"Maybes" and "Ifs" - Life Can Be Good

I have been struggling a lot over the last year to try to understand how I feel about doctors. MDs, NDs, medical and natural, small clinics and large hospitals. And that struggle, I’ll admit, has been a difficult one for me. Every time I step through their doors – big doors and little doors alike – I am faced with a myriad of emotions that make little sense to me.

The one I feel the most is apprehension and fear, which has left me confused and frustrated since all of this began. I went through stages of guilt where my mind tried to convince me I was somehow, subconsciously, weirdly, not wanting to be healed. I faced periods where I thought maybe it was induced by my poor experiences: the physical pain that followed or was inflicted during those visits or the mental distress at being called insane or attention-seeking.

But I don’t think it’s any of those things. Not when I’m thinking logically and not letting emotions like guilt and fear run away with my mind.

Because I don’t mind trying every possible solution.

I don’t mind going to doctors or having my blood drawn.

I don’t mind having the scans, or taking the pills, or any of that.

And I would love to be normal again. I would love to do all of those things that everyone always talks about me doing if I was healed. Going to college to become a wedding planner (something that I’ve thought would be amazing since I helped my mom with a wedding reception when I was a lot younger), traveling the country, etc. None of those things bring on apprehension or fear. Those are things I would love to do, to be, to have. Who wouldn’t? I think only the insane.

Yet I am not well enough to do those things now, and I think that’s what bothers me. Because what I do mind…

…is hearing it talked about with excitement, and the pills not working.

Is listening to everyone hope for it with all their hearts, and the blood work to come back with nothing.

What I mind, is watching disappointment cloud their eyes and their faces with every possible-fix that doesn’t work out.

I hate the disappointment. I hate the way it makes my mom look like she’s gonna cry. I hate the way it brings frustration and sadness and pain. I hate hearing people say “maybe by then you’ll be better so you can…”

Because “then” always comes and I’m still the same.

I don’t always want to be waiting for a “then”, and I don’t want to make everyone who loves me wait for a “then” too. I don’t want my life to be on hold, waiting for a cure, hoping for the next medical breakthrough. I don’t want to plan my life based on “maybes” and “ifs” that may come while I am still…the way I am.

And I don’t want to spend my whole life feeling broken, like something that can’t be complete as it is. I don’t want everyone else to spend their whole lives feeling that way either. I don’t want to be pitied like I’m getting a second-rate life. Because I won’t be getting a second-rate life if I make this life my own.

I don’t want to give up trying to get better. I want to keep trying the things my mom finds that may help me. But I don’t want to keep holding onto those things as the only options to a good life. I don’t want to base my life on maybe-fixes.

I want to base my life on the one truth I really understand, and that’s this:

 

Psalm 139: ¹⁴ I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvellous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well.

¹⁵ My substance was not hid from thee, when I was made in secret, and curiously wrought in the lowest parts of the earth.

¹⁶ Thine eyes did see my substance, yet being unperfect; and in thy book all my members were written, which in continuance were fashioned, when as yet there was none of them.

^z17 How precious also are thy thoughts unto me, O God! how great is the sum of them!

¹⁸ If I should count them, they are more in number than the sand: when I awake, I am still with thee.

 

God made me the way I am, fashioned me with His own hands. He knew I would grow weak. He knew I would face these things. And in His time, and His way, if it is His will, He will heal me of it too. And in the meanwhile, I want to trust that He has a purpose for it. I want to remember that all things work together for good to those that love Him.

I want to go to Texas and try everything they tell us. I’m so, so grateful for the opportunity to go and everyone who is helping us to get there. It’s an opportunity that’s amazing for me, and for my family, and words can’t convey how precious I find everyone who is sending us. Knowing so many people love me is…just beyond what I can express. God has truly given me the most amazing friends and family – both in blood relation and through Christ.

But I want to do all of it knowing that if it doesn’t work, I’m still going to have a great life. Not because I have amazing health, but because I know I have a Savior who is with me, a family who loves me, and friends who uphold me.

I want to go into it knowing that if it doesn’t make all those dreams everyone has for me possible, I can still make new ones. Maybe ones that are limited by my health, but still ones that are wonderful. Like writing a hundred books and publishing them all. If I’m unable to become a wedding planner, then I can become a great author. If I am unable to go to college, I will research so many books that I eventually educate myself on a thousand topics more than any college can teach me. If I can’t travel the world, then I will write my own and share it with others who can’t either.

And when I am done, I will be able to say that I have filled the world with clean, good literature – something our world is desperately in need of, and something I can do.

Because life isn’t about what you can or can’t have; what we are or what we aren’t. Life is about serving our Lord and Savior with what He has given us, and praising Him for it.

And I think, if I look at life this way, and He heals me, it will be a beautiful surprise. If we find a cure, or a doctor does something that helps, or we figure out something that changes my health for the better – no, for the marvelous – then it will be something incredible to celebrate. I’d rather it be that, than always look for it and hope for it and only find bitter disappointment. And… I’d like to ask everyone else to do the same. Everyone is always asking what they can do to help me, and I guess this is what I want, and have wanted for a while now.

Help me stop looking at life as “maybes” and “ifs”. Help me to start living without them. Help me promote my books as I publish them, so I can bring in my own money. Help me make plans for the future. Help me learn to be happy with the life God has given me, if He chooses to leave me in it. Help me learn to cope if the pain is always more than I know how to bare.

I don’t want to live my whole life holding out for “maybes” and never do anything else. Help me to make a good life even if there is no miracle.

I love you all so very dearly. More than I ever know how to say. You’re the reason my life is already wonderful. You all really are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

 

~Mandy~

Results May Vary

Well, I followed the checklist...and I got the second result. Man, I was really hoping to become a superhero. D:

Breathing Life Into My Darling

 

 

My dream is, like many people’s, not reliant on myself alone. Because once you take that first step out of writing a book and into publishing it, that dream is no long yours only, but belongs to the people. It becomes, nearly, more theirs than yours, and all you can do is wait with shallow breath to see if they’ll accept it, and love it, and take care of it.

You have no control over the way others treat your dream, whether they spit on it, despise it, frown on it, love it, adore it, or admire it. Though you have poured your entire life’s hope into this single object, with a word, they may tear it down.

Or, perhaps, your dream will get lost in the millions of others, and no one will care, or see it. For they have that power, too, where you do not. It is their choice to see it, to open it, to breathe it in. It is their option whether they will take your dream in their hands and cradle it and gently bring it to life.

This is the curse of all authors.

The curse of waiting, breathlessly, to see if someone else will breathe life into your darling. Like a mother waiting to see if any prince is willing to awaken their daughter from an eternal sleep, we wait, with no control, no power.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Persuasion

Jane Austen’s tale of Persuasion fascinates me on an entirely different level than her other novels have. The main character – Anne Elliot – is one of such beautiful strength that it leaves all her others, in my opinion, behind.

“But Anne, with an elegance of mind and sweetness of character, which must have placed her high with any people of real understanding, was nobody with either father or sister; her word had no weight, her convenience was always to give way – she was only Anne.”

How do you explain a person with enough character to always do right by everyone else? To put their happiness, their joy, their hope for a future beyond her own? How do you find words to explain someone who, while in the very depths of love itself, would leave behind the only person who has ever truly loved her back as she ought to be loved, to make others happier?

Anne Elliot is extraordinary not because she speaks her mind, or weaves words of elegance, or is the funniest, prettiest, best character to read. In fact, through much of the book, you hear very little of what she says. But her strength is the way she faces every pain and evil put upon her with grace.

She’s thought of as nothing by her family, her opinion only sought to settle debates, which she avoids so as no one will be angry with her. Her joy only thought of by a few, and even then only after everyone else’s. Everyone uses her to voice their complaints of everyone else, and then insists upon her solving their problems.

The book takes place many years after Anne’s youthful romance was cruelly ended by meddling family and friends. Her former love – Captain Wentworth – returns to the countryside near her and the grounds under which he was disapproved before have become nothing: as now he is a navy captain. Most were unaware of the attachment or didn’t care, as “after all, it is only Anne”, and hardly even remembering him at all. In fact, now he is held in the highest regards by everyone.

And so, sweet Anne, must now sit through endless conversations on his worth, his wonderful manners, his kindness, and how loved he is by everyone. Sweet Anne, who had been promised to marry him, and is not yet over the pain of the forced separation.

Things do not get better from there for our precious Anne. Indeed, they get worse. Captain Wentworth doesn’t only ignore her with icy politeness, but she overhears conversations with him to other young ladies that insinuate how weak-minded and – indeed – pathetic he found her behavior for backing out of their engagement. He makes it clear that he is only looking for a young lady who cannot be persuaded by others.

Now in close circles with him once again, as a favorite among the ladies, she watches as there is a war for his affections. With grace, she keeps her silence. With grace, she converses politely about him with everyone. And with grace, she listens as her sister and her husband make bets on which young lady will end up Captain Wentworth’s wife.

Yet, despite it all, and the years of separation, she still loves him.

I will not tell you how the book goes from there, only that there’s much more to the tale of Anne Elliot. I found this book of Miss Austen’s the most compelling of her work, the most baffling. I could not predict the next turn, and often was surprised by the newest developments. And through it all, I found myself surprised again and again by Anne’s strength of character, in a family that had little care for such things.

I think she is a beautiful example for how we should face life, yet with captivating flaws that keep her a realistic heroine.

Persuasion is, by far, my favorite classic I’ve read.

Be A Bookmark

People are like bookmarks.

          Or at least, that’s what I’ve started to think, for many reasons. For instance, everyone is double sided, and you can only see one of these sides at a time. Also, everyone is made up the content that is displayed on the outside, and a whole lot more that you can’t see just from the surface. Continuing with this thought, we are all stuck in one place in our lives, the same as a bookmark can only be stuck in one place in a book at a time.

          Like bookmarks, we’re all useful and different. We’re all stuck into different worlds, different lives, and display different content.

          Yet, remarkably, we’re all the same. Our greatest, overall purpose is the same from person to person, all around the world. We were created to do the same thing. Like a bookmark’s purpose is to hold your place in a book, we were all created to glorify God and love Him and be His.

          And, like bookmarks, sometimes we stray from our purpose. Bookmarks can end up on the floor, in drawers, under beds, on top of refrigerators, outside, and in who knows how many other places. When they aren’t fulfilling their purpose, they’re useless. They become bent, ripped, torn, dented, and ruined. Crushed by the weight of all the things around them, stepped on, and forgotten.

          When they are used for their purpose, however, they’re lovingly, safely pressed between two pages. They remain straight and, when properly cared for, unbent, unripped, and unsoiled.

          Likewise, when we’re not fulfilling our purpose, we can become crushed by the weight of things in this world. We can become those bent, ripped, broken things, laying forgotten in some corner of the world.

          However, when we’re fulfilling our purpose as God’s children, He carefully cradles us in His hands. He protects us, takes care of us, and mends us if we stray from His Word and become bent.

          Don’t be a bookmark under the bed.

          Be a bookmark in a book.

Azalei's Riders - Poster

Lately I have been navigating the world of Photoshop, figuring out how to create promotional pieces for my new book. I've never had any training in it, but as my dad always says, "Look it up on YouTube." Surprisingly, he's correct. I've found most of what I couldn't learn on my own on YouTube through instructional videos.

Anyway, this poster is one of my newest attempts.

Writing - Science Or Art?

 

 

          “Where has the art in writing gone?” I often ask myself, as I scroll through page after page of writing articles. “Where has the freedom in it been sent?” I ask as I skim paper after paper.

          Things such as ‘italics make you amateur’, ‘you must follow an outline’, ‘your plot must include…’ etc., fill my vision. Everyone has an opinion, everyone has a do or don’t do list, and everyone states these as absolute fact. With every article they place before me, and every book claiming to be the perfect guide to writing, and with every lecture I hear, it becomes more and more firmly placed in my mind that they’re taking the joy out of writing.

          You see, for some reason, our world has turned writing into a science. A perfect, well-measured, perfectly placed, everything-in-order science. The critics are everywhere, cutting down every method of writing imaginable, all trying to fit it into the box that is their own opinion on how it should be done.

          While some of these tools are useful, you can read two separate articles on the same topic, and find two completely contradicting opinions masquerading as fact. Is it any wonder that many people feel overwhelmed by the idea of putting words to paper, when so much is required?

          I look back on the classical writers of our pasts, who were given the freedom to invent their own words, misspell words for the purpose of making them more eloquent, and experimented with their own forms of distinguishing dialogue, thought, and narration. Then I wonder why those same freedoms have been crushed between the weight of creating a ‘perfect’ book.

          When did writing stop being an art?

          When did writing become a science?

          Even the idea of using actual numbers instead of their word equivalent is unheard of, despite it only being a stylistic choice. I know this from experience, as I just published my first novel recently and decided to use this stylistic change to make my book more unique, and already have heard many people call it an amateur mistake. If everyone can still tell what you mean by an alteration to the usual format, why is it such a big deal in our minds? If it is still something we can understand, is it really such an outlandish idea to change up the way things are done, now and then?

          We say we’re such an open-minded people, who accept doing things differently, who claim to applaud those who try new things. Yet, when it comes to writing, these things are considered not only wrong, but condemning. Only an amateur would make such ‘mistakes’, we say.

          Then is the Bible written by an amateur?

          Are all of the classical works?

          Is Shakespeare considered full of errors and holes?

          It just makes me wonder how many people are out there, who given the chance would be amazing storytellers, and yet remain hidden beneath the layers and layers of rules and regulations. It makes me question if there’s another of our great classical writers out there now, who has not sent his or her work out into the world for the fear of criticism. I wonder if their work will ever be noticed, hundreds of years from now, and appreciated, as Van Gogh’s paintings were considered outlandish and odd in his time, and appreciated in ours.

          I’m not saying everyone with a manuscript of gibberish should be an author. The rules of grammar, for the most part, should be used so that books are readable. Commas, periods, question marks, etc., should be used with care and understanding. But I question, many times to myself, why many of the other rules exist at all.

If it does not create confusion in the minds of your readers, is it really a rule, or a preference set forth by those before?

Azalei's Riders - A Sneak Peek

Recently, I published my first book (Azalei's Riders) on Amazon Kindle. I thought I'd share a little more about it on here, and then preceded to think, "What better way is there than to let them see some of the content?" So here are 10 of my favorite quotes from the book.

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If you enjoyed this and would like to purchase a copy of the book, you can find it on Amazon or simply follow this link. Azalei's Riders - The Fire Rain Chronicles - Purchase

The Answer Breeze - A Poem

 

The wind flies across the plain,

 It dashes through the trees,

 It flutters passed the lazy creek,

 It plays with the bumble bees.

 

Then, in its ever present march,

 It zips on to the mountains,

 It echoes in the hollow caves,

 It splashes in the fountains.

 

And, still, still, still,

 It continues on its way,

 Until still it reaches,

 Where a child prays.

 

 

A quiet tear rolls down her cheek,

 She's as still as still can be,

 All but her lips, which move again,

 Eyes lifted so clouds they see.

 

She's kneeling in the grass and dirt,

 Waiting, waiting, waiting...

 Where is the answer to her prayer?

 It is waiting, waiting, waiting...

 

Waiting, waiting, waiting for what,

 While flying, floating, zipping, bending?

 Waiting for the child to see this:

 That it is here, her tears for mending.

 

You see, the child's prayer was simple,

 She wished for a soothing hand,

 So Jesus sent her, her very own,

 A breeze, a wind, around her to land.

 

He'd planned it days and days ago,

 And sent it a long, long ways,

 Over all sorts of countryside,

 And through many difficult maze.

 

And it got there just in time, oh yes,

 As her small prayer went up,

 "Jesus, just one small sign,"

 She prayed, with overflowing cup.

 

And that small, valiant breeze,

 Over and around her flew,

 It stroked her hair,

 Brushed her cheek,

 And tickled her toes, too!

 

But she didn't hardly even notice,

 Because praying too hard was she,

 She angrily told it to stop, and right now,

 His answer to never feel...or see.

 

© Miranda Marie 2016

 

 

 

Painfully Blessed

          “Write down what it’s like,” many people have told me.

          For about thirteen months now – since the pain moved slowly but surely from hurt to agony, then inched towards the ‘unbearable’ line etched in the imaginary soil of my mind – those words have been spoken aloud often by those I meet. “Write down what it’s like.”

          That’s easier said than done. Most days, the pain edges as close to the unbearable line as it dares, held at bay by painkillers and smiles. On the worst days, it comes to a point where I can hardly tell from which area of my body it radiates, for it’s everywhere all at once. There are days where I sit on the edge of my bed and try to decide which leg needs to be favored the most, while both scream for the caution. After all, it’s a little hard to limp on both legs; yet there are days I have learned how.

          Beyond the pain, the exhaustion is often even more crippling. The very thought of sitting up seems as hard and painstaking as climbing Mount Everest, let alone making it all the way downstairs for breakfast. Often there are times when I put off taking a shower or bath for days because there’s simply no energy left to take a shower with once I’ve finished with the stairs. Add 15 to 45 minutes of daily exercise with physical therapy and my energy seems highly inadequate.

          Moving passed the exhaustion, you pass by confusion central, the almost-entirely-empty concentration barrel, and the field of foggy thoughts. The days where I can barely think, read, or even understand basic conversations are becoming more and more common. Sometimes it takes me three or four times just to understand the most basic concepts/sentences.

          The most basic tasks of existence feel insurmountable. Life in its simplest form seems terrifying.

          I can’t even remember the way it feels to be painless.

          So if I had to sum up my life this last year in just two words, it would be easy to choose them.

          So blessed.

          So blessed.

          In the midst of the pain, the exhaustion, and the confusion, there’s always been love. Every day, my family helps me eat, walk, laugh and smile. Every day, I wake up knowing that if I can’t make it down the stairs alone, they’ll be there to help me. Every day, I know no matter how hard and painful every step is, I don’t have to take them alone. And every day, I wake up knowing that I have one of the most loving, caring, encouraging families on earth. I’m so blessed.

          On the days I can’t make it out of bed hardly, when I’m trapped at home, in too much pain to go anywhere, I have friends who email, message, text, and chat with me. Who’ve stayed up late at night when the pain’s too bad to sleep. Who’ve spoken encouragement, sent virtual hugs, distracted me from the pain, made me laugh, made me smile, and touched my life in a hundred more ways than the pain ever could hope to. I am so blessed.

          Too sick to work or help with the cost of all the special care I now need, my church family has sent money, equipment, prayers, and assistance to my family and I. Gifts and cards have helped beyond words. I am so blessed.

          Where many people would have little reason to believe things will get better, I have a mom who looks every day for ways to help me. Who never fails to see the bright side and focus on the good. Who I know loves me more than anything in the world and reminds me that there’s always hope. I’m so, so blessed, because I think she’s the most amazing mom in the entire world, and she’s mine.

          With so many things to weigh me down or break me, things that leave me in agony nearly 100% of the time, that have robbed my ability to walk, function, think, do, and even hardly exist on the level most other people do… I have a God who whispers every single day, “I am with you. I love you. I will never leave you. I have given you everything you need to face this.” I have a God who every single day touches me and gives me the strength I need to make it to the next one. Who has given me everything – and everyone – I could possibly need to help me through this. The Creator of the Heavens and the Earth loves me and strengthens me. I am so blessed.

         

          I’ve had more people than I can count ask me how I can still be smiling. It’s very easy. I have over a thousand reasons to smile and just one reason not to.

          The pain doesn’t really stand a chance. 


~Miranda~