Don’t Give Up!
Fear can be paralyzing; it can take over your thoughts, your whole being. Don’t let it! God did a wondrous thing when he created us. He gave us hands, a heart, and a beautiful mind.
I believe we are all on this earth for a purpose. When I died on the operating table in that hospital, someone, through the hands of God, revived me. I was meant to be heard, to encourage others, “Don’t give up. Love yourself.”
We all have warts we hide with a bluff, a comic stance, a smirk, or a sneer. Which is yours? We all want to belong, to fit in. What are you doing today to embrace those standing on the fringe of life?
Life is too fragile a thing. It can end so quickly. My mother taught me to wake up the next day…never give up. Why? Because you do not have a crystal ball, each day can be a better day.
Thrown in darkness at the prime of life, I could have shriveled up and recoiled from living. I made a choice. You can too. It may be painful, but it is temporary. Start with seeing your best self before you and become that all the time.
That is my dream. To be my best and to do it in small groups of young people and talk about the positive stance we all need to take. I was at a high school yesterday and my heart hurt for those hurting. I pray for their strength and faith.
I want to be friends with you. Write to me.
Dear Reader
As I move to the second stage of writing a book, I think of two things. One, putting words on paper is more difficult than saying words. Two, you can deny what you say—you can’t take back what you write.
I think, "How is it that you got here, Fiona? Will others judge you by your words? Are the precious thoughts you penned going to have a life of their own?”
Be gentle, my friends, as you read my memoir. This newbie writer is fragile.
Yet I hear hints that I must write again.
The Time Has Come
I am drinking cold coffee and humming church songs from my Methodist days as a child. God is good despite the rumble of evil spouting from the television in the background. I didn’t turn it on; I watch little television.
Touching children of ages five to thirteen I wrote on the chalkboard (now it is a smart board): Today Is the First Day of the Rest of Your Life. Like it was a title of a book. It is—the book of your life. Today I will read my memoir (manuscript) for the last time. It is difficult to let go. My little voice is pleading, "No hurry. Just take one more look."
Wow! What a trip! To put your vulnerable self out there for all to see. It is like opening your teenage diary and saying "Come one, come all. Partake of my innermost thoughts, but please don’t judge me."
I will take another sip of cold coffee and dive in. It’s time.
Dare To Be The Real You… Even When You Think You Can’t!
One particular third grader, Billy, caught the tennis ball that I threw into the audience. The teachers collectively held their breath.
Billy, a visually impaired student, had a tendency to act out inappropriately. It was too late for them to tell me this. Remarkably, Billy and I connected on a different level. What beautiful communication!
We demonstrated the use of Braille and sighted guide technique together. I know that neither Billy nor I will forget that moment. What others view as impossible feats, I just think of as another hurdle to jump. Continue reading
Turning Tragedy Into Triumph… Encounters Of A Blind Woman
Can You Imagine Not Being Able To Talk For Months?
I Couldn’t—I’m A Storyteller!
A number of years ago, I lost my voice and the doctor ordered me to rest my vocal cords for two and a half months. I am not the kind of person who can easily be quiet and still. In the twelve years since I had become disabled, I had continued to speak at storytelling festivals and in schools. I had even started a motivational speaking business. Now I was faced with the prospect of sitting at home and trying to occupy my mind—without even the benefit of sight.
I am all about adventure, discovery, and loving people. How was I going to sit quietly and let my life just ebb away? It was so hard at first. But, one day, in absolute frustration, I turned to my computer and started writing all the stories which I had been telling. The more I wrote, the more I got turned on to writing. Writing became my catharsis!
The funny and poignant tales stacked up in my mind. Echoes of remarks I had heard over and over resurfaced, “Fiona, when are you going to write a book?” So I wrote. The people, events, and circumstances I wrote about revealed to me how I had found courage, inspiration, and vision. Continue reading