Tag Archive: Writing


Welcome to My World!


It may be small, but there’s plenty of room for anyone who enjoys a good laugh, spiritual insights, and down-to-earth fun. We’ll walk through the vallies of hope, climb the mountains of strength, and cross the bridges of courage. There is no age limit here, no judgement or ridicule. Best of all, God is here, teaching, leading and guiding us every step of the way. So, if you’ve lost your way chasing dreams, searching for love, honesty and truth, well then . . . welcome to my world!

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FIRE ON THE FLIGHT DECK!

July 29, 1967. I couldn’t begin telling you what I was doing that Saturday morning forty-five years ago. But my husband, as hard as he tries, will never forget. The explosions, the screams, the smell of burning flesh is forever etched in his brain.

After finishing his twelve-hour shift aboard the USS Forrestal, he grabbed a bite to eat, showered, and hit the sack. Two hours later he was awakened by deafening shrills of the alarm followed by, “Fire on deck! Fire on deck! General Quarters! General Quarters!”

That morning, while preparations for the second strike on North Vietnam were being made, a rocket was accidentally fired due to an electrical power surge during the switch from external power to internal power. The rocket flew across the flight deck, striking a wing-mounted external fuel tank on an A-4E Skyhawk awaiting launch. The impact tore the tank off the wing, igniting the fuel and dislodging two 1,000 pound bombs laying in a pool of burning fuel between White and McCain‘s aircraft. Within seconds, other external fuel tanks ruptured, causing a chain reaction of blazing horror across the flight deck.

Planes, bombs, and missiles were pushed off the deck into the Tonkin Gulf. Thirty-six hours later the flames were extinguished, 134 men were dead, and 161 injured. The Forrestal ended up in dry dock for eighteen months before going back out to sea.

Every year my husband meets with several of his comrades, laughing and joking, just enjoying what little time they have to spend together. They don’t focus on the tragedy that occurred that awful day, but rather on the friendship they formed; the happy memories of those four years they lived together, fought together, cried and laughed together.

I designed these bookmarks in honor of all who served on the USS Forrestal, fought the blazing inferno, and learned to live with the horrors that has forever changed their lives.

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Letter to God


Letter to God

Dear God,

I’ve known you all my life. Even though I could never see you, I knew you were there, watching and listening. Remember those cold, lonely nights when I couldn’t sleep and tried to imagine the world without You in it? The darkness, the deep, empty hole, the overwhelming feeling of nothingness pierced my soul till I cried. Worried and concerned, mom rushed to my side, asking me what was wrong. But, how could a six-year-old explain such feelings of dread and doom?

Seems I’m always pondering things like, what if Satan had overpowered You and he was the one in charge. Or, what if Jesus had rebelled against You saying, “I’m not leaving all this to die for those crazy people down there!” Or, what if Mary had terminated her unexpected, inconvenient pregnancy.

And, I have to admit there are times I wish I could talk to You face to face; that I could see You, touch You, look into Your eyes, hear Your voice. But, for now I’m happy that I can see You through the eyes of faith.

Thank You, God, for revealing Yourself to me and helping me to trust and believe in You. Thank You for Your love and forgiveness and for never giving up on me. And thank You, that in a world of many gods, You are the One and Only true and living God!

All my love,

Sandi


I love rustic, grunge, broken fences, and tattered country quilts. I love clothes hanging on the line, birds flying in the air, wind whispering through the trees. I love a full moon, glittering stars, owls hooting in the night. I love cloudy, rainy days. I love bright, sunny days. I love cowboys and Indians, log cabins in the woods, rippling streams in the forest. I love peace and quiet, happy relationships, and sharing heart-to-heart. I love music and art, walking through the woods, the earthy smell of Autumn. I’m an old soul with a young heart, grateful for every God-given breath; every moment of every day.

And just in case you think I’m always Miss Happy Sunshine, I’m not. I’m a work in progress; a broken piece of clay in the Potter’s Hand.

I grew up feeling rejected, sad and lonely; like something was really wrong with me. Making friends was like going to the dentist. Group activities was like jumping off a cliff. Even in church I felt out-of-place; detached, completely severed from the world.

Even my heart turned against me, devouring my soul with anger and rage. Soon, the shy, timid, inner child metamorphosed into the Incredible Hulk with a two-by-four on her shoulder.

I didn’t know who I was, where I was going, or what I wanted to be. I only knew I wanted to be loved and accepted.

By the time I was twenty I was married with a baby. Several beatings and a million tears later, I was a single mom. Now, just barely twenty-one, I’m on my own with a baby to raise.

I needed a new life; a fresh start for myself and my son. When he was twenty-two months old, we moved from Newark, Delaware to High Point, North Carolina; the best move of my life.

I wish I could say that after my divorce, and finding and marrying my Knight in shining armor, I was all better inside. I wish I could say relationships came easy for me, my mother and I got along, and that I never had severe bouts of anxiety and depression. I wish I could say I knew who I was, where I was going, and what I wanted to be.

Two years of counseling helped, plus the love and support of my husband and son. Yet, no one could fill the holes in my soul. No one could unzip me and see the emotional torment I was feeling inside. No one could put my shattered heart back together.

Now, it’s getting harder and harder to pretend; to put on a happy face when I’m blowing up inside; to keep my hands at my side when I want to wring somebody’s neck; to stay calm and collect when my heart is pounding out of my chest.

Then it happened. Through a series of God-orchestrated chain of events, I fell to my knees, sobbing, “I can’t take it anymore! Please forgive me!”

Like a river it all poured out; a cesspool of bitterness, anger, and rage. Guilt and shame dangled before my eyes like puppets on a string. My soul was stripped bare. No more secrets. No more pretending. No more defenses. No more hiding in the dark.

God healed me that day. He washed me clean, set me free, and gave me a new life. At last, I know who I am, where I am going, and what I want to be!

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