So this is M.S.?

This summer has brought about the end to many chapters in my life. My youngest two daughters learned how to ride their bikes without training wheels and to swim without the assistance of a flotation device. I am proud of their successes. A little sad that they are growing up so fast, but proud of them nonetheless. End of the babies chapter of my life.

This summer marked 14 wonderful years with the man whom I love more than I ever thought possible. Who says things like, “I love you… and will ALWAYS be by your side.” End of the newlywed chapter of my life. (Still feel like newlyweds though) Did I say that I really, really, really, love this man? {I need to learn a new adverb to describe him}

 

It was the two-year mark of my insane health/headache. Two years of seeing the same doctor that informed me that what I had was a wait and see condition. Treating me would be of no use in the long-run. End of stinky meany doctors chapter of my life. This is my favorite end of chapter thus far!

 

 I decided to go to my primary care doctor for the pain I have been experiencing in my legs. He gave me some medication with the caveat that it might not work. He was right, it didn’t work on my leg pain, but it really helped my back pain! I, being of the need to know all the things mind frame, looked up the medication I was given. It is a muscle relaxer. Works to relax muscles, so why in the world is it not working? This medicine works for pain caused by fibromyalgia. Therefore, it isn’t that sort of pain. This medicine works for pulled, sprained, strained muscles. So still not that. This medication works great for people who have been in a car accident, motorcycle accident and had sinus surgery, all in a 2 month time period, to feel no pain… so none of those either (but it worked for my hubby, he has really been through it this summer!) So, I get down to the bottom of the list of uses for this medication and come across the statement:

“Cyclobenzaprine HCl relieves skeletal muscle spasm of local origin without interfering with muscle function. It is ineffective in muscle spasm due to central nervous system disease.”

 

Well, I guess now I know why that medicine isn’t working out for me. I suppose this would be the end of normal medicine working for me chapter?

 

            The primary care doctor decided that I needed a 2^nd opinion and an appointment with the neuro ophthalmologist. The eye appointment came first. It was discovered at this appointment that I needed to blink more. Apparently, if you don’t blink enough your tear ducts get all red and foamy. I know Ewwwww. After 3 hours of testing, I found out that: my vision is still very good 20:15, my eyes are dry (the reason for the stabbing pain followed by blurry/double vision), and the headache that I have had for the last 2.5 years was not transformed migraine, but trigeminal neuralgia. And, an occasional weather migraine thrown in to make things interesting. End of thinking I had daily transformed migraines chapter!

 

            The cure? Slimy eye drops in my eyes 4 times a day, and a heating pad over my eyes for 10 minutes every day for the next 3 months. Did I tell you slimy gunk in my eyes 4x a day every single day?

            Have you ever tried to sit still for 10 minutes with your eyes closed not doing anything? All you can do is lay there and listen. Kudos to you if you can efficiently relax. I’m no good at relaxing. 10 minutes feels like hours. I’m the multi-tasking Queen I tell ya, well maybe a princess. I can’t watch TV without doing something with my hands. I can’t talk on the phone without cleaning my house. I can’t take a walk without praying/talking/singing. This mind and body are always active. Maybe by the end of these 3 months I will have come to enjoy it, but I’m not there yet, and it’s been a week and a half. In addition to the eye drops and heat, I was given another prescription. For the first 7 days, I was in pain free heaven… dizzy pain free heaven… but pain free nonetheless. I liked this new medicine. However, by day 8 my body was getting used to it. Sad, sad pitiful day. Just Ewww this is the beginning of a new gross chapter of slimy eye drops and forced heating pad on the eyes rest.

 

On day 9, I got the phone call that I could go in the next day for my second opinion. After a short Q and A session, the doctor says. “So what is your current neurologist’s hesitation in diagnosing you?” I replied that my current doctor thought that early treatment was of no value. And… he asks me, “is your doctor, Dr. so and so?”!!! I said, “YES! Does that explain anything?” He said it did. Sad that my current/old doctor has a reputation. So, prospective new doctor did an exam. Talked to me about my 2.5 years worth of MRI’s and presented me with a diagnosis. And also informed me that lazy radiologist did not describe size and locations of old lesions. Prompting new neuro guy to look at latest MRI stating that “No Change” was not an acceptable radiology report. And New Neuro guy found a new lesion. Old Neuro guy didn’t bother to look at new MRI.  

Now I have to say it was one of the best/worst days. For two and a half years I have been hurting and being told that it’s “just your fibromyalgia” (well actually for the last 12 years I have been told that) and migraine, take an anti psychotic, anti depressant, anti seizure and only come back if you lose complete control of part of your body. I always left the doctor feeling like I was crazy. I must be crazy if I hurt and there is no reason why. My MRI’s show progressive worseness (that’s a word? No way!) a new owie in my brain on every MRI. A new hole, with pain and numbness and weird symptoms that go along with them. So I guess literally it was all in my head. Wow, I have Swiss cheese brain. But on Thursday last week I found out that I am not crazy. I just have MS! Yeah, a diagnosis after all this time. End of the “You are just CRAZY” chapter of my life.

 

            Oh crap… now what?!?!?! As I sat there with relief and a little bit of despair, I was handed a stack of medication information a foot high! (okay, maybe 3 inches, but it felt like a foot) The nurse getting all the required information shared in pleasant chit chat with me. So, I had to ask, “How many of your patients are relieved to be diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis?” She gave me a disturbed smile and let me know I was the first.

           

Well, I deal with bad news really well I guess? I told her that I had been dealing with the stuff and the testing and the watching and the waiting for two and a half years and knew that MS was a major possibility based on all the other possibilities being ruled out. She was shocked that I had been dealing with this for so long and could understand my relief at finally having an answer. The end of the not knowing why my body is always spazzing out on me chapter.

           

When I left their offices, I tried to call my primary doc to let him know I needed the referral, but it was after business hours. So first thing the next morning I called for an appointment. (None) So I drove there, dropped of the referral and the new pain medication prescription (And they didn’t have it, and I still don’t have it, it takes 5-7 business days to order it, and it’s a holiday weekend don’t you know?) Hope it works for me. An exercise in patience?

           

By the time I got home my P.C.M. was calling me to let me know that he had the referral turned in. He asked me about my legs and if the medicine helped. He wasn’t too surprised that it didn’t. He said he was happy for me that I finally had the answers I needed, but sorry it was MS. I thanked him for his great service and that was that. He was my first nice doctor. He believed me when I told him I hurt because he is very aware of my pain tolerance. (Because procedure, no numbing meds because I’m allergic, and I said the procedure didn’t hurt so he knew I was in pain this time.)

            So now, I have to decide what medication I want to take. What medicine has benefits that out weigh the really bad side effects? Yesterday while researching one of the medications, I found that it is made with…get this… genetically altered Chinese Hamster Ovaries!!! Can’t make this stuff up.

            So that is actually the medicine I think I will be going with. But, I’ll let you know what medication the Neurologist suggests. Maybe.

 

            My reaction to all this? In 2.5 years of knowing that some day I will have MS I have not once broken down and cried, had a pity party or wallowed in self pity. I know that day has to be coming soon. There is only so much a person can deal with, with an amazing sense of humor. You should hear me laughing at myself about that one. (I don’t think it’s amazing, that was sarcasm.)

 

Next month I will be taking a trip to the beautiful state of Alaska for an extended trip/vacation/family visit/bonding with daughter/ etc trip. My dilemma is, do I take my brand new medicine with me? It will be a box of preloaded syringes, which I have to carry on, because they will freeze in the cargo hold and be ruined. That’s no good. And I will get to experience all the wonderful new side effects of the medication while a million miles from my home in Texas. It’s warm in Texas right now, and really cold in Alaska… always.

            Or do I wait until I get home? When we are moving to a new rental home because the current rental home we are living in is being sold. Oh and throw in Thanksgiving and home schooling 4 kids. This is going to be an extremely busy fall y’all. Plus the side effects of a new medication. When would you start the medication? The sooner the better they say, and I’m already 2.5 years behind the curve.

 

So rather than getting all upset and feeling sorry for myself (That I’m sure will come later) I have to focus on all the wonderful things in my life. Whatever is good, whatever is true, whatever is pure… you know, focus on those things.

Today I took a walk because my legs were cramping REALLLLLY bad. Like pulled muscles makes you want to say dirty words bad. So I thought to myself ‘I’ll take a walk, get the blood pumping, get a little exercise.’ So 2 miles and an hour later as I’m limping onto the porch and giving my hubby a ‘Hellooooooo Hunny’ kiss, I realize a few things.

1. Going up hill is much easier than down hill when your quads are crampy.
2. I walk slowly when my legs hurt. I’ve never done a 30 min mile in my life.
3. The walking although excellent in theory was of no apparent use.
4. I didn’t get any exercise (you can’t count it if it’s that slow! My heart rate didn’t go up at all.)

 

But on the bright side. I did get out and enjoy the beautiful fall afternoon here in San Antonio. The crisp 82° fall afternoon was perfect for a sunny stroll. The wind rustled the leaves and the wind chimes. Just a beautiful, beautiful day. I really enjoyed my walking and praying. Maybe I had extra people that needed prayers today and that is why the walk took me so long. Yes, I will go with that.

I also wrote today. That is exciting because I have been avoiding it for the last couple of weeks. I’m up to chapter 28 of the 46 I have planned. I also did a little reading, and went to a Bible study this morning. My hubby will be very pleased with the topic we talked about today! I watched my two oldest daughters show me how much they love me by making dinner so that I wouldn’t have to stand up any longer. I taught my younger two daughters how to draw a proportionately accurate face. Today was a good day. Despite the pain, I have felt God’s hand guiding me through each moment. This is just a little thing to Him. He has the power to do great things in me, and maybe this MS will prove to be one of the greatest gifts I could have ever received from Him.

            Time will tell. I look forward to the journey. I pray you do too.

 

Book review: Misfit Toymakers (Misfits Made Book 1) by Keith Jenkins

Author Keith Jenkins’ newest novel,

 Misfit Toymakers: Misfits Made book 1

Published by Author House, is, in his own words,

“A Historical Fiction set in the future, back dropped by the secession of Texas from the Union and the states that follow with it, the politics of the fifty years between now and then.”

 

I personally find this description to be highly amusing, and accurate.

Normally my first choice of reading material isn’t a political thriller.

However, Jenkins includes an abundance of fast paced action scenes, mixed with futuristic tech,

and quirky sense of humor to keep the reader constantly entertained.

 

Between the covers of Misfit Toymakers you will find: politics, a love story, tech gadgets, international commerce, ADD boy, terrorists, redemption, millionaires,clones, and more. 

I enjoyed the fast pace and creative genius of Jenkins Novel. He comes up with tech that I hope one day will be an every day part of life. Even if a political thriller isn’t your first choice for pleasure reading, I found that this story has a little bit of everything, something for most audiences to enjoy.

For up to date information on the Misfit Toymakers, click here

 

The cast of Characters: 

Joshua Danz (A.k.a ADD Boy) ~ “A man conflicted by who he was, is, and is not. He discovers that his is a life of wealth and power that must be learned, not earned. He is the master of a massive, global Enterprise, and yet somehow he is its subject. Also, he is a man of strong desires and dedications; his love, though quiet and covert, is powerful as it drives him to find all truth about himself. As a man with no memories, he discovers that he has been told the story of his life, but then his memories begin to reappear, like a favorite movie, with an additional lifetime attached.”

Follow Joshua Danz on Facebook

here

Ethyl ~ “The woman he fist comes to love, after his recovery is a real piece of work. She is smart, capable, beautiful, sexy, deadly, and wise. She works for him, as his administrative assistant and much more. She makes certain that his every command is carried out, and she protects him with her life- a life that is not nearly as long as it looks.”

Follow Ethyl on Facebook

Here 

and here 

 

Doctor Ilyssa Marquez (A.k.a. Doc) ~ “was born in Mexico and is a genuine genius and medical doctor who had her Bachelors at sixteen, Masters at eighteen and before she was thirty had perfected the hardware and surgeries that would rebuild Joshua, almost from scratch. Ilyssa is beautiful, brilliant, and engaging in every way! She is burdened with intrigues as the sponsor of her work on Danz, simply take away her promising future, and she wants it back.”

 

Follow Doc on Facebook

 

Here

 

Below is an excerpt from Jenkins’ newest book

Misfit Toymakers (Misfits Made book 1)

(with permission from the author)

 

 

The Crash and Recovery

            I wasn’t always this young, you know? More than a lifetime ago, there was screaming tires! Headlights to my right! Shrieks of terror from the front seat, with blood lacquered on my hands and a BANG of glass exploding all around me. Pain and the dark of night envelop me. The car door is shoved against my head with a BOOM. Airbags inflate somewhere out of sight. My feet stop, and soon, yelling in the distance and the crackle of burning, something . . . everything. Even with the flames all around me, and while my bleeding or burning to death is on the menu, there is still a small, quiet voice in the back of my head saying, “Hmm, that happened.” And though I am flailing about in the dark of night with flames all over my body, I can’t help but see

through the smoke and screaming pain, that there is a head, shattered and splattered, on a car window opposite me with only a singular crack running up and down the window, and I’m so ADD that somewhere in the back of my reeling mind I am thinking, “That’s some impressive glass.” That’s where this story really begins. The cold wind blows over me through the window, and outside there are shouting voices getting closer and the door being torn from the car . . . tears flow, cooling to my face, even as parts of me are crunching in their hands. I’m fading from consciousness . . . sirens sound . . . people shouting to me, at me, for others to come. Fading, “But . . . !”

 

I want to scream, but nothing happens. I am trying to flail, to put the fires out, to shout, to cry, but nothing comes. My eyes are so watered up that all I can see are pools of darkness followed by a blob of colour, then colours, undulating one among another, and then I’m blinking, the tears run down my cheeks, as I realize that the colours I see are not the colours I had seen, they’re brighter – whiter – cleaner – daylight – indoors. “Where am I? What’s going on? Who are you, and why are you doing this to me?” I try to say it all, but nothing comes out. Still, I’m not burning – I’m cool and not in pain, so there’s that.

There’s a guy in the doctor mask with his hands on my face. He must have seen the terror and confusion in my eyes because he replied. He removes his mask and his lips move as if to say, “Just a moment,” but it sounds like Charlie Brown’s mom, and everything was gone. I didn’t realize what was happening then. Really, it would be days before any true understanding of my reality would arrive.

I just wake up and I can’t move. I can’t scream for help. I can barely blink my eyes and think, and more than anything else I am worried about what I am thinking. I am thinking that it seems like weeks since I did anything, and I can’t remember what that was. I can’t remember if what I did last was work or play or spend time with my wife and kids. What is my wife’s name? I can’t picture her face at all. Do I have a wife and kids? I try to think about what I do for a living, and it simply will not come to me, and then I realize, “Wait a minute, who am I? Holy crap! I can’t even remember my own name.” I close my eyes hard and try to think, but even my face won’t come to mind. Who am I?

I begin to panic, but that doesn’t help, and no one comes to see me. I hear some beeping and quiet whirring noises around me and realize that these are the sounds I have heard on TV when someone was in an ICU – I think, “I’m hooked up to some doctor junk.” Hard as I try, I can only look around as far as my eyes can move, and that ain’t much. Just on the bottom edge of my field of vision, I can see a breathing tube of some sort, and I hear the slow and steady “whish . . . whoosh” sound from a respirator. I’d heard that before, but I can’t remember where or when or why. I start feeling a panic going on and hear the beeping of my EKG or EEG or something getting faster and very shortly, a nurse comes in. She sees, she glares, and then she shouts.

“He’s awake.” I hear, but the words are garbled. It is like my head is under pillows or like I am laying down in a shallow bath with my ears covered by water. A small, red light in the hallway begins to rotate and flash quietly as a stream of people dressed in scrubs flood into the room, finally followed by an authoritative looking woman and a man with a lab coat. It seems like a dozen others are mumbling around me as if my ears aren’t quite working; everything still garbled. Lab coat guy comes close beside me and leans down saying, “Looks pretty good.” And that’s all I recall from that visit. I must have passed out or something.

 

Click appropriate link

to purchase your own copy of Misfit Toymakers

Available at Amazon

Misfit Toymakers (Misfits Made Book 1)
Misfit Toymakers: Author's Edition

 

More books available by Keith Jenkins

 

Also available at Barnes and Noble

Misfit Toymakers (Misfits Made book 1)

 

For all things Keith

visit his linked in profile for access to his personal web pages

Keith's linkedin

If you read Misfit Toymakers:(Misfits Made book 1)
make sure to come back and check out books 2 and 3 of the Misfits Made series.
Working titles subject to change
Mexican Mission:(Misfits Made book 2) & Ambassador's Tale:(Misfits Made book 3)


An excerpt from Mexican Mission:(Misfits Made book 2)

  Church in the Weeds

We are all up and out by dawn, big kids fed and dressed, loaded into the caravan. The babies will stay home with Cinco today. Mike has gone ahead with the Angel and taken a box of supplies that had arrived the other day from Tejas. Every few months we get a box full of stuff for the neighbors. We have four locations to the south of us where we usually set up church. Each church is its own autonomous operation with a group of elders, that’s born-againers that have been saved for a while and really get it, who study the Word and have shown themselves as men striving to live God’s way. We stop in to lead worship from time to time and bring support materials in the boxes, and to help the elders with any problems that they may have trouble with. In that sense, I guess I am what Paul would describe as an overseer, or what the old church called a bishop. It’s an honor, not a job.

It is an early start as we head about twenty miles south of home on the 39, then west-ish to Ciudad Valles, then south another ten miles, west again into the territory. There are big roads, and small towns, plains, and thickets, and trails through jungles to get there. The wildlife we encounter along the way is like a trip to the zoo for the kids and the Hanratty’s take it much the same way. He drives as she points, with an ooh and ah, and shoots everything she can with the camera in her phone. Ethyl drives her Mega Cruiser, with the locator beacon in her nav sat, and I follow in the SHV-19-D (which has four rows of seats an d gas powered electric drive), while Hanratty’s drive a deuce and a half full of tables and benches, and Doc brings up the rear in the medical van. Its well over an hour and a half journey from home to holler and with all these kids, and me of course, we have made several pit stops along the way. Never, I repeat; never blame the women for the stops. You are always better off if you just assume any blame in this. One nice thing about being in the woods is that we can just pull over and find a tree, or a bush; we don’t have to locate a suitable business, restaurant or gas station; there are no rest areas like in Texas.

         It is shortly after eight, when we arrive at the box, following the transponder that Mike put on it, with Ethyl’s nav system in her expert hands. We unload a few benches from the trucks and cue up some music. This morning we are playing “Prepare Ye the Way of the Lord” from Godspell. I love that tune. The people know we are coming so they are on their way. The music is our way of saying that we are ready for them to arrive. At first it is the elders, who greet us all with handshakes, hugs and kisses, followed by the most faithful and most nearby of the followers and there will be strangers and stragglers coming in until the last of the food is eaten and the work is done. It never fails that someone will arrive right be fore we are ready to go. Just wait and see.

           We have unloaded about a half dozen benches into the clearing, three to the left and three to the right from the pulpit area and as the people arrive they bring the other benches out of the truck, assisted by Hanratty and wife. The elders have asked that my family not be seen loading and unloading the vehicles. Even when Doc and Ethyl need medical supplies from the van, they would rather get it for them, or send one of the deacons. It is their way of establishing and maintaining order so that respect and discipline can be upheld throughout the tribes, as this congregation consists of people from eight or nine neighboring tribes and the elders come from all. In this way the elders are seen submitting to us, as the deacons – regardless of tribe – submit to the elders, and so it flows.

 



Book Review: Secrets of a City Bench by April Love

During the past two years of living in San Antonio,

 I have had the pleasure of making the acquaintance with several published authors,

 even developing friendships with a few of them. One of these people is a

wonderful woman by the name of April Love.

 She has two works of fiction currently available for purchase:

Secrets of a City Bench and Gift of the Morning.

 

I recently purchased a copy of both books to help support

my dear friend and fellow author.

I was blown away by the story that unfolded before my eyes in Secrets of a City Bench.

Although the name is quite peculiar, the reason for the title is fitting.

 

This is a very real story.

Although it may be a work of fiction, it is something that happens all too often.

Angie tries to be strong but she has to deal with the very real consequences of hiding from her past. She tries to push the past behind her and forget what she went through

 instead of dealing with the pain. She acts out at people who have never hurt her

simply because of her experiences.

Angie does not know where to turn for help. Rather than deal with her problems

 she longs for pain numbing sleep. However, in this time of supposed rest her nightmares from the past come back to haunt her.

 Counseling opens the wounds, and fails to let her heal.

 

Sam wants to rescue Angie.

 This is a tale as old and familiar as time itself.

The hero comes along to save the damsel in distress.

She allows herself to be rescued and they live happily ever after, or so he thinks.

Sam’s own past is stained with regret and hardships of its very own.

 Sam, an ex-con, deals with very real problems of his own.

 

This duo meets under the strangest of circumstances, but for them it is perfect.

They fall in love eventually getting married.

Nevertheless, this isn’t your typical love story.

I often found myself asking Angie, ‘Why can’t you just let him love you?’

And Sam, ‘Why is anger your first response?’

This is a story that makes you root for the under dogs wanting them both to succeed.

At first, I didn’t feel like the characters were believable

because of the way they interacted with each other.

 However, as time unfolds, the true nature of who they are

and where they come from fill in and it is

easy to see how someone can get to this point.

 

I recommend this book to an older audience

due to the nature of graphic content

 and strong language that is unsuitable for a younger audience.

If you, or someone you know, are a survivor of a vicious past,

this is a story that will help you to see that you are not alone in this.

No matter how bad your current situation may be, it can get better.

Once I began to read Love’s portrayal of this not so ordinary couple,

 I could not put the book down.

 

Below are a couple of excerpts from Secrets of a City Bench

 used with permission by the author to give you a glimpse inside the cover into the deep underbelly that so many of us “normal folk” never get to see.

 

Angie is a girl that has a troubling past.

After running away from a sexually abusive home,

she finds herself resorting to a lifestyle of selling herself.

 

*          *          *          *          *

Angie sat at the desk and cried. She basically hadn’t slept since Sunday because the nightmares had been so bad. Every time she did drift to sleep, Darlene would have to come and wake her up. She was back to an all-liquid diet again because every time she tried to eat, it came right back up again. And the crying never seemed to stop anymore. She cried so hard the lines on the paper were no longer visible, and her words became a jumbled mess. Then she would have to stop writing altogether and just sit there and sob until the pain eased some.

There was a knock at the door, then Darlene came in. “Are you okay, Angie?”

“Just go away and leave me alone,” Angie snapped. If she had to be miserable, she at least wanted to be that way in private.

“I’m worried about you, Angie,” she continued. “Things seem to be getting worse.”

“No kidding,” Angie said with sarcasm.

Darlene looked away, then tentatively stated, “You’ll probably be upset with me, but I called Dr. Thatcher.”

“What!” Angie yelled. “He’ll put me in the state hospital! Why did you do that?”

“I’m sorry Angie,” Darlene said, “but I felt like I had to. Anyway,” she said, trying to sooth Angie’s wrath, “he just wants to talk to you on the phone.”

“Great,” Angie snarled as she rose from the desk. She stomped down the stairs and then violently pushed the buttons on the phone. Once she got through to Doc, she said coldly, “This is Angie. What do you want?”

“Darlene’s worried about you,” she heard Doc say on the other end of the line.

“I’m fine,” she said in anger.

“I’m not convinced.”

“This isn’t fair,” Angie whined.

“All you have to do is convince me that you’re okay,” Doc said. “Now what’s going on?”

Angie wiped the tears away from her face and sniffled. “I’m just dealing with some really hard stuff, that’s all.” All she heard was silenced on the other end. She really didn’t want to go into it, but she knew Doc wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easily. “Look, Doc,” she begged, “it’s stuff I’ve never told anyone, and after it all happened, I just pushed it back like it never happened. I had to survive. Okay?’

“What else?” he asked.

She sighed, “There’s just a lot of feelings, and they’re really intense, but I’m not going to do anything crazy. I just need time to get through this. I thought that was why I was here,” she added with a tint of sarcasm.

“I hear you,” Doc replied. “You’d better not make me regret my decision to let you stay. Now let me talk to Darlene.”

Angie handed the phone to Darlene, then went back upstairs. She was relieved Doc was going to let her stay, but she had doubts herself. Everything was so overwhelming she didn’t know how much longer she could continue like this.

She sat at the desk and read what she had just written minutes before. Shivers ran up her back. She wrote down the words, “She’s a feisty one, isn’t she?” She had briefly been faced with the pain, fear, and humiliation when she had the flashback when Mike had said those words, but she quickly forced herself to forget what had happened, like she had done every other time it had come up.

But now she knew she couldn’t push it away anymore. She wrote down everything that had happened. She had been propositioned by two men.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

Sam, a young man also with a sordid past,

comes across Angie one day near a city bench. It is here that they develop a relationship. Once a week they meet to talk and share a meal.

 

*          *          *          *          *

“I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m just waiting on a friend.”

“Yeah, sure,” the officer patronized. “One who will pay for your services, which just so happen to be illegal.”

Angie saw Sam running toward her. “No, really, I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“What’s the trouble, Officer?” Sam asked the policeman.

The policeman turned. “Well, I’ll be. If it isn’t Sam Trailer. Your parole officer would sure like to hear how you’re visiting a prostitute.”

“Hello, Officer George,” Sam said cautiously. “I assure you that I am not involved with anything illegal, sir. Angie and I are friends. We sit together and eat and talk, but that’s it. And there’s noting illegal about that.”

“Is that so?” Officer George said, not convinced.

Sam opened the duffel bag and showed the officer, “Our supper, sir.”

Looking into it, the officer asked, “Can I see what else you have in there?”

“Go right ahead.” Sam placed the contents of the bag onto the bench: three sandwiches, pretzels, two bananas, Twinkies, a thermos, and Sam’s Bible. Same gave the empty bag to the policeman who examined it for hidden compartments.

“All right,” the officer said at last, “but I warn you, I’m keeping my eye on you. And you, too,” he said to Angie. Turning back to Sam, he continued, “You step out of line just one time, boy, and I’ll put you back in the joint quicker than you can blink your eye. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

The policeman stormed off, throwing the bag on the ground. Sam bent to pick it up. “That was close.”

When Sam started to sit on the bench, Angie didn’t follow. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re an ex-con.”

Taking her hand into his, he said, “Sit down, and I’ll tell you all about it.” He led her to the bench, and they sat down, Angie keeping a safe distance from him. “I was paroled a year ago after serving nine years. I went in when I was 16, but I don’t ever plan on going back.” He closed his eyes, but Angie could see the moisture glistening on his lashes. “I killed my father,” he whispered.

Angie sucked her breath in. Sam was a murderer! How? What if he decided to kill again? She wanted to run, but knew she wouldn’t be able to get away. What had she gotten herself into? And all because of a little easy money!

 

*          *          *          *          *

  

Purchase your copy at Amazon

Secrets of a City Bench

 

 also available at Amazon

 by April Love

 

Gift of the Morning

 

 

Also available at Barnes and Noble

 

Secrets of a City Bench

 

 

 also available at Barnes and Noble 

by April Love

Gift of the Morning

 

 

 

Day one of my writing intesive

Today I start a 14-day writing intensive to kick-start myself back into the habit of daily writing.  I find it hard to make time for my writing.  I guess I figure it is selfish to take personal time and escape to a fantasy world in which I must live to make my story come to life.  How can I balance writing and raising a family of four girls {who I am home schooling} two pets and a hubby in the military thousands of miles away from my family?  All my time should be dedicated to my husband and children, right.

            However, after much encouragement over the past several months I know I have to write for my well-being.  I was feeling discouraged about my progress on the story of my heart because I have been working on it for over 12 years and I’m only 62 pages and 18 chapters into one book, and 14 pages and 5 chapters into the other.  I have three other projects that I have started as well.  However, today I only meant to print out the last 10 pages or so to read so that I can get back into the world of which I am supposed to be writing.  It has been almost a year since I have visited this world, so I have forgotten about the last segment written.  Well my printer in its infinite wisdom printed the entire manuscript.  I must admit it looks much more like a book in a stack of paper that thick. 

 

           

 

            Can this really be true?  Am I really an author?  That seems so far out of reach and like I have no right to claim.  Yet it must be so.  I have a manuscript that contains my words thoughts and ideas.  It is a tad bit overwhelming.  Yes, all those pieces of paper have words on them, 34,534 of them to be exact.

            So today, I jump into this challenge with all of the strength I can muster.  With manuscript in hand, I start a two-week journey into the deep recesses of my mind.  If I seem a little different over the next weeks or months or years it is most likely because I am trying to write about the lives of multiple people that are just a figment of my imagination.  I truly want to get this and its sequel story out.  I want to get the project that God has placed on my heart going.  Nevertheless, in the project God has assigned, much prayer and listening for His voice is required.  I think the discipline of writing every day and finishing these two pieces will get me ready and make me a little more confident in doing such a big project for my God.

            Today I give the proverbial middle finger to imposter syndrome.

According to Wikipedia (yes I know, it is not the best source, sue me) “impostor syndrome, sometimes called impostor phenomenon or fraud syndrome, is a psychological phenomenon in which people are unable to internalize their accomplishments.  Despite external evidence of their competence, those with the syndrome remain convinced that they are frauds and do not deserve the success they have achieved. Proof of success is dismissed as luck, timing, or as a result of deceiving others into thinking they are more intelligent and competent than they believe themselves to be.”

Why do I have imposter syndrome? Well, I believe I have this lovely syndrome because I don’t think that I deserve to be called an author. So what is my point in all of this? Today I am going to write. I am going to write like my life depends on it, because it really does. 

 

James 4:17

If anyone, then, knows the good they ought to do

 and does not do it, it is sin for them.

 

Here I sit, truly believing that I was commanded by God to write.  If I know that He has commanded me to write and I am not doing it then I am sinning. So I will be writing. And praying and waiting on His voice for the guidance I need to write what is truly going to glorify Him.

What are you not doing that you should be doing?  What good are you robbing the world of?  What excuse is the one that keeps you away from your purpose?  I am so ashamed to say that I am just too busy.  So many things have come up over the last few months that just leave me thinking “wow that was meant just for me.”  When God wants you to do something and you won’t bend, He will break you.  I can’t help but wonder if this is why I am being broken litteraly.  Are my legs not working as well, so that I can sit here and write? I know I am overthinking this but, well, it’s okay. My mind is loud and constantly going and sometimes I just have to focus it on one area so that I am not so overwhelmed.  Thankfully I am not the only person to ever overthink something.

Off to fulfill my purpose. What will you do with your time?