Challenges of Chronic Illness

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A few weeks ago, I met Hannah Wingert at the Preston, MN library and learned that besides being a mother of four and working at the library, she’s written a book published last year. After reading this non-fiction wealth of encouragement for those navigating debilitating illnesses, especially during their parenting years, I’m astounded Hannah found the time and energy to devote to writing.

Her story and suggestions about living with the emotional and physical challenges of chronic illness most likely have something to say to just about any reader, whether in their parenting years or not. I know I could relate as someone in recovery from a couple of accidents.

I learned a new term… Spoonie. Have some of you already heard of this? (Notice the spoons on the cover.)

Hannah agreed to an interview and is offering a paperback copy of her book, Yet Will I Praise Him to a commenter here. Perhaps her perspective ignites questions for you–please feel free to ask her, and also please share this post widely, as she desires to help as many readers as possible. Thanks!

Interview:

How is coping with a chronic disease different from other challenges you see people face?

It really isn’t. Most people face challenges at some point in their lives and the way we handle them boils down to “will I let this make me bitter or better?” The truths of God’s Word apply to all circumstances and struggles.

How did you decide your book would focus on moms?

After receiving my diagnosis of EDS, I decided to look for a book about being a mom with a chronic illness from a faith based perspective to help me deal with my new reality, but couldn’t find any. So, I decided to write one because I figured that if I was looking for something like that, other moms might be too.

What is the most practical, helpful daily advice you have been given along the way?

Honestly, I don’t even remember who told me this, but the most helpful advice I ever received was to take one step at a time and just get through the next thing in front of you. It’s easy to get overwhelmed and anxious about what’s coming, or the unknowns, or even how much I have on my to-do list and how little energy I have to accomplish it.

But if I focus on just getting through that difficult, pain-filled day, or that first thing on my to-do list, I can keep from falling apart. Shortly after someone gave me that advice, I happened to read Matthew 6 and the last verse in that chapter (verse 34) says “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.” It cemented for me how good that advice really was!     


What would you say to someone who has just discovered they have a long road ahead of dealing w/a chronic illness?  


Allow yourself to go through the stages of grief. Learn as much as you can about your condition because often patients have to be the experts when the doctors are not. Connect with others going through similar struggles for support and give yourself grace on those bad days. 

 

What is it about chai lattes that has you hooked?

I’ve never liked coffee so quite a few years ago, when I was at a coffee shop with my mom, she urged me to try a chai latte. I took one sip and was hooked! Some people have to have their coffee everyday, but for me it’s a chai latte. 

The link to purchase Hannah’s book:  https://www.amazon.com/Yet-Will-Praise-Him-Parenting/dp/1649600119

Tough Times–Tough Folks!

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First published in

Hope for Hardscrabble Times -A Hill Country Christmas FB page

I love introducing people–this old world has so many cool individuals. Today, please meet an extremely creative young person with ideas and art popping all of the time. How do I know this? She’s my grandaughter Cora Joy, known in our family for nearly seventeen years now as Cora Baby. And what a sweetheart she is!

Here’s her latest wall art, and she’s an athlete, too. At the opening volley game a couple of weeks ago, she tweaked her left knee—yep, this girl who has yearned for the beginning of the season, practiced all winter to hone her skills . . . I have been proud of her many, many times, but never more than now, when she’s come upon some hardscrabble times.

But like the heroes and heroines of the stories in our Hill Country Christmas Collection, she knows how to hang in there. To make do. To bring advantage out of disadvantage.

We can’t wait until she can play again, but going to her games still perks us up. She’s ALL THERE, regardless of adverse circumstances. Cheering her teammates on, greeting each member who comes off the floor, totally present in the moment. Reminds me of several of our characters, folks from various eras who faced war, pestilence, pandemic, and a host of other personal trials with spunk (to borrow a WWII term.)

So our family is cheering for Cora…and the authors of our Christmas Collecction are cheering right up to release day, October 1, too. May each of our tales brighten the homes of readers everywhere and provide examples of facing down obstacles with SPIRIT.

Who in your present or past knows how to look tough times in the eye and keep on movin’ ahead? Please share about one of them here!

LIFE IN THE SLOW LANE

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Hope for Hardscrabble Times – A Hill Country Christmas

Let me introduce you to my new writer friend, Shannon Mcfarland. She’s a “born writer” contributing a story to our A Hill Country Texas–Hope for Hardscrabble Times collection. You’ll see here how her observations on a simple snail flow. LOVELY! Reprinted with permission, first published on FB page Hope For Hardscrabble Times, August 20, 2022.

Hey y’all, Shannon here! I recently recovered from Covid. Thankfully, my symptoms were mild and the worst side effect was the frustration of being quarantined at home. I found working from home to be terribly boring and was anxious to get back to my normal routine of nonstop movement. Now my morning routine was taking a Covid test, being hopeful for a negative response, and being disappointed when it would read positive.

One morning I was especially pouty over my positive test (although I did make myself feel a little better with the reminder that at least it wasn’t a positive pregnancy test.) and decided to go water the plants in my drought stricken yard. I had transplanted a jasmine from our old house and was doing my best to keep it alive in the brutal summer heat. Usually, this means I hurriedly dump water on it as I rush off to do something else.

This morning, I decided to take my coffee out with me and sit on the porch next to the Jasmine while watering it slowly. As I gently poured out the water, I noticed the ground next to the jasmine moving… right before a tiny snail popped his head above ground looking for water. I looked around for a leaf that would make a suitable cup.

CLICK HERE TO WATCH VIDEO

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Then I carefully dripped water off of my finger tips into the curled underside of the leaf before positioning it close to the snail. I sat lost in the moment and watched captivated as the snail greedily drank the water from the leaf. The experience reminded me of a favorite childhood book about fairies and elves having picnics and dances with garden creatures under a full moon. I always wished I could join their fun.

Now here I was, sharing the morning with a snail. Me with my cup of coffee, him with his leaf of water. The snail was on his third leaf of water when it occurred to me to see if I could get a video. I have since sat on the porch with my coffee in hopes my snail friend might be enticed to come join me for a fresh leaf of water.

So far, Mr. Snail has declined. While I can’t say I am happy I had Covid, I can say that I will always be grateful one of the side effects was slowing down enough to enjoy a morning with a snail.

Gail here–hopefully, your end-of-summer is providing moments like this. Moments to reflect, to ponder, to connect! We have been having fun connecting over on the HOPE FOR HARDSCRABBLE TIMES FB page–come on over and join us for news of our Christmas Collection and the upcoming book tour!

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The Back Side of Summer (and suffering)

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As August approaches full bloom, some surprises surface. Just outside our windows, some intrepid morning glories we DID NOT PLANT are all about decorating an old trellis after the clematis has died out for the year. I took the photo from the inside, through the screen, but these beauties are still gorgeous.

Not far away, this upstart sunflower lifts its head to its source. Thank you birds, for planting this one, and Granddaughter Cora for snapping this shot. We’ve noticed how every morning, the blossom turns eastward to greet the morning sun, and by afternoon, has revolved to the other side of our world.

I’ve been thinking a lot about pain lately–so many types to consider. My Texas friends post photos of deep crevasses in their soil because of the horrible drought. Such a heart-rending form of loss. A few weeks ago, a long-time friend of mine passed from this life after a seemingly endlesss battle with cancer.

Another friend faces surgery for breast cancer in two weeks, and another, only 38 years old with an infant and a young child, has entered the same struggle. You all have many other names to add to this list–suffering lurks everywhere around us.

Of course, we’ve all heard how it makes us better people in the long run. Some of us have memorized these promises, claimed them . . . but when sorrow or pain or terrible loss hits us, we may forget their consolation for a time.

To quote R. W. Emerson: Every moment instructs, and every object; for wisdom is infused into every form. It has been poured into us as blood; it convulsed us as pain; it slid into us as pleasure; it enveloped us in dull, melancholy days, or in days of cheerful labor; we did not guess its essence until after long time.

“We did not guess its essence until after long time.” Wisdom coming to us in pain? Sure doesn’t feel like it!

Every single moment instructs us–looking back over some of the worst situations of my life, I know this is true. One recent outstanding circumstance comes to mind–the April night before surgery for my broken femur. Confined to bed, watched over by caring nurses, I “got used to” my new state. And right in the middle of my conjectures, someone’s comment reminded me of all the good that had come my way during the past year.

A sense enveloped me that, based on these past experiences, all would be well this time, too. If my Creator could resolve those long-term struggles, surely this one lay within the reach of grace.

How many times have I traveled this route with one of my characters? A reader wrote me yesterday, asking if I had planned from the beginning for a horrendous loss to strike one of them. No, I hadn’t. As the story progressed, like real life, an almost unbearable grief entered his life–and he grew through the experience.

Just like we do.

Here’s the front side of the morning glories. Some years I’ve tried to transplant them, but they really do much better totally on their own. From the back, the glow of early morning sunshine makes this scene just as pretty. A new perspective…sunshine where we might not have expected it. Beauty poking into our kitchen.

Recently I read this on a FaceBook post, with no author mentioned:

Never regret a day in your life: good days give happiness, bad days give experience, worst days give lessons, and best days give memories.

When pain besets us, this becomes our challenge. Life is hard–yes, that’s true. But life also offers us so much that’s good, both on the front side and the back.

August Thoughts

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Ttwitters outside my window tell the tale of a wren family’s second birthing this summer. Both of our wren houses have hosted these events–of course, we’re unsure if it’s two families, or one doing double-duty. Tell me if you know!

Lance has become such a great photographer–and as I’ve been mostly confined to watching from the window, his patience radiates to my heart. He’s been very patient with me, too, not an easy task since my second bone break/surgery this spring.

By July, I thought I’d be recuperated. By August, surely. But today I start a med I’ve always vowed to refuse. Shows what happens when you’re quite desperate.

Can we be “quite” desperate? Or is that like being quite pregnant?

Anyway, pain makes an intrepid teacher, and along with our courtyard flowers, our feathered family has provided a distraction. I can see them right this moment, Mama busy doing all she can to provide for her young, and Papa singing the most impressive songs. (I think he helps find worms, too, but am not sure.) Again, do tell if you know for sure!

Meanwhile, I’m so grateful I can still write most of the time. A Hill Country Christmas/Hope for Hardscrabble Times is about to go to press, thanks to Lynn Dean’s work…the sort of tedious labor that would drive me crazy.

We’re excited to look forward to more good times in Texas Hill Country in October, and I’m scheduled to facilitate an all-day workshop in Olathe, KS in November. To that end, I would really appreciate your prayers for this med to work. And if you’d like to boost our new FB page, we’d be thrilled. You’ve heard of FB jail? Well…let me just say one of our authors received an unwarranted penalty, so we could use your help in sharing/liking/etc.

https://www.facebook.com/ahillcountrychristmas/?notif_id=1658506714180216&notif_t=page_user_activity&ref=notif

Thanks for your support in so many ways!

The Old Days

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For A Hill Country Christmas, each author has been sharing “stuff” about ourselves on our new FB page, Hope for Hardscrabble Times

In search of brilliant things to write, I came upon this tidbit from a rural 1960’s newspaper:

If you’re from the midwest, I imagine this won’t seem peculiar. But for my author friend out in Connecticut, it does. She marvels at the “stuff” written about friends and family, right in the weekly local newspaper.

The marked names (in yellow) are my cousin’s doing–she has the patience to find and send these remnants of the past my way, and I’m sograteful. In this instance, the farmer who lost his pinky finger in an accident played a huge role in my childhood, and reading about his accident tweaked one of my most vivid memories–the day he got tangled up in the corn picker.

It’s the only Thanksgiving I recall, at Grandpa and Grandma’s, eating turkey with all of the cousins, crammed into a plain small farmhouse. On warmer holidays we ran around outside, chased chickens, swung from the gate–figured out something to pass the time.

But late November in Iowa turns nasty cold, so we most likely sat around…maybe played cards or something. Lots of younger cousins kept me busy, and my aunts Donna and Shirley Donna and Shirley, mentioned in this issue, too, took an interest in us kids.

Then the phone rang. Dad had gotten hurt, so an uncle and Mom took off to drive him to the hospital. And we waited. My tendency for catastrophic thinking had a heyday…one of our uncles lost his entire arm in his corn picker and wore an interesting but kind of scary metal hook. Surely Dad would come home minus an arm, too.

Of course, it took forever to hear an update, so this scenes became stuck in time. I remember Aunt Shirley trying to comfort me, “Now, Gail. It’s probably just the very tip of his finger.”

In the end, “it” wasn’t as bad as I imagined–only a forfeited pinky finger. Dad had been through WWII, driven a truck across North Africa, watched a B47 fully loaded with soldiers returning home blow up on the tarmac.

That Thanksgiving day when I was about ten or eleven, he drove himself back to our house to clean up before going to the hospital. And he wore his lost pinky with pride, I might add.

Interesting how a few lines in a newspaper can make the memories flow!

If you like this step back into history, you’ll LOVE our FB page…HOPE FOR HARDSCRABBLE TIMES! Please give us a LIKE and a Follow.

https://www.facebook.com/ahillcountrychristmas

Riding in A Covered Wagon– not all it’s cracked up to be!

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Donna Schlachter, Author and Story Teller, visits us this week with her new novel, Calli. Words that paint pictures, pictures that tell stories, and stories that change hearts. Read on for information she learned researching her latest novel and a GIVEAWAY.

I love western movies. The long rides into the sunset. Horses that always do what you ask of them. People who help you out of a tough spot. The bad guy always gets what’s coming to him. And, of course, travel in a covered wagon–comfortable, convenient, and carefree.

What’s that? Wrong!?

But that’s the way movies show them, isn’t it? Rolling along across the flat prairie. Children skipping alongside. Butter churned by the end of the day. Complete dinners prepared over a campfire. Coffee always available.

As any of the hundreds of thousands of westward emigrants could attest—and often did, in their journals, letters home, and books—covered wagons and their journeys weren’t as easy a way to journey as we think.

In researching my recent book, Calli, I discovered the following facts which I found very interesting:

  • Although most movies show Conestoga wagons, they were rarely used in the west because they were too heavy to pull up and down mountains. Instead, the small and lighter wagon, often a simple farm or cargo wagon, was used.
  • Oxen were used even more often than horses. Oxen are stronger, can pull for more hours a day, and are more durable than horses.
  • Clambering into a covered wagon involves getting your body up at least five feet above the ground. Step stools were rare, so unless somebody stood on the bed and hauled you up, your path usually involved the wheel hub, the top rim of the wheel, then gripping the side of the wagon and hoisting your leg over. All in a skirt and several layers of petticoats that reached to your ankles, if you’re a woman. 

Giveaway: I will gift one lucky randomly-drawn winner with an ebook copy of Calli. Leave your answer to the following question AND include your email address cleverly disguised in this format: donna AT livebytheword DOT com  That way the spammers can’t find you, but we can!

Question: What’s the strangest vehicle or method of conveyance you’ve ridden/driven in. For me, the moto-taxis in Lima Peru. 

About Donna:

A hybrid author, Donna writes squeaky clean historical and contemporary suspense. She has been published more than 50 times in books; is a member of several writers groups; facilitates a critique group; teaches writing classes; ghostwrites; edits; and judges in writing contests. She loves history and research, traveling extensively for both. 

Stay connected so you learn about new releases, preorders, and presales, as well as check out featured authors, book reviews, and a little corner of peace. Plus: Receive a free ebook simply for signing up for our free newsletter! www.DonnaSchlachter.com

BLOSSOMING

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Recently my sis gave me this vase for my birthday. (We agree not to give each other gifts, but sometimes the temptation overwhelms us.)

Don’t you love the whole idea of blossoming? Blossoms, though fragile and short-lived, make such a difference in our world. This year, especially, when I’ve been pretty much confined to the house, flowers in bloom (seen through the windows) have really spread cheer.

BUT during the past few days, I’ve been able to walk about a little bit . . . water the pots on our deck, relocate a couple of misplaced plants, smell blossoms, even take a short walk on our back path with Lance right beside me. Ahh…lovely!

Seems to me that blossoming is what most of us truly long to do. We want to use our gifts to brighten this sad old world. I’m grateful for writing as a vehicle to do just that. To that end, I’ve been working on short stories lately, tales from history (both long ago and recent) that warm the heart.

These will appear in A Hill Country Christmas, releasing in September. How fun to work with Hill Country author Lynn Dean and several others to create a lovely book for readers to enjoy this winter!

It’s already nearly July, and soon autumn colors will brighten our blossoms. That’s okay, too–fall = my favorite season.

May this season of life bring you joy as you use your gifts.

Eighty Years Ago in Summer’s Heat

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Sweltering temps have arrived in full force. Reminds me that eighty years ago, some American citizens had been ushered into poorly insulated camps to sweat out the summer. Taken from their homes in various areas of our country as potential enemy aliens and shipped to internment camps, they had no choice.

Years later, some government officials regretted these actions, especially in certain specific cases where very slim evidence led to arrests of innocent families and great hardship.

LAND THAT I LOVE addresses this historical situation that I discovered through my research for this novel. Of course, I knew about Japanese and Italian citizens forced from their homes and livelihoods. But who had heard of this occurring to German American citizens, as well?

Sometimes we uncover disheartening facts about the past–a camp specifically for German-American citizens sat deep in the heart of Texas. Imagine the heat these interned Americans endured! It’s good to understand the tensions people experienced during World War II, and to learn from the ways they coped.

If this bit of information intrigues you, I think you’d enjoy reading Land That I Love.