Cindy L Freeman's Blog

Tuesday, January 14, 2020

Embarrassment is not Fatal

I’ve heard it said that it takes six weeks to incorporate a new habit, six weeks of practicing that behavior consistently. Well, I must be a slow learner because it took me four years to purge sugar from my diet, and it is taking a lifetime to stop beating myself up when I backslide. I just did it again! I called myself a “slow learner.”

The truth is I don’t like to fail. I don’t think anyone does. Failure, even a small botch, feels humiliating. When I mess up, my first instinct is to berate myself. Self-flagellation is nothing new. It was a part of early Christian history, especially in monasteries and convents. Even Martin Luther whipped himself as a means of atoning for sin. I don’t whip myself when I find I have disobeyed God or made a foolish mistake, but I fall into the unproductive habit of self-blame. My instinct is to waste mental energy shaming myself; making myself feel less-than; forgetting that I am a forgiven and renewed child of God.

What if, instead of engaging in unproductive mental self-flagellation, I turned immediately to God in prayer, confessed my shortcoming, and asked for help in making things right? What if I trusted the promise of Romans 8:38-39 that “…neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor heights, nor depth, nor any other created thing will be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus?” Perhaps Paul’s list of ‘nors’ should include nor embarrassment.

What if, instead of getting discouraged by problems and embarrassed by mistakes, I remembered that God loves me no matter what blunders I make and stands ready to show me how to solve problems? What if I focused on my innumerable blessings, turning my attention from minuscule earthly issues to the grand scheme of God’s purposes?

I’m not advocating ignoring issues and hoping they’ll go away. Denial never solved a problem or made a situation better. Rather, I’m trying to develop the habit (resolution, if you will) of facing life head-on and dealing with embarrassing mistakes without falling into a blame-and-shame funk.

After all these years, I’m still working to develop healthy responses to stress. Worry, self-doubt, and self-flagellation are not healthy habits. If God has already conquered death, how can I allow myself to be discouraged even for a moment by life’s inevitable challenges?

Another verse from Paul’s letter to the Romans reminds me to put problems and perceived failures into perspective: “And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose (Romans 8:28).” In other words, God has my back; God is in my corner; and every negative experience provides a teachable moment with the potential for growing in wisdom and faith.

Cindy L. Freeman is the author of two award-winning short stories and three published novels: Unrevealed, The Dark Room and I Want to Go Home. Website: www.cindylfreeman.com; Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/cindy.l.freeman.9. Her books are available through amazon.com or hightidepublications.com

Friday, November 22, 2019

Why I Love Advent

The month of November brings thoughts of celebrations with all the trimmings we associate with the holidays. We think of feasting at large tables shared with loved ones, adding festive decorations to our homes, and buying just the right gift for each friend and family member. We plan parties, attend concerts, and embark on trips that take us “over the river and through the woods." Our moods are lifted by familiar carols, sparkling lights, and Hallmark Christmas specials. It’s the time of year that most of us anticipate with delight, even though we know it will involve a measure of harried rushing about.

But that's not why I love the season of Advent. Rather than encouraging us to surrender to all the busyness that we’ve come to associate with Christmas preparations, Advent invites us to slow our pace and focus on our spiritual preparation. From the Latin word adventus, advent means “coming.” In the church calendar, Advent marks the beginning of a new liturgical year. For Christians, the season of Advent, starting twenty-four days before Christmas, bids us to prepare our minds for the coming of Christ, the promised Messiah. It opens our hearts to receive the hope, peace, joy and love that are symbolized by the candles on an Advent wreath.

Since we live in a fallen world, filled with fallen people, including ourselves, it’s often challenging to place our hope in the future. Every day brings news of yet another terrible event somewhere in the world. With media sources that clamor to report negative news, each in the most sensational way, we begin to lose hope that God is still in charge and will ultimately triumph. Sometimes it seems like evil is winning. And what about peace? Is peace on earth even possible? Gradually our joy is depleted as hate seems stronger than love. But that’s exactly why God sent Jesus to replace hate with love.

Ours is not the first generation to feel hopeless, joyless, devoid of peace and longing to know God’s love. “O Come, O Come Immanuel” is one of the best-known Advent carols. The text, originating in the ninth century, speaks of the Israelites’ longing for a savior to release them from captivity. They “mourn in lonely exile” feeling hopeless and without joy. They plead with God to send a Messiah, a Savior who will “bind all peoples in one heart and mind.” The Israelites were expecting an earthly king to deliver them from captivity. But God had a mightier plan. He sent His son, Jesus, to offer deliverance to all people, deliverance from sin and death.

It’s fundamentally impossible to commercialize the season of Advent. But leave it to retail corporations to give it their best shot with the likes of “Elf on a Shelf” and those Advent calendars that hide a piece of chocolate candy behind each day leading up to Christmas. Not that there’s anything wrong with helping children count down the days. It’s just that the twenty-four days of Advent are about so much more than moving an elf or finding a piece of candy. During the twenty-four days of Advent we are encouraged to connect or re-connect with God in a personal and powerful way through meditation, study, prayer and inspiring music. That’s why I love Advent.

Cindy L. Freeman is the author of four award-winning short stories and three published novels: Unrevealed, The Dark Room, and I Want to Go Home. Website: www.cindylfreeman.com; Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/cindy.l.freeman.9. Her books are available through amazon.com or hightidepublications.com.

Thursday, October 10, 2019

Charlie

I was drawn to Charlie because of his humility, kindness, and gentle manner. He would stop by my office after finishing his volunteer shift at the Respite Care Center housed in the same building. I could tell that his wife’s unrelenting pain drew worry lines in his face. One day, he told me she could no longer sit in the pew and had to stay home from church. He said she had given up hope of ever experiencing relief and prayed daily for the Lord to “take her home.” I promised to continue praying for her healing, but mainly that she would find strength, comfort, and peace. We both assumed she would go first, that he would be able to care for her lovingly until the end. There was never a hint of resentment in his voice, only frustration that he couldn’t do anything to relieve her pain. Our brief encounters always ended with a warm hug.

That was the extent of my relationship with Charlie. After a few years of his “stop-bys” I noticed he was slowing down. He developed a shuffle and began walking with a cane, but he never considered discontinuing his volunteer job. I learned from the Respite Care manager that he loved his work there, and the clients loved this man of few words who had more than enough compassion to go around.

Charlie ended up in Hospice Care and eventually passed away at the age of 83. His obituary was only two paragraphs long, referring to his sixty-three-year marriage, his two daughters, one grandson, some siblings, nieces and nephews. That was it.

At his memorial service, I learned that Charlie’s legacy was one of quiet service. He was greatly influenced by a mission trip he had taken to Latvia. After that trip, he continued to support the home for unwed mothers and their children that our church helped establish. As a member of the church’s “Tool Guys,” he quietly accomplished odd jobs around the building and helped people in the community who couldn’t afford to pay for home repairs. His service to Respite Care was never mentioned. While I was surprised by the omission, I knew that’s how Charlie would have wanted it.

On the surface, Charlie’s life seemed to be one of little significance. He lived an existence devoid of fanfare. His accomplishments were few...or were they?

Cindy L. Freeman is the author of two award-winning short stories and three published novels: Unrevealed, The Dark Room and I Want to Go Home. Website: www.cindylfreeman.com; Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/cindy.l.freeman.9. Her books are available from amazon.com or hightidepublications.com

Monday, September 30, 2019

Embracing Peace

I spent much of my adult life striving, planning, and reaching for self-imposed goals. For many years, I tried to find my worth through my career and achievements. I was lured by the false premise that the so-called American dream must be attained in one’s lifetime for that life to be considered worthwhile. A schedule filled with busyness, activities, and frenzy shows that life is full and rewarding. Right?

I’ve come to realize there’s a difference between an accomplished life and a significant life. I’m not saying that accomplishment is a negative goal, but that a life of significance strives first to glorify God. When our accomplishments honor God they are significant.

Does our striving for significance mean we’re seeking perfection? Only Jesus lived a perfect earthly life because, while Jesus was fully human, He was also fully divine. Jesus wasn’t just a good person who did good deeds and cared about others. He was God in the flesh.

In our humanness, we are incapable of achieving perfection during our earthly lives. But peace results when we strive to obey and glorify God through our accomplishments. While achieving perfection in our lifetime is not possible, I believe peace is an achievable goal.

The formula for peace is simple in theory but not in practice: seek God’s will in all things, confess to those we have harmed and seek their forgiveness, confess our sins to God, and ask for God’s forgiveness. Though challenging, these goals are achievable. But there’s one more part to the formula, and I’m convinced it is the most challenging: forgive ourselves.

Recently, my sister and I were discussing regret. Both of us harbor regrets regarding our deceased parents. I don’t think we’re alone in this feeling. The problem with regret is that it holds the power to block peace. Regret is possibly the most difficult emotion to resolve. Usually, the people we harmed—or think we harmed—are gone from this earthly life, and we are left with if-onlys. If only I had said or done this or that. If only I hadn’t said or done this or that.

I’ve learned that, although it may be too late to resolve our if-onlys with the people we’ve harmed, it’s never too late to seek God’s forgiveness. Believers are promised that nothing can separate us from God’s love, not even regret. When we harbor regret, it’s difficult to accept that God’s forgiveness is both free and final. We keep taking back the regret and carrying it around like a teenager’s backpack filled with heavy books. Regret weighs us down, causing us to drag through our days, maybe even keeping us awake at night, until finally after the tenth time or hundredth time of shaming ourselves, we accept God’s forgiveness, forgive ourselves, and embrace the peace that God has been offering all along.

Tuesday, September 10, 2019

Meaningful Work

Every September, I enjoy scrolling through the back-to-school pictures posted on Facebook. I’ve “friended” the parents of many children I taught at the Early Childhood Music School and children who participated in my choirs, some as long ago as forty years. What a joy it is to watch them grow up, go off to college, embrace careers, and raise families of their own. It’s especially heartening to see how many are still involved in music.

When I retired from teaching and choral directing four years ago, I never dreamed I’d be returning to music education. I even embarked on a new career as an author. But I missed choral conducting, and I dearly missed working with young people. So, when the opportunity presented itself for me to teach again, I couldn’t resist. With some trepidation, I accepted the position as director of the high school chorus at Walsingham Academy, known as The Madrigals.

I wondered if I’d have enough energy to work with teenagers again. I prayed about making the right decision both for the students and for me. I worried the job might take too much time away from my husband, children and grandchildren … and my writing, of course. When I walked into the new- teacher orientation and discovered the other new teachers were young enough to be my grandchildren, I wondered if I had deluded myself into thinking I could handle the position at my age.

I needn’t have worried. After two weeks working at this superb school with delightful students, supportive parents, and dedicated colleagues, I find myself energized, motivated, and thrilled to be back in academia, doing what I love, what I was born to do. Since the position is part-time, I still have time for my family, my volunteering, and my writing. The only significant adjustment has been rising and trying to shine at 5:30 am instead of my retirement time of 7:30, but it’s not every day. In fact, the schedule fits my lifestyle perfectly.

When I visit elderly friends in assisted living facilities, they often remark that they feel useless, spending the bulk of their days in front of the television. The hours drag by as they have little more to look forward to than their daily naps, meals, and swallowing mega-doses of meds. After leading full lives of raising families, building and sustaining meaningful careers, and active volunteering, they strongly desire to continue being productive. Their minds are sharp and filled with wisdom that they long to share. Despite still having much to offer, they are often ignored, and their aged bodies fail them, resulting in frustration.

This September, I am reminded of how blessed I am by this opportunity to be productive in my senior years. I understand my time for productivity is limited, accepting that my body will eventually fail me. Every day, I thank God for the blessing of meaningful work.

Sunday, August 25, 2019

Maybe You Can Teach an Old Dog New Tricks

Two weeks ago, I came out of retirement to return to music education, which is why I haven’t written a blog in a while. I’m teaching high school choral music in a private Catholic school just down the street from where I taught early childhood music for twenty-seven years. I’m thrilled to be back in the classroom, working with motivated young people, dedicated colleagues, and superb administrators.

However, my new adventure hasn’t been without challenges. After four years of retirement, I forgot how much focus and energy teaching demands. I'm determined to be organized, stay positive, and take care of my health, but I've had to make some major adjustments to both my schedule and my mindset.

Here are a few random discoveries I’ve made in the last two weeks:

Starting each day with gratitude carries positive energy throughout the day, even when that day begins at 5:30 am.
Brushing your teeth in the dark can result in unwanted surprises. For instance, whitening toothpaste also whitens blue shirts.
If you’ve misplaced your glasses, the first place to look is on top of your head; likewise, wearing glasses in the shower is not recommended.
A narcissist won’t recognize himself in your comments, so you might as well save your breath.
Every American now knows the definition of “narcissist.” Except one, that is.
Okay, those last two items have nothing to do with my new job, but I couldn't resist.
Laundry gets cleaner when you remember to put detergent in the washing machine.
Starting a new job at the age of seventy is either extremely optimistic or extremely naive.
According to the driver behind me this morning, turning right on red is not optional.
Spending time trying to make life fair is a waste of time.
When HGTV throws a pillow, it’s a design element; when I throw a pillow, it’s clutter.
No one can steal your peace without your permission; one can be peaceful in the midst of chaos.
When your friend leaves her cell phone at your house, calling her cell phone to alert her of the fact is generally ineffective.
The most amazing thing about God’s love is that it’s as if each of us is the only object of that love.
Ending each day with gratitude ensures a good night’s sleep...especially after getting up at 5:30 am.

Undoubtedly, many more discoveries and valuable lessons await me...which goes to prove you can teach an old dog new tricks.

Cindy L. Freeman is the author of two award-winning short stories and three published novels: Unrevealed, The Dark Room and I Want to Go Home. Website: www.cindylfreeman.com; Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/cindy.l.freeman.9. Her books are available from amazon.com or hightidepublications.com

Wednesday, July 17, 2019

My Cheerleader

Every writer needs a cheerleader. Chances are, unless your name is Baldacci, King, or Steele you aren’t writing for money or fame. Sometimes you need a cheerleader to encourage you to persevere. Like when you spend all day at an author event and sell one book. Like when you read your published novel for the first time and discover ten typos.

My husband, Carl, is my cheerleader. Does he perform jumps and cartwheels? No. Does he shout and clap when I publish a new novel? No. So, how does he perform his role as cheerleader, you ask? In silence, of course. That’s right. He gives me the gift of silence so I can retreat into my fictional worlds of scenes, characters, and dialogues. When the door to my writing space is closed, Carl knows his life is in danger if he dares to enter. Writing is a solitary profession that requires … well … solitude.

There are so many other ways my husband cheers me on as a writer. Since he’s a techno-geek of the highest order, I rely on him to keep my computer, tablet, and credit card reader running smoothly. Without him reminding me, I’d never think to update my devices. I barely remember to charge them. I don’t have enough fingers to count the times I’ve texted or called him from a book show to say, “Help, I can’t get on the internet” or “Help, I don’t remember how to access PayPal” or “Help, my hotspot isn’t working” or “Help, I forgot my password.” He’s always there to talk me through a problem.

Granted, sometimes Carl's reminder of “I’ve showed you how to do that a million times” makes me feel stupid, but how can he understand that my mind is too full of outlining, plotting, grammar, syntax, tense, synonyms, elevator speeches, proofreading, revising, and meeting deadlines to remember how to process a credit card purchase? If he could climb inside my head, he’d see what a crazy mess it is in there.

It’s hard for me to promote myself as an author. It feels like childish bragging. Yet self-promotion is what we authors must do to market our books. We must create and maintain an author platform. Jane Friedman, one of the world’s leading English-language publishers, defines author platform as the “ability to sell books because of who you are or who you can reach.” If I want to sell my books, I must create an author platform for each book I write and promote it through a website, blog site, social media, email blasts, local author events, and book signings. Marketing is another full-time job, it seems.

My cheerleader tells everyone he meets that his wife is a published author and that they should read my novels and blog posts. In fact, he introduces himself as Mr. Cindy Freeman. As a former rocket scientist/systems analyst, Carl is secure enough in himself to promote his wife without feeling a threat to his self-esteem.

My cheerleader helps me with launches—book launches, not the rocket variety—also inventory, bookkeeping, and taxes, to satisfy the IRS. Did I mention he does the grocery shopping and cooking? With a cheerleader like him, who needs cheers, jumps, and cartwheels?