Category Archives: Yeahwrite

The World is Mine if I Have You

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Our love exceeds the mountains’ heights.

In your embrace my soul delights.

Dark storms of life we shall pass through.

The world is mine if I have you.

 

Rainbow hues reside in our love.

You I wish to be worthy of.

With one kiss let our love be true.

The world is mine if I have you.

 

So may our love be like the dawn,

When all the fears and doubts are gone.

Let us our vows of love renew.

The world is mine if I have you.

 

Our love exceeds the mountains’ heights.

The world is mine if I have you.

 

 

 

Love at First Sight

 

 

 

lucy in leaves

 

 

Remember how we met in the corner of that crowded shop?

You captured my heart the moment you nestled in my arms and licked my face with puppy affection.

I didn’t believe that love at first sight existed until I found you.

 

 

 

 

Be Careful What You Wish For

It seemed like any other ordinary day as Amy picked up her mail. She found a small pink envelope tucked in between the bills. She noticed that it was handwritten and addressed to Ms. Amy O’Hara with no return address. Inside the envelope Be careful what you wish for 1000was a pink note card which read: Today you have three wishes. Be careful what you wish for.

How odd, she thought. It must be a practical joke.

Since she was a student at the local community college, her thoughts turned to the upcoming biology exam. I wish I didn’t have to take this exam today. Just then her cell phone rang.

“Hi, Sue. What’s up?”

“Amy, don’t bother going to class today.”

“But we have the biology exam.”

“No, we don’t. It’s been canceled. Professor Emmers called in sick and there’s no sub available. How about going to the mall instead?”

“Sounds great. Let’s meet at the food court in twenty minutes.”

“Perfect. See you then.”

Amy went to grab her keys off the kitchen table. Then she saw the pink note card. That’s right – three wishes. Maybe the first one was the canceled biology class . . . how silly! There’s no such thing as wishes coming true. It’s just a coincidence, that’s all.

“Hi, Amy,” Sue greeted her. “Can you believe the biology exam was canceled?”

“Yeah, it’s great. Let’s go shopping; I need to find some new jeans.”

“Okay, let’s try Janet’s Closet.”

“Are you kidding? Their jeans cost a fortune, although I did see the perfect pair last week.”

“Why didn’t you buy them?”

“I couldn’t afford it. I wish they were cheaper so I could.”

“Well, let’s go in and see if we can find something – you never know.”

As they entered the store, a sales person came over to greet them.

“Hello. May I help you?”

“I’m looking for a pair of jeans. Do you have any on sale?” Amy asked hopefully.

“As a matter of fact, we do. I’ll show you what we have.”

They followed her to the back of the store. She pointed to a rack that was off in the corner.

“These are all the jeans on sale today. Please let me know if you find something.”

Amy and Sue walked over to the rack. As they were looking through the jeans, Sue pulled out a pair.

“Amy, look. They’re perfect for you.”

Amy looked up from what she was doing and couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Sue was holding the expensive pair of jeans she’d wanted. She looked at the price, which was cut down to 75% off!

“These are the pair I wanted!”

“Wow! You’re really lucky today, Amy.”

As Amy was driving home through the noon hour traffic, she couldn’t help but think about the mysterious pink card and the events that had occurred – the exam being canceled, the jeans being on sale – were those two of the three wishes? It certainly seemed that way.

But I can’t believe there’s such a thing as being granted three wishes. I’m a logical person, and it just doesn’t seem logical! But still . . .

Her thoughts were interrupted by a traffic jam. Sure enough, the cars were now bumper to bumper. The noon rush hour traffic had begun. Soon the cars were at a standstill, and Amy’s car was at the very back of the line, with no cars behind her. It seemed to her as though the line of cars in front of her were stretched as far as she could see and beyond.

If there was one thing Amy hated, it was rush hour traffic. She wasn’t a patient person, and soon she felt irritated beyond measure.

Are we ever going to move again? I’d really like to get home and get in some studying time. I know the exam we missed today will be given tomorrow. If I can get an hour’s worth of studying done, then I can sit on the deck and enjoy the rest of the afternoon. Come on, come on . . . let’s get going! I wish someone would drive faster.

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind when Amy heard the sound of an engine racing. She looked in her rear view mirror and watched in horror as a black Explorer came speeding up towards her. Sitting behind the wheel was a man talking on his cell phone, and she knew he wouldn’t be able to stop in time.

Her final thought was: Be careful what you wish for . . .

 

 

 

 

Joy in Suffering

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As you read the title of this piece, you may be thinking to yourself: How can there be joy in suffering? It is a contradiction in terms. I’d like to tell you that there can be joy in suffering. I know because I have experienced such joy in my life. Please let me explain.

I have been medically disabled from working since 2004. My problems started out small, and then steadily grew in proportion. I was diagnosed with medical conditions, one after another. I have many medical problems but I will not bore you by listing all of them here. Suffice it to say, I suffer every day. I suffer from pain; I suffer from depression; and I suffer from loneliness.

But I do have joy.

How can this be, you may ask? I am most eager to answer this question.

Before I became ill, I was a full-time working nurse, wife, and mother. I didn’t have time for any outside activities of my own. It was all I could do to come home from work each day and at the same time take care of my husband and children. But I was happy. I loved my life.

Then I became ill. Suddenly I was no longer the caretaker; I was the one being cared for. There are days when I’m in so much pain that I can’t even get out of bed. I’m confined for long periods of time to my bed or reclining chair.

I used to feel sorry for myself until one day I realized that I should be rejoicing instead of crying.

I’ve come to understand that God has blessed me with the most loving and understanding husband I could have ever asked for. I realized that when my husband took his wedding vows – the ones which state: “in sickness and in health” – he took those vows very seriously. He has proven it by taking on the roles of nurse, helper, friend, confidante, and lover.

Because I couldn’t work any more, our financial situation was in dire straits. So my hard-working husband took it upon himself to find a second part-time job just to help make ends meet. My dear husband works so hard that sometimes it makes me cry. But he never complains about it. He has never blamed me for it, even though at times I have blamed myself.

My husband also does all of the household chores and again, he does not complain. He does the cooking and the laundry, all without complaint. When our children were still in school, he was the one who attended the parent-teacher conferences. He was the one who drove our children to whatever practices or activities they were involved in for the day. He took my place at all the necessary social functions which I could not attend. He has done all these things, besides making sure that I have everything I need – sometimes giving those things to me before I even realized that I needed them myself.

Yes, my husband has brought me so much joy!

Our children have also been the bearers of joy for me. When I could not attend their school functions, they understood and never once did they complain about me not going. They only reassured me that it was all right, that they understood, and that they loved me. My children helped more around the house – doing things that I could no longer do. They have shown me nothing but love and understanding.

Yes, my children have brought me so much joy!

Since I’ve been ill, I’ve received so many telephone calls from my sisters and friends who check up on me, making sure that I’m okay, asking me what my needs are, and volunteering to fulfill those needs. Often times they’ll visit and spend time with me, just because they want to cheer me.

Yes, my sisters and friends have brought me so much joy!

Shortly after I became ill and was homebound, my husband thought it might be a good idea if I had a pet to keep me company during the day while I was alone so he bought me a little toy poodle. Her name is Lucy and she is my ever-faithful companion. She helped me through those long, lonely days and I believe she even helps to make me feel better. She always manages to put a smile on my face even when I am feeling low.

Yes, my little dog Lucy has brought me so much joy!

Because I have lots of time on my hands, I have been able to do some things that I never had time for when I was working. One of those things is writing. My illness has caused me to remember how much enjoyment I used to derive from writing. I’ve also discovered that writing is a wonderful form of therapy because it helps when I write down my thoughts, my fears, my hopes, my dreams, and my memories.

Yes, writing has brought me so much joy!

I have also discovered that when I’m in severe pain, if I pray and speak with my Lord, then my pain is lessened. I have come to know my God better than I have ever known Him before. To be with our Heavenly Father in prayer is a blessing.

Yes, God has brought me so much joy!

As a matter of fact, I have more joy in my life now than I ever did before.

So you see, there can be joy in suffering! You just have to know where to look for it, be grateful that you found it, appreciate it once you have it, and never, ever let it go.

 

 

 

 

The Last Goodbye

Megan’s heart ached as she watched the movers carry the last of the living room furniture through the front door of her great-grandmother’s house. The only people left in the room besides her were her older sister Beth, her mother, her grandmother Nana, and her great-grandmother, known as Granny Jo. A feeling of sadness hung heavily in the air, with the silence being broken only by the muffled sobs of Beth. Megan glanced at her mother and could see that she also felt it; her eyes brimming with tears.

Today was the day that Granny Jo was moving out of her house and into the nursing home.

Granny Jo was eighty-three years young – at least that’s what she said to anyone who inquired. She’d been living in the old house on the hill for the last fifty-eight years, and for fifty-two of those years she’d lived there with Grandpa Luke. Megan remembered Grandpa Luke vividly because he’d been such a character that he was difficult to forget. He had been tall and slim, with a full head of wavy white hair that never seemed to behave quite the way it was supposed to. Megan recalled the many times that Granny Jo would admonish him, “Luke, go comb your hair. It’s stickin’ out all over the place,” to which her great-grandfather would just grumble something unintelligible under his breath as he reluctantly shuffled off to do as his wife bid him. But he loved his wife and would do anything for her. He’d built her this house when they were newlyweds. He even put in a flower garden especially for her because he knew how much she loved flowers – lilies, chrysanthemums, morning glories, daisies, pansies – but especially the rose bushes.

Megan’s special memories of Grandpa Luke included sunshine-filled summers in the back yard when he pushed her on the swing which hung from one of the big apple trees, and of lazy afternoons lying on their backs together on the front lawn, trying to decide what kinds of things they imagined were being created by the white, fluffy clouds floating by in the blue skies overhead.

When Grandpa Luke died, her great-grandmother was taken by surprise. Never had she expected to wake up one day and find him lying cold and motionless beside her. She mourned her beloved husband for a very long time. Megan didn’t think she’d ever really gotten over Grandpa Luke’s death. Even now, Granny Jo still poured a cup of coffee for him every morning before she remembered that he was no longer there to drink it. And shortly after he died, everything began to change.

Granny Jo became more forgetful as time passed. There were instances when Megan and her mother would visit her, and Granny Jo couldn’t remember her name or her own daughter’s name. Sometimes she couldn’t even remember that they were relatives. One time she thought they were strangers who had invaded her home and threatened to call the police if they didn’t leave.

She also wasn’t taking the correct dosages of her medication. Either she’d forget to take it completely, or even worse, she’d take a double dose. One time Nana found her unresponsive and had to call the paramedics, all because she had double-dosed on her pills.

Then there was the time that she almost burned down her house. She’d been cooking on the stove. When she forgot about it, the pan caught on fire. It was a good thing that Nana had stopped by on her way home from church, or the whole house might have gone up in flames, and Granny Jo with it. Nana even had to call the fire department to extinguish the fire.

Megan knew that what her mother and Nana were saying was true. It was simply becoming too dangerous for Granny Jo to live alone. She probably would be better off in the nursing home where they could take better care of her and keep her safe.

But knowing what was right somehow didn’t make Megan feel any better. She only knew that the Granny Jo she had known and loved all her life was probably gone forever.

Megan also knew that she would never come back to swing from the apple tree in the back yard ever again. It was time to say goodbye to the old house on the big hill.

And in her heart, Megan also knew that she was saying goodbye to her childhood.

 

 

 

The Cellist

She was thirteen and just starting middle school. She felt out-of-place and disliked. It was plain to see that she had no friends. There was no one who would talk to her, no one who would eat with her during lunch time, no one who would walk with her to class, and no one who would sit with her on the bus. It seemed that no one liked her.

She struggled with homework and she had a difficult time when it came to taking tests. She felt like she couldn’t learn anything, couldn’t remember anything, and couldn’t do anything right. No one understood her, cared what happened to her, and it seemed as though no one even knew that she existed. And she felt sad as she wondered: Is this the way that it’s meant to be?

Then one day it happened. There was something new in her life, something exciting, something just for her.

A cello.

This magnificent instrument entered her life and she began to learn how to play it. She practiced and practiced and then practiced some more. It wasn’t long before she became a member of the school orchestra. Yes, it was wonderful, and her world became a better place.

Her cello became her constant companion and her best friend. This friend was always there for her, understood her, and never let her down. When she played her cello, she could be herself and everything was all right.

She began to make friends at school – friends who played in the orchestra with her. These friends introduced her to more friends. Soon, friends were calling her at home, walking with her to class, eating lunch with her, and riding with her on the bus. And she knew that life was good. She was filled with happiness as she thought: Maybe this is the way that it’s meant to be!

Three years passed and she entered high school. All the old anxieties came rushing back to her. She was sure it would be the same thing all over again – no one to understand her, no one to care about her, and no friends except for her faithful cello.

She auditioned for and subsequently won a place in the concert orchestra, which was quite a feat for a freshman because freshmen rarely were allowed to play in the concert orchestra. Surely luck played a part in her placement. It never occurred to her that it was her talent which had secured her position.

Then something wonderful happened. The other kids told her that she was good; as a matter of fact, they said that she was really good. As before, she made new friends, and those friends introduced her to more friends.

By the time she was a junior, she was the first chair in the cello section – the chair reserved only for the best cellist. At last she was really someone, someone of status, someone who played an important part in the orchestra. And she knew that life was good. With a feeling of great joy and hope she marveled: Yes! Maybe this really is the way that it’s meant to be!

Then came her senior year, the year that every teenager awaits with eager anticipation. It was a wonderful year; indeed a memorable year, and at the final orchestra concert, she and her best friend – her beloved cello – played a solo. She played for an audience of 500 people or more. The piece she played was a difficult one, but she played it perfectly, and her best friend – her cello – did not let her down.stephcello4

When she finished, there was silence. Oh no! she thought in dismay. They didn’t like it!

Then it happened – a thunderous applause! All those people were clapping for her! One by one, everyone in the auditorium stood up and applauded. She could hardly believe it – a standing ovation! This was a rare thing indeed! But it really was not that difficult to understand why this happened. The audience recognized the talent she had, they appreciated the beautiful way she had played, and they gave her the credit that she truly deserved.

She knew then that she had found her life’s work.

And finally she realized: I know this is the way that it’s meant to be.

 

* Author’s Note:  At the present time (May of 2015), our youngest daughter Stephanie has just completed her first year of studies at the University of Wisconsin in Madison where she is pursuing her master’s degree in music performance on the cello. Her dream of being a professional cellist and some day performing with a symphony orchestra burns brightly.

 

Three Words You Never Hear Any More

I grew up in a family of seven children, and whenever the telephone rang in our house, you could hear seven voices chime out simultaneously: “I’ll get it!” Following this was always a race to see who could manage to pick up the receiver first and say that special word: “Hello?”

In our house it was a privilege to answer the telephone. We didn’t have cell phones back then. We didn’t have an answering machine, either, so there was no screening of the calls being received. Hard as it is to believe, we actually wanted to know who was on the other end of the line calling us. We never allowed a telephone call to go unanswered. telephone ringing 1But today it seems that the words: “I’ll get it” are three words that you never hear anymore.

With the birth of the answering machine and the ability to screen calls, it is practically unheard of to answer a call without first checking to see who is calling. And how many of us have land lines anymore? Today most of us own cell phones, a modern convenience which allows us to receive our calls anywhere at any time. But in many instances we’re not even talking on our phones because often we prefer texting to talking. Yes, modern technology has certainly changed our attitude towards the telephone. And I wonder: Has it been for the better?

As a matter of fact, I did not own a cell phone until a couple of years ago. I’ve been unable to work for the past eleven years due to medical disabilities which has kept me homebound, and so my husband felt that I didn’t need a cell phone; after all, I had the land line available to me. After an emergency arose, it became apparent that I did need a cell phone, and so finally (as my children so aptly put it) “I stepped into the 21st century.” They pointed out to me that a cell phone was better than a land line because of the texting feature. With texting, I’d be able to communicate faster and easier with people because sometimes it’s “inconvenient” to talk on the phone. At least, this was the way that it was explained to me by them.

But it seems to me that it’s more difficult than ever to get hold of people, even my own children! Well, is it just me or does everyone have this problem? I text, I leave messages, and often I never hear back from the people I call or text. It’s so frustrating not to be able to get hold of other people. And I can’t count the number of times that I’ve been with others who have simply ignored their cell phones when they’ve been ringing, and I think: Aren’t you going to answer that?

I think that the other problem with the cell phone age is texting. I know what you’re going to say because I’ve heard it from my own children. Yes, it is convenient, and yes, it is quick. But what about our communication skills? I’m talking about good old-fashioned talking, one-to-one voice communication. I’m talking about a verbal exchange between two people. There can be problems with texting. Many times you really can’t express all that you need to express in the printed word, such as the tone of your voice or the way you emphasize a certain word. Now I realize that you can place a smiley face or some other emoticon in your text message, but is it really the same as “hearing” the smile in someone’s voice when they’re talking, or listening to them laugh? What about when they’re feeling sad or worried? Can you really express those feelings in a text message? I truly don’t believe that you can.

I know that technology is here to stay, and I’m all for it because we’re supposed to evolve and become better. But maybe we should start thinking about being a bit more considerate of each other when we use it. After all, it’s supposed to help us, not harm us. Maybe we should use a bit of common sense and think about whether it’s better to text or to actually talk on the phone depending on the situation. And I always plead with my children: Please check  your messages and call people back.

And for heaven’s sake, don’t be afraid to say: “I’ll get it.”

 

 

 

 

 

Not Just a Number

The other day I realized that I needed to renew my driver’s license. Believing that there’s no time like the present, I proceeded to go ahead and take care of the renewal before it slipped my mind. I pulled into the parking lot of the DMV and considered myself fortunate when a car pulled out so that I could grab the parking space it had just occupied. The parking lot was full, so I knew I was going to have a long wait in line.

Sure enough, upon entering the building, I noticed a long line of people waiting to renew their driver’s licenses. I pulled a waiting ticket which revealed that my number was 479; the number on the board showed that they were waiting on number 456. At that moment I was grateful that I had worn my best pair of tennis shoes.dmv12

I felt so uncomfortable waiting in this line of strangers where no one even knew my name. I was just a number to everyone. I could have been nonexistent and no one would have cared less. As a matter of fact, those behind me in line would have been glad if I were nonexistent because then they could have reached the front of the line sooner.

It’s so easy in this huge world to feel as though your existence doesn’t really matter much at all, especially when you’re among strangers, and that’s exactly how I felt at that moment. I was so glad when my number was called. Even then I was still treated as only just a number.

I really couldn’t blame the staff at the DMV. After all, they were only trying to do their jobs as efficiently as possible, but it still left me feeling as though I were only a number – one number in a million numbers.

On the drive home, I contemplated how often a person has this feeling of insignificance – at the DMV, at the doctor’s office, at the post office, at the supermarket, or at any number of places on any given day.

I had been born and raised in a big city and so I wondered: are things any different in a small town? Maybe so, but would I ever have the chance to find out? I doubt it. So I guess I’ll always have to wonder.

Then I pulled into my driveway. My husband opened the kitchen door to our house and our little toy poodle Lucy dashed out the door to greet me, her fluffy tail wagging furiously. I opened the car door and she tried to jump up into my lap before I could even get a foot out and on to the ground. She began to lick my face, letting me know just how glad she was to see me.

I’m not just a number to her, a nonexistent nobody. To her I am the one who feeds her, walks her, plays with her, brushes her, scratches behind her ears, rubs her belly, and gives her love. To her I am her mistress. To her I am everything. To her I am immense. To her I am the world.

And then I realized that maybe I should start looking at myself through her eyes and try to remember that no one can make me feel inferior without my consent.

The Ride

 

One Friday evening my fiancé Mike and I decided to go horseback riding the next morning. I was so excited because I’d always loved horses and dreamed of being a horsewoman. I had never been horseback riding but had always longed to go. I loved the idea of flying down the road on a horse, with the wind blowing through my hair. I knew I had some romantic notions about the whole thing, but I didn’t care. At last I would get my wish, and I was really looking forward to the next day.

When we arrived at the horse ranch the next morning, a young man of about eighteen came out to greet us.

“Can I help you folks?”

“We’d like to go riding,” Mike told him.

“Ever ride before?”

“I have, but she hasn’t.”

“We’ll find her a gentle horse. The first time I think it’s best if you follow me down the trail. Then if you’re comfortable after that you can go off on your own. Sound okay?”

“That sounds fine,” said Mike.

“Okay, I’ll be back with your mounts.”

He came back a few minutes later with two saddled horses. The first one was a large jet-black horse. Since I’m not a horse person, I have no idea what kind of horse it was, but I knew that I didn’t want to ride him. I was relieved to discover he was for Mike. I watched as Mike mounted him with ease, and I thought to myself: Now that doesn’t look too hard.

The second horse was smaller, chestnut-brown, and with a white streak running down his nose.

“This mount’s for you, Miss. His name’s Brownie. I’ll help you mount him.”

After that he showed me how to use the reins, my knees and heels, and which commands to make the horse stop and go forward.

“The most important thing is to not be afraid. He’ll know if you’re afraid and if that happens, he’ll do whatever he wants. Remember – you’re the boss, not him. Okay, let’s go.”

He began to ride out on the trail and the other horses simply followed his horse. It was a very pleasant ride. Finally we trotted back to the stable.

“So, would you folks like to go out on your own now?”

Mike looked at me questioningly. I nodded my head yes.

“But first we have to change your mount. He’s already been out a few times today and looks like he needs a rest,” he said to Mike.

Mike dismounted and soon the guide brought out another horse. This one was smaller than the first.

“Okay. Now remember to show him who’s boss,” he said, directing his comment toward me.

“Okay, I will.” I promised confidently, as I sat up straight and tall in the saddle.

We began down the trail that the guide had shown us, even trotting along the way. I was beginning to feel very much the horsewoman.

Suddenly my horse wouldn’t obey my commands. He began to wander away, no matter what I did.

“Mike, he won’t listen to me.”

“You have to show him who’s boss, honey.”

“I’m trying, but he won’t listen.”

“Do you want to trade horses?”

“Can I? Yours looks a lot more obedient than mine.”

“Sure.”

Mike dismounted and helped me mount his horse. We took off on the trail once again.

Everything seemed to be going better. Then the new horse I was riding also began being “stubborn” and wasn’t obeying my commands, either.

“Mike, now this horse won’t listen.”

“Honey, I don’t know what else to do. Just do your best.”

“Yes, but . . . “horse 100

Before I could get another word out of my mouth, that horse began to run, or should I say gallop! He was galloping so fast I thought for sure I would fall off. Soon we were flying with what seemed to me like break neck speed through the fields, over the meadow, and even down a hill, where I thought for sure I would be thrown off and possibly suffer a fatal accident. No matter how hard I pulled on the reins or how many times I screamed, “Whoa!” it didn’t matter one iota to that horse. I wondered where in the world this horse was taking me. All I knew for certain was that I had never been so terrified in my entire life. I could hear Mike galloping behind me, calling out my name, but his horse couldn’t catch up to mine. I must have been riding the fastest horse in the stable.

And that’s exactly where we ended up – the stable. I figured it must have been the horse’s lunchtime and he must have been starving because he had certainly been in a hurry to get back there.

Evidently I was screaming, even though I didn’t realize it, because the guide came running out from the stable.

As soon as that horse saw the guide he stopped dead in his tracks. As a matter of fact, he stopped so suddenly that I almost did fly off, but somehow I managed to keep hold of the saddle horn, which I had been clinging to for dear life.

“What happened, Miss?”

By this time Mike had reached us.

“Well . . . he just wouldn’t . . . “

“I know – he didn’t know who was boss, right? He thought he was the boss. So he figured he could come back to the stable and be lazy instead, right?”

He grinned at Mike and winked. Mike nodded his head, trying hard to hide his laughter.

I was so embarrassed. I knew I would never live this down. I felt like a failure and I was disappointed because I realized that I would never be a horsewoman.

But at least I lived to tell this story. Perhaps I made you smile or even laugh, and if that’s the case – then, maybe I’m not such a failure after all!

 

 

 

 

 

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