Cookies and Hugs Might Not Fix the World, But I'll Do My Best!

There is so much darkness in the world today. Hatred, violence, intolerance … and hiding away in a bubble of ignorance (as tempting as that may sound) doesn’t help. After all, “Bad men need nothing more to compass their ends, than that good men should look on and do nothing” (JohnStuart Mill). It’s absolutely vital, now more than ever, to stand up for the things we believe in with courage and conviction.

But I’m learning that there are a lot of different ways to stand up, and it’s okay if my stance doesn’t look exactly like yours. We all have different abilities and strengths. I may not be as tall as you, or be able to carry the same kind of load. Some people might be able to reach greater distances in a single leap or run farther before they have to stop to rest. But we all have something to contribute.

I’ve been feeling terribly guilty for months, because I’m just not doing enough. Even on my tiptoes, I can’t stand as tall as some of the giants I know.

I see my friends marching in rallies and making live broadcasts of their daily phone calls to senators and members of congress to make their voices heard.

I see other friends writing articles and blog posts and books that highlight Important issues to enlighten the world.

And I’ve felt like a gigantic failure, because I’m not Making A Difference. I can’t march because anger (even when rightfully directed at great injustices) literally paralyzes me (stupid brain tumor). And though I’m proud of the sweet, fluffy stories I tell, I may never write the kind of Important books my friends do.

Except …

There was the little Hispanic girl at the Gaithersburg Book Festival a couple of weeks ago who excitedly hugged my book and exclaimed “the princess looks just like me!” (I wish I had a picture, because the resemblance was uncanny. They even had the same glasses!) And maybe this little girl had never seen herself in a princess book before. But she stood a little taller as she walked away, clutching a bookmark and pin depicting the princess that looked just like she did.

Maybe it was important to her.

And I may not have the kind of strength that makes a hero, but I have arms that are great at giving hugs and ears that are highly skilled listening devices. I might not be able to confront the bullies on the playground, but I can definitely lift and support those who are being attacked. And I might not be able to fix everything, but maybe I can make one small corner of the world just a little bit better. And maybe that is important enough.

I will probably continue to feel guilty more days than not. By tomorrow morning, I will likely be once again feeling like my contribution isn’t good enough. Because, to be honest, there will never be a “good enough” until the good shines stronger than darkness, lifting those who have been beaten down to cower in the shadows. And I will never stop wishing that I could stand a little taller and reach a little farther and banish the bullies from the playground.

Maybe someday I will get there. At least, if I keep trying, I will get closer. But in the meantime, I will do what I can. And for now, I know I can do this:

I can look for the goodness in the people around me. I can acknowledge the beauty of those who might feel invisible, those who feel forgotten and neglected. I can be there to listen when someone needs to talk, and I can amplify the voices of those who stand a bit taller or reach a bit farther than I can. Those who have such Important things to say.

And I can spread sunshine in the ways I know how. With bubbles and fairy tales and chocolate sprinkles on top.

Cookies and hugs might not fix the evil in the world, but sometimes the little things are Important too.

Confessions of a Semi-Absent Friend (It's Not You. It's Me.)

As you know, 2015 was a a really difficult year for me.

The holidays (from Halloween, clear 'til the New Year) were especially hard, and I really struggled to capture the spirit of joy that usually comes so easily for me. For the first time, I experienced the seasonal depression that hits so many during the holidays. And though I tried to keep up the cheerful attitude I'm generally known for, I'll admit that I spent many hours hiding in quiet corners to cry so I wouldn't bring anyone else at the party down.

But the thing is, I don't think I was really fooling anyone. Though I tried to keep up a carefully-cultivated mask, though I wore a plastered-on smile and forced a chipper tone into my voice when answering the unavoidable "how are you?"-type questions, I know my recent aloofness has caused some hurt feelings.

And I want to apologize for being a semi-absent friend.

"When you cannot do what you have always done, then you only do what matters most." This quote by Elder Robert D. Hales has become my mantra in recent months. I've had to remind myself daily that I'm not a bad person just because I have to say no to things I've said yes to in the past. Still, I've been saying "no" so much more than I want to. And I've heard enough quiet murmurings to know that some of my friends and family are starting to think they aren't in my "what matters most" category.

So at the risk of sounding like I'm having a prolonged pity party, I wanted to explain why I've been absent lately. Why I'm not on Twitter or Facebook or this blog cheering your successes and mourning your losses with you. Why I've not attended so many social engagements, even when I said I'd really try to be there. Why I'm no longer the one jumping to volunteer when I see a friend in need, even when I desperately want to be there for you. And why I might quietly slip away from a conversation just when you start thinking that everything is back to normal.

It's not you. I promise.

It's me.

And I know that's the world's most unhelpful cliche, but it's the total and honest truth.

I want you to know that I'm not sitting around feeling sorry for myself. I'm not sinking into a deep depression or wallowing in a pool of self-pity and resentment. And even though I might break down in uncontrollable fits of private sobs more often than I want to admit these days, I really will be okay. And I'm getting better, but it will take some time to replenish my natural well.

As you know, I'm a certified optimist. I can find the good in any situation, the positive spin on even the most negative circumstances. And even though circumstances have been HARD for the past eight months, I can see so many wonderful blessings that have come from our struggles. And truly, even though I don't know how I have the strength to get out of bed some days, the Lord has blessed me with the strength to keep putting one foot in front of another, and we've found a way to do all of the truly essential things.

But here's the thing: Things are more difficult right now than they've ever been. And although I can still look at each and every trial and find the good hidden there, I'm exhausted. I simply don't have the energy to project that positive spin for an audience.

I'm not sure when we'll be able to go home again. Work has come to a screeching halt on our house, as we wait for reports from the structural engineer (so that the rebuild can be done safely and securely, and we don't accidentally end up with nothing more than a pile of rubbish where our home used to be). We have no more money to pay for work to continue. The funds we've raised, the loan we were able to acquire, and the small amount we had in our savings have all gone to pay for the mold removal. We're hoping to be able to get a new loan to refinance our house and be able to pay for the rebuilding, but the bank can't process the paperwork until they have the report, and we won't know if we even qualify for the loan until they process that paperwork.

And yes, I know that I have been so richly blessed in so many ways. I'm still beyond overwhelmed by the generosity you showed in our gofundme campaign. And yes, I have faith that somehow, in some way, things will work out.

I don't know how.

And to be honest, I'm terrified. And feeling more than a little bit lost. But the natural optimist in me keeps pointing out the blessings, and that keeps me from collapsing under the weight of it all.

The thing is, my little cup of gratitude, overflowing as it may be, isn't big enough to fill my well right now. And I just don't have enough optimism to share.

So when you ask me for an update on my house, and the only news I've had to report for months is that work has stopped and I don't know when or if we'll be able to afford the next step ... Or when you ask me if I'm going to make cookies for everyone in the neighborhood this year (as I used to do every year at Christmas), just hours after I was crying in the grocery store because I wasn't sure I'd have enough money to feed my family that week ... Or when you invite my children to join you for an afternoon of fun and it's only $10 per person, but that's $40 more than I have in the budget ...

Yes, I will still see the blessings there. I will still see the silver linings in every cloud and the rainbows shining after every storm.

I will be excruciatingly grateful for the most amazing contractors in the world, who have gone out of their way to personally let me know that I'm not alone, and that they will do everything in their power to make sure we WILL find a way to rebuild our home.

I will blink back a few tears of joy over the fact that everything on my grocery list was on sale and each item carried extra gas reward bonus points

 enough to allow me to fill my tank for only fourteen cents per gallon.

I will thank the Lord that you love my children enough to want to include them in the fun times, and that you recognize how desperately we need some fun right now.

But I don't always have the energy to keep smiling.

I don't even have the strength to explain to you that you didn't make me cry, and that I didn't mean to burst into a sobbing mess just because you showed me the beautiful kitchen you just finished remodeling.

And I'm struggling so hard just to keep my own head above water that even though I see you struggling too, and I desperately want to lift you, I know that we'll both go under if you're relying on me.

But I'm not really absent. I'm still here, quietly cheering for you on the sidelines. I pray for you. I think  of you.

And little by little, I'm filling my well. One tiny drop at a time. Until someday soon, I hope, I'll be ready to step out of the shadows and reflect the sunshine I see in our lives every single day.

Please be patient with me until then.

And please know that I love you.

*hugs*

Merry Christmas!

As you probably know, this has been a tough year for us, and I've been struggling with finding the Christmas spirit in a way that I've never struggled before. So I'm especially grateful for friends who love me enough to reach out and let me know they care.

Two weeks ago, we came home from a visit to see the Washington DC Temple Festival of Lights,

and there was a small package on our doorstep. Inside was a small, ceramic lamb. No note. No explanation. Just a lamb. As my children wondered what it could mean, I felt the first flutterings of the Spirit I'd been missing.

That lamb looked like it must belong to a nativity set. Maybe someone who knew I collect nativities was giving us an extra-special "Twelve Days of Christmas." I immediately felt pangs of guilt for my selfishness in hoping that I would continue to get a new piece to the set each night. Because wishing for presents for yourself isn't what Christmas is all about. Still, I couldn't help hoping that the gifts would continue, and I found myself watching for the next piece each night.

They came.

Piece by piece, the nativity arrived from our anonymous givers.

And when a friend handed me a small package at church with the instruction that I should open it on Christmas morning, I was pretty sure I knew who my Secret Santa was. I quietly tucked the gift under the tree without saying anything to my children, to preserve the mystery for them. But for me, it meant so much more each night when I received the next piece of the nativity, because I was loved not by a faceless stranger, but by a family full of some of the most amazing people I know.

We kept the growing nativity in the middle of the dining room table, where I could see it several times a day. And each time I passed by, I thought of the hugs and smiles I receive each time I see these sweet children. The words of comfort and encouragement from my friend (their mother). I thought about the scrumptious Christmas cinnamon rolls they made for us.

I thought about how these children go out of their way nearly every day to make sure my kids know they have friends. And the way the father came rushing to our rescue with tools in hand two nights before Christmas, when the boys in my cub scout troop locked our cat in the basement room, for which we had no key. (We couldn't pick the lock, and I had to call an emergency locksmith in the end anyway, but the $250 emergency lockout fee was a little easier to swallow when we'd already exhausted everything we could do on our own.) Each piece of the nativity reminded me that I wasn't alone.

Sure enough, the final piece (the Christ child) was in the package we unwrapped Christmas morning. Along with a note and the story that inspired their gift.

I'll admit, I'm still struggling more than usual. This gift, as amazing as it was, didn't magically cure everything. (This isn't a Hallmark Channel movie, after all.) But I do know that I'm not alone.

No matter what happens, no matter how difficult things may be ... even if we can't get the loans we need and never do get back to our home ... I have friends by my side to help me through.

And somehow, I will be all right.

"Win" or "Lose," Pitch Wars Might Change Your Life

When entering online writing contests like Pitch Wars, it's important to remember that, whether you make it to the next level or not, simply taking that step forward to bravely enter might be the catalyst that changes your life forever. 

 I've written about this subject many times before. Many times. Like here, here, here, and here. And here. I've talked about how I got my agent after NOT getting picked in a contest. And how my debut novel, TWELVE STEPS, was both inspired by a contest rejection AND how success in a contest ultimately led to publication.

You might think that I've already exhausted the subject, and I couldn't possibly have anything more to say. Unless, of course, you've ever met me. Because then you'll know that I'm constantly looking for new insights and lessons to learn from the trials I go through.

Three years ago at this time, I was a Pitch Wars hopeful, biting my nails to oblivion while I nervously waited for the mentor picks to be announced. In case you haven't read the blog posts I linked to above, I wasn't picked for the contest. And I was devastated. I wanted to give up on writing altogether.

But my amazing new writing friends ... all the people I met in the contest trenches ... wouldn't let me give up. So instead of packing away my story pencils, I wrote something new. (And that manuscript went on to become my debut novel.)

Last year, and the year before, I participated in Pitch Wars on the other side of the glass, as a mentor. And I got to meet a TON of amazing writers. My fellow mentors. My mentees. Writers who submitted their manuscripts to me, who I wanted to choose but couldn't. Writers who chatted with me on the Twitter #PitchWars hashtag. I've met my best writing friends in the contest trenches.

But you already knew all of that, didn't you? I've told these stories hundreds of times, so why bother writing yet another post to rehash the same old tales?

Because when I tell you that participating in  Pitch Wars might change your life, I'm not just talking about your writing career.

If you read my blog regularly or follow me on Twitter, you probably know that last April, I was thrilled to hear that the Air Force was sending us back to Maryland, back "home," back to the area where the climate is best suited to help with my health issues. And you probably know that in May, I was devastated to discover that my home had been destroyed by water and mold. And you probably even saw one or both of the auctions that friends in the publishing community put together to help raise funds for the repairs, when the insurance company refused to pay.

You've probably seen my repeated posts, thanking people for their help and support, and counting the many, many blessings that have come from this particular trial. I honestly don't know I could get through each day without the support I see from my friends.

And here's the thing, folks: The majority of those people helping me and supporting me and carrying me through the trials when I literally can't walk another step on my own? Guess where we met? Yep. Through Pitch Wars and other, similar, online contests. Even the friend of a friend I mentioned last Friday ... the one who helped me find a temporary place to live so my family and I won't be homeless while we're trying to repair our house. You guessed it. The mutual friend connecting us was one of the writers I met in this amazing community.

When I say that Pitch Wars changed my life, I mean it. Yes, the experience made me a better writer. Yes, I credit much of my publishing success to the lessons I learned from both successes and failures in the contest trenches. But publishing success is only a part of what makes Pitch Wars great. The real value in these online contests is the connection you make with other writers. 

The friendships you forge here may be the relationships that carry you through when the stress of real life pushes you down. That's the true value of Pitch Wars.


For other perspectives on how Pitch Wars changes lives, check out the stories and advice in this blog hop with messages from last year's Pitch Wars mentees.

Adventures in a Real-Life Hallmark Movie

You know that scene in all those Hallmark Channel movies, when the whole town comes together to save the main character from whatever drama she's facing? Yeah, I feel like I've been living in that scene for the past several months, as we struggle to get our home fixed. I've been living on the verge of a total meltdown every day, yet every time I hit that place where I simply can't do it anymore on my own, someone steps forward to carry my burden for me. Between the overwhelming auctions put together by so many amazing publishing people and the donations on our gofundme page, I spent a lot of this summer crying happy tears. I still can't believe how much support we're getting from all of you wonderful folks!

We've officially moved back to Maryland now, but we're still waiting for work to begin in restoring our house. We're facing what I think will be the last hurdle before we can get a loan to pay for the renovations, and I'm trying to stay positive, even though the silence is killing me with every day we wait. (We have to get an official appraisal saying what the house will be worth after repairs ... but so far we've had two appraisals scheduled, and though both were warned about the damage, they didn't take the warnings seriously. Both appraisers backed out as soon as they saw the true extent of the mold damage. If you're the praying type, please send up a prayer for us, as we have a third appraiser scheduled to go in today. If the appraisal comes back with a value high enough to justify the loan we need, we'll be able to get work started!)

Still, I'm a firm believer that every trial brings great blessings. And every challenge, no matter how devastating it may seem, is just another building block in the foundation of greatness.

This belief has certainly been strengthened since we arrived in Maryland.

We arrived with cheerful thoughts and high hopes a little over a week ago. We didn't know where we were going to live while waiting for our home to be fixed or how we were going to get through the next few weeks or months, but we were confident that it would all work out somehow. (I'd hoped, when I discovered the damage in May, that we'd be able to get the work completed over the summer and be ready to move in by the time we arrived. Sadly, that was not the case. Instead, we spent all summer trying to find a way to pay for the repairs.)

Turns out, finding affordable (or even super-expensive) temporary housing (a place that doesn't require a long-term lease) for six people and two cats isn't as easy as you might think. We found several apartments that offered short-term leases and welcomed our two cats ... but they had a four person limit. Then, we found one place that would allow all six of us, but only one of our cats. And one place that had room for all of us (cats included), but wouldn't be available until mid-October! Each possibility we explored started with a surge of hopefulness, leading to total despair when my hopes were crushed. When we reached the end of the list (after calling or visiting every apartment complex we could find in the area, and even begging a local realtor for leads) with no results, I sat in my car and cried. My only options were to give up one or more of my family members in exchange for a place to live ... or to remain homeless for a couple of months. None of those options were acceptable, but I didn't know what else to do.

So I went online and sent out a call for help to all of my friends in the area. Minutes later, a friend of a friend saw my plea. And she had a friend who was getting ready to put her home up for rent at the beginning of September. A friend who was willing to speed up the process so we could move in right away. A friend who had room for our whole family AND our cats. ... And her friend has become, in only a few short days, not only my landlord but someone I can truly call a friend as well.

I'm still hovering on the edge of tears every single day, and I feel like I'm walking an unmarked path through woods so dark I can't see farther than my next step at any given moment. But I will keep walking, keep moving forward. Because though the journey is difficult and sometimes truly terrifying, there are so many wonderful blessings to be found along the way. And I have discovered the best traveling companions to get me through. Thank you all for being a part of my journey! I love and appreciate you more than words can possibly express.

Gratitude Beyond Words (and a continued plea for help)

I've been trying to write this blog post for more than three weeks, but I'm riding such an extreme roller coaster of emotional highs and lows that I can't always compose a coherent sentence these days.

As you probably know if you follow me on Facebook or Twitter, I've been super-excited about our upcoming move back home to Maryland. In fact, when we got our orders for the move, I couldn't contain my emotions.

Eventually, I'll find the emotional strength to explain exactly why this promised move back to Maryland was such an overwhelming blessing to me, but for now I'll just say that I am healthier in Maryland than I've been anywhere else in my life. I was the girl who was constantly sick (my brother jokes that my immune system is entirely too nice, sending invitations and greeting cards to germs instead of fighting them off) throughout my growing up years. But the climate in Maryland is perfect for me, and during the three and a half years that we lived there, we all marveled that my immune system was actually working almost as well as a "normal" person's system. (In the three years that we've lived in New Mexico, I've been sick nearly every day, except for the few weeks when I've had the opportunity to go back and visit my friends in Maryland.)

So moving back to Maryland, to the home I love where I can feel truly alive ... This was the greatest blessing in the world! I was so excited, in fact, that I couldn't bring myself to wait for the end of the summer.

I packed my husband's car with all the things we would normally move on our own (instead of letting the military movers take them for us). Things like my old journals, handmade Christmas ornaments, an extra crock pot and air mattresses ... Those things that either can't be replaced for any amount of money or that we will need to make our lives comfortable while we wait for the movers to arrive with the rest of our household goods on the other side of the move. ... And I drove across the country in a three-day solo road trip to check on the house and drop the car off in Maryland on my way up to New York for BEA.

But I didn't tell anyone I was coming. Because deep down, I had this nagging fear: What if??

What if I moved back to Maryland only to discover that all of my friends had moved on? What if they no longer had room for me in their lives? What if my neighbors weren't as happy to see me as I was anxious to see them? What if??? 

I pulled into town on Sunday afternoon and cheerfully skipped up the front steps to my beautiful house. Tomorrow, when I was rested and refreshed, I would surprise my friends with a visit and put to rest those fears. But for now, I couldn't wait to relax in the quiet of my own home.

But the front door wouldn't open. I couldn't get the deadbolt to unlock.

I shrugged and skipped around to the back door, eager to unpack the car and start turning my house into home again. I turned the key and pushed the door open, and a flush of water splashed on my head.

Huh. Must have been a rainstorm recently. And water somehow collected in the door frame. I didn't realize it was possible for so much to collect there, but no matter. I was home.

Grinning from ear to ear, I stepped inside.

And screamed.

My kitchen was flooded. The floor and the brand-new countertops (installed weeks before we moved away) destroyed.

I raced through the kitchen to see the rest of the house ... And screamed again as I discovered that it wasn't just the kitchen.

The dining room.

The living room.

The library.

Every bedroom.

The bathrooms.

The basement.

Everything. Destroyed.

And there was nothing I could do to turn back the clock. Nothing I could do to fix it. No one I could even turn to for help.

I ran out of the house, still sobbing, frantically trying to figure out what I could do. But my brain wasn't working. I couldn't figure out who to call, what to do ... I simply stood in the middle of my back yard and cried.

My neighbor came running to check on me. And she held my hand and hugged me tight until I could calm down enough to realize that I needed to call my husband. She stood beside me while I made the call. Helped me form the words when I couldn't even complete a full thought. Held me up (literally) when I couldn't stand on my own.

But the support and blessings didn't stop with one neighbor's kindness.

The Lord was definitely watching over me. While I was on the phone with my husband, one of our friends in Maryland, out of the blue, sent him a Facebook message to ask when we'd be back in town. "We're moving back at the end of August," he replied, "but Veronica is there now. And apparently, there's a problem with the house."

She started making phone calls, and within minutes, members of our church congregation (as well as the neighbors from up and down the street, who had heard me crying) were gathered in my back yard to help me assess the damage and make a plan. I had three different offers of a place to stay for the night (one friend, who was in the middle of a move herself, even offered to lend me her new house for a few days, so I could have my own space!! - though I ended up opting to stay with another friend, where we ended up having a mini sleepover, complete with hair braiding and giggling late into the night.) And plans were being made to help me take care of everything that needed to be done.

We filed a claim with the insurance, I made plans to contact some contractors after my trip to New York (I had another 3 days in Maryland planned for after BEA), and on Tuesday morning, I left for Book Expo America in New York with a little bit of a skip in my step. I still felt like I was walking in the haze of a waking nightmare, but I knew it was going to be okay. Because the damage to my home was devastating, but at least I discovered it now, when there was still time to get it fixed before we move back in late August. At least I had insurance. At least I knew my friends were there for me.

I checked into my hotel (they had my room ready a full three hours early!), spoke to the insurance claim representative to make plans for her to visit the house Wednesday morning to complete the claim, and then spent the afternoon at the Manhattan LDS Temple, refreshing my spirit and gaining a much-needed dose of peace from the Lord.

That night, I met with some friends at the Teen Author Carnival, gushed about all of the amazing books (and wished I had more money to spend because I wanted to buy ALL the books!!), and I made plans to see my fabulous agent, Jessica Sinsheimer, the next day.

By Wednesday morning, when Jessica and I met with our friend, Claribel Ortega, at the Javits Center for BEA, I was almost cheerful, dreaming up the fabulous possibilities that the forced remodel presented. Yes, it would be expensive, and money would be tight for a while, but at least I didn't have to face the possibility of shouldering the entire cost! I had wonderful, supportive friends, awesome plans for a fun week in New York, and the assurance that everything would be okay. Life wasn't so bleak after all.

Then, after lunch, Jessica went back to work, and I returned to BEA. I stood in line to meet a few of the authors I'd come to see and collected some really fun advance copies of their fabulous books. I met up with a few friends. And even the crowded show floor didn't overwhelm my introvert sensitivities. Because I knew everything would be okay.

As I strolled through the crush of people, on my way to Mo Willems' book signing, my phone rang. The insurance representative. That was fast! Obviously, this was a good sign. We'd definitely be able to get the repairs completed before our moving date at the end of the summer. I grinned and stepped out of the event hall to find a relatively quiet place to take the call.

"Mrs. Bartles, this is [insurance representative]. I just finished looking at your house, and unfortunately..." She explained that they wouldn't cover any of the damages to our home.


Nothing.

Nada.

Zilch.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Bartles, but the damage is specifically excluded by your policy. Have a nice day!"

And she hung up.

I walked back into the exhibit hall in a daze, and over to the signing line for Mo Willems. I stood in line, smiling and making idle chit-chat with the people around me. And when I reached the front of the line, I smiled and posed for a picture with one of my favorite picture book authors EVER.

I could do this. I just had to keep going. Remember that every amazing thing that has ever happened in my life started out with a giant tragedy. And this would too. Soon, I'd be able to look back at this whole experience and be extremely grateful for the opportunity. I just couldn't let myself forget to be positive.

I walked over to the Spencer Hill Publishing booth to get a schedule for their author signings. Because I love so many Spencer Hill books, and I knew I'd want to camp out in their signing lines. They greeted me with smiles and cheerful hellos ... and I burst into uncontrollable sobbing tears.

I am so grateful for Cindy Thomas, who offered me a shoulder to cry on as I poured out the whole story (and then checked in on me several times over the next few days), and the rest of the fabulous Spencer Hill team. They kept me from falling apart completely, and let me know I wasn't alone, when I totally felt like I was.

The rest of BEA is, I admit, a bit of a blur. I didn't spend much time at the actual convention, because the crowds were overwhelming, but I met with so many friends (my amazing agent, Jessica, my fabulous editor, Kristin Rens, many of the awesome Pitch Wars mentors, and some of my real-life Twitter friends, like Roseanne Wells, Monica Odom, Isabel Bandeira, Claribel Ortega ... and so many others) away from the Javits Center. Even though most of them had no idea I was facing this terrifying prospect, they cheered and supported me in multiple ways, helping me to keep moving forward through all the ups and downs.

And then, I was back in Maryland, meeting with contractors to gather estimates for the work that needs to be done and trying to get as much as possible accomplished before flying back to New Mexico.

We're working every angle we can. We've filed a complaint with the Maryland Insurance Administration. We've contacted several different contractors to get the best quote we can for the repairs. We're looking at all the loan options we have available.

And we've set up a GoFundMe campaign to ask for help. Which may have been the scariest part of the whole process. Because I'm more of a step-in-to-lift-others'-burdens kind of person than an admitting-that-I-can't-do-it-all-alone girl. Still, I'm overwhelmed every day by the number of people sharing the link, promising financial support, and sending virtual hugs and prayers our way. You have no idea how much this means to me. And I can't thank you enough. Though I'm a writer, I simply have no words.

Many of the donations have come in anonymously, so I can't thank you in public, but I hope you all see this post and know how much I appreciate you!

We've established a Go Fund Me campaign to ask for help, and the support so far has been overwhelming!! Thank you all so much!! Every pledge ... every share ... every comment means more than you could possibly imagine!

I still don't know how it's all going to work out. I'll admit, I'm still struggling to keep up the perky cheerfulness I'm often known for. But I've had an outpouring of love and support from so many people that I don't doubt it will work out in ways I couldn't possibly imagine.

Thank you all. You mean the world to me. And I appreciate you more than I have the words to express right now! *smooshes the world with Giant Squish Hugs*

Be Yourself: Great Advice that's Too Easy to Ignore

I'm sure you've all noticed my absence from the blogosphere this year. So far in 2015, I've only published 4 blog posts, and three of those were recipes. And this after posting a set schedule for myself in October that I vowed to keep. Ooops!

I'd like to be able to say that life has simply kept me far too busy for blogging, but the honest truth is that I'm just a little rebellious. Common blogging wisdom says that you MUST post regularly, on a set schedule, or your audience won't know when and where to find you. If you have a split focus to your blog (as I do here, with book promotions, recipes and pondering on life's lessons), you MUST have a clear rotation to space the various aspects evenly, or you run the risk of losing a major part of your audience. This all makes perfect sense.

But I'm the girl who was always a full semester behind on her reading, all through college, because I couldn't bring myself to read the books that were assigned ... just because "you can't tell me what to do!" Even though I really wanted to read the books on the required reading lists, I balked as soon as they were "required." And that's what I've been doing here. By setting a schedule for what I can blog about and when, I turned my fun "just for me" blog into "work." And suddenly, I've been stomping my foot and crossing my arms and loudly declaring "You can't tell me what to do!!"

When I was in high school, I went to a Youth Conference where the keynote speaker (Michael Wilcox) told us not to get discouraged. "You can be the best carrot in the market, but if people are shopping for lettuce, they're not going to pick you. Just be patient. Eventually, someone will come looking for carrots, and they'll be happy you're there."

So as of today, I'm reclaiming my blog. I'm going to be the best darn carrot there is, and hopefully you'll all stick with me. (After all, we all need a healthy dose of beta carotene in our lives, right?)

If I have a recipe or book rave or life lesson that I want to share, I will share it ... even if I already posted one this week. And if I don't have one I'm excited about, I'll wait until I do, even if it's been three weeks. I promise, when I post something new, I'll share the links via twitter, facebook, tumblr, etc., so you'll be able to find me. But I started this blog to remind myself of the joy found in life's little trials ... and it's time I bring the joy back to the blog.

Love you all!!

A Grateful Heart

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. Whether gathering together with family and friends or in solitary contemplation ... eating until there's no room for even one more bite or enjoying a small, simple meal... The day is all about being grateful for what you have.

Trials inevitably come. The waters of life will never run smooth for long. But shooting the rapids can be fun when you're protected with a buoyant raft of gratitude. May you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving, full of love and laughter and a healthy attitude of gratitude!

Living with an Expiration Date

After reading THE FAULT IN OUR STARS over a year ago, I promised myself that I would never read another "cancer book." Too difficult. Too personal. Hits a little too close to home. But Julie Murphy's SIDE EFFECTS MAY VARY was too intriguing to pass up. The story of a girl who, upon being diagnosed with leukemia, makes (and completes) a revenge bucket list, only to discover that she's not dying after all? That would absolutely be my luck, if I ever tried to do the whole revenge thing. (I do have a bucket list - started when they discovered my brain tumor - but there's nothing even remotely revenge-related on it.)

So I broke my self-imposed rule and read the book. And of course it set me thinking all kinds of thoughts and pondering life. As books like this are bound to do.

The one part of the story that really stuck with me (not an exact quote - I didn't think to mark the passage at the time, and I know I'm not quite strong enough mentally to read back through to find it in the novel) was when Alice makes an off-hand remark about living life with an expiration date. I absolutely understand this sentiment. I feel this way a lot. I can't count the times I've lay in bed at night, staring at the ceiling and wondering if my family will be okay when I go. Most of the time, I know they will be. They're strong. They're amazing. And even when I go, I don't plan on going far. We're a family forever.

Still, that "expiration date" is scary sometimes.

A couple of months ago, I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. I didn't turn on the light, because I never turn on the light when I wake in the night. I've never had to. In fact, my nighttime senses have always been sharp enough that I can find my way around in the dark even when I'm not in my own house. And as soon as there's any kind of light shining, my brain decides sleepy-time is over for the night, even if it's only one in the morning.

So turning on my bedside lamp? Yeah, that thought didn't even cross my mind.

Until I took a wrong turn and fell over my writing area in the corner of my room. I landed on my "writer's block" - the pencil holder where I keep my sharpened pencils standing at attention ready for service when I'm writing a new manuscript - and then I and the entire contents of my little writing table went crashing to the floor.

My husband woke up at the sound of the crash and was immediately concerned about the injuries I'd sustained. A valid concern, especially since I had a couple of good-sized gashes in my leg from those broken pencils.

Me? I barely thought about the physical injuries. Instead, I was all shades of nervous about my brain. "I've never lost my way in the dark before," I kept saying. "That doesn't happen to me." And of course, I started imagining all kinds of worst-case scenarios. (Let me just say, I'm REALLY good at worst-case scenarios.)

My sweet husband, always the voice of reason, finally convinced me after two days of fretting, that I was getting too worked up over this. "It was dark. You tripped. That happens to people. A lot. Even people without brain tumors. Because people don't see very well in the dark."

I finally conceded that he was right.

Took a deep breath.

And promptly walked straight into a wall. In broad daylight. Because my feet simply decided to turn and take me on a path perpendicular to the one I was trying to walk, and it had nothing to do with being tired or losing my balance or getting distracted. My brain just had a blip where "walk straight" got totally mixed up with "turn left," and even though I could see that I was walking toward the wall instead of down the hall I intended to walk down, I couldn't make my feet move in the direction I wanted them to. Or even stop moving when I saw the wall approaching. (I did put my hands out and stop myself instead of crashing into the wall face-first.)

Yeah. Sometimes my brain does some stupid things.

And sometimes, it's terrifying.

Sometimes, I worry about that "expiration date."

 Because unlike the canister of chocolate milk mix in my pantry, I don't have a "best if used by" date stamped on my backside. I have no idea when my "expiration date" is coming. It could be tomorrow, or next week, or twenty years from now. And while I hope it's twenty or thirty or more years away, that little "what if?" monster keeps whispering "it could be tomorrow."

But isn't that the point? None of us will live forever. That's the nature of life on earth. We all have an expiration date. And none of us knows when that date will be.

So instead of worrying about that day when I might not be there to kiss my kiddos goodnight, I'll give them extra kisses tonight and every night, as long as they'll let me. Instead of worrying about what might happen if I'm not there for my daughter's senior prom, I'll celebrate every Princess Dress-Up moment with her now. And instead of hiding from the camera because I'm not as thin as I once was, or I'm having a bad hair day, or I didn't put on any makeup, I'm going to ham it up and leave as many memories of laughter and fun as I can.

I have no plans to die today. But if I did, I want my family and friends to know that I lived every moment up until the last. And that every moment, for better or worse, was totally worth it.