God Used Books to Save My Life—in more ways than one!!! Ouch, I feel like I’ve been hit by a School Bus—Because I was!

Hit by a School Bus      So, on my way home from a meeting at my church, I stopped at DSW to purchase a pair of purple pumps to wear to an upcoming event dedicated to Domestic Violence Awareness Month (I had a pretty good DSW coupon, BTW). The Life Journeys Writers Club, Inc. (LJWC) hosted a Relationship Forum/Book Launch for one of its authors. Though all that is dear to my heart, it’s no longer the new news!

     My new news is the week-long revelation and renewed thankfulness for still being above ground living in my passion for the Literary Arts—whether or not all I can do is sit, think and revel in it!

I was on my way home, that afternoon, when a school bus crashed into the back of my car. The impact knocked me out of my shoes, and sent me off the road into a farmer’s crop of something (sorry, I was a NYC kid), trying to avoid oncoming traffic. Reportedly, heard-tell, the Medley Mobile will not survive the crash. However, Charles County’s Finest—EMTs, The Fire Department and The Sheriff’s Department are the best!!!!

And so, last Thursday, I was comforted by those around me, and transported by ambulance to the hospital. This Thursday, I’m here, reaching out to you. That’s a Blessing, and another chance to be wholly focused on what I love doing—writing and encouraging others to do the same! It’s about safe and effective, validating and lasting, and empowering Literary Creative Expression!

[This is just speculation/my opinion as well as the shared opinions of a few others; and if it helps others to rethink deceiving opportunities to drive and multi-task, well then, okay!] It’s allegedly suspected that the bus driver might have been…

Hey Writers—Books Can Save Lives! The Sheriff commented that my book crate (also a casualty) probably kept my trunk from landing in the front seat. The trunk did, however, travel to the back seat And thank God that the LJWC Banner survived. I didn’t find that out until a day or two later when my husband found the vehicle cemetery housing our car’s cadaver.  But, God is good—I have a second book crate at home.

Heartfelt, I thank God because all that could have happened did not happen (such as the loss of life) to anyone in the vicinity of the crash.

Well, darn it, though (a.k.a. $#&^$@#), I will not be wearing my purple pumps for a while, yet, they do look nice in my closet. Oh, and, I’ve been given a second chance for donning, too.

Rock on, Domestic Violence Awareness Month—You, and me (of course, I humbly include myself, heavily adorned in respect due to the dire need for DVA) are still needed in this world to make a difference!  What about YOU!

Remember: Life is Precious — Exercising your Passion, in the Tangible, is Promised to no one. So The Time Is Now!

www.prisonplumbline.com // www.lifejourneyswritersclub.com

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The Best is Yet to Come!

So the other day, I spied a greeting card that proudly proclaimed, The Best is Yet to Come!  Immediately, and without a doubt, I knew it was talking to me. The rack of greeting cards stood intimate with my mind’s eye. Standing in the Post Office line, I grabbed the card and whipped it open. I couldn’t wait to delight myself with its innards.

The inside quipped a joke aboutPrisonplumbline play flyer2_Nov. 10, 2014 aging. Seriously, It’s fun going downhill! Happy Birthday.

But, I totally missed the funny about getting older (of which, I’m doing, rapidly, every day). Instead, my mind perceived the card’s innards as mentoring—proclaiming to me that from this day on, moving up (in the world) was going to be as easy as rolling downhill. And I also happened to miss the fact that it was a birthday card. Yep, I was riding in my lane, looking for love in all the unconventional places. Damn the world, and life’s little funnies. Prisonplumbline play flyer 1 11.10.14

By the time I got to the register, I had two of the cards in my hand, eager to get a little inspiration for me, and give a little inspiration to a writer-friend. At present, I’ve got sixty writer-friends, all members of the Life Journeys Writers Club, Inc. (and counting)—and then there’s the actors, and the director of The Prison Plumb Line, the Play. They are off-the-hook great and giving, and we’re gettin’ ready to soar—as well as uplift!

Back to the card incident: After a night’s rugged sleep, ’cause I’m always tossing and turning inside new ideas, I reread, and discovered the card’s little joke. But to heck with that (Heck wasn’t my actual word). Prior to, I had decided to frame and mount the card’s message, it’s message to me, on my wall, The Best is Yet to Come!  “And doggone it, that’s what I’m gonna do,” I said…to the TV. The Today Show was on, Hoda Kotb and Kathie Lee, the Fourth Hour. They were saying something about, What’s Your Story. That’s my story: The Best is Yet to Come!  Oh yeah, that’s ALL ME! Is it YOU, too?

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Ode to Ash Wednesday, 2014 — Creating Open Doors and Options…

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Ode to Ash Wednesday, 2014 -- Creating Open Doors and Options...

“God, Make room for my gift. Bring it before great men and women privy to push the mentoring further.” [And Help Us Provide!] Scripture reference: Proverbs 18:16.
The Life Journeys Writers Club, Inc. Empowering positive self-expression, passion and healing through the Literary Arts. Promoting Diversity and Access.
Thank you!

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 on Thursday, I asked my ESL Students [English as a Second Language], adult learners (evening classes), a question—after the class watched the first half of the film, Julie & Julia. The question was, “What is it that you like to do? I mean, what is that thing that you’d like to do, and getting paid for it (in any amount, large or small) would only be a bonus?

 Well, first, the answer-attempts came slow then emerged, hesitant.  That’s because first, in one’s head, answers had to be translated out of one’s native language into English. Then the students had to cast down their primal-dream focus, which is to survive a new culture, a new life, and a new language. Apparently, when one has all of that to do there’s little time left for entertaining the career dream or the being-called-to-a-passion dream, and there’s no time to coordinate the corresponding what ifs.

 But in class, I encourage conversation; and so some answers began to cautiously deliver:

“Art”

“Photography”

“Conceptualizing buildings/Engineering” (working the translation was a trial, but worth it)

“Creating themed party favors” (trial, number two)

 While the answers sweetened the air, most of the students still managed to dodge. But I said, “No worries,” because I promised to assault them with the question on next Thursday. They smiled and said they’d show up because they’re polite. They’ll actually show up because of commitment.

But here’s one gentleman’s answer: He said, “I like to take care of my family.” Then he sat back, satisfied and he smiled. His expression said, “I gotcha!”

 I smiled and buzzed, “Annnnnnnt. Wrong answer.”  He laughed. He understood.

 After class, he came up to me and said, “I’ve been in this country a while now, really. But when we first got here, I had to feed my family; provide shelter, protect them – as I have to do now.” He said it with a polite smile supported by a pause and a negative headshake. “There was no time to …” His look finalized. I understood. But next week, I will still present the weighty question again.

 Sadly, that question is a hard one for many, universally. Often, we don’t feel we have the right to such frivolous happiness like feeding a heartfelt passion, a calling or a gift—at least not in the broad daylight where others can see and/or hear.

 Personal Observation: Sometimes maturity sets in and we factually assume (that means out loud in front of witnesses) our right to be happy and fulfilled. I mean, as a day-job perk. And then we may even begin to embark on the tangible journey to make it so using faith, diligence and new direction. However, sometimes, when that light bulb finally shines, we’ve already let decades slither by. Then we tend to get caught up burning a few more prime-time WATTS being pissed off about it. I’m just sayin’.

 So while you’ve got some wattage still left in you (i.e., life), can you answer the question? What is it that you’d like to do (whether or not money is an object to behold)? I mean, really—no pie-in-the-sky, please. Put some real personal, tangible thought into it. 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.

www.yvonnejmedley.comImageImageImage