Gratitude - Dec 30th

Today I'm grateful for my chickens.  How many mornings I would have stayed in bed.  Especially during the dark days of December when everyone is on holiday from their regular work, sleeping until all hours of the morning.  Not me though,  I must get up before the sun to let those chickens out.  It could easily be argued that an electric door on a timer would be great.  Yet I'm grateful for that moment I get when I open the door and watch them as they race out to be the first in the new day.  The first to the feeding dish.  The first to get water.  To get first dibbs on the nesting boxes.  Pushing past each other and cutting each other off.  Sometimes even pecking sharply on another hen.  The squawks and antics, makes me smile.  I take care of their simple needs and it only takes a few minutes.  I feel their gratitude and I'm ready to start my day.  Now most days I get up much earlier than they do so in the late spring when the days are long and the sun rises early I'll be ready for them.  I will already be awake, writing at my desk.  The chickens give my days a little bit more meaning and I'm grateful for that.

Gratitude, Dec 29th

Today I'm writing about how grateful I am for my daughters.
My daughters teach me about love.  I didn't really know love until I experienced it from my daughters.  Sharing their lives with me, the moments, the pains, the triumphs, both big and small.  Phone calls, texts and kind words.  Pictures.  Laughter and tears.  Their love pulls me to heights I had not known.  I have never loved anyone the way my daughters love me.  When I think about my daughters my heart is filled with gratitude.

Gratitude, Dec 28th

I am grateful for my husband.  Not in a general overall kind of blanket way.  I am grateful for a specific characteristic.  It's not as though he were perfect, because he is not.  Not that he is always sweet and nice because he is not always that either.  It is because our life is boring.  Exactly.  I'm grateful because my husband has brought a type of sameness to my days.  Every day, every week, every month, predictable,  peaceful, uneventful, void of drama.  There is plenty to do, don't misunderstand this.  It's the kind of ordinary, mundane, taking care of each other kind of activity.  I thoroughly resisted this kind of life at first and I gave him lots of grief.  I was used to troubles, upheaval and distress.  When I met him I was being treated for severe anxiety and was in a serious state of physical dysfunction.  Not just myself, but all of us.  At first we brought our dysfunction into his world and he responded with dysfunction.  Like I said, he isn't perfect.  Yet gradually, as the years rolled by, our lives have settled into a routine.  I have only to decide how to use my time wisely and our little bit of money.  Though he takes care of spending the latter, for the most part.  As a result I have found healing and courage.  Boredom is imperative to creativity.  I began to fill my days within the confines of my life.  As I expand, I do so from within the boundaries of my small plot.  I know when to get up and when to go to bed.  When to prepare meals and wash laundry.  Which days to buy food and when to go to Church.  Because of this I can plan my writing and teaching to give me time for everything.  I can choose to reject that which weakens me and embrace that which strengthens.  The peacefulness of my days is inspiring.  I can make mistakes and correct them.  I can finally find out who I am and what I want to do.  It having nothing to do with money.  My husband gives everything everyday but expects nothing.  He leaves me free to choose and I choose to give everything to this life, to this peace.  This is my gratitude for my husband, this mysterious man that I live with.

Inconsistent

I'm terribly inconsistent.
Consistently inconsistent.
But my inconsistencies are consistent.
It may be an inconsistent trend,
or is it trendy inconsistency?
I have been inconsistent my whole life.
The same inconsistencies I had when I was younger
I have today.
Sounds consistent.

Gratitude Journal - Day 1

I've heard a lot about Gratitude Journals but never really bought into it.  I suppose you could say that I was resisting it.  I thought I was thankful and that's the same thing, right?  I must be curios about it though since I was paying attention to other peoples gratitudes.  Then one day, just before Christmas, I saw a journal in a store.  It is black, faux leather and college ruled.  I held it in my hands and it fit.  A Gratitude Journal came to mind and I held it reverently.  On the way home I decided to wait until January the first to begin and I would try to write in it every day.  My morning pages told about my journal and I explained everything in there.  Morning pages is where you write 500 or more words as early as possible in the mornings.  I tell things in there which are top on my mind and I explore ideas.  Morning pages is one of the best things to happen to me in a long while.  I wrote about gratitude and it being specific and what I hoped to learn from it.  I picked up the black journal and held it lovingly.  Two days after Christmas it rained torrents.   Water filled and overflowed every spot it could.  I stepped through the farm gate to start my chores and my foot sunk into a water-filled hole.  I looked proudly at my boots and took a picture.

December 27, 2015
I wasn't going to write in my journal yet but I will have to say that I'm grateful for my boots and today I am beginning my Gratitude Journal.

My boots are new boots and they kept the water out.  There was a lot of mud and other dirt in the water because it is a barn yard.  My old boots would not have kept the water out.  They had cracks in them.  We looked a long time for these boots because it is hard to find good sturdy boots in my size.  My new boots are just right and are comfortable and dry on the inside.

I Fell

I’ve finished my chores and now have other safer chores to do. I fell. I misjudged the distance I needed to swing my leg over the fence and got my foot all tangled up in it. The fall was inevitable so I made a quick assessment and decided to throw myself over the fence out of the duck pen. Falling into the duck pen would be like falling into a pig pen. I landed on my hip and thumb. My thumb still hurts but my hip is ok. I landed in such a heap with my foot all twisted up in the fence. Immediately I could feel the wet mud on my skin.  I hate falling in mud.  Regular mud is not as bad though as duck pen mud. I couldn’t straighten my foot without getting up and falling back into the duck pen. Fortunately I didn’t land on my butt this time but managed to stay up on the one free foot so that I could untangle myself. Every year I have an allotment of falls. This is the first one for this winter. I haven’t kept track of the yearly number so I don’t know how many I have left. I try to be careful yet somehow I end up falling. I try to remember to walk carefully on the deck, in the wet or icy weather, to step carefully over the fences and to look where I’m going. I’m thankful that I haven’t broken anything. Not even the fence. It’s one of those portable nylon electric fences that you can plug in if you want to. I know you are trying to picture me all tangled up in the fence, laying in the mud. I will have to sketch that out because it always happens when I’m alone out there with no one to take a picture. A sketch will be much more fun anyway.

A List

Today I have things to do.
God is good.
I do have things to do.
I have Christmas cookies to frost;
another batch of cookies to mix up;
gingerbread, for the gingerbread house/church;
a load of laundry to wash;
slice the bread and freeze it;
vacuum the downstairs;
fold the towels and wash cloths that are in the dryer;
sweep the back porch;
make the beds;
ironing;
library;
grocery store;
walk;
mail the Christmas cards;
knit snowmen for the grand kids.  

Having a list of things to do means that you have a life.
It means that you have something.
What ever your list is, you have it because you are meant to live this day.
You are caring for yourself, you may have someone or a few someones to care for.
You may have somewhere to go,
people to see,
things to do.
You are alive and you have a job, or many jobs.
Life is good.
God is good.
You are still here and you have a list of things to do.
I am still here,
and I have things to do.
God is good.

Speak

Speak

The road is long

When you are in it.

Speak faith.

The day is dark

When you begin it

Speak courage

The hills are high

When you stare up at them

Speak hope

The valleys low

When you are beginning

Speak gently

The ground is hard

When you have fallen

Speak healing

The night is noisy

When you can’t sleep

Speak peace

Speak love

The good that you seek is in you.

Courage and faith

Hope and healing

Peace and love

Are in you

Speak grace 

NaNo check calendar

Download this jpeg and print it out to help you track your daily progress.
This is an update of Dave Sean's design.  DaveSean.com It was the most helpful printout I found.  This update is my own creation based on Dave's 2013 design.

Our Camping Trip

It’s a new day, a Thursday and we slept in our own beds last night and ate our evening meal in the living room watching a movie together. It was late when we finally went to bed. I didn’t clean the dishes but left them on the counter. There weren’t many, it was one of those kind of meals. We were both exhausted from a lot of extra work. Wednesday morning I got up at my usual time and sat at my keyboard, after a time of prayer and typed my morning pages out. Then I worked on my book for my usual amount of time and dealt with messages on my computer. Then I went to let the chickens out. I did my yoga and walked, put laundry in the washer and began to gather all the items we would need for a camping trip because yesterday was to be our camping trip. Our last one for the year. I had made a list and was going down the list crossing things off. I watered the herb planters on the deck and hung the clothes out to dry. It was a warm sunny day with a little breeze. Perfect for the plans. When all was ready I took a shower and Mark packed it all into the truck along with an adequate supply of firewood. We pulled out and headed for the lake. On the way we stopped at the gas station and the grocery store for only a few needed things. The drive was beautiful. We picked our favorite spot, making sure that it was not reserved. We made coffee and set up our table and Mark made a fire and we set up the tent. It was the first time we had a separate air mattress for Chloe. Shelby wanted to start sleeping in the tent right away. She loves camping and sleeping in the tent. We had everything pretty much set up and I was getting ready to make up the beds when I noticed a camper passing us for the second time. He had stopped the first time but had pulled away and now he was back, stopping again. They were in this big white truck with a huge camping trailer attached to it. They looked like serious people. Youngish. I thought, “This is not good.” “I think they want our spot” I said to Mark. Sure enough the guy got out of the big white truck and was walking over to us, he had a paper in his hand. I got out of the tent and stood there while Mark talked to the dude. The dude says he reserved this spot and he’s sorry there is no sticker on the pole but he needs to get set up and this is his spot. He showed Mark the paper and waved it around. We look around and wonder if he will think of a way we could carry on with what we are doing and not have to tear up our camp so that they could have their camp. I asked if they could camp in the next spot for the night. He said it was a lot of work to move that huge camper. We knew what was going to happen. Mark said he’s not going to set the tent up again. I said we already burned some of our wood. But we knew. The dude got back in his truck and they sat in it waiting. Well it takes time to break camp even if you haven’t actually camped in it yet. Well Chloe did have a sandwich and a glass of milk, if that counts as camping. We set about tearing down our campsite which we had taken all day getting ready for. We worked hard even though we were ready to sit and enjoy the campfire. We put everything back into the truck. Every piece of wood except the burned ones and we came home. On the way home it was quiet. I tried to find the silver lining. I said that I didn’t know exactly what it was but it’s there. You just have to look for it. Chloe said she felt like crying but she wasn’t because, lucky for us, she isn’t a crybaby. Dad said he was beyond a little disturbed by it. So we sat there each dealing with our disappointment differently. I said that maybe something was going to happen at the camp grounds that God didn’t want us there for it. I also noted that we had managed to set up camp and get through the whole thing without upsetting each other and that was an A+ I would say. Perhaps the whole thing was a big fat test. We also got an A+ for handling the whole exhausting disappointment with dignity. At home we got everything put away and had hamburgers instead of hot dogs. We watched Cats & Dogs. It’s a movie. But while we were getting ready to eat my son called. I love hearing his voice. He needed to let some steam off because his day had been very difficult and when he is having trouble, no one better and more comforting to talk to than mamma. I’m so glad I was here for him and that I didn’t miss his voice and that he didn’t get an answering machine on his very bad day. Perhaps God knew that I needed to be here for him and was caring for my son by letting us get kicked off our campsite. So there really is a silver lining although I’m not really broadcasting it around here because it was a lot of work yesterday.

The Pendulum Swing

In one day the pendulum swings.

It swings far and wide. 

It has a long arm and takes all day

but far and wide it swings.

As happy encouraged and inspired I am in the morning

so opposite by night.

My fingers race eagerly to wake from sleep

and pound out the awesome words.

But by night I am ready to burn the lot

and hibernate in the woods.

How is it so wide and precise an arc

of freedom to shame in a day.

Depending how far and how true the swing

the next day must swing again.

I fear the shame and loathing.

I fear the embarrassment.

So dark is the night I’d reject the light

and bury my gift in the morn.

Yet a buried gift gives one no rest

and the gift cries out in pain. 

I’ll welcome the swing of the pendulum

to cherish my gift in the morn.

This poem describes my fate.

The fate of one with a gift.

It is the loathing which must go.

Must go on and on.

The loathing which strengthens resolve

and gives one a bone in the back.

This dark side of the pendulum

is what writers don't lack.

One continues in the face of fear and circumstance.

Continues to carry the task

of writing the truth in what ever form

against whatever tide.

So here I am in the morning

writing poetry at my desk.

I don’t know what will happen

to all these words I write.

I don’t know where they will end up

and which weary soul ignite.

I only must write them down

like a crazy worn out clown

and use the arc of the morning 

before the arm swings back

down and rises again in horrible mockery 

to show me what I lack.

2015 © Hanna Elizabeth Williams McCown

Gardening with Chloe

Gardening with Chloe is a wonderful experience. She works hard and we talk about all sorts of things. She is telling me about weeding and how it is a lot like life. How we need to always pull up our weeds and get them out. She breaks suddenly into another personality and stands up. She is tired of the row she is weeding in and asks in a southern drawl. "Ma’am, do you have a job for me to do?"  We talk about which weeds might be more fun for her to pull right now and she barters for the job. I tell her I can’t pay her in money, but I’ll let her eat at my house for as long as she wants. She accepts the deal. Then she sets in again weeding a spot closer to me.

I tell her about an amazing lady who came and helped me in the garden this morning and how she was really good at getting weeds. I tell her how nice it was to have the lady’s company and what a great gardening companion she was. She wants to know more about the lady. She asks me what her name is. I tell her it is Chloe. Her voice becomes bolder and more confident in the conversation and she really wants to meet this wonderful Chloe lady. I look over at her and she is beaming with pride.

On The Lake

On the Lake

That first summer,

I sat in the boat looking over the water,

out towards the shoreline,

over the space between.

I was numb, almost trance-like.

The moments blended together

as the fish were reeled in.

The pain congealed over the water

in all the colors of the rainbow

between the sky and the shimmering lake.

It was a time away

from all that was ordinary.

A time to let my eyes wander

and feast on natures bounty

lining every shore.

As I gazed into the colors of the rainbow

I saw your spirit floating

kissing the water

gently caressing with your hands

moving gracefully around.

I basked in the peace,

the beauty, the quiet, the connection.

All that was awkward,

unfitting, dark,

melted away

on the lake.

by Hanna McCown 5/5/15
also on SheWrites.

A Song of Pain and Triumph

Lamentations 3:52-58

52. My enemies without cause

Hunted me down like a bird

I’m reading this passage and I’m thinking, “Wow, I’ve been there, and not that long ago.” I think we read this stuff and think about the enemies as being people. But they aren’t always people.

I can’t think what I did wrong but everything seems to be falling apart. Nothing is working out. One thing after another. One child, moving away. Another, floundering far away. Another, dealing with every kind of evil and yet another lies in a hospital fighting for her life. My little one, still needing me very much and at a tender age delicate, with teeth decaying as they emerge. My life, an exhausting whirlwind. My husband works and works and works. He doesn’t look at me anymore. I have more troubles than time. I drive here and I drive there. I drive and drive and drive. I drive to visit grandchildren living in rubble and filth. I drive to visit a child in need of uplifting. I drive to sit hours beside one so young and so afraid. To sit and hold her hand through the night. I try to find something interesting to draw me away from my troubles. I try one thing and another but nothing helps. Troubles surround me.

53. They silenced my life in the pit

And threw stones at me.

I felt the judgments of all the years drowning my dignity, my rights. I felt those who could be comfort, turn their heads away. I felt the struggle of others, not enemies, but others connected to my troubles, fighting against their own tides. Pushing against me as they struggle to understand the long terrifying battle of death by disease. Everyone struggling to hold up their heads. To believe in life and healing. To believe a lie that isn’t happening. Everyone stumbling over themselves on top of me pressing me lower and lower. Grinding me into oblivion. Yet I remembered one thing. “Don’t leave me Momma, stay with me to the end, you promise.” I remember these words. This plea and I stay. I stay to the end. I stay.

54. The waters flowed over my head;

I said, “I am cut off!”

My little one and my husband look at me in my pit, as water covers my head. They have fear and pity and confusion in their gaze. I sink lower and lower. There is a gulf between us. They try to be understanding but they are grieving too. The children have left and gone to their own worlds again and I am left alone in the pit. I try to talk but the words mix up. I try to write but it hurts too much. I try to enjoy life but I’m in a warp and it twists my view and my grasp. I have become twisted, angry, bitter, scorned, lonely, useless, base.

55. I called on Your name, O Lord,

From the lowest pit

So I called Your name, Lord. I called Your name. Others gave me other names and places and groups to reach out to. Classes and medicines, activities. But I called Your name and only Your name. I called on Your name day and night from the bottom of the pit I was drowning in.

56. You have heard my voice:

“Do not hide Your ear

From my sighing, from my cry for help.”

And you heard me. You heard everything. You knew I would survive and be ok. You knew. But you still listened to me. You heard my complaints and my anger and my hatred. You listened to my frustrations and confusion. You heard my every whisper and every mournful cry. It was as one long groan towards you. My groans were twisted. My pleas for help distorted. My language pitiful, despicable. I bossed you and begged you and pleaded you and charged you. I reminded you that you used to let me hear the angels sing and now I hear devils moan.

57. You drew near on the day I called on You,

And said, “Do not fear!”

You held me and rocked me and comforted me. “There, there,” you said gently, softly, “you will be all right.” You reached your hand to me and came down into the pit and wept with me. You lay on my bed and held my head as I cried until no more tears would come. You comforted me. You stayed with me. You walked for me and stood for me and held me up when I could no longer stand. You whispered in my ear that courage would come again.

58. O Lord, You have pleaded the case for my soul;

You have redeemed my life.

I didn’t drown. I didn’t stay in the pit. You took my life to the Father and my soul is restored.

Psalms 23:3 He restores my soul;

He leads me in the paths of righteousness

For His name’s sake.

You set me in a church among people who are just like you, with whom I worship you. You rescue the little ones and place them in the church and give them meaning. Each one is baptized and dedicated. They love your house.

Psalm 111:1 Praise the Lord!

I will praise the Lord with my whole heart,

In the assembly of the upright and in the congregation.

The China Doll Blessing

As I drove down the road, the puzzled feeling remained. I was mentally going over the math. Over and over again. Always the same answer. I knew I would have to go back. I didn’t want to. We were finally on our way home. I was tired. The children were tired. You know what happens to tired children. I don’t really have to explain that here do I? But I knew them well. Hadn’t I been their closest companion since birth. They would realize that this was important. Sure they would. I explained that something wasn’t right and that we need to go back. I explained that we weren’t charged the whole sum for the dolls. I turned the car around. The man in Krogers at the register asked me to wait a minute. It was actually his fault. He was embarrassed. Soon the manager was standing before me. Tall, very tall, looking down his thin face at me. Me, disheveled and obviously poor. I was intimidated immediately. I handed him the receipt. He looked at it. I showed him the doll on the list. I told him that I want to be charged for three dolls, that I had bought three dolls. He assured me that he knew I had three dolls because he had been watching me. He had probably seen me looking at those dolls every time I came in with my children to buy groceries with our paper government money. He had probably thought he better watch that lady. Imagine that. A small frame like myself, barely scraping 125 lbs trying to hide three 18 inch china dolls in my jacket. He better watch me. I was alarmed at his statement. But I wasn’t offended by his watchful eye, I felt safe under his eye. That was my true feeling when he used that watching word with me. How can anything go wrong with a poor tiny lady of many children while under the watchful eye of a very tall and somber store manager. He still intimidated me though. I wanted to cry. I was exhausted from this day and it would have been so much easier to just go home and count my blessings. Accepting as a gift the extra dolls. Three for the price of one. Why hadn’t I just done that? But these were not my thoughts, these were the words of the man staring down at me and making me want to burst into tears. The man who had been watching me.

“God is watching me too.” I ventured. “And someday He will ask me about this, and I so need His blessing. I saved for these dolls and I want to pay for them because I don’t want to give something for Christmas which isn’t mine to give. Please, can I pay for them?” He looked down at me even more seriously than before. “I wish more people were like you.” He said. Meaning that he appreciated my wanting to pay for the dolls. “I will let you pay for them.” He beckoned me to a register which was not in use and took my money.

I left the store with less money and a happy heart. I’ve always been proud of that decision. The decision I made that day to turn around and face the manager and boast about my God and how I need Him to bless me.

I’ve made many decisions like this one. Decisions which cost me something but gained me blessings. Blessings don’t always look like dollars and cents. Sometimes blessings are no more than the rich feeling one has on the inside of not being a slave to money. The wonder in your heart when each of your children have a present under the Christmas tree. And you knowing how much it cost you to put that present there. And that feeling you have knowing that it was worth it, every bit of it.

Debbie with her China Doll set, Christmas morning.

The first piece of armor the writer of Ephesians lists in chapter 6 is to have the belt of truth and the second is the breastplate of righteousness.