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The Cookie Jar

07 Wednesday Oct 2015

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“A cookie jar, though beautiful, will always disappoint if found empty.”

My cookie jar is empty.

It’s seen a batch or two–maybe–in the months since I returned home from Mount Hermon’s Christian Writers Conference; but for the most part it’s been unoccupied. Relieved of duty. Free of tenants.

And for a while I blamed my husband.

See, we had a plan. As you probably know from a previous post, my youngest daughter started kindergarten this year, freeing up my afternoons. And according to the plan I would take the first year to write full time with keys blazing and submissions flying.

But somehow in my short, five-day conference absence the plan changed. Just up and flew away somewhere. Out there. Over the rainbow. And in its place: “You need to finish your degree.”

Say wha?

My arguments against this new scheme raged vehement. Very artistic and author-ish too. Something about sensible suits and academic labels, the futility of human standards of achievement, the colors of my creative mind fading…you get the picture. When that failed I took the practical financial approach.

Nothing worked. God has a new plan, saith my husband, and a degree for the missus therein lies.

Well alrighty then, Misters.

That was six months ago. I saw evidence of God’s hand in the orchestration, including a ripple effect in other areas. Then I discovered I could finish much earlier than expected. I snatched that baton and sprinted off with it. On top of that aim I added honor student. And because a writer must always be reading and writing I made sure to check those boxes too. Super productive. No time for baking cookies.

I felt very much like degree people feel. Accomplished. Potentially important. But in what way? And to whom?

The answers came when my son returned home one night from Awana with a list of two things he wanted to do better. One of them read:

Leave Mommy alone when she’s doing homework.

SLAYED.

Reading those words made me consider how many times I’ve said them in the past six months, and how many times I haven’t played Terraria with my son, or done Zumba with the girls, or watched My Little Pony, or baked the weekend’s cookies; all because I’d immersed myself in God’s plan–stretching it into something self-serving–instead of remaining immersed in God who keeps my priorities straight.

My kids are awesome little people. I’m proud of them. And if I graduated summa cum laude and became a bestselling author whose books hit the big screen they’d be proud of me too. And all of it would be a pretty package to behold.

But if the intimacy is not there, if I don’t remain a present, attentive mother who knows them and is known by them–who keeps school and writing and whatever else comes up out of family time–then what we’re headed for is no better than an empty cookie jar.

And that will never be a part of God’s plan.

My jar is still empty, but now it’s only because the cookies are cooling.

Your turn: Have you ever found yourself running ahead (or away) from what God’s doing in your life?

The Labor of the Journey

05 Saturday Sep 2015

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“You did not choose Me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit, and that your fruit should remain…” John 15:16

My youngest is in the first weeks of her kindergarten career. After years of seeing her older siblings off to school and spending her days with me all to herself, the adjustment hasn’t been painless.

She greets Monday mornings with tolerance. Tuesdays with grudging acceptance. Wednesdays with stoicism. By Thursday her patience has run out. She flings back the covers, fed up to the full, and demands to know: “Again?!?”

Her annoyance amuses me, especially since she actually loves school when she’s there. It’s the getting there–and all that comes with it–that bothers her. The getting up, getting ready, getting denied the freedom to spend her day how she chooses, getting the task of bringing home work; work that she must get done.

She’d love to read as well as her siblings, make friends of her own, have her name on awards, have her great-grandma send her a dollar for each A. She sees what the twins have accomplished and she wants the same; she’d just rather skip over the journey and land at the destination.

I sympathize with her because I know what that feels like. I enjoy knowing I’ve done a job well. I just don’t always enjoy doing the job. Or I might like being in the midst of a good work, but I resist the need to get it started or experience pessimism before it’s finished.

Perhaps it’s the resentment of obligation, or the loss of freedom, or the overwhelming scope of the task that makes the individual steps seem insufficient, or maybe it’s a combination of those things. The Good Work seems so elusive that we lose faith in the constant work–the again, and again, and yet again work–it takes to get there.

Natural intelligence, which my daughter has, and the natural talent that so many of us possess is not enough in itself to get us where God wants us to go. We must work hard with diligence and patience, building on the unique gifts God created in us.

And we know by God’s promises that our work will be rewarded and our lives fruitful, if we couple our faith with works, and persevere in the labor He has given us to do on the journey He has called us to take.

When the Odd Bird Flies

09 Sunday Nov 2014

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oddbird

Odd bird.

It’s an expression my family uses for something or someone who strikes us as unusual. The context can be positive, such as a quirky or endearing oddity; or it can be of the don’t-make-eye-contact variety.

A bird of the former type attends my daughter’s gymnastics school. She’s tall and pale, all angles and elbows. A haunting beauty if I ever saw one. Glance at her slumped shoulders and ducked head, and it’s obvious she doesn’t think so.

“I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” Psalm 139:14

Each week I watch her practice, this swan in the making. I have never seen a cartwheel so awkward. When her legs are in the air, she pulls them in almost like a frog’s, as if she’s not quite sure how to manage their full length, and maybe doesn’t want to bring attention to how long they are. Her tumbles and rolls are just as unbalanced.

Despite her weaknesses, before every maneuver her eyes light with a fierce sort of determination, as if in her head she’s saying, “I know I’m not good at this, but I will be.”

And for just a moment, that few seconds before she has to run down the mat, or hop up on the beam, or climb the rope, she folds out of her ball of insecurity and self-consciousness. She squares her shoulders, clenches her fists, takes a deep, shaky breath, and that little beauty puts her all into it.

Her finish is clumsy. She looks down, probably not wanting to see the response to what she presumes is failure. Still she gets back in line and gives it another go. And each week she gets a little better.

Watching her moves me. I can’t help thinking that maybe when the Father watches many of us, including me, He sees what I see in her: fear of failure, fear of being seen failing, insecurity over what we must look like to others when we put ourselves out there and finish clumsy, doubt that we’ll ever succeed despite how much effort we put into it.

And yet we don’t give up, because something inside won’t let us. Maybe it’s the fire burning within that speaks to the purpose of our creation, or maybe our Creator Himself, who knows the plans He has for our lives and spurs us gently onward.

“He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ.” Philippians 1:6

Writing is hard. Parenting is hard. Marriage, friendship, art, work. Life.

Everything we endeavor to do well can be laden with periods of ungainly tumbles and uncoordinated leaps. We fall, trip, bruise–and look as odd as a six-legged horse in the process. But like the little gymnast, we shake it off and do it again.

Because birds don’t fly on the ground.

Odd birds are only odd for a time, enduring momentary setbacks and temporary failures as we flap about. One day we’ll take flight, soaring high to all that God has called us to for His glory alone.

Right now we’re just strengthening our wings.

Gone Fishing, Author Style

02 Sunday Nov 2014

Posted by in Writing and Pursuing Publication

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This was originally posted on 11/09/2013. It’s that time of year again…

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As a child, I fished with my father. Dark, quiet nights, sometimes nothing but the calm sound of water lapping the bank, or the buzz of mosquitoes testing the perimeter of whatever insect repellent we wore. It’s been a long time since we’ve done that.

Lately, however, those memories are rushing back. Memories of fish too large for my lanky little arms, fighting against me, tugging so hard on the line I feared a time or two that I’d be pulled in instead of the fish being pulled out.

Memories of determination, refusing to give up; of reeling in those bullish fish.

The cause of these memories? National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), and this commitment I’ve made to the program to have 50,000 words by the end of November; the side bet I’ve waged with myself to hit 80,000.

Striving to meet an ambitious daily word count–against all odds and come what may–is like fishing for words that are fighting to stay in the water.

Some days inspiration sleeps in. Creativity goes MIA. Skill leaves a “Be Back Later” sign on the door. And the words are left to swim amuck in an unsupervised pool of mockery and defiance; determined not to be hooked, refusing to be tamed.

I’d really rather not fight with the slippery suckers. Especially when the house is asleep, coffee’s lukewarm, and I’m getting a series of teasing tugs on my line with no bites.

Searching, straining, desperate for words, it gets tempting to just cut the line. Reel it in empty. Fish again another day. Maybe.

But to do that–to give up–is to get pulled in.

When I fished with my father I never got pulled in.

Strained a few muscles. Got mud on my knees. Suffered scrapes.

On the flip side my muscles grew stronger, my stance firm.

I didn’t quit then. I won’t quit now. One day, one word, one catch at a time.

Going fishing. Be back soon. ❤

And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart. ~ Galatians 6:9 NKJV

What We All Need and Almost Never Get

18 Saturday Oct 2014

Posted by in Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics, Writing and Pursuing Publication

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sleeping woman

For many of us it seems the more rest we need, the less we get. Between taking care of my family, actively seeking the Lord, and trying to launch a writing career, (plus all my other projects and obligations) getting sufficient rest can be as far-fetched as finding out that book I’ve never pitched has been miraculously contracted for a movie deal. (Who says you can’t dream wide awake?)

But I know I need to rest well if I’m to accomplish my goals and take care of my responsibilities with excellence. Resting well is not just sleeping, but a series of decisions that affect sleep and the quality of our days while we’re awake. Fortunately, the word for what we all need and almost never get, serves as an acronym for how to get it:

Resist the urge to take on more than you can accomplish. I’ve been known to say yes to things I didn’t have the time, the resources–and sometimes the desire–to do. Even when I did say no, my hesitation would be pounced upon and a yes wrestled out of me. I’ve learned (and am still learning) to be firm in declining requests that I just don’t have the capacity to meet. It frees me to focus on the more important tasks, and saves me the embarrassment of having my husband follow right behind me to scratch my name off a volunteer list I just signed. (That has happened.)

Expect setbacks. Ever heard of a backup plan, plan B, or the alternate route? Those phrases exist because plans–no matter how meticulous we are in making them–get interrupted. When I went to the ACFW conference last month I had hoped to return home with a couple of proposal requests to work on. Instead I came home with a request for a proposal and a request for a full manuscript. Great deviation from the plan, right? Amazing. Only I came home to a son with pneumonia. I couldn’t take care of him the way I needed to without setting some healthy expectations for how soon I could submit my materials. It’s tempting to forego rest when there’s a hitch in the agenda. And if it’s for a night or two, I don’t think there’s any harm in that. But when we find ourselves getting just three to four hours of sleep on average, it’s time to make some schedule changes. Exhaustion breeds sloppiness. Consistent exhaustion is a health hazard.

Set aside quiet time. Again, rest is not all about sleep. It’s also about peace of mind and a restoring of the soul. For me this means prayer, or just stealing away to the place where I pray most often. I know when I go there, I’ll get some uninterrupted time to myself (except for the time when my youngest came in, misread my humble posture and hopped on my back with the command to “Giddyup!”)

Trust in the Lord. God doesn’t call us to sleep our days away, but He does call us to rest in Him, and to leave room for Him to show up in our endeavors. When we cram our days with activity, obligation, and busyness–and never give our bodies and minds the time to recoup energy spent, or our spirits the means to refuel in God’s presence or through His word–we are in a sense putting trust in our own efforts.

And God, who alone never sleeps, commands us to take time to be still.

Your turn: How do you manage getting the rest you need in the midst of all your obligations?

 

A Writer’s Labyrinth

11 Saturday Oct 2014

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Not too long ago my father-in-law presented me with a challenge. I placed all of my fingers together at the tips except the middle fingers, which touched at the knuckles:IMG_8516.JPG

Easy enough, right? Then I had to tap each pair of fingers together on command, all without moving the middle fingers. First the pinkies, then thumbs, next the pointer fingers.

Child’s play…until he called out the ring fingers.

I couldn’t move them. At all. I strained just about every muscle in my body. Nothing.

I resorted to glaring at my fingers in an attempt at telepathy. Nada.

No matter how hard I tried, they wouldn’t budge, though I always seemed to be just on the edge of success.

Worse, long after figuring out that those fingers were staying put, I spent a lot more time and energy trying to prove otherwise. I earned for my efforts a stabbing three-day headache. It reinforced the idea that if you think too long or hard on something, the effects can be crippling.

Likewise, in writing–or any worthy goal–it’s easy to overthink a project or try to force an ill-placed scene.

One can puzzle for months how to approach a story, but at some point the words to that story must be introduced to their pages. Some scenes or characters need cutting, others filling out.

Thoughts must become decisions that turn into action.

Otherwise, precious time gets lost in the Labyrinth of Perpetual Thought and Distraction, where corridors are lined with finger statues, and progress hides behind a foggy horizon always just out of reach.

“Think it through too long, and it may stay a thought forever.”

Your Turn: What are your biggest obstacles to progress? Try the exercise (though don’t spend too much time on it). Were you able to tap the ring fingers together?

When Mom’s Away…

21 Sunday Sep 2014

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As I gear up to head to the American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) conference in St. Louis, I’m tempted to fret over how my family can possibly manage without me. My husband is off work and my father-in-law will be flying in to keep him company, still I’m skeptical of two men being able to manage every group of the food pyramid (we won’t even discuss cooking it), school uniforms, practice schedules, games, homework, chores, gardening, an all day four-year-old, and countless other things. Not to mention what my two daughters’ very long, exceedingly curly, extremely thick hair is going to look like by the time I return from five days absence.

This short, fifteen-second commercial helped me to put the brakes on all that worrying. When I’m gone, things won’t be done my way. And that’s just fine. While I might find a few things to cringe about if I could watch the goings-on of my household from my cell phone (is there an app for that?), I’d also find my kids safe, prayed over, fed–with something, and happy.

I’m blessed to have a husband who supports my dream. And I’m grateful for a place to go where I can connect with other writers, grow in my craft, worship the Lord, and pursue the next step.

So St. Louis here I come! May the Lord bless, keep and protect my family, and every other family His writers are leaving behind. And for the moms en route with me, here’s to having things dad’s way for a time :-).

Falling Off the Writing Wagon

07 Sunday Sep 2014

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wagon wheel

“Find a job you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life.” ~ Confucious

Quite an inspiring declaration. Too bad “inspiring” is not synonymous with “truth.”

I love to write. The process of weeding out an idea, then turning that idea into hundreds of pages, is beyond rewarding.

But make no mistake about it. It’s work. And writing is never harder than when there’s a break in the process.

Circumstances in the past couple of weeks have pulled me away from a consistent writing schedule. And while much of it was beyond my control, I still fretted daily in the back of my mind: “You need to write. You need to write.”

Now that I’m free to get back to my current work in progress, the chasm between what needs to be done and what I think I can do seems to have widened a mile per day spent not writing. I agonize over closing the gap.

Getting back into a rhythm will be a grueling process; a mental strain akin to standing up, dusting off, and limping to catch a wagon that I fell from, before it picks up speed and barrels down the trail without me. The prospect of giving up becomes as tempting as a cold drink in a dry desert.

All the more reason to push through.

Writing is a part of me. I do it because I love it, but it’ll always be work. Whoever coined the phrase “labor of love,” knew what they were talking about.

Now I’ve got a wagon to catch.

Your turn: Do you love what you do? Has it ever been hard for you, despite how much you enjoy it?

The Phoenix Rattler

27 Sunday Jul 2014

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rattlesnake

A rattlesnake is a fascinating (albeit formidable) creature. A mixture of strength, mystery, beauty and stealth, this unpredictable reptile has earned the awe with which humans regard it. For when least expected, it strikes. And its effects on the subject are not soon forgotten.

The Christian Writers of the West (CWOW) are in search of entries for our Phoenix Rattler contest. Stories that live up to the legacy of the rattlesnake. Tales that strike the heart of the reader and leave indelible impressions on the mind.

Are you an unpublished* novelist with such a story? One characterized by strength, mystery, history, or love? Maybe even danger and suspense?

You are invited to enter the first fifteen pages of your unpublished novel in The Phoenix Rattler. rattler

The contest opens for entries on August 1, 2014. For more information, please click here. Finalists in the contest will have their entries judged by prominent editors and agents in the Christian publishing industry. The grand prize winner will receive a Kindle Fire HD or a gift certificate of like value.

Send in your entry, and discover if your story has bite!

*Unpublished fiction writers, or those who have not published in the last five years. See site for more details.