In 1876 on the Dakota prairie, two women are forced to combine households in order to survive when one husband is killed and the other jailed. Only one major obstacle exists between them: Nettie Mae’s husband was killed by Cara’s husband when stumbling upon an adulterous affair between the man and his Cara. Told by Beulah, Cara’s daughter, a great story of blooming love, hatred and grudges, humility and reality is woven through these pages. “There are some seeds that refuse to grow until they’ve been tempered.” Life on the prairie was hard, and circumstances and survival must take precedence over personal grudges in this book. Finding this story a bit hard to believe will place all of our attitudes into check when we learn the basis of this story lays in the genealogical history of the author.
This book was included as part of the Advent Box presented by Once Upon a Book Club in 2019. Set in 1962, Ernest Young splits his narrative between the present and 1902 he was brought to Seattle as a young boy. Coming from China during a time of famine, completely alone and eventually auctioned to a brothel, Ernest recounts the story of his life. Persistence, a refusal to compromise his values, and a loyalty surpassing any he was ever shown, Ernest appropriately pieces together for us the idea that, “the present is merely the past reassembled.” This was an enlightening piece of historical fiction that rented my heart and soul for the duration of this book. Come prepared to be shocked, informed, and enraged by a little known part of American history.
“Jesus, if this is my time, I’m ready. You’ve blessed me with years beyond cancer and expected death. You’ve given me family that loves me, friends that care about me, and experiences of travel that have been so dear to my heart. I do not have regrets, and I feel that I have done the best I could with the hand you’ve dealt me. Just please remember to tell Rick my favorite hymn is In The Garden #425.“
This was my prayer at exactly 4:22 a.m. on July 8, 2020. It was shortly after this prayer that I texted my husband telling him that I loved him and that I wasn’t sure I was going to make it through to see daylight. Obviously I did make it, or else you wouldn’t be reading this. But it was later that morning my fears were confirmed and the doctors in the hospital informed me that I was fighting severe sepsis and the good news was that my body was responding to the intravenous medications, but that I wasn’t yet in the clear. My sense of organ failure that night was very accurate, even without knowing what was happening, and in the midst of that time I was forced to ask myself some of the questions that I was challenged with in Kendall Keeler’s book Your Last 24.
My parent’s classic truck
The whole situation was such a shock and disappointment to me, how did I end up here? On July 5th I woke up to celebrate 31 cancer free years. My father showed up with his classic truck to take me a ride, and from there my family spent the afternoon at my sister’s pool. When I got out of the pool, I laid down, became violently ill, and was barely conscious as I burst through the front door and made it as far as the couch. The next day I remained sick and Tuesday my mother marched through the door and told my husband, “If SHE says she should go to the hospital, get her there, NOW.” Less than 24 hours later I wasn’t sure I was going to see the light of another day.
Back when I went into the hospital for cancer 31 years ago, my parents had just gutted the kitchen in their home to begin extensive remodeling. I underwent cancer treatments and my parents juggled caring for me and my sister, work, and the remodeling of the kitchen all at once. 31 years later, I was admitted to the hospital on the day my parents gutted the same kitchen in the same house a second time for remodeling. What was happening? DejaVu, anyone? All I could muster up from the hospital on the phone to Mom was a simple, “No more kitchens.” On the plus side, she informed me that they found my silver bracelet, lost when I was 3 years old and my Dad’s wedding ring.
I can confidently say that my mind was not filled with regrets. I didn’t consider negative things that I have gotten through. Instead, I thought of the wonderful memories and the beautiful moments that have enriched my life. I thought of the way that I was so near death at 4 years old and yet I gained a bonus of 31 years to live on top of that. I know that I am not perfect and I have many sins in my short life, but thanks to grace, I did not feel shame.
Celebrating 31 Years Cancer-Free
The hospital was lonely since the pandemic restricted visitors to only my husband. I was there five days with no shower or bath, only a wet cloth, dry shampoo, and my insistence to dunk my head in the sink for a quick one-IV-free-armed swish of shampoo (utilizing my husband to protect the IV equipment and electronics flowing into my arm and after the forbidding nurses would leave the room). Yet as gross and awful as it was, I did discover a few things about myself in those five days.
Bible school songs never leave you.
Thinking that I was about to die, as I truly was, my mind considered the possibility of an afterlife. I did not once consider that my transition into paradise would be a disappointment. There was a peace and knowing in my heart and I was increasingly confident that Jesus would meet me on the other side when it was my time. I remembered an experience I had in the hospital as a child when I felt I encountered Jesus, and the memory flooded my mind anew with hope. Ironically, and surprisingly, children’s bible songs, parables, and hymns seemed to play on a reel in my head during this time, ministering to me. I kept hearing The Wise Man Built His House Upon the Rock, and I’m In the Lord’s Army like I was teaching Sunday school!
Prioritizing people is key.
I didn’t think about the people I have had fallings out with over the years in a regretful way. I rested confidently that I handled those relationships the best that I could given the capacity and circumstances of those times. The things I’ve done wrong I left in the hands of Jesus. I thought about this blog – was I ok with the fact that the last article published here may be my final word with you all? All of my busyness with school, volunteer work, etc. faded into the background and I wondered if it was worth the price I paid: Being too busy to connect with loved ones. I thought of family meals we’ve shared over the years, the last conversations I’ve had with each of my loved ones, and the things I wouldn’t mind doing one more time if I get out.
Mindful moments matter.
I longed to smell these beauties one last time!
Taking a psychology course at the beginning of the year reviewed studies that showed with overwhelming results that experiences make people happy and material items do not. There is real science and some reasons to explore behind this theory. These include: Experiences are not permanent, so more satisfying; Experiences do not have the opportunity to “grow old” or “normal” to us like material items do; We anticipate experiences more than material things; and more. Regardless of the study or the outcomes, experiences are very important to me. Reading, learning, growing, traveling, making adventures even right in my own backyard, all brought nostalgia and hygge feelings to my heart. My husband’s kindness when pushing me in a wheelchair, my grandmother teaching me how to can peaches, my mom faithfully calling me almost daily for as long as I can remember, my sister lighting a candle for me at a Relay for Life event, my aunt sending a surprise package in the mail just for me, my dad taking me on vacation with him, and teaching my niece/nephew piano, wheezing laughter with a cousin, and all the fun we’ve had together. It was these things that I experienced, remembered, and treasured the most.
It ain’t over ‘till it’s over.
While I’ve been feeling a bit as if I am floundering the past few years (see my post Smidgen of Hope), I have a renewed sense of belonging. My aunt summed it up best for me saying, “I know two people that survived sepsis lady, and you are one. You survived cancer, amputation, and now this. God is not done with you yet.” The truth in her words resonated deeply with what I felt and still feel. I do not know what my purpose yet is, or where I am called to be, but I do know that God has a plan.
Life’s too short to save good tea.
The first thing that I savored when I was placed in the car to go home was the sun hitting and warming my skin. I don’t know what it is about the sun, but it heals and warms me from the inside out in a way that reminds me of love. The second was my ability and strength – I couldn’t walk from the car to my house without taking breaks after being so weak in the hospital and not using crutches for a week. I appreciated and savored the gift of strength and movement, longing to see my body regain those things. Third, I got in the shower and just bawled as the fresh water poured over me, my bruises, and needle pricks from head to toe. The smell of shampoo and the feeling of squeaky clean skin were savored in a new light.
A few weeks after being released, my mom and I drove to the beach and I stuck all 5 toes straight in the sandy surf!
After my shower I remembered that I had been saving a gifted tin of really good Darjeeling tea. I pulled that baby out after my shower and decided life was too short to save good tea. In fact, life is too short to save anything that is meant to be savored and enjoyed. Other little things that I wanted was a cheese-steak, the feeling of my 5 toes in the sand, and an opportunity to play piano for people even if it sounds terrible. I wanted to taste real ginger ale (no more hospital diet crap), suck on a piece of chocolate, and smell the lilies in my front yard one more time. I wanted to hug people and savor everything and every moment from photos in magazines to the smiles of my niece and nephews.
Midway checkpoint mission accomplished.
It’s been a few weeks now that I’ve been out of the hospital. My strength is not fully regained, my bloodwork is not back to normal, and my immune system is still nearly nonexistent. From what I understand the risk of contracting severe sepsis in the next three months is high, and they still don’t have a specific answer for what caused the blood infection to begin with. But I’m alive, and I’m confident it is for a reason. I don’t know yet what all of this means, but I guess that will be part of the experience, right?
I look at this experience as a good midway/midlife check in with the Lord. I’m to be 36 this year, reasonably approaching the halfway point of life, and this eye opening experience afforded me a chance to review my life, choices, and values. I was able to re-prioritize and adjust to be sure that I am living a life worthy of the questions in Your Last 24. Hopefully, the Lord sees it this way too and keeps me out of the hospital until my final lap. Yet I realize that nothing is guaranteed in my life except one thing: My parents won’t be replacing that kitchen again.
Sent in a care package from a dear friend of mine, this book was an unexpected joy to read. A painless look at the grammar and word use that is guaranteed to leave you with newfound appreciation of the English language as well as a repertoire of inside jokes shared only with Dreyer and other readers. I found myself laughing out loud and then struggling to explain myself to nearby people. In the end, this work will help polish your skills and build confidence without the boring work of a classroom.
Recommended by a friend, I found this book fascinating and a wonderful near-scientific report of social psychology and human interaction. Former top FBI hostage negotiator Chris Voss gives up his secrets and lets us into the world of understanding how to identify what you want – then get it. Applicable for every relationship and decision from where to eat out on to haggling the price of a car, this is a must for every marketing major! This is a book you will want to take notes from.
One of my all-time favorite books! Suspenseful but without the paranormal elements that so often taint thrillers. This story follows three narratives, all siblings, as they piece together the true history of their childhood. Growing up in a home with a cult leader and parents that were later found dead, the confusion of control and inside look at cult life and the impact on child development is intriguing. As the story unravels with surprising twists and turns, I can promise it will keep any reader on their toes guessing right up until the last page. Featured in the Once Upon a Book Club‘s December 2019 box, this was a two-day read I could not put down!
Crutches, Walkers, Canes all share a few things in common: bags carried on them flop and bang against them, swing wildly impacting balance, and break just about anything. Enter the Advantage Crutch Bag. A bit steep in price, but a design and durability that has proven resilient enough to handle my gorilla capabilities. It allows me to go anywhere I want without the burden of managing a purse or leaving things behind. Many people that are disabled find themselves frequently waiting patiently for family and friends. For various reasons, I often find myself pushing everyone to go on ahead of me and experience the things that I can’t. “I’ll be fine,” I say, “I’m happy to sit and read!” That is why this is a game changer for me, I can now take along a puzzle, magazine, book, or whatever else by slipping it in alongside my wallet. The weight distribution is noticeably different without the pendulum affect, and I don’t find myself off-balance when walking. The leverage also makes the items being hauled seem lighter, because they are stilled and attached securely.
Copyright of AdvantageTM
I have the largest size and it is not as bulky as I had anticipated. There are two smaller sizes, however, to fit the need of the walker or crutches. (I even attach this to my scooter.)
*Please remember when considering for yourself or a loved one:
a) Ashly is an amputee at nearly the hip level of her right leg; b) Ashly is on crutches or in a scooter 100% of the time; c) Ashly has been an amputee for thirty years; d) Ashly is still young and active in her thirties; e) The crutches that Ashly uses are forearm crutches; f) What works for Ashy may not work for you; g) Ashly receives no incentives, gifts, or compensation for reviews, advice, or mention of any product or company in these features.
*Product, person, and organization endorsements and reviews are not compensated, neither are they to be interpreted or considered as professional, legal, or medical advice. Neither Crutchprints.com nor Ashly Ash has interests, holdings, political affiliations or other ties with persons, corporations, or other entities referenced. Neither Crutchprints.com nor Ashly Ash has received free product(s), sample(s), or compensation(s), or service(s) for postings unless otherwise disclosed. **All recommendations and advice that are posted on Crutchprints.com will be based strictly on personal experience and opinion and should not be taken or interpreted as legal or medical advisement under any circumstances.
Bohlman lays out a parable that is brief, to the point, and filled with mysteries and treasures of God’s love. The commentary he provides for more than half of the book is designed to allow the reader an opportunity to fully digest the principles that are laid out within the story. What was the cross really about? What is God’s love, really? Overall, I liked the idea of this book more than the actual book. I had a difficult time matching the principles provided in the commentary to the story. This book should be treated as a personal devotional and approached with care, contemplation, and a mind set on reflection with research. I’ve no doubt that given a second reading in the right environment and the right commitment that this book could easily become one of my favorites.
Many of you have seen my recent video where I share about my friend Kara. She sent me a package of left shoes, and in the second box stuffed some purses, self care items, and books she was finished with. It touched me so deeply and made me feel loved and cared for. The thing that no one knew about this shipment, however, was that it had some slippers. I needed new slippers – or rather I wanted new slippers, one can hardly call something like slippers a need. Rather than buy a new pair I had mentioned it in passing to the Lord. Not even in a prayer, really, just an acknowledgement as I went about my day and shared things with him. I don’t recall even asking. No one else knew this because it was such a small thing, and Kara’s exact text to me was “I have some slippers…”. All the way from the midwest, she felt I may be interested in slippers. I praised the Lord for his speaking to/through Kara and moved on.
Another thing that I have been trying to do this year is to play the piano in public. More specifically, I attended a hymn sing and enjoyed it so much that I am trying to smooth my skill enough to be an accompaniment. I’ve also searched for an Enya song but it has been sold out for so long I stopped looking. I’m not nearly as brave as I should be as far as playing in public due to some rejections and now I seem to fumble every time I know someone else is even in the room. Last week, I was wrestling with this problem: should I give up my goal? Should I stop trying to be something I’m not? I was undecided when another box showed up from Kara. It was a box of piano music. Two days after praying I had this box of music in front of me and it hit me…hard. I mean the whole nine yards of goosebumps and tears stinging my eyes kind of hard.
The only connection I have with Kara is having served on a board of directors together. I’ve met her once in person and attended a handful of video conferences with her. For some reason, she has wedged in and been a true friend to me across the distance of several states. Kara emanates joy and radiates the love of Jesus. She seems to know some of the pain in my heart without me sharing the details. I accredit this to God’s merciful kindness being displayed to me through her rather than telepathy. If she were closer, she would be just the person I would have a blast meeting for coffee then hitting up some bargain shops!
I used to think that I could sense Lord nudging me in certain directions and I felt he used me to bring joy to others the way Kara was doing for me. I used to feel so confident in the fact that even if I was wrong Jesus would see my heart and correct my path. Up until 2017, I never doubted in my ability to hear clearly and walk in the way of the Lord. It never occurred to me that if I messed up, I could hurt others in the process. After all, God knew my heart’s intentions and he would make those paths straight, right? Then, we began to foster children at what I felt so strongly was the Lord’s leading. It was something we considered for years but decided to act on in what I believed was God’s timing.
The kids we fostered were in a place of abuse so horrid that they didn’t know how to use a spoon or take a bath. They knew one language: physical dominance. No amount of reasoning, love, kindness, seemed to get through. And that was ok, I was sure that my love and God’s strength would outlast the hate placed in them. “I can do all things in Christ,” was my motto. Week after week, month after month, I started to physically wear down from the violent, physical attacks and abuse. I wasn’t angry – it wasn’t the fault of those children. I needed to hang in tight, outlast their pain until love could penetrate the tough exteriors.
It didn’t happen soon enough. My body was weaker than my mind and I realized that one day the amount of danger I was really in. I realized that one day I would not be on-guard and the attempt to push me down the steps would work and maybe kill me or disable me further. I realized one day I wouldn’t be stronger than him or faster than him, maybe after a night of no sleep. Each night as I locked my bedroom door so I could lay my head down safely, I felt at risk: had I locked it? Was I safe? Did he know where I kept the spare key? How many knives, scissors, pencils or other items used as weapons could I possibly hide under lock and key? Each day I became more tired and weaker. My husband changed from his night shift job to try to accommodate me and help a bit more, but it was too late. Crisis intervention interceded and after 5 days crunching my disabled body in a chair to sleep in the ICU with the child, he was hoisted off for high level, specialized care. I had failed.
Now, before you respond, I know what you are going to say. “Ashly, the short year you were there saved their lives. You made an impact that no one else could. The seeds were sown. Who knows what God has in store for those children? You gave them love and a home when no one else did. You can’t say you failed.” I know that I didn’t fail, I know all of these things. But you know what else? I still feel like I failed. Even though I trust God completely and my faith has never wavered in belief, I wonder constantly if I misheard him and perhaps launched myself into a foster care system without God’s will behind me. Maybe my mistake messed up the lives of two children because I was not physically strong enough to outlast the evil, causing them more trauma which resulted in the State placing them elsewhere. Would God intentionally let them be hurt like that? It is hard to say yes or no, the easier answer is that I didn’t hear correctly and I made a mistake.
The pain of all of that is very real, and I thought it would subside, but it hasn’t. Three years later and I am back to square one in regards to having no children to enjoy/invest in or legacy to pass down. Several friends are envious and point out the peace, quiet, and freedom that we have here without children. But the grass is always greener, right? Yes, we do have and appreciate a slower pace of life centered on ourselves, but Christmas morning it doesn’t feel peaceful it feels downright empty. My husband and I are left grappling with what life looks like for two people that have no children and wanted them badly. We are now in our mid-thirties, and cancer stole that from me (and him) too. Who was I to think that I could hear from the Lord? Who was I to think that I could pray and ask and then actually deserve to receive children?
Of course, none of this has wavered my faith in the Lord. It doesn’t make me resentful or jealous of those that do have kids. Why would I be sad to see children born into loving families after our firsthand knowledge of how many children are born into homes shrouded in evil? No, I celebrate children, pregnancies, and growing families. My desire for a family would never begrudge another of fulfillment of this, that is an ugly jealousy that I am thankful has not pierced my heart. But this experience of emptiness has altered my faith in myself, I now have none. Maybe that is where the problem was to begin with, maybe I should never have believed in my own ability. Ever since 2017, this has made me feel distant and while my daily life has not changed, my prayers stay consistent, I somehow feel disconnected. Unworthy of a calling or a purpose. Unsure of him ever using me. Discarded. No amount of ‘action’ or ‘doing’ seems to fix it.
So opening the box from Kara and seeing all the piano music, I stood with my mouth agape. Kara’s sensitivity and ability to send along something on a whim that was so very clearly a whisper placed in her from the Holy Spirit, was beautiful. I used to be like that. Why not now? If Kara can hear and feel the Lord from the Midwest concerning my life, albeit unintentionally, why do I doubt my own ability to follow Jesus still? These two packages have been a small, tiny, candle at the end of this vast tunnel. Maybe, just maybe, I won’t have answers for my pain, maybe I will never know if I made a mistake fostering. Maybe I will never understand why I can’t have kids but abusive women can. But maybe I will still get past this someday and find purpose outside of procreation. Maybe, just maybe, I will one day be a useful vessel. All I can do is trust and hope and wait.
In this fantastic demonstration of female strength and dedication, Larkin returns from Afghanistan with severe PTSD and depression after losing her best friend. Charged with clearing out her friend’s storage, she finds a diary from a soldier in the civil war. What makes this soldier unusual, however, is the fact that she was forced to operate under disguise due to her gender. Be prepared to fall in love with Emily and other female soldiers based on actual historical figures. Learn the hardships and the reality of coming home from the front lines. Present-day character development needs some work and several loose ends are unsatisfactorily abandoned. The sudden ending does remind me a bit of PTSD and the reality that it is not simply healed and one doesn’t ‘arrive’ but rather it is a journey. A November 2019 choice for Once Upon A Book Club, the gifts that accompanied this book were appropriate, adorable, and yummy!
