MY 500 W0RDS: Day 31

"Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, 

but only one gets the prize? 

Run in such a way as to get the prize."

―1 Corinthians 9:24, NIV

Day 31: Check! 861 words
Challenge: Write about what it feels like to finish something
Topic: A 10K race I ran in 1992 at the beach. 

When I pulled out my race pictures today, I noticed the race date was October 31st―exactly twenty-two years ago to the day. What’s with that? I made good time on the first half of the course, but when I made the loop for the three-mile return, I was running into the wind. It was tough. At times, I doubted I’d make it. About a mile from the finish line, I glanced back and saw the follow-up car on my heels. I was last. (Coming in last was always my greatest fear.)

Afterward, I stayed to see the others get their awards. I was shocked when they called my name. I’d won FIRST place in the women’s 40-45 age group. As I walked up to get my trophy, all I could think about was this Scripture: “So the last shall be first, and the first shall be last,” (Matthew 20:16, KJV).

With running, writing, or whatever it is we choose to do, we must push ourselves past the place where we want to give up. Even if we come in last, we’re far ahead of those who never started. In a scene from, Chariots of Fire, British track and field athlete, Harold Abrahams said to his fiancée: “If I can’t win, I won’t run!” Her reply was: “If you won’t run, you can’t win.”

Over 17,000 words later, I can say with confidence: “I am a writer. I ran, and I won!” And so did all of you who participated in this challenge. Congratulations on finishing this leg of the course. Thank you for your words of encouragement along the way. They made a difference. Thanks also to Jeff and Christine for inviting me on this journey. It’s been great, and I plan to keep on running.

“I’m off and running, and I’m not turning back. So let’s keep focused on that goal, those of us who want everything God has for us. If any of you have something else in mind, something less than total commitment, God will clear your blurred vision—you’ll see it yet! Now that we’re on the right track, let’s stay on it.”―Phil 3:14-16, MSG

Now it's your turn. Is there something you've been wanting to do but have been too afraid to start? Remember, "If you won't run, you can't win."

ON YOUR MARK. GET SET. GO!

I always welcome your comments.

Blessings,
Starr

MY 500 WORDS: Day 21

“Reckless words pierce like a sword,

 but the tongue of the wise brings healing.”

―Proverbs 12:18, NIV

No Laughing Matter

“Fatty, fatty, two-by-four, can’t fit through the bathroom door.”

Most of us experienced some degree of harassment as a child. In my generation, being targeted with taunts such as this one, called disparaging names, or butted with cruel jokes was often regarded as “harmless child’s play” or “teasing.” While the perpetrator walked away scot-free, the victim, made a laughing stock, had no other recourse than to shout: “Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”

Unkind words do hurt; they leave gaping wounds in one’s soul and inflict profound emotional scars. Children within earshot of verbal malice often perceive the words they hear as truth. Graver still, with enough repetition, the abused victims begin to believe the lies about themselves. Yes, words can cut deeply―even when untrue.

Bullying is a daily occurrence in our culture. About half of today’s teenagers have been victims of physical, verbal or cyber bullying. Bullying is on the upswing in our schools, especially among lower grade girls. According to a 2014 UCLA psychology study, twenty-eight percent of sixth through twelfth graders are the victims of bullying and thirty percent admit to being bullies themselves. Every day, approximately 160,000 teens drop out of school due to this growing epidemic. A more somber finding is that seventy-five percent of school shootings are linked to the prior harassment and bullying of the shooter.

Society often calculates an individual’s worth according to their appearance or accomplishments. We see this play out daily as our culture rewards those who are attractive, well educated, and talented, while others ache for someone to invite them to participate in life. Anyone can be the subject of bullying, but those with developmental disabilities, or those looked on as different are easy prey for tyrants who wish to elevate themselves in the eyes of others.

As the mother of a child with Down syndrome, I have firsthand experience with the heartbreak of children labeled “different” and considered “less than.” I’ve also seen the delight in their eyes when others reach out to include them in activities. Proverbs tells us the tongue holds the power of life and death; we can choose to use our tongues to perpetrate suffering or to administer healing.

We’re all different, and different is good. God created each of us with a unique personality and granted us varying gifts. Those willing to invest themselves in socially challenged individuals will discover their refreshing inner qualities: unconditional love, a desire to please, pride in a job well done, sincere empathy, selflessness, the voice of truth, and unlimited forgiveness.

Let’s celebrate the beauty of our differences and unite with others to accomplish the tasks God sets before us. Even in our diversity, we'll find we’re more alike than different. Because of our differences, we’ll recognize our need for one another, and within our weaknesses, we'll find our need for God.

Look beyond the physical appearance of someone others reject and invite him or her to participate in living. Your life will be enriched. 

Now it's your turn. Has your life been enriched by someone with a disability? If so, please share how.

I always welcome your comments.

Blessings,
Starr

Day 21: My 500 Words ~ 525words

Challenge: Write about justice

My 500 Words: Day 17

What Say Ye, Yea or Nay?

Our world is teeming with a plethora of conflicting beliefs. Everyone has an opinion, and rightly so. It’s just that some are so loud.

The airwaves are plastered with talking heads―every pundit, politician, priest and public figure touts their cause―inflicting their rationale on those still waffling on the issues at hand. Quite often, the listener isn’t regarded as someone fully capable of making an intelligent decision but as a “Yea” vote to be vied for in support of some self-serving agenda. The motivation behind campaigning or reporting the news is less and less about enlightenment, and more and more about mass indoctrination. Most of society is in favor of free speech but under the watch of today’s leaders, a nation of free thinkers is swiftly becoming taboo.

As citizens of the United States, we have a moral obligation to participate in a free political process. It’s our obligation to stay abreast of current events and to cast our ballots at the polls. Not only is voting our responsibility, it’s our privilege―a privilege often taken for granted and one that is rapidly becoming the target of cynicism.

Although I vote and encourage others to do the same, one wonders if the act of voting is just that―an act. Is our government allowing us to participate in the political process only to pacify our quest for the right to be heard? When Supreme Court justices and federal judges can strike down the vote of the people with a swipe of their pen and never look back, it causes one to speculate. Their actions based on the pretense of upholding The United States Constitution, in fact, abdicate the rights of the people they serve. The heartbreaking result is the obliteration of democracy established by the people and for the people and upon the backs of those who gave their lives so our nation might live.  

Abraham Lincoln asserted, “Elections belong to the people. It's their decision. If they decide to turn their back on the fire and burn their behinds, then they will just have to sit on their blisters.”

Hence, just give us the facts, a “Yea” or “Nay” say, and permit our choices to prevail. Encourage us to remain a nation of independent thinkers, and if necessary, give us a pillow and allow our blisters to heal.

What say ye, Yea or Nay?

I always welcome your comments.

Blessings, 

Starr

Day 17: My 500 Words ~ 395 words

Challenge: Write a manifesto

MY 500 WORDS: Day 15

When Words Don't Flow

Today, I've reached Milepost 15 in my 31-day writing challenge―halfway to the finish line.

Whoops! Perhaps, I should reword that. I’m halfway to my goal―my first goal. I’ve no plan to end this journey at Milepost 31. Instead, I intend to move toward each additional goal by facing my writing challenges head on. My purpose for embarking on this journey wasn’t to simply reach a goal but to establish an effective writing lifestyle. That will only happen when I replace the poor habits that have thwarted my progress as a writer with a healthy and consistent writing routine.

Throughout this challenge, I’ve logged in 8,923 words. I’m thrilled. At the start of this challenge, I wasn’t sure how far I’d go in this journey. I simply knew I had to begin. After all, writer’s write. A fellow-artist once told me: “In order to paint, you must show up each day." The same is true for writers. 

We. Must. Show. Up.

Over the last fourteen days of showing up, I’ve had to remind myself: Water doesn’t flow from a faucet that is turned off. Someone must turn it on. Unless I open up a channel for my words to flow through, there will be no words.

Tapping out the first few letters on the keys of my laptop gives rise to a steady stream of words. Words that begin as a trickle soon develop into phrases that expand into paragraphs and flow into finished bodies of work. However, it all starts with a single word.

A few days ago, my daughter, who has Down syndrome, was listening to her favorite CD through her headphones as I was driving her to an appointment. Before long, she huffed and began to thump her CD player with her hand.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

She gave no reply as she continued to thump her player in frustration.

“What’s wrong? Is your CD player not working?”

“No.”

“How long has it not been working.”

No answer. Thump. Thump.

“Did it work yesterday?”

“No.”

“Did it work the day before?”

“No.”

“Did you wear your headphones at work, anyway?”

“Yes.”

My heart broke. 

After her appointment, I stopped at the store for batteries, replaced the old ones in her player and drove her back to work. When I left, she had her headset on and was happily working to the beat of the music once again.

As I took my seat behind the wheel of my car, God whispered: “She didn't hear anything, but she kept on listening. You should too.”

Wow! Once again, my daughter was the teacher, and I was the student. 

Sometimes as writers, we sit down to write and there are no words. However, just as I rushed to supply the batteries necessary for my daughter to hear her music again, God will supply the words we need when the time is right.

So, don’t grow weary and lose heart, my friend. Keep. On. Listening. The words will come, and you’ll write to their beat once more.

"Do not throw away your confidence; it will be richly rewarded. You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God you will receive what he has promised." 
―Hebrews 11:25-26, NIV

I always welcome your comments.

Blessings,

Starr

Day 15: My 500 Words ~ 536 words
Challenge: Evaluate

MY 500 WORDS: Day 13

Been There. Done That. Got the Tee-shirt.

Do you know it’s dark in North Carolina at 5:45 a.m.? Ask me how I know.

It can’t be time to get up―another ten minutes, please. Wasn’t it just five hours ago that I fell into bed after putting the period on day twelve of my 31-day writing challenge? Tell me it’s not day thirteen already.

I want to roll back over and bury myself in the covers, but I know I can’t. We’d agreed. Today was the day. The day we’d talked about and put off for two years.

The light from the bathroom split the blackness of the hallway like a sleek silver cord. My husband was already up. At least he wasn’t singing: Oh, what a beautiful morning. Oh, what a beautiful day.  Not yet, anyway.

      
Okay. I can’t put it off any longer. The Body Mass Index scale doesn’t lie and neither do my clothes. I refuse to exchange my skinny Not Your Daughter’s Jeans for Yep; They're Mom Jeans. It’s time. I’m worth it.

Did I just say it's time?

Hitting the off button on the alarm, I roll out of bed and shuffle my way toward the light. It’s difficult being married to a morning person, but I secretly wish I could be one too. I’ve tried a number of times to change my ways, but I always revert to my old habits. I just can’t seem to shut down my day on the backside. It’s a pattern in our family. Some might say a generational curse. It’s mom’s fault, you know. Most of the time, it works out okay, but today―not so much. I need to get a grip on this. Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings are going to be starting mighty early around here.

Did I mention it's dark at 5:45 a.m.?

Within forty-five minutes, we’re out the door. Eight-O’clock whole bean Columbian, dark rich caffeinated coffee in my cup. Hey! The bag says Eight-O’clock, not Six-Thirty. Can we, please go back to bed and start this day over? 

It’s a good thing Mr. A.M. is driving, but too bad the gym is less than ten minutes from our door―no time for snoozing en route. There’s a steady stream of headlights headed in the opposite direction. Who knew?

Do you know it’s dark at 6:30 a.m. in North Carolina?

When we pull up, there are only a few cars in the parking lot, and I can see through the window that there are two elliptical machines, not in use. Perfect. We’ll get in our fifteen-minute warm-up and hit the weights.

 As soon as we walk in the door, a couple of workout partners from two years ago greet us.

“Have you been coming the whole time?” I ask.

“Yes,” they reply in unison.

I guess they’re morning people too.

I only had trouble remembering how to set a couple of the machines as we worked our way through the circuit. I opted to back off some of the weight, but our work-outs went well. It felt good to be up and at ‘em so early. I even picked up a tee-shirt on the way out. It’ll look great with my skinny jeans. 

Do you know it’s light at 7:30 a.m. in North Carolina? Ask me how I know.

Are you a morning person or a night owl?

I always welcome your comments.

Blessings, 

Starr

Day 13: My 500 Words ~ 569 words

Challenge: Tell Us About Your Day

MY 500 WORDS: Day 10

"For whatever was written in the past was written for our instruction, 

so that we may have hope through endurance and through 

the encouragement from the Scriptures."

―Romans 15:4, HCSB 

Middle of the Pack

My earliest memories of grade school are sketchy, but I do remember my first writing assignment in the first grade. Our teacher handed each student a ruled sheet of handwriting paper and told us to write our names on the first line. How hard could it be, right? With a pencil as broad as my thumb and my tongue thrust between my teeth at just the right angle, I scrawled my name with broad, deliberate strokes on the top line of my paper. As our teacher ambled through the rows of students, she gave nods of approval―until she came to me. With a scowl, she eyed my name―written on the first line of the top margin instead of within the first two lines―and with a gruff reprimand gave my blonde bangs a quick yank. (No wonder it’s taken me over two-thirds of my life to realize I’m a writer. If not for that early trauma, I’m convinced I’d be a New York Times best-selling author by now.)

I’ve written in a journal the majority of my adult life, but I never thought of myself as a writer. I was simply doing what came naturally. I have drawers of journals spanning several decades that shelter great portions of my life. Thumbing through their pages, I warmly recall long-forgotten events and am reminded of the importance of writing things down.

My journals are a place to record significant events, tape special cards and photos, sort through my thoughts, and process my feelings. Above all, my journals are a place to pour out the fountain of my heart to God and record his words to me. Being able to look back and remember his faithfulness throughout my life is encouraging as I face new challenges. I keep in mind that what God did before, he can and will do again.

In 2011, a dear friend invited me to a writer’s conference held in the mountains north of Phoenix. There, surrounded by a small group of women who shared a passion for writing, I was incurably bitten by the writing bug and uncovered my gift and love of words. To discover this incredible skill in the winter of my life is bittersweet. On one hand, it’s exhilarating, and on the other hand, discouraging. The more I learn about writing, the more I realize how much more there is to learn. The frustrating fact is that I haven’t enough years left to perfect my craft. My redemption is that it’s never too late to begin writing and experience its joys. Even, if only writing for an audience of one, my time with Him is worth the benefits it brings.

Writing is therapeutic and invigorating. It brings healing to my body, mind and spirit. Just as my body needs physical exercise to keep in shape, writing jumpstarts and gives my brain a workout. It refines my thoughts, flushes the slush, and permits those things worth keeping to rise to the surface.

The greatest temptation and hindrance to my growth as a writer is allowing myself to fall into a pit of comparison. Reading the brilliant works of others should serve as a path of inspiration and learning. Instead, there are times my inner critic uses them to usher me down the boulevard of discouragement. My inner critic’s voice assures me my work will never be “as good” as theirs, while my voice of reason lies sprawled in the ditch of despair. The temptation to choose an alternate route and bypass the gift within me seems like a plausible solution until I remind myself: anything worth doing takes effort, but the reward is always great.

Training my heart to express gratitude for the privilege of writing and keeping a steady pace in the midst of my struggle are keys that release a spirit of joy within me. Regardless of which route I take, I’ll always be where I need to be―in the middle of the pack. When I look ahead, I see throngs of people on the trail before me. I work hard to catch up. As I look behind me, I see others who need words of encouragement. I offer them. As I look from side to side, I realize I’m not alone. Others walk with me, ready to give me a hand up when I stumble. I'll take it.

Writing may be a solitary journey, but it’s not a solo sport; I don’t need to walk alone. 

Besides, I’m learning to like being in the middle of the pack. I'm in great company here!

________________

Do you keep a journal? How has God used it in your life?

I always welcome your comments.

Blessings, 
Starr

Day 10: My 500 Words ~ 764 words

Challenge: Write about writing

MY 500 WORDS: Day 7

From Penang Pilot to Palette and Pen

I am a third-generation artist. I realized from a young age that I wanted to paint like my father. I only wish someone had told me sooner that I’m a writer as well. 

I  grew up in a family brimming with creativity. I never knew my paternal grandfather, a Scottish sea captain. I've only read of his high-seas adventures in his autobiography, Home is the Sailor: The Sea Life of William Brown, Master Mariner and Penang Pilot. After my grandfather wrote his life story, his “friend,” William Blain, offered to help him locate a publisher. It broke my grandfather’s heart to discover upon publication by Sheridan House in 1940 that Blain had falsely signed his name as the author of the book. In the early 2000s, I was still able to find and purchase used copies online. My grandfather’s lifeblood was the sea and when not behind the pilot’s wheel, he could at times be found wielding a brush behind his easel, painting the sea and its massive sailing ships.

My father chose his gift of art above his father’s affinity for the sea. He painted in every medium, was a master woodcarver and had more talent in his little finger than I have in my entire body. At twenty-one, he came to the states via Halifax, Nova Scotia with dreams of being a professional artist. He began his career drawing for newspapers across the nation never to return to his Scottish highlands. Instead, while drawing for the Fayetteville Observer in North Carolina, his heart was stolen by a young waitress in a downtown coffee shop. He proceeded to woo her and won her affections by sketching pictures for her on napkins. They married and had two girls while living out his artist’s dream. He died at the age of sixty-two. A brilliant talent and a beautiful life cut far too short.

Although my mother never pursued the arts professionally, she was an avid reader; enjoyed writing―poetry especially―and had a creative flair for dried floral arranging. My only sibling is also artistic. Although she laid her brushes down after the birth of her daughter, she expresses her innate eye for beauty in a number of other ways.

Shortly after my mother’s death in 2011, I was invited by a friend to attend a small writer’s conference in the mountain desert north of Phoenix. Although I’ve kept a journal most of my adult life, I was incurably bitten by the writing bug and uncovered my gift and love for words. My only regret is that it's taken me more than two-thirds of my life to discover this satisfying labor of love. I remember thinking after attending my second writer’s conference that there weren’t enough years left for me to learn all I need to know to perfect my writing craft, much less to become a published author.

Now, several years into my writing journey, I've found one thing to be true―it’s never too late to begin to experience the joys of writing. Even if only writing for an audience of one,  I'm worth it.

H. Jackson Brown, Jr. wrote in P.S. I Love You: “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

I may be growing old, but I have salt in my veins, paint in my bones and words in my soul that long for the freedom to sail beyond their safe harbor.

I am a writer. It’s time I begin to act like one.

What is one thing you wish someone would have told you sooner?

I always welcome your comments.

Blessings,
Starr

Day 7: Check! 617 words.
Challenge: What I wish someone would have told me sooner.

MY 500 WORDS: Day 5

"So teach us to number our days aright, 

that we may present to you a heart of wisdom."

—Psalm 90:12, NAS

This is the Day

Today My 500 Words writer’s challenge is to write about the most important day of my life―to describe a day I will never forget. Attempting to declare one day or life event more important than any other is, indeed, an extreme challenge.

I consider the first day I sat in kindergarten across the table from the little girl in a pretty orange dress with a lace butterfly on the collar. I relive the day I moved as an eleven-year-old with my family to a new home 750 miles away. I recall the death of my father when I was twenty-one and more recently the death of my mother who was a vital part of my life for sixty-two years. I remember my high school graduation and exchanging my small hometown life for the unknown adventures of art school in the big city of Atlanta. I reminisce about the day I said, “yes,” to my soul mate and, “I will,” to him on our wedding day. I delight again over the joyous birth of our first child who was without a doubt the most beautiful baby girl in the world, perfect in every way. I reflect on the bittersweet birth of our precious second daughter born with Down syndrome and the challenging days that stretched ahead of us. There is no shortage of important life-altering events within my sixty plus years and none that I can deem more important than another outside of the day I acknowledged Jesus as my personal Savior and Lord. All of them have ushered me to this moment in time and have added toward molding me into the person God designed me to be.

So, which day do I choose as the most important day of my life? In view of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s quote, “Write it on your heart that every day is the best day of your year,” I choose today.

Have you ever taken the time to number your days? Today, as I write this, I am 23,995 days old. It sounds as if Methuselah is my next of kin, doesn’t it? According to the U. S. Social Security Administration’s life expectancy calculator, I can expect to live another 20.9 years, or another 7,629 days. When I look at that number in relation to the days I’ve already lived, it puts my life in sobering perspective. It reminds me to slow down, breathe, spend time with my family and friends, do those things that spring from my heart and steal quiet moments with the Father of time. The previous moment has passed, and the subsequent moment may never come. This moment is all I have. This moment is my life and this day is my most important day.

Consider the brevity of life and devote your heart to true wisdom―a wisdom that God imparts to us through his Holy Spirit in those quiet moments with him. Stop keeping track of the moments and start numbering your days “aright.” Make each moment count for eternity.

“This is the day the LORD has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it.” ―Psalm 118:24, NLT

U. S. Social Security Administration’s life expectancy calculator website: http://www.socialsecurity.gov/OACT/population/longevity.html

 __________________

Which day would you consider the most important day of your life?

I always welcome your comments.

Blessings, 

Starr


Day 5: Check! 566 words. 
Challenge: Write about the most important day of your life. 

MY 500 WORDS: Day 3

Day 3 of My 500 Words 31-Day Writer's Challenge. Check! 550 words.

Topic: Writer on the Rise:The Early Bird Really Does Get the Worm. 

Happy writing everyone. This girl's gotta worm to wash down with her second cup of joe.

Are you an early riser or a night owl?

I always welcome your comments. 

Blessings, 

Starr