Author J. R. DuBois: Unfiltered

I cried today. It wasn't even 6am. There's a myriad of reasons I could expound upon as possible causes for my tears or the listless toil I've been experiencing, but specifics don't matter. But apparently, I've been like this for a while now. Before opening this draft, I perused the titles of my previous blogs, and there's been a theme, and one I don't like.  I think it comes from suppressing what I know my heart and soul needs in the name of how this world (read: society) defines self-care, rest, and rejuvenation, which often equates to some version of isolation even though, unlike most writers, I'm an avid people-person. (All while admitting that I am still actually human and do need some of that, too.) In short, this definition and chasing-of-the wind (thanks, Solomon) has been negatively affecting my art and my efficacy at work and, if I'm honest, my general state of mind. You know, when Jesus was actively here on Earth doing His Ministry, He woul...

The other day, one of my writer friends said to me, "Stop trying to listen to advice that you know in your heart wasn't for you. Publish the d*mn book. It's ready and so are you." I have to say, it was one of the most loving things someone could have said to me. A lot of folks today cherish encouraging words and actions on the parts of their loved ones and significant others. And I do, too, I suppose, but what I really cherish and value is when they speak truth over me, independent of how it might make me feel in the moment. My book is ready for publication. There is something small I want to tweak in the beginning to decrease the wordcount a bit, and Lord knows I have no cover and haven't formatted it or gotten any ISBN numbers, etc, but I'm holding off on doing so until I finish the first draft of Jezra so I don't mis-represent the characters and bleed the different motivations and personalities across the manuscripts. But. It is still ready. Even as is....

I feel like I'm desiccating. Not that I'm not alive. Not that I'm sad or depressed. I'm restless . I feel like a suped-up car, throttle down, revved up, my wheels spinning into the ground, going nowhere despite how hard I'm pressing the gas. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of toiling. I'm tired of putting all of my efforts towards things which don't seem to appreciate the effort. ( Matthew 7:6 "...do not throw your pearls before pigs, for they will trample them under feet, and turn and tear you to pieces." ) I feel torn to pieces. I feel yanked in different directions. I feel like I can TASTE what I'm supposed to be doing, where I'm supposed to be going, how maybe I should be doing it, and yet stunted for trying to get all the answers now, and to do it my way, on my terms, in my time. When I was with my friends in Georgia, I felt... whole. Now, that's a lot to put on some friends. This is me telling them, in the event that they...

How can you rest in the Lord when all you fear is the day His hand will not protect you? Just yesterday, my own struggles were ripped from my chest in such a visceral way that I had to pull over (I was driving). I hadn’t even cried so hard when I watched Mom die. I saw something that took the culmination of the last two years--of the last five deaths (two grandparents, two cats, and my mother), several illnesses and subsequent relational issues, my fear of losing yet another loved one, and the pain of watching the rightness in this world being made wrong--and ripped it out of me. I know people talk about being torn down, about being brought to their knees and rebuilt, but I don’t think folks who haven’t felt that realize what that means. There are no words to that sort of pain. That level of despair. Of hopelessness. If you'd have asked me to stand, I don't think I could have. People like to approach Christians and expect them to have the answer to the problem of evil, only t...

Hey there, conduits. It's been several months, after which I'd said I didn't want to do to this blog as I had all the others. Well, in this case, there wasn't simply one good reason, but three. If you all have been following me, you know that 2022 was a heck of a year where cat health was a thing. It started in January when my grandfather died on the same day that my eldest cat got diagnosed with IMHA. Throughout that year, my husband and I battled how to help serve our elderly boy without going deep into thousands and thousands of dollars in debt, all while having various issues with the others -- none due to environment; our house was and is fine and healthy to be in. So, Granddad died. Jynx developed IMHA. Ozzy (Oswald) suffered chronic UTIs throughout the entire year, developed stress-related cystitis, which he still has today (just brought him back from the vet for another round of antibiotics and anti-inflammatories, but we're figuring it out). Romeo swallowed...