Aspiring Poet, heartfelt thoughts.I Have Dystonia, bipolar, and an Avid Southern Gospel Music fan

 Navigating the medical world with dystonia has brought its share of challenges, and one of the most frustrating aspects has been the recurring loss of doctors. Over the past few years, I've experienced the abrupt departure or retirement of two doctors who were treating my dystonia, leaving me suddenly without care and scrambling to find someone new. It’s hard enough to manage this rare condition, but it feels even harder when I have to repeat my story and search for someone willing to take on a dystonia patient. Finding a doctor who understands dystonia can be like searching for a needle in a haystack. Many doctors aren't entirely familiar with what dystonia is or what might cause it. I get the sense that sometimes, doctors may feel they know most of what there is to know. But as someone living with this unpredictable condition, I've come to accept that it's okay to say, "I don’t know." Unfortunately, humility seems to be lacking in some parts of the medical

 Living with genetic dystonia is like waiting for a storm that you know is coming, but you can never predict when or how it will hit. For me, it’s not just the physical contortions—though they’re bad enough—but also the mental toll. Along with dystonia, I wrestle with bipolar disorder, manic depression, and schizophrenia. It's a lot to manage, and while I feel like I’ve got some control over it, there’s always this lingering question: When will it strike again? Will I go back to where I was? In our family, the males seem to deal more with the mental side of things, while the females experience those intense dystonic storms that twist the body painfully. But here’s the difference: I have some control, at least enough to feel like I can manage most days. My sisters don’t have that. For them, it’s not a question of if the storm will come, but when. No matter what side of the struggle you’re on, it’s always unpredictable, and it’s always painful. For me, mornings are the hardest. We

  Living with dystonia is like carrying a weight that never lets up. It’s an invisible anchor, pulling at every effort I make to live as normally as possible. The struggle with my body is relentless. Muscles that refuse to obey, spasms that hit without warning — dystonia doesn’t care about my plans or my family’s needs.   And sometimes, neither can I.   As much as I want to be t he one who takes care of my family — to provide for them, protect them, and be there in all the ways they deserve — dystonia has a way of keeping me from doing that. It steals time, energy, and ability, leaving me to watch as others step in to handle what I can’t. No matter how much they tell me I’m not a burden, there are days when that truth feels distant and hard to hold onto.     It’s not just the physical limitations. It’s the emotional toll of knowing that I can’t be the person I want to be for them. Every time I need help with something simple, like opening a jar or getting through a task, I feel l

  Gratitude is easy when life is smooth. When the sun shines and things fall into place, it’s natural to thank God for His blessings. But what happens when the storm clouds gather, when grief, confusion, and hardship strike? How do we give thanks when we don’t even know how?  This is something I wrestle with every day. Life can be heavy—grief for those we've lost, mental and physical struggles, challenges that seem insurmountable. In those moments, it feels almost impossible to bow my head and say, "Thank You, Lord."  Yet, even in the depths of my uncertainty, I am reminded of Paul’s words: "In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you." (1 Thessalonians 5:18, KJV) Notice that Paul doesn’t say to give thanks for everything, but *in* everything. We’re not expected to be thankful for pain or suffering. We’re simply called to find a way to give thanks *in* the midst of it. That’s the challenge for me: finding gratit

 Dystonia. A term that often slips through the cracks of public consciousness, rarely acknowledged or understood. Yet, for those of us who live with its presence every day—like my sister—it is far more than just a medical diagnosis. It is a pervasive, life-altering condition that demands strength, resilience, and often, solitude in a world that doesn’t fully comprehend it. If the public truly grasped what dystonia entails, we wouldn't need awareness campaigns or designated months to educate people. The very idea of "raising awareness" implies that dystonia exists in the shadows, that it is a foreign concept to most. But if this condition were better understood, empathy and support would naturally follow. Dystonia is far more complex than mere involuntary muscle contractions. It manifests as prolonged, often painful spasms that contort the body into unnatural, debilitating postures. But beyond the physical symptoms lies an emotional burden—one that is often invisible to ou

  Scripture: Proverbs 22:28 "Remove not the ancient landmark, which thy fathers have set." In the book of Proverbs, we find this profound command: "Remove not the ancient landmark, which thy fathers have set." This verse speaks of boundaries, both physical and spiritual, that were established by those who came before us—our ancestors in the faith. These landmarks were more than just property markers; they represented heritage, wisdom, and the timeless principles that have guided God's people through the ages. In ancient Israel, moving a landmark was not just an act of theft but a violation of trust and respect for the community. These markers were set by the fathers, those who laid down the foundations for future generations, ensuring that what was given to them was preserved and passed down in integrity. Spiritually, this verse calls us to honor the traditions and teachings that have been handed down through generations of faithful believers. It’s a reminder n

  "Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned: forgive, and ye shall be forgiven." —Luke 6:37 As Christians, we are called to live in love, extending grace and mercy to those around us. However, it's easy to fall into the trap of harshly judging others when we see their flaws and failures. We may forget that we too are imperfect, susceptible to the very sins we criticize in others. The Bible calls us to a different standard—one where love and compassion guide our judgments, not condemnation. Judgment Tempered by Love In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus teaches us, “Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.” (Matthew 7:1-2. This passage is a reminder that the way we judge others is the same way we will be judged. If we judge harshly, without love or understanding, we set ourselves up for a similar judgment. Jesus'

  The Unseen Battle: Living with Dystonia Dystonia is a relentless thief, stealing the peace and normalcy from those who suffer from it and those who love them. It’s no t just a physical ailment; it’s a heavy burden that affects the mind, spirit, and relationships. The pain it causes is multifaceted, extending far beyond the twisted muscles and spasms that mark its presence.  The Physical and Mental Toll Living with dystonia is like navigating a storm that never truly ends. The body becomes a battleground, muscles contorting and rebelling against the will, causing pain that can be as unpredictable as it is severe. But the physical pain is only one aspect of this cruel condition. Mentally, dystonia is exhausting. The constant discomfort and the knowledge that there is no cure can lead to feelings of hopelessness and despair. Every day is a fight against not just the spasms but also the emotional turmoil that comes with the knowledge that there is no end in sight. The brain, struggling t

  In the world of Southern Gospel music, few names resonate as deeply as The Nelons. Their harmonies have uplifted countless hearts and souls, bringing joy and encouragement through their music. With the recent release of their final album, "Loving You," we are reminded of the beauty and power of their legacy. As I reflect on their last gift to us, I find myself crafting a haiku to capture the essence of their music and the impact it has had on my life. It goes like this: Final album glows, A testament of love— “Loving You,” a gift, A cherished hymn of praise, Encouragement bestowed. Their voices linger still, Echoes of joy and triumph, As they cross the veil. To sing face to face, With the King in radiant light— They will be missed here. Yet until that day dawns, When we gather once again, Their legacy endures, A melody of the heart. This haiku encapsulates not only the beauty of "Loving You" but also the profound emotional connection we sh

 In the quiet room, Where shadows clung to every wall, I held my precious Hallie toes, As her breath began to still, And in that moment, time seemed to freeze, Leaving only the echo of a heartbeat, And the unbearable weight of loss in my arms. Her spirit, so gentle and pure, took flight, Beyond the pain, beyond the tears, Into the arms of Jesus, Where my hands could no longer reach. My heart shattered, each piece Falling like silent, unspoken prayers, As heaven welcomed her home, And I felt the aching void of her absence. But even in the depths of this grief, A light remains, faint yet steady— The nine days we were blessed to have with her, A fleeting gift, but a precious one. Though those days were far too few, They were filled with love, And for that, we are forever grateful. We are thankful too, that in her brief time, She never knew the harshness of this world, That she was spared from pain, And found her rest in the arms of her Maker, A peace we cling to in our sorrow. In the dark

In this brief sojourn, we know heartache well, A companion that walks in our shadowed wake, Pain’s relentless tide, a ceaseless swell, And in its depths, our fragile spirits quake. We stumble through valleys where light grows dim, Where every step feels heavier than the last, Dreams once bright fade at sorrow’s grim whim, And the echoes of joy become whispers of the past. We falter beneath the burdens we bear, Our hands tremble, our voices crack with grief, Mourning the moments lost to despair, Yearning for solace, however brief. Yet in this crucible of sorrow’s embrace, A song is born, rising from the ache, A melody of hope, a touch of grace, A testament to the strength we cannot forsake. For we are pilgrims on a sacred quest, Strangers wandering through a foreign land, With hearts that long for eternal rest, And eyes set on a city not made by hands. A peculiar people, marked by Heaven’s call, We carry joy like a hidden flame, In the darkest night, when shadows fall, It burns within,

  "Do all things without murmurings and disputings: That ye may be blameless and harmless, the sons of God, without rebuke, in the midst of a crooked and perverse nation, among whom ye shine as lights in the world;"   — *Philippians 2:14-15   The church is not just a building made of bricks and mortar; it is a living, breathing body of believers united in Christ. Yet, how often do we find ourselves murmuring about the physical aspects of our place of worship? The paint is fading, the seats are uncomfortable, the temperature is never quite right. We complain about the preacher’s style, his choice of words, or even his length of sermons. We find fault with the members, scrutinizing their actions, and questioning their motives. But what do these complaints say about the state of our own hearts? When our focus shifts from the spiritual nourishment that God offers through His Word to the superficial flaws we perceive in the church building or its people, we reveal a deeper issue w

I n the quiet corners of our minds, battles rage that the outside world rarely sees. The silent wars within, where mind and body seem at odds, are often dismissed by those who can’t—or won’t—understand. The stigma surrounding mental illness and conditions like dystonia is a heavy chain that can weigh down even the strongest among us. I recently penned a haiku that captures this experience, and I’d like to share both the poem and the deeper meaning behind it: Silent wars within, Mind and body intertwined— Stigma's heavy chain, They dismiss what they can’t see, Yet the pain cuts deep and true. Eyes that turn away, Whispers deepen hidden scars, Mental storms collide, With Dystonia’s cruel grip, But in His plan, I find peace. Through the darkened path, Where the world denies my truth, I hold tight to faith— Trusting in His perfect will, Guided by His gentle hand. The Battle Inside Living with mental illness is often like walking through a storm that no one else can see. The turmoil wi

  Grief is a strange companion, walking with us through the days when the absence of a loved one feels unbearable. The heartache of missing those who have gone before us can be overwhelming, leaving an emptiness that no earthly comfort can truly fill. Yet, in the midst of this sorrow, there is a profound and unshakeable joy for those of us who know that our loved ones believed the record that God gave of His Son.   As believers, we have a unique hope that sustains us even in our deepest pain. The Apostle John writes in 1 John 5:11-12 , “And this is the record, that God hath given to us eternal life, and this life is in his Son. He that hath the Son hath life; and he that hath not the Son of God hath not life.” These words remind us that eternal life is not just a distant promise but a present reality for those who are in Christ. Our loved ones who have passed away in the faith are not lost; they are alive in the presence of God, experiencing the fullness of joy that we can only ima

  “He is not here: for he is risen, as he said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay.” —Matthew 28:6 “But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.” —1 Corinthians 15:57   There is a profound and unmatched joy that wells within the hearts of believers when we contemplate the empty tomb. Our God, the Creator of all, is not confined to the grave—He has risen! This truth is the bedrock of our faith, the cornerstone of our hope, and the source of our eternal joy. “The tomb lies empty, My God is alive, not bound, Risen to deliver. Sins are shattered by His grace— I rejoice, my Savior lives.” These are my words that try to encapsulate the profound mystery and majesty of our faith. We do not serve a lifeless idol or a distant memory; we serve a living, breathing Savior who has triumphed over death. The empty tomb is more than a historical event; it is the manifestation of God’s immeasurable power and His boundless love for us. In Matthew

  "Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me." Envision the doors of your heart swinging wide open, as though welcoming an unexpected Guest—our Lord Jesus Christ. This image invites profound reflection on our readiness to receive Him, and what we might reveal or wish to conceal in His presence. In this moment of openness, Christ knocks gently, seeking entrance into the core of our being. The question arises: Are we prepared to welcome Him into every room of our hearts, or are there areas we prefer to keep hidden? As we open the door, we face the reality of what lies within us. Our readiness to receive Him involves more than just physical preparation. It requires spiritual and emotional openness, confronting our fears, regrets, and unconfessed sins. The unexpected nature of His visit can stir feelings of anxiety and unease, challenging us to examine our inner selves wi

  In the midst of life’s ceaseless trials and unforeseen tribulations, there lies a profound truth that sustains the heart of every believer: our true citizenship is not of this world but of heaven. This divine assurance is the wellspring from which we draw the strength to smile through sorrow and sing in the face of suffering. It is the eternal perspective that lifts our spirits above the transient pains of this mortal life, reminding us that we are but pilgrims journeying toward our eternal home.   The Apostle Paul, a man well-acquainted with suffering, penned these words with a heart full of hope: "For our conversation is in heaven; from whence also we look for the Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ" (Philippians 3:20). The term "conversation" here speaks of our citizenship, our belonging to a realm far beyond the confines of this earth. In this heavenly kingdom, our lives are hidden with Christ in God, and it is this sacred belonging that imbues our lives with u

As believers, we find ourselves living in a world filled with uncertainty, pain, and brokenness. Yet, as followers of Christ, we are called to live not in despair, but in hope—hope that is rooted in the promises of God. One of the greatest of these promises is the expectation of a new heaven and a new earth, where righteousness dwells, and all things are made new. The Apostle John, in the book of Revelation, was given a glimpse of this future reality. He writes, "And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away; and there was no more sea" (Revelation 21:1). This verse speaks to the complete renewal of creation, where the old order of things—marked by sin, death, and sorrow—will be done away with, and God will establish His perfect kingdom. As Christians, our hope is not in the things of this world, which are temporary and fleeting. Instead, we look forward to the eternal promises of God. The Apostle Peter also echoes this expec

Life has its share of challenges, and there are days when the weight of it all feels unbearable. But through every storm, I've found a constant source of comfort: Southern Gospel music. From the time I was a child, this music has been more than just a genre; it’s been a refuge, a place where my soul finds peace. I was blessed to grow up with the sounds of the Nelons and the Inspirations. Their harmonies filled our home, their messages of hope and faith became the soundtrack of my early years. Southern Gospel wasn't just music; it was a lifeline, a reminder that no matter how tough things got, there was always a reason to keep going. As I've grown, my love for this music has only deepened. The beautiful tones of Lauren Talley, the smooth, reassuring voice of Eric Bennett—they reach into the deepest parts of my heart, soothing wounds I didn’t even know I had. There’s something about the purity and sincerity in their voices that lifts the spirit and reminds me that I’m never a

 "For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: Not of works, lest any man should boast." — Ephesians 2:8-9 When we consider the concept of fairness, we often think about getting what we deserve. Fairness in human terms means that everyone receives exactly what they have earned—nothing more, nothing less. But when we apply this idea to our spiritual lives, the thought of fairness becomes terrifying. The Bible tells us in Romans 3:23, "For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God." If God were to be fair and give us what we deserve, none of us could stand before Him. We would all be condemned to the lake of fire, "where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched" (Mark 9:44). Yet, God, in His infinite mercy, chose not to deal with us according to fairness. Instead, He offers us something far greater—grace. Grace is the unmerited favor of God. It is the gift that we could never earn, no matter

  Kelly Kelly's kindness knew no bounds, A gentle spirit, always there, Helping where she could, Her heart a beacon in the dark, Guiding those in need with care. We celebrate her life today, The faith she lived, the love she gave. Her legacy of kindness stays, A testament to how we should behave. Now in the presence of the King, Her spirit dances free and bright, Where she has always longed to be, Wrapped in everlasting light. Amber Amber's infectious spirit glowed, Her joy a warm embrace for all, Making us strive for Christ-like love, She lifted hearts and never let them fall. Today we celebrate her radiant life, The faith she lived, a shining guide. Her laughter, a song that echoes on, Inspiring us to live with hope and pride. Now standing in the presence of the King, Her soul finds peace in heavenly grace, Where she has always longed to be, Embraced by love in that sacred place. Jason Jason, the consummate family man, A heart entwined with love and

I didn't know Nathan Kistler as well as some of the others, but the impact of our conversation in December still resonates with me. We talked for about an hour and a half, covering everything from the Christian faith to Southern Gospel music. I remember telling him he must be a special man for Amber to choose him, and indeed, he was.   What struck me most about Nathan was his genuine love for people. His passion for lost souls was evident, especially when he spoke about his work with "Hope to the Hill." Nathan wasn’t focused on fixing the "system" but on uniting people through the glorious gospel of Christ. Whether Republican, Democrat, or anything in between, Nathan loved people. He never let himself get caught up in the hatred and rhetoric that are so deeply seated in our country today. Instead, he brought Christ and hope to Capitol Hill, no matter who you were.  Nathan was an example of Christ's love, leaving a legacy of loving God and one another.