Somewhere Over The Rainbow…Dreams Come True

Remember learning the letters of the alphabet and theirs sounds; then, by fusing these phonetic values together, syllables magically made words, and a wondrous world of communication unfolded.

Like learning to read, the practice of listening to God, teaches us to discern the intent and meaning of His communications with us. So to my way of thinking, He gave us Jesus, Whose birth we celebrate his season, as an intimate Love note: His heart’s desire and longing to spend every moment, and eternity, with us. As a promissory note, He painted the rainbow in its spectacular colors.

Newton divided its spectrum into seven main colors—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet. He chose seven “by analogy to the number of notes in a musical scale.” (Wikipedia.org) Additionally, I see it as understanding another spiritual dimension of ourselves, as in a mirror, because a rainbow’s colors reflect ours. (I’ll expound on this in my upcoming series “Journey to Wholeness” beginning January 3, 2014!)

In reference to one of my favorite songs, my Christmas wish is that all your dreams do come true! To stimulate thoughts of what your dreams may be, here’s a composite of His wondrous Self-expression, tracked to “Somewhere Over The Rainbow/What A Wonderful World” by Isreal Kamakawiwo’ on Ukulele. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E_hvCCmnzIY

(If there’s a green, or black, screen on your browser when you click this link, use Google Chrome to view.)

Thanksgiving

I like rocks. I’m good at rock-paper-scissors. And as a child, I was skilled with a hammer; not in its traditional sense. It was welding the ordinary claw hammer cracking Brazil nuts out of their shells on our brick hearth, and as a young geologist in my driveway searching for crystals hidden unpredictably inside its rocks. These “diamonds” were my treasures.

I also LOVE flowers! If I had frivolous monies, I would have a fresh, heavenly scented bouquet delivered weekly: Calla lilies with eucalyptus, and camellias in December, cheery daffodils in January, un-pansy pansies in February, Carolina jasmine in April, May’s Asian peonies and, to the most important, the Mayflower, of course.  

For this Thanksgiving, I am thankful for the Mayflower departing Plymouth, England on September 6, 1620 with 102 passengers to land in the new world at my favorite rock (emeralds and diamonds aside), Plymouth Rock. Believing in their destiny with the hope for a better world, 102 brave pilgrims (travelers) courageously sacrificed security and comfort for the dream of independence and religious freedom.

A week or so after land was sighted (November 9th), they set foot on the new world. In Native graves they found baskets of maize and iron kettles. They reburied the maize for spring planting. They also found Native American homes with mats, implements, corn, and beans of all colors.

Although fifty percent died the first winter, there were fifty-three Pilgrims and ninety Native Americans who celebrated the first harvest in the new world the following fall, 1621. Squanto, who served as an interpreter (She learned English, probably as a slave, in England.) and taught the Pilgrims how to catch ell and grow corn, is credited for the Pilgrim’s success.

It was President Abraham Lincoln who in 1863 officially declared that the fourth Thursday in November be celebrated as a time of “Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens.”

I second the emotion! Have a blessed holiday!

Do You Know…

Have you ever felt like life was out of your control? Do you feel alone, forgotten, robbed of purpose and worth? Don’t fall for it! It’s far from the truth.

Beneath His wings
Beneath His wings

Sometimes, circumstances scream “Powerless!” at us. If you believe it, you are. If you don’t, herein lies your true power.

Remember the Christmas classic, “It’s A Wonderful Life?” George Bailey (Jimmy Stewart) is a frustrated businessman with compromised dreams from personal sacrifices. Finding himself in a desperate financial strait, thoughts of his unworthiness, thoughts that he should have never been born, drive him to consider suicide. Then his guardian angel, Clarence, shows him how his nonexistence would have negatively affected the residents of Bedford Falls. This movie is a vivid reminder of the malevolence of self-doubt.

We can all suffer from its destructive, indoctrinating effects IF we listen to its lies, which brings me to “What The Bleep Do You Know!?” www.whatthebleep.com  (Bookmark this to watch when you’re seriously ready for an awakening.)

It’s part documentary, part story, and part visual effects illustrating how science and religion merge, explaining the interconnectedness of all things.

As Amanda’s (Academy award winner Marlee Matlin, also living with a disability: deafness) uninspired life unravels from relationship woes, she’s thrown into a revelatory wormhole challenging her thoughts, beliefs, and perceptions. Her epiphany is that she is the master of her thoughts, actions, and destiny.  http://www.whatthebleep.com/bleep/synopsis/

It’s true you’re human, living an earthly existence, ‘tthough you needn’t succumb to its rule over you. Challenge the status quo. Rise above those fatalistic thoughts concerning circumstances you’re finding difficult…and your abilities to rise above them. All things are possible.

There are times that I, too, feel forgotten. That’s when a hug is required. That’s exactly what I said one day. I shared the following experience in my memoir, Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity )
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“God, I need a hug.

I heard, “Come outside.”

It was a sunny, early fall morning. My home is wrapped with woods on three sides, and there was stillness all around, a palpable quietness. Silhouetted trees and dappled sunlight highlighted the blanket of fallen autumn leaves. I took in a deep breath of tranquility. Instantly, I heard rustlings to my right.

I looked over and up to see the top of a lone tree begin a dervish whirl, waving its branches and clapping its leaves off in twirling descents. For the longest time, I beheld the dance. Then I closed my eyes and joined in until the song was over. It was better than a hug.

You know, you can remain as you are or you can lift yourself up and out. You can rise above any challenging circumstance with your attitude and confession. You are the creative force in your life.

You’re special. You’re one of-a-kind, unique as your fingerprint. God intimately fashioned you in His image, with the same creative power as Himself.

Do you know that He knows your name? When is the last time you called on His?

Life Is: But A Prayer

Despite life’s uncertainties and living with a disability, I believe our lives are but a prayer.

What is prayer? An address or petition in words, thoughts, emotions, or actions, to God or a god, person or thing for help and/or enlightenment, of praise and/or thanksgiving.

For as long as I can remember, within me has been a deep knowing that God is there. He is my Father, and Friend. Even in the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual battles living with a disability, I know ALL is well with my soul. It’s not up for debate. It’s a foregone conclusion. It’s the truth. Period. All I have to do is be still, be quite, and b-r-e-a-t-h-e.  It’s so simple to pause, yet so difficult to stop thinking, worrying, emoting, and imagining.

Like I told you in my last week’s article, I’m in a bout with the herpes zoster virus: shingles. Before the blisters appeared, I ignored the early “electric nerve tingling” symptoms; they’re typical in living with SCI.

The shingles diagnosis was a shocking surprise for me because my mother had told me that I never had chicken pox. Well, obviously, the truth is: I never evidenced symptoms of chicken pox, but the virus took up residence anyway!

From reading my books, you know what I believe and where I dwell, despite the battle. Shingles is a physically painful and mentally challenging battle.

My eyes behold the inflamed skin encircling scattered islands of blisters. My body’s tactile sensitivity to the viral nerve attack keeps me mindful during the day and awakens me in the night. So, how do I respond?

Just as the confused house wren awakens me at 3:55 and 4:15 many mornings, I have succumbed to the confusing ifs: What if the virus lives on? If it hasn’t died, will it present its venomous head again?

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I don’t like to think these thoughts anymore than you do. But, I take security in knowing that they’re merely thoughts.

Thoughts aren’t necessarily prophetic—thinking them will not make them come about.They’re not the truth—thinking them doesn’t make them real.

I can hear my thoughts, but I don’t have to listen to them. I filter my thoughts by weighing their motivation. If they’re beneficial, creative, and productive, I give them power by indulging their possibilities. If not, they get deleted…every time they try to put fear in my heart. As you know, some thoughts are very persistent! (I dedicated one section of my book HOW TO BE THE BEST YOU http://booklocker.com/books/6811.html on how to change unwanted though patterns.)

The other morning when my faithful little wren woke me, I was instantly made aware of the shooting nerve fire down my leg. Simultaneously, I was distracted by what I thought the wren was saying. As clear as any chirp ever was, it said, “You feel the pain. You feel the pain. You feel the pain.”

I certainly could—feel the pain, and I gratefully thanked God.

Sometimes, we have to accept the good along with the bad. That’s life. Whether it’s living with a disability or dealing with life’s curve balls, no one is exempt. The important thing is where we put the emphasis.

Practice makes perfect.

WOEISME! Shingles!

Let me say it again, WOE IS ME!

I’m sure you noticed that last Friday’s post was a lonely quote. Let me explain:

On the previous Monday, I began experiencing a dull pressure on the inside of my left knee. Tuesday, there was swelling, and the dull pressure increased to sharp intermittent pains. Assuming it to be SCI-related nerve firings but wanting to be safe, I called to report it to my doctor. His nurse informed me that their computers were down, but she would give him my message.

He called Wednesday urging me to go to the emergency room without delay. He called in orders for a bilateral venous ultrasound to rule out the possibility of a deep blood clot. Meanwhile, the sharp pains had turned into intermittent shocks of fire and progressed up my thigh and down my knee–unlike SCI nerve pain. Also, there were two angry patches, one on the top of my knee and the other on the inside of my upper thigh, near a recent cat scratch. Hmmm.

Upon admittance, I reiterated my growing symptoms and pointed out the curious rash. Seeming to have plugs in their ears, the nurses made notes and the technicians rotely performed the ultrasound (thankfully, no blood clot), wrote out a prescription for pain/inflammation, and dismissed me. In my typical fashion, I didn’t fill the prescription.

After a miserable night, I went to First Care, a privately owned emergency medical facility. Although my left leg was now  numb, it hurt to the touch, and there were two more big red patches—like separated twins—one on either side of my knee, then a third one on my left calf.

This time, the doctor listened, joked, examined, and re-examined my cat scratches. His diagnosis: cat scratch fever.  He wrote out a prescription for an antibiotic and topical ointment.

Finally! I felt like this doctor knew what he was talking about. I took a couple of Bufferin for the pain, confident that the antibiotic would kick in within 24 to 36 hours. It was Thursday afternoon.

By Saturday, the intermittent burning shocks ran down both sides of my knee and on down behind my ankle. The patches had multiplied with painful blister-like eruptions inside the angry inflammations, and I stopped the prescribed ointment because it heightened the pain! I had to keep my skirt hem off my left leg. Due to a new symptom of back pain, I was propped up in bed by 5:00 p.m.

My sister came over, took pictures on her iPhone, and sent them to her sister-in-law, now on ER doctor. She thought it looked like shingles. After one more round of emailing pictures to a doctor specializing in shingles, it was confirmed: shingles!

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At 11:00 p.m. and at my protest, my sister picked up four written prescriptions—an anti-viral, an anti-inflammatory, a pain pill for viral pain, and another pain pill. Again, they’re unfilled.

I was past the “72 hours after the rash appears” for the vaccine and some medications, so I chose a natural approach. I’M NOT RECOMMENDING THIS, but I’m only five days in, after a four-day-delay, bathing these dozen islands of rashes in a selection of Young Living’s Essential oils.

I’ve had two straight nights of restful sleep without pain spasms, the blisters are drying up and their encircling red patches have disappeared. Rash pain is mild. I could wear my skirt over my leg today without pain chills from its touch, though I prefer it off that leg. I’m still experiencing some back pain, the occasional headache, chills, and stomach aches–all symptomatic.

I am SO-O-O grateful it’s only on one leg. Countless times, I’ve thought of Job who suffered with boils over his entire body! After the emotional stress of all his servants, livestock, and family being killed and his home destroyed, I wonder if the boils were shingles. He had them from the top of his head to the soles of his feet! I can’t imagine the pain.

I’ll have an update next week.

Have you any experience with shingles?

Mary, Did You Know?

For my Christmas article, I want to share my favorite Christmas song, “Mary Did You Know,” by Michael English https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3oiw7hS4pzg .

I couldn’t say it better.

MERRY CHRISTMAS all!

Mary did you know
That your baby boy
Would one day walk on water

Mary did you know
That your baby boy
Would save our sons and daughters
Did you know
That your baby boy
Has come to make you new
This Child that you delivered
Will soon deliver you

Mary did you know
That your baby boy
Will give sight to the blind man

Mary did you know
That your baby boy
Would calm a storm by His hand
Did you know
That your baby boy
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Has walked where angels trod
And when you kiss your little baby
You’ve kissed the face of God
Oh Mary did you know

Mary did you know
The blind will see
The deaf will hear
The dead will live again
The lame will leap
The dumb will speak
The praises of the Lamb

Mary did you know
That your baby boy
Is Lord of all creation

Mary did you know
That your baby boy
Will one day rule the nations
Did you know
That your baby boy
Was Heaven’s perfect Lamb
And the sleeping child you’re holding
Is the great I AM
Oh Mary

Blue Bird Days

For several years after embarking on my chariot (wheelchair) ride, I experienced a brooding sadness. No one knew about it, only me. After the second year, I pinpointed it to occur for a couple of months in the fall. It dissipated as subtly as it appeared.

In the third and final year, I realized it was a mild depression. This sadness resulted from my association with the month of my SCI, September, and the loss of participating in favorite fall activities and exhilarating winter sports. This realization began my resurrection.

I had already grieved the death of sojourning the remainder of my life via feet (although I do believe in miracles). Now, it was time to bury old dreams and resurrect new hopes.

I leased an apartment in a newly completed complex. I recall the prediction of a possible evening snow. With the late-night news came the announcement that, indeed, it was snowing.

I threw on a shawl, wheeled out to the sidewalk, and laid my head back as silent snowflakes sifted softly onto my face. I lingered there for the longest, drinking in the peaceful beauty, and praising God, out loud.

Yes, I remember wondering if my neighbors thought I was crazy; but my joy trumped worrying about what they thought. I missed the snow. Just because I couldn’t ski or cross country in it, didn’t lessen my delight. I was in heaven. (A “crippling” half-inch accumulation of snow caused all schools to be closed the next day. What?)

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In recognizing my sadness, I could open the mental windows for fresh ideas to circulate. My desire to do something about it, to find happiness in other ways, was the door to my freedom. Choosing to make the emotional change adjusting to disability, put me on my healing path.

My first book, Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity http://booklocker.com/books/6235.html , is a beginner course for you to recognize fresh ideas that will revive your hopes for a promising future after disability, resuscitate mental clarity for strength to push forward, and encourage you to open the door to the productive, fulfilling future that awaits you. It’s your choice.

Still, snow is rare in Alabama, but that doesn’t limit my experiencing it. Warren Miller Entertainment provides me vicarious thrills “catchin’ air” around the world. Mostly, they film heli-skiing and backcountry skiing, WAY beyond my expertise. But this way, everyday is a blue bird day on champagne powder for me!

“On your left!”

SWUSH!

Thanks-giving

I like rocks. I’m good at rock-paper-scissors. And as a child, I was skilled with a hammer; not in its traditional sense. It was wielding the ordinary claw hammer cracking Brazil nuts out of their shells on our brick hearth; and, as a young geologist in my driveway searching for crystals hidden unpredictably inside its rocks. These “diamonds” were my treasures.

I also LOVE flowers! If I had frivolous monies, I would have a fresh, heavenly scented bouquet delivered weekly: Calla lilies with eucalyptus and camellias in December, cheery daffodils in January, macho pansies in February, Carolina jasmine in April, May’s Asian peonies and, to the most important, the Mayflower, of course.

On this Thanksgiving Day, I am thankful for the Mayflower departing Plymouth, England on September 6, 1620 with 102 passengers to land in the new world at my favorite rock (real emeralds and real diamonds aside), Plymouth Rock. Believing in their destiny with the hope for a better world, 102 brave pilgrims (travelers) courageously sacrificed security and comfort for the dream of independence and religious freedom.

A week or so after land was sighted (November 9th), they set foot on the new world.

In Native graves they found baskets of maize (which was probably their first meal) and iron kettles. They reburied the maize for spring planting. They also found Native American homes with mats, implements, corn, and beans of all colors.
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Although fifty-percent died the first winter, there were fifty-three Pilgrims and ninety Native Americans who celebrated the first harvest in the new world the following fall, 1621. Squanto, who served as an interpreter (She learned English, probably as a slave in England.) and taught the Pilgrims how to catch eel and grow corn, is credited for the Pilgrim’s success.

It was President Abraham Lincoln who in 1863 officially declared that the fourth Thursday in November be celebrated as a time of “Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficient Father who dwelleth in the Heavens.”

Can you give me an AMEN!

Where art Thou, Romeo?

Movies and romance novels propagate the fantastical delusion of the perfect other in our lives. Though it’s subliminal: “…below the threshold of consciousness.” (Merriam-Webster), these scripts imply that The One is out there waiting to meet all our emotional and physical needs, just like that. The infamous line in Jerry Maguire, “You complete me.” doesn’t help in refuting this romantic notion of effortlessly living happily ever after.

STOP! There is no such thing. Forget it! He/she doesn’t exist. Was there a Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs Two, Sleeping BeautyAfter Her Awakening, or Cinderella-My Family Will Come? No, deluded romantics, because after commitment comes reality.

Because God knows the cost of true love, I believe that the physiological and psychological effects of being in love are His whimsical whammy for procreation. (You know, the surges of serotonin in the gut, aka butterflies, and the mood enhancer, dopamine, messing with the brain’s reasoning abilities.) If it weren’t for these out-of-control emotions, how many of you would knowingly walk into the most difficult role of your life? He knew the strength of emotion, as well as the emotional strength, necessary to star in this role. He is the Epitome, Price, and Prize of commitment, of unconditional love.

Although I have yet to experience it, I believe in forever love.The many couples who remain married after decades of living this forever love say that they work at staying in love, day-in and day-out. The secret is that neither one falls out-of-love with the other at the same time.

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PHOTO Heart REFLECTION SWANS LOVEA successful love story takes work and understanding. Getting to know anyone takes patience and time. It requires acceptance (of their preferences or prickly quirks), availability, kindness, selflessness, and persistence when things get painful.This is when most people throw up their hands and throw-in-the-towel on love. They choose to not deal with the conflict. What good story is without conflict? Besides, marriage isn’t a mindless emotional high. Who could sustain it?!

A committed marriage, or any committed relationship, is to selflessly support, help, and heal each other on the road to their (and your) personal wholeness. Let’s face it: the inevitable daily friction of rubbing shoulders, re-opens childhood wounds from early relationships; raw, unresolved emotions sting and irritate.

If you feel you are with The One, are you going to run away when things get tough and let another scab form over your unhealed wounds? Or, will you stay to apply (and receive) the healing salve of true, unconditional love—the ointment of your soul?

A Hymn

Today, my topic is a hymn, like no other.

When my feet did all the walking, autumn was my favorite season.  I still love her displays of clear azure skies above amber and carnelian dressed trees, nippy winds raining down flurries of autumn leaves, and dropping temperatures ushering in winter. What I love about all four of the seasons is how they announce each others’ approach, like the warm-up opening act for the next season’s concert.

Since childhood, the one cohesive element in nature’s draw for me has always been the tent of the heavens. No matter the season, I lay transfixed on a blanket or cocooned in a sleeping bag staring heavenward, transfixed by its expanse, wondering, contemplating life, identifying the constellations, and praying. And, how I love a full moon!

In silence, I learned to listen to what I saw, and to trust what I heard. Though still, I can’t carry a tune with my voice, as I behold the night’s sparkling heavens, my heart sings to God.

I’m not alone when I say this: King David, who spent countless nights under the stars 3,000 years ago, wrote a psalm expressing his awe and understanding of the heavens.

He wrote: “The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament shows His handiwork. Day unto day utters speech, and night unto night reveals knowledge. There is no speech nor language where their voice is not heard. Their line (sound, parenthesis mine) has gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world.” (Psalm 19: 1-4 KJV)

On the next clear evening, find an exquisite view of the heavens. Pause beneath them. Listen to their symphony. Soak in their harmony. Feel your heart swell with awe and hope. Pen your psalm and sing it.
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No one will hear…except The One Who knows your name; The One Who hears your thoughts, The Wonderful One Who made you.

Just like the heavens shout without speaking a word, let your heart sing His favorite song.

He’s listening.