Never in my wildest dreams did I envision myself as a blog writer. But, this week, my total reads since September 24, 2020 reached 250,000. In internet terms, I’m not fooling myself. This is peanuts. But without advertising, while showing lots of patience, it’s huge to me. These reads have come from all over the world. From the beaches of the Philippine’s to the shadows of Mt. Kilimanjaro, for whatever reason, people have been reading. Around 600 times a day, someone is reading another one of my posts, and slowly the numbers rise.
There are platinum awards for records. I think there ought to be a Golden Pencil award for the first 250,000 reads on a blog. I think I’ll create that very award to hang in my new classroom. I’ll be the first recipient.
The Golden Pencil Award — Joy Hurt — July 22, 2022.
God has always been by my side in life. Yesterday, I was labeled a new Christian. I have my own thoughts about that. Indeed, I was baptized December 12, 2021. That is very true. I am reading the Bible from cover to cover for the first time in my life. But looking back over the years, I’ve had a relationship with God, deep and truly tested, throughout my life. One doesn’t survival the perils I have without God’s assistant. He has carried me through many fires throughout the nearly seven decades of my life.
Surviving a terrible car crash at 17. Escaping from Russia at 21. Healing from an abusive marriage. Finding VST. Farming. Teaching. Cancer. God has always guided me. I know, because I’ve asked for his guidance, mercy, and grace thousands of times through the years.
I especially remember being the hospital teacher to my sick kiddos. An aide and I were the face of school from 2010-2015. Every morning, as I drove the 45 minute commute from my mountaintop, I spoke to God about the kids. The ones that were mending and the ones that were irreparably broken. I cried out to him for miracles. I sang his praises when miracles even the doctors couldn’t explain occurred. Then there were the darkest of days on which I cursed him when heaven got a new angel.
35 times, God and I had some pretty rough discussions. 35 times, one of my students went to heaven. On the worst week, I lost seven kids. They all know I’ll ring the school bell when it’s my turn so our lessons can begin again.
The human definition of being a Christian can be rather limiting . God searches and tests my heart every day. He knows the light and the darkness found there. He sees my intentions and the fruits of my labor. He and I talk about it. He knows me by name, as does his son. This I know as well as I know my own name.
His messages often come through loud and clear. It is by his direction that I’ll be teaching at my new school. I know there won’t be one problem that I can’t get through with his help. There will be days when I wonder “Why me, Lord?” But there will be more days when I say, “Thank you, God”.
In the case of my blog, the idea came to me in the summer of 2020. I was in a new town. I had one girlfriend, but couldn’t see her because of Covid. I knew my Ninja Neighbor and a girlfriend from Walmart. I was planning VST’s memorial to be held in the Gardens of Winterpast. That was the extent of my daily human contact.
One morning, I awoke with the words “Grieving Gardener” flashing like a road sign in my brain. Over and over, my first thoughts that day were these two words. Being rather literal while still in a heavy widow’s fog, I decided I’d start a gardening group of widows, using the spacious and very empty RV barn. In a flash, I planned the year’s curriculum and was all set to go. But, something held me back.
I planned for tables, chairs, books on gardening, and the coffee pot. I designed a flyer for bulletin boards around town. Still, I didn’t go forward. The name kept flashing. So much so that I even bought a green and white road sign to hang above the door of the RV Barn. Grieving Gardener.
It was September 23rd, 2020, when inspiration hit. I’d been inspired by a gentleman that did a daily podcast. Like clockwork, his dedication led him through hours of work each morning to produce a Conservative podcast from his home. On that very day, I knew in my heart that I would blog. I would own the domain name of Grievinggardener.com. In 24 hours, my first piece was published. My healing journey began.
Each day I would look at the number of reads. Two here, five there. When I hit a consistent 10 people a day, I was amazed that ten people were interested. From there, it slowly expanded. When I hit my first 1,000 reads I cried. I stopped counting at 80 countries and 30 states.
As you all know, for me, writing IS life. There isn’t a more powerful elixir or drug in the world to calm my heart while my brain comes up with a plan. There is no better way to leave a string of my life’s story for one of my Great-Great-Great grandchildren to pick up and read someday. There is no better way for me to cultivate happiness and contentment than sending out one little blog a day.
Stories are meant to be told. If you don’t write, then record them. They tether us to the way things used to be. Because those of us 1900’s models know that the way things used to be were flat out wonderful. Maybe with enough stories, generations to come will find their way back to that way of life.
With so much to collect for my classroom, the next two weeks are hectic ones. On Monday, 1/2 of my college course will be complete. Next week, I’m hoping to meet my room. Summer school is still in session, so hopefully, I’ll get my keys to the kingdom on the 1st of August. Then, the real fun will begin.
Whatever you do today, add a dream for good measure. You, too, just might earn the Golden Pencil Award just a few short months later.
More tomorrow.