Francesca Flood's Blog

My new book has launched — Here’s the story behind the stories

My latest collection, Short Stories About Love, launched on Amazon. As always, thank you for being part of my adventure. I couldn’t be more excited to share this book with you, including two stories that took home First Place at the Blue Ridge Blue Nib Awards (fiction and nonfiction) and 2nd Place at the Virginia Golden Nib Award (nonfiction).

This collection is raw, complex, full, and as surprising as love itself.

What would you do for love?Follow a soul across time?Die for your country?Stay in a life that’s slowly destroying you?

These nine stories explore love in all its complexity. How it breaks us, redeems us, haunts us, and transforms us.

Every story has a backstory. Here’s a little of mine.

The idea for Blinky came from a friend living in Brooklyn who had a monkey.

After years of volunteering at a shelter, I thought it was a good time to discuss domestic violence. The Cup is a fictional story that explores how it happens and how to emerge.

Two Lives — One Soul is set in Lipari, Italy, my mother’s childhood home, and asks whether souls can find each other across time.

Connor and Birdie arrived in one of my dreams with their full story in hand. Two orphans born from the tragedy of the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire end up at the New York Foundling Hospital—a place in my personal narrative.

The Fishing Trip is about a father, a son, and the time we can’t get back.

Grocery Shopping was born out of a shooting at a local supermarket — an ordinary moment that changed everything.

For the Love of Country draws on our current world and Orwell’s 1984, because some stories feel more urgent by the day, and heroes can be everyday people.

And Passages is the one closest to my heart — a nonfiction piece about what I witnessed volunteering in hospice, and the final lessons the dying teach us about love, regret, and letting go. Stories end. Love never does.

Short Stories About Love is available on Amazon in paperback and Kindle. I’ve priced the eBook at $.99 so it is accessible. If you purchase, please leave a rating or review.

Written with love, sent out with hope. May this book find its way to you.

Thank you again.

Francesca

 

 

 

The post Love Has Arrived appeared first on Hope Verdad.

About six months ago, I began to feel what I describe as the “Earth Rumbling” under my feet when I go for a walk. Not as a geological or seismic activity, but rather a distress signal, a vibrational warning that something is wrong.

Some empathic people can perceive shifts in the planet’s energetic state, particularly during times of collective trauma, environmental destruction, or geopolitical upheaval. The Schumann Resonance is a real electromagnetic frequency produced in the cavity between the Earth’s surface and ionosphere. In metaphysical circles, spikes or changes in this frequency are often cited as the mechanism by which people feel physical sensations, including vibration, dizziness, or a sense of unease, especially during periods of global stress or heightened collective emotion.

Drawing on Carl Jung’s concept of the collective unconscious, some believe that when enough human suffering, fear, or conflict accumulates, it manifests as an energetic disturbance that sensitive individuals can feel physically. The body becomes a receiver for collective emotional states.

Many indigenous traditions hold that the Earth responds to human behavior. Greed, moral imbalance, self-centeredness, or disrespect of nature causes the land itself to register this. It is a divine or cosmic alert system warning that something significant is shifting in our world.

You do not need to be psychic to experience this. Just look around you. The nervous systems of the aged, the young, children, nature, and animals are on fire. Living things are in a perpetual state of anxiety, fear, and wondering when the next (fill in the blank) will drop. If you are not experiencing fear, you may well be in a state of anger—even if you don’t think so, or think it is justified. But usually, anger is our ego, borrowing the language of justice to dress up tribalism, fear, unfairness, or wounded pride. Simone Weil wrote that force — including the force of rage- consumes everyone it touches, the wielder as much as the victim.

I went for a walk this morning through a path in the forest and listened. Here, the trees spoke and showed signs of distress. When something is attacking the tree from inside, it manifests these visual bumps, attempting to push whatever is killing it out of the trunk. If it fails, the tree dies, rotting from the inside, its outer bark preserving the husk of what once was. The illusion of a tree.

People who sense this shift have been prompted to pray, act, speak out, or prepare. Yet there is collective handwringing. A pervasive sense of what can I do? This isn’t about political rightness. It’s an existential crisis that, left unaddressed, destroys the future of what has been built across generations. Paraphrasing from Matthew 12:25 – Any entity — a person, a family, a nation, a civilization that is fundamentally at war with itself cannot endure.

Do not fall for the assumption that only large-scale action matters. This is partly a distortion created by the media. Rage sells. It is also a contagion that spreads rapidly. It casts the illusion of feeling something. Alive, purpose, relevance.

Yet one person can and will make a difference. Each of us, with every action, creates a ripple effect. One raindrop, combined with others, can end a drought or cause a flood. Collective human behavior is the aggregate of human choices that create the mood of a home, a community, or a nation.

One person can hold the line on truth in their immediate circle, refusing to normalize what is not normal. Where morality is not ever shifting to accommodate any ideology, party, consensus, or justified when your heart speaks otherwise.

One person can keep despair, cynicism, or rage at bay, shining as a beacon for others that there is a pathway forward.

The fabric of civilization requires us to tend to the people right in front of us, without qualifying their race, religion, sexual orientation, political leanings, or any other filtering excuse we’ve constructed to create an “us” versus “them” mentality.

I walked further along the path and came across a heart gathered from stones. I stood there for a moment, studying that heart. Someone had walked this same path, felt what I felt, and rather than carrying it home as despair, left something behind. A quiet act. An anonymous one. No audience, no platform, no social media post to amplify it or get recognized for it. Just stones arranged with intention. A reminder that love does cover a multitude of sins. Where we don’t weaponize failures, retaliate, or tally grievances. Where we interrupt sin and seek to forgive and restore. Our deepest human response is to see others through the eyes of compassion, despite the twisting in our guts. To acknowledge that even the most minute sliver of ideological intersection reminds us of our shared values, the breadcrumbs of our path back.

The earth was still rumbling under my feet as I made my way back. But there was something more. There was comfort in knowing that people would still leave hearts made of stone on the forest paths for strangers they would never meet. A testament to the million moments of humanity and grace. To something worth protecting.

 

The post When Nature Speaks…Listen appeared first on Hope Verdad.

 

A few days ago, I was heading on N-US 29. The roads were dry, the weather mild, a seemingly unremarkable day—at least for me.

As my car buzzed along at 60 mph, I began to feel quiet unease, sensing something tragic. True enough, on the southbound side of the highway, there was an army of police vehicles, rescue trucks, and other first responders swarming like bees in a hive. Southbound traffic had come to a screeching halt. Northbound slowed to a crawl so that drivers could take in the scene of something every human understands is tragic and every driver on the road fears.

It was unclear what had happened on this quiet morning. A truck bearing a Krispy Kreme logo had veered across the median from the southbound side into the oncoming traffic going northbound, colliding with a pickup truck- or what looked like one based on the pieces left.

At that moment, life slowed down with a deep sense of sorrow and reverence, sensing that someone had died—a total stranger and yet, in the matrix of our humanity, one of us.

I couldn’t shake the sadness I felt as I continued to my destination. While I had no confirmation that someone had died, I could feel it. A more profound, primal feeling called empathy that we as a species are losing.

My planned day went about its business, but the gnawing sense of this accident drew me to check VDOT (Virginia Department of Transportation) accident reports. Later that day, the news came in that a 67-year-old man had been killed in his pickup truck, which had been hit head-on by another vehicle.

The man…was minutes from his home. Something compelled me to create a composite sketch of this man. Not an image but a backstory of his life. An acknowledgment of his existence and that, unlike the debris that would be swept away at the site, leaving no trace, his life, for the briefest moment in time, would be acknowledged by a stranger.

To whisper a prayer that his family and friends find peace, and in the seconds before impact, he felt the comforting embrace of something divine.

We can all be reasonably sure that when this man pulled away from his home, he most likely didn’t think—I’m going to die today. Unless we’re suffering from a life-threatening illness, rarely do we consider the fragility of life, the uncertainty of how days will unfold, or that we might take our last breath.

I wondered whether he lived alone or had a life partner. Did he kiss them goodbye and say, “I love you!” Or just “Bye.”

Did he have a pet whose hair he rustled one last time? Was he working on a project that would now fall silent, never to be completed?

Were there children—perhaps grandchildren who adored this man and were waiting for him to return? Maybe he’d only dashed out for a quick container of ice cream.

Would his friends, perhaps some lifelong, wonder how this could have happened, leaving an empty chair at the card table?

Had all his cares, unresolved issues, unspoken words, or words spoken in anger been tidied up before he left that morning?

If he were like most of us, he’d have assumed there would be time later in the day, as certain as the sun will rise tomorrow.

What was left unspoken, unfinished, or unresolved could wait—unless the wait vanishes.

The death of this stranger reminded me of my procrastination, stubbornness, and assumptions. I will no longer assume people know how much I appreciate or love them. Vocalizing has become a priority.

Unresolved will be resolved with closure.

Perhaps today, before the sun sets, we might each consider our own unspoken words and unfinished conversations. Who deserves to hear “I love you,” “Forgive me,” or “I forgive you” or simply “thank you for being in my life”? What would we want resolved if today were our last day to speak?

In those final seconds on Highway 29, I pray this 67-year-old stranger felt surrounded—not by twisted metal and sirens, but by every act of love he’d given and received, every life he’d touched, every moment of joy he’d experienced.

I pray he felt the invisible threads that connected him to all who loved him, and that somehow, in that briefest instant, he knew his life had mattered deeply. That a stranger would remember him. That his story would ripple outward, inspiring others to speak their love while there’s still time.

The post What if today was the last goodbye? appeared first on Hope Verdad.

What if one choice could change everything?

Life rarely unfolds as planned, and every decision shapes the person you’re becoming. Will you choose wisely or let regret define you? Every secret has a cost, and every lie seeks the truth. These eight stories will challenge your sense of fairness, courage, loyalty, love, and forgiveness—drawing you into their mysteries before blindsiding you with an unexpected twist.

I’m excited to introduce my latest book, Hope Verdad Presents: Short Stories with a Twist. I put it aside for a while, waiting to write from a place that felt true to my voice.

Okay—that might sound good, but it’s an excuse. The truth? Launching a book is a scary business. Most Indie authors (those who publish independently) write for the love of the craft. When I dive into my story, it is as if I am watching my character’s lives and situations. Most Indie authors realize that they’re not going to produce a best-seller like SILO that went on to become a series on Apple or win a Pulitzer. We pray that most don’t call our baby ugly and blow a little wind in our sail.

Why I Wrote This Book

I believe stories come from a magical place. They circle your head, waiting for you to engage—and if you do, they land. I wrote these stories to entertain and intrigue, crafting narratives with a bit of surprise. I was honored when Witness won a 2024 Blue Nib Award for fiction from the Blue Ridge Writer’s Group.

That win bolstered my confidence, as did my incredible husband, friends, and family. My editors and dear friends—Linda Bogart and Dr. Judith Gwathmey—hold my hand through every project and somehow still want to be my friends. I’m also beyond grateful to my friend and multi-award-winning photographer, David Winegar, whose generous spirit allowed me to use his stunning photograph for the book cover. And, of course, thank you to the advance and launch readers who show up, buy the book, read it, and take the time to write reviews.

Courage is not the absence of fear but rather the assessment that something else is more important than fear. – Franklin D. Roosevelt

What’s Inside?

These eight stories revolve around redemption, weaving through love, betrayal, forgiveness, enlightenment, and closure. They explore the moral dilemmas that define the human experience:

Witness: Imagine the secrets a door lock could tell.Picasso: What if every detail about your life was online?Echo: Children are innocent. Or are they?Seed: Is the law always just?Redemption: How far would you go for success?Transplant: Are you an organ donor?Willis: Could you be a hero?Room 212: Would you listen to a divine message?

The Heart of the Stories

Everyone seeks redemption at some point. It often arrives in ways we least expect, taking forms we never imagined. I explore this idea beyond its religious connotations, focusing on redemption as a profound personal journey of growth, self-forgiveness, and transforming past mistakes into something meaningful.

Thank you for welcoming these characters and their stories into your life. I’d love to hear your thoughts. Most of all, I hope this book inspires you to think, question, and draw your own conclusions.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The post Secrets, Lies, Regrets—And the Hope for Redemption appeared first on Hope Verdad.

Writing is a privilege.

As an independent author, the path to storytelling is a solitary and communal journey. It’s a path I’ve chosen to share tales and connect with readers on a level that transcends the ordinary. Writing books for me is more than a passion; it’s a conduit through which I explore the depths of human emotion and the unexpected turns of life. My latest work, “Short Stories with a Twist,” embodies this exploration, offering readers eight diverse narratives that promise to leave you pondering and perhaps whispering, “I didn’t see that coming.”

The genesis of this book comes from my enduring fascination with life’s unpredictability. Each story is a carefully woven tapestry of characters, settings, and plots that invite readers into worlds where the expected is merely the prelude to the twist. From run-ins with the law to biological transplants, these stories span a gamut of environments. Yet, they all share one common thread – the twist that challenges our perceptions and biases.

Why do I write books? The answer is simple yet profound. Writing is my way of communicating with the world; it’s how I make sense of the complexities of life and human nature. Through my stories, I aim to offer a mirror to society, reflecting our existence’s beauty and chaos and urging readers to question, feel, and empathize. “Short Stories with a Twist” is a manifestation of this aim, crafted with the hope of leaving a lasting impression on those who wander through its pages.

Creating this book was a journey not taken alone. My amazing friend and eagle-eyed editor – Linda Bogart, and my fantastic cover photo (used here) from Dave Winegar, a professional photographer, and much-loved friend, never waver in their commitment to support me. And, of course, my husband Noah, who had to read each story countless times to the point he spoke about them in his sleep.

Behind every word and story lies the invaluable support of my tribe – a community of fellow writers, readers, friends, and family who have been my lighthouse in the often tumultuous sea of independent publishing. Their encouragement, critiques, posting reviews, and unwavering belief in my vision have been pivotal. From brainstorming sessions that stretched into hours to the critical feedback that shaped my narratives, their contributions are etched into the very fabric of this book.

In this journey, my tribe has been my strength. They’ve celebrated my victories and cushioned the falls, reminding me that the essence of storytelling is not just in the creation but in the sharing. Their insights have often catalyzed my stories’ twists, proving the creative process is collaborative.

I am profoundly thankful for having such a supportive community. To my tribe, every word of encouragement, every piece of advice, and every moment spent in the service of bringing this book to life has not gone unnoticed. Your role in this journey has been indispensable, and “Short Stories with a Twist” is as much yours as mine.

As “Short Stories with a Twist” enters the world, I stand humbled and excited. The journey of an independent author is fraught with challenges yet incredibly rewarding. This book is a testament to the power of storytelling, the beauty of unexpected turns, and the strength found in community. To my readers, I hope these stories ignite your imagination, challenge your expectations, and perhaps, most importantly, remind you of the magic in life’s twists and turns.

Thank you for embarking on this journey with me. Here’s to the stories that surprise us, the communities that support us, and the twists that make life genuinely fascinating.

The post Confession of a Writer – the Journey Behind My Upcoming Book, ‘Short Stories with a Twist’ – A Reflection appeared first on Hope Verdad.

A year ago, my thirty-three-year-old nephew died after a lifelong battle with neurofibromatosis type 2–a disease that robs the person of vision, hearing, and other capabilities as it progresses. Humans tend to whine over minor things. My nephew never complained about the unfairness of his condition. Instead, he moved through his shortened life in grace and faith. An unwavering commitment that we are all just passing through.

His loss left me with a deep wound in trying to understand, “Why?” And then the dreams began.

From start to finish, the stories and messages in “The Bench: A Parable about Life, Death, and Beyond,” a novella, came to me in a series of dreams. Night after night, vivid imagery introduced me to five characters, their narrative, and how their lives converge through tragedy.

The Bench is a metaphor for life’s struggles, unfairness, suffering, loss, and other calamities. No one goes through life unscathed; we all have at least one Bench moment. But what if we could talk to the one person we need the most to find comfort and closure or help us process an unanswerable question?

This writing is not theological, scholarly, or based on any faith tradition. It is not written to proselytize, convert, or diminish anyone’s beliefs or faith traditions. It is written for consideration, perhaps as a guide, teacher, or to plant a seed of contemplation. A moment of grace—or just suppose and keep an open mind.

I am seeking advanced readers interested in reading this novella and sharing their thoughts. If you want a PDF copy, please email me at Francesca@HopeVerdad.com

Believing in Something

Most humans are drawn to the spiritual side of life–what lies beyond the veil of this existence? Why are humans here? What is our purpose? Is there life after death, or is death merely the endpoint? This examination does not have to fall into religion or theology. It is, for many, an existential question. Four in 5 Americans (81%) believe an ultimate purpose and plan exists for every person’s life. Whether religious or not, globally, most people seem to believe that there is some mighty power beyond our understanding–a God.

Some express this interest by studying the universe and stars. They may see their curiosity as scientific inquiry, but some of us see it as more.

Others examine the question of our existence through a theological lens, poring over sacred scripture. Still others join religions or a spiritual quest. We all have thoughts about why we are here, yet many of us are still searching. Since the dawn of humanity, we have looked to the heavens as if it were a homing beacon, calling us – reminding us we are more than our bodies. Regardless of how we search for this meaning, most of us do, and this is the common thread that binds us.

Whatever path we follow, we all arrive at the same terminal: death. But between our birth and departing this world are the pages of our lives. Some think we are the authors, others believe in divine providence, and some believe in combining the two. Perhaps just as vital as authorship is the content of these pages–or how we live our lives.

The universal language of kindness, love, compassion, and peace transcends belief systems. Whether one subscribes to a Higher Power, Source, or Creator or believes in nothing, we all understand (or crave) the power of love. We feel it, need it, give it–love is as essential as oxygen.

Why is this?

Some of us are open to a connection to something greater than ourselves. We accept there is more than what our physical eyes see and can quiet our logical brain that summarily dismisses anything beyond the realm of this plain. We listen to our inner voice, our instincts, and our dreams. We pray. We meditate or reflect on ancient texts. Sometimes, we slip the bonds of human existence by giving of ourselves in service to others with kindness, compassion, or volunteerism. All of which remind us of our connection to each other and to something larger than all of us combined.

Messages from Beyond

I remain open to the possibilities that angels walk among us, that we all possess a divine spark, miracles occur, and sometimes, humanity is given messages from something beyond or by those who have died or had near-death experiences (NDEs). Of course, some charlatans claim to have had an NDE and will lie their way into notoriety. However, it is easy to discern the story’s believability by understanding the motivation behind what is being shared. Either the person is trying to monetize their tale, or they are trying to convey a message from the beyond – a message of hope and purpose.

The number of documented near-death experiences is mind-blowing. Initially, some might dismiss the possibility outright, making it a debate about the existence of God or Higher Power. I would instead examine the experience and what the person learned. The evidence of this phenomenon is compelling. Many books have been written by people who have experienced it. I have read at least a dozen books and several academic papers. The father of near-death experiences is Richard Moody, who introduced us in his groundbreaking book Life and Life in 1975. Some other fascinating books include Proof of Heaven and Evidence of the Afterlife. The University of Virginia Division of Perpetual Studies has also studied this phenomenon.

While various themes are recounted from these experiences, one universal theme arises–God (or you fill in the blank) is love. I find this to be a profound message and a guiding principle. If a Higher Power is love, can any religion, person, or movement that teaches or makes us feel fear, hate, and judgment be a godly message from our Creator?

On a final note, I have also discovered the power of dreams. As Carl Jung said, dreams can integrate our conscious and unconscious. Our subconscious tries to sort out dilemmas, rehash events, or make sense of the world. But dreams can serve as a drawbridge to the other side. One that, when we are open and believe in the possibilities, drops and allows our deceased loved ones or emissaries to cross and impart messages we need to hear or share.

 

The post What’s Out There… appeared first on Hope Verdad.

I have always had wanderlust and am a bit of a nomad. I would be the first person to say that people who can and do travel are blessed beyond measure. Whether we travel to the next county, state, or foreign country, there is an opportunity to learn and grow because we shift outside of our regular routine. The further we shift, the more we are pulled into experiencing, understanding, and accepting of differences.

This fall, I shifted quite a distance – to Japan. I had limited knowledge of the country, its culture, and its people. My total experience with anything Japanese was from what I learned in history classes, reading “Memoirs of a Geisha” by Arthur Golden, and eating at Benihana’s. My perception from these experiences would change after I arrived in Japan. Not slightly, but by a wide margin.

If someone asked me why my husband and I selected Japan, I couldn’t give you a straightforward answer. Still, there was some alluring pull to take the plunge and go. With my limited knowledge, I didn’t know what to expect but hoped to have an open mind and heart. I am glad I did.

Before we embarked on the fourteen-hour flight and time zone difference from the East Coast, my dear friend Linda (a master quilter) asked me to learn about Shashiko. This traditional Japanese embroidery style began over four hundred years ago. Worn-out pieces of old cloth were stitched into layers to produce a sturdy garment passed down through generations. Talk about upcycling! The quest to learn about Shashiko provided a goal to shoot for on the trip.

Although my husband and I agreed we’d try to adjust to the local time zone when we boarded the flight to Japan, even three movies didn’t put us to sleep. The meals on the flight should have provided a portent that my aversion to fish would be challenging. But I was too fascinated and amped up on adrenaline to pay attention.

This adrenaline continued to pump as we arrived, passed through customs, and retrieved our suitcases. We had been up for over twenty-four hours but acting like kids on spring break. At the Shinjuku Station, we purchased our ticket at the kiosk. At the risk of dating myself, this train station makes Grand Central look like Petticoat Junction. We boarded a train to head to our hotel, and this is where the mystical and magical journey in Japan began.

A young couple with two toddlers and a newborn sat across from us on the train. We were getting anxious, fearing we might have missed our station. My husband showed his phone to the couple with the name of the station we were looking for, hoping to convey we needed help. Although their English was limited, our Japanese vocabulary was “Arigatou” or thank you. Yet, despite this language gap, it is incredible how connection forms when we seek to communicate through kindness. They instantly understood our dilemma and gestured that they would help us. We conveyed that their children were darling. My husband showed pictures of our nearly two-year-old twin grandsons. One was wearing a fireman’s costume. The man’s eye lit up, and he gestured to himself, “Me.” He was a fireman. They ushered us off the train and walked us through another station, down the escalator, and onto a new platform. Once they were assured we’d find our way, they returned to the same platform they had exited to help us. I can only think of one word to describe the moment. Humbled. Despite all the apparent differences between us – our age, language, and culture – they spoke the universal language of kindness.

With the help of a not-so-helpful GPS, we navigated our walk to find our hotel in Tokyo. Whether people spoke our language or not, they possessed an ability to discern our distress and approached us to help. The maps on the phone screen, pointing, and smiles became a great way to bridge the language barriers. This was a recurring experience on our trip, no matter what city we were in. People always stopped and offered assistance. Often without being asked. These exchanges were always followed by reciprocal “Arigatou’s” and slight bows. They were thanking us for the help they provided.

Born and raised in New York, I used to believe that the Big Apple was not only the epicenter of the universe but also one of the most populated cities in the world. Having traveled, I was quickly disabused of that mindset. On this trip, I learned that Tokyo is the world’s most populous metropolitan area, with 40.8 million residents as of 2023. Tokyo is Times Square on steroids with some MAJOR differences. The streets were spotless everywhere you looked, with nary a trash can. It was both perplexing and admirable. Although trash cans are almost our national flower in the USA, most of us would agree that our streets are far from pristine.

It’s hard to imagine how people are not squished together in such a populous city. And yet, it was like some invisible spacer gave a bit of berth to people as they navigated the sidewalks. Even when the trains get super crowded, a sliver of grace and respect surrounds the passengers. As I watched younger passengers give up seats to the elderly or other needing passengers, I harkened back to a time when this was commonplace at home. Somehow, this tradition of courtesy and care has nearly vanished.

We quickly learned the Japanese incorporate fish into every meal. Period. Given that I won’t eat heavily disguised fish (read: McDonalds) or canned tuna like Chicken of the Sea – I began to think this would be the one vacation where dieting would finally eliminate the few pounds I’ve been trying to lose. Fear not. Some of the best eggsalad sandwiches were sold at the 7-11 stores, and waitstaff went above and beyond to replace the fish with vegetables. And in the spirit of being open to the experience, I decided it was time to try fish again. My aversion is still intact.

We stayed at Lake Kawaguchiko near the majestic Mount Fuji. What an incredible sight from a large picture window in our hotel room. The hotel was traditional Japanese culture. You remove your shoes and sleep on “Shikifuton,” placed on the floor. This type of sleeping has many physical benefits; you can prove you can still get up off the floor at a certain age.

Our next stop was Nikko, a town at the entrance to Nikko National Park. We crossed the Shinkyo Bridge and entered an incredible forest of trees displaying the changing pattern of fall colors. The park was filled to capacity as people stood patiently in line to enter the Rinnoji Temple. Rather than join the crowd, we wandered further into the park along a quiet path. We came upon rows of Jizo statues, the guardian deity of children and travelers. When the weather turns cold, the locals will take care of jizo by dressing them in red bibs and hats. There was a sense of reverence in this setting. A deep respect for the past and the ancestors that came before.

On board the Shinkansen, or bullet train to Westerners, you don’t feel the nearly two hundred miles per hour speed as it glides along the track. We arrived in Kyoto with its colorful shrines, multitudes of temples, and geisha gracing the town. After a short walk from our hotel, we discovered a bamboo forest. Witness trees that have persisted for millennia, silently watching our species and our impact on the environment. I looked at these tall, lean trees and stood in awe under their canopy. In many ways, trees remind us of our diminished role and the temporary place humans have here.

We had not planned to go to Hiroshima, where the first nuclear weapon was used against humans, killing tens of thousands of people, obliterating the city, and altering the course of a country and its people. Something within told us we would regret not going. We shifted our plans and boarded the bullet train again, one part excited and another apprehensive, knowing our U.S. history there. As we walked through the Hiroshima train station heading for a cab, a Japanese woman approached us and asked if we needed help. The people who helped us were not part of any tourism. They were everyday people going to work or home. Yet something within these people enabled them to recognize when others needed help. We explained we wanted to take a cab to the Peace Memorial Museum. She asked, “Where are you from?” We flushed and responded, “The U.S.” She smiled and said, “Thank you for traveling so many miles to come to Hiroshima.” It was heartfelt. The woman walked us to a tram and told us it was less expensive this way. She told the conductor to notify us when it was our stop.

As we rode on the tram, I couldn’t help but wonder if I ever thanked a Japanese tourist for visiting my country – especially in light of the history. The conductor let us know when we arrived, and we crossed the street to the Atomic Bomb Dome. The ghostly remnants of the only structure that remained standing in the area where the atomic bomb exploded. The building was preserved as a stark and powerful reminder of the destructive force humanity created. This symbol moved me in a way I had not expected. I found myself bowing and offering prayers for forgiveness, for peace, and for our collective remembrance of war’s carnage. It was a somber experience – understanding the death toll of many children whose lives ended and the ensuing suffering.

While no memorial could ever fully capture the carnage, emotion, and destruction experienced in Hiroshima, the Peace Memorial Museum serves as a stark reminder urging us to avoid war and to seek peace. An inscription bears witness, “No one else should ever suffer as we have.” It is hard to articulate what words cannot express. Like the trees that, while seemingly standing independent of each other, their root system is inextricably linked. Somewhere within our deepest selves, we must remember that our species is the same. We left the museum in silence. What could we say? Though we didn’t live at this time, we are somehow tainted by and complicit in our inhumanity to each other.

Bus loads of people arrived as children sang songs of remembrance and songs for peace. The crowd grew thicker and thicker outside the museum. A woman moved through the crowd with purpose. She touched my elbow and stood beside me. Our eyes connected as if our souls recognized the other. “Hello, my sister.” She said softly. Her English was minimal. My Japanese is non-existent. As we looked into each other’s eyes, I felt a connection I could not explain. “We are all God’s children.” She continued. I agreed.

There is vast beauty in the world, and Japan is no exception. It is a land of wonder, filled with unique architectural features, many temples, and a pervasive feeling of calm, respect, and humility. No matter where I’ve traveled, I have always found good people. People who might look different than me, have different beliefs and ideologies or are culturally miles apart. But what you discover is despite those differences, we share many things. Our planet. Hope for a better future. Peaceful existence.

If someone asked me what makes Japan unique from all the other places visited, I would have to say the people. I have never experienced a place where kindness is pervasive, and humility is as natural as breathing. This country has a certain mystical quality where grace is not just a word but a way of being, and harmony is ingrained in every way they move about their life. I cannot say whether being the first country to experience nuclear war gave these people a unique lens through which to see the world and the people within it. The Japanese people offered this kindness, hospitality, and peace to each other and to the vast number of foreigners who visit their beautiful country.

Dear Japan: I love you for reminding me to be kind and providing a brief glimpse of what peace could look like in our time.

 

P.S. Happy Thanksgiving.

The post Dear Japan: I Love You. appeared first on Hope Verdad.

About two weeks ago, my nephew Troy passed away at 33. He was too young in human years, but as a wise soul, his mission was accomplished. Troy was born with Neurofibromatosis 2 – an insidious disease that produces tumors throughout the body robbing the person of mobility, sight, hearing, speech, and ultimately life. People with this disease often die younger than Troy, but he defied the odds and perhaps did so to share a message.

Humans must understand what is seemingly senseless when someone we love dies young. To honor Troy is to acknowledge his life and, more profoundly, acknowledge the lessons he taught us about death.

As I listened to speakers at his memorial, I marveled at many aspects of his life. Despite the many physical difficulties he confronted, Troy lived. His list of accomplishments is too long for a blog, but suffice; he did more with his life than most non-disabled individuals who live longer. Imagine being blind and deaf and still determined to earn a college degree, write for Apple, go river rafting, horse backing riding, and probably a host of other adventures better left unspoken. Not reckless but fearless.

In a world where most of us complain about inane things and broadcast it on social media – Troy did not complain about the unfairness of his circumstances. He accepted what was his destiny with grace, an open heart, and wisdom beyond his years. Perhaps in knowing that he would die young, he understood that we shouldn’t waste precious time on things that don’t affirm life. Where many of us talk about what we are going to do one day – Troy went ahead and did them. I guess when you genuinely accept that your time is limited, as Tim McGraw would say, you live like you are dying. Most of us can’t possibly think like this and take for granted that the sun will be up tomorrow. It is difficult for us to conceive of our mortality, let alone stare it in the face and embrace it.

Everyone who came into contact with Troy marveled at his joy, empathy, unyielding faith, and writing ability. He had a wickedly good sense of humor and an infectious laugh. We would take our text message signoffs to each other to new heights. If I loved him like peanut butter loves chocolates, he’d love me like sprinkles on ice cream. Silly but meaningful. He learned to play piano at a young age and, when totally deaf – continued to play. His childhood friends became his lifelong ones. Using his tablet as his senses – he debated, managed websites, blogged, and listened to others with an open mind and heart.

His freshman teacher in high school spoke at his service. She candidly shared her annoyance at dealing with a special needs child against the backdrop of all her other duties. Over time, she understood that Troy did not step into her life as her student – but as her teacher. There is a certain mysticism in the age of 33. In numerology, it is a master number and indicates teacher. Perhaps no coincidence that Jesus was 33 when he died.

Maybe coming in close contact with someone burdened by physical maladies from birth gives you a front-row seat to witness something spiritual. It is as if these children and, subsequently adults have a closer connection with the Divine. Their lack of complaint at life’s unfairness seems to say they understand more about life, its purpose, and their role in it. These individuals seem to hover above us, connecting with a higher plane that we, without these challenges, cannot see. They bear witness that while life is filled with imperfections and unfairness, it can still be beautiful and something to be enjoyed, despite limitations. Their physical imperfections foster their perfect heart – showing us that, above all else, we are here to love in whatever time we have.

Troy often assured family and friends that we were all only passing through. His confidence in this was contagious and comforting. He possessed a wisdom that maybe those on the other side of the veil possess, and his joyful and loving nature came from his certainty of what lies ahead.

Superman by Five for Fighting was Troy’s anthem. It is a song that he identified with and perhaps was a summation of how he saw life. The song’s lyric, “Looking for special things inside of me…” is a bold statement and reminder that what resides within us is what matters. Troy found those special things inside of him, and those who love him also found them.

Life in all its forms is precious. Each day a gift. Chase your dreams. Be kind, and remember to love like a jar of peanut butter. Spread it around.

 

The post Losing a Young Loved One appeared first on Hope Verdad.

I use the word born because writing is a labor of love. An idea is planted, nurtured, and modified a million times. In the publishing world, your book is like a child—it takes a village to raise it. Without help from your people reading it and leaving reviews—most books languish.

Any form of writing and publishing is scary because you are putting a piece of yourself out there. Over the years, I compiled a group of stories incorporating personal experience, strangers’ narratives, and simple observations of human behavior.

Every once in a while, a story just sticks with you. Reading stories can teach us a lot about our beliefs, moral compass, fears, and feelings. The more we respond to stories, the more we discover about ourselves. How we feel about a character’s behavior often reflects our own state of mind, opinions, and other telling features.

Short stories can get you thinking. If done correctly, they enable you to conjure images of the characters, scenes, and emotions. Sometimes we wonder why a character acted in a particular way. Other times, we may identify with their experience or situation.

The primary objective of this compilation is that you find them entertaining. Hopefully, each asks you to think about the storyline, and at least one resonates. There is a common thread between them. You might see the impact and importance of free will and choice in our imperfect world. Together, the diverse characters form a tapestry that speaks to the power of love and the bravery required to live authentically.

There are messages embedded in each story that ask you to dig deeper into the storyline. Perhaps something provoked an unexpected emotion? Can you relate to the character? Would you act as the character did or want to understand their motivations?

Hope Verdad’s Short Stories for Thinkers is up on Amazon now. The KDP version is $.99—which qualifies as a legitimate sale. REVIEWS are crucial, and this is where I need your help. If you can—I’d really appreciate it if you’d purchase the book (again, $.99) and write an honest review. At $.99 a book, I’m not looking to make millions. I believe there are important messages to be shared, and this is a way to get them out there.

Thanks for your help, and I am always happy to hear from you. francesca@hopeverdad.com

Wishing you all things good,

Francesca

HERE’S THE LINK – AND THANK YOU!

https://www.amazon.com/Hope-Verdad-Presents-Stories-Thinkers-ebook/dp/B0BX7QLQW5/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2FSJUT8W7EJ4U&keywords=short+stories+for+thinkers&qid=1678456054&sprefix=short+stories+for+thinkers%2Caps%2C142&sr=8-1

 

The post A Book is Born – Short Stories for Thinkers appeared first on Hope Verdad.

There was an insistent knock on the door.
I opened it, only to find a disfigured stranger waiting.
Fearful at first, I invited the stranger in.
Maybe some inner goodness compelled me to do so.
As we sat and looked into each other’s eyes – there was something familiar.
I am sure, but for the grotesque disfigurement, I knew this stranger.
Studying this stranger’s face – I realized its deformity came from a mask.
“May I ask, why do you wear such a mask?”
With a sadness that pierced my soul – the stranger replied.
“I did not place these masks upon me – but humankind felt compelled to.”
Removing the first mask, “This is the mask of judgment.”
Taking off the second mask, “This is using Sacred Texts to justify the judgment.”
Then the third, “This is when I am used as a weapon to hurt others.”
And finally, the last mask was lifted. “This is the illusion of separateness.”
At first, the stranger’s face became so bright that I had to cover my eyes.
Then I looked.
I saw a mother with her newborn child.
A soldier laying down her life for her fellow soldiers.
A fireman rushing into flames to save a life.
The farewell kiss of a dying husband.
The Light within us – without skin color, religion, or ideologies.
And suddenly, I recognized that this was no stranger.
This was love.

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