A Sanctified Imagination - V. Nesdoly

With our minds still full of praise for mothers, I am reminded of a Bible mother who was not only a good mother-figure (she was called a "mother in Israel"), but also an inspiration to those in any vocation, especially writers.

 "Thus let all your enemies perish, O Lord! But let those who love Him be like the sun when it comes out in full strength" was the prayer of judge Deborah (Judges 5:31). She was a woman leader of Israel who also had a vivid imagination. The "Thus" in her prayer refers to the details of her victory over Sisera as we find them in her song (Judges 5:1-31). This victory ballad is full of imaginative specifics.

Deborah describes in gory detail the incident of Jael killing Sisera with the tent peg and the hammer. She imagines Sisera's mother waiting for her son to return from battle. When he delays, Deborah envisions how this woman and her maids will explain his lateness to themselves:"Are they not finding and dividing the spoil: To every man a girl or two; For Sisera plunder of dyed garments..." (Judges 5:30).

But Deborah's most inspiring use of imagination is in Judges 4, before she ever has reason to sing that song. Then the situation is still dire. Israel under the thumb of Canaanite King Jabin (and Sisera, his army commander), hasn't seen a ray of hope in twenty years (Judges 4:3). Yet Deborah says to Barak (the commander of Israel's army): "Up! For this is the day in which the Lord has delivered Sisera into your hand. Has not the Lord gone out before you?" (Judges 4:14). Her faith in God fuels her imagination so that she sees the victory before it ever actually happens.

Deborah's use of imagination demonstrates three ways we can use our imaginations.

• To affirm our faith: 
We sanctify our imaginings as we use them in the service of faith like Deborah did when she challenged Barak to go to battle with her. This is building a visionary future on God—His person and promises—and then going into action to make it a reality.

• To communicate the human experience:
Deborah's description of Jael's actions is imagination put to use in the service of story and poetry.

• To deal with misgivings and worries: 
Deborah's speculation of how Sisera's mother is handling her son's delay shows how imagination can supply us with feelings of well-being. However this kind of imagining can easily disintegrate into worry when we  fuel it with pictures of the bad things that may be happening.

How do we employ these facets of imagination in writing?

Our articles, stories, poems, and scripts begin in our imaginations. If we write at God's bidding, we lean on Him for vision and strategies on how to go forward with our ideas, and then we take those steps with faith-filled imagination.

We use our imaginations to communicate the human experience via story, poem, script, or anecdote. Writing is using imagination to  inhabit our characters. Words are the gestures. The page is the stage.

We resolve to use our imaginations in ways that help us. What are the chances of us finishing a story or a book if we nurture the negative pictures our imaginations so readily supply, of editors throwing our submissions in the garbage, or our books garnering one-star reviews? Rather, we must choose to use imagination positively to envision (and pray into) our projects being accepted, our books published,  and our efforts making a difference in someone's life.

May we as writers use our imaginations in all the positive ways that Deborah did.

(Adapted from "A Sanctified Imagination" published on Other Food: daily devos November 20, 2011)

 - Violet Nesdoly

Website: www.violetnesdoly.com

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Tell The Truth - Arends

I have been feasting of late on Marilyn Chandler McEntyre's Caring for Words in a Culture of Lies.  She exhorts all of us -- and most especially writers -- to consider language a precious resource that we are called to steward with faithfulness and wisdom.  In a chapter entitled "Tell the Truth" she provides this thought-provoking list about some of the things the truth is ... and isn't.


Truth is elusive.
Truth avoids institutional control.
Truth tugs at conventional syntax.
Truth hovers at the edge of the visual field.
Truth is relational.
Truth lives in the library and on the subway.
Truth is not two-sided; it's many-sided.
Truth burrows in the body.
Truth flickers.
Truth comes on little cat's feet, and down back alleys.
Truth doesn't always test well.
Truth invites you back for another look.

Tell the truth today, whenever and however you can.  I have it on good authority that the truth can even set you free!

Carolyn Arends

Coming next week to an e-reader near you ... watch www.carolynarends.com for details!

When I Met Jesus - Laura J. Davis

This is my first time to post at Canadian Writers Who are Christian and while I am familiar with most of the authors that post here, I realized as I set out to write something today, that you (the reader) and even some of my fellow authors, may not know a thing about me. So I thought that today I would begin by telling you a little about myself. We'll start with how I met my best friend - Jesus.

Many folks who acknowledge Christ as Saviour probably had someone lead them to him. Over the years, many tried to lead me to the feet of God, however my ears were too clogged and my heart too full of bitterness to hear them. It wasn't until a little book called The Omen came into my life, that I started to wonder what this "Jesus thing" was all about. 

The Omen, if you recall, was a book about the Antichrist. A movie was made about it in the '70's starring Gregory Peck. It was your basic horror book/movie. At that time in my life I was into horror movies, tarot cards and a few other things that kept me far away from God. Anyway, in the book the author had included scripture from The Book of Revelation in the Bible. I was so intrigued that Jesus was coming back again, that I read the entire book of Revelation one night. I went to bed shaking like a leaf! Jesus was coming back AND the world was going to end? That was too much for my 17 year old mind to take. I went to bed and immediately started dreaming. In the dream, I was standing alone underneath the glow of a streetlight. All around me was darkness. Then I heard a voice that said, "Laura, where are you going?" and I shouted back, "I'm going to hell." From there I went immediately to hell, a horrible place! A saw the river Hades, I felt the heat, the screams of lost souls and I woke up screaming and sweating.

Fortunately for me, Campus Crusade for Christ had just been to my high school and someone had given me a copy of the Four Spiritual Laws. I sprang from my bed and searched my room for the little booklet. I read the whole thing and then I read the entire gospel of John. It was after reading John that I realized what I had to do and I got down on my knees, confessed my sins, thanked Jesus for dying for me and invited him into my life. Around 5:00 am I went back to bed and I had another dream. I was dressed in white and I was coming out of a very dark place. I stepped into heaven and Jesus came and took my hand and said, "Now, everything is going to be alright."

The next time I am back, I will fill you in on what else happened. For now, I invite you to visit me at my website at http://www.laurajdavis.com where you can find out a little bit more about me and take a peek at my books Come to Me and Learning from the Master.



Until we meet again, have a blessed week!

THE GOD OF LAUGHTER -- Alan Reynolds

Abram the Bedouin lived on the caravan route between the two great centers of civilization and commerce of his ancient time (Syria and Egypt). Of course he met many travellers and traders and would welcome them to his tents with his best Bedouin hospitality.  In the exchange of introductions he would give his name -- Abram, which meant "father of many."  And the natural response would be, "Tell us, O father of many, how many sons do you have?"  And poor Abram would be forced to reply, "None."  One can almost hear the snort of suppressed laughter which Abram, so many times over the years, must have found so very humiliating.

It was especially difficult because Abram claimed that he had been promised by the God he served, Yahweh, the "Lord," that his descendants would number as the sand, and that he, Abram, would be fruitful and multiply and be, not just the "father of many" but even the "father of many nations."

Even when he was 99 years old, and Sarah his wife 90 years old, Abram claimed that the Lord appeared to him and repeated the promise.  The story tells us that Abram, the man noted in the New Testament for his faith, fell on his face laughing.

To make matters worse, God told Abram to change his name to Abraham, meaning "father of a multitude."  Imagine what probably happened when the old man called together the members of his tribe, nieces and nephews, servants and their families, and said to them, "The Lord has told me to change my name."  You can hear them saying behind their hands to one another, "Well the old man has finally come to his senses and given up.  Thank goodness we won't have to explain anymore why a man with no children calls himself 'father of many.'"

So they waited to hear the new name.  "Henceforth," the old man pronounced, "I am to be called Abraham" (which means "father of a multitude").

Imagine the stunned silence, and later, in the privacy of their own quarters, the secret laughter.  Imagine Sarah remonstrating, "You old fool, it was bad enough before.  Why did you go and make it worse? Imagine how it makes me feel!"

Finally, when the messengers of the Lord came to Abraham by the "oaks of Mamre" where he sat by his tent in the shade, to tell him that within the year Sarah would bear a son, Sarah, eavesdropping from within the tent, was overheard to laugh.  Not just a giggle, but no doubt an honest-to-goodness belly laugh that couldn't be disguised as anything but what it was.  How embarrassing for Abraham, trying to be the good host and act with due seriousness in such a ridiculous situation.  And his wife, to be the bearer of the promise, guffawing in the hearing of his guests.

When the boy was born, they didn't get very pious and call him "promised of God," or "miracle child of our old age."  No, they named him as God had commanded, "Isaac," which means "Laughter."  As Sarah said, "God has made Laughter for me!"

And the Lord also, who might be thought to be above such casual humour, seemed actually to relish it.  Down the generations following, God kept reminding His people of it (they seemed to forget so often). "I am the God of Laughter," the Lord would say, "the God of Abraham, Laughter and Jacob."

Isn't it strange, when laughter is written not only into our very nature but into the very Word of God, that we should so often picture God as solemn and sober, somber and even sour.  Oh, let's not take away the seriousness of God's judgement or the reality of suffering. But let us remember that God is quite evidently a God who loves laughter.

We can, no doubt, blame our Puritan forefathers for such a somber attitude to religion, and serious men and women they were. Edward Irving wrote, "Laughter is a kind of bacchanalian state of the mind just as drunkenness is a bacchanalian state of the body."  Some of the Puritans refused to gaze on flowers, since they were "worldly things." And the 17th century pietist, August Francke, forbade children in his orphanages to smile, as he regarded humour and laughter as irreverent.

Remember that the Puritans had their reasons.  Life was a serious business in those days, full of hard labour, dangerous and mysterious diseases, and stern justice.  Then too, Puritanism itself was a reaction against the corruption of the Elizabethan and Jacobean eras, when humour gave way to debauchery and mirth to riot.  In their righteous zeal, the Puritans closed the theatres and forbade the celebration of Christmas.

Before we condemn the excesses of our Puritan forefathers, let us remember how far we have allowed the pendulum to swing again to the same extremes.  Have you listened lately to some of the nite-club humorists, or attended a movie in the last twenty years?

But still, surely laughter has its place and purpose in God's plan -- and perhaps a very central and important place. Laughter is written into nature.  It was Abraham Lincoln who said something like, "God must have meant us to laugh, or He wouldn't have created mules, monkeys, and men."  Whether we go to the zoo to laugh at the duck-billed, web-footed, flat-tailed platypus, or watch in our kitchen a kitten playing with a ball of yarn, we find much in nature and in natural life to make us laugh.

Dear God, we make you so solemn,
So stiff and old and staid,
How can we be so stupid
When we look at the things you've made?

Who watches the ostrich swallow,
Then doubts that You like to play,
Or questions your sense of humour
Hearing a donkey bray?

Could the God who made the monkey
Have forgotten how to laugh?
Or the one who striped the zebra
And stretched out the giraffe?

How could a solemn person
Fashion a pelican?
Or a perfectly sober Creator
Ever imagine a man?
(Helen Salsbury)

There is humour in the Bible too, so much of it, and so little of it recognized.  Isaiah laughed at those who spent money and effort to have an idol built "of a wood that will not rot," cast about with silver chains and fancy decorations, but then had to nail it down carefully so that it didn't fall over (Isaiah 40).

Read the story of Jacob (Genesis 27f.)  Imagine how the people loved to tell this story, and how the children loved to hear it.  Imagine how they laughed as they told of the one whose name meant "supplanter," born the second of twins but clutching on to his brother's heel  even in birth.  How he clothed himself in sheepskin to fool his blind old father into giving him the blessing reserved forthe first-born.  How he worked for seven years to earn the beautiful Rachel for his bride, only to lift the veil to find that he had married her older sister, Leah! How he engaged in such a war of wits with his father-in-law that they finally had to agree to part.  They agreed on a "line of demarcation" and there they built a cairn as a divider, agreeing that neither would step over the line.  And just to make sure, they repeated together, "The Lord watch between me and thee while we are absent one from the other."  In other words, a formula of mutual mistrust: "Remember, when I can't keep an eye on you, the Lord is watching what you're up to."

In the New Testament, we have the instance of Paul preaching at such length to the elders at Ephesus than one of the congregation fell asleep and fell out of an upper-story window.

Or there's the instance of four friends tearing up the roof of a house in order to lay at the feet of Jesus the one who couldn't walk! Or little Zacchaeus climbing the sycamore tree.

Remember how often Jesus used humour in his teaching.  There was the man with the great plank in his own eye trying to take a speck out of another's eye. Or the person who put the candle under the basket instead of on a stand.  Or the camel trying to get through the eye of the needle. Or Solomon worrying about his wardrobe while the flowers, a million strong in their finery, fluttered carelessly in the field.

There is ample evidence of Jesus' suffering, of His sorrow for our blindness and sin.  The shortest verse in the Bible is, "Jesus wept." But there is also ample evidence that Jesus was one who had a sense of humour and enjoyed laughter.  John's disciples, they said, fasted and prayed, while Jesus' disciples feasted and danced.

"The foolishness of God is wiser than the wisdom of men," wrote the apostle Paul.  He wasn't talking about anything light. He was talking about the cross.  Yet, even here, in the end, is a kind of laughter.

"He who sits in the heavens laughs," says the second Psalm, and there does seem to be a kind of resurrection laughter that even the most sordid and tragic of our human circumstances, seen from theperspective of the fulfillment of God's purposes, may be an occasion for laughter.  Surely we do not believe that, in the end, it's the devil who gets the last laugh.

In Lazarus Laughed, the play he forgot when he wrote "Long Day's Journey Into Night," Eugene O'Neill pictured Lazarus, risen from the grave, going about laughing.  "There is only life," he says, "I heard the heart of Jesus laughing in my heart . . . and I laughed in the laughter of God." The crowds catch the spirit and begin to chant, "Laugh!  Laugh!  Laugh with Lazarus!  Fear is no more!  There is no death!"

At the climax of the play, Lazarus faces Caesar, laughs at his threats, and is put to death -- still laughing.

God grant us grace so to understand the power of God that we may
place ourselves in God's hands, not in fear and trembling, but with
the laughter of little children and the confidence of those who know
that the Victory has been won.

Not merely in the words you say,
Not only in your deeds confessed,
But in the most unconscious way
Is Christ confessed.

Is it a beatific smile?
A holy light upon your brow?
Ah no -- I felt God's presence while
You laughed just now!
(Beatrice Cleland)

Ready to Go, But. . .- Austin

There is an intriguing tension between faith in God, with its comfort and assurance in the face of tragedy or death, and the love of life. I believe we have a God-given passion to draw one more breath.

I sat at a bedside just recently. The goodbyes had been said. Tears had spilled. She had lived a long, full life, though she did not seem 'old.' Her body had battled an invasion, swift and brutal. A blood-clot had led to tissue death and massive infection. She had suffered intense pain and debiliting exhaustion. In the small hours of the morning as her breathing slowed, I had every reason to think her body was simply shutting down, surrendering in a fight it could not win.

I loved this woman, mother of my bride, though I had rarely spoken that love. More than once tears filled my eyes as I sat beside her. I prayed, sometimes a selfish prayer. "Restore her, for me, for the rest of the family." Sometimes less selfish. "Let her lungs work fully. Don't make her spend hours or days dying. Please God, let her live fully whatever hours she has left." Mostly I sat with an inner quiet and a strange sense of measureless privilege. Why should I have the right to be here, at this time?

She loved God. Death did not terrify. She, too, had said her goodbyes. Yet her body fought for life. It would not give in.

I struggle with the theology of Dylan Thomas' poem: "Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light." It doesn't sit will with my belief that as believers we have every reason to face death with confidence. Yet I am also convinced there is much truth in the poem's message. We're not meant to just give up and die. The burning desire to draw one more breath is -- I am fully convinced -- a God-given passion.

Intensive Care facilities are noisy places, with hums and clicks and hisses, and with highly trained medical staff only a few paces away. Yet as I sat beside her from 3:00 to 4:30 a.m., there was a sense of quiet in that room, of peace, and of privilege. I have no adequate language.

I thought I was there for a home-going, and I ached deeply even as I silently celebrated. I was mistaken, and for that I'm still celebrating -- though not quite so silently. Looking back, I'm convinced I was present for her healing. By morning she was stronger than she had been for weeks. And by 4:00 p.m. they had moved her out of Intensive Care.

A few nights later my wife and I read the passage where Jesus told His Disciples, "I go to prepare a place for you." I caught myself wondering if we did Mom any favours by praying for her healing. We were greatly blessed that she made it through the night. We felt the intense thrill of seeing her moved out of Intensive Care, then gaing strength and finally returning home. But she would have been celebrating in a new home, with a body free of pain and exhaustion.

I haven't got it all sorted out in my mind. I'm not convinced we are supposed to simply give up and "go gently into that good night." But I'm also not at all convinced we have any cause to "rage, rage against the dying of the light." God's promises are trustworthy even in the darkest hours, so somewhere, there is a balance, though I suspect each of us have to find it for ourselves.

Brian Austin, author of Munnin's Keep 

I Love Kindle - Meyer

Yesterday, I took another small brave leap into the technological morass which has inundated our culture and forever changed “life as we know it.” (Drum roll, please…)
I downloaded Kindle to my PC.

Though perhaps not such an earthshaking event to some of you, to this northern girl who would love nothing better than a cabin in the bush, heated by wood, and lit by a coal oil lamp… well, you get the picture.

It’s only been around ten years since my husband wrestled pen and paper out of my hands (metaphorically speaking) and insisted that I try writing my books and articles with a computer, storing the information on 3.5 floppy disks. And then came the huge step of “getting on the Internet” which my very patient middle son taught me how to do. I developed a website in 2005, which I still have and another one a couple of years later.

In 2008, I began blogging – on this site! It was difficult for me to do a lot more on the Internet because we only had a low-speed dial-up connection. Then we broke down and got a satellite dish (ugh!) affixed to the side of our house and I was able to Tweet on Twitter post on Facebook and sometimes even watch a youtube video (on the days when our connection is good).

But I am an author and I LOVE books – real books with pages that you can feel. I have books that are over a hundred years old – and I just love the fact that I know this book is still just exactly how it was written – no revisions. You get a real feel for how people thought back then when you read a historical novel that is truly historical!

And don’t we all stare at computer screens too much in our workday without also doing this in our leisure time?

So why did I finally stroll over to the “dark side” and embrace this newest (for me) technological advance? Two reasons really: it’s cheap and it’s convenient. I can get an EBook for a fraction of the price and have it downloaded in seconds to my computer. Living 850+ km from the nearest bookstore, I would normally wait until I made a trip down south to wander through either McNally Robinson  or Aqua books or Hull's Family bookstore . Instead, I can just go on Amazon and download Barbara Ann Derksen’s mystery: Presumed Dead and even write a review on it!   

Did I mention that I was able to download Kindle FREE to my computer?

It’s so easy, even a recovering technophobe like me can do it!

Dorene Meyer

Award-winning Author of EBooks: 

The Little Ones, Jasmine, Lewis and Joshua

The View - Ruth Smith Meyer

A gentleman sat in the screened porch of his cottage in the mountains.  Against the outside wall his three grandchildren played with their toys.  His wife leaned against his shoulder.  Through the screen one could see a pristine lake reflecting the blue skies and the grandeur of a rugged, snow-capped mountain. 

        “You know,” he said, “Sitting here, all I can see are those dirty screens full of bugs and dead flies. I really need to clean them.”

       In that moment, his beautiful grandchildren and the gorgeous scenery went unnoticed.  His focus was riveted on the dirty screen.
      In any given situation, we have a choice of views.  We can choose to concentrate on what is right in front of us, a few feet or yards in front of us or we can look further into the distance at the long-range view. 
      I sat last week, sharing the yucky post-surgery woes of my husband, thinking of the unsuccessful venture to remove the tumors from his spine. I looked up at the panorama outside my dear Wise One’s 9^th floor hospital room and thought of that little story. I too had choices before me.  
       I could look at the flies on the screen of our present situation

• ·        The fears about possible growth of the tumors and consequent paralysis.
• ·        The treatment and side effects.
• ·        The plans that would have to be cancelled.
• ·        The end of life as we knew it and the journey with cancer that would dominate our days.
• ·        The pain and suffering that may be involved

     But I realized I could instead choose to focus on what is right in front of me:

• ·        The wonderful support of our families.
• ·        The amazing prayer support of our churches, friends and their churches and friends of our friends.
• ·        The wonderful gift God gave Paul and I in bringing us together in this season of our lives.
• ·        The days, and by God’s grace, months and perhaps years we may still have.
• ·        The loving and committed care of the nurses, the skills of our doctors and other support staff.

              I can also look beyond the screen

• ·        to the tapestry of my life in the larger view of God’s presence woven through the pattern of my years,
• ·        the rich hues, dark and light, with which he coloured my days. 
• ·        And far off on the horizon and beyond the skies, the promise of eternal life with my Lord and God and reuniting with those I love.

            What a view!


Ruth Smith Meyer 
www.ruthsmithmeyer.com

Burning Words by Rose McCormick Brandon

The rhythm formed by a writer's unique way of stringing phrases and sentences becomes their voice. This voice is the author's trademark. Take Irish writer, Frank McCourt, (Angela's Ashes, Teacher Man, 'Tis) as an example. It wasn't unusual for McCourt to write a whole paragraph of one continuous sentence. I imagine that his writing teacher, if he had one, might've said, "You'll never publish Frank, never. Anyone who doesn't have a relationship with the period can't ever publish." But, this flaw became McCourt's voice. His words flowed onto the page with a lilt, a distinctive, pleasurable hum. They warmed readers' hearts and made us wish that his had been a longer life filled with more joyful run-on sentences.
When I read scripture, I'm moved by the way its voice rings with holy zing. Its words strike me in the heart, or conscience, and urge me to change my ways. They comfort, encourage and inform. They remind me that the way I think is not the way He thinks.
Scripture sparkles with light. In its words, I recognize the Father's voice. His words affect me like no human's words.
I have favorite writers and McCourt is one of them, but his words don't admonish me or cause me to change my ways. They warm my heart but they don't stir it. I read his words for pleasure, a treat, but I read God's word for spiritual nourishment, a necessity.
After His resurrection, Jesus caught up to two disciples on the road to Emmaus (about 7 miles from Jerusalem). They were discussing the crucifixion. Jesus joined their discussion, quietly at first. Then, He explained to them the meaning of His death and all the events leading up to and after it. After a shared meal, Jesus disappeared. It was then the two men realized who had been speaking with them. One said:

Were not our hearts greatly moved and burning within us while He was talking with us on the road and as He opened and explained to us [the sense of] the Scriptures? (Luke 24:32)

Burn. That word aptly describes the feeling that comes from reading holy writing. No other book contains words that move us to the depth of our souls, transforming, burning words that change us.
His words, in His voice, are still changing people. No other writer's words can do that.

Rose McCormick Brandon is a frequent contributor to several publications. She also publishes stories of British Home Children at The Promise of Home.

Do Mission Statements Change?

I've been writing professionally for most of my adult life.  My first novel, THE JOSIAH FILES was published twenty years ago by Thomas Nelson. 

When I began, I attended a Finding Your Mission Statement workshop at a Christian writer's conference.  Through prayer and much thought I came up with one. It guided my life and my writing for a whole bunch of years. My intent was to write about real Christians who were suffering, real people who felt ostracized and out of place within the Christian culture. I had gay people in my books who were still gay at the end. I wrote about a minister’s wife who loses her faith, and by the end of the book she is still searching and unsure. I wrote about a Christian woman who is abused by her Christian husband and by the end of the book they don’t reconcile, but she finds the strength to leave him.

I used to think mission statements were sort of like getting married. They were yours for life.  I think maybe the workshop leader even told us this. 

I'm not sure I believe that anymore. Corporations change their mission statements from time to time. Companies change their names and their logos. Before I wrote novels  I was a news reporter for a local paper in western Canada.  Every five to ten years the newspaper would go through a complete metamorphosis. Masthead, colors, and logos would change. In other words their 'Brand' changes. 

My website has changed. My brand has changed. Even my name has changed. I’m writing mysteries under the name LR Hall now. 

Life has changed me. I’m reminded of the old joke about the child psychologist who had six theories and no children and then went on to have six children and no theories. I had all the answers back when I started. Armed with my mission statement I was going to change the world. Everything was black and white. 

The publishing industry has changed astronomically in twenty years and with 18 novels, I've been there through all its ups and downs. Back in 1992 the highlight of my day was not checking my e-mail, but waiting for the mailman to come. My acceptance letter was an actual letter. With a stamp on it. (In case anyone is wondering what an actual letter is.)

In twenty years my own Christian walk with the Lord has grown such that I now see things in shades of gray.

Many of my years with Christian publishing were very good. I’ve worked with some remarkable editors who saw my vision, mission and helped me turn my books into the best they could be.   

But then, as publishing changed, things became “tighter”. It became more and more difficult to find a publisher willing to go out on a limb with me and publish Christian books that weren’t somehow “safe.” One publisher told me, “We just don’t know how to market you.”

So, for a short while I wrote the kind of books they wanted. I could write for hire couldn’t I? How hard could that be? Hard, it turned out. Really, really hard. I felt like I was losing part of myself. I had to leave Christian publishing. (Or Christian publishing as I know it now.)

I’m moving into the general mystery market with a brand new name. And so what is my mission statement now? It’s not very fancy. I still want to write about real people. I still want to write about struggles. I want to pour myself into my mysteries and make them the very best I can.  

But there’s more. I want to be a friend to people. I want to learn more about kindness. I want to take time for people and my family. I want to go for walks every day. I want to enjoy music and spend time with God every day and simply write the best books I can. That, I guess, is my mission.

Stop! . . . Get to the Point! - Peter A. Black

“Stop! Sto-o-op! . . . Will you please get straight to the point. What is it you’re trying to say? You completely lost me with all those

details. Never mind the details; get to the point.” A tide of frustration breaks over the dam of intelligent interest for some people when they listen to someone telling a story or recounting an incident, and the speaker gives every last detail – details that hinder, instead of helping, the story to unfold in a coherent, comprehensible manner. My wife is one of those “straight to the pointers,” whose frustration soon overflows when I fall – as I often do – into that mode of pursuing unnecessary details in conversation. It’s a wonder she has any hair left on her head with listening to you know who. I have to confess that I’m beginning to get sensitized to, and wearied by, endless minutiae – mostly when I’m on the listening end of things, myself. It’s baffling though, that after 50 years of public speaking, I have never conquered that tendency to feel the need to share detail that’s largely irrelevant to the point of the story or conversation. There’s hope. Writing offers a great vehicle for sorting out what’s important to a story or an account of incidents, events, and matters.

I think of the many years I pecked away on my faithful Underwood Five manual typewriter, preparing correspondence, sermons and Bible studies. I now wonder how on earth I did it! The scratchpad was handy for sketching things out and roughing up before typing up, for it reduced the amount of white-out I’d need to use. But nowadays, computing and word-processing means I can cut and paste and move material, points and ideas around the screen, before ever committing to a printout. Oh, how easy writers have it now, compared to how it was several decades back. We can read and reread, combing and sifting through our WIP (work in progress), assessing, reading out loud, getting a sense of nuance, and checking spelling and grammar as we go, or at the end. Cutting out the fat of duplication and what we, in our on-the-go review process have come to perceive as unnecessary detail, is easy. The delete key takes care of them in a nano sec Personally. I do need to work at the art of conversational word-processing in order to save my breath and my listeners from either frustration or zoning out and into la-la land. In this regard, I think my deliverance may well come through writing. Writing slows the pace at which thoughts are articulated into speech. It allows us to set out those thoughts and organize them into a concise form and in words that precisely express our ideas and feelings. Ah, writing – what a great gift! Writing and speech are so closely related. I love the opening of the 45th psalm: “My heart is stirred by a noble theme as I recite my verses for the king; my tongue is the pen of a skilful writer. You are the most

excellent of men and your lips have been anointed with grace, since God has blessed you forever” (NIV). With skilful pen may we write, and our lips be anointed with grace, enabling us to write and speak of that noblest of themes – the Living Word. (Cp. John 1:1-4; 14-18.) ~~+~~ Peter A. Black writes a weekly newspaper column, magazine articles and short biographical pieces.

He is author of the children/s / family book "Parables from the Pond."

Are Writers Leaders? - Eleanor Shepherd

Recently, I read somewhere, on the web and I cannot remember where, that as writers we are leaders.  I have to admit that I do not like that idea.  I believe and hope that what I write will be of benefit to others, as it is to me, but I do not like to think that by writing I am setting myself up as a leader.  I am not sure if the problem is in my understanding of what a leader is or what a writer is. 

            I have been churning these ideas around in my head and trying to understand if as a writer I do have some responsibility to be a leader, much as I feel that puts pressure on me for excellence. 

            Then a couple of days ago, I came across a post linked to one of my online writing groups that gave some specific characteristics of a great leader and I found that they are also relevant to what it means to be a writer.  The post is by Catarina Alexon, an international businesswoman and writer.  Here are some of her characteristics of a great leader:

·      A strong set of values and openness, trust and true respect for others. 

I believe a writer must have these characteristics.  If we do not have a strong set of values, our writing is weak and does not provide any intellectual meat for people to chew on.  Without openness, trust and respect we will not listen to others and thereby test our ideas against their experience.  When we fail to do that we risk writing irrelevant prattle that is poor stewardship of the gift that has been entrusted to us.

·      Genuine humility and not afraid to show vulnerability. 

In my opinion, this is what makes our writing credible and allows others to feel the common bond of our humanity.  I think that genuine humility can be quite elusive for us, as it is easy for us to take a humble pose, without really being honest about our doubts, fears and misgivings.  I think this is particularly true for Christian writers.  We sometimes feel that by admitting that we do not have it all together we are suggesting that in some way the Lord we follow has failed us.  In our saner moments, we become aware of the absurdity of such thinking that somehow equates our inadequacies with divine activity.  We also walk a tightrope between being vulnerable and exposing unresolved inner conflicts that are better resolved privately.  Transparency becomes exhibitionism when it focuses on the writer rather than the principles articulated. 

·      Regularly reflect and have an unquenchable thirst for learning.

If as writers, this is not a part of our lives, the well will soon dry up and we will have nothing of consequence to say.  Probably one of the things I love most about reading and writing is to be able to explore ideas and try to fit them into my constantly growing and changing worldview.  These are part of the integration of my personality in all areas, physically, emotional and spiritual.  For me, this is one of the greatest gifts of writing.

            I still am not sure if writers are leaders.  I understand a little more clearly that what we do as writers is try to articulate some of the process that takes place, as we become more fully integrated human beings.  Some do this through the exploration of plots and characters in fiction.  Others do it through the unique expressions of language provided by poetry.  I prefer to work through my thoughts using the ideas verbalized as non-fiction.  Some highly gifted writers use several different formats.  Does that make us leaders?  Perhaps it does in the sense that we put forward thoughts that can stir others to reflection and to action.             

 Link to Catarina Alexon’s post: http://catarinasworld.com/how-inspiring-leaders-work/

Winner of 2009
Award of Merit
Human Interest Article

Winner of 2011
Word Guild Award
Christian Leadership

Is it Now or Never? - MANN

I recently answered the front door of our home to a friendly looking man and woman. They were very gracious in their greeting and we discussed the lovely warm day, one of the first of the spring season. Within a few minutes they began to talk about faith issues and I listened for a while and then gently said that I had my own faith position and it gave me a great deal of peace in my relationship with God. That obviously didn’t get me safe on the other shore, as I was soon led into a conversation about other theological matters.

The same day, I answered the phone and was instantly captured in an hour long exchange of how the caller does her duty in sharing God’s word. She had called to invite me to volunteer for an organization and then had given a myriad of reasons why volunteerism is good for the kingdom. I didn’t doubt that for a minute, but always thought it was courtesy to ask “Am I interrupting anything, or do you have time to talk?” In my case a good question might have been, “Are you out of your pyjamas yet? It’s 10 o’clock.”

I guess I must be an easy mark because later in the day a man holding a large sign accosted me at the town centre and asked me in a rather ragged loud voice if I believed in Hell, further stating that obviously most people didn’t or they wouldn’t live the way they do.

A few days later I was sitting with a friend at a baby shower who began a long story about why she wouldn’t visit a senior relative because she never knew, ‘just when it would all start,” meaning a friendly quiz about how sound her relationship was with God.

Today I met with a financier who, when we were finished, thanked me for coming and wished me a safe trip home. Before I said goodbye, I asked if he was through for the day. He said, “No, but I wish I were. The next client is always a difficult one, as he always wants to talk about what the Lord is doing for him, rather than using his precious sixty minutes to give me opportunity to answer the questions that he should be paying me to answer.” It was this conversation that caused me to file the blog away I had written for today and posted this one.

It’s no secret that scripture asks us to witness our faith. It’s no surprise that we have lots of opportunity to share our faith with others. There is no question that there are appropriate times when this is a very good idea and definitely widens the circle. However, I wonder if our witness always grows the kingdom.

Donna Mann

http://www.donnamann.org

Weekend Retreat—Carolyn R. Wilker

A get away? You bet!  It would be a weekend away from my usual household chores, my office, and my “to-do” list. I’ve been looking forward to this women’s event the way a child looks forward to Christmas. I filled out the registration form and sent it out in the mail the day it came.

No woman or mother gets away easily. It requires planning, getting laundry done, packing clothing for warm and cool weather, pulling the sleeping bag out of storage, and making a list. Add in grocery shopping and food preparation for one meal and snack the first night.

Three of us gathered Friday afternoon, waiting for the fourth member of our group. Deb arrived; she and her husband unloaded bags and packages from their car.

“Whose idea was it to meet at 5:00?” she joked.

 She’d no more than set her bags down beside the car when she let out a large sigh. I smiled with her, understanding the reason: It’s a feat of enormity for women to get away. After determining our supper location, we set off for the camp.

At the opening session, we played an informal game, matching a note about a treasured possession with the writer of that note. My note read: a pair of opal stud earrings. We walked around the room searching for the person who had written it, being asked about others' notes in the process. Afterwards, we shared what we had learned about the other person and the treasured possession. Thus the theme, Treasured.

Our retreat leader, Joanna, an ordained pastor of the Lutheran church (ELCIC), led us through the study. She said that even though we may feel small and insignificant at times, “We are God’s bling bling," meaning 'jewellery that makes a loud statement.'

I learned about 'bling bling' last fall when my eldest daughter showed me her engagement ring. I looked up the term to find that bling is actually a slang word.

 Just as a lump of coal turns to a diamond with much time, constant pressure and heat, we as women are also shaped by happenings in our lives. While we agreed that many of those experiences can be difficult, we are reminded that God is with us in those circumstances, carrying us when the load gets too heavy.

Between group sessions, we socialized, made a craft, ate together, laughed and shared our stories. We went for walks around Edgewood Camp—some of us taking the high road to the cliff—watching for trilliums, the great horned owl, as well as the fish in the stream, none of which my walking partners found on our walks.

 In small groups, we discussed how it feels knowing that the God of the universe values us as a prized possession, much as we value the particular thing we shared on Friday evening. Our leader reflected that most of those items were not high-priced items, but still precious to us.

 In our last session, we talked about a time in the previous week when we felt that light shining in our lives from someone around us, and how we can be a light to others. During the weekend, when I experienced physical pain, I also felt the loving care of others and God’s light shining through them.

Just outside of camp, heading home, Monica said, “It seems like a long time since Friday.” We had packed so much into those few days.

As I write this, I’m still pondering those discussions and the words of our leader, “We are God’s bling bling.” We are called to show that light in the world.

bridge over the creek

Cedar Lodge, our accommodations

Carolyn R. Wilker is an editor, speaker, storyteller and author of Once Upon a Sandbox