Filling In the Blanks

You Can Run But You Can’t Heal

Running away conjures up an amusing picture of a young child arguing with their Mom. They didn’t get their way about something trivial. In a huff, they proclaim, “I’m running away.” They put their beloved stuffed animal in a scuffed backpack, crookedly cram their new ballcap on their head, and gather markers off their bedroom floor—critical survival items for a five-year-old.

“Don’t forget your iPad.” Mom watches around the corner with dissipating frustration and a soft smile.

The little tot walks two blocks down the street while Mom watches, feeling a little fearful and slowly stops. With their head hanging, they return home. Scuffing their tennis shoe-clad feet up the front sidewalk to the front door signals their mini-rebellion. Yet Mom calmly waits with the door open, knowing this scene may repeat itself soon. Adult runaway stories can be equally childish or downright tragic.

Lisa Jennett’s adult runaway story in her memoir, When I Last Saw Me: The Memoir of Sammi Bass, intrigued me. Lisa stopped at a small-town diner along her wanderings. The waitress asked where she was headed alone on Thanksgiving week.

“I ran away from home. I didn’t plan it. I don’t have a destination right now”, Lisa blurted out.

The waitress responded, “I have always wanted to do that.”

The waitress’s response struck a memory from 25 years ago.

Through the months of that challenging year in my mid-40s, my impulse to run away grew. Insecurity and lack of identity caused me to grasp for others’ approval and their love I so desperately thought I needed. Perimenopause was rearing its ugly head. All the physical and emotional hormonal changes were crazy-making. I was super busy, super involved and super exhausted. My journal entries contained accounts of my stressful full-time job, family hurts, and church conflicts. I routinely ate an entree of control issues with sides of pride and hypocrisy.

My mind replayed the phone call from my church friend, Terri.

“What are we going to do about Pastor’s decisions when he won’t listen to anyone’s suggestions?” I heard, “What are YOU going to do to fix this situation?”

I mumbled something about God finding a way through the impasse. I would pray about it. Standard Christian answers. And I wasn’t very nice about it. The hard truth? I had no clue what to do.

As chairperson of the worship committee, my friend’s phone call was her last straw on my last straw. Labor Day weekend, with no family plans, released me to leave my troubles behind, physically. John, my husband, was worried about me going as he watched me pack.

“If you are taking off, where are you going?” He didn’t understand why I wanted to run away. I didn’t understand either.

“I don’t know. We’ll see where the road leads me, maybe up north.” I stated while avoiding eye contact as I packed my bag. He released me from an unusually tight hug and a kiss goodbye.

“Remember, I will be praying that God helps you understand all the things that trouble you,” stuck with me throughout my journey. I remember thinking I was scaring him, but my desperation to run was overriding any thoughts of what he was feeling.

Several hours after winding my red Geo Metro north on country roads bordered by dairy farms and an Indian reservation, I needed a stop. I loved driving my small, manual-shift car, but sleepiness and tired eyes eventually took over. I pulled into a state park with a large open area bordered by forest. I was exhausted and numb as I carried a blanket, water, and my journal to an open, shaded area, spread it out, then plopped down. The park was eerily empty on a holiday weekend; the breeze was refreshing on a hot day as I listened to the birds’ serenade. God set the stage for a private encounter.

As I settled in my private spot, I reached for my journal, opened it and wrote. Father, what do you have to say about our church? I try hard to fix everything, even in our relationship. I just want to lie down in your arms and rest. I cried my confession, feeling all hopelessness and condemnation leak out in hot tears.

I didn’t hear an audible voice–I never have. I get impressions that form thoughts. I sensed God’s gentle, loving father's voice. Lie down in my arms and rest, child. You are burdened and worried about so much.

After I curled up on my blanket and cushioned my head with the crook of my elbow, I drifted to sleep, encompassed by Trinity on every side. I must have been exhausted, because I am usually hyper-vigilant in unfamiliar places.

Later, I wrote in my journal: A church Carillon woke me up playing an unfamiliar hymn. I wanted to get back in the car and rush off, but I sat up after the song ended, realizing I was too tired to drive back home. I called my husband from the motel so he wouldn’t worry, and headed home the following day.

I felt temporarily lighter as many of my burdens lifted. What happened to me? Years later, I heard the analogy of God performing spiritual surgery using His Holy Spirit as an anesthetic to peel back layers of core lies, like an onion, one at a time. His Holy Spirit caused me to sleep deeply as they did surgery.

I had lied to myself pridefully that nothing significant would get done at church unless I did it; a layer of self-sufficiency and pride was uncovered. God’s intervention in the park wasn’t the first time or the last, but it was a start, an awakening.

The next time I saw Terri, I apologized for my behavior over the phone and told her about the changes I experienced. We prayed for our pastor and the worship life of our church.

Running away started a winding, decades-long road of discovery. I had no idea this adventure would cost me my life by laying down my incorrect view of Who God is and Who I am to Him. In surrender, I gained an identity as the daughter of King Jesus.

As I journeyed through sickness and death, church failures, and challenging relationships, God moved slowly but persistently to unpeel layers of insecurity and relentlessly built my identity in Christ. The changes took longer than I had dreamed, and I am still learning and growing.

My little, cherry-red Geo Metro started me on the road to freedom. As hard as that journey was, I learned that God is faithful and never leaves or deserts me. Yet, this process moved forward painfully, then regressed five steps back. Through steep hills and dark valleys, abrupt curves and stomach-lurching accelerations, Jesus led me into the flat, pleasant plains of freedom.

“So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed.” John 8:36

Thanks for reading!

Nancy

Seeking Healing, Remembering Empathy

July 4, 2025

I was shocked and weepy when we hung up, but mostly hurt. THE BOOK! When would my child ever get over their anger with the memoir I published two years ago? It seemed only a few years ago, not four decades, that they were giggling and running through the living room, delighted to find a missing toy! What happened to our happy-go-lucky kid?

I thought back to a year before publication.

“Mom, I know you want to help other parents not feel alone while dealing with their adult children’s messy lives”, they reassured me. “And that’s great. I’m all for it.”

They supported me as I wrote about our family and the difficult things we went through. I used pseudonyms and published under an assumed name to protect my children’s identities. My writing community teacher warned us that even when we took measures to put protections in place, family members may be upset seeing their less-than-sterling situations in black and white. But they said they understood and wouldn’t get mad.

Fast forward a year. I called them to check up on how they were feeling after my mom, their favorite Grandma, passed just weeks before, and to wish them a happy birthday, and to find out why they were silent the week before when I turned 70. No card, no phone call, not even a text with cute emojis.

I found out fast. They were frosty toward me for writing about their failures, and then their words of anger came out. Seeing their unflattering life choices in print was upsetting. Confusion confounded me at that moment. I didn’t know they had read my book! Understanding dawned, but the depth of their anger caught me unaware.

I was prepared for negativity or criticism, but not anger. Gentle words failed to soothe them. It was an awkward hang-up. Weeks passed. Over time, we had several phone calls and a face-to-face visit at their grandma’s memorial service, and their anger seemed to soften. I forgot that it can go underground during times of stress.

Several months passed. We called about their attendance at a family reunion we had planned. My husband and I were on speaker phone because they didn’t want to FaceTime. That was strange. They usually wanted to be on camera with us.

“I’m not coming,” they said curtly with no explanation.

“Did you need a ride? We’ll pick you up,” my husband innocently offered.

“I’m still a burden to you, aren’t I? Your book made that very clear!” A few more accusations were lobbed my way then…they ended the short phone call abruptly after crying, “I can’t do this right now.”

After all the reconciliation we had been through, the mended fences were once again collapsing.

Yet something unexpected rose in me. I felt indignant. “Why am I the scapegoat for my children’s inability to have an open discussion about their anger?” I cried to my husband. Many years spent waiting, praying, and crying for them to move on from their blame game rolled up in a sour ball in the pit of my stomach. My soul felt stained with regret; not good enough to be their mom. The old core belief about myself I’ve wrestled with all my life was not dead, just waiting for a ripe opportunity to resurrect. We prayed. I felt the coil of the old lie release and hope, acceptance take its rightful place inside.

I know what to do in moments of discouragement and conflict. Before I take it all inside to fester, I remember. I remember God grew them, grew us all through the ups and downs we endured and continue to go through. Even when they shove God in a box of little importance in their life, He is still near to us.

I remember. A laundry list of things going on in their life scrolls through my head, seeking empathy for my child.

~Their adult child has a history of mental illness and they blame themself for the mistakes they made as a young parent.

~Their work situation is physically and mentally demanding.

~They have considered themself the black sheep of our family and an outsider.

~They have health troubles in their late 40s.

I wonder how their life would change from being captive to the stress and responsibility that brings bondage, sorrow, and anger, into joyful freedom; knowing Jesus. Freedom that knows they are loved despite their past, their present, and the fears of the future.

Would the giggly, happy child resurface? Even though I don’t know what the future holds, I know God holds it, holds it tight. Mostly, I remember the little child who giggled and laughed, running lickety-split through the living room, yelling for joy at finding a lost toy. God sees this child within my child. And wherever He looks, hope is overflowing and alive. I wait for their discovery of what they have put in the God-box.

Nancy

On the Open Sea

Friday, June 20, 2025, at Kodiak Retreat 543 Words

The Pacific Ocean horizon looms in sight. Water sparkled under the 32-foot lander craft, piloted by Captain Steven. He accelerates out of the breakwater into open seas on our marine tour. Six of us sat in camp chairs bouncing on the 2-foot swells. In my soul, I was raising my hands, Titanic-style, and proclaiming, “I’m free!!”

Earlier that morning, the bay was troubled with white-capped swells instead of the glassy water of the past couple of days. I tend to have motion sickness on the water and hate throwing up, even with a dose of Dramamine. Especially in front of people. Suddenly, this song rose above my fearful thoughts.

***“Bout to have a good day, no matter what they say. Sun is shining down on me, birds are singing praise. I’m gonna have a good day.”

The last phrase silences my fears and what-ifs. It’s gonna be a good day!

After boarding, the Captain slowly cruises past the boats moored in their berths. He pauses in the breakwater area, pointing out the large group of sea lions on a jetty, a nursing sea lion cub lying on its mama, skittish puffins skirting the waves, and eagles soaring effortlessly above us. With the promise of whales in a cove twenty minutes out of the breakwater, anticipation grows. There is no guarantee the whales will surface. But hope is high. He opens up the engine, and we bump our way over the ocean where the whales have been sighted two days before.

Better yet, no signs of motion sickness - not a smidge.

Captain Steven slows the engine as we near the cove. Straining eyes with hopeful hearts look this way and that until…a plume of vapor breath! Whale sighting and not any ol’ whale but one of the largest in the North Pacific Ocean, the gray whale. His back arches partially out of the water, then he’s gone. A few more minutes spent scouting the water surface, and another plume of exhaled breath, and another arch that brings his tail out of the ocean! Captain Steven is shouting a woohoo! We are all exhilarated by the magnificent cavorting taking place by this large mammal. We are amazed when he surfaces closer to the boat. Camera shutters click. We hold on tight to our phone cameras and shoot picture after picture. A remarkable sight. AND no motion sickness!

For the last thirty years, God has transformed me from unbelief to faith, fear to love, insecurity to a solid identity in Jesus. It’s been a nauseous, roiling open-sea journey toward the heart of Father God and healing. I have faith in His seeing-down-the-road nature that takes me from one point of hope to the next through turbulent and calm waters. A ride with beauty along my way; newly married children, grandchildren, and anniversaries, plus the memorial services of our loved ones.

At the end of the day, amazed once again with the sights and sounds of Kodiak, Alaska, I have new words to my morning song.

“It was the best whale watch, no fearful thoughts could botch. Whales breaching, frolicking, tossing on the open sea. It was a good day!”

*** Good Day by Forrest Frank

Nancy

March 11, 2025

Today’s word prompt. Do you prefer to read electronic or paper books? Why?

Paper books, mostly. The books lining my shelves reflect my need for organization; topic then author name. The sections reveal favorite authors: Francine Rivers, Mark of the Lion trilogy; C. S. Lewis, Chronicles of Narnia; Bible commentaries, older children’s books from my childhood; A Fly Went By, a favorite. On trips to the bookstore or online book sites, I manage to accumulate more books that intrigue me but remain unread. The unread take up residence on my shelves waiting for hands to hold and pages to turn. My to-be-read stack is perpetually out of control.

I’ve loved books and reading since I was a kid. The world around me disappeared into a story different from the one I lived in. Not necessarily unhappy, but more exciting. Until Mom would tear me away and demand that I go outside and play.

“You always have your nose stuck in a book. Get outdoors and have some fun with your friends”, she scolded.

My childhood was great growing up in the 50s and 60s, but my teen years were full of insecurity. A nice exterior hid my natural shyness. I was okay with ‘going along to get along’. A good story or mystery took me elsewhere, away from an unfriendly outside world into a place of intrigue, romance, and easy solutions with a happily-ever-after ending.

As I left my local library, the weight of a stack of books in my child arms satisfied inside of me. I carried new worlds to explore and people to meet who lived fascinating and tragic lives. The smell, the crinkle of the plastic cover, and the effort to hold them just right so they didn’t slide off one another demanded concentration while I opened the heavy wooden door and walked down the cascade of stairs. I don’t remember who took me to and from the library. Did my parents go into the library with me or wait in the car? If they went inside, I don’t recall them carrying out books to read. No stacks of books sat on coffee tables, just a magazine or newspaper.

In my family home growing up, several inset shelves by our red-brick fireplace were tidy rows of books. Prominent on one shelf was the World Book Encyclopedia set. Uncle Harold, my mom’s brother, taught school during the year and sold World Books during his summer break. Before computers, when we couldn’t make it to the library to look things up or do research on an assignment, World Books gave us all the answers we needed. Information about the world in those treasures fed my longing to travel to China, France, South America, and Antarctica. Travel I did as an adult; Mexico, Canada, Germany, France, Mongolia, and Ireland.

The dictionary, a red Webster’s Complete Reference Dictionary and Encyclopedia was a marvel. So many words to learn and spell. How do you find a word in the dictionary if you don’t know how to spell it to begin with? Sounding out xylophone, which seemed to begin with z, would not get you to the right page! Fun fact! Did you know that the dictionary was computerized in the 1960s for corporate and university use?

I don’t remember learning to read. Seems like I could always read books. Do people come out of the womb with the alphabet in their noggin? In first grade, the hieroglyphics of 26 letters and assorted symbols started making sense as we put letters together into words and sentences. In the 1950s, we learned to read from Dick and Jane primers in grade school. Fun with Dick and Jane was my favorite, especially Spot the Dog. The characters also included Mother and Father, little sister, Sally, Puff the cat, and Tim the toy teddy bear.

“Run Dick run. Run Sally run. See Spot run.”

I was fond of Dick and Sally because their lives echoed by my brother, Rick, and mine. We spent many hours playing board games, marbles across the living room floor and playing teacher and student, cops and robbers, cowboys and Indians. Guess who was the teacher?

Opening a book and being able to read a whole story was an accomplishment. But reading in front of the class was terrifying. Knees knocking and heart-pounding; it was a wonder I got a sentence out without fainting. Sometimes when the words were too hard, I stumbled through as the letters swam on the page, and cried in front of the class until the teacher took pity on me.

"You can sit down now, Nancy", she said tenderly.

Around 10 or 11 years old, our teacher, Miss Earl, challenged us to memorize part of Hiawatha’s Childhood, a section of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's poem, The Song of Hiawatha. Even now, 60 years later, I remember some of the verses.

By the shores of Gitche Gumee,

By the shining Big-Sea-Water,

Stood the wigwam of Nokomis,

Dark behind it rose the forest,

Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees,

Rose the firs with cones upon them:

Bright before it beat the water,

Beat the clear and sunny water,

Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water.

There the wrinkled old Nokomis

Nursed the little Hiawatha,

Rocked him in his linden cradle,

Bedded soft in moss and rushes,

Safely bound with reindeer sinews.

Today, my memory is a sieve leaking information but in younger years I could hold these words and worlds to cherise.

When I travel, the Kindle digital reader conveniently contains a large library. When I buy a pre-order of a new book, I download it. But it will never be a satisfying substitute for a book, pages to flip and the crinkling sound. And oh, that smell of a paper book, especially older books! With time, some things don’t change. I still love to get lost in a good story.

Happy Reading, to all!

Nancy

In a Mirror Dimly February 20, 2025

“You have magic soap. What does it wash away?”

This is my writing prompt for today when I feel unmotivated and squirrely thoughts dart hither and yon. I glance out my office window on a Tennessee subzero morning with gently falling snowflakes. A few days of this abnormal freeze is nothing compared to months in the north. Yet it feels endless knowing that next week we warm up to 60 degrees. The squirrels mix in with the crows in my front flower garden and peck and dig to find the sunflower seeds I threw…see what I mean? Squirrel tracks and rabbit trails. Where was I?

Magic soap and a mirror.

When you looked in your mirror this morning, what did you see in your face? As I’ve aged, I see my mom’s features and my dad’s Irish eyes. In my seventh decade, as in the six before it, critical words rise.

"Look at all that gray hair."

"When did that wrinkle get deeper?"

"I'm too pale."

Please give me magic soap to get clean from the dirty comments I heap on myself. Pushing it down inside is a fruitless effort and mentally unhealthy. Criticism has a way of being resurrected at the most inconvenient moments. Even positive affirmations ring false and flat.

“You are loved by God.”

“You’re not more wrinkled; you have a face full of character!”

Indeed! The facts about how many muscles it takes to smile versus frown don’t penetrate my critical brain, 43 to frown and 17 to smile. “Sure, right,” I say with a frown.

What is the magic soap to wash away the negativity I hear within and see in others?

The Bible, which reveals God’s true character, scrubs criticism away; my magic soap.

“For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I will know fully just as I also have been fully known. But now faith, hope, love, abide these three; but the greatest of these is love. 1 Corinthians 13: 12 & 13 NASB1995

Even as secure as I am in God’s promise of heaven, this life on earth is partial knowledge, failing spiritual eyesight. My physical appearance doesn’t reflect the real me, my soul, and spirit. At death, God’s mirror promises a perfect reflection; no sin or imperfection. Leaving this dim world holds joy unspeakable and full of glory.

When you look in your mirror, are you changed to see God’s reflection in you? Only when we know God's deep and filling love, can we see others as God sees them; precious and unique creations.

Read the amplified version of 1 Corinthians slowly.

12 For now [in this time of imperfection] we see in a mirror dimly [a blurred reflection, a riddle, an enigma], but then [when the time of perfection comes we will see reality] face to face. Now I know in part [just in fragments], but then I will know fully, just as I have been fully known [by God]. 13 And now there remain: faith [abiding trust in God and His promises], hope [confident expectation of eternal salvation], love [unselfish love for others growing out of God’s love for me], these three [the choicest graces]; but the greatest of these is love.

I Corinthians 13: 12, 13 AMP

Do you have magic soap when you look in your mirror? Hint. Magic soap is the blood of Jesus, shed for us on the cross. “When we confess our sins, He is faithful and righteous to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us of all ‘wrongdoing’”. (1 John 1:5-10 NASB1995 and ‘Message’)

I just handed you a sliver of my magic soap. Open your hands and heart, accept it, and believe it is for you!

You are deeply loved and wanted by God.

Nancy

The Author February 7, 2025

My nurse practitioner referred me to a new physical therapy company. After calling for an appointment, I received an email with a link to set up an online account. First screen, pick a username and password. On the second screen, enter your medical history. The third screen was answering why you need PT. On the fourth screen out of five, I entered information about my age, gender, and marital status, then I came to the occupation box with no drop-down choices.

I started typing ‘retired’ and something rebelled within me. Backspacing with gusto, I typed in ‘retired author’. No, that wasn’t correct.

Writing and retirement didn’t mesh in my thinking. Why not? I had been semi-retired since age 53 and started thinking about a book in my early 60s. The move to our retirement home was simply a location change—an upgrade from condo living to six and a half acres in a quiet subdivision outside our town. Our Christian community allows us to rub shoulders with people from the cradle to senior saints and offers many opportunities to worship and serve. We are not sitting on our assets, rocking our days away in bliss (although that happens on a lovely warm evening). Activity and involvement, movement and engagement give us a sense of purpose without having a wage-earning job. We love our 'retirement' life.

After I tentatively typed in Author, with a capital A, the short word expanded my soul. I started smiling then felt like crying as scenes from my bookwriting journey flashed through my mind.

A positive scene of working on the project was the friends who cheered me on, got involved by praying, and read my drafts while offering kind and helpful corrections. I received grace and love from our Christian community that shared real-life joys and sorrows.

The difficulty was the circumstances of our adult children’s lives and our relationships that I wrote about in Missing Pages: A Common Woman’s Search to Find God’s Hope Through Fractured Relationships. The subtitle is important as I wrote more about my search for God’s hope upon reflection on their difficult years.

I wrote under a pseudonym to protect our children’s privacy. At their request, I gave every person mentioned a pseudonym and altered some circumstances. I warned them they might be upset to see their adult missteps in print and how those moments affected our family. They said they would be okay. But they weren’t. Now they are, somewhat.

After the relief of publishing and the first blush of being a new author, I swore I would never write another full-length book. A year later, I felt a nudge to pursue a second book, Filling In the Blanks: Getting Unstuck From a Life Unwanted. That ‘never-do-that-again’ vow changed when I recently returned to Leslie Leyland Field’s online writing community. She instructs excellent memoir writing. I credit her book, Your Story Matters, with turning my boring travel log of events and memories into an engaging story of finding God’s hope through turmoil.

This new project seems less daunting because I know the ups and downs. Like pregnancy, I’ve been through this before and know the roadmap, which may have detours or potholes, but the process is similar. I foresee it will be a shorter labor and delivery, blessedly. Confidence and assurance mark my writing now. I am not the same person that I was when I started writing our story.

After all that, I am reluctant to tell people I am a published author and working on my second book. Only another author can appreciate our delicate psyches. I am already a sensitive soul easily lifted or affronted by the opinions of others. An author needs bravery, steel in your creative spine plus hours and hours of ‘butt in the seat’ writing time. Whether you write fiction, non-fiction, history, memoir, essay, fantasy, etc., after you publish, your darling is out in the ether for public criticism or accolades. An author carries a story close to their heart and soul for months, like a pregnancy. When our story babies are ready for a life of their own, we painfully give birth to them and let go.

In a memoir, your story is out there for all and sundry; your efforts, indecisiveness, motivation and laziness. No hiding behind a fictional character that may or may not be a shadow of your personality. Your joys, lows, pleasing and difficult times are exposed for your readers to interpret. My dreams after publications were full of autographing my books for my adoring audience only to see the look of embarrassment and horror as they, and I realized I was naked, not a stitch on. Has anyone had one of those nightmares?

Being an author is an occupation that allows me to explore the world, my inner and outer world, the whys, why nots and everything in between. I am unapologetically an author. And it is keeping me humble as I write with compassion and truth about the Christian life of a Jesus-follower.

I am proud to write Author as my occupation.

Nancy

Photo by David Iskander on Unsplash

How Did I Get Here?

January 23, 2025

I am a couple of chapters into reading a book titled, Soul Care by Debra Fileta. I read through a list of signals for burnout. At the end of the list, I don’t have one box checked which puzzles me.

This may be because I am a chill personality, but that’s a lie. Ask my spouse.

Could it be because I am over 70 years old and have learned a thing or two about myself and life? Somewhat.

Or is it the total and complete grace and healing of God through Jesus? Absolutely!

My next thought is, “How did I get to a place of increased confidence and trust in God from a place of being so stuck in unhealthy thinking and behaviors, hidden behind a ‘nice Christian lady’ facade?”

When I was in my 40s and early 50s, I could have checked off many of Debra’s signal boxes, like:

Feeling overwhelmed more often than usual
Feeling alone or isolated, even when you’re with people
An increase in headaches, digestive issues or heat palpitations unrelated to underlying medical issues
A nagging sense of failure, self-doubt or insecurity

Do any of these burnout signals describe you today? I was a mess emotionally and spiritually which played out in my physical body. Super busy, super involved and super exhausted. I routinely ate an entree of control issues with sides of insecurity, pride and hypocrisy.

Do you, like me, need the oomph of the Spirit to move you closer to freedom from self-defeating thoughts and habits?

The theme of Filling In the Blanks: Getting Unstuck From a Life Unwanted encompasses Jesus’s last week on earth. He taught powerful principles to live by as He promised the infilling of His Spirit after He left this Earth. The love He showed to His disciples and the world has the power to fill in our blanks. You can get unstuck from an unwanted life and receive the life of Jesus empowered by the Spirit.

If you are not a believer in Jesus Christ, read His story and words; and my story of discovery and faith. As you read, your blanks may begin to be filled, along with eyes to see a path forward to freedom. “So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed.” John 8:36 (NASB1995)

A prayer for us —-

Father God, You created us to live an unstuck life - freedom from fear, shame and anxiety; a life transformed by the power of the Holy Spirit. As we read about Jesus last week, reveal Yourself to us, so that we pursue a life of purpose and passion. Amen!

Nancy

Filling In the Blanks

Getting Unstuck From a Life Unwanted

January 3, 2025

I was physically challenged by the pace and demands of my hectic summer state park job. Off-season at the park was slow with few visitors and reduced office hours. Late Autumn along the western shore of Lake Michigan produced an array of colors until the trees began shedding their once vibrant red, gold and orange leaves. I could breathe, slow down, and drink deeply of God’s beautiful nature and reflect on His faithfulness throughout the changing seasons.

Dressed for the cooler weather, I walked from the visitor center to the maintenance shed and unlocked the door. The beast was waiting for me to do the morning checkout before I opened the visitor center. If the beat-up diesel Ford got 10 MPG, it was a good day. I put on a blaze orange vest hanging on the shed kitchen hooks even though deer or turkey hunting was weeks away. Hoisting myself in the truck cab, I fired the beast up and set off.

My first task was to check the vault toilets and replace toilet paper, sweep out the trash, and sanitize the vault toilet. Summer maintenance workers put up with the stink of the hot concrete cubes. The smell was manageable during cooler weather.

On weekends I wasn’t scheduled, I went to church. My friend commented on the disconnect between my church lady-like appearance, and cleaning park vault toilets, and driving a beast of a diesel truck.

“I can’t see you climbing in and out of that big truck, Nancy.” stated my friend, Jean. “You don’t seem the type that would want to get her hands dirty or tramp around in the woods.”

“I love the outdoor work and feel close to God in His amazing nature and watching the constant action of the waves offshore.”

Jean looked puzzled and shook her head as if to clear the image of me in the outdoors. “Still, the contrast of you in your Sunday best leading worship on the piano and singing doesn’t mesh with your park job.”

We left it at that but her comments followed me, like a cloud labeled incongruent identity. Who am I? What defined me, what motivated me?

I stuffed negative emotions. In my 40s, I was physically and emotionally sick. I was playing roles on the outside; but inside, my soul was chaotic with gobs of self-hatred and anger. Through the last several decades, I experienced the healing love of my heavenly Father and the power of the Holy Spirit. He unstuck me, and walks beside me, and lives in me.

Please bookmark this page to follow future chapters and news of progress as I write Filling In the Blanks: Getting Unstuck From a Life Unwanted.

Thanks and God bless!

Nancy

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