The Tree

I hired a plumber to help me restore an old farmhouse, and after he had just finished a rough first day on the job: a flat tire made him lose an hour of work, his electric drill quit and his ancient one ton truck refused to start. While I drove him home, he sat in stony silence.
On arriving, he invited me in to meet his family. As we walked toward the front door, he paused briefly at a small tree, touching the tips of the branches with both hands. When opening the door he underwent an amazing transformation... His face was wreathed in smiles and he hugged his two small children and gave his wife a kiss.
Afterward he walked me to the car. We passed the tree and my curiosity got the better of me. I asked him about what I had seen him do earlier.
“Oh, that's my trouble tree,” he replied. “I know I can't help having troubles on the job, but one thing's for sure, those troubles don't belong in the house with my wife and the children. So every night when I come home, I just hang them up on the tree and ask God to take care of them. In the morning, I’ll pick them up again.” He smiled.
“Funny thing is, when I come out in the morning to pick 'em up, there aren't nearly as many as I remember hanging up the night before.”

My writing friend Lori wonders how do I write everyday?
My youngest is 17, gets her own breakfast, plans her own entertainment and writes also.

It seems easy to me to write, trading one discipline for another. Almost ten years ago, as a potter, my day began with making coffee and heading to the studio to make pots, or bowls. I took weekends off, usually just Sundays.
It took a while to find a groove but once I did, it became a habit.

I didn't have another job, and my daughter then was a self starter. I tired of being in the basements of houses, especially in Summer. When the transition came for me to begin writing, the go to your routine ritual had been established.

It seems for years, I had been stacking up words like cordwood and now they've been called upon. All those unexpressed thoughts finding their voice, riding the pen to paper. Before that, I did write, sporadically in letters and journals. I had as many as six penpals at a time. No one could keep up for very long. I burned them all out. None of them write me today.

You may wonder like I did, why didn't anyone ever tell me I was to be a writer? I think of all the time I wasted chasing silly things...


Finding smidgens of time in between children and life events may seem difficult, and it is at times. It's all material. I have a dozen sparking ideas everyday, anyone of which could catch fire and turn into an essay.

At last count, I had 249 essays in need of edits. And I still write everyday.
The 365 blog was never my idea, until I read about it on Lori's blog. And what began as a challenge, to help me think in filler sized posts became my life raft. If I didn't get anything else done, I had at least one focus 3oo words or less of postable material.

Currently, this makes 192 posts. Minus four or five, that's how long my dad's been gone.
If you want to write every day, it doesn't matter if you complete a saleable essay. But get it down. That's all. It's the goal. Write something. Anything. If you don't write today, the goal is still to write everyday. Write tomorrow. A quote, your take on a Bible passage, that client that makes you nuts, that friend that always smiles at you. Whatever hurts, whatever you cherish, what makes a good day, a bad day. My words of wisdom, never give up.

Redeeming Failure

What lies ahead isn’t always as important as how we dealt with what lies behind. I have had to go back to people from my past and make amends for comments, behaviors and attitudes. The farther I travel down the road, the more likely it is that I have offended someone.
Instead of worrying about how much someone had hurt me, I need to remember all the ways I have offended others. If I’ve offended someone, I need to go to them and make it right. Sometimes, it had been an exercise in humility. I’ve brought up events to discover that I offended no one. While it is a welcome relief, I must admit, it’s pretty rare.
When I began this particular journey seeking forgiveness, I apologized to an acquaintance for changing my plans without regard to how it affected her schedule.
“It’s not the first time,” she said. Such statements made me look at the way I dealt with people I considered friends, and re evaluate relationships. Sometimes I’ve made this statement to people when we struck up a friendship, “I promise you I will blow it, fail you, hurt you or disappoint you and it won’t be intentional. But if you tell me, I will do everything in my power to rectify it or make it up to you.”
I want to talk not to make it worse, but to make it work.