Why I sacrificed a promising, even glamourous, career.

In 1943 I was adopted at the age of 22 months. The events leading to my adoption were tragic. However, my adoptive parents remained faithful to my birth father's mother in taking me to see her.

Forever etched in my memory is my Grandmother's lush back yard. Elegant trees dwarfed her tiny rustic cottage. Red, pink, and yellow hollyhocks danced along a rustic fence that bordered the quaint landscape. Amid a gay variety of greenery, bleeding hearts graced the gray-slated sidewalk. Their lovely lockets of lavender pink dazzled me, however, I was yet to discover that each blossom held a sense of magic!

One day, while I was playing in her flower garden, my Grandmother plucked a tiny heart from the vine. Dividing it into three parts, she explained, “Here's a pair of earrings, these two are sandals, and look, we have a pair of bunnies!”

It was a beautiful summer day the last time we went to visit my Grandmother. As we pulled into the alley and neared her house, my excitement grew. But my eagerness was short lived when we realized the grass had grown tall and the window blinds were pulled. My Grandmother no longer lived there.

Twenty-five years would pass before I'd discovered that my Grandmother had abruptly moved to Illinois to live with her son, my natural Uncle. Though I was adopted out of my Grandmother's family, I never forgot her. Her sudden disappearance left a great big hole in my heart.

In 1990 I relocated to Kalamazoo, Michigan to partner in a traveling and speaking ministry with Nancy Dorner. While there I trained and received my license in the listing and sales of real estate. Though it was a real challenge in a new city where I knew next to no one, I was headed for success in a high profile office. I had excellent training and soon had a nice portfolio of listings. I was living in the best of both worlds traveling the Christian Women's Clubs circuits with Nancy on off times and scouting for listings on my job. At the same time, I had joined the Toastmasters club where I made a number of new friends while honing my own leadership and speaking skills. I was also receiving small writing contracts for Christian publications, thus spent time at my kitchen table typing. By then, I had purchased a little English style cottage on Parker Avenue and was, thus, becoming rooted in my new location. I had found many single friends in various church groups, including my Sunday school class at Calvary Bible Church on Drake Road. This was my life for three years in Michigan and I loved it!

Whenever I had an “open house” at one of my listings or another office listing, I'd go over to Meijers 57 superstore, not far from my house, to purchase a bouquet of beautiful gladiolus---they were only a dollar! While there I also looked for a new story book for my three year old Grandson back home. I'd record the story on cassette, ringing a bell (or blowing a whistle) with each turn of the page. Then I'd mail him the book and the cassette. Soon I had a new Granddaughter, and later another Grandson.

Then one day I was at my typewriter writing about the vignette in my Grandmother's lush back yard where the bleeding hearts grew. Then all at once it hit me!! I had left Danville abruptly leaving my Grandson just as my own Grandmother had left those many years ago. I stood to my feet feeling anew the sting of that day when I realized she was gone. In the days that followed my heart continued to call me back home. It was more than emotions, it was real, and I knew there would be still more grandchildren. If I remained in Kalamazoo my Grandchildren would never know me and I would never really know them. Furthermore, it was a priority that my Grandchildren heard from me about Jesus. I was filled with a deep desire to be a godly role model to them. After filling my duties at my real estate office, I packed boxes to return most of my stuff by UPS. Then the day came, car packed, I began my drive home.

While there are still many times I feel the tugging at my heart for the good days at Kalamazoo, I have never regretted bonding with my Grandchildren. Another Grandson came along, as well as another Granddaughter, after I moved back home. Have I ever regretted making that decision? If I had remained in Michigan I would have missed taking Veggie Tale videos from the church library every Sunday to my Grandsons. I would have missed singing “Jesus Loves Me” to Charissa when she was a few months old. I would have missed hearing about the girls playland they referred to as “Narnia” and playing baseball with the boys. I would have missed all the school events and going to the Grandsons' roller skating parties, Charissa taking a bow at the end of the Bloomsburg Theater Ensemble's “East of the Sun and West of the Moon” and Maddie catching me on an April Fool's trick.

My Grandchildren are all grown now, but I look back with no regrets. I may not have the potentially lucrative career I might have had in Kalamazoo, but I have something far more valuable: decades of memories that are priceless. And that is why I sacrificed a promising, even glamorous, career.

How I overcome depression.

Since the untimely death of America's beloved Robin Williams there has been much advice going around the Internet on the subject of suicide.

I do not write as a professional and, thus do not claim to have all the answers. It is said that life's most valuable lessons are learned from experience. I write as one with a background of experience.

First all because I lived with an ill-crazed dad over a six month period of deep darkness.  Second, because my natural father lived with depression.  His depression led him to unthinkable destructive acts, having taken the lives of my mother and four year old brother.  Third, I write because I believe every person who has lived alone has felt the sting of loneliness and depression simply because they are often isolated. As a thirty year widow, I am no stranger to living life alone.

Having provided information about my background, I want to share with you how I overcame, and still overcome, depression.

There are several things I find helpful:

First, I find it lifts my spirit if I sing or play worshipful music. This helps, in particular, if I have no real opportunity to get out of the house.

Second, though it may seem extraordinary, when I have faced deep disappointment, I seek a new challenge. I find it therapeutic to take on some new project.

Third, I find satisfaction delving into something for which I have procrastinated such as washing my windows. (while playing music)

Years ago I experienced a deep disappointment which totally wracked me. Without even thinking, I went home and cleaned my Velcro hair rollers. Never in my wildest thoughts, had that been a part of my plan for that day. I talked out my frustration while I whisked the hair out of my rollers.

Forth, though I do this far less as I age, I get out of the house and go shopping. I may not have any plans to make any purchases, but getting out of the house can be a key to overcoming depression.

Fifth, and most healing, I seek God's wisdom. I find comfort and peace in the midst of life's storms as I meditate over appropriate Scripture verses.  

A twin to depression, in my opinion, is sudden panic attacks. I had gotten panic attacks for years before I realized that I was not the only one who experienced this, to me, a phenomenon. Later I discovered there was a name for this malady. I have believed that my panic attacks were the result of fear. Financial fear is, perhaps, at the highest level of a single person's concerns. Thus I am going to share with you how I overcame panic attacks.

In l993 I was working for Christian Publications in Camp Hill, Pa as a telemarketer to their clientele. My boss had recommended a “mom and pop” home where I stayed through the week and drove home Fridays after work. One Friday, my “mom” called to advise me not to go home. Due to a storm that March day, there were trees across some roads, etc. But to stay there over the weekend meant that I would relinquish my refreshed spirit over the weekend, both at home and at church.

So I gassed up my car and hit route 11 to Danville. When I reached home there was several inches of slush on the grass. As I sprinted across the yard, my foot landed in a former post hole. Mid-air, I heard the crack. I was down. A jogging neighbor heard my cries for help.

It was stunning to hear the Doctor pronounce “eight weeks in a cast.” That meant that I had no income whatsoever for eight weeks. I was in a tailspin.

During those first weeks living in a recliner chair, I had more panic attacks than ever. Finally, one day when I felt an attack about to strike I pondered Romans 8:15: “For ye have not received the spirit of bondage again to fear; but ye have received the Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father.” I meditated on that verse several times that week with each new threatening attack. I can honestly say that, from that time forward I have never again had a panic attack. On rare occasions, I feel the early pangs of an attack, but remembering that Scripture sends the enemy sailing.

Fifth, and foremost, the healing I experience over depression and anxiety came in l972. That is when I gave my life to Jesus Christ. A sinner, such is each of us, I repented of my sins and invited Jesus into my heart. He has promised, “I will never leave you, nor forsake you. Though I may never be free of anxiety, near-panic attacks, nor depression I have that promise that Jesus never fails and He will see me through. Jesus offers victory over mental illness. He may not always heal, but He has already defeated the enemy of our minds when He rose from the grave victorious over death.

Someone has said that “suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.” Whether we accept that as truth or not, hell is permanent. If we die today by our own hand, or by God's, and we have not accepted His free offer of salvation, we face an eternal darkness far worse than any depression. After death, according to God's Word, it is too late.

Read how God used a rat to return my family back home after my depressed (adoptive) Dad hung himself in our basement: http://www.manteldust.blogspot.com/search?updated-min=2013-01-01T00:00:00-05:00&updated-max=2014-01-01T00:00:00-05:00&max-results=9

Read how I was orphaned as a toddler, a result of my natural father's depression: “It happened behind Shooter's Bar”

http://manteldust.blogspot.com/2014_01_01_archive.html

But it's just the way we were back then.

They were twins. While I hadn't known them well, they were neighbor boys from my teen years, now home on leave from the military.

It was Christmas, l959 and I had been graduated from high school the previous June. I was at the skating rink when, from the rink floor, I saw them come through the door.

By then I was no longer called “Olive Oyl” and had, for the first time enough speck on my bones for which to experience some sense of attraction to a guy. I noticed I had caught their eye from the sidelines and hoped I might get a phone call from one of them that week.

Sure enough. The phone rang and it was Wesley (not his real name). Of course, I said “yes” when he asked to take me out. The plans were for Saturday night.

I could hardly wait for the week to fly by, but at the same time, I worried about all those things for which most girls back then feared. “Would I make an etiquette mistake?” “How would I introduce him to my mom?,” etc. For days I practiced: “Mom I'd like you to meet Wesley.” “Wesley, this is my Mom.”

Saturday night came and I got through that part. Then I waited while he opened the car door. It all felt very strange to me because I grew up skinny and dates were not a part of my life. Oh yes, I had a boyfriend a short time while in high school, but he thumbed rides to Riverside to see me and our relationship wasn't much different than that of the kids with whom I went roller skating. Plus, I was never serious about him

Wesley took me to see Peyton Place!” We arrived at the theater in Berwick and, as we crossed the main street to the theater, I felt ten feet tall next to this man in Air Force uniform. I hoped I wouldn't blow it by saying something stupid.

Then, somewhere in the middle of the movie one of the actors asked, “Did you ever go swimming in the raw?” Everyone laughed. Except me. I turned to ask Wesley what swimming in the raw meant. Awkwardly, he waved his hand and said, “it means swimming without any clothes on.” I thought I'd die! My adoptive dad was a worry wort and didn't allow me to go swimming. I not only didn't know how to swim, but I certainly wouldn't have thought of swimming in my birthday suit. I knew that was my first blow at a chance for anything to blossom.

It was customary, in our day, to stop at a roadside restaurant after a date. I knew it was coming and I was filled with dread. I had never eaten much EVER. But to eat in front of a guy was totally nothing I ever wrote about in my diary!

The waitress brought us a menu. As I recall we were the only ones in the restaurant that night which added to the coldness in the air. Finally she came to take our order. Rather sheepishly I said, “I just want a coke.” Thus he, too, ordered a coke.

As we drove home I knew my worse fears had overtaken me and I had blown my chances. Hope escaped me. Halfheartedly, in the days that followed, I waited for the phone to ring. But our little pink Princess sat silent.

Later, I drove past Wesley's house. I had to pass it since it was up the street from my place. I saw his twin brother close to the road and stopped to talk to him. Immediately I was totally comfortable with him.

A few days later he picked me up in his mom's '57 Chevy. Conversation came easy and I was elated walking to the theater with this young man in full Navy uniform.

Our friendship grew as we continued to date.  He was stationed at Newport, RI and thumbed a ride home every weekend. For Valentine's Day he gave me a black onyx bracelet (which I still have today).

That same February, amid tears, we parted for his return to the naval base. His ship was leaving for an eight month Mediterranean cruise. The following October I had a shoebox full of letters, each embossed with the print of his ship. I waited, longing for his return.

He did return, but not to me.

It was Ralph Lloyd Tennyson who wrote:

I hold it true, whate'er befall;

I feel it, when I sorrow most;

'Tis better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all.

I know today's teenagers are far less naive than those from my era. But it's just the way we were back then.