Those that know me, know that I am a thinker. I contemplate the least significant dealings to serious depravities in society. And when left to myself, my mind can wander for more time than I can count. That’s why I enjoy writing. All the thoughts that bump into each other, jumbled and crossing, can come out in a coherent (hopefully) work of some sort.
Recently, my mind has drifted to the thoughts of help. You know from last week, that I had a minor surgery. I have eight stitches in my back. I have required some minor help from my family to get chores done that I would normally just knock out. It made me wonder- what if I needed more help? This thought isn’t entirely new for me. I always have some sort of injury and fear the “If I need surgery, who would …?” So why the extra thought now? I have a friend that has hit hard times throughout the last year. Car accident, health issues, Covid positive, fewer hours of work, horrifyingly bad break up which not only left it’s toll mentally, physically, and emotionally, but also took furniture needed for daily living. I like to think that I have been there for my friend. I have helped in numerous ways, that I don’t want to share, but I have helped. What if my surgery had been a bigger surgery? Would that same friend offer me the help I needed? I think the answer would be yes. If I called and said, “Could you grab my kids?” or “On your way, would you mind grabbing…?” I think if the request was made, my friend would step up. I guess I’ll find out if that ever happens. Last weekend, I received phone calls, texts, and visits to see if I was doing alright. People have asked if I need anything. People have checked my pain levels and if I’m getting enough sleep. There has been a general level of care that I am appreciative of for sure. And, honestly, I don’t need anything. I’m still mobile, just slightly limited. I’m still able, though slower or more comical. And I have family members that can, and have, stepped up to fill in. (My kids are getting really good at laundry!) The other night, I saw a Facebook post shared for a GoFundMe page. It was for a neighbor. The mother is very sweet. I’ve never spoken to the father. There’s a teenage daughter that keeps out of trouble. Then there’s a child closer to my son’s age that I don’t necessarily encourage play times with, if you catch my drift. But when I saw this post, I was worried. I’m not friends with them, exactly, but I know them. The mother is very involved in the neighborhood. She’s helped with social events. She watches people’s children. She is active in her church. She gives out of the overflow of their garden. So I was troubled to see that medical issues had caused a financial burden for the family. And thing is, I know that there are so many other of our neighbors that feel the same way. Why? Because we know that they’re a good family. We know that the mother has done so much for so many. And that’s what makes me think of the question again- If I had a medical issue that created a burden, would I receive help? I don’t believe in karma. I don’t believe that good things happen to those who do good. It isn’t a biblical principal. Jesus told us we would have trials and tribulations. That I believe. But I do have to wonder, if I have helped enough people in my life that a handful of them would step up to return the favor. I wonder if strangers would our family because I’ve done something worth-while. And then I wonder if it matters? Do I trust that God will provide, in whatever method that looks like? I think that is truly the answer to my question. It is God who provides. He might provide through friends we’ve helped along the way or strangers that hear of us. He might provide through the church members or atheists. When I help those around me, it isn’t so that one day when I’m down and out they’ll be there for me. It should always be because God is using me to bless them. During this time of year, many people become altruistic. People from all walks of life look to help the poor, the widow, and the orphan. That’s fantastic. It’s just too bad that the motivation comes from an overweight man in red, rather than the Savior of the world. May we give with open hearts. May we help those in need. May we be the hands and feet of Christ, not Santa.
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A few weeks ago I posted about depression and anxiety. A simple piece stating what goes on in the mind of those dealing with these issues. A couple of weeks after that post, I decided I wanted to write this one. Then I decided against it. You see, this discusses something a little more personal in the lines of anxiety. I have argued back and forth, asking myself why I want to write this, and why I want to keep it a secret. Honestly, I feared the responses. On the one hand I would have people that would pity me. “Oh it’s okay, you’ll be fine. Keep going strong.” On the other hand I would be getting the eye rollers. “Way to make something out of nothing.” Please know, if you read this and think either side of those responses, this clearly wasn’t meant for you. Or maybe it was. Maybe you should reread it to fully understand. Anyway, I’ll begin.
They often say that no news is good news. I used to feel that way too. Even in recent months I believed that. Now I’m not so sure. As a writer, you must submit to publishers if you want your work published. It’s just the nature of the beast. Here’s the best part about submissions- they don’t have to respond to you. In fact, it is generally acknowledged that if you do not hear back from an editor by x amount of time, they do not want your work. And that was my first experience with no news is bad news. When I’m in my writer’s world, that is the take I have. This year I’ve also had some new medical issues arise. My neurologist was concerned about a few not happy issues that could be plaguing me and requested another MRI. I was told I would be called within a certain time. That time lapsed. Then the office called and scheduled a time for the PA to go over the results of the MRI. She didn’t call. So what did I assume? No news is good news. Not this time. She eventually did call. I have a tear in a disc in my cervical spine. We don’t know what caused it. I did physical therapy for a while. I still have issues, but whatever. Guess it isn’t that serious. It’s a better answer than what they were looking for! In recent months I figured it was time to see a new dermatologist. I had a few areas of concern. The PA got right to work and did some minor removals. She told me all would be biopsied and that they would call the next week with the results. One week passes. Two weeks pass. No news must be good news. Then I get a call. The week of Thanksgiving I’m told that one area is showing pre-cancerous cells and I need to get in for a procedure to remove some more, deeper cells. I sat in my closet. I sat in shock. I began to worry. I began to fear. She had said the word melanoma and I tried to remember, “Is that the good one or the bad one?” Here is wear someone with anxiety takes it too far. I play the worst-case scenarios. I didn’t take their next available appointment. If I did, I would have been unable to carry my bags on my family vacation, and that didn’t sound like fun. Stitches on my back on a plane ride sounded unenjoyable. I asked for a different date. I scheduled the appointment. Then my mind raced again. What if I’ve waited too long? What if the cells already changed and now the cancer is there? Will it be spreading by the time I go in? (Do you see how quickly this derailed?) This is anxiety in real life. Truth is, I called my mom and asked if she could watch the kids. I drove the kids to dance. I went home and worked. I moved on, keeping all the crazy to myself. Fewer than 5 people were told of what was going on. No reason to tell anyone else. If I’m really being honest, I wanted to tell everyone (hey internet!). I wanted people to be concerned for me. I wanted people to pray for me. But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. It was too fresh. I needed to process the situation. The day that this is posted is the day of the procedure. Do I have concerns? Yes. How big will the stitches be? How much of my life will be altered? Why can’t you just knock me out? I’m more nervous about being awake through the procedure than the actual procedure. This preventative measure is a good thing. I’m rational. But there is a little voice that plays the worst-case scenario still: they might find something worse. If you refer back to the post on anxiety you’ll remember that I know that I’m being crazy!! It’s okay. Readers, remember this- when you’re dealing with a person with anxiety issues, they don’t need a reminder of how they’re being irrational, or how everything will be fine. Deep down inside, we know it already. We (I) just need a sounding board to work out the crazy until we get to the clarity. Just smile, validate, laugh with, pray for, and listen. Eventually, we come around. No news is not always good news, but it isn’t always bad news. Sometimes it’s just news. I’m over people. I know, I know, you’ve heard me say that before. And the reason isn’t anything new, but come one people. Can we please smarten up? Anyone that is listening to the radio and hears the same commercial I do should be in an uproar. But I might be jumping ahead. Let me start with a fun little story.
When I was in middle school, I babysat for a family in the neighborhood. The kids were terrible, but I liked getting money. The job wasn’t all that hard, the kids were just awful. (As in the little girl was trying to jump on my back and cut my hair off on my second day.) They lived on a cul-de-sac, as many of us did. There were maybe seven houses on their street. Some days, I would ride my bike over. Other days, I would rollerblade. And sometimes a good walk was all I needed. One day, I decided to rollerblade over. We did our thing, snacks, play, TV, whatever. When the dad came home, I took off on my blades. But before I left the cul-de-sac, I stopped past a friend’s driveway since they were shooting around. I had my discman (that’s right, pre ipod/mp3 player days, the portable cd player) and was shooting one handed in my roller blades. Some little twerpy kid from another street decided he was going to be his usual obnoxious self. Through his annoyance and just plain bad behavior, he knocked my discman out of my hand to the ground. I was pissed. So what did I do? I dropped him. That’s right. I tripped a kid two years younger than myself so that he was on the ground. Why? I needed to defend myself and my property. Seems fair. I went home. My mother greeted me at the door in the kitchen as she was cooking dinner. She knew I was upset and asked about it. So I told her that he broke my discman from knocking it to the ground. She rolled her eyes. She knew he was a twerp. What could be worse? Twerpy McGee ran home to tell his mommy that I hurt him. He listed out how I tripped him and threw him to the ground. He told her I yelled at him to leave him alone. Oh, I was a bad person. Momma Twerp called my mother. She was very upset and decided that I should be punished for what I did to her son. On and on she went about my behavior and how I hurt him. And my mother? She asked a very important question. “Did he also tell you that he was harassing Jewel and knocked her discman out of her hands breaking it?” Gulp. Boy oh boy was I in trouble when I messed with her son. But man oh man, was she eating crow when she found out what her son had done first. As my father taught me, I never started a fight, but I’d sure as heck finish one. Why would I bring up this story? What on earth does it have to do with some radio ad? Thanks for asking. I love the participation and feedback. Recently we’ve been listening to the radio since Christmas music is on 24/7. (Yes, I’m one of those.) There’s a commercial on there that begins with banging on a door and a muffled voice, “IRS. Open up.” The commentator than tells us all about the big, bad IRS and all the ways they come after us. Then we hear, “Don’t be a victim!” I’m sorry. So, a person doesn’t pay their taxes for five years. They receive notices, phone calls, emails, and now the IRS at their door. And who is the victim? The person that committed a federal crime is the victim. *Insert a facepalm or banging my head against a wall.* How is this possible? The twerp didn’t pay taxes. I paid my taxes. I pay taxes for roads I barely use (I don’t go out much). I pay taxes to schools that my children don’t attend and my husband doesn’t work for. I pay taxes on every dime I make for book sales, personal training, and tutoring. I pay. But someone decides they don’t have to pay and they’re the victim? I’m paying for that kids free or reduced lunch every day and they’re the victim? It’s sickening. The worst part about all of this, is that so many people are numb to it. Society doesn’t bat an eye at the commercial. We have created a world where people get to commit crimes and then get bailed out of their consequences. We need to do better. We need to teach our children about consequences, and stick to them. We shouldn’t like the consequences for bad behavior. That’s the point. It teaches us to not do it again. We need to stop letting our kids and others off the hook. In the end, we’re the victims that pay. |
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May 2023
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