Hate and Kindness Rambling

Never will I understand the hate that exists in this world. Actually, I can’t say that because I do understand it. That statement comes from a place of naivety inside me, but I know precisely where hate comes from. The devil is alive, and he hates God. He hates all who love God, and he wants to destroy all that God loves. So, the hate that exists in this world is at his stirring. The selfishness of humanity is him in his ‘finest’ work … and I understand, but it baffles me that so many people blindly follow along. I know some choose his ways with intention, and so be it. Go that way and reap the consequences. “Let them.” But those that so blindly follow, who are led foolishly by utter selfishness and allow themselves to hate anyone different from them … that hurts me, confuses me, and bothers me. I want to stand on a mountain top and yell to them all that there is another way to live! It is possible to live in peace with others! That you can hold different perspectives and opinions and still have respect for one another! It is possible not to hate! It is possible to love … It is possible, but only with love that comes from God. God’s love is selfless. It puts others first; it seeks the best for many over self. It is about service and kindness, though firmly standing on principles. Jesus hung out with sinners … not to do what they did, but to show them love and another way to live. He called them to a higher plane of existence, and many who encountered him chose to change. Not all … some didn’t like the love and selflessness that Christ preached because it would cause them to have to give up what they perceived as their ‘control’ and power, and they (the religious leaders of all people) plotted to kill him. He was messing with their ‘thing,’ and they plotted, and they killed him. And the devil thought he had made the ultimate play against God.

Only … the temple veil tore in two, the earth shook, the sky went dark, and three days later, Jesus Christ beat the chains of death and rose from the dead! There are many eyewitness accounts in Scripture and in historical documents. Believe it or don’t. I choose to believe, and because I choose to follow Jesus, I also choose to follow His leading in the New Testament —those to blessed words in red. I started reading to understand in Luke 11 two weeks ago, taking it in manageable chunks, and I’m now in chapter 17. I’ve encountered Jesus in a completely new way. What I know now is that in regard to faith and religion, He did not come to bring peace but to bring division. He came to show hypocrisy for what it was/is, to make it plain. He said to be ready. He said to be watchful. He said not to be the cause of someone else stumbling. He said to be shrewd. He said to be in the present moment. He said to be kind. He said to share the good news of eternal life with God the Father in Heaven, that our time on earth is short, but that heaven is eternal. What we choose here determines where we spend forever. I choose eternity with God the Father, Christ the Son, and the Spirit, who God has placed inside our souls, guiding us daily toward what is good, what is true, what is right, what is lovely, what is self-controlled, what pleases God in the human heart. So, for me to say I’ll never understand the hate that exists in this world is not a true statement. I do understand it, but I don’t like it. I choose not to live that way—in hate and selfishness. I choose to love people despite themselves and despite myself. I will not hate someone for being different from me. I’d rather understand why they’re different and look for opportunities to have productive conversations, to be kind, to be loving, and to be a light for Jesus, so that He can draw more people to His Father. In that, there is much rejoicing in Heaven! I understand the assignment. Be in the moment. Stay in the Word. Pray every day. Be kind. Be principled. Know why I believe what I believe. Be shrewd. Be watchful. Be discerning. Shake the dust off my feet when necessary. Always seek to be pleasing to the Father. Amen.

I intended this to be a piece about why so many perceived Charlie Kirk as being hateful … but I’m not going there fully. He wasn’t. There’s evidence of that. He was principled. He was shrewd. He was kind. He was watchful and discerning. He knew what he believed, and he stood on it, but he, like Christ, also chose to be among the people who were different from him and to have conversations. He never called people who disagreed with him ugly names. He didn’t put them down. He loved opposing opinions and debate. And he was killed for it. This puts us as a nation on dangerous ground. I see it, and it shocks me, though it shouldn’t. That’s that naïve part of me that wants all people to be kind and to be critical thinkers, although I know that is not reality because the devil roams like a roaring lion seeking those he can destroy – and he does so with selfishness and hate.  Some schools are opting not to have Turning Point USA chapters because of the perceived “hate” that many claim it espouses. See, here’s what I know … most who choose to hate something they’ve not truly researched are in Cognitive Dissonance, and there is no point in arguing with them. So, start a Critical Thinking Club; call it something else, and it will be okay. Ah, people. The “Let Them” theory comes into play here, and I know to keep moving forward, shake the dust off my feet, and find those who can participate in true argument, and have those kinds of conversations, where opinions can vary and kindness shared. Where respect reigns and wars can end. Some will find this light. Some will not. And I find myself saying, Maranatha again and again. Come, Lord Jesus.

Happy Halloween Animation! Witches’ Brew.

So, my daughter is quite an artist, and I’m a proud momma—I’m going to show off her work. She just posted a “Happy Halloween” animation yesterday, and I am showing it to everyone I know and everyone I don’t know! I mean, I’ve done that with her art since she was old enough to draw with a chunky crayon, but this differs from “Isn’t it cute?” It is now “Holy Cow, look what my kid did!” And graduated to “How did a kid that I made do something like this?” That part … it’s hilarious, wild, fantastic to see my kids grow up, become these amazing people who do incredible things, and I’m over here like … how the heck did that happen? I am grateful. Grateful to be her momma. Grateful for how she pursues her passions. Check out this Halloween animation she made! You’ll love it, too. Follow her … there will be more!

Also, in 2023, we published a coloring book of her giraffe art. Check that out, too!

Self-Control. I Thought I Understood It. I Realize Now, I Did Not. New Perspective.

A new perspective hit me when I listened to this message yesterday, and it is filling my spirit this morning. I keep wiping tears – grateful and humbled. The idea that practicing self-control is an act of service to God blew my mind. I printed it on a piece of paper and hung it in my kitchen this morning. Serving God is self-control. Serving self is NO self-control. I want no part of that … serving and worshipping myself. That hits new today. I’m struck by the fact that my lack of self-control means I am worshipping myself. Serving God does not just mean doing things for others; it means surrendering my desires to Him under His control. The message comes from multiple Scriptures, but centers in Galatians 5.

One of my dear friends listened to the message this morning, and she said what struck her is that “when you seek pleasures rather than living in God‘s word, you are saying God is not enough to fulfill you.” And also, she said, “True freedom is not a license to do as you please but rather is a liberty to do as we ought to do.” Another friend said, “I loved his analogy about the sirens and the harp and that the song of Christ is louder and greater than anything else. So powerful. “

If you have 46 minutes available today, please take a moment to listen to this message and consider the ideas it presents. Pastor Begg also discusses addiction in this message, which is reflective of steps 3, 6, and 7.

September is Dismissed. No Do-Over, but Do Better in October.

September is dismissed. I’m over it. Too much happened in the span of 30 days, and some folks say, “God won’t give you more than you can bear.” That’s not what the verse says. 1 Corinthians 10:13 says, “No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.” It’s about temptation and there always being a way out of it. You know, by choosing to do the next right thing; He has provided the Holy Spirit and His Word, the Bible, to guide us. That verse is not about God only giving you what you can handle. In fact, life tosses hard things at us from time to time – sometimes it feels like those things stack on one another, and that’s just life because sin is in this world. The devil is alive, and he seeks to destroy all that God loves and those who love God. That I do know. So, yes, September is dismissed. I’m tired.

Without too much detail, my husband has been in the hospital twice this month because of an abscess in his throat. Twice. For 3-4 days each time. After the first visit and 10 days of antibiotics and a lot of concern and pain on his part, we had hoped things would be better, but they got worse. And Charlie Kirk was killed, and we found ourselves glued to the news, devastated at the state of this world and the ugliness it is so comfortable nurturing and growing. We found ourselves back in the hospital, and the situation, as I said three lines up, was worse. More antibiotics, more IVs, more doctors. My birthday party was supposed to happen on the 20th, but we canceled it because a hospital is not the most conducive place for a party, to say the least. Many friends had planned to be there. Family. Friends. Friends who are family. Like my friend Leah, who had texted back on 9/11 to see how we were doing, and I kept our September saga to myself. I know that had I told her that we were in the hospital, she would have come right there.

Home on the 22nd. My birthday is the 23rd. Medicines. Hopes. Prayers. Fatigue. We had a birthday party on the evening of my birthday, a shindig with family and friends. My friend Carolynn pulled it together, bless her heart. She tried to reach Leah, too, but Leah didn’t answer. We ate too much food, and we played “Pass the Trash.” There was much-needed laughter. Throughout the evening, Patrick had a feeling that something had shifted. On the front porch, later, after everyone had left, we talked about it. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what had shifted, and we aligned it with the situation surrounding Charlie Kirk and the bigger picture at play. Life played on for a few more days. Medicines. Pain. Feeling better. Much better. The doctor said he’s looking good, no need for surgery at this point, although he did have a tooth pulled in the midst of all of this, too. Throughout the week, Patrick maintained that something had shifted. Something in the spirit realm. We talked about it multiple times.

Friday was an AA birthday party with our AA friends, where we celebrate sobriety anniversaries as birthdays, and our friend Leah wasn’t there. We all wondered about her. Talked about her. Then, on Saturday, some AA friends held a BBQ at their home, and there, Leah was also absent; we all wondered about her and talked about her. Some tried to contact her. No answer.

Yesterday, Monday the 29th, we found out that Leah drank herself to death. Probably last Wednesday. Maybe Tuesday, when Patrick felt that something was wrong. In all the time I’ve known him, every time someone close to us is dying or dies, he feels it without knowing anything, like the night my sweet Momma left us; he knew and excused himself from the room to leave Dad, David B, and me alone with her. He knew. The day our Sonya died, we were at a Kum-N-Go eating slices of pizza, and he looked up and stared off. He said, “Something’s wrong,” and then his sister called. He only knew last week that something had changed for us. He talked to me about it. He talked with my dad about it. He talked to Zack and Maddy about it. A shift, and he tried to explain what he felt, and now we know that our Leah, a severe diabetic, was drinking and drank herself to death. She wasn’t found until Friday, and we didn’t find out until Monday.

To say we are devastated does not touch it.

At our meeting last night, a candle was lit at Leah’s chair. Through the entire meeting, I watched that candle and cried. She will never again sit in that chair where I’d seen her so often. Always that chair, and I cried because on September 11, she had reached out to me, and I, in the midst of all of my own life’s hard days, did not pay attention to the tone of her words. I did not recognize that she was reaching out, and I wish, I should have, I could have, if, if, if … I know I cannot do that to myself. Things happened as they did, and I am now bereft of a precious friend, a sister in calamity, a sister in Christ whose pain was too deep for her to share, or so she thought, and maybe she had reached out to do just that … I’ll never know.

The lesson for me is to pay attention when people reach out. It is also important to never isolate. Isolation is one of the greatest tools of the devil, and he wants us to separate from each other because then he can plague our minds – just like he did to my Leah, and he had me distracted and unavailable. No! No more, devil! Not on my watch. Not the people God puts in my path. I say this, and yet, I know that even I struggle with not isolating (I did it so much of September!), and there are times I need others to reach out to pull me from the depths of isolation and sickness of the spirit and mind. I guess really, what I’m rambling toward is that I, we, must be available and unselfish, we must be willing and honest to share and be shared with.

People are far more important than things and wants. There is so much pain around us. We have no idea what people are going through. For example, most people in our world are unaware that Patrick spent a significant portion of September ill, as we, for the most part, kept it to ourselves. Isolated. And now, I wonder why. Why did we do that? Why didn’t we allow people to love us if they had chosen to? I know there are those, like Leah, who would have been by our sides in those hospital rooms and visiting us at home, encouraging us not to miss meetings.

I’m exhausted, and I’m ready for October. It comes tomorrow, and I hope it comes with cool temperatures, beautiful sunsets, and some days of serenity. On Thursday, October 2, we will gather together to remember Leah, and I know that all of us who love her are resolute to pay more attention to the signs people exhibit and to remember how deadly alcoholism is. We must be earnest in carrying the message of God’s love, grace, and His power to heal. We are guaranteed no number of days. Every moment is important.

Let me recall 1 Corinthians 10:13 here, because the temptation to isolate is the conversation at this point. In the midst of life as it unfolds with hard things from time to time, the temptation to hole up and hide is strong, and this is precisely what that verse references. In the midst of those mind games the devil plays with us, God’s Word says, “No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.” Temptations that we face are COMMON. Meaning this is not only happening to you. It is not something to isolate over because others will understand what you’re experiencing! Someone, somewhere, has gone through and/or is going through the same thing! The lie is that you are alone in your struggle, and this is not true. Temptations are COMMON. And God is faithful. He has provided a way out of temptation for us, and the comes with knowing His Word and listening to the Holy Spirit, which often culminates for me in a phrase I deem a “Patrickism” (something he says often based on AA principles), “Do the next right thing.” All day, every day … do the next right thing.

No do-over. Do better. October, here we go!

For Leah.

The Edutainer in Heaven

If money didn’t matter, I would still do precisely what I do now for a living. That is my first response to the ‘daily prompt,’ and it is sincere. I love what I do. Being a professor who facilitates student engagement and learning of communication skills through writing techniques, exploring creativity, and promoting critical thinking is a dream come true. I’m one blessed girl, and for as long as God has me doing this thing, I will do it to the utmost of my ability.

Now, while I do love being a professor, I confess that I have daydreams of living in the mountains – in a cabin tucked away in the woods. There must be a cedar wraparound deck that overlooks a clear mountain lake, lined with pine trees and surrounded by snow-capped mountains. The occasional fish should burst through the water and send ripples through still, quiet waters. The birds will soar overhead and tuck themselves into trees, where they nurture their young and sing their sweet songs, and I’ll guess at their conversations as they sing back and forth to one another across treetops. On my deck, I will sit in a comfy reclined chair, taking deep breaths, and allowing the fresh air, the scenery, the songs to fill every one of my senses. A table will be on my right, and there will sit a hot cup of peppermint mocha latte. My MacBook will be nestled in my lap, and I will write. I will write novels. I will write short stories. I will write poems. I will write how-to books. I will write songs. My dog will recline happily near the base of my chair, and we will pass the day away with no spoken words, only the stories in my soul making their way through my fingers and onto the page. The sound of a drill will break the silence from time to time, and I will smile, knowing my husband is nearby and doing what he loves as well. Building, creating, living every moment. We two, in the mountains, doing what we love. Ahhhh.

The daily prompt wants three possibilities – and I can do that. I also want to be a motivational speaker. What fun would that be?!?! For me? A lot of fun. To get to travel and do what I already do in the classroom, but for companies and organizations? Wow, are you kidding me? Heck yeah. And then, I could write a book or five about those subjects on which I love to motivate people! Like career education and the fact that everyone can be a writer! I could travel and do speaking engagements on the subjects I love, but also about the books that I’ve written … and I could also have that mountain cabin because this girl needs some downtime here and there. On personality tests, I’m 53% extroverted and, well, 47% introverted, so I’m middle of the road, and some days, I need quiet to recharge. Other days, I need a crowd of people to talk to. A microphone and a crowd and a lot of space because I am active in front of a group of people. That sounds like a heck ton of fun. Yes, please. Something happens to me when I’m in front of a crowd. I get funny, and my brain clears. It’s wild. One-on-one, I tend to fumble and cannot get my words out, but put me in front of a roomful of people, and I come alive. Absolutely alive. An ‘edutainer’ is what I like to call myself and what I do.

I love being a professor.

I love writing.

I love talking about what I’m passionate about.

Combining all of those things sounds like heaven.

Writer Interview: Me, Interviewed by a Former Student. Q&A.

  1. What got you interested in writing?

My earliest memory of enjoying writing is Ms. Campbell’s English class in 6th grade. One particular assignment was that she gave us a list of random words, and we had to write a short story that included each word. It has been 41 years, and I still smile when I remember that assignment. It was a challenge, and it inspired me. She is also the teacher who stirred my interest in reading. During 7th grade, under her tutelage, I ventured into “Wuthering Heights,” and the rest is history. Ms. Campbell was my English teacher in 6th, 7th, and 10th grades. She encouraged me. She pushed me. She challenged me.

  1. Was there a specific moment when you realized you wanted to become a writer, and when was that?

Although I dabbled in writing a never-seen-the-light-of-day book during high school, it wasn’t until I was deep into my Master’s in Creative Writing that I submitted a memoir piece about something that scared me as a child, which I did. When the teacher, Craig Schneider, handed it back, he said, “You should get this published in a horror magazine.” THAT is a moment I will never forget. Who? Me? Horror? Oh my. It turned out to be my first published piece.

  1. What have you done in your career as a writer?

In addition to teaching creative writing courses (Novel Writing, Introduction to Creative Writing, Poetry) and Composition courses, I enjoy writing on my blog. I have four published short stories (“The Devil’s Promenade,” “Full Moon,” “The Echo of Alone,” and “Mom in the Middle”), three novels, two of which are in current publication (“A Kiss in the Rain” and “The American Queen” – the third is “For Love of Words”), and two children’s books (“Not Real and Never Will Be” and “Giraffes are People, Too” with my daughter, Kennedy). This past year, I headed up the creation of a Writer’s Series that is housed in the TCC Library, in which I am blessed to interview authors, poets, publishers, and editors for TCC’s students. https://guides.library.tulsacc.edu/TCCwritersseries.

  1. What do you do currently in your writing career?

Teach creative writing. Write on my blog when I can. https://lenazyslife.home.blog/. I have been making notes for a memoir on recovery and survival, which I will accomplish with Stonebrook Publishing (hopefully) sometime in the next two to three years. I also challenge students to improve their creative writing, so I talk about writing daily! I stay affiliated with the Tulsa Nightwriters, though I don’t attend as regularly as I should.

  1. What is your favorite thing about writing?

Expressing my thoughts and feelings, they flow more smoothly through my fingers than they do my mouth. Unless I’m in front of a group of people, one-on-one talking ties my tongue; I’d rather have a keyboard and my fingers. I can write for others, and I can write for myself. It is an expression of what is deep inside me, either way.

  1. What are the things you don’t like about writing?

That my fingers move faster than my mind sometimes because I get excited, and my fingers fly, and the squiggle lines occur in abundance on the screen! But I’m okay with letting them sit there. I’ve learned to let go and let the fingers fly. However, there’s a part of me that wants to slow down and beat the timed typing test every time.

  1. What has been a challenge as a writer?

Initially, negative self-talk. Not thinking I had anything to say or to offer. Once I began my Master’s courses, peer review tested me and almost knocked me out of the game. I stuck it out, though, and I came to love peer review and workshopping. Understanding the vital necessity of critique to make the writing better. Through workshopping and peer review, I learned how to set my feelings aside and focus on making the writing its best.

  1. What surprised you most about this career?

I don’t write for a career, so I cannot necessarily speak to that, but as for teaching creative writing, it brings me joy! That doesn’t surprise me, though. What surprises me is that 17 years ago, I was a stay-at-home mom and had been for the 12 years before that. I’d forgotten that I had a mind and how to use it. Now, to see myself as an Assistant Professor, Career Faculty Fellow, and President-Elect of the Faculty Association at my school is a dream. Something completely unexpected.

  1. Any advice for someone considering a career in writing?

It’s not a quick way to wealth. That’s for sure. This is something we do for the love of writing and expression. This is something you do because you are passionate about it. You write whether you make money at it or not. In “On Writing,” Stephen King says he would write even if he didn’t make a dime at it because he is compelled to. I get that. I often feel compelled to write – like I have to write, or I will lose my mind. So … write … write so you don’t lose your mind. 

  1. What does a typical day as a writer look like?

This one does not apply to me as much; I write when and where I can.

  1. What does your writing process look like?

Before writing a larger work, I take notes on paper, getting to know my characters, giving them quirks, and dreaming up scenarios that might take them where I want them to go, although they’ll ultimately decide where they go on their own. When writing fiction, it is me and my laptop. I play instrumental music to match the mood of what needs to be written. When writing nonfiction, such as my blog, I write the piece in Word first, freewriting and then editing. Once completed, I copy and paste the piece into my blog. If I were to write a research paper, there is a whole other process that includes outlines and notecards, rough drafts, and peer reviews. So, the writing process is situation-dependent for me. Kind of hypocritical because I teach students one method for the writing process. But shhhhh.

  1. How do you think AI will affect the writing field, and what are your thoughts on AI?

AI “hallucinates,” is what my friend Adam the Librarian told me, and I’ve seen it in essays “written” by students. AI is easy to spot. It fabricates quotes and attributes them to sources that they are not from.  AI cannot write creatively. It cannot write conflict.  It steals your voice if you allow it to edit your writing; it words things how you, the writer, would never dream of wording your pieces. It’s not you. It cannot be you. What you, the writer, have to offer is far better, more creative, and imaginative. I allow AI to help me with grammar and punctuation from time to time, especially when I’m doing the flying fingers thing, though I keep my own voice and style; I give the AI suggestions the boot. How will it affect the writing field … sadly, it can take the place of artistic writing voices and replace them with lack of imagination and dullsville writing. I hope more writers will avoid AI than will choose to use it. I will continue to do my own writing – good and bad.

  1. Overall, do you think the internet has improved or worsened the writing field?

It has greatly improved opportunities for sharing your voice and publication; however, the field is oversaturated, which means that voices, if they get heard, don’t get much more than their 15 seconds of fame. It’s the same in music and art. We are oversaturated, and because of that, it isn’t easy to stand out. Push, though, don’t stop. Keep going because you love it. Write because you’re compelled to. I am not fully answering the question, so back on track … in the sense that there are more opportunities, this is a vast improvement. However, those same opportunities have saturated the writing field with overwhelming amounts of poor writing.

  1. Does location (the state you live in) matter when looking for jobs in writing?

I’m a college professor, not a full-time writer, so I’m making an educated guess, but I would think that states with large cities would offer more opportunities.

  1. Is writing a fairly flexible job, as far as having an independently made schedule, juggling a family, and other things in life?

It depends on what variation of writing you’re involved with. Are you a freelancer? Are you a blogger? Are you a reporter? The answer to this is also dependent on the person. Go-getter? Get-by-er? Personally, as a college professor, I have time for writing when it isn’t a day of nose-to-the-grindstone essay grading. My schedule is fairly flexible, allowing me to find moments here and there to pour out my thoughts on a keyboard. But speaking to writing as a job, again, that’s not something I can fully speak to.

  1. What is something most people don’t know about careers in writing?

That not everyone can be Stephen King. Each semester that I teach Novel Writing, students come with high expectations of publication and living that writer life, and then I give them writing assignments that have about half of them second-guessing their life choices. In my world, these are not challenging assignments, but for those who underestimate the amount of thought and planning that goes into even beginning the work, it can be daunting. Writing takes thought, planning, and determination. It takes the ability to push through, have thick skin, and care less. It takes understanding that editing is the magic and the work, and you cannot expect to write anything well right out of the gate. There is work involved. Also, people have no idea how much work a writer like Stephen King puts into the novels that decorate our shelves. He has a strict process, thick skin, and determination. He also has an author, who King says, will not let him be Stephen King.

  1. What are good skills to have as a writer?

Beyond skills, having an open mind, a creative and curious spirit, a love of language and communicating ideas, and determination are essential. As far as skills, at minimum a decent command of vocabulary and grammar/punctuation, plus the ability to use tools such as Hemingway Editor without letting it change your voice. Computer skills are imperative. The ability to use Word or Google Docs, or a desire to learn how to do it, and the stubbornness to figure it out for yourself. I had a ‘learn it or else’ attitude with myself, and it paid off when it came to formatting a manuscript, which I had had no prior knowledge of how to do. I am self-taught – that stubborn determination got me there. Also, and this is essential, the skill to participate in peer review—to accept feedback from others and be willing to edit your work, putting the benefit of the work above your feelings. My husband frequently says, “F*&^ your feelings,” and he’s not wrong.

  1. Can you describe writer’s block and how you deal with it?

Writer’s block, schmiter’s block. You have writer’s block? Write about it. Write about how it feels. Write about the frustration. Be raw in your description … let the anguish out. Say it all. Say things no one else will. We all have these pent-up irritations like “writer’s block,” so write it all out. Write about what it feels like to be blocked, to be stunted, to be held back, even by yourself … and then, once the “writer’s block” loosens, which it will, give all of that emotional gunk to one of your characters! Because, hey, characters need to get stuck in their thoughts, too. Use your “writer’s block” to push yourself to better descriptions and characters built out of authenticity that pours out of your own negative experience. Heck yeah. No more excuses. No more “writer’s block.”

  1. Are you working on any books or writing projects right now?

Yes. I have a lot of pre-work completed. Somewhere around 50,000 words of pre-work. That writing is a fictionalized account of my life story because, at the time I wrote it, it was too personal, and I needed to separate myself from it. So … fiction. Now, an intense year and a half of growth, open heart surgery, and healing has passed, and I have new eyes with which to view my own story. It has grown and changed in my heart, and it will now be more than a description of surviving abuse; it will now be a focus on recovery and living life to its fullest despite the past. I have notes. I have ideas. I’m constantly mulling it over, and I have a potential path toward publication. Timing is essential, and the day is just not right yet to get fully started on my memoir. I aim to achieve this feat within the next three years. Additionally, I have considered creating a writing textbook for my Comp II courses, which is also on the burner. Not necessarily the back burner, but it is behind the memoir.

Writing on my blog is a fairly regular occurrence, so that doesn’t fall in this answer/category. Every time I hear of a writing contest, my ears perk up, and I think, I could do that! And then, it’s time to grade papers ….

  1. Any advice or resources when narrowing down and deciding career paths?

Find what you’re passionate about and pursue that.

When you do what you love for a living, you never work a day.

Those are cliché sayings, but they’re true. I live them. Every day.

September Can Dip. October, Hurry. Two Hospital Stays in One Month are Plenty – Too Much.

The month of September, even though it is my beloved birthday month, can go ahead and dip into October; Patrick is on stay 2 in the hospital, and we are over September. No offense to September, it’s not September’s fault. October, though, we’d like a smooth sail. Thank you in advance.

A peri-tonsillar abscess decided to take up residence between Patrick’s left tonsil and his jawbone. Who knows how long it was there before reaching volcano stage. On September 1, he started to talk about pain in his throat, couldn’t get up, fevers began that broke and left him needing to be mopped with towels, and then, the fevers began again. COVID was starting to go around, as was a nasty strain of strep throat, so we thought rest would do the trick. On September 3, Patrick still could not get out of bed; he could not swallow, he was sopping wet from fever-sweat, weak, dehydrated, and he said words he never says, “I need to go to the hospital.”

We headed to St. Francis South because it’s not as busy as St. Francis Main. During triage/in-take, the nurse saw immediately that his sore throat was not strep or COVID but that it was a large abscess near his left tonsil. She set the ball in motion quickly. He was placed in an ER room, tests were run, including a CT scan of his throat and bloodwork. The doctor reviewed these and took a look in Patrick’s throat; he straight up told us that at St. Francis South, they are not equipped to handle Patrick’s specific situation and that he would have to be moved by EMSA to St. Francis Main. The ambulance took him there, and I drove in the car to meet him there. Long story short, an ENT came, took a look, and immediately set about draining the abscess, which is a grueling process involving numbing spray, long needles, draining, and incisions all while the patient, Patrick, is awake, which he was – and he felt it all. But, he, in true Patrick fashion, took it without a whimper or a flinch. He was put on a strong antibiotic, and on the 5th of September, the hospital let him go home.

For 10 days, Patrick faithfully took his antibiotics. The pain in his throat lessened somewhat, but swallowing food remained painful.

On day 2 post-antibiotics, Patrick’s throat swelled again, and the pain worsened. We went to the ENT’s office, and he took a look, saying that some days are like that – sometimes it’s worse, sometimes it’s better, and that the healing was going to take a while. We left glad to know that he was okay – and that it was ‘normal’ to feel how he was feeling; it was healing. We thought. That was September 18th. On the 19th, he progressively felt worse throughout the day, but he didn’t say much about it. I could tell something was off. We had smoked ribeye for dinner, and Patrick had a hard time swallowing it. That was different from the previous hard-to-swallow days.

Through the night, he did not sleep.

He tried to doze, but his neck swelled more, and the pain grew in intensity.

When he got up around 2:00 p.m., he came into the dining room, soaking wet again, and he said, “I think I need to go to the hospital.” In under 5 minutes, we were in the car headed back to St. Francis South. Hoping that we’d be told it was healing, all was well, here’s some more antibiotics, but that was not what happened.

The doctor took a look in Patrick’s throat and said, “It’s back.”

Worse than it was the first time. It had spread.

Two days before, the ENT, in his office, had said it was getting better, and now it’s worse than it was on September 3rd. They loaded Patrick into an ambulance again and sent him to St. Francis Main. I followed, as did a large number of our family members. Shout out to Joey, Carolynn, Madison, Zackery, Maureen, Veronica, Joe, Nana, Harley, Josh, Max, and my Daddy. They all gathered in the lower level of the Emergency Room waiting area, and Joey and I went back with Patrick who was kept in Trauma C. The large room held large lights and surgery tools. Our concern levels rose at his being placed in the space where they do surgery in the ER. Now, we expected they were going to open his neck and dig out the infection, which had, at the beginning of the month, been told to us was a potential option. Joey and I both held Patrick’s hands, and he tried to sleep. He was going on hours with no sleep, no food, nothing to drink, and he was in excruciating pain. After 40, minutes we were told that a regular room was ready for him, and that he was going to be moved there, that the ENT would get with him either in the morning or on Monday, they didn’t know which. Okay, at least he was getting antibiotics.

Joey went with him as the techs moved Patrick to his regular hospital room.

I moved the car.

The family scattered – some walking through the hospital to Patrick’s room, some of us moving vehicles to be closer to the main entrance. We all reconvened on Patrick’s floor. Carolynn and I went in, and the ENT was there, ready to do the draining! So fast! And wham-bam, she numbed him, gave him a shot, and began draining the abscess and its fingers, which were creeping down into Patrick’s neck. She worked thoroughly, making incisions into the fingers and spreading them wide to ensure they would also drain. Patrick was in pain the entire time, but he told her to keep going, to get it done, and he bore it like a beast. He amazes me.

After she was finished, he felt better and wanted coffee and food. The family all crowded into the room, and we had a nice time of fellowship. Once everyone disbanded, I walked to one of the several Starbucks in this massive place and purchased some chicken noodle soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. The nurse got Patrick some coffee. He ate and drank it all. This was good news! We were pleased, and we hoped for some rest. That did not happen. Loud beeps. Vitals checks. Blood draws. The changing of antibiotics. The night passed slowly, and with both of us awake, dozing occasionally – sometimes hot, sometimes cold, always interrupted. But such is a night in the hospital.

This morning, we wondered whether we would see the ENT as she had said she and her attending doctor would be here. It’s a Sunday, though, so we weren’t sure. We thought maybe they’d wait until Monday. I went home to change and pack an overnight bag, which contains a much softer pillow than any this hospital has to offer, as well as some sparkling water. I grabbed my medicine and a change of clothes for both of us because I know my husband, and he would not want to stay in the hospital any longer than necessary … in his mind regarding what’s necessary. I also made my own cappuccino at home and brought it in an insulated cup; these Starbucks in the hospital will drain your bank account. Patrick’s coffee comes from the floor we are on, and the nurses keep it coming.

The ENT arrived just as she said she would, and right on time. Her attending physician was with her, and they set to work looking in Patrick’s throat at the work she’d done yesterday evening. The doctor said she had done good work, but he saw three pockets of infection that were still there. He gave Patrick the option of just allowing antibiotics to try and get the infection that was in those pockets, or to do one more draining right then and there to get as much as possible dealt with on the spot. My husband said, “Let’s do it.” And the doctor asked if he was a veteran. I proudly said, “Yes. He was in the Coast Guard.” The doctor said his grandfather had been in the Coast Guard. They set to work in Patrick’s throat, and my husband, being the beast he is, bore it all without complaint, though there were tears in his eyes. I saw that he was in pain, but he took every bit of it, as he says, “like a man.”

The doctor cut into the pockets and spread them, allowing them to drain.

Patrick spit up lots of fluids, which I won’t describe.

The doctor told us that Patrick then had two options. One was to go home today and be on oral antibiotics or to stay another day on IV antibiotics, which are stronger. Patrick asked which one he would choose. The doctor said to stay one more day, and he laid out a good case for why. Patrick agreed to his reasoning, and thus, we are here until tomorrow.  The doctor also said that after we get home and the antibiotics they ordered for Patrick to take at home run their course, if the infection returns, then it will be tonsillectomy time. He was direct and told Patrick that at his age, a tonsillectomy is not what it is for a 6 or 7-year-old. They bounce back quickly; a 62-year-old will not. He said it will be a very painful recovery, but the infections are coming from the tonsils, and removing them will stop their recurrence. We are hopeful that the antibiotics and the drainage of the past two days will alleviate the need for a tonsillectomy, but we do know that it is an option in the future if needed.

The local that they’d put into the area for today’s draining has worn off now, and Patrick is in immense pain, but he’s trying to sleep, and he doesn’t want painkillers if he can keep from taking them. Again, he amazes me. His 38 years of sobriety are something he refuses to risk by taking substances into his body. I’d be like, “Hydrocodone, please.” He doesn’t want to tell the nurse just yet about the pain because he’s sure it’s from the basically-what-was-surgery done in the throat earlier this morning, and the local anesthesia is wearing off. I’m sure he’s correct as well, but she could give him something for the pain.

Ah, this man.

He will push through the pain, and he is. He finally found a somewhat comfortable position, and  I’m sitting here listening to him snore now. Except the beeping just went off, indicating that the antibiotic is out, and it woke him up.

Sleep is not something that happens in a hospital. Sigh.

September, we are tired. You still have my birthday in store for us, and turning 53 seems whack  – so, that, we can pass quietly at home in our jammies, curled up under blankets and grateful for more time together and October’s imminent arrival. May it bring cool weather, beautiful sunsets, breathtaking leaves, and lovely evenings of conversation on the front porch.

Brands and Boots I Identify With

Giving an answer to what brands I identify with is easy. Those that flash to mind are Ariat, Dan Post, Shyanne, and J. B. Dillon. These are bootmakers, and I love boots. Western boots, not fancy, swanky dress boots. No, I wear Western, cowboy, and cowgirl boots. Whatever you want to call them. Personally, I just call them boots, and I have 37 pairs. Not bragging; I realize that is a bit extreme. Facts are facts, though, and I do indeed have 37 pairs of boots. Actually, I brought home 2 more pairs yesterday after shopping with two of my dearest friends, who each bought me a pair of boots for my upcoming birthday with their BOGO discounts at a shoe store. Woot! My husband bought me a beautiful pair of Ariat boots for my upcoming birthday as well, but I have not worn them yet. They’re on a shelf smiling at me each time I pass them, and my feet cannot wait to slip inside them on my birthday.

Now that I think of it, and I’m not a mathematician, I may have 39 pairs of boots; I’m going to have to catalog them. First-world problems here. Not sorry, though. I love them. We all, well, maybe not everyone, but I’m going to say it anyway… we all collect something. For me, it’s boots. I have a variety of colors and styles, different toes and heights of shafts and heels. Every evening, I select my clothes for the next day and stand in my room, deciding which pair of boots to wear with my chosen outfit. Sometimes, there’s a pair of boots I really want to wear, and I plan my outfit around them. I love it. My husband spoils me … he has just as many cowboy hats as I have boots. Our house looks like you’ve entered Boot Barn because hats hang all around, and we have shelving for boots as decorations when they’re not being worn. I never thought I could have a closet that decorates my home – but here I am living that boot life. It is good.

There are other brands of boots like Circle G, Lucchese, Tony Lama, Justin, Laredo, Durango, Corral, Free People, Rank 45, Miranda Lambert, Twisted X, etc. – and they’re all fine and dandy for other folks, but not for this girl’s feet. I’ve tried. I worked at Book Barn when it was Drysdales and in the boot department. You better believe that when we were slow, I tried on boots. I found what fit, and I haven’t looked back. I did try to love Corral because they’re so dad gum pretty, but my feet do not love Corral. They’re made for looks, not comfort. Ariat, though … girl. Those are like walking on clouds. Ahhhhhh.

I highly recommend that if you haven’t tried wearing boots, get a pair. Give them a try, but make sure to start with one of my favorite brands first – specifically Ariat. You’re welcome. 🙂

What Would Life Be Like Without Music?

To honestly answer what life would be like without music, other variables need to be applied to the question. For instance, is this a life wholly lived without music? Never having heard it before? Or is this a situation where music has been a part of life but then suddenly ripped away for some unknown and horrific reason? Adding these qualifiers significantly alters the response.

If life had never known music, I wouldn’t know what I’m missing. That’s a simple response. Sounds of the ocean lapping, birds singing, fish jumping, and trains roaring past all make their own kind of music apart from “music,” and those sounds would surround daily life in ways we do not pause enough in modern life to stop and enjoy.

However, if life had been filled with music and it were suddenly gone, my hope is that the music would live on in my soul – and that in my spirit, I would hear it, sing it, and revel in it, even in silence or lost in a large crowd. I hope to have it so ingrained in my being that it will always be with me. In this moment, I feel panic, as if I need to listen to more music to ensure I know it deep inside, just in case that day without music ever comes. I should memorize every last note of “Kiss the Rain” by Yurima and Hauser’s “River Flows in You.” The opening to the “Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves” soundtrack… those pieces rank among my favorite compositions, and I play them when I’m alone, when I’m writing, when my soul is sad. I must ingrain them in my soul so that I will always have music with me.

Vatterott College Taught Me to Work Harder Than You

When I hear folks who work in a community college environment or a state college/university environment complain about their workloads, I disingenuously smile; internally, I roll my eyes and think they’d have never survived at Vatterott College, a high-stress, high-stakes environment.

Big boy pants, people.

At Vatterott, we were expected, as faculty, to retain our students. Every one of them. Any student who missed class had to be called, messaged, and recorded in our data system until an actual connection with the student was established. All communications (including attempts to contact and actual contact with the student) were to be documented in CampusVue for all staff and administrators to access. If you did not contact each missing student (and in our general education classes, we had 30 students per class; most terms I taught 7 classes, giving me 210 students every 10 weeks), your position at the school became endangered. If too many students dropped your classes, your position at the school was jeopardized. Retain. Retain. Retain. Talk them into returning. Keep them in the seats. Make them stay for 4 1/2 hours each day and don’t sit down while you’re teaching. No calling 911. (One day, one of my students threatened to shoot the place up, and it was determined, after he calmed down, that he would remain in the classroom … I put my foot down on that one and said, No. I took a risk even after being told there would be consequences if I canceled my class that day. I canceled the class. Student safety was worth it.) We were to note all interactions with all students in the system. High expectations. Fear of losing your job. Negative critiques. Walking on eggshells around corporate-level employees. Always knowing you’re being watched. Convincing students who are just trying to stay out of jail that they can and are students and can achieve – partly so you can keep your job by keeping them in the classroom, but also because you grow to care about the students who have complicated, unbelievably hard lives and drama in their lives. I learned how to connect, engage, and reach students in that environment. I believe that those of us who worked there developed a trauma bond with our students and with one another. Those of us who stayed, anyway.

I’m a survivor. I navigated 8 years and 2 months at Vatterott, collecting various positions (instructor, program director, member of the interview committee, registrar, retention officer, and subject matter expert) and recognitions (2013’s Most Innovative Instructor) until Vatterott closed its doors forever on December 17, 2018, at 4:00 p.m. I’ll never forget going home at 4:00 that day, sitting on my couch, and staring at the Christmas tree. What now?

Had it not died that day, I’m sure I’d still be in the Vatterott family; I grew to love it – probably that trauma bonding. I’m privileged to know so many wonderful people from those days. Bobby, Sam, Colleen, Brandi, Katie, Marcy, Shane, Ric, Craig, Scott, Virilyaih, Cheryl, Rhonda, Patrick, Maria, Charles, Al, Keegan, Cody, Melanie, Gonz, Rich, Jessie, Suzanne, Julie, Juan, John, Michelle, Velma, Velma, Celeste, Melanie, Barbara, Beth, Casey, Veronica, Brian, John, John, Rich, Jeff, etc. I’m smiling as memories flood my mind as I just write their names down. Strong people. Tough environment. #survivors #grateful #vatterottcollege

The opportunities since those years have been a blessing of ease; it is normal to hear me say that people who complain about their workloads should be required to spend a minimum of 2 years in a trade school environment. Then, they can come back and hit the ground running with gratitude for environments/schools/campuses that give autonomy and do not have the red-tape expectations that for-profit education places on their employees/teachers. Perspective is essential. Sometimes I think that colleagues who have only worked in a particular type of educational bubble don’t realize how blessed they are, how free they are, and, really, how spoiled they are. Me? Puh-lease. I know exactly what I have now and how blessed I am, and I could not be more thrilled to be an Assistant Professor of English at Tulsa Community College. It is a beautiful school with a beautiful mission, and I’m two feet in – Community Unites Us!

Two of my former Vatterott coworkers and I get together from time to time, and we laugh about how ‘easy’ our current positions are in comparison to what life was like before. We swap stories of the types of complaints we encounter in workplaces since our time at Vatterott and try to imagine those complaining folks working in the environment that the three of us survived—and not only survived, but thrived in. We know that the majority of these complaining individuals would not have lasted long in those roles we held and grew in. We are strong women, tough women, who can handle adversity and rise above it, who will work harder than most – we have proven this. And speaking of strong women, sometimes I think about reaching out to our former CEO and saying, “Thank you for being tough on us all.” Actually, the language I joked that I’d use was, “Thank you for being a tyrant.” I know, though, she was doing what she believed was best for the entire Vatterott system, and I’m beyond grateful for the lessons I learned there. I am the employee and the professor I am today because of my time at Vatterott College.

Some people say they’ve been to the school of hard knocks. Others attend Universities. Some choose state colleges or private schools when they desire higher education. Me? I attended a private Christian college for my bachelor’s degree, then a private University for my second bachelor’s degree and my master’s degree. But the school that taught me the most was the first school that took me in as an instructor, Vatterott College. I am grateful for a demanding work environment and a CEO with high expectations. I think everyone should have at least one experience in a place like that.

A Vatterott reunion would be ‘tops.’ Does anyone say ‘tops’ anymore? Probably not. A Vatterott reunion would be welcome. Good to have some trauma-bonded hugs. Perhaps one day.