Happy Valentine's Day: Another Year

Pss. 116:1 "I love the LORD, because he hath heard my voice and my supplications."

Another Year...

It was here and then gone

the year that was then wasn't

We started off on a slippery slope

the days of does and doesn't.

I try to make some sense of it all

but memories mesh together

A sunny day here, a rainy one there

all measured by crazy weather.

Then there are days filled with pain

coughs, sniffles, and sneezes 

your hand in mine, memory blind

a warm soft hug appeases.

We've made it through some blizzards

together all seemed so easy 

fierce lightning storms and raging winds

with love, it passed as just breezy.

Here we stand once again

confusion trying to take hold

but we're too strong to let it win

Our souls should stand so bold! 

This Valentine's day remember

as all the ones in the past

The year might soar in a whirlwind

but it's our enduring love that lasts! 

To my honey! 

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

Year's End

2 Cor. 4:16 “For which cause we faint not; but though our outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day.”

The Year's End

I look at the calendar and see December 27, my son’s 22 birthday, and I have to wonder where all of the other the months this year went. I feel like I feathered through the pages of the calendar and landed here in December with no fill in for the in between. You know, you’re given a life-altering diagnosis and something in your life is supposed to change right? You make or complete a bucket list, family surrounds you and supports you, you strive to live every last second of the years of your life you have left.

That didn’t happen to me. I altered my daily eating habits, I changed my physical activities to include walks and stationary bike rides and I do more cleaning, more writing, but that’s about it. The outside world exists only when I force myself to go out and place myself in this seemingly mechanical robotic world we live in.

One day I’m sitting in the doctor’s office being poked and prodded, the calendar saying January 25th, then I’m sitting under an eclipsed sun and it says August 21st, then I blink and now it is the 27th of December.

I’m sure all of you have had a significant year where you took scenic trips, relished family memories, ate delicious toxic food and wonder where all the weight came from that you’ve added. Me, I’m wondering where in the world I hid forty pounds that I lost. My mother in law just said to me on Christmas, that she didn’t know I had forty pounds to lose because I always looked great. I guess looking great and actually BEING great are two different things. Shrinking from a size seven to a size three is forty pounds. Now I have no clothes that fit, again.

While I may have lost weight I feel like I’ve aged ten years. It’s kind of weird and nothing I do can change that portion of my year. I did have a nice Christmas and that meant a lot to me. The enormous amount of food did overwhelm me but I stayed focused on my macaroni salad. Macaroni salad, you ask? Well yes. Back home our Christmas’ always had my great-grandmother’s secret family recipe for macaroni salad and potato salad, and my mother always had pork, sauerkraut, and kielbasa simmering in the slow cooker. 

When my German great-grandparents (my dad’s grandparents) came here to America not too long ago, they brought with them recipes to hand down to the family. My mother actually made the recipes the best and my aunt’s always envied how she made it just like their grandmother! They tried to duplicate the recipe to no avail. I was always by my mothers’ side when she made the salads so I basically knew what she did that made it so special. She says my niece has acquired the ability to reproduce her salad but sometimes misses an ingredient but the similar taste is still there. 

I don’t make her potato salad because I don’t really like potatoes but the macaroni salad I made last year for my son and hubby was back-home delicious so much so, it took me back home for a moment when savoring every bite. When I thought about facing Christmas day surrounded by food and family I mentioned that if I could make my mother’s macaroni salad, I would have that one cheat to eat, relishing the taste and my surroundings would melt into the background. My husband, loving the salad, had no problem with my request!

I have never shared my salad with this family and his brother makes some good tasty food himself. I felt the two pounds of macaroni was too much so I saved me a small bowl for home and took the rest thinking it would go untouched because of all of the food my bro-in-law made. Amid the turkey, ham, dressing, cranberry sauce, string bean casserole and a host of other stuff sat my macaroni salad. 

Holding my plate in my hand I loaded up on macaroni salad and two deviled eggs that my hubby made. No one knew that they were organic eggs. I went and sat at the table surrounded by family and ate, after prayers of course. This family actually prays before meals, something I never knew in my life before coming to Nebraska. 

After the forks began scraping the plates I could hear the low murmur of ‘mmmm’s’ circling the table. I thought they were agreeing with how good my bro-in-law’s food was but then it came out, “This macaroni salad is delicious!” 

I think I blushed, “My macaroni salad?” 

Out of ten people there, only one didn’t like the salad and that was because he had eaten a pepperoncini thinking it was a banana pepper and his dinner was ruined by the taste, otherwise, the macaroni salad was a big hit. I had an almost empty bowl to take home with us by the time we left. There was a request to bring it to the Easter dinner and his brother said I could bring that dish again next year! 

If I give them nothing else to remember me by, my old family recipe will linger in their minds and taste buds for years to come. I’m sure my laughter and personality will be sweet reminders also, but I can say what made my year was sharing a meal from back home, bringing my dysfunctional family close to me while sharing with my new family. 

The only person that I talked to from back home on Christmas day was my mother, everyone else has forgotten about me so this year is the year of release for me. I need to release that family and move forward. The delete button cannot be more prevalent and necessary at this juncture in my life. I’ll continue on in my hermetic lifestyle isolating myself and living for me, hubby and my son, and…my macaroni salad once or twice a year! What a nice way to end the year!

My Survival

Luke 12:15 "And he said unto them, Take heed, and beware of covetousness: for a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth."

SURVIVAL

My survival will be the life of me and the eventual death of me. I strive every waking day to be a vibrant life force in the world but sometimes my immediate surroundings and events throw a pebble into the smooth running cog. One minute I’m a peppy go-getter ready to tackle the world and in the blink of an eye I can turn and wonder what all this struggle is for, what purpose and to what end.  I read something yesterday about this path in life being the path we were destined to be on, good and bad, it is our path laid out for us. I know where the path leads but getting there is no walk in the park, that’s for sure.

I really feel sorry for the folks skipping down the path on their merry way thinking this is all that there is and just keep going until they hit a dead end. They neither care for the in-betweens, are blind to the beginning and end of the line, or they just can’t be bothered, they’re here to live and die. Well, that sounds like a fulfilling life.

Had it not been for this disease, I would still be skipping down the path, if truth be told. I would’ve never had a reason to fight to stay alive but this illness brought me to a juncture in my path and colored it with purpose. I’m not staying alive for anyone around me, that to me is pointless, I’m surviving for the end of the line, where I meet the face of Jesus. All this in between stuff is to show you the strength and determination that resides in people with a purposeful end-of-the-line view. 

My sister had an incident a couple of weeks ago where her outside electric box was shooting sparks. Fearing for the loss of everything she began gathering pictures and stuff that had meaning to her. The fire department came and said the electric company would have to come out and put a new box in. My sister, needless to say, slept in her car with her stuff until the next day when the electric company came. 

Maybe it is just me who is unattached to stuff but I thought if something like that happened to me, I’d grab my writing. I couldn’t think of anything else, nothing came to mind. On Sunday when we went to see his family, I looked around at the hundreds of pictures lining the walls. This family is all about pictures. When we were getting ready to literally walk out the door we were stopped by the words, “Let’s get a picture.” The picture wanted was not of hubby and me but of all of those who were there.

Four different people wanted pictures (I wasn’t one of them) and we had to stand and allow four different cameras to click a shot. Twenty minutes later we were finally heading out the door. I scratch my head thinking what is it? I don’t like my picture being taken for one, and also, there is more to life than pictures. Sure you get a snapshot of a memory but what for? To possess, to brag, boast and share? I don’t get it. You can never relive those moments and the best of the moments are stored in your memory, do people really need the physical picture? Is that what is important in life?

My point being in all of this is that people cling to the darndest of things. The materials we acquire in life are not going with us when we die. I don’t even know if our memories go with us. We move on and all of this is left behind, that is what I work every day for, the end of the line. Not for what is here and now, not for memories and pictures but of the life and the world I will live in when I pass. I guess I’m weird like that. I don’t cling to materials.

Words, not pictures, matter most to me. When I pass, my family will scarcely find pictures of me. They’ll look at the pictures they dig up, weep and cry for what WAS, what they missed, and what they didn’t get to see. The image will not tell my story by any means but if they scan my words, they’ll get the entire picture of who I AM! The images will show I lived, I died, but my words, they will enter your soul and you will FEEL me long after I go! This is one of the very reasons for my need for survival, to leave something worth reading behind. One picture is worth a thousand words but my words will hold millions of pictures.

I pray each and every one of you are touched and blessed by my words! My purpose will be fulfilled. All praise and Glory to God! 

Matt. 6:33 "But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you."

Poetry Sunday ~ All Good Men

“All Good Men”

©Adam Zipp

The gunpowder and smoke,

the sounds of a roaring hell,

that is where the glory is shed,

along with the blood stained rivers,

the sick lay wounded in their beds.

Turn away from the pain,

let the night sky fall down like rain,

it is said that good men die young,

but good men stand up to be strong.

Good men fight,

They play the songs of the war bands,

they guide us all with an unseen light,

and always take our hands.

Liberty lives within strong men,

even when evil lashes out like a roaring fire,

the darkness will seep out from the Lion’s Den,

If good men do not aspire.

They never fought alone,

One good man can win a battle,

but when grouped with many men,

together a war can be won.

The men who fought,

they are strong and wise,

they have been through the pits of hell,

always risking their lives.

In the cold months ahead,

in the long warmth of the dead,

may we give thanks to those living and gone,

for everything they have done,

let us thank a vet.

Poetry Sunday ~ The Rainbows Touch

Luke 24:49 And, behold, I send the promise of my Father upon you: but tarry ye in the city of Jerusalem, until ye be endued with power from on high.

***

The Rainbows Touch
***

The sun drips rainbows from the sky,
a canopy of color blooms down.
Skyward my eyes squint to behold,
the hue of God to which I’m bound.

Rest those eyes, my precious child
For you are not alone.
Color the sky in rainbow pearls
where angels before have flown.

Whisked away to the palette
where brush and paint collide
In His hand I’m gently cradled
the arc of the bow I reside.

Flecks of color come alive
they dance in a splendid show.
His voice now sings a melody
of which I’ve come to know.

Beads if shivers rush my spine
but warmth of light abounds.
Spinning in a cosmic glow
awashed in harps and sounds.

In Gods eyes we unite
the harmony I seek so much
I’ve found it in the loving care
and warmth of the Rainbow’s Touch!

Poetry Sunday ~ September 11 ~

Psalms 85:2  Thou hast forgiven the iniquity of thy people, thou hast covered all their sin. Selah.

September 11

***

I cradled my morning coffee,
my eyes they struggled to see;
a horrific terrible tragedy,
unfolding in front of me.

Today’s background clutter,
seemed to take a second stance,
scrambling cameras everywhere,
gave rise to a deeper glance.

A plane had hit a building,
I couldn't believe my eyes.
The horror of a gaping wound,
of such an enormous size.

By now I'm jolted wide awake,
something was just not right.
I witnessed the impact yet again,
on the twin without a fight.

Billowing smoke and fragments,
scattered all around.
People frozen in a spot,
as objects fall to the ground.

Reports of other targets,
were coming into view;
my tear-filled eyes were wondering
what this world was coming to.

In merely a matter of moments,
my blurry eyes did see;
heroes rushing into the scene,
as workers fought to flee.

The crumbling of a building,
number two not far behind;
the crashing of plane three and four,
had mentally boggled my mind.

I couldn't feel my fingersmy fingers.
a wounded numbness arose;
I sat in total disbelief
as my body stood there froze.

Longing to be shaken,
from this nightmare that is real.
My body shrouded in emptiness,
as I buckled to a kneel.

I prayed for lovetorn strangers,
whose faces cringed with fear.
I longed for welcome solace,
through the shedding of a tear.

The aroma of terror lingers,
as I'm trembling to the core.
I long for the taste of freedom,
which I sense will be no more.

A sleeping nation awakened,
by the trumpets sounding in heaven.
Altering our lives forever,
On the day of September eleven.

Copyright © Joni Zipp

Memorial Day...

Rom. 14: 19 Let us therefore follow after the things which make for peace, and things wherewith one may edify another.
***

I remember when I was a kid, Memorial Day meant a day off of school, and a day where we had cookouts. You could smell the grills churning from blocks away. It was as if everyone in the city had a cookout on this day.

We didn’t really celebrate it as a Memorial Day to soldiers who served our country, and little did I know about the day or the sacrifices made. You could call me ignorant to the facts, but no one ever really just said it plain and simple for me, so I could appreciate and honor the day and respect those who served.

My Dad always hung the flag, “Because it’s Memorial Day.” He was a Marine himself in his day, and I had many family members who served, fought in wars, and possibly died later from PTSD.

As I sat in church yesterday, and they showed a clip of a Dad taking his son to Washington DC for memorial day, I was hit with a ton of memories, a floodgate opened up and I appreciated the soldier in a whole new light.

The man went to the Capital, he took his son to the birthplace of our founding fathers, the White House, Lincoln Memorial and then they ended the day at Arlington Cemetery. The boy asked what all the crosses were for, and the dad said, “Heroes.” As the son turned around a soldier stood Saluting a grave, “Dad? Is he a hero too?” The father quietly whispered, “Yes son, he’s a hero too.”

These were all places that as a child, were part of our annual school field trips, since we only lived about 30 minutes away. We never went to any of these places as a family, because my family was too busy fighting the years of dysfunction to be bothered with ‘family’.

Which brings me to the other part of our service yesterday. It was about the importance a grandparent holds for generations to come. How they essentially determine what the future generations will bring forth in life. Pastor Mike went on to give examples of former Presidents, whose descendent's produced many political senator’s, presidents, and other upstanding citizens. While at the same time, he took a murderer, and looked at say, 500 of his descendants. Over half followed suit and were either incarcerated or followed the path of the illegal.

That scared me. I had four grandparents, two who died when I was eight, within two months of one another. While extremely of poor lineage and alcoholics, they had a heart of gold. My other two grandparents were boozers I call them. They come from and were taught to be selfish, greedy and to drink your problems away.

Maybe that is why I was an alcoholic before the age of twelve. I never had good examples to look up to. So I began carving a new me, I looked up to new things. I accepted God and built a life around him and as he embraced me, essentially becoming my grandparent, we strode together to form something to pass down to MY next generation.

As you have your cookout today, as you sit with family. Look around you, and see just what it is that you as a human being are going to pass down to YOUR future generations.

And Thank you Soldiers of past and present... I thank you and appreciate all you have done for me and the generations that will look up to and follow you.

God Bless America!

Poetry Sunday~ Remember the Reason

Remember the Reason

It’s not about presents it’s not about bows,
It’s all about the heart that grows.
As Christmas day draws ever near,
I lost the luster of good cheer.

I dig in the snow, my dog runs ‘round
We both seek for nothing found.
I’m off to a dismal Christmas day
Not much to do nor much to say.

But wait, there it is, I see the gleam
shining down as a radiant beam
it scans the snow covered lawn
it peeks in my window at the crack of dawn.

He taps on my shoulder I’m startled awake
my body shivers I begin to quake.
He whispers words into my ear,
“Have you forgotten about me here?”

I rub my eyes I see what he means,
its all around in Christmas scenes.
“I haven’t forgotten, please don’t leave!”
But gone is the hand of which I’d receive.

I stumble to my bedroom door,
to see the angel perched once more.
a nativity scene is flooding my mind.
the tiny babe lay warm and kind.

How did I miss this glorious sight.
It visits me yearly on this night.
I feel his presence all year through
What’s so hard in getting it through.

Arrogance, pride; they get in the way.
Of the true meaning of this wondrous day.
Although a symbol of generations old.
His birth was real for it was foretold.

I’m sorry I missed the enormous blessing
He gave to me through fact, not guessing.
He is the Mighty Savior and King
In my soul I’ll let the yule ring!

Backstory

Backstory or memory lane?

You are going to come across this somewhere along the line in writing your short story, novel, or your memoirs. Backstory is the past of the character that you’ll want your reader to know about.

You don’t start a book in backstory. This will have your reader scratching his/her head and wondering, “Where did THAT come from?” You want to gently guide them down memory lane and give them little bits and pieces of your characters past.

Don’t try and give the reader a platter full of memories. When we go out to a fine restaurant are we served the main course right away? No, we’re given an appetizer to wet our whistles, so we look forward to the more delectable meal to come.

This is what we’ll use backstory for. The character has a past and the reader, after you have them hooked on the character, will want to know what secrets lie in their past that makes them who they are. The reader is craving more and you will give them an appetizer of your characters past.

You will lead the reader down the winding path through the backstory until the reader has an “AHA” moment. They will tie all the pieces together through the little bites that you’ve given them and not only will they want more, they'll go back for seconds!

The dessert of the story is the conclusion that after the reader has had his meal, he now looks forward to the finale. With all the backstory given in gentle bites, your reader will savor the dessert even more.

Don’t try and force the backstory on your reader. Let it come naturally in places where not only your character needs it but the other characters in the story feed off of it. Maybe they were present in some of these memories. Maybe this bit of backstory is due to something that they did to the main character, once again, tightening the bond of author and reader.

You’re not writing a mystery but through the backstory a mystery is unfolding. You need to make the backstory relevant to the story as a whole. If it has no use in the context of the story then don’t use it. During revision it might even be cut all together because you see it doesn’t fit in that certain place. But keep it just in case that it fits somewhere else.

Memories can be a blessing or a curse. When I was a kid I remember being four, when I was an adult, I remembered being a teen. Now that I’m wiser than I was in my twenties I remember being four, ten, 16, 20, etc etc. But in my memoirs I am only putting relevant memories that are MINE.

Do this with your character, only use their memories and make them relevant to the story so that it moves the story forward. Just because it’s called ‘backstory’ doesn’t mean you’re taking your story backwards, it means you will be propelling your reader further into the depths of the character.