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Browse published articles attributed to Janet Perez Eckles, with full-archive search.
My friend and I sat by the window at a local restaurant. Between bites, we caught up after months of not seeing each other. Then, with no warning, the fire alarm went off. We stopped for a second, then went right back to our chatting. We smelled something burning, made a comment, then right back to our talking. Firemen showed up. No one asked us to leave, so we resumed our chatting.r
So what’s the politically correct word for handicap? Disabled? Or physically challenged? I say, “what does it matter?” The real question is what do you do when you’re part of this group. As one myself, I wanted to sprinkle a bit of insight to those who are tiptoeing their way, riding their wheel chair or using their white cane to settle in the workforce. If that’s you, here’s my advice.
“How are we doing with time?” I asked hubby. He stuffed my suitcase in the trunk. “You’ve got plenty of time.” Expectation bubbled up in me. I was heading to St. Louis for my high school reunion. As we reached the airport, he pulled the car beside the curb in front of the Southwest counter to drop me off, and said, “It will be a fun weekend.” I grinned. “I think so.” “I’m talking about me,” he said. Funny guy. But he was right. With me gone, he would have a fun weekend. Without my endless “to do” list, my honey was going to, indeed, have fun and relax!
Out of habit, I felt for the light switch in our bathroom. I flipped it on. But, the darkness remained. My body shook with terror. Holding on to the cold, slick counter top, I leaned toward the mirror and saw a dreary gray of nothing. In desperation, I fought the urge to scratch through the glass into the darkness to find even a slight glimpse of my reflection...instead, I found the ugliness of my black world. The incurable retinal disease robbed my sight and swallowed the dreams my husband Gene and I had for us and for our three little boys.
We joke about it. We dismiss it. We want to ignore it. And we don’t want to think about it. Author, Heather Bauer gives a unique twist to his influence. Bread is the Devil is the title of her book about dieting. And she discusses it on this segment on CBS’s “The Talk.” But no matter how silly, humorous and innocent we want to make him, the truth is Satan really exists. His presence in this world is as real as eating too much bread and butter brings on the next dress size.
There I was, waking up in that quaint cabin in the middle of an enormous cruise ship. The soft humming of the engine played the melody of promises for the day. “Hi there,” my friend greeted me. She must have come in while my hubby left to finalize details for the day’s excursion. I yawned and stretched. “Hey,” I said half asleep. She pulled up a chair beside the bed. “I just came to see if you’re doing okay.” “I’m fine,” I said. “So, do you plan on enjoying the cruise?” What kind of a question was that?r
“Quick, Honey,” I said, “get your shoes in the closet, and make sure the remote controls aren’t all over the place.” The videographer from a local TV network affiliate was about to arrive. And the clips were to be used as part of my intro as I keynoted an event. So I dashed around to and fro making sure the house was pretty tidy. Crazy isn’t it? Why don’t I worry about cleaning my heart, my attitude, my habits and complaining tendencies instead?
“How did they get to Paris without me?” my friend said when she got the news from the airline. Has that happened to you? You reach your destination and your luggage ends up in another part of the world. Frustrating. But not as much as missing your connecting flight because the previous flight was late. That happened to me a couple of years ago. The wait for the next flight kept me in the airport for eight long, miserable hours. But you guys know this chica; nothing is miserable when adventure is your middle name.
The phone rang the other evening, and to my delight it was a group of friends from college. I gladly took a little break from my work on the computer to chat. I laid on my bed and talked to all three—they put me on a speaker phone (a great invention). We shared fun things only we girls can understand. “My flight will arrive at 12:55,” I said to one of them. “I’ll be there…gotcha covered,” she said. “And…I might need someone to accompany me to…” I said. “I gotcha covered there too. And if you want to stay with me, you got it.”
A friend asked me the following question (she had read my last post about me praying with the doctor who had given me bad news). “Dear Janet. Question. If you had just met this doctor for the first time, how did you know he would be willing to pray with you? Did you know he was a Christian???” My answer: I had no clue, no idea, or notion whether he was an atheist, Christian or anything else. But what I did know was that when he said there was no guarantee, I was 100% sure Jesus was the one who has the ultimate guarantee. He holds all results in His hands, in His power and might.
“The louse is still here,” a friend said. “I’m so enraged at his gall that I can’t see straight.” Do you blame her? She found out he’d been unfaithful with not a stranger, but with her friend. The shock of betrayal threatens to crumble our world. It dismantles all we hold trustworthy. And insecurity and doubt saturates right down to our lingerie. So, what to do when he gets on his knees and begs for forgiveness?
“I have to talk to you,” my husband said. His somber tone told me nothing pleasant would follow. We got in the car and I figured maybe this talk had to do with another job change, or a new way to tackle our bills. During our eight years of marriage, these issues called for serious conversations. But what blurted out as we drove out of our subdivision shocked me, cramped my stomach and flung me into near hysteria. “I can’t continue with our marriage,” he said. “I have someone else in my life.”
I heard the door open to my room, and lifted my fingers off the keyboard. I turned toward the door, “C’mon in, honey,” I said to my three-year-old granddaughter. But rather than run to me as is her routine, she gave a quick gasp. “I forgot,” she said as she closed the door quickly. Then her little fingers knocked a few times and waited. “Come in,” I said. I laughed inwardly. She remembered her manners after the fact. She’s three; I’m fifty years older, and embarrassed to admit, I do the very same thing!
Hubby lied to me. And I love him for it. Crazy, I know, but I think you’ll agree with me. We decided to host three foreign students for a month. Fun experience. But that required me to clean closets; a task that for the last decade, I avoided like the plague. Each was jammed with clothes, old items and junk belonging to each of the seven members of our family—from football jerseys to my wedding dress. We’re talking stuff stored from probably the Middle Ages. “Here’s the plan,” I said to hubby. “You bring all hanging clothes downstairs and my Mom and I will segregate them for donation.r
This makes no sense. It didn’t to me either. September 11 carries deep scars in my heart. On the first anniversary of the attack, we buried my youngest son. I was thrown in the pit of sorrow with thousands of others who tasted the bitte ess of grief. Then something happened. God’s face shone through the clouds of gloom. I guess you need to be physically blind like me to be able to see the radiance of His presence when the darkest moments suck our joy, steal the energy we need to keep going, and rob the peace we once knew.
“I read your book two times. I love, love it. It changed my life.” Comments like this one from my readers dance in my heart with gratitude. Writing books is a delight for me. But public speaking? That idea made my stomach cramp. I inhaled deep and took the plunge. I joined a local Toastmaster group. “You have to connect with your audience,” blurted my friend, a well-established speaker. I nodded. “I know. And no doubt, give a powerful message.”
Do you have a friend who is just about perfect? You know what I mean—she has hair to die for, gorgeous skin, wears killer clothes and always smells divine? I have one of those friends. But rather than hate her, I admire her…she’s so very special! So I said to her. “I wish I could be like you. “ I sighed. “Tall and statuesque.” “Ha! Look at you” she said with a giggle. “And what are you? A size zero?” We laughed. “NO,” I said, “Four petite.” “Good. Because anyone who wears a size zero is not my friend.” We both giggled like high school girls.r
“He has his own elevator to his apartment,” my friend told details about the homes of the rich and famous. His line of work takes him into homes some only dream about. Remember when people were glued to the TV program about the rich and famous? Is that because most want to know what that life is like? Maybe so, But most folks like you and me don’t want glitz and glamour, we just want to live in peace—secure and with easy-to-solve problems.
“I dread doing this,” I said, heaving a long sigh, “but we can’t put it off any longer.” I wrinkled my nose toward my husband. “The closet really needs cleaning.” Rolling up my sleeves, I tackled the chore with reluctance. Items came off the shelves —a hot pink Flamenco dress from my dancing ...
“What time did they say we’d arrive?” I asked the man beside me in the plane. The answer made me smile. Two and a half hours of lots of reading. I had brought a couple of books on CD. With earphones in place, I pressed the CD in the player, loaded with fresh batteries. I settled in my seat, and prepared to delight in the reading. Not. I tried to press buttons. Pull the CD out and put it back in. There was no sound except for a funny noise. I battled, tried and tried. I nearly took that thing apart. I was afraid we’d land before I got it to play.
Okay, so a little envy slipped from this chica’s heart. Do you blame me? My friend described the house she’s building right on the water in a prestigious area in Florida. But envy soon changed to wisdom. “What’s wrong with you,” I said to myself, “you live in a mansion yourself.” Compared to our dilapidated house in Bolivia, our home now is a mansion. We have electricity and running water. We’re living in total luxury! And speaking of houses, my friend reminded me that it’s not so much the house we have but what matters are three things: location, location, location.
“I was touched by your husband’s tende ess,” my friend said, “he has so much love in the way he helps you.” Hmm…if she only knew all he does for me at home, too. In our busy day, we communicate via email. Since my web site navigation is limited, I often seek his assistance. The other day I sent him an email: “Will you sign me up for AWSA?” I didn’t tell him it stood for “Authors, Writers and Speakers Association.” Later that day, he wrote back, “I signed you up. But I don’t know why you wanted to join the American White Shepherd’s Association.”
Apologies in advance. Don’t want to brag. Last week I gave a silly grin of pride. Yes, shameless pride at my four-year-old granddaughter. In those delicate hands, she held her Mom’s cell phone. And in seconds, she managed on her own, to text a message to her other grandma. The message read: “Alyssa qwert7iopasdkdlf.” Grandma texted back, “Alyssa, it’s you. I love you!” Besides spelling her name correctly, the message was no message really, it was just gibberish, made no sense. Yet, grandma understood and replied. She knew where it came from.
It was our favorite Mexican restaurant and hubby and I sat across the table from friends with whom we re-connected after decades. And in the lively conversation a comment was made that jolted my senses. I positioned the wheelchair beside the table (I still can’t put weight on the foot with the broken bone). The comment came innocently, I’m sure. “Janet is blind and now lame,” he chuckled. “So, so much for this Jesus thing.”
There I was—hair fixed, make-up on, purse hanging on my shoulder. I stepped around my suitcase toward the front door to listen for my friend’s car, hoping I’d hear her pull up in the driveway. We were heading for a yearly writers event. I waited 10 minutes, 20 minutes, half an hour. No car. No friend. Being the unprepared gal that I am, I didn’t have her number to reach her. Finally, my hubby, in his sweet nature, said, “Don’t worry, I’ll drive you there.” I reached for my phone. “I just thought of another friend to call…just in case,”r
A baby camel asked his mother, “Why do we have such large hoofs on our feet?” She turned to him. “God made us that way for a very special reason,” and she began her explanation. “The big hoofs are to keep us from sinking into the sand.” “Oh! So why do we have long eyelashes?” “It’s to protect our eyes from the sand.” “Why the big humps?” “That is to store fat and have enough energy to go long distances in the hot desert!”
Last Wednesday, my dear friend and I stepped into a nice hotel nestled in the busy part of Miami, near the airport. She put a large gift basket in my hands. “I think they left this for you.” What a lovely surprise! And on the night table was a stand with a copy of my new release, Simplemente Salsa, to be launched at EXPOLIT (an annual event for publishers, bookstores, music artists and distributors—an event to huge for my brain to take in).
I hate, hate it when the church service is about to begin, and I need to visit the ladies room. Never fails. Hubby leads his blind wife to the entrance and waits for me. I usually make my way out with no problem. Sometimes I take a while because I chat with friends—girl stuff, you know. And when I walk out, all I have to do is stretch my hand before me. And without fail in seconds hubby’s strong hand grips mine and off we go.
No way. Could that be true? Book reviews being tainted and slanted for a fee? Confession time: Regarding reviews, as an author, a slightly negative comment about my work erases joy quicker than a click on the mouse. Faced any rejection lately? A bit of criticism clouded your day? Here’s a thought: If our keyboard is on the solid ground of God’s grace, we can ask five questions to overcome criticism. 1. Did we seek God’s wisdom? 2. Are our motives pure? 3. Do our efforts reflect God’s truth? 4. Did we craft our very best? 5. Are our convictions uncompromised?
“Don’t you just hate her?” some have said at the way Nora Roberts has reached real success as an author. But her story goes just a tad beyond success. Five books a year? Insanely impossible. Not for her. She just threw a party to celebrate her 200th book out. And, the millions each sold no doubt, adds to her glory. How does she do it? I just read a clue in a recent article in the Wall Street journal, it says: “Ms. Roberts writes for six to eight hours every day, fueled by Diet Pepsi and Winston Filter 100s cigarettes.” Read this Wall Street journal interview.
Hubby and I were enjoying a nice lunch at a local restaurant the other day. And as I munched on my salad, I noticed a taste of pasta. “Hmm…” I thought. I don’t remember noodles being part of the oriental salad I ordered. I made a comment. And that’s when hubby admitted. Without me knowing (advantages of having a blind wife) he scooped a portion of his dish onto my salad. I smiled because the blend of flavors was pretty tasty.
Bring them on, baby. Colorful evening gowns, dazzling jewelry, snazzy shoes and hairdo to go with the make-up that was to kill for. My friend Audrey made the above extravaganza possible to none other than, are you ready? To homeless girls. Ones for whom attending the prom was only a dream.
Okay, so I’m a silly chica. Monday through Saturday I work an average of 15 hours a day. I know, I know, got to slow down. Hard to do because I just delight in what I do. But, when Sunday comes around, look out—life gets better. All day is dedicated to the Lord, family, and friends. This past Sunday night I had two lovely friends over. “Got any sugar for the coffee?” one asked. “Hmm…” I said as I opened the cabinet door, “Let’s see, sugar, sugar…”
“Hey,” my friend wrote, “did you know you can add key words on amazon.com so your book can be easily found?” Imagine that! I had no clue. I went right to the task. Actually, I went right to hubby. And I sweetly asked him to add, “inspiration, encouragement, conquers, triumph, etc.” So I’m hoping when folks search books with that theme, Simply Salsa will dance right on to their computer screen. But I asked myself why I didn’t know that secret about key words? My friend closed his note by saying, “You don’t know what you don’t know.”
In my days as a blind Nana, a few gems of joy glimmer through. This past week, while my four-year-old granddaughter and I interacted, the TV played in the background. In the middle of our giggles, she let out a loud gasp, and then tapped my arm. “Nana, did you hear that?” Her tone told me she was about to say something profound (often only a grandma can appreciate). I got down on my knees and looked in her little face. “Hear what, precious?” That guy on TV said “God” and he wasn’t praying.
Forgive the bragging, the shameless boasting. But I have to say my oldest son married a gem. She works full time, is sweet as can be, pretty, she’s a great Mom…and…are you ready? She keeps a spotless house. Her secret? She has a schedule. And finding the balance in her life—time for work, family, shopping, fun—she cleans one part of the house each day. And even with a two and a four-year old, her house sparkles.
“The nightly news depress me,” a friend said, “I don’t know if I can handle more gloom about the economy, violence, and huge bills that pile up.” Her sentiment mirrors millions who go to bed restless, worried and overwhelmed by the rough ride in these stormy waters of tough times. With each day, overcoming anxiety, stress and fear becomes more elusive. But we don’t have to follow that course, nor ride the waves of uncertainty. There’s another option. Another sailboat. One that takes us through calmer waters and offers more secure paths.
How could I sing a Christmas carol when families are sobbing their loss? How can I continue shopping, when families are robbed of their joy? And how can I think of celebrating when families of those precious children are bombarded by tormenting thoughts? This heart wrenching tragedy transported me to my own encounter with the sudden news that my child was gone. My child was brutally killed. My child was gone. Those words that explode horror and agonizing sorrow sliced my heart. They turned my world upside down.r
Valentine’s Day was approaching and I didn’t know how to tell hubby. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. And I definitely didn’t want to seem ungrateful. I gave a huge smile. “Honey,” I said with hesitation in my voice, “roses are great. They smell nice. But I don’t even know they’re there.” (Obvious drawback of being blind.) My sweet guy (you can see him on this picture) agreed. But when I related this episode to a friend, she said, “If my husband would send me flowers, our marriage would be over.” What? That didn’t make any sense to me. So I asked her, “Why?”
No, it can’t be! I cannot be getting sick, not again. I gritted my teeth. But my burning throat mocked me. After I called someone to take my place and teach ladies’ Sunday school, I dragged myself out of bed, head throbbing, chills and aches all over. I tightened the belt to my robe and shuffled slowly to the bathroom, looking for a glass to gargle with salt water. I had already met my once-a-year cold for the year a couple of months ago. And now when my plate of tasks overflowing, back in bed again. UGH!
A baby camel asked his mother, "Why do we have such large hooves on our feet?" She turned to him. "God made us that way for a very special reason," and she began her explanation. "The big hooves are to keep us from sinking into the sand." "Oh! So why do we have long eyelashes?" "It's to ...
Brief summary: Help to overcome economic downtu s, emotional tornados, and financial troubles.nnnn“The Upside of an Economic Downturn: Eight Ways to Conquer Crisis” Janet Perez Ecklesnnn“I dread doing this,” I said, heaving a long sigh, “but we can’t put it off any longer.” I wrinkled my ...
“But I will sing of Your strength, in the morning I will sing of Your love; for You are my fortress, my refuge in times of trouble” Psalm 59:16 . My college- age son grabbed the car keys from the counter. “Sure, Mom, I’ll take you. but I’m a little low on gas,” We headed to his car on the driveway. I slipped in the passenger’s seat and with a loud squeak, he closed the door. “Keep your feet back, Mom. There are wires hanging from the dashboard.” I huffed a bit as I sank in the frayed seat, with one hand, I lifted the roof lining that brushed the top of my head.
I stepped out from our bedroom. “C’mon, honey,” I called out to hubby in the next room. “It’s late.” Sometimes I need to nudge him to stop his tasks and head to bed. After that reminder, I made a quick turn to head back in the bedroom. And with one swift swivel of my foot, I caught the door frame, jamming my toes into the wood. I heard a snap and an unpleasant crack. Intense pain shot from my toe, through my leg. Did I break it? No doubt. While my foot throbbed, I called hubby again. “Ouch! Ouch! Quick get me some ice.”