2022 Christmas Letter

 

2022 Christmas Letter

Our Farm

December 5, 2022

We have reached the final page of the 2022 Calendar. It seems the days have rushed pastat a crazy pace but time has returned, for me to consider the year nearly completed.

Once I thought the days dragged on and on, but now I see them as a blur of life events and everyday happenstances. I thought I would share a few of the things that made 2022 special.

Perhaps I should begin with February. The writer that lives at this address had a birthday, some might call it a milestone, for I turned 70. 70 is just a number, but some mornings, it seems a very large number. But it offers a platform to view things in a way I couldn’t before. I have a greater appreciation of things, and a perspective on what is really important, and what, I feel, carries an inflated value. I am grateful for the life I have been blessed with and those, including you my friends, I have had the very good fortune to know and love.

Let’s jump forward to May.

Observation tower at
Clingmans Dome

We had planned to go to Colorado early in the month, but other engagements pushed it to the last week of May. Conflicts delayed with those plans as well, and our return to the Golden State was postponed. Not to be deterred, completely, we aimed southward. It had been years since we had spent time in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, and that became our destination. A week at the gateway to the Smoky Mountains was wonderful. Though it rained repeatedly, and I became soaked to the skin the first day down, the precipitation filled streams and waterfalls, and this photographer found hundreds of images to be captured. I saw my first bears in Cade’s Cove. Jackie and Nick had seen bear in Alaska way back in 1999, I had been on the wrong side of the bus on that occasion. 

We walked up to the top of Clingmans Dome, drove the Tail of the Dragon, in the rain no less, spent a day at Dollywood, hiked up to Laurel Falls, and even drove out to Ashville, North Carolina. Each day an adventure. Came home to rest up afterwards.

The summer rushed by so quickly, but we did several day trips, places like Shipshewana, Indiana, and up north into Michigan.

We remained busy throughout the fall, with our home, and family. Suddenly it was Thanksgiving and now December.

Now for a bit of specifics:

Jackie retired from pharmacy in September of last year...sorta’. She has continued to fill in a few hours a week, when needed. But it appears that soon retirement...sorta’ will become retirement for real. But she’s still adjusting to this new phase of her life. Like I told her the best thing about retirement is that you get to set your own schedule.

Nick remains in the Denver, Colorado area. He has been there since September of 2021.
He transferred to a new company early this year. Though he remains in the medical device field, the work experience at ConMed is more to his liking. He works as an engineer in the research and development department. It is across town from Arvada, the municipality in which he lives, but feels the change of states, (Kentucky to Colorado) was a good choice. He loves the area, and the energy of the people there.

Cloey, our sweet little dog, is now a teenager, in real years that is. I haven’t done the math to convert it to dog years, but that is neither here nor there. But the dear thing has a series of health issues and we worry about our little girl. But she is such a blessing to our home.

Well that leaves me. I remain too busy. Guess it’s part of my DNA. Besides taking care of our home and watching over the buildings at the farm, I am active in my church. But the thing that absorbs the largest part of my day is the keyboard and the stories that come from it. After four long years and a zillion hours, I completed the third book of the Misty Creek Series. With the Sun’s Rising is scheduled for release on March 7^th, 2023, on what would have been my father’s 98^th birthday. But one project completed means another must begin. So I have begun book 4. Yes, John must be crazy.

I guess that pretty much brings you up to date, so I will close with these few words. There is a reason to celebrate Christmas, and it is not because of some hypothetical imaginary magical day. No, we understand the real reason. For we celebrate that God so loved the world, He sent his Son...not to condemn but to save. We mark December 25^th as a day we focus on the birth of Jesus Christ, for whether Christ was born on that day or another is irrelevant. But the fact is that He was born, born for you and me, and that is more than reason enough to set a day aside to celebrate.

So it is our wish that this letter finds you and yours healthy and ready to face the year ahead. That Christmas brings all the love and light it can. That the reason for the season fills you heart with joy, laughter, and light.

From the Vander Veldens of the greater Tyner-Teegarden area of Northern Indiana, we wish you the merriest of Christmases, and a wonderful 2023.

John

 

 

 

In the Box

By John W. Vander Velden

 

A bit more than a week ago the first box of With the Sun’s Rising, arrived at my doorway. Twelve copies. Those that have not been keeping close watch would not have noticed that nearly four years of my writing life had gone into this project.

Four years.

Four years of creating the story, recreating the story, revising the story, going through repeated editorial reviews of the story, going through a very diligent proofread of the story. The first editorial revision alone took eight long months.

The project required...four years.

Times I would have abandoned this project, had I not believed so strongly in the story. But for better or worse, the proof is in the box.

I can talk about the emotions that filled me at the sight of that first box of twelve books. I can talk of how it felt to hold the first one I retrieved from that carton. But nothing I say can fully express what passed through me at that moment.

Nothing!

The closest emotion non writers might understand is the birth of their child. No, I do not equate the arrival of neatly bound pages, to the birth of Nicholas. I do not want to even imply that to be the case. But after all the thousands of hours of work, the days of stressing about each scene, the hundreds of moments of self-doubt, the work, the worry, has at last, come to something I can hold.

The story was little more than imaginary stuff roaming around within the computer, but when the first box arrived...With the Sun’s Rising became real!   

But even as I hefted that first box, twenty-five pounds of books, I did not forget those that helped me reach this point. My editor and dear friend, Kristina, the Beta readers for this project, MaryAnn, Vonda, Bonnie, Nancy, and Michelle. They were the first people that I bounced this story off of. My Friend and editor Mark, who did the final proofread through supplied skills I lacked necessary to polish the story to its luster. Also the team of experts at Palmetto Publishing that made the book a beautiful work that anyone would be proud to call theirs. Each of these people were a vital in turning the story into the 658 pages of print.

Then there is the support staff, that carried me through these four years. Jackie, my beloved, lifted me when the burden of the story would have crushed, and she endured the hundreds of scenes read to her. In the end I must recognize the source my feeble writing talent and the One that gave me the story in the first place...God the giver of all good things.

All these things and so much more went through my mind when I opened up and looked into that first box.

(472 Words) 12-2-2022

An Excerpt from With the Sun’s Rising

 

An Excerpt from With the Sun’s Rising

By John W. Vander Velden

 

 

Elizabeth closed the door of the building that was both a one room schoolhouse and the only church in the valley known as Misty Creek.

The first day of school had ended in the white-painted structure that stood among the oak trees on the lakeshore, and she felt content at how the day had unfolded. One could not expect much educational progress after a long break. It would take a few days to reestablish boundaries and rein in the boisterous youngsters.

Elizabeth had to smile when she thought about Mark Tomkins bringing his pet to school. Of course, the lad knew that bringing in an animal, even a favorite snake, would not be allowed. She had sent him out to return the slithering, striped creature to the box that held him—in his father’s barn. It seemed Lisa Tomkins, Mark’s mother, was no more accepting of Sammy, that’s what Mark had named the beast, than Elizabeth. On the boy’s return, she reminded him and the rest of the class that their pets must remain at home, and warned that stricter penalties would be required if that rule was broken. A look of sadness spread over the faces of the younger boys. Perhaps they thought that Mark had set a precedent. That they too could bring a favored cat, dog, or as Elizabeth had heard, Howard Cline’s crow to the classroom.

The door closed with a familiar click and she turned to go down the three steps. She would walk across the dam and bridges to the mill and share the day’s events with Matthew. As she began, a rider approached. The tall slender golden-brown steed ambled easily in her direction. The rider, a man dressed in work clothes with caramel brown trousers and a rust-colored shirt beneath his brown vest, pulled the reins, bringing the horse to a stop at her side. Young Will Clark, the son of the school board president, looked down upon her with his dark brooding eyes, which were shaded by the black hat he always wore.

Elizabeth glanced to the west and the road. “Will, your sister has gone home.”

For a moment he did not answer. She wondered if he still held fast to the vow he made last spring. A promise that he would never speak to her. He looked down the road, the way his half-sister had gone, and returned his dark eyes to her. “She knows the way.” His words were flat.

Elizabeth became uncomfortable beneath his stare. She turned toward the mill. “I must be going.”

Again, he did not immediately respond. When Elizabeth began to move on her way, she heard him say, “Folks say you had some trouble coming in from Thimble.”

Elizabeth froze, drew a deep breath and turned to face him. “Yes, Will, we were attacked.”

 

One Very Long Saturday

 

One Very Long Saturday

By John W. Vander Velden

9-10-2022

 

It was the calendar that led me to thinking about a particular day. I shared that September 10th with others, but mostly with Jackie. I have learned that our perception of occurrences is limited to our own ability to absorb what is happening around us. Though others were there, my uptake on that twenty-four slice of my life will be unique.

For no others saw those events with my eyes, heard with my ears, or felt the profoundness of that day with my heart.

I was forty-two years old, and that day unfolded into a once in a lifetime experience. It was uncommon for this farmer to be away from his work all day on a Saturday. It was uncommon for me to be in a room with a Notre Dame Football game on the TV screen, for hours.

I had never taken the time to watch the coverage, pre-pre-game to post game explanations, in my life. Before or after. The results of that Michigan game didn’t much matter to me and in the South Bend area they were better off forgotten. I found it to be white noise to fill the hours, as I sat near the window at Jackie’s side.

I am not certain what value I provided during that long day. Perhaps some might say I just took up space. I hope, I at least, offered some moral support.

In some ways I was a coach, offering but a little help to someone engaged in a process, I could never fully participate.

A man on the sidelines, on a day where men always stood on the sidelines, or disconnected entirely.

I don’t remember if I ate breakfast that morning, but Jackie had insisted her eldest sister fetch me McDonalds, about the time the sun left the sky. Though I had insisted I was fine, what coach would even suggest differently, I was grateful for the sustenance within the paper bag. Who knows, without it, I might have passed out. But if I had, there were those nearby to treat the medical needs of prospective fathers.

I may have been the coach that day, but as far as I was concerned my beloved Jackie was the whole team, and the focus of my attention, Notre Dame Game or not.

But there was another involved in the drama that played out so slowly within those four walls of a room on Fourth Street in Mishawaka. Someone out of sight but very much in our thoughts. Someone that seemed to resist, fervently, a change of venue.

Darkness came outside that window at my back. The TV was extinguished, all the words about the game had been used―at least twice, and that was enough. Then Soothing sounds from the sea played on a continuous loop. The gentle calls of whales drifted down from the audio device for hours. I had nearly come to the point of believing I understood their strange language, when I asked to have the whales be put down.

It was a long day, and becoming a long night.

How much longer for Jackie as she endured the pain that I could not share. No other could, though millions upon millions of women have endured a similar experience. I suppose that number would be in the billions and not a single man among them.

We males on the sidelines or worse should never puff up our chests after such an event―never. Yet often we do, as if our involvement in the process would equates to more than a footnote.

But I was there, for there was no other place else on earth I would rather have been. I shared the experience, even with my limited participation and my contributions of questionable worth.

How does one describe their life?

For me it is best explained in the events I have lived through. Some of those things are dark, painful, break your heart kind of things. Some are frightening. But the best, the very best, lift us to places we have never been before and likely will never reach again. And five minutes until that very long day would click over to the next, I reached that grand mountaintop. For the unborn child had been a real part of Jackie’s world for nine months. But when Nick physically entered my world, he was truly our son. It was a wonderful end to the day.

That very long Saturday was exactly twenty-eight years ago. It was an ending but more importantly a beginning.

Happy 28^th Birthday Nick      

The Summer Wind

 

Showing posts with label Summer. Show all posts

FRIDAY, AUGUST 10, 2018

The Summer Wind 

By John W. Vander Velden

 

The hot air in motion…a summer wind.  From where it comes?  To where it goes?  Do we take the time to consider?  It is after all just a summer wind.  The breeze that rearranges our hair that makes the heat almost bearable…nothing more.  Yet the sun bears upon me.  As I wipe my brow and adjust my cap, sweat stinging my eyes and causing my shirt to cling, I reflect.  Watching shadows pass over the open land while the wind chases the high puffy white clouds across the pale sky.  Reminded of my own journey, of life’s wind scurrying me along.  Few know or care where that journey began, only God knows the road ahead.  No, I am like the summer’s wind.  Some will notice my presence others will ignore.  But as I pass I must do what I can…to love…to laugh…and to care.  For just as the hot breath of summer moves on and does not return…so must I.  

(166 Words) Posted 9/7/2012

Each of Us Needs a Purpose

 

Each of Us Needs a Purpose

By John W. Vander Velden 

Fact is we need a reason to get up every morning. It seems most of our lives we are rushing from one thing to another. It begins when we enter our school years. Looking back I realize that those early years were training for such a large portion of my life. Getting up in the morning stuffing breakfast in my mouth and being ready for the bus to carry me and others to the building that contains us and gave me tasks to accomplish. Yes, I learned that 2 plus 2 equals 4, I learned the difference between a noun and a verb, and all the other information others were certain I needed to know in order to survive. 

But the important thing I learned has little to do with the hours of lessons. I learned to schedule my day. For going to school was the purpose I had been given during those years. And was prepared…and longing for the next step when my formal education had been completed. For I like most of you joined another organization. The workforce. 

By then I had learned the need of an alarm clock, how to find my own transportation, and how to schedule my week. For some their first job is only one stop of their working career. For me the location changed once, but not the job title. 

My years of employment made up a very large portion of my life. But those years were not my complete existence, and a moment came when my working years came to an end. And I found myself among those that God had granted the time and resources to step forward when that moment arrived. 

Retirement. 

I believe each person has a unique definition of retirement. There are those that plan for the moment when their working life is completed. Others have the end of their career thrust upon them. Forced retirement. And there are others that find themselves unable to carry the burdens of their works obligation. Perhaps it is health issues, or just limitations that age forces upon us. Yet the moment comes when the discipline that had been part of our lives for so long is no longer required. Each faces that moment in their own way. 

But even when, for whatever reason a person retires, that person needs a purpose. 

When the day came, after forty-five years of farming, I found I had an advantage. Two advantages actually. 

One: I had spent many years self-employed. To be successfully self-employed a person needs discipline. There is no one to assign the tasks I would tackle any given day. There was no one that would keep track of the time I started or finished my day. How many days a week I put my “shoulder to the wheel.” Those were among the responsibilities I alone carried. Self-employment has its blessings, but it also has its burdens. 

But the discipline that was needed for all those years gives me “a leg up” when I entered retirement. 

Two: I am a man of faith. I would hope that would be something I shared with the masses, but I have come to realize that it is not as common as I thought. It seems that over the years the number of people that consider themselves bound to a belief has diminished substantially. So if I consider this connection an advantage, and I understand it is not a benefit shared by everyone. 

Having faith provides a deeper view of the world that surrounds me. But my specific faith in God, the Master of the Universe, reminds me daily that nothing is by chance and everything has a purpose. I include myself in that everything. I know I have a purpose for each day. I may not know what today’s purpose is, but understanding that I have a purpose, energizes me to seek what that purpose could be. 

I do not fritter away my day staring at a glowing screen across the room. I do watch some TV in the evenings. But I have other things to take up my time. God has given me gifts, shouldn’t I, as long as I have the breath and energy, pursue them? God has placed me in places and circumstances I never envisioned, given me responsibilities I have not sought but must fill. Do I ignore those new obligations for my personal leisure? 

The fact is I am too busy. The fact is I cannot carry all the possible purposes that are placed at my feet. But that’s alright. I have sufficient purpose for today...tomorrow too. 

Each of us needs a purpose...a reason to get up each morning. I thank God I do!  

 (783 Words) 7-26-2022

 

 

40 Years Planted

 

40 Years Planted

By John W. Vander Velden

 

June 18^th 1982 was the day I moved into a house in rural Marshall County. It is the residence I now share with my beloved Jackie and our small but very dear dog Cloey. Today, Saturday marks forty years that I have lived within these walls. I might have said beneath this roof, but for all points and purposes the roof has been replaced back in 2007 or so.

In this world where everyone seems so mobile that I have remained planted so securely in this particular location seems unusual. I was thirty when I moved here, the math is not difficult to guess what number describes my age today. But what kept me in this physical place is really simple. My profession’s demands for the most part held me near the source of those responsibilities.

But now that I am retired I can live whereever I choose. Providing Jackie agrees. I couldn’t imagine living somewhere apart from her. Yet all the same I like where I am living―for the most part. There is no perfect place, no perfect house, but this one’s not so bad. We have made it comfortable, to our liking. It is easy for us to go from here to the places that need our attention. We have friends nearby. And the folks next door are not next door, if you get my meaning.

I am planted here on this acre of hillside, with farmland on my south and east. I am planted here and over the years have managed to live the largest part of my life here.

I guess what I am saying is that I am content in the place I am planted and hope to remains so for a few more years. Content is, in my opinion, a decision made. It is different than being deliriously happy. For that kind of happiness is often temporary. I can’t imagine being deliriously happy for forty years.

No, life is primarily made up of ordinary days. But in truth there is something outstanding in each of those ordinary days if we take the time to consider them.

I have learned a great deal about myself during the span of those years. And I have been induced to learn a great deal about my faith by the people in my life, by the circumstances I have faced, by my successes during that time, by my failures as well, and through the sorrows that each life will endure, mine included.

I learned that instead of looking for God, I could see Him everywhere I looked. In the rising sun. In the star filled night sky. In a snowflake. In a flowing stream. In the face of my newborn son. I now understand that God is not in some far off place, locked within the walls of some sanctuary, or high above in the halls filled with angels, God is here and everywhere, now and always. God shares the space I tread, even within the walls of this modest house. He is nearer than my next breath.

I have come to recognize that I am only human. But being human means I carry both greatness and insignificance. I have been blessed with talents and weaknesses. I am no more than others. But by the same token I am not, when taken as a whole, inferior to anyone. I am, as you are, a child of God. But I am also saved from myself, by the grace that comes from Christ.

And so I am as a seed planted and I have grown these forty years and continue to grow for whatever time God has allotted. Hopefully you have grown during your years as well.

(616 Words) 6-18-2022

 

Silence?

 

Silence?               

By John W, Vander Velden

 

Silence is never misquoted.

I thought there was wisdom in that phrase. And there is. But the more I thought about it the more I came to understand there is a place for silence and there is place for other actions.

For though we cannot be held accountable for the words unsaid. And there are times when shouting voices are best ignored. Yet there are times when our silence speaks words we should never say...may reinforce actions that we should not condone.

There is a time for silence. Just as the list in Proverbs speaks of a time for all things there is a time when our lips should be sealed. Often verbal attacks directly aimed at our person are best answered with silence. But when those verbal abuses are pointed toward the innocent not speaking on their behalf may not be the best response.

Each of us must decide what we stand for and what response we hope is best. But we must do so prayerfully, trusting our God to help us to choose our words and actions that form the best response to difficult situations.

To direct ourselves, in determining:

What do we stand for?

What do we believe?

What would God want us to do?

What would be the best result possible?

And do we have the courage to stand up and be counted?

The weak are always outnumbered by the loud voices of would be bullies. Do we have the courage to stand with the few, against the many? Do we have the courage to speak the truth when lies are believed by the masses?

There will be times that if we do not stand up...no one will.

Silence is never misquoted. But it not always God’s response!

4-5-2022 (292 Words)

Let There Be Light

 

Let There Be Light 

By John W. Vander Velden 

The first three words used to open the Bible are “In the beginning”, Genesis 1: 1.  Knowing that bit of info has been a blessing once when we played “Trivia Pursuit” years ago. But the phrase, “Let there be light” comes soon after, as it is the first part of God’s creation. 

I find that to be significant. 

Imagine the universe totally absent of light. 

A bit of physics here. Darkness in truth does not exist. Try explaining that to a child trembling beneath the covers. But just like cold doesn’t exist, darkness, on its own, does not either. Simply put, cold is the lack of heat, and darkness is the absence of light. 

Does that help? 

I didn’t think so. 

Let me step back a bit. There is a phrase I have heard from time to time, “you can’t mix light with darkness.” And that in the most general sense is true, such as you can’t mix sand and water. Because given enough time the sand will settle out. Yet that phrase about light is often used incorrectly. Times it is used as a foundation statement of judgement while comparing one thing to another, as if light would be diminished or threatened when exposed to darkness. 

But that is ridiculous. 

Because in truth darkness is only the lack of light. 

An example: Perhaps you have gone on a tour deep into one cave or another. When your party is led to the deepest portion of the underground cavern the lights are extinguished and you find yourself in total darkness. Even if you haven’t had the experience, you know people that have. You literally cannot see your hand before your eyes. 

That pitch that surrounds you is the lack of light, for the total darkness vanishes the instant light is restored. The darkness is displaced by the illuminated bulbs. 

Now for an imaginary scenario. 

Imagine that instead of a space far beneath the surface, you replace it with a gigantic sports dome. The biggest you can imagine. You are in this immense space and by some situation all the lights have been turned off and all the gaps sealed so absolutely no light from the outside can penetrate the grand space. The darkness is complete...dense...almost suffocating. Somewhere within that vast space, someone strikes a match. Near or far it makes no difference. A match. A tiny flame. But you instantly see the light. Even if it is across the length of that arena. Perhaps more than a hundred yards away, but you see that tiny flicker of light. Even surrounded by that immense volume in darkness, one little match cuts through the blackness. 

Light does not fear the dark! The dark cannot make the light less light, but ANY light makes the dark less dark. Light conquers darkness every time! 

Now back to the beginning and the significance of the words, “Let there be light.” 

Genesis tell us that God commanded that there should be light, and then pronounced it good. God brought light where no light existed. If we only consider that from the purely physical point of view, it is amazing. But let us see it in the symbolic value as well. 

Cold, darkness, evil, are only the lack of the positives that can brush them aside. God provides the positives. Warmth...light...love. These things and all other GOOD things find their source in God the Master and Ruler of the universe. 

Light entered the universe and pushed darkness’ veil aside. So much so that God provided boundaries to where the light would go. Night and day for instance. That is about the physical value of light. But we are taught that there is a deeper value than the superficial. 

Jesus tells us He is the light of the world. 

Not a lamp. Not a candle. Not stadium lights. No, Jesus is the light that CAN conquer the darkness that seeks to swallow us. The light of Christ is the power to overcome hate, envy, cruelty, deceit, and all forms of evil. 

Jesus is the light! 

The only REAL light in this dark world. 

That light is a free gift available to anyone. Yet there are those that refuse to see the value of the gift...refuse to see the light that is right in front of them...unable to see how that light can penetrate even the darkest corners of their lives. How the light will make their lives better. 

So where does that leave us? 

For each person must decide if they will allow the light to enter their life. 

It is a personal choice, no one, not your friends, your parents, or your spouse, can make that decision for you. 

I have chosen light! 

Have you?

        

 

Reflections of Gray

 

Reflections of Gray

By John W. Vander Velden

 

There can be no joy in this

Only disappointments and pain.

Looking through tear clouded eyes,

Hearing with desperate ears.

Waiting...

                  Waiting...

                                     Waiting...

 

It seems the worse,

The ending is certain

Yet the time unknown.

It is the between that is so difficult,

The between the then and the now.

And all the unknown that lurks there,

There between the then and the now.

So we must continue.

Waiting...

                Waiting...

                       Waiting...

 

(625 Words) 6-28-2008

Out of the Darkness

 

Out of the Darkness

 

By John W. Vander Velden 

I have not been afraid of the dark since I was very small. I recall when I was moved to a larger bed and a room upstairs, that my parents left the hall light on for my benefit. But like I said, that was a long time ago. Of course it would be easy to understand fear of darkness for we all are afraid of what we cannot see, and many things could be lurking within the shadows. 

But there are other types of darkness that have the potential to engulf us. And this pitch does not evaporate with the movement of a light switch. There are those that endure within blackness of depression which attempts to suck all the light out of their lives. Many live beneath the stigma of fear and misunderstanding of the condition, and never seek the help they desperately need. 

Often those closest to them have no idea of the weight depression places upon their love ones…or the danger. For there are those that live within that blackness who find themselves spiraling downward into a pit whose walls are so slippery that upward movements seem impossible. For them each day is a time of hopelessness and pain. For some the only escape, they may see from this blackness, is suicide. 

Their pain is not imaginary. It is not something they can simply ignore. In many cases it is not something that will simply fade with time. And it is not caused by a lack of faith. 

Depression is real! 

But for many there is help, but it begins with understanding. For those who are near and dear to the depressed are often first to deny its existence. They close their eyes until it becomes too late, then stand confused about the causes of the tragedy that has unfolded at their feet. There are many of those within the darkness that do not recognize the condition they themselves deal with each day. 

I do not write these words as a spectator, for I am a participant in the continuous struggle I face. For years I did not recognize or understand the darkness that came and went, the hopelessness, the mental anguish, I lived through. I will not go into the depths of the pit I found myself, or the solutions I considered at those moments within the pitch. It is enough to say that things changed and the darkness has faded. But it never disappeared. 

At last someone coaxed me to seek help. 

Now I stand in the light, or close enough that I feel its warm optimism. Yet the dark shadows are close enough that I remain constantly diligent, aware of how easily things can tumble in ways unwanted. 

Why am I bold enough to admit to this weakness? This disease? Because of the stigma that depression and all forms of mental illness carries opens me to ridicule. But h ow do others find the courage, and it does take incredible courage, to seek the help they need, if I and others do not step forward and say, “I deal with chronic depression...there is hope.” 

I have not reached this place on my own. I have not found the courage to live on my own. I owe much to those near me that saw the depth of my illness before I could fully grasp what I was dealing with. Not everyone has the love and support that I was blessed to receive. Open you hearts and arms to help. For each of us know someone, a friend, a loved one, a family member, or a co-worker that is trying to find their way out of the darkness. 

 (609 Words) 3-20-2022

Thirty-Three

 

Thirty-Three

By John W. Vander Velden

 

Thirty-three is an odd number. Not only because the integer is not divisible by two, but it doesn’t quite fit in with others very well. All the same it comes to my mind in several ways. One example. I have a stack of LPs, what are now called vinyls. In the day before CDs became the norm, certainly long before digital music of any kind, long playing records were common. Those platters were spun on turntables rotating at thirty-three and a third revolutions per minute.

Even then the number seemed a bit strange. It was the one third that made it most peculiar. For wouldn’t thirty- three or thirty- four make more sense. Yes, thirty-three and a third times three, which seems like an awful lot of threes, equals one hundred. So why did someone in the know pick thirty-three and change for the speed of a LP. For that matter why had someone picked seventy-eight rpm for the first pressed recording, and forty-five rpms for singles with that silly big center hole?

Who knows?

And in truth, who really cares. It is just some silly thoughts that have passed between my ears as the number thirty-three approaches for a much different reason. For you see thirty-three years is a milestone that Jackie and I have reached.

I can remember a snowy March Saturday. The gray day with thin wisps of snow blowing across US 6 as we went to a church. Much of that morning is lost, for now in a blur of memories faded by thirty-three years. But there are portions of that day I will never forget. Portions of infinite importance to me. Memories of friends, best friends of years shared. Memories of brothers, true friends by blood. I remember a set of clothes I only wore once. I remember waiting, anticipating in front of a room filled with those I had known and loved, and others I have come to love. I remember the music, the emotion, the fear.

At thirty-seven I was no longer a child, but I understood the intensity of the moment I face. How I was about to change my life in a way that could never be undone. I stood with my band of brothers, kin and friends, prepared, I thought, to make a vows to Jackie. Prepared to give more than my life, but also my heart, my future, my everything. Willing to bind my life to this woman who was foolish enough to accept this pitiful person who loved her.

We have shared this life for thirty-three years, and what a ride it has been. There are times when it seems impossible it has been that long. Surely that number is inflated. But when I take the time to look back at what has occured, the places we have seen, the child we raised that is now a man. When I consider and all our triumphs, for there have been several, and remember the tragedies we have endured, then yes, the span of years has been significant.

But anniversaries should not be limited to a rear view of years passed. It also needs to be a time for looking forward. A time of anticipation. No, we do not know what our future holds but we know, that for now, we walk boldly hand in hand. And have confidence we will never be alone, even if the day comes when the two of us becomes the one left behind. For God will never abandon, and love’s cord cannot be severed.  

I have been honored to have shared my life with Jackie. She has been my dearest friend for thirty-three years. Oh she’s not perfect, but she’s my champion. The person I can always count upon. The person that sees more in me than I see in myself. Jackie has helped me rise to places I would never imagine reaching. It is my hope I have aided her assent as well.

In this life we are a team... And as a team, and with God’s help, we stride forward into the next thirty- three years or however many we are given!

(690 Words) 3-17-2022

409 In Ten Years

 

409

In Ten Years

 

By John W. Vander Velden

 

Ramblings...Essays and Such... began as an experiment, and March marks the completion of my Blog’s tenth year.  Fact is I had no idea what a blog was when I began in 2012. I had read that as an author I needed an internet presence. Whatever that meant.

I did a little research.

Small quantities of knowledge is a dangerous thing.

I hadn’t even looked at anybody else’s blog before I began. Yet I had an idea and found a platform that was free. Free is good. And I figured I would post one thing each week. But what would that one thing be? I could post bits about writing. But in truth knew less about writing than blogging. So instead I began writing short pieces.

100-300 words pieces were my goal. Originally. For no particular reason other than I felt certain readers would be put off if I rambled on and on. So with those parameters I sat down at the keyboard and wrote more than fifteen shorts before I posted my first. I would not commit to something like a blog for less than six months, and having four months of material gave me a smattering of confidence.

So March of 2012, as I had said before, I began my blogging career. If you can call it anything that approaches a worthwhile endeavor. I’m not certain I can. At first it was like a party where no one came. In some ways it still is. Once in a while one of my posts got a few page views. But things began to change a bit in 2016. The numbers went up just a bit. But then about two years ago something happened. Someone discovered an old post, Broken Teacup. It went form an obscure post with ten or twenty page views to my most read essay. To date Broken Teacup has been read over 17,000 times. No, that is not viral, but I would say it is at least bacterial.  

So this is the 409^th post on my blog. 409 short essays, poems, and something I call micro-stories. There would be more but I reduced the amount of new material I contributed in 2018 so I could use the time to focus on other writing projects. Also in my inexperience early on I deleted many of my early posts. Thought I could not have over twenty posts on the blog at a time.

Silly me.

I have restored many of them and will add others in the future. But all the same 409 bits of writing seems like a sizable quantity.

10 years.

Some might commend me for persistence. Others might ridicule me for my folly. Whether anyone sees my blogging as plus or minus doesn’t really matter to me for I continue to trundle on.

So I thank you for taking a few minutes out of your Saturday to read my words. And hope you have found my words worth your time.

I thank you...409 times. (498 Words) 3-11-2022