Problems with Facebook

A lot of folks complain about Facebook. I never have. It’s free. Why should I complain about something when I’m not contributing to it?

I don’t know when it changed, because with writing new books and taking care of a husband who has blood cancer, Parkinson’s, and vascular dementia and is unable to weight-bear—plus walking a dog since we have no yard—I stay rather occupied. Sometimes it takes me several days to find enough free time to cut my fingernails.

The point is that I suddenly noticed that Facebook had changed my profile from author to “digital creator.” Now that is funny. Computers are as much of a mystery to me as math. What I know about computers is how to turn them on—and even that is iffy if it isn’t my computer—write a book, save it, and email it to my editor. I can even download the cover the illustrator sends me and send it to the editor. That’s all. I only visit internet sites if I am researching for a book. I don’t download anything on my 15-year-old laptop computer—which is running out of memory—and I don’t have a mobile phone, “smart,” or otherwise.

When I noticed the FB shift, I decided to rectify it immediately. Back to why it was so funny to designate me as a digital creator. I didn’t know how to change the change. Before I knew it, FB had changed it itself. It decided I was a government agency. With everything that is going on in the world at the moment, that’s not funny—it’s scary.

Changing it again was no easier than the first time because the computer program running Meta had no category for author. Authors must be an endangered species.

Now I finally have a working profile that fits me better—writer. I’ve dreamed of being an author all my life—at least from the time I was eight—so it seems a bit disappointing to settle for “writer” rather than “author”—but at least I’m not looking over my shoulder because I’m listed as a government agency—so I will return to not complaining about FB in spite of the seemingly random and unnecessary changes it makes constantly.

I have a new book coming out in a few weeks. A powerful, hard-hitting mystery that does not ignore the correlation between child abuse and crime. My FB label—writer or author—really doesn’t matter just so readers buy the book.

Labels change. People change their ideas about labels. One thing never changes. God. People give Him many labels, but He is the Lord God, Creator of the universe.

“He knows the way that I take; When He has tested me, I shall come forth as gold. He is unique, and who can make Him change?” Job 23:10 & 13.

No matter what label anyone or anything attaches to me, it can’t change what God created when He made me and called me to write books.

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It’s Grace

It’s that time of year again when fatigued leaves abandon their career of decking lofty trees with green and let go to dance in the street and scuttle down the sidewalks in front of rushing feet.

It’s that time of the year when faded flowers beseech the sky for one more day of light and color before falling into forgotten glory.

It’s that time of year again when fingers of wind grow strong and cold and clouds batter the sun.

It’s that time of the year when nature sings with a hoarse voice. The natural world is humbled, debased, and degraded as winter approaches to blanket and hide the landscape it sends into oblivion.

This world is temporal. Nothing humans can do will change the natural cycle of life that God created. “To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven.” Ecclesiastes 3:1

I met a friend today walking a dog that I hadn’t seen her with before. When we stopped to talk, the dog sat at her feet staring steadfastly into her face with a deep look of love. The dog’s previous owner had died. For weeks the dog had been left alone in an empty house with strangers popping in to give it food and water. Then my friend adopted the collie and gave it what it needed most—love. Grace. The eternal substance of life on earth and in heaven.

There was a time when I was a sexually abused child. There was a time when two abortions were forced on me to protect the identity of the abuser.

There was a time when I used profanity. There was a time when I was mean and ugly to my siblings.

There was a time when I drank alcohol. There was a time I hung out in beer halls, got drunk, and drove home.

There was a time when I could never have written even one book. I felt ugly, unwanted, stupid, and worthless. Then Jesus whispered the love song of grace into my heart and it began to beat again—for the first time. I was reborn as a new daughter in Christ.

Only grace can forgive. Only grace can write the language of love and acceptance that endures forever. Jesus’ love. Jesus’ grace.

“For love is as strong as death…Many waters cannot quench love, nor can the floods drown it.” Song of Solomon 8:6&7.

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Bending, Breaking, Shaping 2020

flowers curved rock fence

Many people don’t like change. I’m one of them.

I don’t like change because I’m mentally lazy. It’s not as easy for me to learn as it is for other folks, thus once I have learned something – I don’t want to have to discard it and learn something new. Take math. No, forget math. I’ve never learned math to start with, and thus any changes to it won’t distress me. I don’t do math.

$Quit math when letters came$

Today I woke up to find that Windows had commandeered my computer overnight and changed everything. I couldn’t even get to my email. I hate change.

Then I got to our grocery store and diligently followed the one-way arrows around the store—and thus—there was no way to avoid the soap aisle. Some scent on that aisle commandeered my sinuses and I desperately needed to cough. I held back the cough for fear folks in the store would think I had The Virus. I nearly passed out in the checkout line from holding back the cough that was demanding release.

I hate change.

However, as an author, I do embrace language changes that make for more powerful descriptions. I thought of a few today. “Alec, you’re making me angry. Quit going all 2020 on me.”

The box dropped off the shelf behind me and hit the concrete floor scaring the 2020 out of me.

“Let me tell you something, sugar. You know I ain’t one for gossip and talking bad about other folks—but I gotta tell you—that gal is as messed up as 2020.”

By the time she finished settling her mother at the nursing home, picking up the kids from school, and cleaning up after the sick dog—she felt as if she had lived through 2020 again.

The divorce hit her like 2020.

His life shattered around him like 2020, leaving him to trip over emotional obstacles like sleeping dogs in a dark room.

God never causes evil, but He commandeers evil and transforms it into something good. So since we can’t escape 2020, we can bend it, break it, and shape it into a new pattern. All it takes is…accepting change.

But I still hate the new Windows on my computer and I still don’t do math.

bird hooded crow tree

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Butterflies and Changes

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Yeah, I get it. Without changes, there would be no butterflies. But I strongly disagree with Robin Sharma who said, “Change is hard at first, messy in the middle, and glorious at the end.”

My comics are gone and that’s a change and that is not glorious – it’s disappointing.

First thing every morning I add my four favorite comics to my breakfast bar and Diet Coke to get the day off with a smile and a chuckle. Sometimes even a belly laugh. First the comics disappeared off Yahoo. Change. Not good. Then I found another site with my favorites. Now it’s news. Change. Not good. Regardless of whether the news on the site is real or fake, I miss my smiles, chuckles, and belly laughs.

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To get myself in a better frame of mind, I’ve read inspirational quotes about change. Nido Qubein said, “Change brings opportunity.” Good for him. But I wonder if he had to put two pairs of glasses on to read his witticism. Change. Not good.

For a writer, some changes are great. No more hammering out books on typewriters with stiff keys committed to catching fingers between the pads. Instant communication with editors, etc. Being able to change stories and move sentences and characters around without ripping pages out of the carriage and throwing them on the floor.

But vanishing comics? That’s a change too far.

sunflowers and butterfly laredo december

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The Change Rose

Another name for hydrangeas is “change roses.” Hydrangeas are small bushes in the southern U.S. where I grew up. In Scotland with all the rain, they can grow into small trees.

Size is not what earned hydrangeas they nickname “change roses.” They range in color from white, to blue, to light purple, to dark purple, to pink, to red. White hydrangeas lack color pigment and can’t be manipulated to change their colors. The color of other hydrangeas depends on the presence of aluminum ions in the soil and how the plant absorbs them according to the acidity of the soil.

We are like hydrangeas. What surrounds us that we see, hear, and read changes the focus of our hearts and the direction of our thoughts. Immerse ourselves in negativity, profanity, and impure thoughts and we become soiled like a white garment before flood waters. Proverbs 23:7 says, “As he thinks in his heart, so is he.” Jesus said, “Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks.”

The good news about being change roses is that we control the change. We have freedom to decide what we allow to enter through our ears and eyes and what we allow to come out of our mouths. Hydrangeas are static and have no choice but to absorb the soil around their roots and bloom accordingly. We can change our soil by moving: getting up to turn off the TV; refusing to allow negative or toxic people to rent space in our minds; turning a polluted conversation into a clean conversation, going for a walk to remove ourselves from human contamination.