Forgiveness: One of Liesl’s Life Lessons

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One of the most complex subjects human beings grapple with is understanding and embracing the concept of forgiveness. “…62 percent of American adults say they need more forgiveness in their personal lives, according to a survey by the nonprofit Fetzer Institute,” reports www.johnhopkins.org.

To be honest, I’m certainly not an expert on forgiveness. But about five years ago, a personal story of transitioning from unforgiveness to forgiveness that I wrote, was included in the book, “Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Forgiveness Fix”.

Like a lot of folks, I have secretly wrestled with this tricky topic for most of my life. There’s the complicated component, forgiving someone who has harmed you who might not “deserve your forgiveness,” especially when they aren’t remorseful for their actions. More than two decades ago, I learned a lot about undeserved forgiveness from a Jewish Holocaust survivor named Elisabeth “Liesl” Sondheimer. My late friend, Liesl, eventually made her home in Lima, Ohio, after she fled her German homeland during Hitler’s reign of terror.

Liesl celebrated my 2002 wedding as if she was the grandmother of the bride.

Like the famous Nazi Hunter Simon Wiesenthal, Mrs. Sondheimer spent decades retelling the horrific account of the World War II extermination of more than six million European Jews to countless audiences. She was featured in the regional Emmy award-winning documentary, “A Simple Matter of God and Country.” Unlike Wiesenthal’s quandary concerning forgiveness highlighted in his book, The Sunflower, Liesl always maintained, “You must forgive, but never forget, or Hitler has won.” The silver-haired survivor’s ability to forgive astounded me.

Oh, I knew about forgiveness. “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” I grew up mouthing these words as a Catholic school girl, almost daily reciting this line from “The Lord’s Prayer,” also known as the “Our Father.” Although I recited words about forgiveness, in my heart I had no idea how to forgive childhood trauma. I was the ultimate grudge keeper wearing my unforgiveness as a badge of honor.

In my twenties, shortly before one hospitalization for depression

As a vulnerable teen, I became consumed with a lack of forgiveness, which resulted in depression, migraine headaches, ulcers, and a failed suicide attempt. As a high school senior, I was committed to Toledo State Mental Hospital. During the 1970s, the barbaric institution only intensified my desire for validation, that I was the one who had been wrongfully treated. Yet when we are victimized, we become a further victim when we hang onto the hurt and bitterness. Thus, I spent years in and out of psychiatric facilities battling depression.

There is a famous quotation that’s been circulating for decades, it says, “Unforgiveness is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.” Our health truly can be affected. “Studies have found that the act of forgiveness can reap huge rewards…lowering the risk of heart attack; improving cholesterol levels and sleep; and reducing pain, blood pressure and levels of anxiety, depression and stress,” this according to the article, “Forgiveness: Your Health Depends on it” from www.johnhopkins.org.

Don’t get me wrong, this column isn’t about “cheap” forgiveness, which is denying the offense or violation. Nor does forgiving a grievous offense mean the perpetrator should be spared from consequences. Whether it’s a prison sentence, a permanently broken relationship, or instituting healthy boundaries; there are circumstances where we must protect ourselves or those we love from physical or emotional abuse being repeated. Although forgiveness is a gift, we give ourselves. It is the condition of the heart where we let go of bitterness, anger, and a desire for revenge, and find emotional freedom.

My story: "Liesl's Life Lessons" included in the Chicken Soup for the Soul: 101 Ways to Think Positive!

Liesl taught me these truths and this and other wisdom she shared with me was recently published in the new “Chicken Soup for the Soul: 101 Ways to Think Positive book, which was released on Jan. 7, 2025. This is my eighth title as a contributor for this inspirational series of uplifting books. I’m beyond thrilled to have my story, “Liesl’s Life Lessons” especially her wisdom about forgiveness included. After all, for a girl who once was a champion grudge holder, this seems like a consummate testimony to the extraordinary power of God’s grace.

Christina Ryan Claypool is an award-winning freelance journalist, Chicken Soup for the Soul contributor, and author who has been featured on Joyce Meyer Ministries Enjoying Everyday Life TV Show and CBN’s 700 Club. Her recent inspirational book, “Secrets of the Pastor’s Wife: A Novel” is available on all major online retail outlets. Amazon link.

A Tea Room Proposal and Forever Promise

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With Valentine’s Day upon us, sentimental folks might recall their own romantic moments. My special memory begins in the early 1990s, when I was the owner of a shabby chic store. Back then, as a thirty-something single mom, it wasn’t easy to make ends meet selling the discarded treasures of others. Auctions, flea markets, and garage sales were the way I stocked my vintage shop.

One summer day, I stopped at an estate sale. The attached garage of the stately brick home was filled with the earthly goods of an elderly widow. As she walked towards me, the old woman’s fragile condition caused her to lean heavily on a three-pronged cane. She was liquidating over a weekend, what had taken a lifetime to collect. Her gray hair was disheveled, and her eyes reflected the resignation that must have cost her a great deal. The widow needed to sell everything and move to a place where she wouldn’t be alone. The newspaper’s classified ad didn’t say all that, but it didn’t take much to figure out. I decided to buy a few things to help her in her season of transition.

“To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven…a time to keep and a time to cast away.”

I had always liked this insightful wisdom from the Book of Ecclesiastes, but the verses weren’t very comforting in light of this woman’s heartbreaking circumstances. After all, it was my “time to keep,” and her “time to cast away.” That’s why I let her do all the talking. I never even asked the stranger her name, since she didn’t volunteer it.

There was a vintage blouse among the possessions I selected to purchase. When the widow saw it, her eyes seemed to look far away. It was as if she was transported to another time. A time when she was young and in love, and her future lay before her. Decades earlier, I think she said it was the 1940s, the lace top had been part of her wedding attire.

Fifty years later, her husband was gone, and she could no longer care for herself. Reluctantly, she gently handed the blouse to me. My original intention was to resell it, but learning the garment’s history, instantly my plan changed. Before I realized what I was doing, I blurted out, “I promise you that I will keep it always.” I’m not sure, whether the aged woman gave me a look of disbelief, relief or resignation. Her reaction didn’t matter. I made a promise and I intended to keep it.

I hung the bodice on a satin hanger displaying it with some antique hats on an oak coat rack in the apartment where my young son and I lived in the back of my little shop. I never planned on wearing the lace top, because being divorced for over a decade, I assumed my days of being a bride were over.  Eventually, I closed the store, and Zach and I moved to a nearby condo so I could work as a producer/reporter for WTLW TV 44 and he could attend high school.

A couple years after Zach moved out, I met Larry Claypool. We had our first dinner together on June 8, 2001. I wasn’t really into dating, and my assumption was that Larry would simply be a good Christian friend. He was a forty-something school administrator who had never married. Yet almost right away, we both felt that divine providence had brought us together.

On February 9, 2002, I sensed that Larry was going to propose. That
morning as I dressed for our date, I instinctively reached for the ivory top, which represented decades of a marriage that had lasted. I had never worn the blouse before, so I carefully removed it from its satin hanger and put it on over an off-white camisole. Larry surprised me by taking me to the Swan House Tea Room in Findlay, Ohio, where he knelt down on one knee, and asked me to be his wife. The busy teahouse filled with women fell strangely silent. When I said, “Yes,” the hushed patrons erupted in congratulatory applause and joyful laughter.

In 2017, an older never-married-friend whom I hadn’t seen in over 15 years invited me to her bridal shower the first week of February at the Swan House. Exactly fifteen years to the week of my romantic proposal there. It was only right to wear the antique top to the tea room again. And not coincidentally, since we know there are no coincidences with God, my dear friend Michelle Redmond was attending the shower as well. She and her husband, Pastor Thom Redmond, were there to celebrate with us when Larry had proposed to me in that very room 15 years earlier.

As they say, “time flies,” because it’s hard to believe, but this June Larry and I will celebrate our 23rd wedding anniversary. The vintage blouse remains a cherished memory of my own proposal coupled with another bride’s long ago wedding day. Unfortunately, I will never know her name. Still, I intend to keep my promise to her to keep it, for as long as time allows.

Christina Ryan Claypool is a freelance journalist and inspirational speaker. She is the author of several books including, “Secrets of the Pastor’s Wife: A Novel” available on Amazon and all other major online retail outlets.  Contact her through her website at www.christinaryanclaypool.com.

 

Christmas Lights: Through the eyes of a child

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There is a first time for everything. Whether it’s attending a prom, a kiss, buying a home, or watching our child take their first steps, these rites of passage are forever imbedded into our memory.  

 Last winter, a few weeks before Christmas, I witnessed what appeared to be a toddler’s first experience with the simple phenomenon of Christmas lights. I was pretty low on holiday spirit and not looking forward to all the work that the preparation for the season would necessitate to decorate our home. Then just before sunset, I observed a neighbor man stringing Christmas lights with his little boy looking on.

The December darkness had begun to settle in, and there was no traffic on the deserted street. It was cold, but not the blustery kind of cold that produces snow or ice. Still, the toddler was bundled up against the elements, reminding me of decades ago when my now grown son was about his age.

The youthful father completed the task of wrapping the green strands of clear lights around the bushes in the family’s front yard. He headed into the nearby garage to switch on his handiwork. His about three-year-old son stood next to the shrubbery by the open garage not moving. When the twinkling white lights came on, his little chubby face lit up in amazement.

I happened to be walking by at the exact moment when the tiny boy’s uninhibited delight made me reassess my own lack of enthusiasm. It’s this gift that children give us of seeing the beauty and excitement in this world, because often adults take so much for granted. We get buried in the day-to-day struggle, the hectic pace, and the tedium produced by aging, forgetting that there is so much wonder constantly surrounding us.  

First times can be memorable, but sadly often we don’t know when a last time will occur. I thought about this the other day when I saw the Facebook post, “Cherish every moment and every person in your life, because you never know when it will be the last time you see someone.”

Many of you reading this can relate to the trauma created by the unexpected loss of a loved one. Grief is tinged with horror and disbelief. We doubt if we will ever be able to breathe again without feeling a giant lump in our throat, and we silently argue about the unfairness of the circumstance.  

Then regret can take over. We think of all the things we should have said or done, if we could have just had some preparation that someone who meant so much to us was about to be unpredictably ripped from this existence. Besides, even if a terminal illness prepares us, we are never ready to say, “Good-bye,” to those we love.  

Sadly, some people get stuck in loss. Hopelessness and bitterness swallow them up. For most individuals though, in time—life goes on. Reluctantly, we learn to accept what we cannot alter, adjusting to a new normal. Yet everything changes in that instant.

 Then the holidays arrive, and this blessed season can be a reminder of the precious people who are no longer here to celebrate it. Maybe in youth, one can blissfully ignore the chasm death and even geographical distance create. But as we grow older, we often become nostalgic for those who were once a vital part of our celebration, causing us to cling to traditions that are no longer useful.

Instead of getting stuck in what was, why not create something new? After all, there is another recent quote attributed to best-selling author, John C. Maxwell that asks, “When was the last time you did something for the first time? …Or are you still doing what you’ve always done?” 

Whether it’s about creating a new Christmas tradition or reaching for a goal that we’ve had simmering on a back burner, Maxwell’s sage wisdom might be one key in moving forward.  

Of course, human beings are usually terrified to take risks, because risk can result in failure. “Trying new things – and sometimes failing – is one of the best ways to grow,” counters the national leadership expert.

As we wind up the final days of 2024, may we all be more like the toddler who experienced the wonder of Christmas lights for the first time. There’s a whole world of firsts out there, regardless of our age. Let’s go fearlessly explore!

Christina Ryan Claypool is a seven-time Chicken Soup for the Soul book contributor and the author of the inspirational book, “Secrets of the Pastor’s Wife: A Novel“. Contact her at www.christinaryanclaypool.com

Remembering Jeffrey Ryan: My Knight in Biker Armor

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You don’t ever forget someone who protected you in what could have been a life-or-death situation. The memory of Jeff’s bravery on my behalf will live on in my heart forever. 

My story dates back to the early 1990s.  I was in my 30s, and owned a vintage store named “Christina’s Second-Hand Heaven” located on Elida Road in Lima. My shop’s merchandise came from auctions, yard sales, flea markets, and occasionally from local folks who stopped by with items they hoped to sell. The store operated on a shoestring budget, so I couldn’t pay much for anything, because I never knew if I could resale it. Turning a profit on inventory was crucial to keep the little business afloat, since as a single mother it was the sole support for my young son Zach and myself. 

Christina with son Zach pictured in Christina’s Second-Hand Heaven early 1990s.

Besides not being able to spend much for merchandise, I couldn’t afford to hire extra employees. Although, on occasion my grandmother, a young friend named Stacey, or my neighbor Hershey, would stop by and assist me at the shop for a few hours. 

Still, most of the time, I was there by myself until a customer stopped in.  A couple of sketchy incidents occurred while I was working alone. Yet nothing was near as threatening as the day when Jeff courageously and somewhat supernaturally intervened to protect me. 

That afternoon seemed like it was going to be uneventful. Only a few customers had dropped in, leaving me in the shop alone. Then three twenty-something men, who looked pretty rough, walked up the steps seemingly unnoticed and entered my store as the busy traffic sped by on Elida Rd. Women typically frequented my boutique-like store, and the males who did stop to browse, were usually antique collectors or connoisseurs of vintage clothing. These suspicious strangers didn’t fit the typical vintage shop vibe at all. Thankfully, Jeff Ryan, a former Lima Central Catholic classmate, noticed the men, and realizing how out of place they appeared, Jeff quickly turned his Harley motorcycle into my store’s graveled parking lot. 

By this time, the trio had already sort of surrounded me as I stood behind the jewelry counter filled with glittering costume jewelry. Despite the sparkly appearance, the baubles were pretty worthless. Thankfully, the six-feet long glass display case acted as a barrier, separating me from the men. Unfortunately, I could sense the group’s intentions were probably not good, but it was too late for me to escape. 

That’s when Jeff walked through the store’s door, and relief washed over me. I wasn’t close friends with my former classmate, and I don’t think he had ever visited my shop before. So, I was beyond grateful when he followed the men in that afternoon and took up a guard-like stance close by. 

A dedicated motorcycle rider, Jeff must have appeared to be some kind of tough gang member to the intruders, but he wasn’t. He was a good guy with a kind heart beating in his biker chest. Reinforced by his presence, the trained newspaper reporter within me tried to throw the three men off balance by rapidly asking them a few personal questions. Things like: whether they were local, what their names were, where their parents attended church? 

Jeff stood silently, casually folding his arms over a tall metal clothing rack looking like a formidable foe. His intimidating presence, biker attire,  and solemn demeanor kept the trio’s behavior in check. Although the men quickly tired of my questions. 

That’s when their obvious leader who was clutching a ratty old fur jacket said they wanted to sell me the coat. The jacket was worn, threadbare, and not anything I could resale, so I tried to politely decline. This angered the man holding the coat and he violently slammed his elbows down with a thud on my glass jewelry counter and said, “Look! We want some money.” 

I glanced at Jeff, searching for confirmation about what to do next, and he sort of nodded. Somehow, I understood that given the situation, his nod meant to give the men some money. “How about $10?” I offered, trying not to sound frightened, pretending it was a normal business transaction. Back then, $10 was equivalent to about $25 now, and I was surprised when the ring leader agreed that would be a good deal. He grabbed the $10 bill leaving the tatty fur on the counter and the three men rapidly left. 

The truth is, there was rarely much cash in the register. Maybe, $40 total and I would have happily given them all of it, just for them to go away. I don’t know why they settled for $10, but that left me with grocery money for the week. The really good news is, they never came back. 

When I remember this terrifying experience, I have always known that, if Jeffrey Ryan hadn’t courageously followed those three men into my store, the outcome would probably been tragically different. 

I haven’t seen Jeff in decades. I’m not sure I ever got to properly thank him for his courageous act of valor all those years ago. Sadly, earlier this week I saw a mutual friend’s Facebook post that Jeff had passed away. I thought perhaps it might comfort his family and friends, if I wrote about his selfless act of bravery. Until the end of my days, I will be forever grateful to him. As a damsel in distress, he was definitely my knight in biker armor that fated afternoon.

Rest well, friend and classmate. I will be looking forward to seeing you on Heaven’s shores one day!

Christina Ryan Claypool is a freelance journalist and inspirational speaker who has been featured on Joyce Meyer Ministries and CBN’s 700 Club. She is a frequent contributor to the Chicken Soup for the Soul book series and the author of the inspirational book, “Secrets of the Pastor’s Wife: A Novel”. Learn more at www.christinaryanclaypool.com.

Golden Wings for a Grieving Traveler

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Mother’s Day is upon us. Like me, you might be missing your mom. There are also mothers experiencing the painfully unnatural grief of missing children. After all, we assume that someday we will bury our parents, but never anticipate having to grieve the death of a child.

Mother’s Day spent mourning a lost loved one can be an especially, treacherous emotional sea to navigate. Maybe though, your mother or child didn’t die, instead circumstances have somehow estranged you. Life can be complicated, but personally I believe in happy endings.

That’s why I’m a sap for sentimental movie plots like the traditional boy gets the girl or a stranded puppy finds their way home. The holiday classic, “It’s a Wonderful Life,” always thrills me when a rather bumbling angel named Clarence finally gets his wings.

Although, I must admit I wasn’t thinking about the possibility of a happy ending on that awful afternoon almost 14 years ago. I sat rigidly in my cramped seat on an airplane trying not to cry. As I gazed at the oblivious passengers, the business flyers looked weary, but other folks seemed animated traveling for pleasure and family excursions.

Family. That was my problem. My 78-year-old mother, Glenna Sprang, had died suddenly the day before. An accomplished organist, Mom played two church services on Sunday morning. Later that afternoon, pain from a kidney stone gone terribly wrong caused her to be rushed by ambulance to a Philadelphia hospital. By Wednesday afternoon, I stood helplessly at her bedside watching my mother breathe her last breath, just as she had been with me when I breathed my first.

Glenna Giesken Sprang

Glenna Giesken Sprang

I felt isolated by grief, as I traveled back to Ohio to be with family until her funeral. Being a Christian speaker by profession, my mother had left a written request that I “preach” her funeral, if I was able. I was honored by her last wish, but my heart was broken, and I had no idea how I was going to do it.

That’s when a forty-something flight attendant who I’ll call Dan, pulled his beverage cart next to my aisle seat. The seasoned steward shared the same reddish hair color that my four brothers and sister have. The color that caused them to be teased ruthlessly when we were kids.

At that very moment, an obnoxious traveler was mercilessly making fun of Dan’s hairstyle. I gave the flight attendant a sympathetic look, but the undaunted steward defiantly threw his head back while laughing profusely. For the first time in several days, I laughed, too. Suddenly, Dan looked deeply into my exhausted eyes and sounding concerned asked, “Are you going home?”

“My mom just died,” I blurted out. Instantly, I was embarrassed that I had burdened a stranger with my grief.

“It will get better,” Dan said encouragingly. He then shared the story of losing his own mother some years earlier promising me that time would ease my heartache.

It was a short flight, with the airline attendant being busy for the rest of the trip. Minutes before landing safely on the runway, Dan made his way back to my seat at the rear of the plane. Then he ceremoniously handed me a pin shaped like a pair of golden wings. “Now, you can say, you got your wings at the same time as your mother got hers,” he said with a boyish grin.

When I arrived home, I placed my “wings” on the vanity’s top in my bedroom. The following week, I fulfilled my mother’s last wish of preaching her funeral describing her courageous life with the Scripture, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” [2 Timothy 4:7]

Then I allowed myself to grieve. During those difficult months, every time I looked at the golden wings, I clung to Dan’s promise that time would lessen the pain and that someday my broken heart would begin to heal.

There’s another promise that also gives me great hope as a Christian believer, the promise of a Heavenly reunion. Of course, I still miss Mom, but I’m no longer overwhelmed by earthly sadness, instead I’m excited about seeing her again someday in Heaven where she is now experiencing incomprehensible joy. Mom and me

If you are the one grieving inconsolably, hang on, time can be a great gift in healing grief. For me, although the missing never stops the unbearable heartache has lessened, just as the flight attendant told me it would. In reality, I know that Dan was probably just a compassionate cabin steward, but to a brokenhearted traveler, he seemed like an angel in disguise.

Christina Ryan Claypool is an Amy Award winning freelance journalist and Inspirational speaker. Her book, “Secrets of the Pastor’s Wife: A Novel” is available on all major online outlets.

Remembering a Brave Prom King

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Corsage and CrownMost people attend a prom or two, but I’ve attended lots of proms. Like most teenage girls, as a high school junior, I was excited about the prospect of my first prom. Truthfully, it wasn’t much fun, since the boy I had a crush on didn’t ask me.

My senior prom was monumentally worse. By then, I was a patient at Toledo State Mental Hospital following an almost fatal suicide attempt. After spending a couple months in a private psychiatric ward, my insurance ran out. I was committed to the decaying institution that then housed thousands of mentally ill individuals. Before Mental Health reform, that horrible place was reminiscent of the one depicted in the classic film, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

Battling depression and an eating disorder, I looked more like a 17-year-old Holocaust victim than a carefree teenager. The psychiatrist granted me a weekend pass hoping that attending prom would lift my spirits. My date was a classmate who suffered from epilepsy. He must have empathized with my situation, and proudly escorted me to the prom ignoring the stares from a few overly-curious students.

Fast forward three decades to May 2002, when my life looked nothing like that struggling teen. Faith, education, and the support of a few encouraging mentors had positively changed my circumstances. I was also engaged to a wonderful man who was a school administrator, whose job necessitated that we chaperone prom. Never having had an opportunity to go to prom together, Larry and I decided to don a tuxedo and gown and make it our night, too. Larry and me

Since then, my husband and I attended quite a few proms as chaperones. The impressive decorations, twinkling lights, and colorful dresses, still take my breath away. But the prom I remember most vividly is the one when a precious senior who was dying of bone cancer was elected prom king. It was the last year that my spouse served as a middle/high school principal at a rural school in northwestern Ohio.

We had all come to love this quiet dark-haired youth known affectionately by his nickname, A.J.  He was a senior, who had waged a long and valiant battle against Osteosarcoma. For nine months, he was spot-free, but then the disease turned deadly. Despite his illness, A.J. was compassionate and wise beyond his years.

Somehow in a tight-knit community where folks have known each other forever, tragedy is worse, because everyone is affected. Prom wouldn’t have been prom without A.J. being there, and he knew it. Even though, it had been months since he had been able to attend school, A.J. mustered all his strength and accompanied by his dedicated fiancée`, he showed up looking handsome in a white tuxedo.

As the disc jockey played pulsating music, the students danced energetically, while silently grieving the inevitable loss of the fun-loving youth who had always been part of them. When his classmates voted for their prom king, I shouldn’t have been surprised  when A.J.’s name was announced.

There was a moment when the reality of the high school student’s dismal prognosis hit me full force. It happened when a pretty senior girl asked if she could take a picture with him, and they posed humorously cheek to cheek with toothy grins. What A.J. didn’t see, was that when the blonde turned away, her expression crumbled into a painful grimace. She had taken the photo as a memory of the boy she had probably known since kindergarten, realizing he would soon be gone. Like a trained actress, before she turned to face A.J. again, the golden-haired girl mustered her courage and smiled brightly. Her affection for her terminally-ill classmate wasn’t romantic love driven by adolescent hormones. Rather it was the kind of caring that country kids take for granted growing up in a close circle of friendship.

When my husband and I visited him for the last time, A.J. sensed that my heart was breaking. He smiled his dazzling smile, and said, “I’ll be okay.” Then the 18-year-old lifted his T-shirt sleeve and displayed a large tattoo of a compassionate Jesus. A visual reminder of the Bible’s promise, “I am the Resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies.”

That July, the bravest prom king I’ve ever known took his last earthly breath. Still, he lives on in the hearts of those he inspired, forever wearing a white tuxedo and a jeweled crown.

Christina Ryan Claypool is the author of the inspirational, “Secrets of the Pastor’s Wife: A Novel” available through all major online retail outlets. She is an AP & Amy award-winning journalist and speaker, who has been featured on Joyce Meyer’s Enjoying Everyday Life and CBN’s 700 Club.  Contact her through her website at www.christinaryanclaypool.com.

The Truth about Time

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“To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.” Many of us have heard this famous Bible verse turned Byrds’ lyrics, but have you ever considered how it applies to daily life? Personally, I’ve been rather stuck on thinking about the intangible concept of time for quite awhile. My quest began on an unplanned Florida vacation over a decade ago.

To explain, I was supposed to join my late mother and two sisters on a cruise ship headed for the Caribbean to celebrate my sister’s 50th birthday. Instead, birthday girl had a frightening health crisis in the Washington airport and was rushed to the hospital.

This left me stranded in the airport in Ft. Lauderdale, not wanting to board the ship without news of her status. Inwardly panicking about what to do next, my brother who is a Florida realtor heard about my plight. Don called me in the airport with a gracious invitation to stay with him in Naples just a couple hours away. Thankfully, I later received word that my sister would be fine, too.

Despite the fact that it was the busy season for selling real estate and I was an unplanned-for guest, Don made me feel incredibly welcome. One night after supper, my brother even offered to take me to the beach near sunset. It was there that we met an elderly woman who gave me a lesson about time. Her tanned face was so leathery and wrinkled from the Florida sun, that it was difficult to tell her age. Probably mid-eighties, yet there was a kind of vitality about this silver-haired senior that made you think she was younger. She was a widow who had enjoyed the Floridian lifestyle in retirement, but she shared that she would be reluctantly returning to the Midwest soon.

“It’s time,” she said simply. “I have a daughter and her family up north.” My compassionate sibling shook his head knowingly, and with understanding in his voice softly echoed her words back in acknowledgement. “It’s time.”

Time for what, I wondered, while guessing that this was a final life stage. As soon as the woman disappeared, I sat on a bench pensively staring out at the vast blue-green Gulf of Mexico picking up seashells sensing that something sacred had just happened. Finally, I asked Don, “What did she mean, ‘It’s time?’”

He explained that often there comes a season when it’s no longer wise for retired Florida transplants to live alone. When health, security, and planning-ahead requires them to move to an area where they will be surrounded by family who can care for them in case of a crisis. Usually this means moving back home. These practical seniors are planning for their final days, but that doesn’t mean that the joy of living and being fulfilled stops.

After all, the Bible also tells us about, “A time to be born, and a time to die.” Yet there is that metaphorical dash that exists between these two stages. Each day we are given needs to be cherished, because inevitably a moment comes for all of us when the sand in the hourglass runs out.

Long ago, my late grandmother shared her impression that as one ages, “Time flies.”  I recall thinking her theory seemed unscientific and random. But through the years, I have discovered Grandma’s opinion is all too true. To explain, time is moving way too rapidly as I now find myself growing older at what seems to be the speed of light. 

Lately, I occasionally discover myself desperately wanting to beat Father Time and hold fast to the valuable moments of today. But in the end, there is no way to buy more time. Instead, we have to make the most of each precious day we are given, living it as though it were our last. 

Christina Ryan Claypool is a freelance journalist and inspirational speaker. Contact her through her Website at www.christinaryanclaypool.com.  Her inspirational book “Secrets of the Pastor’s Wife: A Novel” is available on all major online outlets. 

Breakfast with a not-so-famous Tony Bennett

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It’s easier than it’s ever been to become famous. In my formative years before the advent of the Internet
overnight success was non-existent. Still, back then a lot of little boys grew up wanting to become a well-known president, and girls dreamed of being a famous movie star or the wife of someone important. When feminism hit in the seventies, a lot of young women also decided they wanted to be president. I’ll bet not too many young people today would desire the notoriety of the oval office, but that’s a whole other blog post.

Celebrity has never been a huge draw for me. Of course, it would be great to win a Pulitzer Prize like poet Sylvia Plath, or a Nobel Peace Prize like civil rights leader Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Yet like many renowned people, fame exacted a tremendous cost. The brilliant Plath took her own life, and the inspirational Dr. King was senselessly slain for his convictions.

Anyway, dependent on the size of your pond, there will always be a more famous fish. More importantly, if you climb to the top of the ladder, there’s a good chance you will have to experience the long climb down more than once.

For example, famed singer Tony Bennett was definitely not at the top of his game, when I served him breakfast in the late 1970s. I first saw the musical legend early in the morning, as he sat waiting for a server at the former Cascade Holiday Inn in Akron, Ohio. He was alone, reading his newspaper for what seemed like an eternity, while the small group of waitresses where I worked, argued about who should wait on him.

My co-workers seemed awed by his celebrity, so nobody wanted to take his table. I assumed the poor man was hungry, and even though he wasn’t in my section, I volunteered. Mr. Bennett needed breakfast, and I was a struggling college student with more than a few real problems in need of a good tip.

Honestly, I had almost no idea who he was. By then, his career was in a downward spiral. Two of his mid-70s albums had failed to gain popular success, and he had parted ways with his record label. I had heard of his 1962 hit, “I left my heart in San Francisco,” but was too young to be impressed.

Sadly, I took the singer’s order for Eggs Benedict and served him without even acknowledging that I knew who he was. The talented performer was very polite, and I should have at least complimented him on his incredible voice. Thankfully, Bennett didn’t need my affirmation, because the test of time has proven his enduring talent. By 1986, with a new album and his son as manager, the Italian crooner was back on the map, and more Grammys would eventually follow.

There were also celebrity duets for the famous tenor, probably the most notable was when he teamed up with Lady Gaga. His 2014 CD with her titled, “Cheek to Cheek” won a Grammy for Best Traditional Pop Vocal Album. A couple years later, came his dreadful diagnosis of Alzheimer’s disease. Still, Lady G is reported to have remained friends with her unlikely duet partner to the very end.

Bennett was an artist extraordinaire in more ways than one, because he was also known for his paintings.  With his wife, Susan Benedetto, the singer founded the Frank Sinatra School of the Arts where Susan once served as both a teacher and an assistant principal. The world lost this 96-year-old gentle giant of a man on July 21st, which is why I wanted to pay tribute to him one last time with this post.

After all, it’s been over four decades since that fated breakfast, and meeting the amazing performer was a once in a lifetime opportunity. I’ve always regretted my omission of not expressing my gratitude to him for the importance of his musical contribution. Especially, when he was at the bottom of his game. The truth is, I was a troubled kid back then at the bottom of my game, too.

So, Tony Bennett, I would like to publicly apologize to you for not realizing that you and I were both only in a temporary slump. Your music would end up bringing more joy to our world than you could have imagined.  I read online that your last words were the very ones I wish I would have had a chance to say, “Thank you.” It’s reported you said them to your son, Danny, but I want to take this final opportunity to say them to you, “Thank you, Tony Bennett. Rest in peace. You made the world a more beautiful place by being here!”

http://www.christinaryanclaypool.comChristina Ryan Claypool is an Amy and Ohio AP award-winning freelance journalist and speaker. She has been featured on CBN’s 700 Club and Joyce Meyer Ministries Enjoying Everyday Life TV show. Her inspirational novel, “Secrets of the Pastor’s Wife” is available on Amazon and all major online outlets. Contact her through her website at www.christinaryanclaypool.com.

Nurse Ratched’s Caregiving Advice

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Nurse Ratched and Patient LarryAlmost five decades ago, the classic 1975 movie, “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest,” won all five major Academy Awards. The poignant drama chronicled the plight of young Jack Nicholson’s character Randle McMurphy who was confined to a state mental institution. This was not a Utopian facility where the nurses and doctors were lovers of people, or even keepers of the Hippocratic Oath. Instead, this description of life in a psychiatric facility vividly depicted the horrors of the treatment of some patients before mental health reforms.

Especially noteworthy in the film was the late actress Louise Fletcher’s 1976 Oscar winning portrayal of the brutally hardhearted and dictatorial Nurse Ratched. This fictional character is everything a good nurse would never want to be. The American Film Institute designated Ratched as the fifth greatest film villain of all time in their series 100 Years…100 Heroes & Villains. Today, her criminal treatment of patients would be grounds for a medical malpractice suit of dynamic proportions.

Although I don’t think I’m as bad as Mildred Ratched, I must confess that I possess no aptitude for medical practices. I have a queasy stomach and am rather lacking on the virtue of patience. Therefore, caregiving was definitely not at the top of my list for life tasks. Yet a decade ago, while caregiving for my husband following his third major surgery in eight months, I received an email addressed to “Nurse Ratchet.” The sender, a longtime friend had misspelled the sadistic caregiver’s name, but I knew instantly who she was referring to.

Despite my lack of nursing skills, like many other spouses and adult children, the lot of temporary caregiving had fallen on my shoulders. In light of this, I promised a registered nurse who really is a modern-day Florence Nightingale, that when I made it through my season of caregiving, I would compile a list of practical tips for others facing the daunting task.

Nurse Ratched’s Tips for Caregivers: 

First, a caregiver must determine to maintain his or her sense of humor, be organized, and carefully prepare for this awesome responsibility. If possible, find a way to make the room where your loved one will be recuperating as dark as possible during daylight hours. This does not mean that you cannot shower your “sickie” with sunshine if they desire. But when pain or discomfort has kept them up during the midnight hours, window coverings will help simulate nighttime so they can rest. (This way, the caregiver can rest, too.) To avoid unnecessary expense, you can purchase used drapes to cover windows at a thrift store or garage sale.

Second, check with your physician’s office about the medical equipment that will bePill bottle required. If a hospital bed is necessary, have it in place before your charge arrives home. Stock up on other supplies such as a walker, cane, crutches, shower seat, etc. and even prescriptions. Fill your cupboards and refrigerator with non-perishable groceries and bottled water since it might be quite a while before you will be able to leave your patient unattended. Prepare a journal to record administered medications, treatments, and even meals to avoid confusion.

Then there is entertainment to think about since the most difficult patient is a bored patient. Make sure a television with a remote can be readily viewed from the hospital bed. Plan a pre-op trip to your local library, to check out interesting books and make a must-see list for movies. When consulting with medical professionals, write down the questions you want to ask and request any resources that might be available for your situation. Don’t try to be superman or superwoman, but whenever possible ask for assistance from relatives, friends, or your church by communicating your specific needs.

List of MedicinesThe caregiver has to get out and you can’t allow self-imposed guilt to keep you from taking care of yourself. Exercise, eat right, sleep whenever possible, and remember that “this too shall pass.” Most of all, forgive yourself when your attitude turns sour or when you get overwhelmed.  Plus, forgive the world for moving full speed ahead and forgetting about your difficult situation. The flowers, cards, calls, and visits will probably trickle off rather quickly, since life goes on.

If you are a long-term caregiver like millions of Americans, finding a support group could provide a vital network to alleviate the stress and isolation this responsibility can create. But if you become severely depressed seek professional counseling. After the caregiving season ends, some caregivers also experience a temporary depression unsure of their next purpose. Hopefully, this won’t last long, because life has a way of continually presenting us with new tasks and adventures.

Christina Ryan Claypool is an award-winning freelance journalist and inspirational speaker. She has been featured on CBN’s 700 Club and Joyce Meyer Ministries Enjoying Everyday Life TV show. Her latest book, “Secrets of the Pastor’s Wife: A Novel” is available on all major online outlets. Contact her through her website at www.christinaryanclaypool.com.

Despite Rejection: Keep Writing!

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If I could tell an aspiring or discouraged writer only one thing, it would be to never give up, despite the reality of rejection. Once at a writing seminar, a speaker said that to be considered a “real writer,” you must experience at least five rejections. I found this humorous, because I used to keep a manila file folder for negative replies, before the advent of electronic rejections. When the file grew discouragingly bulky, I stopped saving them.

“Even though we are not going to be representing your book, use this (rejection) letter to line your cat’s litter box and keep writing.”

Over a decade ago, there was one creative response I’ve never forgotten. Initially, the national literary agent declined my manuscript proposal tactfully. Then he added, “Even though we are not going to be representing your book, use this letter to line your cat’s litter box and keep writing.”

“Keep writing!” Here’s the primary key for most folks who have been successful in their writing career. They have mustered the emotional stamina and maintained the self-discipline to write with scheduled regularity, perfecting their art to become the best wordsmith they can be.

As writers we can offer a multitude of excuses for why we should abandon our craft. For instance, since living through a pandemic and record inflation, it seems the calls for submissions in various categories have become even more limited and competitive.

Plus, deceitful opportunists masquerading as legitimate publishers have financially scammed countless Indie authors out of thousands of dollars or maybe a professionally completed book. Still, there are reputable self-publishers who continue to be honest and fair. But an author has to extensively investigate a potential publisher before they sign on the dotted line and hand over their book baby.

Yet these challenging circumstances don’t give us permission to abandon God’s calling and metaphorically lay our pens aside. Rather we need to pray and ask our heavenly Father to give us His wisdom and to show us open doors for our gifting as a wordsmith and then we need to be faithful to walk through those doors.

“We learn by practice,” said the late Martha Graham who is referred to as the mother of Modern Dance. The famous dancer and choreographer explained, “Whether it means to learn to dance by practicing dancing or to learn to live by practicing living, the principles are the same.”

Therefore, it only makes sense that one learns to write by writing. That’s not always easy though, because like most wannabe authors, for years I had to work a day job to pay the bills. This means when your friends are chatting over coffee, enjoying the beach, or going to a movie, you have to sacrifice your free time for your writing projects.

Learn to write with excellence and to closely follow submission guidelines. Listen to your editors, since they are often the ones in charge of making a piece the best it can be and don’t be late for a deadline or your submission will most likely never see the light of day.

Then there is the tricky feat of continuing to believe in yourself when literary achievement has eluded you. To combat this, at another seminar I gleaned the importance of sending out a new submission for every rejection.

It would have been easy for me to believe that as a writer, I wasn’t that good, despite some sporadic success. Rejection does that. It makes us compare ourselves to others, which is always a dangerous and non-Biblical practice. Besides, some of my colleagues are award-winning national communicators.

Yet over the decades, I had never won any writing awards. Then I happened to read the now classic book, “The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio” subtitled, “How my mother raised 10 kids on 25 words or less” by the late Terry Ryan.

Evelyn Ryan, [no relation to me] supported her large family in the 1950s and 60s by writing contest jingles. Somehow, reading about the now deceased Mrs. Ryan’s indomitable spirit made me realize that even though the odds are definitely stacked against a freelance or contest submission, you just never know.

This was my mindset when I sent several submissions to the former National Amy Writing Awards in January 2012. In no way, had I ever dreamed that out of more than 700 submissions nationwide, my article, “Finding Forgiveness” written for The Lima News would be selected as the $10,000 First Prize winner.

In the Bible there is a promise that God will supply our needs. Evelyn Ryan needed to win money and prizes to support her large family and she did. In the autumn of my writing career, I earnestly needed to know that my perseverance as a writer had been the right life path. Winning the $10,000 First Place National Amy Writing Award was my humbling answer. An answer, I took all the way to the bank.

Despite rejection, keep writing! Miracles still happen, so don’t give up.

After all, there had been well-meaning family members and friends along my writing journey who cautioned me to abandon my work as a freelance journalist/author and to pursue another path that offered more monetary rewards. As a writer, maybe you can relate to discouraging comments coming from folks you care about. Because the truth is, most writers never do achieve monetary success as the world sees it.

That’s no reason to quit, if you love to write. Instead make sure you continue to practice your craft to the best of your ability. Join a writing group, attend a writer’s conference, take creative writing classes at a local college, or volunteer somewhere you can put your writing skills to good use. Remember too, good writers tend to be prolific readers.

In closing, I am praying for you, my fellow writer. May you continue to hone the craft that is an incredible gift from God. Despite rejection, keep writing!  

About Christina

Christina Ryan Claypool is a past National Amy and Ohio APME award-winning freelance journalist/speaker who has been featured on Joyce Meyer Ministries Enjoying Everyday Life TV show and on CBN’s 700 Club. She is also a five-time Chicken Soup for the Soul story contributor, and the author of several Christian recovery books. She has a B.A. from Bluffton University and an M.A. in Ministry from Mount Vernon Nazarene University. Learn more at www.christinaryanclaypool.com.

Her inspirational book, “Secrets of the Pastor’s Wife: A Novel” is available on all major online outlets. Amazon Link above.

Connect with Christina Ryan Claypool

Her website is www.christinaryanclaypool.com. She blogs at www.christinaryanclaypool.com/blog1. Connect with her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/christina.r.claypool, on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/christinaryanclaypool/ @christinaryanclaypool, or on Twitter at https://twitter.com/CRClaypool @CRClaypool.

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