Honoring The Fallen, And The Forgotten Fallen on This Memorial Day

 

Cherish, Honor and Live Your Dreams, positive

Your time on earth is precious: Love and respect to the best of your ability — And Life — go for it!

….Cherish the precious time spent with family and friends. 

Honor the Fallen, who sacrificed the ultimate in the name of America and hope of Freedom, 

And vow to never forget those history has forgotten.

     My beloved uncle, U.S. Marine Warren Tomlin received a Purple Heart for saving the lives of women and children hiding in a tiny village under attack. He came home from Vietnam, wounded, and the walking dead. He came home — minus fanfare — to a country he loved, but (amid the doom of racism) did not love or respect him. 

     Upon my grandfather’s death, Warren Tomlin was charged to carry on the family name. He was a handsome, towering, thick, muscle-cut teddy bear who was playful and cuddly to us; but could easily make you fear for your life, if he thought that anyone of us (especially his mother, sisters or nieces) were in danger. However, Warren Tomlin struggled to become a productive citizen — until he took his life and our family name to his grave. His name, and the names of countless others, should be etched on The Wall

     I loved my family’s time of being a military family, active duty. My husband is retired Navy. My son is a U.S. Marine, who served in the Middle East and met some challenges. Because of that, there are eerie similarities between my uncle and my son (for us, it’s the elephant in the room). He is safe and in Maryland, and I never end a conversation with him without saying, “I love you,” something I felt, but failed to say the last time I saw my uncle alive. And I fervently pray, every day, that I never have to write a story with the above ending about him. 

Blessings to you all on this Memorial Day,

Yvonne

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Turning Dreams Tangible

Turning Dreams Tangible is an every day occurrence. It should be played out in active voice, 24/7, even when you’re sleeping. And that’s just about where I am, right now. Active! Voicing! And at this stage in the game, this juncture in my life (as time passes, constant), what else do I really have to do? 

So, today, as I was heading to conduct my intense writing workshop (Write on Saturdays–with a Twist!) at the Marriott’s Residence Inn (one of the workshop’s locations), I ran into a woman sitting out front, reading her Bible, enjoying the wonderful day. She was visiting from Michigan. Her son is in the Air Force, and stationed in Maryland. 

Now here comes the news. I shared with her what I do — writing — and the love of. And she received — well. Then the conversation turned to swamping testimonies of empowerment and how writing can be just the right vehicle on which to ride right out a storm, and into a victory! The interchange of life experience and encouragement, validation and ah-ha moments drove between us so fast, we could have gotten a speeding ticket. But what we got were smiles and nods from the passersby, and confirmation from God that a passion is worth the fight, worth the living and worth the giving. Excited, she told me, “Write this down!” I grabbed my reporter’s notebook (always handy) and my pen.

She said, “This is for you: ‘I shall have favor with whom I come in contact.'” She leaned back, satisfied, in her chair and said, “Now, you say that every morning when you wake up. Okay.” I wrote it. I promised. And later, I’ll record the entire experience of meeting Dorothy from Michigan in my journal.

 I left with her The Prison Plumb Line, my novella. She shouted out, as I journeyed on, “I can’t wait to get God in Wingtip Shoes [my novel] and that Jubi book!” She meant Jubi Stone: Saved by the Vine. The novel hits in July. My final thought is this: I think I’m gonna see her again!Image

So what do you think about it?  Lemmeknow.  www.yvonnejmedley.com

Turning Dreams Tangible

  Image   Okay, so I’m operating in my zone, right. It’s my share-the-art-of-writing zone—no questions asked, no required payback implied.  (‘Cause that’s the only way to keep my intentions pure.) When suddenly, I receive an obvious snub/overlook from someone I hold dear. And, it appeared to happen just when the literary grass looked greener elsewhere. (After all, this has happened multiple times down through the years.)

     So I’m hurt, right. Stinging and bleeding from the injury, and laid out in the pity gutter. And, worse of all, I landed in the gutter because I allowed the offense to knock me off my Turning Dreams Tangible horse. Yes, I careened swiftly downward into Writer’s Demonland (that’s right, one word. One stinkin’ freakin’ word — Demonland).

     Writer’s Demonland is the land of suffocating scum, muck and mire filled with filthy spirit-killing words and thoughts sent to sludge about in your creative brain. These words write (in your head and heart), What the Hell do I think I’m doing? How did I think I was ever going to succeed at this? How come I thought I could do this, in the first place, huh? That’s Chapter One. Then comes Chapter Two: Why is my validating success taking so long (you know the kind of validating success where folks honor your worth, talent and work with the respect of their time. Then there’s something about a man is worth his hire. And a man’s treasure is where his heart is. I paraphrase, but you get it. But instead, you highlight in your head the times when folks take from you, freely with no effort, while they invest much effort elsewhere.  I’m digressing, but this is a sidebar: Often writers will hear that the first writer’s rule is to not go into a writing profession just for the money. Passion, and the love of, must overrule in every writer’s heart. True. But, usually the person who’ll remind you of that is a writer getting paid and/or someone in the biz who owes you money. (I’m just sayin’.)

     But hold on, while I’ve appeared quite jaded thus far, there are a few lessons to be learned (and sadly, I keep relearning them). Now to my credit, while I was spread out in the filthy Demonland gutter crying my eyes out, I did have the wherewithal to ask, “How does God want me to feel about this—for it can’t be jealousy, envy or even offense.” For that’s just a waste of time. And He showered down the answers. (He’s good like that.)

Lesson One:  No matter what you think you’ve seen or heard; you surely couldn’t have seen or heard it all. Nope, you really don’t have all the facts. So chill, sit (get a tissue if you must), and think for a moment before saying or doing/reacting to anything—if at all.  Just record the stupid thing in your journal. At least there, maybe, the experience can chalk-up discernment for the future.

Lesson Two: Focusing on an offense and plummeting into Writer’s Demonland (sometimes also called the pity pot or the toilet bowl) stops your creativity and production; and, oh, it’s a stupid allotment of time (sometimes referred to a stupid, energy-sucking waste of time).

Lesson Three: Let offenses strengthen your skill and power to decide on just what or to whom you’re going to devote your precious time, hurt feelings and concern. 

And so, what happened in my particular offense story, you might ask? Well, I was wrong. I didn’t have all the facts. I got all muddy, teary-eyed, and sludgy for nothing. And God wanted to remind me that my intentions must remain constant and pure (as humanly possible—that is). He will see to it that I am rewarded (evident by three wonderful opportunities that crossed my path shortly after), and He wanted to remind me that the world does not revolve around me. Oh Yeah, that’s number four.

Lesson Four: The world does not revolve around me. (Ouch, that’s a tough one.) 

So what do you think about it?  Lemmeknow.  www.yvonnejmedley.com

Turning Dreams Tangible

So, yes, I’m watching the Super Bowl. And I’m totally into the excitement. But I’m going happy-crazy out-of-my-mind with energy and frustration. While dedicated sports fans see do-or-die competitive play (and I understand and respect that), I’m seeing the tangible proof of every player who had a dream, realized. And I’m not talking about the winner (because, technically, I’m blogging this before the game’s end. In fact, the stadium lights went off, and right now, it seems that team momentum has changed over. And, yes, the craziness drove me to my laptop—with one eyeball on the screen.

 But each player in the Super Bowl at one point in their too-young life dreamed of this. And they made it! And now, they’re actually in the process of formulating new dreams/goals, and stimulating new pathways to the tangible proof of new visions. Why am I sure of this? It’s because there’s one thing I know they are sure of—if it’s been done once, it can be accomplished, again—and why not, since there’s still breath in the body.

 So what’s driving me crazy? I wanna do it too. Now! In fact my every waking minute (like now), I’m on it, trying to figure it out.

 Okay, I got that off my chest. Let me tell you the tangible I saw today at church. Sitting in the pew right in front of me was a former Heavyweight Champion of the World. I didn’t spy him first, my husband did. The sermon also before me was awesome. It told me, and taught me to hold on, and to praise God for all that’s really lasting—and the Pastor explained why. I got it. But I eyes, heart, and mind bobbed and weaved on the Heavyweight Dreamer Tangible.

 I won’t mention his name just yet, if ever; because I’m hopeful to talk to him more and maybe even help him get his tremendous personal story published. That would be awesome—for this breathing tangible has been through a lot. Bless him. He even told my husband a quick story about how because he is a Heavyweight Tangible, numerous insignificants often challenge him and threaten his life like it was a trophy to behold.

This is paraphrased because really, I was eavesdropping: A guy pulled up next to him at a stop light, noticed who he was, and tried to goad him into a fight for simply no reason, perturbed about it, he explained, “And when I went to step out of the car to see if he meant business, the guy raised up his shirt to show me his gun.” The Heavyweight Tangible told how he just shook his head in disgust, realizing that this silly game had been played again. He got back in his car and drove off. And it was at that point when my mother instincts kicked into the fear mode of knowing just how quickly, and insignificantly your babies (even your grown Heavyweight Tangible babies) can meet up with senseless tragedy in an instant. But working through that is for another blog subject.

 Back to Heavyweight Tangible; even though he’s been through hardships, ups and downs, I noted with gladness that he is still standing, and seeking faith. I also noted that this individual knows what it’s like to Turn a Dream Tangible. And I’m going happy-crazy wanting my turn.

(excuse any typos. i’m watching the game.)

 Is that wrong? How about you? Lemmeknow.  www.yvonnejmedley.com

Turning Dreams Tangible

Turning a dream into tangible empowerment is difficult.  Don’t know yet, if it’s a positive or a negative when there’s total obsession involved. I mean, it commandeers my wake hours, my sleep hours, my worries, my fears, my tears, and yes, my mission and my confirming triumphs.

I blame, respectfully, the calling, the passion because as far as I know it’s a God-directed thing, and impossible to deny. Oh that doesn’t mean that it can’t be put off, pushed to the back-burner, ignored, laughed off, or treated like a figment.  Many, many people do just that throughout their lives. Often they waste decades journeying all those routes. I did. But what a true calling, a passion, a gift does when you put it off, is come back. It keeps coming back – nagging you for acknowledgement. It’s quirky that way. And when you find the courage to take action, the empowerment factor spreads to others, and amazingly surprises.

The act of turning a dream into tangible empowerment is difficult, but it’s God-confirming. Proverbs 18:16 clarifies: A man’s gift maketh room for him, and bringth him before great men. When I read it (review it, and pray for its tangible favor), I feel it’s referring to me. Isn’t it referring to you, too?

Name it and claim it. Tell me about it. Let’s have some Real Talk. Sharing empowers, too.

Yesterday, I was too weary, too worried, and too wondering to acknowledge anything. My tenacity suffered the flu bug. I was too frustrated to work my gift, and function in the knowledge that to deny it, at this point, would be just plain stupid.

But today, God allowed me to open my eyes, gather my wits, and exercise my vision on this day, anew.

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