Anything is Possible!

With Love, Hope, and Perseverance


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Calling on Angels to Send the Rain West

Ocean Angel retake (2)

 

Why so much rain on the east coast?

Praying it goes where it’s needed most.

Calling on angels to gather our rains

Deliver it westward to quiet the flames.

Push rain clouds to the smoke filled sky.

Hurry please, before others die.

Protect those working to make a stand.

Quench the thirst of parched dry land.

Calling on angels to gather our rains

Deliver it westward to quiet the flames.

….

A second response to yesterday’s SOCS prompt: Call

Sometimes I wish I’d written something different for the Stream of Consciousness Saturday post. Here on the Carolina coast, we’ve already met our national rainfall average for the year. We don’t need any more, and I’m hearing thunder again. It just doesn’t make sense. I’m asking God and calling on angels to send just the right amount of rain west to California or anywhere that it’s needed to gently eliminate the fires. My husband who was once a fire fighter tells me a light rain will be best to prevent mudslides since there is little or no vegetation to hold back a lot of rain. A light rain will help those fighting the fires to get their work done more quickly. So let’s pray for steady light rain and safety for all.


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A Ride With An Angel

Angel in green dress with sun (2)

I love this true story from Deborah. Angels are everywhere. Thank you, angels.

learningtolivelikewaterblog

The other day, when I put up a post asking what people were reading, I got into a discussion with Thelonelyauthorblog ( https://wordpress.com/read/blogs/99938820 ) about the book the Alchemist by Paulo Coehlo. It was one of my all-time favorite books. He asked about other books I’d read by Coehlo, and I remembered The Valkyries, and the rather profound journey it took me on, actually starting with The Alchemist. I thought it might make an interesting blog, though I suspect it will take some time to get the story out correctly.

This is a true story.

Back in 2008, I asked for The Alchemist for Christmas. I actually ended up with 2 copies. I was at my sisters for Christmas, the first I’d spent with my family in many years. (I’d left my ex in 2007 and was not yet divorced.) I remember the night before my son and I flew…

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Love Beyond Time

tree of love hugging angels 2

As I paint the energy circles

Floating down, down, down

From the point of re-connection

To the point of separation

It hits me

Like an angel wing

Upside the head.

I’m going back, back, back

In time

With each brush stroke

To plant a seed of hope,

To tell myself at 16,

It’s going to be okay.

You’ll see.

And if I go down (and back)

Just beyond a decade,

And travel sideways,

To the me who was floored

By unfathomable divorce,

I can send the message again,

It’s going to be okay.

Better than okay.

You’ll see!

Trust the Timing.

I started this painting about four years ago. It was supposed to be for the cover of my book. But I didn’t like it. Imagine the painting without the angels and without the energy circles. That’s when I put it aside.

It wasn’t until this month of February that I came back to it and added the angels and the energy circles. As I was painting the circles descending from the top of the heart (the point where my high school sweetheart found me again in 2011) down to the V where the two trees separate (where my high school sweetheart moved away in 1972) that’s when it hit me that I could send this message of hope back in time. Maybe not so much in words, but in whatever way these things happen. Maybe even as I was painting the circles.

tree of love hugging angels close up (3)

As I write this now, I know it sounds weird. But when I was in the painting zone, it was crystal clear.

You can enter my Goodreads Giveaway for a chance to win a Kindle version of Trust the Timing by clicking here.


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Forward Momentum

road between rocks with icicles (2)

The snowflakes looked pretty at first making us think we could make it to Lexington that night. When the snow got thicker, I started looking for something closer as my son drove.

Plenty of truckers braved the storm. Following behind threw more snow and salt on our windshield, so we passed with care. Fear reached for me through eyes involuntarily drawn to the trucks as we passed. My mind imagined them drifting into our lane, thinking, what if the driver doesn’t see us…?

passing a truck closer

( I didn’t think about getting pictures til the trip home.)

 

I knew that wasn’t helping, that I had to get control of my thoughts. I remembered, “What you focus on gets bigger,” and shifted my focus forward. On the next pass, I forced my eyes to stay in our lane, on the road in front of us, beyond the truck.  I prayed, Angels make our path clear and safe. I felt their energy like streams of  light on each side of us, inside and outside the car, moving forward with us. For a few seconds, the car felt weightless. The tension was erased. Instead of fear, I felt courage and slightly exhilarated. All because I shifted my focused to where I wanted to go.  And because of the angels.

 

We stopped in Richmond, Kentucky for the night and made it to Indianapolis the next day. Now, we are home safe. And now, I know how to pass a truck, how to pass anything: Call the angels and focus forward. 

joanne-in-cave-light-4.jpg

Still, I think I’ll stay home for a while.

 

 

 


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I’m Thankful I Didn’t Walk In Front of a Truck.

“The Suicide Note” at Manifesto Amelioration   reminded me that I thought about suicide when I was 20 years old.

It was in the late 70s, after high school when my codependency emerged full force. The guy I’d been dating was not a good fit. But I didn’t get it. Depressed, I dropped out of college, worked in nowhere jobs, and drank more I should have.

I had no active suicide plan, just thoughts about leaving work at the pizza place where I washed dishes with tears dripping into the sink, and walking in front of a truck. I thought about it more than once. Because my stupid boyfriend didn’t love me anymore, and life wasn’t working out at all like I planned.

What stopped me was that I didn’t want to hurt my parents. My little sister had been killed by a drunk driver less than two years earlier. The night she died, my father, the strongest man I’ve ever known, sat in his chair shaking his head and holding a cigarette for the first time in years. I felt his agony.  Even then, I knew that losing one child was a horrible burden for any parent to bear. I would not add to their pain.

I didn’t know how hard my parents were praying for me when I was 20. And that angels were watching over me, sometimes peeking though their fingers, shaking their heads in disbelief as I meandered along the edge of sanity.  I did not walk in front of any trucks, but I did put myself in some risky situations.

Thank you, angels.

 

Angel from Pixabay

Putting one wobbly, angel nudged foot in front of the other, I got over the boyfriend who was never a good fit. I had other boyfriends. I got married, graduated from college, and had two children. There was more heartbreak, but there were joys, too. Big joys. And lots of lessons. Today, my life is better than I could have ever imagined.

My point is that when I was 20 years old and thought about suicide, I didn’t know that the best years of my life were waiting for me.

Hope is always with us, waiting patiently. It gets better.

1-800-273-8255 

Suicide Prevention Lifeline

https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

It ain’t over yet.

 

(The angel photo is from pixabay.)


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Flowing with Synchronicity

Obstructed for years,

Creative juices now flow

Finding their way home.

ralphwaldoemerson1.jpg The Universe Conspires

A few weeks ago, a friend asked if my husband and I wanted some of the left over wood from the construction of her new house. She wondered they could sell it at the thrift store my husband manages. We loaded his truck with scrap wood of various shapes and sizes. With my friend’s blessing, I saved the pieces that wanted me to paint on them. I like to use the knots in the wood as faces or halos and to look for wings and things in the grain.

Angel Heart

Close up of an angel I painted a few years ago.

The following week, I had just left the local bookstore in a shopping village downtown, when I was drawn into a new store that only sells locally made arts and crafts. Entering this store for the first time, I felt good vibes. Much of the art hanging on soft yellow walls was painted on or cut out of wood. I showed the manager photos of my art from my phone. We scheduled a time to bring in my work to show the owner.

Then, on that same morning, I went to a yoga class I had not been to in two weeks. After the class, my book came up in conversation with one the studio owners who happened to be there. She asked me to do a book signing there this summer, maybe along with a workshop.

The next week, I met with the owner of the local art store. She  liked my work and agreed to hang it. I just needed to set prices – not an easy task.

This morning, I dropped off 24 pieces of my art ready to find new homes. It was like sending little pieces of me out into the world – uncomfortable, yet exciting. It helps to remind myself that they weren’t doing anybody any good collecting dust in my spare bedroom studio.

Ocean Angel long dre

I call her Umbrella Angel

Now, I seem to be finding all kinds of things to paint on at the thrift store – wooden trays, boxes, and wood cut outs to be re-purposed into “canvas.”

All of these opportunities are things I did not consciously plan. They were not on my list of strategies to build my creative new life.

Yet, at the end of last year, I made the decision to quit my long time counseling career to focus on art and writing full time.

I believe the universe is conspiring, as commissioned by God, to work on my behalf. At the same time, I’m going with the flow: walking into that gallery I had not planned to go to, going to the yoga class on that particular day and time….

(It’s the same flow my high school sweetheart was going with when he found me 39 years later.)

Sometimes these things take a while. I loved art and writing as a teenager, but chose a different career path. Now, at the age of 61, I’m finally coming back home to my art.

 

The Gift

“The Gift,” which I painted on an old wooden box top two years ago, has been waiting patiently.

If it can happen to me, it  can happen to everyone.

Never

give

up

on

your

dreams!


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Angel Signs in a Brick (Or Am I Just Seeing Things?)

It started with this brick.

brick and pencil lines

My mission was to paint an angel on the brick to be added to the legacy walkway at the Forest of Dreams. Knowing that I sometimes see angels in wood, trees, and clouds, I peered at the brick for angel signs. Over the next hour, all kinds of things emerged in the brick. I penciled in the wings of the head angel and started a sketch of what I saw. It was an emotional experience bordering on mania. I have a reputation for calmness, so my mania could be another person’s normal. Who knows? But when I get in a drawing or painting zone, it feels kinda manic to me. I often talk to myself in this zone. When I was almost finished with the sketch, I started crying. I’m not entirely sure why, but it has to do with beginning to understand what was happening, even though I’m not sure what was happening.  But I can tell you that working on this project definitely had a supernatural feel to it.

brick sketch 1 (3)

When I do this kind of work, it doesn’t matter that the house needs painting, or that I “need” a new kitchen floor, or that my house is cluttered, or that parts of the bathroom floor feel slightly soft when I step on them. When I am lost in this process of discovery with art, it doesn’t matter that gravity is slowly drawing my body parts closer to the earth and that my thighs are lumpy. When I’m in the zone, none of this matters. As long as I can keep my vision and hold a pencil or a paintbrush for another 20 or 30 years, I’m happy.

The image in the brick was too complicated for the purpose of the legacy walkway, so once I got the sketch done, I painted this angel on the brick.

painted brick w angel (2)

 

A few weeks later, motivated by the local Silver Arts competition (part of Senior Games – omg that must mean I’m a senior), I started the painting. It’s not unusual for me to feel tired after a couple of hours in the zone. While painting the images from the brick, I felt more than tired. I had a lot of trouble with the faces, but I kept at it. Waves of exhaustion and subtle nausea passed through me. Maybe it was just low blood sugar. The first time I noticed this, I grabbed a snack, drank some water and kept painting. A little while later, even drinking water and listening to James Taylor didn’t help anymore, so I stopped for the day. The next day, the painting started to come together, and I was on top of the world. Good to remember how those feelings can change.

 I wonder about the energy of the creative process. Have other artists experienced unusual exhaustion or surprising emotion while or after doing creative work?

Of course, the finished painting wasn’t exactly like the sketch. It took on a life of it’s own.

Welcome Home 2017

“Welcome Home” by JoAnna of the Forest/JoAnne Macco

 

I am so thankful God, the universe, and my husband have made it possible for me to stay home to re-discover my creative soul, work on the passions of my heart, and look for signs of angels.