Personal Blog by Rhonda Crowdis Hardisty

Posts tagged ‘writing’

Our Calling is Always Near to Our Heart

115b2304832dbc579c4aa946e65f0f98This blog is the place where I come when I feel safe enough to share a piece of what is on my heart. I think that’s why I don’t come here often. For me, it is so much easier to ignore the things that I am not comfortable facing. It’s like when I was a teenager and changed lanes at the last minute when I realized my lane was not going the direction I needed to go, and in the process of that change I clipped the bumper of another vehicle: I didn’t stop. I just kept driving, thinking that they would somehow go away. They didn’t. They stayed right behind me until I pulled over. This is not the only time I have ever waited for something to go away, like the salesman at the front door ringing the bell. I know if I wait long enough, he will go away. Sometimes when someone asks me a questions I don’t want to answer, or maybe don’t know exactly how to respond to with a quick short answer, I wait for them to go away.  I just want them to stop waiting for a response. I think it’s a defense; if I ignore it, it will go away. Unfortunately, important things don’t go away. God’s call on your life, it doesn’t go away. It is always near, and ready for you to pick it up and act on it. It is near your heart and in your soul even if you don’t want it to be. I know that mine is connected to writing, but I like to think that since I’m not a great writer there is very little that God can do with my writing. There are so many other people who have powerful words to share; what I have is small in comparison. It’s almost embarrassing to consider myself a writer, even as a novice. I was once a sad lonely teen who wrote from the heart about a lot of things, but as I have grown older I have moved on to stuffing my feelings down rather than writing them out. Writing them out often made me cry, and I don’t like to cry. I don’t want to deal with them. I feel like they are better off left alone. No one gets hurt that way, let alone me. However, God is calling me to a purpose that can only be fulfilled by my listening to Him and his calling. He is always near and often calls my name followed by phrases like “read my word” or “just write what I say to your heart” or “I am in control of what happens when you follow my directions.” So, here I am writing.

What is your calling? What is near to your heart? What does God talk to you about?

The 5 minute writing prompt this Friday was “near”. Still connecting with Kate and the gang at 5 Minute Friday, even though this is more than 5 minutes and it’s already Saturday. Thanks for following along.


5 Minutes from the Heart: Write

slide11I get the feeling that I am supposed to write. Most of the time when I start to write I’m not sure that I have anything to say, but after a few keystrokes it just starts to flow and I just type and listen to what my heart has to share. Often I write and erase, write and erase again, even when I’m doing a 5 minute free write where the rule is to just write with no thought for where it is worth reading. The times that I just write from the heart are the times that I really say something worth hearing. These are the times when I go back to read it and don’t know where those words came from. Sometimes the phrases are quotes that I would frame and post if it came from someone else. However, since it’s my own writing I don’t take as much care to share it that way. I know that there are a lot of things in my heart and on my mind that people would appreciate hearing. So, I continue to step out of my comfort zone little by little and say a bit more each time. The words come from such a deep place in my heart that it can be difficult to get them out. It takes time in a quiet room, free of distractions other than my favorite songs playing softly on Pandora. Often, the most difficult part of writing can be finding that time and space just to begin. So, here I am writing for just 5 minutes the things that are on my heart and mind regarding the topic for today: “write”. Where would you write? What would you write about? What is on your heart to share?

Connecting again today with Five Minute Friday and Write 31 Days for 31 days of Five Minute Free Write Challenges during the month of October. We write on a given prompt for just 5 minutes without revision and pour out what’s on our heart. Won’t you join me?

5 Minutes from the Heart: Tell

Write-31-Days-prompts-2017Linking the Five Minute Friday and Write 31 Days for the month of October. So, for today’s prompt, “tell”, I just want to tell you about the writing challenge and invite you to join me in writing just 5 minutes each day using the list of prompts attached.

I want you to know that God has given us each a story. Whether you think it is worthy of being heard is irrelevant. God has given you a story. Your life from the day you were born until the day that you leave this earth for heaven is your story. You were given that story, good or bad, happy or sad, to share with others. You were given a life filled with up and downs, things you are proud of and things of which you are ashamed. Every minute of every day is a story of how you made it though circumstances and opportunities to become the person God intended for you to be. He gave you light and wisdom, darkness and confusion, to support your choices and lead you through each day. Every step that you have taken whether forward or back has been a piece of your journey. So many people have been in those same places and believe that they are alone. They think that no one would understand or that no one would believe them. They do not know that they have a story that will support others on a similar journey until you use your voice and speak up for yourself, which is also a way of speaking up for them. This world is full of hurting people who are hiding behind a past that dims their light. Tell you story, shine your light, be a voice for the voiceless.

5 Minutes from the Heart: List

After searching for a list of one word writing prompts for the month of December and coming up empty-handed I created my own list which I hope to begin using for daily writing beginning tomorrow! Want to join me? Share the link to your 5 minutes from the heart in the comments below. December2015

The Home Where Our Hearts Live

wickershamI’m currently part of a group of teachers attending the Keller Literacy Institute through a project called Abydos, formerly known as the New Jersey Writing Project in Texas. I have to say, though the first day of training a week ago had us all wondering why we agreed to 12 days of this (8 of them in the summer), yesterday was awesome! The purpose is to learn writing and pre-writing strategies for getting our students to write more. Two of the writing sessions yesterday gave me great thoughts as well as time to put them on paper. Part of this came from one of those sessions.

When my family moved away from the house at 1717 Wickersham Drive after 10 years of our lives were lived there, my sister and I started this fight over which of us was going to move back there and raise our family first. Everything was and still is a competition for us. Needless to say, the neighborhood that raised us went down hill in the years that followed and neither of us went back to buy the house. I’ve taken my own children down the street and told stories about the fruitless Mulberry tree in the back yard where Uncle Darrell and his friend Robert used to sit for hours and play in its large branches that overlooked Robert’s yard next door. I’ve told them about playing in the creek down where the street used to end, and looked in awe at the new road and houses that are now sitting on that land. I’ve described the huge sand pile, not sand BOX, that took up one-fifth of our very large back yard and how they had to drive in from the then vacant lot behind to dump all that sand that once housed the white and blue monkey bars that broke my shoulder. We laughed and talked about my memories of the creek flooding and water coming in the back door of the kitchen as we planned where we would ride out the tornado they expect to be headed our way. I pointed out the spot where I fell on roller skates, breaking my wrist in two places, and how my sister ran to the door of my hospital room when I screamed as they pulled my arm back into place before casting it. I looked longingly at the houses where Ronni and Travis lived, as well as Donna and Stacy. We were always the best of friends and the worst of enemies in the same week. I will never forget the sound of my mother’s voice yelling “girls!” down the street when it was time for us to come in. I swear we could hear her inside the neighbor’s house 3 doors down. We weren’t rich and it wasn’t perfect, but we have great memories.

Until yesterday I hadn’t really thought much about that house or those memories in a long time. Ronni now lives in England, Travis in another part of Texas, and who knows where Donna and Stacy ended up. I remembered how I was so excited to finally get a room of my own and not share with my sister any more. Some days it was bad enough I had to drag her along to my friend’s house, I certainly didn’t want to share a room with her any longer. I must have been 8 or 10 at the time I moved into the once guest room, and it was all mine until we moved out after my parents divorce when I was 12. I remember the furniture from JC Penney, my mom’s favorite store. It was antiqued white with blue and yellow flowers painted on it. I remember laying on my big double bed staring out the front window of the house watching friends play on days that I was grounded. My sister’s room only had a view of the sand pile. Mine was so much better. My brother and I would each lay in the doorway of our rooms, which were across the hall from each other, when mom was taking a nap and we were supposed to be doing the same. We would play cards and dominos in the hallway, but still in our rooms where we belonged. My sister was down the hall around the corner, she couldn’t see us and would have to pass moms room to get to us. Just one more reason my room was better. My cat would come to my window at night when she wanted in, and even though I changed rooms, she knew where to find me. The best days where when I came home from school to find my grandmother and our house keeper, Paula, had cleaned my room and done the laundry. Is there anything greater than a fresh clean room with clean sheets, freshly made bed and laundry already put away in the drawers?

Until I finished this writing exercise yesterday I really thought my best memories were in MY room, but what I realized is that there were better ones around the corner down the hall. When I shared a room with my sister we jumped back and forth from one twin bed to the other until my sister fell and broke her arm one day. We played Barbie’s for hours in our Barbie dream house, pulling the string to take the elevator up and down again and again. When we were grounded to our room we had each other or we could watch others playing in the backyard sand pile though the window. I remember having a Raggedy Ann and Andy alarm clock that said “Andy, Andy please wake up! It’s time to wake our friend.” That was enough to wake me up, but my sister could sleep through a storm. I had to wake her up by jumping on her bed and throwing pillows on her. It was my sisterly duty of course. I remember her sleep walking into the closet one night and telling mom that she was in there because she needed to use the bathroom and I was in the other one. The funny thing was that I was sound asleep and no one was in the bathroom. I’m just glad someone woke her up before that one got ugly. I remember taking all of our toys out of the large green plastic frog toy box in our room so we could hide in it, as if all the toys on the floor were not a dead give away. I remember my Dad taking a white ceramic brush set with pink flowers painted on them that I received as a birthday gift and breaking one of them by slamming it on the bed to make my mom think he was spanking my sister. By the time it was all over, she was laughing and I was the one crying! That was my sisters strategy though, I was to blame for everything she did wrong as a child. She would hit me or take something from me, and because she was younger, she could start crying and make mom believe the opposite had happened. My mom would take the yard rake and sweep everything on the floor into a big pile when it was time to clean our room. Then we would take turns claiming nothing it that pile belonged to us. It was a long and painful process for my mother, I’m sure, but it was our room and one way or another we got it clean.

We were the kool-aid house on the block. Everyone came to our house to climb the trees, play in the sand or have a water balloon fight that eventually broke the window over the kitchen sink where we were filling up balloons to throw at our friends in the front yard. We, and by we I mean my brother, had a pool table and pinball machine in the garage. Of course us girls were not allowed the scratch the pool table, which to my brother meant, girls don’t touch it! We climbed on it and played under it instead. It was the least we could do, being the little sisters and all. My brother would have just as soon been an only child than to deal with the two of us. We were quite a pair. When we asked him questions about things his answer was always “so stupid little girls like you will ask questions.” No wonder my sister and I stuck together like twins. Back then, brothers were the worst! They chased you with craw dads, they didn’t let you play with their cool stuff and they called you stupid.

My sister and I have not always been the best of friends or even the best of sisters, but we have always leaned on the fact that we are family and will be there for each other when the going gets rough, no matter what. We formed that bond beginning the day she was born when I was just over two years old and we moved into the house at 1717 Wickersham Drive. That house, the neighbors, the streets, the creek and the memories were and always will be a part of who and what we are today; the good and the bad. It’s all there. Where we go from here is all up to us. Our memories keep us strong and our faith takes us forward, but that home will always be where our hearts live.

5 Minutes from the Heart: Paint

4660254-102038-paint-splatter-heart-vector-illustrationStart: 5:32 am

Paint is what spills out of the can as you dip in your brush if you are not oh so careful about it,

But who really cares if there are drips anyway.

It’s not about the masterpiece that you create.

It’s all about the passion that goes into the work you are creating.

It’s like writing and having your thoughts spill out all over the paper.

There will be some things that drip out that maybe you hadn’t planned,

But in the end it’s all part of the beauty of the creation.

It all has meaning.

Everything  we do has meaning to someone in some little corner of our world.

It all comes together to make something beautiful; to make someone feel what we feel.

Regardless of the spots and drips.

Regardless of the errors along the way.

It’s not about the way you paint the picture as much as how freely you move the brush.

It’s a beauty that you may not see right way, but it will speak to someone and they will see it.

They will feel it.

They will need it.

Stop: 5:37 am
Five Minute Friday

5 Minutes from the Heart: Write

90d51c25a865713df7e2432c18acc424Every week a prompt is given to write for just 5 minutes, straight from the heart, no editing, no revisions, just write. Well, today the prompt is WRITE! So, here I go

6:53 AM Go!

I write to clear my head; to get it all out in front of me. I write to share what’s on my heart and see if it feels the same being read and it felt when it was written. I write to let others feel it too. It’s not about getting famous or making a name for myself, in fact, often it’s difficult to put my name on it. That may be why I have so many drafts in my file that have yet to be completed. I start to write, and then I wonder if it’s what needs to be heard. Just because I want to say it, doesn’t mean it needs to be heard. So, I leave it in the draft file until I get the urge to pick it up again. Then I shape it and mold it into something I feel is presentable. Some times I write and post in the same hour, other times it’s not even in the same year. Either way, I believe that God gave me the energy to write. I have done it since at least High School, and even though I stopped through the young mother years, I am happy to have found some time in my schedule to pick it up again. I write to share what’s on my heart and sometimes that’s all that matters.

6:58 AM STOP!

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