Making Outrageous Requests

My SCN sister writers and I have been learning how to make Outrageous Requests. Our teacher, Debra Winegarten, is a master at it. She says the important thing is to ask. We never know what response we will get … “Yes,” “No,” or a counter offer. I’ve been practicing.

Outrageous Request #1:

Last February during my daughter’s appointment, I asked Dr. Kissel, “Do you have time to read anything besides medical-related literature?”

John T. Kissel, M.D.
Chair, Dept. of Neurology
Director, Division of Neuromuscular Medicine
OSU Wexner Medical Center

He said he did.

“Okay, then I’m going to make an outrageous request.” I pulled a packet from my bag and handed it to him. “Would you read my memoir?”

His eyes widened. The packet was huge because my approximately 80,000 words were double spaced and printed on one side of 8 1/2 by 11 paper.

Then I said, “If you like it, I’d be honored if you would give me a blurb for my back cover.”

“How soon do you have to have it?” he asked.

I didn’t know. I was still in the final stages of working with my developmental editor, and my manuscript hadn’t yet been copyedited. I hadn’t submitted it to that prestigious hybrid publisher for vetting.

Fast forward to July 2017. During my mad dash toward publishing with April’s assistance, I contacted him and said, “If you are willing to give me a blurb, now would be the time.” He actually sent me two and below is the one I chose:

“One of my physician colleagues, when asked how he dealt with ‘such depressing neuromuscular diseases,’ replied, ‘I have the greatest job in the world because I get to work with heroes every day.’ This remarkable memoir chronicles one such hero’s quest to find an answer to a genetic riddle that had severely impacted her family for decades. The story is moving, meaningful, and inspiring and reading it has made me a better doctor. It is a tremendous resource for other families in similar situations.”  ~John T. Kissel, M.D.

We couldn’t fit all that on the back cover, so we edited to capture the essence of what he wrote. I think he will approve.

“This remarkable memoir is moving, meaningful, and inspiring. Reading it has made me a better doctor. It is a tremendous resource for families dealing with genetic riddles.” ~John T. Kissel, M.D.

What a gem of a doctor, Dr. Kissel is. I’m so grateful he is in my daughter’s and my life. The first time we saw him, he asked me how I was doing. He is the first doctor ever to do that. I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally we have a doctor who gets it.

Outrageous Request #2:

With time being of the essence, I didn’t think I had time for my original plan for my memoir’s cover. So I started looking for an alternative.

That artist/photographer from Paris I featured in my June 30 post had a project that fascinated me, Mimesis. I was drawn to one of Janiak’s images and thought it would be a good choice for the cover.

I imagined that, even if Jeb gave me permission, it would be way out of my price range. But I wouldn’t know unless I made an OR. And so I did. He didn’t respond immediately, but when he did, he was willing for me to use the image, at a fair price I thought. But because he is busy working on another project, he didn’t have time to draw up a contract. I didn’t feel comfortable not having a contract, but was proud of myself for asking. And I got a better response than I anticipated.

Outrageous Request #3:

It is also important to have another writer in your genre give you a blurb. One of my Story Circle Network sister writers is an award-winning memoirist from whom I have learned a lot. My memoir is better and deeper because of what Susan J. Tweit has shared in our group about the process of writing memoir.

Susan J. Tweit

When I read Susan’s memoir, Walking Nature Home: A Life’s Journey, I experienced her as a deeply spiritual woman. I knew she would understand the spiritual aspect of my journey.

I knew what all Susan had on her plate. I would have to make a HUGE OR. I gathered my courage and on July 16, I sent her an e-mail request.

It is customary to give another author at least three months to read and respond. Only if your writing and story are good enough, something an author would feel okay about putting their name to, do you get the requested blurb.

Susan had to think about it and see if she could work the reading into her already packed schedule. When I heard from her, she let me know there was no guarantee she would be able to give me a blurb, but she wanted to be supportive. She gave me a time frame and said if I didn’t need it until then, she thought she could get the book read.

I gave her five more days and told her I would be disappointed if she didn’t like my memoir, but would still admire her and would deal with it. I didn’t want her to feel obligated or pressured in anyway. I wanted her honest assessment. And so I waited.

She finished one of her writing assignments early and was able to work reading my memoir into her schedule. She didn’t need the extra five days. She saw my book as written in a way that will be helpful and inspiring to others. I was thrilled, as you can imagine, with her affirmation:

“A Long Awakening to Grace shows the transformative power of an open heart and questing spirit. Faith buoys Linda Marshall through decades of family pain and tragedy caused by a mysterious genetic condition. Over the course of this inspiring journey, love opens the way for profound healing.” ~Susan J. Tweit

Pure Gift … I didn’t even have to ask:

And then April, author of five novels and self-publishing champion and my mentor par excellence, generously gave me a blurb for inside the book. She captures another part of the story:

“Linda’s memoir is more than just a retelling of her life story. This work of nonfiction functions on so many levels. In addition to being a brilliantly insightful spiritual exploration and narrative about a rare genetic disorder, it’s the quintessential story of the American woman born in the 1940s, growing up in the 1950s, and dealing with stifling gender roles imposed on American women of that era.”

As you can see, I am richly blessed … and these past few weeks I’ve been experiencing showers of blessings. Please celebrate with me. I am so grateful.

Our Sage Sister Revolution

My Sage Sister book study group met yesterday. We dug into Chapter One in our newest selection, From Age-ing to Sage-ing: A Revolutionary Approach to Growing Older.

At this time in our life, late 60s to early 80s, this book encourages us to view elderhood as an opportunity to reconnect with the sacred dimension of life:

  • find a sense of “enoughness” from within
  • connect with our inmost essence and cultivate the calmness and self-knowledge that breeds wisdom
  • transcend “doing” in favor of “being” and a clarity of consciousness that comes from spiritual growth
  • cultivate the quietness and inwardness from which mystical experience is possible
  • pursue our own paths to fulfillment … following our own inner promptings and intuitive leads.

An example was given of a seventy-four-year-old women pursuing a Ph.D. in conflict resolution to sharpen her skills as a mediator. Our conversation was energized by her view that “elders have a special responsibility to infuse public life with higher values that stress cross-cultural understanding, social justice, and world peace.” Growing into her full stature, this woman plans to speak out more often and from her inner authority.

We shared around the circle how we struggle to transcend “doing” in favor of “being.” Letting go of our all too familiar “doing” mode, we are seeking balance by going within to discern how we are being called to infuse public life with higher values … how we are to speak out from our own inner authority.

Cindi shared a recent experience of interacting with college students at an event focusing on protecting the environment. The only white-haired person in a small focus group, she was shocked to find these students unconcerned about climate change. She has no idea the effect she had on these students, but she took the opportunity to ask them probing questions, hoping to stimulate their critical thinking on this issue so vital to her and her husband.

Cindi also shared about her passion for healthy eating. She made an offer to her local food bank to work one on one with those they serve to teach recipients how to prepare unfamiliar fresh vegetables.

Sue, our youngest member and a retired teacher, shared her passion for working with young people to increase their understanding and empathy for people who are different and the spiritual community in which she participates that focuses on raising the consciousness of humankind. She is currently substitute teaching, but her greatest joy is nurturing her grandson’s development and awareness of the differences that enrich his world.

Jasmine, our oldest member, and her husband are the parents of nine children. One is gay and another is lesbian. Her love for them was undiminished when they came out to her. She shared her concern about the hatred that is directed at LGBTQ people and how she tries to dissipate animosity by openly sharing about her love for her extraordinary children. Jasmine spends a lot of time in prayer and knits prayer shawls which she donates to local hospitals and nursing homes.

Cathy has a passion for social justice especially as it relates to underprivileged and marginalized folks. She, too, has been active in donating to our local food pantry and educating others to the food insecurity that exists in our region of the country. Dayton is in the top ten of the hungriest cities in the country. Cathy has also been active in helping immigrants get settled living in this new and strange country and city.

I shared my concern that responsibility is often omitted when we talk about freedom … responsibility infusing freedom with a higher value. I have recently awakened to my responsibility in our current political environment. I asked to be appointed as a precinct captain, something I am capable of doing, assuming a larger role in my community than I ever imagined. This action speaks to my concern for our government to be in Abraham Lincoln’s words, “of the people, by the people, and for the people.” I am educating myself about actions I can take to free our government from the undermining effects of big money and using my writing and speaking skills to call our government officials to engage in responsible prophetic action.

We Sage Sisters will meet again next month to give each other support on our continuing journey of conscious aging. I am so grateful to have these outstanding women accompanying me on the journey of becoming a conscious elder.

 

To be continued …

In my last post, A Disturbing Awakening, I noted that “Miss Nicey-Nice” needed to change and ended with … to be continued. Here is my continuation.

Part of the change I see myself needing to make involves letting go of my complacency. I have rarely been politically active and have only campaigned for one presidential candidate in my lifetime. In fact, I have been disgusted with politics.

This is me at a rally inviting our congressman, Mike Turner, to hold a town hall meeting. We have a number of concerns we’d like to talk with him about. I can understand why he might not want to meet with us. I watched a video of a South Carolina town hall where the constituents screamed, yelled, and boo’d. I have also seen videos of town halls where constituents asked intelligent questions and would not allow the politician to avoid answering or skirt the issue. That is the kind of town hall I would like to attend.

My sign reads “See our ANGER. Hear our FEAR.” I chose the wording after watching the South Carolina rally. I believe that under the loud expressions of anger lay a lot of fear. I know that is true for me.

I think it is interesting that in the picture, I am walking next to a person with a sign reading “Save our Democracy.” I didn’t know how important democracy was to me and how much fear the threat of losing it engendered. I actually had physical symptoms similar to those I experienced after 9/11.

In the face of the threat to our democracy, I have taken several steps. Perhaps I will share more about that another time. For today’s post, I will share one of my experiences at the “Searching for Mike Turner Rally.”

Toward the end of the rally, I walked over to read a sign with a lengthy message. Molly introduced herself. I made a new friend.

Admiring Molly’s necklace, I learned that she is a glass artist who left corporate America to follow her dream. She has her own art glass studio. You can click on this link to visit her website. I told her I admired her courage in following her dream.

For her sign, Molly had taken the time to write part of a quote from Majida Mourad, a Lebanese-American from Toledo, who shared her wisdom on an American Task Force for Lebanon website. Click the ATFL link for the full quote.

Molly’s sign read: “One of the things that happens to a lot of people in Washington is that they lose touch with their roots. They stop going home. They pretend that they were always big successes and they become a different person. Don’t let that be you.”

The rally was coming to a close and many people were departing. My friend, Jim, and I had signed up to be two of the people who would go into Congressman Turner’s office to express our concerns. We were permitted to go in two-by-two and Jim and I were way down on the list. Our parking meter was running out of time. I told Jim it was okay with me if we left. I said, “Our registering our concerns to his staff probably won’t make that much difference anyway.”

Molly intervened. She was diplomatic as she referred to me as “an older woman.” I chuckled because that is exactly what I am, and I am not insulted by that label anymore. Especially when a young person is acknowledging the important role of elders in our community. After all, I belong to a Sage Sisters group where we support each other in being conscious elders.

Molly told me that young people are supposed to be angry and aren’t paid much attention to. But when people with gray hair are concerned enough to speak, people listen.”

So, I turned to Jim and said, “Okay, let’s stay.” His wife, Diana, could take care of the parking meter, if needed.

So, this gray-haired elder waited and took a turn talking with Congressman Turner’s staffer about my concerns. I told him that I’d like to hear Congressman Turner speak to what safeguards our system has to protect our democracy and how he is utilizing those. I noted that Turner serves on several congressional committees that deal with these issues.

I also had an opportunity to share my personal experience being the mother of a daughter with a progressive neuromuscular disease who would have had no healthcare during her crisis in the spring if not for the Affordable Care Act and medicaid expansion. Jim and I acknowledged that ACA isn’t perfect and needs revising. I emphasized the problems insurance companies posed while I worked in the healthcare field, denying much needed services to my chemical dependency clients. I pointed out how our whole nation is now alarmed by the heroin problem and stymied about how to handle mental health issues.

I returned home from that rally feeling grateful to have made a new friend who reminded me to stretch into my role as an elder. Because of this young woman I embraced that what I have to say does matter and does make a difference. I won’t soon forget that as I continue pursuing the “change” I need to make.

I was “nice” to the very young staffer in Congressman Turner’s office and showed him respect. Reminding myself that “nice” isn’t bad, just not always enough, I also expressed my passion. I shared my experience and my words of wisdom.

I wish Mike Turner would listen to Majida Maurad’s words of wisdom and come home to his constituents…to his roots. He won’t have far to go to listen to her.

She happens to be his wife.

 

Influences: My Father’s Shining Example

Robert E. Marshall 1918-2009

Robert E. Marshall
1918-2009

In 1951, when I was nine and my brother eight, our parents sold our house in Sidney, Ohio, auctioned off most of our belongings, and moved to Tarpon Springs, Florida. Leaving our numerous playmates and beloved neighbors was not easy. I remember the morning we left, sitting in the backseat of the car with my stomach in knots, holding back tears as we said our goodbyes to John, Celeste, and Annie Voress, neighbors who were like family. I had no idea when we embarked on this one-year odyssey that it would have such a profound influence on me.

Dad dropped out of high school after his junior year. Sugar in his urine shattered his dream of joining the air force at the beginning of World War II and becoming an airplane mechanic. Never abandoning his fascination with flight and eventually the space program, he actualized his passion by focusing on car mechanics.

dads-gas-station

When we moved to Florida, Dad purchased a gasoline station. Because of the long hours involved, it became a family business. In order to spend time with Dad, Mom often worked there. Self-service was not yet a reality. Many a customer’s mouth dropped open when Mom approached their car to pump their gas. After school, my brother and I hung out at the station. I mostly remember causing trouble, but I’m sure we were given chores. I observed with keen interest this new environment, learning a great deal about the culture of The South, and being influenced by my father’s behavior and attitude.

The previous owner of the station attempted to teach my northern father how Jim Crow worked in The South. Jim Crow laws replaced earlier “black codes” which were designed to restrict and deny civil rights and liberties to African Americans. In 1951, they were part of the state constitution of Florida and mandated the segregation of public schools, public places, public transportation, restrooms, restaurants, and drinking fountains. The previous owner showed Dad how to cheat “negro” customers, though he used a derogatory term when referring to them. He didn’t need to tell Dad about the rules regarding the use of the one bathroom and one drinking fountain. “Whites Only” signs were prominently posted.

As soon as Dad took possession, those signs came down. I don’t know who influenced my father, but Dad always had a soft spot in his heart for the underdog. He treated his black customers with the respect they deserved. We developed a large black clientele.

“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.” Matthew 5:7

When these customers needed work done on their cars but couldn’t afford to pay for it, Dad gave them odd jobs to do around the station in exchange. One day, a black gentleman approached my dad asking for a loan. Even though Dad wasn’t growing rich as a business owner, he loaned the man the money. I was there the next afternoon when this man, probably in his late 50s or early 60s, returned the money. “I didn’t need it after all,” he told my dad. Later, I overheard my parents speaking of the irony around the way blacks are viewed in relation to whites … comparing the integrity this black man displayed with the lack of character demonstrated by a white male employee who stole from us.

The Monday after Thanksgiving, I began listening to The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America’s Great Migration written by New York Times Best Selling and Pulitzer Prize winning author, Isabel Wilkerson. Tuesday, I learned some shocking information about Florida I’m fairly certain my parents didn’t know … some facts that I’m sure the man who asked for a loan did.

Florida was one of the first states to secede from the Union in the months leading up to the Civil War and was one of the first in the South to institute a formal caste system designed to restrict black people after the war. Because Florida was shut off at that time from the rest of the world by its cypress woods and turpentine camps, it instituted its own laws and constitution, allowing this state to commit among the most heinous acts of terrorism perpetrated anywhere. Violence had become such an accepted way of life that a 1950 special investigation, just one year before we moved there, found that there had been so many mob executions in one county in the 1930s, there weren’t any negroes left to go to trial. In this culture, no negro man could have grown up without the fear of being lynched. That would have included the courageous man who asked dad for a loan.

I doubt when Dad removed the “Whites Only” signs and when he treated his black customers with fairness, he knew he was breaking the law, laws that continued in force until 1965. I’m sure he didn’t view this as an act of civil disobedience, even though that is what it was. I like to think his behavior wouldn’t have changed if he had known. It is the aspect of my father for which I carry the most pride.

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.” Matthew 5:6

I didn’t know until this week the enormity of the action my father took when he removed those signs. To him, he was only showing respect for another human being. To me, he showed compassion for the struggle of those relegated to the ranks of so-called “losers.”

Dad demonstrated that same soft spot in his heart after we moved back to Ohio. At that time, New Bremen had about 1500 residents. Sometime during the next eight years before I graduated high school and moved away, black people were employed by the alfalfa mill on the edge of town. They lived in run down houses near the mill. I don’t remember seeing them in town except for one high school student two to three years older than I, a beautiful young woman who had the courage to attend one of the weekly dances held for teenagers at the hall above the hotel. I admired the farmer boy who asked her to dance.

I don’t think it was her family, but a fire destroyed the home of one mill family who bore the same last name as ours. Dad went around town collecting food, clothing, and household items for them. Someone asked him why he was doing that. He said, “They’re my cousins.”

“You are the salt of the earth;” Matthew 5:13a

001-2

2008

During the 2008 presidential election, Dad was an ardent supporter of Barack Obama. After the election, his health deteriorated rapidly as he grieved the loss of my mother who died early in the morning following Thanksgiving Day. He said he wanted to live to see how Obama fared in office. Sadly, he died on January 3, seventeen days before the inauguration. I have sometimes been grateful he didn’t live to witness the bigotry and obstructionism foisted upon our first black president. It probably wouldn’t have surprised him, but it would have only added to his grief.

In recent weeks I have been contemplating what influences people to be who and how they are. After twenty-six years as a political prisoner, Nelson Mandela transcended his anger and embraced forgiveness while his compatriots continued to harbor revenge? I read a story this week about a Muslim man who was shot in the face by a white supremacist after 9/11. His faith led him to forgiveness to the point he tried to save his assailant from death row and give his life to educating people about the transformative power of mercy and forgiveness. His actions changed the white supremacist’s attitude from hatred, which he had learned from his step-father, to admiration for this Muslim man and his parents who he realized were extraordinarily good people. These and other stories have caused me to reflect upon how influences in all our lives can be seen in our behavior for good or for ill.

I will never know the influences on my dad. Dad wasn’t a religious man, but in his interactions with those less fortunate than he, I see him doing his best to live “the way of love.”

“So faith, hope, love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.” I Corinthians 13:13

What I do know is that it is Dad who influences me to use my talents in the service of deeper spiritual values like respect, compassion, justice, forgiveness, authenticity, beauty. It is Dad who influenced me to write about Leymah Gbowee, Nelson Mandela, Victor Frankl, and Elizabeth Lesser, people who embody these values. It is Dad who influences me to continue to seek and lift up voices of wisdom, inspiration, and hope who bring light and enlightenment to our dark and murky world.

Thank you, Dad.

I have never been more grateful for your shining example.

1942

1942

1991

1991

1945


1945

Who has been a shining example in your life?

 What values have you adopted because of their example?

How have they influenced your behavior today?

In what way is your behavior contributing to “the way of love?”

A Fabulous Start to My Weekend

On Friday evening, September 16, I enjoyed dinner with Alice, a very special influence in my life, her husband, Duane, and my childhood friend, Amy. Alice is the parish worker who recommended I go to college when I was an insecure high school student who didn’t think I was smart enough to take that step. (See my July 1 post).

Alice Hegemier

Alice Hegemier & Linda

A few weeks prior to this, we reconnected through a wonderful hour-long phone conversation. I called her after receiving a Facebook message from a former classmate who had talked with her. Evelyn said Alice wanted to know if my my memoir had been published because she wanted to buy it.

Alice doesn’t do computers, so she is unable to keep track of the progress I post on my website and doesn’t have access to my blog. Because she expressed so much interest in my writing, I told her I would make copies of some of my blog posts and send them to her via snail mail.

As I was addressing the envelope, fear of disapproval raised its ugly little head. Since much of my writing is about my spiritual journey, I wondered if she would think less of me for my contemplative bent. Some refer to us as “navel gazers.”

contemplative-quote

Since silence is the response that distresses me the most, I asked Alice to be honest about her thoughts and feelings after reading my writing, especially if she didn’t like what she read. I explained that I find it easier to deal with negative feedback than with silence, which I most often interpret as disapproval for who I am.

I need not have feared. When she heard I was visiting my hometown, she called to arrange for us to have dinner and told me, “I thoroughly enjoyed reading your blog posts. Thank you for sending them to me.”

Whew! Alice’s opinion matters to me and I felt grateful our relationship hadn’t been damaged.

Before I left for New Bremen, I made a copy of the pages in my memoir where I honor Alice’s influence in my life. I decided not to make her wait for its publication to read what I have written about her.

pages

After dinner, we gathered back at Alice and Duane’s home for desert and more visiting. I heard more about her journey. Her parents also thought girls would just get married and have children and didn’t need a college education for that. She, however, believed in herself and had the confidence and determination to pursue her dream. Whenever she spotted a young person in New Bremen who she thought had some special quality, she encouraged them to actualize it.

How blessed I am she saw something in me that she encouraged. Her recommendation that I go to college opened doors for me that has enriched my life beyond measure. My college education made it possible for me to make a difference in the lives of many others in a way I wouldn’t have been able without that degree. In addition, college was part of what prepared me to meet more effectively the life challenges that lay ahead for me.

When I handed Alice the memoir pages I had copied for her to read later, she said, “I’m amazed at the depth of your writing.”

music-notes

Her words were music to my ears. I felt a little like that shy insecure high school kid all over again…receiving encouragement to be all I can be in the world. I fell asleep that night with a big smile on my face and a heart filled with gratitude–aware and in awe at the threads of influence in all our lives.

And that was just the beginning of what turned out to be a fabulous weekend.

Being True to Me

After I posted my last blog entry, “Bearing My Cross,” Cindi, my friend and one of my biggest cheerleaders, called. She, too, is serving as a caregiver for a family member. She overflowed with enthusiasm for what I had written. She said, “You write at a level of depth that is so real. Most people don’t want to go there.”

I said, “I can’t stand skimming the surface.”

skim-surface

Since then I have been pondering her words and the force behind my response.

I grew up with disapproval for being “so serious.” As a result, I found it safer to write about sorrow and anguish than to talk about it. My writing became a spiritual practice. Throughout my life, I’ve written letters to the Divine in my journal, pouring out my struggles until some deeper wisdom flowed from my pen.

writing-in-journal

Being a witness to this deeper wisdom emerging from somewhere deep inside continues to awe me. It is what helps me grow spiritually and not just survive the vicissitudes of life. That is the spirit I bring to my blog posts and my memoir, A Long Awakening to Grace.

I experience this sharing of my struggle with personal foibles in my process of growing spiritually as a calling. Still, every time I reveal what is “real” for me, I risk receiving the same censure I received as a young person.

“Most people don’t want to go there.” 

I struggled with the truth of Cindi’s words in the light of the reality in today’s publishing industry. Authors are expected to do 98 per cent of the marketing for our writing. Like most writers, I am an introvert who hates the whole idea of selling myself and my work. Yet, every writers’ workshop is replete with tips for “finding your tribe,” those readers who resonate with your writing. Some people make a living advising writers on how to successfully find readers. I wondered if I needed to change myself in order to appeal to a wider audience. But …

“I can’t stand skimming the surface.”

“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you;”  ~Jeremiah 1:5

Then, last evening, I watched a recording of Oprah’s interview with Glennon Doyle Melton on Super Soul Sunday. And I received just the glorious validation I needed that finally inspired me to get this blog post beyond the pondering stage into writing. Glennon validated what I had already concluded: What is most important is being true to who I am. This is how I came into the world. This is who I am meant to be.

Glennon Doyle Melton

Glennon Doyle Melton

love-warrior200nyt

Glennon is new to me and I have not read her memoir, “Love Warrior” or her “very popular blog, Momastery. But these words in her interview with Oprah resonated deeply with me:

“I no longer think I am broken. I think I am a deeply feeling person in a messy world.”  ~Glennon Doyle Melton

“Pain is like a travelling professor. The smartest people I know are the ones who say, ‘Come in and don’t leave until you’ve taught me everything I need to know.'”  ~Glennon Doyle Melton

“Suffering is when we try to skip over the pain and get to the resurrection before the crucifixion…trying to rise before we fall.”  ~Glennon Doyle Melton

Glennon recounted several stories of disapproval she has received for her “truth telling.” Revealing what is “real” is risky. I am grateful to have found this kindred spirit and to witness her success. There are people out there who thrive in the presence of authentic revelation.

I remind myself that despite our flaws and sometimes because of them, we can be powerful channels of the Divine. I relax in this awareness because I find nothing more gratifying than hearing that someone, like Cindi, has found my writing to be validating and inspiring in all its realness…to know that what I have written has made a difference to someone. That makes the journey worthwhile.

A Gift of Grace from the Universe

The telephone rang, interrupting my brooding about the abrupt alteration in my life circumstances and whether or not I needed an anti-depressant to deal with my situation more effectively. I suspected I was depressed because I was loosing interest in working on my memoir. What worthwhile do I have to say anyway? I had wanted to write something on my blog, but couldn’t find the words or the strength. I couldn’t even post updates on my Facebook page or update friends about the latest in my daughter’s and my saga. Talking with friends took more energy than I had to spare. Watching mindless TV was about all I could handle, often falling asleep in the middle of a program.

I got up from my recliner and ambled from the meditation room to the phone in my living room. Picking up the handset, I checked the caller ID and didn’t recognize the name. It’s probably a wrong number. I clicked the talk button. “Hello.”

“Is this Linda Marshall? Did you teach at Port Clinton High School?”

screenbean-phone (1)

My mind scrambled to make sense of this call. Yes, I had taught typing, shorthand, and office practice at Port Clinton High School in 1964-65. It was my first teaching assignment right out of college. Why would someone be asking about that long ago time in my life?

When I responded that I was that Linda Marshall, the woman on the other end of the line began to cheer. “Hallelujah, I’ve found you. I’ve been looking for you for years.”

She went on to tell me the story about how she came to be a shorthand student of mine and wanted to know if I remembered her. I have to admit, I have few memories of that year in my life. I didn’t tell her this, but the humiliating memory I have retained is being given a negative evaluation by the principal in the lunchroom in front of the other teachers. I was under the impression I hadn’t done a very good job teaching there.

Her memories were vivid. She recounted dropping home economics and signing up for shorthand. She said I was so strict. My memory of the details are fuzzy here because she was pouring out her story faster than my brain could take it in. I remember hearing about two “F’s” and she was ready to drop the class. She said others had and I let them. But when she came to talk with me about it, I encouraged her to stay. I said, “You are going to get this.” She said I had been right. The next grade and those that followed were “A’s.”

She told about I threw away any typing papers that had errors erased on them. She said I explained to the students that employers would make them type letters and documents over again if they contained mistakes like these. She said the experiences she had as a secretary had proved me right again.

Then she told me about her career. Again, the details are fuzzy, but she was promoted several times and reached high administrative assistant levels working in governmental agencies.

She went on to say that I had influenced her more than anyone else, made her into the person she is today, and would not have had the career she had if not for me. She recounted the steps she had taken over the years to find me, discouraged by so many dead ends. Her class will celebrate their 50th reunion in September and there are several of my former students who want me to be there.

I sank back into my recliner, my eyes watering, as I took in this gift of grace from the Universe. I told her, “I can’t tell you how much it means to me to hear you say this today. I’m going through a rough time in my life and have been feeling depressed.”

We acknowledged that she had found me at just the right moment.

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This was the best anti-depressant anyone could have given me. I could literally feel the energy of aliveness returning to my exhausted and weary body. I had made a difference in someone’s life. A false impression I had carried about myself for fifty-one years was transformed. With that, I returned to writing. I do have something worthwhile to say. Thank you, Universe. You continue to surprise me with the mysterious and awesome ways in which you work.

Monarch

Making a Difference

I think most of us need to know we make a difference. It gives our life meaning and purpose. In my professional life, I had opportunities to make a difference almost daily. Recently a chance encounter reminded me of one such difference I had made years before. I was reading a book and not paying attention to the other people in the car wash waiting room when a young man approached me saying, “Don’t I know you?”

It took me only seconds to recognize one of my favorite former clients. The session I facilitated for him and his family is among my most memorable. He proudly told me he is twenty years sober, saying, “I can’t believe the life I have now.” It was clear he continues to embrace quality recovery. And it is gratifying to know I played a small part in launching him into his amazing new life.

Today, in retirement, with my conscious-eldering focus on “being,” it is not always so easy to know if being who I am makes a difference. And so I was thrilled to learn this week that I did.

The Angels

Our Angel Group

Our Angel Group begins our meeting with a meditation. The one we used a couple of weeks ago referenced surrender. A new member asked, “How do you surrender?” Two of us shared powerful experiences we’ve had surrendering during trying times.

This week, during our time of sharing gratitude, our new member relayed the compelling experience she’d had as a result of hearing our stories. When she heard about the peace that came over us, she decided to surrender an issue that had been troubling her. Tears streamed as she shared about the peace she, too, had found. I was deeply moved to know my sharing had made such a difference…in my favorite way…up close and personal.

I write about my experience of surrender in my memoir, A Long Awakening to Grace, and believe my story will make a difference, especially for those going through a difficult time. It is usually our painful challenges that bring us to our knees. That was certainly true for me. And my awakening to grace came as a result of the gift of peace that allowed me to relinquish the illusion that I had any control over the circumstances I was facing.

We humans are funny that way…thinking we can control the uncontrollable. I had a serious case of that kind of faulty thinking. Even today, after having experienced the miracle of grace in that situation where I had no control, when an uncomfortable circumstance triggers my desire to take charge, I need to remind myself that the only control I have is my response to whatever it is that is happening.

www.pinterest.com/pin/109212359689554694/

www.pinterest.com/pin/109212359689554694/

As another member of The Angels pointed out, surrender is something we need to do over and over and over.

Why Do I Write a Blog?

The Mastermind Group to which I belong met yesterday. Two of us write blogs and part of our goal is to increase our readership. At the end of our meeting, one member asked, “Why do you write a blog? What is your purpose?” She looked at me and added, “I can see that you do it to generate interest in your memoir.”

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Image found here: https://womenwhorunwiththewolvesblog. wordpress.com/

Yes, I draw attention to my forthcoming memoir, A Long Awakening to Grace, and hope others will be interested in reading it. I experience my compulsion to write and share my story as a Divine calling–something planted in my soul. My intention in sharing my story of growing spiritually while facing overwhelming obstacles is to inspire others and contribute to the betterment of the world.

Following this leading has already led to healing between my daughter and me–the betterment and enlargement of our world. Examining and reflecting on my motivations and feelings at different stages of my life helped me to understand and accept myself at a deeper level. It brought me closer to The Divine. For all that, I am eternally grateful. As I noted in my last post, if writing my story does nothing else, it has accomplished a lot.

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But why do I write my blog? Writers are often asked why we write. My Mastermind Partner’s question invited me to articulate my heartfelt intention beyond promoting my memoir. I write and share my writing to continue my process of growing spiritually. Writing letters to The Divine in my journal has long been a form of prayer for me. At times, wisdom from deep within or beyond emerges from my pen, taking me a step further on my spiritual journey.

But writing in my journal is a private activity. Writing a blog exposes my messy growing process. The perfectionist in me would like to keep that to myself. But hiding only keeps me stuck and isolated. When I share and others can relate, I don’t feel so alone. Connecting with kindred spirits on the path of awakening and evolving into our highest selves is vital for remaining faithful to this call of The Divine.

http://earthsky.org/ Photo taken by CB Devgun from India

http://earthsky.org/
Photo taken by CB Devgun from India

Mary Jo, a kindred spirit from the Story Circle Network, gave me a gift in her comment to my last post, Doorway to the Divine. She said, “This is such a profound, and in my opinion, the deepest and finest level of communication one can share with another. My heart swells with joy for you and your daughter. Yours is one of the best, if not the best posting, I’ve read this year and probably beyond. To truly hear and be heard…what if we could all do that for each other.”

Mary Jo’s genuine appreciation validates that I’m on the right track. I am bolstered in my intention to continue exposing  my messy process. This diehard perfectionist might just learn to enjoy the mess. Now wouldn’t that be a miracle.