Category Archives: One Word – Encourage

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Welcoming Rita – From Evansville Indiana

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If you have been following the last two posts then you know I was hoping to hear from someone unknown to me from Evansville, Indiana. I wrote about my reasons, sharing it in a story that after almost 40 years was still painful to tell and then followed it a few days later with an update and a thank you to all the kind folks who left me such sweet messages of support in my comment section.

I thought I must have scared my Evansville reader off, but to my great surprise when I woke this morning I found the message below in the comment section of the first post. To say I was delighted would be mild and I would like to offer a big thank you to Rita from Evansville who took the time to say hello and add to the story that has been changing over the last few days.

Welcoming Rita from Evansville:


“ I may be your Evansville reader, I have been out of town and just read your post. I found your blog a long time ago and so enjoy reading your adventures and seeing your photography. I love all things English, Irish and Scottish so I have gotten a lot of pleasure out of reading your blog. So sorry for the bad memories the name Evansville evokes for you. This is generally a caring, friendly area in southern In. I guess we all have good and bad memories we associate with places, events and people. My 3 best friends are sisters who grew up in an unstable home. The oldest has only bad memories of that time, the middle sister only good memories and the youngest very few memories at all. I suppose their individual personalities and coping mechanisms come in to play. I am happy that you are a strong woman who has had a journey that has taken you to a wonderful place in your life and a wonderful family to share it with. I do hope you now will think that this area, like all areas, has it’s share of the good, the bad and the ugly, but I think we could sit and talk and share some laughter and hike to some beautiful areas here and take pictures and replace more of those bad memories! “


It is not always easy to ask for what we want. Most of us have a negative voice in our heads that can seem as if it’s on auto-replay at times as it spins out the same old messages that keep us from living the life we dream of. Everyone has a different soundtrack, but for those of us who tune into that particular radio station too frequently, the impact can be staggering. Asking for what you want can be the first step towards change for some. It’s a lesson that took me a long time to learn, but once mastered has returned great rewards.

Is there something like that in your life … some dream of a thing you want to share with us … something that you need to hear or know that might require an answer or effort from someone else. You can practice on us if you wish … share it in a comment below and let us give back to you. I’m here and I am listening.

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No Word From Evansville, But Gifts Of Another Kind Instead

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When you choose to swim in a public place it can be a bit crowded. You may already be friends with some of the people swimming with you while others are strangers to you and content to watch the activities from the dry land. It’s useful to have a wetsuit as an extra layer of protection from the shockingly cold water, but not everyone watching is interested in swimming or in some cases even dipping a toe into the water to see if it might be fun to join the others.

Sometimes there are people with less life experience who may be watching more closely than others as you consider the risky moves … the moves that might not be so easy or could make you feel a bit scared when you consider that you might get hurt if you actually take a chance and jump.

Of course there will be people who will be shocked by your actions and watch in disbelief as you dive in with your eyes wide open to the possibility of pain or even perhaps a lasting injury.

But you do it anyway … because long ago you told yourself that life was for living even with all the fear and sadness and the chance for heartache and that no one was going to keep you from feeling the everyday joy that was as tightly woven through your being as the need to try new things. You open your arms wide before slipping into the water and feel the cold more intensely on your wet face as you surface than you did when you hit the water thirty seconds before.

Others who’ve been watching decide to take the leap as well and while they seem fearless in their actions they feel afraid in mid-air when they realize what they’ve done.

As they break the surface of the water and their head appears safely in sight, a loud wail of pain echos back up the cliff to the watchers along the edge causing a mix of kind strangers and family and friends to move through the water to offer help and concern.

They hold the young girl child up supporting her and offering comfort and a safe ride back to shore.

So she goes back to land having been helped by a group of people … some there by design and others just passing by.

I wanted to say thank you to everyone who took time to share their thoughts and kind comments on this post and through email. The things you said were uplifting and healing and once again remind me of how thoughtful and generous the blogging community can be. So many of you have become friends (or were old friends already) and even though we may not have met yet in person and perhaps never will, I value the gifts you share with me and with others who may find comfort or something else they need in a comment you leave behind.

As for my reader in Evansville, I saw Evansville, Indiana on my sitemeter Saturday evening which was the day I posted this request, but they left no message and have not been back as far as I can tell. It is really okay with me now and the substitution I’ll do if I see Evansville again will be the images above from Sunday when John and I took a walk and saw the brave souls leaping off the cliff into the safety of folks down below.

Your sweet comments made me see the connection between taking a daring jump and revealing a painful past and how much easier it is to risk both when you have friends at the ready to offer kind assistance if it turns out to be scary or too painful.

Thanks for listening and even more … thanks for helping me find a new image to wash away the old one.

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Someone In Evansville Indiana Has The Ability To Change My Life

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Strange title, huh? I know you are probably thinking what in the world is Elizabeth up to with a title like that … so I’ll tell you, but be forewarned it is not pretty and it will not take you to a happy place.

I have a reader who shows up on my sitemeter with an IP address from or near Evansville, Indiana. I cannot tell who it is but every time I see they have been by to have a look at my blog posts I have a memory that links me to Evansville as clearly as if I were a small child again. I wish I could say it was a pleasant memory, but it’s not.

Some of you may have read posts of mine in the past like this one or perhaps this one where I alluded to some of the difficulties my sister Margaret and I went through as children and this post gets a bit more specific than in the past. I think it is necessary in order to share the story properly and it is something I have debated for months, but know this … what I am sharing today is one of the milder things I could tell you.

Living as we did in a violent household some days were better than others and trips to Evansville were always something of a toss-up in terms of whether we would be safe for a few days or not. One would think a family gathering with lots of children and adults around might be a good place to go unnoticed for a few days lost in the activities and chaos of a holiday at Grandma’s house except she wasn’t really our Grandma, something our step-father never let us forget.

We knew in no uncertain terms that we were there with his family because he allowed it and it was a privilege he could and did take away as easily as he withheld food when punishing us for made-up offenses. I remember his mother as a small, faded, apron wearing woman who seemed to circle the edges of her own home never coming into the center of a crowded room except to put something down or carry it away.

The two-story white farm-house stood in the center of a large piece of land where she lived with her second husband who I can’t remember ever saying a word although I am sure he must have spoken at some point. Acres and acres of farmland came almost up to all four sides of the dusty house that was edged with just enough green grass to make a place for a border of flowers and trees.

It always looked lonely to me sitting as it did at the end of a dirt lane that was fenced on both sides to keep the animals either in or out depending on what year it was. For a while it was cows and I remember pigs some years, but mostly when I think back I can see the empty fields around Thanksgiving and the homemade pies lining one side of the last seven or eight stair-steps going up to the bedrooms on the second floor.

At mealtimes we’d sit at a long table that would have sagged with the weight of the food piled upon it had it not been built by hand for the large family seated on either side. There were multiple kinds of meats, vegetables, and breads, all made by an old woman’s hands that already had too much to do on the other six days of the week leading into the holiday period and I can only imagine that she might have preferred to go out to eat rather than hover in the background refilling platters and bowls from the kitchen before she got a good mouthful in herself. She always seemed quiet but kind and I never could understand how she had raised the child that grew into the evil masochistic abuser that her son became.

Sadly, my mother found him and married him the summer before my seventh birthday and almost immediately our lives became a free-fall into a never-ending cycle of abuse too terrible to discuss even now. One might have thought oneself safe in the company of others, but in the 60s and 70s no one in my life said anything even when confronted with obvious signs of physical abuse … not my mother who witnessed much of it and doled out her own, or my teachers, or even the people who sat at the table and watched that day as my stepfather licked his fork slowly before stabbing it deliberately into my arm with a flourish meant to attract attention.

What grievous infraction did I commit? The table was a bit high and the chair too low for a child of ten and the edge of my arm touched the edge of the table for a half second too long. Clearly in pain after being stabbed hard enough to draw blood but too afraid to speak, I sat there ashamed as my eyes filled with tears and thought I must truly be all the bad things he said about me because the others at the table watched and did nothing.

From years seven to fourteen I fought to hang onto some sense of self that was not tainted by the evil things he said and did. Strong in spirit and smart enough to seek therapy when older, I think I managed to turn out pretty well in spite of it all, but I am still haunted by the memory of that meal and that day and how no one spoke up when they could have made a difference, when they could have said enough and taken the fork from his hand.

My reason for sharing this painful story with you is one of hope really. I have thought about this for some time and I hope by writing this the person who reads my blog from or near Evansville Indiana will leave a little message in my comment section or possibly send me an email off-line to say hello and maybe share a happy memory that I can think of when I see Evansville in my sitemeter instead of the images I remember now.

I’ve done my best to forget or replace it with a memory of my own, but I am hard put to come up with one and I’d be grateful to hear one of yours. Won’t you take a minute to say hello and tell me a little about yourself.

We all have more power to make a difference than we often know and although it is not always as obvious as helping a child in need, a kind word or a helping hand may be enough for someone who needs it today.

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Missing The Good Stuff

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Sometimes when I am in bookstores I stop by the discount table to see what I might find there that’s a good read. I say sometimes because I don’t always do it. It’s not because I don’t want to take the time to rummage through or because I think I won’t find anything of value there, but more a case of how I feel when I find really good writing laid out there for just a few dollars.

I know what it takes to sit alone and write and write and write … sharing bits of reality or imagination hoping that the effort will have some impact on a reader somewhere one day. So when I see good authors on the clearance table that never made a ripple in the book world who have quietly slipped by unnoticed, I get a bit depressed even if temporarily because I can’t help but think, what if that happens to me.

Of course, not having published a book yet one might think my momentary angst a bit premature, but I do feel for really good writers whose story appears to go unnoticed. That said I want to be sure you don’t miss out on a piece that really touched my heart a few days ago. Mariellen Romer has written about a life event that had a lasting impact and I hope you’ll take a minute to stop by her place and have a read .

You won’t be disappointed. I promise.

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Kelly Rae Roberts – Taking Control With Flying Lessons

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Remember that e-course I mentioned here and what I revealed about myself here, well we are winding down now after five weeks of online lessons with loads of positive information and ” flight plans ” useful in getting a creative idea and business off the ground.

While I picked up some really great ideas and business tips, I think what I enjoyed most was watching how inspired the collective group was and the energy that came through when so many taking the class began implementing big projects right away and sharing them online with each other.

So many of my classmates already had the skill and creative abilities (their shoes, if you will) that helped define them in their roles as artists, but still needed a bit of help in the taking control aspect that is necessary when going from creative artist to someone able to earn a living doing the work they love.

I am in deep in the process of expanding my vision for myself now and over the next few months will be unveiling a few projects of my own as I work out all the nitty-gritty details. The biggest take away for me during this process has been about lifting some of the limitations I tend to put on myself. Although I have long been identified by friends and co-workers as the kind of person who thinks outside the box, I have often limited my own creative movement while encouraging others to reach for something more.

In the Wizard of Oz, Dorothy had those lovely red shoes that could have taken her home with just a click had she known the ability she already possessed. I have been thinking lately about what I already know … what each of us know within ourselves about our dreams. I’ve been thinking too about the ways in which we can develop the vision required to take our dreams from being just a possibility to something that actually gets off the ground.

So I have been busy here … working steadily on my ” flight plan ” while opening boxes that have held a few dreams for far too long. What about you … what have you got packed away that feels boxed up so tightly it’s like a memory of what you once dreamed of for yourself?

If it’s direction you need, you might find some inspiration over here today. The topic has to do with a technique that has helped me define mine for years.

It will be worth your time, I promise.

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Sharing A Story – My Teary Moment With Kenny Loggins

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In 1997, my life was in the middle of major changes when I saw that an old musical favorite of mine was coming to town to sign copies of a book that he had co-authored with his wife. I knew virtually nothing about this book, but what I did know was how at various points in my life his music had offered a soundtrack for the emotions and struggles that I had experienced particularly in my 20’s and early 30’s and something in me felt a need to go to his book signing.

If you’ve been reading my blog for long you already know that storytelling is so throughly a part of who I am that the idea that I might wait in line at a bookstore to have my newly purchased book autographed without mentioning the significance of his music and then quietly slip away was not even in the realm of possibility.

As I stepped up to meet him with a long line of people at my back, I considered how I might communicate the importance one song in particular had for me during my divorce from my daughter’s father and how I had listened to it over and over hanging on to the words like a life raft when I felt as if I might drown in all the sadness and disappointment I felt in myself and my failures.

Although very few of us are entirely responsible for the end of a marriage, for a while I believed that burden was all mine and I cried my way through years of pain that while unrelated in some ways surfaced during the final days and weeks of my marriage. I wanted more for a child of mine than two parents living separate lives shuttling back and forth between two houses and I struggled with keeping my own childhood sorrows from overshadowing my need to ensure that she felt safe and loved.

It was during this time while dressing for work one morning that I saw Kenny Loggins sing a song on a morning television show and listened as the words in his song mirrored my own experience. I remember stopping what I was doing at the time and just sitting as I watched … feeling for the first time that maybe things would be alright. The words in his song echoed exactly what I had been feeling and later I listened as he talked about the changes in his life and the joy that was now present.

His song had given me hope and a bit of solace back then and made me see that I was not alone in my sad experience and I as I stood there waiting I thought, I’m going to tell him. For a moment I considered, what if he thinks I’m silly, stupid, or God forbid, groupie-ish, but in the end I decided to share the importance hearing that particular song had for me during a time of crisis.

What you see in the photograph below is me telling him my story. I had given my camera to the woman behind me to take my picture with him and as I was talking I knelt down for a minute so my position shifted from what you see here. I told him of that morning only a few years earlier and how the message in his song had provided a starting place for healing and a form of forgiveness that I while I was still working on for myself, was slowly coming together after years of not trusting my own voice and my own sense that my feelings and dreams were just as valuable as those who wanted to be in relationship with me.

Kenny Loggins - Elizabeth Harper

As I told him my story, his eyes began to tear up … filling close to overflowing while we spoke and not because of the sadness in my story, but I believe now having read his book, because of the similarity. I think he was touched by my story because he had lived parts of it himself, different in ways to mine certainly, but the same at the core.

The woman who followed me in line brought my camera to me after having her book autographed and said, ” You made him cry … what did you say to him? ”  Without going into my whole story, I told her that I just shared an important moment in my life and how one song had made a difference. Having taken a risk to share something so special to me, I can’t tell you how pleased I was that it was received in the way I had intended.

There’s a release that comes in speaking your truth. It doesn’t need to be public or released in a song as has often been his way, but sharing your story can be a gift to someone who just might need the message in your own experience. Most of us do this everyday never really knowing the impact our words may have.

I’ve been speaking my truth here at GOTJ for the last 24 months. Today marks two years since I wrote my first blog post at giftsofthejourney.com where my first 82 posts still live. In February of 2009, I moved GOTJ to this WordPress account and during the last two years the combined total of 338 posts have garnered 76,853 page views and the kind and generous comments of many of you likely reading this today.

I want to take a minute to thank you for including my words and images in your daily life. Even though I don’t always have a chance to respond on the comments left here, please know that they are so appreciated and mean a great deal to me. Quite often as you’ve shared bits of your own story in response to something I’ve written I have been moved to tears as Kenny Loggins was that day and I am always grateful whenever my story connects in some useful way with your own.

I’m not sure what Kenny Loggins was writing in everyone else’s book, but he could not have picked better words for me personally than those two you see at the bottom of the page,” Trust Love.”  I frequently tell people that I could not have imagined that I would ever have the life I have now, but you all know my story if you’ve been reading GOTJ for long.

Trusting love is what brought me to this sweet life with John and the awareness that change had its own gifts to offer led me to create Gifts Of The Journey and a chance to share the experience with anyone interested in their own gifts and their own journey. My thanks to each of you who through Gifts of the Journey are now a part of mine.

John Winchurch & Elizabeth Harper - 2008

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Building A Home One Mouthful At A Time

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Sometimes when feeling overwhelmed by a sizable to do list, I don’t need to go far to be reminded of how much can be accomplished when broken into small steps or as in the case of the House Martins who share close quarters with us for several months of the year, what can be done one mouthful at a time.

The House Martins build nests up under the eaves every year or reuse the ones left behind and the nests are protected by law in the UK while they are being built or if there is active nesting going on. John is always quite pleased to see them and doesn’t seem to mind cleaning a bit of bird poo that falls from the area at times.

They have a tendency to build little bird duplexes side by side or as John would say, a semi, short for semi-detached, a name used here for two houses joined together on one side.

These photos aren’t my best work. It’s difficult to get close and I was too lazy to pull out my Nikon and good lens, but my little Canon G9 did a fair job picking up some decent images. I would love to show you a completed semi from the work above, but House Martins need mud to build these nests and with the beautiful weather we’ve had lately, there’s been little rain to create the necessary materials.

This birdie duplex is over the garage and appears to be occupied only on one side this year. Can you see the little bird peaking out on the left?

Look, there are at least two beaks waiting inside for their supper.

Some people don’t like having what looks like a great clump of mud in the eaves of their house, but I’m amazed and inspired when I consider that it must have taken hundreds of trips back and forth to build this temporary sanctuary and birthing center. It helps my perspective every time.

You can go here to hear what House Martins sound like. There’s an audio link right under the name on the left once you get there. Thanks to my bird-loving husband John for sending this to me.

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RSS Feed – Like Getting A Letter From A Friend

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I have been using Google Reader for longer than I can remember and at present there are 242 subscriptions that I currently read or have read in the past on a regular basis. I was shocked to see how many there are actually, but as I have them all neatly organized by subject matter or in cases by location such as UK, NZ, and US friends, I never noticed how many I had tucked away for safekeeping.

I’ve got headings for Art, Travel, Money and Investing, Photography, and Writing, UK expats in the US, and vice versa, along with some folks in a group so small that I put them together under India & Turkey. There’s a food section and heading for health topics and something I call Decorating Stuff that I no longer spend much time looking over since we finished the extension to the house. There are loads more groupings that I won’t bother to go into because what I really want to say has to do with something I have recently discovered.

It’s more of a realization really … as long as I’ve been reading blogs I have always resisted the subtle or not so subtle messages to click on the RSS button as noted in my top right corner or the email subscription found slightly lower down the page because in my mind I did not want it ‘cluttering’ up my inbox. I thought, No thanks, I’d rather visit you rather than have you just dropping in unannounced, and I must admit it has worked really well for me and I’ve not felt a need to change it.

Until recently that is … when I clicked on the very subtle, almost hidden, subscribe button of someone I never like to miss. She had been away from blogging for a few months as she was off doing more important things like building houses and reuniting families. When she popped back up in my google reader after being gone so long, I was ‘over the moon’ happy to see her again. During her absence, I’d followed her on Facebook and Twitter, but it just wasn’t the same as the longer bits on her blog that always felt like letters from a friend.

It wasn’t until her next posting and those that followed that I began to see the real merit for me in subscribing. Rather than my going to her place to catch up or share a thought, she pops into my inbox now just like any of my friends would. It always makes me smile to see what Jen Lemen has to say and given how much I enjoy seeing her mail arrive, I may just have to subscribe to a few more folks who have a similar effect on my moods and attitude.

I’m curious as to how you find the blogs you enjoying reading more than once or twice, do you bookmark, subscribe, use Google reader or something else perhaps? I’d be especially interested in how you find your way to my place and as always, thanks so much for stopping by and taking time to comment.

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Chewing On A Dreamy Idea

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This little caterpillar was hard at work yesterday trying to fill its belly in anticipation of the big transformation that comes with growing wings. Thanks to a dream I’ve had for a while that I shared on my Big Bag Of Dreams post along with a inspiring lesson yesterday in Kelly Rae’s Flying Lessons, an e-course that I’m taking, I’m chewing on a few transformational ideas of my own.

I be back a bit later when I have a chance to digest it all. I’m pretty excited about what I’m planning and I hope you will be too. * Burp*   Oh, pardon me!

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A Walk In The Park With Mariellen Romer

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Photo Courtesy of Mariellen Romer

Mariellen Romer has been walking the talk. After joining the ” I Left The Corporate Life Club ” a few months ago, she has been following her dreams and they’ve carried her most recently to new locations and experiences in the western part of the United States. If you were to check her out here, you would be able to see an impressive corporate work history, but if you take a moment to see what she’s been working on lately you’ll feel like you’ve been for a walk in the park. Mount Rainier National Park to be specific.

Mariellen has been part of a creative team intent on sharing the benefits in visiting and volunteering for The National Park system. Anyone who has ever been over-stressed knows the good that comes in having a change of scenery or doing a different kind of work even if only on a volunteer basis so give this a thought and take a minute to have a look at what’s happening over at her space. In the videos on her blog today over at A Full Life, Mariellen is talking specifically about Mount Rainier National Park Volunteers, but don’t forget to consider something a little closer to home if you live in a different part of the United States. They will be happy to have the help and I bet you’ll end up feeling like you get back more than you give.