I was sitting with friends the other day telling them about some tough things that have been occupying far too much of my brain space these days. We're talking all-consuming, can't shake 'em, sucking-the-life-out-of-me thoughts. I loathe the fact that this happens occasionally, but it's true. One of them asked me what I do when that happens. The answer came easy. I get busy making something. I'm not talking about the kind of busy that basically means ignoring something that needs to be dealt with. Trust me, as a fixer and someone who would choose to nip any kind of issue in the bud immediately, I would prefer to not let things simmer. But when that isn't an option, I'm as susceptible as anyone when it comes to a fast spiral into a deep, dark place. No, what I'm referring to is the kind of busy that forces your brain to go from thinking on things that are negative, dark, and defeating, and fixing your mind on things that are good - full of light and life. Over the past few years, I've come to see life as a constant grieving. It just is what it is. We are in a constant state of change. Letting go. Adjusting and adapting. If I sound like a Debby Downer, I don't mean to. The truth is, most of life requires a dying of some sort. Seeds fall to the ground and die. And then something grows. I wrote a song a couple of years ago and that started with this lyric: "I hope heaven has a cornfield in October, reminding me as autumn fades away, that even though it takes a little dying, life will come again on harvest day." I've thought about that lyric a lot the past few days as I've driven the country roads of Nebraska and seen farmers harvest their crops. Things die, we gather what remains, we move on making use of what we have gathered, and then the land begins to heal for a new season. I've tried to look at my creative life the same way. Life dishes out circumstance after circumstance and I either celebrate or grieve what has happened. The celebrating comes easy, doesn't it? Those are the best of days. But, I am also learning to see the very good things that come from the grieving moments too. When something dies, I can gather what is left, use it to make something, and at some point, I feel the healing begin. Grieve, create, heal. Grieve, create, heal. Over and over, this process has been life-giving to my soul on more days than I can remember. And once again, gratitude overflows. Maybe today a day for you to grieve. But, maybe today is a day for you to make something out of whatever you have left around you. Maybe today you sit down and write, or pull out your canvas and paints, or bake something that gives sustenance to your body and soul. To force your brain to think on things that are good, true, and lovely. I'm quite certain that if you can find a way to do whatever creative thing it is that you do, you will soon see the healing begin.
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One of the most important lessons I've been learning the past few years is to somehow find the balance between grit and grace. To know when I need to push myself to put my head down and keep doing the work, and when I need to allow myself time to rest, breathe, recharge, and just be. This has not come easy for me. And like I said, I'm still learning. I am by nature a doer. A fixer. Productivity matters to me. I want to know that progress is being made. To know there is a finish line and that I am doing everything I can to cross it. But too often, the act of doing has been the thing that has trumped all other things. And it is exhausting. For the past few years, I have been forced into a state of not doing for weeks at a time. Stupid cancer. While it was an adjustment - that's putting it mildly - stillness became my friend and I grew to love my time of quiet and reflection. Those moments when I had no expectation of myself except to simply exist and soak in whatever sights and sounds and emotions were enveloping me. Mostly for the sake of healing. The past year, I have been adjusting to my new normal, physically. My body doesn't do what I want it to or feel like I hoped it would feel, and it is unbelievably frustrating. For someone who has relied on grit to get herself through difficult moments, I've had to rely more on grace, letting myself off the hook, and allow the stillness to do its work in my life. I am also learning there are other areas of my life facing the grit vs grace dilemma, including my creativity. There are days, even seasons, when inspiration is hard to find. Times when I find myself in despair thinking I have nothing to offer the world. Moments when frustration and jealously block every creative thought I have because I'm too consumed with the success of others. In those moments, I find I have a choice to make. It isn't a choice of right and wrong. It involves doing the important work of self-examination and deciding whether or not I need to approach the situation with grit or grace. It requires asking myself if I should pour another cup of coffee, sit my butt in my office chair, and work until my fingers bleed, or, do I make the decision to go see a movie, treat myself to dinner out, call and catch up with a friend, or take a nap. Only I know which choice will help get me to the other side of the funk I'm in. I can certainly invite input from a friend in helping me figure out which choice to make, but ultimately, the choice is mine. I am trying to opt for letting grace be the trump card more often. To sit in stillness and give myself space to breathe in peace, let saner thoughts prevail, and allow new ideas find their way into my brain. For a doer like me, even this resting takes some effort. I think it will get easier with time, and because I have been forced to experience the benefits of rest in the past, I am confident I will experience the same in the days ahead. I hope you can as well. Since 1999, the middle part of August has always meant something very special to me - the beginning of a new school year. We started homeschooling our oldest that first year, unsure of so many things, but very sure of one thing - we wanted our kids to love learning. I was a person who loved school. My husband, not so much, so we were attempting to make the best decision for our kids coming from two very different perspectives. We weren't pro-homeschooling. We were pro-learning, and decided teaching our kids at home would be a good place to start, then we'd take things year by year and figure it out as we went along. Eventually, public school became the place for all our kids, and one by one they graduated high school and made their way to college. Last April, our youngest child graduated from Grand Canyon University, and I am facing my first August in 25 years without a child heading off to school. It's kinda hit me hard. More change. More grieving a season I will never get back. If I let myself, I can wallow in the memories far too long, allow the regrets to eat at me, and long for days gone by. Those were precious years. But this is a new season. There are new opportunities. My kids are diving deep into their own professions, working their way through the highs and lows of adulthood. I am so proud of each one of them. Also, my son and his wife are teachers, so in some ways, the school year will continue to mark certain aspects of our family time. Every year as August approaches, I purchase the same candle - a Spiced Pumpkin Yankee Candle - and save it to light on the first day of school. Rituals are important to me. I like marking moments with something simple that brings me joy, and every year, that candle has ushered in a new season of learning. Growing. Making memories. I bought that same candle the other day. Couldn't help myself. I might not be sending a kid off to school, but I do want to welcome a new season. This time, it's a season to be more focused on creative efforts that have begged for my attention and haven't gotten it. A season to be brave, vulnerable, generous, and consistent with my work, in a way that invites others to do the same. The phrase "hopeful creative" became a part of my vocabulary after I was diagnosed with cancer almost four years ago. On my worst days, I clung to the belief that even in the moments when I felt empty, beat up, or buried in the rubble of discouragement, if I could muster up enough strength to do something creative, hope would show up. On days when I felt good, hope would lead, gently guiding me to my writing room or my kitchen - my two favorite spots to create - so I could get to work, doing what I love to do. In both cases, I felt the nudge to create out of my experience and giftedness something that would offer hope to others. I began to see hope and creativity walking hand in hand, like two friends who occasionally walk side by side, but who also have moments when one has to carry the other. And sometimes, one drags the other along, either kicking and screaming, or barely alive. Whatever it looks like, hope and creativity seem to be inseparable for me. And this is where you come in. I've been working through the details of The Hopeful Creative for quite a while now. In a few days, I'll be starting a new phase of this little adventure and I would love for you to join me. The Hopeful Creative online community is all about making art in pursuit of hope, from a place of hope, for the purpose of giving hope to others. It's about the moments when hope and creativity walk closely together, and the moments when one carries or drags the other along. It's a place to be inspired and equipped to do the creative thing that's deep inside of you. It's a place where that creative thing you do can be reawakened or refreshed or repurposed. It's a place to discover you're not alone in your up-and-down creative journey. A place to be assured that yes, there are other people whose ideas keep them up at night. People whose wells seem to have run dry. People who can't find a consistent routine even if their life depends on it. For now, this will be a place where twice a week, Mondays and Thursdays, I post something about living the hopeful creative life. It might be a blog, a link to a resource I've found helpful, or I might just share some work of art that has inspired me. My desire is for all of us to experience creativity in community - something that I've found to bring great hope and joy to my life over the years. If you think this post isn't for you, let me gently remind you that EVERYONE is a creative. We just all have different ways of expressing that creativity. So you just might belong here more than you realize. :) If you want to join me, just click the button below and you can sign up. There's no fee. No expectations. No rules. Just a notice from me to drop in a couple times a week and be encouraged to stay the course, creatively! I'll be lighting a certain candle to usher in this new season and I sure hope you'll join me! Recently, a certain question has been popping up frequently as I've sat with other people around my age and engaged in conversation about a variety of subjects common to our phase of life. I am grateful to have several people in my life who are willing to sit for long periods of time, chatting about the everyday stuff of life, and the deep, soul-stirring highs and lows of friendship, marriage, parenting, health, work, creativity, and faith. I am an introvert at heart and find these conversations to be the life-giving sustenance I need in order to live out my often-required extroverted activities. The words are often uttered with a tone of confusion, grief, or frustration, after the person saying them has shared some kind of disappointment they are experiencing. I've had friends pose this question while battling professional discouragement, and others who've barely been able to squeak out the syllables as they weep over a child who is, either by their own doing or by the hurtful hand of others, in deep pain. I remember asking the question myself, many times, looking in the mirror during the darkest days of my cancer treatments, staring at a face I barely recognized. I've whispered them as a prayer while sitting on my deck asking God why a relationship seem to be crumbling. And countless times, I've mumbled them through tears after beating myself up over my own failures as a wife, mom, and friend. The question doesn't come early in conversation. It usually comes after several emotions have been laid bare on the table - sadness and anger being the primary ones to precede the asking. It often comes after a long pause. It comes with a hint of giving up. As if there is nothing else to say, but to look around and ask, "How did I get here?" I have found two things to be true about the moments following the asking of the question. First, it really isn't a question people want answered. Because at whatever point you are at when the question is asked, you don't necessarily want to recount the possible pathways of circumstances or choices that actually led to where you are. And second, I don't have an answer for the question. At least not one that directly satisfies the person asking or comes close to understanding the complexity of a question like that. While it might not feel like it at the time, there is a beautiful thing that seems to be happening when a person reaches the point where they actually say, "How did I get here?" I think it feels like a moment of surrender. Like you realize you're lost and finally ask someone for directions. As if you've reached the end of your own understanding and ultimately come to the conclusion that you are at a complete loss as to what to do next. That doesn't sound beautiful, you say? Maybe not at first, but I do think it can be a first step in becoming beautiful. If you take the necessary next steps. I don't understand the mind of God. I don't know why He makes the choices He does and allows us to make the choices we make. I don't know why He has allowed pain and suffering and loss. I don't know why I look at so many things in my life and think, "Well that didn't turn out like I thought it would." I don't know why people I love are facing the stuff of life that feels like a constant breaking. I don't know why some people have great success in their profession and others don't, even though they've both worked incredibly hard at what they do. I don't know why some doors open and others don't. And I don't know why we get to places where we look around and ask the question, "How did I get here?" But here's what I do know - God does. God knows and sees all the paths we did and didn't take. He sees the decisions made and the opportunities missed. He sees how all the roads have twisted and turned and crossed to intersect with other people who are on their own journeys that are seen and known by Him. I am blown away by that truth. Not only does He know what got us to where we are, He knows where we're going. Every single step. Every bumpy road we'll walk. He knows every destination we'll reach. He even knows the next time we might ask the question, "How did I get here?" I don't know how that works, but somehow I believe it to be true. Again, I don't understand the mind of God. But I think I do know His heart. And I think his heart is more concerned with the question that should follow "How did I get here?" That question is, "Where do I go now?" It's not that I don't think we should learn from our past. Of course we should. Lessons learned are the guideposts for decisions yet to be made. But wallowing in the stuff we can't change, the baggage of pain and anger, and the frustration over where we thought we'd be as opposed to where we are, won't get us a step further toward the beautiful life God has for us. He wants to answer our questions. Especially if they lead us closer to Him. I wonder if one day I'll stand before Him and ask the question, "How did I get here?" Not in search of a gospel-y kind of answer. More like wanting to hear Him tell me about all the stuff I didn't see happening around me. The moments He corrected, covered, rescued, provided, and refined me in ways I didn't even recognize. The moments I threw up my hands and asked, "Where do I go now?" I kinda think He'll tell me He was really happy when I finally asked THAT question, because I believe He wants to tell me. Show me. Lead me. I just don't ask often enough. I think the quicker we move from asking "How did I get here?" to "Where do I go now?" the happier we'll be. More content. More trusting. More at peace. And that sounds pretty good to me. I walked in a parade last weekend. To be honest, the magnitude of that experience was almost lost on me until my daughter-in-law pointed it out. "That's amazing!" she said. "You walked in a parade!" "I did," I said. "And you're right, it is amazing." In light of where I've spent my last three summers, the fact that I was able to walk in a parade is a blessing I do not take for granted. One Sunday morning a few weeks ago, I stood on my deck overlooking my favorite view, and realized this is the first summer in four years that I haven't been anticipating or recovering from a surgery, or in the hospital fighting infection. To be honest, I had a little PTSD when spring rolled around this year. Memories of what summers have looked like had left me leery of what the months ahead might hold. But this summer, I made it to August relatively unscathed. Gratitude abounds. I celebrated another birthday yesterday. The magnitude of THAT statement is NOT lost on me. I am here. And I feel pretty darn good. Not great, but pretty darn good. I'll take it. My family is in a sweet season of joy, which has come after a what felt like a long season of sadness. Mountain after mountain. Grief upon grief. I often tell people cancer was the easier part of the past few years. It certainly wasn't easy, but many days, there was deeper pain to wade through. Still, we made it. I'm sure there are bound to be troubled waters ahead for all of us at some point, but hopefully we've learned how to navigate the storms a little better. Gratitude abounds. It feels like there isn't enough time to accomplish all the creative work stirring in my soul these days. I wish for longer days and nights for my brain to sift through, focus on, and unleash the work I long to put out into the world. Some of that work has been graciously dropped in my lap - a gift I don't deserve. Some of it has been simmering for years. Some of it has been refined by fire I have cursed and from which I have begged to be rescued. All of it is somehow welcomed with an open heart, thankful I get to steward the creative work with which I have been entrusted. My body doesn't always cooperate with my desire to do everything I want to do, but it seems to be holding up if I treat it kindly. My soul has battled discouragement, abandonment, and insecurity like never before. And yet, every day, I seem to wake up with a hope that moves me to create - a hope that can only be given by a Creator. Gratitude abounds. At the beginning of 2024, I chose the word PEACE as my word for the year. I had many reasons for choosing it, and as usually happens with my "word for the year" it has proven to be a recurring theme for my days. It isn't that I always experience peace like I want to, but I find myself being able to rest in it more than ever, and asking for it more quickly than I have before. Rather than rushing to fix, fight, or fume over something, I am trying to seek peace, offer peace, and trust in the One who gives peace. The moments I fail weigh heavily on me, but in His kindness He has given it when I least deserve it. Gratitude abounds. So here's to another year of waking up to possibilities, to taking on the days and nights I am given with renewed hope, and to faithfully doing the work I feel called and compelled to do. Gratitude abounds. I'm currently sitting at a hotel in Providence, Rhode Island. Here for a weekend to celebrate the wedding of a dear family friend, I snuck into a sunlit, atrium-style banquet room in search of a few quiet moments alone. I tried two other spots in the hotel, but there was no quiet to be found. Suffice it to say, few things annoy me more than unsupervised youth sports teams in a hotel. Enough said. The past few weeks I have been in a frenetic season of tackling projects which have raised my personal bar creatively, inspired my heart to believe in the impossible, and crushed my spirit in ways I didn't see coming. Such is the life of a professional creative. The highs and lows of the business I work in are what keep me going back in the writing room day after day, and simultaneously what cause me to quit my job at least once a week. This road is not for the faint of heart. A few weeks ago I led a group of creatives through a 30 Days of Hopeful Creativity online adventure. The plan was to gather people together who share a desire to make art in pursuit of hope, from a place of hope, for the purpose of giving hope to others. I love creatives and one of the things I think I've been put on this earth to do is to encourage them to keep chasing whatever creative dreams they have, regardless of result or reward. I would like to tell you that to encourage others was my sole reason for taking people on this 30-day adventure, but selfishly, I also wanted a reason to put my "pen to the page", day after day, every day for 30 days. I needed the personal accountability and I also thought it might be a start of another creative project I've been wanting to tackle. So off we went. I met some lovely people, hopefully encouraged them to keep doing what they do, and I met my personal goal of writing something every day. I'm happy to say that as I look to the next few months, my calendar looks to be filled with doing more of what I love. For the first time in my adult life, I wake up every morning and get to walk into my office / writing room and work on creative projects I am passionate about. I am 56 years old, friends, and this is the first time I've been able to make this creative life work, full time. It ain't all roses and butterflies, though. A lot of it is hours of slogging through muddy waters of administrative crap, fighting off dragons of discouragement and defeat, and being confronted by my personal demons and downfalls. But there are also moments of unexplainable inspiration, the sweetest fellowship of collaboration, and the occasional celebratory mountaintop experience. Some days I face everything I've listed here in a 24-hour span. It is the wildest of rides. The personal sacrifices one makes to live this professional creative life are significant. And I'm not just talking about my own. My family has lived it too. We've walked the road of financial sacrifice, the expense of time and energy, and possibly the most costly sacrifice, the emotional toll the successes and failures have taken on me personally, which have unavoidably marked my family in ways I both regret and hope they are lessons from which we all learn. Before you think I'm being overdramatic, let me say this: I am well aware that what I've just described to you in this paragraph is a cake walk compared to the sufferings and sacrifices some people have to face every single day, either in their profession, or just in their everyday lives. Which is exactly my point. Please read on... My gratitude meter looks a whole lot different now than it did a few years ago. Cancer will do that to a person. Any deeply difficult experience will do that to you if you let it. You find yourself with a perspective you never wanted, but it's one you wouldn't trade for anything in the world, because you now have a choice that is crystal clear. Yes, I do believe it's a choice to remain grateful. To choose it every stinkin' day. To say to myself, "Today, you get to do what you love. You get to walk into a room and make stuff up. ('Cause that's what writers do.) You get to find a way to confront obstacles, battle enemies, attempt to discover new ways to claw your way out of a deep, dark, pit, and create art that you hope and pray will one day make a difference. Maybe not for millions of people. Maybe not for hundreds of people. Maybe not for ten people. Maybe for only one person. But today, you get to do that, Gina, and that's a good day, no matter how you look at it. So press on and do your thing." I have had to give myself that little pep talk more days than I care to admit. But I do it because when I tell myself to keep going, my hope is renewed. I regain my footing. I see my purpose. Hopeful Creative isn't simply a blog title or fluffy slogan I thought up. It is a perspective I have fought for. It is a badge I have earned and wear proudly. It is a weapon I want to give others, knowing they'll need it to fight the dragons I know well. Because if we don't have hope, what do we have, really? The alternative - despair - makes for a pretty lonely existence. So here's to tomorrows. Here's to possibilities. Here's to jumping into the deep end and learning to swim. Here's to butts in chairs doing the work. Here's to believing art matters. Here's to creating with hope. P.S. Hopeful Creative will be ramping up a bit in the next few weeks/months. I'm excited to share it with you. Stay tuned... You don't always know what the purpose is for a piece of art when you begin making it. I certainly didn't know what would happen with the piece of art that became The Table. I just knew I had a story I wanted to tell and I got to turn it into a musical with two of my very best writer friends. What started in a little room in 2017 finally found it's way to a bigger room in 2024. I have no idea where it will go from here, but I sure hope there are other rooms in other places where this story can be told. We'll see. For now, I'm left with time to reflect on the process thus far and ponder the possibilities. Having my co-writers, Lee and Tony, and their wives (and a surprise guest) here for a couple of shows made the experience incredibly special, and the moments we spent together before and after the shows are my favorite kinds of moments. Having my kids join us and offer their enthusiastic support of our work made my mama's heart nearly burst. We made a conscious effort to celebrate the moment, but it didn't take long before we dove into evaluation mode, considering any changes that could make our show better. We'll be letting things simmer for a bit, then figure out next steps. I've had a few people ask if The Table will be a book and the answer is yes. I've been working on it for a while and was hoping to have it finished by the time the musical hit the stage. Didn't meet that deadline, but yes, it is coming. I've also been near tears a few times when I think of all the people it took to pull of this production. The production team, the cast, the crew, and all the volunteers who put in hundreds of hours doing things no one will ever see or know about, in order for a few hundred people to be entertained. I see it happen show after show at our community theater, but to have them put in all that effort for something you wrote is a kind of humbling I can't put into words. There will never be enough thank-you's to express my gratitude. One of the most gratifying things I've heard people after the show is, "I'm gonna start doing what Laura did, and have a group of friends over for dinner once a month." One of the most heartbreaking things I've heard after the show is, "I don't have friends like that in my life." If there is a truth I hope people leave with after seeing our show, it is how deep and widespread the need for connection is, and how easy it is to be the catalyst to help meet that need. We all live in a world of Eleanor Rigby's. And we can all be Laura's. My favorite thing about my job is the fact that I get to dream. I get to think up stories and songs and figure out a way to unleash them out into the world. Just last night, Lee and Tony and I were texting about the next story we want to tell. It's about...well... I can't tell you. But I'll say this....okay, I'd better not say anything. Yet. Ugh...I want to. But I can't. Just trust me, it will be worth the wait. There is usually a post-event dip for me, regardless of what the event is. A day or two of sadness over something being over. Sometimes even a time of wondering if I'll ever make any art worth sharing again. But in all honesty, I woke up today feeling more motivated than ever. There's a to-do list on my desk that makes me very happy. It is filled with a bunch of administrative work, which I almost always detest. But today that list is a reminder that I get to spend my days making art and helping others make their art. What a gift. And when you've walked the road I have for the past three years, even a to-do list filled with things you might not enjoy is a blessing you don't take for granted. I also get to have a meeting online with a friend and co-writer about a new project we're diving into, and later today I'll be sitting at someone's table drinking coffee and catching up, which feels fitting for this first, post-Table day. My word for 2024 didn't come to me until I was writing my last blog of 2023. I don't always have a word for the year, and in fact, I hadn't planned on having one for this year. But as I was on the elliptical machine this morning, listening to a podcast about habits, it became clear that my word for the year should be PEACE. That might sound like a strange place and time to be convinced a word like peace should be your word for the year, seeing as how the local YMCA isn't exactly the most peaceful place on the planet. And yet, here I am with a word for the year now. And it feels very fitting. I love routine. Regular practices help settle my emotions and give a structure to my days which is desperately needed in my life as a self-employed creative. So today when I was trying to sweat out physical and emotional toxins, listening to someone tell me how the ordinary habits of our days lead to living extraordinary lives, I was convinced of the need to have some kind of foundation for my approach to a new year. Interestingly enough, I had already laid that foundation for my year as I closed out the year before. Peace hasn't exactly been my close companion over the past few years. There have definitely been moments when I have experienced its presence, but I wouldn't say I have been enveloped by the feeling of my heart being at rest on a regular basis. So this year, I have determined to seek peace in my heart, for a variety of reasons, but mostly because of the Proverb that says, "A heart at peace gives life to the body." My body has been fighting for life for three years now and as I looked to a new year and considered the practices I need to adopt in order to keep cancer at bay, I can see how important keeping my heart at peace will be to my overall health. So, how does that happen? What do I need to do to keep my heart at peace? Easier said than done when life throws its most poisonous darts at you: fear, insecurity, jealousy, sickness, and brokenness in all its forms. All the realities of living in a world that is not our home. And yet, Jesus said, "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you." So why haven't I experienced more of that peace? And how can I experience more of that in the year to come? These are the questions I've asked myself in recent days. A few weeks ago, I was having a bad day. Really bad. One of those days when you sit at the kitchen counter for most of the morning and do nothing but cry. I was fearful and sad. At some point, I told God, "Okay, I know all the things I'm supposed to do in times like this. All the things. And yet, I'm still here feeling completely incapable of moving on from this very unhappy, unsettled place. So, You'd better do something." I'm not sure that's the way you're supposed to talk to God, but those were the words that poured out in the moment. I was desperate for some peace. Within a few minutes I received a text from a friend who leads an organization I have worked with in the past. It was the organization's "birthday" and he was reaching out to ask how he could pray for my family. Peace be mine. A little while later I received a text from a friend I hadn't connect with in quite a while. She was checking in because she was thinking of one of my kids and wanted to reach out to them. Peace be mine. Later that day I got a call from a number I didn't recognize so I let it go to voicemail. I listened to the message from a woman I don't know well, but our paths have crossed a few times through mutual friends. She had seen something on social media that prompted her to call (yes, make an actual phone call) and let me know she was praying for me. Peace be mine. With each interaction, I felt a weight being lifted. My problems weren't solved. Broken relationships weren't mended. But a prayer had been heard and answered. I asked for peace and peace came in ways I didn't expect. Thank you, Prince of Peace. I don't want this year to be one in which I only look to be the recipient of the peace that's been promised me. I want to be someone who brings peace to others. I'm trying to figure out how to be better at that. Offering peace to someone might mean reaching out or shutting up. It might mean holding tighter or letting go. It might look like being present or staying absent. The hard part is knowing which action to take in each situation. I'm pretty sure I've gotten it wrong more than I've gotten it right, but I'm learning. I think it might start with a simple prayer - peace be mine. Asking God to grant me His peace to not become anxious over the matter at hand, then asking for wisdom on how to best respond to give peace to others. I would love to get to the end of 2024 feeling like I'd done my part to bring peace to someone else's heart and not be the reason someone didn't have peace in their heart. So much to learn. So many opportunities to grow. I guess St. Francis of Assisi says it pretty well, too. Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; and where there is sadness, joy. O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen. I never really know how to begin this end of the year blog. How do you close out a 365-day season that has been filled with so much. So many emotions, experiences, changes, dreams, disappointments, relationships. It it impossible to encapsulate the moments that have made up 2023. But the writer in me has to try, so here it goes. First, a brief list of random thoughts and points of gratitude: 1. I have growing fingernails and a mostly-full set of eyelashes. I could cry just thinking about it. 2. I joined the Y again and have felt the energy to go regularly. Again, tears. 3. Our family grew by two. The goodness of God. 4. Broken hearts are mending. The faithfulness of God. 5. I love writing and the opportunities I have been given to do what I love. The kindness of God. 6. Pets are amazing companions and are perfectly acceptable reasons for deep grieving and great celebration. I know not everyone agrees - I'm praying for you. 7. I have incredible friends. They are patient, generous, funny, loving, kind, and forgiving. If you've been someone I've hung out with much in 2023, you are likely well aware that I am now a person who is easily moved to tears. VERY easily. In fact, I probably should have written this blog at home and not at a coffee shop where people are wondering what's wrong with the lady in the corner. Get it together, Gina. I've mentioned before how I felt like cancer heightened all my emotions and allowed me a sensitivity to people and things I hadn't had before. It was one of the great gifts cancer gave me and probably the only lingering symptom from this stupid disease that I hope never goes away. Those tear-filled emotions have served me well as they help wash away things that cloud my view, allowing me to see more clearly as I look toward the start of a new year. When I think about all that was lost and gained in 2023, what I am left with is the question of what I want to intentionally rid myself of and what I want to hold tightly to in 2024. And because diving into a new year will forever be linked to the timing of my diagnosis, I suppose it will always be impossible to not look to a future without feeling a sense of urgency - because time is fleeting, and no moment or day or year is guaranteed. I own that perspective not as a curse, but a blessing. It moves me in a direction I likely would not have taken otherwise. I am more okay than ever with letting go - of things, expectations, relationships, dreams, emotions, and responsibilities. Letting go not out of frustration or anger or disappointment, but because I have a greater understanding of how some things aren't meant to be held tightly forever. Some things are meant to serve us for a season, or given to us to serve others for a season. I feel this deeply as I consider so much of what I'm hoping 2024 will look like. Other thoughts that are guiding my decision-making mostly revolve around my health, my capacity to create, and a fierce commitment to simplify my life in every aspect. So now, another list. Not goals, not dreams, not plans - just thoughts that are shaping my approach to a new year. 1. "A heart at peace gives life to the body." So many choices for next year will be with the intent of living with greater peace in my heart for the sake of giving life to my body. Too much of the past three years has been consumed by cancer and the fallout of waging that war. There are big prayers going up that next year looks a whole lot better in that department. 2. Meaningful work is a game-changer. I am more committed than ever to operating in my sweet spot. 3. Understanding my capacity and not caring about the capacity of others is incredibly freeing. 4. My current perspective on social media - while necessary and impactful for my business and my clients, it is of little use to my personal life. While I do appreciate the life updates from those I am not in contact with regularly, too much of what I see posted is either a complete misrepresentation of what I know to be true of people's lives, passive aggressive behavior that serves no purpose other than to inflict pain, and the occasional tirade over politics, religion, or the economy. I guess I just see it doing more harm than good and for now, I'm fine to minimally take part. 5. I want to love the people in my life well, which means, in part, entrusting them to greater Love than mine. That isn't always easy, but I'm trying to learn how to love my people better and cheer them on as they do their thing. 6. I love writing. There will definitely be more of that in 2024. What form that will take, well, stay tuned. 7. All in all, I hope my next 365 days are kinder, braver, simpler, healthier, more creative, and more peaceful than the previous 365. Not too much to ask, right? :) Happy New Year, all! May you enter this next season full of hope for the days ahead! A few weeks ago, another step was taken toward the realization of a dream. I've been working on a musical with my friends Lee and Tony since November 2017. We recently held a staged reading of the musical and it will be a fully produced show in May of 2024. Tickets are available now and you should all come see The Table at The Nebraska Communities Playhouse in Hickman, Nebraska. Yes, ALL of you should come see this show. Please. :) The process of watching this project coming to life has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. The day after the staged reading, I expected to need a break from this particular work, simply because it had been so incredibly time consuming for the previous three weeks. But after allowing myself to sleep in, get caught up on housework, and give myself a break from staring at a computer screen, I was beyond ready to get back to work, shaping and reshaping the story and songs. The project needed work, that was undeniable. In some places, major work. But instead of being daunted by the task, I was eager and determined. And it surprised me a little to feel that way. I'm an idea person. I love dreaming up possibilities. I've mentioned this before, but I haven't always been great at the finishing part of pursuing a dream. I'm happy to say I seem to be getting better at that. I've finished things in the past couple of years I don't know if I would have a decade ago. And I think I know why. For most of my life, I've been a person with a high capacity to juggle responsibilities. I can keep a lot of plates spinning - all the roles I've had to assume through the years. Wife, mom, daughter, friend, employee, business owner, etc. I've always known I can't give 100% to all the things all the time, but I am a person who seems to function better when I have a lot to do. I'm still that way. But the past three years have changed my perspective, not only on my capacity to juggle responsibilities, but also on my capacity to create. I'm sure age, experience, and knowledge gained, have all contributed to what I now see in regards to my own limitations, but I don't know that I'd be where I am now in terms of perspective had I not come face to face with my mortality. Thank you, cancer. But it isn't simply the feeling that my days are numbered so I'd better get busy living and doing the things I want to do while I can. Creating out of that feeling would leave me in a frantic state of creativity and I do not want that. No, this is desire to operate at full creative capacity, in peace. Not "peace and quiet" kind of peace, but the peace that comes from knowing I'm not chasing anything or anyone. The peace you have when you're working with people who fill you up, and not with those who leave you depleted. The peace of being purposeful with your time and resources even when others don't understand the ridiculous things you might choose to do in order to achieve that peace. My husband and I are taking a hard look at our life and planning to make some changes I'm certain some people will not understand or agree with. It won't be the first time friends and family have called us crazy. And speaking of capacity, I don't have the capacity to care about that anymore. Thankfully, I also don't have the capacity to care about the capacity of others either. I've spent way too much time over the years asking God why I haven't been afforded certain opportunities while I've watched other people have experiences I wished I had. I honestly don't feel the need to ask that of God anymore. Mostly because I am fully aware of the amazing opportunities I've been given, but also because I've learned that if I wanted to have specific doors opened to me, I would also have to deal with all the crap that goes along with walking through those doors. And the more I see exactly what that crap is, there is no way I want that for my life. Because what I see there doesn't bring what my heart desires - to create out of a place of peace. My personal mission statement is to do creative work that inspires and equips others to do their creative work. What that creative work looks like and who the "others" are, is going to be determined by one thing - answering the call that I alone hear from my Creator. I'm quite confident that when I am faithful to that call, He will also show me the "how, when, what, why, where, and who" I need to create at my highest capacity in peace. Even in typing those words I feel the tension release from my shoulders, breath fill my lungs, and my mind begin to clear. I suppose those are signs I'm on the right track. |
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