Permission to write?


I have a question,  if anyone knows a literary lawyer- all the better.

A couple of years ago I wrote a book.  An acquaintance of mine told me an awesome miracle story about her abusive ex. I asked her if I could use it and she said yes.  I wove that short clip into my story,  changing names and a few other details. It really is a great story.

I saw her recently and we talked about my book.  I reminded her that her story contributed to it being great.  She acted shocked. She asked me to take it out.  What happens if he reads it?  He will know she told it.

Now my question, and I am afraid I already know the answer. .. Do I have to take it out?  I do not see this girl ever. The story is about a construction project and a few bricks ( sounds boring but it is not. ) I am sure my book will never be a best seller,  just might eventually put it on Amazon.  I use a pen name and the man does not know me.

Anyone have any thoughts on the subject?

Thanks,  Meghan




What’s your one word for 2017? I’ll tell you mine… — Holley Gerth

{my graphics are free goodies for you} Sparrows dressed in feather coats reach into sidewalk cracks outside the window of the restaurant where my husband and I have gone for brunch New Year’s morning. The little birds are feasting on what’s been lost or dropped or abandoned. They seem to be content. This is not so simple…

via What’s your one word for 2017? I’ll tell you mine… — Holley Gerth

Miserable Night, just have to cry…

Photo by Occhi Rivoluzionari

I didn’t sleep. I cried all night. Now I have to go to work.

It started with my son buying not one, but three forbidden violent shooting video games he knows I hate. Then he says he is old enough to make his own decisions. He plays it in my house while I cry in my bathroom. He is 15 years old. I am a terrible parent.

Then my youngest comes running to the bathroom in tears. “Mommy help me!” he cries. “I just spilled my juice on my computer.” Another disobedience, they know I’ve told them not to have food and liquids next to the computer. Now the computer is dead.

Told the kids to go to bed. Then I noticed that their phones are gone off the chargers. They’ve taken them to bed. Another disobedience. I storm upstairs and grab the phones. Now they are grounded during their Christmas vacation.

Then my husband yells at me that I don’t do enough for him. He says that I always put the kids first. I cry, he goes to sleep. I am so alone and over worked. I do the cooking and the cleaning and the bills and the wash and the groceries and the dishes and the vacuuming and the schedule and the help with homework and the driving to and from school. He comes home and sits on his computer. He says that he will leave me because I do not make him first priority. I am a terrible wife.

I am so tired and just want to give up. Nothing goes right. I work too hard and the world is against me.

Waking Words


God has woken me up four times in the last six months; awakened with a voice, just seconds before I open my eyes. My sheets hold me captive. I blink awake. My alarm chirps its morning hello. Rubbing sleep from my eyes I wonder at these  words I have heard. Had they been a dream, or a whisper from above?

I’ve heard:

“Get up.”

“You are mine.”

“I know what I am doing.”

“When you are done with the marathon, look towards the ocean.”

The last one in particular causes pensive curiosity to arise in me. Late nights juggling deadlines, the race to live responsibly, I fight exhaustion. Hitting the pillow each night I fight a soul amnesia, forgetting the WHO who carries me through my busy days. This living dementia clings to me as I sleep and Velcros itself to each new day.

Who gives me rest? (I clean my house.) Who provides all that I need? (I cook and serve.) Who said They would never leave me? (I sweep up the angry words that clutter my heart.) My soul forgets. Then the words come crashing in.

I ponder, “When you are done with the marathon,” (do you have more for me to do?). In the race of life there is never a reprieve. “Look towards the ocean.” (Great, now I have to cross the unending expanse?)

Then He unveils the curtain. Why does one go to the ocean? To heal, relax and find joy. The ocean is not unending toil, but the hope of perfect peace.

“Look TOWARDS”, notice the words that are used, not INTO (for that signifies just surface beauty,) not TO (as if looking to something will save you), no TOWARDS is much bigger. TOWARDS means to journey forward to something, knowing that you’ll get there.

After I am done with my whirlwind, He wants me to go towards rest. That oasis is bigger than my nagging troubles. The ocean flows on and on. There I will be washed over with tranquility. Look and travel forward, don’t stand at the finish line waiting for your prize. In Christ we find our rest, even in the waking hours. He speaks it over us. That is award enough for me.



to the mom who feels like she’s drowning — Finding Joy

You are not alone. I just want you to know that before you read one more word. And if you can’t even read another word because it just feels like too much I want you to know that you will get through and that you, the one that is drowning in stuff and expectations, are…

via to the mom who feels like she’s drowning — Finding Joy

A Real Guy- Jesus


I’ve always loved this rendition of Jesus. He is real! My friend, the guy next door, the one who smiles at me at the grocery store, the one holding the door. Here he looks tired, in need of a shower. He has had a day brimming over with responsibility and irritable people. Did he have a headache today? Did he cry for that little girl before he raised her from the dead. Did he wake each morning feeling that he was a failure…if he could have stayed up a little later he could have healed more people, if he tried harder maybe people might have listened.

He must have known there was too much darkness for even his shoulders to bear. But with each wall he faced, he didn’t give up. He had to keep going. He must go on, for you.

He thanked God each step of the way. He knew that he was facing hardship for the best reason ever. One more step, dirty, achy feet. One more criticism,  thrown out of town. Unknown, unloved, no house to call a home.  He picked up the pieces each day happily exhausted for you.

You too can do it! You are not alone.  He walked the path before you to see that it is safe. He has won the victory so you don’t have to. So go ahead and accept your failures, stop chasing the hands on the clock.  The fatigue, he understands, the loneliness he lived. He is real and he smiles for you.


The Prison of Time

Photo by wwarby

I am in a prison of my own choosing. It is called the full life! I have forgotten my dreams and wishes. They are a fleeting sigh. Instead my world is consumed with homework, work, housework, errands and the many other things in life that zap your energy.

If asked, I am happy. I can not complain. I have a roof over my head, heat, food, a healthy family and more. There are so many that would love to have what I have. I should be content. Notice I am happy, but not content.

Life is getting up in the morning. Rushing. Then going to bed. There is not much joy. My life is about serving others. I have no time to take care of me. I know that it is important to do, but there is no time. If there is time, the house needs serious cleaning. I am a sure example of a slob. My professional, organized, able to do it all self has given up. I am being swallowed by responsibilities and I am giving in. It is what it is, is my new saying. My only hope is that things will change in the future.

I wish I could…well I was going to write something, but my mind went blank. I guess I don’t know what I want. I am not me anymore. I am, well I am not sure. I am not a slave, nor a machine. I smile, I am successful at work. I get the responsibilities done, well all except the house. But I am an empty shell. So tired. Time has captured me and I hope that I can make it through till it is my time, MY TIME to live.