Why the blog?

I write as the Spirit moves me. I have prayed about what I'm supposed to do with my life a lot. A lot. Writing. Writing is what I believe God is leading me to do. Whether or not He wants me to write for anyone to read is His business. Much of my writing has been therapy for me so maybe I'm the only one who is supposed to read it. So, why the Blog? As a sounding board, a note pad, a place to keep my ideas and thoughts. A place to share and promote my books, and photography. Written prayers, a place to vent. Possibly, even a place for the unknown reader to learn about the love of Jesus.

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Ashley N. Day

The following is re-posted with permission.  See the full blog here.  Thank you Ashley for the tears and the re-positioning of my perspective.


Why I bought—and ate—a cupcake today

In January my world completely crumbled under me. The person my entire life revolved around and I ripped ourselves apart. The family we’d become no longer was and it was sudden and painful and overwhelming. So I ran. As I do, I ran from it and over it and around it, and one day I ran so hard I tore a muscle and fractured my femur and could no longer run. I couldn’t even walk. To my broken heart I added a broken bone and I had no option but to let both heal.
For six months I’ve reluctantly fumbled through therapy, X-rays, MRIs, scans and ultra sounds with appointment after appointment resulting in four and eight and 16 more weeks on crutches and an infinite amount of time from running again. I drained most of my money, worked like a fiend, and gradually grew more and more frustrated with the time and difficulty it took to get anywhere. When surgery finally came, I had lost all confidence in my body and my luck. Scared and uncertain, I went to church the day before the procedure and watched a video on a woman who’d just overcome cancer for the fourth time and whose faith was contagious to every patient around her. And I lost every bit of fear and hesitance. I went into surgery with an entirely new, hopeful attitude.
What I needed that day wasn’t sympathy or stress relief, I needed perspective. I had all the support and encouragement in the world, but my fear stemmed from discouragement and exhaustion and maybe a little self pity. The truth is, this has been one of the hardest years of my life, but it’s been a walk in the park compared to so many other people’s circumstances. And although at your breaking point, you need that moment when it’s okay to be upset, the moment after you have to put your feelings into perspective.
I spent the first five months on crutches trying to understand why this had happened to me, why something so defeating would trample me while I was already down and why life kept kicking dust in my face. It wasn’t because I was ungrateful about my ability to run, it was that I took credit for my ability to walk, and the truth is the crutches actually carried me when I no longer could. God saw I’d let another person take over caring for me and determining my worth, and it took his place. But I learned to lean on him again and not take even the simplest of blessings for granted. And I learned that as hard as this part of my story is to tell, it’s still a part of my story.
Today I was cleared to walk after half a year of crutching—half a year of needing assistance carrying anything, shopping, doing laundry, walking my dog or using stairs. Half a year of the bus, spending a fortune on cabs, having three to five appointments a week, making a scene everywhere I go, annoying every restaurant and bar goer I inconvenience, and never ever exercising. It is a big, long awaited day for me, but as I leave the hospital I pass a man in a wheelchair with only one leg who apologizes for being in my way. Perspective.
When I crutched upstairs to get what I hoped were my last X-rays, the entire waiting room was glued to the TV where breaking news of a shooting near the Empire State building was scrolling across the screen and people were on stretchers and bystanders were fleeing the scene. And I thought of every friend and former coworker of mine who works within three blocks of there and all of my friends and family out of state thought of me. Perspective.
After the final clearance, I feel exactly like the night I got my first car and pledged to never be hard on my dad again because he’d gifted me this. That day when every 16-year-old starts volunteering to run errands just to grab the wheel of new found freedom. I want to walk somewhere and accomplish something completely on my own to celebrate, but I check back on the developing story and read a woman at a crosswalk watched the woman beside her suddenly fall to the ground, shot in the hip. My hip was torn and fractured and hurt, but she was shot in hers today. I want to update my status and announce to everyone whose only ever known me on crutches that I’m walking and normal and ready to take on the world, but it seems so small on a day like today that’s not at all about me.
Today may have been her last day and we all wonder, what did she think in that moment, if she had a moment to think? We put ourselves in her shoes—when we take 10 minutes from our not at all life or death work—to consider if this happened at our crosswalk instead. We think of who we would’ve wished we’d reconciled with, who we would’ve wanted to say bye to, what we would’ve regretted not accomplishing or where we would’ve liked to be standing instead. We wonder what will be remembered about us and what will be such a shame we didn’t get around to.
I think of the little things I care way too much about, the time I waste, the dreams I put off, and the family I miss. I think of what I need to do and say and experience before I’m at that crosswalk. And then I head to the market to pick out something fattening and forbidden and delicious looking, and I buy it. I buy a chocolate, iced cupcake, because I’m 115 pounds and dieting like a psychopath, and I eat it even if it takes me all day. Because I can’t change the world right this second, but I have no idea what else will happen today, and it’d be a shame to snack on celery and carrots over a lack of perspective.

Where has perspective knocked you off your feet?

Jesus Is Enough

I'm currently training for my second marathon.  Did you think I'd quit after the last one? Not a chance.   Anyway, today was long run day.  It is customary for me pray during my long runs.  It's my quiet time, the time in my day that there is nothing else that needs my attention.  My feet know what to do, my brain is just along for the ride.  Being a woman, I must multitask. Don't get me wrong, I don't pray out of boredom or just to have something to do.  It is a deliberate, focused time of communion between me and God.  

My prayers usually start with my family, then my church family, issues I have, and then I open it up to whatever comes to mind.  

Today, I near the end of my prayer, I was thinking about a conversation my husband had recently.  The topic was whether or not the common person could understand the Bible.  Now, I'm no Bible scholar. I haven't been to seminary. However, I have read the Bible cover to cover, several times. I'm not bragging, just stating a fact.  

This much I know. 
God Is:  Exodus 3:14 God said to Moses, "I am who I am."
God created the world: Genesis 1:1  In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.
God created us, people:  Genesis 1:26 Then God said, “Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness, so that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, and over all the creatures that move along the ground.”
Jesus is the son of God, is God, was with God in the beginning:  Genesis 1:26... Let us...our...
Jesus came to the earth freely, died for us willingly as a sacrifice once and for all to wash away my sins, was raised on the third day, and wants a relationship with me. See Matthew, Mark, Luke, John. 

I know Jesus loves me. I know I do not need a self-help book, prophetic sermons, prophetic books, or any person to tell me how I should live my life.  

I know I don't fear death.

I know there are things in the Bible that are not 100% clear at first read.  Several books are poetry.  I've never liked poetry. Revelation is a difficult book to understand.  That's okay.  It was written for specific people for a specific time.  I know enough to build my faith, put it in God's hand, and turn my life over to him.

I know enough to give my life to God so that I may enter the gates of Heaven and be welcomed by Jesus.

I know I don't need to argue politics, semantics, exegesis, prophesy, or the second coming with anyone. I know that I do not need to know everything the Bible says in order to go to heaven. I know God wants my heart. I know my faith is just that, faith. 

 Why?  Because Jesus is enough.

Romans 1:20  For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse.



Sunday, August 19, 2012

Global Ebook Awards

My very first book contest and I win honorable mention.  Fourth place, and I'm thrilled.  Time to write. I'll be spending the day placing this sticker on my book cover.  All thanks and Glory to God!


Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Remnant

Several years ago, after completing and publishing my book "Sanctuary" I began its sister story, "Remnant".  On a note pad I outlined the entire book, set it down then all but forgot about it.  I was cleaning out a filing cabinet a few weeks ago and found the note pad.  After reading it, I decided I should probably finish what I started.  So, for motivation, I'm stating publicly that I WILL finish this book.  Not sure why it's been so hard to write. Maybe it's become boring to me.  Maybe it's because this set of characters aren't the type I usually write about. In any event I have begun to write and below is the first few hundred words (I haven't divided it into chapters yet).  Let me know what you think.  Is it worth it to keep going? The book takes place in the same time frame as Sanctuary.  However, the characters, although not exactly opposite, are morally different from their Sanctuary counterparts.

"Remnant" Chapter 1

Darkness immersed itself in every corner of the room.   Light had not been present since the last battery, drained of life, left the remaining light bulb to slowly flicker and fade away causing the room  to be void of all illumination.  The quarters had been well stocked as it had been prepared for many people to stay for as long as necessary for it to be over and safe once again to be in the world.  Unfortunately, the room's sole inhabitant had not rationed the supplies as intended at the beginning of the confinement. That is not to say that supplies had been misused. The occupant had attended many meetings on the care and intention of each item which had been carefully selected and stockpiled. However, being only 15 years old, she didn’t pay as close attention as the older people. She didn’t think she needed to because her family would be there to take care of her.  Only recently, when there were but a few batteries left, that inventory of the room had been made and rationing had begun.  There had been no exit plan, that she knew of.  The length of stay was unknown to her.  Shortly after the inventory, it had been decided by a unanimous vote of 1 to 0 that an exit would be made when there was but a month's worth of food and water remaining. Fear had extended that date by 2 days.
"It's now or never," grumbled Samantha as she rolled off the mattress and stood, stretching wearily.  "I hate this place, don't know why I stayed this long.  This is worse than jail.  I hate the dark." Samantha groped around in the blackness until she found her clothes, dressed, shivered in the cold, then sat back down on her bed and tried to remember where the exit was. She also tried to remember what the room looked like when she first entered, alone. Cold. She remembered it was cold and sterile, like a warehouse with beds. Running her fingers through her dirty, unkempt hair, Samantha wondered exactly how long she had been there. No one had thought about putting a clock in the room. “I wouldn’t have used it anyway,” she mumbled to herself. “I wonder how fast hair grows?” she said out loud as she mentally measured her long, stringy hair which once brushed her shoulders and now fell well past her elbow.
"Go, mom said.  Go to the bunker and the rest of us will catch up to you.  I went.  I left the house, the town, climbed the path up the mountainside to the cave entrance." Samantha said to no one, remembering the sun shining through the forest, lighting her way, contradicting the smell and sounds of destruction that pushed her forward into the cave. She never understood why she was sent alone in such a hurry, why absolutely no one came with her.  "I entered the cave, far in the back was a thick metal door....oh, yeah, it's this way."  Samantha turned left, hands stretched out in front of her, stumbling through the blackness towards the front of the room. She had not ventured to the front of the room, to the door, since the lights had gone out.  "Oh, crap," she mumbled as she stubbed her toe on something in the dark.  Reaching down to feel the culprit, she groaned, "Oh the dead battery box."  She had meant to put those away, but never did.  Pausing, she regained her bearings and started walking again until she once again tripped on something. "Crap!! What the hell?  Oh, stairs."  Samantha's hands reached down and felt the stairwell.  Stairs straight ahead, bunker wall to the left, another wall further to the right.  Hand rail for the stairs on the right.  With her right hand she grasped the railing and with her left she leaned forward and felt the stairs, occasionally picking up and tossing trash or clothing out of the way.
Samantha noticed a slight temperature change as she neared the top of the very tall metal staircase, slightly warmer but not exactly warm.  The cave was deep in the mountain and her room had remained cold throughout her stay.  Here, at the entrance, the temperature rose but only by 3 or 4 degrees.  She wondered what the weather would be like outside.  Summer? Winter?  Would she open the door to a blizzard?  Would it be warm enough for shorts or would she need a coat?  As she pondered these things another thought, an unpleasant thought, entered her mind. Would there be anyone on the other side of the door?  Would it be safe to leave? Should she risk certain death by leaving or stay and slowly starve to death?
"NO!! I will not stay in this hell hole another minute!!  If I get killed then at least I'll be out of my misery once and for all."
Cold, trembling hands felt the walls until they found the steel door.  Slowly, they patted the door, feeling and listening for any movements on the other side and struggling to find the way out.  "Come on, damn it, where is the latch?"  Samantha's left hand bumped into something, "Ow." It was the round wheel that turned the locking mechanism.  She felt it and all around it, pausing at the door frame where it met the wall, feeling and listening.  When she was satisfied that it was safe, she slowly turned the wheel and turned and turned.  The latch was deep inside the mountain and worked like a corkscrew. The door itself was a 2-foot thick slab of “invasion-proof” metal as her father had explained.  After several dozen turns, the lock clicked loudly.  Samantha froze, trembling on the inside, wondering if anyone else had heard it.  Her heart was pounding, knees shaking, but she dared not let go of the wheel. She thought that if anyone heard it and tried to come in, they'd simply push her with the door and she could hide behind it.
As her heartbeat slowed, and her legs regained their confidence, Samantha took a deep breath and pulled gently on the door.  It didn't budge.  "Crap. Damn, double crap!" she screamed, then caught herself, forcing her hand to her mouth, just in case.  Standing there, hand over mouth, her eyes looked, searching, ears listening for anything.  Silence, dead eerie silence.  "Whew."   Mustering up all the determination she could, Samantha braced her left foot high against the mountain wall, gripped the wheel with both hands and tried once again to open the door.  She pushed and pulled with all her might, screamed at the door, cursed the mountain, until finally, just as she was about to give up, it moved.
A couple of inches.  That's all, a couple of inches towards the inside of the bunker.  But, it was enough to let in the brightest, most blinding light ever seen.  So bright, Samantha dropped to the floor and covered her eyes with her sweatshirt.  The pain of the light was so unbearable she instinctively reached out to shut the door, but her hand retreated at the last moment.  Instead, with her eyes covered, Samantha ran, slipped, and slid down the stairs to the furthest, darkest corner of the room.  Tears streamed down her face as she cowered in the corner, alone, afraid, with horrific searing pain in her head.  At this moment, she welcomed an enemy invasion.  Nothing could be any worse than how she felt right there, sitting in a corner of a bleak bunker, deep in a mountain, where she had been for at least a year, if not many more.
“Mommy,” Samantha whimpered softly.  “I need you, Mommy.”
Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, the pain began to subside.  As she awaited relief, the bunker's sole occupant listened.  Her ears, which had become her eyes long ago, struggled to hear for any signs or sounds of movement, signs of life outside the bunker.  After hearing nothing, she began to wonder why.  Surely the wind still blows?  As a child, high in the mountains on a warm summer's day, sounds of life in the valley below could be heard - car horns, sirens, dogs barking, children playing, the wind blowing through the trees, and occasionally the roar of a bear. The sound of nothingness was frightening when she expected some sort of sound. She had become used to the silence with the door closed.  Solitude had been her existence in the bunker, would it be the same outside the bunker? Inside, she knew where everything was, what it looked like, felt like and what it sounded like. She was comfortable with the familiar.  Outside, the silence was unfamiliar, incomprehensible.  Would it be that way much longer?
Samantha closed her eyes. Fear was exhausting. Opening the door had sapped her of her strength and now that emerging from her self-titled jail was a reality, she was too tired and too afraid to move from her hiding place in the corner of the room.  "Maybe I'll leave tomorrow.  What's the rush if there is nothing out there?  I'm doomed to die alone anyway so what difference does it make if I die here or out there?" she thought, holding her knees tightly to her chest.  "But, but maybe my family... maybe I didn't close the door too soon.  Maybe they went somewhere else and they have just been waiting for me to come out." 
With tears welling up, Samantha remembered feeling the mountain shaking not too long after locking herself in.  She had waited for her family to come. She waited at the cave entrance. They didn’t come. Then she waited at the door to the bunker. They didn’t come. However, she remembered there was that moment that she knew that if she didn't shut the door now, right now, that well, she just knew it was time.  The mountain shook. The mountain rumbled.  The mountain groaned.  Not just once but many times over for many days and nights until she completely lost track of time. Never once did she hear anyone knocking to be let in even though she had gone to the door frequently to listen.  Eventually, after what seemed like months, the mountain stopped shaking. Then there was the silence.

Colleen Wait Edits

Colleen Wait Edits

About Me

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This YouTube channel was created to add video to my blog.  Read it here:  www.colleenwaitwrites.blogspot.com.  I write about my life, my books, my family, my cats and kids, and of course travel.