Unwrapping the Shack Part 2 *Trigger Warnings

The thing about healing...is you have to go back to the shack. 

Paul continues to explain, “Going back to my own Shack, I am there to tear down the walls that years of abuse, deadly secrets, and the infusion of darkness had poisoned the interior.

In my discovery….I found…

That God never loved the façade at all…instead, He always loved the shack, complete with its devastation, complete with its shame, complete with its guilt, complete with it’s self-hatred and loathing. But it was ME and my heart. It was My Soul and God was in love in with me.

It was inside my own Shack that I have always been pursued and have always been embraced by relentless affection; the kindness and grace of God that is our Only hope in Jesus.

So often we’re waiting on someone else to change- before we’re willing to take the steps, to change ourselves.”

***

As I type Paul’s raw, honest words, I think of my mom…the cycle’s of chaos created within, her secrets, the poison released unto her children…built up over the years and I see her inner child, is shattered into a million little pieces so badly…they never came back together…yet the toxic environment of her own shack, affected the roots of her son and daughter, in ways that saw her shack implode, from the inside out.

This is when listening intently to the words Paul is sharing…he says…

“We’re each uniquely damaged and we’re each uniquely healed.”

 If I am to believe this, then the next generation- which I am part of- then there is Hope. Also, we are not to point fingers at those who are struggling themselves, but remember where we ourselves have been…

When you finally hit that rock bottom, it’s finally a place where you can stand, but it’s a devastatingly hard place to be.

***

Throughout the series, Paul references a C.S. Lewis Term: “God- The Grand Interferer.”

A God who is not content to sit back and let us continue in our misery, our lostness and our suffering, and our darkness and our blindness. But dives in with us and joins us in the middle with us, even when we can’t perceive his presence.

For me to be hearing this, coming through all I have endured, it’s like my lantern has been re-lit.

In reference to this, within my book there are several instances of light sources. There is one main character, who purchase an old lantern that doesn’t work. Again, mystery surrounds the actual lantern and later the reader is left to determine the actual purpose.

Revelations 21: 23 The city does not need the sun or moon to shine on, because the glory of God is its light, and the lamb is the city’s lamp.

***

There is a remarkable connection in the literal sense of ‘being saved,’ connected to Wm Paul Young’s mother, on the day Harold Munn was born. Paul has a marvellous way of sharing his personal stories.

Harold Munn was born in Victoria where he did his university education at UVic. He subsequently taught for three years in Malawi, East Africa with CUSO. He took his theological training at Trinity College, Toronto.

In my posts, I have purposely left all stories out, as they belong to Paul and his family, not me.  I enjoyed hearing them, despite some very painful ones. I’ve even listened to some, a few times over, as I watched “Restoring the Shack,” I discovered on Amazon Prime.

Part of Restoring The Shack, is to see the many layers deep, the novel takes the reader and quite often…the author themselves.

One discovery I did make in connection to those in need, is that Harold Munn opened his heart to them.

When homelessness is on the doorstep, you can shut the door or you make the decision to advocate, says Nestegaard Paul. “Harold chose the latter.”

RELATIONSHIP IS EVERYTHING. WE ARE DESIGNED FOR RELATIONSHIP. -Wm Paul Young

Having lived in Victoria, BC for eight years, the most blessings I received, was the years spent helping those in need. I never had to pretend I was someone I’m not, with those living on the streets, the walls came down and as we shared a sandwich or coffee together, I’ve never felt more at home than when I was in their presence.

As I continued to enjoy hearing the many stories of connection; with God at the center, I would discover another link to my story. 

My book was written in 2000 and I looked for a strong beautiful name for Christian’s mom, Jack’s wife; a woman of wisdom.  It was then I discovered the name Sophia.

In 2022, Episode 15 The Cave, Paul Young speaks of his character “Sophia,” and how the Greek word for wisdom is Sophia.

For me, as a writer, things are relational. While I don’t go looking for connections, these sharing’s are proof when parts of another creative soul find its way to you, then without a doubt it’s a God connection.

At one of the lovely places I stayed overnight, the owner, Melissa, has this beautiful artwork she created on the bedroom wall. For me and my heart, it spoke of and was reflective of my book.

The Only time you will find God in a box, is because God wants to be where we are.

That is beautiful to me...

Episode 16 and the revelation of The Trinity, spoke straight to me. After, Paul shared a harrowing story of another courageous survivor. This prompted me to recall a time when I had survived a horrific attack and the bravery it took in order for me to endure and live through it.

As the episode unfolded, I was struck with the pure truth that I hadn’t acknowledged before:

I hadn’t saved myself; God was the one who honestly saved me.

The author goes on to share…

God’s intent is to heal us…even though it is ‘AS Through Fire.’

WE need the activity of fire to expose our hearts and heals us

Fire is restorative

Fire purifies us.

God is a consuming fire. 

How often are we rich in ways that matter, than we don’t even know?

Thankful for a God that climbs into our circumstances to be with us.

***

The truth of my times of survival, I have always felt a surrounding presence. An unwavering belief that I will get through this and yet for me verbally to give up all control is like stepping out to a double edged sword- -one side dull and the other side sharp. There are parts of me that loves the danger, the risk and the other wants to play it safe, keep everything ‘inside the lines.’

Throughout my life and because of my system of tangled roots, I have made terrible choices that placed me in times of darkness. Having Bipolar and PTSD is like inviting an army of fire ants to your sandbox. You know your going to experience pain and yet it is a place of comfort to you- all you have ever known.

Paul shares about trust and control:

When you have FEAR  in your life, you can either TRUST or CONTROL.

Let go of control and joy can be a constant companion rather than an occasional acquaintance.

We only get grace one day at a time. I’m spending real grace on things that don’t exist.

So what would it cost me to let go of that CONTROL…IT’S THE RISK OF TRUST.

I have dealt with trust issues all of my life; in fact, in fifty years, there is only one relationship where I was graced with their faithfulness to me. ONLY ONE. My response? I ran as far away as I could from this person because I could not fathom, someone would remain devoted to me.

Sometimes the path for healing from fear is into the fear itself. - Wm Paul Young

I’ve written about it before- growing up having a poverty mentality. How I felt more comfortable having less, as it is my security blanket. I have shared about the guilt tied to my daughter’s untimely and tragic death.  I’ve never been able to explain it in a way, so others could understand, what it is I am wanting to convey until I heard this…

Paul shared he had an orphan heart, in that orphans don’t believe anything actually belongs to them. They’re just waiting for someone whose more worthy, to come along and take it.

There is the profound truth- the cornerstone of my broken walls of mistrust, my cycles of poverty and the feeling of being unworthy of anyone’s love.

“We don’t know there is something GOOD in us that we are worthy of being loved, we’ll be caught in a cycle of religion trying to perform our way into the approval and affection of God.”

I’ve spent most of my life, scared of the woman who brought me into this world. As I watched this series, I wondered if I had ever told her that I thought she was a good woman? While I lamented over never being told, “I am proud of you,” I was stopped in my tracks, if ever I had said the very same to her? When was the last time, my mom had ever heard those words or when last had she been blessed with the title of motherhood?

“I’m furious at the things that are wrong and keep people locked into bondage that are hurting them.”-Wm Paul Young

When we grow up absent of  ‘proper parenting’, we grow up absent of feelings, emotions and characteristics that makes us all unique. I knew I was stupid, lazy, no good for and useless…never did I believe I was worthy, loved, accepted and wanted. Yet, I have a strong sense that neither did my mother.

On the back cover of my novel, I chose to have a snapshot of me at age four and my late, beloved, daughter Shayla, at age two. For me and for her, it was a time where life seemed frozen in a time filled with joy…before my life was impacted by abuse as a little girl for the first but not the last time. The photo is also prior to me nearly dying in a car accident at the age of four, on a highway outside of Edmonton, Alberta.

My daughter Shayla and the picture of her at two years old- was taken at a friends house- 19 years before her life would be tragically taken in a car crash.

These were moments in time, where we understood what happiness felt like.

In my candid honesty, I didn’t want some fake photo of me smiling- while choking on hidden secrets.

I also wanted two photographs - connecting my inner child with hers.

In an interview with Maria Shriver, Wm. Paul Young says:

“It took me a whole life to become a child.”  

I knew in an instant what that meant.

I’ve been trying to spend my whole life reclaiming my past childhood- the one where I was properly loved within the mind of my imagination- where I was properly wanted, nurtured and had proper boundaries.

MOST OF OUR HURT COMES FROM RELATIONSHIPS AND MOST OF OUR HEALING COMES FROM RELATIONSHIPS -Wm Paul Young

Some people think me being a Christian, life is easy. At least those who don’t truly know me. They believe I am galloping through a field of wildflowers and saying, 'God, can you please take this from me,' and it just all falls in place...much like a rainbow- landing perfectly from the sky- unto it's pot o' gold. 

Truth is….I've been in a tug o' war with God, my whole life! The reality is I am that wounded little girl at the playground, who gathers all the sandbox toys together and will not share- for fear of never having anything given back in return. I hold on so tight, that each toys sharp edges is poking into me, causing me pain… but Still…I will not let go.

God is present, not in a way to coerce of control, God is present to be with us in the midst of what we and others have brought to the table.

Just as my trust issues have caused me a multitude of heartache, so has the death of my child.  In the first decade since Shayla died, I did more positive things with my grief that I could imagine. I participated in a six month bereavement course through Hospice, I received personal one on one counselling,  I became a facilitator of GriefShare, a faith based course, to help others, I released my daughter’s ashes into the ocean, on the Island of Maui. Part of my ‘healing’ was to ensure safety changes were and did take place where Shayla died. I started a Pebble Movement and was the one to dedicate her memorial bench. I even read my bible more and I felt closer to God, more than I ever had. There were no instances of displacement, no living out of vehicles and no serious health issues. Then…the damn broke and I was carried away with all the debris of my life.

Loss doesn’t make any sense…

Inside those losses are times where we learn about community, and we learn about each other, we invite people in to places, maybe we haven’t before.

Years ago, I sat in a movie theatre watching “The Shack,” beside two people. I didn’t know them or that it had been filmed in the Southern region of British Columbia. I openly wept, given the tragic loss of a child, was the main theme.

Paul speaks of when we receive nudges: “So, I just got the nudge and those of you who have been walking in a relationship with Jesus, for a long time and learned how to listen to the Holy Spirit, speaking in your language, you know the concept of the nudge. You just get a nudge. It happens in the normalcy of your life. In the ordinariness of everyday and its like that’s a good idea.”

After the movie ended and through my salty tears, sprinkled onto my butter popcorn, I decided it was a good idea to share with the theatre goers beside me…

I said, “I couldn’t help it, but throughout the movie, I expressed my grief, heartache and a sense of unexpected joy. It was such a mixed feeling of emotions, as my only child passed away.”

 The two people sitting next to me smiled and seemed content with my words. The one lady replied, “It was good of you to share, as that means a lot to the both of us…for each of us was on the set of “The Shack.”

“Coincidence has a name…that is GOD is involved in the details of our lives.”

***

There is a beautiful scene in another film, called “Antwone Fisher.” One so powerful, where upon first watching it, I had to shut the movie off and have a good, ugly cry. It was back when I had little or no connection to my extended family. Since then, I have watched the heartbreaking/ inspiring story and been able to sit with my Joy in what it means to have family that cares…that loves me…even those parts of my own shack that I have tried to keep hidden.  To understand deeper connection, I want to share the scene I am speaking of. Antwone Fisher arrives to a house and not just any house…inside are all of his loving relatives, welcoming him to a beautiful feast, a banquet put on, just for him. Everyone is smiling, reaching out with hugs and the love he has hungered for, all of his life. I cry at this heartwarming scene, as I can imagine how beautiful it would feel to be welcomed like that. I also envision the very same kind of welcoming, one where I see my brother also happy, stripped of his imperfections and waiting to hug his little sister, with love…nothing but the pure kind of love that we spent years in search of... within our own worn down shacks.

When the darkness and the lies are inside and kept inside the imprisonment of our own hearts, THEY ARE HUGE. When we let them out…THEY LOSE THEIR POWER. -Wm Paul Young

The series, “Restoring the Shack,” has impacted me at a pivotal time in my life. I have been able to unpack a lot of unfinished baggage and honestly address the major issues in my life. While funds ended abruptly last year, no one is more responsible for where I am at, than myself.

Just as I had danced my way back into darkness, I understand the fragments in me are of my undoing.

Something I have been very blessed to received is grace…many times over and as I look back on this past Christmas, there were many new angels that stepped up, to help me through, for which I am deeply grateful for.

GRATITUDE… WE HAVE SO MUCH TO BE THANKFUL FOR! Take the time to be Thankful for people, circumstances and write them down…even better…TELL THEM. -Wm Paul Young

Yet, as I watched this series, it occurred to me that I have been relying on the human form of angels and not entirely upon my faith. I need to remember that…”God is In the details.”

I have prayed over this many times from the warm comforts of my temporary shelter and finally, I had a my answer! Faith is about having true assurance that what is ahead, I need to wholly give it to God! I cannot have one foot in the sandbox and the other one out- ready to bolt and take hold of whoever will help me. I have spoken to an Intake worker and been given the details of assistance. Yet, what’s important is for me to fully trust in God, to be the one who rescues me. To turn to the bible, I have spent two decades studying and search for the answers I need, among the 1,551 pages I’ve read.

I am unsure what lays ahead, yet some decisions have been made as to the need to control....be given up, no matter the outcome.

With my upcoming birthday, I’ve had some friends reach out and ask me what do I need?

A PRAYER IS AN OPEN CONVERSATION WITH GOD

I took the time in prayer and replied back: “I don’t need anything, but what I would like is if any of you are not Organ Donors…please take the time to sign up. I did and if anything could ever be viable for someone else, then the gift of life is all I ask you to do.”

Also, I am making a declaration in this post so that everyone knows where I stand. It is one Wm. Paul Young made himself, with his wife and children.

I KNOW that you Love me, you care for me and want to see me thrive…but Please, I ask under ANY circumstances, you do NOT Rescue me from this…

***

When you learn to live without expectations, there’s always surprises right around the corner.

This is a God who cares for us, involved in the details….the stories….we get the privilege of unravelling the tapestry of the stories, how we’re all interrelated.

I think we are surrounded by the miraculous, and yet, we are oblivious most of the time. We live our lives in prison; prisons of our own making, prisons that other people have built for us, and sometimes those prisons become our identity.  That is, they become precious to us. Our fears, our hurts, our losses, the abuse, we begin to identify themselves to us. A lot of times the prison door is left unlocked, and we don’t want to leave. So here is the question Paul asks us to think about:

How much of your life do you live inside the hurt and the losses of your history; inside what other people have done to you, inside your own suffering?

Has it become an identity to you…and what would it cost you… to walk out? - Wm. Paul Young

 

By TL Alton

When Art Mirrors Life

 

Yesterday, I saw my faith being shaken. As I was about to embark onto a ferry to Victoria and collect hundreds of dollars in misprints- of my book.

My past wounds were being exposed to the salty ocean and the sting of my errors, in okaying the wrong file to the printers, seemed too overwhelming. I felt the enemy trying to get a stronghold over me. His caustic words were upon me, like stinging nettles upon my bare skin, he whispered in my ear….you are not worthy of anyone’s love.

I had to find a spot, where my tears would not be seen. Walking up the stairs, I leaned over the railing of the ferry and took a deep breathe in.

Folding my hands together in prayer, I allowed the light to slowly engulf me. I stood my ground and reminded myself…whom shall I fear?

I reminded myself that God not only loves me, but all my trust is in him.

The mistake I had made, was a human error, not to be confused with the enemy- who I was giving too much credit for.

What had occurred in the first print of my book was to serve a better purpose.

The day of my PFO closure on my heart, I had made the mistake of bringing my cell phone with me.

I knew better. The last time I was in hospital- after my stroke- I took my cell and changed every password I held within my device. I promised myself, I would not make that mistake again!

However, my anxiety grew the morning of my surgery and when I typed my okay for the printers to print off the first copies of my book…I gave consent to the wrong file!

I tried, but it was too late, to stop the printing of the first fifty copies.

In typing this…I breathe a sigh of relief that it was not 500 copies!

After many tears shed, and me calling myself unkind names – due to my error, I set out to share with those who were interested in buying the first edition of Under the Sitka Tree.

I was honest and accountable, for what was my error- not at all the printers.

To my surprize and delight, everyone who has ordered a polished edition, also requested a misprint.

After speaking with Lindsey Cocking from Island Blue Print Co. Ltd, he assured me it happens often when the first run of the book, needs revising. Lindsay also shared how these ones are sold as “Advanced Readers Copy” and it was then I decided to slash the price of these paperbacks to ½ off. The next run will be sold at original cost of $20 and these misprints are now only $10.

Being an avid researcher, I decided to read about other instances, where something has happened to the first copy of a book being printed. The most brilliant example I found, was a woman reading her romance novel, discovered inserted within her book, a few pages of a Stephen King novel! Now, that is some transition and one that made me feel relieved that I am not alone.

By the time the ferry docked in Swartz Bay, I was feeling lighter, as I was determined to rise from the dark ashes that once bound me to the Island.

Driving off the ramp and onto the highway, I reflected on the person now returning eight months later.

I thought of all I have become as a Christian writer, due to everything I have endured.

When in 2000, I set out to write my first novel, I did not plan on composing a story of happily ever afters. From the beginning, I knew God’s purpose for me was to take every bit of my pain, my sorrows and my losses, in order to create characters that were likable, relatable and even loathed.

In my novel, there is purpose in the pain. The Lord took the battle scarred heart of mine and in my own research of my characters, I was shown the depths of each one. As I wrote, I worked on my novel knowing the presence of the enemy  was often near, for he was trying to deter me. Yet what God has done in me, fills me with his light and love. In Him, I see hope arise.

One day, as I read my bible, I read a sidebar story that resonated deep within me…

In the shop of a blacksmith, there are three types of tools.

There are tools on the junkpile: outdated, broken, dull and rusty.

There are tools on the anvil: melted down, molten hot, moldable, changeable.

There are tools of usefulness: sharpened, primed, and defined.

They lie ready in the blacksmiths tool chest, available to their master, fulfilling their calling.

We are all somewhere in the blacksmith’s tool chest. We are either on the scrap pile, on the anvil, in the Master’s hands, or in the tool chest. From the shelves to the workbench , from the water to the fire, I am sure you will see yourself.  ~ Max Lucado

I know, in my own tool box and connected to my grief, there are many bent and misshapen tools.  This is due to an aching void that remains, where there has been a loss of control and a struggle for others to see…who I really am. 

Often though in fighting to just let go, I have lost myself in the transition and I am pulled back- into the throes of an addicted family, where our roots are scarred...but still hold threads of connections. 

As the years of my writing has carried me throughout various life chapters, I never have wanted to be a writer who projects being perfect. If anything the things within, are not secrets I am holding unto. In being authentic, I name my darkness, yet refuse to let it claim me. There is a power coursing through my veins when I look into the distance for the lighthouse…when I have lost my way. My hope is that others will still see that light shining within me.

Extending my hands, I reach out for the grace that anchors me, when the storms prove too much.

After departing the ferry and driving along the Pat Bay Highway, I knew where my first stop would be.

Pulling over by the sign that states: “Welcome to Victoria,” I parked at the spot where I lived (on and off) in my car for 7 ½ months. This area, I arrived at, was to express my gratitude for all I had been brought through. As I closed my eyes, I gave thanks to God for how far I truly have come….since those nights of despair.

I allowed myself only a short visit, as I no longer had a right to linger...in the past.

Next, I went and paid for my 2 boxes of first edition books. I don’t like to always refer to them as misprints, because I have learned a valuable and costly lesson from this!

I certainly will never forget this process! I have worked diligently with my formatter, Leon Oldale, to ensure the next file I okay to send, is the correct one! 

Another thing I discovered about books that have had this happened… some are considered a worthwhile investment.

A rare first edition of a “Harry Potter” book featuring a misspelled title, fetched  $90,000 at an auction.

Now, I am not claiming to be J.K. Rowling…however, if your going to dream…it may as well be big! 😊

Later on in my visit to the Island, I spent my afternoon seeking some of my brothers and sisters in Christ.

I shared with them some of the journey of Under the Sitka Tree. 

How I  was inspired to write about indifference, as it stems from how I have felt. I chose to share about equality in my novel, because I believe in it. How I decided to have a character in my novel, have the same weaknesses I have, because I know of the shame associated with it.

I then talked about how I missed attending church and listening to the sermons. We talked about some of the ones that have stayed with me. I shared how I found it interesting that as a church attendee, when there was a bulletin announcing pornography, to be discussed…the following Sunday- attendance was down. The truth is, more needed to be said and shared about addictions, of all kinds. 

The broken, were the ones Jesus liked to keep company with. 

I believe because no one wants to be judged, branded and stigmatized, there was prior to the pandemic, a reluctance to put on display in church, those addictions that are being sought out in the dark.  

I know it's also because no one wants to be signaled out and labeled. 

Throughout the journey of my novel that took me over two decades to complete and in print, there were chapters of sin and shame. I experienced betrayal on horrible levels of heartache, while I suffered my greatest loss, in the death of my only child. I spent many nights of solitude struggling, therefore I would invite Jesus in...to guide my way.

The word says:

For the spirit of heaviness

Put on the garment of praise

That's how we fight our battles

~ “Surrounded” by Michael W. Smith

After dropping off some copies of my books, I felt a pull towards a place that holds painful memories. After praying, I decided to venture into territory, where the soil was tainted- from the night of my attack, back in May 2014.

I grabbed an ice cap and found my way to an address; I truly wish I could forget.

Parking my car in Esquimalt, in front of an apartment building, I did my best to ‘blend in.’ However, with my mirrored sunglasses and blond highlights- I drew a poor comparison to the former Police-detective series (Starsky & Hutch).

I was unsure of my purpose, in stopping at a location, where a crime had occurred, all those years ago.

I honestly did not expect anything to happen, but something drew me to the place where I survived a night of terror.

Taking a sip of my ice cold beverage, suddenly I saw a man emerge. I almost dumped my drink all over me. For my perpetrator had never been caught nor charged with the crimes against me.

In a city where another news story covered the ‘rape culture’ of Victoria, there had been instances where a few bartenders had been guilty of lacing drinks- in order to receive kickbacks.

I now know this is exactly what happened to me, when I was taken against my will and brought to the very apartment building, I was now staking out.

As a man walked down the sidewalk, my anxiety was surmounting. In an instant, I recognized him as the one who had me drugged, kidnapped and sexually assaulted me during one night of terror- I've never completely healed from.

While I have shared openly with readers that I have forgiven the man who added another layer of stain, upon me- who stole from me what was mine – I still felt the need to see if he existed? 

Much like my statement I finally provided Police, it was with purpose I returned here- to reclaim for me/Tonya- what was once lost.

Now, as he continued to walk near my vehicle, something else caught me off guard.

In his hand, he held onto the hand of a child.

In an instance, I saw something different about the man. 

It was a reminder that while it often hurts to revisit a place where you saw only pain… there can be a new perspective.

While I was denied my god given rights that horrible night in 2014, here was this man who I felt justified in seeing as a terrifying villain- holding the hand so tenderly, of a loved one.

In that moment, he was not the monster I had referred to….no, he was stripped of the ugliness and now I simply saw him…as a perfectly- flawed- human being.

Starting my car, I drove off, with tears streaming down my face. My thoughts were flooded with memories and my heart was beating fast. As I drove out of a city, I struggled eight years to survive in, I remember a Counselling session in my support group, where a beautiful Japanese girl had brought a once broken piece of pottery and now it was repaired. 

As I drove back along the highway, the rays of sun burst through the clouds of cobalt. Suddenly, I let all of my emotions out...onto my steering wheel.

The little girl in me, realized there was peace in knowing that despite all of the pain I had endured, no one can ever harm my soul, within!

My next stop saw me go into the local grocery store, to pick up a bouquet of sunflowers.

I then drove out to the local cemetery, to visit the grave of my dearest friends daughter.

I stayed there for awhile, as I had to collect my thoughts, after what had just taken place.

My eyes spotted a pine cone and as I held it in my hand , I thought of the one at my home- from my beloved Sitka spruce tree. That cone represents nearly half of my writer’s life, connected to its roots.

I thought about the lie – the one from the enemy- that tries to convince me that I am unloved. Yet there can be beauty found...even in some of the most difficult places.

For when my mind is at war, riddled with anxious thoughts, I turn to the light and find inner harmony.

I thought about how I am drawn to write about such dark things, with rawness and honesty.

The simple answer is…I want to bring my readers, back into the light and share the joy I have found, in my faith. Not because I am a perfect Christian...no, rather I want to share what I've experienced to say that there is hope despite my own flaws. 

If anything I've learned, as a writer, I know I am part of a bigger group of talented souls- whose ink is dipped in depressions, addictions and struggles.

Novelist Anne Rice grew up steeped in the myth and lore of New Orleans. She didn't find success as a writer until tragedy struck. Rice is said to have fallen into a deep depression after her 5-year-old daughter died from leukemia. She found that her only relief from despair was writing. Her first novel, Interview With a Vampire, was turned into a successful movie, followed by many other tales in The Vampire Chronicles series. Today, this famous depressed writer has a huge cult following. Dr. Thomson notes that though many writers struggle with their work, there are others — such as Rice — for whom writing is a release. 

It can bring pleasure and a sense of peacefulness, through being surrounded by a world of people the writer created, he suggested.

Depression and creativity are thought to go hand in hand, leaving us with an impressive list of famous depressed writers.

Source.

By Madeline R. Vann, MPH Medically Reviewed by Pat F. Bass III, MD, MPH

Reviewed: June 19, 2013

Through it all, I always strive to keep my eyes on the light.

In the Bible (Romans 8:38) Paul writes, “… I am convinced that nothing can separate us from God’s love… neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow - not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below - indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.” The same Lord is Lord of all, and gives richly to all who call on Him, for, “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.”

My day ended at a beach; I know well. I have walked barefoot along the wet sand, in search of sea glass. I have  sat in my car at 4am, awaiting the sunrise over the rolling waves.

I returned to do a special release of sorts. The first thing I did, was to take a sunflower and place it next to something special, on a brilliant piece of driftwood.

In the placement of the flower, it was my way of releasing what had taken place over the course of my one day, back in Victoria.

To remind myself how it is well within my soul.

To reflect on such a beautiful and powerful reminder that I AM Worthy. The light within…was not to be destroyed.

I then decided to do a unique book release on this beach…

I had brought a card and a clear plastic bag, to protect my novel, from the elements. I signed the book and wrote in the card that instead of a ‘message in a bottle,’ this was a ‘message in a book.’

I then wrapped it up and placed it higher up near the road, as opposed too close to the water- where the incoming tide could possibly wash it away!

It was my way of giving thanks back…to an Island, where I had spent years working on my book, shared in fellowship and found the healing in some places, I truly needed.

As I drove  back to the ferries, to return home, I would encounter a setback to do with my reservation. Soon, I realized it was the enemies way of keeping me from departing onto the open sea…to my new beginnings.

A quick call to friends I consider family, saw their serving hearts help me out of my predicament.

The irony of this, was I had to leave the ferry area, to make a call to them. Turning down a road I thought I had never been down before, I discovered a couple living/sleeping in their Honda civic. Their belongings were crammed in the back seats. 

They were holding onto each other. I just wanted to say to them: This isn’t permanent. You can get out of your situation and find hope...even in the darkest of places.

Turns out, that road they were on...I had travelled plenty of times, during my own bouts of displacement. 

As I completed my call and request from my friends, I prayed again for the couple in front of me.

Ever so grateful for the means to arrive home, I boarded the ferry. By now, my day that had begun at 6am saw me step out onto the ferry deck at dusk. The sea breeze felt so good against my skin! 

As I admired the coral sunset over the ocean, I saw a reflection of myself in one of the windows. Instead of having a sorrowful ending to my story, the light was resettling its way, back into me. 

Once, where the cracks had been, I saw the handiwork of God who is the ink in my pen.

His mercies are multiplied…

In the end, as I continue onward… I understand the flawed, imperfect parts of me...sees my tool chest have various shapes and sizes all within it ~ be a part...of who I am.

by TL Alton