Amen … till next time.
Author Thea Ramsay
Good morning campbellsworld visitors.
This morning in our Authors, They’re Only Human column author Thea Ramsay opens herself up and shares with us a prayer that must’ve been hard to pray and even harder to share.
She does so not to gain your pity or to guilt you into buying her books but to show you that Authors, They’re Only Human, and like everyone else from time to time they struggle.
So many times, we see writers, actors, musicians and others who have some claim to fame as beings who are perfect in every way.
I’m certain those that Thea speaks of as having reached “Success” have struggled mightily with their own trials.
On this day when Miss Thea as she is so lovingly called by some writes this prayer that she prayed to God she is showing us that it is OK to speak of our struggles. It is OK to admit that there are days when we feel utterly and hopelessly at the ends of our ropes.
After you’ve read this tearful tale I invite and encourage you to go forward with your reading and see what she has chosen to do with herself rather than to give up.
I ask you, read her books and see that she has a gift. A gift which in this prayer that she has so honestly and freely shared with us she has asked God to use.
If you’ve read her books, we here in campbellsworld want to know of it. So please, see that you comment here and let us, and Thea know.
Thanks for reading and if you would give this a share. Who knows, there may be others struggling who feel alone and without a life-line to hold to. If they read such as is written here they too may break their silence, reach out and join all of us in the act of loving and living together.
We as writers must support one another and in sharing this most beautifully written prayer we can do just that.
Blessid be to all and have a great day. After all, we’re the only ones who can make it that way.
Dear God, I hope you read this page from time to time.
I just published a novel on money I don’t have, and now I’m scared that my disabilities, seen and unseen, will keep me from gaining back my investment.
I was at first overjoyed when my therapist told me he’d seen Lucy published. The sugarplums of fame and wealth–and what I’d do with them–danced in my head. I thought of a nice condo with a swimming pool and AC. I thought how nice it would be if I had a lot of friends to help me, like my sister in Christ, Joni Earickson–Tada. You know her, don’t you, Lord? That famous quadriplegic who never seems to lack friends and helpers?
Only, I’m alone. There’s no Ken Tada beside me, no girlfriends, no staff. No one. Except you, Lord.
Not that I consider it a small thing. Only, when I read an article by an Indie author who became a bestseller in six months, and what she had to do to get there, I was overwhelmed.
First by the fact that this woman worked very, very hard to get her novel out there, in between full-time job and other responsibilities. But this woman was also able-bodied: able to do things. Even tired, she was able. Able to handle things which, to me, would be inaccessible because of blindness, or because it involves going somewhere a wheelchair can’t go.
You know me, God. I’ve hated my disabilities from my babyhood, literally. I’m not Joni Tada, who seems to have no regrets about her quadriplegia, even after looking at pictures of herself youthful and healthy.
Then, when other things, such as arthritis and fibromyalgia made putting my socks on an impossible task, that didn’t improve my feeling about my disabilities. Now, there’s chronic pain, and worse, stiffness and dysfunction.
I can handle the pain, God; bless you for making painkillers. But there’s nothing I know of that kills dysfunction and stiffness.
And I’m still alone. No Ken Tada beside me. No able-bodied friends to help.
I’m your writer, Lord. In fact, I’m yours. Can you do anything with me–me, who hates just about everything that you, in your sovereignty, decreed I should be? I know you can use my writing. The stories are from you.
But what about the writer? The writer, who, all her life dreamed of being anyone but herself. The writer who once wanted to be a broadcaster but was told there was no place for a blind person in a radio control room. The writer who wanted to be a musician, who studied jazz and theory, piano and voice, and was asked not to come back for the second year because it was mostly sight reading. And anyway, my vocal and piano chops were nothing to write about. Then there was the person who wanted nothing more than to be in the theater. I have done some music, played a gig for a year in Duncan, B.C.; I had my own radio show at seventeen as a work experience program; and I’ve done theater, with sighted and blind theater groups.
But, always, there was this huge ambition that inability (lack of sufficient talent), and disability, stood in the way of, though I was a pretty good actor, by all accounts. And there was always writing, waiting in the wings for me to get around to it, calling for my attention, and getting it once in a while..
Contentment was never my strong suit, Lord, nor patience. I think I’ll keep secret, between you and me alone, the ways in which I’ve expressed my disability dysphoria
And of course, it didn’t help that my mom never accepted my blindness and trotted me from one faith healer to another. She was very visual, and I of course was not. It didn’t help that mental illness is part of my life. It didn’t help that the faith healers’ promises never came true. You never healed me, and I never forgave you for it.
Yet, you’ve been good to me. Salvation is mine through your son, Jesus Christ. I am able to hear and have heard music that still makes me shiver. I can touch the glossy fur of my cat, Kathy, and hear her deep purr. (I can also feel her claws scoring my skin, but that’s for another post.)
I can write stories people like to read. I’ve never been in a homeless shelter, though at one point, things looked like I might end up in one. But at the last minute, I received a subsidy, rent geared to income.
Anyway, God, I and my writings are in your hands. Do with both of us as you see fit.
Amen … till next time.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Thea Ramsay was born in Brockville,Ontario, Canada, several months premature.
This resulted in total blindness. Ms. Ramsay now wears prosthetics, whose color she can change.
She has been writing since the age of seven, and also enjoyed singing, acting, and piano playing, at the W. Ross Macdonald School for the Blind in Brantford Ontario, where she lived for six years.
Being interested in so many endeavors, she says, it took her a long time to decide on which to focus.
This decision came about partially because of mental health challenges and physical health challenges, including fibromyalgia, two forms of arthritis, spinal stenosis, and osteoporosis—all of which hit in her forties.
At the time, she was living on Maui with her husband and two teenagers, and since there was no transportation available for the blind, Ms. Ramsay and her husband found it cost-prohibitive to get around.
Upon the loss of Ms. Ramsay’s health and marriage, she returned to Canada, and to writing—one of the few things, she says, which her diseases did not take from her.
She’s self-published short stories, as well as a now out-of-print novella with http://www.authorstreet.com called Pink Rosettes.
Her first short story was published by DLD Books and is available on http://www.amazon.com.
Her first novel-length work, Lucy, book one of a series, is available in eBook and paperback here.
http://www.dldbooks.com/thearamsay published by Tellwell Talent Inc.
Ms. Ramsay’s hobbies include reading authors such as Victoria Holt and Diana Gabaldon, and podcasts about subjects as wide-ranging as her Christian faith and the British Royal family, of whom, she admits, she wishes she were a part.
She lives with her sleek, fluffy black cat in Toronto, the greatest city in the world.
She can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org
Check back here for more stories and books by Thea Ramsay