“When you make a vow to God, do not delay to fulfill it. He has no pleasure in fools; fulfill your vow.” (Ecclesiastes 5:4)
I’ve made a few vows over the years. You know how it is. You get down on your luck, the path forward turns bumpy and harsh. You start that wheeling and dealing thing with God: “If You will help me with x, I will do y.”
He saved my homestead last summer. My vow was to shout my gratitude from the rooftops if He did. Yes, I’ve expressed my gratitude openly in person with friends and family members. But I’ve been remiss regarding my blog.
Yes, the blog still needs work. There are still some posts that I’d like to take down, posts that do not serve either my own purposes, this community’s, or likely, even God’s anymore. They’re mostly of a political or social nature and will better serve the community over at my “other” blog…in time. Others are repetitious laments cried out during last year’s battle against foreclosure but, in this case, I feel like maybe they do serve a purpose: they’re a reminder of the spiritual, physical and financial rut that I was mired in for far too long. They’re also a reminder of where He’s been leading me since. How can I not express gratitude for such a humbling experience? And how can I not lay credit at the feet of the One who led me through that quagmire…and out the backside of it?
As always, I am very careful not to mention by name my place of employment. Suffice to say, if you’re new to this blog, that in addition to being a writer, blogger, herbalist and homesteader, I am also a library director. And I absolutely LOVE what I do! That’s a blessing I never expected. Nor did I ever expect to be using nearly every skill I’ve ever learned in life to fulfill that responsibility: inventory management, cataloging, historical interpretation, writing, research, budgeting. I’m even teaching American Sign Language to our Juvenile Book Club members. That’s a good feeling. I work with a great bunch of people, too, and that’s even more of a blessing.
In addition to work, I have two more classes before I graduate with my MFA in Creative Writing. These last couple of classes are intense, to say the least. My thesis is the completion of my first novel. And, as such, I am obligated to write 15,000 new words to turn in every 4 weeks. I really didn’t think I had it in me but, once I got myself into a better writing “habit”, as they say, well, I can’t say it was easy, but it’s certainly better. I actually look forward to writing each day. Praise the Lord for that one!
On the home front, I haven’t done much by way of homesteading. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons that a.) I haven’t kept up with my writing here and b.) I’ve been so repetitive in my posts. Not to belittle the very real stress and anxiety associated with the foreclosure process, but I haven’t invested the time needed to make this a working homestead.
And it will be.
There’s still a zoning issue to clear. Or perhaps just throw in the towel on doing so here and, once my credit score is back up again, look into selling and then buying something where the zoning won’t be an issue. Or, another possibility is to scale back on that big dream of mine–not giving it up entirely, but making it more manageable.
Of course, God doesn’t plan small so maybe I shouldn’t either…just look at Job.
And there’s the thing that I am truly shouting for joy over: that little piece inside of my soul that can finally rest and wait for the Lord to act. It’s His will, not my own. What does He want me to do? More importantly, this knowing that I can give it all to Him to carry. I no longer have to.
“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.” (Psalms 46:1-3)
Phew! The last three weeks have been a whirlwind of plumbers, notaries, electricians, lawyers, well-drilling technicians, and mortgage lenders…fits, starts, stops, highs and lows.
The good news is we now have safe and reliable running water again. We’ve been doing the bowl bath thing, heating the bottled water that I purchased every couple of days at Walmart and washing up that way…since November 2021 (Yes, you read that correctly!). To say that first warm shower last Wednesday felt ambrosial is an understatement. And I dare say, my infatuation with 19th century living has been tempered a bit. Had I the infrastructure of our ancestors, such as a pump at the kitchen sink, it might not have been quite so bad, but I’m not complaining. I feel like a lady of luxury these days (Thank you, Jesus…and a very special shout of “thanks” to Sir Robert the Welcome!).
Granted, we did have running cold water until April of this year. It wasn’t safe to drink but, we could at least fill kettles, pots and pans at the sink to heat for dishes and bathing so the cost to refill gallon jugs at Walmart was somewhat manageable…even if it was a pain you-know-where.
It actually feels strange not to have to stop every few days, not to have a mountain of empty jugs piled up in a box on the back seat to refill, not to have to look for an empty grocery cart nearby to haul those 15-20 empty gallon jugs into the store when I park my car. I keep thinking I’m forgetting something. Again, I’m not complaining. But what a habit to maintain out of necessity!
Thursday morning there was a moment of panic when I noted the lonely little gallon jug in the corner and I still hadn’t fed the goats, chickens, and ducks their breakfast, which always includes a refill of clean water. I barely stopped myself from berating myself for not stopping the night before for refills. The feeling of wonder when I remembered to turn on the tap and watched clear, cool water run out into their buckets must’ve been akin to what our ancestors felt when indoor plumbing was first invented.
And it’s amazing how He works. Despite all of our financial difficulties, somehow we always managed to have enough to buy in the water we needed. He always provided…even if we did rob Peter to pay Paul a few times. I’m feeling truly blessed right now.
There really isn’t any bad news, not even where mortgage lenders, attorneys and notaries are concerned. It’s just frustrating news. As mentioned in my previous post, the final date for the signing of the permanent modification paperwork got pushed out another month. It would appear the lenders are not happy with my ability to make mortgage payments. However, it’s very satisfying on this end to be able to write those checks again.
I have 9 days to go before we meet again. I spoke with my representative a couple of days’ ago and she said everything was correct this time. So, third time’s a charm, I guess, but praise God for the blessing of friends…and co-workers willing to take time out of their busy days to act as witnesses.
I’m asking for lots of prayers, good wishes, positive thoughts, etc. that Mom and I, and our little farm, can get right-side up again permanently. As always, many thanks!
“Let love and faithfulness never leave you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart. Then you will win favor and a good name in the sight of God and man.” (Proverbs 3:3-4)
I’ve been working on that third website and still questioning the wisdom of it. Yes, there’s been a desire to branch out a little, defend the innocent when it comes to abuse and neglect, defend Mother Earth, tackle those few social issues that capture my interest enough to comment. But I’ve been completely stymied by the purpose of the assignment.
We were asked to pick a subject, research it, and then use this subject to help build our brand. Not a single topic had anything to do with herbs, homesteading, prepping, animal husbandry or rescue, 19th century living, frugality, fiber arts, or faith.
That’s my brand.
I chose “social media research”. As a writer, I can recognize the importance of researching sources of information. I’m just not sure how creating multiple posts about how to fact-check and verify an article will prove interesting to anyone else on a live platform. Do I even want it to? And, while this post has nothing to do with herbs, homesteading, prepping, animal husbandry or rescue, 19th century living, frugality, fiber arts, or faith either; still, I reckon most of my readers here are used to my rambling detours by now.
As I write this, and as I continue to build the other page, I’m also struck by how He works.
I’m not exactly kicking and screaming against this other page. In fact, I can even see the merits of separation between this blog and the new one, especially if I decide to tackle some meatier subjects. But, despite the fact that I will probably take the other site down once class is over, the effort of building a new site (something I actually enjoy) has given me some ideas for this blog. As I seek to define this other site, what it will contain, what it’s about, my intention for this blog is becoming clearer. So He’s brought about a blessing even in the midst of something as mundane as “social media research”.
What are some of the unexpected blessings He’s brought to your life? I’d be delighted if you’d share.
“I come in the little things, saith the Lord” — Evelyn Underhill
“He took a little child and had him stand among them. Taking him in His arms, he said to them, ‘Whoever welcomes one of these little children in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me does not welcome me but the One who sent me’.” (Mark 9:36-37)
I feel like a little kid today. It’s the first “real” snowfall of the season. I say “real” because the few light dustings we’ve had earlier in the year don’t count, do they? I mean, you can’t build a snowman, or have a proper snowball fight, with barely an inch of snow on the ground. However, winter storm Anthony, as the meteorologists are calling it, is a bit more substantial. I haven’t properly measured, or consulted the news’ stations but, merely by eyeballing it, I’d say we have 4-5 inches on the ground.
And, no, I didn’t spend the day building a snowman. Instead, I stayed in my pajamas all day, read a book, drank lots of Chai tea, and now I’m focusing on some homework…albeit, with this brief detour into blogging.
I have to build another website/blog for this term’s class: New Media. Another website/blog in addition to this one, and my author’s page. I’ve been questioning the wisdom of trying to keep up with 3 separate sites when I often drop the ball on the two I already have but, c’est la vie! I want a passing grade. And the only way to do that is to comply. If it proves to be too much, once the class is over, I’ll take it down. Sorted…
Of course, having another page also means coming up with enough content to support another page. I recently went through this site and tried to remove as much of the social/political stuff as I could. As this website was started as a place to share about herbs, homesteading and prepping, really, the social/political stuff doesn’t belong here.
Nor does it belong on my author’s page.
But there are social issues that I do care about that I’d like to write about from time to time. I’ve spoken a time or two about my childhood growing up with alcoholism, and having a father who wanted nothing to do with me…and a stepfather who wanted a little too much to do with me. I see some social issues in the news today that are all too reminiscent of that childhood and, lo and behold, a new site may be born.
However, when I started this new class a few weeks’ ago, I decided to go to a different platform to start this website. We use Wix at work so I am growing familiar with it. And, I figured, if I’m on a totally different platform, it’ll be harder for any social/political views to accidentally wind up on the wrong blog…and potentially alienate any longtime followers who do not share my views, or appreciate the research I hope to do to support my views.
And here I have to put in a plug for WordPress. Wix has got to be the most finicky, pain-in-the-@$$ website I have ever encountered. It looks like I may be starting from scratch creating this third website/blog…here on WordPress after all.
Who knew?
And, incidentally, it was my decision to close the library today. That feels so weird. The little kid in me delighting in the first “real” snowfall of the year is trying to reconcile this adulting thing where I have to make informed decisions for the greater good of my team. It was the right decision, given the snowfall and the slippery, sloppy roads. It just feels very weird–in a good way–to be the one called upon to make such a decision.
I am grateful. I am grateful for the new position. I am grateful for the responsibility entrusted to me. But it still feels weird. Maybe I should reconsider the snowman after all.
May God bless you & keep you!
PS Once this other blog is up and running, I will post a link somewhere for others to follow.
“This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” (Psalms 118:24)
I read somewhere, can’t remember where exactly, but I remember reading somewhere that when you’re under a lot of stress, you get “stupid”. I.e. You make a lot of choices that you wouldn’t be making if you weren’t under so much stress. If your standard of living wasn’t stuck on survive…or even just going through the motions to make it look like you were surviving.
I’ve always hated the word “stupid”. My stepfather called all of us “stupid” on a routine basis. Such is the results of alcoholism and the subsequent abuse that usually accompanies it. But that’s neither here nor there.
“Stupid” works in this situation.
In the last couple of weeks since I’ve gotten my promotion at work, it’s like there’s this part of my brain waking up. “Wow. I haven’t thought of doing that in a long time,” says my brain as I cash my first paycheck in this new position and start labeling envelopes for everything I need to catch up on, or save up for. I’m on top of my billing schedule all of a sudden (maybe because I know I can make the payments?). Household chores are being taken up again. The apathy, depression, and anxiety are being put to sleep again. Problem solving, budgeting, and careful planning are jockeying into position.
Who knew.
Having been in therapy for decades from a childhood of abuse and degradation, my mind automatically starts analyzing everything. I feel like the “stupid” was really a self-defense mechanism kicking in. I lost a full-time job due to an injury (i.e. not my fault as I was laid up for several months) and fell behind on mortgage payments. I have new(er) neighbors challenging zoning…and threatening my goats, chickens, and ducks’ right to be here. My home needs a tremendous amount of work done. I have student loans coming down the pike and an out-of-control electric bill from a flooded basement last fall (well-pump not shutting off due to enormous hole blown in hot water tank…). We’re buying in water to drink due to my water softener dying on me. I feel like that self-defense mechanism kicked in and shut down logic and reason and common sense because maybe it was too much to handle. My mind could only focus on one thing: finding work to sustain me. And that was becoming a near thing.
Now, not only is logic and good reason, common sense and the ability to solve problems, budget, and plan returning, so is hope for a future.
Hence, my post from earlier this week about podcasts and YouTube channels and websites. Yes, I want to run with the wind. But, the perpetual fog I’ve been living under these last few years (yes, years), has tempered some of that run. I’m learning to walk again. Slow and steady wins this race.
And, of course, His grace, which has led me through this. It’s all in his hands. Faith has returned, too. It just took letting go of the reins. Not “stupid” at all.
“Great is the Lord and highly praised in the city of our God: the holy mountain, fairest of heights, the joy of all the earth, Mount Zion, the heights of Zaphon, the city of the great king.” (Psalm 48:2-3)
I’ve started approaching Mondays with trepidation. And yesterday was no exception.
Our new director at the library is leaving. A registered nurse, she is returning to the medical field. I respect her decision but, it leaves me sad, too. She’s done an amazing job, bringing patronage up, implementing children’s programs, and creating a community gathering space that is friendly to all. It has been a pleasure to work with her.
Last Monday I tested positive for Covid-19, the new RA5 variant. A lot sleepy, a cough, some aches and chills the first couple of days and a splitting headache; I’ve had worse. The herbalist eschewed the Paxlovid prescribed and relied instead on the upper-respiratory tincture I use to control my asthma. If it can heal me of pneumonia and bronchitis, as it has in the past, I trust it far better than anything Big Pharma has to offer. And the doc says my lungs sound good so it hasn’t failed me with ‘Rona either.
The week before, I had my final mediation meeting with the attorneys as regards the foreclosure on my home. Though I recently received a significant raise and an increase in hours and will be submitting another application for modification, it’s likely only a matter of time before the mortgage company implements a short sale of the property. We’re measuring a place to lay our heads in months, not years. It’s frightening. And yet, a part of me is also anticipating a sense of relief to get the proverbial monkey off of my back. If I can get the modification, I still have zoning to battle. If I can sway zoning back in my favor, I have a roof that needs replacing, new gutters to consider, a water softener and hot water tank to replace, as well as some electrical and plumbing issues to address. The back door doesn’t close properly due to too much settling. The barn needs the doors re-hung. It’s one thing after another. And, even with zoning in my favor again, I’m limited in what I can do here. The Herbal Hare Tomestead and Animal Rescue may never be realized in this space. So, while I have no clue where He’s leading me, or how we’re going to get there with the menagerie of animals in our care now, I have nothing left but to surrender to His will.
And hope that next Monday won’t be another harbinger of bad news.
May God bless you & keep you!
PS I’d be delighted if you could share this link. The wider the net, the better chance we have of finding a new home. And, please, pray for us without ceasing.
“For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not from you; it is the gift of God; it is not from works, so no one may boast.” (Ephesians, 2:8-9)
I want to be a writer, but I have to have some other career to support it, I have to do something else besides write…well, not all of us can be the next Toni Morrison or Stephen King so maybe there’s some truth to this one…but there must be something defectively wrong with me to not have found another career option that I feel just as passionate about…
Like some of my favorite authors who write 8 hours a day, I have to carve out 8 hours of my own to dedicate to my novel, my blog, etc; I can’t be a writer if I don’t write every day for 8 hours a day…even with a “day” job and a small hobby farm and the need to eat, sleep and, well, you know…
Like a favorite singer/songwriter, I do my best writing at 3:30 a.m. so, if I don’t get up at 3:30 a.m. every day to write, I’m not doing my best writing?
I can’t run a used bookstore; I won’t make enough money from it to support myself; I need another career to supplement it (it’s like the writer thing…)
I want to rescue animals, to offer them sanctuary–and often do–but, I’m a single female and I’m in danger of becoming a hoarder–or so the media tells me. If I was married, or a man, and still took in the occasional stray cat, and the free-to-good-home rabbits and goats, etc., found forever homes for some and offered a forever home to others, because their original humans were being evicted and no longer had a home to offer them, would I NOT be in danger of becoming a hoarder?
I want to homestead, to grow my own food and produce my own clothing, to live as sustainably as possible and lower my carbon footprint, but I don’t have enough land, enough money, enough knowledge, and I have to start right here…well, I have, sort of, but I’m also facing foreclosure myself so there’s a bit of apathy getting in the way. Why keep investing here when here may soon be gone?
In my youth, I wanted to be a rock star but, I didn’t keep my guitar strapped to me day in and day out. I only spent an hour or two each day practicing after work, so I guess I must not have wanted it so badly…
When I worked in living history, I told myself I didn’t know enough about either herbs or gardening to manage an heirloom herb garden. I felt like a fraud and everyone would find out eventually that I didn’t have what it takes. It’s called Imposter Syndrome; I just learned about it in my first class as I work towards my MFA in Creative Writing…
I made a mistake 10 years’ ago and rushed headlong into an abusive relationship with someone. I knew better, saw trouble coming a mile away, heard the voice of Reason in my ear saying, “Walk the other way” and ignored it; gave him a chance. I no longer deserve God’s grace…or His love…or the love of another man should I ever meet him…
These are the lies I tell myself, among others. Having just turned 55, “I’m too old” is another…even with the evidence before me that age has nothing to do with success or love or, well, anything…except maybe wisdom and experience, and the appreciation that usually comes with them.
“I’m not worthy” is the overall underlying message in each of these. I have to *earn* it. And, yes, if I want to write, I have to write. If I want to grow food, I have to plant a garden. If I want to be taken seriously at any endeavor and meet with success, I have to do the work. So, these things I tell myself each day have an undercurrent of truth and practicality ringing through.
The Serpent is cunning, to say the least…
There are conditions to everything, especially when you grow up in a house with addictions and abuse. A loving Father is an alien concept. And, no matter how much love, support, etc. you receive from others, that nuclear family unit that consists of parents, siblings and yourself, has the power to shape your way of thinking for life. So, it’s no wonder I’ve tied myself in knots and can’t seem to get out of my own way. Writing books, selling used books, caring for unwanted animals (or those on the receiving end of someone’s hard luck), homesteading and prepping, even learning an instrument by themselves may not be *enough* income to survive, let alone thrive, but together? Or, even if I still work a “day” job, I’m not allowed the joy that each may bring to me?
They’re idols.
That’s another lie echoing through my mind. The Lord has brought me to this place because I’ve made “idols” of animals and books, and I’m trying to live self-sufficiently, which means I’m not relying on Him…or so I’ve heard said. To punish me for this “idolatry”, He’s going to whisk it all away. Hence, the impending doom of foreclosure and zoning challenges…
Who would follow such a God?
Or am I wrong? Will I be stripped down to nothing? Am I being taught another lesson in not judging others for decisions they’ve made during hard luck circumstances? Again, I don’t deserve His grace because I haven’t always given grace to others…
Praise God we don’t get what we *deserve* for our mistakes. Ultimately, I know there’s nothing we can do to *earn* his grace; it is already freely given but, my faith needs a good bolstering today.
“For you have a new life. It was not passed on to you from your parents, for the life they gave you will fade away. This new one will last forever, for it comes from Christ, God’s ever-living Message to men.” (1 Peter 1:23)
I find myself unable to think of a word, or biblical phrase, to define this year. I’ve thought of “Intention”. “Trust”. “Discipline”. I need to work on all of these…and a phrase/verse from the Bible to help remind me.
Wow.
I guess I really am mired in depression. See? I need to work on that trust issue for sure!
But, as always, on New Years’, I like to take a moment to reflect on the year past and remember those loved ones who will never again grace The Herbal Hare in life.
Praise the Lord, my human family has been hale and hearty this year. =) However, we did lose the boss of the barnyard this past spring. Sgt. Feathers, my Polish crested rooster, is protecting his ladies in heaven these days. And while his sons, Radar and MIG, and grandson, Jeep, are doing their best to carry on with protecting our living flock, it seems strange not to hear his trumpeting anymore…followed closely by a little, squeaky half-pint of a crowing. Tank, the little Silkie, who, having followed so closely at Sgt. Feathers’ heels in life, followed his commander closely in death, too. I lost them within a few days of each other. With Sgt. Feathers, it had been expected; every day was a gift. He was quite old for a roo (10) and had started walking almost hunched over like the old man he was. Tank, however, is a mystery. No sign of illness or injury. But, because they like to peck the ground, parasites are always an issue…no matter how clean and careful you are with their environment.
Sgt. FeathersTank
We also lost two beloved felines this year.
Only a few days after I posted last New Year’s memorial, Mom’s cat, Rosco, left us. Rosco had an interesting life. He was found atop a house in Illinois during all the flooding in the Midwest over a decade ago. No clue who his owners were, he was brought to a local shelter. Mom and my stepfather were shopping at PetSmart one weekend. The store was hosting an adoption clinic this day. Mom saw Rosco and fell in love. But my stepfather said, “No, no more cats!”. She worked on him as they wandered the store and, as they reached the checkout, he relented.
But Rosco had already been adopted…
…by their upstairs neighbor in the apartment complex where they lived! Said neighbor did not take good care of him though. Mom watched in horror as this declawed kitty had his front paws intentionally raked over the rough bark of a tree, lost weight due to inadequate feeding, and lastly was kicked by the neighbor’s boyfriend. Mom saw them outside with him on a leash, marched over, picked Rosco up and walked away with him. When the couple protested and threatened to call the police, Mom challenged them to go right ahead so she and the other neighbors could all tell the police how cruel they had been to this little guy. Poor Rosco had to have his jaw wired from the kick. And had to be fed frequent, tiny meals for awhile until his shrunken stomach could handle more substantial amounts of food. He grew to expect the frequent feedings though. He was quite fat by the end of his days…except his tail, which stood up skinny and reminiscent of the wire used to guide the bumper cars at a fair. He rode shotgun on the dashboard of Mom’s minivan when she traveled across country from Missouri to Connecticut to move in with me back in 2014. His “hoot” will be missed (Rosco’s jaw remained misshapen due to the abuse he endured before Mom rescued him and he could not articulate a more traditional “Me-ow!”).
Rosco
Lastly, Kirby. We lost him in May 2021. Kirby came to “visit” for the first time in the spring of 2014. I heard some of the resident felines howling in protest in the kitchen, went to investigate, and saw a bright-eyed little face peeking in over the window ledge. He did this for several nights…all while I protested I did not *need* another cat. He probably belongs to a neighbor, he’s just passing through, etc. But he kept coming back. And, finally, I determined that, yes, God had planted another stray kitty in my path. I started feeding him, gaining his trust. It took a few months (!!??!) before I was able to trap him and get him indoors. And then another couple of weeks of him being isolated in a room by himself until I could get him to a vet.
He howled all the way to the vet office, ripped open his toes trying to claw his way out of the travel cage, and then shot out of the cage and placed bloody runnels down the exam room walls as soon as the doc opened the cage. He had to be sedated so she could examine him, patch up his mangled toes, neuter and give him his shots. I seriously thought this was one baby who was too feral for a forever indoor home.
He proved me wrong.
Mom had just arrived with Rosco and Max, her blue heeler we lost a couple of years’ ago, and Kirby and Rosco became bosom buddies, along with Paz, my geriatric tuxedo. Then, a few months’ later, when a pregnant Priscilla was dumped off on the farm, he minded her babies like the proud surrogate Papa he became to them. He, Ozzy, Emmylou, and Alice Cooper became inseparable, and he was a sort of ambassador to every poor feline this farm has taken in since.
However, I proved him wrong, too. I told him he would love laps someday…and I was right. Once he was reassured that he was loved and there would always be someone to care for him, he was the ultimate cuddle kitty. =)
Kirby with his adopted “sons”, Alice Cooper and Ozzy Osbourne (l to r)
Both Rosco and Kirby, Priscilla late last December, and earlier in 2020, my Pearl, all developed kidney and heart disease rather suddenly after using Seresto collars. I don’t know if there is a correlation, though I did see an article in USA Today in regard, stating that these collars are being linked to possible kidney and heart disease; I have not found the link to that article today but, I did find a more recent news article about how certain lawmakers are asking that these collars be recalled. There have been reported incidents in the thousands as regards these collars so, please, proceed with caution if you are using them for your pets. I have included the link below so you may read it for yourselves. My then-vet suggested the kidney and heart failure was simply due to their age. Granted, Pearl was 16 when she passed; Kirby and Rosco both estimated at 12-13 years’ of age. Priscilla, however, was only 7, a bit too young, in my opinion and experience, to be struck with organ failure. No sign of illness in any of them prior to these sudden downturns…and I do mean sudden. Rosco had been playing with me like a young kitten just 3 days’ earlier when all of a sudden, he just stopped eating and started shutting down. We have since found a new vet as the “old” one refused to take my concerns seriously when I voiced them to him. I may be wrong about the collars but, it seems, I am not alone in my concerns with them.
Kirby; the best ones are the ones who choose you (sigh!)
In addition to these memorials, I think it is safe to say that 2021 was even more challenging than 2020. I’ve alienated a lot of friends due to my stance as regards mandating getting jabbed with something that neither protects one from contracting an illness, nor prevents one from spreading it. I’ve been a Democrat all of my life; I am seriously considering at least becoming “unaffiliated” as I cannot abide the hate and vitriol being spewed about by others of the party. The fear-mongering by mainstream media; the attempts to force us into a police, or authoritarian state; the lack of respect for others who do not share the same views have left a bitter taste in my mouth. I actually owe President Trump an apology for being so anti-Trump during his tenure. While he will never be a favorite of mine, yeah, it really was a witch hunt…one, I am ashamed to say, I contributed to widely on social media.
I don’t know what this new year will bring. The media continues to cry for the arrest, ostracism, and abuse of those who either cannot, or will not, take their (in my opinion) poison**. Gasoline is up to $3.60 per gallon here in New England for regular unleaded; I’m sure it will rise even higher as we approach summer. Empty shelves grace the local Walmart and grocery stores, and there’s sticker shock when you do find what you’re looking for. On a more personal note, while foreclosure is still eminent here at The Herbal Hare, I find myself even more committed to homesteading, and now prepping, than ever before. I cannot help but think a collapse of some sort is eminent. I pray I am wrong, but it doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing. Perhaps you’re all thinking, there goes another whacked out conspiracy theorist. But, maybe, just maybe, there’s something to those conspiracies. (No, I don’t think little green men are injecting tracking devices under our skin, but I do see changes in government, in our society, that make me think I may have to carry around special papers proclaiming myself “free” (passport anyone?), or don a special band marking me as some sort of enemy (face masks?))
However, I am committed to building a community of like-minded people, too. None of us are islands unto ourselves; we need community. Perhaps the word I’m looking for this year is “tribe”. Regardless of whether or not you agree with me on a social or political level, when all is said and done, this year I feel it is especially important to at least be kind to one another. We are all struggling during this turmoil. And our tribe, or family, is who we choose to care for.
But this is all just what I think. I invite you to share, whether you agree or not, in the comments below. I do ask that you be respectful of others, and of this blog, by refraining from profanity, name-calling, bullying or belittling; again, we are all one family, each a very special part of the body of Christ, none of us whole without the other. That being said, regardless of what you believe (or not!); how you look; who you love; socioeconomic status, or current “jab” status, all are welcome…to this blog, to this community, in my home and in my heart. We got through 2021 together, we can get through 2022 as well…and, hopefully, come out the backside of it in a much better place than we are going in.
Wishing everyone much love, much hope, peace, prosperity and, above all, a deep and abiding faith for the New Year! May God bless you & keep you!
**A note: though my opinion leans towards choice when it comes to matters of health, to everyone who has been *poked*, please know that I respect your choice to do so. It is your body and you have to do what is best for you and yours. I am not “anti” pokes; I am anti mandating personal autonomy. For everyone obsessed with forcing others to do as you do, stop for one moment, please, and think how you would feel if suddenly a mandate was issued that said you were no longer *allowed* to get poked, even though you feel in your heart it is the right thing to do for you and yours.
Again, may God bless you & keep you! Stay safe & stay free!
“Mocking the poor is mocking the God who made them. He will punish those who rejoice at others’ misfortunes.” (Proverbs 17:5)
I received an invite to an outing to go whale watching from a cousin recently…which was then recanted after seeing my Go Fund Me campaign link on Facebook. Of course, nothing was said initially. As the date of the outing was coming up, I messaged her to ask if we were still on. She didn’t want me to feel “bad”. I’m not sure exactly what that meant but, I want to believe her heart was in the right place, and that she was simply being sensitive to my financial difficulties. I sincerely hope she wasn’t thinking I might “mooch” off of her, or others, in order to go. The expense was minor and, despite my situation, I would have enjoyed the outing…as a day of respite, perhaps, from my situation. I confess to feeling rather hurt, even if good intentions were meant.
It seems a common theme these days.
For those of you new to this blog, I fractured my shoulder two years ago and lost a full-time position as a result from my injury. I have yet to find full-time work again and am behind many months on my mortgage. It has gone into foreclosure…and even Covid allowances aren’t doing much to stall the progression. My inability to get the vaccine is making it harder to find that full-time position, even if I trusted the “poke” enough to do so. I have new neighbors who got themselves on the Planning & Zoning Board and are challenging my right to farm, to raise livestock, despite having engaged a zoning attorney over a dozen years ago and getting the okay to do so. Now I have beloved animals at risk if I cannot find an attorney to take on this case…and, of course, pay him/her to do so. The roof leaks. There’s mold growing. Something is driving my electric bill up to $700 each month (from $100) and the electric company sends me to Community Action who sends me back to the electric company to find out what it is and try to remedy it. The yard is overgrown, as usual, because I lack the proper tools to keep it up…or the means of hiring out for what I cannot do myself. I’m getting the runaround from the DMV. And I have nowhere to go if I can’t save my property and pets that I cannot bear to lose.
All of this bearing down on me, and I’m trying hard not to succumb to “victim mode”, but I really hate how society treats those who are either inherently poor (i.e. from birth), or simply have fallen on hard times.
I may have recanted the aforementioned outing myself after taking a careful look at my finances. I do work. I do have some income coming into my home. It’s just not enough to cover all of my expenses yet. So, while I appreciate the concern, it would’ve been nice to have been asked/reminded of the outing and still be regarded as a thinking, feeling human being…
Even if I had determined FOR MYSELF that, no, I couldn’t handle this expense this month (I get paid monthly by the library where I work).
The poor, the downtrodden, the down-on-their-luck individuals are half-humans for most of society. We’re too stupid to manage our own money…even though I lived on the savings, 401K and other investments that most experts advise for two whole years after being laid off in 2009 from a corporate position.
“We brought our poverty, or difficulties, onto ourselves”…even though we work whatever menial job comes our way and carefully budget, save, practice a frugality that most of society would never be able to handle if they were in our shoes, and either we were born into poverty already and so have a tougher climb up the ladder of success, or our difficulties are the result of a recession, depression, or an injury or illness. Not sure how that equates to bringing it all on ourselves but, so be it.
“We don’t want to work”…oftentimes, the poor in this world work harder than anyone but, wages, and hours available, seldom keep pace with the cost of basic needs. Despite the media hyping a “booming” job market, most are still part-time endeavors…and now we have mandates crippling our economy even more.
The financially-challenged are not allowed to have any enjoyment. God forbid you should have pets. Or buy a pizza for dinner on a rare occasion…even if you save some of it for lunch the next couple of days and, thus, get multiple meals out of it.
Yes, I’m angry. Yes, maybe feeling a little sorry for myself. But, more, I’m feeling a sense of loneliness that has this computer screen blurring even as I type. When you’ve been struggling as long as I have, there’s a sense of apathy that settles over you. Anxiety and depression war inside in an endless cycle that can often be crippling.
Yes, I’m partly to blame for my loneliness. I don’t reach out. I don’t pick up the phone just to call and say “hello” or find out how others are doing, but rarely does anyone do likewise for me. Mom and I could die over here and it would be weeks before anyone discovered our remains. Granted, in my apathy, in the uncertainty that such financial struggles bring, I have let everything go. My home is a fright so I don’t invite anyone in. I’ve gained weight, been eating mostly unhealthy, and most of my social interaction has been work…or the doctor’s office (I have a stress test coming up). I sleep a lot more but, it’s rarely solid. The mind races at night when all is quiet. Insomnia visits from time to time…as do nightmares and chronic fatigue syndrome. In short, I’m suddenly ashamed and I don’t want friends seeing how badly things have gotten. I am overwhelmed. And pride goeth before the fall.
Of course, I know the Adversary uses all of this to whisper his lies, to drag us down further and further away from God…and humanity. I’m not worthy. I’m unloved. God has forgotten me. I’ve used up all of His grace. The litany drones on. Rather than praise, my prayer life–when I remember it–has been a pathetic begging to be taken out of this storm. Maybe my lack of attention to the blessings He’s already bestowed upon me is part of the problem…even as I acknowledge the lack of means to provide some of that upkeep. (See how the Adversary works…)
And yet, I’m mindful that He is teaching me a lesson in all of this, too. Like many others, I never really recovered from the Great Recession so, when I fractured that shoulder, there was much less to fall back on to sustain me. Since 2009 I have had to swallow my pride many times to visit food pantries, apply for heating assistance and medical coverage through the state, and a host of other things just to survive. I used to judge others…much the same way I am lamenting being judged. I looked down my nose, rejected friendships from anyone who might be too “needy”. Now the shoe is on the other foot and, yes, it pinches. Bad…
But the greatest lesson of all has been three-fold. First and foremost, I cannot do this without Him. He’s asking me to rely on Him. To trust Him…no matter what happens. To believe that He still loves me, always has, always will. That’s a tough one for a survivor of abuse, the concept of a loving Father in heaven. The Adversary’s still whispering doubt in my ear even as I type. Proof that I need to draw closer to Him in this storm, rather than reject and withdraw.
Second is to remember that picking up that phone costs nothing. Even in my own need, there are others who could also use a friend…and it’s nice to be remembered “just because”. Walmart sells boxes of generic cards for under $2 each. A remembered birthday, a sympathy card when a friend loses a loved one, a get-well-soon might be appreciated far more than a quick blurb on Facebook. And it’s always nice to be asked.
The third part is to start sharing my life again…even if it is in chaos. Rare am I going to have posts about some amazing workshop that I attended or an outing I enjoyed; it’s simply not possible. And, while I hate constantly posting about my situation, maybe those kinds of posts would be less if I wrote more consistently about other things…and not just when my anxiety is through the roof and I’m in need of an outlet.
To everything there is a season…and I still have hope that He has a plan in all of this.
The Herbal Hare Tomestead and Animal Sanctuary 