Finally, 'fore!' in California!

Saturday was a beautiful day in Los Angeles. It was 66 degrees and sunny. Perfect golf weather made even better by the knowledge that there had been a snowstorm in the east the day before. So when a co-worker of Angela's found out we had never played golf, never even hit balls, in California, she decided Saturday would be the day to remedy that.

It's true, even though we've lived in California almost four years, I've never swung a club here. I moved my clubs around in the garage and thought about it many a time but life always got in the way. But guess what? There's this pretty famous public golf course just a few miles from our house down Pico Boulevard right across from Fox Studios. I drive by it numerous times a week. I watch people in golf wear, people in sweat pants, people who can't hit the ball, people who probably should be across the street working, all playing but until this weekend, it had never been me.

So off we went on Saturday. Our new friend Susan and her husband are golfers and she grew up just down the street from "Rancho" so she showed us the ropes. The place was packed, as it is most days, but we managed to get two stalls next to each other after only a few minutes. Between us we hit a couple hundred golf balls (I have the blisters still healing on my hands to prove it) and had so much fun. We had brunch at a nearby restaurant after and just reveled in the idea of being in Southern California in February, playing golf.

And we found out several members of our Bible study are golfers so I sense another outing soon...

Second Lenten devotional of the season

The second Lenten devotion I wrote that appears in the Hollywood United Methodist Church booklet:

Mark 1:9-15

Jesus was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.

There’s a comment in my Student Bible that says Jesus preferred rural and small-town areas and spent amost two-thirds of his working life in the remote northern regions. I really like the picture of Jesus this paints in my mind. He loved small towns and he loved spending time with people, one-on-one and in small groups. Yes, he spoke to larger groups as well but most of the stories we know of Him tell of Him with just a handful of people.

I love small towns. I grew up in one. I moved to an even smaller town for college. Then I moved to a relatively small town in Arizona. And yet, here I am in Los Angeles, the second largest city in America. And yes, at some point every day, I ask myself why.

The answer? Because there is the potential here to affect change, to be bigger than oneself, to make a mark not just on my small corner of life but on the world. And I sense Jesus knew that as well. And yet…I find myself wondering what it would be like to be in the wilderness with Jesus. Not necessarily to be tempted or spend time with the wild beasts but to spend time with my Lord, one-on-one, in quietness.

So can we do both? Spend quiet time “in the wilderness” with God and yet live in the big city? Yes, I believe so. And often times, it’s after coming home from that wilderness that we are able to see things so much more clearly. After Jesus left the desert he proclaimed the news: “The kingdom of God is near. Repent and believe the good news!” And hopefully, after spending time in the wilderness, whether it be while being tempted or just quietly contemplating life with our Savior, we all will come out proclaiming the good news of Lent and the Resurrection.

Prayer:

God, please help us to realize that the wilderness can be a place of growth and rejuvination no matter the trials we may face before or during.  Amen.

First Lenten devotional of the season

The first Lenten devotion I wrote that appears in the Hollywood United Methodist Church booklet:

Joel 2:13

Return to the Lord, your God, for God is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love.

The beginning of verse 13 says to “rend your heart and not your garments.” In the time of Joel, people tore their robes as a outward sign of remorse but that isn’t what God wanted. He wanted people to change. He wanted people, honestly and with their whole hearts, to come to Him, to be broken in front of Him. And I’m pretty sure that’s what He still wants from us today.

God doesn’t care whether or not we go to church, wear a cross around our neck, or carry our Bibles through town. He never has and yet, so many people still to this day, believe that’s what matters most. That if you act like you’re a Christian, you love Jesus more and in turn, He’ll love you more.

But that’s not true. What’s true is that God’s love is available for the taking. It’s right there, no matter what we’ve done or not done to deserve it. “God is kind and merciful. He takes a deep breath, puts up with a lot. This most patient God, extravagant in love, always ready to cancel catastrophe” (The Message).

I like the image of God taking a deep breath. He’s patient, like our parents were when we were younger and just learning how to do things. He’s trying to teach us how to love Him. How to accept His love. He’s reminding us that no matter what, He’ll be there. He’ll never leave, never give up.

Lent is a season of preparing. Preparing for the death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ. But it’s also a season of hope. A season that ends with an amazing sacrifice and the most awesome display of love any of us could ever hope to receive. Believe in it. Rejoice in it. Celebrate it. Live it.

Prayer

Lord Jesus, help us to change on the inside, not just on the outside. Help us to accept your love and then share it with others. Amen.

Taking action because cancer sucks

Cancer sucks.

That's about it, right? If you know anyone who's had cancer, is fighting cancer, or who has lost the battle, you get it. You know just how much cancer sucks.

But guess what? There's something we can do about. You and me. We're able to walk, we're able to run, we're about to give $5 or $500 and try to help find the cure. Because it's out there. You know it. I know it. The people in our lives fighting the fight believe in it.

For me, participating in the EIF/Revlon 5K isn't just about raising money. It's about raising a voice. It's about yelling, as loud as we possibly can, that we want to do something about this problem. We want to show the people in our lives we care enough to put our money where our mouth is, so to speak. It's about taking action.

2011

If you are able, please consider donating here. If you're so inclined, say a prayer for Marilyn and Jim, the two people I walk in honor of. If you're interested, read more on why I walk here, here and here.

And thank you. For giving this fight a voice. For taking action.

The Lint Trap

Last year a former co-worker of mine from Arizona invited me to join a Facebook group she'd created. She and another online friend had decided to give up FB games for Lent and write instead. So they created the FB group which we loving call the LINT trap now and we were each challenged to write for 40 days in a row. Most of us (there are around 20 members) met the challenge. I wrote every single day of Lent last year even the day my Grandmother died and the day we buried her. Those days were short little sentences and phrases, maybe a paragraph but I wrote. Because I am a writer. Runners run. Smokers smoke. Writers write. 

As we come up this week to the one-year anniversary of our LINT trap, a member posed some questions as we get ready for our next 40-day challenge. Below are my answers to her questions and my own ramblings about writing during Lent and every other day of the year.

As a Methodist I grew up without the concept of giving something up for Lent unless you were Catholic then it seemed the only difference was you ate fish on Fridays. But my family never ate fish so it didn't really affect me. In college I think I tried the giving up thing but it never felt right. Usually I try to 'do' something instead - spend the time in extra study or whatnot. I am not sure this year; I am all over the place spiritually, mentally.

Why do I write? I write because I don't know what else to do. I've always written. I can still see the first top-bound spiral legal pad I picked out at Wal-mart and filled. Then the next. It's just who I am. Some people date inappropriate men. Some people tell bad jokes. Some people make really good banana bread. Some people do surgery on brains. I write. And I don't know how to stop. I don't know what I would do if I had to. In fact, the other night, I thought about stopping. At least stopping the journey to write professionally. I said the words out loud - "I'm done". There was talk of packing boxes and getting a job as a secretary somewhere innocuous. And then I started hyperventilating and shaking and it was horrible. I had this physical reaction (and I am sure some of that is still the emotions of the whole last month but...). So that's that. I just can't stop. I can't. Physically or emotionally. Because apparently if I try, I freak out. Physically and emotionally.

And here's the weird part (at least it seems weird to me): trying to squeeze my soul out through my fingers never scares me. Writing my novel, never afraid. Writing script after script or blog post or devotional, never afraid. Living life every day, making grown up decisions, dealing with people: fear. Lots of it. But when writing? Never. And that tells me all I need to know. That being a writer is who I am and what I should do, what I have to do.

And yes, I often feel like someone, mostly the characters, is speaking through me. I don't really feel like its God or some higher being, I just feel like it's the stories themselves, they're begging to come out, and when they do sometimes I don't recognize them. I wrote a short story in college about a car accident. In it a girl realizes that she'll never be the same because the boy she loved but never told dies. When my writers' group read it, they all thought it was my story. It wasn't, it was that character's. Same goes for scripts - I just type the words. The voices, the truths, they come from some greater place, some place far away. I'm just the reporter. And I love it. Every single moment of it. Even when I hate it. I love it.

Where will I hang my lanterns?

Aaron Sorkin & Steve Zaillian

Last night I attended the Writers Guild's Oscar- and WGA-nominee panel "Beyond Words" and as I always do after these things, I came home inspired. To write? Well, yes. But not just write, to write well. To keep at it. To become better. To become the best. Because up there on that stage, those were some of the best.

This week I've been working, not writing per say, but rewriting, editing, and proofreading. And while, to the average person, that may not seem like a big job or even much work at all, I have to say -- it is. It really is. As I go back through my portfolio and read scripts I wrote almost three years ago and scripts I wrote three months ago, I see how much I have changed, how much I have grown as a writer. It's not visible to the novice eye but to me, I feel it in my bones.

One thing Aaron Sorkin said last night stayed with me and I rushed home to write it down before I could forget (because while I can write all the words in the world, I cannot memorize them to save my soul).

Get to the end of what you're writing and start again. Then figure out what to hang your lanterns from.

To me, that was the essence of what the writing process is all about -- rewriting. It's about getting my stories out there, down on paper, so I can see what I have to work with. Then it's about the cutting, the piecing back together, the figuring out what's best, what works (that's where you want your lanterns) and what doesn't.

And I realized, that's what I've been doing this week. I haven't been creating anything new. I haven't started a fresh spec or a spankin' new pilot. I haven't freewritten or crafted dialogue. But I have started again. I've been going over and over what I have to make it better. To make it the best.

And to me, that's what life's all about. Doing our best, doing everything we can until we can't do anything more. Because if that's not what it's all about, then why even try?

Normal is good

Three weeks ago today I was in the ER. Part of me feels like it was a lifetime ago and part of me feels like it was just yesterday. It's been a really long three weeks (just ask Angela: the best sister/friend/nurse a girl could ever ask for). I had to first recover from the allergic reaction that sent me to the ER. Then I had to recover from the drugs and treatments they gave me in the ER. Then I had to recover from the drugs they sent me home with and I took for over a week afterwards. Then I had to deal with the panic attacks and the exhaustion and the fear. And all of that isn't gone yet. This weekend I had a hard time both Saturday and Sunday. My brain still insists on practicing swallowing which in turn, causes pain and irritation when I swallow which starts the anxiety again. It's quite the circle and most of it happens in my brain. It's a lot to deal with but deal I am. I keep reminding myself I am fine and I will be fine. I am lucky and blessed and grateful and all that. All of that.

Last Wednesday I went for my first walk post ER. I walked to Angela's school, we went to lunch, and then I walked back home. The 50 minute (or less if I push it) round trip took me over an hour. My lungs burned a bit on the way up the hill from our house toward Olympic Boulevard. But overall, it felt good. Really good. Oh, and on top of it all, I'm still dealing with the lingering cough/cold/sinus infection that inspired all of this drama. But it felt good.

This morning I got up and walked 45 minutes. I stretched and kicked and moved my arms and legs and worked out. And it felt normal, which is way better than good. Way better.

Three weeks. Three weeks. Some of it's a blur. Me on the couch, sleeping, drinking drinking drinking. So much water to flush it all out. Some of it's very clear. Me trying not to itch. Me trying to calm down.

Three weeks. I am so thankful to be moving on. To have a normal day today. To workout, to do laundry, to go to work, to make dinner, to write. Normal is good. Today is good.

All Will Be Well

If you haven't heard the song "All Will Be Well" by The Gabe Dixon Band, do yourself a favor. Find it and listen. It is amazing. It's what I've been listening to on a loop all afternoon (and really, for last month of so.) I heard a few lines of it at the end of one of my favorite sitcoms (Parks and Rec - the episode where April takes Andy on a road trip to see the Grand Canyon) and instantly had to hear the rest. (God love iTunes!)

Here are the lyrics:

The new day dawns,
And I am practicing my purpose once again.
It is fresh and it is fruitful if I win but if I lose,
Oooooo I don't know.
I will be tired but I will turn and I will go,
Only guessing til I get there then I'll know,
Oh oh oh I will know.

All the children walking home past the factories
Could see the light that's shining in my window as I write this song to you.
All the cars running fast along the interstate
Can feel the love that radiates
Illuminating what I know is true,
All will be well.
Even after all the promises you've broken to yourself,
All will be well.
You can ask me how but only time will tell.

The winter's cold,
But the snow still lightly settles on the trees.
And a mess is still a moment I can seize until I know,
That all will be well.
Even though sometimes this is hard to tell,
And the fight is just as frustrating as hell
All will be well.

All the children walking home past the factories,
Could see the light that's shining in my window as I write this song to you.
All the cars running fast along the interstate
Can feel the love that radiates
Illuminating what I know is true
All will be well.
Even after all the promises you've broken to yourself
All will be well.
You can ask me how but only time will tell.

Keep it up and don't give up
And chase your dreams and you will find
All in time.

All the children walking home past the factories
Could see the light that's shining in my window as I write this song to you.
All the cars running fast along the interstate
Can feel the love that radiates
Illuminating what I know is true,
All will be well.
Even after all the promises you've broken to yourself,
All will be well.
You can ask me how but only time will tell.

All will be well.
Even after all the promises you've broken to yourself,
All will be well.
You can ask me how but only time will tell.

You can ask me how but only time will tell.

All will be well. I know this. I really do. And I love this song for reminding me of that.

A long few weeks

I'm not gonna lie. It's been a long few weeks. Really long. I didn't expect this. When I went to the ER I guess I thought I'd be treated and I'd bounce right back. I'd be fine. Not the case.

Physically, I am better each day. It took me an entire week to get rid of the hives and swelling and itchiness and just that feeling of being sick. And then it took me another week to get rid of that constant feeling of exhaustion. I slept a lot, which is unusual for me. I didn't write. I did the bare minimum. And finally, I went back to work on Friday. It wasn't bad really (remember, I work from home, which is such a blessing right about now) but it tired me out and that in turn made me feel ridiculous. 

Also, I've developed a new affliction: panic attacks. I guess that's what they're called, I haven't been formally diagnosed or anything. But the night before I went to the ER I had my first. I felt horrible, my body seemed to be rejecting life, and without me realizing what was happening, I panicked. I'm not unfamiliar with these episodes. And I'm not unsympathetic to people who have them. I know how very real they are and I know how horrible they can be. I live with a person who experiences them. I have other family members who have them and close friends who have them. But I've never had one. Never. Well, now I have.

The panic set in and it didn't leave for a few days. The ER cured me but didn't mend me. There's a big difference. A week later, through sobs, I told my family I'd get help and help I got. My awesome acupuncturist gave me herbs and exercises and I felt better. Until this Saturday. It happened again. See, for some reason my brain has decided I need to practice swallowing and breathing. And when I catch myself practicing something I've managed just fine for over 34 years without practicing, I panic. I feel like there's a golf ball in my throat. I feel sick. I think about the not breathing thing and those few moments where I was sure it was over and I get even more panicked. It's not very fun. 

And then it happened again the next night. But I have an awesome sister who helped me through it, gave me the herbs, didn't roll her eyes when I took my second shower, and then watched funny TV with me. And I survived.

Logically I know all will be well. Physically I know I am okay. The steroids do take a while to leave your body but they do leave. I know this. But patience isn't always my strong suit (you'd think it would be since I am a 34-year old unmarried woman who is trying to be a screenwriter in Los Angeles, but no). And one of the things that's gotten me through the week is thinking about Abraham. Yep, the guy from the Old Testament. Last week our Growth Group at church did a little study of him. Turns out none of us knew too much about him and yet we kept bringing him up during our study of the book of Romans. So one of the guys in the group took it upon himself to present a little history of Abraham and it was fascinating.

See, Abraham was just a regular guy who didn't get what he wanted in life. Like a lot of us. He wanted a kid, an heir. And by the time he was old, really old, he'd realized this wasn't gonna happen. But then God came down and spoke to him (face-to-face, which is really quite something) and told him to be patient, it would all work out in the end. And guess what? Eventually it did.

I keep thinking about how Abraham didn't quite trust God the first or even the second time He told him this news about a child. And how I don't always quite trust God that everything will be okay. I'm not saying I think I shouldn't be anxious or anything, it's just...well, I need to work at it. I need to work on my patience. And letting myself go at my own speed, or God's speed.

Last week I made sugar cookies. I wasn't feeling up to sitting at my desk and writing but I was feeling antsy. So I made the dough. I rolled it out. (And rerolled it, sugar cookies can be tricky.) I punched hearts out with my cookie cutters. I sprinkled them with sugar and then I slid them into the oven and waited. It wasn't a quick process but it was satisfying. At the end I had a table full of pink, purple and red Valentine cookies to share with family and friends. And I guess that kind of how life is. It's not quick. It's not perfect. It's often fraught with disappointment and pain. But when it's all said and done, you have this wonderful thing to share.

I'm going to work on patience this week. On listening to God. On healing my body. On cutting myself some slack. On writing a really great script. On being a better teacher. On thinking about others but not at the expense of myself or what I need. And I'm going to share some of these cookies.