Make Room for Joy Again

Somewhere along the way, life has a way of convincing us that there will always be time for the things we love—later, when the house is clean, when the laundry is finished, when the responsibilities settle down, when everyone else is taken care of. We tell ourselves we’ll get back to those things someday. But sometimes “someday” quietly turns into years.

As we grow older, it can be surprisingly easy to lose touch with the things that once brought us joy. Life gets busy. Families need us. Jobs demand our attention. There are errands to run, appointments to keep, bills to pay, and a thousand little things that seem more important than sitting down simply to do something we love. Before we realize it, those hobbies that once made our hearts happy have been tucked away in closets, boxes, or the forgotten corners of our minds. I’ve been thinking about that lately because I’m getting ready to return to something I loved years ago: pottery.

It has been several years since I’ve sat at a pottery wheel. Several years since I’ve felt a lump of cool, wet clay beneath my hands and watched it slowly become something beautiful. But recently, I found myself thinking about the studio again, and I realized just how much I’ve missed it. I can almost feel it already, the wet clay sliding between my fingers, the gentle rhythm of the wheel turning beneath my hands, the anticipation of seeing what might emerge from that shapeless lump. There is something almost magical about pottery. You begin with a handful of earth, something ordinary and unremarkable, and with patience, creativity, and a little bit of imagination, you can transform it into something useful or beautiful. I’m looking forward to getting my hands dirty again. More than that, I’m looking forward to finding that creative part of myself that has been waiting patiently to come back to life.

Maybe that is one of the gifts of getting older. We begin to realize that we don't have to spend every waking moment being productive. We don't have to justify everything we do by how useful it is. Sometimes it is enough to do something simply because it makes us happy. There is value in joy. There is value in creativity.

There is value in sitting quietly with a paintbrush, opening a book, planting flowers, taking photographs, writing words that may never be published, walking through nature, playing music, sewing, gardening, woodworking, cooking, crafting, or sitting at a pottery wheel with clay-covered hands and a smile on your face. Those things may not change the world, but they can change something inside of us.

I think we sometimes forget that we are more than the roles we have spent our lives filling. We are mothers and fathers, wives and husbands, grandparents, employees, caregivers, volunteers, homemakers and providers. We spend so much time pouring ourselves into other people that we can forget there is a person inside of us who needs nurturing, too. And perhaps that person is whispering, “Remember what you used to love?” Maybe it’s time to listen.

For me, that means pottery. It means walking back into a studio after years away and allowing myself to play with clay again. It means accepting that the first bowl might be crooked, the vase might collapse, and whatever I make may not look anything like the picture I had in my head. And that's okay. The point isn't perfection. The point is being present. The point is remembering what it feels like to create something with your own hands. The point is joy.

I think we need to give ourselves permission to rediscover those forgotten pieces of ourselves. Not because we are trying to turn back the clock or become the person we were twenty or thirty years ago, but because there are still new things waiting to be discovered within us. Age doesn't mean our creativity has to retire. It doesn't mean our curiosity has to disappear. It doesn't mean we've had our share of adventure.

There are still things we haven't made, places we haven't explored, books we haven't read, photographs we haven't taken, recipes we haven't tried, paintings we haven't painted and pieces of clay we haven't shaped. There is still life left to live. And maybe part of living it well means making room for the things that make our hearts come alive.

So I'm going back to the pottery wheel. I'm going back to the studio. I'm going back to the feel of wet clay slipping through my fingers and the wonderful uncertainty of wondering what my hands will create. And perhaps, in the process, I'll discover something even more important than pottery. I'll rediscover joy.

If there is something you've loved but haven't done in years, maybe this is your reminder to bring it back into your life. Don't wait for the perfect time. Don't wait until everything else is finished. Life will always have something waiting to be done. Make time for something that makes you smile. Pick up the paintbrush. Open the book. Plant the garden. Dust off the camera. Pull out the sewing machine. Take the fishing rod out of the garage. Sit down at the piano. Or, like me, get your hands covered in clay. Because joy doesn't always find us in the middle of our busy lives. Sometimes, we have to make room for it. And I intend to make room for mine.

One Breath Away

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about how brief this life really is. Maybe it’s because I recently lost a cousin. Maybe it’s because a dear friend is fighting hard against stage 4 lung cancer. Maybe it’s because I’m getting older and becoming increasingly aware that the years behind me now far outnumber the years ahead. Or maybe it’s all of it. Sometimes life has a way of slowing us down long enough to make us look around and realize just how quickly the years have passed.

I’ll be 69 soon, and honestly, I don’t know how that happened. It feels like just a few minutes ago that I was a little girl sitting in a first-grade classroom, my feet probably not even touching the floor, with absolutely no understanding of how quickly life would move. I didn’t worry about cancer. I didn’t worry about losing people I loved. I didn’t think about mortality or doctor’s appointments or the possibility that one day my parents wouldn’t be here. I simply lived. I laughed. I played. I went home when the streetlights came on. I had no idea that those ordinary days would one day become precious memories.

Now I look back and realize that childhood seemed to last forever, but somehow nearly seven decades have passed in what feels like the blink of an eye. And along the way, I’ve said goodbye to people I thought would always be here. My parents are gone. My brother is gone. Other family members and friends have gone on ahead of me, leaving behind photographs, memories, stories, and an empty space where their voices used to be and I try not to think about the fact that we are always one breath away from eternity...always one second away from losing someone we love.

That realization can be frightening if I dwell on it too long, but I’m beginning to think it can also be a gift. Because when we understand how fragile life is, we begin to appreciate the life we have been given. Twelve years ago, cancer entered my life and changed the way I looked at everything. When I first heard the words, I thought I was going to die. Cancer has a way of making mortality very real, very quickly. Suddenly, tomorrow wasn’t something I could simply assume would come. There were tests and scans and surgeries and appointments, but underneath all of it was a question I couldn’t escape: What if I don’t get to grow old?

I prayed. I cried. I was afraid. And yet, God allowed me to live. Twelve years later, I’m still here. I don’t take that lightly. I know there are no guarantees that any of us will wake up tomorrow. None of us knows how many mornings we have left, how many sunsets we will see, how many birthdays we will celebrate, or how many times we’ll hear the voices of the people we love. We simply don’t know.

That’s why I don’t want to waste what I’ve been given. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life worrying about the days I may not have when I could be living the day God has placed right in front of me. I want to love more deeply. I want to laugh more often. I want to forgive more quickly. I want to tell people what they mean to me while they’re still here to hear it. I want to make memories instead of constantly chasing things. I want to sit on the porch and watch the sunset. I want to linger a little longer when my grandchildren hug me. I want to take the pictures. I want to write the stories. I want to pray the prayers. I want to call the friend. I want to say, “I love you,” without assuming there will always be another opportunity, because there may not be.

That’s the part about getting older that nobody really prepares you for. You begin to realize that life isn’t an endless road stretching out in front of you. There is an ending. And while I don’t know when that ending will come, I know where I want to be when it does. I want to have lived. Really lived. Not perfectly. Not fearlessly. Not without regrets or mistakes or difficult seasons. But fully. I want to squeeze every bit of goodness out of the days God gives me. I want to be present instead of always waiting for the next thing. I want to stop postponing joy. I want to stop thinking, I’ll do that someday. Because someday is not promised.

This moment is. This breath is. This ordinary afternoon, this conversation, this cup of coffee, this hug, this phone call, this sunset—these are the pieces that make up a life. And perhaps that’s what my recent thoughts about death are really teaching me. I’m not supposed to live afraid of dying. I’m supposed to live aware that life is precious. There’s a difference. The Bible tells us in Psalm 90:12, “Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” Numbering our days doesn’t mean counting them with fear. It means recognizing their value. It means understanding that every day is a gift that cannot be saved for later.

My friend fighting stage 4 lung cancer is teaching me something simply by fighting for another day. My cousin’s death has reminded me that our time together is never guaranteed. And the people I’ve already lost remind me that someday, if God allows me to live long enough, I will be one of those people someone else misses. That thought makes me want to live differently. Not desperately, but purposefully. With urgency, but not anxiety. With gratitude, not fear.

Because twelve years ago, I thought cancer might take my life. Instead, God gave me more life. And I don’t want to waste the miracle. I want to use whatever time I have left to love people, encourage people, make memories, tell stories, share my faith, and appreciate the simple things I once overlooked. I want to wake up each morning remembering that the fact that I am here is not something to take for granted.

At almost 69, I realize something I couldn’t possibly understand when I was sitting in that first-grade classroom without a care in the world: Life is both incredibly long and incredibly short. We spend our childhood wishing we were older, and then we spend our later years wondering where all those years went. We assume we’ll have more time. More time to visit. More time to call. More time to apologize. More time to travel. More time to tell someone we love them. More time to make things right. But none of us knows how much time we have.

So today, I’m choosing to stop taking time for granted. I’m choosing to love the people who are still here and cherish the memories of those who aren’t. I’m choosing to be grateful for every ordinary moment because I’ve learned that ordinary moments are often the extraordinary pieces of a life. And when my time on this earth finally comes to an end, I hope I can look back and say, I didn’t waste it.

I hope I loved well. I hope I gave generously. I hope I laughed often. I hope I encouraged people. I hope I pointed others toward Jesus. I hope I left behind more love than I found. And most of all, I hope I lived with the understanding that every breath was a gift from God.

Because that’s what I know now that I didn’t know as a little girl in first grade. We’re only here for a little while. We’re one breath away from eternity, and we’re one second away from losing someone we love. So don’t wait. Call the person. Give the hug. Take the picture. Say the words. Forgive. Laugh. Pray. Love. Live. Don’t wait for someday. Someday isn’t promised. But right now is. And right now is a gift.

Lord, thank You for the gift of another day. Thank You for the people You’ve placed in my life and for the memories of those You’ve already called home. Help me not to waste the time You’ve given me worrying about the time I don’t have. Teach me to number my days, to love deeply, forgive freely, and live intentionally. When I’m tempted to take another moment for granted, remind me that every breath is a gift. And when my earthly journey is finally finished, let me be able to say that I lived the life You gave me with gratitude, purpose, and love. Until that day comes, help me make every second count. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

2025 Note to Self

Dear Bonnie, 

This is the 7th day of the New Year and it's time to take a quick look back before marching forward. 

Do you remember when you had your first brush with death? The year was 1970 and your gallbladder burst. You were only 13. Gangrene was coursing through your body as the surgeon worked quickly to remove that organ. You were in the hospital for over a week and went through an entire year of medical treatment afterward to survive. During that time, you grew to understand what true physical pain felt like for the first time in your life.

In 1990, you had your second brush with death when you were involved in a serious motor vehicle accident. Your right leg was almost severed. After a radical surgery, a week in the hospital and treatment you went home in a wheelchair, physically and emotionally broken. Your marriage had fallen apart, you had 4 young children to raise alone, and you were devastated. You were unable to walk for over a year. The doctors thought they were going to have to amputate your leg due to multiple staph infections and lack of bone growth. But God intervened. When you reached out to the pastor of your little country church and asked the deacons to come anoint you with oil and pray over you, they did. It was the first time they'd ever done that and weren't quite sure how to go about it, but all of you had faith and God used that experience to draw you closer to Himself.

In 2014, you had your third brush with death. You were diagnosed with breast cancer. Quickly, you realized the seriousness of the situation and learned you had to make a lot of tough decisions. But your faith was strong, never did you doubt God had allowed the cancer into your life. You didn't know it then, but learned later He would use it for His glory. 

In the middle of August 2024, you had your fourth brush with death. Right after surgery to repair a hiatal hernia, your bowels shut down. You'd developed an ileus, a life threatening condition. You were rushed to the emergency room, kept overnight, and then transported to Atlanta for a week long hospital stay there as doctors worked hard to get you well enough to go home. 

A month later, you were rushed to the ER with tachycardia. Your blood pressure was sky high and your heart was beating out of rhythm. It was touch and go, but the doctors got you stabilized the following day and sent you home.  Then, the same thing happened again about 6 weeks later!

Over and over again, you've faced various trials but God has allowed you to live. Sometimes you've felt like a cat with 9 lives, wondering when the next event might take you out and this has caused extreme anxiety, but God's always been there. In your heart, you've known God must have a special purpose for not only allowing you to go through these things, but keeping you safe and letting you live through and past them! You have grown to understand His hand of favor is upon you.  

Bonnie, the Bible says our lives are like a vapor, here today and gone tomorrow. God created us for His glory. We have a job to do while we’re here and that’s to spread His love to others.
Every day as you wake, be sure and thank God for allowing you to see another day. Life is a gift, a very, very precious gift. 

As you go through the rest of this year, remember these things. Hide them in your heart and consider them carefully. No one knows what tomorrow holds, but you know WHO holds all your tomorrows. 

Many blessings to you, my sweet self. Keep your eyes toward the Son. He's got you.

Realizing the brevity of life

This weekend, I was able to meet my first great grandchild for the first time. It was an awesome experience, but humbling as well. It was difficult to grasp the fact that I'm a great grandmother. Who ever thought I'd become one at such a "young" age? 

Looking at my cute little great grandson, I could easily see my grandson in him - those eyes, wow...it reminded me of when my grandson was that little and got to love on him. 

It also reminded me that life is going by in a huge hurry and I'd better grab every second of every day before they slip away. 

As I watched my great grandson tug on my husband's beard, I felt a huge tug on my heart strings. More than likely, we won't be around to see this little guy grow up, but hopefully we'll still get to be a part of his life through photos - at least for a little while. 

When I had my children, I never gave much thought to one day becoming a grandmother much less a great grandmother! I was so tuned in to making sure they were happy and healthy I couldn't think about anything else. 

Looking back now, I realize those first 18 years of life with each of my 4 children were flying by. I just didn't realize how quickly they'd go...

The Bible says our life is like a vapor, here today and gone tomorrow. I believe it. 

These days life keeps us so busy we can barely focus on things of importance. That's why I'm making a resolution right now to become more intentional about spending time with my children and great grandchildren. 

I'm still trying to learn to be present in the moment. Perhaps I have a little touch of ADD or ADHD because my focus shifts so quickly all the time. Or, maybe it's due to my life post cancer. When I was diagnosed, I told myself I wouldn't let a day pass without using up every minute of it and that's what I've tried to do for the past 10 years - sometimes to my detriment. 

If you could see my office or my art room right now, you'd shudder. I have projects everywhere! I bounce from one thing to the other and then before finishing one of those projects, I start another. I know, I know...I'm working on it. 

I'm so thankful to be part of this little guy's life. I hope I live long enough for him to get to know me. He'll probably think he's got the whackiest Great Grammie around, but that's okay. I'll love him anyway.
 

We take so much for granted

Breakfast. Some eat it and some don't. I fall into the first category, believing that the day’s first meal is important. My husband, on the other hand, falls into the second. He doesn't like to eat first thing in the morning but would rather wait until lunchtime for his first meal. It's a personal preference and I don't fault him for wanting to wait while I prefer to eat something within the first hour of waking. We have our routines. But when my routine gets disrupted, I'm not a happy camper. 

I was slated for medical testing this morning. The doctor's office said I couldn't have anything to eat or drink after midnight. Since I don't stay up that late, my last sip of water was when I brushed my teeth, right before bed. I figured I could go without food for a while. I've fasted many times before but knew the water was going to be hard to do without. I've been dealing with a dry mouth and blocked salivary glands for months now and it's been a real challenge. 

So, I got up this morning and instantly realized I couldn't drink a cool glass of water like I wanted to because it would interfere with the test and I wasn't going to be able to have breakfast either. Rats! My mouth was so dry. I not only wanted a drink, but I also needed one! But since I couldn't afford to screw up the test by breaking the rules, I did everything I could think of to distract myself until time to go. I read my Bible and prayed. I checked my emails. I perused Facebook. I looked at the clock and waited. 

Finally, when the time to go came, my husband drove me to the hospital. We got checked in and sat in the waiting room. I watched the people that came and went while we waited. All were masked, a hospital requirement, but I could see their eyes and most of them looked concerned. None of us wanted to be there. 

Shortly after 9:00 AM, I was called back. The radiologist had asked if I liked applesauce and I said yes. He took a tube of radioactive liquid and injected it into the applesauce then told me to eat it. He said I wouldn't taste it so not to worry. 

The first bite I took was amazing. The cool, wetness of the applesauce tantalized my tongue. I wanted to eat a gallon of it! I was so hungry and so thirsty, mostly thirsty. After a couple of spoonfuls, he stopped me and asked me to lie on the table beneath the scanning machine. I won't lie. I was miffed. I wanted to finish my little lunch-sized container of applesauce. Poo! Instead, I did as I was told and climbed up onto the bed/table beneath the scanner and waited to be slowly inserted into the machine. 

There was a video screen just above and to the right of my head. I could see the image as the scanner moved over my stomach. There, in my esophagus, was a brightly illuminated area - the radioactive applesauce. After the image was captured, I was slipped out from under the scanner and told to wait in the waiting room for 90 minutes. At precisely 10:30, the radiologist said he'd come back and get me for another scan. 

Sitting in the waiting room, my mouth felt so dry. Those 2 bites of applesauce haven’t helped quench my thirst. Across the room was a water fountain. Oh, how I wanted to go take a long, luxurious gulp but I knew I couldn't. I'd asked the radiologist, after the scan, if I could have a drink of water. He'd said, "No, will alter the test results, and we don't want that." No, we didn't want that. 

As time ticked on, I became more and more aware of my thirst. My mouth felt like the Sahara Desert. My salivary gland on the left side wasn't working and hadn't been for months. Normally, I'd have been able to use the Biotene moisturizing mouthwash and lozenges the ENT had prescribed to help with the situation, but not so today. It was a wretched feeling to be thirsty and not be able to drink. That's when I thought of the thousands of people in Turkey and Syria. As I was feeling sorry for myself, I thought, "My situation is temporary. I'll be able to get a big glass of water right after this stuff is over, but they won't."

We got home and I had the biggest, longest drink of water I think I've ever had in my life. As I was enjoying it, Phil flipped on the TV. A news report said Turkey’s and Syria’s death toll has risen to 11,000. My heart dropped. I watched as images of rubble and devastation were displayed. The camera scanned the area revealing hundreds of homeless people lifting debris in hopes of finding survivors. All I could think was how cold and tired and hungry they must be, but more than that, how very thirsty they must be. 

Where would they get water? And how many days would they go without it? Would they resort to drinking from puddles or creeks if they could find one? Would aid workers to come with trucks full of bottled water? 

We need water to survive. Every single day we need water. Water is life. Without it, one can only survive about 3 days although there have been instances where people have survived longer periods. Our bodies crave water to regulate our temperature and feed our cells. 

We take access to clean water for granted. So many don't have that right. I pray, the next time you bring a cup to your lips before you even take one sip, you'll thank God for the gift of clean water and think about all those who are longing for refreshment. 

Can you imagine going for days and days without water? I can't. Fourteen hours without water just about did me in. Worse than going without physical water for me would be going without living water. Though my physical body will thirst again and again, my spirit is always quenched with the living water Christ provides. 

John 7: 37-39 says, "Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them." Living water? In this passage, Jesus was referring to the Holy Spirit whom His followers had yet to receive but would shortly after He had been glorified.

The well of Living Water never runs dry because it's fed by God. Our wells, rivers, lakes, and streams can dry up if conditions aren't right. One gives temporary refreshment while the other gives eternal refreshment. Which would you rather have? I'd rather have the one I know will never run out! What about you?

They grow up too fast!

 

Items she collected on our walk

There's nothing sadder than watching the innocence of childhood come to an end. 

This weekend, while spending time with one of my granddaughters, I realized she's not a little girl any longer. 

At 9 years of age, the changes have come subtly but this weekend, as I watched her, I realized she's teetering on the edge of teenage life. 

I'm thankful for the time I get to spend with her. It isn't a lot, usually once a month and at major holidays and birthdays. I'd love to have more but I'll take what I can get at this point. 

We did a lot of things while she was here. I always try to find fun ways to keep her entertained without plopping her in front of the TV. 

The first thing we did was a science experiment. We talked about density, volume, and air. I used a bar of regular soap and a bar of Ivory soap to help give her a visual explanation. She laughed as we put the bar of regular soap in the bowl of water and it immediately sank to the bottom. Then, stood in awe watching the bar of Ivory float. Next, we took a bar of Ivory and put it in the microwave. I pulled up a chair so she could watch as the changes took place. Her eyes grew big as saucers as the soap began to expand filling my microwave with lush white clouds. When we took it out, I let her hold it. "It's light as a feather," she exclaimed. Then, I showed her how quickly the cloud would disappear if she crumbled it in her hands. The soap instantly became soap flakes. 

We went outside and did a nature walk where we discovered 5 garden slugs beneath the downspouts. She was intrigued with them and asked if we could pick them up. I found a piece of an old wooden slat and showed her how to gently lift a slug without harming it. 

She studied that slug for a long time, watching it move slowly across a piece of bark leaving a shiny, slimy trail. She looked up at me and said, "Gigi, do you know slugs are Gastropods?" I was amazed at this little one. Of course, she's very intelligent and loves to watch any and everything about nature, but she's always taken a special interest in insects and other small creatures since she was a tiny thing. 

I sat beside her and together we watched the slug maneuver his way up and then down the leaf of an Iris plant. Her eyes twinkled as she asked me how slugs move without any legs. I had a chance to teach her about the muscle contractions some animals and insects use and realized, though we were just outside enjoying nature, we were also having quite a homeschool lesson. 

We came inside after our adventure and I taught her how to make homemade play dough. I'd made it for her in the past but I'd always done all the measuring and cooking. This time, I allowed her that honor giving instructions as she worked. 

The precious memories we made that day are priceless. I know it won't be long before she won't care about taking nature walks with her Gigi and she'll be more interested in clothes and makeup than studying slugs. It makes me sad to think those days are coming to an end, but that's life. She has to grow up even if I don't want her to. 

Growing up poor

I didn't realize, until I was an adult, that I'd grown up poor. I was raised in a household whose income fell well below the poverty line. My Daddy’s upbringing was in a home with an even lower income. He was the first of his siblings to graduate from high school and after that, he took night classes at a technical school to learn a skill. He was one of the hardest workers I've known. While most of the years he was the sole wage earner, my Mother was a stay-at-home wife and mother. When she could, she'd take in ironing or make clothes for women who were much better off than we were, but most of my growing up years, we lived on Daddy's meager income. 

Watching my mother and father worry about making ends was hard. No matter how hard Daddy worked, it never seemed to be enough to take care of my sister, brother, and I. I was determined I wasn't going to live that way forever, so when I was 12, I took my first babysitting job. I was determined to rise above such intense struggle to survive. That job only paid a dollar an hour and I was babysitting 7 children, but I didn't care. I was making my own money and it felt good. 

When I was 15, and still in high school, I wanted to get a real job. Back then, parents had to sign a work permit for children under the age of 16. I begged my mother to sign the permit so I could work and thankfully she did. The next problem was how to get to the interview I'd been lucky enough to schedule. 

Our cars were usually very old and in ill repair. Daddy did his best to fix them up and keep them running, but sometimes, we only had one working car and of course, he needed that to Atlanta to work. Luckily, the day I was to have my interview with a local department store, Mama's car was running and she agreed to take me. I put on my prettiest dress and my best game face. As I talked with the gentleman at W. T. Grant Company, I did my best to be posed and mature. Mr. Weaver had no idea how hard my knees were knocking as I listened during the interview. I prayed he couldn't hear them. I landed a job in the collections department at $1.25 an hour. I was ecstatic.  Working hard every day after school, I managed to get raise after raise until I topped out at their maximum $1.65 and hour. I worked there almost a year before becoming engaged. 

At 16, I got married. Young, stupid, and in love, or so I thought, my young husband and I did our best to make ends meet. He was the only wage earner while I worked at completing my education, but $80 a week didn't go very far. We lived in an apartment down the road from my parent's house. The apartment rent was $135 a month and took almost 2 paychecks to make. On top of that were utilities and groceries. We lived off of peanut butter or bologna sandwiches that first year. I washed clothes in the bathtub and hung them out on the balcony of our apartment to dry because we couldn't afford a washer and dryer and certainly didn't have spare change to use the on site laundomat. Growing up poor taught me to survive. 

When my husband got a new position with Georgia Power making a little more money, we moved to Covington, GA. We'd found a repossessed single wide trailer that came fully furnished. It had red and black shag carpet and black naugahyde furniture in the living room. We thought we were stepping up in the world! The trailer payment and the rent at the trailer park were well within our budget. We were doing okay until I got pregnant. 

Adding a new baby to the mix brought on even more challenges. There were extra expenses for diapers, bottles, formula, etc. We did the best we could but had to rely on family to help pick up the slack. Soon, tensions were high and our marriage on the rocks. After 3 years, we called it quits. I ended up moving back home, baby in tow and lived there for about a year until I could get on my feet and get my own apartment. 

My life took a lot of twists and turns. It always seemed I was taking two steps forward and three steps back. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to get ahead. I was determined I was not going to live paycheck to paycheck as my parents had done all their lives. 

So much has changed since those early days. I said goodbye to a second marriage and hello to third. My family grew in size from one little boy to one boy and three girls, all grown now and three of those children have blessed me with grandchildren.  

It's funny how growing up poor shaped me into who I am today. I don't take anything for granted. 

There were many lessons I learned from growing up without money - 

Here are a few of them.

1. Don't waste a thing. Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without. 

2. Respect the value of money. It doesn't grow on trees and if you can save a little, you'll start to see it grow.  

3. Money can't buy everything. It’s amazing how little it takes to survive if you learn to “make do” and improvise.

4. People are worth immeasurably more than things.

5. You don’t have to own something to love and enjoy it.

6. Memories are treasures. They don't take up space,  can't be stolen, don't have to be maintained, and never cause worry. 

6. Don't live above your means. Going into debt isn't worth the stress or hassle. 

7. If you maintain an old car properly, it will last a long time. Regular oil changes and checks cost less than a car payment. 

8. Working hard never hurt anyone. 

9. You're stronger than you think. 

10. You can't take it with you when you go. Have you ever seen a hearse pulling a U-Haul? 

My parents struggled because they had to. Back then, jobs were tough to come by and for those without college degrees, manual labor was about all that was available. Daddy took pride in what he did. He came home from work exhausted every day but got up each morning to do it all over again. He never asked for anything. As soon as he got paid, he handed his paycheck to Mama. She was responsible for paying the bills, buying the groceries, and taking care of our needs. She didn't always do a good job but did the best she could with what she had. 

I'm thankful I grew up poor. I wouldn't have learned many valuable lessons that I've carried into my life today if circumstances had been different. I'm glad I didn't know I was poor at the time I was living it. It would have been much harder to swallow back then. Today I can look back and be grateful. 

I've done my best to teach my children valuable life lessons without going into a lot of detail about my past. Hopefully they've learned and accepted those and will let them trickle down into their own families. 

Life is hard whether you're rich or poor. I consider myself lucky to have grown up the latter. 

5 years post cancer

It is so hard to believe I'm currently 5 years post cancer diagnosis! I am officially N.E.D. - no evidence of disease and that completely blows my mind. 

Life has been good and I've been busy living it, hence, the lack of posts on my blog. 

I do still struggle daily with the residual effects of breast cancer surgery- lymphedema, fibromyalgia, and spinal degeneration. Along with a host of other issues like post cancer PTSD, cording, and insomnia, but I won't bore you. To sum things up, it I were a horse, I'd tell you to take me out and shoot me, but I'm not so I'll suck it up and keep being thankful that I'm still living.

Currently, I'm feverishly working on my book, the story of my cancer journey. In 2014, I felt God prompting me to write about this trial but things have gotten in the way. I haven't been able to sit down and spend time focusing on a book but He keeps reminding me, it's His project not mine, so I'd better get busy. And that's what I've tried to do this week. 

To date, I have over 135 thousand words written on my manuscript. I think that's a pretty good start! Whoever said writing a book was like having a baby had it about right. It's a painful process, especially remembering the past. 

I'm thankful I took the time to blog my cancer journey from day one. That will help make writing the book a lot less difficult but there will still be a lot of detail to add. And, for a novice, there are so many things to learn. 

My hope is to have a publisher pick up the book but if that doesn't happen, I'll self publish. Time will tell. 

So please forgive the lack of posts and keep your fingers crossed that I am able to complete this book by year's end. My goal is to have it ready to submit to a publisher by then and Lord willing, it will happen. All things happen in His perfect timing so I'm trusting Him to lead and guide me on that. 

In the meantime, I'll try to post as often as possible, so stay tuned. Life is good!

Little ones keep you young

My youngest granddaughter keeps me young. She knows how to steal my heart. And the fact that she loves art, too, just makes her that much more dear to me. 

Since she was little, she's always been interested in art. From the time she was old enough to hold a pencil or crayon, she's been creating. As she's grown a few years older, I've enjoyed introducing her to different mediums. Yesterday, we focused on acrylic paint. 

Though she's only 5, she knows exactly what she wants. At our local craft store, I helped her pick out a canvas, some brushes, paint, and a palette. Leaving the store, she was so exuberant I think my heart skipped a few beats. She doesn't know it yet, but this little one is keeping me young. 

Choosing a canvas

Love is in the Air

Almost one and a half months have passed since we rang in the New Year and it's hard to believe how fast time is flying! My grandmother always used to say, "The older you get, the faster the years go," and she was right! Since reaching my 61st year, time goes by at lightening speed.

Love is in the air and hearts are everywhere! Valentine's Day will soon be here. Isn't it nice to have a month devoted to the celebration of love? I think so. At least it's not a month devoted to an emotion like anger or hate, that would be bad...really bad. All kidding aside, I love this month - did you get that, I said I LOVE this month, haha. In my humble opinion, love should be celebrated not just on Valentine's Day but every day. Love makes the world go around, or so the song says. But these days, it seems love is hard to find for some. There are so many wrapped up in worldly ambitions and evil desires that love seems to be a think of the past, at least love celebrated in the way God intended it to be but I won't climb up on my soapbox just yet.

Today, I'm not focusing on Valentine's Day, although I should be. Instead, my focus is on cancer, namely my cancer. Speaking of that, today is the day I go for my six month check up. I always get anxious before those visits. It's not easy going to have bloodwork done and waiting for the results. Those results will either determine I'm good for another year or heaven forbid, if the cancer has returned, treatment will start again. I don't even want to think about that.

Walking into the cancer treatment center is always overwhelming. There are so many people there and all in various stages of treatment for some sort of cancer. At times, I feel like I don't belong. I don't look sick any longer. The only way anyone could tell I'd ever had cancer is the fact that I'm missing both breasts and I wear compression sleeves for lymphedema. And to see those things, one would have to look closely, very closely, because I do my best to hide those facts.

I wish there was a way to move completely out of cancerland leaving it behind forever, but that isn't an option when you're dealt the cancer card. It's a lifelong game until you die and yeh, I know that sounded morbid, but it's the truth.

So, today, as I head off to the treatment center, I'll be thinking about love. I'll think about how much I love my husband, my family, and my life. And while I don't being constantly reminded of my bout with cancer, I'll accept it as a part of my "new normal." (I really hate that terminology!)

A reminder of the brevity of life

Early this morning, I received word that an uncle had passed away. The news was expected as his health had been rapidly declining for several days, but even so, it's never easy to hear the news.

Just a little over a week ago, I'd had the opportunity to stop by and visit while on a recent vacation. I was shocked at how much he'd changed since the last time I'd seen him. We enjoyed a nice visit and talked about a mutual love of ours, painting.

All over his living room walls, Uncle Joe had displayed his artwork. There were acrylic paintings on handsaws as well as framed works of art. As I glanced around the room, I could see he took pride in his work but he also made a point to paint what was familiar to him. There were several of the paintings that caught my eye but in particular, the paintings of covered bridges. I mentioned this to him and we talked about some of our favorite bridges in and around Georgia.

He told me he wanted me to have one of his painted saws and explained I'd have to find one that didn't already have a family member's name on the back of it. Apparently, they'd all placed their mark on his works anticipating that one day, after he'd left this earth, they'd have the chance to claim their favorites.

I was unable to find a piece of his art that didn't already have someone's name etched on back. He saw the disappointment in my face and said he'd find one. In the meantime, he said, he wanted my cousin to bring me several of his blank saws. He knew I'd find pleasure in painting them. As my cousin brought the handsaws into the room and lay them beside me, Uncle Joe said, "I want one of your paintings, too." It made me happy that he'd want one of my pieces of art and I made a mental note to complete a piece specifically designed with him in mind.

Just two days ago, I'd completed the painting I was going to give Uncle Joe. I'd worked quickly after we'd returned from vacation in hopes of getting it sent off to my aunt so she could show him before he passed away. Now the completed painting lies in the middle of my dining room table. He'll never get to see it and that makes me extremely sad.

My acrylic pour painting mountain scene

On my cell phone, I have a saved voicemail Uncle Joe had left me. It was from a few weeks ago. I'd sent him a card in the mail telling him I was thinking about him and that I loved him. He responded by calling me and telling me the same. I'm so thankful I kept the message.

I listened to it just a few minutes ago and it made me cry. My uncle had called to check on me and ask how I was feeling when he knew very well his days were numbered.

Oh, the brevity of life! I'm reminded of it every day. Since my parents' deaths, and the recent deaths of several other friends and relatives, I can't help but remember the verse in the Bible that says we're just a vapor...here for a little while and then gone.

A saw I painted for Uncle Joe

The older I get, the faster the years fly. I don't like to admit it, but pretty soon, I'll be part of the oldest generation left in my family. I wonder if my children and their children realize how fast the time is going. Time grows ever precious with each passing day.

It's difficult to keep up

It's been a while since my last post. I don't mean to have such large gaps between writings but sometimes, life just happens. We all get busy. We all get distracted. And some of us, the ones of us who have a little touch of adult ADD or adult ADHD, can't seem to stay focused. Whatever the case may be, I've been sidetracked.

For the past month or so, I've shifted my focus from writing to painting. It's been wonderful therapy and the art has given me such a lovely distraction that I haven't been able to stop. Can you be addicted to painting? Perhaps. I like to imagine Van Gogh or Picasso were addicted to their craft. I am by no means in their league. I'm far from it, but I have found a medium that lends itself to rapid results and a confident satisfaction.

It's hard to have so many hobbies. I enjoy every single one. That's a good thing because when I tire of one, I can easily pick up another. I tired of things quickly. That's one of my flaws. Today I'm going to try to regain some semblance of normalcy and shift myself from the world of painting back into the world of writing.

One of my paintings

Sometimes it feels like I have a smoldering fire within me. It's a burning desire to write. Often, when I don't let the words spill out, they bottle up inside me and I feel like I'm about to explode. This is when I can understand the madness some famous authors experienced. And it seems rather odd that people with such creative minds could fall into the trap of madness, doesn't it? Unless you've felt the overwhelming power of need, there's no way to understand this concept. It is real. And sometimes, I feel quite mad.

My book has been calling. I've put it on the back burner for some time now. For some reason, I just couldn't get past chapter 4. Hopefully, I'll make some progress today as I pick it back up and re-read it.

On another note, I've been invited to attend a Relay for Life celebration for breast cancer survivors. Reluctantly, I accepted the invitation. I'm not too keen on big to-dos like that but felt it my obligation to participate. This year marks my fourth of being cancer free so there's definitely reason to celebrate.

Breast cancer has finally been relegated to the back seat of my life. It no longer dictates everything I do and I'm thankful. It seems I'm finally being able to just focus on living. And speaking of living, I'm so excited about an upcoming trip. It's been in the works for many, many years. Lord willing, this October I'll be out of the country. More details to come! 

A day in the life (Fair warning, you might get tired reading this!)

Waking up to complete darkness is unusual. The time change has certainly affected my sleep patterns. I'm used to waking up with filtered sunlight and singing birds, but this morning was different.

Wide awake, I remove my earplugs, grab my little bedside flashlight, and beam toward the clock. Surely it can't be time to get up. I'm surprised to see it's already 6:30 a.m. I guess that makes sense considering I usually wake about 5:30 each morning.

Lying in bed for a few more minutes, I offer up some quick prayers for my family. These arrow prayers, as I call, them, I shoot up to heaven during the wee hours of the morning. I know they leave my lips and go straight into the heart of God where they'll be answered in His timing and according to His will.

I jump out of bed and flip on the light. The comforter and sheets are askew. It looks like there was a lot of movement last night. My mountain of pillows has shifted and are scattered across my husband's side of the bed. Poor thing! Since the lymphedema has gotten worse, I sleep with my arms elevated at night. That means two pillows underneath each arm and then, there are the two under my head. Six, no! Seven pillows. I forgot the one I tuck between my legs. Staying comfortable after cancer is a challenge.

Flinging the pillows back over to my side of the bed, I work to remake the bed. I start on his side and work my way around to my side. Back and forth until the huge bed is neatly arranged and everything is in order. As I tidy up, I flip on the morning news. It's the only time of day I listen as I work. It's important for me to keep abreast of what's going on in the world.

After the bed is made, I slip into the kitchen to make myself some breakfast. I read somewhere that you should eat within an hour of waking to keep your metabolism in high gear. I scramble some egg whites with a little cheese and olives while the Keurig is heating up for my green tea. When the eggs are done, I sit at the bar and enjoy the silence.

Next, I don some leggings, wool socks, sneakers, and a long sleeve shirt. I grab my Bose speaker and cell phone and head toward the treadmill. It's cold this morning! As I reach the garage, I can't help but shiver.

I pull up a podcast of Adrian Rogers, one of my favorite preachers, and fire up the treadmill. After warming up a few minutes, I'm in my groove and am walking at a brisk pace while listening to a sermon on the importance of numbers in the Bible. I love learning, especially where the Bible is concerned and Adrian Rogers was a sound man of God. I'm sad he's no longer living but I'm thankful for his archive of podcasts and sermons.

In the middle of my workout, my youngest calls. She's at the breast specialist and about to have an ultrasound. She's been having some problems and we've been concerned. I pray as I listen to her talk. She tries not to worry me but I know she's nervous and rightly so. With my history of breast cancer, how could she not be? I ask God to give her a good report and keep walking as she talks. When it's her appointment time, she tells me she'll call back later. I tell her I love her and hang up not realizing I'm holding my breath.

The Bluetooth speaker begins again and I pick up the sermon where it left off before the interruption of the call. I become engrossed in the lesson and am amazed that 45 minutes have already passed along with 5822 steps. Time's up! I have things to do, so I jump off the treadmill and hop on the rebounder. I only spend about ten minutes there. Rebounding helps distribute the lymphatic fluid and lessen the swelling in my arms.

After the rebounding, I grab some chicken from the freezer and head into the kitchen. Popping it in the microwave, I'll prepare dinner shortly.

As the meat is defrosting, I walk across the house to my closet to change clothes, then head back into the kitchen. My hair is a wreck since I didn't get a shower this morning. I decide to do a quick wash in the sink. Thankfully, my hair is short enough I can do this.

Just as I finish washing my hair, the microwave timer dings. I wrap my head in a towel and begin making chicken parmesan packets. I layer a bed of zucchini on a sheet of foil, salt, and pepper it, pour on some marinara sauce, add the chicken breast, top with some mozzarella cheese and wrap it all up into a neat little foil packet. It reminds me of my Girl Scout days when we'd make foil packet dinners to cook over the campfire. I make two more packets so my husband can have one for lunch tomorrow and stick them in the refrigerator.

I'm getting a draft on the back of my neck as my cold hair drips. I head to the bathroom to dry my hair. After that's done, I remember I have a load of clothes in the dryer. I stop to take them out, fold and put them away.

Heading back toward the kitchen, I feed the fish. As I do so, I remember the title for a children's book I intend to write soon. Turning toward the dining room table, I see my wet canvas drying on the sheet of plastic I'd spread out a few days ago and it reminds me I have a cousin coming over this weekend. She wants to learn to paint and I've agreed to teach her a new technique I've been enjoying.

I pull out some canvases and begin to gesso them. That way, I'll be prepared when she comes and won't have to wait for them to dry while she's here.

On the bar, there's a shopping circular. I pick it up and browse through it quickly thinking I need to order a new comforter set for the guest bedroom. There's a really good sale, according to the ads, I may just have to do that today.

While the canvases are gessoed and drying, I load the dishwasher and turn it on. Now all that's left to do in that part of the house is to vacuum. I'll get to that shortly.

Grabbing my water bottle, I glance at the clock. It's 12:30. Almost time for lunch. I grab a handful of almonds and head to my office. I've got some writing to do today.

I turn on my computer and my cell phone dings. I've got an alert from Twitter. Someone tried to log into my account. I haven't used Twitter in a very long time. It's odd someone would be trying to use an unused account. I ignore the notification.

My computer is up and I can't help thinking about that new comforter. I pull up the company's website and log in. I find a beautiful 4 piece set but it seems kind of expensive. I don't need top of the line, just something decent for out of town guests when we have them come visit. I put the set in my shopping cart and then peruse the flyer for coupons. I find an online coupon and a store coupon that save me more than half the cost of the set! I'm happy and don't feel bad when I click to order.

Next, I pull up my blog and begin writing this post. I've fallen down on the job of keeping my readers up to date but really, there hasn't been much going on with my cancer journey since I'm in maintenance mode.

Tomorrow I'll go in for rehab. I'm receiving treatment for lymphedema. I'll also see the chiropractor. The cancer treatment houses all of these under one roof which makes it convenient for me. Later in the week, I'll see an acupuncturist for the spinal pain. I'm nervous about that. I've never seen an acupuncturist before and I'm not keen on having needles inserted into my body. The oncologist felt like it might help so I'm willing to try it.

As soon as I finish this post, I'll be working on some articles for the cancer magazine unless I decide to have lunch first. I love writing for them and never have a problem finding topics to share.

The clock on my computer says it's 1:19 p.m. now. I've accomplished a good deal and the days not over yet. I think I'll pause for a lunch break and see if I have anything DVR'd so I can watch while I eat. I love doing more than one thing at a time.

After lunch, I'll vacuum the carpets, unload the dishwasher, and then work on my articles. By the time I finish, hubby will be coming in the door and it will be time to slide supper into the oven.

We'll enjoy a nice dinner, I'll clean up, then we'll watch some of our favorite shows and talk. That will be the first time all day I'll really relax and do nothing productive. Hubby has had to teach me to rest. I try really hard to listen to him but it's so hard for me to sit idle and do nothing. He assures me it's good for me. I wonder.

When he's ready to retire for the evening, I'll go unmake the bed. I'll sit and read a while until I'm ready to join him. I love winding down the day by reading my Bible or a good book.

As I lay my head on the pillow, I'll smile knowing I did my best to stay active today. Since my diagnosis, I don't take a single minute for granted any longer. I try to pack as much as I can into every day.

I won't realize until I'm almost drifting off to sleep, that my body is tired. But being tired, is evidence I'm still here and that's a good thing.