It’s 8:44 pm, December 29, 2016, and as I sit down to my computer I am filled with profound sorrow—my heart deeply broken, wounded. My dad, my hero, died this morning, complications related to the dementia that he fought for more than three years.
When my older sister delivered the devastating news after calling me this morning, I sat numb. Surely, she's mistaken, or perhaps, I'm having a nightmare. "Please God, let me be having a nightmare," I thought. Mere moments after I hung up the phone, still numb, I arose, showered and headed to my parents' home praying that my sister was mistaken.
It seemed only a few short hours before that I'd seen my dad. I spent most of yesterday with him—sitting with him, talking with him, singing to him, dancing "with" him (we liked to keep the swing music channel playing because he liked the music), trying to coax him to eat. I wheeled him over to the front door so he could look out and see what a beautiful day it was, never suspecting that those moments, that day, would be our last together.
I don’t think I told my father often enough how much I loved and respected him, or how much I learned from him. I'm certain he knew. Over the course of my life, particularly after becoming a teenager, my father and I had our share of disagreements about a great many things. Most children and their parents do, yet I respected him as a father and as a man, and loved him deeply, and I know he loved me. He loved all of us very deeply—his children, grandchildren, great grands, and my mom. He was very proud of his family.
Before the dementia and even in the early to middle stages of it, my father always carried himself with an air of dignity and confidence and grace, wherever he went. He was a strong, intelligent, independent, hardworking, and genial man of steadfast faith and conviction.
He loved people and he loved serving people. He was committed to demonstrating his faith in God through his actions—he diligently and compassionately served the members of his congregations and the community for more than 60 years. Whenever someone called my dad for prayer, he responded. Sometimes it didn’t matter what time of the night or day it was. I witnessed him on many occasions get out of his bed after midnight to drive to a hospital to pray for a member or one of their family members who was sick and wanted prayer. You could say that love by deed, not by word only was his motto.
I used to marvel at the ease with which my father could engage strangers in hours-long conversations, about pretty much anything: religion, politics, raising children, cars, sports, home repairs, fishing, race walking, and very definitely the Bible. It seemed as if people instinctively knew he was a man who cared about them and would try to help them in some way if need be, so they would pour out their hearts to him and he'd listen, always directing them to trust and believe in God to work things out on their behalf. I also think his friends and neighbors just enjoyed talking with him because he had such a warm, friendly presence.
For nearly 20 years, I had the honor of serving as my father’s assistant and office administrator at the church that he founded and oversaw for nearly 50 years. I accompanied him to most of his speaking engagements, and to a few marriage ceremonies, funeral services, nursing home and hospital visits and occasional home visits. It was my job to keep up with his hat (as he never went anywhere without a proper hat), his robe, and sometimes his Bible. Witnessing him in action outside of Sunday mornings, I can attest as can my entire family to the fact that he held firm in his beliefs and what he taught others about God and Christ. Even during the final days of his life, we would hear him talking of God's love, singing a praise song even if he could no longer remember all the words, and offering up a “hallelujah” or two. I remember him telling me just a few days before he died as I sat by his bed, "It'll be alright, God is going to bless you, baby."
Among my favorite sermons that I can recall my dad preaching was some years ago, mid 2000s, about the story of how King Jehoshaphat and the children of Israel prevailed against a threatened attack by the Moabites and Ammonites. (2 Chronicles: 20) When my dad started feeling that thing as he was talking, I remember vividly how he began to walk up and down the aisles—handkerchief in hand, head thrown back—exuberantly declaring over and over and over again as King Jehoshaphat had instructed the children of Israel to do: “Praise the LORD, for his mercy endures forever. Praise the LORD, for his mercy endures forever.” "Whatever you're going through, whatever the problem," I remember him saying just keep repeating “Praise the LORD, for his mercy endures forever.”’
At home later that evening, I could still hear my father's voice ringing in my ears: "Praise the Lord, for his mercy endures forever."
Despite growing up poor in the segregated south, my dad knew he wanted more for his life and was determined to get it. He often shared the story of how he committed himself to leaving the red dirt roads of Texasville, Ala., and forging a better life for himself and the family he hoped to have one day. He devoted himself to learning to read and write, believing that education/knowledge was his way out of poverty. My dad loved to read, he loved learning. During the early years of his life and ministry, he read through the Bible so many times that he could quote it word for word, chapter and verse, even the most obscure passages.
He instilled in us, his children, a great thirst for knowledge and passion for education. I cannot count the number of times he'd admonish us while we were in school to make learning as much as we could a top priority. He'd share with us stories of how blacks in the south were denied access to quality education, and how vitally important it is to our success in life to take advantage of any opportunity we have to learn. "People can take away your money and your possessions,” he'd tell us, “but what you have inside you, inside your head, no one can take that away.”
My father also instilled in us the value of hard work and giving 200 percent to whatever you do. He encouraged us to always be diligent in our work, no matter what job or position we held. Countless times I'd listen as he reminded me or someone else, "Even if you're only hired to be the janitor, then you mop floors like Michelangelo painted pictures," an expression I would later learn that he loosely borrowed from the late Dr. Martin Luther King. It may not have been an original expression, but my dad believed it and demonstrated it as he was definitely a diligent worker. In fact, it was his diligence while working as a janitor at NSA that caught the attention of a director who offered him the opportunity to secure a better position provided my dad complete college. He did and was promoted as promised. My dad retired from NSA in 1977 as one of the agency's chief analysts. It was this same diligence that earned him a number of top sales awards and honors as a district manager for World Book. Not bad for an African American man raised in abject poverty in a small town in Alabama that most people have never heard of.
Years after retiring, my dad would give me and my family another reason to be very proud of him when at the ripe young age of 75 he received his Master's in Divinity; about two years later at 77, he received his Doctorate degree, officially earning the title "Dr. King" by which many people had been referring to him for years.
By afternoon today, my siblings and I began notifying friends, extended family members, neighbors, and former members of his congregation about my dad's death. Almost immediately, the condolences began pouring in with many expressing how much they loved my dad and how his presence in their life had impacted them for the better. It made my heart glad for others to share how much they loved and respected my dad.
In January of this year, I wrote another post about being awakened one night by my dad while staying at my parents’ home. He was delivering what sounded like a sermon—the familiar preacher's cadence, strong urging, intermingled with an occasional “Hallelujah.” I recalled that night how just six years ago, while watching my father speak one Sunday morning I thought that he may very well leave this life like Moses—full of strength and days. He was already in his mid-80s then, and preached as hard that day as I had heard him preach 20 years prior.
As the dementia took hold and he began to struggle to recall the Bible verses that once came to him so easily, or what he had eaten for dinner mere moments after he'd eaten it, my faith began to falter. It was rekindled that night in January as I listened to him speak. And in the days afterward, I could still sense the fight in him as he sought to hold onto the memories of the names of his children and grandchildren, the place where he grew up and his current home, his sense of independence (“I know what I’m doing,” he'd shout sometimes when someone was trying to help him), and even his own name.
“Keep fighting dad!” I wrote. “While you may not leave here like Moses, at the very least you'll be able to say like Paul: "I have fought a good fight, I have kept the faith.”’
My dad lived a remarkable life devoted not only to caring for his family, but also to caring for and serving his neighbors, church members, and anyone else God placed in his path. He was loved by many, most especially his family.
Right now my family and I are hurting—deeply. I cannot find the words to fully describe the pain and emptiness I am feeling in my heart. Even now as I sit
here writing this, I am wishing I could just close my eyes and awaken
to discover that this whole day has been one really long, bad dream. I
don’t expect this hurt, this emptiness I'm feeling to ever fully leave
me as the selfish part of me wanted my dad to tough it out and remain
here with me.
The loving part of me, however, deeply
desired for him to be free of the hateful disease that had stolen his
mind and life. I had prayed countless days and nights since my dad’s
became ill for his healing until his last day in his physical body. And still I prayed, even after he departed. For
reasons I will never know, it was not to be.
I am grateful for all the invaluable lessons my father taught me, and for the love he showered upon me, upon all of us. Throughout his life, throughout his ministry, he gave selflessly of himself. Even when my father and I disagreed, sometimes quite intensely, I knew he loved me. He simply wanted for me, for all of his children, his grandchildren, and great grandchildren, to live the best life we could possibly live.
As I sat in the living room of my parents' home this evening with my brother where less than 24 hours ago my father sat also, it was eerily quiet—"too quiet," my brother noted. Something, or more precisely, someone, was missing.
I want to believe that my dad, my hero, is at peace now, not in the way I had hoped, but still at peace.
Having witnessed all that my father went through during the past three years, particularly the last six months of his life, I take comfort in knowing that my father can truly claim as the Apostle Paul did that "I have fought a good fight and I kept the faith.”
Thursday, December 29, 2016
Monday, December 26, 2016
It's Christmas Night and My Dad is Enjoying a Pepsi and Ice Cream
It’s Christmas night, and as I glance at the clock on my laptop after helping my dad eat some ice cream and polish off a “Pepsi,” I notice it’s 11:11. I’ve read various places that seeing 11:11 is a sign that angels are near and/or listening to your prayers, which makes me feel happy for both me and my dad.
It has been a wonderful Christmas day with family for the first time in about six years, and tonight my dad ate, perhaps not what some would consider a lot, but he ate—a half scoop of ice cream and one and a half cups of “Pepsi.” It was actually Coke. He had asked for Pepsi; however, as there was none in the house, I improvised. Christmas miracles do happen.
It had been nearly two weeks since my dad last ate a meal or drank more than a few sips of anything. Everything we’d try to give him he either refused or spit out. By early Friday morning, just two days before Christmas, he had to be taken to the ER as recommended by his doctor so that he could be given fluids by IV. He was discharged about 12 hours later with the recommendation that we contact a local hospice for aid as there was nothing really that the hospital could do for him.
I can appreciate that hospices have helped many hundreds of thousands of people dealing with “terminal” illnesses and their family members prepare for what might seem to be the inevitable. I have no doubt that those people and their families are grateful for the aid they received, much of it in some cases at no cost to them. However, I feel quite strongly that my father would not want this for himself.
Before the dementia seemed to take over his mind, my father was a minister who believed in and preached life. He believed and taught that death, sickness, and disease are enemies of God—that it is not now, nor was it ever intended to be, His plan for us. My father believed that sickness, disease, and death should be fought against with prayer, not conditions we should peacefully accept and embrace. He believed that it was intended for people to live until a ripe old age and himself often stated he intended to hang out here until he was at least 100.
My father took very seriously his calling to “heal the sick and raise the dead.” He preached fervently to his congregation and to anyone else who would listen about the healing power of God. My father did not accept death or sickness as God's will as some do, so when it happened under his watch, it hurt him deeply as though he had failed God.
I recall after my oldest brother’s death and years later my nephew’s death, my dad spent hours in prayer at home and before the altar at the church where he was both pastor and founder crying out to God in repentance and seeking answers for how the "enemy satan was able to gain a victory," as my dad would say. He did the same after learning of the death of any member of his church or anyone else he had prayed for to be healed or in some way set free. He wanted to know "how we lost this one," because he steadfastly believed even in the face of failure that it is always God’s will to heal and restore life and when it did not happen, the failure lie with his own or the person’s lack of faith.
“I am the resurrection and the life,” I listened to my father intone at the beginning of the funeral services over which he presided. And at some point after he would take to the pulpit to deliver the message of consolation to family and friends, he would boldly declare “and the last enemy to be defeated is death.” (1 Corinthians 15:26)
It is not easy to hold onto faith in the face of apparent defeat—when everything you see and all that you hear is demanding that you just accept “reality.” Not easy at all to continue to believe what you cannot see, at least not with your physical eyes. The dementia that appears to have taken over my father’s mind is taxing on him, on me, and on my siblings. A once strong, proud, independent, and intelligent man is now dependent on hired caregivers and his children to feed, clothe, bathe and otherwise care for him in the way you would an infant, and struggles to string two coherent sentences together. People talk to, around and about him as if he has absolutely no awareness of what is going on at all. I'm as guilty of this as anyone, even though I know that the essence of who we are is consciousness or what some might call spirit.
Determined as I am to remain steadfast in my belief that healing is always possible, I must admit there are many days I have felt my faith waning, especially over the last few months of this year. The objective reality that I perceive/experience day-to-day with my dad tells me to give up and make peace with the situation. My father in his right state of mind would tell me I have my eyes fixed on the wrong thing—to judge by appearances only is to judge in error.
Yet, I know at my core miracles do happen. I’ve read and heard countless stories of people professing various religious beliefs or none at all who were at death’s door, doctors and family members having given them up for dead, and who experienced miraculous healings and went on to live many years afterward. I hear and read these stories and ask if it happened for them, then why not…?
"Is any one of you sick? He should call the elders of the church to pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer offered in faith will restore the one who is sick." James 5:14-15
It has been a wonderful Christmas day with family for the first time in about six years, and tonight my dad ate, perhaps not what some would consider a lot, but he ate—a half scoop of ice cream and one and a half cups of “Pepsi.” It was actually Coke. He had asked for Pepsi; however, as there was none in the house, I improvised. Christmas miracles do happen.
It had been nearly two weeks since my dad last ate a meal or drank more than a few sips of anything. Everything we’d try to give him he either refused or spit out. By early Friday morning, just two days before Christmas, he had to be taken to the ER as recommended by his doctor so that he could be given fluids by IV. He was discharged about 12 hours later with the recommendation that we contact a local hospice for aid as there was nothing really that the hospital could do for him.
I can appreciate that hospices have helped many hundreds of thousands of people dealing with “terminal” illnesses and their family members prepare for what might seem to be the inevitable. I have no doubt that those people and their families are grateful for the aid they received, much of it in some cases at no cost to them. However, I feel quite strongly that my father would not want this for himself.
Before the dementia seemed to take over his mind, my father was a minister who believed in and preached life. He believed and taught that death, sickness, and disease are enemies of God—that it is not now, nor was it ever intended to be, His plan for us. My father believed that sickness, disease, and death should be fought against with prayer, not conditions we should peacefully accept and embrace. He believed that it was intended for people to live until a ripe old age and himself often stated he intended to hang out here until he was at least 100.
My father took very seriously his calling to “heal the sick and raise the dead.” He preached fervently to his congregation and to anyone else who would listen about the healing power of God. My father did not accept death or sickness as God's will as some do, so when it happened under his watch, it hurt him deeply as though he had failed God.
I recall after my oldest brother’s death and years later my nephew’s death, my dad spent hours in prayer at home and before the altar at the church where he was both pastor and founder crying out to God in repentance and seeking answers for how the "enemy satan was able to gain a victory," as my dad would say. He did the same after learning of the death of any member of his church or anyone else he had prayed for to be healed or in some way set free. He wanted to know "how we lost this one," because he steadfastly believed even in the face of failure that it is always God’s will to heal and restore life and when it did not happen, the failure lie with his own or the person’s lack of faith.
“I am the resurrection and the life,” I listened to my father intone at the beginning of the funeral services over which he presided. And at some point after he would take to the pulpit to deliver the message of consolation to family and friends, he would boldly declare “and the last enemy to be defeated is death.” (1 Corinthians 15:26)
It is not easy to hold onto faith in the face of apparent defeat—when everything you see and all that you hear is demanding that you just accept “reality.” Not easy at all to continue to believe what you cannot see, at least not with your physical eyes. The dementia that appears to have taken over my father’s mind is taxing on him, on me, and on my siblings. A once strong, proud, independent, and intelligent man is now dependent on hired caregivers and his children to feed, clothe, bathe and otherwise care for him in the way you would an infant, and struggles to string two coherent sentences together. People talk to, around and about him as if he has absolutely no awareness of what is going on at all. I'm as guilty of this as anyone, even though I know that the essence of who we are is consciousness or what some might call spirit.
Determined as I am to remain steadfast in my belief that healing is always possible, I must admit there are many days I have felt my faith waning, especially over the last few months of this year. The objective reality that I perceive/experience day-to-day with my dad tells me to give up and make peace with the situation. My father in his right state of mind would tell me I have my eyes fixed on the wrong thing—to judge by appearances only is to judge in error.
Yet, I know at my core miracles do happen. I’ve read and heard countless stories of people professing various religious beliefs or none at all who were at death’s door, doctors and family members having given them up for dead, and who experienced miraculous healings and went on to live many years afterward. I hear and read these stories and ask if it happened for them, then why not…?
"Is any one of you sick? He should call the elders of the church to pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer offered in faith will restore the one who is sick." James 5:14-15
Wednesday, December 21, 2016
My Tomorrow is Not the Same as My Today
I love when the Universe sends me messages to let me know it’s listening to me. At least that’s what I choose to believe: that the Universe listens.
Tonight just before going to bed I decided to listen to an “I Am” meditation that someone had sent me as a gift. It was very brief, just slightly longer than three minutes. Although I was listening to it from my main iTunes library rather than my meditation playlist, I was startled when the meditation ended and the next “song” I heard wasn't another meditation but “Hold On” by Kansas. Wow!
I haven't heard the song in a very long while. At first I was confused about why it was the next song to play. It doesn't immediately follow the "I Am" meditation in the main list, and my playlists and the library is usually set to play songs in the order that they are listed. However, I noticed tonight the shuffle button was highlighted.
Since I intended to listen only to the meditation before retiring, I immediately turned off the Kansas song, but then had this sense I needed to listen to it. So, I did—
As I noted in a previous post, 2016 has at times felt a lot like the “year from hell” for me and I gather quite a few others if YouTube videos and news reports are to be trusted. I know that I am highly capable of accomplishing anything I set my mind to, but honestly this year tested my resilience and confidence in myself to the extreme limit. As the year winds down, it is challenging for me to look back over the past 12 months and not feel disappointed with myself and what I am currently experiencing in my life. It’s also challenging not to feel stuck when your mind begins to fixate on all the mistakes you’ve made, and you believe (wrongly) your future is completely screwed because of all the mistakes of your past.
As I look around me, I am certain that my current experience is not one that I intended to create for myself. I had something far grander in mind. Yet, I also know that too many times this year I allowed fear to make my decisions, short-circuiting my goals and dreams just as they were on the brink of coming into fruition. If your goal is to be successful and live a life beyond your wildest imaginations, fear-based decisions and actions will not get you there.
Anyway, I am determined to persevere in spite of, which is why I chose to listen to the “I am” meditation tonight before sleeping—to help lift my spirits, remind me of who I am, and of what I am capable. As author Wayne Dyer wrote in “Wishes Fulfilled” and stressed in many of his lectures, the last five minutes before you fall asleep are the most important minutes of your day. You can squander those five minutes before sleep reviewing all the things you didn’t like about your day, all the things that didn’t work, and all the stuff that’s going on with your life that you're unhappy about, setting yourself up for more of the same the next day. Or, you can use them to help create more of what you prefer to experience by focusing on your dreams, your goals, the people you love, and things you do enjoy about your life. I decided to go the latter route. Neither my past nor my present circumstances determine my future, unless I choose for them to.
1 1Written by Kerry Livgren • Copyright © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Tonight just before going to bed I decided to listen to an “I Am” meditation that someone had sent me as a gift. It was very brief, just slightly longer than three minutes. Although I was listening to it from my main iTunes library rather than my meditation playlist, I was startled when the meditation ended and the next “song” I heard wasn't another meditation but “Hold On” by Kansas. Wow!
I haven't heard the song in a very long while. At first I was confused about why it was the next song to play. It doesn't immediately follow the "I Am" meditation in the main list, and my playlists and the library is usually set to play songs in the order that they are listed. However, I noticed tonight the shuffle button was highlighted.
Since I intended to listen only to the meditation before retiring, I immediately turned off the Kansas song, but then had this sense I needed to listen to it. So, I did—
"Look in the mirror and tell me just what you see.Thanks, Universe! It was exactly the message I needed to hear tonight.
What have the years of your life taught you to be.
Innocence dyin' in so many ways.
Things that you dream of are lost, lost in the haze.
"Hold on, Baby Hold on.
'Cause it's closer than you think and you're standing on the brink.
Hold on, Baby Hold on.
'Cause there's something on the way.
Your tomorrow's not the same as today." 1
As I noted in a previous post, 2016 has at times felt a lot like the “year from hell” for me and I gather quite a few others if YouTube videos and news reports are to be trusted. I know that I am highly capable of accomplishing anything I set my mind to, but honestly this year tested my resilience and confidence in myself to the extreme limit. As the year winds down, it is challenging for me to look back over the past 12 months and not feel disappointed with myself and what I am currently experiencing in my life. It’s also challenging not to feel stuck when your mind begins to fixate on all the mistakes you’ve made, and you believe (wrongly) your future is completely screwed because of all the mistakes of your past.
As I look around me, I am certain that my current experience is not one that I intended to create for myself. I had something far grander in mind. Yet, I also know that too many times this year I allowed fear to make my decisions, short-circuiting my goals and dreams just as they were on the brink of coming into fruition. If your goal is to be successful and live a life beyond your wildest imaginations, fear-based decisions and actions will not get you there.
Anyway, I am determined to persevere in spite of, which is why I chose to listen to the “I am” meditation tonight before sleeping—to help lift my spirits, remind me of who I am, and of what I am capable. As author Wayne Dyer wrote in “Wishes Fulfilled” and stressed in many of his lectures, the last five minutes before you fall asleep are the most important minutes of your day. You can squander those five minutes before sleep reviewing all the things you didn’t like about your day, all the things that didn’t work, and all the stuff that’s going on with your life that you're unhappy about, setting yourself up for more of the same the next day. Or, you can use them to help create more of what you prefer to experience by focusing on your dreams, your goals, the people you love, and things you do enjoy about your life. I decided to go the latter route. Neither my past nor my present circumstances determine my future, unless I choose for them to.
"Outside your door he is waiting, waiting for you.
Sooner or later you know he's got to get through.
No hesitation and no holding back.
Let it all go and you'll know you're on the right track."
"Hold on, Baby Hold on.
'Cause it's closer than you think and you're standing on the brink.
Hold on, Baby Hold on.
'Cause there's something on the way.
Your tomorrow's not the same as today." 1
1 1Written by Kerry Livgren • Copyright © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Friday, December 16, 2016
So what, I’m still a Rockstar!!
“‘I am the greatest.’ I said that even before I knew I was.” - Muhammad Ali
I was feeling in a bit of a funk yesterday. Not sure why. Maybe there wasn’t even a reason why. I just woke up feeling kind of blah and as the day progressed, despite my best efforts to “go to my happy place,” I just couldn’t quite seem to get a better feeling place.
I suppose life is like that sometimes. We have days where we’re feeling on top of the world, as if all the planets, the sun and the moon are perfectly aligned and our day is turning out exactly as we want or planned it, and other days where we feel like we just want to stay in bed with the covers pulled over our heads. Those days where it seems nothing is working, or very little, and our “to do” lists and intentions get blown to hell. We're stressing over bad hair, or being bloated, or our tech toys not functioning properly, or our bank accounts—especially this time of year. I wasn’t full-on having one of those days yesterday; but, I still felt kind of blah.
After trying numerous tools in my feel-good tool box to feel better—walking, meditating, happy videos, even demanding myself to feel better—I decided to call it an early night, earlier than my usual night. However, just before I closed my eyes to sleep, I set an intention that “tomorrow will be better. I will wake up feeling great.”
I am feeling better today. In fact, I woke up feeling better than I did yesterday, and as I headed out for a walk after eating showering and eating breakfast, the lyrics to Pink’s “So What” popped into my head.
“Heck yeah,” I thought. “That’s me!”
Quite honestly today wasn’t very much different from yesterday other how I’m feeling. And maybe, just maybe the only reason for me feeling so blah yesterday was that I forgotten my rock star status.
Great days, good days, bad days, bad hair days, blah days, I’m still a rock star!
I was feeling in a bit of a funk yesterday. Not sure why. Maybe there wasn’t even a reason why. I just woke up feeling kind of blah and as the day progressed, despite my best efforts to “go to my happy place,” I just couldn’t quite seem to get a better feeling place.
I suppose life is like that sometimes. We have days where we’re feeling on top of the world, as if all the planets, the sun and the moon are perfectly aligned and our day is turning out exactly as we want or planned it, and other days where we feel like we just want to stay in bed with the covers pulled over our heads. Those days where it seems nothing is working, or very little, and our “to do” lists and intentions get blown to hell. We're stressing over bad hair, or being bloated, or our tech toys not functioning properly, or our bank accounts—especially this time of year. I wasn’t full-on having one of those days yesterday; but, I still felt kind of blah.
After trying numerous tools in my feel-good tool box to feel better—walking, meditating, happy videos, even demanding myself to feel better—I decided to call it an early night, earlier than my usual night. However, just before I closed my eyes to sleep, I set an intention that “tomorrow will be better. I will wake up feeling great.”
I am feeling better today. In fact, I woke up feeling better than I did yesterday, and as I headed out for a walk after eating showering and eating breakfast, the lyrics to Pink’s “So What” popped into my head.
So what, I’m still a rock star, I got my rock moves.
“Heck yeah,” I thought. “That’s me!”
Quite honestly today wasn’t very much different from yesterday other how I’m feeling. And maybe, just maybe the only reason for me feeling so blah yesterday was that I forgotten my rock star status.
Great days, good days, bad days, bad hair days, blah days, I’m still a rock star!
Wednesday, December 14, 2016
It's a Good Year
"Our seedtime is that moment in time when you and I react to anything in this world. It may be to an object, it may be to an individual, it may be to a bit of news that we have overheard, but the moment of reaction, that emotional response, is our attitude. Our attitudes are the seed times of life, and although we may not remember the seedtime or the moment of response, nature never forgets, and when it suddenly appears in our world…” – Neville Goddard
My sister just sent me a text about the death of actor Alan Thicke, most well-known for his role as the dad on Growing Pains. “2016 strikes again,” she wrote. My deepest condolences to his family and friends.
As this year comes to a close, I've lost track of all the times I've heard others refer to 2016 as the year of "hell." I've said it myself. And I suppose at first, or last, glance, 2016 is deserving of its reputation as a "hell of a year" as a lot of really crazy sh@@t happened this year, depending on how one defines such. The year certainly offered numerous shocking events and situations that might cause some to judge the year as chaotic, confusing, discordant, heartbreaking, or even tragic. Even the most optimistic in the positive thinking/LOA communities have bemoaned the year for numerous reasons, suggesting that dimensional shifts and unusual planetary alignments designed to uproot our collective deep-seated darkness so it can be healed is responsible for creating all the upheaval and turmoil.
But what if the truth is that 2016 wasn't really any different from any other year? Celebrities, politicians, heads of states, and regular folks die during the course of every year—that’s a given. Chaotic, confusing, discordant, heartbreaking, and tumultuous events and circumstances also occur with regularity during any year, depending on how you perceive what’s happening around you. And individuals and groups have been committing hostile, divisive, and hateful acts since Cain slew Abel. The only constant about reality on planet earth is that change is inevitable; some changes we might welcome and some, not so much.
Still, could it be that the challenges, upheaval, unpleasant events, etc., that occurred during 2016 weren’t the result of some mysterious energetic or dimensional shift, cosmic forces, or even a vengeful God preparing to exact judgment on His creation?
Could it be that the significance many of us have attached to 2016 is unwarranted and that it is just a year like any other, a measurement of the orbital period of the Earth moving in its orbit around the Sun, but our collective (or individual) choice during this particular orbital period to focus ad nauseam on the "craziness"—the chaos, confusion, heartbreak, discord, division—via the news, social media, and coffee-shop conversations, made it seem more significant, more challenging?
"If you believe in the horrors of the world as they are given to you in the paper and on television, your belief causes the horrors to continue." – Neville Goddard
One thing I’ve learned through the teachings of Neville Goddard is that which we focus on continually and give our emotional energy to, we will continually create into our reality—in some form or another. If we daily focus our attention on the mayhem, turmoil, and chaos happening in the world, and react to it, we will experience more of the same in the world and in our own lives. In other words, you only notice what you’re focused on noticing.
Some years ago I bought a Toyota Highlander. In the years before I bought it, I don’t recall ever seeing a Highlander on the street. In fact, when it was suggested to me that I buy one, I searched for information about it via Google because I hadn't heard of a Highlander before and knew nothing about it. Several months after buying one, I “suddenly” started seeing Highlanders everywhere, still do. What this shows me is that for all the craziness I, and others, chose to fixate upon in 2016, there are likely other events, more pleasant and positive events that I missed or that faded from my attention, which if I had focused on those might very well have opened up the possibility for me to experience even more pleasant and desired situations.
With 18 days remaining in 2016, it’s not too late. It’s never too late as long as you still have breath in your body to transform your circumstances, experiences, life.
Stuff happens all day, every day. What you focus on and give your emotional energy to is your choice. So, if 2016 hasn’t turned out quite the way you had hoped—if your dreams didn’t manifest as you intended and you got distracted by the crazy—don’t blame the year, the moon, the planets, or anything outside of yourself, just shift your focus to whatever thoughts, news, or images fill your heart with joy. Whatever you focus on expands.
...if you can believe and persuade yourself that things are as you want them to be to the point of actually moving into the feeling they are true, they will be felt and seen in your world. – Neville Goddard
Sunday, December 4, 2016
Setting My Face Like a Flint–Closing Out 2016 Strong
And the Lord Jehovah giveth help to me, Therefore I have not been ashamed, Therefore I have set my face as a flint, And I know that I am not ashamed. Isaiah 50:7 (Young’s Literal Translation)
I’m feeling both calm and anxious at this very moment. As I sit at my parents’ home, I am grateful that all is mostly quiet, except for the “whale” song playing in the background. It seems to calm and/or relax my dad. Although it creeped me out at first, I’ve grown used to it and find it strangely calming also.
As 2016 winds down, I could spend a lot of time and energy trying to figure out how I got into the present situation in which I find myself—living in the basement of a friend of my sister-in-law after selling my condo to help get out from under significant debt. It certainly isn’t where I want or imagined I would be as 2016 comes to a close—but I would much rather spend my time and energy now imagining next steps to get me to where it is I intend to be: living in great abundance, happiness, and health, surrounded by a loving, supportive and ambitious tribe of people who don’t just think but live outside the box. In fact, for us there is no box.
I listened yesterday to an interesting podcast from motivational guru Tony Robbins where he focused on the three keys to a breakthrough:
I could easily, I suppose, as many people I know are doing call 2016 a bust as year’s go, but it isn’t over yet. Instead I’ve decided to play this year out until the end believing that anything is possible. Things could totally turnaround overnight. In fact, I’m counting on it. I've experienced some of my best, most miraculous moments under pressure—when all seemed hopeless. I simply have to move beyond the fear and the doubt that’s been plaguing me for several months. I intend to move beyond it, whatever it takes.
There is and will always be a warrior within who doesn’t give up, doesn’t quit, doesn’t take down. There is a warrior within who knows with every aspect of her being that the challenges of life are not overcome necessarily by the strongest, or the swiftest, or the smartest, or the most well-connected, but by the ones who endure always to the end. Or, as Tony Robbins might say “the ones most hungry to win.”
I am hungry, voracious might be the better word, and decidedly determined to end 2016 on a high note. I am also determined to trust myself and know that all the answers and solutions I need right now are already within.
“I have set my face like a flint….,” said the prophet Isaiah, and so say I. I looked it up. Flint is an extremely hard stone, a variety of quartz, often used to strike fires. The beauty in taking full responsibility for your life—the good and the not-so-great—is knowing that the same creative power you used to burn it to the ground can be used to rebuild it better than ever.
I will do whatever I need to in order to be who I want to be, have what I want to have, and do what I want to do, beginning with changing my state—my thoughts and feelings—and my story. “Once upon a time there was a woman who used to be… , but now is …”
Mindset is everything.
I’m feeling both calm and anxious at this very moment. As I sit at my parents’ home, I am grateful that all is mostly quiet, except for the “whale” song playing in the background. It seems to calm and/or relax my dad. Although it creeped me out at first, I’ve grown used to it and find it strangely calming also.
As 2016 winds down, I could spend a lot of time and energy trying to figure out how I got into the present situation in which I find myself—living in the basement of a friend of my sister-in-law after selling my condo to help get out from under significant debt. It certainly isn’t where I want or imagined I would be as 2016 comes to a close—but I would much rather spend my time and energy now imagining next steps to get me to where it is I intend to be: living in great abundance, happiness, and health, surrounded by a loving, supportive and ambitious tribe of people who don’t just think but live outside the box. In fact, for us there is no box.
I listened yesterday to an interesting podcast from motivational guru Tony Robbins where he focused on the three keys to a breakthrough:
- State. Your thoughts and feelings.
- Story. What you say about yourself. For most of us, it's the BS excuses we have for living mediocre lives.
- Strategy. The steps you take to get you to specific outcomes.
I could easily, I suppose, as many people I know are doing call 2016 a bust as year’s go, but it isn’t over yet. Instead I’ve decided to play this year out until the end believing that anything is possible. Things could totally turnaround overnight. In fact, I’m counting on it. I've experienced some of my best, most miraculous moments under pressure—when all seemed hopeless. I simply have to move beyond the fear and the doubt that’s been plaguing me for several months. I intend to move beyond it, whatever it takes.
There is and will always be a warrior within who doesn’t give up, doesn’t quit, doesn’t take down. There is a warrior within who knows with every aspect of her being that the challenges of life are not overcome necessarily by the strongest, or the swiftest, or the smartest, or the most well-connected, but by the ones who endure always to the end. Or, as Tony Robbins might say “the ones most hungry to win.”
I am hungry, voracious might be the better word, and decidedly determined to end 2016 on a high note. I am also determined to trust myself and know that all the answers and solutions I need right now are already within.
“I have set my face like a flint….,” said the prophet Isaiah, and so say I. I looked it up. Flint is an extremely hard stone, a variety of quartz, often used to strike fires. The beauty in taking full responsibility for your life—the good and the not-so-great—is knowing that the same creative power you used to burn it to the ground can be used to rebuild it better than ever.
I will do whatever I need to in order to be who I want to be, have what I want to have, and do what I want to do, beginning with changing my state—my thoughts and feelings—and my story. “Once upon a time there was a woman who used to be… , but now is …”
Mindset is everything.
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