LINDA ELLIS

The Seeds

Years ago, I can't remember how many, I had mentioned to a family member that I was having trouble finding a certain plant or flower to add to my garden. I also can't remember the particular flower, but I remember the conversation having taken place. She thoughtfully found seeds for this unique foliage and shared some with me, sealed in a white envelope. When I'd eventually found time to spend a few quality minutes working on my deck garden, I couldn't locate the envelope anywhere. I'd searched high and low and finally gave up on the idea.

About a month ago, I found that sealed white envelope. I recognized it instantly, but still couldn't recall the actual plant I'd admired enough to inquire about. I found an old pot containing some previously used soil, no doubt void of many of its make-perfect-flower nutrients.  (After all, I didn't want to use one of my new, more expensive pots on this gamble.)  I haphazardly stuck all the seeds under the surface. I didn't put much effort into fertilizing the soil or even watering the seeds because in my mind the entire time I was thinking: What are the chances?

Shortly afterwards, we had decided to paint the deck where many of my potted plants and flowers reside throughout the months of spring and summer. Thus, all bloomers and potential bloomers were temporarily relocated to the lower part of the yard where I didn't venture nearly as often. My husband became, by default, in charge of watering anything that had been potted because they were now transient neighbors of his vegetable garden. And I had already gone back to the busyness of keeping up with life.  My little experiment was out of sight and out of mind.

Today, I was walking briskly past an open window when I stopped to glance through the distance at an old dirty clay pot that housed some large green stems. So many in fact, that I thought "whoever" had planted in that pot had been a tad over zealous. I didn't recall this plant being one of the staples we usually add to our collection as the season progresses. Then it occurred to me that it was the pot containing the seeds I had quickly and carelessly pressed under the soil. I felt a wave of guilt flood over me as I recalled the callous way I'd inserted them into the hardened dirt, more like pushing thumbtacks into a bulletin board, instead of thoughtful planting. And here they were, offering their beauty, unconditionally.

I was surprised. I was curious. I was inspired. Not only had these examples of nature's wonder survived in a darkened corner for years, but they had maintained their perfect blueprint. They had been waiting, anticipating the day when they would be given the opportunity to perform their purpose and fulfill their duty. They contained no preservatives. They had no expiration dates stamped upon them. They didn't have to be renewed on a certain date. They were just silently and patiently waiting.

Many of us are a lot like those seeds...waiting for things to be perfect to show the world what we've got. Too often we postpone reaching our goals and realizing our hopes and ambitions until all the pieces are in place, until we receive everything we think we need, until all is "just right." Like the seeds, our surroundings control when we bloom. Unlike the seeds however, we can thrive…we can open up…we can live, even if our surroundings aren’t perfectly suited to what we label, “our needs.” I believe we all have dormant seeds of greatness, creativity, kindness...just waiting for some sun to shine upon them.  The difference is...our blueprint could very well expire before we have a chance to reach our full potential. If we wait to flourish, prosper, thrive and live, until everything aligns for us, we may never get the opportunity.

I had briefly considered posting a photo along with this story, but I feared that many of you green-thumb enthusiasts would recognize my mystery plant right away and write to tell me it’s nothing more than a gargantuan weed. That could burst my bubble of positivity forever.

 

 

Copyright 2012

The Seeds

www.lindaellis.net

Twice as Much

Twice as Much
by Linda Ellis copyright 2012
 

I have felt the pain of heartache
in the days since you have passed
and never again will I take for granted
how long a life will last... 

Each lifetime has a limit
from the date of its creation.
We only choose our life’s direction,
not its beginning...or duration. 

You lived and loved a lifetime
within the years that you were blessed,
and I mourn, because without you,
I now must live the rest. 

It is I who suffer;
I who grieve.
You are gone, and now content.
And if you could,
I know you would 
erase these tears I’ve spent.

It is I who loved so deeply
and so much of me, is you...
that when you left this earthly place,
a part of me left, too.

Though our hearts are joined forever, 
linked by invisible chains, 
the time has come for me to see
that much of "me" remains. 

Every day you’re in my head. 
Every day you’re in my heart.
Every morning through day’s end,
you occupy a part. 

We walked this earth together;
our lives are intertwined...
so I shall live this life I have
as two lifetimes...combined. 

Twice as long, I’ll gaze at sunsets. 
Twice as many times, I’ll laugh.
Twice as hard, I’ll seize these moments
I now live on your behalf.

Twice as deeply, I will care.
Twice as tough, I'll bear the sorrow. 
Twice as real I’ll live each day
and thank God twice for each tomorrow.

Twice as strong I’ll smell the roses.
Twice this vow, I will renew:
Until we meet again one day,
Twice As Much, I’ll Live For You...

Linda Ellis
Copyright 2012

www.lindaellis.net

 

Legacy of Words...

Time of Your Life

This Point Forward

You're Army Now

It was a rainy afternoon and I had started work at a new corporation, reporting to a decorated, retired Army Colonel a week or so prior.  I received a call in the middle of the workday.  I burst into uncontrollable tears outside his office where my work area was located.  I had been informed that my father had a large tumor and was being scheduled for surgery.  What was I supposed to do?  I had a brand-new job, a brand-new boss and my father, my best friend, was 700 miles away.

I walked into the Colonel’s office and earnestly explained my situation.  I didn’t want to jeopardize my new job, but I also wanted to be with my father (though my dad had instructed me implicitly on the phone NOT to drive to him, as it may cause me to lose my new job.)  The Colonel looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Woman, get your priorities straight.”  With that, he turned and asked a manager to walk me to my car because I was not in the best emotional state.  This manager, being the young gentleman and marine that he was, held an umbrella over my head as we walked to my car, though I probably cried as many teardrops as there were raindrops on the way.  I hadn’t even registered my new vehicle yet, but began to drive with dealer plates straight to my father’s house in Florida to be with him.

After the surgery, which was far more extensive than the doctors had initially believed my father would require, I stood outside the hospital.  My father was recovering inside in the ICU.  One doctor had met with me privately and suggested that I “be prepared” for what I was about to witness.  My father had always been my rock and now I knew I needed to be strong for him.  But this doctor warned me that he was not in good shape…that he was pale and he had feeding tubes and wires in and out of various places. 

I remember standing alone.  It was a gusty Florida day and I recall turning to face the wind so that its force would blow the tears away from my eyes and dry my tear-stained cheeks before I entered my father's room.  I was trying to muster the courage to walk into the hospital, through the doors of the ICU and face him and his cancer with the strength he had instilled in me.  Yet, I couldn’t find that strength anywhere.  It wasn’t in my shaking knees.  It wasn’t in my tear-filled eyes.  It wasn’t in my upset stomach and it wasn’t in my trembling voice. 

But I did find it.  It was on the other end of the telephone.  I called the Colonel.  I had actually called him initially to report my current situation to my boss (a "sitrep") and let him know when he could expect me back at work.  I think, in hindsight, I was stalling for time as I had no idea how I would put one foot in front of the other in order to walk toward my father’s room.

When the Colonel answered, I explained my situation and my anticipated date of return to work.  However, somehow during that conversation, I began to pour out each and every fear and tear.  I would normally not display anxiety, apprehension or tears to a boss as I’d always learned that it makes a woman appear weak in the workplace to express such emotion.

But this wasn’t the workplace and I was scared and alone.  The Colonel’s reply was not the gentle reassurance I'd subconsciously been anticipating and it took me completely by surprise.  I heard a stern voice on the other end of the phone say:  “You need to stop thinking of YOURSELF.  Your father needs you to be strong right now, so stop being afraid.  You’re not the one lying there.  Go ahead in that room.  You’re tough.  YOU’RE ARMY NOW.”

I was literally speechless.  I even remember pulling back my cell phone and staring at it in shock.  Though they weren’t exactly the words I’d expected to hear, they were exactly the words I needed to hear.

I hung up the phone.  I stopped crying.  I stopped feeling sorry for myself and started to concentrate on being strong for my father.  I walked into his room with my eyes dry, my shoulders straight and my head held high prepared to see what I had to see and do what I had to do.  My father was awake and through the expression on his face, I knew he was glad I was there.

My father passed away within the next two years, yet I will never forget that day and the precious time I spent with him during that trip.  And since then, when I must face adversity in life, I think of the Colonel’s words to me that day and I say to myself… “I’m ARMY NOW!”

Thank you, Colonel…

 

 

 

 

Time Doesn't Care!

Have you ever walked through a cemetery or happened upon the newspaper’s obituary section and taken a moment to ponder that small, seemingly insignificant piece of punctuation between the date of someone’s birth and the date he/she has left this earth? This undersized symbol is often overlooked because focus is inevitably on the dates themselves. Yet that little line…that little “dash” ultimately represents every step we take on earth, every breath we breathe and all of our life’s actions.

In the “slice and bake” mentality of the 21st Century, we have allowed ourselves to become so hurried and pressured that we forget, or better yet – conveniently ignore – the fact that this little line is not infinite; it begins and in just a short distance, comes to an end.

The only way to learn to fully cherish each day is to deal-in-real and accept the fact that we don’t know the day when we will run out of tomorrows. If you are troubled by this concept, or believe it to be a morbid perception, then you are in denial. Until this epiphany awakens your senses, and you can talk about death as a reality, and grasp the brevity of this dash with which you have been blessed, true appreciation for life cannot begin. When we are born and we take that first, independent, deliberate breath into our lungs, we are signing an invisible contract with life…that we will do everything we can to preserve, cherish and LIVE it! By seizing and inhabiting our moments and living our dash, in lieu of simply existing, we are abiding by that first unspoken oath.

Sure, every dash has its share of troubles and woes, but time doesn’t care. It moves on, regardless. If we spend our limited time on earth focusing on nothing but our problems, we subconsciously disregard all that is not a problem. When we postpone living until everything is running smoothly and efficiently in our lives, we forfeit the minutes of our now. When we spend current hours regretting yesterday and worrying about tomorrow, we often fail to recognize the day between those two…

I wrote in my new book: “Live in your now; be conscious, sincere.  Let your mind allow you to be in your here!”  Instead of focusing on your next achievement or acquisition, focus on the present, the blessings all around you, the loved ones in your life and the sheer pleasure found in just being.
 
Excerpt to ponder from my poem: The Dash:
 
“For it matters not, how much we own,
the cars…the house…the cash.
What matters is how we live and love
and how we spend our dash.”

My Payment

When I began sharing my writings many years ago, I started receiving responses from those whose hearts and lives had been touched by my words in some way.  Each email, letter or voice mail commanded my complete attention.  I would read them again and again, and I didn't realize until later how much those words from others fueled my desire to continue writing.  The realization of how those responses sustained and inspired me unfolded as the "deals" began to be made and my passion for creative writing became the victim of a "hostile takeover" from the dollar signs of profit.

Many years ago when I'd entered into a particular publishing contract, the publisher decided they wanted to own and operate my web site(s) as well.  Naivety  being my only excuse in hindsight, I agreed.  Oh, they didn't do it maliciously, they paid me handsomely every month.  However, I soon began to realize, there was something missing...something I needed...a void that could not be filled with cash.  It was communication.  Communication to, and more importantly from those for whom I write.  My words had indeed been out there inspiring people, but I needed to know it.  I needed to hear it.  I needed to feel it.  I learned that receiving feedback and knowing I was touching lives was my true payment, not the checks. For two years, I went without hearing from those who were reading and being inspired by my thoughts and ideas, which I now recognize as my true payment for writing.  I also went without creating, went without writing, went without inspiring or being inspired during the time I'd been denied that connection.  My creative fire had literally gone out because the fuel it needed to burn had disappeared.  Upon renewal time for that website deal, I opted out of the agreement.  I wanted...no...I needed to have that contact and communication, to know what I was doing was actually making a difference, in order to continue my inspirational writing.

Now, I know it's a business to the publishers and they produce a product and sales are their main focus.  Therefore, they kept all of that email, every letter and every phone message because each represented a sale, both current and future.  Distribution and mailing lists were built for their company and have grown tremendously since with those initial contact names as their foundation.  But, what they (and I) had failed to realize was that every one of those pieces of communication and correspondence meant so much more to me than just a sale.  

This realization was also played out perfectly when I received a Facebook post from an older woman a few months ago.  She had gone to the bookstore to purchase my new book the SAME DAY it was released.  She said she was so excited when the salesperson handed my book to her, she hugged him! Reading her words literally made my heart smile.  Coincidentally, I had received a royalty check the same day I'd read her note.  The notion hit me even harder as I held the check in my hand and read her words, simultaneously.  That check, though it represented my livelihood, would never be the reason I write.  In my latest book, Live Your Dash, I wrote:  "I believe if an author or poet writes with the intent to profit, rather than to inspire, the result is transparent to the critical eye of the reader, which can discern words derived not from sincerity, nor from the heart, but from desperate, empty pockets."

And I have indeed received a large amount of email, letters and calls over the years regarding my writing.  I can honestly say I've read every word of every one of them.  Initially, had I known they were to keep coming over the years, I would have begun saving them all to be bound in a wonderful keepsake for myself.  I may not have had time to respond to each, but if someone uses time from his/her "dash" to write to me about how my words have touched a life or a heart, I will take the time  from my "dash" to read what they've sent.  No matter how big my business grows, I intend to honor that practice.  I do it, not only out of respect for those who contact me, but out of my own personal desire to know...know that my words are reaching people...know that there are people out there who "get" what I'm trying my best to convey, and are inspired.

So, if you are ever inclined to write, but think (as many have written) that I'll never see or read what you send, you're wrong.  As long as I am able, I will read each and every letter or email I receive, because not only are they very special to me, but they directly inspire me to write more. I've said this often, but I'll say it again:  Inspiring YOU, Inspires ME!

 

 

Remember Me - Beliefnet.com

My poem, "Remember Me" shared on Beliefnet.com

Remember Me - Beliefnet.com

Back to Blogging (Sharing)

Well, I must admit, I took a break from blogging.  Yes, I realize its significance in the social media scene.  Yes, I know it provides a wonderful and efficient conduit through which I can share my thoughts and ideas with the world.  And yes, I have been remiss in my blogging duties.

Why?  I've asked myself this question.  I think it goes back to the days of my childhood, when as a little girl I took up writing in a diary.  As a self-pronunced, self-made perfectionist, I added undue pressure on myself when I vowed to write in my diary every single day.  It become a chore, a task and I felt I had failed if I didn't enter something into it every evening.  If nothing exciting happened for me to write, I'd make something up!  The end result?  I tossed the diary.

Blogging began to represent the same to me, until I realized, DUH LINDA!  You don't have to write every single day.  Though it is recommended by professional "bloggers," it is not a pre-requisite to being a blogger.  In fact, I'm removing the term "blogger" from my resume so that undue pressure will be eliminated.  I am simply an occasional sharer.  There...I'm a sharer.  Sharers share whenever they are inspired to do so...daily...weekly...monthly, if need be.  But, this professional sharer promises to share as often as will inspire her readers.  

I personally feel that when bloggers (vs. sharers) force themselves to write every day, the material becomes conjured and not as heartfelt as those of us sharers who only write when something is worthy of writing, and worthy of the time the reader will invest.

Suffice to say...I am back!  The new book, LIVE YOUR DASH is out and I am prouder than a peacock (odd saying really) about it.  I have been traveling, speaking and sharing the message about "The Dash" with people everywhere!  In my community, I am often referred to as "The Dash Lady," something I'm not quite sure I'm fond of...but nevertheless.

I hope you'll subscribe and also return to read my Share...(my blog).

LIVE YOUR DASH EVERYONE!