BILLYE JEAN....

Billye Jean....

Beautiful...isn't she....meet my mom, Billye.

She is the youngest of four daughters, born to Russian German immigrants. The dark almond shape eyes are from her father, Jacob, and most of us in the family have them. Interesting how those physical traits are passed down for generations.




If you have followed my blog, you know I have shared openly about my father's alcoholism.  Because she has influenced me and my life, I wanted to introduce you to my mom.

Her mother, my Grandma Molly, was a firecracker!  She was under five feet tall and full of vim and vigor.  She raised four very strong daughters and I refer to all of them and my cousins as ...."The Wamboldt Women".

My Grandpa Jacob died when my mom was 16. In his illness, she and Grandma Molly would split the days to care for him.  Grandma worked in the school kitchen half a day and then came home so my mom could go to school for the rest of the day.  Caretaking is one of my mom's God-given gifts...even now she volunteers for a Hospice House near her home.

Most people may be surprised that my mom could play a doozie of a polka on the accordion.  That crazy instrument provided some fun memories for me as I was growing up.  To this day, whenever Gary and I circle the floor to a polka tune, I think of my mom.

Life with an alcoholic is indescribable.  My mom was the rock of our dysfunctional family. She worked a full time job so rent could be paid, food put on the table, and I could participate in school activities.  My dad worked also....but he drank a good portion of the income away.

But... let me back up a bit...

I was born 8 weeks early.  A little bit scary for an 18 year old wife and new mother.  As I've heard it told, I spent the first month of my life in the hospital in an incubator.  She was there every day.  I was not the healthiest baby or toddler.  Drug reactions, seizures, near death experiences, allergies and severe asthma.  Whew!   A lot for a young mother.

My dad began his decline into alcoholism when I started junior high school.  My mom tried to keep the home as "normal" as possible.  Looking back, I realize the courage and strength it took for her to survive in an impossible situation. She did all she knew to do.

The alcoholism finally took its toll on my parent's marriage.  A divorce happened and my mom continued her life, for a time, as a single woman working multiple jobs to support herself.

She eventually met a gentleman who swept her off her feet and carried her all over the USA in a 5th wheel... building motels, doing volunteer construction work for churches, and insurance adjusting for catastrophic disaster areas.  Now retired, they make their home in Arkansas. 

The relationship with my mom has been a journey.  There have been detours, construction areas, and bumpy sections of the road.  Our individual faith has kept us working at our relationship as mother and daughter.  Most importantly, we keep moving towards one another.

When Gary looked at this picture, he thought it was me.  I have been called Billye many times in my life.  I consider it an honor to be her daughter and I am blessed to have her as my mother.

OFF THE GRID...

                                                 OFF THE GRID.....

Grab your cup of coffee or tea and let's chat a bit!

I found a new program on the travel channel this week. One of those reality ...which of these 3 houses do you want to purchase...shows.



What captured my attention was the location. The homes being offered for sale were in Hawaii and I am fascinated by the beauty of Hawaii.  

Each episode, filmed on a different Hawaiian island, depicted the lifestyle unique to that particular island.  The  photography was spectacular.

Of course,  the couple searching for their dream home had a budget and a list of his and hers needs and wants.  One couple wanted a home on the beach, so their budget was $1 million plus. The budgets were varied and the locations of the homes corresponded with the budget.

The couple that fascinated me the most wanted a home "off the grid".  Currently, they were residing in a tent.  The man indicated he could have continued living in the tent, but the woman appeared to be extremely ready to find a house. 

Due to their below $200,000 budget, their home had the possibility of being located on a black, harsh lava field.  Rainwater collected in a giant tank would provide running water in the house, with drinking water needing to be purchased.  There was no electricity. Only the option of a small wind turbine or solar panels.  No water....no electricity...equals "off the grid". No neighbors....no vegetation....long distances for supplies and amenities.

There are people, like this couple, who choose to live off the grid, away from other people, in a solitary survival-like existence.  There are those who are imprisoned, not by choice, in an off the grid emotional condition called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD.

Even though PTSD is most commonly associated with soldiers returning from war, it can affect anyone who becomes overwhelmed under relentless and chronic stress.
A friend recently described it as being punched over and over and over again in the same spot. There isn't time to recover, to break the stress down into manageable portions, before the next wave crashes over you.  It's like being exiled to a harsh, black lava field...isolated and desolate.

This post has been simmering in the back of my mind for several weeks.  Mainly because I wanted to share the blog of a brave young mother, Bonnie Gray, who is healing from PTSD.

Today, wanting to review a little, I pulled a book from my shelf given to me by my mom in 1989.  The book is for Adult Children of Alcoholics (ACA's) and includes a chapter on PTSD. I was skimming the pages, curious at what I had highlighted so many years ago  and realized I was seeing parts of my present emotional state mirrored in the words.

 I spent many years pursuing healing as an ACA...so why were these issues surfacing now...again?  

My question was answered as I remembered one of my favorite analogies about the process of emotional healing. We heal in layers.  The pain and the hurt settled over us in layers and those layers are peeled off the same way we peel an onion.

Our Father is ever gentle in His restoring and healing.  Isaiah 42:3 from The Message Bible says it like this..."He won't brush aside the bruised and the hurt and He won't disregard the small and the insignificant, but He'll steadily and firmly set things right."  He gives us the time, strength, and grace to heal in a process that is custom designed by His hand just for us.

It appears I have another layer being peeled...I'd better get my journal and my pen...

Please visit the blog site of Bonnie Gray...she is creative and vulnerable and brave as she spills her heart out in the process of healing from childhood abuse and PTSD.
http://www.faithbarista.com/

FINISH LINE...

FINISH LINE...

Whoo Hoo!!  I did it!

I accepted a 31 day challenge to write 500 words a day from a total stranger I follow through social media. Today is the last day of that challenge.

Crazy....right?

What in the world made me think I could do such a thing?

Here are my credentials that qualified me to take on this writing challenge...(I'm being facetious...smile...)

• High School Graduate
• LPN Nursing School Graduate
• Physician's Office Nurse
• Avon Representative
• Sample Lady in a Grocery Store
• Mary Kay Beauty Consultant
• Home Decor Retail
• Barista
• Home Depot Cashier
• Home Depot Expediter
• Home Depot Delivery Coordinator
• Bible Study/Support Group Facilitator

I bet you are looking for the English degree...or the communications degree that would make some sense of why I even imagined I could write 500 words for 31 days.

No, no degrees in English, communications or journalism.

I simply considered the rules set forth by the gentleman stranger, Jeff Goins:
"For the next 31 days, we’ll be writing 500 words a day. These won’t be great words, but they will be written. We’re not trying to reach perfection; we’re just trying to get more ideas out of our heads and onto paper."

 I thought....maybe...just maybe....I could do that. 

I had been desiring to fire up my blog again, so why not combine both activities?

You see...I am  a middle age woman.  One of the so-called sandwich generation, care-taking  of elderly parents on one hand, and involving myself in the lives of children and grandchildren on the other hand.

I have lived the majority of my life.  I don't say that to be morbid, it is just reality.

I journal everything...I am very introspective on a daily basis.  This stage of life has compelled me to be more introspective than usual.

The question that has quietly, patiently kept pursuing me is this...do I want to continue a life of merely surviving ...rut plodding...shadow living?

Or....

Take some risk?  Try something new?  Trust in the desire's of my heart?

Writing every day has been my timid first steps out of the shadows where I have been hiding for a few years.

The reasons behind my hiding, or being in my desert..as I call it, are no longer important.
What my Father did in my heart and soul during that time is the real story of my life.

Author and pastor, Timothy Keller shared this quote today..."Many times people think if God has called you to something he's promising success.  He might be calling you to fail to prepare you for something else through the failure."

Failure has dotted my past.  I finally understand that failure isn't final or fatal.
And now, after reading the above quote, I am pondering the option that my failures were fashioning me, laying the groundwork for "something else".

Honestly, I don't know what my "something else" is.  It is a mystery to be uncovered. Every day I wake up excited to look for clues....after my morning coffee, of course.

I will continue my blog....searching for my "something else"...gathering clues...enjoying the mystery of my journey.

ONLY ONE...

ONLY ONE...

In the book of Luke, chapter 17, Luke the physician writes the account of Jesus healing 10 lepers.

Leprosy is a disease that strikes terror in hearts and minds.  From the Old Testament to New Testament to modern day, leprosy is feared.

Leprosy does not kill, it just erodes a body away. It begins on the surface of the skin and eats inward to the bones.  It disfigures.  It deforms.

In Biblical times, a person with leprosy was banned from the community, shunned.  They lived alone, isolated from family and friends.  They could no longer pursue their livelihoods and provide for their loved ones. Because the disease is contagious, all precautions had to be taken to protect the healthy.

A leper could be easily identified.  Their clothes were torn...a sign of deep grief, their heads uncovered.  They were to keep their distance and warn of their presence by covering their mouths and crying out, "Unclean!  Unclean!"  

Today I'm not writing about the nightmare of leprosy or the doctrine of divine healing.

I'm writing about the simple act of saying...."Thank you".

ONLY ONE leper, of the 10 that were healed, returned to Jesus shouting praises.  He fell on his face at Jesus' feet, and gratefully said  "thank you".

One would think, given the crippling mutilating nature of the disease, and the emotional death of being an outcast, that the other 9 would have also fallen at Jesus' feet in joyful gratitude.

Their rotting festering skin became new...pink... healed. Their minds cleared....the shame of being loathed lifted.  They could now be reunited with their families and friends, return to their trades, be useful and productive. They could walk through their villages unnoticed, quietly going about their day.

What happened?  Did they obtain what they cried out for and walk away without so much as a glance back at Jesus?

In our lives today...what happens?  

Are we generous in our tip giving to the college student who is our server in the restaurant?  A practical way to say "thank you".

Do we say thank you when someone opens a door for us?  Do we open doors for others?

Do we ask, "how are you?" to the cashier in the local box store.  She's the single mom, standing on concrete floors for 8 hrs, so she can provide for her children. Do we tell her "thank you" as she hands us our receipt?

Most importantly, do we say thank you to those in our own homes?  Children helping with chores...a spouse that pitches in to get the kids to bed.  A simple "thank you" can shield against the build up of resentment, and loved ones feeling unappreciated.

Are we aware of the power an attitude of thankfulness can infuse into our lives?  Being thankful and giving voice to our gratitude will protect our thoughts and our emotions.  Just being mindful of the simplest of graces will plant seeds of hope in our hearts. 

For example...thankful for the taste and aromas of food....even having food to eat....warm sunshine on our face...birds singing...blooming flowers....a butterfly in flight...the smile of a stranger....a hug from a child....the pureness of fresh fallen snow...the smell of spring rain...

Start today by telling someone you are thankful for them...grateful for their presence in your life...share a smile...a hug...write a note of thanks...leave an extra generous tip for that college student...compliment the cashier...

For me, Ann Voskamp, is the modern day herald for the art of being thankful.
Her bestseller, one thousand gifts, chronicles her own journey of gratefulness in the midst of life's pain and trials.  If you read only one book this year....may it be this one.  It has the seeds to change your life.
You can find her blog here....http://www.aholyexperience.com/

I am thankful for you....giving your time to read the words of my heart.

May you be encouraged....may you discover the sweet choice of giving thanks.

REST....

REST....

God, my shepherd;

I don't need a thing.

You have bedded me down in lush meadows,

you find me quiet pools to drink from.

True to your word,

you let me catch my breath

and send me in the right direction.

Psalm 23  The Message

Are you tired?  Worn out?  Burned out on religion?  Come to me.  Get away with me and you'll recover your life.  I'll show you how to take a real rest.  Walk with me and work with me-watch how I do it.  Learn the unforced rhythms of grace.  I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you.  Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly.

Matthew 11:28-30  The Message

Rest ~ the nector of healing....

Quiet ~ baptism of stillness...bask in the peace...

Breathe ~ pause...close your eyes...inhale....exhale...

Direction ~ path...compass...journey...desire...longing...passion...

There comes a time in your life when you have to...stop.

There is nothing left to give...your reserves are gone.

You've been dutifully singing someone else's song when you really wanted to be dancing...leaping...skipping to the harmonies resonating in your soul...

The rules....the demands...the expectations...they are endless...they are heavy...suffocating...

Sleep is... fleeting...illusive...

Who sees?.....Who understands?....Who cares?...

Your heart....trembling...quivering...fearful....weak...

What now?...What's next?...Which way?...

A Voice...soft...gentle...whispering...calling...pursuing...

Come with Me...surrender the restlessness...linger...

Watch...observe...listen...absorb...allow My calm to revive you...

Be wrapped in My light...free...unfettered...rescued...released...

Hear the rhythm...spontaneous...graceful...pure...simple...

Tune your heart to My...presence...steadiness...goodness...love...

Don't be afraid, I've redeemed you.

I've called your name.  You're mine.

When you're in over your head, I'll be there with you.

When you're in rough waters, you will not go down.

When you're between a rock and a hard place, 

it won't be a dead end-

Because I am God, your personal God,

The Holy of Israel, your Savior.

Isaiah 43:1-2

Praying for the brand-new...the never before...for you and me...

In our weaknesses and our failings...may we be gentle and forgiving with our crepe paper emotions...

May we settle in the now of where we are...reposing...our head resting on the pillow of contentment...

We are unique...rare...one of a kind...

May we embrace the mystery of who we are with courage...trust...

When our soul is empty...may we give ourselves the gift of restoration...peace...renewal...solitude...

May we celebrate the God who created us...who eternally watches over us...faithfully leads us in strength and tenderness...

He is the lifter of our heads...

The establish-er of our steps...

He sees what no one else sees...He shields us in our sorrow...wipes away our tears...

As He fills us up to overflowing....may we be ever aware of those who need a drink of His grace...

May we be mindful of those who need our hands extended in mercy and compassion...

May we pour out what has been poured in....and fill up again...

LORI'S TRIBUTE.....

LORI'S TRIBUTE.... 

Lori Holzworth Acton  August 14, 1957 - January 28, 2013

The hand written date on the back of this photo is 1959. Lori, the cute little blond in overalls, and myself were 2 years old.  We are cousins, 2 months apart in age.

Growing up as an only child, cousins were my surrogate siblings.  Because of our age, Lori and I were especially close.  

We shared a childhood of sleep overs, color books, mud pies, and dress up.

In our pre-teen years we shared the giggly crushes on the band members of the Monkees, Bobby Sherman and David Cassidy.

High school signaled our journey to adulthood.  We attended different schools and our times together became wedged between school activities, friends and boyfriends. 

Lori set out for college, I got married, and our lives transitioned.  Our times together became dependent on her coming to Colorado to see her parents and siblings.

Today is the one year marker of Lori's unexpected, sudden death.  It still doesn't seem real.  Her family and friends still grieve. 

She made a lasting impact on everyone she came in contact with.  She had a laugh that would fill a room with joy.  It was contagious and you couldn't help yourself...you had to laugh with her. 

She was ever positive, encouraging and forgiving.  She drew people to her with her warm, engaging personality. 

She reveled in life and life reveled in her.  She adored her husband, Larry, and he adored her.  Lori opened her arms to Larry's four children and raised them as her own.  She called them her "heart" children.

Lori earned a Masters in Library Science and guided the Laurel County Public Library as Executive Director for 28 years.    She orchestrated the expansion of the library, completed in 2004, from a small building to a first class facility.  

Deputy Director of the library, Peggy Mershon, said this about Lori in the local newspaper...
"The library was more than a job to Lori-it was her passion and she worked tirelessly to make the library a place everyone could come and enjoy and learn.  From babies to senior, she wanted this library to offer whatever it could to enrich their lives and the community."

After her death, The House of Representatives and the Senate of the General Assembly of the Commonwealth of Kentucky honored Lori with a proclamation read in their respective chambers. Here are a few of the declarations they spoke to recognize her....

...a Colorado native but a Kentucky treasure.
...a prized jewel in her community.
...unmatched leadership.
...passionate dedication to literacy and learning.
...love for her community.
...an infectious laugh that could brighten any day.
...deeply devoted to her family.

That cute little blond girl in the picture grew up to be a successful, loving, passionate woman.  She became a leader and a visionary in her community.

I end this day with the same words of adjournment the House and Senate of Kentucky ended with on the day of Lori's proclamation..

"When the House of Representatives/Senate adjourns this day, it does so in honor and loving memory of Lori Acton."

Coffee Cafe.... My 500 Words January 27, 2014

COFFEE CAFE....

Discovered this coffee shop in the picture in Estes Park, CO over the weekend.  Delightful! Sunlight streamed through huge picture windows. Tall windows graced three sides of the building allowing me to take in the beautiful, tranquil winter scenery as I sipped my warm dark roast brew.

If you know me at all....you know I have this crazy love affair with coffee and the unique places it can be enjoyed in.  I am not a connoisseur, but I am a bit of a coffee snob. 

 I couldn't tell you diddly about the roasting process or what type of bean comes from what geographical location. But my palette knows what it likes.

As a very little girl, my little Grandma Molly would fix me a cup of coffee. Mostly cream, a couple of those fun sugar cubes, and a trickle of coffee. I was hooked.

My next memory of coffee consumption was out of a Styrofoam cup.  My fellow nursing students and myself gulped it down to wake us up in the early mornings and get us through long afternoons of classes.

"Starry Night Expresso Cafe" in Ft. Collins, CO, was inviting, cozy, unconventional, quaint and my first experience with expresso.  I was a big girl now... and unlike my Grandma Molly's recipe,  I liked more coffee than cream in my mug.

When I travel, if there is a Starbucks anywhere close....I will find it.  Isn't that what that GPS app is for??

In my own little hamlet, I frequent the local bistro.  I load a bag with more books than I can read, a journal and pens.  I sit for a couple of hours and watch the world go by through large pane windows. 

There isn't a dryer buzzer going off for the third time, a sink full of dirty dishes, toilets that need to be cleaned, and floors that need to be vacuumed.  I can sit and sip and dream.

There is a mystique about coffee cafe's and bistros that draws me like a magnet.
I've come to the conclusion it is the people factor.  It is the person to person connection.  Even sitting alone, a person has the opportunity to interact with the people around them.

A simple cup of coffee offers the face to face conversation that is becoming a lost art in our society.  I treasure the moments spent over a cup of coffee catching up with a friend or family member.  

As I sat in the coffee shop in Estes Park, I watched a steady stream of people come and go.  

Young mommies with strollers and toddlers in tow, trying to grab some "adult time" over little bobbing heads and impatient wails of hunger from their babies.

Those brave and daring mountain bicyclists meeting up for a caffeine jolt before challenging the canyon highway.

The couple meeting for a morning date over coffee and bagels.  Shy, yet familiar in their eye contact and tentative touching.

Tables were filled with groups of friends and families. They
were laughing, smiling engaged with one another, enjoying the opportunity of starting the day with warm fellowship.

Overstuffed chairs and sofas welcomed coffee drinkers into their depths of comfort and relaxation.

 A solitary college student huddled over her computer screen, earplugs in, studying intently.

As a child, I remember family and friends gathering at kitchen tables, drinking coffee and sharing the details of their lives.  Hearts were knit together, sorrows were wept over, joys were celebrated.  People taking time for one another.

For me, that's the mystique of the modern day "kitchen table", the coffee cafe. People making time to pause in their busy schedules to sit across from a friend over a steaming cup of coffee.  To share their lives...laugh....cry...encourage...care.