The Poppy and The Pod

I wrote the following in the wee hours of this morning, before all the pain and exhaustion from such a busy weekend caught up to me. Before the natural high wore off, allowing all that pain to return, as I emotionally let down my guard.

Please read it as a prayer and a dedication I am making into my new life. I have been struggling with where God wants me, what He wants me to do with my life. Through months or searching and prayer, I may be getting close to His dream for me. And as you know, His dreams for us don’t always line up with our own. His dreams eclipse ours, outshine ours unlike nothing we could ever have imagined.

Thank you for being my readers. May God bless you as He has blessed me.

Love, Jenni Lynn

 

THE POPPY AND THE POD

October 15, 2012

Yesterday I found myself back within my element. Talking with even more likeminded people. Listening. Learning. Absorbing. Stretching. Growing.

I found myself back at Wordstock. The Oregon Convention Center. On the escalators, beneath the giant poppies. I stopped to study these gigantic glass ornaments. They catch the backlight and come aglow. My eyes shift toward the top of the escalator. A large alien-looking green pod sits alone. Closed to the outside world. Heavy and dull. Frightening in its obscurity.

Within this space, this element of mine, I stretch my bubble. I poke it in all directions. I open my eyes to all the possibilities. The learning. The conversations. And then I act. Like a real person. A real woman. A real writer. A real illustrator. A person of good, strong character. I act and feel how I have always believed normal people act and feel every day.

Within this space, this element of mine, I am the poppy, unfurling my colors before the sun. I am no longer the pod, so full of potential but ever frozen in time.

I have no excuses for my past. I will no longer rely on qualifying statements about my efforts.

 

This is me. Living within my joy.

Head held high. Smile broad and bright.

Eagerness pouring from my every cell.

And love.

Compassion.

Courage.

 

This is me. Having the courage to step out in faith.

Trusting God has my back.

My front.

My every footfall.

 

This is me. Meeting the real me.

Enjoying the discovery process.

Seeking only His opinion of me.

Desiring to live up to His vision of me.

 

This is me. Living in love.

Loving God. Loving myself. Finally loving myself.

Trusting His love won’t abandon me.

His truths won’t fade away or change.

 

This is me. Living in trust.

Humbled to be chosen.

Accepting forgiveness when I fail.

Relaxing into the ocean of His truth.

Closing my eyes and allowing His miracles to wash over me.

 

This is me, Lord.

The me you made me to be.

 

Coffee in one hand, cheese-covered guilt in the other. Candy wrappers stuffed hastily in my pocket. You know this about me, and yet you still love me. You still have compassion and not pity for me. You still want glorious things of me and for me. Nothing I do can make you stop loving me. No matter how much I act out or feel like a failure. Nothing.

Like the flood rushing down from the mountains with the spring rains, no dam can hold back or cut off your love. It will wash over me. Drown me in peace and grace. Fill my lungs with righteousness. Only you can love me like this.

Nothing. And only you. Unconditional love at its finest. It is you or nothingness. And no matter how difficult it has been to grasp your depth of love, I cannot begin to fathom nothingness. I pray I never have to.

Teach me, Lord. Teach me speak. Teach me your ways. Put the correct words in my mouth and lead me to the correct actions. Make me aware of you, always. Do not count me among the Israelites who asked never to see your face or hear your voice ever again. Teach me speak, as only you can. I long to hear your voice, feel your presence. Your nearness.

Let me rise and do great things in your name, but keep me humble so that I may stay in your presence and not let conceit destroy me.

There is a brisk clip to my gait as I carry out these joys. These promises you’ve given me. I no longer feel like a fake. No longer on the fringe of life and love. No longer self-marginalized. You’ve instilled confidence in my heart.

I turn my flush petals to your brightness, seeking and accepting your warmth and love. Thank you. Thank you seems inadequate. I love you. Even my love seems inadequate compared to yours.

I am yours. I am your poppy.

No longer the pod.

 

My life comes aglow only with your illumination.

I live to carry out your desires.

I live to ring your quiet bell of grace.

 

I long to hear the trumpets that signal all hope.

Amen.

Love, Jenni Lynn

Living My Joy

One day, I shall sit in one of these red chairs, and I shall read aloud from my own published work.

Today I spent the day in my element, amongst likeminded people, talking words. Style. Prose. Genre. Today I attended Wordstock at the Oregon Convention Center. It was the first year I actually made it, having had a multitude of excuses over the past several years. Pain. Exhaustion. Depression. Anxiety. Fear. No one to go with.

Well, last night I was in severe pain, and I woke up in a great amount of pain, too. So we can scratch that excuse off the list. I made the conscious decision sometime during the night to not allow my pain to have that much power and authority in my day. It would be nice if I could keep that attitude for life, never wavering, but one day at a time is good, and at least for today the pain did not have me, even though I had pain.

I was determined to  go to Wordstock with or without pain. I did my best to sleep last night, and I ate a complete and balanced breakfast to keep my energy up. I would not let exhaustion control my day, either.

Emotionally, I have felt fairly well, other than my stress level being too high. No depression. Some normal sadness, but no major depression. This is a great thing. Anxiety seems to be creeping back into my life, but I am taking steps to deal. Being proactive and having a plan can make all the difference in the world when it comes to emotional stability. These, too, cannot be excuses. Absolutely cannot, as part of my proactive plan.

Even with my determination, my drive, sometimes I can be derailed, and all the positive talk and proactive efforts in the world cannot help me get out of bed on those mornings.

Talk about having to live in the moment. Taking one day at a time to the full extent of the meaning.

But now I am getting off on a painful tangent.

This morning I arrived at the Oregon Convention Center bright and early. I did not even let the timing of my first class (9 a.m.) deter me. I went alone, which was actually probably the best for me because I was able to get totally absorbed in every conversation and every class discussion, without worrying about where so-and-so was or if they were bored.

I had the most awesome day, and I was definitely in my element. What does being in my element look like?

• confident
• determined
• goal oriented
• willing to step outside my comfort zone
• stepping outside my comfort zone without even thinking about it
• constantly smiling
• patient with those around me
• extra loving and helpful, even to total strangers
• not concerned about what others might think
• willing and able to ask for what I need without anxiety or fear that they will say no
• joy fills my heart

It is an amazing gift that God has given me, this ability to live within my joy instead of constantly chasing it and always falling short.

Thank you, Lord, for this amazing day.

Halloween Treats

 

Did you know that holidays really aren’t for kids? I mean, why should all the fun be had by munchkins? Why not we adults who are gleefully entering our second childhoods? I have decided to go bold whenever I can. I am determined not to be a frump or a bump on a log. I will do all those things I did not do in my earlier years. And why not?

We went to a Halloween Bingo party at Spirit Mountain. It was fun, but I was disappointed that more people didn’t dress up. I was a very lucky mama, winning three times out of nineteen games. Even though I totally vamped out for my red riding hood costume, I didn’t win any costume prizes. That’s okay because I had a blast anyway.

My darling hubby did win most creative, though. He was adorable, all hunched over and handing out candy eyeballs from his monk’s money bag.

It was rather difficult for him to drive with that huge hump on his back, though, and check out the size of that spider.

 

We had a blast! Maybe that’s why I slept most of the next day. Just putting on my costume was a workout. Yikes. But as I said, we had a great time.

And I just gotta be me!

How Low Can You Go?

 

Showers are a modern marvel. It is said that the first private man-made showers in use in the United States were at the Hearst Castle. It is rumored that when Mr. Hearst’s guests were faced with needing to freshen up and found this oddity instead of the normal bathtub in the guest rooms, they tried to plug the drains so as to make the shallow drain pan of the shower into a tub. How bizarre, considering that the shower is one of today’s necessities of life.

Even more bizarre is all the different forms this modern marvel comes in today in our campgrounds and other public facilities. There are pay showers, as if manipulating a coin into a tiny slot with soapy fingers and shampoo in your eyes was suppose to be easy. There are showers with preset temperatures, where one will scald you and the next will freeze you. And there are some with controls even a rocket scientist would be hard pressed to figure out.

The campground we just left, Beverly Beach, had showers which seemed only appropriate for children or anorexic midgets. Please forgive me if you fall into the second category. I mean no disrespect by the reference. I, myself, am a distant, blonder cousin of the Amazon women (or so it seems). I am large and have incredibly long legs for my 5’ 9” frame. The shower heads in the Beverly Beach showers hit the middle of my back. In order to wash my hair, I had to limbo Louie, while at the same time trying not to touch the tile walls which where incredibly close together. And forget trying to dry off within the tiny designated “dry” area within the shower stall. I finally had to give up and forego any shyness and my fear of being nude in public, leaving those claustrophobic confines for the larger community area. Luckily, every time I went to shower, I had great timing, as I had the four-stall room to myself.

Behold, however, the glory of the Devil’s Lake State Park shower stalls. Each shower on B loop has its own room. Each shower head is at a  more appropriate level for adults. I could wash my hair without stooping, craning, or squatting. And each tiled shower stall is large enough that I was even able to safely bend over to shave my legs, something I was definitely unable to do at Beverly Beach in the H loop showers. Though I later found out that one loop over, they had “good” showers.

My long legs are great for many things, such as taking long strides and covering more distance in a shorter time. My height has been a benefit most of my life, being able to reach top shelves from an early age. I was even taller than many of the boys in my sixth grade class. In high school, they caught up with me, though.

Even though Ken is about an inch taller than I, I have longer legs. He often complains when he has to drive after me because the seat will be all the way back, and he has to readjust it.

The other day I drove the Raven for the first time. It was technically not much of a test on my part, as I only went 5 mph, with little to no obstacles or traffic, and my destination was maybe half a mile through the campground to the dump station and back to our site (no sewer hookups in most of Beverly Beach State Park). Ken backed it in. I had barely mastered backing our king cab Chevy truck before we sold it, so there’s no way I am ready to try backing this beast, especially without a rearview mirror or backup camera (which is on our wish list).

With the driver’s seat as far back as it will go, I am still way too close to the pedals. Now I know why Ken sits on two pillows when driving (it raises him sufficiently to get him far enough away from the pedals, since our seats do not adjust up and down). My calf and foot were cramping even from my tiny little jaunt. I cannot imagine driving a couple hundred miles without taking steps to fix this issue. We may have to put a new driver’s seat on our wish list as well.

So, limbo Louie in the shower and pillows under my bum to drive. Height does have some disadvantages. At least I am not as tall as my son, who, when standing upright, grazes his spiky hair on the ceiling. At 6’5”, his legs are easily 3 or 4 inches longer than  mine. Can you imagine him trying to drive our chariot?

Bad Luck Opens New Doors For Weary Travellers

When God closes a door, He opens a window.
Or in this case, when happenstance or the bad economy force our favorite restaurant to close, we were forced to find a new chowder eatery. And find one we did. I don’t know why we have never eaten at the Sea Hag before. It has been on the Depot Bay waterfront for years, yet we have always sped past on our way to Newport, in search of the best chowder around, to be found only at the Whale’s Tale. Mo’s doesn’t hold a candle to what the Whale’s Tale used to make.
Sadly, we may never taste their chowder ever again.
Happily, though, we found the Sea Hag. I am always wary of trying chowder at new places, since I never know for sure whether they have spiked it with bacon, as many places do. If that bacon were to have nitrates, as most does, I would be rewarded with a doozy of a migraine. Do you serve aspirin with that chowder? Plus, now I have the whole gluten avoidance issue to deal with, and it is usually thickened with roux (made from flour and fat). So, unfortunately, we were not searching for chowder for me, but for my sweetie.
Besides, when I perused the menu, the bouillabaisse nearly  jumped off the page at me. It sounded so good, I decided I would take the plunge into eating soup with my fingers in public.
Talk about overcoming your fears. It took me a very long time to eat any seafood “finger food” other than deep fried prawns when in front of others. Isn’t it funny, all our worries and fears that involve what others may or may not think about us?
My first step toward seafood freedom was actually on our honeymoon, though I do not recommend indulging in all-you-can-eat crab right before boarding a plane to go home. A stomach full of Dungeness and a gut full of anxiety do not mix. Pepto, please carry me home.

This was a whole new issue, however, because it involved broth, not simply cracking dry crab legs. I actually had to fish them out of the stew before any cracking could take place. Doesn’t it look like there’s a crab trying to escape my bowl?
It was well worth every drip of broth that ran down my wrists. I have never tasted such a delightfully perfect bouillabaisse. If that guy across the room really wants to gawk at me while I tuck my napkin into my collar and lick that delectable broth from my fingertips, that’s his business. I don’t care anymore.
I was there for the good food and the only man I cared about was Ken, who was drooling as he eyed my bowl, wishing he had ordered the bouillabaisse instead of the oyster stew.
Sorry baby, this bowl’s all mine.

Lemons For Lemonade

This is in honor of Invisible Illness Week. Nearly half of us are affected by an invisible illness, and being invisible, most are unaware of our struggles. I had debated whether or not my blog was worthy of Invisible Illness Week, but then I thought, what better way to boost the morale of other chronically ill people than to show how I am living my life despite my illness.

I was watching the opening ceremony for this weekend’s NASCAR race. The Star Spangled Banner played, and I could only think of this one line: “Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.” How powerful, that one line in a poem from so long ago. Our flag still flies, no matter how many battles she has been through.

How often do we too easily give up, allowing our flags to fall? How often do we let life get the better of us? How often are we held hostage by the things we complain about, yet do nothing to change? We complain about the high cost of groceries, yet we don’t clip coupons and we certainly don’t plant a single tomato plant in our back yard, in an attempt to fend off those high costs. We complain about our houses being cluttered, yet we don’t lift a finger to rid ourselves of that unnecessary junk. We know we wronged a friend, no matter how inadvertently, but we don’t humble ourselves to mend that much needed relationship. Instead we tell ourselves that they should make the first move.

Forgiveness is a mighty powerful notion. Responsibility is another.

More personally, how often do we let our aches and pains keep us from what we enjoy? There are levels of pain, just as there are variations in the colors of the rainbow. When we are chronically ill, each day proves to be colorful, yet we must carry on. We must take charge of our lives and live each day to its fullest despite the pain. Each day with less pain is incredibly valuable. Notice that I did not say, “with no pain.”

For now, I can only manage to watch NASCAR from my recliner. The thrill of the race pounding within my veins. I’ve been known to be somewhat of a daredevil, back in the day. I fondly remember the days before becoming so ill when, late at night, I raced my Grand Prix down 205, just for the heck of it. My top of the line stereo system fascinated me, as the faster I sped, the louder it got. It is a wonder I never got caught, with my ‘80s rock blasting from my open windows and my blonde hair wildly flying. I miss those days, and I mourn the loss of my Grand Prix. It had to be sacrificed for my medical expenses, like so many of my other favorite possessions.

But it is a new day, even if I have the same old issues with pain and fatigue. My flag still flies.

There is a saying, if given lemons, make lemonade. I could mourn all my losses. My Pontiac. My home of 13 years. My sense of freedom granted me by having my own paycheck. My beautiful bedroom set, with the armoire which I coveted for years before acquiring. At least I can visit it, since I sold it to a friend. All the junk the materialistic me collected over the years. My truck, which is the next thing to go on the auction block. I could mourn all my losses, but in the long run, all these possessions mean nothing. Ten years from now, I may not even remember most of them, though my Pontiac still stings when I think of her.

Releasing all these things into the wind allows me to step forward into a life more fitting of my dreams. We cannot travel if overly encumbered. The house, though it broke my heart, I know we could not have maintained it during our travels, even if I didn’t have outrageous medical bills to contend with. We would have had to sell it one way or another. And we have eased ourselves into the sale of our very dependable truck. If we need one in the future, we can rent. Isn’t that why there’s a U-Haul industry?

So, if I can live without all these possessions, the things I just had to have at the time, is there not a way to live with my illness, and still accomplish my goals? Yes, with a shift in perception.

Those who do not suffer pain daily assume we do not have pain when they see us determinedly working towards our dreams and goals. We have a secret, and maybe that is part of the reason we become invisible. We learn to work through our pain. We learn to work through our fatigue. We learn to live despite our ailments, and we put on a good face. We are no different, really, than the marathon runner, who pushes through her pain to finish the race. We just have to push through more often than not.

I no longer envy the marathon runner. I was just not meant to be her, though I used to dream of running as I once had in my teens. I may be slow and no longer able to run, but God will still get me where I am going, one step at a time.

I no longer envy the mountain climber. Denali is just as beautiful to look upon as from. Just to stand in her glorious shadow, I know I will still feel the presence of God, as if I were at the summit. Besides, life is best lived in the valleys. That’s where Jesus walks with us. That is where Jesus carries us after we fall. We learn the lessons in life by getting to the summit (or our goal), rather than from the summit itself. Would you feel the same, having been dropped onto the summit by helicopter, as you would from climbing there yourself?

My adventuresome spirit will still be satisfied despite having Lyme disease. I can enjoy life from the passenger seat of the Raven, allowing my hubby the thrill of determining our course and speed. How I will get my necessary medical treatments while on the road has yet to be determined, but as with all other challenges, I know we will figure this one out, too.

My life may be different than what I had envisioned as a small child, dreaming of being a doctor or a teacher or a dancer. I could never make up my mind, anyway. But my life is mine. It is the only one I have. There must be a reason God gave me these challenges, and therefore, I must do the most I can with what I have been given.

Looking at the lemons, I have lost more than many could bear. Yet as I taste the lemonade, it is wonderfully sweet. I have a husband and a son who are my knights in shining armor when I need them. I have three Pugs and a cat who give me my daily dose of belly laughs and snuggles. I have the freedom to travel, given to me because of my illness rather than in spite of my illness. I have a circle of friends who are willing to rally around me even when I am at my worst. And I have all of you, and because of you, I know I am not alone in my hopes, dreams, and difficulties.

My flag still flies, though a little tattered from many battles. Does yours?

Our grandson with Tinker Belle, Suzie, and Max

Our grandson serenading Julius