Writing

Telling the story

The most authentic story is the one we are living out right now.
I felt like a kid on the playground who got picked for a game. You remember that feeling, the lineup, the choosing sides? If you are like me, you hated it. I was always short and not very competitive so I never got picked first. Michelle Fromm always got picked first, and you always wanted to be the one she picked first. I was always somewhere in the middle, and that was fine with me, as long as I wasn’t dead last.  
Today, over at Bibledude.net Duane Scott is launching something very special.
I was invited to take part in this wonderful opportunity to share some of my stories, and though I’m still not sure why, it is a great honor. I think maybe God had something to do with it. The reason this means so much is because I believe in it so strongly. We all have a story and no one story is more important than any other, especially to God.
God has written our story on His heart, and more than anything, He wants us to share His story with each other, and with the world. After all, His story is the one that matters most. Like the old hymn says:
Tell me the story of Jesus,
Write on my heart every word;
Tell me the story most precious,
Sweetest that ever was heard.
Tell how the angels in chorus,
Sang as they welcomed His birth,
“Glory to God in the highest!
Peace and good tidings to earth.” 
Well, that is part of it anyway. This song, written by Frances J. Crosby, tells the redemption story. The most important story that will ever be told. And, your story, our stories, matter.
So pull up a chair, sit down beside us on the bench and we will share a story together. Who knows what we may learn from each other…..
Many thanks Duane, again!

A Mama’s Prayers

See, I will bring them from the land of the north
    and gather them from the ends of the earth.
Among them will be the blind and the lame,
    expectant mothers and women in labor;
a great throng will return.
They will come with weeping;
    they will pray as I bring them back.
I will lead them beside streams of water
    on a level path where they will not stumble,
because I am Israel’s father,
    and Ephraim is my firstborn son.
 
Jeremiah 31:8,9
 
Ever feel like you’re in exile? I think we all do at some point in life. Maybe you are in a job you hate but you know you need to stay there until retirement. Maybe you are in school and you feel like that is exile. Maybe, God forbid, you are in jail or prison. Wherever or whatever that exile is, you are not where you want to be yet.
 
As I have been reading through Jeremiah, I have wanted to get to the “good part.” Israel rebelled as a nation, adopted other religious practices that went against everything God and everything He stands for, even going as far as sacrificing their own children on altars to foreign gods. It is painful to read, knowing what’s coming.
 
Knowing they will be exiled from their homeland, expelled, taken into captivity. Again.
 
And yet, when I read these words, I thought about Israel today. I think about all they have had to go through as a nation and how God was faithful to His word. None of the powerful nations that went against them are around anymore, and Israel is still standing as a nation, as a people.
 
Flash forward to my life right now. And my life up to this point. How like Israel I have been, ignoring God, thinking I knew best, thinking I didn’t need church, breaking my Mom and Dad’s heart when I decided to give up food. And yet……
 
God was so merciful. He never left me. He brought me out of exile, back home where I belong.
 
I am at a crossroads at work right now, and as I was praying this morning, I knew that I had to once again, give it up to the Lord. I am burned out. There is no spark left in this fire.
 
And yet in other parts of my life the fire is blazing.
 
And anytime someone invites me to write or says what I wrote helped them? I am saved a little bit more.
 
There was a time long ago. God brought it to me again as I was praying this morning, like a sweet balm to my soul. All at once I was back home in front of the fire with my Mom. Tears sprang to my eyes as I remembered how she would get up in the morning before I got ready for High School and start a fire. She and I would watch 700 Club together, just the two of us.
 
And she would take my hand in hers, voice trembling, and pray for me.
 
She knew High School was my exile. It was so hard for me in so many ways. My Dad would have prayed too, but he was in his own exile at that time. A job he hated. And yet God brought him out of that too. Because of his never taking sick leave, he was able to retire at 62. A free man.
 
And because of my Mama’s prayers, I graduated and was removed from my exile too. Through it all God taught me the lesson of faithfulness, and never giving up because someone else is believing in you. And that God is with me wherever I go. And He caused some good things to happen in those four years too.
 
I wrote a poem for my favorite teacher back then, my music teacher Wylie Moffat. Even then words were longing to break free in me. He had it framed and it hung in his house up until he died. And my words were used on the cover of his memorial service bulletin.
 
Today, I am thankful for fireside prayers. They are still working.
 
Thank you Mom, for being so faithful.
 

The heart of a writer

When can you call yourself a writer?

When you simply have to write.
There was a time not so long ago when I didn’t feel I was worthy to be called one, not a real one anyway.
fake, imposter, wannabe, dreamer….that was what I called myself.
But that wasn’t right.
I felt others deserved the title because of the beauty of their words and the wisdom with which they were written.
I read writing that made me ache from the longing of wanting to string words together that good.
But here’s the thing:
Even though the transformation from the heart to the page sometimes falls completely flat,
I still have to keep writing.
I still have to keep doing it.
Even if no one reads it.
Writing was the one thing in my life that I always started up again.
After so many other things that I had quit.
……..because I was simply compelled to do it.
The words were fighting to get out and I had no choice but to set them free.
Even if I wasn’t always happy with how I expressed it.
Even if I felt others did a much better job of it.
Even if I never got another comment.
Because God gave me permission.
And He takes pleasure in every word I write.
And because everytime I do it, I feel like I am the person He created me to be.
And because I simply have to.
 And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him. Colossians 3:17

Stewards of His word…..

Then the Lord stretched out His hand and touched my mouth, and the Lord said to me…….

See, I have appointed you this day over the nations and over the kingdoms, to pluck up and to break down, to destroy and overthrow, to build and to plant…….

And the word of the Lord came to me saying, “What do you see, Jeremiah?” And I said, “I see a rod of almond tree.”

Then the Lord said to me……..”You have seen well, for I am watching over my word to perform it.” Jeremiah 1:9-12

As I read these passages the thought came to me, “All of us who are writers are stewards of God’s words are we not?” It is extremely humbling. As I read these passages, it hit me. Those of us who write about the things of God need to be accountable for those words, not only what we say but how we say them…..

Today I am linking up with Duane Scott. He has some powerful and timely words that I wanted to share…….

Blessings and peace for your Monday, counting my Gratitude as well.

When writing heals what is broken

“Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning
Born of the one light, Eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning
God’s recreation of the new day”
Morning has broken, Cat Stevens
Sometimes God does something that we really don’t expect. Well, usually He does.  And yesterday, I hinted at that something. It was something that was broken off me……and it was supernatural. It was an out and out healing, I really wouldn’t know what else to call it. I wrote a story recently, well God wrote it, actually. And I guess it was a kind of catharsis, because ever since it was posted, the anger that I have been wrestling with has left.
I remember the morning after I sent it, I awoke at 2:00 and it was there. The black presence. I was fighting with it in the dark. I was doing combat. And I was upset because I was robbed of precious sleep. In two more hours the alarm would go off.
It was a person I was mad at. And it was justified, because my friend was hurt because of it. You could say it was a righteous anger. But it was anger all the same. And I recognized it as a tangible thing inside me, building and brewing inside me since all these events of the past few years or so.
It was the anger that leapt up like a fire in me…….when a shirt wouldn’t come off the hanger, when someone pulled in front of me, little irrational things that caused it to flare. And I was never that way before.
That dark morning I prayed just I had other mornings, but that morning I fell asleep hard, and when I awoke that anger had packed its bags and left. God swept that demon out clean. 
I know it was the story.
I compare it to the other morning long ago when I got up and I suddenly knew my mind was healed of anorexia. I sat down and ate……with no guilt at all. That thing inside that held me captive was gone and I knew it.
And there was such joy at the kitchen table that day, my Mom and Dad and I all cried as I told them about a healing dream I had. That morning they got their daughter back from the grip of death.
I remember I ate scrambled eggs, usually a forbidden food.
I know it was the story. I gave it to Him and He did something wonderful with it.
This is powerful confirmation that Dawn is coming.
Once again He has reminded me in a powerful way, that whatever you or I are going through right now, its temporary, Hallelujah.
Tremble and do not sin;
when you are on your beds,
search your hearts and be silent.
Offer the sacrifices of the righteous
and trust in the Lord.
In peace I will lie down and sleep,
for you alone, Lord,
make me dwell in safety.
Psalm 4:4,5, and 8



What makes us forget our passion?


 Nevertheless I have this against you, that you have left your first love. Revelations 2:4
It was sitting where I left it, on the floor by the chest of drawers in my bedroom. My camera, the one I was so proud and happy to splurge on. The one that has captivated me and made me forget everything…..made me think that maybe I had a spark of talent for this……..
But then it happens. I get discouraged. Thoughts come that I know aren’t right. I go on other sites and sabatoge myself. I think how much better the professionals are, the real photographers. I see how much they can do, and I want to be able to do it too. But that voice whispers thoughts, warped ones. And I listen. Sometimes.
Don’t we all from time to time? Life wears us down and we forget our passion, our first love. That one thing we could always do that made us forget everything else. Or that one special person who could always make us smile, feel fully alive. My brother used to do wonderful woodwork. He could make wood as smooth as glass…….he had the patience for it. Since the divorce, he hasn’t built a thing and it makes me so sad.  
The voice of despondency, and discouragement whispers that it can never be revived again, that it’s not possible. But that voice would be wrong. God can bring new life into anything. Marriages, talents, old friendships long gone, that thing you used to do that brought such passion, such life.
And Jesus said to him, “‘If You can?’ All things are possible to him who believes.”
One thing I know to be true. If you have joy and passion for something, that is a gift from God. And by doing that thing you are honoring Him. Don’t give up, don’t listen to the negative voices that bring death. Choose life.
Pick up that paintbrush, that saw, that drill, that pen……that microphone……that hammer. 
That camera. And do it to the glory of God just for the love of it.  He will absolutely bless it. And He will make you better than you ever thought possible. And you know what, no one can do that thing exactly the way you do it anyway. You bring your own special beauty to it in a way no one else can.
This morning, I listened to my own preaching. I lifted my camera out of the case and apologized to it and to God.
And in the early morning, I sat and clicked. I captured Daddy quail along the wall, and then saw Mom with three chicks. Then the woodpecker came into view, banging on the satelite dish as always…….and then the pigeons got into the act because I had just put out bread…..
By the time I left them to their bread and their bath…...I was alive again.

God keeps a journal

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning.  Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made.  In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” John 1:1-5
I thought of this verse this morning as I rushed over to the golf course to get this shot minus the power lines that continuously block my view. Because I love the written word and everything about it, this verse holds special meaning to me.

The written word has power, tremendous power. It has power to start revolutions and wars, forge relationships, mend hearts and lives, and with the right person behind them, words can become laws.

Words can open up a whole new universe of ideas to someone who never knew such a universe existed. Philip Yancey, in his book “Finding God in Unexpected Places, tells of reading “To Kill a Mockingbird,” among other books, and discovering a whole different world and thought……ideas that were previously foreign to him, being raised in a very racist church. His world was changed.

There is one word though, that set this whole thing in motion………….God’s Word. It started it all, and it will continue throughout eternity. God’s Word is the final word. What is more, the Word is living breathing flesh. The living Word is Jesus.

“The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.” John 1:14

The more you read this verse, the more there is to wrap your mind around.

Before God even uttered one word, the Word was already there………

When we write, we take part in the creative process of capturing thought and bringing it to life on a page…….we have the privilege of joining together with God and doing something really good.

Words can bring life or death. They can be life affirming or spirit killing…….and the words you believe will make a difference in where you spend eternity.

“Then those who feared the Lord talked often one to another; and the Lord listened and heard it, and a book of remembrance was written before Him of those who reverenced and worshipfully feared the Lord and who thought on His name.” Malachi 3:16

Who’d have thought that God kept a journal?

Soul Rest

Somewhere there is a quiet place to dream
To be still, and let the world drop away
You know that place
You could paint it on a canvas
it’s different for everybody, this place.
It’s like a familiar friend and you
always know it when you’ve found it.
It is the moment your soul has found rest,
safely landed….
when all the conditions are right and
you feel like everything in
the universe is working with you 
right then.
Every now and again it happens
in this life, and when it does
it is something like
a little miracle.
It’s not so much a structure
or building…..
You could find it on a street corner
far from home….
It’s that place you discover when you are
all by yourself
maybe rounding a hill
or walking through a clearing
or seeing a light shining through
a little alley way
No matter where it is,
you turn as if to say…..look! 
You want to share it
with someone close.
And then again you almost don’t. 

You want it

to be just yours……
and God’s.
I think this place is something we all
have in common, for is there anyone who
does not dream of such a place?
When you see it, something
in you wants to claim
it as your own
It feels like home
You breathe a little prayer of thanks,
because you just know that God
has dropped it out of the sky
just for you!
I found this little building behind the cabin next door that we rented earlier this month. I immediately claimed it as my own and dubbed it My Writer’s Shack. It intrigued me, stuck back there in the woods. One night I actually thought I saw a light on in the little window, but maybe I just wanted to. I had fun painting a little scene for myself there. I saw myself sitting behind that window, kerosene lamp lit in a comfy chair watching big flakes of snow coming down…books and journal at hand. I have no idea if that cabin was a rental or not. It could be that they used the little building as storage, but I had fun imagining what it could be.  
Be at rest sometime this weekend, and be blessed!

Blog Musings…..

“You weren’t an accident. You weren’t mass produced. You aren’t an assembly-line product. You were deliberately planned, specifically gifted, and lovingly positioned on the earth by the Master Craftsman.” Max Lucado

I am running into a blogging quandary. Just when I think I have my sidebar all neatly arranged and my wonderful collection of blogs final, my sidebar bouquet perfectly crafted, I run into another wonderful blog I simply must add. This is the thought that has been nagging me: I just know that for every blog listed, there are hundreds more out there waiting to be found, waiting to be heard. And I will never have time to read them all!

This is also the most wonderful thing about blogs….and books. An endless procession of beauty and wonder waiting to be discovered. It seems I can never have enough books, or blogs. There is always a story that just has to be told, a new thought to express and a new way to express it. We will never run out of books or blogs or people. Each one is an individual’s own unique perspective, each one a different window to the world around us.

It has been two years since I started this blog, and I have never tired of it. I have never tired of you. How could I? You enrich my life with your words……you have become my blog family whether you want to or not, and I count you all as friends, even though we have never formally met. Some of you I won’t meet until we are all together with Jesus.

I wonder…….what would Heaven’s blog would look like?

No longer do I call you servants, for a servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all things that I heard from My Father I have made known to you. John 15:15