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Tuesday, July 26, 2011

SOMETHING MORE (part 5 of The journey of Journey Home)

Trying to face the world with a face that was injured, broken bones, pins and pains was more than a challenge.  Everyday was an endurance and torture but there had to be a reason for all of it.  There had to be something that I needed to do in this life.  I had no idea what my purpose in life was and little time to contemplate.  I was surviving.  I had to work to be able to walk.  With the back problems it was difficult but using my arms to and hands to work a walker was torturous.  The broken ribs were amazing and the foot was pinned back together.

Days passed into weeks and weeks into months and they were all very much the same.  I was surviving.  There were days that I cried and days that I prayed.  There were days that I almost gave up all hope but not quite.  Things were healing inside and out but healing better than we could ever hope.  Even my doctor said God had a hand in my recovery.  There is no way to say how blessed and lucky I am.  I could have died and nearly did die in that accident…but why do I have this time and what am I to do with it?  What use am I to others?

If you want the truth…I still do not have the answers.  All I can do is be thankful for the many blessings that I do have and try to do and be the best than I can. 

I used to walk.  If my nerves were bad I could go for a walk.  In the early morning it was cool and the air was crisp and cool.  There would often be the sweet smell of flowers blooming and the earthy smell of the wooded areas.  There often were deer that stood motionless watching with curiosity or they bounded back into the woods.  The little squirrels danced in the branches and from tree to tree.  Stress and worry would seem to fade with each step and moment by moment.

If I felt sadness, it was hard to continue to feel so oppressed surrounded by such peace and beauty.  If I was happy I could take delight in the day.   Walking helped me to stay in shape inside and out.

We had been on the internet for a short time but with all of the bills could not continue to have the internet.  The world and people in it is a busy place and I felt isolated.  The healing continued and my face was unbelievable. 

Using my hands was a problem.  They hurt to move and were stiff.  We had no insurance.  (I have been uninsurable except with exceptionally high premiums and pre-existing clauses) for years.  I had no physical therapy or rehab and live out away from town.  I would have to be my own rehab and therapy.  I got more play doh and began to try to make my flowers.  For many years I used to make tiny flowers and put them is shells.  I wrote a thought or two about what they really are.  I am going to share that thought because it helped me as much as it could ever do for another.  I often gave the little roses away and would always receive a smile in return.  I heard from a friend not long ago that the one he got for one of his family members is still in place on a shelf in their livingroom.  Here is Playdoh………

            You may hold and see and think this is a Play Doh rose in a shell.  Have you looked?  Have you really looked?  You may see the craftsmanship it took to create it and think it is, or is not so good.  If that is what you see and feel as you hold it in your hand---then I give up and it really is a Play Doh rose in a shell. 
            A year from now or five or ten, you may someday (if it is really well preserved.  Play Doh really is child’s play clay) look again.  It really is just Play Doh because, where is the child in us all?  Where did the joy and enthusiasm go at seeing a flower bloom?  I know porcelain, but Play Doh makes me feel.
            Winter can be long and cold and hard.  It can be dreary in winter and then a single flower blooms, or was it the only flower we took the time to see?  In your hand you hold the power, mystery, and changing seasons of the sea.   The strength of that shell cradles a flower, a bloom of many petals, each crafted and sculpted to form not only the sight of a flower, but a feeling.
            We all need a feeling of hope and rebirth.  The strength and passion of the sea holds the beauty and simple times in life.  If passed from one to another, what greater gift could one give than heart, soul, feeling and love that was crafted in each and every single petal to pass along a good thought, loving care and a good feeling?
It’s a good feeling.
May God Bless and keep you and let you feel peace.
Linda Nance

I wanted to be able to feel joy and hope again.  I wanted to be able to reach out in some way and live instead of just being alive.  I wanted to make my little flowers bloom.  Most of the time I make larger blooms.  They are easier for me to form.  Every once in a while I am able to make the tiny ones and was determined to see my flowers again with colors I blended individually. 

I worked and worked until I could hold one in my hand and close my eyes seeing the beauty of the ocean.  I could picture the sunsets and the waves.  I could hear the sounds and feel the fresh ocean breezes.  Winter was cold and hard and brought aches and pains and loneliness at times.  For that moment of memories it was warm in my heart.

I inspected each tiny petal for the way it curved and folded to form the flower bloom.  I felt the hope and peace of taking the time to look at the flowers.  I began to have a feeling of hope and rebirth.  It was time to do more.  I was very limited on time that I could be upright sitting and especially standing but every day I grew stronger and worked harder.  I began to get ideas for the book I had been working on and went back to writing.

I wrote for hours.  I thought and worked to make this story special.  I wanted anyone who read it to not only have an interesting story but one that they could feel the emotions along with the characters and see the sights, smell the smells, love some, hate some and fear some of the characters.  The more I wrote the more I wanted to write.  It was a dream to actually write a whole book.

Time passed and the story continued but it was slow.  We often take things for granted until they no longer work or are painful.  This was not only occupying my mind and giving me something special to do; it was working my hands too.  I did not give up.  Click, Click, Click, Journey Home was becoming real.

Time had passed and I had healed beyond our hopes and dreams.  I was still writing and clicking away as they end of the story neared.  I hoped that the reader would not piece it all together and know the ending before they read it.  So far everyone who has contacted me has said they were so surprised.  I loved the story but it needed more.  It needed to be more.  There were things that I had not accomplished….but I needed more.

I got an idea.  I would take a class.  I wanted to learn.  Surely there would be some way that I could take a class about writing and would do my best to learn all that I could.  I would write and re-write and re-write again until I could make it more than a story.  I wanted it to be a novel.  I wanted it to be the best that I could make it and was determined not to stop until it was something I could be proud of and satisfied with.  Journey Home.  It was almost there, but not quite.

Face the world, find a way and make each day filled with something more.         The Journey of Journey Home continues. 
With every sunrise I could begin to feel the hope of a new day.

My flowers may not be perfect but each one is and was special.  I began to get outside and begin to marvel at the delicate beauty of the tiniest wild flowers

1 comment:

  1. Your flowers are beautiful, and so is your writing about them. (Now I wish I had kids and playdough again.)