Every year since I started blogging, I
have a picture for the year with word or thought to go with it. The
first one was Jesus yoke. I needed to be yoked with Jesus, His yoke
is easy and His burden is light. I had a problem finding the
actual picture of an old yoke in the snow with the morning sun
shining behind it, as I envisioned my picture. I finally found it,
but with no snow. I photographed an antique
yoke at the Munnel Run Farm Museum outside of Mercer in late August or early September. I knew I had to go there, but as with so many plans made the last week of December, it got lost in the calender of other obligations.
yoke at the Munnel Run Farm Museum outside of Mercer in late August or early September. I knew I had to go there, but as with so many plans made the last week of December, it got lost in the calender of other obligations.
The next year as I prayed, the picture
came easier. I hadn't published any novels, yet, but I had two
completed. I forged ahead with saying “I am a writer,” instead of
“I want to write.” In this new world of writing, I needed
'courage,' which I found in a stylistic new sculpture at Buhl Farm
Park on an early winter walk, a lion, the symbol for courage. That
lion often reminded me as I walked to keep my courage in this
publishing world.
The next year, 'abundance' in a lush
Pennsylvania summer, the picture came to me. I prayed for abundance
in all my endeavors, but mostly for my writing. The next year 2015,
the picture came again in warmer weather as I was down town Sharon.
'Rest,' at a green bistro set, welcoming me to sit down with Jesus.
Last year, two doors representing
'hope' were my pictures. The first door at the Hermitage Historical
Society home was my wallpaper until I found the second one. The door
at the When Words Count Writers Retreat in April gave me hope for my
writing. This reminded me of my hope in Jesus and my writing as a
vocation.
Which has lead me to my word picture
for 2017. As I gazed at my books on the shelf at the Barnes and Noble
last week, I remember when writing was a dream. I walked into this
Barnes and Noble many years ago, struck with the dread of even if I
published a book, how would it compete with all these books? I
couldn't give up, but I didn't dream that day.
I snapped pictures with my phone of my
books pointing out where they were in the store. I saw a nurse I had
worked with before. I admire her. I fought with her image during The
View controversy staged by Joy Behair's insult to Miss Colorado and
all nurses last September. The nurse I know, works hard, has three
children and continues her education. I may have inspired her in a
small way, when I visited her grandmother for wound care many years
ago.
My careers collided that day in Barnes
and Noble. I inspired a girl to be a nurse, as I, now try to escape
nursing. She congratulated me on my novels and took my picture with
them. She wished me luck in both endeavors.
I found my word and my picture.
'Dream.' I keep up the dream of writing. In this case, dream is not
passive. Work accompanies the dream. I can only see the dream when I
work.
Dream |
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