Monday, March 23, 2020

Joyful Experience

So. . .in case you don't know yet, I self-published my book Joy Actions last week. :) Yippee!!! It's still so surreal. I wrote and published a book?! W.O.W.

And there are actually people READING that book?!

And some of those people are ENJOYING reading my book?!

W.O.W.

Ain't God good?!

Dreams do come true, my friends. I am blessed more than words can say. God is so very good. 

I have no idea what is going to happen with my book--whether or not it will continue to sell after this week or if someone will come out and say it's not good. What I do know is that God gave me a directive to write and share my story; I did that. Whatever happens from here is up to Him. I will promote my book, of course. I am truly grateful for every single person who not just buys my book, but who reads it. The readers are the most important. I have been praying and will continue to pray that God blesses each person who reads my story with great joy--and that my story is a blessing and encouragement to them.

I thank each of you for reading my blog. And for praying for me--and for my book. Please don't ever stop praying for me. I am truly desperate for more of God--as much more of Him as I can get. I hope and pray that I can be obedient to whatever God wants of me.

I hope you all are keeping safe during this "crazy" time. I encourage you to continue finding the blessings--joys--in each and every day...regardless.

Monday, March 16, 2020

Launch Day for JOY ACTIONS!!

Wow. The day is FINALLY here! My book Joy Actions is finally ready to be read by an audience! I am beyond excited, nervous, full of joy, and scared out of my mind! LOL. This book has been a true labor of love from start to finish, not just in the writing of it, but especially in the living of it. My prayer warriors and I have been praying over it and we continue to do so. My heartfelt prayer is that it will bless those who read it and point them to my Jesus. 

While I am excited beyond measure, the whole month of March, especially March 16 & 17, is difficult. Twenty-one years may have passed since we first heard the words, "There's no heartbeat," but these are the days when it feels as if every year, every month, every day, every hour, every minute, every second of the past 21 years fall away as if they were nothing. My heart aches even while it soars to new heights.

Yes, I have written a book about joy--choosing joy, but that does not mean that doing so is easy or that it has been easy over the years. I have days when I am easily able to choose joy when I see God's glory in every speck of dust. But during the month of March, I have days when choosing joy is more challenging than holding my breath for longer than a few seconds.

While the rest of the world is focused on this coronavirus and all that is going on with it, all I can think about is how twenty-one years ago, I was lying in a hospital wondering why in the world I had to deliver my baby who was already silent. And I'm excited about the fact that my very first book is published and available for mass reading. 

*sigh*

I hope that you will pray for me especially during this difficult time. 

I hope that you will pray for my book to a blessing to all who read it.

I also hope that you will buy my book and read it! 

Much love to all,
PollyAnna Joy

Joy Actions is available both with and without illustrations (by Jan Lindie) and in a Kindle version: https://smile.amazon.com/Joy-Actions-PollyAnna/dp/1710720301/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=Joy+Actions&qid=1584400511&sr=8-1



Monday, February 3, 2020

Help for Choosing Joy


For those of us who struggle with depression or who have been through trials understand that just choosing joy is not as easy as it sounds. We are told that the way to have joy is just to choose it. Quit thinking about the negative and focus on the positive: "Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things" (Philippians 4:8 NLT). I can tell you that in the early days of each trial or on days when my depression is at a high level, just choosing joy is an impossibility. Thinking about things that are true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, and/or praiseworthy is not possible when depression or sadness rears their ugly heads.

I wish that choosing joy was as easy as thinking about good things. How I wish it with every fiber of my being.

The truth is that there much more to choosing joy than just anything.

There is clear psychological evidence that we can re-train our brains to move from pessimistic thinking to optimistic, but that re-training does not happen over-night or even with the very first optimistic thought. We must work hard, with great intentionality to be able to re-focus our thinking from the negative to the positive. 

Even doing the work, being intentional does not mean always having success in re-training our thinking. There will be set-backs throughout the process. There will be many difficult periods of time. There will be moments when allowing the sadness to consume us feels safer than taking even one more step towards choosing joy becomes as natural as breathing.

If we want to have true joy, though, if we want to be able to choose joy regardless, then we must intentionally re-train our brains. We can only that in, through, and with God and the power of His Holy Spirit in our lives. We must make Him a priority, the priority. 

We make the Lord our priority by:

1. Reading His Word. But not just reading it, studying it, living it, making it as much a part of our daily lives as eating. It does not really matter when we read the Bible (although many Bible scholars like to argue that the best time is first thing/early in the morning); what matters the most is that we spend time in the Word every single day.

2. Being grateful. One source after another that I have read over the past many years discusses the truth that gratitude is the gateway to joy. It is not an easy thing to find something to be grateful for in the midst of our severest trials in life. I know that I was not even thankful that I was alive during the first several months (and long after) we lost our James Isaac. And again with each subsequent loss over the years. Little by little, one item at a time, I began finding very real things to be grateful for: my parents, my sister, my brother, my in-laws, other family members including my extended family, my doctors and nurses and other medical staff, a soft blanket to wrap up in, a beautiful sunset, snow. . . .Eventually my ability to find anything to be grateful for outgrew my ability to keep track. I continue to be grateful.

3. Worshiping the Lord. One of the greatest ways we can re-train our brains to focus on the Lord rather than our circumstances is to worship the Lord. It has been called a "sacrifice" of praise for a reason; if you have been where I have been, you know exactly how much of a sacrifice it is to praise the Lord--to choose joy. But with every note, with every word, we move forward into God's truth.

4. Praying. Pray without ceasing. Tell God everything. Leave out nothing--not one single thought or feeling even if we are ashamed of it. God can take it. If we are angry; we admit it. Tell Him. Shout it from the rooftops if we must. Be honest with the Lord when we have come to the end of our rope and we simply cannot take even one more tragedy. (Yes, we can have more in our lives than we can handle. Study the scripture carefully, 1 Corinthians 10:13.) Tell Him exactly what is going on; tell Him exactly how you feel; tell Him when you want to end it all; call out to Him. Just pray.

5. Not being alone. Until you are able to re-train your brain, I recommend that you are rarely, if ever, alone. Surround yourself with other Believers especially those who pray with you, support you, and love you unconditionally. Avoid those who seem to want to spout platitudes, including Bible verses, in a vain attempt to help you feel better. Spend time with those who will allow you to grieve, to feel whatever you feel with zero judgment. Tell these friends what you need; they have no idea how to help, so they need you to tell them what you need and how they can help.

6. Keep waking up. Keep getting up. Keep doing something even if it is just one something every single day. Every one thing to help re-train your brain to choose joy rather than focus on the negative does help. When we just can't do even that one more thing, say His name--say the name of Jesus. There is power in the name of Jesus.

So much of what I write in my book Joy Actions speaks to specific actions we can take to help us choose joy--to help us find joy. Other authors, worship leaders, pastors, counselors, and the list goes on are available to help you be intentional regarding choosing joy. Use the resources you have. God has given them to us for a reason. Don't be like the person in the old story about the one who is trapped in a flood and, in spite of someone coming in a car, then a boat, and even a helicopter, keeps saying that God will save him. Open your eyes to see that God wants to save you; He is sending you everything you need.

"And Elisha prayed, “Open his eyes, Lord, so that he may see.” Then the Lord opened the servant’s eyes, and he looked and saw the hills full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha." (2 Kings 6:17 NLT)





Sunday, February 2, 2020

James Isaac: My "Laughter"


In early 1999, I went back east where my friends and family gave me a wonderful baby shower. I received so many wonderful, thoughtful gifts. There were a few hand-made blankets as well as the typical diaper bags, diapers, diaper cream, and other wonders. It was a wonderful, joyous time of celebration as we all prepared to greet the new little life growing inside me.
Because of all the ultrasounds that I had to have, it was impossible not to know the sex of our baby. Yes, we were having a boy! Even before I had gotten pregnant, I knew that our baby would be named James Isaac. James after his daddy.  Isaac because in the Bible, Isaac is the son of Abraham and Sarah’s promise that they had waited most of their lives for. Not only was James Isaac the son of the promise God had given us, but he was also our little Laughter. Remember, Sarah laughed when God told her that she would have a baby at almost a hundred years old. So when the baby was born, she named him Isaac, meaning “laughter.”
So much about my wonderful baby gave me such wonderful moments of Laughter. Besides, I had always loved to laugh and after suffering from deep depression for a few years, I needed every reason possible to laugh. I was trying so hard to allow God to work in my life and make me His instrument. Being pregnant with my first very beloved, desired, and wanted baby gave me back the laughter that I had been so desperately needing.
I was in about my 36th week of my pregnancy when the doctor told us that our beautiful baby boy, James Isaac, hadn’t turned yet. He was breech. The doctor spent almost an hour explaining to my husband and me that if James Isaac hadn’t turned by the time I went in for my next appointment the following week, he would have to admit me to the hospital and turn the baby manually.
            I had never heard of such a thing, so we had a lot of questions, the biggest being why would I have to be admitted to the hospital.
            The doctor assured us that they did procedures like that often enough that they knew what they were doing, but yes, there was a high risk that I could go into premature labor. I was far enough along that they were confident the baby would be whole and healthy, but if the baby could stay in and “percolate” (my term, I think) until at least my 38th week, they’d prefer that. 
I thought it was strange that a week and a few days would make such a difference, but I trusted the
doctors, so I was given a steroid shot as well as the shot new mothers get when their blood type is A negative. My husband and I left, assured that they were telling us what was best for the baby—and me.
            That very evening, I was lying back on the couch, trying to get some rest, when I watched my belly as my beloved James Isaac obviously rolled over into the position he was supposed to be in. I watched his little butt sticking up out of my belly, almost as if it was standing on my back and leaning over, and then it moves from my lower to upper belly! I saw a foot poking out where I could clearly see the imprint, including toes!
There is nothing in the world as wonderful and amazing as having a life grow and move inside of you. We women truly are blessed to be able to hold God’s beloved children inside our bodies. It was such an honor being the temporary home for my precious child. I loved being pregnant.
            Don’t get me wrong, now. By my 38th week, I was like many other pregnant women who couldn’t wait for the baby to “get out!” We are anxious for the birth in part because being pregnant really is exhausting, but also because we simply cannot wait to hold our Precious in our arms.
            Five or six days after James Isaac turned on his own, I was in class at school when I felt James Isaac drop. I immediately raced to the bathroom because I felt as if I really need to go. When I got there, though, nothing happened. Nothing at all. I was dry as a bone. I thought that was strange considering what I had just felt and the desperate need I’d had to go to the bathroom, but I made my way slowly back to the classroom and finished out the day.
            I thought seriously about calling my doctor’s office, but I had an appointment scheduled for the very next day. I figured if James Isaac had dropped into place unless I was having pains, I might as well wait for the appointment.
            I didn’t worry. 
Why would I worry? Everything had gone so well with my surgery just a few months earlier; there was no reason to worry. James Isaac had turned and dropped. He had done what he was supposed to do. It wouldn’t be long before I would be in full-blown labor.
            I couldn’t wait.          
            In the doctor’s office, I was stripped from the waist down, waiting for the doctor to come in to do his exam to see how close we were to delivery. The nurse came in to listen to the baby’s heartbeat.
            I loved listening to James Isaac’s heartbeat. It was one of my favorite sounds in the world. I always hated that we only listened for a few moments.
            Rather than the fast woosh-woosh-woosh-woosh that we had been hearing for the past six months when we’d listen to James Isaac’s heartbeat, all we heard as she placed that monitor on my belly was a slow, methodical ba-bum…ba-bum…ba-bum…ba-bum. 
            My heartbeat.
            Not the baby’s.
            She moved the monitor to find a better position in order to hear the baby.
            Still mine.
            The nurse said that she was going to get a different monitor because that one didn’t seem to be working very well. She said something about maybe even letting the doctor listen to get the baby’s heartbeat.
            As soon as she left, I looked at my husband, “Something’s wrong.”
            “What do you mean? She said there’s something wrong with the monitor,” he tried.
            “No, that was my heartbeat we were listening to. We should have easily heard the baby’s heartbeat. We’ve never had any trouble hearing the baby’s heartbeat.”
            “Let’s just wait and see what the doctor says. I don’t think that nurse knows what she’s doing.”
            “No, she knows what she’s doing. There’s something seriously wrong.”
            Deep breath.
            Deep breath.
            You can do it, Polly. Just breathe. Wait until the doctor comes in. He’ll tell you what’s going on. Maybe it’s just what happens when the baby drops and it’s time for labor to begin. It’s going to be okay.
            Lord, help us: “But when I am afraid, I will put my trust in you” (Psalm 56:3, NLT).
            The doctor came in with another monitor and immediately put it on my belly. He said “hello,” but normally he was more talkative. I knew he was concerned.
            Again, we heard ba-bum…ba-bum…ba-bum…ba-bum… mine, not the baby’s.
            He didn’t take long, “Let’s go downstairs and have an ultrasound. We’ll find that baby,” attempting to sound more confident than he looked.
            I knew.
            I didn’t need the ultrasound to make it so.
            I knew.
            It was over.
            But I went downstairs as asked, laid down on the ultrasound table, and let them do the ultrasound.
            There it was on the screen—as obvious and real as the sound of the screams that were choking me. A heart not moving.
            James said something about it not being real.
            I looked the doctor in the eye and I choked out, “You fix it.”
            “Oh, Polly. I would if I could. I am so sorry,” he patted my shoulder gently.
            “Can we have a second opinion?” James broke in.
            “If you want,” the doctor said as he left us for a few minutes to go get one of the other doctors in the group. 
            We had seen this second doctor before so we knew him.  We trusted him, too.
            It didn’t take long for him to verify what the first doctor had found.
            A different doctor couldn’t change what wasn’t there on that screen. He couldn’t make the baby’s heartbeat any more than our first doctor could.
            The doctor told us our options: he would have to induce my labor so I would have the baby naturally (yes, that means vaginally) but he needed to know whether we wanted to do it right away or wait a day or so.
            James wanted to wait, but I told the doctor that there was no waiting; we would do it right away.
The arrangements were made for me to go straight across the street and be admitted to the hospital. 
            As we were leaving the doctor’s office, the doctor asked me if we should call someone. (This was pre-cell phone days, mind you.) I told him that we probably ought to call my parents but that the call would be long distance. He told me not to worry about that, so we called my mom and dad.
            Mom wasn’t home yet. 
Dad answered the phone.
            “Praise the Lord, Kinseys!” Dad answered exuberantly, as he always did.
            “Daddy? Oh, daddy,” I sobbed.
            And he knew.
            “Is James there with you? Hand him the phone.”
            And James explained that we were going straight across the street to be admitted to the hospital and the doctor was going to induce my labor and that yes, I would have to deliver the baby naturally.
            I guess Dad told James that they would be on their way as soon as they could.
            I was given a room in the hospital in the far back corner, as far away from the mothers on the floor whose babies were crying and cooing. 
            The doctor induced my labor and the wait began.
We learned that there was no heartbeat on March 16, 1999.
James Isaac was born on March 17, 1999.
I can’t even begin to tell you how long my labor lasted except to say that I was induced in the early evening and James Isaac was born early the next morning. 
            Mom, Dad, Katie, and Baba (my grandma) arrived late that first evening. I noticed almost immediately that my mom had a nasty bruise on her wrist. It looked like a hand wrapped around her wrist. She told me that when she had gotten home from work (apparently just a few minutes after we had spoken to my dad), she had walked in and immediately began talking about what they needed to do for the evening and what she had to do for supper and just talking a mile a minute so that Dad was unable to get a word in edge-wise. To get her attention, he had grabbed her wrist. In his anxiety for me, his daughter, he grabbed her much harder than he’d intended or meant to, leaving a hand-shaped bruise wrapped around Mom’s wrist like a bracelet.

My brother and his family came, as well. My youngest nephew, Nate, was only about four months old at the time. We had all been looking forward to having cousins close in age.  
            I was on some pretty powerful drugs that let me sleep through most of my labor, but I was half awake and half asleep off and on throughout the long night. One time I was in between awake and asleep and I knew the doctor was in the room talking with my family. I remember hearing my Baba say that in spite of everything, I looked really good. 
            I also remember my sister sharing with the doctor the story of how she was there to help me after my cyst surgery, but that she was unable to help me when I went to the bathroom. She told him how she’d brought me a spatula.
            In spite of the circumstances, it was still funny.
            It was a surreal moment for me and I wasn’t even fully awake.
            I can only imagine what things were like for my family as they waited and watched.
            Once it was time for me to begin pushing, the doctor realized that the bed I was in was not a break-away bed. I had never heard of such a thing, but apparently, the maternity wards have beds that come apart special for delivery so the Mom can stay in the same bed for both labor and delivery. My doctor was really upset, but he didn’t have time to worry about it. He had to make do with what he had. I was too far dilated and ready to deliver. There wasn’t any more waiting.
            He propped me up on towels the best he could and told me to push when I felt a contraction.
            It did not take too terribly long once I started pushing and my beloved James Isaac was born.
            I couldn’t see, but I listened as the doctor counted as he unrolled the cord from around my sweet son’s neck.
            One.
            Two.
            Three.
            Four.
            I don’t know where it stopped. It was already too much. My husband has said that he heard (and saw) six times. My mom says she remembers the doctor saying seven. Even one was too many. 
            We had our “why.”
            It didn’t make it any easier.
            As soon as the baby was wrapped in his blanket and wiped off a little bit, he was laid on my chest. His precious body was still warm from being snug inside me where my body had been unable to keep him safe.
            He fit in my arms on my breast as if he had been created just to fit right there snuggled against me. 
I loved how he felt.
            My husband and I were not aware of the doctor as he finished removing the afterbirth, stitching me up, and getting me cleaned up.  My husband leaned over me and our baby and we cried as we felt the warmth quickly seeping from the little body in spite of the warm blanket.
            All too soon, the nurse came to take my son away. 
            I slept.
            The nurses brought my son into the room over the next day or so whenever they could.  I was not able to hold him much as I was very weak and in a lot of pain—and on a lot a pain medication.
            I had blood drawn what felt like every hour on the hour. I’m sure it wasn’t that often, but it felt like it. And every single time, it hurt. Bad. I cried it hurt so bad. I couldn’t help but wonder why she was hurting me considering what I had just been through.
            I tried to ask her to stop, but all she said was that she was following orders.
            A friend of mine had come up to see me.  She was a CNA (Certified Nurse’s Assistant); she spoke to the blood nurse and told her to come back at a different time. When the blood nurse left, my friend had my nurse call my doctor and speak to him about all the blood being drawn.
            I did not have any more blood drawn while I was in the hospital.
            (My doctor even apologized later when I saw him in his office. He said that it was simply what he normally did in such situations, but if he had known how much it was hurting me, he would have ordered them to stop drawing blood much sooner. I wonder if that helped him in future situations.)
            James and I both attempted to hold our James Isaac whenever we could. Because of the damage to his neck, we had to be especially careful, so rather than pass him from hand to hand, the nurse actually put our baby on a pillow to be held and transported more easily.
            I sat in my bed, watching my husband as he fell apart—weeping and sobbing—with our son in his arms as the nurse put her arms around the two of them. It took me a while, but I finally was able to get out of the bed and wobble over to take the nurse’s place. 
            The last time we saw and held our beloved baby, I asked whoever was in the room, “Can I kiss him?”

           Can you believe I felt the need to ask such a question? Why wouldn’t I be able to kiss my own son? But I had no idea what we were allowed to do and what we weren’t allowed to do in such a situation. No one came to offer suggestions or to tell us it was ok to love on him just as if…..well, just as if…..
            So I kissed his precious little cheek—his perfect cheek—and laid him back in the bassinet to be removed by the nurse for the last time. 
            It was horrible.
            My husband and I left the hospital that day—just the two of us in a car that had been prepared to be taking home a baby. We went to a home that had been prepared for a baby—baby bed, baby clothes, toys, diapers, bottles, a rocking chair. 
            It was horrible.
            And we still had a funeral we had to get through.
           
            On the day of the funeral, we arrived at the funeral home for a receiving (there would be no viewing) that we had just an hour or so before the actual funeral. I walked into the room where my son’s body was in a tiny box and made a bee-line for that box. I stood before my son’s box and would have crumpled to the floor in my grief had it not been for the loving arms of my mom. She held me up as I wept.
            She finally led me to a chair and the people began filing in. One after another. The line seemed endless. 
            Every single one of my students had come. They were all there.
            I learned later that they were told they had to go to school and were not allowed to leave for the funeral, but every single one of them—and their parents—said that they were going to the funeral and that is exactly what they did.
            While I don’t condone defiance or rebellion, I have to admit that their devotion to me rather than to
the rules warmed my heart as so little at that terrible time did. Even now, fifteen years later, it warms my heart more than I can express in words.
            My doctors came. 
            James, my husband—our baby’s daddy—preached the funeral. All I remember about it was that he kept saying over and over, “I now know the meaning of life. I know now the meaning of life.” I’m still not sure exactly what he meant by that, but it’s what I remember that he said.
            I also remember that during the actual funeral—it was outside at the grave so it was a combined graveside service and funeral, a tiny spider was crawling on my arm and my sister—who is DEATHLY afraid of spiders (if only I could make you understand just how severe her fear is…), swiped it off my arm and killed it—just as calm as you please.
            She had never before and has never since been even half that calm when she sees a spider. It was another surreal moment that stands out amongst all the horrific memories of that time because it was just so odd and unusual as well as so out of character for my sister.
            After the service, we were told to wait because there were people who had not yet had a chance to speak to us. We had a second receiving after the funeral and spoke not only to those we hadn’t spoken to prior to the service as well as many who just wanted to hug our necks a second time.
            It was a long time we had to stand there, but every single person who walked by hugged me and told me how much he/she loved me. In spite of the fact that I was still in a lot of pain and worried about my breasts leaking, it was worth the time and effort it took to keep standing. 
I needed the love.
            Over the next several months, I did whatever I had to do—no more or less. I finished the school year, but the end of that year is a fog. I know I did not work over the summer months, but the only thing I remember is being in my pajamas—a lot. I think I still showered for Sunday services, but beyond that, I don’t think I left the house or showered. 
            I counted down the days—six months—until we could begin trying to have another baby. I lived for the day when the doctor would say that my body had healed enough and we could begin trying.
            This is when I first truly began to feel trapped as if in a deep, dark cave, so dark and so deep that I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. I was completely alone and scared out of my mind. I had no idea which direction to go to get out of my dark cave. There wasn’t even a pin-prick of light to give me a hint as to where to go.  I had fallen multiple times and had bumps, scrapes, bruises, and pains that made every movement simply unbearable. 

            I made a very conscious decision to sit down on a rock in my cave and stay right there without moving because moving only hurt…..for a very long time.

Sunday, January 26, 2020

Living in Darkness after Child Loss


It Will Be Well

You know, it is not easy to get to a point where I can say “It is well with my soul” after all I have been through. There have been times when it was not well with my soul. My soul was screaming out in pain, as if it had been stabbed repeatedly with great violence. I wondered if I would ever be able to say again that it was well with my soul.
How does one find the ability to be well, deep in her soul, after suffering a stillbirth and then two miscarriages? The loss of each baby took a part of my soul. My heart was ripped out with each loss. My wounded soul was slashed open after just healing from the last loss. The scars that each loss has left on my soul make it very tender, sensitive, and easily cracked open again.
I am no longer whole because three parts of me were torn away—buried. One in the cold, dark, damp earth. Cleaved from my womb only to be taken straight into a darkness that mirrored my soul. Two others were not even given a chance at experiencing life since they were destroyed even as my very inner being cried out for their light to be able to shine.
Darkness overcame my soul and for a very long time, I wondered if I would ever see or experience light again.
I lived in a deep, pitch-black cave where I was unable even to move because I could not even see my hand in front of my face. When I did try to stir around in my cave, I would fall, stumble, and bruise my body from head to toe. It was cold. Damp. There were noises that made the hair on the back of my neck and my arms stand up on end. I could feel the evil surrounding me as I wept deep, soul-wrenching sobs from morning ‘til night, night ‘til morning.
The tears never stopped flowing. They created a stream in my cave that ran no-where, as far as I could tell. No matter how hard or long I looked for the end or the beginning, it continued on into perpetuity.
Then came the day when the tiniest pin-prick of light suddenly appeared off in the distance. After being in the darkness for so long, at first I did not believe it was real. I knew I had finally begun hallucinating in the darkness. I had been without light for so long, I was imagining that it was calling to me.
Ever so carefully, I began stumbling my way towards it. I continued to fall, bruise myself, and weep deep in my very being, but I steadily made my way towards that tiny light.
That beautiful light began to grow larger the closer I got to it, but it still seemed so very far way. For a long time, I gave up attempting to get to it. I simply sat in the same spot, weeping and wondering why the light never got any closer no matter how long I traveled towards it.
One not so very special day, I heard something.
            “Polly. PollyAnna. Come out. I am here.”
            Now I was hearing things as well as hallucinating? My terror grew with each call of my name.
            Instead of going towards the light—towards the voice, I ran, as well as I could, deeper into the cave to hide. I was afraid.
I was afraid of the light.
I was afraid of the tender voice calling my name.
No matter how deep I went into my cave, I could still hear the voice, “Polly. PollyAnna. It’s ok. I’m here. I will wait as long as necessary. I will never leave you.”
            Slowly, with shaky, tiny, stumbling, tentative steps, I began the journey once again towards the light.
            And the voice.
            The tender-loving voice never stopped calling my name, speaking words of encouragement.
            The day came, finally, when the light began to grow and I could see not just my hand in front of my face, but the walls of my cave.
            Hope began to stir deep inside.
Every time I stopped to catch my breath, I moved on as quickly as possible.
I was no longer afraid of the light.
            Or the voice.
            I desperately wanted to reach the light and see the man who was calling my name. I knew that all would be well once I walked into the light. I became desperate and never stopped even to catch my breath.
I began to run, slipping, sliding, falling—again and again, but this time, instead of giving up or running back into the cave, I kept moving forward towards the light.
            The sound of the man’s voice grew louder with passing step. But not louder as in He was shouting; just louder in that I could hear Him more clearly. I knew He would fill the hole that ruptured open each time I had lost a baby.
I needed to get to Him.

Finally.
There He was.
He was sitting on a large rock at the entrance to the cave. As I came into view, He stood and held out His arms so I could walk into His welcoming embrace. He held me for a long time, crooning soft, gentle, loving words into my ears as He held me close to His beating heart.
            When the tears slowed, He pulled away, took me by the hand, and led me out, fully into the light, away from the cave. He stopped. We turned and watched as a giant stone was rolled in front of the cave, sealing it for all eternity.
            That was the moment when I realized that my soul was mended. Yes, there would still be tears to come, but with Him by side, holding my hand, it was finally well with my soul.



Polly Anna Watson, Wednesday, January 22, 2020; revised: Friday, January 24, 2020
“It is Well” by Horatio Spafford and the new version by Kristine DeMarco

Monday, January 20, 2020

PollyAnna's JOY ACTIONS Book Launch Team.*Updated*


PollyannaJoy - Author Joy Actions Book Launch Team

I am looking for readers!

You are being invited to my book launch team. A book launch can be fun and is important to get the word out about a new book.
It is difficult for new authors to find launch team members who love to read and who recognize the value of an honest review.

Would you consider being a part of this launch?

The release date is March 17, 2020. Beginning February 1, 2020, you will receive 3 chapters of the book Joy Actions to read and review.

I am looking for readers who love to read and who are willing to write an honest review in Goodreads. Joy Actions is about how joy is more than an emotion; it is an action and it showcases the author's personal experiences. 

It is a compelling book that promises to expand your understanding and challenge you to think about seeking joy regardless. I am super excited about sharing my book with you. If you are unable to read my 3 chapters before the release date of March 17, I welcome your prayers, not just for the book or for me, but especially for my readers. 

If you would like to participate, there are a few things I need for you to do to sign up:

1. Fill out this form and provide your information so I can keep in touch with you: PollyAnna's JoyActions Book Launch Team Contact Information

2. Pre-order a copy of the ebook on Amazon: Joy Actions. *If you would prefer a print copy, please make a commitment to purchase the book on March 17 when it is available.

3. Join my Joy Actions Facebook group and follow my author's Facebook page.

4. Promise to post a review of Joy Actions to Goodreads by March 17, 2020.

5. Make a commitment to pray for the book release, my readers, and for me.

*All Book Launch Team Members will be entered for a drawing to receive an autographed print copy of Joy Actions. A total of 3 winners will be drawn.*

May the Lord Bless You with Great Joy,
PollyAnna Joy
aka: Polly Anna Watson
and Jan Lindie (Illustrator)

Please join me!! By the way, don't forget to Follow my blog!