I'm So Glad We Had This Time Together

by Mare Ball @ Adventures in the Ballpark

Almost three and a half three years ago I wrote my first post for Mormon Mommy Writers. I was so honored to be invited to regularly write here. I've read so many sweet/informative/relatable posts here, and I feel connected with many of the contributors.

I'm so grateful for the opportunity to learn more about writing, the struggles of motherhood, and share issues of faith. When stumbling along this journey of life, communities of women are the best companions.

My life has changed over the past six months in ways that are demanding more of my attention, and I need to step away from a few things - including my time here. I hate that I can't do everything I want to do, but I don't think anybody gets that in life.  Maybe our expectations are too high, or maybe we just love too many things. Either way, my season here at MMW is closing.

I want to thank Nikki Wilson for inviting me aboard and Kasey Q her encouragement. I appreciate all the writers here who have commented on or enjoyed anything I wrote.  I'm grateful to all of you who shared your story. Writing is such a linking of hearts, isn't it?

I will always be grateful for my time here.  Welcome other writers like you did me. I'll be checking in, so keep up the good work!

I'd love to stay connected:

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much love from my Ballpark,

Mare

What Drives a Writer?

Mare Ball @ ADVENTURES IN THE BALLPARK

I wrote an e-book last year that was published in July. It has not made me a millionaire, but I'm OK with that. I just wanted to get the message out there. I felt a great sense of accomplishment, and then moved on to other things.

Recently, my e-book was invited to be part of THE ULTIMATE HOMEMAKING BUNDLE, which was released this past Wednesday. The BUNDLE is only on sale for one week, so I've been scrambling since Wednesday to post BUNDLE info on all my social media sites, write new copy for the blog (for the week) and review all 70 e-books in the BUNDLE, so I can write about them intelligently. All I ate yesterday was a banana and some leftover carrots.

When I'm in the thick of writing like this, I get so weary and wonder if it's worth it. My back aches, and my thighs are spreading by the minute because I'm in this chair for hours on end. I've not climbed into bed before midnight all this week. The promotion for this BUNDLE ends May 2, so the end is in short site, but I'm really pooped.

This is when I really admire writers who write for a living, every day. How do they do it?

Writing is hard, and it always saddens me a bit when I finish reading a book in two days that the author probably spent a year writing!  Doesn't seem like a fair exchange, does it?

I spent about four years writing my e-book, The 12 Days of Christmas Adventure, only because I didn't work on it every day, and it has over 200 photos in it, which needed editing.  Readers can read it in about an hour (it's about a holiday project for families.)  Add in all the writing I ended up taking out of my final draft, it seems like it took me 20 years to write the thing.

That's why I think people don't write unless they really love it. I can't not write, I've often said, even though that's a terrible double negative for a writer to write. If I haven't written a blog post in over a week, I get a bit twitchy. It's in the gut. It's in the soul.

So, in spite of my fatigue and terrible diet this week, I'm plugging away. Because that's what writers do.

If any of you homemakers want to check out THE ULTIMATE HOMEMAKING BUNDLE, click AWESOME RESOURCE FOR MOMS! This will take you to my blog post where I write about it.

 

 

What Standard Guides Your Life? (You might be surprised.)

by Marianne Ball @ ADVENTURES IN THE BALLPARK

It's Good Friday. We're entered the holiest weekend of the Church year - the commemoration of the suffering and then resurrection of Christ. I wanted to be mindful about Lent this year, but by the third day, I had forgotten to stay away from chocolate. I don't know what happened. I got busy and lazy at the same time. 

But, other things happened over Lent that kept bringing to mind the question, What is my standard for living? 

In other words, to whom do I answer? (Maybe just myself.)  Am I trying to meet a condition (as in conditional) that I've placed on myself, or someone has placed upon me?  Am I trying to keep someone happy? Am I simply trying to get through life without any conflicts or confrontation? What influence or circumstance has my allegiance? What is the standard upon which I make my choices? 

These things came up this week because I talked with two different friends who have different issues with their adult children. In hashing over who's responsible for what, my friends and I realized we were all a bit misguided in how we're approaching finding peace in our lives. As Christian women, we want everyone to get along, share, forgive, communicate, and be happy. It's a mom thing. 

But loved ones don't always see things our way or cooperate. So, we stew about circumstances and say the wrong things and then backtrack and then lose sleep, only to wake up the next day and do it all again. Women have such vulnerable hearts when it comes to their loved ones. I think it's how God made us. But, so easily, we get off track. This Lent, it was confirmed to me that it's because we have shifting standards. 

We want to be strong, but we want to be protected. We want to be leaders, but we want to be liked. We want to be independent, but we want a man who adores us. Depending on what we're feeling at the moment...that's the standard by which we make a decision. 

It's kind of nutty really, because life is changing daily, hourly, sometimes by the minute. We all benefit (men too - they have their own vulnerabilities) from having an invariable standard that anchors us, regardless of circumstances or people.

I read this quote today by St. Katherine Drexel: "You have no time to occupy your thoughts with complacency or consideration of what others think. Your business is simply: What will my Father in heaven think?"

It's a solid, fail-proof question. It cuts through all the What does so-and-so think? What will my kids think?  My parents? My neighbor, my boss, my dog, the list goes on forever. Why are we such slaves to the opinions of mankind and fairly mindless to what God thinks? 

I think it's because we really don't know, or believe, we are loved by our Creator. If we really believed it in the depth of our soul, we would be at peace. We would know that no matter what, we are worthy of God's time and attention. He made us. He knows us, flaws and all. He is committed to us, and He will guide us. Always. If we operated from that standard, life would be so different. 

We would forgive more easily, because we would see people how God sees them - flawed, but loved, just like we are. We would free our loved ones from walking on eggshells, or jumping through hoops (whichever they do) to keep us happy. We would free ourselves from repeatedly beating ourselves up over past mistakes. As free children of God, we would trust Him and His plans for us. So much of the confusion and second-guessing would be gone. 

The book of Galatians tells us that Christ died to set us free. Free from the harsh judgment of the Old Testament. Free from the standards of mankind and its opinion. We are even free to make mistakes (we are human after all.)  

The message of Easter week is that we are on a journey to freedom. When we face ourselves honestly, we see our need for redemption. We all have our crosses to bear, our demons to fight, our fears to conquer. We're just human. But with the resurrection comes new life and new courage, and a clean slate. We have the reassurance that just as Christ rose, we too can rise from our own dark tomb and start anew. 

So, Lent isn't always about giving up chocolate; sometimes it's about gaining fresh insight. Remembering that God is big and loving. He cares about what we do and how we live. He's invested in us like no human can possibly be. We will not find a better, safer standard. 

My prayer for you this Easter is that you encounter Christ in a new way, that you experience forgiveness and healing from whatever is blocking peace in your own life. And from then on, consider this question before you make a move: What would my Father in heaven think?

What Dreams May Come

by Marianne (Mare) Ball @ ADVENTURES IN THE BALLPARK

I'm a new Grandma, and as I hold my grandson James and envision his life and pray for blessings to come his way, it takes me back to my own children - how I held them and prayed for them.

Baby James

My three children are now adults, and looking back, it's surprising how my dreams for them...well, let's just say I was naive. Or maybe selfish. Life is full of surprises.

When our oldest was seven, his IQ tested very high. Gifted classes followed, and I assumed he would pursue a very academic path. He quit college after two years. What he loved was art and music.  (He played the violin as a youngster, the guitar as a young adult.) He was very talented there as well, so I shifted my thinking.  He joined a band and moved to Arizona. He found work in a pharmacy and became certified as a pharmacy tech. Oh, medicine! I thought. Maybe he'll head to pharmacy school.
He was not the least bit interested. The band folded, but he met his future wife, who is also musically gifted, and they married a few years later. They are very happy. I thought they might have a baby soon, but they shared recently they don't think kids are for them. Okay. I clearly have no idea what God has planned for our son.

Our daughter grew up loving science, and in her senior year of high school wrote about wanting to become a pediatric neurosurgeon. She got a full scholarship to college, but two years in, discovered chemistry and changed her major. After college, she worked at a health food store. How did we go from med school plans to being in charge of produce? She dabbled in youth ministry, and then...stunned my husband and me when she decided to enter religious formation to become a Catholic sister. Huh? God worked on my heart, and I came to love the idea. After three years, she left the convent and began teaching high school science. (She's great at it, and the kids love her.) I assumed some day she would marry and have children. However...she developed an endocrine problem that derails the reproductive system. I have to admit, I have grieved about this.

Our baby, who's nearly 30, married right out of college with a history degree. I thought he would teach. He ended up working in retail for Gucci. Gucci?! We thought it would be temporary, but he moved up in the company and was there seven years. Of our three, he seemed the most ready for kids, but did not have baby James until after seven years of marriage. He and his wife were prepared to moved to KY to a new position with the job when his store closed suddenly and he was out of work - two weeks before their baby was due. They had to move. Just hours after they moved to a new home, her water broke. Curve balls, one after another. God, what are you doing? I have wondered more than once.

I share all this because I've realized, since baby James has arrived, that my dreams/expectations for my children apparently have no bearing on what God has planned for them. This makes me smile.

A mom's dreams for her child are lovely and, well, "dreamy," but looking back, I see I didn't remember that my children don't really belong to me; they belong to God. I can wish all I want for my children, but I don't know everything. I don't know what God knows about them. My husband and I made them, but God made them first. His plans are going to trump mine.

God is the ultimate creator who has divine plans for each of my children - for all of us. I want only success and rainbows for my kids, but God knows their journey is going to contain disappointments and detours, because that's how we grow. My dreams for my children are to be happy. God's dreams for them are to be holy.

Four generations - my mom, myself, my son, and baby James

I wonder what my mom dreamed for me, and what my son dreams for his son. Time will tell, but in the end, God will win. And I certainly can't do better than that.

So James, my dream for you is that you love God and seek His dream for you. 

A Blessed Christmas to All!

 by Mare Ball @ADVENTURES IN THE BALLPARK
@ FACEBOOK
 

 

 

WISE MEN STILL SEEK HIM

My 2015 Thankful List - from the Handy Man to Baby James

By Mare Ball from ADVENTURES IN THE BALLPARK

We're still eating turkey in this household, so in my mind...it's still Thanksgiving!  This is my favorite holiday. It's like Christmas, without all the crazy shopping and overspending. And Easter, without all the candy. It's a day that refocuses my mind - for at least a week - on what's truly important. We need more holidays like this.

I want to share with you how, despite some heartaches this year, I am still mindful of how blessed I am. These blessings are in no particular order.

1.  I still love our 25-year-old house, despite the fact that the kitchen is about the size of a walk-in closet. This dear home has raised three kids to adulthood, weathered copious Florida hurricanes with no flooding, housed many, many friends and family, and tolerated one lovable dog who liked to drag dead squirrels inside.

2.  I'm so grateful for dark chocolate-covered malt balls.

I don't know why it took someone so long to create these, but they should get the Nobel peace prize.

3. I'm grateful I have a handy husband. Between the two of us, we can manage most home repairs and updates. Recently, we re-framed an old, industrial-grade bathroom mirror.

(If you want to do this, here are detailed instructions: GETTING FRAMED)

4.  I'm beyond grateful that my handy husband is finally recovering from vertigo - a condition that made him so sick a week ago, he was sleeping on the bathroom floor. It's an odd inner ear imbalance problem that is completely debilitating, and it often springs up for no apparent reason. Whoever figures this one out really deserves a prize.

5.  I'm grateful the little fender bender I had two weeks ago hurt no one and no one else's car either. Only my own, which is fair, I suppose. Luckily, I have first-accident forgiveness, so I have only my deductible to pay, and I can move on with my life. Thank you, USAA.

6.  I'm grateful for a week in a condo on the beach last month to celebrate our 40th anniversary. This was a gift from many family members and we have great photos to remind us of this time away from our own lives. Here's one of my favorites.

Thank you, son Jeremy, for taking so many lovely photographs.

7.  I'm grateful for my nutritionist, who by muscle testing keeps me on track with eating well, despite my occasional cheating with chocolate-covered malt balls.

8.  I thank God that Dad is finally recovering from his fall six weeks ago. He had several set-backs, and we wondered if he would be able to return to his ALF, where Mom is. Looks like that will likely happen now.

9. I'm grateful that my ebook about our family Christmas project (here: THE 12 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS ADVENTURE) is finished and was published in July. I felt called to write it and share it with the world. What happens with it now is up to God.

10.  I'm grateful for our local thrift shop. It reminds me that "stuff" is recycle-able and share-able and trade-able. I love taking a bag of things there just about monthly, and I love finding an item there I need. We could all save so much and probably help the planet too, if we would just rotate our stuff.

11. I'm grateful for Champion brand sport bras. For various reasons. Enough said.

12.  I'm grateful, delighted really, for our first grandchild James, who is six months, pre-born. Here he is with his folks, our son and his wife.

Isn't he the most beautiful pre-born you've ever seen? He looks great in plaid, don't you think? Clearly, I'm going to be one of those nutty grandmas, but I'm OK with that. James and I will be buds.

13.  I'm mostly grateful that I know there is a sovereign God who loves me and has a plan for my life. Without that, nothing else makes any sense.

The Slump I Never Expected

by Mare Ball @ ADVENTURES IN THE BALLPARK

In July, I self-published a non-fiction ebook called The 12 Days of Christmas. I worked on it for four years. I was obsessed with it for four years. I loved it, then hated it, for four years. I edited close to 500 pictures for four years. I pulled my hair out and drove my family nuts May through July, while I educated myself on the self-publication process.

And then...there it was, online July 9, 2015: THE 12 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS ADVENTURE. (my telling of our 20+ years of doing a wonderful Christmas project. If you have kids and want to have an adventure this holiday season, check it out. For Nook readers, the book is HERE)

It was a four-year pregnancy with a three-month delivery. It was my fourth baby. We celebrated with dinner out and my favorite wine.

The next day, I got up and didn't know what to do with myself.

It's a lag that's gone on for two months now.

Yes, I'm marketing the book and getting some interviews and doing give-aways and all that. I'm mainly attending to a bunch of emails. But it's not the same. The creative process for this endeavor is over.  And it's very strange. Not having a "project" feels like I'm walking around with only one arm. 

I've asked myself more than once recently, What did I do before I starting working on this book?  I have to admit, I don't remember. I was four years younger, so my memory has probably deteriorated a bit.

I just know I now have hours of TV options in the evening. My Saturdays are suddenly open. I'm not up 'til two a.m. anymore trying to write a tutorial about how to make a snowflake out of Q-tips.  Life is just so different when you don't have a monkey (although beloved) on your back.

I think I'm in mourning. Though I'm certainly busy with regular day activities, I feel like a dear friend has moved away.

I'm sure this feeling will pass. I'm directing myself take to new tasks. I'm making a baby quilt for our first grand child. I reorganized my craft room. I'm finally sorting through all the paperwork on my desk, stuff I haven't looked at in two years. I'm going to read Jen Hatmaker's new book, For The Love. I'm beginning to plan Thanksgiving.

Life will move on, and eventually I believe I will no longer feel this unexpected loss in my life. I still write for three blogs, and I have a novel (I wrote in 1984) I haven't looked at in six years. Who knows what the next four years will bring.

I'm simply grateful I can check one thing off my bucket list: publish my book.

It's Beginning to Look a Bit Like Christmas

by Mare @ ADVENTURES IN THE BALLPARK
 
Look what arrived at the Ballpark recently! It's Christmas in August!

Interestingly, today is my birthday, and it's a fun gift to myself to share this with you.

An e-book I've been working on for four years was completed last month. It's now available here: THE 12 DAYS.

I had a crash course on e-publishing over the spring months, and by the grace of God and unending support from our technology wiz daughter, the story I've been encouraged to share for a long time now has a venue. For someone who still has trouble working her cell phone, this is a colossal feat. Thank you, thank you to all who heard me talk about this endeavor for years.

A bit about this baby: Over twenty years ago, our family was anonymously given 12 days of surprises over the holiday season. The daily gifts were small and simple, but precious. The following year, we gave the 12 Days project to someone else. We have been doing this every year since.

The book explains how the project is executed and offers over 100 gift ideas (home crafted, baked and purchased), based on the lyrics to "The Twelve Days of Christmas" carol (doves, rings, dancing ladies, pipers, drummers - it's crazy fun!) It shares how receiving this gift so long ago changed my heart about holiday giving, and it has testimonies from recipients of this gift - how it blessed them.

If you are tired of and frazzled by the holiday chaos that accompanies Christmas (I was) and are looking for a way to create a different atmosphere in your home during the month of December, this book is for you. If you want to teach your children in a very hands-on way that Christmas is about giving, not consuming, this book is for you. If you want a fun, sneaky, holiday adventure, this book is for you. If you want to learn how to make Octopus bread, here's the book for that.

I'm so grateful for readers and followers and anyone who has been kind enough to ever finish a post of mine. You are the peeps I most want to share this with.

This ebook is under 10 bucks - less than two cups of fancy coffee at Starbucks - and in the spirit of birthday giving (and early Christmas giving), I'm giving away a copy of The 12 Days to a random commenter (I'll draw the name out of a Christmas stocking.)

Just answer this question: what is your favorite holiday tradition? (the food, gift exchanges, Christmas services, caroling, fighting with shoppers over bargains, etc.) Also leave an email address where I can contact you. I'll choose a winner Monday (the 31st) evening at 6 p.m. EST.

It's beginning to look a bit more like Christmas....

Life at Both Ends

My 94-year old Mom has been in the hospital for nine days.

A few states away, there is a new baby in the family, just two days old.

Both are wrapped in cozy blankets, both are fragile and needy and vulnerable.




Both are loved so much.

Opposite ends of the spectrum, these two lives. One is surrounded by joy and tears. The other is accompanied by frequent sadness and tears. Both tug on the heart and draw us closer to God, who authors all life.

Mom will be 95 in just a few days, and in a month, her latest great grandson will be visiting. I pray we can get a photo of these two together, but today Mom talked of being so tired and getting a feeling that her life is winding down, so we will see what God has planned.

When I look at Mom, I see a long, full life.   When I gaze on this sweet new grand nephew of ours, I see a long, full life. Mom has many memories; our grand nephew has none. I cannot visualize our grand nephew at 95.  Only God knows what his journey will be. 

Life is short and long at the same time. When I'm sitting with Mom, who is often confused these days, the hours are long because there is a relenting grief that this may be the last day I see her.  When my brother holds his new grandson, I'm sure he's aware that this little boy will grow up as fast as his own sons did. Time seems to be measured by the heart - what we are celebrating, and what is painful. 

Life is amazing and scary and surprising at both ends.  It has value at both ends.  And every day in between. 

Grateful Beyond Words

I'm so grateful to God for life this week.  Two big events took my peace and kept me fearful for a bit, even though I prayed fairly unceasingly during the waiting periods.  I was not in control of either situation, and I realized how weak my faith can be.  By the grace of God, I'm still His.  He never left me alone.

Situation one:  I've had blood in my urine for a month.   Not enough to see, but enough to need a cat scan to look at my kidneys and my bladder.  I had the cat scan and waited a week before the doc called me at 7:30 in the morning and said the CT did show something abnormal, and could I come in that afternoon for a cystoscopy?  I wanted to yell, can I come in right now?!?

From 7:30 until 1:30, I worried.  I prayed and worried.  I called my husband, who came home from work to go to the doc with me.  Once he was home, we tried not to imagine the worst, but of course, we did.  I texted my best friend, my daughter, and my sister to ask for prayer.  My sister told me later that while she waited for the final word from me, she wondered if she would be able to donate to me one of her kidneys.  I cried when she told me this.

During those waiting, morning hours, I wiped up the kitchen and folded laundry and scrolled mindlessly though facebook, anything to occupy my mind.  Every time my mind would consider the fact that I might hear fatal news, I rolled that into the prayer, Be still and know that I am God.  Be still and know that I am God.  Be still, be still, be still.

We arrived at the doctor's office early, and I flipped though an old TIME magazine, reading parts of articles, comprehending nothing.   The nurse called me back, and my husband came with me.  I would be on my back in stirrups for the cystoscopy, but I wanted him in the room.  Once I was gowned and ready, we waited another fifteen minutes. It seemed like an hour.

The doc came in and explained that the CT showed my kidneys were fine, but it appeared there was a mass on my bladder.  The cystoscopy would give him a better look.  Within a minute, the scope was in and we saw my bladder on the small screen to my left.  He pointed out different aspects of my bladder - all healthy tissues.  No mass.  He smiled and said, "Your bladder is fine.  I suspect it was empty during the CT and it folded in on itself, which bladders sometimes do." 

I stared at him. "The bladder is fine?  The kidneys are fine?"

"Both fine," he said.  "The urethra is a bit irritated.  We'll give you some cream for that, and I'm 99% sure the bleeding will stop.  It's nice to get good news once in a while, isn't it?"

I took a deep breath and looked at my husband.  He had tears in his eyes.

Situation two: Exactly a week after the fearful morning/good news cystoscopy, our youngest son was in a car accident.

Front of the car

 

Back of the car

He was rear-ended by a young woman who plowed into him at a stop light.  He swerved, went off the road, and hit a tree.  He was crunched from both ends. The air bag knocked him with such force, his glasses broke, and his seat was flattened into a reclining position.  With such impact from both ends, his 6'3" frame could have been broken in many places.

He emerged with only a bloody elbow and bruises from the air bag.  Unbelievable.  (No one else was hurt.)

Our daughter-in-law called us (we are two hours away) and kept us updated.  Until he was seen in the ER and cleared from head or internal injuries, I was back in worry/prayer mode.  A few hours later, we talked to our son.  He was sore, but assured us he was OK.  The accident was not his fault, insurance would kick in, he already had an appointment to get new glasses.

I breathed deeply, and my husband and I looked at each other, again, with tears in our eyes.

People get terrible medical news every day.  People are injured or killed in car accidents every day.  I don't know why we were spared the worst of things these past two weeks.  I know God is good all the time, whether we are ill or well, safe or harmed.  Life is random and crazy.  God is not.

He's in control all the time.  He's loving all the time.  He wants the best for us all the time.

A time will come when life will not serve me the best outcome.  I pray I will remain true to whom I know God to be.  All the time.

A Clean Start

by Mare Ball @ ADVENTURES IN THE BALLPARK

I like to think I honor God in all aspects of my life.  I'm pretty clear about how He wants to me live, and I have been for most of my adult life.  Lately, however, I've discovered I've made some choices mindlessly - choices I didn't think God cared much about. And I'm paying for them now.

I'm talking about food choices. I never thought much about my diet, only that I probably ate too much.  Like every woman on the planet, I've had moments of "that's it, I'm getting rid of this extra weight. I'm joining the gym, blah, blah, blah." And I've lost 10 or 15 pounds.  Then I get lazy, and it all comes back.

In December, I had blood work done that showed I have very high blood markers for rheumatoid arthritis (in addition to fibromyalgia, which I was diagnosed with in May.) This was shocking, as I have no swollen or painful joints - just bad blood work. After getting conflicting reports from rheumatologists in my area, I ended up at the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville, FL. The doc there suggested I start meds right away, because it looks as though RA is coming.

I did tons of research on RA and read a book called The Inflammation Nation, which was completely eye-opening, and changed my thinking on what I've been eating all my life. RA (and fibro) is an inflammatory disease where the immune system is on overdrive. It's constantly on the attack, which eventually destroys joint tissue.  Untreated, or uncorrected, people with RA can end up in wheel chairs.

I'm also reading The Daniel Plan by Rick Warren, a book about honoring God and our bodies by getting back on track with food - eating whole foods, real food, and getting the junk and processed food out of our lives. I well up as I read parts of it because I'm realizing how misguided my eating pattens have been.  I've not been fueling my body, but poisoning it with things like sugar and too many carbs and "white trash" like white rice, white bread and white potatoes. I've simply been a mindless eater.  Not a conscious one.

I'm praying God will change my thinking on this, because RA is caused by inflammation, which is caused by sugar, the wrong kinds of carbs and "white trash." I didn't know.  I'd heard some of these things before, but I didn't have any health issues - until now - so I just figured I was doing OK.

My Mayo doctor told me I have three months to change my diet and see if we can get my blood work back to normal. By the grace of God, I don't have any joint issues yet, and I'm hoping I can turn things around before I do. 

So, I gave away the boxed, processed items in my pantry. The bulk of my grocery bill is now produce.  I have leaves and sprouts popping out of my 'fridge the moment you open its door. I've discovered I like rutabagas, pea shoots, parsnips, bok choy and Japanese sweet potatoes, things I never tried before. I've learned I don't like turnips and will not be buying those again. I try to have some form of kale every day. 

In overhauling my diet, I've realized this is a spiritual journey for me. Eating was an area of my life I never asked God about. Rick Warren sums up the problem in one sentence: Dedicate your body to God.  Period.

If I do that - daily - I will eat properly. I will feed my body with what it needs to stay strong and healthy. The Daniel Plan reminds me that my body does not belong to me. It was purchased at a price, and God gave it to me to use in the service of others. This never hit me so hard as it has recently.  God has given me a wake up call,  and I pray I correct my course. My family is supportive, for which I'm so grateful.

I found a great cook book called Clean Start (you can read about that HERE) that I'm working my way through, and I've found many recipes we are enjoying.  There are even a couple treats included that are pretty good. 

I have not had a life-changing event such as this in many years, and I regret I did not pay attention to my diet 20 years ago.  Thankfully, we have a God who gives us second chances.

Two Things Caretakers Need to Remember

by Mare @ ADVENTURES IN THE BALLPARK 

I had a rough evening with Mom today.  She's 94 and has some dementia, and I help her shower, and tonight, she wasn't very happy.  She didn't like something I bought her, she was impatient with the fact that I've not connected with her physical therapist yet (we keep missing each other), she kept at me about helping her with a letter she's been writing, and she didn't like the towel I used to help her dry off.

On the mile-drive home from my parents' ALF, I felt the pressure of tears. I've been helping my parents (Dad is 91) for five years, and I've watched them gradually decline.  Every month or so, they have a medical issue, or a further slip in mental acuity. Overall, I'm able to cope, but once in awhile...it hits me that these are not the parents I grew up with.  Their lives have become very small.  Their memories are short, their complaints are close to the surface.  They are adamant that they can do everything they used to do, but they really can't.  I am usually the bad guy, the one who sets the boundaries, says no, but behind the scenes, makes sure they are OK. 

I am a caretaker.  I never thought I'd be doing this, but here I am.  I love my parents, and God sustains me.  I'm not complaining.  I'm just realizing that as we age and our awareness/abilities disappear, we are left with what seems to be simply the flesh.  And the flesh is weak and tired and grumpy.

My parents were never like this before.  They are dedicated Christians who raised four children and buried a son when he was 23.  They worked in the church tirelessly all of their adult lives. They opened their home to friends and strangers alike.  Any loving kindness I have ever extended, I learned from them.

The Mom I helped tonight is not the Mom who raised me and became a friend/spiritual guide to me.  But, it's not her intention to be testy; her brain is simply deteriorating. It's wearing down and wearing out, and frequently, misfiring.  This is what the flesh does.  It was never meant to be permanent.  It's here for awhile, and then it turns to dust.  It helps to remember this.

I will meet the spirit of my Mom again one day, when we are both gone from this life.  I believe we will be reunited in heaven, whatever form that takes.  The flesh will be a thing of the past, and we will be at peace.  It helps to remember this too.

A Grinchy Christmas

by Mare Ball @ ADVENTURES IN THE BALLPARK

It's January 9!  Where has the year gone!?

Last time I turned round, it was December 24th, and I was at the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville, FL (three hours north of us) being evaluated for rheumatoid arthritis.  I was referred up there after some blood work came back high for RA.  My days have been up and down since, and Christmas didn't really happen around here in the usual way.  Expected family didn't come, because I wasn't home in time, and a few gifts were handed out over a week's time.

I didn't prepare a holiday meal, and we didn't have the whole family around for the 25th.  I made a cherry danish for Christmas morning breakfast, something I'd never done, and we watched Miracle on 34th Street, a movie I had never seen from start to finish. We had a meal with my parents in their assisted living facility, and called it a day.

Christmas came anyway. Without a fat turkey, pumpkin pie, or even a Christmas tree. It came without our "grab bag" activity, or trays of sugar cookie cut-outs I usually bake. We didn't even get to church, we were so exhausted from the trip up and back to Mayo.

But, you know what? Christmas came anyway.  Which made think about the first Christmas.  It had no glitz and sparkle either.  A frightened, unwed teenager spilled her blood onto hay and dirt in a cold stable with smelly animals nearby.  Her finance, Joe, was probably just as terrified.  What did he know about birthing a baby?  And then royalty arrived with some valuable oils that brought healing and restoration to aliments and wounds. They were probably exactly what Mary needed for her cold, labor-weary body.

And that was it. The King had arrived. The angels sang as a divine child entered our filthy world. The world would never be the same. But, then...time to pack up and get back on the donkey for an arduous trip.

The greatest, and simplest, story every told.

As unusual as this Christmas was for us, I loved it.  We just didn't have the time or energy for all the regular preparations, and, in the end, it was liberating. I spent more time pondering the Christ child and his humble appearance on Earth than I ever have before.  Without all the hoop-la, Christmas still came.

"It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.”  

The Grinch had it right. 

 

My Christmas Message

by Mare Ball @ ADVENTURES IN THE BALLPARK

                            WISE MEN STILL SEEK HIM

We are the Icing, not the Cake

by Mare Ball @ ADVENTURES IN THE BALLPARK

I saw the coolest badge on facebook last week.  It read: 

God never commanded us to trust people.

He commanded us to love people

and trust Him.

I read it several times, because it really made me think. As wonderful as people can be, especially our loved ones - it's important to remember they are simply human and at some point will probably disappoint us. 

Not that they mean to or want to.  We all do the best we can with what we know at the time.  But, we're not God.  We're not the Savior.  We can't fix or repair or heal the way God does. We're not equipped to do that, no matter how hard we try.  Our responsibility is to lead people to the great Healer/Director, and let Him complete the work. 

I think we all get off track on this.  In our teen/college years, we look for "the one" we're to marry and build a life with. After children, our heart becomes enmeshed with our newborns.  Friends become "soul mates", and so on.  We often put our hope and dreams in people, instead of God.  

Don't get me wrong, we are to love people and build lives that are connected and committed to others.  But, we need to be careful about what we worship and rely on.  Only God is fully trustworthy.  He alone is unchanging and unflappable.  People are not.  

Understanding this actually improves relationships, because it takes unrealistic pressure off our loved ones.  Other people cannot make or keep us happy.  They can do lovely things for us and love us to the best of their human ability, but we only have true peace when our first commitment is to God and trust in His plan for us.  After that, people are the icing on the cupcake (and we all know how icing sweetens the cake.)

This facebook badge was a good reminder for me.  It's unfair to place 'savior' expectations on anyone. They'll always fail, because that's not their job. It's not my job either, to be the end all for anyone else. 

The best way to love people is to exhibit Christ in our own life.  Period.  God will use that to draw hearts to Him (which is what every heart is really seeking, whether it knows it or not.)  While He's orchestrating that, we are truly free to celebrate and enjoy the cupcake. 

I love it when spiritual truths and desserts dovetail. 

One Step at a Time

by Mare Ball @ ADVENTURES IN THE BALLPARK

I hit a marker this week I thought I might never reach.

I finished my book.

As finished as I can make it, until an agent, or publisher wants it, and then I understand I'll be writing it again.  Or, at least editing it to the point that it will feel like rewriting the thing.

One of my favorite quotes regarding writing is "A writer doesn't finish her work; she abandons it."  I love this quote because it has proved true for me with every project I've ever written.  I would edit endlessly, if I didn't, at some point, just decide I've done my best, I've done all I know to do, and besides, I'm kind of tired of this project.  I've come to that point with the book I've been working on for three years.

I was surprised this moment was kind of anti-climatic.  I think it's because I now have to decide if I want to find an agent, or directly pursue a publisher, or self-publish, or take my ms to Staples and just have a copy printed for myself.  Truth be told, this last option appeals to me the most.

I'm dreading the next step - selling myself.  I wrote a non-fiction book, and with those, publishers want 20-50 thousand blog visits a week to feel confident in your following, your engagement with prospective buyers.  I have about 250 blog followers.  You see my dilemma.

I'm an unknown, unproven writer.  I think my book is unique and well done, but 20 thousand other people don't think so.  They don't even know I exist.

So, I'm reading the 2014 Guide to Literary Agents.  I'm researching publishers online. And I'm saving up all my Staples coupons and rewards points just in case. 

I'm also praying that God will make it clear to me what He wants me to do with my three-year project.  On any given day, I feel confident about one direction, and then, the next day...another option seems better.  It's been a roller-coaster ride since the summer.  Every night I place my book in God's hands and say, it's yours, Lord.  What do you want to do with it?  Whom do you want it to reach? 

I have my ideas, but I'm learning I don't know enough about publishing to choose a path without some divine guidance.  I've never felt comfortable in the business world (I've always worked in the non-profit world), and publishing is a very competitive, massive business.  I'm a little guppy in a big, rough, swirly ocean. 

Having said all that, I'm moving forward in my research and hope to choose a path by the spring.  My book is about Christmas, so my goal is to close the deal, one way or another, by June 2015.  This will give me six months to market before Christmas 2015.

I had hoped things would be in place by this Christmas, but fibromyalgia intervened, and then health issues with my dad, and then I sustained an ankle injury, so "the book" ended up on a back burner more often than I had hoped.

I have to tell myself, it's OK.  It will come together when it comes together.  Otherwise, I'd be in the loony-bin.  It's so easy to stress over my writing.  I have to consciously remind myself that my writing is not life or death. 

I've written a book.  And I've finished it.  That's why I'm celebrating today.

Learning to Float

by Mare Ball @ ADVENTURES IN THE BALLPARK

I went to the beach with my sister and some friends last week, and while away I planned to fix some writing issues, catch up on reading some of my favorite blogs, read The Screwtape Letters, and create new blog content. I had such big plans.

Well. I'm sure you've heard the phrase, if you want to make God laugh - tell him your plans. HA!  I came home further behind on all my writing/reading projects.

The Internet was intermittent in the beach house.  My Surface tablet kept doing weird things.  A sore ankle I've been dealing with acted up.  The beautiful weather kept calling me outside.  Sense and Sensibility and Mama Mia were on the DVD list, and pretty soon, I just didn't care about working. I preferred to make apple dumplings and help my sister make greeting cards.

I don't take vacations often, and it's hard for me to mentally release my writing.  I love writing, so a week away with the girls (no interruptions) sounded great.  But after about four days of attempting to get things done, and failing, I embraced the goof-off time and discovered I really loved it.

Who knew?

I think God knew.  He placed in me this call to write, so I blame him for my compulsion.  But, He also gave me a week away and slowly but surely removed the tools I use to write.  I found myself daydreaming and laughing and sleeping in and feeling lazy.  My head cleared a bit, and I began to just enjoy the moment.  This is not something I do naturally.  I'm always focused on what's coming up, what's due, what needs preparation.  I'm a long-term thinker.  To float for a week seemed foreign at first, but then...I loved it.  I could have used a few more days as a floater, actually.

I ended up thanking God for tugging me out of my own life for awhile.  I did come home refreshed. Which is what vacations are about, I'm told.  I probably need to get away more often.  My hubby had a good week without me and accomplished a lot of things around the house. 

I guess the world won't suffer if I take a break from writing. 

I hear God laughing again.

Creative Bleeding

by Mare Ball @  ADVENTURES IN THE BALLPARK

I have been a blogging slug lately.  And I'm unhappy about it.

I miss writing.  What I've been doing since July is editing my book, which is really editing pictures, because my book is full of pictures.  Do you know how long it takes to edit a batch of photographs?

At least three months, even though it feels like forever.  I have to confess, my book is becoming a bit of a tyrant.  If I'm working on it, I'm working on it.  If I'm not working on it, it whines from the recesses of my brain, why aren't you working on me? As I drift off to sleep at night, I suddenly get 53 ideas on how to rework a chapter.  At times...it's annoying.

Writing is a strange life.  If you love it, you have to do it.  You can't not do it.  (I think that's how you know you're a writer.)  At the same time, it's a brain drain.  The actual writing skills, the creativity, the editing, the losing material because the computer crashes and you have to start over, the mental gymnastics when the words don't come...it's exhausting.  I know my brain is fit and thin, because it gets a workout every day.  I can't say the same thing about my behind.

Hemingway said, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”

Oh my word, how true!  It looks easy, because you're just sitting there.  My husband just sits there when he's playing Angry Birds.  To an unknowing observer, we're just two slugs sitting there - but my brain is bleeding!  It's cranking and grinding and stretching, and it wears me out. Only another writer can understand why it can be so draining just sitting at the computer (bleeding.)

Having said all that, I continue to plant myself at my computer and bleed - daily.  Because, I love it.  It completes me. (Thank you, Jerry McGuire.)  It transports me and uplifts me and aggravates me all at the same time.  It's similar to motherhood (I wrote about that HERE), which is another bleeding love.

I had hoped my book would be published by Christmas.  That's not going to happen.  I've had computer issues, and health issues, and my dad has had health issues, and life has rolled right along like no one is trying to finish writing a book.  I really have to fight for writing time; I have to say no to some things, and lose sleep more often than not, and skip healthy meals more often than I want to admit.  (Who has time to roast a chicken and saute veggies when there are granola bars and M&Ms to be had?)

The writing bug has hold of me.  It's in my bones.  It's in my mother's bones, too, so I can blame her for all this wonderful bleeding. She published a book at 84, so I guess I can wait until next Christmas to (hopefully) publish mine.

Plugging away...

Thanks, Ladies

By Mare Ball @ ADVENTURES IN THE BALLPARK
Join me on FACEBOOK!

I just spent an hour reading posts on this blog, and I felt such a connection with so many writers.  Women had written about things I am dealing with myself.  I often find that when I come here.  Women of faith who are moms are the most poignant writers on the planet.

Non-moms and men can be great writers too, I'm not dismissing any one's efforts.  I simply enjoy this little corner of Blogwarts.  Moms who are committed to serving God are honest about their struggles, and quick to encourage others.  The world needs more of these traits.

Gratitude for the writers here kicks off my list of things I'm grateful for recently.  It's been a rough month, but when I examine my life, there are always blessings to be found.

2.  Extra funds that came in this month.  We're replacing a door that's been torn up by a dog that's no longer with us and three grown children that no longer live here. 

3.  That fact that despite almost daily flooding rains here in central Florida, no water has seeped into our sliding glass back door.

4.  TooJays restaurant.  They make an awesome Reuben sandwich.

5.  19 Kids and Counting.  I admire the Dugger family and how they live their lives.  It's encouraging.

6.  That, at the moment, my parents (91 and 94) are stable.

7.  That our teacher-daughter and some of her students are safely back from a two-week field trip to Ireland.

8.   That my daughter brought me back from Ireland some lovely tiger's eye earrings.

9.   Men's L.L Bean Oxford shirts.  Best wrinkle-resistant shirts ever.

10. MSM, the natural supplement that helps with pain and inflammation.  I pray it can keep me off meds for fibromyalgia/RA.

11. The lawyer I spent an hour with last week.  Did you know patterned Christmas paper and patterned fabric are copyrighted?  I didn't either.

12. Flannel sheets.  They're cozy all year round.

What has blessed you this week?

Let There Be Light - Again

I didn't publish a post two weeks ago when I should have, because my dad was not doing well, and I was bummed out by world affairs and our daughter leaving for Ireland and book concerns, and I was just a grumpy-pants.  I didn't want to dump all that here.  So, I dumped it on my own blog  HERE.  Check it out if you want to see where my heart was two weeks ago.

If you'd just as soon skip the gloom, read on. I'm in a better place today, and I just want to thank God for the fact that the sun ascends every morning.  Every twenty-four hours, light appears again, and we get to start over.  No matter what occurred yesterday. I'm grateful for cinnamon toast and hot water and physical therapists and Downton Abbey.  Big things and little things, significant things and trivial things. This life can be so difficult and confusing, I just need to enjoy soft serve ice cream dipped in chocolate once in a while. And not feel guilty about it.

I've been watching the mini-series The Roosevelts: An Intimate History (on PBS), and I've been astounded by FDR's bout with polio and his struggle to recover.  It was a brutal, depressing time in his life. He overcame so much, and I get so grumpy about having to clean the bathrooms (didn't I just do this?!) I so easily forget there is suffering everywhere, and most of it is much worse than mine.  I have a small mind and a very short memory.

So, today I'm writing about how glorious God is and how grateful I am for everything I have.  I'm blessed in many ways I often take for granted.  I'm so glad God is patient with me and loves me no matter what.  Because, Miss Grumpy-pants shows up too often around here.