tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34453698701150606182024-03-13T09:25:14.747-07:00Cindy L Freeman's BlogCindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.comBlogger171125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-16215562559504679882022-05-15T08:18:00.003-07:002022-10-29T08:44:36.979-07:00The Beauty of Language<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Ro36w8zD8zRe50WIUVzJ2aMdlXoOvwf1MpPXNAROwMVBHXOWWSAInfyrs2EHaF0mA_XBY2AuUeGAjM1jmEQhhVXRrSB1vFaHnUyD-1xdy5e5tIKvkjTEyB-Rax7VPicYOfYJdGm5-uRBOer2msQV4SlkGAXTIqLREaBTo-Kgdjhdt7rxSbgphIzc/s5466/sixteen-miles-out-0I75875sRVU-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5466" data-original-width="4373" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Ro36w8zD8zRe50WIUVzJ2aMdlXoOvwf1MpPXNAROwMVBHXOWWSAInfyrs2EHaF0mA_XBY2AuUeGAjM1jmEQhhVXRrSB1vFaHnUyD-1xdy5e5tIKvkjTEyB-Rax7VPicYOfYJdGm5-uRBOer2msQV4SlkGAXTIqLREaBTo-Kgdjhdt7rxSbgphIzc/w160-h200/sixteen-miles-out-0I75875sRVU-unsplash.jpg" width="160" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">I have a passion for language. The more I write, the more I recognize the power of language and the beauty of certain words. Think of the word edification. Say it aloud a few times. Stretch it out. Then try accenting each syllable in turn. </span><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-377e6203-7fff-8ad7-6317-67e8ec492099"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now consider the definition of edification: enlightenment, building up, teaching, nurture. It’s no accident that this word sounds beautiful since its meaning is significant. I remember reading it in the New Testament. In I Corinthians 14, Paul uses edification to compare the gift of speaking in tongues with the gift of revelation or teaching (imparting knowledge). He says that speaking in tongues edifies or enlightens the speaker rather than the listener since the language is unintelligible to others. He instructs the new followers of Christ in Corinth to speak plainly for the edification of others. In verse 12, he says, “...since you are zealous of spiritual gifts, seek to abound for the edification of the church.” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wanted to learn more about the word, so I researched it. Edification comes from the Latin root </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">aedificare</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, meaning “to instruct or improve spiritually.” Its basis is </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">aedes</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, which means “temple” or “edifice.” I wondered if the Hebrew word used by Paul had the same meaning. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #575757; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">According to encyclopedia.com, the New Testament term for "building up" the Church, "edification," has roots in the Old Testament concept of building the temple. Jesus used it to speak of building the new people of God (followers of Christ), and St. Paul used it to emphasize the spiritual formation of the Christian community. According to Paul, each of us is responsible for edifying [enlightening, illuminating, building up] our community of believers. What a beautiful concept! What a powerful word! I wonder what would happen if we extended the gift of edification to everyone.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #575757; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #575757; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Have you noticed any particular words that trip off the tongue beautifully or carry significant meaning for you? Please post a comment. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #575757; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #575757;">Visit my author's website: https://www.cindylfreeman.com/ </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #575757;"><br /></span></div><span style="color: #575757;"><br /><br /></span></span><p></p><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #575757; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-82167710863391364132022-05-06T08:26:00.001-07:002023-08-06T10:26:17.759-07:00If Buildings Could Talk<p><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgVWmAQ-SRwXtJ4uxTumUhs5iyWvLT_cHWdi3cEUFq7s70E0wlAVtxIRCoAX5aTopMSJ1k04vy2mVcv_IIhGeRuyWLX5IJT02jsiOAQ4gSzEcyx_KTVXhdqHm2mIyPTNDMsFxPYGhXVxc1v2sAqeKVrk_ZTN4N7YSj0yfTHZQfNvWHAciPtJ-b0w0Db" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="332" data-original-width="500" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgVWmAQ-SRwXtJ4uxTumUhs5iyWvLT_cHWdi3cEUFq7s70E0wlAVtxIRCoAX5aTopMSJ1k04vy2mVcv_IIhGeRuyWLX5IJT02jsiOAQ4gSzEcyx_KTVXhdqHm2mIyPTNDMsFxPYGhXVxc1v2sAqeKVrk_ZTN4N7YSj0yfTHZQfNvWHAciPtJ-b0w0Db=w200-h133" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />Old buildings have always captivated me. During my first year of marriage, I took photographs of old buildings and nothing else. My new husband had bought our first Ricoh camera, and I would snap photos through the car window wherever we traveled.</span><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-65f81f3b-7fff-876c-a598-d47e9ac9ac27"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Why are you always wasting film on those dilapidated structures?” my husband would ask. Yes, film! We've been married a long time. I couldn’t explain my obsession with ancient edifices in a way that justified the expense to him, but it made perfect sense to me.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Long ago–by American standards, not European standards–someone in another lifetime employed the expense, effort, and expertise to erect a house, barn, store, shed, church, or service station. Each structure represents history and lives lived. If it could talk, just imagine the stories it would tell, stories of birth, death, and everything in between. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As I study my snapshots (now taken with a cell phone), I am intrigued by tales I can only imagine. I want to ponder the reason for each building’s construction, who lived or worked there, and why they abandoned it. Does its history include romance, friendship, and family? Was it once cared for with paint, regular maintenance, and necessary repairs? Did it provide ample shelter or livelihood for someone? Could it have housed more than one set of occupants or generations? Who were they? How did they look? How did they dress? How did they speak, think, and act? </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">To me, buildings possess character and personality. Like older people, geriatric buildings are worth getting to know because they have stories to tell. Sitting with them is like reading a book set in another time and place. It opens new vistas and expands one’s understanding of humanity. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I spot an old abandoned building, my imagination soars as my mind’s eye recreates possible plots, characters, scenarios, and even motivations associated with its history. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Why do I care? It must be the writer in me. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Please visit my author's website: HTTP://www.cindylfreeman.com</span></p><div><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-3276698391656434782022-02-14T07:49:00.003-08:002022-02-14T07:50:20.381-08:00February Trick<p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglZ9rwyWmR6tY-CON1iSRx5JXzg6dAoCxvghA9rhHtcVc61EHChmZsff5nj7alOM0YjVq8mmylFK5R7ZN5DkWYDKyOPxRIYhYyrsYROPvGyh3kWtB6jVg43zs_a33EQ8fJMnfkaovUUud8CF8gZALCvcEjlRA5YMAb1_1jIobZXKge6SYSYPY_IStf=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglZ9rwyWmR6tY-CON1iSRx5JXzg6dAoCxvghA9rhHtcVc61EHChmZsff5nj7alOM0YjVq8mmylFK5R7ZN5DkWYDKyOPxRIYhYyrsYROPvGyh3kWtB6jVg43zs_a33EQ8fJMnfkaovUUud8CF8gZALCvcEjlRA5YMAb1_1jIobZXKge6SYSYPY_IStf=w168-h207" width="168" /></a></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">February Trick</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Daffodil is fooled into thinking it is spring.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Donning a yellow sundress, she opens her mouth to sing.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Sunshine plays a trick on her, expelling winter gloom,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">dancing upon her budded face and coaxing her to bloom.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yesterday was cold; the temperature dipped low;</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">quite normal for the month, we even saw some snow. </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Today, the sun shines brightly. The thermometer climbs to sixty.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Daffodil says, "Look at me! Aren't I just nifty?"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br style="color: black; font-size: medium;" /></div></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now her leaves pop forth, reaching toward the sun.</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She lets the warmth deceive her, "There's lots of time for fun.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"I'll come out to play and revel in the breezing.</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Uh-oh! I took a chance, but now the air is freezing."<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">What to do? Stay or go? Too late to reconsider.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"I wish I’d brought a coat with me to guard against the bitter."<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She promised that this year she wouldn’t rush to arrive.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She’d wait till spring was earnest, when blossoms could survive.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">But memory fails our golden friend, for last year was the same;<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> Sunshine fooled her that year too; in February she came.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><b>Please visit my author website: https://www.cindylfreeman.com/</b></span></div>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-9006926928446313762022-01-08T09:03:00.002-08:002022-01-08T10:00:37.643-08:00What is the Secret to a Long Marriage?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi4D-CN5CDDGvbbz0IFC6vB-o5Y_fJLO6Gsw2GzpP1_8hHjv8ZRnv4au5InonexPeodcWAbKhG1qUX8un2Iu9sM7oWa6SOs3VzOKReIDP7OhylqXmqnaHRBGxOmg19u7qKa1EGh7_On8yiO3yVtzqyUBb2H1Cqf31afd8IQezygBKv--wx6ByzSSoUp=s2453" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2453" data-original-width="1629" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi4D-CN5CDDGvbbz0IFC6vB-o5Y_fJLO6Gsw2GzpP1_8hHjv8ZRnv4au5InonexPeodcWAbKhG1qUX8un2Iu9sM7oWa6SOs3VzOKReIDP7OhylqXmqnaHRBGxOmg19u7qKa1EGh7_On8yiO3yVtzqyUBb2H1Cqf31afd8IQezygBKv--wx6ByzSSoUp=w133-h200" width="133" /></a></div>My husband, Carl, and I just celebrated our Golden Wedding Anniversary, which got me thinking. What does it take to stay married for fifty years? Is there one quality of a long marriage that stands out? <br /><br />When we hear about long marriages, we tend to assume they have always been happy. The truth is no fifty-year partnership has been consistently happy. Two people living together that long are bound to have experienced differences of opinion and clashes of will. Certainly, Carl and I have had those moments…plenty of them. There was even a time when I wondered if we might be better off separating. But, we didn’t separate, and that’s the point I want to make. Instead, we stayed together and resolved to work through our differences.<div> <br />Life can be stressful and hard. Marriage can be stressful and hard. So, if there is one quality that keeps people together through thick and thin, I’d have to say it is commitment. You thought I was going to say love, didn’t you? Let me explain.<br /><br /><u>Commitment</u><br />When Carl and I took our marriage vows in 1972, we committed to each other for life. Divorce was off the table from Day One. During the honeymoon phase, it was easy to feel committed. Our love was new and fresh. We were striking out on an exciting adventure, focused on each other and our future together. So, when life threw us its inevitable challenges, it would have been easy to give up, to forget about those vows we took before God and our loved ones.<br /><br />Disclaimer: lifelong commitment does not apply to abusive relationships. In my opinion, abuse is a dealbreaker. <br /> <br />It may be love or even chemistry that brings couples together, but those feelings can be fleeting, and physical attraction can fade with time. Commitment is a different kind of love. It is not based on emotions or sexual energy. Commitment says, “I promise to love you even when I find you unlovable; I promise to love you even when I feel unlovable.” <br /> <br /><u>Communication</u><br />Communication has been a huge challenge in our marriage. I don’t think we’re alone in this. Both Carl and I are introverts who don’t communicate comfortably. He is cerebral and private. I tend to shut down emotionally when I’m upset. That’s not a good combination for open communication. It has taken many years and heaps of courage to figure out how to argue productively and work through the issues in our relationship.</div><div> <br />Disagreements in marriage (or any relationship) are inevitable, even when the parties hold similar values and personality traits; but no conflict can ever be resolved by pretending it doesn’t exist, holding onto resentment, or refusing to compromise from one’s position. Learning to “fight fair” is probably the most important skill a couple can learn because conflicts arise even in committed relationships. Sometimes learning this skill requires professional counseling. Always, it requires open, honest, respectful communication.<br /> <br /><u>Humor</u><br />When one partner is sick or angry or exhausted, it is impossible to find the humor in situations. When the other partner sees everything as funny or makes jokes when the other is suffering, the relationship will be strained. For many years, I suffered with endometriosis, a very painful condition. Trust me when I say, “Nothing was funny!” Instead of cajoling me out of my depression, Carl’s attempts at humor only created resentment.<br /><br />Now, in our golden years, humor is a tool we use to keep from taking minor conflicts (or ourselves) too seriously rather than a tool to put down the other person. When both parties find it funny, the humor can be shared as a tool for intimacy. When one person is not amused, it’s a sign the attempt at humor may have been offensive.<br /> <br /><u>Forgiveness </u><br />Humans make mistakes. When that happens in marriage, the partner has a choice to either keep score or forgive. Forgiveness is grounded in a shared faith in God. It is also a byproduct of commitment. “What about infidelity?” you ask. I think commitment takes infidelity off the table, so I won’t even go there. But, let’s face it, mistakes and misunderstandings are part of every relationship. If God can forgive our sins when we “earnestly repent” and not hold them against us, don’t we have an obligation to both apologize for our offenses and forgive our partner when s/he earnestly repents? <br /><br />Have you been married for a long time? What do you think is the secret to your long marriage? I want to hear from you.<br /><br />Please visit my author website: <a href="https://www.blogger.com/#">https://www.cindylfreeman.com/</a></div>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-22901717162369863792021-11-10T05:59:00.002-08:002022-10-29T09:45:52.301-07:00My Angel Incident <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAukimlqldaiF4a7xY-O2HUq7sGiTCHRH7_iXuZ-k30CktEvDjTAesSIAwH9bdOhRi9onzCipI3KX3oxniu7rSZ_qOcM0U0-WNWoIGez6EXvwf0BlwkPUIoQ1zUmmGVUk1Nk-WL-4L6LU/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1000" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAukimlqldaiF4a7xY-O2HUq7sGiTCHRH7_iXuZ-k30CktEvDjTAesSIAwH9bdOhRi9onzCipI3KX3oxniu7rSZ_qOcM0U0-WNWoIGez6EXvwf0BlwkPUIoQ1zUmmGVUk1Nk-WL-4L6LU/w125-h200/image.png" width="125" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">“Do you believe in angels?” a writer friend asked me. I must admit, I’ve never sensed the presence of a guardian angel, but I think that’s because I always have an awareness of the Holy Spirit’s presence. However, this question reminded me of an incident from a few years ago. Well, it was before cell phones, so I guess you’d say it was more than a <i>few</i> years ago, but it inspired two scenes in my novel, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Want-Go-Home-Cindy-Freeman-ebook/dp/B07H1NZGD1/ref=sr_1_6?fbclid=IwAR2ODZVIZgI7t-xzJocn2Rw7jS0GDVsupXF9krh2mc8KhfYyD-hQdZCDqCo&keywords=cindy+L+Freeman+books&qid=1636552992&sr=8-6">I Want to Go Home</a></i>. </span><div> <span id="docs-internal-guid-0638ffb4-7fff-66e4-6408-7f4880d33432"><br /><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had just left a rehearsal in Newport News. It was around 9:00 pm, and as I entered Denbigh Boulevard, I saw that a heavy fog had rolled in. Since I had to drive to Williamsburg, I decided to pull into the empty parking lot of what was then Montgomery Ward and wait for the fog to lift. Big mistake. My husband was out of town on business, and our teenagers were home alone. I sat in my car for about twenty minutes but realized the fog wasn’t clearing up. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If I’m not home by 10:00, the kids will worry</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If I don’t call Carl by 10:00, he’ll worry.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I had no choice but to start out and hope the interstate was clear. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I twisted the ignition key, only to hear the sickening “ruhr, ruhr” that no driver wants to hear, especially at 9:30 on a foggy night. Of course, I tried several times, growing more anxious with each “ruhr.” All the stores were closed, the nearest service station was several blocks away, and I had no way of calling anyone to help me, no way to let my husband or kids know what was happening. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wanted to cry, but instead, I prayed. “Okay, God, I’m desperate here. I need your help. Please send someone to rescue me. In the name of Jesus, I thank you. Amen.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For a while, nothing changed. I felt alone, frightened, and vulnerable, but I knew from past experiences with prayer that I could place my trust in God. I repeated my prayer just in case He hadn’t heard me the first time. After all, God has to deal with wars, natural disasters, and hungry children. There are grieving families, cancer sufferers, and pastors whose prayer concerns are far more important than my dead battery.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then, as I glanced in my rearview mirror, I spotted headlights approaching from behind. “Thank you, Jesus!” I whispered. There was no doubt in my mind that God had sent someone to help me. I wasn’t afraid to step out of the car and greet a stranger. Rather, I felt total peace. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A middle-aged man approached. “Looks like you might need some help,” he said.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yes, my battery’s dead. Thank you so much for stopping.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“No problem. Do you have jumper cables?”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I do.” I retrieved them from the trunk, and he connected them at both ends.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Okay, start ’er up.” I slid into the driver’s seat, and as I turned the key, I heard the most beautiful sound since the first cries of my newborn babies!” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“All set,” he said, handing me the cables. “That should get you home.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’m so grateful! You just don’t know…” I gushed as I returned the cables to my trunk, fully intending to offer the man some money or at least get his name and shake his hand, but when I shut the trunk and turned, he and his car were gone. Vanished! </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Please check out my author website:</b> </span><b><a href="https://www.cindylfreeman.com/" style="color: #6fa8dc; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">https://www.cindylfreeman.com/</span></a><span style="color: #6fa8dc;"> </span></b></p><div><b style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: arial;">There you'll find a FREE book just for visiting. Someone in your life might need its offer of hope and healing.</b></div></span></div>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-1727101345521938272021-10-09T09:43:00.014-07:002021-10-09T09:54:14.938-07:00Don't Read My Books<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 11pt; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMQj3HCFTtTd7k539nfYdSMvnx34yO-C2jLvXI6_3_bZuXHJqy7cIviKxWSvWigXYdcd7nXLMoFiieP-As-UA-VFf5ZzuRoi1KpLXoqcBSgDSQnBVLIRaYy1L72rSsJTx3I1DreiFSRlc/s640/TheDarkRoomFrontCover.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="421" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMQj3HCFTtTd7k539nfYdSMvnx34yO-C2jLvXI6_3_bZuXHJqy7cIviKxWSvWigXYdcd7nXLMoFiieP-As-UA-VFf5ZzuRoi1KpLXoqcBSgDSQnBVLIRaYy1L72rSsJTx3I1DreiFSRlc/w132-h200/TheDarkRoomFrontCover.jpeg" width="132" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">When I write a book, whether fiction or nonfiction, it ends up connecting to some aspect of life that touches readers’ deepest emotions. I don't do it intentionally; it just happens. </span><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The older I become, the more I realize I am an ultra-sensitive person. Whether my own emotions or someone else's, I feel them intensely; I always have. I suppose that’s why my novels deal with emotionally charged social issues like domestic abuse and homelessness. It’s also why some people hesitate to read them, especially </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dark-Room-Cindy-L-Freeman-ebook/dp/B06XYVC78W/ref=sr_1_11?dchild=1&fbclid=IwAR2ODZVIZgI7t-xzJocn2Rw7jS0GDVsupXF9krh2mc8KhfYyD-hQdZCDqCo&keywords=cindy+L+Freeman+books&qid=1633794196&sr=8-11" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Dark Room</span></a><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Either they’re afraid my stories will trigger unpleasant memories from their own lives or they prefer to deny that such conditions exist. Of course, it’s easier to </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">not</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> feel pain, and my novels have the potential of triggering pain. But, more importantly, my writing promotes hope, help and healing and my novels always have happy endings. Those aspects of my writing <i>are</i></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> intentional. </span></span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-7b016d3b-7fff-95fb-dadf-6856b0f05f2f"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When one is in the throes of such misery as domestic violence, it’s important for someone to care enough to offer hope. Without hope, our spirits die. Without someone to offer friendship and real help, there is no hope. In order to provide hope and help to anyone, we must first be moved by the pain of others. </span></p></span><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">A reader once told me, “I only read happy books; I don’t like feeling sad.” I didn’t argue with her because I knew it would be pointless. I didn’t tell her that I don’t like to feel sad, either, but that without compassion for other peoples’ pain, our days are meaningless and purposeless. We become like the flower children of the sixties, la-di-dah-ing our way through life and perhaps even turning to addictive behaviors to keep ourselves from feeling.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The intensity of my emotions used to embarrass me, but I have learned to embrace my sensitivity and turn it into compassion. When I read a novel, I want it to move me. When I write a novel, I want it to move the reader. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So, if you don’t like being affected viscerally by a book, don’t read </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Unrevealed-Cindy-Freeman-ebook/dp/B01MRO1YFT/ref=sr_1_7?dchild=1&fbclid=IwAR2ODZVIZgI7t-xzJocn2Rw7jS0GDVsupXF9krh2mc8KhfYyD-hQdZCDqCo&keywords=cindy+L+Freeman+books&qid=1633794196&sr=8-7" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Unrevealed</span></a><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dark-Room-Cindy-L-Freeman-ebook/dp/B06XYVC78W/ref=sr_1_11?dchild=1&fbclid=IwAR2ODZVIZgI7t-xzJocn2Rw7jS0GDVsupXF9krh2mc8KhfYyD-hQdZCDqCo&keywords=cindy+L+Freeman+books&qid=1633794196&sr=8-11" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Dark Room</span></a><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">,</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Want-Go-Home-Cindy-Freeman/dp/1945990279/ref=sr_1_3?dchild=1&fbclid=IwAR2ODZVIZgI7t-xzJocn2Rw7jS0GDVsupXF9krh2mc8KhfYyD-hQdZCDqCo&keywords=cindy+L+Freeman+books&qid=1633794196&sr=8-3" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I Want to Go Home</span></a><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> or </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/After-Rain-Weekly-Devotions-Comfort/dp/1945990449/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&fbclid=IwAR2ODZVIZgI7t-xzJocn2Rw7jS0GDVsupXF9krh2mc8KhfYyD-hQdZCDqCo&keywords=cindy+L+Freeman+books&qid=1633794196&sr=8-1" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After Rain</span></a><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. However, If you have been courageous enough to read one of my books, please post a review on Amazon. It’s quick and painless. I promise.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: arial;"><b><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Please check out my author website: </span><a href="https://www.cindylfreeman.com/" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">https://www.cindylfreeman.com/</span></a> There you'll find a FREE book just for visiting. Someone in your life might need its offer of hope and healing.</b></span></p>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-86046629558169818262021-09-27T06:13:00.000-07:002021-09-27T06:13:21.645-07:00How do writers work?<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVmN540y0a35RQCqzbc4nE1qbQQ7maXXcC-XLBoTlZw-JRUO2twQCxDG7zaptWeAGmME2pS-Rj1Qfm0zCk05aCpd6p3OywjIeUS3u8csXbKAK6tE80qiHVM-QOXLOl_oYPyakaGCbH5N0/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="565" data-original-width="847" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVmN540y0a35RQCqzbc4nE1qbQQ7maXXcC-XLBoTlZw-JRUO2twQCxDG7zaptWeAGmME2pS-Rj1Qfm0zCk05aCpd6p3OywjIeUS3u8csXbKAK6tE80qiHVM-QOXLOl_oYPyakaGCbH5N0/w200-h133/image.png" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Before I became an author, I often wondered how writers worked. I pondered what a typical day might look like in an author’s life. Surely they are all disciplined, carving out eight uninterrupted hours a day for penning a novel, magazine article, or whatever project is looming. </span><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-b815a905-7fff-4dd0-7f73-a89739e8072a"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now that I’m a published author, I realize there’s no such thing as a writer’s typical day. I’d like to say that I write every day, but there are times when other responsibilities take precedence; and, while I tend to be more productive in the morning after a good night’s sleep, my teaching schedule dictates that many mornings are unavailable. Often I must catch an hour here or a half hour there. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So, if I had nothing else to do--no lesson plans, laundry, grading, cleaning, practicing, doctor’s appointments, phone calls, meetings, etc, here’s what an ideal day would look like:</span></p><ul style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-inline-start: 48px;"><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: disc; margin-left: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Arise at 5:30 am</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: disc; margin-left: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Proceed straight to coffee maker--robe and slippers optional--and stretch while waiting for the <i>Keurig</i> to warm up and produce that first medicinal cup of Starbucks Breakfast Blend </span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: disc; margin-left: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Carry mug of hot, strong brew to sunroom, settle in recliner, snuggle under favorite flannel throw and sip adoringly </span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: disc; margin-left: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Refill coffee mug</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: disc; margin-left: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Open laptop and write for an hour</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: disc; margin-left: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Eat breakfast</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: disc; margin-left: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Write until lunchtime</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: disc; margin-left: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Eat lunch</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: disc; margin-left: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Write until dinnertime</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: disc; margin-left: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Eat dinner</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: disc; margin-left: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Write until bedtime</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: disc; margin-left: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Go to bed</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: disc; margin-left: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p dir="ltr" role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Start again tomorrow</span></p></li></ul><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Did I leave out anything? Oh yes, I forgot to get dressed or brush my teeth or do housework or laundry or exercise or interact with other humans. Somehow, it sounded better in my head.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Check out my author website: https://www.cindylfreeman.com/<span> </span></span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-12467490300342703722021-09-13T11:09:00.003-07:002021-11-10T06:06:53.860-08:00Standing on God's Promises<p><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEvQIJtNJuYGDiTlHGVsMlFB6OPEDtp6gY_spq76iwnuicnFQPUF79MCyx7sxrEphG47Ltf8ek9GhBdWKvxVijSXI4UYma9CX87rYQOg8JEUfWpD8_GxgMi_m9jr3Yp0_yZYXZ0AY8SSk/s2048/WallpaperDog-17058654.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEvQIJtNJuYGDiTlHGVsMlFB6OPEDtp6gY_spq76iwnuicnFQPUF79MCyx7sxrEphG47Ltf8ek9GhBdWKvxVijSXI4UYma9CX87rYQOg8JEUfWpD8_GxgMi_m9jr3Yp0_yZYXZ0AY8SSk/w113-h200/WallpaperDog-17058654.jpg" width="113" /></a></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Have you noticed that when we are sick or grieving or afraid, it’s difficult to see beyond those limitations? When life is less than perfect, it’s challenging to focus on the positive aspects, to notice God’s blessings or even acknowledge God’s presence. Like a magnet, our attention is drawn to where we are hurting. Our pain, whether physical or emotional, distracts us from all that is still good in our lives. We just want the pain to stop. We may decide subconsciously that until we feel better, we cannot experience wholeness or happiness or fulfillment, so we put living on hold. <br /></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The truth about pain, however, is that the more attention we give it, the more intense it becomes and the more self-involved we become. It’s like trying to reason with a toddler who is having a temper tantrum. Every parent learns that giving the child attention during a meltdown is just adding fuel to the fire. </span></div><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-24226da3-7fff-6967-ed24-e74af89169e8"><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Both my husband and I have experienced illness this summer. At times it has seemed overwhelming. Fortunately, he has recovered fully, but I have yet to receive a diagnosis and treatment plan. It’s frustrating and inconvenient. I confess to sometimes questioning God’s purpose. I confess to sometimes feeling like my life has been placed on hold...like I can’t live fully until my health issue is resolved. Any unresolved issue, whether relationship, career, financial, etc. can trigger a similar reaction. As we wallow in our pity party, perhaps we think God is testing us or even punishing us. We might begin to doubt God’s love. Why would a loving God allow (or even cause) me (my loved one) to suffer? </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When such paralyzing thoughts invade, that’s when we need to dive into God’s Word and claim God’s promises. There are so many beautiful promises sprinkled throughout the Scriptures! They are precious treasures just waiting for our hungry hearts to discover (or rediscover) and embrace. I decided to start making a list, one that I can add to and refer to whenever I begin to slip into destructive self-pity. Here are a few of the powerful promises I am claiming as a follower of Jesus Christ:</span></p><br /><ul style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-inline-start: 48px; text-align: left;"><li aria-level="1" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: disc; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I will never desert you, nor will I ever forsake you (Hebrews 13:5c).” </span></p></li><li aria-level="1" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: disc; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“This is my command-be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged. For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go (Joshua 1:9).”</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" style="color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: disc; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord (Romans 8:38-39).”</span></p></li><li aria-level="1" style="color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; list-style-type: disc; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><p role="presentation" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“So do not fear, for I am with you, do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand (Isaiah 41:10).”</span></p></li><li><span id="docs-internal-guid-24226da3-7fff-6967-ed24-e74af89169e8"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Let us hold tightly without wavering to the hope we affirm, for God can be trusted to keep his promise (Hebrews 10:23).”</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span></li></ul></span><div><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: times; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: times; white-space: pre;">Please check out my author website: </span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/#" style="font-family: times; white-space: pre;">https://www.cindylfreeman.com/</a><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: times; white-space: pre;"> </span><br /><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: times; white-space: pre;">where you’ll find a FREE gift just for visiting.</span></span><br /><div><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div></span></div>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-38161163052094993312021-09-04T10:21:00.003-07:002022-06-17T09:59:55.981-07:00We Fear What We don't Understand<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0JCBpzqeGQTanonauXBEAluMbuW7R2a-VuxyKlsWswgRydybvtyne5-d4QeMhk5i0CpctUVrUrTUHfE2NNnrp4NJLVcy6q0pWU5RhLFLavmrereyoRmt3TY4A1e_OARc0Xt0UVYVUuYM/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="467" data-original-width="700" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0JCBpzqeGQTanonauXBEAluMbuW7R2a-VuxyKlsWswgRydybvtyne5-d4QeMhk5i0CpctUVrUrTUHfE2NNnrp4NJLVcy6q0pWU5RhLFLavmrereyoRmt3TY4A1e_OARc0Xt0UVYVUuYM/w200-h133/image.png" width="200" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">It seems to be human nature to fear what we don’t know or understand. But we have a choice in how we respond to our fear. We can either ignore it or we can face it. Ignoring fear is the easy choice but can result in abysmal consequences. Fear that is ignored or denied invariably grows and metastasizes. Because it doesn’t go away, it produces anxiety, distracting us from what and who are important in our lives. As it festers, fear can make us angry, causing us to lash out verbally or even physically. It can make us tired and sick, both mentally and physically. </span></div><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-968a4188-7fff-083a-87e6-c4c72afd444b"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A close family member, someone I have loved my whole life, is living in fear. As a result, he has cut off his entire family. He is so fearful of our political differences that he can’t even entertain a dialogue with us. In fact, he has shut down all hope of communication. Sadly, I don’t think our family is the only one going through this.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In his final communique with me, he lashed out at someone he had always claimed to love, calling me names like “Commy, left-wing Socialist, and anti-American.” Incidentally, we have never discussed our political views. It’s just that he discovered we didn’t vote for the same party/candidate. Am I frustrated by his words and behavior? Yes. Am I hurt? Of course! But, after much thought and prayer, I realize his verbal assault and rejection are based on fear. He is lashing out because, as a White man in his sixties, he is afraid of losing his comfortable position of White male superiority. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m convinced that fear is a powerful force underlying much of what we see happening in our country and our world. Political divisions, racial divisions, religious divisions...all are based on fear. I see White supremacy as fear of what will happen if Whites are outnumbered or lose their position of power, if Blacks or Asians or Mexicans or Native Americans are given power--or even equality--what will happen to us Whites who have been conditioned from birth to think we’re superior to people of color. Will we then have to contend with oppression or prejudice or slurs? </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fear fuels race wars and political conflict. What if someone reaches a position of power whose belief system is not in agreement with our belief system? What if we let Muslims or Hindus or Jews infiltrate our so-called Christian society? Will they out-number us, over-power us or, heaven forbid, try to convert us? We fear what we don’t understand. But, unless we try to understand those who look different, worship differently, or vote differently, how can we hope to achieve harmony? If we refuse to move beyond our base (often baseless) fears, there’s no possibility of engaging in a healthy discussion that doesn’t require us to agree but only compels us to be respectful. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I still pray that my family member will one day move beyond his fear to initiate open communication in the spirit of love we once shared; but at my age, I must accept the possibility that I may never see or hear from him again. That realization hurts far more deeply than any name-calling. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear...(1st John 4:18)."</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: times;">Please check out my author website: </span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/#" style="font-family: times;">https://www.cindylfreeman.com/</a><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: times;"> where you’ll find a FREE gift just for visiting.</span><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-18439064175980682862021-08-28T11:48:00.004-07:002023-11-16T11:42:02.824-08:00A Pleasant Encounter<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjjVJ8tYixRMGsVN3xjN3D9h9P-7D4ucyHwp-UA3nlPn6f26FDa1LUTWf2peZQIVTTeRT7ecW3ziQMihVJ2VsBZHfsG0clc61B7HtoVTVPMBWKSLv610TUZYlQoDrSOIKjKLMyk3T3GrE/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="588" data-original-width="800" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjjVJ8tYixRMGsVN3xjN3D9h9P-7D4ucyHwp-UA3nlPn6f26FDa1LUTWf2peZQIVTTeRT7ecW3ziQMihVJ2VsBZHfsG0clc61B7HtoVTVPMBWKSLv610TUZYlQoDrSOIKjKLMyk3T3GrE/w200-h147/image.png" width="200" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In general, I don't enjoy book-marketing events. Why? They're usually long and tiring. But, as an author, I know that, unless I hire a publicist (which is expensive), I'm ultimately responsible for marketing and selling my books. </span></span></p><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-751c720e-7fff-0cdb-fc23-030d9119d2f4"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Don't get me wrong. After a year-and-a-half of quarantine, I was grateful for the return of in-person events; and I'm sometimes pleasantly surprised to meet exciting people who engage in meaningful conversations. They make all the entry fees, hours of standing--sometimes in the hot sun, other times in the rain--and sales-pitch repetitions worthwhile, especially when they buy a book or two. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Last month's </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">2nd Sunday</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> event in downtown Williamsburg was such an experience. Two other local authors and I shared a tent and marketed each other's works and our own. The weather was pleasant, and as we enjoyed good camaraderie, the time passed quickly.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Best of all, we met hundreds of friendly, kind, and interesting people. One couple, in particular, was memorable. Actually, they were two couples traveling together from New York City. The women approached our display while the men stood across the street talking, laughing, and obviously enjoying each other's company. One of the women suggested that her husband should be a character in a book. "He's definitely a character," she said. She said he hadn't had a bad day in his entire life; he laughed every day, and for their forty-some years of marriage, he had made </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">her</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> laugh every day. I told her I'd like to meet him, so she called him over.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wish I could remember his name. I certainly won't forget his attitude. "Your wife says you've never had a bad day," I said. "What's your secret?"</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"I've had plenty of bad things happen in my life," he answered, "but a long time ago, I decided to view everything as a blessing. I was injured in Vietnam. We lost a child in infancy. I lost my job once. The worst event was when my wife, here"--he wrapped his arms around her shoulders"--was diagnosed with kidney cancer. I thought my life was over because I thought </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">her</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> life was over. The lowest blow was when I discovered I wasn't a match to donate a kidney."</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"But our son was!" she chimed in. "It was a miracle. That was twenty-five years ago, and I thank God daily for my life."</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"And I thank God every day for <i>her</i>," he said, beaming.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"So, would you say that how we view life determines our level of contentment?" I asked.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"Absolutely! It's all about gratitude...being thankful for what and who we have, not moaning about what we don't have or what we've lost." </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As his wife turned back to her friend, he spotted my book, </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/After-Rain-Weekly-Devotions-Comfort/dp/1945990449/ref=sr_1_1?fbclid=IwAR2ODZVIZgI7t-xzJocn2Rw7jS0GDVsupXF9krh2mc8KhfYyD-hQdZCDqCo&keywords=cindy+L+Freeman+books&qid=1655484856&sr=8-1">After Rain</a>, </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">and asked about it. I told him writing it had been my pandemic project. "I wrote it because I strongly sensed that we all needed comfort and peace." I mentioned that one of the devotions was about the practice of gratitude, the very thing we were discussing. "I have to remind myself every morning to be grateful," I said. "It's so easy to slip into complaining, especially during the last year-and-a-half when it seems like our world has turned upside down. That's why I wrote </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/After-Rain-Weekly-Devotions-Comfort/dp/1945990449/ref=sr_1_1?fbclid=IwAR2ODZVIZgI7t-xzJocn2Rw7jS0GDVsupXF9krh2mc8KhfYyD-hQdZCDqCo&keywords=cindy+L+Freeman+books&qid=1655484856&sr=8-1">After Rain</a></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. I needed the reminder that, no matter what we are going through, God stands ready to walk us through it and help us triumph over the challenges." </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"Amen!" said his wife, who I didn't realize had been listening. She bought the book. Then, she bought one for a friend. I hope she and her friend are as blessed by reading it as I was in meeting her and her devoted husband.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: times; font-size: large; white-space: normal;">Please check out my author website: </span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/#" style="font-family: times; font-size: large; white-space: normal;">https://www.cindylfreeman.com/</a><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: times; font-size: large; white-space: normal;"> ,where you'll find a FREE gift just for visiting.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><div><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-17584136176949458682021-07-30T10:53:00.006-07:002022-06-17T10:05:52.959-07:00The Mountains Called<p><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJdErZnn_Y2PHSMa4JJiouJKbdYvv1t_Bf49auGItmRTHRN28B8dlIyj1HaRkgJAiHM0wdJgP3D78kPO1nnVMeIZ-7glDDpoXHFYXyKhexXvFHDrHGZU4UZ8RqGTM0A_dRBGLAGvWoU_E/s2048/PXL_20210719_222531398.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJdErZnn_Y2PHSMa4JJiouJKbdYvv1t_Bf49auGItmRTHRN28B8dlIyj1HaRkgJAiHM0wdJgP3D78kPO1nnVMeIZ-7glDDpoXHFYXyKhexXvFHDrHGZU4UZ8RqGTM0A_dRBGLAGvWoU_E/w320-h240/PXL_20210719_222531398.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">The mountains called and we answered. Many people go to the beach for their summer vacations. That’s just fine, but my husband and I prefer the mountains. The idea of spending the bulk of our precious summer months in hot, humid Eastern Virginia gives us a severe case of the heebie-jeebies. The good news is that we can travel a mere three hours to reach the Blue Ridge with its lower humidity and cooler temperatures and still be in Virginia. There we can sleep with the windows open, dine al fresco, and hike without breaking a sweat. </span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Our favorite get-away spot is Wintergreen Resort where </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: medium;">we rent a condo with a breathtaking view that includes</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhvjhtFJ4rluaI8tQQI2Z3S6nOnmtDWyMDxF96v8s1y1FDZFpv3WKK-SkL-kHSZoG9KOFsQYCzdB2Dh1DPXHSh4gqW8vl2XeCpxLrvclXfV84CxQd_Tdka570pcVkjKg8PiEautQwf6Vc/s2048/PXL_20210720_175751882.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhvjhtFJ4rluaI8tQQI2Z3S6nOnmtDWyMDxF96v8s1y1FDZFpv3WKK-SkL-kHSZoG9KOFsQYCzdB2Dh1DPXHSh4gqW8vl2XeCpxLrvclXfV84CxQd_Tdka570pcVkjKg8PiEautQwf6Vc/s320/PXL_20210720_175751882.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;">an abundance of stunning flowers and butterflies. We </span><span style="font-size: medium;">have access to tennis (golf, too, but we don’t play), and great hiking trails. We even hiked the Appalachian Trail this time...for about 100 yards. Whew! </span><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">There are many good restaurants, wineries, and cideries in the area, too. You might even catch a glimpse of a black bear. </span><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">The best part of our annual get-away is the Wintergreen Summer Music Festival, Erin Freeman, Artistic Director. After having to cancel last year’s event, Erin (no relation) outdid herself this year! We attended two of many concert offerings held in the Dunlop Pavilion, and both were stellar. From Bach to Brahms and Mendelssohn to a </span><span style="font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">commissioned work for virtual chorus and live orchestra, every musical moment was mesmerizing. </span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="font-size: x-large; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHHl8ZdmGMjJwKc8yDUpMNLoaZJRLWJ8-S_s4AkXiOsarEO-UcEbNtMEvd3fs4ABCtzDMv6AcLoRti8VRpm2xa3QEKs-s7WiVEyfBg4VLMd8BsrnviwKZxzs5yXOswXyMeQHeP8WUEm9E/s2048/PXL_20210718_185004716.MP.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1627" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHHl8ZdmGMjJwKc8yDUpMNLoaZJRLWJ8-S_s4AkXiOsarEO-UcEbNtMEvd3fs4ABCtzDMv6AcLoRti8VRpm2xa3QEKs-s7WiVEyfBg4VLMd8BsrnviwKZxzs5yXOswXyMeQHeP8WUEm9E/w159-h200/PXL_20210718_185004716.MP.jpg" width="159" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I know! This blog sounds like a copy ad for Wintergreen Resort, but trust me when I say, "Don’t go to Wintergreen Resort in the summer." </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We prefer having it all to ourselves. </span></div><div style="font-size: x-large; text-align: left;"><br /></div></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho7uAlvjN1YcUPxOY9uWBV9vJey4q_fafkzes8iiRur-8WJAxKSMIQenrvWl9h4kDuTtEeiJup8VHx77q9LOqY1Qao672ZWdBx_UGUcTv59vlPxUjHp5Owpo24nU6vrh1ydy5L3XpXEr0/s2048/PXL_20210719_170546509.MP.jpg" style="clear: right; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1745" data-original-width="2048" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho7uAlvjN1YcUPxOY9uWBV9vJey4q_fafkzes8iiRur-8WJAxKSMIQenrvWl9h4kDuTtEeiJup8VHx77q9LOqY1Qao672ZWdBx_UGUcTv59vlPxUjHp5Owpo24nU6vrh1ydy5L3XpXEr0/w200-h171/PXL_20210719_170546509.MP.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvR-oE4GGI7pZOx-Nz-4MSXtEtmhzFO-7Rbhg4LIm3lf7VzsAcHAuh6iPQHt9GepkAVUeW5f_YD17zTQOuo7et-4tPIHoX-yM-UZqDvxiG4ml78ImoJ5Kl7kPUpzQChnX3pkEpztZTDhg/s2048/PXL_20210719_164807575.MP.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvR-oE4GGI7pZOx-Nz-4MSXtEtmhzFO-7Rbhg4LIm3lf7VzsAcHAuh6iPQHt9GepkAVUeW5f_YD17zTQOuo7et-4tPIHoX-yM-UZqDvxiG4ml78ImoJ5Kl7kPUpzQChnX3pkEpztZTDhg/w150-h200/PXL_20210719_164807575.MP.jpg" width="150" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: times; font-size: large;">Please check out my author website: </span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/#" style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">https://www.cindylfreeman.com/</a><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: times; font-size: large;"> where you’ll find a FREE gift just for visiting.</span><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /> </span><p></p></div>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-57713486376224582822021-07-10T13:42:00.005-07:002022-06-17T10:09:52.796-07:00Reentry<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgjrRjDHOOrPnV4An3u_0tPlf4oZMrmVSW3jywlLvNnhixqgl_I0OB-z98659JUtCoHPLYXP02472Sz3eKafHD1IAthP-jSqHuHBTjZyaTm8mAFxGyN7a53ps6damAXKAx657sFCoXSNc/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="650" data-original-width="800" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgjrRjDHOOrPnV4An3u_0tPlf4oZMrmVSW3jywlLvNnhixqgl_I0OB-z98659JUtCoHPLYXP02472Sz3eKafHD1IAthP-jSqHuHBTjZyaTm8mAFxGyN7a53ps6damAXKAx657sFCoXSNc/w200-h163/image.png" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I tend to be a creature of isolation. It’s not that I don’t enjoy being with people, especially close friends and family members. It’s just that I feel comfortable with my alone time. Time alone allows me to ponder the universe, both macro and micro, both temporal and spiritual; and it allows me to express that pondering through my writing. So, last year, when social distancing became necessary, it didn’t feel like a sacrifice to me. Rather, it seemed like a gift. I could still take my walks and enjoy the beauty of nature; and with so much writing and editing to accomplish, I never grew bored. </span><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-04a5b4d4-7fff-5150-d49d-e2e928e1f44a"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Last week, for the first time in eighteen months, I met three friends </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">inside</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> a restaurant, none of us wearing masks. At first, it felt strange and uncomfortable. Typically, we would have hugged. Later, I realized the idea of hugging never occurred to me. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Our initial conversation was strained, yet we were the same four women who had so much in common, so many shared experiences, so much history together...before COVID. The server brought menus, and we buried our heads, hiding in the decision of what to order. With that task accomplished, we looked at each other, heaved a collective sigh, and shared a laugh at our awkwardness. Finally, with the proverbial ice broken, the conversation entered familiar, but long-neglected territory. We ended up talking and laughing until the servers began setting up for dinner. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I left the restaurant feeling refreshed and exhilarated by the human contact that can never be replaced by Zoom meetings, phone calls, Facebook, emails, or text messages. Yes, I value and protect my alone time, but the pandemic has shown me how much I need human contact, with or without hugs.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I would love to hear </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">your </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">post-pandemic stories. Please respond and share how reentry has felt to you. Have you had to make adjustments that surprised you or did you jump right into life as usual? How about your children? What effects from isolation have you observed in them?</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Speaking of responses, I received feedback from another writer friend about how to dispel a creative crisis. Lynn says he goes to a public setting and observes people. Then he makes up stories about them in his head. Often, a character will emerge that inspires a new novel. Thanks for the tip, Lynn! Fortunately, we can frequent public settings again. </span></p><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Please visit my website: </span><a href="https://www.cindylfreeman.com/" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">https://www.cindylfreeman.com/</span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-70796279517318172552021-06-28T07:06:00.000-07:002021-06-28T07:06:48.542-07:00Tips for Managing a Creative Crisis<span id="docs-internal-guid-0d2f1648-7fff-d5bf-8ac0-6686a4786b45"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWCUVb8eeMavHut3QsKBFGHCyF9rV5hLZLKDhN50gbAdGzzf9-jwz9_3PpwJnzpcnm2unCfeAxUW7CpNLpdJu2D-e3llFAL1sPPg8RHa04dt_K4mc6gSkvfIgaS-Nly75q8cugVQsUwDM/s2048/person-looks-up-while-standing-in-a-forest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1831" data-original-width="2048" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWCUVb8eeMavHut3QsKBFGHCyF9rV5hLZLKDhN50gbAdGzzf9-jwz9_3PpwJnzpcnm2unCfeAxUW7CpNLpdJu2D-e3llFAL1sPPg8RHa04dt_K4mc6gSkvfIgaS-Nly75q8cugVQsUwDM/w200-h179/person-looks-up-while-standing-in-a-forest.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">In my previous blog post, I wrote about feeling creatively depleted, uninspired, and a little panicky since summer flies by so quickly. Many writers call this phenomenon writer’s block, but that sounds so final...like chopping block or road block. I asked my writer friends to weigh in with some ways they address a creative crisis...and don’t try to tell me you’ve never had one.</span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">As promised, here are the suggestions submitted by some of my writer friends. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Cyrus says, “Close your eyes. Inhale good thoughts; exhale bad thoughts. Breathing deeply, take your body and mind to the stars. Release your mind from any thoughts and continue to breathe. Re-engage your mind with thoughts of walking without floors, seeing without eyes, hearing without ears, and become one with yourself. Empty your mind, fill your heart and breathe. Let the thoughts and words come through you and not to you.”</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Wow! That’s some existential stuff there, Cyrus...very meditative. I do meditate in preparation for prayer, but I never thought about preparing for writing this way. I’ll definitely try it.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Monti, another author friend, suggests, “Go for a walk, find a tree, and discover an image in the bark patterns. Write about that image, tell what it means to you, and what the important words are. Put it in the little notebook you are carrying with you.”<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yes to the walking part, Monti! It’s one of my favorite energizer activities, and it works equally well for increasing both physical and mental energy. I like the bark idea, too. That’s definitely a new one, and I will try it. The “little notebook” is my phone, but it’s the same concept.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This morning, after my first good night’s sleep in a week, I realized I wasn’t in a crisis. I was just plain tired. Sometimes I don’t recognize when I need to take a break. I think I’m supposed to trudge through the fog of fatigue when stopping to rest and recharge would be a better plan.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But I appreciate the excellent suggestions from Monti and Cyrus. How about you other creative writers? What do you do to re-engage your muse?</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;">Please check out my author website: <a href="https://www.blogger.com/#">https://www.cindylfreeman.com/</a> where you’ll find a couple of FREE gifts just for visiting.</span></span></p><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-49777994420467310032021-06-21T08:45:00.002-07:002021-06-21T09:02:56.478-07:00Creative Crisis<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1i_LHTZ0J5UYnpy3hFvoi-0oVLR_mcSUDhipOaCXooEuYw8FQkv1KUiRdCJhB8MxFE865PPt4PWodja-r212WZ0lg3I8cIHIHBrCZHVsdKHfxF09QPVrjiulXqRmZHzliF4wBoEWT8-E/" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1i_LHTZ0J5UYnpy3hFvoi-0oVLR_mcSUDhipOaCXooEuYw8FQkv1KUiRdCJhB8MxFE865PPt4PWodja-r212WZ0lg3I8cIHIHBrCZHVsdKHfxF09QPVrjiulXqRmZHzliF4wBoEWT8-E/w150-h200/image.png" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo Courtesy of HighBabe</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Okay, school is out for the summer, and I have time to write again. Yay! So, here I sit waiting for my muse to show up, and she is several days late. What to do! Let’s start with another cup of coffee.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Nope! That didn’t work, either. Even writing a blog post--something I normally enjoy--is a struggle. Is this how it’s going to be all summer? Do I just need to chill and wait until the mood strikes?</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Some people call it writer’s block. For me it’s not so much a block as a fog. I can’t seem to concentrate or get my thoughts in order. Without an imposed schedule, I waste precious time and get distracted easily. Believe it or not, I have a YouTube channel. I was hoping to actually use it this summer...to post some videos about my writing career that might be helpful to other creative writers. But how can I advise others when I’m in a slump.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Fellow writers, what do you do to break the cycle of a creative crisis? I’d love to hear from you. Please send your helpful hints. I’ll compile and share them on my author page and website...maybe even on my YouTube channel. We’re all in this together.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;">You can visit my website here: https://www.cindylfreeman.com/</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"></div><p></p>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-32787102786725523872021-06-10T15:03:00.004-07:002023-08-06T10:29:40.382-07:00Pigpen and Me<p> </p><span id="docs-internal-guid-fcd96b3c-7fff-3d58-55d2-9b41a0f40fee"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p></span><p style="text-align: left;"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj84F1GbERoVFglPNXAD86dOGXfa84EvBSAOIJSk1Xb8YL9h59YDwpb-gDkV-Y0kdk5DG0fX0-llPUlPOvZ6Y49ef4LfR5nu-vX-SU3O0F4LLs4ZP01L4hagG-VzZBzxqu8r3Q_6GhaJbk/" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="238" data-original-width="220" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj84F1GbERoVFglPNXAD86dOGXfa84EvBSAOIJSk1Xb8YL9h59YDwpb-gDkV-Y0kdk5DG0fX0-llPUlPOvZ6Y49ef4LfR5nu-vX-SU3O0F4LLs4ZP01L4hagG-VzZBzxqu8r3Q_6GhaJbk/w185-h200/image.png" width="185" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Image courtesy of Wikipedia</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">We all remember the character, Pigpen, from the comic strip, "Peanuts." Wherever Pigpen went, a cloud of dust enveloped him. Little boys seem to be drawn to dirt. I have a picture of my son as a toddler dressed for church on Easter Sunday. As soon as I turned my back he was out the door and heading for the drainage ditch in our backyard. Before I could scoop him up, he had squatted to play in the mud, hands submerged up to his wrists, shoes covered with muck, and pant legs drenched. At first I was horrified, but then I couldn’t resist laughing and grabbing my camera. Now that he’s a grown man, I treasure that photo. It reminds me of how quickly we can become covered with the dirt of living. It happens when we run away from God; when we ignore God’s Word and God’s will. </span></p><p></p><span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I consider myself to be a good person, one who cares about others, one who tries to be kind and compassionate and truthful. But, like every human, I am a sinner. In Romans 3:22 and 23, we learn, “</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There is no difference between Jew and Gentile, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” It doesn’t say “some” or “a few” or “everyone else” has sinned. It says “all.” This means every human is stained with the soil of sin. Fortunately, Paul doesn’t stop there. If he did, we would have no hope. In Verses 24 and 25, we learn that</span><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“All are justified freely by [God’s] grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus</span><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">God presented Christ as a sacrifice of atonement, through the shedding of his blood—to be received by faith.”</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span></p><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I think about all the mistakes I’ve made, all the little white lies I’ve told, all the times I’ve gossiped about someone or judged someone or envied someone or worried about a situation, I feel ashamed. I feel like Pigpen, surrounded by a cloud of dust, weighed down by my sins. But there is good news for every one of us sinners. God, through Jesus Christ, can wash away the dirt of sin that threatens to envelop us. How? Verse 25 makes it clear that redemption comes through believing in “Christ’s sacrifice of atonement, through the shedding of his blood--to be received by faith.” In other words, Christ’s sacrifice--through his crucifixion--is a free gift which can be received simply by faith in the resurrection. </span></p><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What would happen if, instead of charging headlong toward the mud puddles of temptation, worry, and selfishness, I allowed God to scoop me into his arms of forgiveness? Would my life be free of problems and challenges? No. Would I be free of sin? No. Would I be forgiven? Yes! </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: times;">For a free gift, please visit my website: https://www.cindylfreeman.com/</span></span></p><div><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-74882625033178141802021-05-09T06:11:00.009-07:002021-05-09T06:45:35.993-07:00It Must Be My Day<p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhykRRlvrkFq4UsrkZaVHYbi9F4iI2kKJ-hAJnBZoIZiVqJZq7srpG9RZqdfhjX1JFghfov3JVVlS1RvXBiHei-yO0XtTwi7qLJlhFjiuLskn8eQzs6F9-FinIL0So846cWrULuChGQP7o/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhykRRlvrkFq4UsrkZaVHYbi9F4iI2kKJ-hAJnBZoIZiVqJZq7srpG9RZqdfhjX1JFghfov3JVVlS1RvXBiHei-yO0XtTwi7qLJlhFjiuLskn8eQzs6F9-FinIL0So846cWrULuChGQP7o/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMt3tusbg3H2uLa6w2BhNcfGg5ssr29nfu1cRwBfCbJF2a4f9X5u7539r5GKfS-50rOTbqqdkZftH6T5E_RsQTwgly-1mFmo7whIBgo_R94G-_wtaLGNhdNSLZb28eP3bS4aC6BtvMzAQ/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="721" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMt3tusbg3H2uLa6w2BhNcfGg5ssr29nfu1cRwBfCbJF2a4f9X5u7539r5GKfS-50rOTbqqdkZftH6T5E_RsQTwgly-1mFmo7whIBgo_R94G-_wtaLGNhdNSLZb28eP3bS4aC6BtvMzAQ/w200-h133/image.png" width="200" /></a></div><br /></div></span><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>I</span> don't claim to be a poet, but after editing numerous poetry books lately, I felt inspired to give it a try. Here's what I came up with yesterday when, in the words of newspaper columnist, Jack Neworth, "My birthday candles almost started a forest fire."</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">It Must Be My Day</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-bccf3ece-7fff-51af-5ba6-0c5b48563ad8"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Slept late, awakened to coffee made and breakfast in bed.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He hates coffee, can’t even stand the smell.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It must be my day.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A dozen roses, a subscription to Hulu</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">so I can watch season four of “Handmaid’s Tale.“</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It must be my day.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Text messages from kids, kids-in-law, and grandkids;</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Facebook greetings from friends near and far.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It must be my day.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Cards, emails, phone calls,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Car trip to a state park; he drove, I typed. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It must be my day.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hugs, whiffle ball with grands, picnic lunch;</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Walking, talking, more hugs.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yes, May 8 is my day,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But so is tomorrow since I’m a mom.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wonder...will I get breakfast in bed again?</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Please visit my author website: www.cindylfreeman.com</b></span></p><div><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-6127882657655261702021-04-15T08:15:00.004-07:002023-08-06T10:33:30.596-07:00Don't Change That!<div style="text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtasbiz1PqkPQSMvVcweadyjS1-MJfclfnxkIvLQXhN5CjOZrHUK6FMw4xPuo3rGbWbRfE2i-xTX9XukAj6hhdXajVsJ4EZbGpy1pxYyBX0REfUie3Q0nr4EeAIkmIamm9EoUq9U0BtGc/" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtasbiz1PqkPQSMvVcweadyjS1-MJfclfnxkIvLQXhN5CjOZrHUK6FMw4xPuo3rGbWbRfE2i-xTX9XukAj6hhdXajVsJ4EZbGpy1pxYyBX0REfUie3Q0nr4EeAIkmIamm9EoUq9U0BtGc/w200-h200/image.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Image by Craig T. Owens</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don’t like change. When things change I feel uncomfortable, insecure. Maybe that’s what it is about technology that annoys me. I just get used to doing something one way and the next time I go to do it, it has been updated and “improved.” I use technology every day. It seems reasonable that it would become instinctive after a while. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><span id="docs-internal-guid-3b03242d-7fff-59bd-76fe-79650c04e74e"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I started taking piano lessons at age seven. That means, I’ve been playing the piano for more than sixty years. The process has not changed. There are still eighty-eight keys, and music notation has remained the same all these years. So, with practice I have gotten </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">better; </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">by applying the same procedures over and over, I have achieved a level of comfort and mastery. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Likewise, when I don’t play for a while, that level diminishes. It’s all quite logical and predictable.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Like technology, life isn’t logical or predictable. Life changes constantly. All living creatures experience metamorphoses in both themselves and the universe. I daresay humans are the only lifeforms that resist change. We might even become frustrated and angry when certain changes occur: the aging process with its physical alterations, the onset of a serious illness, the loss of a loved one. These are natural, expected metamorphoses. Yet, when they occur, they throw us into a tailspin. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The more we resist change, the more frustrated and angry we become. Some changes can even challenge our faith in God. Why would a loving God put us through this? Why does God allow us (or a loved one) to suffer? How many times have you heard someone say, “God doesn’t give us more than we can handle.” Poppycock! That saying isn’t even scriptural.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In John 16:33, Jesus is recorded as saying, “In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world.” Perhaps the false saying comes from a misinterpretation of 1 Corinthians 10:13 where Paul is talking about temptation. “God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will provide the way of escape….” Even Jesus was tempted. It was not God who tempted His Son. Likewise, it is not God who tempts us, but offers us a means of escape. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Even in the Old Testament, one Psalmist tells the Israelites, “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change and though the mountains slip into the heart of the sea...the Lord of hosts is with us...cease striving and know that I am God (Psalm 46, selected verses).” According to bible scholars, this Psalm (hymn) was sung as long ago as the tenth century BC in response to the invasion of Israel by outside forces. The author reminds us that when change threatens to unravel our plans and even challenge our trust in God, it is not God who has changed. Rather, it is we who have rebelled against God (“our refuge and strength”). </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It has taken me a lifetime to learn that God is not the giver of trouble. Rather, God gives me strength and courage to face trouble head-on. When I abide in union with Him, God provides the means to handle whatever life, with all of its changes, deals me. </span></p><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Please visit my author website: </span><a href="https://www.cindylfreeman.com/" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">https://www.cindylfreeman.com/</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-42955009509504874182021-04-09T07:49:00.003-07:002021-06-28T07:07:30.346-07:00Channeling A Prolific Author<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1CMdJMac0HzuFRMXRyqppsf-H_zYsWPE1PsUsaL41hywC59Vn5CN6iirlLjidWWt1kkh3Z-qsCv8yqVF8g4gk0qCObKEJ46hUMiMbQHMgmeqaDmNwhrIfJhk2ZTqEgOPFlXDn_nylhJI/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="478" data-original-width="454" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1CMdJMac0HzuFRMXRyqppsf-H_zYsWPE1PsUsaL41hywC59Vn5CN6iirlLjidWWt1kkh3Z-qsCv8yqVF8g4gk0qCObKEJ46hUMiMbQHMgmeqaDmNwhrIfJhk2ZTqEgOPFlXDn_nylhJI/w190-h200/image.png" width="190" /></a></div>I enjoy discovering new authors. New to me, anyway. Recently, I happened upon the work of a British author, Catherine Cookson. Not that I’ve read her books. Rather, my husband and I found numerous movies on Amazon Prime based on her intriguing novels.<br /><br />Born in 1906 in Northumberland England, Cookson was an extremely prolific author, having written around 120 books, including seventy novels. Perhaps the most fascinating fact I uncovered is that she dropped out of school at age fourteen. Imagine that! Yet, according to Wikipedia, “She is in the top 20 of most widely read British novelists with sales topping 100 million, while retaining a relatively low profile in the world of celebrity writers.”<div><br /></div><div>Cookson’s stories, many written under her maiden name, Catherine Marchant, are complex and emotive, and her plots often take surprising twists. She writes about the nineteenth century working class in England, seeming never to exhaust her storehouse of fascinating subjects and storylines.<br /><br />After watching a half-dozen movies made from her books, I became keen to learn more about Cookson’s life, which, I discovered, was most interesting. It seems that she was born the illegitimate daughter of a poverty-stricken, alcoholic barmaid, Kate, whom she was told was her older sister. She began working as a maid then a laundress in her hometown of Tyne Dock, but longing to escape poverty eventually moved to Hastings. There she met and married Tom Cookson, a local school master, who encouraged her writing. After winning numerous awards, Cookson quickly rose from regional acclaim to international best-selling status. In addition to seventy novels, this prolific writer penned eight autobiographical books, which I can’t wait to get my hands on.<br /><br />Thus far, my husband and I have watched “The Man Who Cried,” “The Moth,” “The Black Candle,” “The Rag Maid,” and “Tilly Trotter.” If all of her novels have been made into movies, we have a long way to go. But, as entertaining as her stories and characters are on the screen, I am anxious to read her books to see how she uses language to paint her vivid pictures. Movie adaptations can never do justice to an author’s style or voice. <br /><br />Both Catherine Cookson and her husband died in 1998. She was ninety-two. They had no living children--a devastating aspect of her life that caused depression and surely influenced her writing. Upon her death, her bank account held 20 million pounds--all of which went to charities. <div><br /></div><div>If you have read any of Cookson's novels, I'd love to hear from you. As for me, I expect my Kindle reader to be busy for quite some time.<br /><br />Please check out my author website: https://www.cindylfreeman.com/</div></div>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-60067706257147737752021-03-13T05:43:00.003-08:002023-08-06T11:33:04.713-07:00Stop "Awfulizing"<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxOON3oe3sML8G4GB2dtiUi97u0SuPeQ13ho2Irlj1s8uESiv4s59lBhq2931PHoHE5i_3U0U1zDf4uVsKTWodz7Qv-IbRLqZj_0RuzwrJvnusz5xng6KHlaBABArQ96G6_FfDTL2DSwU/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxOON3oe3sML8G4GB2dtiUi97u0SuPeQ13ho2Irlj1s8uESiv4s59lBhq2931PHoHE5i_3U0U1zDf4uVsKTWodz7Qv-IbRLqZj_0RuzwrJvnusz5xng6KHlaBABArQ96G6_FfDTL2DSwU/w200-h200/image.png" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I tend to think I’m responsible for other people’s moods and reactions. I know this is a sign of insecurity, so I’m embarrassed to admit it. But it’s true. Following are two examples with the names changed to protect the innocent.</span><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-92d9616a-7fff-97de-3a53-9acc2068bfa4"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the corridor of a school where I once worked, a fellow teacher walked toward me. She and I had always enjoyed a congenial relationship, but as she drew closer, I saw that her face wore a scowl with deep lines etched in her forehead. I smiled and said, “Hi, Martha. How are you?” She blew past me without a word, her frown set in concrete. Immediately, I decided I must have done something to offend her, but what? I wracked my brain, but came up with nothing. That night I couldn’t sleep as my imagination recreated scenarios in which I might have slighted or insulted Martha. What must she be thinking of me? How will I ever repair this broken relationship?</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ginny and I always called each other on our birthdays. One year I called twice and left messages then tried again the next day. This time I said, “Please call me back.” No response. So, I texted, “What’s wrong? I haven’t heard from you.” But I was thinking, “Why are you ignoring me? Why are you mad at me? What have I done to you? Will we ever be friends again?” Another sleepless night followed. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As it turned out, Martha was suffering from a migraine the day I met her in the corridor. She was in so much pain that she couldn’t function. A few days later, when we talked in the teacher’s lounge, she was her friendly, gregarious self who didn’t even recall passing me in the hallway. In her desperation to get home, take her meds and find a dark place to rest, she hadn’t even noticed me. And the friend who ignored my calls and texts? She had lost her phone for a few days. Upon recovering it, she called to thank me for my birthday wishes. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There is enough drama in life that I don’t need to manufacture it. Yet, I used to indulge in self-defeating thought patterns regularly. Jack Singer, author of </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Teachers-Ultimate-Stress-Mastery-Guide-dp-1620872196/dp/1620872196/ref=mt_other?_encoding=UTF8&me=&qid=" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Teacher’s Ultimate Stress Mastery Guide</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">calls</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">this negative thinking “awfulizing.” Unfortunately, awfulizing is a deeply ingrained habit from my childhood when my anxiety caused me to turn every emotion into a catastrophe. I carried this stress-inducing pattern into young adulthood and still find myself slipping from time to time.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I can’t say I am cured of awfulizing, but I do catch myself more quickly than I once did, and I have developed strategies to stop the craziness. First, I say affirmations to myself such as, “How does this problem stack up in terms of eternal significance?” Or “Every problem has a solution, and I am intelligent enough/mature enough to find it.” Then I breathe deeply, utter a quick prayer for calm, and either table the problem until I have time to deal with it or jot down the negative emotions that have upset me: “I’m feeling worried, or sad, or defeated, or angry.” Finally, when the time is right, I sit with God, who helps me identify the incident or comment that triggered my emotion. Together we evaluate the consequences, and form a plan to address the issue. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Usually I’m able to come up with one of two healthy responses: 1. Tomorrow, I will do or say such-and-such toward fixing the problem; or 2. His/her comment/behavior is not about me. Controlling other people’s emotions, words, and actions is not my responsibility. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This year I will turn seventy-two. Someday I hope to be an adult who doesn’t resort to awfulizing whenever I’m faced with a challenge.</span></p><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Please check out my author website: </span><a href="https://www.cindylfreeman.com/" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">https://www.cindylfreeman.com/</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-83697381191265967482021-03-10T07:34:00.000-08:002021-03-10T07:34:17.498-08:00Because I Must<p><span style="font-family: Arial; white-space: pre-wrap;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgqnyY0UcMLyCxk5xHKG5cSlynfIOUWIecEqrwJ9_Rs-P7zMIbICqaKnFNakhoMpbPTgCVsa77SPEZNZ610JrALB2v_JtmAldGIEPs-H-naiEik04uLO9uFkn083pw_M9O2ol6oyK0SnA/s640/thought-catalog-505eectW54k-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgqnyY0UcMLyCxk5xHKG5cSlynfIOUWIecEqrwJ9_Rs-P7zMIbICqaKnFNakhoMpbPTgCVsa77SPEZNZ610JrALB2v_JtmAldGIEPs-H-naiEik04uLO9uFkn083pw_M9O2ol6oyK0SnA/w200-h134/thought-catalog-505eectW54k-unsplash.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">image by thoughtcatalogue.com</span></td></tr></tbody></table>My writing career emerged so late in life that I have felt an urgency to accomplish its goals and fulfill my dreams as an author. A belly-fire compels me to leave for posterity a meaningful body of work, a body of words, if you will. This aspiration has little to do with acquiring fame or fortune. Rather, it comes from a lifelong preoccupation with words--their beauty and their potential to influence for good--and for God. </span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-836d67a1-7fff-7b04-2054-88e368bd3fc6"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m convinced that words have power--the power to hurt and the power to heal. In my latest book, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/After-Rain-Weekly-Devotions-Comfort/dp/1945990449/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&fbclid=IwAR2ODZVIZgI7t-xzJocn2Rw7jS0GDVsupXF9krh2mc8KhfYyD-hQdZCDqCo&keywords=cindy+L+Freeman+books&qid=1615388973&sr=8-1">After Rain</a>, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I refer to a fifteen-year period in my life when I was chronically ill and, consequently, deeply depressed. Often, my utterances spewed forth as hurtful barbs and unwelcome criticisms. Yet, it was never my intention to harm people, especially the people I loved the most. I was so angry, helpless and hopeless that I needed to lash out. I couldn’t seem to control the outrageous alter ego that consumed me. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was difficult to write about that dark period; it’s difficult, even now. But since 2010, when I started writing in earnest, I’ve learned that writing is therapeutic. More importantly, I’ve learned that </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">authentic</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> words can be helpful to others, especially those who are going through painful experiences. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Giving yourself, as a writer, permission to be vulnerable is not easy; but holding prisoner the ugly recesses of one’s mind does not benefit readers who may be searching for truth or hope or lasting peace. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Lately, I have been watching documentaries created by </span><a href="https://www.yadvashem.org/" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yad Vashem</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, an organization committed to commemorating the few living survivors of the Nazi Holocaust. The accounts are heart-wrenching, the atrocities oh-so-ugly. Sometimes I must pause, take a breath and shed tears, but I continue watching because the words of these courageous individuals are important. Remembering the history, along with its horror, is important “lest we repeat it.” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Without exception, the one thing all these survivors mention is that they could not speak about their experiences for twenty-five to thirty years after the war ended. Telling their stories was too painful. Recalling the horrors they and their loved ones suffered was too traumatic. It wasn’t until they realized the world might forget unless they spoke out, that they were able to summon the courage. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Authentic words, whether written or spoken, are important.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What is my dream as an author? What is it that I want to leave behind after I’m gone from this earthly existence? Aside from my cherished children and grandchildren, I want to leave a body of writing that makes a positive contribution to the world. I want my words to inspire hope and provide comfort. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Most creative writers will tell you they write because they </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">must. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">They</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> write because without written expression, they are not whole. Yes, I write because I <i>must</i>, but the more I write, the more conscious I am of the power of authenticity. It’s a responsibility I do not take lightly. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Please visit my author website: https://www.cindylfreeman.com/</span></p><div><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-69588477016600547702021-02-28T06:35:00.003-08:002023-08-06T10:38:06.929-07:00The Curse<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5PrimHnWrMfthcmsfI_ifXCI97zh6A0m3yPKm0i2-xtQBQP4gMmcfpuOqX_7wYvfU0pSxczURhZC3r1Aeu5vpO_QzEVHcPbiYXIxNowPRir3UevLZRr-etvQ9leKPQ5mDoz7b2HUim0U/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1068" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5PrimHnWrMfthcmsfI_ifXCI97zh6A0m3yPKm0i2-xtQBQP4gMmcfpuOqX_7wYvfU0pSxczURhZC3r1Aeu5vpO_QzEVHcPbiYXIxNowPRir3UevLZRr-etvQ9leKPQ5mDoz7b2HUim0U/" width="200" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Since January, I’ve been trying to change my attitude about housework. It was one of my New Year’s resolutions. Instead of thinking of housework as a curse, I decided to refer to it as “housefun,” at least in my mind. After all, changing one's negative attitude is about mind control. Besides, housework is good exercise, right? </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now when I clean, I turn up the radio, sing as I dust, and dance with the mop. I reach extra high and bend extra low, engaging all muscle groups. I convince myself that it’s good for my heart health and weight control, and surely my Fitbit is registering lots of steps. Therefore it must be </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">fun</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Mind control, attitude adjustment. Bah humbug! </span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-dd92168f-7fff-4395-999e-6d02a46d70c9"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Why is it I can walk three to five miles at a good clip and feel energized afterward, but thirty minutes of housework leaves me sweating and exhausted? Let’s break this down. “Housework” is a word that doesn’t come close to describing what must actually occur to get a house clean. “House torture” is more like it.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You see, housework involves de-cluttering, sorting, dusting, vacuuming, mopping, scrubbing, polishing, scouring, changing bed linens, shampooing rugs and upholstered furniture, washing windows….well, you get the picture. With all that bending, reaching, climbing, and scrubbing you would think my Fitbit watch would explode with the effort of awarding well-earned steps. But no! I can spend a whole Saturday cleaning to find I’ve racked up only 800 steps. My daily goal is 7,000 steps. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The curse is that I like a clean house. I want my floors to shine, my countertops and sinks to sparkle, and my furniture dust-free. Hire a maid, you say? I’ll bet Barbara Taylor Bradford, Nora Roberts, Danielle Steele, and JK Rowling all have maids. But there’s a catch. My net worth as an author is far from $300 million like Bradford and even farther from Rowling's $1 billion. If that were true, I’d have a live-in maid--make that two live-in maids--and a butler. How am I supposed to become a best-selling author when I’m busy doing housework? </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You’ve seen all those helpful hints and products that promise to make housework a breeze, right? Conspiracy theories! Fake news! I’m here to tell you the only way housework is easy-breezy or anywhere approaching fun is if someone else is doing it. When I’m scrubbing a toilet or mopping a floor, I’d rather be doing just about anything else: giving blood, having a tooth pulled, sitting on a thumb tack...you name it and I’m your gal. Mostly, I’d rather be writing. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Please visit my author website: </span><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://www.cindylfreeman.com/" style="text-decoration-line: none;">https://www.cindylfreeman.com/</a></span></p><div><br /></div></span>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-80467934312319768622021-02-22T09:44:00.000-08:002021-02-22T09:44:06.151-08:00I Try to Understand<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Id8-ulItPw9RwrHLwxIuOgqjGTSl2fyeQZJ5Z_TpsMWNJSxz2kgTSEvusOQ-rMS_dEiaTxfkgPGew0EV7XLwBqZjz6gFeKgvJjMxIq_xB2QBm6VlZntQWKLk0Tau5be7xeyqNP4lruY/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Id8-ulItPw9RwrHLwxIuOgqjGTSl2fyeQZJ5Z_TpsMWNJSxz2kgTSEvusOQ-rMS_dEiaTxfkgPGew0EV7XLwBqZjz6gFeKgvJjMxIq_xB2QBm6VlZntQWKLk0Tau5be7xeyqNP4lruY/" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When someone expresses an opinion that differs from mine, I try to understand their point of view. If we’re debating which way the toilet paper roll should be placed on the dispenser or whether coffee is a better beverage than tea...well of course, coffee wins, hands down. But if you’re a tea drinker, I don’t judge you. And if you feel you must take the toilet paper from the underside like a barbarian, so be it. We agree to disagree, and our relationship survives. </span></span><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-1a253764-7fff-f348-412e-ef0863b6e4b4"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">However, if it’s an important issue, I attempt to look at it from the other person’s perspective. I think about it, meditate on it, and pray about it until I find discernment and finally peace. I’ve lived long enough that other people have sometimes been successful in changing my stance...with a few exceptions.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">White supremacy is one of those exceptions. I will never, and I repeat, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">never</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> understand how fellow members of my Caucasian race can justify the premise that people of color are inferior and deserve less respect than white people. Whenever I try to understand the perspective of white supremacists, nothing convinces me that it is okay. I simply cannot make sense of it or condone it on any level. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I attended college in Greensboro, North Carolina in the midst of the Civil Rights movement. I clearly recall the sit-ins, the marches, and the riots. We awoke nearly every morning to sirens wailing not far from campus. At night, the sky blazed with flames rising from buildings throughout the city. Not that we could get close to the action. For our safety, we were confined to campus, and our administrators imposed a sun-down curfew for most of my sophomore year. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That curfew posed a problem for music majors. We needed to use the practice rooms after dark. Evening was the only time we weren’t busy with classes and jobs. That meant walking across campus to the music building, something the male students were allowed to do. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Remember, this was the sixties.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"> We “young ladies” complained to the administration until they finally gave us permission to be out after dark as long as each of us was accompanied by a male chaperone. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When a disciple of Malcom X came to town, my religion professor was determined to take his students to hear the man speak. I have no idea how he managed it, but with or without permission, we walked to UNC-G, located only a couple blocks from our campus. We had been studying Islam, and our professor was a proponent of the adage, “Before you judge someone, walk a mile in their shoes.” </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I will never forget what the speaker said, how he said it, or how afraid I felt as his militant words washed over me. On television, I had heard Dr. King speak with intelligence, reason, and non-violent rhetoric. This was a large, very loud, very angry Black man speaking to--or rather shouting at--a primarily white audience. Honestly, I wondered if we would get out of there alive. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Malcolm X, the founder of the Black Panther movement had been assassinated only three years earlier. With his radical Black Power agenda, he was no Martin Luther King! But I understood. It seemed that King and his peaceful protests had failed to bring about significant change, and Black people were fed up. If they couldn’t appeal to decency, justice and their Constitutional rights through peaceful means, what recourse remained for achieving equality? Yes, I understood.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I still understand. I still have no patience or tolerance for racial slurs, racial superiority, segregation based on race, hatred or violence toward another race, or denial of fundamental rights due to race. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If you haven’t ‘walked a mile’ in Black shoes, try this on for size. It is an excerpt from the eloquent letter Dr. King wrote to his fellow clergymen in 1963 from his jail cell in Birmingham. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed. For years now I have heard the word ‘Wait!’ It rings in the ear of every Negro with piercing familiarity…</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Perhaps it is easy for those who have never felt the stinging darts of segregation to say wait. But when you have seen vicious mobs lynch your mothers and fathers at will and drown your sisters and brothers at whim; when you have seen hate-filled policemen curse, kick, brutalize, and even kill your black brothers and sisters with impunity; … when you suddenly find your tongue twisted and your speech stammering as you seek to explain to your six-year-old daughter why she can’t go to the public amusement park that has just been advertised on television, and see the tears welling up in her little eyes when she is told Funtown is closed to colored children, and see the depressing clouds of inferiority begin to form in her little mental sky, and see her begin to distort her little personality by unconsciously developing a bitterness toward white people; when you have to concoct an answer for a five-year-old son who is asking in agonizing pathos: ‘Daddy, why do white people treat colored people so mean?’ when you take a cross country drive and find it necessary to sleep night after night in the uncomfortable corners of your automobile because no motel will accept you; when you are humiliated day in and day out by nagging signs reading ‘white’ and ‘colored’; when your first name becomes ‘nigger’ and your middle name becomes ‘boy’ (however old you are); … and when your wife and mother are never given the respected title of ‘Mrs.’; when you are harried by day and haunted by night by the fact that you are a Negro, living constantly at tip-toe stance, never quite knowing what to expect next, and plagued with inner fears and outer resentments; when you are forever fighting a degenerating sense of ‘nobodiness’--then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait.” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Have we as a country made </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">any</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> progress since 1963? Do </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Black Lives Matter</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> today any more than they did in 1863 or 1963? How long must Black Americans wait? I try to understand, but I cannot. Bigotry and racism cannot be understood as anything other than wrong! And so I ask, “When will Lady Liberty’s torch, at last, shine on people of color in the so-called ‘land of the free’? </span></p><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Please visit my author website: </span><a href="https://www.cindylfreeman.com/" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">https://www.cindylfreeman.com/</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-59236604710833823072021-02-17T07:24:00.003-08:002023-10-21T09:33:55.105-07:00What Inspires You?<span id="docs-internal-guid-6ca96314-7fff-b29d-91ad-8660c9c92cdc"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc83fZbWe_LFWaK35wxQk6FD43QW5n7nF2ap-k3fobfkVM7GRsAG_qQzo3wbxK4M4AXw08RtGdDqwAnE-TI35Hz-RdkL6x0ObcuT8noajyaYFENPuBM6a1K3VnVV6R4kIrPrWvyuUlmao/s606/AfterRain_FrontCover.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="606" data-original-width="480" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc83fZbWe_LFWaK35wxQk6FD43QW5n7nF2ap-k3fobfkVM7GRsAG_qQzo3wbxK4M4AXw08RtGdDqwAnE-TI35Hz-RdkL6x0ObcuT8noajyaYFENPuBM6a1K3VnVV6R4kIrPrWvyuUlmao/w158-h200/AfterRain_FrontCover.jpeg" width="158" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />One might say that the COVID-19 pandemic inspired my latest book, </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/After-Rain-Weekly-Devotions-Comfort/dp/1945990449/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=cindy+L+Freeman+books&qid=1613510456&sr=8-1" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After Rain</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, but that wouldn't be wholly accurate. Certainly the pandemic lockdown prompted my writing, but it was God who inspired it. Does that make me one of God’s chosen messengers, a prophet, or a cleric? No. I’m not qualified to claim any of those labels. But, as a follower of Christ, I’ve learned to listen in the silence of each morning for that “still, small voice.” </span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For me, writing is nearly always a spiritual experience. My writing is a response to what I’m thinking and feeling, but, more than that, it is a response to whatever I’m discovering about life within the context of faith. It can also be a reflection of what I need such as strength or discernment or healing; and I have lived long enough to understand that my needs are not unique or special. Rather, they are shared by all of humanity, whether consciously or not. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Each new day brings fresh discoveries, it seems. I learn something new about myself or humanity or God almost daily. Sometimes these revelations happen by accident--when I’m not even searching--but more often inspiration comes because I have purposely opened my psyche to awareness of life’s mysteries and God’s miracles. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Few people make space for Divine inspiration, it seems. It’s no one’s fault. We are busy with jobs, families, chores, social media, and myriad other distractions. So, the practice of being awakened to inspiration must become a scheduled event. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As I discussed the format of</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> this book with my publisher, I knew I wanted it to include a space for readers to respond to the weekly devotions through prayer, meditation, and journaling. We agreed that each month’s entries should end with a lined page where readers could write their own thoughts after my prayer and meditation prompts.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If you purchase </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/After-Rain-Weekly-Devotions-Comfort/dp/1945990449/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&fbclid=IwAR2ODZVIZgI7t-xzJocn2Rw7jS0GDVsupXF9krh2mc8KhfYyD-hQdZCDqCo&keywords=cindy+L+Freeman+books&qid=1613574378&sr=8-1">After Rain</a>, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">you will benefit a wonderful non-profit organization that never charges a penny for its</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">services: <a href="https://www.google.com/search?gs_ssp=eJzj4tZP1zcsSUuLT85JMmC0UjWosLBMMrBISjIyM7JINTCwNLUyqEhONDFMMUyyNE01szRMNDT0ksrILy7ITE5VyMgvLU5VKM_MyclMzC1OKi1KBwCusRkV&q=hospice+house+williamsburg&rlz=1C1CHBF_enUS939US939&oq=Hospice&aqs=chrome.1.69i57j46i39i175i199j0i433j0i457j0i402j0i433l2j0i271.5491j0j7&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8">Hospice House and Support Care of Williamsburg, Virginia</a>.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In exchange for your generosity, I trust you</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> will be blessed with comfort and peace by taking the time to pray, meditate, and reflect through your own journal entries. Perhaps you'll discover what inspires you. </span></p></span><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">To read a FREE sample of </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After Rain</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, visit my </span><a href="https://www.cindylfreeman.com/" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">author website</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. </span> </p>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-84225204866293475282021-02-08T12:35:00.000-08:002021-02-08T12:35:03.294-08:00If I Were a Child<p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqQt04epkog5doPLGw0QsTlyidKfEk2udh9VPE8QSLl1QE_mhQkntYaVKyT11jWKfJuJCk3hMc8GXSm1NLp-dcZjfdoQrNZByPWWFBsN8-TpjwfA4RKBNVcxs2u8FW06daC3ZhhiOm3ds/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">I<img alt="" data-original-height="979" data-original-width="1000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqQt04epkog5doPLGw0QsTlyidKfEk2udh9VPE8QSLl1QE_mhQkntYaVKyT11jWKfJuJCk3hMc8GXSm1NLp-dcZjfdoQrNZByPWWFBsN8-TpjwfA4RKBNVcxs2u8FW06daC3ZhhiOm3ds/" width="245" /></a></div><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">If I were a child in the 2020s, what would I believe about the world? Based on the evidence, could I believe that most people are decent and honest, that police officers are helpers, that the grownups in my world have the power to keep me safe? Would I view the leaders of my country's government with respect? Would the president of the United States be my hero? Would I trust that I’m safe at school--when I’m allowed to go to school, that is--safe from invisible disease and visible violence?</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">If I were a child in the 2020s, would I understand that my teacher is a real person, not just a talking head on my computer? Would I remember what the bottom of Grandma’s face looks like and how the </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">inside</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> of her house smells? Or would I wonder if I could ever hug her again and how long I must wait before we can play our favorite board games in her living room instead of on her front porch? </span></span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-11a5b680-7fff-e2e1-8788-b3e078d2fff2"><br /></span><span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I was a child in the 1950s, there were things to worry about, like behaving at school, because if you didn’t, you’d be in bigger trouble when you got home; like doing your chores and your homework because it was expected; like being kind because it was the right way to treat people? Oh, sure! We had polio and the Cold War to cause anxiety, but, by the time I was four, Jonas Salk had invented a vaccine, and the Cold War was far, far away--or at least that’s what parents in the fifties said to reassure their children. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I was a child, we watched Walter Cronkite to learn what was happening in the world, and we had no reason to believe he wasn’t telling the truth. We ate all our meals at home, but that was because my parents couldn’t afford restaurant dining for a family of six. We played outside with our friends because it was fun, not because we weren’t allowed inside each other’s homes. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What images will be permanently scorched upon the innocent brains of today’s children? A black man calling for his mama as his breath is snuffed out by a white policeman’s knee. Masses of people marching, carrying signs, and shouting slogans--again--because after a hundred years or so, they still haven’t been heard. The twisted, orange face of a madman throwing childish tantrums. The hallowed halls of my “united” republic invaded by thugs. Fist bumps and elbow bumps replacing hugs and kisses. Ordinary, everyday citizens believing blatant lies. Adults creating problems instead of solving them.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Who will I become?</i> today's child wonders. Will there be a place for me in a broken world such as this? Dare I hope that beauty will one day emerge from the ashes of my ravaged childhood?</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Please visit my author website: https://www.cindylfreeman.com/</span></p><div><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3445369870115060618.post-29001312639498767942021-01-31T07:52:00.001-08:002021-02-01T13:20:37.032-08:00It's About Connection<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj33LPPUIsH1LagtpbGsne40FMZC4vpaJ0UxzeLxQx4h2nEI_6XJdC9hVbzkUHQp4pedO3xhuSTI32ax7CAJcy_4zmViGb3zTQgZQ8J8_I8k3zaS5iecNPF_AQzRi8rrwkRtNM-5QB3o4M/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="782" data-original-width="1000" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj33LPPUIsH1LagtpbGsne40FMZC4vpaJ0UxzeLxQx4h2nEI_6XJdC9hVbzkUHQp4pedO3xhuSTI32ax7CAJcy_4zmViGb3zTQgZQ8J8_I8k3zaS5iecNPF_AQzRi8rrwkRtNM-5QB3o4M/w200-h156/image.png" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">As dreadful as the last year has been with COVID-19, political unrest, racial unrest and all the rest--notice the little play on words, there--something astonishing has happened. The Holy Spirit has placed on my heart various people from my “past lives” and convicted me to renew contact with them. Evidently, this phenomenon is occurring with others, too, because I have heard from a number of folks for the first time in many years. As we connect by phone or email or text, each relationship is renewed instantly. It’s as if we never lost touch. </span><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-73ff044d-7fff-59b9-1c60-995b5a6b5996"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Shortly after Christmas, I realized I hadn’t received the usual card from my college voice professor. For fifty years, she and I have exchanged Christmas cards, and that’s it, but I always looked forward to hearing from her annually. Now, my mind filled with concern, especially about her health amid a pandemic. Suddenly, I became aware that I had never told her how much she meant to me, how positively she had influenced my life, and how much I admired her. For the first time in fifty years, I picked up the phone and called her. She knew who I was immediately. I asked her if she had caller ID, and she said, "No, but I’d recognize your voice anywhere.” Imagine that! After fifty years!</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What followed was the most delightful, hour-long conversation! She is in her late eighties and in frail health, but her mind is as sharp as ever. With social distancing measures in place, she and her husband (who have no family) are quite isolated in their apartment. Needless to say, my phone call, alone, made her day. But the greatest blessing about our long-overdue discourse was that, finally, I was able to share my sincere gratitude for all the support she provided during my college days, when I was far from home, very naive, and totally unprepared for adulthood. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Reconnecting with her warmed my heart, and I wondered what had taken me so long. She went on to tell me that, not only had she kept up with my music career, but now she was following my writing career, having read and enjoyed all of my novels. “I’m still waiting for </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Farm Girl</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">,” she said. I had to tell her I would not be publishing my childhood memoir, after all...that I recognized my parents did the best they could with what they knew and were no longer alive to defend themselves. I would chalk up the project to catharsis and let them rest in peace. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was no accident when the very next day, I got a phone call from a friend in Newport News with whom I had lost touch after moving to Williamsburg, a dear sister-in-Christ who helped me through a difficult period in my life. Yes, we’re “friends” on Facebook, but social media is limited when it comes to deep connection...or it should be. Again, we talked for nearly an hour and, not only was I able to thank her for her grace and caring at one of life’s lowest points, but I learned that her family is currently in the midst of a crisis and that a mutual friend of ours is suffering from COVID. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When another old friend called shortly after the new year, and when I continued to be reminded of long-ignored relationships, I knew that God was sending me an important message:</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> If you are thinking about someone with whom you’ve lost touch, chances are I have placed that person on your heart. Don’t wait for another crisis. Make the connection now and be blessed. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m learning that neither busyness nor physical isolation justifies neglecting relationships. Abundant life is about connection--connection with God and fellow humans. Deep connection results when we nurture relationships, both near and far. Excuse me while I make a phone call.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Please check out my author website: https://www.cindylfreeman.com/ </span></p><div><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Cindy L. Freemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041930981904347096noreply@blogger.com1