Goals.

We set them in order to know that we are accomplishing something. They can be long-range, like being over forty and working back to the Olympics after becoming a mom. Effective goals make us reach. Some may be a stretch, but we do them, like eight gold medals in a single Olympics. Friends push us to attain our goals, and that makes us better, like the girls who went 1-2 in the gymnastics all-around.

These are feats, goals accomplished, that we will remember. What we don’t often see are the little goals that make the big ones. One more lap in the pool. One more mile on the track. One more time lifting the weights. One more page of writing. It’s like finding your way in a forest. Due …

The call came at 6:00 a.m. this morning. Of course, here in Anchorage, Alaska, we’re four hours behind the eastern third of the United States, so it was 10:00 a.m. in Florida. My dad’s wife called to let me know that he’d come through his open heart surgery with flying colors–that the surgeon had been able to correct 95% of what he hoped to fix. How do they determine that? In 5% increments, apparently, but still, that seems to be a pretty precise measurement.

Regardless of how they came to that conclusion, however, I thank God that my 82-year-old father’s surgeon was skillful, that he’d been able to do two bypasses to correct some seriously blocked arteries, and that he was able to do so without further aggravating …

Although I wasn’t living in a cave, last week I was in a cabin without a television. A wonderful thing, actually, but once I returned to civilization (AKA Grandma’s house) I was like a moth to light watching the Olympics. Today I saw a story on those competing who are moms. Dara Torres. Jennie Finch. Michelle Roach. When I see Dara Torres’ workout regiment, it looks superhuman to me. Even more inspirational (or depressing) is she is over forty. There are days as forty is in sight that I can’t even find the strength to make it to the Y. These women have our attention because it’s Olympic season. Yet I can think of many …

Although I wasn’t living in a cave, last week I was in a cabin without a television.  A wonderful thing, actually, but once I returned to civilization (AKA Grandma’s house) I was like a moth to light watching the Olympics.

Today I saw a story on those competing who are moms.  Dara Torres.  Jennie Finch.  Michelle Roach.  When I see Dara Torres’ workout regiment, it looks superhuman to me.  Even more inspirational (or depressing) is she is over forty.  There are days as forty is in sight that I can’t even find the strength to make it to the Y.

These women have our attention because it’s Olympic season.  Yet I can think of many scenarios moms pull off every day that don’t make the Today Show …

Conflict. I have been told over and over again how import conflict is in a story. It is what propells a novel on. I am pretty sure God has been giving me first hand experience in conflict lately.

Life hasn’t been easy lately. In fact, it has been almost downright miserable with one recent ray of sunshine. Seven weeks ago I had brain surgery to help with symptoms caused by my Chiari malformation. It has been an up and down recovery with the last 3 weeks being specifically difficult.

In April when I received my diagnosis, I figured that this conflict in my life would finally be over. I found out this past Monday that I need to have the same surgery again. This time it is …

The splat, splat, splat awakened me from my nap on the couch. Looking up I saw that my brand new, two-week old window was leaking. Not just a little drip; big, fat, wet drips. The sill of the window was soaked and water ran down the wall.

I live in a dry, arid state; rain is good. We need rain. We pray for rain. We relish the rain. However, when the rain comes in the house and doesn’t stay outside where it is needed it becomes a problem.

Life has been that way recently. Things that are good and that I have prayed for like work and writing have filled my

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I seem to be in the habit of summing up my week in a single sentence. This week, I would say I’ve been riding a yo-yo coaster. It chugs slowly to the top, a height of health and happiness, before plunging into the shadowy depths that grant me the mysterious necessity of experience.

Yesterday was one of those plunges into reality, today feels more like a new sunrise, as if something exciting is about to happen. Perhaps it is. You see, it takes a concentrated effort to keep from slipping into my ‘dark side’, a place where the world is gloomy and of course, nothing ever goes ‘my way’.

But

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Do you have a place where it is easier for you to write, your Place Of  Writing?

I like to sit in my rocking chair, in the corner of the living room, when I use my laptop. I can connect to the phone line and plug into the power strip at the same time. I can look out the window and watch the birds and squirrels or observe the woods in different weathers. That is where I meet my friends each day and put a new post on my blog.

But…for some reason, I can’t buckle down to work when I sit there.

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