Time for the Great Christmas Wrap Up

And by wrap up, I don't mean presents because there probably won't be too many. It's slim pickins this year! But we have each other. And what I mean by that is that we really, truly do have one another's best interest at heart. We pray together, sing together, laugh together. What more could a family need? Certainly not a bunch of wrapped packages tied up with string. My favorite things are much more substantial than that.

We have love.

So great a love that it's uncontainable and spills out into one another's lives on a daily, sometimes moment by moment basis.

We have peace.

That feeling of contentment that leaves you drifting off to sleep in one another's arms or all snuggled together under the Christmas quilt we nod off while watching White Christmas with a mug of wassail in our hands, which someone graciously grabs at the last minute and places securely on the table.

We have joy.

This is the biggie for me this year and hold onto your hats, your chairs, your wigs, your everything because God worked a miracle in my life this year that is gonna knock you right onto the floor when you hear it.

I struggled with clinical depression for at least 30 years. The initial trigger was a trauma that happened around age 13, followed by an even bigger one in early adulthood. I was crippled by it but learned over the years to just press on, keep plugging away at this thing called life. I didn't expect anything great out of life since my brain wouldn't allow it. I just basically hoped no one I loved would die before I did. Simple wish, eh? Well, after my favorite aunt, my grandfather, three uncles, my father, and my cousin all died (my cousin was murdered), I was virtually shell-shocked.

The depression deepened.

I tried several different medications with varying success. The drugs were most successful at adding weight to my hips. They're REALLY good at that! But the depression only got worse. Finally, I had reached the end. Thoughts of suicide filled my mind when I least expected them. Driving down the road. Trying to fall asleep at night. I had tried everything I knew how to do to get back to a healthy place with NO success whatsoever. There didn't seem to be much hope left, despite the fact that my husband and children needed me. I was only staying around for them, not me.

That must have been what God was waiting for. Either that, or He just decided to do something big to glorify Himself. I took my girls on a special girl trip to Virginia and we went to our old church (The Chesapeake Vineyard). Once there, a friend of mine, who coincidentally also suffers from depression, asked how I was doing. I said, "I should probably be medicated." She placed her hand on my forehead and said, "God, medicate her." Then someone tapped her on the shoulder and she walked away to answer a question. I left.

We went to a friend's house to visit. We went to the beach to get a suntan. We went back to my sister-in-law's house. Throughout the next day, I felt strange. My hands and feet kept feeling like they were floating upward. It was hard to walk. I felt so light I was afraid to drive. The girls told jokes that made me laugh uproariously. They stared. Finally, one of them said, "What's wrong with you? You keep laughing all the time!" That's when it hit me.

I WASN'T DEPRESSED ANYMORE!

This was big news. So I called my husband and told him about it (which is hard to do when you're sobbing happy tears into his ear). He did what any man whose wife has suffered from depression for as long as he's known her might do. He didn't believe me. When we got back home, I was able to cook and bake and laugh and let painful situations roll off me and counsel friends and love people and... live. He was shocked. Stunned. Amazed. We cried. I think I've cried more over the past few months out of happiness than I ever did when I was depressed!

I don't know why God chose to work a miracle in my life and why He doesn't do the same in other people's lives. It remains a mystery. God remains a mystery. I guess if He didn't, He'd become predictable and would more closely resemble Santa Claus than God. But boy, am I thankful! Every new day holds promise. Good things are expected instead of bad. When bad things happen -- and they constantly do -- I am better able to handle them.

Life is good again!

And you have NO idea how dramatic a change this is for me. Because I was the strong, silent type. But now you know.

So rejoice with me!!!

As you celebrate Christmas, opening presents, sipping cocoa, caroling, hanging out with family, remember that God is still in the miracle-working business. And that He loves you. And when you think of me, I hope you smile.

Merry Christmas!!

Hannah (alias Dorothy) with Cosette (alias Toto) and Ella-bella...

Hannah, Grace, and Hilary and Hannah and Nik

Check the SAT off the list...

Hilary and Tosca and Hilary and Rachel R.




The girls took their SATs yesterday. Now the scores, whatever they may be and God help us all, will be sent to the colleges they're applying to. The next step is getting Hannah's audition cd made before Dec. 15. And all financial aid forms filled out. And Christmas? Oh yeah, we want to celebrate the birth of the Savior of the world, too!!

The reason for the season. The hope that is in us. The anchor of our souls.

Yes.

As we work through all the paperwork, let us remember to celebrate with friends and family the great and glorious gift! And while we're at it, a little chocolate, a bit of wassail, twinkling lights, caroling by candlelight, reading from Tasha Tudor's Take Joy, and acting out the Christmas story -- starring Steve as the donkey, as usual!

With all the joy that characterizes this magnificent season,

Megan

Creative, Talented Children...

Revie and Hannah and our talented Mr. Bundles, Drew!

Overwhelmed, Overworked, and Underpaid... (with big dividends)

Getting two girls into college at the same time is a strange and surreal thing. Doing it while seeking freelance writing gigs, gainful employment, finishing up a home remodel and preparing to sell a house, and homeschooling two boys is quite a daunting task. I am completely overwhelmed!

Hannah wants to go to Boston Conservatory and study to become an opera singer. A noble and exciting launch into the world of the arts. But this requires an audition cd complete with accompaniment. We found an accompanist who will make a cassette tape for us, but in this day and age it seems inappropriate to sing along with a cassette. We're looking for someone who can play the pieces onto tracks on garage band (I love my Mac!) and then Hannah can lay the vocal tracks on after that. But who can do this for us?

Meanwhile, our Hilary is pursuing acting. She has the highest IQ of any of our children and frankly it's undoubtedly higher than either mine or my husband's, but she wants to act. Ouch. So she has to audition, too. We can't just fill out applications and send them off on a wing and a prayer. Oh no! It can't be that easy!

Okay, I'm mouthing off about all this, but the truth is I'm as pleased as can be that we've homeschooled four children and made it through the entire way with two of them. That Hilary's SAT score is going to be through the roof is very gratifying. That Hannah has taken at least a full year of college already and possibly two is equally gratifying. And the time and effort it's taking to get them into college is more than worth it. I love these crazy kids!

Now I must run -- time to take three of them to fencing so they can defend their honor if anyone ever challenges them to a duel. And who knows? Maybe the boys can get fencing scholarships when they go off to college?

Yours -- when I'm so busy I don't have time to write a word and when all I do is sit and surf mindlessly,

Megan Elizabeth

Celebrate!

Yeah, Baby!

Sleepy Suzie...

Well, my daughter has a boyfriend again. They broke up for a while. Long story. But now he's back in our lives, and he was over here again last night until around 11:30. Which, of course, means our daughter couldn't fall asleep until 1:30 am. Oh, the thrill of young romance, texting all your friends, and Facebooking how your evening went. Then, of course, she was hungry. So she clanked around in the kitchen for a while. Do all 16-year-olds stay up this late?

I went online, checked Facebook for a while, goofed around talking politics with my friends who I knew would not answer my emails until the morning because, unlike me, they were sensible people. I googled someone I knew seven years ago. Watched an old episode of Mad About You (they're all old episodes by now). Then, just as I was headed to bed, my son woke up and climbed in beside me. It's as if he can't sleep once all is quiet. A little noise must comfort him enough to stay in his own bed. Once that's over, he stumbles across the hall and into mine. It never fails!

After a fretful few hours of sleep, most of it coverless and squashed, I heard my husband's alarm go off. It was 6 am and I had hardly slept. So now I sit in a quiet house amid sleeping children. It's 10 am and I can't fall back to sleep again.

Not a creative post, nor an enthusiastic one. But share my pain, will ya?

Critique group is tonight... Looks like that coffee's gonna hafta be caffeinated!

Yours -- consciousness raised or not,

Megan Elizabeth

Savvy Samantha...

I've been thinking a lot lately. (some of you are saying, "It's about time!") But seriously, I've been thinking about the election coming up in November and about the many people I have spoken to who are voting for Obama because he's black or, sadly, for McCain because he's not. That conversation only happened once, but it gave me the heebie jeebies! Not a close friend -- someone I barely knew, but still...

It finally occurred to me that these people are just not savvy enough to be voting. This conversation came up because I took my daughter to see the movie, The Duchess, yesterday. Women didn't have the vote during that time period, of course. But not many men did, either. They were selective in who they extended the freedom to vote to. Now that's not good, old-fashioned American freedom. But when I meet people who are voting for their candidate because he can dance well with Ellen on her talk show or because they think he's more "presidential" that bugs me! Have real, solid reasons to elect your candidates, people!

As for me, I have become Savvy Samantha. A friend of mine included me in a thread on his Facebook page that has led to well over 300 messages among a group of five people -- two solid Republicans, a Democrat, and Miss Independence (me). I've learned that Barack Obama has some pretty scary connections to Socialism, bordering Communism. I've also learned that McCain has an anger management problem and his former army buddy and POW in Vietnam is worried about him having his finger on the nuke button. I've learned that Barack Obama has received millions of dollars in donations from the very people who got us into the real estate crisis. I've also learned that he refused to vote yea on the Born Alive Act in Illinois, effectively assuring that any child born alive after an abortion will be smothered. Some have called him complicit in infanticide. Others have suggested that the people who say that are insulting him the worst way because he loves children and would never favor infanticide. A woman named Gianna Jessen, who survived a saline abortion 31 years ago disagrees with them. Thankfully, a nurse called 911 and she was rushed to a hospital for prenatal care.

I want to be savvy when it comes to my writing, too. I want to research the market, target my submissions so I don't waste an editor's time, revise my work so that it stands a fighting chance before I ever submit it, and perhaps most important, never give up! Savvy Sam will rise to the top of the slush pile because her manuscript is not in a brightly colored envelope with jingle bells dangling from it. Her cover letter is businesslike but still friendly, informative yet personable. Her queries are succinct because editors are as swamped with queries as they are slush. And one day, hopefully very soon, the creative creature within Savvy Samantha will have wrought a magnificent masterpiece (enough alliteration -- that could sink her chances altogether!)

Yours -- throughout each and every stage of the process,

Megan Elizabeth

Pitiful Pearl...

That's what my mother used to call me. And it suited me! I was determined to see the down side of every situation, to hide in shame when I did something embarrassing, to suffer when rejected.

And how many times will a writer be rejected before getting published?!?!?

Please don't answer that. My heart can't take it! But you see my point. I deleted a few posts below where I was either being Mopey Minnie or Pitiful Pearl. And now, I want to get down to it, write the right stories, send them to the right people, and if they're the stuff that dreams are made of, I'll get there.

I've been working on an article on John Quincy Adams this week. And now, it seems the Adams family is everywhere I look. (Ha! I saw you snap your fingers twice!) Our homeschool group had an essay on John Adams. John Adams will be the focus of an upcoming issue of Cobblestone Magazine (now don't you go and sub to them! It's my turn! My destiny, even!) I'm learning so much about this great man of dignity and courage that I'm really stoked about the possibility of getting this article published somewhere.

I think that's key to getting published, too. Being stoked about the subject you're writing about. How exciting would the article be if I didn't particularly find the subject interesting? And how much care would I take in writing it? Anything for money, right? Well, sadly, this biz generally doesn't pay big bucks. You'd better not be in it for the money, folks!

So I start my day with joyful anticipation... And a blank page before me -- the new leaf I've just turned over!

Yours -- when all you see is empty white space and when your page is filled with ink,

Megan Elizabeth

Because I love my husband soooo much...

20 years of pure bliss!

Megan Elizabeth

Sufficiently recovered...

I just received an email from Blue Mountain Arts asking for more poems for their greeting cards... They probably send these to everyone who's ever submitted to them, but I was tickled anyway. I'm going to write a few poems today and send them off. They snatched the first one I wrote right away for a test market, so maybe I stand a fighting chance of getting another one accepted!

And Mudskippers, I will get those critiques to you as soon as I can!

: )

Megan

Oy!

There comes a time in every woman's life when she's forced to face the inevitable fact that she's growing older. Every day. It happens to the best of us, and it's something we simply can't escape. We can approach it grudgingly and with massive amounts of glycolic acid or we can approach it with a lacksadaisical attitude -- laissez-faire and aloof and unshakeable. I am of the glycolic variety. I prefer to color my hair obsessively, tear off the outer layer of my face with Retin-A compounds, and apply massive amounts of creams and lotions and, after that, makeup, until I resemble a still somewhat wrinkled circus clown. Or maybe a cross between Phyllis Diller (definitely showing my age now) and Tammy Faye Baker.

Why am I telling you about this now?

I went to the grocery store the other day and as I was checking out, the clerk -- a young girl of about TWELVE -- asked if I qualified for the senior citizen discount.

I know.

You're stunned.

How could this have happened? I am only a mere 45 years old! I feel wiser than those young thirtysomethings. (and I remember the television show, Thirtysomething, too!) I wasn't wearing makeup and had been sorting through stuff for Goodwill so I must have looked a bit tired and grungy, but that's no excuse. I am affronted, first of all, that the store required her to ask people if they're old. And I'm doubly affronted that she thought she had to ask ME!

I went home and immediately colored my hair, put on makeup, and went out to a cookout with my husband, convinced no one there would want to talk to me, an elderly woman in a vast sea of youngsters. I ended up having a great conversation with someone who looked like she was about as used up by her kids as I am. None of the twentysomethings -- or even the thirtysomethings -- said a word to me, but that's okay. They'll BE me one day. And when that day comes, I will be there to reassure them that life does, indeed, continue. At least I hope I will be. Better go apply more creams and lotions and take some vitamins just in case!

: )

Megan Elizabeth

This is how obsessive I am...

As I was lying in bed trying to fall asleep last night, I kept thinking about the tense change in my post two blog entries down -- the one about the symphony. I knew about the tense shift as I was writing it, but I was in a hurry and didn't want to take the time to fix it. Plus, I thought the shift to present tense gave the story immediacy. But it began in past tense. So what was I thinking?

And the bigger question here is why do I have nothing better to do at night than ponder whether my friends are thinking poor tense thoughts about me as THEY fall asleep in their comfy, cozy beds? Now that's obsessive!

: )

Megan Elizabeth, who is soooooooooooo tense!

Dan Fogelberg on Regis and Kathy Lee

Never a Dull Moment

Last night, we went to Symphony in the Park for a lovely evening picnic on a hill, followed by the music of the Charlotte Symphony. We were particularly excited because it was going to be an evening of Broadway show tunes which we all love.

Despite the cloudy, overcast sky, we threw down our sleeping bags and ate our dinner in relative peace. We found ourselves seated beside a friend from my husband's job, which was delightful, and we were all set for a night to remember.

That's what it was, all right.

The thunderstorm started some time around the second song. But, undaunted, the symphony took cover and attempted to wait out the storm. Meanwhile, we opened our umbrella and began singing. Singing in the Rain, of course. My kids all know the song because it's from my favorite movie -- I'm a huge Gene Kelly fan. So, we sang it through once. Then our friends joined us. Then the tuba and trombone players joined in with the mezzo soprano who was supposed to sing later in the program.

So we're singing and swaying amid the darkening drizzle when all of a sudden my son Drew grabs the umbrella from my hand and walks out to the front sidewalk and begins to dance. Now remember, he has seen Singing in the Rain about seventy times in his short 14 years. He's not just dancing, he's twirling around like Gene Kelly. I have never seen this kid leap out of his shell like this, so I'm standing there in shocked disbelief when the song finishes and to our surprise, the entire crowd begins applauding him!

The symphony only managed one more song before a loud crack of thunder ended the concert, but we all were still so glad we came. It was definitely a night to remember!

Yours -- with all the dramatic flair of a childhood well-lived!

Megan Elizabeth

I feel the need for a Dan Fogelberg song...

It's Maine, and it's Autumn, the birches have just begun turning
It's life and it's dying
The lobstermen's boats come returning with the catch of the day in their holds
And the young boy is cold and complaining
The fog meets the beaches and out on the Reach it is raining.

It's father and son, it's the way it's been done since the old days
It's hauling by hand ten miles out from the land where their chow waits
And the days are all lonely and long, and the seas grow so stormy and strong but...
The Reach will sing welcome as homeward they hurry along.

(Chorus)
And the morning will blow away as the waves crash and fall
And the Reach like a siren sings as she beckons and calls
As the coastline recedes from view and the seas swell and roll
I will take from the Reach all that she has to teach to the depths of my soul.

The wind brings a chill, there's a frost on the sill in the morning
It creeps through the door
On the edge of the shore ice is forming
Soon the northers will bluster and blow
And the woods will be whitened with snowfall
And the Reach will lie frozen for the lost and unchosen to row.

(from The Innocent Age)

Sigh. All better now...

Megan Elizabeth

Facebook is my friend...

Okay, I know I've crossed the midline of life now, but I am enjoying Facebook immensely. I have found old friends and reconnected with people I haven't seen or spoken to in a while. It's great. And Donna, guess who friended me today? Angie, from the old Creativepowerhouse! Yea!

All writers should have a Facebook page, a website, and a blog. I'm convinced. And this was not a paid endorsement.

: )

Megan Elizabeth, frazzled and worn-to-a-crisp but hey, people like things crispy sometimes... There's Lay's potato chips, Chicken in a Biskit crackers, Orville Redenbacher popcorn, sweet tarts, jawbreakers, grape nuts cereal... Endless possibilities of fragile female crispyness!

Links for a Charlotte Mason Education

For the sake of storage, I am placing links here that I have found useful and that today are helping me shape my children's education into something of an exotic, unforgettable journey which is exactly what I believe education should be...

Grammar

http://wonder.riverwillow.com.au/books/meiklejohn/meiklejohn_contents.htm

A Narrative explanation of what life was like in a PNEU school, written by a former student, Christine Verspaandonk:

http://wonder.riverwillow.com.au/home_education/PNEU_Education.htm

Read and enjoy...

Poised and ready...

Today, I created a writing schedule for myself, worked out the second chapter of The Fairy Harp, wrote several poems to get the creative juices flowing, and went to church. Probably the most helpful thing I did was go to church. It was a new church -- new to me, anyway. City Church in Charlotte. We loved it. The people were friendly, kind, and understood when two of my children fell asleep during the service! We will definitely visit again, and hopefully I am now inspired enough to leave this blog and write, write, write!!!

Megan Elizabeth, the magnificent (procrastinator)

A fresh poem for my husband who is away

Lily of the Valley

Tangled among sharp nettles, amid barley prickles and darkened, dry grass lay a long-forgotten lily -- soft, brilliant, pure, touched with dew, thirsty with hope, and stained with sorrow.

He shoved his sleeve above his elbow, thrust his bare hand through the mire of thorns, grasped the lily gently between hardened, calloused fingers, and tugged at its satin-soft petals until it was free.

Long forlorn and quite forgotten, the lily was torn and tinged with brown.
Laid in a crystal vase filled with sweetened water, she was drenched with anticipation, filled with nourishment, tinted creamy pale by the sun streaming through his windowpane.

Soon blossoms cascaded down her branches. Tears welled up in his eyes. Immersed in pure joy, innocent love, and touched with fresh clarity, a song was born of her distant sorrow. It traveled for miles, floating across the sea, over mountains, hills, and valleys until, gathering speed and power from the light above, the song reached the moistened clouds, the shimmering stars, the milky host of Heaven above.

He heard it and was enraptured. Adding angelic voices and thundering echoes of heavenly instruments, all sorrow was swept from the song, leaving only delight.

The lily burst forth into searing beauty. Pure, white, soft, delicate, fragile, her moment had come. Bursting with fragrance, dampened with dew, she leaped from the soil and landed in His arms, to rest forever in peaceful surrender.

She nestled snugly upon his breast and felt the comforting pounding of His strong heart, beating only for her as for the thousands who came before.

And she was forever changed.

Are you all still there?

I didn't fall off the planet, contrary to popular belief and hideous rumor. That would require a break in the law of gravity, and gravity is one of those laws that we tend to break the least -- only astronauts, Houdini, and David Copperfield seem to have mastered that trick.

No, I have been working, scrounging for more work, and finishing the house. And yet, I have not finished The Fairy Harp! I have a solid first chapter, though. And several pages of gook after that to spruce up. It's tragic how little fiction I actually write these days. But oh well! Someone has to write all that direct mail we build our landfills on, right?

Tell me, people, what have you been writing? Doing? Praying for? Closing your eyes and wishing on a star about? Do tell!

Yours -- when all else fails and nobody passes, when nobody wins and everybody loses,

Megan Elizabeth

P.S. I miss Dan Fogelberg. So you will just have to tolerate reading more of his lyrics on my blog...

How many eyes will you sack in sorrow
Seeking to borrow some sight of your own
How many lies will you have to suffer
Until you discover there's nobody home
How many roads will you have to wander
How many dead end streets
How many dreams will you finally squander
Dodging your own defeats.
You're wishing on the moon tonight
There's not a lucky star in sight
Just wishing on the moon tonight.
[ Find more Lyrics at www.mp3lyrics.org/GZW ]
How many doors will you have to open
Desperately hoping each one's the last
How many more will you close behind you
Bitter and blind to the shadows you cast
How many fools will you have to follow
How many wayward winds
How many sins will you have to swallow
Until the truth sinks in
(That you've been)
Wishing on the moon tonight
There's not a lucky star in sight
Just wishing on the moon tonight

The Fairy Harp

You all know I've been working on this novel for forever. And I found out there is actually fairy harp music out there. A woman named Elizabeth Jane Baldry has a webpage on it. She performs all over Europe and has a cd or two. It's evidently hauntingly beautiful. Now, isn't it about time I finish the dern thing? We could put a cd in with it...

Motivate me, people!

Megan

I won a poetry contest!!! Well, Donna won. But I got second place!!!

I love Jody Mace. Her website is fun. Her kids are funny. She's just overall great. And I am not being paid for this advertisement!

________________________________________

Poetry contest results are in!!

Read all the entries here: http://www.jodymace.com/news/?p=165 Since the topic was “the internet” I chose as a judge my 13-year-old daughter who loves the internet more than me, her dad, and her little brother all combined.

She chose four favorites.

4th place: Donna Koppelman for her haiku:

Blogging has become
The Wailing Wall of our time
Problems on display.

3rd place: Angela for the haiku:

Far across the world
Someone else feels this way, too.
I am not alone.

2nd place: Megan Hoyt
Angela is not alone.

People staring,
stalking, swearing,
everywhere she goes.
Through the long night,
into the morning,
stalking,
talking,
silently creeping,
toward sweet, serene Angela.

Eyes droop,
head falls,
keyboard pillow leaves jkl
on Angela’s forehead.

Pistols cocked,
ready for action.

Angela sleeps,
spammer leaps!

She wakes,
disorder!
mailbox is full,
no one is there.
Robotic spammers
leave a trail
of techo-babble
in their wake.

Sudden silence!

Poised for action,
Angela strikes.
Delete all.
Peace.
Random.
Fragile.
Delicate.

Angela is finally alone.

And the winner of the grand prize…..
Donna Earnhardt for the free verse poem entitled “Virus”

I slink from site to site
sipping in and out
of blogs, journals and email
leaving a trail that is
seen only by SuperGeeks
with their x-ray vision and quarantine tactics
they catch me
and try to contain me
but I won’t be restrained
my clones continue to travel
the infomation highway
looking for unsecure rest-stops
and insecure travelers
who open emails from strangers
download “postcards” from long lost friends
and
visit sites they think no-one knows they visit
but I know
and I
wait,
hungry and crouched
ready to pounce
and devour
the weakest link

Donna Earnhardt and Megan Hoyt: I know where to find you! Donna Koppelman and Angela, can you please email me your mailing address? (to jody at jodymace.com)

Looking for a breakthrough here, ladies and gentlemen!

It's always darkest before the dawn, right? Well, things have been looking pretty dim in the home remodeling department lately. We seem to have made an enemy or two along the way without meaning to. And bills are piling up sky high!

You know, when it gets right down to it, the only thing that bothers me about that is that I now can't send money to our friends who are serving in Lebanon and Uzbekistan. Or to our old church in Virginia Beach. I wanted to prosper financially so we could support them more. What can we do?

I don't know the answer, but I'd sure be open to suggestions. Any new markets I can tap into? Thanks, Donna, for the tip on greeting cards. Anyone else? Jody? Jean? Have I been lookin' for love in all the wrong places? What are the right places?

And even more than that, I'm increasingly worrying about how I can spend more time with my daughters who after next year will be in college and on their own. All these and other questions, I'm sure, will be answered in due time. (When is due time, anyway?)

Meanwhile...

Still clinging to the hope that saves men's souls...

Megan Elizabeth

Bloggin'

I haven't had a whole lot of time lately to devote to blogging. As a writer, this is a problem for me. I want to blog a little here and there, when I have a spare moment, but I'm a perfectionist. I desperately dislike it when I don't write well, choose the wrong word, or something worse -- use it's instead of its or their instead of there. (Sacrilege for a former proofreader!)

The truth is, I am swamped at the moment. I'll try to put something together soon, but in the meantime, don't read my idiotic sentiment below about candy unless you sincerely want to waste three minutes of your life for no good reason at all...

Now to tackle all the things that are making me crazy!

Yours -- amid the dust and rubble, hay and stubble,

Megan Elizabeth

The Hard Bits...

There are three main types of candy. Crunchy hard candy, chewy caramel candy, and soft, melt-in-your-mouth smooth candy. They're all sweet, but they hit you in different ways.

Life is sort of like that. A good, decent life filled with ups and downs, highs and lows, and lots of doldrum days in between. The hard bits you have to suck on for a while whether you want to or not. If you don't -- if you just haul off and bite into one -- you could break a tooth. It won't release all its goodness in a few seconds either. Sure, the sweetness swirls around in your mouth for a nice, long time, but you run the risk of getting tired of the flavor. And that big, hard chunk keeps you from talking or doing much of anything else.

Chewy caramels are a tough sell for me. Some like them, but I honestly can't tell you why. They gum up the insides of your teeth, you can't talk, and you make these awful faces while you're trying to get the stickiest bits out of the crevices. Yeah, it's sweet. But you get tired of all the hard work. Where's the payoff?

Now, my favorite kind of candy is chocolate truffles. They're strong, rich, smooth, creamy, and oh, so sweet. They're small and expensive, but well worth it. You don't have to work hard to crack them open or get the stickiness out of your teeth. Just sail through that sweeter than sweet, strong, rich flavor. Oh, baby. No worries. No hardships.

But it's over way too soon.

Yours, through early morning cravings and late night binges,

Megan Elizabeth

Dumping Depression

Here is an excerpt from what I hope will soon be a book about living a fulfilled life under the shadow of depresson -- or maybe despite it. Or maybe TO spite it. Or spit at it. Something like that anyway...


I am usually silly. Quite silly, I mean. I guffaw and twitter and joke. I'm sarcastic and cynical and over the top.

But I discovered something serious today. Three simple words that finally explain why my perception of God was permanently altered at a very young age.

Absent when needed.

I was reading a book this morning called Finding Hope Again. I struggle with depression (I refuse to give it a capital letter even though it's a disease.) I am definitely not at ease. I have been dis -eased for a very long time -- by people, circumstances, situations beyond my control. And by people who were previously an integral part of my life being absent when I really needed them to be present, reliable, and loving.

In this book, Neil Anderson explains why some people don't believe God is there for them. It's because the people they counted on weren't there when they were really needed. We all probably already know this. You think God is like your earthly father, right? Everyone does. Especially every little girl. In my case, my father adored me, showered me with affection, encouragement, love, and laughter. Then, when I was 13, he had an affair with my mother's best friend and subsequently left. At first, I thought things could remain relatively the same for me. He was still my dad. A bit flawed in the morality department, but still the same guy who loved me, right? Then as time went on and visits became sporadic at best, I realized he was deserting me as well as Mom. It stung. I cried. But the pain didn't go away. Deep rejection like that sometimes doesn't. At least not without a lot of counseling.

I carried that rejection along with me wherever I went from that moment on. It was heavy. I lugged it into relationship after relationship, none lasting more than two months. Then I fell in love. I thought I had found someone I could trust. Someone who would never leave. The thrill of love had melted away my fear and I could breathe again, feel the breeze blow gently across my face, open my heart wide and live, love, laugh. Nine months later, the cheater left me. And on it went.

Absent when needed.

If only I was able to feel God was there to comfort me. If only I had realized that depression was keeping me from feeling He was there. If only I had been able to believe He loved me and was holding me in His arms even if I didn't feel it...

Instead, I believed He was absent.

I stuffed the emotions, the pain, the despair deep down. I never let on. I married, had four children, lived a life many only dream of. But the feeling that God was not going to be there for me when I really needed Him never went away.

I don't know where one goes from here. How do you get back the years you've lost to depression while trying to live in the present? I don't suppose you can. I was duped and damaged like many a young girl. But I developed a disease that kept me from recovering from it. God was absent -- or it felt like He was anyway. But what now?

Here is what I've decided to believe for, hope for, and wait for.

Summer.

I believe God -- who is there even though most of the time my brain won't allow me to feel it's true -- can take my winter and turn it into summer.

Listen to what John Donne said about it:

He brought light out of darkness, not out of lesser light;
He can bring your summer out of winter, though you
have no spring; though in the ways of fortune, or
understanding, or conscience, you have been benighted
until now, wintered and frozen, clouded and eclipsed,
damped and benumbed, smothered and stupefied till
now, now God comes to you, not as in the dawning of the
day, not as in the bud of the spring, but as the sun at noon.

I will wait for my sunshine. Even if it takes forever.

This just in... Can you guess who it is?

Yep! If you read the fine print or guessed Dan Fogelberg, you were right!

April Fools!

At our house, pretty much every day is April Fools day. But occasionally we outdo outselves. I remember one year my daughter took it upon herself to turn the entire house into one big April Fool. She put salt in the sugar bowl, filled the teakettle with juice, put confetti in the cereal box, and had a serious talk with us about running away from home. All in one day. And we still didn't catch on.

Then there was the time -- and this didn't even happen in April -- where she was tidying up the house for us and when it came time to go somewhere we couldn't find the car keys. After searching and searching, she conveniently found them... in the sugar bowl. "I swear I don't remember doing it!"

And another time, we were trying to go out for dinner and couldn't find my husband's wallet. After searching the entire house, I gave up on the idea and popped a few frozen dinners onto the counter to microwave. I opened the microwave and voila! The wallet.

They all wanted to lay claim to the wallet fiasco, but no one wanted to take credit for the time Drew got lost at the outlet mall in Williamsburg. He must have been less than two years old at the time. We were in a bookstore, and the girls were supposed to be watching him. They did. "He went that way, Mama," they told me as I frantically swept the store.

Now, it's a surreal feeling to lose a child in a crowded place. First you panic. Then you panic some more. Then time stands still. I'm not kidding! As I began to run through the center of the mall, it felt like I was jogging in slow motion. But it soon turned into a race, complete with people on either side urging me on. "He went past me just a few minutes ago!" some stranger would say. Then, "He's down around the corner!" from someone else. I could feel the pressure building inside my head, the tension mounting in every sinew, every muscle fighting and flighting at the same time.

I turned the corner to go down to the end of the mall where we had first come in. And there he was. The tricky little dude had noticed a merry-go-round by the front entrance and walked out of the bookstore and back around two corners through massive crowds of people to get to it. A woman was watching him and glancing nervously behind her, scanning the crowd for any sign of adult supervision, probably also looking for a policeman to lock the crazy mom up.

Have you ever gone from serious to hysterical crying in a single second? That was how it was when I saw Drew sitting there, happily patting the merry-go-round elephant.

"I ride, Mama?" he said, those innocent, long-lashed eyes batting syrupy sweetness at me.

"Sure, baby. You ride!" I said, hugging him to my pounding heart.

So now it's April Fools Day again. I don't know what to expect from my four critters, but I know something's coming. I already found legos in the dog biscuit box, and a large picture of one of the Super Mario brothers in my cereal.

If that's as far as it goes, we're good.

: )

Yours, when everyone's insane but me and when no one's insane but me,

Megan Elizabeth

Where's the padded cell when you really need it?

It started out like any other morning. I slept through the alarm, leaped out of bed, threw on some fuzzy slippers and jumped into the car to take my daughter to school. It was 7:00 and school begins at 7:15. I did not want to have to go to the registrar's office and sign in my daughter late wearing fuzzy slippers, so you can just imagine what kind of driving I did to get her there.

Next up, my other daughter. She needed her college ID to take a test at school, but couldn't find it. In true motherly style, I located it immediately, just in time to get her in the car and drive her to the bus stop. We got there as the bus was pulling up. I was proud. I got back home just in time for her phone call from the fire station around the corner from the bus stop. "I forgot my bus pass and I didn't have any money, so I missed the bus." The fireman waved at me knowingly as we drove off and headed uptown toward the college. I asked if she ate breakfast. No, she hadn't. I reminded her she had class until 3:20 and asked when she expected to eat breakfast. I dunno. Now, this girl has never had a problem coming up with things to say. She's turned out to be a very dramatic and social young woman despite our best efforts at isolation. (We homeschooled her, but even that horrible undersocialization didn't work. Guess we'll have to try something new.)

I finally made it back home to find a note on my door from the water company. Our water was turned off because of nonpayment. Huh? A water bill came to my house and I didn't pay it? Where could that bill be? I searched and searched and came up empty. So I called and paid over the phone. Then I called the electric company, gas company, and Time Warner cable. Everything was paid up. So where was that skanky water bill hiding?!?!?

While I was on the phone with these creditors of mine, I noticed that someone had balanced the drawers of our brand new dresser precariously on top of my new nightstand. They tumbled down and the edge chipped off of one of the drawers. It's no longer new. It's now officially "scratch and dent" merchandise. And I'm getting miffed!

As I was searching for the water bill, I found my daughter's symphony pass. We could have gone to several free concerts, but we missed them since the pass was no longer on my desk. Hmmmm....

I am not the most organized person in the world. We have too many pets and too many children. I'm not particularly well suited to lots of commotion. I'm more the introspective type who longs for lush greenery, singing birds, long romantic walks amid rose gardens with my man. Instead, I've got bird poo on my carpet, toys and junk all over my house, workmen in my bedrooms, and wii-playing kids whooping and hollering in the living room. What is all this -- bad karma from a past life? (Just kidding!)

I called the water company three times. I obsess over things like this for some reason. I must be slightly neurotic or something. They assured me the water would be turned on within 48 hours. 48 HOURS!! Toilets cannot wait that long to be flushed. I draw the line. After the third phone call, they must have had mercy on me because an indistinguishable white truck pulled up in front of our house and a man slid out, kneeled down in our front yard and flipped a switch of some kind. The water was back on. How do I know all this? Because I had been sitting on the front steps waiting for him ever since the last phone call. Yup. Obsessive.

Happily yours amid the stinky stuff that happens to everyone -- at least I hope it does or I'm being singled out!!

Megan Elizabeth

I don't ask for much...

It hit me this morning as I was sitting on the porcelain throne. He'd done it again.

Now, when I say I don't ask for much, I mean it. I have lived amid chaos for a very long time. We have four children, two dogs, a guinea pig who lost her companion a year ago and is now very needy, a rat who lost two companions recently (we're starting to think she's a vampire), a cat named Tosca, a turtle named Tyrant, a parrot named Sheenu, and a hermit crab whose name escapes me. The dogs aren't properly housebroken. The parrot shrieks early in the morning and giggles softly all night. My temper flares, as do flashes of humor on rare occasions.

We're talking chaos.

Add to that a large remodeling project and you have one sassy, middle-aged soul...

Who doesn't ask for much. Only Charmin Ultra.

But he did it again. He went and bought whatever toilet paper was on sale, and I am greatly chagrined.

Yours,

Megan Elizabeth, T.P. connoisseur supreme

Where does the time go?!?

I took a month off work -- my freelance work, I mean. I told my clients I was going to work on my house which is still not completely remodeled. I'm fast running out of money and where has the time gone? My monthlong hiatus is at an end, and I have mounds of laundry, ceilings that are not painted, floors needing tile -- and the exterior of the house still isn't done either.

But if I don't start working again, we'll lose the blankety blank house and then what will it matter?!?!?

So here I sit amid the clutter, boxes, clothes, and yes, birdie doo-doo, waiting to be rescued by the flylady house cleaners and the remodelers who remodel for the sheer pleasure of it (they'd have to since we're out of cash).

And you know the worst part? I thought I would get one or two of my manuscripts completed this past month while I wasn't working on marketing or direct mail or magazine articles. I am thinking it's not going to happen in this stage of life. Between the piddling doggies and squawking bird, I'm pretty maxed out. Oh, and I have children, too. You'd think we would have figured out after twenty years of marriage and four children how to save a buck, raise a kid, and wrangle a couple of pets, but I am totally and completely without a clue at this point. I guess that's what puts spice into life! Spontaneity! Sudden anxiety! Loss of life! (We lost a rat over the Easter holiday -- poor thing died in my son's arms at which point blood came oozing out of her eyes. Not a pretty sight. And we were out of town at the time buying furniture and rugs.)

Never a dull moment, I tell ya!

Yours -- when all seems lost and time stands still (gee, I sure wish it would, so I could catch up!)

Megan Elizabeth

Happy Resurrection Day!

The Lord is risen indeed.

: )

Megan Elizabeth

Blue Mountain Arts accepted my poem as a test market entry...

Well, it looks like I have tentatively breached the previously locked door that marks the entrance to the greeting card market. Yea!

My dear friend Donna who is always so very supportive told me about this market, and I decided to try my hand at a Father's Day poem. A few short weeks later (wouldn't it be great if book publishers got back to you this fast?) I received an acceptance. They're placing it in a test market. If it sells well, I will get a quick $300 and a byline inside the greeting card. Then it will hit the stands across the country.

Cool, huh?!

Yours -- whether I'm accepted or rejected, sick or well, crazy or... nope, I'm always crazy!

Megan Elizabeth

Here's a link to Blue Mountain Arts submission info.

Hilary speaks to Barack Obama (No, not THAT Hillary!)

Well, you just never know what each new day will bring, do you?

I picked my daughter up from school, then went to the Community College to pick up my other daughter. There was traffic. Lots of people milling around CPCC, waiting in line near the stadium. Barak Obama was in town.

The girls asked if they could go in and hear him speak, and I thought, "Yeah, why not?" We're conservatives politically and vehemently opposed to offering women the choice to abort their unborn children. We're also environmentalists who support gun control. There really isn't a party that can hold us. However, we have always voted according to conscience and when it comes to supporting life, be it the lives of sea fowl being killed as a result of oil slicks, endangered species struggling to survive in vanishing habitats, or, most importantly, unborn humans whose parents believe they have the right to stop their hearts from beating, their brains from functioning, or as Juno learned, their fingernails from growing, we choose life.

So we're basically Republicans.

But Hilary went to the rally anyway, got up out of her seat, walked over to the microphone, and asked Obama a question. She asked him what he would do to support young women with unplanned pregnancies. She was hoping he might say he'd offer government programs, funding for medical care, adoption assistance, the sort of thing a democratic candidate who believes in large, supportive government might say. Although he shaped his answer to address prevention and education, Hilary was still glad to have the opportunity to talk to him. We live in a country where that's possible. It was safe, free to the public, and as a sixteen-year-old American, she was able to ask these questions of a potential presidential candidate. That's a good thing.

Hilary is not bashful. She next called in to a conservative talk radio show to discuss her experience at the rally. And after the rally, she was interviewed by Fox News.

And where was I all this time? Standing out in the rain. I dropped the girls off, and while I went to park the car, the last person was admitted to the auditorium. So my two teens went in without me. Which I think is even better. What strong young women I have somehow managed to raise!

I only wish I had brought an umbrella...

Yours, amid life's twists and turns, hills and valleys,
(at least with us, it's always interesting!)

Megan Elizabeth

Wow. So interesting...

I watched the CMS Charlotte Mecklenburg School Board meeting on our local access channel last night. I don't think too terribly many people watch this channel. It gripped me, though, because the school board was so clearly split between conservatives and liberals. I noticed the differentiation almost immediately. And it's really rather strange. They were talking about a bullying policy. Although I am an independent politically, I have to admit I usually stray to the side of less government. I mean, take a look at the local DMV if you want to see your tax dollars in action. Not the brightest bulbs in the bunch and the beaurocratic red tape is ridiculous. But I digress.

The conservatives were articulate. They had real reasons for questioning the validity of the new bullying policy. They had copies of emails from constituents. These were quickly dismissed. They requested that a definition of bullying be included so no one could get away with it based on the lack of clearly delineated guidelines as to what constitutes bullying. Their requests were denied. They warned that the "training materials" which were to be used were created by the state gay/lesbian task force and may become "indoctrination materials" if not immediately sometime in the future. Their warnings went unheeded and they were mocked for being concerned that a group with a political and sexual agenda was going to have direct access to our school children K-12. Now, I'm not anti-gay. I have a couple of dear friends who are gay. That's not the point. The point is that my children's sexuality and the formation of their values regarding sex are just that -- mine! These kiddos came out of my body. I care more for them (see last post) than anyone else in the world does. I want to be the one who talks to them about sex, be it with the opposite sex, same sex, before marriage or after. That's my job. And the school board's job is to honor my decision to keep that job for myself. Because last I checked this was still a free country. Freedom is ringing more quietly these days. I'm concerned...

I don't think any new bullying policies need to be discussed when there are still children falling through the cracks, graduating without the ability to get into a decent college from overcrowded schools filled with undereducated teachers. Why undereducated? If you put all your money into new "bullying policies" rather than teachers' salaries, you're not exactly going to get the cream of the crop. My daughter had a teacher one year who couldn't spell very well. That is not acceptable.

Okay, off soapbox now...

Enjoying the lovely weather?

Utopia -- when homeschooling is legal in every state and abortion is not, when citizens care for one another, even pregnant runaways with uncertain futures,

Megan Elizabeth

In California, you now have to be a certified teacher in order to homeschool your own children!!!

The lazy, liberal supreme court of California has decided to virtually outlaw homeschooling because there would be “an unreasonable burden on the state to have to supervise each and every home in which a child was being educated.”

OUTRAGEOUS!!!

Who cares more about their children's welfare and well-being and academic progress and future success in this wickedly difficult world of ours? The California board of education or their mommies and daddies!?

I am so sick of people pigeonholing homeschoolers, deciding without meeting our children that they are unsocialized, undersocialized, undereducated, or even (gasp!) nerdy!!

My homeschooled daughter receives around 20 college letters each day. We had to start a filing system for them because she was getting overloaded. She recently entered the public high school easily and smoothly -- becoming the lead in the school play, getting asked out by about ten different hormonally charged boys almost immediately, making A's in her AP classes, and otherwise showing a tremendous aptitude for academic and social life. Her homeschooling enabled her to be confident in who she is, comfortable in her own skin, secure in her beliefs even when those around her are parroting the latest trendy political jargon. Here's a recent conversation she had with a boy at school.

Boy: You're pro-life? Weird. I thought everyone was pro-choice these days.

Hilary: Do you believe you have a soul?

Boy: Well, yeah, I guess I do.

Hilary: So when do you think your soul entered your body? When exactly is it that a baby has a soul?

Boy: I don't know. Nobody can know that.

Hilary: So you don't know when the baby has a soul, but you want to allow a girl to kill her baby anyway?

Boy: Oh, well I guess I never really thought about it.

Hilary: (eye roll...)

My other homeschooled daughter has performed in operas, children's theatre, on stage at the Charlotte Folk Society, etc. She is highly social and very comfortable ad libbing onstage before she begins playing.

I am so appalled at what is happening in our country. Haven't these legislators read Orwell's 1984? Do they really secretly want us to be a Communist nation? Didn't they see what happened to Fascist regimes in the 1940s? How can we allow our freedoms to be snatched from within our bosoms this way? Where has the conscience of America gone? As a nation, we have become so apathetic that this news in California rarely evoked a yawn from local news crews here on the east coast. Why?!?!?

I hope the good homeschoolers of California know that we support them wholeheartedly. And if lawmakers are listening, now would be the time to take back your power from the courts and draft legislation that will end this travesty of justice once and for all.

A final note...

Although I have homeschooled for 12 years now, I have met only one mother that I felt was unqualified to teach her children and that was because she had a learning disability, not because she was negligent in any way. 12 years and many hundreds of families later, I cannot say that I have EVER met a homeschooled child who was not fully prepared for college. Ordinarily, the homeschooled collegian is more studious, has better study skills, is more mature, has fewer problems with alcohol consumption and drug use, and in general is steady, stable, and ready to function in society. On the other hand, I have seen many a school kid dive headlong into trouble at college.

To penalize involved parents who have sacrificed a second income in order to provide their children with a better education than the public school could offer JUST BECAUSE IT WOULD BE DIFFICULT TO CHECK UP ON THEM is totally ridiculous. And deadly serious.

My sleeves are rolled up and I'm ready to duke this out. California, here I come!!!

Yours -- with steam coming out my ears!

Megan Elizabeth

Caedmon's Call

I took my daughters to a Caedmon's Call concert in Hickory last night. It was a splurge in the middle of tight budgetary constraints for the Hoyt family, but wow, was it ever worth it. They grew up listening to this music -- large and loud in the living room, booming from beneath the bathroom door, streaming out from the car windows on every road trip, short or long. They heard me singing along to every cd, watched me serve as a street rep, pounding the pavement to get more people to come to Caedmon's concerts, and in general, learned about God, about life, and about how to be a REAL Christian from these great folks.

Well...

We drove up to Hickory and were first met by friendly people who provided free hot dogs, chips, and drinks. We sat in the fifth row for what was an amazing concert -- two and a half hours of beauty. And the best part was watching my girls and realizing that while I was trying (and primarily failing) to instill values in them and teach them about our faith, they were soaking it up through the song lyrics. They sang along to most of the music, and huge grins swept across their faces when they caught the eyes of one of the band members.

But the best was yet to come.

After the show, the band went to a local coffee house where Andy continued to sing several songs off his new solo album. The others were available for a quick chat over coffee, and my girls were moved by their humility and openness to meet and greet new people in each town. My sixteen-year-old has been a little jaded lately. She's seen Christians act in ways that were unbecoming and lie or cheat on tests or even (shudder) grab another girl's goods in the school hallway after attending a Christian gathering the day before. I didn't want her to be so disheartened. I realize we're all just muddling through here really. But her faith was growing slim and her light dim. What an honor it was to watch these seasoned musicians tug at her heartstrings with their cheerfulness, their gentleness, their welcoming attitudes and availability.

The highlights?

When we moved from Virginia Beach, I listened to one Caedmon's Call song over and over. Hearing Derek Webb sing it (he had left the band to pursue a solo career for the past six or seven years and was back with the gang for this tour) was really special:

"Hometown weather is on TV
I imagine the lives of the people living there
And I'm curious if they imagine me
Cause they just wanna leave; I wish that I could stay.

But if I must go
things I trust will be better off without me
but I don't want to know
cuz life is better off a mystery."

We were singing that song in the car on the way home, and Hilary was digging around for a tissue in the glove compartment at the same time. Well, for some strange reason, inside the glove compartment was a photo of our old house in Virginia. She pulled it out and showed it to me as I was singing. I about lost it.

Other highlights...

Watching the coffee dude make bong coffee (you had to be there) and hearing "This World" and "Lead of Love" performed live, talking to Derek about Burlap to Cashmere, and the opportunity to pass along my thanks to Cliff for years of support during my darkest times. What a blessing.

So anyway, thank you Caedmon's Call for being so accessible for my girls, for signing Drew's songbook since he couldn't be there himself, and for writing all those amazing, deep, thought-provoking songs, and for taking the time to tolerate people like us who can't get enough of your beautiful music and whose lives have been changed because of it. It's not just the Compassion International kids you are touching. We're everyday people eeking out a living, cleaning our toilets, raising our kids, going to church, listening for God's voice in the car -- aided and abetted by your music. You guys fill our emptiest days with life more abundant. Hey, I think that makes you Jesus with skin on. Anyway, thanks.

Yours -- blissfully belting Forget What You Know or quietly whispering "You're no more than just a piece of glass" into the lying mirror each morning,

Megan Elizabeth

Who are you that lies when you stare in my face
Telling me that I'm just a trace of the person I once was
Cause we're not the same, you're just a picture of me
You're gone as soon as I leave; you've lived my life for me
And you're no more than a piece of glass

The People God Sends...

Sometimes one thing leads to another, to another, to another, and you don't remember how it all began, but it seems the bends in the road have twisted and turned and you are no longer the same person you once were. Times have changed. Circumstances have changed who you are. Your relationships have deepened. Changed. Or even ended. You experience deep loss and deeper regret. Life throws sucker punches at you and while you're able to duck many of them and marvel at how God has rescued you from a few more. There are those that hit you square in the face or knock the wind out of you. Those are the punches that send you reeling. And hopefully, they send you to your knees.

I have recently been on the receiving end of a few wild and hard punches. One or two of them were unforeseen and unavoidable. One wasn't. I created it myself. But the unavoidable ones are hardest. You can't walk away from the pain, and the swirling vortex of confusion that mounts as you attempt to avoid the inevitable grows stronger. We recently purchased a fixer-upper home with lots of possibilities. We knew nothing about flipping homes, although we'd seen it done on tv a few times. But now we have found ourselves at the helm of a sinking ship, paddling desperately in a sea of debt -- with no kitchen, no garage, and 2300 square feet of mostly unusable space.

We told our realtor we would be so busy this year with work and trying to get our daughters ready for college that we needed a turnkey situation. Any remodeling project would have to be the sole responsibility of our contractor. (Our realtor was our contractor.)With this in mind, he took on the project. Everything that could go wrong did. The project was 100% over budget when we finally said "no more."

I'm disappointed that our boundaries weren't heeded, even though we clearly delineated them up front. I'm disappointed that God, who knew there was going to be a mortgage crisis heading our way since He knows EVERYTHING, allowed us to go through the turmoil of losing all our money, then not being able to get a new mortgage for four months. I'm disappointed that despite many frantic phone calls, most of the subcontractors refused to call us back or return to finish the work they had begun. (I assume they were worried about getting paid, but why not phone us back to tell us that?)

I think in light of eternity this is all just a blink of an eye, flip of flirty hair, shrug of the shoulders type problem. I mean, no one is dying, right? But my two girls are spending their last year at home crammed into a tiny bedroom surrounded by boxes instead of in their new addition. I'm disappointed. (Did I mention that I was disappointed yet?)

But I titled this post "The People God Sends" for a reason. I have met the most wonderful people on this journey to completion. We found a modern furniture store where we could buy a piece that would be less expensive than a wall of cabinets for the kitchen space and will look even more cool and mod. The salesman there led me to a dear woman at Mediterranean Tile who gave me a cut rate on countertops once she heard my story. Her friend, a cabinetmaker, leveled all our already installed (incorrectly) cabinets for us and is going to help out wherever he can. He is a humble, kind, funny guy who is easy to have around and fabulous at what he does. An electrician I met at Home Depot is coming by today to fix the problems the former electrician caused.

These are Godsend people.

And I am grateful.

May I one day possess the humility and grace to forgive those who have wronged us -- even if it means my kids can't attend the colleges of their dreams and even if it means we lost money or will lose the house. May God be glorified.

Yours -- with hope and fear and struggles and pain and with joy in the journey and throughout the rain,

Megan Elizabeth

Find me...

I was sitting at the computer watching an episode of my husband's tv show, Think It Thru, when a poem began drafting itself inside my head. I typed it in as it came to me, fast and fluid, like a waterfall tumbling over rocky crags with unseen force. I believe it was God trying to tell me who He really is, who His son, Messiah, is, and to urge me to show others who we, as living sacrifices left on earth to be a witness to future generations of the validity of Yeshua's messiahship, should be toward everyone we meet, Jewish or goyim, sinner and saint. For some reason, as the show was ending, I said the words, "Find me." I think maybe He did.

Here it is...


Amid the faint starlight and temporal glow of evening, lies a dim flicker, a dying ember, waiting to be fanned to glorious flame.
Nearby sits a still, quiet, thoughtful creature, a spotless lamb of unmentionable quality and astonishing vigor,
filled with laughter and joy, freedom and love, gentleness and peace.

The lost, the lonely, the longing, the grieving--they arrive as the sunrise deepens, transforming the shade of night into the brilliant color of a fresh, new day;
they come with fear and anguish written across their tear-stained faces, but they do come.

Washing over them with aromatic oil, fragrant and floral, the princely lamb lifts each chin, meets each eye, and says to every wandering heart, "Come."

I rush forward, leaping over rocks and skirting thorn-infested brambles, to meet this gentle lamb with His healing touch and knowing eyes.
I fall at His feet, wrestling with my inadequacies, wallowing in my guilt and shame, writhing in secret pain.

He does not curse and swear, He does not cringe in disgust, He does not stand in judgment.
He stoops to meet my gaze, holds me in His strong, loving arms, and rests my weary head across his sturdy shoulder.

Then He sings over me--sweet songs of forgiveness and peace, deliverance and rest, comfort and life.
I am humbled at His touch; I dirty his woolen white coat with my sin-stained skin.

Yet He doesn't walk away.
He stays.

I found them!!!!!

The were hidden in a superdisk (what we used before CD-Rs. Can you believe we ever used these?). So now I need to tweak!

Megan

Why me?!?!?

I cannot find three of my children's book manuscripts. The precise three that have been requested by someone. Is this not the most incredible, ironic, horrific thing? I am going to have to try and recreate them. Who knows? Maybe they'll be better than the originals. But why me?!?!?!?

Yours -- in confusion and bliss,

Megan Elizabeth (alias: Mr. Magoo!)

P.S. Mom is home from the hospital and doing much better. Still having trouble eating with her tiny stomach -- she gets full easily and has little appetite. But she's off the feeding tube. It was making her sick, so she logged her calories, showed the log to the doctor and begged. He removed it. She's quite a little fighter, that one! (I know what you're thinking. I get my hutzbah from her. But hutzbah by its very nature comes from the Jewish side -- my dad's! : ) )

What's your favorite Dan Fogelberg song?

Mine was, is, and always will be...

Nether Lands.

No competition. It's my favorite song of all time.

Yours -- with heartfelt gratitude, deepest respect, great admiration, and much love for a man I never met whose music I will always treasure,

Megan Elizabeth

Nether Lands

High on this mountain
The clouds down below
I`m feeling so strong and alive
From this rocky perch
I`ll continue to search
For the wind
And the snow
And the sky
I want a lover
I want some friends
And I want to live in the sun
And I want to do all the things that I
never have done.

Sunny bright mornings
And pale moonlit nights
Keep me from feeling alone
Now, I`m learning to fly
And this freedom is like
Nothing that I`ve ever known
I`ve seen the bottom
And I`ve been on top
But mostly I`ve lived in between
And where do you go
When you get to the end of
your dream?

Off in the nether lands
I heard a sound
Like the beating of heavenly wings
And deep in my brain
I can hear a refrain
Of my soul as she rises and sings
Anthems to glory and
Anthems to love and
Hymns filled with early delight
Like the songs that the darkness
Composes to worship the light.

Once in a vision
I came on some woods
And stood at a fork in the road
My choices were clear
Yet I froze with the fear
Of not knowing which way to go
One road was simple
Acceptance of life
The other road offered sweet peace
When I made my decision
My vision became my release.

Nether Lands

Dan Fogelberg: 8/13/51-12/17/07

Dear Friends,

I'm so grateful to all of you who wrote to Dan through The Living Legacy website with your stories of how his music touched your lives; with your uplifting words of encouragement; with your declarations of admiration and friendship.

Dan was a strong and private man, but even the mountain must tremble, and during the toughest times he gained solace and comfort from reading your letters and learning that his music had been a source of light in your lives. Greatest of all though, was the feeling you gave him that his time here had served a purpose. I hope you will find some peace in knowing that the joy and comfort you found in his music winged its way back to him through your words, prayers, and good wishes.

Thank you,

Jean Fogelberg

"There is no darkness in this place we're bound. Love is the only thing that matters.

          *********************

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Dear Friends,

Dan left us this morning at 6:00 am. He fought a brave battle with cancer and died peacefully at home in Maine with his wife Jean at his side. His strength, dignity, and grace in the face of the daunting challenges of this disease were an inspiration to all who knew him.

In May of 2004, Dan was diagnosed with advanced prostate cancer.

A personal letter from D.F.

I cannot adequately express my gratitude to all of the thousands of wonderful people who have sent such incredibly moving and supportive e-mails via the Living Legacy web site. It is truly overwhelming and humbling to realize how many lives my music has touched so deeply all these years. Each one of you who have taken the time and effort to reach out to Jean and I have helped immeasurably to uplift our spirits and keep us looking strongly forward during some very rough moments. I thank you from the very depths of my heart.

I currently have no plans to return to the concert stage or the recording studio in the foreseeable future, but who knows? At least for now, I prefer to keep my options open.

Again, my deepest thanks and love to all,

Dan

What are the odds?

I forgot about my last post (below). The last freelance assignment I took before my break was to interview children's book authors for a magazine. One of them showed her publisher my webpage and she requested three of my picture book manuscripts. I don't know if anything will come of it, but isn't it strange and God-like that this happened right after I made a commitment to put down my schedule and the busyness of life and start... well... living?

Yours -- with anticipation and trepidation, longing and laughter,

Megan Elizabeth

I am sitting in my loft office with my fifth grade son at my feet. He's doing math, I think. I'm thinking about how my world has become a swirling vortex of freelance jobs with deadlines, checking on my mother who is recovering nicely after the removal of 80% of her stomach, trying to be my own remodeling contractor, driving my daughters around town, and teaching my sons.

Notably absent from the list are the following: working on my manuscripts, cooking, cleaning, and... well... living.

That's what I want to talk about today.

I spent a restless night going over and over why I seem to feel so miserable and nervous all the time. Jean, you already knew, but it took me a while to admit it, I think. I am overextended. When you stretch yourself so thin that you move from opaque to clear and then can even be seen straight through, something has to change. And for me, it is changing right now. I've decided to take a month off from freelancing so that I can get my book manuscripts back into shape and submit them. I am also going to cook gourmet meals for my family again. I LOVE doing that. My mother cooked for us each night, no matter what else was going on or where we needed to be -- football, music lessons, choir practice, whatever. There was still a family meal, and the absent child always, ALWAYS came home to a plate of food warming in the oven, a remnant of the spectacular meal everyone else shared together.

I plan to reconnect with my family over dinner. I remember clearly the night in 1974 when we solved the energy crisis around the dinner table. I also remember dragging the old black and white tv into the kitchen the night Jack Benny died so we could watch the tribute. There would be no repeats, so we had to do that! I remember being tricked out of the last portion of this or that by my scheming brothers and loud arguments about which political candidate deserved to win an election. I remember the somber night we walked into the house silently after dining out at a restaurant together. We had just heard Jim Croce's plane went down (Bad, Bad Leroy Brown, Time in a Bottle).

We talked about school. We talked about movies. We talked about sports. We talked about religion. The point is... We talked! Over chateaubriand and brussels sprouts. Over lamb roast and rosemary potatoes. Over Matzo ball soup and homebaked bread. (Never over hot dogs -- My Jewish father didn't permit us to eat them. Or to drink coke for some reason unknown to me. Now that we all know it leaches calcium from the bones, I'm thankful for dear ole dad and his idiosyncrasies!)

All that to say...

If there's a delay in my email answer to you, if I don't answer the phone and linger over a meal before returning your call, if I take my daughters to the opera instead of meeting that deadline, if I help my sons build a trebuchet when I could be racing around town to this meeting or that, please understand.

And please take my advice.

Life is short -- live it wisely.

Yours -- when I'm stupid and shallow and when I'm deep and thought-provoking,

Megan Elizabeth

"Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love Him" (James 1:12 NIV).

For the Mudskippers -- all of whom rock, by the way...

Check this out -- and, of course, after that, you must check out this...

No, I don't have too much time on my hands. I'm practicing work avoidance -- and having a small midlife crisis, too, I'm thinking! You'll absolutely HAVE to agree once you see this!

: }

Megan, who is now definitely in her 40s. But these are the wisdom years, right?!?!? (I sense there are a few who might disagree with attaching that adjective to moi!)

Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore...

At times, life can be trying. Horrifying. Unbelievable. And then, suddenly, fabulous again. So unpredictable, isn't it?

When I am unsure of the future or upset about the past -- or somewhere in the middle treading water -- I like to listen to this. Or better yet, this.  And if things are really getting crazy, I listen to this.

And if you're ever tempted to try to go back in time and relive the past... THIS!

Enjoy!

Yours -- with a pounding heart and a rockin' soul,

Megan Elizabeth

What a difficult week...

My mother had 80% of her stomach removed yesterday. I was disappointed that they weren't able to leave more, but my brother told me they had feared she would have no stomach at all and that her prognosis was very grim. It is looking like somehow the cancer was still localized and not metastacized as is the case with 80% of all stomach cancer victims -- because there are usually no symptoms until it's too late. Mom had no symptoms either, but a regular checkup revealed microscopic amounts of blood in her stool (sorry to be so graphic, but I have to pour my soul out somewhere!) When she had lung cancer several years ago, the same thing happened. A routine test revealed a large, agressive, fast-growing tumor wrapped around her windpipe. But they caught it in time to crush it with chemo. It seems (knock on wood and say a prayer) that they may have caught the stomach cancer early enough to cure it, too. But we aren't sure yet. There could still be lymph node involvement.

Cancer is ugly and cruel. I wish it didn't exist. But since it does, I am going to pray for a cure to be discovered. Wanna join me? Click comments and write down your prayer to eradicate cancer here on my blog, okay?

Yours -- when all else fails and your back's against the wall,

Megan Elizabeth

January 27 is Mozart's birthday... Let's celebrate!

If you have children and you want to get them interested in classical music in general or Mozart in particular, click here and enjoy!

Megan

Life gets tedious... or Why I still haven't finished my midgrade novel (and other excuses)

All I want to do is curl up on a comfy sofa with a cup of hot tea and a laptop and finish writing my midgrade. But what do I do each day instead? Hmmmmm...

Before I even get out of bed, I pray. You're about to find out why.

I get up at 5:30 with my high school-aged daughter, make her breakfast, pack her a lunch, see her off (her dad drives her to school which starts at an ungodly 7:15 am), then hit the computer.

Yes, sometimes I do LITERALLY hit the computer, but today, once I cement my hind quarters to the chair and start writing, I'm working on magazine articles, direct mail appeals, and brochures. 

Not my midgrade.

After a few hours of this, I reward myself with a cup of hot chocolate (homemade with semi-sweet chocolate chips and whipped cream on top -- sometimes I stick a Hershey's Special Dark miniature in for extra richness. Ooooh, la, la!). This special chocolate moment is interrupted by  a request for snuggles from a sleepy, homeschooled 11-year-old, hunger pains from a groggy 14-year-old, and a frantic "Where's a pencil? A pen? My makeup? My backpack? My cell phone?" from my 17-year-old who is attending college early and needs help finding everything but the kitchen sink, then a ride to the bus stop. 

After said ride to bus stop, I return home to begin teaching my two homeschooled sons -- which I do, with many interruptions, work phone calls, and a frantic call from high school daughter who ate her lunch during second period and knows she'll be desperately hungry if I don't drive through somewhere and bring her more food at lunchtime, which -- since school started so danged early -- is seriously close to pick-up time.

I bring her lunch at 12:20, race home to serve lunch to two hungry boys, then pick her up at 2:15, come home to return work phone calls, make snacks (Gee, these kids eat a lot!), and finish homeschooling. By this time, the boys have been at Nintendo for at least an hour while I was away instead of doing the assignments I gave them to complete by the time I returned home. They avoid this independent book work DAILY despite the fact that I assign them chores as a disciplinary measure each time. What can I say? They must love cleaning toilets.

I finish teaching, then work a bit more on the articles that are almost overdue. And did I mention we're remodeling our house? About this time, the remodeling crew calls. Carpet is in, tile is not. Can't finish without the tile. Oh, wait! We don't have any more of that tile, not even at the factory in Brazil. Ahhh, never mind. We found some -- in The Bahamas -- but you'll have to pay extra for them to ship it here. 

My mind swirling, I drive to the bus stop to pick up collegiate daughter while thinking about what to make for dinner. It occurs to me that I should have done this much sooner (the thinking part) because what we have in the fridge would have been perfect for a slow cooker meal. Too late for that, though. 

I stop by the gas station to grab a Dasani because I suddenly realize I haven't had anything to drink all day. I try to remember if I ate lunch, but the answer escapes me. Collegiate daughter back at home, I race to the sandwich shop to buy subs for dinner, arriving home in time to get boys into scout uniforms for their dad to take them to Boy Scouts. I throw them a sub sandwich and usher them to the car where Dad is waiting. I then grab collegiate daughter and toss her back in the car, sub sandwich and violin in hand, to go to orchestra rehearsal. 

High school daughter, home alone, calls my cell phone. It's dark outside and she's afraid to let the dogs out even though she knows they need to go out. I reassure her, advise turning on more lights, then realize she can't because the remodeling crew turned off the electricity in half the house. Instead of grabbing a coffee while collegiate daughter is at orchestra practice, I race home to comfort high school daughter, arriving just in time to watch poodle puppy make a puddle.

Dogs crated, daughter encouraged, I head back to orchestra rehearsal to pick up collegiate daughter who is, remember, still only in high school. She tells me she forgot to sell peanuts and must pay $50 to the orchestra instead. While driving home, husband calls to remind me I have web copy to write for him before day's end.

Home again, I toss my shoes in the closet, put on jammies and slippers, and get back on the computer to write that web copy. It's now 10 pm and I've been up since 5:30 am. I'm dazed and confused. The copy sounds pathetic. I type and retype. Stop and send 11-year-old back to bed three different times. I try again. I reword things. Eat chocolate. Start over. 

Then I decide to stop and write on my blog instead...

So what keeps YOU from finishing your novel????