Bubbles and Rock - a devotion for you, if you are finding life tough

When things get tough, do you ever eyeball yourself firmly in the mirror and give yourself a pep talk? I know I do. I try to make sure nobody is watching, but even that doesn't always work out.

I’ve come to realize though, that my motivational eyeballings – even the very best ones, are a little bit like wrapping myself in a bubble. For a while I can float along, feeling cushioned from the bite of an anorexic bank account, safely tucked away from bickering kids and in firm denial of my hungry petrol tank.

There’s just one problem with a self-motivated-pep-talk-bubble. It just takes one sharp object, one tiny prick and it pops. I can tell you from experience that when you’re floating in a bubble that bursts, there’s only one way to go and it ain’t up. You feel the teeth of your bank account when you can’t buy the bottle your kid needs for school to make your Mom’s day pressy, when you have to say no to your teenager’s social life because you can’t afford the petrol for the extra trip.

It doesn’t take a sledgehammer to pop a bubble.

Yet somehow, when God speaks, there are no bubbles involved. His Words come with a standard issue of solid rock under your feet and the guts to face life unflinching. No matter what. One word from Him, and I’m on solid ground, light years away from the quicksand of doubt.

From now on when I eyeball myself in the mirror, I'll be saying one thing and one thing only... 

Listen to Jesus, girl. He's got you!

Dianne J. Wilson writes novels from her hometown in East London, South Africa, where she lives with her husband and three daughters.

Finding Mia is available from Amazon, Pelican / Harbourlight, Barnes & Noble and other bookstores.

Shackles is available as a free ebook from Amazon& Smashwords.

Find her on Facebook, Twitter and her sporadic blog Doodles.

Pulling Weeds

We had to let our gardener go. We just couldn't afford him - he kept breaking things. Like the lawnmower and the edge cutter. And the mower's power cable. And more rakes than I have fingers... Need I go on?

The point is - this weekend found me in the garden, up to my elbows in mud and earthworm bits. I won't lie - it was really tough going. The weeds had been left to their own devices for way too long. As all good villains should, the had worked themselves in amongst the flowers, wrapping around and through and over and under.

We all know to effectively remove a weed, it has to come out roots and all. Easier said than done though, when good and bad are all entangled and anchored into ground so hard and dry, it would do for bricks. So I soaked it, then went to work with a fork. I dug it in deep at the roots of each bush and loosened the hard earth.

If I could speak plant, I would have leaned in close and said, don't worry little bush - you are precious to me, I'm not here to harm you or take you out. I'm after the weeds that are choking the life out of you. 

As soon as the weeds were out, I patted the soil around each plant down firmly - securing them in place once more. I thought about life. I've been through times when everything I thought I knew was shaken. Things I put my trust and hope in crumbled and vanished. The funny thing is - those situations are long gone and I'm still here.

If I was listening, I would have heard my Heavenly Daddy lean in close and whisper - don't worry my little girl, I'm not here to harm you or take you out. I'm after the weeds that are choking the life out of you.

Our Gardener is good. Even if everything around you is shaking, you can trust Him to keep you because you are His. Your life is precious to Him.

This post originally appeared on Doodles, Di's blog.

Dianne J. Wilson writes novels from her hometown in East London, South Africa, where she lives with her husband and three daughters.

Finding Mia is available from Amazon, Pelican / Harbourlight, Barnes & Noble and other bookstores.

Shackles is available as a free ebook from Smashwords.

Find her on Facebook, Twitter and her sporadic blog Doodles.

Trouble



collapsed farmhouse

      Ever notice how we're all fascinated by trouble?  Who doesn't slow down to look at an accident?  There's a reason newspapers lead with stories about disaster, scandal, heartbreak and war.  As a species, we humans are captivated by trouble.  No one wants to read a book where two nice people, meet, fall in love and live happily ever after. B-o-r-i-n-g!

       As a writer of fiction, i.e. a storyteller, I need to paste this reminder on my monitor. The story is in the trouble.  No one wants to invite trouble into her own life or those of our friends, yet that is where our interest is piqued.  It seems we want to like our heroine and hero, we want them to be good people, but we want them to go through the fire before allowing them to reach HEA.  
        I had a graphic illustration of this fact at a recent family reunion.  As part of the weekend, we went on a heritage tour, seeking out gravestones, baptismal certificates and a fallen in log cabin -- all in search of our roots.  It turns out, my ancestors, like most immigrants, were hard up.  They received a land grant on acreage that grew nothing but stones.  In the end, after two years of struggle, they were declared destitute and given a second piece of land.  Not much better as it turned out, but at least they didn't starve.
     One of my great great grandmother's had thirteen children and outlived nearly all of them.  Now, there's a tale of trouble that had us all shaking our heads and booking appointments with a cardiologist.  Seems heart trouble is endemic in that branch of the family. 
      This same ancestor, in her old age, was offered a comfortable home in town.  A place with hot water and central heating.  After a year or so, she went back to her homestead, a hard place, without running water, uninsulated against a Canadian winter.   She was afraid of fire, so wouldn't light the stove after 6:00 pm.  Icicles formed on the walls by bedtime.  Yet, this was the place she chose to live out her last days.

        That story sets my mind churning.  Why choose hardship?  Why do we admire her?  Did she demonstrate mulish folly or a determination to live life on her own terms?  Was she clairvoyant?  The house eventually did burn down, fortunately with no loss of life.  Apart from the important dates in her life and the location of her tombstone, I know nothing about this ancestor, yet her story excites my imagination.  Why?
          I think what appeals to us in these stories is the fortitude shown in the face of trouble.  None of us wants to sleep on a hard floor, or worry about growing enough food to feed our families through the winter, but we are drawn to the steadfastness of those who did.  It's true in every family.  Some may like to boast of finding an exalted member on their family tree, but the stories that get told over and over are of the black sheep, the awful aunt, and the great disaster.

       And let us not forget that Jesus told stories of trouble for their impact, The Good Samaritan, The Lost Sheep, The Parable of the Talents, . . .  trouble figures large in all these stories, and they are so powerful that even those who do not know the scriptures, recognize them as part of our culture.
        The great hymn "How Firm a Foundation" contains these lines:
When through fiery trials thy pathways shall lie,
My grace all sufficient, shall be they supply;  
The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design,
Thy dross to consume and thy gold to refine.
Memorable characters survive trial and hardship with integrity.  Their gold shines through the dross of trouble.                                                                                                                   In practicing the art of story telling, remember to look for trouble.  That's where the interest lies, that's where character is built and that's what lingers in the memory long after the book is closed.            

Alice Valdal is Canadian through and through but she may be spending some time on ancestry.ca checking out her European roots and finding story ideas from her intrepid forebears.   www.alicevaldal.com