Category: Prayer

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Animal Caregivers Hurting their own Cause

Lisa Burbank

“One should be kind to a fainting friend, but you have accused me without the slightest fear of God.” (Job 6:14)

Yesterday’s angst-ridden post had a foundation in a recent bad experience at the local vet office. Though I aspire to become a true sanctuary (i.e. at some point I would like to earn non-profit, or at least, not-for-profit status), at the moment, I have only a simple hobby farm where I have been homesteading and prepping, and, yes, taking in the occasional stray or sob story and providing a forever home. I do this out of love for the animals. The money usually comes from my own pocket, even to occasionally going without myself to provide the care these animals need…and that’s not a complaint. I take great joy in this.

When I had my pet and farm sitting business, which all but dried up during Covid, I received recommendations that proclaimed me as “one of the few people they would trust with their pets” and “my bond with animals was almost spiritual” (almost?). Another close friend, and pet sitting client, refers to me as the animal whisperer, the cat whisperer, because I have managed to befriend even her shyest feline.

Well, Covid has done something else to our way of life: there’s been an influx of unwanted (or, more likely, unable to care for due to home and/or income loss) pets. Shelters, spay/neuter clinics, vet hospitals are being overrun.

As are small hobby farms.

In the 20 years that I have been here, I have had the occasional stray show up. I’ve had a few just dumped off here. Six years’ ago, I actually caught someone running away from the window of my house one night, only to hear a cautious “me-ow!” under the window moments later. That cat became Priscilla, whom I lost in December 2020 to the Seresto collar issue I mentioned in an earlier post. She was pregnant at the time; hence, being left under my window. Ozzy and Emmylou have been beloved pets since they were born in August 2015. They have been spayed/neutered, received their shots, and are now on Advantage for fleas.

Last year, Mossy and Willow, two young kittens, showed up on my doorstep. A little shy, Mom and I watched them chasing leaves in the yard, worked to gain their trust and, using a Have-a-Heart trap, managed to get them into the house. Though I guesstimated them to only be about 5 months’ old, Mossy, the female, had a litter of kittens shortly thereafter. As Willow was a male, and knowing female cats can get pregnant almost immediately after birthing, I called my vet to get him in. The best they could do was book him 2 months’ out for shots; the neutering would be another month or two longer. We didn’t have 3-4 months to wait. By then, the 4 kittens she’d just birthed would be old enough to breed; that was a nightmare waiting to happen.

Northeastern Connecticut’s Petco store has a mobile cat unit that does low-cost spay and neuter clinics. I called. I got an automated message saying they would not be taking new patients over the next couple of months. I called another similar organization out of Hartford; same result. A friend recommended her vet who only does cats and is relatively inexpensive. Score! Willow was taken in, given his shots, neutered, and is now growing fat and happy in his forever home.

That was in May.

In August, I finally(!) managed to capture Zelda and one of her babies, Sox. I say “finally” because Zelda showed up shortly after Mossy had her babies. Extremely lovable and affectionate, I moved to pick her up to take her in and noticed she was nursing. Where were her babies? I tried following her; she wasn’t leading me to them. We kept the food supply going and, in late-June, early-July, discovered she’d birthed them under our back deck. I tried picking them up to get them in the house and to a vet (I live on a major interstate; as young as they were, I feared they might wander out into the road; it’s happened too many times here in the last 20+ years). Zelda went from lovable and affectionate to protective Mama. I put some Have-A-Heart traps out, kept them baited with food and treats…and caught half the raccoon and skunk population, but not any kitties. The wildlife were released without harm…except maybe to their pride.

Sadly, I came home from work one afternoon to discover one of Zelda’s kittens had been injured. I took her to the vet; her leg had been broken in two separate places (no, she did not get it caught in one of the live traps; I only set them up when I was home because I didn’t want anyone getting trapped while I was away at work and spending the day in it during summer’s heat); she had to be euthanized. I ramped up my efforts to capture Zelda, Sox and Shooz. One morning in August I managed to get Zelda and Sox; Shooz avoided capture but, she kept coming up to the living room window, meowing to her mother and brother. Despite numerous attempts, I could not tempt her into the house, or into one of the cages or traps. Then around 11 p.m. Shooz made a running leap, knocked the screen out of window and became my first breaking and entering case; she refused to be separated any longer from Sox (they have such a bond!).

Two days’ later, Zelda had 7 more kittens.

Jerry, the only boy born to Mossy, turned 6 months in October; he was neutered, received shots, treated for fleas and mites, etc; Sox, who is a little younger, was likewise cared for in November. Shooz, and Jerry’s 3 littermates are all female. As there are younger kittens up and coming, I have delayed spaying them. All are indoors and all of the males have already been altered; there is no danger of any of them getting pregnant. The plan has been to get the little boys in Zelda’s 2nd litter neutered then go back and focus on the females.

However, one of Mossy’s daughters, Bootsie, came down with a parasitic blood virus last week. Though we have Advantage for them, according to this new vet, Advantage and Revolution, the only two flea meds safe for both cats and rabbits (we are The Herbal Hare…) are losing their efficacy; hence, the reason we were still seeing the occasional flea. I took her in for treatment.

Because she is not yet spayed, I was treated like a piece of sh** by the receptionist (the vet was wonderful!); there is no polite way to describe it. Even when I explained the situation, the woman gave me such an attitude that, were it not for worry over Bootsie’s condition, I would’ve marched away and taken her back home. Had it been a routine visit, I most surely would have left. I realize, because my best friend is a vet technician, another friend is a retired vet, and countless other friends work in rescue and foster animal care, that they encounter countless cases of neglect and backyard breeders on a routine basis; I am neither. Mossy, Willow and Zelda were either dumped off on the farm (and this is a regular thing that most farmers also experience on a routine basis…), or wandered in from somewhere else, and I’ve been trying my darnedest to give them, and their babies, the best care possible…only to be abused by her attitude and obvious judgment.

It has seriously stressed me out.

I can’t help wonder if this is why they showed up in the first place. Did previous owner(s) keep hitting the same road blocks I did when searching for assistance in getting them spayed/neutered? Did they run up against an attitude by a tech or vet who scoffed at them as being nothing more than a sob story? Again, I don’t doubt they hear them but, even before Covid, I’ve been put off for weeks from getting shots/alterations. I’ve been told a shelter is full and not admitting any new animals. And, the one time I managed to reach a live person on the phone about getting help when Ozzy and Emmylou came into the world, I received a similar attitude by the woman who runs the place.

Isn’t this a little counterintuitive to the animal rights’ movement?

With these new guys, I’m going with the first scenario: they were dropped off. Zelda’s obvious affection and comfort around humans tells me she wasn’t a feral cat. And, while there was no sign of Zelda when Mossy and Willow first arrived, it’s kind of odd that Bootsie is Zelda’s spitting image, while Zelda’s daughter, Shooz and Mossy are often mistaken for each other. Perhaps Sox and Shooz were not Zelda’s first litter. Perhaps she spent nearly a year trying to fend for herself and being depleted while birthing one litter after the other. And, by the way she plays like a kitten herself, I’d guesstimate she’s not more than 2 years’ old. This last litter had to be bottle-fed she was so depleted. It’s heartbreaking. And here I am trying to do a good thing for them all and getting abused for it by the people that are supposed to be the good guys.

I touched yesterday about how the Lord seems to be stripping away all of my idolatry, my judgments, etc. I used to judge others ruthlessly when it came to animal care. Granted, my family seldom spayed or neutered their pets. Even now Mom doesn’t entirely *get* why I’m so driven to get these babies into their respective surgeries, get them vaccinated, etc. I grew up making frequent trips to the local dog pound (there weren’t “no-kill” shelters then), walking by cages labeled Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, etc. and knowing by Tuesday next, all of the animals in that kennel would be gassed. It was a sobering experience for a little girl and is the driving force behind my commitment to help as many animals as I can.

But I judged just as ruthlessly as I was judged last week.

“They’re lying; nobody dropped that cat off on you.” (happens all the time, especially to farmers)

“That shelter didn’t refuse those kittens; they wouldn’t do that.” (No facility has endless space or bottomless resources to feed and care for these animals)

“Your vet didn’t tell you it would be at least a couple of months before they could do the surgery.” (Most vets are perpetually overbooked striving to squeeze in as many patients as they can, not just for the money (though there are some that do that, too) because they care about their health and well-being and don’t want to turn anyone away who might need their expertise to survive; they know how much you love your pets; they want to help)

And now it’s happened to me…and more than once. It’s created a unique perspective. While I have connections in the animal care sector who, yes, are exhausted and overwhelmed and broken-hearted themselves for all of the hard luck cases they see, I’m also being made aware that, like everything else in life, there’s another side to the story. And, incidentally, if you’re low income, or simply fallen on hard times, I guess you’re not supposed to have any pets at all to bring you joy; that’s only for the elite who can afford to spend thousands of dollars all at once. These same “caring” animal care workers will wrinkle their nose at you like you’ve just trodden in something disgusting.

Yeah, I’m angry. I’m also hoping my post here will shed some light on these two different sides and maybe, just maybe, we’ll offer a little more compassion to each other and realize that most folks are doing the best they can.

Incidentally, Bootsie has made almost a full recovery and is on antibiotics. She’s not the easiest, and I have to call the vet to see if we can get an injectable form of the antibiotics as I believe that will be easier to get in her; I’ve lost almost a pint of blood trying to oral treat her. But she is under their care and we have a new flea med recommendation that will, hopefully, protect any future viruses from emerging.

If you would like to help with Bootsie, or these other babies, please click the link to our Go Fund Me campaign. Please keep us in your prayers. Send positive vibes. Many thanks in appreciation!

May God bless you & keep you!

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-this-animal-sanctuary-grow-and-thrive

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Happy New Year 2022!

Lisa Burbank

“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. Feathers
Tank

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.

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/seresto-flea-collar-recall-pet-deaths/

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!

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Luke 2:1-14

Lisa Burbank

In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that the whole world should be enrolled. This was the first enrollment, when Quirinius was governor of Syria. So all went to be enrolled, each to his own town. And Joseph too went up from Galilee from the town of Nazareth to Judea, to the city of David that is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and family of David, to be enrolled with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child. While they were there, the time came for her to have her child, and she gave birth to her firstborn son. She wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.

Now there were shepherds in that region living in the fields and keeping the night watch over their flock. The angel of the Lord appeared to them and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were struck with great fear. The angel said to them, “Do no be afraid; for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For today in the city of David a savior has been born for you who is Messiah and Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger. And suddenly there was a multitude of the heavenly host with the angel, praising God and saying:

“Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

A very Merry Christmas! And may God bless you & keep you and yours throughout the New Year!

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True Poverty

Lisa Burbank

“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.

May God bless you & keep you!

Appreciation, Bereavement, Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Compassion, Culture, Diversity, Faith, Family, Friendship, God/Jesus, Gratitude, Grief, Healing, History, Love, Memories, Nostalgia, Politics, Prayer, Religion, Scripture, Understanding

Remembering 09/11/2001

Lisa Burbank

“The path of the godly leads away from evil; he who follows that path is safe” (Proverbs 16:17)

I had just come back from the company cafeteria with a cup of tea when a co-worker hollered over the foam-filled cubicle wall, “Oh, my God! Did you see that?” And then a cacophony of voices asking, “What?” “Yes, OMG!” “Holy crap…my sister/mother/brother just texted me; look at this!” “What happened?” and “This can’t be real.”

And, yet, it was.

As the images scrolled across every screen in our corporate facility, I remember glancing at the plate-glass window behind me and trying to imagine what it would be like to see a large commercial airplane heading straight for me. Granted, I was on the ground floor and our facility sprawled rather than rising up to touch the skyline but, at that point, I believed anything could happen. I thought of the family and friends those people would never see again…because, in that instance, you would know there was no escape.

Glancing at the clock on the PC, I picked up my extension (I wouldn’t join the ranks of cellphone users for many years to come), and called my parents’ house in Warwick. I knew they weren’t flying anywhere but, you know, you couldn’t help but check-in with all of your loved ones at a time like this. Every other extension was lit up with the same type of phone calls. Nobody was working on September 11, 2001…outside of first responders and hospital personnel. And, as news footage rolled, janitors, cafeteria workers, assemblers, accountants, executives and technical engineers stood shoulder-to-shoulder to watch in horror.

Mom wasn’t up yet. My stepfather had just awakened, poured a cup of coffee and turned on the TV. His two-plus-packs-a-day-early-morning-gravel declared, “It looks like something out of a Sci-Fi film”. As he could likely quote dialog from Star Trek, I agreed with this assessment. I still had that feeling of otherworldliness myself; it would not wear off for some time. For me, it was more like Freddy Kruger meets Godzilla, or something equally as fantastical and unbelievable.

My stepfather woke my mother up. It felt good just to hear their voices as I watched new footage rolling of people trapped in the upper floors of the Twin Towers jumping to their deaths.

Suddenly, my Mom mentioned a new neighbor of theirs who had sat outside with them a few nights’ earlier, showing off a new tattoo. She remembered it depicted an airplane flying into a pair of towers…

They hung up to call the local police station.

Nobody ever responded, took them seriously…even after they discovered only hours later that the couple had moved out in the middle of the night on September 10th.

Later, as the list of casualties scrolled across every news outlet feed, I learned that Mom had an old high school friend on board one of the planes. Carol was en route to her daughter’s wedding. I can’t imagine her last thoughts…or that of her daughter on what should have been a day filled with joy, not sorrow. And, as my mother’s side of the family is mostly police officers, I couldn’t help but grieve for those who lost their lives trying to save others, while also admiring the bravery that every emergency worker displayed as they rushed in, heedless of their own safety.

Of course, with the renewed sense of patriotism after these attacks, and the pretty much unanimous approval for our commander-in-chief to invade the Middle East, came a great fear in the hearts of many for anyone of Middle Eastern heritage. Or anyone just sporting a head covering of some sort. Memes spread via email hating on anyone Muslim or Middle Eastern…or both. I understood the fear behind it but, when one such meme surfaced quoting passages from the Quran, I decided to risk some censure. The quote and the book didn’t even exist in the Quran (and forgive my faulty memory for not remembering the fake quote from 20 years’ ago). Though I am Christian, I have a copy of the Quran in my home and have read it cover-to-cover. I double checked and then copied down text from the numbered passage the meme claimed as “gospel”.

Yup. I got reamed. Family, friends…was I crazy?

No. Just trying to do what I thought Jesus would do: counter the lie with the truth…and stop the persecution of innocent people. While all members of Al Qaeda and the Taliban identify as Muslim, not every Muslim is a member of Al Qaeda or the Taliban. It’s like members of the Ku Klux Klan claiming to be Christian, but not every Christian is a member of the KKK. Both are fringe extremists of their respective religions and cultures.

I was called un-American for pointing out the error in the aforementioned meme. I had a brother deployed to the Middle East right after 9/11. Of course, I was worried sick over his safety, and that of his brothers- and sisters-in-arms. Of course, I supported (and still support) our troops, our police officers, firefighters, EMT’s and other emergency workers.

And I always will.

As I sit here remembering 09/11/2001, my heart grieves for Every. Single. Life lost in this terrorist attack. I grieve and pray for all of the unsuspecting executives and office workers, maintenance and food preppers, blue color and white color, who went to work that morning never realizing what that day would bring…or the ultimate sacrifice they would have to make. I pray for the passengers and crew aboard each airline. I pray for the emergency workers and first responders who gave so selflessly. I pray for the lives lost over the last 20 years due to the myriad pollutants inhaled during and after the attack. I pray for all of our soldiers, many who also gave the ultimate sacrifice to defend our country, and for those who came back less than whole with limbs missing, sight and/or hearing destroyed, suffering from PTSD and, like so many of our vets from Vietnam, found themselves homeless upon their return to the U.S. (we can do better than this America…). And, yes, I also pray for those caught in a cycle of hate for their heritage and/or beliefs since this attack, whether Muslim or Sikh or any other individual mistaken and mistrusted for something they had no more control over than any other American.

Twenty years…

The children of the soldiers deployed in 2001 are now old enough to be soldiers themselves. 13 of them died as our current administration finally pulled out of Afghanistan. Yes, it was time and past for this war to end.

More criticism: I’ve been told I have no idea how hard it is to pull a whole army out of a country like that and I shouldn’t judge…even though thousands of American citizens and Afghan allies were left behind. I should focus on the, I believe the number is over 120,000, people that were rescued. Focus on the positive; this has never been done before (yeah, there’s an echo chamber here from the previous administration…). Those left behind are essentially hostages now. And, no, I really don’t know how hard it is to pull out of a country like that. But my brother could’ve been one of those 13. And I believe my critics are missing the point completely as we all mourn the loss of who I pray will finally be the last of those lost since 9/11 and the seemingly endless war that has followed in its wake.

May God bless you & keep you!

And may we never forget: 09/11/2001 – 09/11/2021

Animals, Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Compassion, Exhaustion, Faith, Forgiveness, Friendship, God/Jesus, Gratitude, Grief, Healing, Homesteading, Humanity First, Memories, Nostalgia, Poverty, Prayer

And Then the Other Hammer Falls

Lisa Burbank

“But Lot’s wife looked back as she was following along behind him, and became a pillar of salt.” (Genesis 19:26)

I feel a bit like Lot’s wife. He’s been pointing me away from here for years now. And I keep looking back, allowing nostalgia and sentiment to sway my decisions. Now home has become unsafe and I received the foreclosure notice yesterday.

WARNING: There may be some redundancy in my blog posts as the weeks roll on. I will be sharing the link to my Go Fund Me campaign periodically in my posts. Please forgive me; these are desperate times.

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-our-farm-is-being-foreclosed?utm_source=customer&utm_medium=copy_link&utm_campaign=p_cp_guide_do&member=12637057

Even if you cannot help, if you could share this link on your social media pages, I would be forever indebted to you! Your prayers, positive thoughts and energy are also appreciated!

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Appreciation, Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Enlightenment, Exhaustion, Faith, God/Jesus, Gratitude, Healing, Prayer, Religion, Scripture, Self-improvement, Spirituality

Praising Him in the Storm

Lisa Burbank

“When you go through deep waters and great trouble, I will be with you. When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown! When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up–the flames will not consume you.” (Isaiah 43:2)

Praising the good Lord even in the midst of a storm…I struggle with that one, even though I know that it is correct. I know, deep down inside, that even in these little earthquakes that rattle the soul, He has my best interest at heart. He has my back.

Until the voice of the adversary creeps up and tells me I’m not worthy. I’m being punished for something I did. Or didn’t do. Or didn’t do right. All those promises from the Bible are for other people.

Then there’s another voice that whispers, “Why am I praising the struggle???”

That’s probably the worst one of all, the one that pulls me the furthest from my Lord and Savior: questioning why.

Because it shows I haven’t quite learned how to walk by faith yet.

But I will praise Him. Even if a part of me has forgotten how. How to surrender. How to let go. Did I ever really know? Have I ever really let go long enough for real trust to grow?

But praise Him I will.

I praise you Lord for the splinter still caught under my right ring finger…and for the salve I made several months’ ago containing the plantain that, hopefully, will draw it out.

I praise you for the acid reflux and asthma attacks Wednesday night that had me up at 2 a.m…and made me realize just how unsustainable such an early rising would be for the long haul.

I praise you for whatever is leaking in the basement. And for the lack of funds to have it looked at and repaired; further proof that this old fixer-upper has become a drain on my strength and soul.

I praise you for the new neighbors who are harassing us and challenging zoning regulations. I praise you for blessing them…and maybe there is just a little gremlin still sitting on my shoulder that says, “Yeah, open their eyes! Pierce their souls with contrition for the hardship they’ve added to a thousandfold! (Translation: a thinly veiled plea for revenge…lol!) I praise You for that, too; there’s still some fight left after all.

I praise you that I didn’t get the director’s job, yet another full-time position that would’ve made all the difference financially. I praise you for answering my prayer that I get that position only if You mean for Mom and I to stay here in Connecticut.

I praise you for the new kittens who are filling our home and our hearts with laughter.

I praise you for the friends, family, and spiritual community that you have blessed me with for almost 20 years. And all of the many animals that have shared this home with us.

And, Lord, if it be thy will, I praise You for showing me where to now. It’s been almost a decade since this storm first hit, Praise God! I’m growing oh-so weary…

And, yes, there is a note of cynicism and bitterness. But also, an inner canniness that understands a little of what is happening here. ..at least I hope so.

You see, I started working with a coach last month. She is a Christian and helps those of us whose faith is struggling. She is also a writing coach. If nothing else, she is helping me to simply show up. To write. To pray. To worship and create. To draw closer to Him.

And that’s not in the adversary’s plans at all. So, of course, he’s throwing as many monkey wrenches at me as he can find.

But, you know, I even praise the Lord for both the monkey wrenches and the cynicism. I may not know all of God’s plans right now, where He is leading me, where He wants me to go, or what He wants me to do, but I do know that that ol’ devil perceives the threat to his machinations. And that’s worthy of at least a dozen “Hallelujahs”. Maybe praising Him in the midst of a storm isn’t that difficult after all.

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Emergency Preparedness, Faith, God/Jesus, Gratitude, Healing, Herbs, Holistic Health, Homesteading, Nature, Plants, Prayer, Recipes, Scripture

Wednesday’s Weed Walk – “Dew of the Sea”

Lisa Burbank

“And God said, ‘Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, in which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed; to you it shall be for meat’.” (Genesis 1:29)

My geriatric kitty, Kirby, went to the vet a couple of weeks’ ago. It was a routine visit for his rabies and distemper shots and, as he is a geriatric kitty, I had the doc do what they call a senior panel. Basically, they extract some blood for the lab and they check to make sure his internal organs are all functioning as they should be.

He’s not in renal failure, though they are going to be watching him closely because his numbers are “elevated”, which could be bad somewhere in the future. His heart is raising greater concerns…the numbers there are too high. He goes back on Friday for x-rays.

As always, the herbalist turns to natural remedies. My go-to is one of Juliette de Bairacli Levy’s books.

For those of you not familiar with Juliette, she’s the grandmother of both modern herbal medicine and natural rearing for animals and children. I started using her books many years ago when a pet rabbit of mine had been deemed a lost cause by her vet because of a kidney infection. An infusion of parsley given internally and a compress of hops placed over her belly, along with dandelion greens given free choice, and Cindy Lou was up and running again two days’ later. Juliette’s books have been trusted companions ever since.

Juliette recommends an infusion of rosemary for any kind of heart disease or disorder. Two tablespoons of rosemary steeped in hot water for 20 minutes with a lid on. Add 1 level teaspoon of local honey for every tablespoon of the infusion. According to Juliette, “rosemary herb has all of the three medicinal properties necessary in heart treatment: it is tonic, cleansing, and also a nervine (de Bairacli Levy, 1992, p. 199). Strengthening, cleansing (which needs no explanation), and stimulating to the nervous system–stimulating in that rosemary (Rosmarinus officinalis), also known as “dew of the sea,” gives gentle support by “increasing circulation, providing nutrients, and increasing vitality and zest” (Gladstar, 2008, p. 49).

Rosemary is from the plant family Labiatae, or Lamiaceae, which includes all of our mints, basil, catnip, thyme, lavender, hyssop, savory, oregano, marjoram and sage. The leaves are part used in healing. Properties are antipyretic (cooling), antiinflammatory, stomachic, nervine, diaphoretic (promotes sweating), astringent, anodyne and antiseptic. Besides being a good support herb for the heart, it also helps relieve headaches, indigestion, colds, inflammation of the joints, and is good for the hair and scalp (Tierra, 1998, pp. 187-188)

Kirby isn’t sure he likes it yet. I’ve been giving him 4 cc’s each night and I am seeing an improvement in his mood. He’s more active, more alert. I’m hoping the improvement is enough that he will not need any allopathic medicines; far too many do damage to the internal organs further down the road, which is why I often turn to herbs for both Mankind and beast.

For the natural witches and pagans out there, when rosemary is placed beneath your pillow it ensures a good sleep and drives away nightmares; laid under the bed, it protects from harm, and hung from porch and doorposts, it is said to keep thieves away. Added to the bath water, it preserves youthfulness and an infusion of rosemary is often used to wash hands before any healing work as it is cleansing and purifying. Grown in the garden, it attracts elves (Cunningham, 2006, p.p. 218-219).

Who knew this familiar culinary staple packed such a punch?

May God bless you & keep you!

These statements and any information contained on this blog have not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration. This information is intended for educational purposes only and is not meant to substitute for medical care or to prescribe treatment for any specific health condition.

REFERENCES

Cunningham, Scott (2006). Cunningham’s Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs, 2nd edition. Llewellyn Publications: Woodbury, MN

De Bairacli Levy, Juliette (1992). The Complete Herbal Handbook for the Dog and Cat, 6th edition. Faber & Faber Limited: London, England

Gladstar, Rosemary (2008). Rosemary Gladstar’s Herbal Recipes for Vibrant Health. Storey Publishing: North Adams, MA

Tierra, Michael (1998). The Way of Herbs. Pocket Books: New York, NY.

Abuse, Animals, Appreciation, Books, Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Creativity, Exhaustion, Faith, God/Jesus, Gratitude, Healing, Homesteading, Prayer, Writing

When In Doubt

Lisa Burbank

“For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord. They are plans for good and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope. In those days when you pray, I will listen. You will find me when you seek me, if you look for me in earnest.” (Jeremiah 29:11-13)

The kitchen faucet, which has needed replacing for some time now, started leaking in earnest last week…i.e. we had a flood in the kitchen. The nosy neighbors who hide in my hedges, craning their neck over the wall, the same ones who have challenged zoning, are proving to be partiers. Bonfires, loud music, swearing, screaming, shouting until all hours of the night…and there’s less than an acre between us. Then the trunk of my car wouldn’t close Saturday night so I had to wire it shut. On the way to pick up dinner last night, the wire broke and I had to pull into a parking lot and try to rewire it. I eventually had to pull some baling twine off of the bale of hay in the trunk and jury rig it until I could get back home. After fiddling with it some more, I finally got it closed…only to approach opening it again with much trepidation. When I got home, Felicity, my female Nigerian Dwarf goat was shaking like a leaf. Chester, the male, got a little rough with his head-butting. No major injury but she’s a little stiff and sore; I had to separate them.

This could be the sequel to Francesca Battistelli’s song, “This is the Stuff”. As I plan to walk to work as long as the weather holds, I pray I won’t have to worry overmuch about misplaced keys or doing 45 in a 35 mph zone, as she intones.

But, yes, this is the stuff that drives me crazy.

Foreclosure is still looming. I still haven’t found a zoning attorney to help me with my current issues. With bad credit, finding a new homestead looks pretty grim. My paltry part-time paycheck, for which, yes, I am eternally grateful to have even that, will take me a month of Sundays to save for an acre or two of land. Then I have to build a house.

And I’m stressing over having to change a faucet on my own!

Having these added issues, no matter how seemingly small, just adds insult to injury. I feel a crying jag coming on. Mainly because I’ve lost my cool more often than I’d like to admit.

Hope flew out the window last night. The thought of ending it crept in. Only for a moment but it was enough for me to stop and take stock of things. I am so completely overwhelmed. They say He doesn’t give us more than we can bear. I don’t believe that’s entirely true. He never gives us more than He can bear, not what we can bear. We can’t bear all that much on our own. And maybe that’s what I’m trying to do: shoulder it alone. The problem is I don’t know how to let go and let God. I don’t know how to trust, to believe that He really does have my best interest at heart. I don’t know how to surrender my will to His for fear that I will lose everything that truly matters to me…not as idols, but I’m still that abused little girl expecting a punitive father to strike me down.

And yet there must still be a nugget of hope somewhere in my heart because I keep envisioning that homestead up in Maine, Vermont, upstate New York, maybe Tennessee or Missouri to be closer to my brother and best friend. Ohio has popped up on the radar, too. Yeah, maybe just dreams. But, to be truly without hope, those dreams would be cast aside. Instead, the yearning grows stronger.

Enough that I have signed up to work with a writing/career coach. She is a friend of a friend that I met at a Christian writer’s workshop the summer before Covid-19. We have stayed in touch through social media. I realize how truly overwhelmed I have been with this blog (I’ve strayed away a time or two from its original purpose), with both books, with starting a career as a writer and not knowing where to go, where to start. I aced the classes. I have the degree. Now where do I go from here? And I don’t know a lot of writers locally. Before Covid-19 I had considered starting a local writers’ workshop that would meet every week. Covid-19 nixed that for the moment. I realize I need that support, that accountability, some basic structure and feeling that I am getting somewhere as I navigate through my first novel, or two.

As for my living situation? It may be a while before He reveals where He is leading me. I suppose I need an accountability partner there, too. Someone who routinely asks me, “Did you call x, y, z this week? Did you have a chance to do ___________?” It is far too easy to slide back into a depressed slump, to cave in to the apathy of worldly struggles. To feel, yes, overwhelmed by the magnitude of this mountain I’m being asked to climb.

And He is asking me to climb it or He wouldn’t keep bringing me back to it. I feel like He is asking me to take all of this knowledge He has given me, the resources He has revealed and put them to use, to take advantage of them…and to shake off the underlying feeling that I am not worthy of His grace. That’s the peak of the mountain…learning to believe He loves me and I don’t have to earn it.

This yearning-to-be a professional writer, homesteader and prepper is reaching out and asking for your prayers, your positive vibes/energies, some kind intentions. I’ve been in this place for most of the last 12 years; enough is enough. May God send His blessings upon each and every one of you, too!

Amen!

REFERENCES

Battistelli, Francesca (2011). “This is the Stuff.” Hundred More Years. Fervent Records, Curb Records, and Word Entertainment.

19th century, Abuse, Addiction, Alcoholism, Animals, Faith, Forgiveness, Homesteading, Poverty, Prayer, Religion, Self-esteem, Self-improvement, Spirituality

The Pain of Fear

Lisa Burbank

“He does not fear bad news, nor live in dread of what may happen. For he is settled in his mind that Jehovah will take care of him. That is why he is not afraid, but can calmly face his foes. (Psalms 112: 7-8)

Fear kept me here in Connecticut back in 2008. And fear is what has kept me “stuck” ever since.

You see, back in 2008 I left work on a Friday, traveled up to Maine with over $30K in my 401K to use as a down payment on a property there. It was 6 and 1/2 acres, no zoning regulations, and the only building requirements were I had to dig a well and septic system, and the house had to be a minimum of 600 square feet. I was planning to build no more than that minimum, but I was willing to comply. It was a beautiful piece of land down a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. I started proceedings with Bangor Savings then came back to work on Monday to find that my 401K had been wiped out as the Great Recession plowed its way through. I had only $3K left. I was forced to back out of the deal.

I kick myself now. Surely, there could’ve been another way. Or another property that would’ve worked just as well. Why did I let my heart get so set on one place that I neglected to look further afield? Worse, though I lost first one part-time job 4 months’ later, the full-time position another 10 months’ later, and the second part-time job about 7 months after that, the severance pay and unemployment benefits would’ve been sufficient to sustain me while I built that cob house I was aiming for had I stuck it out. But, by the time I lost the full-time position, I had already approached the zoning attorney here in CT and gotten his okay to raise small livestock here (poultry, goats) and so, I decided this was home, this was familiar and safe.

I stayed.

And I cannot help but wonder what my life would be like now had I gambled a little bit, trusted Him more with my future.

Sadly, it has been the story of my life. Play it safe. Stick with what I know. And fail by not trying. By letting fear of the unknown guide me rather than walking by faith.

Despite being an ordained minister, I honestly haven’t learned how to walk by faith yet. Not entirely anyway. Sure, He’s done so much to show me that He does care, that I can trust Him. But I’m the doubting Thomas all over again. If He doesn’t paint the way there, I’m stagnant. I like a certain amount of surety in my bets. And it is the most painful place to be. Yes, I get the theory of walking by faith, but my heart doesn’t truly believe. It forever whispers back that I’m not worthy. And I fear both the success and the failure of my dreams.

Growing up in a household with abuse and alcoholism, faith, trust, reaching out for more, or seeking to better one’s self are all tinged with an underlying sense that you do not deserve even life’s most basic needs. You abuse yourself by choosing less than optimal situations because of this belief. There’s an underlying sense of apathy, too.

I cannot help but think that, despite not knowing where He is leading me, or what He is leading me to, He has made it very clear that He is leading me away from here. It’s been a constant struggle to make ends meet. One repair after another that I haven’t the means to address. This is the second time since the recession that I’ve stared down the face of foreclosure. And now I am faced with these zoning issues where finding another attorney to help has been a lesson in futility. Of course, this is where I think to myself, Lord, if you truly are leading me away, can you give me a nudge in the right direction, please? My finances are in shambles. How will I ever do this? And, yes, I know I’m not supposed to question His intentions, or plans, but will everyone forgive me if I tell you I’m only human?

I do know one thing though: if this was truly where I was meant to be, I would be thriving here instead of feeling beaten down and, yes, apathetic about the future. Because the future is not here. The future is somewhere else.

Maybe I should make a shout out to anyone reading this and ask for your prayers, kind thoughts, positive energies that I might finally get these feet to walk by faith…one step at a time. If I can get these feet to finally move, maybe I’ll be able to prove that Thoreau was right:

“If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.” Henry David Thoreau

I sincerely hope so.

May God bless you & keep you!