Driven By Purpose

The Ditchdigger's Daughters

Posted: 12/26/2008

Hello Everyone, I pray that your Christmas was merry as you created new and cherished memories with friends, family, and loved ones! That I am an old movies buff is no secret amongst my friends and family. Around Christmas time several of my favorite movies are aired. Last year was so busy for that I did not have the time to watch my classics as I wanted to. Not this year I pledged to myself…it was a pledge that I almost lost how ever. I wrote and directed my recent stage production: God Knows My Heart! and became busy.  Ahh, the stage production! I am happy to say that is was a success! The community really showed their support as they came out bearing gifts of nonperishable food items, all of which were donated to families that were facing economic hardships. This experience was very humbling and I am thankful to God for being a part of it. Listen, you guys as I was channel surfing and stumbled upon a movie that I had not seen in ages titled, “The Ditchdigger’s Daughter,” I love this movie! It is such an inspirational flick and I highly recommend it. This American Family who just happens to black shows that we do not have to allow our circumstances to detain us from reaching our goals. We do not have don the mentality of “less than” success. But a “better than” success! Yes, I wear the better than mentality better, and it looks good on you, too. In "The Ditchdigger's Daughters,” Dr. Yvonne S. Thornton offers a loving portrait of her father, a ditchdigger in Fort Monmouth, New Jersey who dreamed that all six of his daughters would become doctors. With the help of his equally remarkable wife, the girls have all become successful, independent women--two are doctors, one became a dentist, one a lawyer, one a... nurse, and one a court stenographer. Blessings always, Vanessa

Short Story: Peace, Grace, and Mercy: Have A Little Faith

Posted: 11/21/2008

Have A Little Faith It was one of the darkest times for her. Try as she might visibility was next to nil. She just could not understand how she had come to be in this situation. She mentally reminisced over her life wondering if somewhere down the line if she inadvertently done wrong to someone and God was punishing her for it. She readily admitted that she was not perfect. She believed and lived by her motto of treating others the way she'd want to be treated.  Growing up she volunteered at her local hospital. She was active in her community and attended church faithfully. She was always faithful in her relationships. She had no answers. Why was this happening to her? Feeling the familiar sting of tears forming, she swallowed hard willing them away.  A sob broke forth followed by a single tear then another and another until a full out tsunami erupted.  Then she came out of nowhere smelling like fresh flowers. Mama wrapped her arms around her only child. This loving move caused Mercy’s tears to fall fast and furious. It seemed her mother always knew she needed her the most.  Mercy turned into her mothers comforting embrace, clinging tightly to her, she released her deep sorrow.  Mercy felt as though she was drowning. Of late, it seemed as though her mother was the lifeline keeping her a float.  So the tears of not understanding continued there flow. The combination of denial and hurt caused her soulful cries to escalate. Through this mama remained unflappable. Steadily, she continued to rock her only child, soothingly brushing back her long dark tresses, all the while singing an old familiar gospel song. Precious Lord, take my hand.                                        Precious Lord, take my hand,                                        Lead me on, let me stand,                                        I am tired, I am weak, I am worn;                                        Through the storm, through the night,                                         Lead me on to the light:   Mercy normally would have been embarrassed by such display of weakness. Not today. She needed this cry.  She could not help but to wonder if crying had categories. She only knew that this would be the last cry over this particular situation.  The famous quote from civil rights activist Fannie Lou Hamer came to mind.  She was “sick and tired of being sick and tired,” Reluctantly she removed herself from her mothers embrace. Mama nodded her head and smiled, standing mama granted her privacy to recollect herself.  Mercy was grateful to her.             Mercy sat staring into her glass of lemonade. “Mercy, baby, not every dark cloud mean its going to rain. Have a little faith,” Mama sipped her lemon lime lemonade smiling. They had adjourned to the kitchen.  After her gut-wrenching cry, mama had suggested that she take a long bath and to later join her in the kitchen. Food always cheered Mercy up. Mama could make a meal like no body’s business.  In her late fifties mama was often mistaken for being in her mid forties. Her cinnamon skin was wrinkled free and her onyx eyes still sparkled with youthful gaiety. Mercy looked at her mother in askance. Her mother has been with her on this soulful journey from the beginning. She saw the hurt and pain Mercy was enduring; this latest episode was testimony of her hurt.  There was no it looks like. It is what it is. Chuckling softly mama put her cup down and clasped her daughter’s hand. Mercy was her only child and was a gift from God. She was her miracle child.  Doctors told her she would never be able to conceive.  The news was devastating to her. However, God had mercy upon her. Some women get married only to have kids because they think it is the next thing to do. Mama knew from a small child that she would be a mother. She wanted to have a house full of children. God’s plans were different.  She and Almer her husband of thirty-five years never gave up faith that they would one day be parents. Their Mercy was their gift from God.  That was a dark looming cloud, but no rain had followed. It only looked like. “You know the story of how you were born. I know you hurting but I want you to really listen to me,” Mama held up her hand stopping Mercy’s denial.  “Listen to me with your heart. If this door closes, God can open up another. You can still be happy, baby. It is your choice.” Mama leaned forward capturing her loved child’s eyes. “You can be happy.” Looking into her mothers warm eyes, Mercy did indeed feel she could be happy. Looking at the phone, she sighed.  In ten minutes, her Doctor would be calling her to confirm if she was pregnant.  She smiled wistfully. History had a way of repeating itself. She had inherited the gene that her mother has that made conceiving almost impossible. She and her husband Stanley had been trying unsuccessfully for five years to have a baby.  Then suddenly a strange phenomenon occurred. She was craving weird foods and she was nauseated every morning. Mercy kept these changes to herself for almost a month. Finally telling her husband of her suspicions together, they schedule an appointment to see her family doctor. Due to her rare condition, several types of blood tests had to be run. The result would be back in two days. Today was day two.  A tremor began to course through her body. Two tall elegantly clad men walked in. Stanley said not a word he just held her.  Mercy embraced her husband of seven years.  He was still able to make her heart soar just by entering a room. At six feet three, he made her feel safe and secure. His skin was the color of mocha, his newly grown goat tee made him appear ruggedly handsome. Mercy rested her head on his broad shoulders. He tightened his embrace. Mercy sighed tightening her hold, silently offered up a pray of thanks to God for her family and their support. Family meant every thing to her. Hazarding another glance at the clock, Mercy realized she had only two minutes left until “the call.”  Her father a big burly man with skin the color of molasses kissed her forehead taking a seat next to mama. Although expected the call, the shrilling noise of the phone caused all four occupants to jump. No one moved. They were afraid to. What was the answer behind the call?   Finally, Mercy forced herself to answer the shrilling phone.  “Hello.” Mercy barely recognized her own voice. “This is she. Ok.  Thank you for all you have done for us. Good bye.” Mercy looked at her loved ones grateful for their presence, their combined strength made this journey bearable.  Finally replacing the phone Mercy numbly went into her husband-awaiting embrace. Her silent pillow of strength. True to character he said not a word, he just held her. Mama bowed her head as papa wrapped his arms around her in comfort.             “We’re going to be the proud parents to twins,” Mercy finally revealed.  The room remained silent at her announcement. Mercy lean back to look into her husbands eyes. They were wide with shock. His mouth moved but no words came forth. He laughed and spun her around in a circle. Mercy laughed aloud at his emotional display.  My but how good it felt to laugh. She thought. She could not stop herself as she continued to laugh. “Did I hear you right, Baby? We’re having twins?”  His voice cracked. Her husband's tears were falling free and fast. Mercy nodded her head wildly sending her tresses everywhere. Her joyful tears matching that of her beloved. Stanley lifted her spinning her around. “Praise the Lord!” Mama shouted spinning around in her own little circle. Papa leaped up and began doing an off beat jig.  “This is cause for a celebration.  We are going out to celebrate. Yee haw! I am going to be a grandpa twice in one day. My baby is having babies,” Papa continued his offbeat jig. “We are doing no such a thing, Papa,” Mama cried. “I have already prepared a feast for the heavens. We will eat right here and celebrate in the privacy of our home, not in a restaurant filled with strangers.”   Mercy and her husband were oblivious to her parents bantering. They continued to hold each other their tears steadily flowing. It was contagious as mama and papa’s own tears began to fall.  Silently they watched the young couple. They had endured much and were deserving of great happiness.  Papa nodded at mama, gently guiding her out of the kitchen affording the young ones some privacy. The table could wait they had time.   copyright '08 Vanessa Richardson

Catamenial Pnuemothorax

Posted: 09/20/2008

Catamenial Pnuemothorax Images - What does it look like? The photograph below were taken during a patient thoracic surgeries. Treatment of catamenial pneumothorax often involves diaphragm repair to close up the holes, technically known as fenestrations. Fenestrations are sometimes referred to in literature as resembling "blue berry spots". Lori's pictures demonstrate that blue berry effect. Fenestrations are generally found on the central tendon region of the diaphragm as shown in the illustration.   Futher information can be acquired at http://www.catamenial-pneumothorax.com/id15.htm     My Story goes as.... The year: 1999 Age: 24 Am I forsaken? “Ms. Richardson?” My name being hailed pulled me from my quiet appraisal of the handsome soap opera star I was watching on the small television in the waiting room. Standing I approached the X-ray technician and my heart plummeted. In his eyes was that of concern. I recognized the “look” as I often time gave them, when offering comfort to someone in pain. “Hi. Ms. Richardson?” The technician queried. I offered a weak nod. I was tired and just wanted to sleep for years. The technician concerned eyes hastily scanning my face should have been an indicator that something was amiss. “Have you been in a car accident recently?” he softly questioned. I was shocked by the question. “No. I have not.” I breathlessly replied. Not impart to fear, however. It was a strange occurrence; as of late, I had been experiencing chest pains and could hardly breathe. Talking had become a chore for me and I was exhausted all the time. All these symptoms prompted my emergency room interview with the hospital technician. “Ms. Richardson you have a collapsed lung.” Reeling from the announcement, I slumped against the wall in disbelief. I was certain I had misheard him. “Your right lung is down 100% and it is covering your heart. You must be admitted.” A bevy of nurses ushered me to a bed. I was given a hospital gown. I was given an IV and was placed on oxygen. All the while, I was in a state of shock and disbelief. I had never been hospitalized in my life. I had a collapsed lung! I was overwhelmed with myriad of questions. How did this happen? Am I going to die? What was the procedure to curing a collapse lung? I was not in an accident. I do not spoke and I was not heavy into sports. These were all the entities associated with a collapse lung. I was diagnosed with a Spontaneous Pnuemothorax. This is when the lung collapses with no apparent reason. The treatment was a chest tube insertion. My hospital stay was seven days. I would like to say this is where my story ends. However, it was only the beginning. From 1999 to 2005, I’ve had a total of ten chest tubes and a major lung surgery. My diagnoses changed spontaneous pnuemothorax to that of catamenial pneumothorax. This condition is difficult to diagnose as it is so rare here in America. What is catamenial pneumothorax? This is when a woman has her menstrual cycle and her lung collapses with in 42-72 hours. About 2%-5% of women suffer from this health issue. Here is when I had to step out on faith. My last recourse was that of a hysterectomy. I was single and had never had children. I felt alone and forsaken. Is it true that good guys finish last? I have no choice in the matter. Should I give up in the face of this great travesty? The Year 2008 Age: 34 The Certain Ones: You’re not forsaken. You’re Chosen for Purpose. At an early age I had made a vow to God to refrain from premarital sex until marriage. I journaled from age 16 until present day. I wrote of how I wanted to one day get married and have kids. So this setback threw me for a loop. Yes, I wanted to have children but I also wanted to be healthy. I was tired of the pain. It seemed I slept and awoke with pain. What was I to do? Here is my testimony. I did have the hysterectomy. I suffered a loss and dealt with it. The road was not easy for me as I dealt with the issue of infertility. I realized I had a purpose. God’s purpose for me: To encourage women who are experiencing sicknesses and/or infertility. I was tried and emerged dignified. My lesson learned: Happiness is a choice that we make. I decided that I wanted to be happy; so I pursued it. My journey has not been an easy one but I made it. I have written a non-fiction book titled The Certain Ones.   The certain ones will find the hidden doors leading to happiness and success. Although I may not be able to physically conceive a child it does not mean I can never be a mother. There are other options. God plans for me were different, yet wonderfully perfect. God knows my name and He knows yours, too!   Blessings, Vanessa

Inspirational: Running

Posted: 07/07/2008

Running   It was a winter wonderland. The tree limbs hung limp, burden from the fallen snow. The moon was full, illuminating the night with its revealing presence. Confused, she continued her lone walk. She was hurting, not a physical hurt. That would have been easier to deal with. This was an emotional hurt. The wind pulled mercilessly at her trench coat; but the woman ignored its pull. Not even the rapid falling of snow could stop her painful sojourn. She was numb, not from the cold, but from her situation. She was walking without seeing, her demeanor completely at odds with Mother Nature's divine work. The passersbyers were hastening to their planned destinations. They were wisely aware that they were no match for Mother Nature's awesome display of authority. In passing, they cast curious glances her way, wondering what was causing her to act out of the norm. The echoing words in her head became her antagonist. The hurtful words reverberated, causing her to pick up speed. Not fast enough. She had to get away from the problem. Why her? Why? Still not fast enough, she ran faster. She knew not where she was going, pure instincts were driving her. Everything was a blur to her. She was not aware when the snow ceased its descent. The wind was tugging at her long braided locks; angrily she shoved them aside. The wind's force was trying to slow her process, but she was persistent. Her black scarf went sailing to the ground. She did not stop. A woman sipping a cup of coffee in a cafe' glanced up in shock at the speeding woman. She noticed the beautiful scarf's descent. Going outside, she retrieved the fallen garment from the pavement. Standing, she looked at the scarf. It was beautiful. It was embroidered with bold red letters that read TBJ. Looking in the direction, she had last seen the running woman, she sighed. She recognized the running woman. She never met her personally. She used to be her, running. Sighing again, she rubbed her brow. Running from the situation would solve nothing. There comes a time, when you have to simply deal with it. Bowing her head, the woman offered up small prayer for the fleeing woman. Faster, faster, faster. The words became her litany. The wind continued to whip at her, as if rebuking her, for defying its authority. Her hat came off. She did not attempt to capture it. It was a stark contrast against the fallen snow. A homeless man noticed the fallen garment, staggered awkwardly to his feet. Placing the hat on his head, he smiled. His head and ears were now warm. He looked in the direction of the running woman, scratching his head; he wondered what could make her abandon such a precious gift. Shrugging his shoulders, he figured, one-man's trash is another man's gain. Whistling, he staggered back to his make shift pallet. Her chest was beginning to hurt; she began laboring for breath. Her body fought against the strenuous demand, she was placing on it. All this and the echoes would not stop. She wanted them to stop! The taunting words pursued her. Suddenly there was a shifting in the atmosphere. If possible, the skies darken. Dark clouds loomed up ahead. Lightning pierced the midnight sky, the booming sound of thunder sent shivers down her spine. The woman stopped. Up ahead was a sophisticated couple of African American descent. The man leaned in close in a valiant attempt to protect the woman from the cold. Their steps hurried as they sought refuge from the coming storm. The woman looking trustingly into her companion's eyes, she smiled; assured he would get them both to safety. Not far ahead, the couple entered a Brownstone Terrace Apartment safely beating out the storm. The heavens opened up then and the rain began to fall. She stood there, trembling, watching the rain melt the ice from the tree limbs. She was tired of the running. The piercing cold was beginning to penetrate. She gasped, now realizing she lost her protectants--her hat and scarf. How could this happen? Her hat was a cherished gift from her father. The scarf was lovingly handwoven by her mother; scribed with her initials on it. Gone. She lost her precious gifts while running. There she stood in the pouring rain, watching the water carry the debris down the gutter. At her precious loss, she realized she should have simply dealt with her issues. Picture courtesy of WAK

Endorsements

Posted: 07/07/2008

The Certain Ones: You're not Forsaken. You're Chosen for Purpose. rating: 5 of 5 stars Vanessa Richardson's first book The Certain Ones speaks to the hearts of women as Richardson shares her insights into conditions we have all faced. Richardson uses Scripture to highlight the importance of keeping our spiritual connection in mind, while we are facing personal difficulties. Vanessa Richardson takes us on her own personal journey and shows us how to be faithful throughout our own. ~DuEwa Frazier, writer and author  rating: 5 of 5 stars I completed  The Certain Ones in just one setting! That speaks volumns for me.  The Certain Ones is a testimony of Vanessa's life, she offers up wonderful advice to women who feel they have been wrong as they aspire toward right. She declares passionately that we are not forsaken. But chosen for purpose. Those words have now become my mantra: "I am chosen for purpose!" ~Patricia Herring Davis

A Meeting of the Hearts

Posted: 06/16/2008

Let us have a meeting of the hearts.  I love discovering great things in life. It is most “intriguing” when I discover new things about myself. I pray that does not sound shallow to you.  It is the truth however. It has taken me awhile (kicking and screaming) to accept the calling that God has placed on my life.  Alas, acceptance does not mean that I am comfortable. Truth be told, I am at most times, quite uncomfortable with the assignments that God gives me. He is just a marvel.   You know, our emotions are a funny thing, are they not? Nevertheless, harkening to His divine voice, I stifled the echoes of my incessant emotions (A continuous effort) as they try to dictate to me, the negatives of the assignments given me. I call upon that which I allowed to sink down within me. The Word of God.  I reach for the Bible in my complex of situations. I reach for my Bible in my joyous situations. I was told one should watch out for the complex situation as the believer (timetables playing factors here) can become fed up with the waiting process.   (Slightly nodding my head) You know the waiting process.  When you pray and it seems the answers are not forth coming, (According to our timetables that is).  Well…the joyous period can be tricky, too. I may receive several rebukes for this…but I speak truth. Be careful not to fall into the area of complacency. Do not let your guard down. Be vigilant. The reading of your Bible should be a constant. Read in the good times as well as the bad times. Read, in season and out of season. As was Paul’s directive to Timothy. What do you measure your success on? Is it money, spouses, children, and the most wanted six-figure income?   There are those who would beg to differ. Ask some of the wealthy such as (I use these celebrities humbly) Britney Spears, Jennifer Aniston, and Halle Berry. The aforementioned, material things, does not or should not rather; measure our success.  I am speaking from my heart to your heart. As a believer in Christ, I can testify that my success is in my relationship with God.  I found, that when my relationship with him is weakened nothing goes right.   I could write a book. I could appear on a popular TV program. I could write several successful dramas. I could have a close circle of friends. I could have a steady income. I could have a beautiful car and home.   Do not believe the hype. I admit all thee material things that are said to enhance our quality of lives are wonderful to have. Yet, if my relationship with God is not as it should be…those things---Well, they profit me nothing.   Blessings, Vanessa

Me Time

Posted: 06/11/2008

Bending down she stopped and smelled the roses. It seemed, that was all she had been doing for the past couple of days. Simply enjoying her life. She learned that she played a part in the matter. If she wanted to be happy, she could be happy. She may had to dig a little deeper, scratch a little harder. Nevertheless, she could be happy.   Standing she realized, she would have to purchase a new vase, for her red roses. She was cleaning and accidentally broke the vase given by her mother. A portrait on the mantle arrested her attention. It seemed such a long time ago. The couple were smiling feeding each other ice cream. They were at the park celebrating their anniversary.   They had been dating for three years. A monumental surprise to their friends and family, as they were both polar opposites. He was rambunctious and spontaneous. She was much more reserved. She had a plan for everything.   The man in the picture arrested her attention, now. His words. They were like an elixir. Calming. She was often mesmerized by his words. They were delicious. His support was his looks. He was extremely handsome. She was not a frivolous woman by any means. However, when he expressed interest in her she was euphoric. Men like him do not pursue women like her. She remembered when they first met. It was at a park.   The memory galvanized her into action.  She had a couple of hours to spare before the main event tonight. Giggling like a high school girl, she quickly grabbed her coat. Whistling for Yani to follow her. Her black tresses bouncing, as she quickly, made her way down the stairs to her Mercedes. Moments later, arriving at the park, she began to feed the pigeons and people watched. Making up stories about passing strangers lives. She often did this as a child. She could not break the habit. Besides, it was fun.   “Excuse me?”  The voice was sent chills down her spine. Turning toward the voice. She smiled. Then she blinked. The stranger had her golden retriever, Yani in his arms. She blinked again.  She was not a frivolous woman by any means and believed in treating people the way she wanted to be treated. By this man was disturbing. He was extremely handsome. It pained her to look at him. He represented trouble for her.   The stranger extended his hand. “Hi. I am Jamal.” She did not acknowledge his name nor offered his hand. The stranger’s smile faltered.   “I uh…I uh"  Jamal stammered. "I am returning your dog to you.”  “Yani is not pleased with your interrupting his time.” Nodding at her squirming pet.   “Yani?  Oh, you mean your dog?” The stranger laughed. “I kind of figured that out when he growled at me and nipped my finger.”   “Look thanks for returning my dog,” She purposedly sounded aloof with the hope that  Mr. Handsome would leave.   “Not a problem,”  He flashed even white teeth. Her eye brows shot up. “Uh, look. Jamal, I came out her to think and be alone.”   “A woman like you shouldn’t be alone.” He teased.   “You’re wrong Jamal.  You see a woman like me need to be alone at times.” She was tired of the banal conversation. Mr. Perfect was literally getting under her skin. Packing up her things, she prepared to exit from his disturbing presence. “Nice to meet you Jamal.  But I am in a bit of a hurry.”  She said looking down at her watch.   Reaching for Yani, she prayed he would get the message and bug off. How much fineness can a woman take? She pitied his wife or girlfriend. This man was trouble personified. His skin was the color of rich mocha. His body was well proportioned. He wore a black shirt with blue baggy jeans. On his feet were black sandals.   “Oh, don’t let me hold you up.”  He smiled devilishly.   The stranger made no attempt to move. She was growing more uncomfortable under the strangers stare and her skin was beginning to itch. It was a nervous reaction. One she had since she was twelve. When she grew nervous, she would start to itch.  Attempting to go around him she was stopped by his words.   “Have you always been a runner?” He said softly.   “I beg your pardon?” Outraged spiked her voice.    Arresting her gaze he moved closer to her .  “Why are you running from me?”   She could feel her ire rising. This stranger didn't know her from a can of paint. How dare he speak to her in familiar ways? Unacceptable! Her chin lifting in defiance. Boldness galvanized her.    “I am a woman of much understanding and intellect. Right, now I understand that it would be wrong to engage in further conversation with you.” Holding up her hand. She stopped the stranger from interrupting her spiel. His eyes widening in shock or humor she could not decipher.   “I saw you the moment you arrived. I noticed your many stares.”   Nodding her head left. “At Ms. Fit over there,” She pointed to a well-proportioned  African American woman bathing in the sun. “I noticed your smile at Ms. America over there.” Further left was a beautiful buxom blonde-haired woman, lavishing herself with sun tan lotion.   “I noticed your touch to Ms. Perfect over there.” Seated on a rock was a beautiful Latina woman with long wavy hair. Frantically writing in her colorful journal; her soft wavy locks falling down the left side of her face.   “My intellect tells me. That I should run from you. Not because I am runner, sir. But, because I am no man’s playground. I am a woman of substance and much worth. You did not have to return my dog to me, as he is already trained to seek the one he loves out. He knows me. In addition, when I said that I wanted to be alone earlier," She step closer. "I meant it. I need me some me time.” She whistled. Yani yelped and ran toward her. She bent down and picked him up cooing softly in his ear. His heavy bulk was comforting.   The stranger continued to watch her as if fascinated.   Looking up she offered him a smile. It was beatific. The stranger suddenly felt like he was missing something in his life. The feeling was extremely unsettling.   “Now if you will excuse me. I have to go home and prepare myself for my date. You see it is my anniversary. "My husband,"  she placed emphasis on the word husband.  "and I are celebrating the gift of life and happiness and over coming adversity and life’s temptations.” She gave him a piercing stare.   Stepping around the handsome stranger, she could not staunch the laughter coming forth. It was obvious the stranger was not use to his advances be thwarted from women. To bad. One-day love will find him and when it does. He will be no match for it.   “Excuse me?”   Turning she said nothing but waited.   Jamal slowly approached her with his half smile. “My mother was right. There are some left out there.”   “Pardon me?” She was confused.   “Good Women" He smiled. "I have just met one.” Bowing slightly at the waist.  Reaching out and capturing her right hand, he kissed it. Straightening.  “It is my honor. Your husband is a blessed man," He sighed softly. "In addition, it seems that I am still a lonely man. However, for what is worth. A man can look in appreciation.” Arching a perfect brow, that tempting smile returning again. “And in your case. Stands in admiration.” The stranger turned and left in all his handsomeness.   “What a strange occurrence, Yani. I have a feeling his story is next. I do hope we meet again. Come on Yani., let us go. Daddy is waiting for us. Life is good.”   The oldies song by Tony Toni Tone came to mind. She sung it with all the joy she could muster. “It our anniversary. ”   Yani barked as if in agreement   End of Story Copyright 2/08

Book Signing

Posted: 05/28/2008

Hi Everyone---     I made it through my first book signing. I had a blast! The reception was simply wonderful. It was held at the Wired Coffee House.  Mr. Conoway, the owner, was simply wonderful.  Listen, guys if you are in the Clinton, area, I highly recommend you stop by the Wired Coffee House. They have the best sandwiches and cappuccinos!  The cheesecakes...umm, umm, simply decadent.   I want to thank everyone who attended the book signing. I met some wonderful people. One young lady in particular named Jessica, is moving to Texas soon, to help youths from all walks of life and backgrounds. I pray you much success, Jessica. The world need more caring and dedicated people, such as yourself.   Listen guys, on a different note,  I discovered that happiness is a choice we make. It is our choice to be happy.  Yes, you can be happy, even in the most difficult time of your life. (I do know about difficult times)  In those times, I did what made me happy. It worked for me.   I love the Jeffersons--I purchased seasons 1-5. I love to read--I purchased several  nonfiction and fiction books. I love church--I attended when ever the doors opened. I love nature-- I went for walks (twice a day) in the park.  I love to exercise-- (when the mood hits me) I purchased exercise DVD's. I love life--I stopped worrying about the things I could not change, and worked on what I could.   Those are some of the things that makes me happy!  happy. I pray that you choose right. As Chris Gardner did (author of "The Pursuit of Happyness")  Then persue it!   The world is your oyster and with God on your side, you are already a winner. Do not let contending forces dictate to you other wise. I see you as a victor. God made you to be a victor. You have to see it. You have to believe it. Go, ahead and achieve it.  Your number one fan (me) am cheering for you!   ~Vanessa

From the Struggles

Posted: 05/21/2008

Sampson Independent From the struggle comes real hope woman turns her on struggles into writings designed to inspire others.   Author: Katie Holland; Staff Writer Transcript Section: News Page: B1     The old expression, "What doesn't kills us, makes us stronger," is something that Vanessa Richardson knows all too well. For the last 10 years, Richardson has faced an uphill battle that started when she found out that she had a collapsed lung and a series of other health problems.   "I was very frustrated, and it was painful," said Richardson, adding that it was hard for her to really do much of anything. But her love for God and an ability to put her thoughts down on paper have given Richardson direction, and one that has led her to write a play.   Richardson explained that she initially began writing when she was at Saint Augustine's College majoring in political science. A classmate of hers, who was an English major, encouraged her to begin putting her work down on paper. Prior to this, she stated, "I was so much of an introvert; it always seemed like words would come out wrong."But, through her own expression in "journaling," she found it was like a release.   "It gave me answers," said Richardson.The writing that Richardson has pursued includes a book of short essays and her current venture, a spiritual play that she has written entitled "Someone to Love Me."   The play is the story of Angel, a fictional character who, according to Richardson, is influenced negatively by the absence of her father and the hunger and void she feels in not having a father around her. Then she finds solace spiritually through seeking out God.   "As Angel grapples with her own insecurities, there is one," Richardson said, as she described the play. "He (God) patiently waits in the shadows. He sees what others do not. When the others look at her they see bitterness. When he looks at her, he sees the root of her heart."   The idea for the drama, she explained, came from her own struggles and the experiences of others. They all helpled to create her work, she said. "Someone to Love Me" is not Richardson's first attempt at writing a play. Her first Christian drama was "Why Do Bad Things Happen to Good People"   "That was based on my life," explained Richardson of how her own struggles inspired her to move forward in this creative way.Her dramas and inspirational stories have been well received, Richardson said, recalling one email that talked of how her writings had blessed the emailer's heart.   And, as she spoke to others about how people perceived her work, she noticed that they also wanted to tell their own stories. "They just wanted me to listen to their own testimony," said Richardson.   Young people have especially hooked onto the stories that she tells. She stated that in the case of "Someone to Love Me," she has found that young people have come up to her to talk about how unwanted they sometimes feel. But she does not limit her audience just to young people. "I want to reach everybody, everybody who is hungry and wants to feel loved."   In addition to the message that some can get from her play, one can only see from hearing Richardson's own story of struggle that despite a setback, "It is a choice to be happy. For me, I choose to be happy." And through all of this, she stated, "My hope is to change a person's thinking that   'I can make it' and see the beauty even in a bad situation."

The Certain Ones

Posted: 03/04/2008

~The Certain Ones~   I can not believe it. I have written my first Non-Fiction Inspirational titled The Certain Ones. I am so excited and I know that it will be a great inspiration to you.  The title spiritually manifested itself one day as I reading my daily devotional. The verse I was studying begun like so "There was a certain man" I was arrested by the word certain.    The word certain is defined as: established beyond doubt or question; definitely known.  These certain ones lives were already written out for them!  Despite the rejection, the physical ailments, and their disappointments. There was no doubt or question that they would emerge as the victors! It was written to be so. I then began to research these certain ones and discovered a wealth of information.  These Men and Women were vehicles used for illuminating purpose.  They were testimonies that would inspire and galvanize the weak and the weary.  You know much like you and I :).      Luke 16:20 and there was a certain beggar named Lazarus, which was laid at his gate, full of sores. Ester 2:5 Now in Shushan the palace there was a certain Jew, whose name was Mordecai, the son of Jair, the son of Shimei, the son of Kish, a Benjamite. Acts 10:1There was a certain man in Caesarea called Cornelius, a centurion of the band called the Italian band, Mark 5:25 and a certain woman, which had an issue of blood twelve years. I can even add myself to the certain ones list. There was a certain woman named Vanessa who suffered from an ailment for several years and there had seem no hope for her.  Having done all she knew to do; she would seek after a healer. This great healer one must search with their hearts in order to find Him.  Vanessa sought him hard; refusing to be deterred by the noise of rejection and the silence of un- forthcoming answers, her search for him would increased.  Whom her soul sought she had now found. And in Him was her healing. When the wind blows and the flood flows I simply dawn the garment of faith.  Resting my head on the pillow peace. I am certain that the storm will pass. It has been established beyond a doubt or question that I am victorious.   Not everyone is called in to greatness. Fact: Many can not handle the process that goes along with becoming great. Only the certain ones who endure can obtain greatness. I will be posting an excerpt about The Certain Ones at a later date. So continue to visit me  and leave me a comment.  I would love to hear from you.       ~Vanessa