crazy travels

Lately, I’ve been wondering if people resent the fact that when I blog it is mostly about faith things. Do they feel mislead, deceived when they come to read my blog which is supposed to, more or less, be about what it’s like to live with a mental illness ?

But when I share my story, it is impossible to separate faith from my struggles with bipolar. For me, they go hand in hand. I can’t share the truth—the whole uncensored truth—without including the very thing that, above all else, got me through some very difficult times—my faith in a loving God. 

It was during this period of my life that I clung to the truth of God’s Word like never before. Whenever I sat down to read my Bible, if I found a promise that God seemed to be whispering to my heart, I would underline that particular verse and write the date beside it. It was like I was reminding God to make good on all his promises and, I have to say, he has not disappointed. 

You see, mine is a story of redemption.  How God took the worst years of my life and created something beautiful out of them. 

Psalm 84:5-6

Happy are those who are strong in the Lord, who set their minds on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. When they walk through the Valley of Weeping it will become a place of refreshing springs, where pools of blessing collect after the rains.

Pre-diagnosis I had more than my share of days when it took all I had just to trudge through the Valley of Weeping, hoping and praying for better days to come. And the good news is, they did. 

I live in a place now where many pools of blessing have collected at my feet. I’m on the other side of the Valley of Weeping and I can testify to the fact that my whole world has changed—for the better.

I’ll leave you with a quote from my memoir, Pools of Blessing. In sharing it, I hope that it will lift your spirits no matter what you’re experiencing as you travel through your own Valley of Weeping:

“Yes, inevitably the rains come into our lives.  After all rain does bring about growth doesn’t it?  But when the rains have come and gone, the pools that quench our thirst, wash our feet, give us hope, are the very ones formed from the thing we hated most, the storms.” (taken from Pools of Blessing)

An excerpt from my memoir, Pools

This fall I had set a goal to finish the first three chapters of Pools of Blessing, my memoir, by the end of September. And today, Whoop! Whoop! I got ‘er done.

Below you’ll find a little excerpt from the newly finished Chapter Three; To Be or Not to Be—A  Daddy’s Girl. 

A little background here; Growing up I was a Daddy’s girl. I followed him everywhere—many times to my own detriment. This excerpt from Pools shares two memories I have of spending time with Dad. Hope you enjoy it. 

There are many good memories I have of working with Dad, though at the time, they seemed anything but good. One Saturday, Dad wanted help cleaning out our backyard shed.  This shed also served as a dog house , though no pampered dog of ours ever actually lived there. Since I was deathly afraid of spiders and mice, it took Dad awhile to convince me to help.  

“Nic, there’s no mice in there.  You’ll be fine,” he assured me.  

I trusted him, mostly.  So I set out to sweep the inside of the pen. Thirty seconds later I was screaming at the top of my lungs, “Dad it’s a mouse, it’s a mouse! Help!”  

The little rodent and I were trapped in the same small space. I panicked. Backing myself into a corner, I held the broom in front of my face—staring the little pest down. Hearing my scream, Dad came to my rescue. He chased the mouse out of our shed, and I begrudgingly continued sweeping.   

You’d think after awhile I would figure out that working on Dad’s projects wasn’t always in my best interest.  

 

I found other ways to spend time with Dad.  In fact, following him around became a full time past time. I even went so far as to go hunting with him. 

It was dove hunting season and, when Dad asked me to go, I decided it would be fun. Well, if you can call laying in a field at  five am in the morning; peeing behind trees every thirty minutes, (hey, I had to drink something to stay warm); and watching poor helpless birds fall from the sky then, yes, I had fun.

But my sensitive side couldn't take the carnage happening all around me. When I saw the soft, warm, fuzzy little things lying helplessly on the ground, I had this fleeting idea to try mouth to beak CPR. Needless to say, I never went hunting with my dad again.

It feels good to have reached a goal that I set for myself. I’m hoping to stay on track. My goal is to have the book ready in the spring--to be professionally edited. Wish me luck!