We all carry a crazy patched quilt of mixed baggage with us. Some pieces are beautiful.

Others are stark in their horrific tragic moments that shred our hearts into pieces smaller than confetti. Those pieces seem to cover us at times as we struggle to mend the pieces together the best we can. Over time, new pieces are added and the sorrow of those dark patches becomes easier to bear.

As our crazy quilts grow, we sometimes fold the quilt to the most current patches and occasionally forget how dark some of the underneath patches are.

When I remember, I pray for God to take those terrible dark patches and make some good come from them. It can take years or decades to see the answer to those prayers. Sometimes the answers to those prayers are quiet, long drawn, and can be seen in the big picture.

On a very rare occasion, something will happen that brings the dark patch to the front. On an even rarer occasion, what happens is a single, lone Grace-filled moment that captures us by surprise and reminds us that all was not lost in that dark patch.

It’s almost like a single sequin is sewn into a patch that’s so black it seems like a black hole that defies time and space. But the single sequin gleams in the light, reminding us there’s a way out of the darkness.

The moment may stretch into a season. Other times, it’s still that single moment. But it’s a grace moment we can treasure, and remember, that we are not alone in the dark patches or the light patches. And we can resolve to open our hearts so we can see the sequins when they are presented to us – moments of grace that remind us we are not alone.

Those are the moments that differentiate the southern fiction of Flannery O’Conner from William Faulkner. O’Connor sees the despair and emptiness in some people’s lives but always has that lone moment of grace so fleeting you may not realize it’s there, but it’s a chance to see the wonder of God’s mercy.

And when we see it, we treasure it and cry, not quite in the darkness but in the shining light of a single sequin.

The following is a talk I once gave to a teen after she was humiliated by an adult who did not understand the difference between constructive criticism and condemnation.

I was thinking about it after the fact and realized that others might benefit – not just teens but anyone who knows the feeling of working hard, doing good work, and having someone slam you  after the fact. Here goes….

I’m sorry the Grumpy Rump said that. It was inappropriate and wrong.

You did good work. You are a wonderful person, and you are both loved and valued.

The sad thing is this Grumpy Rump had such a narrow vision of the world that she didn’t get it. Sometimes you do good work, and people resent what you did. So they go after you and try to discourage you so you will never ever try that path again.

I don’t know why they do what they do – that is their problem.

It does not mean your work was bad. It does not mean you are stupid. It does not mean you are unappreciated.

Other people recognize your good work and that you are a wonderful person.

We can’t help what she did. What you can help is how you respond. You can learn to ignore the Grumpy Rumps.

Don’t let the Grumpy Rumps stop you from your own success.

You do what you do, do it well, and remember that your success is the best revenge.

I know a lot about Grumpy Rumps. They have gone after me for a life time. I know how horrible it feels and how easy it is to want to just quit right here, right now.

Don’t let the Grumpy Rumps stop you from your own success.

Now, with old age, I see that God can use what the Grumpy Rumps do for good purpose. He recognized how deeply I was hurt by my own Grumpy Rumps and turned that into a desire to help others when they get slammed. That’s how I’m able to try to help you today.

One day, you may be in my shoes. You may be encouraging someone else who is in tears after a Grumpy Rump attack. You can comfort them, tell them they are valued and repeat what they must remember:

Don’t let the Grumpy Rumps stop you from your own success!

Lots of people have tough stories and have overcome obstacles. I am one of them. I grew up in the story of the single parent childhood, rocked with poverty mixed with a dash of scandal. In middle school, I really did walk through the snow to deliver papers on my paper route, including after the blizzard of 1977.

There is a story there – and I wrote a book about it.

In long distance perspective, I recognize that every obstacle I overcame made me who I am today. Many of those struggles sensitized me such that they developed my empathy and my gut instinct.

But the key to a happier ending doesn’t lie in wallowing in that story or using it as an excuse for bad decisions now.

The key is much simpler:

Then you turn the page.

The first step in building a better life is to turn the page, to flip the script, and to resolve to learn a newer, healthier story with a better ending.

It is possible. I know because I did it – with a lot of prayer, support from good friends, and hard work.

If you spend too much time gazing at yesterday’s storybook and pondering the sorrows of yesteryear, you just might forget that the pages on the other side of the book, the future, are blank.

And your decisions and actions now will determine what is written upon them.

“I think I can, I think I can,” says the little engine that could as it chugs up the mountain.

Sometimes we all face the tall mountain and don’t know whether to chug or fail.

Notice the engine that could was not surrounded by other engines who chanted, “No, you can’t, No, you can’t.”

If you face a tall mountain and have a great idea, surround yourself with great people who will cheer you and encourage you to take your ideas up the mountain, to the next level. If you find yourself surrounded by a No You Can’t crowd of detractors, stop sharing your Can-Do dream and reserve it for other Can-Do Encouragers.

Sometimes, when I offer a new idea that is ignored or laughed at by others, I grow discouraged.

One of the best places I can go to get inspired and out of that dark spot is an art museum. For centuries, artists have seen a vision in their imagination and then transformed that into a physical object. Lots of them were laughed at, misunderstood, or unappreciated. Yet, they continued. When Michelangelo saw the angel in a slab of marble, he chiseled until others could see it too. It wasn’t always easy, and it took lots of sacrifice and time – like when he spent 3 years on his back painting the Sistine Chapel.

So when I walk into that museum, discouraged that my next great vision isn’t appreciated by those I risked sharing it with, I can take heart and get back on the “I Think I Can” train tracks which will chug me up the mountain.

When you have a great idea and look to have others appreciate it, what do you do to re-energize yourself?

Mary Biever, International Woman of Mystery

As a middle-aged mother about to have an empty nest, the best part is:

Recognition that it’s my empty nest, and I can decorate or dance in it as I please.

For a lifetime, I’ve been a Samaritan Mother. My background’s a little different, and so is my perspective in life. In teens or early adulthood, there is more pressure to fit the mold.

There have been times I shut my mouth, stifled my humor, and tried to sit still. It wasn’t pleasant for me or those around for me. But I tried to do it so I could be more than the Samaritan Mama.

I pressed my nose against the glass of “Normal” World, hoping the glass would evaporate and I could have a seat at the respectable table.

It ain’t gonna happen. I wasn’t wired to be quiet and demure. Instead, I was made to seek and seize joy wherever I can find it. Fun makes the tough stuff easier to handle.

• If my kids put oversized pink sunglasses in my Easter basket as a prank, I will probably wear them. And I might forget I have them on when we go out for donuts.
• If we switch drivers on a long trip, I might suggest a <insert politically incorrect adjective> fire drill to race around the car.
• Whenever there’s an opportunity, I’ll find a song to sing and encourage those around me to sing along. Even if it’s a bus of strangers at the airport, and I get some to join me in singing “Wheels on the Bus.”

When channeled, the personality traits that make me an outsider Samaritan Mother become strengths, both personally and professionally:

• I know what it’s like to feel the role of outsider and constantly seek ways to help others feel included.
• Humor can make my workshops, classes, and speaking engagements more interesting. Audience members may wonder what will come out of my mouth next. Well, so do I.
• The passion and excitement I feel when seizing every moment of every day to live to the fullest helps me be a better writer.
• A blowing up the box perspective, instead of thinking inside the box, helps me find creative solutions for my clients and their public relations strategies.

Bottom line: I was made a Samaritan Mother. Those differences can become my greatest weaknesses or strengths. It’s how I use those traits that makes the difference. Bloom where you are appreciated. If your surroundings don’t support who you really are, then transplant yourself to a new place where you can bloom and flourish.

Who are you at your core? Are you making the most of that which is uniquely you, which no one else on the planet can be?

Don’t waste your life with your nose pressed against the glass, hoping for your place at the table. Find good friends who will support you and inspire you to not only be who you are but to be the best you possible.