What do you Think?

Do people change after they get published?

This question has popped up in both my critique groups and it got me thinking. Do they?

I think published authors definitely have more demands in certain areas because they deadlines. Does that make them less likely to visit others blogs? More likely to change how they handle things?

I personally, have seen some of my friends change and others stay just as they were when I first met them. But it's an interesting topic of discussion.

So tell me, what do you think? What have you seen?

Just the Way You Are

Happy Valentines Day, dear reader. I appreciate the time you share with me. I appreciate your comments and your support. I hope you have a wonderful day and that you share it with someone you love. Today, remember that you are loved, and that I like you, just the way you are.

Just the Way You Are

I like your eyes. I like your nose.
I like your elbows and your toes.

I like the way you laugh and shout.
I like your insides and your out.

I like the happy way you walk.
I like to listen when you talk.

I like the way you think and feel.
I like the part of you that’s real.

I like you when you’re on the go,
And even when you’re movin’ slow.

I like to see you jump and run.
I like you ‘cause you’re so much fun.

I like to watch you sing and dance.
I join you when I get the chance.

I like the spunky clothes you wear.
I like the way you wear your hair.

I like the sparkle in your smile.
I like your attitude, your style.

I like you when you’re happy,
and even when you’re sad.

I like you when you’re snappy,
and even when you’re mad.

You’re gentle, brave, and helpful, too.
You’re funny, cheerful, honest, true.

You’re talented and very smart.
You have a kind and loving heart.

And even on the worst of days
When nothing goes quite right,

I like you in the best of ways.
I like you day or night.

And though you’re always changing,
You don’t have to change for me.

I like you just the way you are.
Be who you want to be.

Warmly,
Linda Garner

p.s.

Hey this would make a great picture book, wouldn't it.

My Favorite Questions

What are your favorite questions?

I believe questions have great power, so I have begun collecting them. Here are a few of my favorite questions. Some are questions we might ask others. Some are questions meant for personal reflection. Most could be used either way. Try them out and let me know how they work for you.

Are you willing to take a chance? How would your life be different if...? How does this make you feel? What did you learn from this experience? What is the first thing you think about when you wake up in the morning? How can I be more like you?

Am I ready to change? What do I want most? How do I see myself? How do I see others? Do I love myself? What quality do I appreciate most in myself? What quality would I like to develop? What embarrasses me? What would I like to let go of?

Am I part of the problem? Am I part of the solution? Why doesn't anything change, even when I try so hard? What can I learn from this difficult situation? How big is the problem? What worries me most?

What do I believe? What is my favorite word? What is my favorite quote? What am I afraid of? Where do I turn for answers? What brings me peace? Have I found my true purpose? What brings meaning to my life?

What are your favorite questions?

Linda Garner

P.S.

Many of the questions in the post were taken from the book Change Your Questions, Change Your Life by Wendy Watson Nelson. Pick up a copy. You'll love it.

Choosing Light

Where were you on the morning of Sept 11, 2001? Do you remember?

I remember. For most of us, that moment will be permanently imprinted in memory: the moment we discovered that America had been betrayed. What did the betrayal feel like to you? Was it personal? Did you feel connected or detached? Were you angry, confused, frightened, sad, depressed, or all of the above?

A friend of mine who works in the mental health field reports that anxiety became rampant in wake of 9/11. She says that anxiety was relatively rare in the days before the terrorist attack and became widespread in the days and years that followed.

Not everyone gave in to terror. Some shelved their worries in a hidden place and buried them for another day. Some chose indifference. Some hardened their hearts. Others turned to faith.

Many chose prayer. A nation that had largely abandoned prayer suddenly became very prayerful…for a time. In a gesture of hope, my neighborhood displayed luminaries. We lit candles, laid them on a bed of sand in a one room paper house, and placed them near the street. A silent glow of unity lit our street against the ugliness of the day, and the shadowy curtain of night.

Things have changed since the day terror knocked on our front door. Security is the new game in town. War is our new neighbor. And for some, a new fear moved in to stay.

Is it a coincidence that ten years later our economy is close to ruin, taxes gnaw hungrily at our paychecks, beefy government fingers poke at every pie, and joblessness lives in the spare bedroom.

We voted for change, but not this change. We hoped for improvement. Government behaves badly, much like a chubby, spoiled, manipulative child. It stamps its feet and cries for its way. It bullies us and kicks us when we’re down.

When I was young, I thought the end of the world was around the next corner. This both thrilled and worried me, for I knew that it would be a great and simultaneously terrible day. Would I grow old enough to finish school? To marry? To be a mother? What kind of world would I introduce my children to?

As a young mother, I stewed about wars and rumors of wars. I wrinkled my forehead over earthquakes in diverse places. I watched for the moon to turn to blood. When I could afford to, I stored food and water and wheat. Lots of wheat. I stored fabric and flashlights. I stored batteries, and candles, and clothes.

I once had a depression coat, a walking to Missouri coat, just in case. It was ugly as sin, but it was sturdy and warm. I knew I would never wear it, unless there was a crisis, yet I clung to it like hope. I knew that it would keep me warm against a dark and sinister nameless storm.

The coat is gone, but I still store food, and also hope, for I have learned that storms are a part of life. The thunder and lightning may frighten me, but I have control. I can choose peace. I can choose gratitude. I can choose faith. The most dangerous storm is the one that rages in my mind. Shall I choose fear or faith? Shall I choose chaos or stillness?

I have learned that most storms pass and that if we are prepared we shall not fear. I have learned that the only true safety lies inside my heart, the hand of my neighbor, the touch of a friend. I have learned that peace lies not in absolute safety but in trust and in my bucket of faith. I have learned to cling to my family, to strengthen my friends, and to share that bucket of faith with those in need.

There are more earthquakes now, and they have moved closer. The voices of war grow louder. Peace is not for sale, but it is abundant even in the growing chaos. Would you like a drink from my bucket of faith? Here, take my hand.

Abundance is mine. Peace, joy, and trust are abundant for those who know where to look.

America has a wonderful way of reinventing itself. We still have a lot going for us. We have a lot to be thankful for. We can make a difference. Be part of the solution. Believe it or not, whining is not a solution. Become the change you long for.

Gather your family. Gather your stores. Gather your courage. Believe. Hope. Trust. Trust in the Lord with all you heart and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him and He shall direct thy paths.

9/11/2011. It’s a perfect day for finding peace. Light a candle of faith in your heart and feel the glow of peace. Hold it out against the darkness surrounding you. Refuse to give in to darkness. Choose light. Choose gratitude. Choose abundance.

Count your blessings. Rejoice in abundance. Share your gifts. Strengthen your faith.

Linda Garner

Happy Birthday America

I love my country and wish to bid her a happy birthday. What a privilege it is to grow up free in the land of opportunity. I am a flag waving, hand over heart, stand up for the Star Spangled Banner, kind of girl. I love America.

Problems? Yes we have a lot of them. I hope for change, like many of you. Change has many faces, and it can be good or bad, so be careful what you hope for.

I believe that change can happen one person at a time, as we become accountable for our behavior and quit hoping for government to fix things. I believe that change can happen one person at a time as we reach out to one another in love. I believe that change can happen one person at a time as we honor truth and virtue in our personal lives.

Wasn't it Ghandi who said, “Be the change you want to see in the world.” What beautiful and wise words. Imagine the possibilities of millions of Americans living their personal truth and embracing a more beautiful way of life.

Today, I honor my heroic country and give thanks for her. I honor the brave men and women who created her, and who have defended her. Thank you just doesn’t seem to be enough. Perhaps I can honor her and them by making brave choices and living a life of truth and possibilities.

I can be the change I want to see, and so can you.

Happy Birthday, America, and thank you, thank you, thank you.

Linda Garner

p.s.

To see a picture of our beautiful new granddaughter, click here.

I Voted

It’s that time of year again. Winter? Fall? No, Election time. The time of year when everyone has a voice...if they choose.

I can’t not vote. I have to. People died so I could have that right. I honor their sacrifice with my vote. Voting is easy. Voting intelligently is hard. It’s hard to see through all the rhetoric to the heart of the matter. It’s hard knowing who to believe, who to trust. Even when I study the issues, I don’t always know what is real. Still, I vote. I love having a voice.

I am often an election judge. I have done this for many years. My first election was held in a home and ballots were counted by hand in a back bedroom after hours. We graduated to voting machines where you punched a ballot with a little stylus. Now everything is done electronically and there are policy and procedure changes every election. Everything changes. This is progress.

If only we could see the same kind of changes in the campaigns. I vote for more honesty and integrity. I vote for less name calling and blame. I vote for clean campaigns. I vote for clarity. I vote for accountability. I vote for real change.

My voice and your voice can make a difference.

One week from today I will sit behind the table looking very official, encoding ballots and handing out I Voted stickers. Be sure to stop by and get your own. You’re always in fashion with an I Voted sticker.

Will I see you there?

Linda Garner

Death of Innocence

Perhaps his life was never what we would call normal. Still, a short time ago Ethan Stacy was alive. Breathing, walking, thinking, sleeping, dreaming. Dreaming? What must his dreams have been like? Ethan died a slow painful death at the hands of those who were supposed to protect him and cherish him.

How did this happen? How could life go so terribly wrong? Did Ethan’s tortured mother reach out for help? Who did she have to turn to? Where could she have gone? Could we have reached out to her, to Ethan, had we known?

I feel certain that Ethan’s mother was in her own hell, beaten down by life, by struggle, by abuse, by a thousand poor choices; trapped in the wrong place, at the wrong time, with the wrong person. Judgement is easy. Understanding is difficult, perhaps beyond us. What must she have experienced? What must she have felt? How could she have stood by and watched her son die a little at a time?

With the death of Ethan, a part of us died, too. It was the death of our innocence. We can no longer look the other way. We can no longer pretend that child abuse happens somewhere else. We can no longer pretend that this is not our problem.

It is time to look for solutions. The raw emotions that surface when we think of Ethan, a boy we didn’t even know, speak to us of change. Can we be part of the change? Where do we begin? The questions are painful. The answers are complicated.

I don’t know the answers, but I know one thing. We are building A Healing Place in South Salt Lake. This will be a place of healing for anyone whose life has been touched by abuse. Now that Ethan is gone, is there anyone whose life has not been touched by abuse?

If you would like to help us build A Healing Place, you can make a donation at www.ahealingplacemonument.org. If you would like to volunteer to help you can email me at the same site.

Change. It’s never easy, but this is a good place to begin.

Linda Garner