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Quiet Chaos: A Creative Writing Toolkit / Game of Words, Meaning, & Imagination! Creative Writing Prompts.
To say that I am excited is an understatement.
I am BEYOND excited. This is not my first publication; I’ve had several short stories and three novels published, along with a children’s book, and a coloring book that my daughter illustrated … but THIS book. Y’all. I can’t. I am happy, happy, happy, and I think every writer and artist should have a copy of this book on their desk – not the shelf because this book will be used!
It is a collection of 1800 nouns, 3000 adjectives, and 1000 verbs. There are multiple sets of ideas/instructions on how to use it, both individually and in classroom environments, with examples in use and testimonials from students who have used it to assist with their own writing. There are MILLIONS of possibilities for creative writing prompts and sketching in this book. Random pairings.
Stuck? Can’t find the right adjective? This book can help.
Don’t know what to write about? This book has the idea for you.
Need a fun game that everyone is sure to enjoy? Here you go!
The book begins with “Why This Book Exists,” where I explain exactly how this collection came about and why. Then, there, as stated above, are multiple possible ways to use the contents, the curated collections of nouns, adjectives, and verbs, in surprising and fantastically creative ways. This book is for writers, artists, students, teachers, and anyone who is bored, anyone who can’t find just that right word. This book has your back. Period.
My husband said those words the other evening, and all within earshot inhaled. It was one of those moments where words become visible, heavy, and fill the room – where they move each person back on their heels and into shock at the simplicity of their truth and power. He didn’t know those words would come from his mouth; in fact, he’d never said them before in his 39 years of living in sobriety and in the 4th dimension, which the Big Book talks about.
So many of us walk around carrying resentments and anger. They weigh us down and steal joy, peace, serenity, rationality, sanity, all the good things from us, and we, because we remain in the 3rd dimension of reality, the consequence years, do not recognize the spiritual solution to what drains us – and for many of us – resentment, and our need to “fix” it all ourselves, drives us to drink, drugs, overeating, sex addiction, porn, shopping, whatever it is that you chase “Feel Better” with because we do not have the solution within our own abilities.
The solution is a spiritual solution.
A recognition of powerlessness over that which controls you, whatever that might be. From there, an understanding that you, in your own power, cannot course correct your life, that only God, the Creator, once called upon and surrendered to, has the power to rocket you into a life you cannot even dream of in your self-absorbed state of “fixing” it myself as you (we) chase drink, drugs, overeating, sex addiction, porn, shopping, whatever the “Feel Better” is.
See, God, Yahweh, the Great I Am, in His unfathomable wisdom, waits for us to admit we need Him.
Patrick, on a regular basis, models in our home exactly what he tells every person who comes to our home and sits at our table, seeking a solution to their powerlessness once they realize that on their own, they are incapable of ‘saving’ themselves from the seemingly bottomless pit of despair that trying to live a life based in self-will and “I can fix it myself” will get you. Every morning, my husband prays. He starts his day with gratitude, and he asks the Father to allow him to be of use to Him. Patrick taught me this, and it is how I strive to begin my days as well. Simple prayer. Simple faith. Major changes to life. See, gratitude and humility produce willingness to be honest, open, and useful – and that is exactly the state God desires. Then … He moves. I’ve seen it. I know it to be true.
Most of my life, I believed I had prayed wrong. It’s modeled and taught so differently in churches than the simplicity I’ve learned married to this rough-around-the-edges recovered alcoholic I’m blessed to call husband, who loves our God with a fierceness I’ve not encountered in another man. Churches teach prayer – how to pray – do it this way. There are prayer times that are more gossip lines for churchfolk. There is the “A.C.T.S.” method of prayer I was taught as a child – that I never felt I got right, and always felt, because I didn’t pray right, that I was unacceptable to God. That feeling of inadequacy led me to not pray, to resentment, to self-reliance, and to alcohol, men, and despair, and to thinking I’d “fix” it all myself. Restless. Irritable. Discontent. Lost.
But … see, my Patrick found something in his journey to sobriety that he now gives away freely – and that is how to walk humbly with our God – how to pray. He shared this with me. He shares it with whoever God puts in his path. Gratitude and service. Be willing. Be honest. Be humble. Thank the Father each morning for the blessings in your life – even on the hard days. Like this morning. I woke up feeling overwhelmed because my dad fell again last night. He had another car accident earlier in the week. I’m watching my dad age, and I know his faculties are strong, but his balance is questionable, as is his depth perception. He’s 81. The gamut of emotions I allowed between waking and sitting to write this had me wiping tears and oversharing with friends.
See, I know better what to do, and this is it … pray. Start with gratitude.
For example: Father, thank you for my dad. Thank you for the last three years he’s been able to live with Patrick, Joey, and me, and for getting to love him, spend time with him, and care for him – even when it’s hard on so many levels. Thank you for my marriage. Thank you for a husband who leads toward YOU. Thank you for my work. Thank you for our children – both biological and those grafted in by You. Thank you for being the vessel you used to bring Keenan, Kennedy, Kadi, Koel, Klayton, and Koby into this world – may their dad be at peace in his life and may he, too, be of use to You. Thank you for my family, friends, and friends who are family. Thank you for the additional days I’ve been of use to you since my surgery. Thank you for this day – Easter Sunday – and what it represents. Thank you for Jesus! Father, may I be of use to YOU today, as you see fit. Please put those whom you want me to encounter in my path, and may I be willing to be of service to you. Amen.
Prayer doesn’t need to be some planned, ornate thing. In fact, it is the opposite. It is private, personal, shut the door time. You and God. No one else invited. Speak to Him. Allow Him to speak to you. Sit quietly. Be grateful. Be willing to be of service – come what may. Be honest. Be humble. That’s prayer. It is intimate, and it changes you.
My husband said, “Pray FOR them, OR pray TO them,” and we all inhaled. The words stopped each of us in that space. Their truth, like a slap, stung every person in that space who talked about resentments and why they’re mad at this person or that or why this person caused them to do this or that and how it is everyone else’s fault and and – and – and – and each of us found ourselves in that blaming space because we were spiritually sick and sought “feel better” and “fix it myself” to the depth of depravity and addiction. The simplicity of praying for the person you hold resentment toward … ew, no thanks, right? We don’t really want them to get better, do we? We want to stir in our hate, daydream over their destruction, seek revenge, and we marinate in resentment, and they control us. The resented person dwells in your mind – takes control – is set up as a little ‘g’ god.
Ouch.
My husband said, “Pray FOR them, OR pray TO them,” and the room went silent. For a moment.
What each person who heard those words will do with them is between them and God. As for me, though, I’ll never forget those words and their truth. When we let ourselves fixate on those we resent, on situations we resent, on anything that stirs anger within us and gets a foothold, we give it power over us. We set that person, those people, that thing, that institution, whatever it is, up as a god, and we ‘worship’ it – concentrate on it, feed on it, and it consumes us.
That is not how I want to live my life. For me, since my open-heart surgery, I recognize that I have no guaranteed amount of time left in this earthly plane of existence. I have a mechanical heart valve, which relies on medication, blood pressure, and, truthfully, in every bit of actual reality, God’s timing. Each day is a gift – and I do not want to spend one day of it, one second of it, allowing anyone or anything to consume my soul, my heart, and my mind other than God the Father, who is the ONLY solution to my perceived problems this side of Heaven.
I put my focus on Him – and He moves.
Life is precious. We are not here to wallow in resentment. We are here to be of service to our Maker.
I’m about to the point where I don’t want to watch the news anymore, and I’m a news junkie. Our media is pitting side against side, and they’re doing it unabashedly, and the people watching just go along with it all, hook, line, and sinker. It is disgusting to watch. I listen to people when I’m out and on social media, and most people never take the time to understand the WHY behind someone else’s perspective. Instead, choosing to hate anyone with an opposing perspective and call them wrong. It’s why I wrote that short story a couple of weeks ago – “The Good People Got On With Their Lives.”
The why someone believes what they believe is VITAL to know before opening your mouth in opposition … that is, if you even care for there to be an even remote opportunity for reconciliation or conversation. This all makes me feel crazy. I feel like a lone voice out here asking people to listen first, talk second. Seek to understand. Apparently, that is too hard. And tonight, I’m doubly disgusted with it all because a young man that I know lost his life today to fentanyl – and on the news, they’re arguing Bad Bunny vs. Kid Rock.
I’m sure he, the young man I know who died today, wasn’t the only one because we have an epidemic in this country – a fentanyl crisis. An epidemic that took a person from my life – again. A young man who was on a path to sobriety; he struggled, and he lost his battle. It is beyond sad. It’s maddening.
Why aren’t we up in arms about the fentanyl crisis in this country? “In 2023, fentanyl was responsible for an estimated about 199 deaths per day from overdoses in the U.S. alone. That’s based on CDC-linked data showing around 72,776 fentanyl overdose deaths over the year — roughly 199 deaths each day” (USAFacts). That was 3 years ago, and it hasn’t gone away. I read further that in 2025, the number sat similarly around 200 a day. That’s 200 too many!
Why aren’t we mad about this?
Why aren’t we mad at where the fentanyl is coming from?
Why aren’t we protesting those who bring it into our country?
Seriously.
What I know today is that I do not care about Bad Bunny or Kid Rock, and neither of their half-time performances. I don’t care, and that’s all the news seems to be able to talk about, that and Savannah Guthrie’s mom being missing. I’m sorry she’s missing, but what about the 2,000 – 2,300 children in this country who go missing EVERY DAY? “Roughly 2,000 – 2,300 U.S. children are reported missing each day when annual missing-child report numbers are averaged out” (Child Find of America). Nothing is said or done about these precious children who are gone. Gone. And where are they? Does anyone care? Families are destroyed all across America, and we are out protesting and saying things like, “No one is illegal on stolen land.” Every person anywhere on this planet is to some degree on “stolen” land – if by “stolen” we mean conquered or purchased. I can only roll my eyes and think, “Take a history class.” Why is it that celebrities’ thoughts and lives seem to mean so much more than everyone else’s? Shoot. Not in my book. Not at all. They’re just people. They all strain, too. Just sayin’.
So, not only do we have a fentanyl crisis that is swept under the rug, but we also know that there are over 2,000 children who go missing EVERY day in this country – and that, too, is hush-hush. Largely. Not only these things, but in Nigeria, tens of thousands of Christians have been killed in recent years just for their faith, and the news is silent.
On the Native American Reservations within our nation, thousands of young women and girls go missing every year – and nothing is done about it – nothing is said about it.
We also know that human trafficking/sex trafficking rakes in tens of billions of dollars a year, and it ranks #2 next to the drug trade in world criminal activity – and we don’t talk about it! There are more slaves in the world today than there ever have been! Why aren’t our “protestors” in this country out using their efforts to try to rescue these actual stolen people!
In Iran, since the beginning of January 2026, some reports now say over 90,000 protestors who wanted freedom have been killed, though verified reports are over 30,000. Their bodies are being burned to destroy the evidence; families have to pay for bodies if they want to keep them for burial, but the price is too high. In some cases, families are made to pay for each bullet extracted from the body of their loved one. There is a communication blackout – the regime cut off access to the internet to the people. Thousands have been blinded. Hundreds of thousands have been injured.
And in the U.S., we are arguing about Bad Bunny vs. Kid Rock.
That is sickening.
I’m worked up, and I know, in part, it is because I’ll never see Blake smile again – his blue eyes light up when he was mischievous in meetings – never again have him as my waiter at the restaurant where he worked – never hear him read the words that had the power to save him if he could only let those words into his heart. Miserable, awful, horrible addiction. Miserable, awful, horrible fentanyl. You know what? His life mattered. Still does. To those of us who knew him, loved him, and wanted him to succeed in this thing called recovery.
He won’t make the news – just like the 2,000 kids who go missing every day, many of whom are put into human trafficking. Just like the thousands of missing Native American young women and girls. Just like the Christians in Nigeria who have been slaughtered in the thousands. Just like the protestors in Iran dying because they want to be free like we are in the United States – where we are FREE to criticize our government. If they do, they die. Just like the scope of the fentanyl crisis and how it gets here and where it comes from. None of that will be on the news. You have to research it for yourself to know anything at all about any of these.
Man. I’m sitting here stunned at it all.
Yeah, Blake won’t make the news, but his loss is news to me.
It has rocked our world this evening, and the loss of him reminds me that there are things in life that are MUCH MORE important than what the news media tells me I should be upset about.
The thing about celebrities is that they poop, too. I could make that much more graphic, and when I’m teaching, I do because I like driving home my points. Celebrities are just people. People who get paid way too much for being entertainers. Like court jesters … who didn’t in the past get paid much more than a pittance. They shouldn’t today, either, get paid much more than a pittance. However, we use money wrong in this world – our priorities are wildly out of order. Instead of prioritizing education, we idolize the people who entertain us – celebrities and athletes – and throw money at their feet; they live lavish lives, think they’re more important than they are, and want to tell us how to live our lives – us, the little peasants who actually work for a living.
Prime example? Jimmy Kimmel and Stephen Colbert. Sit down, both of you. Write something actually funny. Something that will not be divisive. Something that can bring people together. No one gave you a platform and said, you’re a politician now. No, you’re not. You’re a supposed flippin’ entertainer, but you’re neither one funny. You’re divisive and angry. I remember when you were funny… somewhere along the way, that changed. Back in the day, you praised Barack Obama for deporting immigrants with Tom Homan. Today, you demonize Donald Trump and Tom Homan for doing the exact same thing – in even smaller numbers. And the sad thing is, because they are “celebrities”- Kimmel and Colbert, the masses watch them and think there’s no way these celebrities would say anything false or misleading meant to increase their own pockets and not based on actual facts … no way.
Um, yes way. Absolutely. They’re all about lining their own pockets. They bend to donors’ pockets. It’s disgusting, and they’re not funny.
Funny was Johnny Carson. Non-political – a show at the end of the day where working adults, no matter their political leaning, could laugh before going to bed. Yeah, those days are gone. Today’s “celebrities” think they’re a lot more important than they are. I just wish the masses understood how easily manipulated they, the masses, are – that Kimmel fake cries and claims to care about things that, as soon as the next “fad” to get upset over comes, the thing he “cried” about is off the air and out of his mouth. How do people not see this? Because critical thinking is no longer something we prioritize. Emotion … that’s where we place our trust. Gut feelings. War cries! And I’m here rolling my eyes. Sit down. Think. Learn about Logos, Pathos, Ethos, and Logical Fallacies. Start noticing them. Get disgusted at these celebrities today who march in the streets for Gaza but stay silent over the thousands of protestors who have been slaughtered in Iran in the last three weeks. Where are Colbert and Kimmel on Iran? SILENT. Not a word. It doesn’t fit their narrative. The celebrities at the Grammys as well. I’ve only seen clips; I don’t watch those shows. It’s a parade of people, who I have no idea who most of them are, who all think I want to hear their political feelings. Yeah, no thanks to that mess. I live in the real world. And I do not worship celebrities nor live my life according to what they tell me to think or do.
Entertain me, “celebrities” … jesters.
Don’t tell me what your political feelings are. I don’t care.
You’re an entertainer, so entertain. Write something actually funny. Earn your money. Sing for your supper.
Mostly, I don’t watch you anymore – don’t care to support the idolization and worship of humans who feed on the naivety, gullibility, and “need for a leader” that so many people have. I have a leader. His name is Jesus, and He doesn’t need my money. He owns the cattle on a thousand hills, and His Name is the Name Above All Names.
It’s okay if you don’t agree, and you want to follow Jimmy Kimmel and be a Kimmel-ite. The day will come when we will find out who is worthy of worship, of your time, of your money, your adoration, your time …
Some places feel wrong before you can explain why.
On a simple drive, Sarah and Tom pass through a town called Goodville—quiet and unsettling in a way that has nothing to do with what they can see. A single encounter leaves Sarah shaken, and the feeling follows them long after they put miles behind them.
At a roadside diner, a local named Ted begins to talk. What starts as conversation becomes something else: a portrait of a place where “goodness” is a rule, a ritual, and a justification—and where the cost of keeping life comfortable is paid by someone else.
The Good People Got On With Their Lives is a quiet, unnerving short story about moral certainty, social complicity, and the danger of calling something “normal” simply because it has always been that way. It doesn’t offer easy answers—only questions that linger.
My husband spoke last night, and I want to share his words with you. If you are struggling with addiction, whether that be alcohol, “outside issues” (drugs, shopping, food, etc), this message is for you. It is also for those of you who have been walking a road of sobriety but find yourselves struggling, feeling alone, getting to the end of your rope. If you are struggling, and you feel alone, download the AA “Meeting Finder” app and get yourself to a meeting. Be with others who KNOW you without having met you. Be in the fellowship. Save a life – your own perhaps – and perhaps the one of the person who needed to hear you honestly talk about your lack of control, your desperation, your loneliness, your truth … we heal together. Patrick says, “You don’t keep what you have unless you give it away.”
I asked AI for a summary of Patrick’s talk. Here is what it created, though it is NO replacement for hearing this message from my husband’s mouth. He has 39 years of sobriety and has walked this path for a long time. He is wise, and I am proud to be his wife.
Patrick shares a deeply honest AA lead centered on Experience, Strength, and Hope, reflecting on long-term sobriety that did not come easily or quickly. Although he entered Alcoholics Anonymous in 1987, his first five years were marked by surface-level participation: frequent meetings, repeated sponsors, and memorized language, but little internal change. He remained sober yet deeply uncomfortable with himself, unable to feel peace, ease, or authenticity.
The turning point came when Patrick reached an emotional and spiritual dead end—unable to return to drinking and unable to continue living sober in the way he had been. Under the guidance of a sponsor who insisted on being fearless and thorough, Patrick worked the steps directly from the Big Book, examining his life before alcohol and recognizing that alcoholism was present long before his first drink. Alcohol was not the cause of his problem—it was his solution.
Through this deeper work, Patrick came to understand alcoholism as a spiritual illness characterized by fear, insecurity, disconnection, and self-centered thinking. True sobriety required surrender, humility, and continued spiritual growth—not just abstinence. Over the decades, Patrick endured profound personal loss, including the death of children, financial hardship, and ongoing internal struggles, yet remained sober by staying connected to AA, sponsoring others, and relying on fellowship. His message emphasizes that sobriety is not about time or years, but about ongoing spiritual action, service, and connection.
Main Takeaways
Sobriety without inner change is unsustainable. Meetings and slogans alone did not bring peace.
Alcohol was not the root problem—it was the relief. Fear and emotional pain existed long before drinking.
The steps must be worked thoroughly and honestly, guided by a sponsor—not self-directed.
Time sober does not equal spiritual growth. Change comes from action, not years.
Long-term sobriety requires continuous surrender, especially during hardship.
Service is essential to survival. Giving sobriety away is how it is kept.
Isolation is deadly; connection is lifesaving.
Lessons About Sobriety
Sobriety is more than not drinking Patrick underscores that simply staying abstinent left him miserable. Real sobriety required confronting fear, insecurity, and self-centered thinking through the steps.
Alcoholism is a spiritual condition His story reframes alcoholism as something present from childhood—marked by fear, inadequacy, and emotional pain—not something created by substances themselves.
Discomfort is part of growth Remaining sober means learning to be “comfortable being uncomfortable.” Growth happens through surrender, not ease.
Hardship does not mean failure Loss, grief, and suffering continued in sobriety—but they no longer led him back to drinking.
Spiritual growth requires action Patrick identifies service, sponsorship, and helping others—not intellectual understanding—as the primary ways to grow spiritually.
Lessons About Fellowship
You cannot do this alone Patrick repeatedly emphasizes that his survival depended on sponsors, his home group, and sober friends.
Newcomers are essential—not optional Long-sober members need newcomers just as much, if not more, than newcomers need them.
Sponsorship is not optional for long-term sobriety He challenges members with many years sober who are not sponsoring to examine what might be missing spiritually.
Fellowship sustains sobriety during crisis Fellowship carried Patrick through unimaginable loss when personal strength alone was insufficient.
Connection—not perfection—keeps people sober Patrick remains sober by showing up even when he doesn’t feel like it, staying plugged into AA rather than relying on self-will.
Greetings. As you all know, I don’t use social media. My lovely wife enjoys it, but I decline. However, this one time, I will. – Patrick
I had an experience today that I would like all of you to know about. While I was out, I stopped for coffee at a convenience store, and on my way in, I saw a lady who was loading cases of water into her trunk. It was more than obvious that this woman had MS, curled hands, and a clear limp.
I thought about asking her if she needed help, but for some reason, I walked in and went about my business. On the way out, after paying for my coffee, to my surprise, she was still loading her car, only this time, with 20 lb. bags of salt. So I asked her if she needed help. She said, “Yes,” and I loaded the bags. She said, “Thank you, and may God bless you, Sir.”
I sat in the car and couldn’t help but wonder, ‘Why did I hesitate to begin with?’ I thought about it and realized I didn’t ask initially because I didn’t want to offend anyone. I thought, ‘What’s happening to me?’
It dawned on me that the people I am currently in the world with have had an impact on me as a person. I want to address those people. If the shoe fits, wear it; no filter with me.
If you are one of those people who have found it necessary to sew division merely due to who you voted for, or one who cannot live in society until the rest of the population agrees with a man being able to be a woman, or just flat out Will NOT treat other people with respect until they adopt “your” way of thinking, do a cowboy a favor and GROW UP!
I almost let these types of people in society alter me today, but I think from now on, I’ll be a little more diligent and watchful to make darn sure I don’t become someone I am NOT.
Wife here: I love this man’s heart, and I’m proud to be his wife!
There were a few months of soaring hope while I took Viviscal – hoping that my hair would return to its pre-surgery state! Those months were in the spring and summer of 2025; my hair thickened, and I enjoyed fixing it for work and outings, grateful for its “return.” In the fall, I started to notice the thinning again. Life was stressful in the fall with Patrick’s abscesses and hospital visits (7!), so I’m aware that I’m experiencing a double-whammy. My body is still in recovery; believe me, this has been a topic of research of late. I am 19 months post-open heart surgery, and I am still in recovery – we have also been close to having our own suite in the emergency room at St. Francis South. So, I have to remind myself that not only did my body go through a traumatic experience less than 2 years ago, but my stress levels have not been good either for months on end, though I have kept an eye on my blood pressure and my INR. Despite all of this, my spirit says, “Okay, let’s be normal,” while my body says, “Nah, not yet.” My body is still in flight-or-fight mode from all that the last two years have thrown at us.
I am also a 53-year-old woman who had a hysterectomy in 2018. My ovaries stayed in … and I am fairly positive they’re going kaput. It’s menopause time. The weight I lost after surgery is all back with a vengeance – you know, the meno-belly. I’m more conscientious now of my diet than I have ever been in my life! I drink protein drinks for breakfast, eat Greek yogurt, and nutritionist-approved granola for lunch. I snack on dark chocolate. I only drink water and sparkling water. We eat turkey, chicken, and pork in this house. I never eat fast food or junk food, except for tortilla chips and salsa. I do a blood check for my INR every week and report results to my cardiologist’s office. I mean, I’ve never eaten this well – and I am a plump little chicken. Grrrr. One of my goals has always been to weigh less than Patrick, and currently, that’s not the case. Of course, he’s been sick since September, off and on and off and on, so there’s that, too. Probably, I’ve eaten a bit more of the items I mentioned because of stress over his health – the uncertainty of the last few months has been emotional and exhausting. But there’s also the hot flashes – and they come at night! Holy moly. I need it cold in the bedroom. Midway through the night, I’m sweating and throwing off covers. Last night, I got about 4 hours of sleep. I was too hot to sleep. So … 19 months post-surgery, husband has been terribly sick, and menopause/peri-menopause (how can you tell with no uterus) … triple whammy! But, you know what? I am alive.
How does it feel to be 19 months post-open-heart surgery? Glad you asked. For the most part, I am feeling great. I hear the ticking of my mechanical valve often, and I remember what I’ve been through. As soon as I start to feel “normal,” I’ll hear that, and I find myself reliving portions of the experience. Not in horror, but in gratitude for the space I’m in now as compared to where I was pre-surgery and immediately following – those first 12 weeks after surgery were intense. I’m not bothered by the ticking, though I see some folks in the support groups I’m in on Facebook complaining about the incessant ticking. Heck, it means we are alive! Recently, the living room was silent, and I could hear my ticking, so I recorded it. Wild to have a recording! I’m grateful for it. There are some nights when I have to adjust because, in certain positions, the ticking is loud and keeps me awake. Not a bother. I just move my head or flip onto my side … which I can do now!
Mostly, I’m comfortable on my side in bed. It took months to be able to put my left arm up and under my pillow so I could sleep on my left side. I still feel “pain” when I’m on my left, and if I don’t keep my right arm up on my body, if I let it fall down in front of me, then I’m squeezing my chest together, and that doesn’t feel good. I wouldn’t call it “pain” – hence the quotes. It is a bothersome feeling, an ache. Whatever it is, it is unpleasant, so I have to find just the right position so that I can drift off comfortably. Now, on my right side, I could put my right arm under my pillow for months and sleep on my right, but lately it hurts when I do, similar to how the left arm used to. I don’t know what that’s about, and I’m not headed to the chiropractor at this time. I just, a lot of the time, choose to lie on my back, which is something I never used to do. I have been a belly sleeper for most of my life, but not anymore. Probably that’s psychological. I just don’t do it. Lying on my back is when I hear the ticking, so I have to get my head in just the right position so I do not hear it quite as loudly, though most nights I have a YouTube ocean storm for sleeping playing on my phone next to the bed. Who would have thought that 19 months later I would still have sleeping issues?!? It’s all good though … I am alive.
Occasionally, I have chest pain. Sometimes on the left. Sometimes on the right. Sometimes it is sharp. Sometimes it is dull. It’s always near the surface, near my skin. Right now, at this moment, I feel a tightness across my entire chest. If you’re ever around me, you might see me put my hand on my chest in whatever area I’m feeling something funky. It’s part of me now – these aches and pin-pricks. There’s metal in my body – and it does what it does, and my body reacts to it. In my heart, there’s a mechanical valve, and there are wires that held my ribcage together as it melded back together over lengthy months. And when I feel these things, I touch my chest where I feel the pain/ache/tightness, and it tends to alleviate. It’s all good. I don’t set off metal detectors, and I’m alive.
My hair … yeah, I want it back. But now, I wonder about the medication regimen I was on in the last five years – the oral Rogaine – and, though I’m not curious enough yet to have researched it, I wonder if it contributed to my mitral valve’s severe regurgitation and put me into congestive heart failure. Maybe one of these days I will look into that, but I’m not there yet. The medication combo I was on, which included the oral Rogaine, is something I cannot take again due to my current health. I’m just missing my hair and wearing a lot of hats. I mean, a lot of hats. I have so many hats, and here’s crazy information: two more will arrive in today’s mail! You know how some people collect stamps or coins? Well, for me, it’s cowboy boots and hats. Actually, both Patrick and I collect these things, but for me, the hats are more in effort to cover up my hair loss. I really like some of them now, and I’m getting quite comfortable wearing them. Heck, last fall, one of my students drew me, my hats, and my outfits every day and gave them to me as a gift at the end of the semester. That was pretty cool. I like being ‘that’ professor who is ‘unafraid’ to be herself. Secretly, though, I ask myself whether I am really unafraid to be myself. If I were fully unafraid, I wouldn’t have this great need to wear hats every time I leave the house. I would just let my lack of hair be what it is – and who cares what a single solitary person out there in the big wide world thinks! Because you know why? Less than 2 years ago, I had major open-heart surgery, and I am alive!
My intention here is to be a voice for others struggling post-major surgery with body changes and life continuing to roll at you like a barrelling train on icy tracks. Recently, I read that it can take 24 full months before the body is “healed” from the type of surgery I underwent. So, I’ll tell my story, talk about my experiences, and hope to be a voice of hope and also reality for those facing similar types of surgeries – and for folks who just need a reminder to be grateful for life. We all face different traumas/experiences – and what I’ve learned is that the key is gratitude. I’m grateful for the Chief of Cardiology as my surgeon. I’m grateful for my husband being the best caregiver I could ever ask for. I’m grateful for my work and for their love and care during my healing. I’m grateful for friends and family. I am grateful for sobriety through all of this. I am grateful to God for allowing me to remain here on this earth for a little longer. In that operating room, I felt perfect peace when I prayed, “Jesus, I either wake up with you or with work to do.” Well, I woke up in the ICU, so I have work to do.
And how I do that is, I wake up each day and thank God for the day. I thank Him for my marriage, my husband, my children, my friends, my work, and I ask Him to let me be of use to Him each day. Then, I go out the door and step into the day. Grateful. Each step I take is a gift. And in lieu of this … (see, I learn constantly – and I just caught the lesson here in my own words) the hair on my head is a gift. Whether it is thin or it is thick, I am alive, and I have work to do – wearing a hat or not wearing a hat! Heck yeah! BE ME! Be real. Be authentic. Be grateful! Thank you, Lord! So … let’s do this.
What’s scary is that people don’t mind getting their news from one-sided sources. Truly scary. And willfully blind. Ignorant is a better word. Willfully ignorant. Choosing not to see things from opposing perspectives. Choosing not to understand why someone might dare to hold a different thought. Never ask why that person holds an opposing view. Just willfully ignoring that opposing perspectives exist, and that only by seeking to understand why the other side is different can true perspective and sincere grounding for one’s own perspectives be found. We certainly don’t want to be accused of thinking for ourselves beyond one-sided news sources; we want to choose a side and hate anyone who opposes our held ideas. It is stunning – truly stunning – and not in a good way, not in a beautiful way – that such willful ignorance exists, and in abundance at that. Cognitive Dissonance. Biases. Logical Fallacies. They’re flowing like water rushing over Bridalveil Falls, and I am stunned. I shouldn’t be, but I am.
Despite it all, I will continue to teach critical thinking skills which incorporate calm, courteous processes wherein we know our audience, understand their perspectives, research opposing information, and address such with clarity and evidence – not seeking to win an argument but to, at the very least, inspire critical thinking in the audience. There is no place for anger, no place for emotionalism, no place for words like, anyone who has an opposing perspective “should be shot in the head so that the good people can get on with their lives.” I saw those words on Facebook during COVID. On a colleague’s Facebook page. I’ll never forget them; I still work with this person. I don’t do social media with coworkers much anymore, and I keep an eye on that individual. That person is supposed to be teaching critical thinking skills … that scares me, too. How can an individual who believes anyone who opposes their ideas “should be shot in the head so that the good people can get on with their lives,” teach any person anywhere how to be fair and participate in a true argument? It’s wildly insane.
To anyone reading this, please don’t get your news from just one source. Not just from CNN. Not just from FOX. Today, one of my students told me about “Allsides.com” – supposedly a fair and balanced site; I checked it out. I’m intrigued. I try to be open-minded and seek to understand why people who believe differently from me do just that … believe differently from me. It has everything to do with life experience, culture, and research (lot of or lack of). Why this doesn’t make sense to the masses will baffle me for the rest of my existence on this earth, I’m sure. So be it. That will not stop me from teaching and encouraging my students to think for themselves beyond what one news station or certain social media influencers say. I will continue to push them to experience multiple perspectives and draw conclusions based on research and paced thought, never rash emotion or bandwagon mentality. I will continue to grade their work not on whether I agree with their thesis statements, but on how well they support those statements with their evidence. I will also continue to show them that every one of us is valuable, no matter our perspectives, and that not a one of us deserves to be “shot in the head so that the good people can get on with their lives.”
Of course, I’ll draw this to a close in much the same way I end many of my classes. What I’m telling you here (think for yourself and don’t settle for one perspective) works for me, but you do you, Boo.
Joshua 1:9: “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go”.
This morning’s blog post; I want to share with you.
Yesterday, my 19-year-old son, Klayton, spoke truth to me, and I am humbled that God speaks to us through the means He chooses.
Klayton and I talked about many things, from philosophy to my thinning hair, and I told him how sad I am that it has become so thin since surgery, and that I can no longer take the medications that had been thickening it before surgery. We talked about how stress can be a cause of thinning hair, and I shared the level of stress and anxiety I’ve been in since Labor Day, when Patrick’s health took a sharp decline, and the peritonsillar abscess started. 6 ER visits. Multiple doctors’ appointments. Talk of Sepsis. Doctors refusing to do a tonsillectomy because they surmised it would kill him (he’s 62 and a smoker), but also making us aware that antibiotics would stop working at some point. It felt hopeless. We are now 10 days past the tonsillectomy, which a second opinion doctor assured us would not be a problem, and Patrick is still in pain, though it is lessening. Some days are better than others, but he is healing, and I feel on pins and needles. Have felt on pins and needles just waiting for the bottom to fall out for months now. In this past year, I’ve taken him to the ER (3 times calling an ambulance) 9 times. 6 since September 4th. Klayton listened, and then, he said (and I’m paraphrasing), he didn’t want to come across as scolding me, but he said that anxiety is fear-based. And fear is a lack of trust in God. I’m trying to fix everything myself and not resting in God’s provision. Fear. Anxiety. Bad health. These things come from not trusting God and living in the knowledge that HE will provide for me, for us, come what may. Wow. Just wow. Wisdom from my son. I did not feel scolded; I felt seen. Seen and called out truthfully and lovingly.
Later in the night, close to midnight, Patrick asked Joey and me to come to the table, and he handed Joey the “Jesus Calling” book. Joey opened it to December 10th, and he read out loud, “Make ME (God) the focal point of your search for security. In your private thoughts, you are still trying to order your world so that it is predictable and feels safe. Not only is this an impossible goal, but it is also counterproductive to spiritual growth. When your private world feels unsteady, and you grip My hand for support, you are living in conscious dependence on Me.
“Instead of yearning for a problem-free life, rejoice that trouble can highlight your awareness of My Presence. In the darkness of adversity, you are able to see more clearly the radiance of My Face. Accept the value of problems in this life, considering them PURE JOY. Remember that you have an eternity of trouble-free living awaiting you in Heaven.”
The book goes on to share Isaiah 41:10 – “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”
Psalm 139:10 – “Even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.”
James 1:2 – “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds.”
We sat and discussed what the passage meant and how we can apply it to our lives, and as I sat there, I kept hearing Klayton’s words in my head, and I found myself grateful to God for His message to me throughout the evening. I even made a little “hmmm” noise as it dawned on me that was precisely what was happening – through Klayton and through the “Jesus Calling” book.
The night’s message did not stop there. Patrick followed me back to our bedroom when I went to bed, then sat in a chair and asked me to sit in the one opposite him. He said, “If you go to bed with something on your mind, it will still be there in the morning. Get it out. What’s going on?”
I ugly cried.
Shared how scared I’ve been, how high my anxiety has been, and we discussed the necessity of reliance upon God in our lives. We are here to be HIS vessels – to show Him to the world, despite our circumstances. Come What May. That JOY comes not from things going the way we want them to, but rather it comes in resting in the knowledge that I belong to God and that HE will use me for His kingdom if I get myself and my need to “control” out of His way. If I continue to try to control things, He will allow me to make a mess of myself and my life, but if I rest in Him, if I trust that He has my problems, and that my task is just to be about my day – looking for opportunities to be of service to others and to be His light in this dark world – He will take care of the hard things.
I’m humbled this morning, and I’m grateful.
Grateful that God can speak to me through my son, through words in a book, through my husband – all saying the same thing. Trust God, Dacia. His ways are not my ways. His ways are not our ways.
So today, my focus will be on serving others as I can, and doing so with a smile, knowing that all else is outside my pay grade. I will also be grateful for the good things in my life. I will focus on gratitude and service. This is the crux of God’s gift of Joy and a life in AA.
I’m grateful for:
The fact that my 6 bio children know God, some closer than others, but that He is and has been a part of their lives.
That my bio children love each other.
That God has given me non-bio kids to love and cherish as well.
That God put a man in my life who would love me still if I looked like a potato and had no hair.
Worship music that keeps me grounded; I need to listen to it more often.
God’s word, which I make a point to read each morning. Some mornings with more attention than others, but making it a consistency in my life.
Lifelong friends who are more like sisters – who are part of my very being.
Knowing that my sweet momma would be so happy that Patrick and I have Daddy living here in our home with us. Making her proud always filled my heart.
Knowing that God loves me despite me.
Today, I get to make “Grandma Snare’s Sugar Cookies” for my kids and for whoever else God leads me to give cookies to – and each cookie will be made with love.
I’m sharing this because I love you; I’m grateful for you, and I do not want you to spend your life fighting to control all of your circumstances yourself. I want to remind you, as I needed reminded, that if we keep our focus in the right place, and that is being God’s vessel, His hands, His feet, His love, His directness, His light in this dark world, that HE will take care of the rest and give us JOY. Joy that is far beyond happiness, which is fleeting. Joy is a state of being. It is peace knowing that God’s will is higher than all else, and if we remain in His plan for our lives, we will know that Peace That Passes Understanding. Amen.
Lenazy's Life 