ education in my walk with Jesus and He continued to teach me as we walked the road of Christian community together. Learning in real time rather than by reading was always a better method for my retention of important things.
The reason for this post is while I left that church only a couple years after I arrived, my friend was not so fortunate; when she finally did leave a great deal of damage had been done to her spirit. As she says, she walked away from Jesus for a long while after that, although He certainly never left her. Just last week she renewed he commitment to Him and her terrible anxiety of the last decade or more has finally begun to lift from her. The prescription of anti depressants a current doctor had given her sent her into a tailspin and then to the emergency room of the nearest hospital last week. After all the tests were run, she realized that there was no physical reason for the anxiety tearing her apart. After that she recommitted her life to God through Jesus and she went home, literally and figuratively, to a new life with no more anti depressants. I spoke with her today and she sounds more like the hopeful young woman I met forty years ago than the one I have spoken to by phone for years. Total dependence on Him is the fastest way to rid ourselves of anxiety and also by truly trusting the outcomes of our situations to His love and care. He does not disappoint, though the way he takes us may be new or unusual, often I find they were never even on my dashboard. Looking back there is not one that I would have wanted to miss!

This was quite possibly one of the biggest lessons I’ve ever learned in my life. I only learned it after years of hurting myself and my son by holding onto betrayal and believing I was somehow owed some sort of apology. I had a husband who fell in love with my best friend and neglected to deal with it until we had a son and had purchased a new home. I gave them both the benefit of the doubt, even when my own mother suspected them, continuing for some time believing they could never possibly do that to me.

I was wrong. They could and they did. When I finally found out it became a soul crushing betrayal by two people I thought cared deeply about me. It was difficult for me to recover and continue in relationship with them, yet I had to because we shared a 1 year old son when he left. She left her husband a year later and they were married for over 25 years before she died much too young of cancer. We continued with a polite but empty communication style for years, often snagging when my son spent vacation time there.

Fortunately, long before we lost her and while our son was still in college, I had an amazing conversation with God that changed everything. I was crying out to him that they were causing great emotional harm to my son and therefore to me. Everything seemed a horrible triangle, with my ex blaming me to her and her to me, for anything that had to do with the financial support of our son. It was always difficult to get to the truth of anything. In the very old days I might have trusted my friend over a cheating ex husband. But this was the friend he had cheated with. An absurd mess that I didn’t want my son in the middle of, ever. He loved all of us, and did not want to choose sides. Nor should he have to. We were supposed to be the grown ups. I cried my heart out to God and asked Him to please intercede on our behalf. What I heard back in the silence was ” are you willing to forgive them?”

Nope. That was easy. I was not willing. Yet, as I sat with the pain of my son caught in the middle, I tried to find some way around that question. I didn’t do it, why should I have to forgive them? Silence. At this point my mind started to query whether I had ever done anything for which I should ask someone’s forgiveness. Of course there was less than total clarity on that issue. In my mind, I could find at least some questionable behaviors of my own, even within my marriage. There were certainly many other relationships I had been in where I might not have behaved well, or as well as I could have, all the time. Yet I did not remember any specific apologies on my part. The thing I wrestled with most was the agony caused to my son, when he had done absolutely nothing wrong and got caught in the middle of our adult drama.

I reframed the question I felt God had asked me, rolling it around in my head. While my response didn’t change, I did realize that an act of God might be absolutely necessary for the results I had requested. I then quietly whispered to Him “I am not willing, but I am willing to be willing”. I thought that was a way of somehow distancing myself from the consequences of my reluctance to obey. Wrong. What I had forgotten was the fact that God changes hearts, and I had effectively just given Him permission to change mine.

It wasn’t a minute later that I realized I had nothing but love for my ex husband and my friend, who had now been his wife for many more years than I had been. What? Wait a minute here. What? Where did all my justified anger go? What about all the…(^$%*&($#@!) things (that I suddenly could no longer remember) that hurt me? Ironically they had been replaced with thoughts of …why shouldn’t a child enjoy the love of two moms, both his Mom and his step Mom, when that love was offered to him so genuinely? Why would any person want to come between that? And so it went from there, for at least five more years.

If there is any story I have shared more in Christian circles and prayer groups, I cannot remember it. Even when it is hardest to change our stubborn minds and hearts, I always offer this advice: Tell God you are not willing to change, but you are willing to be willing to change. He will do all the rest because all He needs is our permission and He goes right to work! I never knew what hit me, but hit me it did. And I was the one who experienced the loss of our deep friendship when she passed away so young and who understood my son’s heartbreak at losing her. It is I who have missed her bright illumination at our future family gatherings with the amazing grandchildren she never got to meet or love “to the moon and back!”. God restored a deep, respectful relationship between us that, while not exactly the same as it had been before, was magnificent, made even more precious because of the cracks that had been so delicately and purposely filled within it.

I got a sweet thank you note from one of my nieces yesterday and included in her response to my joy following the birth of her daughter was an admission similar to many others I’ve received from my nieces and nephews (and sons!) as they welcomed their first child into the world. That first week or two and often again, even much later, were moments where they became fully aware that having a child (especially on your own, lacking a supportive spouse, nearby family and financial stability), was suddenly a daunting revelation to them. Add into it being a single parent already raising an amazing five year old with a 7-day-a-week storefront to run, ten employees to schedule, supervise and pay, and you have an even better glimpse into my complicated life 43 years ago. I really don’t remember that much of it, yet moments like this when I can pause and reflect are somewhat mind boggling to me too, for sure!

How did I do it? Well, that’s I guess that’s how it became the point at which I asked God into my life, having my actual ‘come to Jesus’ moment on Dec 9th, 1983. I knew I was truly outnumbered now with two small sons under six and I was definitely going to need some help. It is definitely the anniversary I most remember and celebrate in my life, one my Mom always phoned me to mark as well. Not because it was so special on the actual date. It was a just a day that a single mom from my church had come to help clean my house, while I was home recovering after the birth of my second son. Her money was tight, but she always tithed ten percent of her time to the Lord and I was the grateful recipient of her love and service that particular day. Although I had regularly been attending our Presbyterian fellowship for the past three months, she didn’t take anything for granted so somewhere in our day she asked me if I had ever asked Jesus into my heart? I replied something along the lines of “not in so many words.” Having been raised Christian, baptized, confirmed and having always attended church, I didn’t know there was anything missing, at which point she said ‘Well, let’s make sure’, and then she gently led me, with my permission, in the sinner’s prayer. It was not an event followed by lightning bolts from the sky and yet, looking back now, it was definitely the most important moment in my life.

After that, all my decisions were no longer made alone but with the quiet guidance of the Holy Spirit, as the Lord took up residence in my heart. As with any move-in, there were things to be sorted out and cleaned up, some to throw away, some to move to a secondary position, some to add to the existing mores and celebrations that were already in place with my little family tribe. We made room for a newcomer, Jesus. And my life was never the same after that; by that I mean never as lonely, never without joy, never without provision or the hope of provision for me and my boys. Life changing.

I guess this website is the story of some of those times as my memory is jogged here and there, just a note or a quick story, to pay tribute to the all encompassing love that came to fill my heart that day, assuring me that I would never run out of that love, regardless of any other struggles and circumstances sure to come my way. Such complete fullness, impossible to describe, though I do try.

Psalm 27:5-7 NIV

A year ago I received a call from the lady who plans the annual Gala that supports the crisis pregnancy center in St Petersburg, Florida. She was getting people lined up to head committees for that year’s celebration and she was reminiscing over the year prior. I had moved to town only one year before and had known no one involved in the pregnancy center ministries there. I had found a church family and about that same time one of the pastors announced she was forming a team to look into the possibilities of our church helping to support that ministry and I stepped forward to assist that committee.

Within a few short weeks I had met the woman who ran the center and bonded with her immediately as if we had known each other for a lifetime. Actually I have learned over the years that that is exactly the feeling one has when God puts you in a place where you never thought to go on your own. With that in mind, I signed up to be on the decoration committee, feeling it would be an inobtrusive place to help wherever I could. We were zoom calling our meetings at that time and I attended each of those where they admitted they had yet to find a head for that committee. I knew no one but had met the Director one time, so I just listened to try and get up to speed on the needs of the center. The gala date was only three months away and they were feeling a bit desperate. I volunteered to take the lead and come up with some ideas and prices for the formal evening for 250-300 guests for dinner at the huge and not exactly cozy Coliseum. They had no theme and no color scheme. In retrospect, I have often found God has me step in when no leaders step forward and then He supplies both the ideas, skills and the people I will need to succeed. I call myself a place card holder because I never really take possession of a role, knowing the rightful person will be arriving sometime soon. I fill in the gap. It always happens that way and it is easy for me to also step to the side when it does. I am a sub, by gifting and by nature, it seems.

The plans and team came together and all was provided that was needed. I was even able to use some of my ‘decorator’ talents to save the center a lot of money on the presentation. It was a gorgeous and warm welcoming evening. My abilities to do elegance on a shoestring allowed for a significant gain to their bottom line that evening. They had usually hired a decorator or event planner. When the financial officer looked back on it she called me to ask “Where did you come from?” as she couldn’t remember how I swept in and then, just as quickly, swept out of their midst ( I moved to Jacksonville two months after the Gala on the spur of the moment, to be in place for the birth of my newest grandson). In trying to replace me, she had tried to think through the whole scenario of how my being there had come about. We enjoyed a great conversation, as we retraced how God had supplied the very need they had laid at His feet in prayer, by a means they could not have foreseen (i.e. no one they knew!) and in His own perfect timing. We decided to pray together that He would do that once again and to trust that He would, as we already had proof that He had.

It is always fun to be reminded of things that He has done and the way He has provided for those who put their trust completely in Him. I came as an outsider. These women, many of them the same who started the center, had put together this Gala for twenty eight years. The revelation to us both on that call was that even though I was an ‘outsider’ to the center, I was an insider to the faith that ran it. They knew me because we both knew the One who sent me, and we recognized, from our long but separate journeys with Him, that our hearts were indeed already family. They trusted me implicitly, because they trusted Him completely. How often I have witnessed that in my lifetime and it is so beautiful. No egos to put aside. Grace.

Another year and a half gone by! Where does all the time go? A new grandson in this case. Born end of March 2023, but by last August I was caring for him three to four days a week while Mom and Dad worked. I am loving living so close by! He is the best companion and it is the most worthwhile use of my days; i realize it wont last forever so I am just enjoying every minute.
My other son had to again retrieve this lost part of my recorded thoughts and it took him quite awhile but I am so blessed that he did. I told him it wouldn’t be worth the money or the trouble he went to, but it truly was. Rarely have I captured the thoughts and notes of my life on paper so this is kind of a look into the way my mind works…scary thought in and of itself!
The older I get the more I tend to question my memories, so it is good to be able to look back a bit and note the dates I finally wrote them down. I always mean to write more, but time goes much too fast and I forget. So just begin again, as they say. I guess writing is a bit like dieting! Not much good at that either.

My pastor wrote in his blog several weeks ago about his encounter with angels 25 years ago and it reminded me of a similar situation that happened at about the same time to me and my sons, then living in Florida.

We had recently moved from upstate New York to Jacksonville, and were fascinated by the beaches all around us. One sunny day in early November we drove  our Ford Aerostar van down to the beaches of St. Augustine, where we had heard they allow cars to drive on the sand, to check it out. The beach was totally deserted that day, even though it was beautiful; Floridians typically do have a season where they frequent the beach, and that had already passed.

This was my first time driving on the beach, there was no one to instruct me, and the boys were very excited that we had a roadway between the dunes and the water of about 300 yards so we hit the sand running……until we realized we were no longer moving forward. Our wheels were still spinning but we weren’t going anywhere, except deeper into the soft sand into which I had driven (funny, I thought I would be safer farther away from the waters edge, but the sand was actually easier to drive on the closer one got to the water, not the other way around). Our laughter and excitement quickly turned to fear, as we realized we were on a desolate beach with no idea how to get our heavy car out of the sand. And while the sky was beautiful, the sun was beginning to go down. We also were in a pre-cell-phone era and houses, stores and people were nowhere to be seen.

My sons were then aged ten and four. My older one, a type A firstborn, hopped out of the vehicle and began digging furiously behind the back wheels with his bare hands, determined to dig us out by himself. My youngest, a more laid back dude with much more patience, decided to go up on the nearby hill and play in the sand dunes. As he did, I could hear him talking to God. While his hands were forming sand castles, he was saying “Lord, my Mom needs your help right now. Her car is really stuck in the sand.” That was it, and he continued playing.

Not two minutes later there was a woman at the side of my car, motioning for me to get out. A man…her husband, I assumed, was behind the car, getting ready to push it. She climbed into my seat and within a matter of minutes the car was on hard packed sand again, and I was back in the driver’s seat, calling my sons to get back in the car. I turned to point out the couple who had helped me and they were nowhere to be seen. There wasn’t another car or person on the beach and I had no idea how they could have disappeared from sight so rapidly.

I haven’t asked the boys about this in any recent time and they may well not remember. As for me, I will always believe God sent angels to help me out of that predicament and that they appeared and disappeared without so much as a word. Except for the words and faith of one very small boy, who totally believed God would help out his Mom.

Although both those encounters took place 25 years ago, I am believing there are angel sightings every day, though sometimes we may discount them because we cannot prove it, even to others who may also have been there at the time. Faith, belief, and the eyes to see; let them see. This story also reminds me that I am safer on the hard sand, closer to God’s living water, than I am walking on the softer sand nearby. The softer sand is a really good place to stop, lie down and rest awhile, but if I want to be the hands and feet of Jesus, I will get much more traction on that well-packed, wetter sand… closest to Him.

I came very close to having an abortion, in fact as close as fifteen hours away from one that was scheduled for the tiny life within me.

In the Christian communities I have been a part of over thirty some years, that information alone could be enough to change people’s opinion of me and, depending on their experience and position on the issue, that might be positively or negatively.

In some of their eyes I would be celebrated for having made ‘the right choice’. That seems nice enough, in that I get to tell my story openly most times, without the fear of the judgement that will definitely accompany someone sharing that she made a different choice. To others I committed a sin being pregnant outside of marriage, something they know they would never have done, so they may step back a few inches as though my sin might be catching. For most churches in that time, I was a single parent they didn’t quite know what to do with or for, as my children and I were outside the realm of most their ministries.

Sometimes people don’t really think about the fact that of the three choices available to a woman in that place, none of them seem ‘right’ to her, even by Webster’s definition: morally or socially correct or acceptable. Whichever one we choose will be accompanied by a shame that we will have to work through, perhaps for a lifetime. The church can be a loving place to heal, or it can be a continual judge and jury. Each one can only be seen on its own merits, but it is a tough risk when your silence offers you much more more reliable protection.

In truth, it is much more complicated than even the choice itself, and only someone who has been faced with that dilemma in their own life may ever experience the compassion I feel for the women who have had abortions, especially those who truly regret it. I feel for the woman who gave up the only child she might possibly ever bear for adoption,  who may also be told she did the right thing, but that can ring hollow in a childless life.  For the one who experienced an abortion and yet keeps it secret as most do, being handed a rose at their church on Mother’s Day can be so devastating they may purposely avoid church on that day.

My Dad was a veteran of WWII. He was barely 25 when he Captained  a battalion of men through horrible circumstances in the Battle of the Bulge and  then awful experiences in Belgium and Germany. Though he came home seemingly in one piece, with a British Medal of Honor, a Silver Star and a Purple Heart, he never mentioned the war once during my lifetime of knowing  him. I was born the year after he returned and he died when I was fifty-eight. It was something he just couldn’t talk about. He couldn’t sort out all his emotions, so he just put them in a box he never re-opened.

Though he went on to raise a family, be a successful businessman and a great father to four children, to this day I don’t know much about his war experiences or his wounds. I know he could be super critical and hard on his kids, but he wanted us to grow up strong, at least emotionally stronger than perhaps he had been. My emotions were often crushed as he seemingly did not want to acknowledge them. It was only when I thought about my own brush with abortion that I had even a clue as to why he was emotionally distant sometimes, angry and frustrated at other times, for seemingly no related reason. He had experienced a time as a very young man when he couldn’t  allow his emotions to cloud his mind while he did what he had to do, which was often not something he wanted to do, in order to follow orders and protect all the others in his care. I am sure it was this thinking that came to the surface for my Dad when I became pregnant out of wedlock ; I was already a single mom to a five yr old, four years after my husband divorced me to be with my best friend. I am sure my Dad worried my life would be terribly hard, though he and I never spoke about how difficult it would have been for me  had I made any other choice.

Although Dad came home after the war to start a new life and family, his wounds never totally healed. Many of them were buried, deep in his heart, alongside the friends he lost during the war. He had killed people, and seen friends be killed, his best friend hit by mortar  just feet from his side. There is no healing balm for that, save the Oil of Gilead, straight from the heart of God himself, and I pray that my Dad finally found that healing and peace when he came face to face with his maker. He deserved it, having silently carried those hurts for a lifetime, all the while providing for his family and walking out a good Christian life here on earth, always mindful of the ones who never made it home.

Perhaps that is why, when I first met the women of the crisis pregnancy center where I was to volunteer, I broke down in tears when I got back to my car. I knew that I was among women who had fought in the same war into which I had also been drafted, for no one knowingly signs up for this one. So many of us have had sex before marriage, but if we didn’t get pregnant, we could pretend that we hadn’t. Abortion took away much of the reason for shotgun marriages, but it left the decision heavily on the heart of the woman involved, who like my Dad in the war, had very little emotional preparation for such a life and death decision.

All the women at the center were touched in some way by the legacy of abortion; some spoke about it, many did not, but there was a silent camaraderie, no, that is not the correct word, it was more that we shared a sacred silent compassion in that room. I felt a sense of home, but also of purpose, that made me weep and thank God in gratefulness for all these women and for so many more.

There is hope for the victims of this war. Many people think only of the baby when they think of the victims, but they would be very wrong. There are parents and grandparents who may never be. There are uncles and aunts who may only be sisters and brothers. Mostly a mom and a dad, and possibly a brother or a sister, of one very special and particular child, who will never meet them this side of heaven.

There is accurate and factual information that can help a woman prepare for the decision only she can make. One of the deepest regrets of many is being told it was nothing but a blob of tissue, only to find out five or ten years later it was already a life with a heartbeat that could be seen on ultrasound only four weeks from conception. Resentment from not having been told the truth, prior to making this decision, is one of the worst things to get over and a hard thing to release. The woman is victimized all over again every time she relives that decision, as she will often over her childbearing years, perhaps her lifetime. God’s grace, mercy and forgiveness is both extremely necessary and also lavishly provided, when asked for personally by women in these tough situations.

At a crisis pregnancy center, there are other soldiers who can come alongside her, whatever her choice has been or will be, to help her with what is ahead. There are women who are themselves one or who have been close to one of these veterans, people who understand what she has been through and what she is feeling.

As for me, I am ever grateful God is allowing me to use all that He has shown and taught me to be aware of, so that I may encourage and uplift those very courageous souls who have sidelined their own lives, often against the will of those closest to them, to do the very difficult work of being mother, father, head of household and spiritual leader of the child they decided to have and to raise, with no guarantee of any help. To be there for the woman and families of the one who gave a child life, and yet surrendered it for adoption, in order to give it a better chance than the one she might be able to provide for it, to make sure she is encouraged and celebrated for her choice as well. And for the one who chose abortion, to surround her with the love of God and mercy of imperfect but loving others who welcome her to the ranks of other wounded warriors whom she may never before have met, and yet may sit next to her in church, and to share God’s amazing healing and His promises for her life and her future.

Different times and places, different ranks and titles, but as with all vets when they get together, a common bond that needs not even be spoken. You know what I know. You have seen the enemy face to face. And there, but for the grace of God, go all of us. Like my Dad, I live my life ever mindful of the ones who didn’t make it out as easily as I did, and the ones who didn’t make it out at all. If it were in my power, I would proudly present each woman who has been in this war with a Purple Heart, for we have all fought hard on the front lines of this battlefield, and we have all been wounded, in a place that may be impossible for most to see. I am so grateful that God’s own medal of honor, His son Jesus Christ, is always ready and waiting to heal all of our wounds, even and especially this one, once and forever when we ask Him to come into our broken heart.

Because unfortunately, this war is far from over.

It has been noted in our church recently how uncomfortable some people are with lifting their hands in worship, even though so many of our wonderful worship songs mention lifting holy hands. We have had two different services addressing worship and basically allowing that enthusiasm is appropriate in church and not an emotion of which to be ashamed.

I remember being often particularly moved by sermons in church or by the worship preceding it. I never really drew any parallel to whether one preceded the other. It may well be true that it did.

One pastor noted how his granddaughter holds her hands up when she wants her papa to pick her up and hold her in the comfort and security of his arms. It is difficult to resist that gesture, indeed. I thought also of how, when I hold up my arms to the Lord in worship, I am in the first moment very sure that everyone is looking at me. In the next moment however, I am confident that the Lord is looking at me, and everyone else disappears, at least from my awareness.

I am at that moment creating a kind of funnel of love. I block out anyone on either side of me and focus completely on what, or who, is above me. I feel as though in that moment God does draw me closer to Himself and lift me up, as I seem to be requesting. It conveys something very personal between us and even though I have to overcome my own fear of looking stupid, I am never rejected when I ask to be held. It does open my heart to whatever comes next in the service, and while I know that this is not a condition of hearing what He has for me in the message, it certainly does make my ears more receptive. One is usually willing to hear even something difficult from someone  who loves them.

Everyday as I walk Gypsy to the ocean, both morning and evening, I pass a place where there is the most beautiful aroma. Where I notice it most is, oddly enough, right in front of a commercial garbage bin in front of some beautiful condos overlooking the Pacific.

I have walked down that same street twice a day for almost three months and never failed to detect the hint of it. I have brought a friend down who couldn’t smell it at all. I keep meaning to bring another friend, but actually, I really don’t care if anyone confirms it. I have gone to the nurseries in town and tried to locate a plant that gave off such a sweet fragrance (without my touching the leaves) but have come up short. No one knows of anything that would be sweet, not bitter, and yet give off the scent I am describing to them.

I merely thought it would be nice to plant under my bedroom window, where the smell of dog urine has occasionally wafted in unexpectedly during the night. I love that smell that I cannot replicate! Perhaps there is a good reason for that. It really encourages me to take that walk every day, and that is good for my health and my dog. It also inspires me to think deeper about the things of God.

He says in 2 Cor 14-16 that …”we are to God the aroma of Christ”….spreading everywhere the fragrance of the knowledge of him. The fragrance of life. Can it be bottled and sold? No. Can I replicate that perfume I smell? Perhaps not.

Someone said it was probably a laundry sheet. Not at the times and days I pass by, it is too consistently the same. And it is a mix, smelling to the best of my ability to detect, rosemary, mint, and perhaps a third herb, but nothing bitter or too sweet. There is no sign of any of these plants growing anywhere on the street.

I have a new grandchild who, without any effort on her part,  summons up memories of my own children at the tender early stages of their lives. I remember the smell of them being so amazingly sweet. The back of their necks particularly held their fragrance as they got a little older. Not only did I love being in their presence, but I adored the aroma that was uniquely theirs.

I believe we are indeed a fragrance to God, and that He adores the aroma of us. Everyday I am reminded in the most uplifting way that where I expect to smell the scent of garbage, I am completely caught off guard by this wonderful scent. It is a lesson I hope that I do not forget, even if the aroma should disappear. Where else in my life might I be seeing garbage that may well be an amazing fragrance to God?

I was reading yet another wonderful message sent by one friend to another, asking to send it on to ten more friends and back to the one who sent it. This one happened to be a breast cancer awareness focus, and many of the positive messages were great. The sadness for me was I can remember it being circulated to me at least four different times over the years, and the friends to whom it would be sent remain pretty much the same.

What I mean by that is they will read these motivational sayings, give it a “right on!” and then forward it to the same friends they forwarded it to last year and the year before. I don’t know of any friends who have radically changed either their lives or their attitude about their lives. Most of them still  struggle with the same fears and negativity that has been holding them back for most of their adult lives. Most of their fears could be started with the question “What if…..” followed by something that might happen if they were to make a specific change. My question is, what if they replaced the possible negative outcome with a positive outcome. What if they changed jobs and/or made more money and were happier than ever before? What if they changed jobs and made less money and were happier than ever before? What if the money did appear for them to have their dream, but from a source that would not be revealed until they took the first step forward in faith? What if their life got better, happier, more engaged? Why do we never hear these “what if’s” with a good ending, only the feared worst case scenario?

I am feeling very separated from these well meant internet uppers right now. I feel as though if you are going to grab hold and do something positive, it is time to do it! We aren’t getting any younger or any more up to the task by waiting. What is holding you back and what if you changed the outcome to a fabulous one; would you still find a reason not to move toward it? What example are you showing your friends, your family? Could you be the person with a light who could show them the way out of the trappings of their lives?

Things have changed around you. The economy has changed. What if you embraced these changes with enthusiasm instead of fear and let that energy propel you to make a change you want to make? Perhaps your spouse wants to make a change and your fears are holding them back. What if that change held the key to the secure future or happy life you want? All I’m saying is, one result is just as probable as the other. By continually listing the fear, we make that the guiding force in our lives. Challenge it. See it if it is the only possibility. Say to yourself every day for a week the exact opposite outcome as the end of your ‘what if’ question and see how that makes you feel. What if I could have the life I always wanted, but I was too afraid to give up the one I knew? Now there’s a “what if” that should really make you stop and think.

What I hope to get back is the story of a friend who started living the motivational messages they formerly just forwarded to me, complete with her own version of being engaged in her own life in a new and positive way, making a change she has always wanted to make, and going full out toward the person she was uniquely created to be. Now that would be a reason to write my friends and celebrate!