Retreat to the Mountains

Psalm 121 sings, “I will lift up my eyes to the hills–from where comes my help? My help comes from the LORD, who made heaven and earth.”

Sometimes, when life in the Valley of Death gets especially hard, we need to look up to the hills (or mountains), walk among the trees, feel the cool air of a higher elevation, and pray. A week after my birthday (which was on Easter this year), after visiting my beloved Jose in prison, I was invited to go with my local church woman’s group to the mountains where I used to live.

After a five and a half hour’s journey in the noisy church van, we arrived at night, in the rain. I forgot my waterproof hat, so my long hair was dripping. Snow sprinkled the mountain tops by what I call Selah’s Falls, a place where I used to walk with my daughter, a place I wrote into my “Selah of the Summit” book. We had seen the Summit in all seasons, and this spring it felt especially cold. I couldn’t wait to get to my room and bed. First we checked in and hauled our luggage to our rooms. Then we found the Dining Hall and ate the best home-made pineapple pizza with a salad bar. Then came a long session of singing and teaching, so I didn’t get into my bed until late. Still a little cold, I tried to snuggle in the thin blanket with my jacket on top. How ironic that this retreat was where once was my home! I had just spent weeks driving from my Central California orchard room to Los Angeles, trying to help my daughter find a better life, a better home. We used to live together on this mountain’s top, in a three-story mansion with wood decks and big fireplaces, among the forest, near a lake. I taught her to drive on the road to Selah’s Falls.

How can life make such strange circles? Jesus, I prayed, free Jose from prison, so we may see the mountains together soon. It’s not where we are that’s important, anyway. It’s who we’re with . . . it’s knowing You . . . how I want to be with this amazing man . . . How I miss my daughter . . .

And, so praying, I finally fell asleep only to be awakened at 6:00 a.m. for breakfast and a long day of planned sessions of singing, Bible Study, interactive games, an inspiring speaker’s helpful hints, and prayer. In between sessions I walked up and down the very vertical landscape of Selah’s Falls, until I was so tired I could not climb the stairs to my far-off room.

Change is never easy. Nothing valuable in life is easy. We don’t have to face it all alone. Psalm 121 continues:

“The LORD is your keeper; the LORD is your shade at your right hand. The sun shall not strike you by day, nor the moon by night. The LORD shall preserve you from all evil; He shall preserve your soul. The LORD shall preserve your going out and your coming in from this time forth, and even forever.”

If you like my Blog, please read one of my 8 books on Amazon.

On the Road Again (Where IS my Home?)

Me in Russia, Turkey, and China

For the second time in just a few months during this World Pandemic, I have been evicted from a house where I was renting a room.  This house, like the other, is in Bakersfield, California–a sprawling agricultural town in the Central plains, surrounded by vineyards, nut trees, and distant mountains.  Bakersfield is definitely not Los Angeles, New York, London, Frankfurt, Moscow, Istanbul, Abu Dhabi, or Shanghai–cities I have visited during my world travels.  I taught English in Russia, Turkey, and China for 5 years, living under their political systems and economies.  After returning to California, I was homeless in Los Angeles for over a year, living in my car and driving for Uber Eats to make barely enough money for food and gas.  I finally got a good teaching job and then moved to Bakersfield.

Not new to challenges, I survived a rare form of cancer 25 years ago when my son Jonathan was just a baby and my daughter Jessica only 3.  I lost my mother, father, and younger brother (my entire immediate family) when I was too young.  I write these things into my books.  By the grace of Jesus, I have survived them.  But the idea of home is an elusive thing.

My Daughter Jessica visits me in a California motel room, looking like Dorothy from “The Wizard of Oz,” who just wanted to go Home

Right now, nothing seems as difficult as trying to find a home.  Should I stay in Bakersfield, in expensive, coldhearted California, during Covid-19?  Everyone here must wear a face mask to go outside, people line up 6 feet apart to be allowed into stores to shop for food, and Starbucks (and all the restaurants) won’t let people inside.  Governor Gavin Newsom (who was just caught in a scandal for disregarding his own Coronavirus Laws) has made new curfew laws that some California sheriffs refuse to enforce.  If we order take-out food, we must pick it up ourselves “curbside,” or have “contact-less delivery” left beside our home.  Eight months ago this began, and now winter is coming.  The sun which shines so brightly hot in Bakersfield summer has been covered up with gray.

My mother as a teenager and little girl, with braids like my daughter Jessica.  Lois Mary Groves was a haunted creature who ran away to meet a military man as a teen but then came home, met my dad, had me, and died too young

Home.  When I was four, I played outside my Grandmother’s stately Southern mansion near the old university where my Grandfather and she had taught and my mother graduated.  I remember the home’s tall white pillars by the stained-glass, embellished front door.  I could wander out that door and stand at the front rock wall that bordered grassy yards.  I was barely tall enough to glimpse the world outside.  Walnut trees lowered branches beside a guest house and a little creek.  My Grandfather, Professor Ernest Rutherford Groves, taught at UNC (University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill), one of the oldest campuses in America.  He  graduated from Yale University and Dartmouth College.  He received an honorary Ph.D. from Boston University and became famous for Marriage and the Family books, classes, and counseling.  He started the National Council on Family Relations that still holds conferences.  Sadly, he died before I was born.  Gimghoul Castle (part of a secret society my grandfather belonged to) rose stately down our road.  The three stories of our house held treasures from far-away places: cut-glass display cases with hand-painted rose tea sets from England, Colonial sterling silver candlesticks and spoons, African ebony masks hanging scary on the wall, and mahogany tables with lions’ feet that were hand-carved in Holland.

I wish we could live in hotel room like this, my newest one

My Sober Wake-Up Call: “Delirious” (from my new book, “Selah and the Prisoner”)

Those of us who realize we must STOP taking certain medication or drinking certain drinks usually have a wake-up call.  This is mine, and I wrote it into my book “Fire and Ice” and then changed it a little for my newest book, “Selah and the Prisoner.”  I hope you find it helpful.  Have you had a wake-up call?  What was it?

“Delirious”

One night I drove across the mountains with my new friend Jason, a fellow fan of the famous Selah book.  He was a samurai with swords.  He drove behind me as we went upon my foolish quest to pick up my things from one place and move them to another.  It was too late to go, and Jason told me, but, stubbornly, I insisted.  And on the way back, past midnight, the road turned sharply to the left, and I drove straight.

I awoke to the sound of crushing metal and shattering glass.  My car was rolling down the mountainside!  I screamed and prayed and tried to grab the steering wheel.  The motion whipped me side to side.  Shards of glass like swords flew from my framed artwork in the back seat, cut through my right hand, and barely missed my face.  After several long seconds, the sound and motion stopped, and the car rested partly on my driver’s door.  Everything was black except the eerie green dials of my dashboard.  I started crying, the salty tears stinging on the cut upon my cheek, as I screamed for Jason, shaking, on the verge of shock.

Using his truck lights to show a path, Jason climbed down the dreaded cliff to check if I were still alive.  I don’t remember seeing him, but his voice assured me.

“I have no mobile Tech reception here,” he said.  “I will find a cabin up the road and use a landline to phone Emergency Responders.  Will you be OK while you wait for them?”

“OK?” I asked.  “I do not know!  Don’t leave me here . . .” I protested, but he was gone, and I was left alone in my twisted car and broken life.

Time became irrelevant as I sat there, my seatbelt tight across my chest (I could not find the button to release it).  I tasted sweet blood in the corner of my mouth and smelled it from the open wound on the back of my right hand.  I did not want to touch the slippery liquid that oozed out from me, but I could not help it.  I lifted my hand and stared at my own life seeping out, a crimson tint strangely mixed with green from the dashboard lights.  I tried to wrap my wound but could not with only one hand to use, and I smeared blood all over the car seat.

I could not see what kind of cliffside my mangled car was halfway down, and the mountain night air made me shiver until I groped for my jacket and pulled it over me.

Small things can be a comfort.  The green lights of my dashboard, the cotton lining of my jacket snuggled to my neck, a Bible verse I remembered:

“The Maker is my shepherd . . . though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me . . .”

Selah 1 and Selah 2

My daughter Jessica is Selah from my first Selah fantasy novel which takes place 1000 years ago.  I am Selah from the second Selah novel I am writing, but it is not fantasy.  It’s a very true, modern story filled with fantasy-like themes.  The battle of good against evil never stops, no matter what the time.  Someday I hope to write Selah 3, set in the future among space ships and stars.

See all my books here.  Please buy one and read it.  They’re not expensive, and I really need to live by my writing here in expensive California.  During COVID-19 quarantines, don’t just sit in front of a computer or smartphone all the time (near all that radiation).  Hold a paper book in your hands and become part of a great adventure.

My “Selah” Fantasy Novel

If you like my Blog, please check out my books

Crazy Prison Love

“You are crazy to do this for a prisoner!” my former best friend screamed at me as I was trying to return my U-Haul rental van on a hot June afternoon.  She and her 4 kids had helped me move from Victorville, California (in the High Desert) to Bakersfield, California (in the lush Central Valley)–to be close to my fiancé, Jose.    She was not happy with me for a long, hot weekend of packing and unpacking–with no restaurant treats, a too-small budget, and a cheap motel (at least they gave us a free Continental breakfast).

“You volunteered to come,” I reminded her.  “I can write my books anywhere, and most places need an English teacher.”

“Well, just stay away from me!” she yelled before getting out of my life.

Not everyone thinks I am crazy for loving Jose, a prisoner in a private prison that contracts with the State of California.  He was born in Mexico and lived most of his life in California, where he got involved in a gang and then was arrested, tried in court, and given a too-long sentence.  We met when I was teaching the GED course in an Adelanto prison.  He was my student, new to class, who gave me a Christmas card, a New Year’s card–and his whole sweet heart.  For weeks we secretly exchanged love letters and sometimes met alone in the classroom to talk after other students left.  I wrote him into my new Selah book.  I got caught with 2 of his letters, was fired on Valentine’s Day, and then was banned from visiting him.  For 4 months we did not see each other.  Faithfully, he sent me cards for Valentine’s, my birthday, Easter, Mother’s Day.  He drew them with his own hand, with bright pencils that brought the color back into my life.

He called me at 11:30 p.m., 6 weeks ago, excited to tell me about his transfer.  His voice was calm and strong, like baritone music.  I thought that, as long as he spoke to me, I could never be afraid or sad.  No longer would only write each other letters or talk on the “monitored and recorded” telephone!  We chatted excitedly, both nervous about having our first hug and kiss.  I could not imagine how it would be to walk, sit, and eat together for hours on Saturdays and Sundays, in the prison’s Visitation room and courtyard, but I felt elated as if in a lingering, long-awaited dream.

What I Found in Prison: Love

My favorite of my 7 books is the perfect little fantasy novel called “Selah of the Summit.”  I poured my own true life experiences into that book but made it look like fiction. A lot of the details were added fantasy elements from my imagination, but the basic tale was true.  Writing fiction is much easier than writing a nonfiction, reveal-all book with my name as the main character and the awful viewpoint “I.”  Victims of abuse often find it easier to distance themselves from the abused person they are by creating another persona and objectively telling their story (like a drama or puppet show they can control) as if it happened to someone else.  So “Selah” tells my story of being an abused wife and survivor of other traumas, set into the deliverance tale of a desert slave girl who is freed from her castle-like prison and led to the mountains.  I even made the San Bernardino Mountains (where I lived for years) the setting for that journey.

Now I’m writing “Selah 2.”  I call it “Selah of the Desert.”  It shows my more recent history and adventures.  For over 9 months I taught full-time inside a California High Desert prison for male felons.  The hours were long and difficult, security was crucial, and I (as well as prisoners) was always closely watched.  I never expected to find something valuable there (or, more precisely, someone)—until love slipped between the prison bars.

I was miserable, sad, and lonely after the break-up of my marriage to a Turk.  I was stranded in the desert, not adventuring overseas, and very few family or friends knew that I existed (except thousands of people on social media—but they were not exactly real).  Christmas approached.  I wasn’t invited anywhere except to the Geo Company Christmas party (one night) and church (where I was new and not a member of a special group).  I kept catching viruses from the inmates and struggled through long days inside the prison sneezing and blowing my nose, always holding a tissue in one hand.  I had one friend to meet at Starbucks, but later that fell through.  I gave everyone who worked at the prison hand-signed Christmas cards, fancy ones I bought at Costco.  The last thing I expected was a sweet Christmas card from one of my inmate students.

Christmas in a Hotel

My family is my daughter Jessica, the only one of my 4 children who wants me in their lives.  She is having a baby soon, the only grandchild I will see–unless things change.  Jessica spent Christmas with me in a nice (but inexpensive) hotel in Ontario, California. We stayed there before–during the Miss California competition and Thanksgiving.  The hotel has a cheerful, red-hued lobby; a pool; and walkways with a gazebo and rose gardens.  It reminds me of hotels I stayed in throughout China.  We gave away some of my books to curious staff members and enjoyed green tea, butter cookies, and a few wrapped gifts.  I am thankful that, though I do not own my own home, this year I was not homeless.  I have a good job and can afford a hotel near to where Jessica lives.

Jessica read the story of the first Christmas as written in the Bible’s Gospel of Luke.  As a Messianic Jew and a Christian, I could be criticized for celebrating Christmas, a holiday not well steeped in valid history.  However, I love Christmas for the songs whose words I memorized when I was a child, the tiny blinking lights, angels, and evergreens.  Jesus came as the “light of the world.”  He died on a tree, our sacrifice to wash away our crimson sins, and rose again to bring new life.  Somehow these ideas do not erase older traditions of Hanukah, but fulfill.

How was your Christmas?

Big Bear Renaissance Faire 2017

Last night the Queen invited all her court, friends, and their family & friends to celebrate Christmas on 12th Night (in January), as was done long ago and is still done in some places today.  Seeing people who have become family to me, feasting on our homemade food, listening to music and stories, and playing games like the Gift Exchange, I remembered back to last summer when I entered a better Reality than this modern age.  Close your eyes and enter a slower-paced, more fantastical time where surprises waited behind tree branches and in the spark of children’s eyes.

See the video I just posted on Youtube.  Read my fantasy novel.  Celebrate life!

Woman Down

I watched the most life-changing film, “Man Down.”  Not only veterans get PTSD   I have had it since I was not yet 5 years old, when my father shot himself in the head–in front of me–on Christmas Day.  Through abusive men, cancer, and near-fatal car accidents, trauma has returned repeatedly.  Jesus help veterans and all of us who have PTSD.  Woman Down.

You can read all about my journey with PTSD in my 3 nonfiction books which I call my “Survival Series.”  Start with “Crossing the Chemo Room,” then go through “I Saw You in the Moon.”  Realize that I do not tell the whole truth until “Fire and Ice.”

May our 2018 be a year less affected by trauma.  Sadly, I cannot help but feel that everyone on Earth is in danger of PTSD the way things are headed.  Like my Selah fantasy character, may we overcome!

Beautiful Fool

I am a beautiful fool

eyes as aquamarine against faded gold

like the ring my daughter gave me

living in my own dream world

Galadriel of the forest

giving to Arwen

pink flowers in moonlight

standing, frail, against the doom of a sorcerer

waiting for a miracle

Jesus

**This is the poem my daughter Jessica wrote for me when she gave me this ring:

For My Mother

Whose Beauty Shall Forever Illuminate Through

–& Within–

My Heart

As Galadriel,

the Immortal Lighthouse

of All Forests.

My Courageous

Queen

Shall Eternally Protect

–& Reign o’er–

My Spritish Soul

with Grace Beyond

Earthly

Comprehension

(–Perhaps Sprouted from

the Aquamarine

Ring

this Elf

Once Gave Her!)

Please buy my books, just $2.99 each, so that my dreamlife may continue in practical, unpoetic, expensive California.  Thank you, this Day after Thanksgiving, Year of our Lord 2017.