Category: Understanding

Abuse, Alcoholism, Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Community, Compassion, Enlightenment, Faith, Family, Forgiveness, Friendship, God/Jesus, Healing, Love, Politics, Prayer, Self-improvement, Understanding

Avoidance and 30-Day Snoozes

Lisa Burbank

“And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men: knowing that of the Lord ye shall receive the reward of the inheritance: for ye serve the Lord Christ.” (Colossians 3:23-24)

Another three day weekend and, of course, I made plans–plans to get a lot of chores done that I’ve been putting off, daunted by the enormity of them. I think it was Mother Teresa who said: “You want to make God laugh? Tell Him your plans.”

No, nothing catastrophic. Instead of making a huge dent in some of those chores, it may be more of a small dimple. Instead of hustling after church yesterday, I made a second cup of tea and curled up with a book that I’ve read skeighty-eight hundred times before…because, well, avoidance. I am plagued with it.

Yes, Sunday is a day of rest. And I do feel more energized with having given myself that bit of “rest” but, of course, the guilt complex threatens to take over: should-of, could-of, would-of.

I think that falls under the sin of pride category.

Or vanity…

Maybe both?

I almost bowed out of going to church yesterday (gasp!). But, in the end, I decided I needed a true day of rest. Not avoiding the service altogether, but simply enjoying it for itself. I wasn’t serving as either Lector or Eucharistic Minister yesterday. The choir wasn’t singing the Mass this week. I had no responsibility other than to sit and listen to His Word.

And that’s what He wanted me to do.

This is what happens with avoidance, with procrastination, etc. I miss out on life’s blessings. And yesterday’s homily went straight to my heart from His. Had I stayed home instead of attending, I would’ve missed this important message.

It was all about humility, of being humble enough to accept one’s limitations, of not needing the last word or constantly trying to trump another person.

Having been brought up in a household with alcoholism and abuse, I tend to avoid conflict at all costs. I may post memes and articles on social media that are a little provocative, but I try to be sensitive of others. Still, what I post does open the proverbial can of worms from time to time…even unintentionally. I’ve learned that anyone posting a snarky response to those posts doesn’t really care what I have to say in defense. They’re not interested in compromise or reconciliation. I’ve learned that nobody truly wants to know why you voted the way you did…except to tell you that they’re right and you’re wrong. They don’t want to know the issues at your core that you simply cannot compromise on. Often, I find myself getting caught up, as guilty as I charge others, provoked by accusations and insults, and getting tied up in knots along the way.

Divide. Divide. DIVIDE…isn’t that the adversary’s way?

What should be hailed as a brilliant means of reconnecting with old friends and classmates we’ve lost touch with, or family members who live too far away for regular visits, the adversary has twisted towards his own end. I’ve posted before about being unable to see the person on the other side of the keyboard, to read expression, or hear the tone of voice, to emphasize with that person in any way. Social media has turned us all into budding narcissists, focused on self rather than community…rather than focusing on the One we should be focused on.

Did I mention I hate conflict?

Sometimes it is unavoidable. But, with social media, it is almost always avoidable. I don’t have to engage. I don’t have to have the last word. I don’t have to leave my own snarky remarks. I’ve learned to weigh carefully what I post, or share, so as to avoid any conflict…and, again, it still happens. I’ve worn out the 30-day snooze feature on Facebook. I refuse to give up on anyone simply over a difference of opinion so I seldom, if ever, “block” or “unfriend” someone. But, there are some friends from whom the vitriol flows like the mighty Mississippi…and, sadly, that small handful gets “snoozed” repeatedly. It’s a way of setting some boundaries without shunning someone entirely. Social media also tends to breed cyber-bullies.

One friend who might fall into this last category came to church yesterday. I watched her walk in and take a seat on the opposite side of the aisle. About this time last year, it was almost like she waited for me to post something about which she could brow-beat and bully me…and then any friends or family members who came to my defense.

For a moment, a sneer and a snarky thought reared up inside of me…then Father Ben launched into his homily. Bulls’ eye!

That inner sneer and snarky thought pattern is on me…not her. The realization almost broadsided me. No matter how much she may have cyber-stalked and bullied, it takes two to make or break a relationship. What have I done to contribute to any break between us? I felt the sting of shame as I thought of other sneers and snarky remarks aimed in her direction. This was no way to treat a friend.

I tried to catch her eye during the meet-and-greet (it has another name that escapes me at the moment…) just before Communion. Either she didn’t see me, or chose to avoid me. I thought back to all of the times I’d tried to reach out to her after Mass before, and how it always seemed to escalate into more of the same as on social media with each of us beating our heads into the proverbial brick wall, hoping to get the other to see the light in each other’s views. I heard again the lines from the Prayer of St. Francis: “O Master, grant that I may never seek so much to be consoled as to console, to be understood as to understand…”

Could I approach her with that kind of humility? Could I approach her with ears, mind, and heart to listen without judgement? Could I have a conversation with her without having to be right? I spent the rest of the Mass in quiet soul searching, finally hearing that still, small voice saying to leave it alone…for now. Give it time.

In the end, she left church as swiftly as she came in and averted her gaze from me as her car passed mine in the parking lot.

She’s not ready. Maybe neither of us are. Maybe any conversation would’ve escalated just as before…no matter any good intentions to the contrary. That old adage about not talking politics or religion is apt.

That still, small voice spoke Truth, as it always does. Leave it alone. Let it go. For once, I allowed myself the grace of taking that step back and listening, really listening to that Truth. That’s something we all need to do more often. Put down the phone. Walk away from the screens (yes, even this one…lol!) and the drama within them. Stop filling every waking hour with busy-ness and noise. It’s okay to just sit quietly. To pray. To think. To listen. To dream.

To simply BE.

What Truth is He laying on your heart today? Are you bold enough to listen?

May God bless you & keep you!

Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Faith, Family, God/Jesus, Heavy Metal Music, Love, Music, Prayer, Religion, Scripture, Spirituality, Understanding

Tell Me Something Good

Lisa Burbank

“And now, Lord, behold their threatenings: and grant unto thy servants, that with all boldness they may speak thy word, by stretching forth thy hand to heal: and that signs and wonders may be done by the name of thy holy child Jesus.” (Acts 4: 29-30)

We are called as Christians to spread the Word of God…in a world that, for the most part, seems to have rejected Him. I’ve determined that this blog will continue to carry a line of Scripture each time and I always end each post with “May God bless you & keep you!”. If I am ashamed of Him, of my faith in Him, He will be ashamed of me when I finally shake off this mortal coil.

However, I remember how irritated I became in my youth when people started “Bible thumping” at me. No, I won’t change the structure of my blog…nor abandon my faith. He has shown me far too well over the last several years that, yes, He can be trusted.

But…the “Bible thumping”…

I spent my youth playing lead guitar and lead vocals in heavy metal bands. That usually startles people. I still hear the same “accusations” I heard from fellow band mates that I looked “too wholesome for metal”. Such was the bane of my existence…to the point that I bleached my hair almost white and got this awful perm that made me look like a reject from Twisted Sister.

And I still got accused of looking “too wholesome” despite damaging my mane.

Then there was the other side of this life: the “Bible thumpers” outside of the many concerts I attended. When I wasn’t playing and performing music, I was glued to the radio, or record player (yes, I’m that old!), or cruising around town in my little Dodge Omni, listening to Doro Pesch shouting about “All We Are” blaring out of the windows…even during winter when the windows were rolled up. (And I wonder why I have some hearing loss…). Concerts were a peek into the world I wanted to inhabit. They were where I learned about stage presence and got ideas for my own elaborate stage set, which obviously never materialized, but I was young and full of dreams of recording my own music someday and touring the world.

Until I got outside of the arena.

My Uncle Brian and I went to see Iron Maiden and Twisted Sister in concert one night. Great show by both bands but, as my stepfather was picking us up afterwards, we left before the final encore, catching only a glimpse of “Eddie” before we hurried out to the curb where my stepfather said he’d meet us.

“Those earrings are bitchin’!” he said, as they approached us. Both teens were about our age (I was maybe 17, Uncle Brian, 14 (yes, he’s younger than me…big families)), a boy and a girl. The guy was kind of cute, my boy-crazy self noted. Then he shattered it all by asking, “What do they mean?”

What do my earrings mean???

They were my favorites. Long, tear-drop shaped hoops with a crescent moon dangling on one side and a star on the other one. Both baubles were a little over an inch long. I remember how much they caught my eye at a flea market that my family and I often attended. But what did they mean?

It’s just a star and moon, I replied, still feeling perplexed, and wondering if he was mentally stable. Should Uncle Brian and I move away?

Then, when I revealed no deep, dark meaning behind those earrings, he followed it up with, “Did you know you were sinning in there?”

This from the guy who told me moments before that my earrings were “bitchin'”…to my 17 year-old self, who blushed crimson and ducked her head whenever I let “Damn!” slip in exasperated moments. I expected Mom’s chastisement for swearing to descend upon me, of course. (Oh, to be so young and innocent today; it’s rare that a day goes by now without me dropping an F-bomb or two…how times change!)

Anyway, thus began a long litany of how these heavy metal artists were “evil” and listening to their music was a sin passed bearing. When my stepfather’s pickup truck pulled up to the curb (10, 15 minutes later??? It felt longer), Uncle Brian and I quickly thanked our “hosts” for the religious pamphlets they’d handed to us and jumped into the cab with a collective sigh of relief. The guy meant well (he did most of the talking). But, as is often the case with many Christians, he was a little overzealous with his delivery. Instead of attracting people to “his” Jesus, he repelled.

I never want to be that sort of Christian. I love Jesus with all of my heart and soul, and I have no qualms offering prayers. I will gladly sit and talk to with you about Him, but only if you ask me to, or if I sense that you’re ready to hear about Him. I remember too well how it feels to have Him “pushed” on you…or to have someone instantly telling me everything I have to change about my life to follow Him. Those changes may be needed, but they will come in their own time the closer I get to Him…as they will with you. I want to plant seeds of faith, not bulldoze over you with His message. If I bring in the bulldozer, well, if you don’t run and hide, you may start off with good intentions, but whatever seeds I scatter before you will only stay on the surface of your heart. Eventually, the “sparrows” of worry and anxiety will gobble them back up.

Oh, but what about his blog?

You have a choice. You can continue reading it, or you can ignore it. It won’t go away, per se, but you have a choice NOT to read it. And that’s the thing about Jesus. He wants you to choose to come to Him, to cultivate a relationship with Him. If the choice is not your own, He knows the roots of that relationship, that faith, will be shallow and there won’t be any way for it to grow.

So, while I won’t stop blogging about my faith, I also won’t push. Jesus is a gentleman. He won’t push either. But maybe, just maybe, if you’ve been reading this far, He’ll water a seed or two that I’ve scattered here today and shine His Light upon it so it will grow.

As we enter this Yuletide season and celebrate His birth, that’s the greatest gift that I can offer anyone. May your hearts be open to receive it…and may God bless you & keep you!

Amen…

Abuse, Alcoholism, Bereavement, Christianity, Forgiveness, Friendship, Grief, Healing, Humanity First, Love, Memories, Politics, Prayer, Scripture, Self-esteem, Tradition, Understanding

It’s An Age Thing

Lisa Burbank

“The righteous flourish like the palm tree and grow like a cedar in Lebanon. They are planted in the house of the Lord; they flourish in the courts of our God. They still bear fruit in old age; they are ever full of sap and green, to declare that the Lord is upright; He is my rock, and there is no unrighteousness in Him.” (Psalm 92:12-15)

I turned 58 last Wednesday. Not a milestone of any kind, and a day like any other. The many Facebook posts and text messages wishing me a “Happy Birthday!” were about the only occasions to mark it (outside of dinner on Sunday with Mom and a friend). None of this is a lamentation of any kind. I am grateful for all the well-wishing. But, damn, if I don’t feel every inch of those 58 years these days!

Aside from the usual aches and pains that accompany aging…especially those of us who have long abandoned our yoga practice…it’s the heartache that also accompanies this aging process. As the old saying goes: “Growing old ain’t for sissies!”

It’s the faces no longer here, which seems to occur with more rapidity as the years advance. It’s also the changes in relationships.

And, along those veins, a lamentation against modern technology and the havoc it can wreak. I.e. We are far more open about our thoughts and feelings on social media than we are in person. We say things maybe we wouldn’t. And, for those of us who have always been the dour church mouse in the corner, we speak up for ourselves where, in person, we’d probably continue to take the verbal abuse.

My bestie since middle school unfriended me because she didn’t agree with whom I cast my vote for in the presidential election. That’s her right not to agree with my choice. But it was the insinuation posted on Facebook that she wouldn’t trust old friends with the whereabouts of Anne Frank that stung. I haven’t become this racist, homophobe, wannabe fascist because my more conservative side has emerged in the face of certain social changes. Whatever your skin tone, religious beliefs, country of origin, gender, or sexual orientation, you are welcome at my table as a friend…and always will be. If someone slights you because of who you are, I will still fight by your side for fair treatment. As long as you treat me and mine with the same respect and courtesy, that will never change. I will add whatever your political views to the list above, too.

I don’t care about any of that. I care about YOU.

There’s been a lot of reflection this past week. And a realization that my bestie hasn’t picked up the phone to call me just to chat in almost 10 years. I assumed it had to do with the “convenience” of social media. But, over the years, my calls to her have almost always gone to voicemail…and never a returned call. Those rare times that she has answered, it was as though she couldn’t wait to get off the phone again. I’ve wracked my brain for some sort of incident that might have precluded this behavior. We’ve never had an angry exchange of words. And I’ve never known my bestie to be shy about expressing her feelings…even before social media.

I could be entirely barking up the wrong tree: she got married about 10 years ago. For those new to the blog, I grew up with a stepfather who, to keep it G-rated, wanted a little too much to do with me. He was also an alcoholic and, when under the influence, would fly into rages. Little by little, he pulled Mom away from the influence of others in her life: friends, family members. I can’t help wondering, when looking back over these recent years, if my voting preferences weren’t simply a final excuse to cut me out of her life…because maybe her new husband is doing what my stepfather did and constantly reminding her of “offenses” that were never really offenses to pull her away from others (i.e. a control issue).

The changes in our relationship over the years haven’t been lost on me but, knowing how strong of an inferiority complex I have from the aforementioned childhood, I’ve always assumed maybe I was being overly-sensitive. I’ve always trusted that our friendship was solid enough that, if there was ever a real problem between us, we could talk about it.

The other possibility is she’s afraid of saying something more hurtful and destroying the relationship altogether. And I’ll give her that. It’s a rather childish response, and a hurtful one, but I can accept it.

I just hope she knows I’m still here if she needs a friend to talk to (incidentally, my bestie and I live half a continent away from each other…not exactly a ride across town to see what’s up) if my earlier suspicions are correct.

These are the complexities of getting older, of seeing friendships change…some for the better, some withering away. It’s especially heartbreaking in this age of advanced technology that, while it has its uses, like everything, it also has its evil side. Relationships are always changing and evolving, always has been that way, but today, it’s much easier to slam the cyber door shut than it was the physical one in generations’ past.

I love my bestie. I love a lot of other friends who have gotten angry over my recent political choices. We don’t have to agree with each other, but we should be willing to look past those differences of opinion to the person inside. When we shut our hearts, and our minds…and our screens…against any effort to understand at all the what and why that may be driving those choices, we open the door to the adversary even more broadly. With today’s technology, he’s wringing his hands with glee and ecstasy the more divided we become…as individuals, as a nation, as a world on the cusp of nuclear war.

I hate how complex life seems to get the older I get. I feel my age more and more as the world changes around me…and feel a sense of rebellion against it. I understand my parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles more as I age, the clinging on to fond memories…and the feeling of being forgotten by a society that scoffs at those memories.

My door is still open to my bestie. My hope and prayer is that, once the mad fades away with time, she’ll “friend” me again, answer my calls and/or return them. If she needs a friend to talk to, I hope she knows, I will always be there for her. Perhaps she won’t understand it, will mock me as a door mat, or some such. She doesn’t seem to understand the concept of forgiveness, of loving the whole person despite their sins. She’s an atheist to this born-again Christian, so perhaps this was bound to happen with such a differing worldview. But I will always love her…despite those differences.

That’s one of the many blessings of getting older: you understand what matters most. It’s the people who share all those memories, who share however many trips around the sun we get to travel in this life that matter. And, because they do, I refuse to close that cyber door in return…or any physical doors. Life is too short.

May God bless you & keep you!

19th century, Abuse, Animals, Appreciation, Christianity, Creativity, ecosystems, Faith, Global Warming, God/Jesus, Herbs, Homesteading, Prepping, Religion, Understanding, Writing

Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad

Lisa Burbank

“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

May God bless you & keep you!

Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Compassion, Culture, Diversity, Faith, Family, God/Jesus, Lent, Open-mindedness, Prayer, Religion, Understanding

Ramadan Mubarak

Lisa Burbank

To all who celebrate Ramadan, bright blessings to you!

To all who do not and are unfamiliar with Muslim traditions, today marks the start of Ramadan. According to Wikipedia, Ramadan is when the “beginnings of what would later become the Qur’an” were revealed to the prophet, Muhammad, by the angel, Jibril (or Gabriel in English).

Muslims everywhere arose today before dawn to eat suhur (predawn meal) and will fast from food or drink until after sunset when they will break their fast with iftar. They will also abstain from tobacco products, sinful behavior, and, again, according to Wikipedia (not always the most reliable source but usually a good starting point), remain celibate during this time. They will do this every day for the next month. In addition to fasting, Ramadan is commemorated with prayer, reflection, the reciting and reading of the Qur’an, and almsgiving. Ramadan begins with the sighting of the crescent moon and ends with the sighting of the next crescent moon.

I am always amazed at the level of devotion and commitment Muslims show in their celebration of Ramadan. As a Catholic, I celebrate Lent, which also requires prayer, fasting–albeit only on Fridays when we abstain from meat, and Ash Wednesday and Good Friday when we can only eat one full meal throughout the day–and reflection. However, I often fail miserably. Is it a lack of discipline in myself? Or is it a lack of community support? Maybe it’s a little of both. But, whatever it is, I can’t imagine the dedication needed to fast from sunrise until sunset.

That being said, I offer up my prayers to those celebrating Ramadan that Allah’s blessings be many this year.

And, for all of my brothers and sisters of every religion and walk of life, may God bless you & keep you!

Works Cited

“Ramadan”. Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramadan

Abuse, Addiction, Alcoholism, Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Culture, Diversity, Family, Forgiveness, Friendship, God/Jesus, Healing, Human rights, Humanity First, Politics, Social Media, Understanding

I’ve Joined the Cult, Part II

Lisa Burbank

“Don’t just pretend that you love others: really love them. Hate what is wrong. Stand on the side of the good. Love each other with brotherly affection and take delight in honoring each other.” (Romans 12:9-10)

After hitting the “Publish” button earlier this morning, I flew out of my home office, behind as always. Roosters were crowing incessantly and felines threatened to trip me up all along my “route” as I filled bowls with food and water. Yet my mind was still racing along with my feet.

Our present social climate deeply concerns me. Not just media, or government, but friends and family, too, strive to silence any opposing opinion these days…encouraged and emboldened by that same media and government. They do so with scorn, with derision, by labeling and belittling. They embrace the constant fight-or-flight dialogue in media, and social media, the insidious fear-mongering that would keep us as sheep, never questioning what we see around us.

This post, and the one before it, may have to be taken down at some point. They will likely get flagged on social media. God forbid someone openly considers an alternative to what has become the norm today.

I’ll risk it.

So much for Freedom of Speech, or Freedom of Press.

It is worrisome. Anyone who questions the efficacy, or the validity, of this *jab* is labeled: cultish; conspiracy theorist; domestic terrorist.

Why?

There has never been, to my knowledge, any drug, or medication, or medical procedure, that has not come with risks. We see the infomercials every day when we turn on the television. We hear them on the radio as we drive down the street. And we shake our heads at the often lengthy list of side effects associated with each one–many of them worse than the malady they’re designed to control (they never really cure you of anything; there’s no money in that). Somebody, somewhere, has questioned the efficacy and the validity of these medications in the infomercials. We don’t suppress those. Instead, we glorify them for the advertisers who hope to get you dependent upon them. Often with good outcomes, such as controlling one’s diabetes, or high blood pressure, etc., but the dependency is still made…if we CHOOSE the treatment encouraged by our medical practitioners. Always before we’ve been allowed to make these choices for ourselves.

But not this time.

This time, we are obviously too stupid to make any choices for ourselves…without having a blue ring stuck in our nose by which to be led around.

Why is it not okay to question this new medicine? Why are we being compelled to accept without question? What makes this *jab* any different from Prozac, or Metoprolol, for example, that it should be exempt from the usual scrutiny or initial distrust? And, more importantly, why does our government, and friends and family, seek to punish us by the loss of our jobs/income, by the loss of our homes and all that we have worked for through the loss of that income, by isolating us from each other for not complying? Why are we being labeled as social pariahs merely for making an informed choice as we have always been allowed to do with any other medicine or medical procedure…rather than nodding incessantly like a stuffed dog in the rearview window?

“It’s a pandemic” is the usual response to such questions; it’s catching.

So is the flu. We’ve never been threatened with job loss, or social isolation, for not getting a flu shot.

Perhaps that’s next on the agenda…

But, more importantly, we must ask ourselves, should we be normalizing the constraints and practices implemented under a special circumstance? For example, should we have grown up with each of us wearing one of those creepy, bird-masks used during the Spanish Flu a century ago…just in case it might still be “catching”? Yes, they were the stuff of nightmares, and it seems ludicrous in this context, but so is seeing the loss of personal autonomy over our own bodies.

I’ve talked a lot in my blog about growing up in an alcoholic home. I’ve talked about the abuse. And the suppression of following one’s natural instincts and inclinations. When my stepfather thought he was losing control of us, when we said something that he didn’t like, or disagreed with him, he got directly in our faces and, with each *point* he made, he slapped the counter beside us, pounded the end table, to punctuate it. Though he never laid a hand on us during his monologues, our bodies jumped with each slap, or pounding of a fist, on that hard surface. It was fear-mongering at its finest. Other times, he pulled the guilt card. How could I have called the cops on him? Look at that record album he bought for me last week…much like we all got $1200 in a stimulus check so we should be grateful and allow our bodies and minds to be controlled by those who gave it to us.

Perhaps we should all adopt a 12-Step program to cure our addictions to both the mainstream and social media’s biases…

Yes, there is a lot of misinformation out there. Sadly, it seems to occur more frequently within the same party that supposedly champions equality for everyone regardless of color, religion, gender/identification, or socioeconomic status.

Apparently, diverse political ideologies don’t deserve the same equal rights…even those of us who usually identify with a more progressive party, but are still questioning what we see in the media, and on the streets, today. How dare we!

This is wrong, and frightening, on so many levels.

Going back to one of my opening paragraphs, yes, family and friends do belittle and label those of us who are questioning and choosing differently than they have but, usually, only on social media. Rarely do I hear labels, or belittling tactics, in person. The armchair social media junkie is bold and brash only when they cannot see the hurt their careless remarks inflict on another human being. Like the alcoholic who hides behind their addiction, and tries to control the world around them because they, themselves, are out of control, these armchair *experts* who espouse their-way-or-the-highway ideologies, forget that there are fellow human beings on the receiving end of their tirades. Perhaps if we all remembered that, and responded accordingly, the strangle-hold of our dopamine addiction would finally heal. Isn’t that what Jesus would do? Instead, there doesn’t appear to be even a feigned attempt to listen to our brothers and sisters, or to try to understand where they’re coming from. Such humanity is discouraged…and labeled a threat.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve hit rock-bottom.

May God bless you & keep you!

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

Abuse, Animal Rights, Animals, Christianity, Compassion, Exhaustion, Faith, Healing, Homesteading, illness, Love, Poverty, Prayer, Understanding

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

Abuse, Animals, Appreciation, Bereavement, Birthday Wishes, Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, Compassion, Exhaustion, Faith, Friendship, Frugality, God/Jesus, Gratitude, Healing, Human rights, Humanity First, Poverty, Prayer, Scripture, Self-esteem, Self-improvement, Sleep Deprivation, Spirituality, Understanding, Writing

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, Books, Christianity, Compassion, Creativity, Fiber Arts, gardening, Herbs, Homesteading, Poverty, Spinning, Understanding, Weaving, Writing, YouTube, Zero Waste

Getting to the Starting Line

Lisa Burbank

“The rich man’s wealth is his only strength. The poor man’s poverty is his only curse.” (Proverbs 10:15)

I hate platitudes, those pat little bits of advice from people who have never walked an inch in another’s shoes, nevermind a mile.

Or maybe it’s not a platitude, but one of those itchy little thorns that get under your skin because you know there’s a grain of truth to it.

I once lamented to a significant other that he didn’t take me seriously. I can’t even remember what we were arguing about at the time but, very calmly, he said I didn’t take myself seriously. My initial reaction was what the f*** is that suppose to mean? Another friend told me that I missed my opportunities. Again, same initial reaction.

Yeah, it’s the itchy little thorn scenario.

I still don’t know if I buy the first one. That sounds like a lack of confidence (or a crafty little cop-out on his part…). Yeah, maybe I do lack confidence to some extent but, in areas where it matters, no, I’m okay there.

I know my writing is good. Sure, my blog posts may have a lot of run-ons and half sentences, but it gets the point across and people read it. The books I have “in-the-works” get more of the polish and, those who have read bits and bobs of them, tend to give positive feedback and encouragement. As a homesteader, well, we may soon be without a homestead. That’s enough to destroy anyone’s confidence for a spell, but not because I lack confidence that I can grow a significant amount of food, grow herbs, spin yarn, weave cloth, or keep bees and livestock. What skills I lack, I can always learn. It’s more of an insecurity thing, a fear of putting the work in to develop the present property only to lose it.

And, yeah, maybe wondering if any business ideas that I have will come to enough of a fruition that I can continue…here, or on another property.

This last falls under the heading of “Fear of Failure”, not “Lack of Confidence”. A business using goats to clear land; a secondhand bookstore and herbery; a zero waste store; a monthly newsletter/magazine that features herbs, natural fibers, and all things homesteading, or a YouTube channel featuring all of, or part of, the above are all viable ideas that have the ability to stand on their own. I don’t lack confidence in the viability of any idea. I believe in them enough to have created business plans and/or grant proposals for all of them. But, maybe, just maybe, I’m willing to concede that I lack the confidence that I’ll ever find the necessary funds, the land, and the physical support to see them fly (there should be a support group for impoverished wannabe entrepreneurs…). And that is where I fear the failure.

As for the other itchy little thorn? It’s difficult to take advantage of a presented opportunity if you have no way to support yourself, your family, etc. while you take that advantage.

So, yeah, these offhanded remarks have itched and poked and stung over the years with all of the tenacity of a killer hornet. They were also hurtful and callous remarks by the people who uttered them. And, as I sit here typing this, I can’t help wondering how many other would-be entrepreneurs are sitting out there feeling the same angst that I do. How many jobs are “lost” before they are ever realized? And don’t get me started on big box stores and monopolizing tech companies pushing out the small business owners who are able to make their dreams a reality.

May God bless you & keep you!

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-our-farm-is-being-foreclosed