Way too early to be blogging or far too late.

2:46 am
The steady breathing of my daughter accompanies the clicking of my keyboard in a random rhythm as darkness is broken by the shaft of back light reflecting from my face and arms.  I shift positions to angle the light away from her sleeping face and pound on the keys of my netbook. 

No great revelations capture my mind, no epiphanies or staggering theories tumble from my brain.  So why do I write?  Because it is time...because blogging brings less pressure than noveling, because I have already commented on all my facebook friend's statuses and because I cannot sleep...I write.

I have watched a sinful amount of TV in the last two weeks I have been on vacation and my neck is sore for the cramped position of staring at the TV.  (A sure indication that the couch potato hours have reached apocalyptic proportions.)  Who knew the History Channel was so fascinating?

I have found I have a problem when it comes to television watching and this newly identified problem explains my propensity for fantasy.  I cannot watch a news program or documentary without experiencing deep empathy for people in the world who have been mistreated, downtrodden, or held captive by whatever foe entraps them.  This empathy is not normal.  I find myself crying, praying, sobbing over the dear brave woman from Tripoli, who was raped by the border patrol officers and had the courage to crash the press conference that the political leader had called to stroke his reputation internationally.  Her screams and cries of injustice pierced my soul and I poured out tears and prayers for her and her sister citizens who live in oppression.

The sweet poverty stricken man who lived in a toppling house with 40 rusting cars nestled in the overgrowth of his front yard spoke through the screen to me.  The sadness in his eyes and the near insanity that crippled his mind staggered me.

The single woman who lives in Calgary, loves out door sports and just wants a house on the beach in Belise so she can make friends with the locals, inspired me to get outside of my little shell of comfort and meet the locals in my own town.

Prayers kept pouring out of me, love for these total strangers overtook me and I found myself thinking about how we are all connected.  We are connected in ways we will never quite understand.  We breathe each other's breath.  We drink each other's waters.  We pass into the fertile earth to nourish the future generations. These are just physical connections, the temporal and fleeting connections.  How deeply are we connected spiritually? Eternally?

Will we ever completely grasp that our DNA is identical except for a few modifiers and what that means?

We are one. 

The woman on the beach in Belise is my sister as well as the brave woman in Tripoli.  That isn't such a stretch to believe.  But the idea of being one with them is very difficult to accept.  But it is true.  We are one race, the human race. (I know, I know, cue sappy We are the World music, right?)  But it is a fact, when one of us suffers, we all are damaged.  When one of us perpetrates, we all must carry the consequence, if not the responsibility. 

When a commercial about starving children disturbs my dreams and drives me to prayer or action, I begin to see how I am connected to that child and directly to his plight.  When the news informs me of a family gunned down by daddy in a Santa suit, and I feel the gunshot wound in my chest, I connect to them.  When a bad report of Wall Street makes my heart seize with fear and the frantic faces on the screen send their elevated stress levels straight into my living room, I start to realize...we are connected.  We are one.

As I send out my sensors into the sludge of the human condition and am bombarded by such strong emotions, such heavy discernment, by empathy and sympathy to the broken, I can only do one thing... turn off the news channel and turn on a show about vampires or some Science Fiction escape.    That is my usual response, I am embarrased to say.

But what if I chose to pray, instead?

Not just a quick thought in a vertical direction, but a deep and abiding connection to the empathic abilities of the Holy Spirit, and prayers begin to rise like incense.  Thoughts and words that are not mine begin to form inside of me as the Holy Spirit connects me, spiritually, to the subject of my prayers.  I begin to sense their pain and brokeness and I am broken too. 

I get so saddened by the fundamental blather that is so quick to criticize, accuse, scoff, and blame.  Their very words spoken with intent to illuminate, just add darkness and confusion to an already broken and hurting world.  If they would just take a moment to reach out, with spirit arms and connect to the ones they would target, or at the very least connect with the Holy Spirit about the situation before they pass along that status or criticize that party, maybe they would begin to feel true love and empathy for them.

Saddened and embarrassed at my own inclinations to do this.
I have been the greatest offender.  I have spouted off some harsh statement or dissenting opinion in a less than gentle manner.  I have debated my beliefs and ideations vehemently and I probably will again, unfortunately.  But if I have a New Year's resolution this year, let it be this.

I will pray more, condemn less, love outwardly, critique inwardly and live my days in unbroken connection to the Holy Spirit.

Oh dear, I have to turn off the TV now, the sad commercial about abused animals is getting to me...I guess that will be my next late night blog...sigh.

Happy New Year my beautiful friends and family.  Let's make it ONEderful.  (We are the world, we are the children, we are the ones who...)

Into the Abyss

   Tears spilled down my cheeks.  I was terrified.  I didn't know how to play these songs, or these keys, my brain felt sluggish, I couldn't think fast enough, my fingers wouldn't move to the right notes. The worship leader was sick, so the song list had completely changed.  We were given the songs as we walked in the door, so I didn’t get the usual hours of practice during the week.    Church was starting in 40 minutes, 30 minutes, 15 minutes and I wasn't ready.  This was it.  It was time to play or quit.   I had to choose...walk away and tell them, I just can't do it (very tempting) or believe that He would give me a miracle and cause my fingers and mind to work.

   "You are getting too old for this kind of stress, LaDonna!  Just walk away."  "You don't have to put yourself through this kind of torture.  They will be just fine without you...better even!"  "You are about to really embarrass yourself."

   The practice was over.  Church was about to start.  We never did work out the transition to that last song.  We didn't get the right chords in the chorus.  We didn't even get through the whole song!  My hands were shaking.  It was a disastrous and nerve wracking rehearsal.  I played more wrong chords, than right chords.  I hit more off beats than on.

   We walked to the green room to pray before the service.  On the way, Jarrod said "Well..." sigh.  "What do you think?"  

    I answered, "I think, I am on the verge of bursting into tears."  I don’t have it in me to take praise and worship lightly.  It is serious business, a sacred trust, and I was about to breech that trust with a hideous display of incompetency.

   We walked into the room and Annie was on her knees.  I fell to the floor beside her, desperate.  She began to pray.  I don't remember all the words to her beautiful prayer, all I remember is praying in agreement.  "God, help us!  Take our hands our voices, our minds.  Play and sing through us.  In our weakness you are strong.  In our weakness you are strong.  In our weakness you are strong."

   Then we were walking through the door, past the game table, into the side room, up the stairs, onto the stage.  I looked at the people, their faces up turned with expectation or hunger, need and lack.  They had come to meet with God.  They were waiting for us to lead them into the holy place.  They had left their issues and problems, worries and needs to come to this place to hear from Jesus, to feel His presence, to sing His praises.  They were depending on us to be ready to take them there. 

   We weren't ready physically, musically.  I was the least prepared, the rookie musician.  But something had happened in that prayer room.  Surrender.  We chose to trust Him to be the worship leader, the singer, the musician.  We relinquished control.

    The count, the intro, the music started.  We pressed our hands against the keys and strings and He took over.  We opened our mouths and forced air through our vocal chords and He sang.  We stopped looking at one another for cues and fell into a particular unison, a river of Spirit sound that rushed by and carried us away in its great current.

   By the second song, I realized I wasn't even thinking, I was worshiping.  My fingers formed chords that I didn't even know.  My hands moved in rhythms not even possible for my level of coordination.  My heart soared.  He was using my body to create worship, He was moving through me.  Not just enhancing my ability but actually taking control of my faculties. 

   I was stunned.  Humbled.  Overwhelmed.  Literally.

   Tears fell freely down my face and onto the black and white keys at my fingertips.  Words I had never formed spilled from my lips.  Miraculous notes and harmonies poured forth from a soul that had been emptied of pride only to be filled with Him.

   Jesus led worship that day.  He was ready even though I wasn't.  He met His people and touched their needs, healed their hurts, breathed in their praise. 

   When I told this story, my friends and family all but rolled their eyes.  I could see the disbelief on their faces.  I saw them process the information through natural explanations and rational events.   

   Understandable.  I would have done the same thing in their shoes.  Maybe you are there now, coming up with many arguments, imagination, drama queen, senility as they did, quietly in the natural processing of reason and fact.

 They weren't there.  They don't know how utterly terrified and unfit I was.  They only see the fact that I play frequently.  How big a deal could it be?  They don’t know that I practice 3 or more hours a week on one or two songs.  They think I am exaggerating.  Only God and I know the truth.  It was His hand, His mind, His ability that played that day.  I had nothing to do with it.

  I came so close to walking away.  I almost took the easy way out.  I could have walked off the stage gracefully, keeping my dignity intact, no risk, no chance of humiliation.  Instead, I chose to trust.  I offered what I had...my loaves and fishes...(or in my case shaky fingers and foggy brain) to the Miracle Maker.  I stepped off of the cliff of security into the unknown abyss of faith right into His miraculous arms.  In doing so, in shedding my need for dignity and control, I was overtaken by the Holy Spirit and was merged with the master creator, the master musician, The Master.

NaNoWrimo

I have accepted a challenge for the month of November.  What is this challenge?  I am going to write a full manuscript (novel) in the month of November, fifty thousand words, minimum.  YES!  The name of this book is Refrain, Bard of Ampeliagia.  It is the book that focuses on Lady Grace.  So just to catch you up with the Sisterhood of the Sword Saga, see below.

Book One- Sisterhood of the Sword
Book Two- Threshold, Tsian the Wise
Book Three-Descent, Warrior Child
Book Four- Refrain, Bard of Ampeliagia
Book Five- Deluge, Rain of the Queen

So there it is, the first Saga of the Chronicles of Ampeliagia.  If I live long enough, I'd like to write the Dragon Wars Trilogy, The Darchewud Revolution, Valen's Journey and several other stories.  All of these books are part of the Chronicles of Ampeliagia.   Whew! When will I find time to write my zombie book or my YA series?

If I get 5 comments or feedback on my author page this week, I will post the prologue for Refrain.  Go check it out...click fire pit picture on this page to get you to my facebook author page http://www.facebook.com/LaDonnaColeAuthor

Gotta get busy writing!

Riddle Contest

I am having a contest on my facebook author page. (Stop by if you haven't already and click like.)

Once I get to 60 likes, I will take all of the correct answers to the riddle put them in a hat and draw a winner. The lucky and brilliant winner will receive a $20 gift card.

Get your entries in ASAP and spread the word to your friends to click like at http://www.facebook.com/LaDonnaColeAuthor

Send your best guesses to LaDonnaColeRN@yahoo.com or respond by email below.


Collector of What?

By LaDonna Cole

I forage these fragments to advance my plot, to enhance the lot, or romance the jot .

I gather these glyphs to turn the phrase, to burn the page, to earn the praise.

I stay them in silence or loose them to riddle, or spruce with a tittle, misuse them a little.

I collect the colloquial to rave my world, to brave the churl, to save the girl.

What do I collect?

2011 Football Game @ Red Bank

Bailey and Rachel working hard while the band goofs off...wait...uh...

9/23/11 - Polk County Game

This is my personal favorite part of the whole show! Pound on that can, Bailey!!!

9/23/11 - Polk County Game