Previously posted Sep 10, 2023
Each one of my five children, holds the number one place in my heart. “Your son Quenton is the Best”, He writes, because he is my “best-oldest son” that I have. Art would not be the same without him and his creative moves. I will leave his footprint signature, proving that he was here first. Thanks Q!
“Mid West Monster was here”
Previously published: Tuesday, March 13, 2012
What a glorious day that God has blessed me and so many others to see this day!
I’m actually off for the first time in years for my birthday. That within itself is wonderful. Judy Gaskin, shares the same birthday and I know she is celebrating too. I sent her a FB happy birthday wish. Nowadays it is customary to receive FB postings wishing you a Happy Birthday.
Today, I plan to have lunch with someone very special, he is so delightful because traveling to a nice place is out of the question for now. One day soon I will travel to Key West and Santa Bell Islands to treat myself. Today or rather until my foot has completely healed I won’t be traveling until after the end of April.
Happy Birthday, me!
Previously published: January, 3, 2011
After I listened to a webcast on Yahoo’s ‘Shine’ about how some women reinvented their lives, their testimonies inspired me to, “Just get busy”. I realized, yet again that I needed to do something different for myself. Throughout the years, I have seen many people’s dreams come to pass. The young girl that I babysat as a teenager, now has a successful business selling popcorn, of all things! She went to the BET awards and placed pictures of herself and her famous people purchasing her popcorn on her Facebook page. I attended college with Larry Bird, who has retired from his basketball career already. For the last, few years my two oldest children have discovered and are cultivating their individual talents and passions. In my position of four years, as an educational recruiter, I had become successful at encouraging people to face their fears and seek their dreams all the while, like an unattended garden my dreams were slowly dying. As much as I wanted to, I could no longer hide behind the excuse that success is for famous people in the news and not really for everyday ordinary people like myself.
Early last year, like a mirage in the desert, I saw a dream formulating in the future with my new husband. For 16 long relentless years my friend patiently waited for me. One day, I quit playing dodgeball with Cupid and was smitten by a very sharp arrow. It was his dream to marry me. “Janice you are my wife.” During those 16 years, I spent more time telling him to go find someone else than I did Photoshopping my own dream. I had resolved within myself that after experiencing two failed marriages. Surely, it was time for this lady to enjoy a blissful marriage, for a change. My idea for my future was to continue enjoying my children, go back to school develop a unique trade. Yet, marriage was not a requirement, not a necessity for me. After careful reconsideration about marriage, I thought to myself, “I will have a purpose, something we can strive for together, our marriage.”
Three months later, I took the marriage receipt back to Cupid, he pointed out the “lemon law disclosure” which was inscribed with .16th font on the rod of the arrow. No exchanges no returns, even if he walks away. Music begins to fill the air around me, “Alone Again, Naturally” Was that Simon and Garfunkel? No! Naturally, I was wrong again, it was actually sung by, Gilbert O’ Sullivan. The only relief I received at that moment was that according to an Internet search, I wasn’t the only person who was confused about the actual singer. Are you familiar with the strange sensation that comes over you after you lock your car door on a cold wintery night and then you realize your car keys are sitting in the driver’s seat? That is the exact feeling I had when I realized how I had helped yet another person realize their dreams, while mine were overgrown with weeds.
As of 2011, I have deleted my ‘supportubutnotme.com’ website. I have received enough hits on it to create a new word for a Google search. I was doing something right, even if it was for someone else. I have been the pillar for new churches, the new leg for everyone’s start-up business. I have encouraged students to pursue their passion and to develop a successful career through education. I encouraged my oldest son to pursue his career in music despite the odds, and my oldest daughter to be sold out for Jesus and now she is in full-time ministry. So, what difference does it make if my ex-husband dies lonely? I’m not mad at him, hope you are not. He was able to fulfill his dreams, of course, with my help. What else were you expecting? Come on! In 2010 or before, if you had a dream … I would direct you to my website supportubutnotme.com. If you were a member, please unsubscribe.
For those women on the Yahoo site, for them, there was a stellar event setting in motion another career much more fulfilling than the one they had left. Me, I just needed to ‘ just do me’. There is no reinvention to initiate here. How could there be when I had not invented the first career yet? It’s time that I develop my quintessential skills and my talents for the purpose God had originally designed for my life. It’s time for me to; support myself, fight for me, and fight for my goals. Just do me! “For whoever has will be given more, and they will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what they have will be taken from them.” Matthew 25:29 NIV
Previously published: Sunday, June 13, 2010
I work in a sales environment and having a positive attitude and strong numbers are very critical for me to maintain my position as the top sales representative. In 2008, my father went through surgery to remove one of his kidneys. Instead of my father staying in for five days, it turned into a five-month stay instead. A month later, two young women attempted to jump my youngest daughter, she left them scrambling to get away from her, they were unaware that she was a bodybuilder. The very next weekend, my middle daughter broke her ankle while skating. The night after her surgery a glass screen door shattered over my son’s head. During that same month, we also discovered my niece had a broken kneecap and that my youngest daughter had a hernia from bodybuilding.
By the time my father was released from rehab, my niece and two daughters all had surgery within 3 weeks of each other. In that particular quarter, I only achieved 98% of my goal. People tried to comfort me by saying, it’s going to be alright, things will get better. What if they don’t, well that’s when I need the strength purpose, and peace of God that joy can bring.
Having the strength to get up and go to work every day, to encourage strangers to pursue their dreams. Strength to take care of the healthy children as well as the sick ones, I needed strength that can only come from God. How many of you have heard the phrase “rejoice through the hard times”? How many of you would be able to remain happy and positive through the season I just described? When all hell was breaking loose in my life, I had to ask myself how I was to keep going. I focused on the bible’s promises to me in Nehemiah 8:10, “The joy of the Lord gives me strength”. NIV I focused on thanking the Lord for the healthy children, for having medical insurance, for my mother who stands faithfully by my father’s side, and for maintaining a job through the recession. As I meditate on the Bible, God gives me direction and comfort. Focusing on joy also gives me a purpose. The joy that brings purpose. “Fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.” Hebrews 12:2 NIV
There was a reason why Jesus suffered the pain of the cross, not for glory, not to be a sensational movie hit. He understood that by dying as he did, he was representing all of our sins, sicknesses diseases, shortcomings, and faults and forever putting them to death. Jesus is my example. What is my purpose, and why have I suffered? I knew that after my father’s surgery, if he didn’t make it, he would be out of pain forever, and if he did make it through the surgery the doctors were removing his kidneys so that he could live longer. I knew the situations my daughters and niece were going through were stressful but in a year’s time, they are all happy and healthier. Like Jesus I was able to focus on the end results, knowing that things would get better, brought me joy and peace. Joy that maintains the peace of God,
When my employer told me they were going bankrupt and we would lose our jobs, I was not worried. “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” Romans 15:13 NIV. I knew that God had another plan for my children and me. I remembered that God promised to take care of us. I was able to walk to work every day head held high. I had a smile for everyone because I knew no matter what, God was going to take care of me and open the doors that I needed to have open and he did. People are always wondering, ‘Janice I don’t know how you do it’ or they will say ‘It’s always something isn’t it? Those questions can be a hook to remind me to worry and stress, especially when I have made up my mind to focus on peace and joy.
Recently all hell started breaking loose again; one child was vomiting blood, I had to rush another child to the emergency room for abdominal pains, and another child to the doctors because he was having numerous headaches, while I was seeking treatment for a damaged rotor cup. I had to leave work often to take care of my sick children, and my numbers at work were starting to suffer. When things became overwhelming and stressful again I sat down not knowing what to do. I asked myself how did I ever make it through before. Then I remembered by focusing on another level of joy…joy that gives strength, and purpose and maintains the peace of God. Through the darkest of hours, I don’t forget about joy.
Previously Published: Saturday, January 16, 2016
I have taken on the dutiful honor of crowning myself as ‘The Silliest Writer Ever!’ Thankfully, this official position of silliness is only a momentary one and the crown shall pass on to the next silly writer, within moments of the writer realizing what everyone else has recognized for quite a while, as obliviously silly and the writer admitting under their breath slowly, “Oh, I get it now”.
Even now, as I contemplate my reign over the ‘Kingdom of Silliness’ and all the silly things ever concocted by a writer, I have two people in mind I have yet to intrigue with my silly antidotes. The irony is that, as I sit here with my millennium list of things yet not accomplished, I am actually excited about the newly found wealth of information that I want to share with them. Yes, these two have served more than 20 unforgiving years honing their specialty to become moguls of their craft. Their blood has laced timelines and their tear-soaked, cheeks have kept, the struggles and the disappointments of life from drying out their dreams and hopes of fulfilling their passion. Their passions have turned into a career that family, friends, and yes-jealous enemies seek out their wisdom and guidance for. Why? Well, because unlike myself, they don’t start their dreams in January, whine that it’s too hard in February, and quit by March. Only to start yet, another diversional grand scheme towards riches for the next three months and continue a madly insane cycle of starting and stopping to nothingness, year after year.
I find myself regularly encouraging everybody else, to write their life story. I always think that what they have to share is so intriguing and certainly the world can’t live another day without their carbon fingerprint carved eternally in the edges of the horizon. My journalistic brain starts envisioning inscribed pages, pages, which turn into articles, articles that turn into best-selling books! I yell out to them “You should write! This is a fabulous story! It will be amazing!” They turn inelegantly towards me with utter bedazzlement, all the while looking quizzically into my eyes searching for any type of life form.
As I reflect upon this newly found silly revelation, it has taken me too long to realize that I have been trying to encourage the wrong people to write. In fact, they despise even the thought of writing, It’s as if I had handed them a red velvet cupcake, with cream cheese frosting, with a live medallion cockroach anchored on it, singing the “Star Spangled Banner”, while I’m eagerly awaiting their approval of this fine delicacy of a thought.
I have come to the obvious conclusion that while am I encouraging everybody else to write a book or a blog about their passion, it is I. Yes, none other than ‘Your Highness of Silliness’ should be writing, myself. Not just in January or February and stop for several months, but I should be writing daily, weekly consistently.
Yes, I, Janice the writer, the motivational speaker, the artist, the mom of five, lover of Jesus, beaches, jazz, and cycling. I take a humble bow before my court as I exit stage left to woo my beloved Mr. Disciplined Consistency. For I have allowed him to allude me for far too long. It’s time I demanded my engagement ring and confirmed our wedding date.
Thankfully, the season has come for me to embrace the realization of what has been an insurmountable task. To develop a consistent lifestyle of writing I must rely on someone much greater than myself as I humbly admit that the inconsistency of my dreams has been my weakness. Therein through my weakness, God shall be my strength.
I have before me a moment-by-moment challenge to remind myself that “I can do all things through Christ” Philippians 4:13 NKJV
as Jon Bloom shares in his The Insanity of Leaning on Our Own Understanding.
I shall not “…lean upon my own understanding.” Proverbs 3:5 NIV as I continue writing.
Previously Published: Saturday, October 24, 2015
It is with much delight and passion that I look forward to writing early in the morning. I have decided that I wanted to develop my writing skills and abilities and to do that I need to set aside a specific time to write consistently each morning. I entered the ‘My 500 Words” in 31 Days challenge by Jeff Goins. I look forward to this time like many people look forward to a night of rest. God forgive me for taking so long, for leaning upon my own understanding. For years I have struggled with staying focused to write consistently. I would allow all types of seeming reasonable excuses to distract me from staying on track throughout the days, which turned into months and those months, eventually turned into years. Years of regret, years of wishing I had stayed focus on my writing career. I would always start, oh yes I could get started in a heart beat, although to finish on my own, well that’s the reason I have struggled all these years on my own.
I began writing in diaries that my mother gave me as a child. I don’t know if it was more of the “ right thing to do” or if she recognized something in me, because she continued to give me diaries and ensured that books were always readily available. As a child I used to find each of the fairy tales and other stories, which were embedded deep in “The Book of Knowledge” encyclopedia twenty-piece set we had at home. I can remember the day that the ” Grolier Dandelion Library Book Set ” was delivered to our home. A Raggedy Ann doll was included and she had a zipper located on her back, allowing for the storage of books, pajamas or what item may have intrigued a little girl at that age. My love for writing was further fueled when I begged my parents for a typewriter for Christmas and they told me that they couldn’t afford it and to my dismay on Christmas morning, there was no typewriter under the tree. My parents guided me to the dining room table where sat my first blue IBM typewriter! I screamed for joy as I ran over to the typewriter reassuring myself that it was really real as I press the buttons and turned the knobs, surely I was the happiest person in the world that day.
As a freshmen, in high school, I remembered entering a writing contest. I was proud of my first story called ‘The Bus‘ it was like a ‘Twilight Zone’ story, I knew that they would select my story as a winner. I don’t know what became of it, since I didn’t win. I allowed that to discourage me from continuing to write publicly. My English teachers would allow the classmates to correct each other’s homework. Many times the comments on my paper were that I didn’t follow directions. I never understood how I didn’t follow the teachers instructions which only further added to my confusion and lack of confidence in my writing. When I attended my first college English class, I asked the instructor a question, his respond was “You should have learned that in High School!” I was too embarrassed to ask any more questions. Again, I allowed all of these negative events to continue fuel my lack of confidence in my writing ability. I hid my desire for writing instead of using the passion and fire inside of me to guide me to more appealing circumstances and people. As the years past and I started a family, the computer replaced my typewriter and I was able to write my thoughts down quicker and with less stress on my hand. I would find myself writing short stories here and there. I would take all of the creative writing classes available while attending in college.
A few years ago I started blogging. “Communicating Joy” is my main blog about the relationships between God and people. I have one called the Five Joys, which I wanted to be about my life with raising my five children. I did do another blog, which I deleted because the information was too controversial. I have also started blogging about my cycling, although I think I need to create a separate blog for cycling, because my adventures in cycling are not the same as the relationships with God and raising my children is a completely different theme than the other two. So, I do have something to write about, my goal is to remain consistent, to become well known and sought after as a writer or even and editor. I want to live the life of a writer, to be free to write after a nice morning ride. To be mentally invigorated with the challenge to complete writing assignments with themes, research and deadlines. That is the life that I truly want to live. And it’s up to me to create it. Although, one thing I have not incorporated in my writing passion, is consistent prayer. I’ve tried to do this on my own. The difference is now I’m praying and asking God to help me to complete these goals, which are burning in my heart to come out. No more will I attempt to do this on my own. Constantly relying one of my favorite scriptures “Trust in the Lord with all your heart; and lean not on your own understanding.” Proverbs 3:5 KJV Prayer, prayer, prayer, and more prayer makes the difference.
So today, I am here, today I have written more than any other day.
Today I am truly enjoying my writing. At the end of the 31 days, I must find another project to challenge me to continue writing, for it is truly one of my heartfelt passions that had never died.
Previously Published: Thursday, May, 5 2016
Embracing the bewildered reality that even though my five children have the same father, their personalities are distinctively unique. I had to make daily, mental adjustments reminding myself, that they were still individuals. Take my youngest two daughters J-Middle and Rissy-Roo, who are approximately 18 months apart. It was a very common scene to see the older toddler J-Middle, always cuddling Rissy-Roo, like a mother koala. In spite of the awkwardness of their sizes, she was very protective, pulling her younger sister around as if she were hauling an oversized luggage through the airport. Rissy-Roo soaked up the extra coddling and attention she was receiving and was oblivious to the fact that her older sister was actually struggling to carry her around.
I’m not sure when they started to separate into their own little worlds but I’m sure it had a lot to do when Rissy-Roo began walking and talking more than J-Middle. J-Middle was and still is the quieter of the brood. As most middle siblings were, she was more observant and very hesitant before making any decisions. Of course, Rissy-Roo was the more flamboyant one, more lackadaisical in her decision-making process and she was talking in full sentences by the time she was one year old. Rissy-Roo talked nonstop most times and for J-Middle that was too much talking for any one person having to bear all that babbling, as J-Middle expressed to me once she became older. J-Middle was one of the least expressionistic, persons I have ever known, watching a lunar eclipse would provide more excitement. Her personality amazes me as her quiet demeanor challenges the noisy presence of her siblings.
Once, while we were stilling living in our 700-foot square home, which I dubbed our version of “The House the Three Pigs Built” ” she came into my bedroom, the entrances to each of the three rooms were parallel to each and within a brief moment it was possible to walk from the bedroom through the small living room and into the kitchen. “Mom, can I cook some pancakes?” J-Middle said in her very quiet and steady voice. “Sure, just as long as your older brother is helping you.” Was my confident reply. She turned and walked from my room back through the short living room, and into the kitchen and moments later returned just as quietly as she left. “Mom…” again with the same quiet and steady voice “… the stove is on fire.” I don’t know if I was in more shock that the stove was on fire or the fact that my child told me without a terabyte of alarm in her voice. Leaping from the bedside, and dashing into the kitchen with turbo speed, I didn’t remember touching the floor of our small living room. As I entered the kitchen, just as J-Middle had expressed, there was indeed a six-foot tongue of flame emerging from the left eye of the stove, licking the white ceiling, leaving sooted slobber behind. My oldest son was standing to the right side of the stove, eyes white with horror; I reached for the fire extinguisher, which was stored underneath the kitchen sink, and quickly smothered the flames on the stove. Meanwhile, J-Middle stood in the doorway of the kitchen…emotionless as always. Rissy-Roo on the other hand, was always to be heard long before she was seen. Many times when I would take her to the grocery store, she would ask for everything on the shelf… “ Can I have that, what about this, oh, Mommy I want those too!” It was difficult to concentrate on the best deals when she was constantly chatting in my ear. J-Middle, on the other hand, would walk through the complete store in silence, just observing.
Many times early in the wee hours of the morning, while deep in my sleep I would feel the gentle touch of a chubby little hand, tapping my arm “Mommy, feed me, feed me…Mommy, Mommy, feed me!” Rissy-Roo was no more than a year old when she developed the habit of waking me long before my alarm would go off. Who taught this child to talk? And why didn’t they give her an on-and-off button? She was also known for the emotional dramatic scenes when a simple yes or no would have worked. Her father found it difficult to even begin to discipline her because she would turn the waterworks on so hard and quickly you would have thought Niagara Falls was relocated to our home, leaving him feeling too guilty to administer the necessary punishment. Once, I discovered Rissy-Roo sobbing, horribly as she
sat in the middle of the floor, frightened and distraught, I picked her up to find out what had caused her such distress… she held out her little finger where the fingernail had torn, not down to the quick, but torn off. Really? Was all of that really necessary? Well, to her it was. As they two grew older their personalities became more distinct especially when both of them were in the same room. We eventually moved from “The House the Three Pigs Built”, due to very obvious dangers that I will not discuss at this time. We moved into our first spacious apartment in Florida. Our apartment was located on the southeast side of Interstate 95, whereas I worked on a cat-a-corner on the west side of the same interstate. The driving time was about ten minutes with traffic and lights. Even though the distance was no more than about 3 miles apart, I could see the treetops from the location where I lived, from the third-floor window of my place of employment.
I worked in a call center, we were required to remain in our seats at all times except of course for bathroom breaks and lunch, my back was towards the windows, oblivious to any activity outside of each phone call. Each phone activity was paramount because commissions were paid based on the amount of money collected during each call, so it was important to finish each call efficiently before going to the next. While in the middle of one of my calls, my supervisor came to me and said I had an emergency at home. I ended the call as soon as possible and went to answer the phone. It was Rissy-Roo, her voice elevated from fear, and crying. “Mom, the trees are falling! It’s lightning I’m scared, I think it’s a tornado!” Looking out the window, southward towards our home, I could see the black rain clouds, thunder, and lighting over the area. It wasn’t raining, nor thundering currently at my location, I wasn’t sure if we would soon be hit or if it would blow over. Trying to think of the best thing to do, I knew I couldn’t drive into what could be potentially bad weather either. Quickly I provided her with instructions for her and her siblings to go to the downstairs apartment, where our friendly neighbor and his wife would know what actions to take. By the time my shift was over, so was the storm. I hurried home to my children. I knocked on my downstairs neighbor’s door, expecting to express my gratitude for an untimely babysitting request. Instead, we were both surprised because my children were not there! I quickly scaled the steps to our second-floor apartment and as I opened the door, I saw my two oldest daughters watching TV in the living room, Rissy-Roo apparently in her bedroom lying down. Confused, I asked, “Why didn’t you go downstairs during the storm?” J-Middle, in her quiet and steady voice….”Mom, there was no tornado, you know Rissy-Roo she is scared of everything!” Raising my five children was the greatest experience of my life. If I had the opportunity to do it again, I would with great joy. I learned just as much about life from each one of them as they learned from me, it’s just paradoxically so!