I stared across the table at my writing mentor. I was trying to get my novel ready to be be published and enough trouble eking out time for that. Why would I want to write a blog?
“Publishers look at blogs.” She informed ,me. “It tells them that people know who you are are like what you write.”
“But I don’t know how to write a blog!” I protested. “I would have no idea what to write! I don’t even know how to FIND a blog!”
“You need to learn.” She said.
I signed loudly, exasperated. “Just tell me how to get my book published!”
“Write a blog.”
Here we go again. I tried my best not to roll my eyes.
I found it wasn’t as scary as I had thought. There were a lot of terms I was totally unfamiliar with (such as SEO, Widgets, and Super Cache), but a lot of it was easy to understand and encouraging. I read, I took notes, I clicked…
Wait a minute! I thought. Is this a blog? Am I reading a BLOG? I stared at the screen in amazement. I had found and read my first blog! It wasn’t so bad. It was actually kind of cool. And yeah, I was proud of myself. I looked over the blog again. I felt as if I had made a new friend.
So, here I am, sitting with Clara and writing my first blog.
Hi there. My name is GeAnn Powers. I am embarking on an adventure of transitioning from wanna-be author to published writer. These blog posts will chart my steps on this journey. Buckle up. This is where it begins!
My son Ryan had sent a text asking if his dad or I would be home for lunch. He claimed he had an announcement. Ernie was pulling a double shift, and I wouldn’t be home until after 8 pm, so no. Neither of us would be available.
“So what’s the announcement?” I texted back. “Are you engaged?” Not likely. Ryan didn’t even date.
“I was laid off.”
No. I stared at the screen, not wanting to believe the words. Not Ryan. Anyone but Ryan.
“All of us designers were laid off because there wasn’t enough work to keep us busy.” He explained.
I took a little comfort in that. It wasn’t because he had Asperger’s.
When God made Ryan, he’d taken special care with my son. He was smart, loving, compassionate and gifted in math and music. He was also awkward, socially backward. That was the nature of Asperger’s: often “Aspies” were intellectually brilliant but social aliens: understanding the language, but not the cultural rules and norms. Add to that the fact that Ryan had oral coordination issues that make eating and talking a labored effort.
But God had also given Ryan a heart of gold.
“Do you know what Ryan does on Fridays?” My son Joe once asked me.
“Yeah, he buys pizza.”
“Not just for me and him, though.” Joe clarified. “He also pays for the guy in line behind us. He tells them God blessed him with a good job and he wants to bless others.”
That was awesome, but not surprising. We had gone to Disneyworld the week Ryan turned 12. The park presented him with a substantial gift card for the occasion. Ryan immediately picked out a Lego set for his little brother Joe and built a lightsaber for our oldest son, Chris. Then he went looking for a present for himself.
Because, that’s the way Ryan is.
But now, my 22-year-old son was unemployed.
Why, God. Why? Of all people, why Ryan?
It was his first job and a God sent. The company had called his computer tech instructor asking for a recommendation. Mr. Ripley immediately thought of Ryan. He was perfect for the position. He’d loved the job, was good at it and it paid well. But, none of that mattered now. The job was no longer his.
Why did bad things happen to good people? Is it a test of faith?
Ernie and I have both lost jobs and lived on faith until the next opportunity came. At times faith seemed to be a bomb shelter we hid under as one door after another closed. Other times it was riding a surfboard as God sent wave after wave of blessing our way, carrying us through the hard times. Was it now Ryan’s turn? Was his faith now to be tested? Or was God still testing Ernie and I?
Ephesians 6:16 states “Take up the shield of faith, with which you can quench all the flaming darts of the evil one.” Unemployment may not be a flaming dart of the evil one, but the depression and feelings of worthlessness that come with it are. Ryan would be facing those darts. Come what may, we would face them with him.
As soon as I got home, I found Ryan and hugged him.
“God gave you that job.” I reminded him. “There’s another one out there for you. God wouldn’t be taking you through this if He didn’t have a plan in mind. He’s taking you out of your comfort zone, to build and strengthen you. This is a time of trust. You’re going to get through this, Ryan.”
He nodded and sniffled. “I know.” Tears started welling up. “I don’t know what to do, Mom.”
I had no response, but to hug him tighter and cry with him.
The next day, Ernie and Ryan went through the papers his former employer had given him. My husband then gave Ryan a crash course on online job searching.
It’s been two weeks. Ryan’s time of trust continues. He and Ernie still browse the web together looking for possible jobs.
Lord, we trust You. We know You only have the best plans for Your Followers. Even so, You can send that wave of blessing at any time.
Did Jesus ever have to deal with bullies when he was growing up? As an urban gypsy, hopping from town to town, I know I had my share of them. Some of them still stand out vividly in my mind:
Second grade: Elsinore California. it was “Eddie Spaghetti” who like to tease girls but specialized in tormenting me.
Fourth grade: Fullerton, California. We transferred in mid-year. My teacher delighted in calling out my shortcomings in front of the whole class.
Fifth grade: Yermo, California. A whole pack of girls cornered me once with devious intentions. Luckily, I was a fast runner.
Sixth grade: Puhrump, Nevada. Eric S. and his cronies terrorized our whole class, even punching kids in sight of the teacher. My friend Martha and I were his special targets.
Seventh grade. Still in Puhrump. Eric was doing time in juvie, but his cronies patrolled the halls of the junior high school doling out punishment. I also had to deal with a gym teacher who openly mocked me because I was fat, clumsy and had no athletic skills.
Eighth grade: Las Vegas, Nevada. Kay-Kay threw me up against a locker because she felt I looked at her wrong during drama class.
Ninth grade: South Sioux City, Nebraska. Once again, transferring in mid-year. The harassment was started by a kid named Tristan with one leg shorter than the other. For retaliation, my sister suggested I call him “Pegleg”. Wrong thing to do to a kid with friends when you have none.
Tenth grade: Still in South Sioux. Riding the school bus. There was a senior on our route. He was big enough to make the football defensive line, but too stupid to make the required grade point to stay there. He delighted in poking me in the back with a pencil and pulling my hair the whole trip. Once, he rapped me on the head with his class ring as he went by. Those things hurt!
I’m not sure if it was the ring incident or something else, but at some point that bully caught me on a bad day and I lashed back. I don’t even remember if I actually hit him or not, but there I was all 5’6″ of me swinging madly at this 6’+ colossus. He and his buddies smirked at my pathetic attempts, but he didn’t poke me the rest of the trip.
The next day he got on the bus and met my icy glare. The look said “don’t even think of trying something, jerk!” He walked right on by and sat at the back of the bus, far away from me.
That was the last time I was ever bullied.
Tristan and I were actually semi-friends in high school, saying hi to each other in passing in the hallway. He played a drunk in the school musical and I gave him tips on how to create the illusion of a 5 o’clock shadow.
But my childhood experiences left me wondering if the adolescent Jesus was ever bullied. Growing up, I was taught to “turn the other cheek”, “blessed are the meek” and “a gentle word turns away wrath”. Does that apply to bullies too?
Well, the Bible has very little to say about the Jesus’ life before his ministry, but it says a lot about how Jesus dealt with the bullies of his adulthood. He stood up to the Pharisees, overturned the tables of the crooked money changers and he called sin what it was.
Too many Christians picture Jesus as this anemic, timid being and hold him as an example to us asking “What would Jesus do?” It’s believing we must be mum so we don’t offend others, and don’t fight back because that’s not the Christian thing to do. Keep the peace at all cost. But does Jesus call us to keep our bodies inactive and our mouths shut in the face of injustice? In our attempts to be peace makers are we called to be peace fakers?
No.
Because that is what being a true peace maker is: standing up to those who take advantage of the weak, calling out injustice, telling others “no, that’s not OK”.
This isn’t picking fights – it’s standing up for yourself and your beliefs. And at times, that means you have to defend yourself. Sometimes with scripture, sometimes with reason and sometimes – possibly – with your fists.
Ephesians 6 tells us “Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace.”
Truth and righteousness stand there with peace, not timidity and political correctness.
So stand firm, ready to defend who you are and the Christ living within you. Your peace comes not from bully tactics of the world but through knowing Christ and standing strong with him.
So, as a Christian, have you ever had a time you had to “fight back?”
Did Jesus ever have to deal with bullies when he was growing up? As an urban gypsy, hopping from town to town, I know I had my share of them. Some of them still stand out vividly in my mind:
Second grade: Elsinore California. it was “Eddie Spaghetti” who like to tease girls but specialized in tormenting me.
Fourth grade: Fullerton, California. We transferred in mid-year. My teacher delighted in calling out my shortcomings in front of the whole class.
Fifth grade: Yermo, California. A whole pack of girls cornered me once with devious intentions. Luckily, I was a fast runner.
Sixth grade: Puhrump, Nevada. Eric S. and his cronies terrorized our whole class, even punching kids in sight of the teacher. My friend Martha and I were his special targets.
Seventh grade. Still in Puhrump. Eric was doing time in juvie, but his cronies patrolled the halls of the junior high school doling out punishment. I also had to deal with a gym teacher who openly mocked me because I was fat, clumsy and had no athletic skills.
Eighth grade: Las Vegas, Nevada. Kay-Kay threw me up against a locker because she felt I looked at her wrong during drama class.
Ninth grade: South Sioux City, Nebraska. Once again, transferring in mid-year. The harassment was started by a kid named Tristan with one leg shorter than the other. For retaliation, my sister suggested I call him “Pegleg”. Wrong thing to do to a kid with friends when you have none.
Tenth grade: Still in South Sioux. Riding the school bus. There was a senior on our route. He was big enough to make the football defensive line, but too stupid to make the required grade point to stay there. He delighted in poking me in the back with a pencil and pulling my hair the whole trip. Once, he rapped me on the head with his class ring as he went by. Those things hurt!
I’m not sure if it was the ring incident or something else, but at some point that bully caught me on a bad day and I lashed back. I don’t even remember if I actually hit him or not, but there I was all 5’6″ of me swinging madly at this 6’+ colossus. He and his buddies smirked at my pathetic attempts, but he didn’t poke me the rest of the trip.
The next day he got on the bus and met my icy glare. The look said “don’t even think of trying something, jerk!” He walked right on by and sat at the back of the bus, far away from me.
That was the last time I was ever bullied.
Tristan and I were actually semi-friends in high school, saying hi to each other in passing in the hallway. He played a drunk in the school musical and I gave him tips on how to create the illusion of a 5 o’clock shadow.
But my childhood experiences left me wondering if the adolescent Jesus was ever bullied. Growing up, I was taught to “turn the other cheek”, “blessed are the meek” and “a gentle word turns away wrath”. Does that apply to bullies too?
Well, the Bible has very little to say about the Jesus’ life before his ministry, but it says a lot about how Jesus dealt with the bullies of his adulthood. He stood up to the Pharisees, overturned the tables of the crooked money changers and he called sin what it was.
Too many Christians picture Jesus as this anemic, timid being and hold him as an example to us asking “What would Jesus do?” It’s believing we must be mum so we don’t offend others, and don’t fight back because that’s not the Christian thing to do. Keep the peace at all cost. But does Jesus call us to keep our bodies inactive and our mouths shut in the face of injustice? In our attempts to be peace makers are we called to be peace fakers?
No.
Because that is what being a true peace maker is: standing up to those who take advantage of the weak, calling out injustice, telling others “no, that’s not OK”.
This isn’t picking fights – it’s standing up for yourself and your beliefs. And at times, that means you have to defend yourself. Sometimes with scripture, sometimes with reason and sometimes – possibly – with your fists.
Ephesians 6 tells us “Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace.”
Truth and righteousness stand there with peace, not timidity and political correctness.
So stand firm, ready to defend who you are and the Christ living within you. Your peace comes not from bully tactics of the world but through knowing Christ and standing strong with him.
So, as a Christian, have you ever had a time you had to “fight back?”
When I hear the word “meek” I can’t help but think of the Avenger’s movie Ragnarok.
Ragnarok features Thor, the god of thunder, who flies around beating up bad guys with the help of his mighty magic hammer. But, alas, Thor’s evil sister shatters the hammer, leaving poor Thor flightless and weakened.
The movie’s climax is when Sis has Thor in a death grip,
strangling the life out of her brother. Thor lapses into a trance and sees his
deceased father Odin. “If I only had my hammer!” Thor laments. Odin then
chastises his son. “You are not called the god of hammers. You are called the
god of thunder. The hammer was only to help you control your power.”
It’s an epiphany moment for our hero. He awakens, calls up
the power living within, and saves the day.
So, you’re probably asking “how in the world does this movie remind me of the word meek?”
Because, while most people think of meekness as submission
and weakness, in reality it’s power that is under control.
The best example I can give you is this: Think of a man. A strong man. An able-to-bench-press-200-pounds kind of strong man. Now, place in that man’s hands a newborn baby. He holds it delicately and with great care. That, my friends, is power under control. It’s setting aside all that potential force to focus on the needs of others.
That’s what God did for us. He set aside all his power and wrapped himself in flesh to focus on our needs and show us the way to him.
In return, we are called upon to be meek also. God asks us
to control our need to be in power so we can focus on others.
It’s seen in the father who walks the floors at 2 am with a
crying baby. That is power under control.
It’s the mother who, even though she’s running late, lets
her 3-year-old do the zipper himself to show he can.
It’s the sister who lets her younger sibling be the teacher
when they play school.
Its when (I saw this one this week!) a mother asks her 10-year-old
to teach his little brother how to rinse off his plate and put it in the dishwasher.
That’s controlled power squared! The mother relinquishes her power to the 10-year-old,
who in turn gives it to the younger brother! That’s meekness in action!
The controlled power of meekness lifts others up and empowers
them. It teaches, encourages, comforts and protects.
It’s never “Ha! I beat you!“
It’s not “I told you I was right!“
And it isn’t found in “If you’d just done it my way this wouldn’t have happened.”
But to those who can learn to control their power, God has promised to smile down and say “My child, you have shown your strength in helping others. To you I give the world. I know it’s in good hands.”
I would love to say I’ve got this down. Sadly, I don’t. It’s
still a work in process.
“Blessed be the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.” Matthew 5:5
I didn’t have much of a childhood. It was more like a roadmap.
My parents were urban gypsies. They were constantly moving: running from bill collectors, seeking something better, dragging us 4 kids along for the ride.
My brother Jon claims he counted out 44 different homes before we graduated from high school. He could be right. I remember roach infested apartments, seedy trailer parks, three homes with no running water, one with no electricity and a dirt floor. One place we lived in for two years. Another we were at for less than a month. We enrolled in 16 different schools in 3 different states.
All that moving around doesn’t put you at the top of the popularity ladder in school. It puts you below the bottom rung. I was a target for bullies, picked last for teams, people whispered and giggled when I walked past. Jon and I were in the same grade. We were often in the same class. Since we were both social outcasts, we often teamed up for class projects and other activities. Yes, partnering with your brother doesn’t help your social standing either, but when no one else wants you on their team…(sigh).
Somehow, I always managed to have a friend or two. My strategy was: the first day you walk into a new classroom, look for the person who has no one else sitting by them. Introduce yourself and sit down. Usually, they were also a welfare kid, clothed by Goodwill and just as friendless as I was.
Things changed in high school. We were actually at the same building for all 4 of our high school years. I had two friends, but I wanted something more: I wanted a boyfriend.
Things at home were worse than normal. My parents always seemed to be fighting. It was a kind of joke among us kids: when we were little there’d be a huge argument every week. By middle school, it was every other day. In high school, the fights were every night. They were screaming matches with name calling, accusations and degrading language. My folks had no time for us kids. They only had time to hate each other.
I needed someone to love me. I needed a boyfriend.
I prayed for a boyfriend. I pleaded with God for a boyfriend.
And God said No. Over and over, his answer was NO.
I graduated from high school without a boyfriend. Grad night would be my last in Nebraska. All of our belongings were packed up and we were leaving for Kansas in the morning. My parents were kind enough to let Jon and I go to the senior all night party.
It was the early 80’s and “Freeze Frame” by J. Geils Band was a hit on the radio. It was also the theme song for one of the senior girls (I’ll call her Becky). Becky had a reputation of being “friendly” with every member of the football team and they claimed to have the pictures to prove it. There at the bowling alley, the song came on the radio. Shouts and cheers went up. Everyone zeroed their attention in on Becky, cat calling and jeering. Becky got another ovation when she was called up to get a gift card.
“Freeze Frame! Freeze Frame!” The jocks all chanted. Becky smiled broadly as she came forward for her card. I couldn’t tell if the smile was in pride or to hide shame.
I never saw Becky again. I don’t know what became of her.
Seven years after high school, I finally got my boyfriend. We married two years later. I wore white. Yes, white. Yes, because.
I now realize what a gift it was that God never gave me a boyfriend during my high school years. As a love-starved social outcast, what would have prevented me from becoming a Becky if I’d fallen in with the wrong type of boyfriend and his pals?
Ephesians 6:14 says “Stand therefore, having girded your waist with truth, having put on the breastplate of righteousness.” That breastplate is not only the righteousness of God’s Son that is bestowed on you as a Christian, but also the righteousness he calls us to as his followers. The breastplate protects us from outside forces and holds our essence as a Christian in. What would have happened to my breastplate if I had gotten my wish in high school? Would the breastplate of my lonely youth have held up to social pressure, or would it have been sacrificed to serve up a proverbial chicken?
Often God protects us by NOT giving us what we want.
“Stand therefore, having girded your waist with truth, having put on the breastplate of righteousness…” Ephesians 6:14
Back in high school, about a century ago, I had my life all planned out: finish high school, go to art school, become an illustrator for Disney, or start my own comic script rivaling Peanuts in popularity. Disney and Schultz were my gods back then. I had tons of books on art and animation, I watched Disney cartoons my eyes devouring all the information they could: poses, facial expressions, making the impossible seem plausible. I had tons of paperback books with the Charlie Brown comic strips. I collected Disney comic books with the same devotion my sister collected pop star posters and Tiger Beat magazines. I was going to work for Disney! I was going to make draw funny pictures! I was going to be the world’s greatest funny artist!!!
A few decades later, I can attest that dream never happened. I don’t even have a job in the art field. And know what? I’m OK with that. I like my life.
A lot of things survived my high school days, though. I still have the art books. I still have my Disney comic book collection, and Charlie Brown / Snoopy books. And I still have my drawings of Sir Pip.
My Rediscovery of Sir Pip
Sir Pip was a cartoon character I invented my junior year. A cross somewhere between Marvin the Martin and Mickey Mouse, the few dozen drawings I made of him featured the little hero and his sword in one shot comedy situations. I uncovered the drawings as I was going through boxes of old stuff from my younger days. Looking over the drawings, one thought came to mind: man, these were pathetic! Pip didn’t even have real armor, just something resembling a leotard and Mickey Mouse shoes! His helmet was kind of Roman-ish, but other than that and his sword, he was totally defenseless.
The Belt of Truth
Coincidence or not, this month in church, our pastor Teddy Fairchild began preaching a series on the armor of God. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u5tGNOXRN2U Paul’s description of the armor was based on the armor of the Roman Centurions that occupied the holy lands at the time. They were well known and feared. The first piece of the armor mentioned is the Belt of Truth. All the other armor is attached to this belt, so it has to be strong to withstand the weight of everything else. This belt is the word of God. God calls us to have it cinched tight at all times, ready for battle.
The belt on my armor was tested about ten years ago when the church we were attending voted to allow gay people to become priests in our congregations, and to perform gay marriages. My brain seized up when I heard that. We loved our church family! We’d been attending for years! But my brain kept repeating “this isn’t right, this isn’t right!”
“Just give it a few months.” People suggested. But do you understand what that means? The Bible is very clear that homosexuality is a sin, and now my church was asking me to pretend it wasn’t. Not only that, but they were fine with people who openly engage in this sin becoming their leaders, and the congregation would be blessing and celebrating the union of people who wanted to disobey God in this sin.
I was being asked to loosen the belt.
Have you ever noticed how much society wants that belt loosened? Gay marriage – loosen the belt a little. Transgenderism – let it out another notch. Legalized marijuana – let it out some more. Drag queen story hour – just a bit looser…
At some point you will loosen the belt to the point it falls off. And once the belt falls, all the other pieces will come crashing down with it. You are then open for attack and Satan moves in for the kill. Christianity, as you once knew it, dies on the altar of social pressure, and you are left with nothing but leotards and Mickey Mouse shoes.
So, yes, we’re now at church that is more in tune with core Christian values and keeping the belt tightened in The Word.
Back to little Pip. Kiddo, you’re about to get an upgrade…
“Hi Sis. I just got off the phone with Barb. A car fell on Jon.”
That’s not the phone call you expect when you’re on your way to a wedding.
That’s the phone call that makes you forget how to breathe.
I had just called my brother Jon the day before. Close in age, the two of us had grown us as best friends and virtual twins. We were now separated by 800 miles. I’d called to tell him my husband Ernie, our kids and I were driving from Grand Rapids Michigan to Tulsa Oklahoma for my stepson’s wedding. Jon and his wife Barb lived in Kansas City. We hadn’t seen them in over a year, but it was too far out of the way. We wouldn’t be seeing them again this year.
But a car fell on Jon. My only brother had been flattened by a broken-down hunk of metal.
My brain literally stopped working. Instead it started gasping.
There I was in the car, my husband Ernie behind the wheel shouting at me “Do I need to pull over?” My sister was on the cellphone screaming “He’s alive! He’s conscience!” and there was me in the middle gulping for air like a fish out of water, tears gushing like a fountain, repeating “Oh my God! Oh my God!” over and over.
In the back seat, the kids were all eerily silent for once. I’m sure they found their mother’s current mental state both frightening and fascinating.
My mind had defaulted to worst case scenarios: my brother was brain dead. He was paralyzed. He would spend the next few months in a hospital bed, in agony, and then die from his injuries. The loop played over and over, blocking out any other options. My sister had little information to counter my fears.
There was nothing we could do. Well, there was a LOT for ME to do. Panic. Cry. Worry. Shake. Replay the loop again and again.
Pray.
That option finally surfaced. Ernie pulled the van over and prayed for Jon and his family. And for me. Then, he drove us on toward Tulsa. There was nothing we could do to help Jon, and we still had a wedding to attend.
As the hours ticked by, phone calls trickled in.
Jon was in the ICU. The car had come down on his head and upper body. He was alive, and in and out of consciousness. When he was awake, he was talking cohesively. He was in pain and shock. There were fractures. Many, many fractures. His head, his chest, his shoulder…
I’m sorry to say, I don’t remember the wedding too well. The bride and groom were very understanding about it. They were aghast when they heard about Jon and shoed us out the door shortly after the “I do’s”, wishing us God speed, and Jon good health. We apologized profusely. This was Ernie’s oldest son’s wedding after all. He waved us off, assuring us he understood. We’d been there for him. Now we needed to be there for Jon.
Five hours later, we were walking into Jon’s hospital room. He was propped up in bed, looking very bruised and battered. His eyes were not quite working together, in a Peter Falk kind of way, but he smiled a little when he saw us.
“Hi Sis.” He greeted.
I shook my head. “Man, the stupid things you do just to get us to visit.” And then I started crying again. Then, he cried. Barb and Ernie cried. The kids stared at us, not caring for hospitals and unsure of how to respond.
We finally heard the whole story. Jon had been at his father-in-law Charles’ house working under his car. The jack holding the car up slipped and down came the vehicle on Jon. Charles got the jack back in place and cranked up. Meanwhile, Jon was wiggling his feet to let Charles know he was alive. Charles thought it was a sign of neurological shut down and Jon was brain dead. But once the car was off him, Jon actually tried to sit up. He passed out from the pain.
In the ER, they’d assessed his condition: multiple skull fractures. His shoulder was shattered. Nearly every rib on his left side had cracks and hairline breaks.
“How many fractures?”
“They lost count at 164.”
“What about your eye? Can they fix that?”
Barb shook her head. “We asked them, and they aren’t going to touch it. There’s multiple fractures to his skull. A lot are around the eye socket. But they’re all in place. None of the pieces have shifted any. If they try to go in, they’re going to move the pieces around and mess things up. They’re thinking as the swelling goes down and the fractures heal, his eye will realign, and his vision will be back to how it was.” She teared up again. “The doctors can’t figure it out! They keep coming in staring at him! He should be dead! He was pinned under a car! He should have been crushed, there should have been brain damage! There should be internal injuries! But look at him! He’s ok!”
I looked at my brother sitting there in the hospital bed, sheepishly staring back at us. He had a line of stitches in his scalp where his head had been gouged down to the bone. His face was bruised and a little swollen. The askew eye stared slightly off to the left of center. A plastic shield protected his chest. His right arm was immobilized.
That was it. No body cast. No amputated limbs. No brain damage. No paralysis. No permanent disfigurement.
A car had fallen on him.
164 fractures.
And 8 days after the accident, Jon was discharged from the hospital.
Life did not immediately return to normal. My brother was on disability for nearly four months as his ribs, vision and shoulder healed. During that time, his family was engulfed by friends and family pitching in to help out physically, spiritually, and financially. Doctors rebuilt his shoulder and his vision returned. Still, he suffers from periodic migraines and he can’t read for extended periods of time. He also lost a few of his character voices he used in his church’s puppet ministry. There’s a scar on his forehead that’s only noticeable if you specifically look for it.
But he is very much alive.
Psalms 113:11 says “You who fear the LORD, trust in the LORD; He is their help and their shield.” God was definitely holding a shield over my brother that day.
There are people who have the audacity to tell me they don’t believe in God. They claim that if there is a God, he doesn’t care. I stare at them in amazement and shake my head.
“Then Job arose and tore his robe and shaved his head, and he fell to the ground and worshiped. And he said: ‘Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there. The LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD.’” Job 1:20-21.
In the first chapter of Job, the title character goes from riches to rags in a progressive series of gut-wrenching moments, one on the heels of the other. His possessions are striped from him, followed by his children and finally his health. All he’s left with is sores and boils, a nagging wife, and three friends who don’t provide much help.
I’ve had my share of gut-wrenching moments: Our home and belongings burned to the ground. A brother, his wife and their child were killed in a freak accident. My husband’s job was downsized after 22 years of loyalty to his company leading to relocating 800 miles from home and family. Two children lost to miscarriages. A stepson was killed in Iraq. My father died quite suddenly and unexpectedly from a blood clot to the heart.
Each and every one of these experiences sent me and my family into an emotional tailspin, but thankfully they were spread out over a lifetime allowing one to be absorbed and mourned before the next one struck. I cannot imagine experiencing all of them at once as Job did. Would I be able to say as he did “Bless be the name of the LORD”, or would I curl up in a catatonic ball screaming “WHY? WHY? WHY?” in my head?
Lord, I pray that I will never have to find out the answer to that question, but if it did, please take my hand and let me feel you by my side the whole time.
“And Ham, the father of Canaan, saw the nakedness of his father Noah and told his two brothers. But Shem and Japheth took a garment, laid it on both their shoulders, and went backward and covered the nakedness of their father. Their faces were turned away, and they did not see their father’s nakedness.” Genesis 9:22-23
When Noah woke up and found out what had happened, he cursed Canaan. Why Canaan? Many scholars believe it was because Canaan must have noticed Noah first and told his father. So why did Noah curse the boy? Did he laugh at his grandfather’s nakedness? Did he make fun of him or make lude comments? I don’t know. The Bible doesn’t say.
But, I remember when my dad died. My family and my brother’s descended upon his house to go through his belongings. That’s when we discovered Dad liked looking at pictures of naked ladies. LOTS of pictures of naked ladies. All the grandkids were banished from coming into the room as my husband, brother, sister-in-law, my dad’s brother-in-law, and I went through stack after stack of papers, sorting out important documents and tearing up lude pictures. We also excluded Dad’s current wife. She just lost her husband, and the rest of us felt it would be a great unkindness to expect her to endure this tarnish to his memory. A great purging occurred that left all us grownups feeling dirty and ashamed. But it was a part of my dad’s past we had no desire to expose our children to, especially my son Chris who was 18 at the time and had adored his grandpa. The shredded pictures would never be mentioned to them.
The bible tells us to honor our parents. There are times our parents act in ways that are not honorable, but even in those times we are called to preserve their dignity. God willing, our children will follow our example and honor us too.
And the LORD God commanded the man, “Of every tree of the garden you may freely eat; but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die.” Genesis 2:16-17 NKJV
I used to wonder why Adam and Eve just didn’t keel over after biting the apple. After all, God said the day that you eat of it you shall surely die. But they didn’t, did they?
I remember when my kids were young giving them warnings: don’t run out in the street or you’ll get hit by a car! Don’t touch the stove or you’ll get burned! Don’t pull the cat’s tail or you’ll get scratched!
And that stuff didn’t happen, because as parents, we did what we could to prevent the disasters we predicted. Or when it did, we did everything in our power to save our child from the consequences of their actions and minimize the pain.
I’m thinking, like a good parent, God also did what he could to save Adam and Eve: he performed the first atonement sacrifice in which blood was shed to pay for the sin. Then he covered his children with the skins of the sacrificed animal. This served three purposes: it covered their physical nakedness, it symbolically covered their spiritual sin through the atonement, and it served as a constant reminder of their sin and God’s love for them.
And did you notice? God didn’t take away the consequence. He mercifully let them eventually die. In death, they were finally freed from the consequences to stand whole and pure before God again.
Fortunately, we don’t have to do sacrifices to cover our sin, as Jesus paid the ultimate price to purge and cleanse us. Just like Adam and Eve, though, we still have to face the consequences of our actions. But it’s nice to know we have a loving parent, and a big brother in Jesus, who are waiting there to welcome us with open arms when we are finally freed and are headed towards home.
And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. Genesis 1:3
Am I the only one who was perplexed that Light was the first thing God called into being, yet the sun wasn’t created until the fourth day? Day one: light. Day two: the earth’s atmosphere. Day three: land, sea and plants. Day four: the sun, the moon and the stars.
Huh.
I don’t think the “light” was a light source as we know it. I’m thinking this was in reference to Jesus Christ.
There are many references in the Bible where Jesus is referred to as Light:
John 1: 4 and 5 In him was life, and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it.
In Psalms 27:1 The Lord is my Light and my salvation – whom shall I fear?
Psalms 104:2 He wraps Himself in light as with a garment.
Isaiah 60:19 The sun will no more be your light by day, nor will the brightness of the moon shine on you, for the LORD will be your everlasting light.
Christ Jesus was given the title first born of creation in Colossians 1:15, so he was there at the beginning of everything and creating everything. Not only was he at the beginning, he will also be at the millennial reign: There will be no more night. They will not need the light of a lamp or the light of the sun, for the Lord God will give them light. And they will reign for ever and ever.
And if we follow Christ, we are also in the light: John 8:12 I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.
I do curb duty one week each month at my school. I don’t care for standing out there in the cold, so I do what I can to jazz it up a bit. I’ve begun wearing funny hats and outfits. It makes people smile and laugh. My coworkers think I’m nuts. So be it.
If anyone asks me why I do it, I tell them this story:
I picked my son up from school a few years ago, and he asked the usual question: “How was your day?” So, I told him.
“Well, a kid threw up in my room, the copy machine jammed up again, and I forgot my lunch. All in all, it was a good day.”
Joe stared at me. “Mom, you had a rotten day.”
I shook my head. “Son, a few days ago, I watched a video of kids in Haiti eating dirt cookies because their mothers were too poor to feed them anything else. https://youtu.be/s3337cj4sJQ I’ve seen pictures of kids drinking from mud puddles who have no clean water.
All around the world, people are starving to death, being sold as slaves, abused or abandoned, living in refugee camps or on the streets.
We have a home. Your dad and I both have decent jobs. We are all healthy. Any day that doesn’t include a financial upheaval, a trip to the ER, or a call from the police is a good day.”
He thought about that a moment and then replied, “Mom, you had a good day.”
People wonder how I can stand at the curb in the morning wearing goofy hats or dress up in outlandish Christmas outfits. It’s because the good days in my life greatly outnumber the bad ones. Not all of the children I work with can say that. No all of my coworkers can. I don’t dress up for me. I dress up for them. To see them smile. To let them have one funny moment to start off their day with. It’s one small thing I can do for them. If I can cheer them up a little, then it’s mission accomplished.
So, Happy New Year, and may 2020 bring you and yours nothing but good days.
Then Jesus said to them again, “Most assuredly, I say to you, I am the door of the sheep. All who ever came before Me are thieves and robbers, but the sheep did not hear them. I am the door. If anyone enters by Me, he will be saved, and will go in and out and find pasture. The thief does not come except to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly.” John 10: 7-10
Anyone who thinks being a Christian means a life of leisure and roses doesn’t know much. Jesus promised to give us life more abundantly. Jesus wasn’t talking about a life of abundance, its a life more abundant. So, what is life? It’s bills and scrapes, stress and tensions, ups and downs. And Jesus says that will be more abundant. That doesn’t sound too desirable, does it? But, the cool thing is God has promised be there during those times. That doesn’t mean he takes the trials away, but it does mean He’s there in it with us. Take a look at what I mean:
After a season of unemployment, my husband Ernie, got a contract job in Michigan, 800 miles away from our home in Kansas. I had quit my job to be home with the kids and Ernie was flying home every other weekend to see us. After a few months of this, we decided to move the family to Michigan to all be together. We’d gotten one load of furniture moved up there when the big bosses came through and informed all the contract workers that they would be done at the end of the week.
So now Ernie and I were both unemployed, with half our stuff in Michigan, half in Kansas, and everyone now living in Kansas. Welcome to our life more abundant. Luckily, God didn’t end it there.
After a few months, Ernie got a new contract position, this time in New Jersey. He hated it there, but was making good money and flying home every other weekend again to see me and the kids. Like all contracts, this one too came to an end and Ernie went back to Michigan to see about getting our furniture there back to Kansas. Instead, he found another job. It didn’t pay as well as a contract job, but it was work. We took it as a sign from God and, over Easter weekend, he flew back home to help us move the rest of our stuff to Michigan.
This was life more abundant with all it’s stress and upheaval, and it was about to get even more abundant. But God remained with us.
On our way to Michigan, I was driving through Missouri with the three boys, Joey now 3, Ryan 7 and Chris 10, in our mini-van. Ernie drove the U-Haul truck. We hit a traffic jam while passing through Springfield and crawled along the highway at 20 miles an hour.
My cell phone rang. “Where are you?” Ernie wanted to know. I let him know what exit number was coming up.
“I’m about two miles behind you at the side of the road,” he said. “There’s a problem with the truck.” A few minutes prior another motorist had flagged him down. The front driver tire on the U-Haul was smoking. When Ernie pulled over, it’d burst into flames. Luckily, the other motorist had also pulled over and had a fire extinguisher. When the tow truck arrived and lifted the U-Haul, the affected tire flopped over, hanging at an angle.
If he had been driving at full highway speed….
You get the picture. More of our abundant live, but now showing God’s protection.
The U-Haul company got all our stuff transferred to a new vehicle and we made it to Michigan a day behind schedule. Ernie went back to work, and I got our older two sons enrolled in their new school. Luckily, Ernie had already found us a church and one of the ladies told me she would watch our youngest while I was job hunting. I needed to find something quick because Ernie’s paycheck would barely cover the rent, and we also had bills and food to worry about. We’d maxed out our credit cards moving and were on very limited funds. Fortunately, God was still looking out for us.
I was offered a good position in a nursing care facility. A group of us new employees were there for orientation that Friday, at the end of the month. We were shown around the facility and told we would all start on Monday, the first day of the new month. Benefits (health care) would start on the first day of the month AFTER we started.
Oh oh. That would be a problem. Our family wouldn’t have healthcare for another month. Two of our kids took medication. Ryan’s were $300 if we had to pay out of pocket.
I explained the situation to the HR lady. She handed me a manual. “Go sit in that room and read this,” She said. “We’ll put you down as having worked half a day. Your health benefits will start on Monday.”
This is abundant life, with God’s provision. And my first paycheck arrived two days before our rent was due. Boo-yah! Way to go, God!
It didn’t end there though. God’s hand, and our abundant life, went on:
Chris had taken our move very hard. Grandpa had lived just around the corner from us in Kansas, and he and our 10 year old had formed a strong bond. Chris was now in a new school – much larger than his old one, had gone from small town to living in the city, the mom who had been home for him was now working, and Grandpa was 800 miles away. Depression and loneliness set in.
Once again, God intervened.
Our new church was small and had only 15 kids attending. One was a baby. Three were Joey’s age, eight were Ryan’s and three were Chris’. Two of those were boys.
Charlie and Alan readily took Chris under their wings and the three quickly were being referred to as “The Three Amigos.” That friendship lasted up through high school and the three still get together when they are all in town.
That’s abundant life, with lasting warmth and friendship.
Yes, the Christian life is a life more abundant, with its twists and turns and stresses, but God can always been found in the middle of it, protecting and caring for His children.
Then Isaac spoke to Abraham his father and said, “My Father.” And he said, “Here I am, my son.” And he said,”Look, here is the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for the offering?”
Abraham said, “My son, God will provide for Himself the lamb for the burnt offering.” And the two of them went on together. Genesis 22:7-8
If you grew up going to Sunday school, you know the story of how God asked Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac as a sign of his love for his Creator. Father and son head off together. “Where’s the lamb for the sacrifice?” the boy asked. His father’s responded “God will provide.” Abraham tied his son down to the altar and, at the very moment Abraham was preparing to plunge his knife into his son’s heart, God sent his angel to stop Abraham and he pointed out a ram caught in the bushes. Abraham was instructed to sacrifice the ram instead, and God was please with Abraham’s faith, even to the point of giving up his beloved son.
Did Abraham know God was going to step in and spare his son? Did he think God might raise his slain child from the dead? I don’t know, but I do know he was totally willing to follow his LORD and had faith that God would provide a way. He’d even told his servants to wait for them until they returned. Did you catch that? Until THEY returned. He knew Isaac would be with him.
Back in 2003, our family had a “the Lord will provide” episode. My husband was downsized from his job of 20+ years and he found himself unemployed in small town Kansas. Now granted, we had inklings that this might happen. The company he worked for had been bought out by another company and they were paring down the workforce. We toyed with the idea of him looking for a job closer to Kansas City where we both had family, but we liked our small town. Six years of hemming and hawing caught up with us and Ernie’s job was downsized.
He was devastated. He was the primary breadwinner, and there was no way we would be able to make it on my income as a speech therapist in a small town Kansas district.
Fortunately, Ernie’s company had given him a severance package to get us through the next six months. Ernie started looking at home and in neighboring towns for work. There was nothing out there. Six months went by with nary a nibble.
Ernie applied for unemployment and cast his net further: Kansas City, Joplin Missouri, Wichita. There was nothing to be found. The net went farther: nationwide. Finally nibbles started coming in from Baton Rouge Louisiana, Pensacola Florida, Saint Louis Missouri and Grand Rapids Michigan.
My school year was ending, and my district was wanting to know if I would be back the next term. It was a dilemma as to what to do. The district was an hour drive from home. Ernie had no sure prospects yet, but should I made a commitment to my school, knowing we could be moving at any time? Our finances were quickly being depleted. Our children qualified for medicaid, so their medical expenses were covered, but if I quit my job, I wouldn’t qualify for unemployment and we would be solely supported by Ernie’s unemployment benefits.
Ernie and I talked it over. We had no options left but to put our total trust in God, praying he would honor our faithfulness and trust in Him. I gave my district my notice. As summer was ending, nearly a year to the day of his termination, Ernie got a call offering him a good paying contract position in Grand Rapids Michigan.
“The LORD will provide.” Abraham said.
It’s a scary experience having nothing to trust in but God’s goodness, but His goodness is sufficient. During the year of Ernie’s unemployment, we never once missed a house payment or failed to pay a bill. Our children were provided for, and our trust in the LORD grew. Praise God for his faithfulness!
“Now the LORD had prepared a great fish to swallow Jonah. And Jonah was in the belly of the fish three days and three nights.” Jonah 1:17
A lot of people try to argue about what kind of fish God sent to swallow up Jonah. Was it a whale? Was it a whale shark? Was it some weird anomaly intended for just that purpose? I have no idea. I just know that the fish was there, ready to provide Jonah with the first submarine ride in recorded history.
Here’s the cool thing about it: God prepared that fish. It wasn’t some random act that happened. The fish was there, he had the required size needed, and he was ready for the job God had in plan for him. God had prepared for Jonah’s lodging and passage on his trip to Ninevah. Unconventional, but very effective.
Ryan on his first Birthday
My family has had similar experiences in our own lives where God has prepared the way. My favorite is a story about of our second son, Ryan.
Born on a Wednesday, Ryan had arrived 9 days past his due date and 2 ounces shy of nine pounds. There was nothing unusual about that, but we noticed a few rather particular things about him: he was a self burper, and he spit up a lot. Concerned, I took him, now a week old, to the doctor. Doc examined him and proclaimed he just had an underdeveloped digestive system. In the back of my mind, a warning bell started ringing.
Ryan started spitting up even more. In days, he was projectile vomiting with every feeding. I didn’t think my baby was fine, but it was now Saturday and the doctor’s after-hours service said he was unavailable. We were told to bring him back in on Monday.
The Book that Saved Ryan’s Life
I didn’t sleep much that night. Instead, I picked up my copy of “What to Expect the First Year” and turned to the section on illnesses. I started checking off the listed anomalies and their symptoms: he wasn’t allergic to breast milk or formula. It wasn’t failure to thrive. I came upon something I’d never heard about before: pyloric stenosis. It’s a condition where the sphincter at the bottom of the stomach closes up and does not allow food to continue it’s normal journey. It’s correctable with surgery, but fatal without it. Yikes!
The next morning, we packed up our three year old, Chris, and took him to Grandpa’s. Grandpa and his unfriendly girlfriend had split up but this time, and he was a big part of Christopher’s life by now. Chris hadn’t been happy to get a baby brother and was sure Ryan was trying to steal me away , but he was more then willing to stay with Grandpa while we took Ryan to the hospital.
At the ER, the nurses listened while I explained Ryan’s symptoms and proclaimed I thought he might have pyloric stenosis. I’m sure they were impressed that I didn’t know how to pronounce it correctly at the time. I could almost hear their eyes rolling. Another mom who thinks her colicky baby is deathly ill, they seemed to be thinking. Fortunately, they weren’t the only one who heard me.
A pediatrician from Wichita was doing an internship at our small town hospital. He came into our examination room and asked to see Ryan. Our baby was whisked away for tests. Fifteen minutes later, the intern was back, nodding his head.
“You were correct,” he informed us. “He needs surgery.”
Unfortunately, Independence wasn’t equipped for pediatric surgery. We needed to take Ryan to the children’s hospital in Wichita. All Independence could do was prep him by loading him up with fluids.
Ryan was so dehydrated, they had a difficult time finding a vein. Finally, they were able to set up an IV in his scalp. My husband held down our screaming child as I stood out in the hallway crying.
I called my friend Christie in Wichita. I had been pregnant with Ryan while I was finishing up my master’s degree at Wichita State. Christie was in the same courses as I, and we’d become close friends. Her and her husband Steve were more then willing to provide lodging for Ernie and I, and Grandpa willingly looked after Chris while we were gone.
You’d probably figured out by now that the surgery was successful and Ryan is now a healthy 22 year old. But did you catch all the preparation involved?
If I didn’t have that baby book, I wouldn’t have known what was wrong with Ryan.
If the intern from Wichita hadn’t been passing by the examination room, Ryan might not have been diagnosis properly.
If my dad wasn’t back in my life, we would have had no one to take care of Christopher during this ordeal.
If I didn’t know Christie, I may not have had a supportive friend to turn to for lodging and comfort during this crisis.
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11
There are those who believe everything just happens by chance. As a Christian, I believe very little happens by chance.
Case in point: my husband Ernie was born in Torrance California in August of 1953. I was born 33 miles away in Orange California in September of ’64. If anyone knows anything about southern California, those 33 miles has thousands of people living in them, even back in the ’60s. As you may have guessed, we never met there, but even from our childhood I’m pretty sure God was planning for us to meet someday, at the right time and in the right place.
Ernie, at 18, had his own plans. After graduating from high school, he packed up and moved 1680 miles away to Lamoni Iowa to attend Graceland University. I was 7 at the time. My plans included learning cursive writing and listening to Bobby Sherman records.
You’re probably wondering how we ever met. You have to take into account that my parents were “urban nomads” and rarely stayed in once place for very long. It probably had something to do with bill collectors. By the time I was 11, we had left five school distracts and southern California behind us, and moved to Las Vegas, Nevada. Ernie was now 22. The distance shortened to 1392 miles.
My parents got the wanderlust again when I hit 13 and we moved to South Sioux City Iowa to be near Dad’s ailing mother. One would think “oh, that would put you within a few hours of each other (259 miles to be exact)”, but this time it was Ernie who relocated: to Kansas City Missouri, 276 miles. Still quite do-able. But a wrench was thrown into God’s plan: Ernie, now 24 got married, and it wasn’t to me.
Ernie and his bride were polar opposites. He was a city boy, she was a country lass. He moved to Iowa to get as far away from his mother as possible, she missed hers and they spoke daily over the phone. He wanted to stay in the Kansas City area, she wanted to move back to Oklahoma where her family was.
When I finished up high school in ’82, my family relocated to the Kansas City area. Aha! You’re thinking. And that’s when you met! Nope. We didn’t meet up until ’89. As my family was moving into Kansas City, Ernie was leaving. In ’80, Ernie’s wife moved back in with her family, taking their infant son with her. A bizarre relationship of married-but-living-separately started. After a few years, and one more child, Ernie – in an attempt to save their marriage and be a real family again – agreed to move to Independence Kansas near the Oklahoma boarder. The idea was that his bride would be close enough to visit her family on weekends. She agreed and they bought a house. Ernie packed up their stuff in Missouri. A few months after the moving van was emptied at the Kansas house, the bride and kids went back to her parent’s home again. That was in ’82. The same year my family moved to Kansas City area. We were 139 miles apart.
My father started Seminary about this time and became an ordained minister. That’s pretty ironic, being that my parents were constantly fighting. They bounced around from church to church as one after another served Dad his walking papers. My brother and I had finally broken free from our parents and were sharing an apartment with my grandmother. I was attending community college and was on my way to becoming a graphic artist. A car accident ended my freedom though, and forced me to quit my job and move back in with my parents. We finally ended up in the small town of Longton Kansas, 31 miles from Independence.
Meanwhile, Ernie had come to realize he and his wife were never going to be a real family. They now had three kids that knew Oklahoma as their real home. The couple tried counseling, but to no avail. Ernie decided it was time to throw in the towel and file for divorce. His bride was livid! She liked how things were: her living her own life and he living his. That wasn’t good enough for him? No. She ranted. She raved. She got her family involved. They all took her side and he was no longer allowed to see his kids.
While this was happening, I started college at Pittsburg State (in Pitsburg Kansas) and was coming home on the weekends. One day Dad told me he’d filed for divorce and Mom’d gone back to Kansas City. Dad soon lost another church and I was left trying to help him pick up the pieces. One of the parishioners decided she would take Mom’s place in Dad’s life. The day I came home for summer break, she moved into the house Dad had bought in Elk City, 15 miles from Independence.
Needless to say, Dad’s girlfriend and I did not get along well. I wasn’t allowed to talk to my dad if she wasn’t included in the conversation. If I sat down, I was loafing. If I disagreed with her, I was deemed as being hateful. She was actively looking for ways to drive a wedge between Dad and I. Also, she and Dad were no longer welcome to attend the small town churches where Dad had preached, so we started going to a church in Independence. The same church Ernie was going to.
It only took a few months before Jack, the pastor of the church, stepped in.
“Why don’t you ask Ernie out?” he suggested to me. “He’s not going to ask you out, so why don’t you make the first move?”
Well, I was college kid, who felt abandoned by both her parents and alienated in my own home, so I took the plunge and asked.
After 12 years in a sham marriage, Ernie was leary of ever asking a girl out again. But he couldn’t think of a nice way to say no, so he said yes.
Two people who each desperately needed a friend during a terrible time in their lives. Friends who would shore each other up through the rough storms to come and be the anchor needed to provide stability and security.
Two people who met at the exact time and place when then needed that type of friend most.
Friends who fell in love and who are still in love 29 years later.
Chance? I think not.
“Plans to give you hope and a future.” God promised.
In the weeks coming up to Christmas, FaceBook has been swamped with post urging Christians to turn away from the practice of celebrating the “pagan” holiday called Christmas. The claim is that it was actually a Roman holiday celebrating one of the Roman gods and tied to the winter solstice. To “Christianize” it, in 250 AD, Pope Julius I simply change the name of the pagan holiday and declared that it would now be a day to celebrate the birth of Christ.
Yule is a Scandinavian fertility god.
Wreaths are tied to Druid traditions.
Thor and Odin (as well as St. Nicholas) brought people gifts in the dead of night.
People even use Jeremiah 10:3-4 to decry the tradition of decorating Christmas trees: “3 For the practices of the peoples (heathens) are worthless; they cut a tree out of the forest, and craftsman shapes it with his chisel. 4 They adorn it with silver and gold; they fasten it with a hammer and nails so it will not totter.”
Most people fail to mention verse 5: “Like a scarecrow in a cucumber field, their idols cannot speak; they must be carried because they cannot walk. Do not fear them; they can do no harm nor can they do any good.” Yep. These scriptures are about idols.
Even without the idol worship, society has taken over this holiday and turned it into the biggest spend fest of the year.
Has the holiness been sucked out of this holiday?
Here’s some Christmas facts that we often forget:
God Himself celebrated His Son’s birth. The angels sang to the shepherds proclaiming the messiah had been born.
The first birthday / Christmas presents recorded were those brought by the three Magi.
The candy cane, the confection most associated with the holiday, is in the shape of a J for Jesus. Turned the other way, it’s a shepherd’s hook to honor the baby’s first visitors. The candy is white to signify Christ’s purity. It’s striped in red to symbolize his shed blood.
Saint Nicholas / Santa Claus was a real person. He was orphaned as a child, but was very rich. He was also a Christian and used his wealth to provide for others – usually in secret. He later became Bishop of Myra (in modern day Turkey) and was instrumental in the writing of the Nicene Creed (also called the Apostles’ Creed).
So, should Christians celebrate Christmas?
Here’s the thing: when my family celebrates Christmas, the winter solstice, fertility gods, Druids, Thor and Odin are never mentioned. In fact, I doubt if most Americans even know about these ties to the holiday.
My family puts up a tree and we put gold and silver ornaments on it, but it’s not an object we worship. It’s merely a holiday decoration. An angel sits on top to proclaim Christ birth, a manger scene is below telling of His humble arrival. The branches are adorned with trinkets the family has collected over the years. Most bring back memories of Christmas’ past: Two kissing mice in a wreath proclaiming “Our First Christmas” , a baseball playing Santa our 18 year old picked out for himself on his third Christmas, the frail paper chain made by our 22 year old back in 2nd grade, the Popsicle stick star of David ornament with our 25 year old’s Cub Scout picture in center. The tree is a memorial of all our Christmases past.
My husband reads the Christmas story. I read about Saint Nicholas and his example of Christian charity and his Christmas spirit.
Christmas morning, our church family heads downtown and hand out stockings with gloves, socks, and candy to the homeless. They join us in singing Christmas Carols.
Later in the day, my family will gather together and exchange gifts we have thoughtfully picked out: a proclamation of our love for each other.
Then we will sit down together to a meal we all had a hand in making.
And we will give thanks for this day to a God who sent His Son to live among us, die for us, and rose to save us.
Because our family believes in keeping Christ in Christmas.
My dad told once told me a story about his dad, John Henry Bramble: the fighter pilot. Though I have not been able to verify this actually happened to Grandpa, friends in the military and others with connections to New Guinea tell me it likely did.
Papua New Guinea is located just north of Australia
My Grandpa John was a fighter pilot stationed in the area of Papua New Guinea during World War II. One time while on patrol, his unit engaged in a dog-fight with the Japanese and, as luck would have it, Grandpa John’s plane was shot down. He was fortunate enough to eject in time, and parachuted down onto one of the islands.
New Guinea Natives
Something to know about New Guinea: during the war years, the islands were inhabited by cannibals (Some claim there are still remnants there who engage in this dietary practice). A native welcoming party quickly tracked Grandpa John down. There was a language barrier, but Grandpa could tell they were very pleased to see him. His uniform especially caused quite the excitement among the fashion conscience of the group. He also couldn’t help noticing most of them were sporting necklaces and other jewelry made from American silver dollars.
A New Guinea Postcard from WWII years
Yes, Grandpa John was sure these natives were familiar with American food. He couldn’t help wondering if they preferred white meat. Grandpa was invited back to their village and his hosts weren’t taking “No” for an answer.
Back state side in Sioux City, Iowa, a telegram arrived informing my grandma Mayme that her husband was now listed as M.I.A. My dad was a young child at the time, but he could remember her reaction. There were a lot of tears, but his mom – my grandma – rounded up her neighbors and family to pray for Grandpa’s safety. He wasn’t a Christian, and Grandma didn’t want him eaten before he’d had a chance to repent.
While Grandma was praying, Grandpa was being taken to the natives’ village. Once again, the people were excited to see him and made quite the ruckus about his uniform. He saw more silver dollar jewelry. The natives were very proud of this jewelry and showed it off to Grandpa with gusto, chattering in their dialect with great enthusiasm. His captives went through Grandpa’s pockets, confiscating any coins he had and showed them off to the impressed villagers. Grandpa decided his days were numbered.
For the most part, Grandpa was treated well during his stay in New Guinea. He was allowed to walk freely around the village, but could not leave it. He was fed (he never asked what was being served, and admittedly didn’t want to know), any wounds were treated by the local witch doctor and, overall, he was taken good care of. Of course, Grandpa wondered how long they would spend fattening him up, before he was invited to be the main guest at dinner – if you know what I mean.
After he’d been there a few weeks, his captives took him on a canoe ride down the river to an American outpost and traded him in for 50 American silver dollars.
That’s when Grandpa John found out that the American Government had an agreement with the natives of the islands. If any “civilized” person was found – be he Japanese, American, British or other – the natives would be paid 50 silver dollars for turning said person over to American authorities, no questions asked.
My grandfather’s life was bought for 50 pieces of silver.
And that is what redemption is: even before Grandpa John knew he would need saving, the American government had a way to redeem him back. There was a plan in place to pay his price.
That’s exactly what Jesus did for us. Even before we realized we were lost, before we found ourselves in hostile territory and facing our own destination, He’d made a plan to redeem us back. He paid our price with his own blood. All we have to do is believe He’s there for us.
Mom and I found a new friend at the Creation Museum
Our final day of vacation we hit The Creation Museum. Wanna know what they had there? Dinosaurs! Lots of dinosaurs! And they had a lot of information about dragons too! Were dragons and dinosaurs the same thing? I don’t know. I do know dinosaur bones have been found just about everywhere, and dragon legends are everywhere. Godzilla is a dinosaur, but he breathes fire like a dragon. I’m cool with that.
A mastodon isn’t a dinosaur. It’s like a big elephant in a fur coat. We found this naked one in the museum.
The Creation Museum was set up to walk people through the 7 C’s of God’s eternal plan: creation, corruption, catastrophe, confusion, Christ, cross and consummation.
1) Creation: God created everything! Day 1: light. Day 2: atmosphere. Day 3: land, sea and plants. Day 4: the sun, the moon and the stars. Day 5: fish and birds. Day 6: land animals and man. Day 7: sleep in!The second C: corruption! Satan, that snake!, gets Adam and Eve to mess up and disobey. That opened a whole mess of problems.Corruption means death. Not just for people, but for the animals too! People messed it up for everyone!The third C: Catastrophe! It got so bad that God had to wipe the world clean by sending the flood. This here is Ebenezer. He was one of the dinosaurs caught in the great flood. He was named Ebenezer by the scientist who helped excavate him because they saw him as a reminder of God’s judgement on the world. Ebenezer means “The Stone of Help.” That refers to a rock set up by the prophet Samuel after God rescued his people from the Philistines. The rock was a reminder that God helped them. This lucky couple spotted us at the museum. They had also spotted us the day we were in the Great Smokey Mountains. They were also in Pigeon Forge the same day we were. And The Ark Encounter! Mom asked them where they were headed next. Home. Hey, us too! But their home was in Wisconsin. We live in Michigan. Okay. Back to the 7 C’s. The 4th C is for Confusion. God mixed up everyone’s language at the tower of Babel. That got people to spread out to all points on the globe. There was a new C chart posted here. We’ve now gone through the bad parts, now for the hope part. The 5th C is for Christ. Things to know about Christ: He is God, He’s our Creator, He’s the I AM of the old testament. Check out the ways he proved himself.Jesus showed his power over the natural world by turning water into wine, walking on water, calming the storm, feeding the multitudes…Jesus had power over physical ailments. He healed people lepers, people with dropsy, paralysis, lameness, blindness, deafness and a bunch of other issues. Jesus had power over death. He brought back Jairus’ daughter, a widow’s son and his friend Lazarus.Jesus had power over the supernatural. He could command demons to flee and even cast some into a herd of pigs. The pigs wanted nothing to do with the evil spirits and plunged off a cliff rather than be home to them.Now we come to the 6th C: the Cross. Sadly, Jesus, who never sinned, willingly chose to die here for everyone else: all of us sinners. It was his greatest gift to us.I can’t believe Mom messed up. She didn’t get a picture of Christ coming out of the tomb! But she did snap this one of Jesus appearing to his disciple Thomas. Jesus proved he rose from the dead by appearing to Mary Magdalene, the other women at the tomb, 2 disciples on the road to Emmaus, Simon Peter, all the disciples (the second time Thomas was with them), seven disciples at the Sea of Galilee, James, over 500 people at once, and then again to the disciples at the Mount of Olives. Jesus returned to heaven. Now begins the final C: Consummation. The finish of God’s work. This will be when Christ returns and puts things back the way they are supposed to be.
These last two pictures represent the choice people have to make on where to spend the rest of eternity. There’s only these two options available.
Mom says if you’re a Christian, you are born twice, but only die once. If you’re an unbeliever, you are born once, but die twice.
I’m not sure where teddy bears go when they die, but I’m hoping it isn’t a place where I’ll burn up.
When Mom’s bible study group were reading Revelation, it talked about Heaven (the New Jerusalem) having 12 gates, each made from one pearl. And the streets were pure gold, but crystal clear. The tree of life grows in heaven, in the middle of the Holy City. It sounds like a really nice place.
Here’s the message of the Creation Museum: Sin entered God’s perfect world with Adam. Quoting from the exhibit: “When he rebelled against his Creator, he brought God’s judgement of death, suffering and the Curse (of sin) upon this world. Like the first Adam, we have all sinned against God. Consequently, we all deserve the penalty for our sin – death and condemnation.
“Jesus Christ is the Last Adam. He came to redeem what the first Adam had destroyed. As the first Adam brought death into this world through sin, the Last Adam came to live a sinless life, die on the Cross to pay for our sins, and conquer death by rising from the grave. One day He will return and put an end to death, disease, suffering, and the Curse. All who have received His forgiveness will dwell eternally with Him in the new heavens and new earth.”
Going through the gift shop, there were more examples of dragons and dinosaurs on display. He’s a stegosaurus on a temple pillarA native American pterosaur!Sauropods on a plate!
Sigh. It had been an awesome five days with Mom and Dad. We got to see soooo much cool stuff: the Smokey Mountains, Pigeon Forge, The Ark Encounter, and The Creation Museum. Time to head for home. Ryan and Joe are waiting there for us and we still got a five hour drive. Anyone mind if I sleep the rest of the trip? I think it’s time to hand the blog back over to Mom.
Before one can exit The Ark Encounter, you have to go through a maze of pictures drawn out in comic book style. The pictures tell the story of three friends and a lot of doors. Mom was kind enough to capture the story with her phone. I think it’s also offered in book form if you want to order it from the Ark Encounter.
If you’ve never been to The Ark Encounter, the first thing you’ll notice is that this boat is big. I mean REALLY BIG! I don’t know how it compares to a modern day cruise ship, and I know it’s not as big as the Titanic, but Noah’s Ark is BIG! 500 feet long, 85 feet wide and 51 feet high. And the amazing thing was, this was only the first of amazing things I got to learn that day!
We go inside, and the first thing we see are these wooden cages all set up like they would have been for Noah, with pottery water bottles and the bottoms of the cages set up to let the poop drop out and down to a collection area so it could get taken care of easier. Wow! I had never thought about that, but yeah, there were a lot of animals on the real ark and Noah’s family would have to take care of them and clean up after them. The guys who built this museum thought all those things out.
“What kind of things would Noah have known about in those days?” They asked themselves. “How would he take care of the food and water, and all the poop?” They thought about those things and then built full scale models of how it could have been done. WOW!
They figured out how to keep the snakes supplies with bugs to eat and how many animals there would be on the ark (about 7000 by their estimate), and there were lifelike models of some of the animals they might have had. There were a lot of dinosaur types. Some (like the bear type) looked a lot like animals you’d see in a zoo.
We spent a lot of time reading about the different animal types. Sadly, a lot of them are now extinct. I don’t know why. I think it’s because of people. Think about it: if you saw a T-Rex in your neighborhood, wanting to eat you, what would you do? You’d kill it! I’m pretty sure that’s what happened to the dinosaurs. They were killed for someone’s dinner, or to get their head put in someone’s trophy case, or just to keep them from eating grandma. That’s what I think.
There was a cool model of the ark with all the cages in it. Because The Ark Encounter is a museum, they had to have wide isle for all the visitors and wide ramps to get to the different floors and lots of lights. It explained that the real ark would have been darker and had dozens more cages than what was on display. That made sense. There were only eight people on the original boat. There were thousands there that day to see this boat.
They had a section about creation and the first sin that happened before the flood and the way humans acted to lead up to God wiping out just about everyone and starting over with Noah’s family. Why did people have to mess things up so bad? I’m sure glad God decided he wanted to save the animals. It wasn’t their fault people were so stupid.
On the third floor, they had figures for Noah’s family and showed what life might have been like for them on the Ark. Noah’s wife and kids must have really liked animals. God put them in charge of taking care of earth’s future. What a big job they had!
There near the very end was the door all the animals entered through. Notice anything special about the door? Other than that fact that some awesome people, and a super cool bear, are posed in front of it? Yeah, there’s a cross on it! Noah’s family had to enter the door of the ark to be saved. There was no other way. Just like the cross is the only way to heaven! That was pretty cool!
It was a really awesome day I got to spend with my folks seeing what this awesome boat was like. And Mom and Dad ate up the last of the sandwiches they packed that first day. Finally! Time to find a Chick-Fil-A on the way to the hotel! Save me some of those waffle fries!
When we first pulled into town two days earlier, I had thought Pigeon Forge was a lot like Las Vegas. My impression didn’t change in better lighting. Oh, we weren’t seeing casinos and slot machines, but every building we saw on “Tourist Avenue” seemed to shout at people “Look at me! Look at me! Don’t I look awesome? Come inside and have a great time!”
Oh, I wanted to go inside all of them. Mom and Dad had other ideas. Theirs was a “look but don’t touch” mentality.
This Mini-golf park had a medieval theme. We also saw a wild animal themed one, and a farm yard park.
We rode the trolley bus past about a gazillion mini-golf courses competing with double and triple decker go-cart parks competing for kids’ attention. A dozen dinner theater venues promised the adventure of a lifetime. There were pirate shows, cowboy shows, knights and kings and a feud between some dudes named the Hatfields and the McCoys.
Pirates Dinner Theater
“Can we go to a dinner show?” I begged.
“NO!” Mom decided for all of us. “I looked up the Hatfield and McCoy show. It’s about $50 a person.”
“What it I promise not to get a dinner?” I offered.
“Bears are free.”
“Then why can’t we go?” I wanted to know. “I just saved you $50!”
Mom just rolled her eyes. Dad, always one to save a dollar, was no help. He was just fine keeping his wallet in his pocket.
Holliwood Wax Museum complete with King Kong and movie star Mount Rushmore
“Look! There’s an escape room that looks like Alcatraz Prison!”
“NO!”
“How about the wax museum? Look! King Kong likes it so much, he’s trying to get in!”
“NO!”
The Titanic Museum decked out for Breast Cancer Awareness month
“There’s a Titanic museum! That’s historical! Don’t you want me to learn anything on this trip?”
“NO!”
“But they got PINK FLAMINGOS on the lawn!”
“NO!!!”
The MagiQuest Castle
Mom’s eyes did light up when she saw a building shaped like a castle advertising MagiQuest. She’d first played MagiQuest at the Great Wolf Lodge in Traverse City, Michigan and bought a wand there. She kept it in the minivan so it was available when we took a trip to Kansas City and they took the grandkids to the Great Wolf Lodge there. A whole building devoted to MagiQuest! I could tell Mom was intrigued. I was hopeful to finally see some action, but alas! We had the Equinox back in the parking lot, not the mini-van. My parents were too cheap to spring for the cost of a new wand. Dang!
We finally stopped for lunch. We were going to try out a new local-flavor restaurant, but when we went inside, I knew pretty quick it was a no-go. The food smelled delicious, but it was also mostly breaded. Breading meant wheat. Wheat meant gluten. Gluten meant poison to Mom.
“You could have a salad.” The waiter suggested.
The five worst words to say to someone with celiac and gluten intolerance, is “You could have a salad.” It’s not that salad isn’t good, it’s just it’s totally overused on people who can’t have wheat. Consider: everyone else is eating pizza, Mom gets a salad. You go to a sandwich shop, Mom gets a salad. Fried chicken? Mom gets a salad. Cake and pie? Mom gets a salad. It’s a cold day in February, everyone else orders steamy hot food, and Mom gets a salad. “You could have a salad” is pretty much an insult these days. I sure the waiter was clueless on how overused his remark was, but Mom wasn’t going to sit there in a restaurant that treated a serious medical condition as an afterthought and justified it by offering a salad.
There was an Outback Steakhouse across the road and Mom made a beeline for it. Dad was very aware that Outback tends to be a bit on the pricey side, but for once he didn’t say a word about the money. Mom got steak and a loaded baked potato. Dad got grilled chicken and a baked sweet potato. They ordered the Thunder Down Under for dessert – a mound of ice cream and whipped cream on a naturally gluten free hot brownie. They even got cokes – at nearly three dollars each.
Ka-ching! Ka-ching! Ka-ching!
Finally, my folks were loosening the purse strings and spending a little money on this vacation! But Mom and Dad still had a card up their sleeves. As soon as the main coarse came, they both split their meat and potatoes in half, and asked for to-go boxes.
Their lunch was also going to be their dinner. Two meals for the price of one. How very clever of them.
I sighed. My parent’s frugal vacation was starting to get old.
“Mom. Dad. We’re on vacation! We’re saw a lot of stuff, but we never really did anything! Could we at least go back to the Titanic Museum?” I asked. “It’s big, it’s history, and I’ll be able to tell my friends I actually got to go inside it. Please, please?”
Mom and Dad exchanged a knowing look.
“How would you like to go on Noah’s Ark instead?”
“Noah’s Ark! Is that HERE? They have Noah’s Ark?!?!”
“No, but The Ark Encounter is on the way home. We were planning on stopping there tomorrow. It’s a little smaller than the actual Titanic, but very impressive anyway.”
I was so excited I was hopping up and down on the seat. We were going to Noah’s Ark! We’d be going inside!
“We timed it just right.” Mom was saying as she checked some information on her phone. “Yesterday and today were just perfect for outdoor sight seeing. It’s supposed to start raining tomorrow. We’ll be inside.”
I stopped hopping. It would be raining, and we would be inside Noah’s Ark. Just a coincidence?
The plan was to spend the following day in Pigeon Forge, but somehow Mom and Dad found the energy to do a little more sightseeing that evening. After returning from the Smoky Mountains, Mom decided we should take a walk around the area where our hotel was. We had seen sight seeing trolleys going up and down the street and there was a stop right in front of the hotel. Mom and Dad both agreed taking the trolley tomorrow would be the way to go.
The gift shop beside the hotel
So, we started walking. Near the hotel was a gift shop advertising live alligators! And there was an alligator over the entrance! Of course, Mom wanted to go in and see the alligators. What a joke! They did have alligators, but the two they had were only about as long as Mom’s arm. Mom and Dad did end up spending about $50 on souvenir T-shirts though, so I guess the advertisement for live alligators did its job.
the Old Mill Restaurant
We walked down to the Old Mill area where the trolley station was and got wrists bands for the next day. They didn’t give me one though. I glared at her. The lady behind the counter explained that bears got to ride for free. It must be because we are so intimidating.
We saw another store on the way back. This one was decked out like a shark and claimed to have real sharks inside. Of course, Mom wanted to go in. The sharks were the size you’d find in a person’s aquarium. But, it had cool shirts too.
Trump shirts and hats
Big Foot T-Shirt
People in Tennessee are really big fans of President Trump! We saw Trump stuff for sale everywhere! I know when Mom was in Kentucky, Pastor Nathan said how much it hurt the people there when Obama shut down the coal mines. A lot of them opened up again under our new president. I wonder if Tennessee has coal mines too.
Big Foot Crossing Sign
They are also really big into Big Foot. We even saw a crossing sign with Big Foot on it, but Dad thought it might have just been the reflection, or that the glass was misty. Mom and I aren’t buying it. It’s definitely a Big Foot crossing sign.
By then, everyone was worn out. We headed back to the hotel. They even let me stay in the room that night. I got to sleep on the coffee table. I stared at the second bed, sitting there empty all night long. It looked so comfortable compared to the hard wooden table. Earlier this year, though, Mom had stayed a night on her own at a hotel. At 5:00 in the morning, she was fully awake and decided she would read awhile. She turned on the light, threw back the blanket and found there was a bug in the bed, about the size of an apple seed.
Mom don’t like bugs. She got a tissue and picked it up to throw it away. But she didn’t want to just throw it in the trash so it could crawl out. So, she squished it. Blood spurted out. It only took a second for her to realize Bugs don’t have red blood. People do. That bug had spurted out her blood! Talk about a yuck moment!
She high tailed it to the front desk in her jammies and showed the guy there her squished bug and blood spotted tissue. That dumb bug had the audacity to move! If Mom hadn’t already been freaked out, that put her over the top! She nearly lost her lunch!
The guy profusely appologized and offered to put her up in a different room.
“It’s 5:00 in the morning! Do you really think I’m going back to sleep?!?”
Mom just went back to the room, googling “How to NOT take bedbugs home with you from a hotel”. She showered and scrubbed up well. Thankfully, her clothes for that day had hung in the bathroom overnight, so they wouldn’t be infected. Everything else she had with her was shoved into trash bags and the openings tied shut. She was packed up and out of the room before 6:00. The hotel gave her a full refund and told her to let them know if any bed bugs showed up at home.
Oh, like Mom was going to let that happen!
As soon as she walked in the door, what was washable was thrown in the drier on the hottest setting, tumbled through two cycles and then immediately put in the washer and washed. The suitcase spent the next two days in the deep freeze.
It all seemed nuts, but our house never got bed bugs.
I thought about that as I sat there on the coffee table staring at the empty bed. Nothing was on that bed. One suitcase was on the desk, the other was next to me on the coffee table. Both were zipped up tight. The backpack sat on the TV stand. Not one item was allowed to stay on a fabric surface of any kind. Not even the carpeted floor.
Except there was Mom and Dad snoring away in the other bed: big, soft, comfy and fabric covered.
Them: warm blooded, bed bug bait, allowed on the bed.
Me: no blood, ignored by bed bugs, not allowed on the bed.
It’s a sad truism that old people continue to get older. So is the case of my Mom and Dad. They had bought the Equinox, a vehicle with a strong towing capacity, with the intention of someday getting a pop-up trailer and traveling around the country to the National Parks. Clingman’s Dome got them re-evaluating their dreams.
Mom and Dad love nature. They’re both animal lovers, they recycle whenever possible, they live in a four-season state, and they’ve even gone on more Boy Scout camp-outs than they can remember. They even enjoy hiking. Short distance, level ground hiking. Like from the couch to the kitchen and back. Or even around the neighborhood. Or around Gerber Scout Camp.
The Appalachian trail runs through the Smoky Mountains and at 2,200 miles is the longest-hiking only trail in the world
Clingman’s Dome was a different kind of hike. It was hiking up the side of a mountain for half a mile at a 12 degree incline.
Reflecting at a waterfall
Mom went hiking with Joe’s Boy Scout troop a few years back in the Shenandoah National Park, through part of the Blue Ridge Mountains, and on a section of the Appalachian trail. Four days of wilderness hiking, with a full backpack, up and down steep mountain trails, with bad knees. She was sure at one point they would have to call an ambulance to get her out of there, but she persevered. By the last day, the pack was much lighter and she was keeping up with the troop. The thing that ticked her off was watching the guys around her having to tighten up their belts as the pounds came off and she came home two pounds heavier! Same food, same trails, same sweat. That’s totally messed up.
Making friends along the Appalachiah trail! Meet Sparkle and Ella-bee
So, anyway, Dad and Mom looked up at that mountain known as Clingmans Dome and considered. It was a wide paved path and people of all ages were going up: kids, grandparents, moms and dads. My parents looked at one another and nodded. Mom had her hiking poles with her, Dad had me in the backpack. Bring it on. HA!!!!!
12 degrees doesn’t sound like much until you’re walking it.
The park service had strategically put up benches about every 100 yards or so. Mom and Dad found everyone of of them and paid them a friendly visit. Meanwhile, families with little kids cheerfully passed us up.
Dad chills for a while while I’m stuck smelling his armpit
“You’re making us look bad!” I complained.
Dad gave me one of those looks. “Like, two grown people lugging a teddy bear up a mountain wasn’t making us look bad already?”
I was offended by that. Teddy bears are some of the coolest things on the planet! Just being in the presence of one raises your coolness factor by 20 points.
An old guy went past, caught a look at my sweatshirt and cracked a smile.
“I bet you weren’t so happy yesterday,” he commented.
My new friend Hiking Bear wanted a picture
Mom and I just stared at him. We had no idea what he was talking about.
“Your team lost!” he explained.
We still looked at the guy like he was a wierdo. Mom doesn’t care a thing about actual football. I was born at a Build-A-Bear factory in Kansas City while Mom and Dad were visiting their grandkids there. Mom got the KC Chiefs sweater in honor of her dad who loved the team. He died about seven years ago. We just smiled and nodded at the weirdo and went back to hiking.
We were now following behind a family with some young kids. One kid, about 4 years old, was lagging behind, clutching a bag of M&Ms. He looked up at his parents, noticed they weren’t looking, and proceeded to drop an M&M on the path. Maybe he was trying to mark his trail back – Hansel and Gretel style – but Mom just lost it.
“NO!” She screeched. “Don’t do that!”
Of course, that got the whole family turned around staring at her.
She picked up the M&M and handed it to the dad.
“I don’t think he meant to drop this,” she lied, “but there’s bears around here. Human food can make them turn mean.”
The man thanked her, and we went on.
Dad leaned over to whisper to Mom, “He’d just got onto him about that just a few minutes ago.”
“Well, maybe he’ll take the bag away this time.”
“I’ll take it!” I volunteered. “Candy doesn’t make me mean. Not getting candy does.”
They ignored me and went back to hiking up that hill.
So, after what seems like a couple years, we get up to the top, round the corner and see this big concrete…. tower? ramp? swoosh? THINGY there. There was an observation deck built up above the treetops.
Sweat dripping down their faces, panting like a couple of dogs on a hot day in August, Mom and Dad stared up at that thing.
“Should we?” Dad asked.
The corkscrew path up to the observation deck
Mom shook her head, not believing she was saying the next words coming out her own mouth. “Well, we climbed up this far. What’s another 1000 steps or so?”
So said, we headed up the ramp. The Corps of Civil Engineers who built it were nice enough to make sure the ramp was of the same incline as the rest of the mountain: 12 degrees.
panaramic view from the ramp
The ramp corkscrewed up and around, ending at the observation deck. What a view! We were at the highest point on the Appalachian Trail: 6,643 feet! The tower was built on the North Carolina / Tennessee border.
We made it! Dad and I proudly pose on the observation deck
They say that on a clear day, you can see 100 miles from that observation deck. I believe it.
overlooking the ramp
We stood there staring forever and ever, it was just so awesome! Finally, our tummies told us it was time to go. Mom had taken about a hundred pictures, but we all agreed pictures can never be the same as being there.
On the trail back to the parking lot
the tunnel
The hike back down was 12 degrees too. You would think it would be easier, but Mom wasn’t so sure about that. Bad knees really don’t like going downhill. A few kids ran past, letting gravity take them down. Mom said if she relied on gravity, she’d be flat on her face. The view along the path was spectacular! How had we not noticed it on the way up? Maybe because the mountain was in the way and we were too busy focused on breathing at the time.
the corkscrew road
We got another funny surprise on our way out of the park. There’s a couple of tunnels you have to drive through on your way down the mountain. One tunnel was actually part of a cork screw: we circled down around a bend in the road and then went under the road.
It was sad to leave, as we knew this was the only day we would be spending in the park. Back at the hotel in Pigeon Forge, Mom checked the elevation on her compass app. 1020 feet. Very non-impressive.
Good bye Great Smoky’s. I’m disappointed I never got to see any of my cousins, but I’m leaving you with some awesome memories.
At one of the vistor’s center in the Smokey Mountains National Park, there’s a slab of cement with a sign posted beside it. It was a First Amendment / free speech area. I had never seen such a thing before! Neither had Mom.
I scratched my head.
“So, if you want to talk, you have to stand on the cement slab?”
Mom explained it was more political than that. There’s certain topics that other people may not want to hear about, so the only place you can talk about them and pass out papers about it was in the free speech area.
I thought that was really sad. Mom did too.
“People can get really nasty about what they feel is right,” she said.
“What are those ladies wanting to talk about?” I asked.
“It looks like the pamplets are pro-life. They don’t want people to kill their unborn babies.”
I did the math in my head: babies grow up to be kids. Kids love teddy bears. Teddy bears were made for kids to love. No babies = no teddy bears. That would be an awful thing.
“As long as we are on the topic of signs,” Dad pointed. “There was an interesting one posted on the inside of the bathroom stall.” Mom went into the ladies room to check it out and snapped a picture. She showed me.
“Who takes pictures of deer going poop?” I asked.
“You would be suprised.”
After finding out you need a concrete slab just to say your opinion, I doubted anything else could surprise me. Boy, was I wrong! The next sign was even crazier!
Don’t feed wildlife that are picking the plants
I stared at this sign for a while.
“So, you can’t feed animals that are feeding plants.” I summarized. “Is it ok to feed them if they don’t pick the plants?”
Mom nearly busted a gut laughing at that.
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“Well, they need to say that then. It should read ‘feeding wildlife is prohibited, no matter if they are picking the plants or not.”
Then I thought of something else.
“Isn’t this park for the animals?” I asked. “How come they’re not allowed to pick their own plants? Did the rangers plant them? And how are the animals supposed to know they can’t pick the plants? Can they even read the signs? This is just so unfair!”
Mom was still laughing, but she nodded her head in agreement. That wasn’t helping. I thought she liked animals. Why was she laughing?
“Well,” I proclaimed. “If I see any animals picking the plants, I’m NOT telling the rangers about it! If they want to pick their own flowers, that’s their business.”
“Sure!” Mom agreed. She was still laughing at me.
“And I’m gonna feed them, whether or not they’re picking flowers.”
That got Mom to stop laughing.
“No, you’re not!” She was using her most serious, glaring-eyes-burning-holes-through-me look.
“But…”
She wasn’t listening.
“You’re not to feed any of the animals or pick any plants. Don’t even go near any animals you see, and you stay on the path.” Her eyes were still glaring at me. I grumbled at her.
“If they don’t want people feeding the animals, or picking the plants, they really should put up a sign.” I stated.
The view of Mt. Le Conte from the overlook in the Great Smokey National Park
It’s an awful thing when your phone decides to hoard pictures and refuses to share them. Such is the story of our day in the Great Smokeys. Mom took hundreds of photos, but Siri decided they were hers to keep and a fight ensued. Mom finally won by calling in the experts at the Apple store. This is why this post is so late after the fact. Talking about the Great Smokeys without pictures would be stupid, even for a teddy bear.
Fall in the Great Smokeys
It’s a humbling experience to see the breathtaking beauty in a place like the Smokeys, and we were fortunate enough to be there while it was in it’s most beautiful-est. It was 70 degrees that day, the sky was clear, and the leaves on the trees were a-changing! Everywhere we looked, the trees seemed to be exploding in fiery colors! It was all Dad could do to keep his eyes on the road as we looked and looked at the trees and colors all around us.
We found some human tracks at an overlook. Sigh
We stopped at one of the overlooks to get a better look at the mountains. Being from Michigan, we don’t see mountains like this. The mountains seemed to have been plopped down one beside the other like scoops of ice cream in a bowl. We’d been to Colorado seven years ago and these mountains were a lot different. Yeah, Colorado had lots of mountain ranges, but this area of Tennessee had LOTS of ranges, one running into another, sitting side by side, squeezing into each other. Driving the roads in the park, a lot of times there was a shear rock wall on one side and a drop into nothingness on the other. And here we were on this ribbon of road cut out between them.
Time to take a hike!
Mom had bought a map of the trails, so she picked one near the entrance of the park to try out. It advertised a waterfall at the end. Mom and Dad are nuts about waterfalls. I think it’s something about running water that doesn’t come with a water bill for them to pay. The trail marker said it was only 1.3 miles to the falls. Easy peezy!
Check out this awesome rock!
A few hundred yards down the path, we found this huge rock with holes in it. Dad said over the years, water had cut those holes. Say what? Water? That wimpy wet stuff that splashes around in the washer when I get a bath? That stuff cut holes through this big old rock-hard rock? Yeah, right, Dad. What’s the punchline?
Dad looked at me real hard and sighed.
Mom and Dad started walking up the trail. They soon figured out that 1.3 miles walking up hill was a lot different than the same distance in a flat place like Grand Rapids. They were both puffing and wheezing pretty quick into the hike. About half way up, we met a ranger along the trail who was there to make sure everyone stayed on the path. He said there was a bear and her cubs seen in the area recently, and he was there just in case she showed herself that day. He reminded everyone about the importance of not feeding the bears. Mom had read I Survived the Attack of the Grizzlieshttps://www.laurentarshis.com/i-survived a few months earlier and knew that human food makes bears less fearful of people and more likely to cause trouble. That story took place in Glacier National Park, Montana, not the Smokey Mountains of Tennesse and North Carolina, but the same principal applies. DON’T FEED THE BEARS!
Aw! I wouldn’t have minded meeting some cousins.
Mom and Dad looked at each other. They had packed some of their sandwiches in the backpack and had planned on having lunch once we reached the fall. But sandwiches, even gluten-free ones, produce bread crumbs. Bread crumbs could attract bears. Without even saying a word, they both agreed lunch would wait until we were back in the car.
As I said before, walking in those mountains wasn’t like walking in Grand Rapids. The trail was on the side of the mountain and it was kind of scary looking over the side of the trail. One tiny slip, and you’d find yourself falling down a hundred feet or more. It’s a quick way to get down the mountain, but not one I would recommend.
Our view looking over the edge of the trail
After an hour of walking uphill, we finally got to the waterfall. Mom and Dad were relieved. The water was still running and hadn’t been shut off yet. Maybe they do that at night, after everyone goes home. Anyway, someone was kind enough to take our pictures at the falls as proof that we actually did hike all that way. Well, Mom and Dad did the hiking. I mostly rode in the backpack and got out for photo ops. That’s the kind of thing you do when you’ve got short legs and run around bear footed. Get it? I’m a bear. I’m BEAR footed, even when I’m wearing shoes. I will assume you’re laughing.
Mom, Dad and me at Laurel FallsI got tired, so Dad carried me most of the way
On the way back down the mountain, Dad was walking along and someone passed him going up.
Is it a hard climb?” the guy asked.
“Not too bad,” Dad said. “As long as you stay on the trail.” As Dad said that, he looked over his shoulder and one of his feet stepped off the trail.
It was a terrifying moment, riding there on Dad’s back as he stood there wobbling and flailing his arms. Mom was screaming at him. “Careful! Careful!” Duh, Mom! Like she really thought yelling that at him would help him get his balance again! I don’t know, maybe it worked, because he was ok again in a few seconds. He gave a nervous laugh like it was funny.
“Oops.”
Mom didn’t seem to think it was funny. “You do know that they can’t get an ambulance down here?” She reminded him. “And I wouldn’t climb down there to drag you back up.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.”
“But I’d want you to throw the backpack up to me.”
I perked up. Mom cared about me and would want me back! My hopes were dashed pretty quick though, as she went on to explain her request.
“I got a sandwich in there, and gluten-free bread ain’t cheap!”
Dad thought that was funny and it got both of them laughing and lightening the mood again. I didn’t laugh though. I had thought I was more valuable than a lousy old sandwich.
Just for that, Mom, I stepped all over your sandwich on the hike down the hill. How do you like those apples, huh?
Mom thought it was funny when she discovered I’d been in the car all night. Yeah, mom. You’re quite the joker. They trust you with kids, and you can’t even take care of a teddy bear? Sheesh! The two of us went to find the breakfast room at our hotel. The weird thing was that the breakfast room was the door right next to Mom and Dad’s on the second floor! Except, you weren’t allowed to go through that door. Instead, you had to go down the stairs, around the building and up the “wheelchair ramp”. It was an adequate ramp, if your wheelchair was the width of a child stroller and it would fit through narrow doorways.
I reminded Mom there were a lot of other hotels in Pigeon Forge. Hotels with elevators and large breakfast areas on the main floor. She reminded me most were $100 to $250 a night. Our total bill for two nights at this hotel was $100.
Rock wall behind the hotel
Our hotel was on a plot of land cut from the side of a mountain. I couldn’t help wondering how often they had rock slides there.
“Our room is on the opposite side of the building.” Mom pointed out.
Having given the breakfast room a cursory look, we went back to the hotel room. Dad had just gotten out of the shower, so we all went back together to have breakfast. The morning offering was pretty typical: bread you could toast yourself, packs of Quaker oatmeal, scrambled eggs, individual containers of Dannon yogurt, and biscuits and gravy and cold dry cereal. Here’s the thing with hotel cereal: they buy it in bulk and pour it into a dispenser. These two dispensers had sticker labels proclaiming them to contain Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes and Cheerios – the latter being gluten free. Those labels came already glued to the dispensers. There’s no guarantee what’s in those dispensers is actually the brand name product or a cheaper knock off cereal. And unless you can see the label from knock off brand, you have no idea what ingredients are in them.So Mom stuck to oatmeal, yogurt and eggs.
“Other hotels have more gluten free varieties.” I reminded Mom.
“I’m just fine with what I have.”
Back in the room, in the light of day, Mom and Dad noticed an area of the wall between the sleeping area and the bathroom. There was a notable chunk that had been cut out and sloppily re-patched.
“Access to water pipes.” Dad assumed.
The re-patch wasn’t the real issue though. It was the smudge marks all over the wall. Even Mom had to cringe at that.
Mom and Dad looked at each other, looked at the wall, then back at each other.
Our smudgy wall
“We’re here for two nights, fifty buck a night.” Mom reminded him. “The beds are comfortable, the showers were hot, and the breakfast was free. What are the odds of finding all that somewhere else? We can live with the smudge marks.”
Dad, always one to pinch the penny, agreed with her.
Traveling with grown ups is the worst. These people never stopped for anything! Well, yeah, they did stop, but it was for gas or bathroom breaks, never for the important things. Even as a teddy bear, strapped into the backseat where the view is mainly black upholstery, you notice those kinds of things.
“I’m hungry!” I complained. It was nearly 2 o’clock in the afternoon. We’d been driving since 10, and I was ready to get out for a while.
“Honey, we really should stop.” Mom suggested to Dad.
He nodded. “Ok. There’s an exit coming up.”
My heart went pitter pat! Finally! I craned my neck to catch a glimpse of the road sign, expecting to see restaurant insignia to showing the different possibilities. Instead, there were only two words: Rest Stop.
What?
The Equinox came to a stop. Mom jumped out and headed for the building and Dad pulled out the cooler.
WHAT?
He got out a loaf of gluten free bread, a regular loaf of wheat, a package of lunch meat and another of sliced cheese. This was joined by a bunch of bananas and some granola bars.
WHAT!?!?!?
That was our lunch, and it was eaten on the road, in a moving vehicle. Dinner that night had the very same quality to it.
Man, these people are nuts!
Meanwhile, Mom was playing a book-on-tape from her phone. It was nice that the ‘Nox had a place you could plug in your phone and play audio from it. Of course, it took Mom five minutes to figure out how to do it, and every time we stopped it was another five minutes getting it to play right again.
I had expected Mom to pick out a stupid romance novel from the library’s app, but instead she’d gotten a sci-fi novel, the second in the series. The family had listened to the first book on their trip to Washington DC that summer (which they had left me out of. Sheesh!), and now Dad wanted to hear the second one.
“Hey!” I protested. “I didn’t get to read the first one! I won’t know what’s going on!”
No one cared. They were going to listen to it anyway. Bears get no say in what they have to listen to.
It turns out, the story was cool. The book was The Prince Warriors: The Unseen Invasion. https://theprincewarriors.com/books/ It’s a lot like the Narnia books: these kids are transported to a different world (Ahoratos) that is cared for by a mysterious creature named Ruwach. In the series, the children are sent on missions to collect pieces of armor which protects them from the enemy. In the first story, the children were given a breastplate
Second book in the Prince Warriors Series
which shines to help guide them and shoes that have properties to get over hurdles and traps. In The Unseen Invasion, they are given seed that are to be their shields (I won’t spoil it by telling you how it works, but it’s really cool!) Two of the kids bring objects back from Ahoratos (a real no-no) and that transgression allows the enemy to open a portal between Ahoratos and the real world. Only Prince Warriors can see the enemy approaching, and it’s up to them to close the portal and make things right again. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OPVvlkjZ-HU
The book is over seven hours long, so it lasted for most of the trip. By the time it finished it was dark and raining, and we still had a long way to go. Mom knows she sees better at night than Dad so she took over driving. Even so, she seemed to spend as much time glancing at the navigator as she did the road. She had it zoomed in to a couple hundred feet, so it was showing the turns better than she could see it through the windshield.
Beyond the Lens! Pigeon Forge, Tennessee
It was nearly 10 pm when we got to Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. I watched out the window, mesmerized, as we drove though town. It was all lit up and glitzy, like Las Vegas! I saw a building built upside down, and another built laying on it’s side! King Kong was climbing up a miniature skyscaper, and a bus gusted up like an old time trolley was shuttling down the main drag. There were stores that had the entry ways shaped like giant sharks and bears, and one where the doorway was in the lens of a ginormous camera! Wow! Was I gonna have fun in this town!
We finally got to the hotel. Mom and Dad trudged back and forth between the ‘Nox and their room on the second floor, hauling up their suitcases, the cooler and backpacks.
Wonderworks building
Then they locked up the car with me still in it.
Hello? Hey! I’m still here.
But they didn’t come back, and they didn’t even leave the keys so I could listen to the radio.
Sheesh! The nerve of some humans! I was left to stare at the back of the passenger seat all night.
It seemed to take forever for dad to get packed up for our trip, but finally we were on our way.
Kinda.
No one had eaten breakfast so Dad decided to stop at Macdonald’s.
Mom scowled at him. She’s gluten intolerant. That means she can’t eat anything
with flour in it. It messes up her stomach. Sometimes it’d give her really
stinky farts. Sometimes it’d make her live in the bathroom for a while. Before
she knew what she had, it made her so sick she was in the hospital for ten days
in something called the ICU. Dad said she nearly died.
So, no. MacDonalds was not a good place for her to eat. Too
many hamburger buns and breaded food.
“Just get me a large iced tea.” She said. “We’ll stop at the
grocery store for some gluten free bagels. But, while you’re in McDonalds, I’ll
figure out the navigator.
Dad had a new used car with a built-in navigator. No one
knew how to use it except Joe, but Joe wasn’t with us. While dad was in the
restaurant, mom pulled the users guide out of the glove box and started pushing
buttons.
She said a few words she wasn’t supposed to.
“You said a bad word.” I pointed out.
“Are you wanting to ride in the back with the luggage?”
That was kind of funny! We were in a Chevy Equinox. It’s a
hatch back, so the back where the luggage was, was just behind me in the passenger
compartment. I would still be able to hear everything they said and see out the
window.
I decided I preferred being in the seat though, so I kept my
mouth shut.
Mom kept pushing buttons, but now, when ever she started to
say a bad word, she would look over her shoulder and scowl at me.
As if it was my fault she couldn’t figure out the stupid
computer!
It took about five minutes of pushing buttons for mom to get
the address of the hotel entered.
Dad still hadn’t come out of the restaurant.
“I remember when fast food was fast.” Mom told me.
Dad finally returned, grumbling about incompetent teenagers
and lousy service.
“Remember when fast food used to be fast?” He asked us.
The next stop was Meijer. Man, it’s amazing how busy that
store was on a rainy Sunday morning!
Dad dropped Mom off at the entrance and started circling the
parking lot, looking for a spot.
“I feel like a vulture looking for a carcass.” He grumbled.
“Is carcass another name for parking spot?” I asked him.
“It is in Michigan.”
We finally found our carcass just as Dad’s phone buzzed. Mom
had found some gluten free bagels and muffins and was ready for us to meet her
at the entrance.
“What’d you get for me?” I asked after she’d buckled in.
They ignored me.
I quickly forgot about not getting breakfast when the navigator
kicked in.
“Bear left.” It informed us.
There was a bear to the left of us? I swung my head around
to see. No bear.
“Bear right.”
I looked to the right this time. Still no bear! I was
getting a bit angry. I wanted to see some bears!
“Police bear left.” the navigator said.
“A POLICE BEAR?!??! Where? Where?” I wanted to know.
“It didn’t say police.” Mom sighed. “It said please.”
“But where’s the bear?”
“There’s no bears. It just means to turn that direction.”
I was getting huffy now. “Well, if it wanted us to turn, why didn’t it just say
to turn?”
“Maybe it’s wanting to expand your vocabulary.”
I didn’t want my vocabulary expanded. I wanted to see some
bears!
We’d gotten on the interstate and were just starting to get
out of town when Dad noticed something.
“Take a look at that guy’s tire! It’s flat!”
The guy two cars ahead of us and one lane over was driving at
highway speed with a very low rear tire.
“Can you get up beside him so we can warn him?” Mom
wondered.
Dad tried, but we were in the slow lane. He switched over to
the inside lane, but we had lost sight of the vehicle.
It was only a few minutes later, traffic came to an abrupt slow down. Everyone
was hitting the breaks!
A pick-up truck zoomed past us on the left side in the shoulder! He was pulling a trailer and couldn’t get slowed down in time. To avoid hitting us, he’d driven onto the strip of asphalt between the fast lane and the safety fence dividing the north and south lanes of traffic. We slowed way down so he could get back onto the road ahead of us.
The car with the low tire made its way over to the outside and pull to the shoulder. As we passed, we saw the tire was totally shredded.
The pick-up that had zoomed past us also made its way to the outside and stopped. He must have picked up a nail or piece of metal.
Mom and Dad looked at each other. We were barely out of town and had been witnesses to two near-accidents. Traffic was heavy, but no one had been hurt.
“Thank you, Jesus, for watching over us.” Dad breathed.
Hello. Toskey here, the traveling bear. It’s been a while since I sent any notices, and back then it was through emails. Talk about snail mail! So, anyway, I overheard mom and dad saying they were gonna be taking a little vacation. No kids this time, just them, well, that didn’t seem right. Yeah, their youngest is now 18, has a job and a drivers license, but still, taking a vacation on their own!?!?! That just ain’t right. So yesterday morning, while mom was yelling at dad to hurry up and get his stuff packed, I snuck into their car and buckled myself in.
Mom wasn’t too happy when she opened the door to put her
backpack in the back seat and saw me sitting there.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She wanted to know.
Well, duh! Like she couldn’t figure that out for herself.
“I’m coming with you.”
Mom rolled her eyes and sighed real loud.
“Honey, Toskey wants to come with us!”
“Cool!” Joe said. He was the 18 year old. He’d been my
champion during our trip to the Grand Canyon seven summers earlier. He was the
one who made sure I got in most of the pictures. I loved that dude! But, man!
He was a lot cuter at 10 than 18. He wanted me to see the world. If he couldn’t
go, he figured me going for him was the next best thing.
Dad came out into the garage and stared at me. Then he stared at mom as if this was all her idea. He rolled his eyes and sighed real loud.
“Fine.” He grumbled.
Yay! I was going! Off on adventure! Off to see the world! I
was a traveling bear once more!
“Until I come, devote yourself to the public reading of the scripture, to preaching and to teaching…Be diligent in these matters; give yourself wholly to them, so that everyone may see your progress. Watch your life and doctrine closely. Persevere in them, because if you do, you save both yourself and your hearers.” I Timothy 4:13, 15-16
It was at the Breathe Christian Writers’ Conference that Kathleen Kerr stood up and spoke about the awesome and massive responsibility Christian writers have to their audience and to their Lord. For many readers, the only experience they will ever have with God is through the pages of a book, and often that book is not the Bible.
There is a plethora of books out there, and not many of them actually try pointing their readers to God or even to a higher purpose in life. Most books don’t even elude to these topics (Some one tried to tell me that Harry Potter is actually an allegory on the story of Jesus. Sorry, I’m having trouble swallowing that one. I also read a commentary claiming Clockwork Orange too was a type of Christ story. It hurts when you try stifling a laugh and coffee shoots out your nose).
I had heard Stephenie Meyer, who wrote the Twilight series, is a devout Mormon. I have to question how a story of a teenager with the hots for a vampire helps promote that religion. I also read Orson Scott Card was Mormon. Hmm. I’ve read the Ender series. Mr. Card broaches such topics as genocide, genetic enhancement, war, religion and ethics. Well played, Mr. Card. Your stories promote self reflection and touch on ethical challenges.
“Watch your life and doctrine closely,” Paul warned his friend Timothy. As a writer, what doctrine are you preaching to your reading congregation? Ms. Kerr gave some advice to us wanna-be writers during the conference.
“Look sin in the eye and call it what it is.” She advised. That’s a message we see so little of today. Our culture is riddled with sin being presented as the status quo, no big deal, and often something to aspire to. Too often, even in our churches, sin is downplayed, consequences are rarely mentioned and repentance is treated as a option. We say our hallelujahs at church, then go home, watch a Simpsons rerun, read another chapter of Fifty Shades of Grey and act like nothing’s wrong.
But as Christians, our calling is to rise above culture and look sin in the eye. As writers, God warns us to not glorify evil , but to expose it for what it is: an abomination to God and a spiritual death sentence.
Fellow Christians, writers and non-writers alike: we are leading this future generation by our words and our example. The children are watching. We are their Bible. What doctrine will you be teaching them?
So, three weeks after my very first writer’s conference, I sat in on my second. This was the Breathe Christian Writer’s Conference, held in Grand Rapids. Once again, I found myself sitting in a 1-on-1 across from an agent.
My session with Cy three weeks prior had me wondering if I should be shelfing my fantasy story for a while and focus all my efforts on the children’s book that I’d been asked to email to an editor. I liked my children’s story Tommy: Otherwise Known as God, but it was 8100 words and I was told it either needed to be cut down to 5000 words for third grade readers or bumped up to 30,000 for middle school readers. I asked one of the third grade teachers I work with if she would give it a read and see what she thought – third grade level or for older kids? I also handed off a few copies to another teacher’s kids to see what they thought of it.
My 1-on-1 at the Breathe Conference was very different than my meeting with Cy at Maranatha. This time I was meeting with Linda Glaz from the Heartline Literacy Agency https://www.hartlineliterary.com/linda_glaz.html I’d sat in on two of her breakout sesssions (Writing a First Page That Pops! and Pops Again! and What On Earth Do Agents Want?) One of the points she made in her lectures was to know what your potential agent wants.
“Don’t come up to an agent telling them ‘I know you don’t do such-and-such, but mine’s so awesome you’re gonna want to run with it.'” She warned. “Yeah, I’m gonna run with it – straight to the trash can.” She didn’t do fantasy, and she didn’t do children’s books – my two genres. That was a bit of a letdown, but, after hearing her speak, I knew she was still the very person I needed.
I waited my turn, sat down, and introduced myself. I turned on the recorder app on my phone, not wanting to miss a second of what she might say during our short time together.
“I know you don’t do fantasy, but…” I started.
Her eyes got big and she sat back, leery of my next words.
“I heard your seminar on making your first page pop, and I wondered if you could give me some pointers.”
A huge smile spread across her face. She was delighted. The next fifteen minutes were a novice writer’s bliss. She scrutinized the first two pages, drawing arrows, slashing out phrases and underlining others.
“Here’s your first line!” She circled a phrase buried at the end of the third paragraph. I stared at it. It was an awesome first line! How had I not seen it before? Gratitude leached out of my pores and I stared starry eyed at this goddess with a pen as I basked in her advice.
I told her my 17 word pitch line: “A fairy and an elf meet in a spider’s web. One venomous bite entangles their lives forever.” She liked it, saying it was strong and memorable, two qualities a pitch line needs.
I then told her of my experience with Cy. She knew him.
“Reach out again.” She instructed. “This kind of work is his specialty.”
“He doesn’t do christian fantasy, though. He says it doesn’t sell.”
“Is it an alagory? Is it overt? As long as it isn’t beating the reader over the head and too preachy, I would approach him again.”
“I guess my next step would be to get an editor.” I probed. “It’s an 80,000 word story. What do you thing the ballpark figure would be to get an editor for that?”
I also asked her about my Tommy story. “I have a very limited social platform at this time. Should I go ahead and send in the story, or wait until my numbers were up?” She suggested I go ahead and prepare it to send it.
“Let them know where you’re numbers are and what steps you are taking to get them up.”
I nodded. My friend Danae was coaching me in the ins and outs of social media, hash tags and using multiple platforms. Little by little, I was getting the jest of it.
Our time was up. I thanked her profusely, gathered up my two pages and phone, and clutched them to my chest as a priceless treasure. God was once again lighting up stepping stones for me leading me forward on my writing journey.
Every other month, my husband guest preaches at a small church about an hour away. He usually asks me to tell a short story before his sermon and back in August, he expected me to come up with a tale. The suggested topic was the story of the unforgiving servant. Its found in Matthew 18: 23-35, and goes something like this:
The king was looking over his accounts and found one of his servants owed him a huge sum of money (lets say a million dollars). He calls in the servant and tells him to cough it up or he’ll have the dude thrown into prison. The poor guy falls to his knees and begs to be given time to earn the money to pay back the debt. The king takes pity on the guy and actually forgives the whole amount, letting the servant go Scott free and in the clear.
The guy leaves and runs into a fellow servant. This one happens to owe Dude One a small debt (we’ll call it one hundred dollars).
“Dude! Pay up!” Our guy demands.
“I don’t have it on me. Give me a few days and I’ll get it back to you.”
Dude One has no patience for the debtor. He calls in the cops and has the guy thrown in prison.
Some other servants see what happened and run to tell the king.
Dude One is called back on the carpet and the king doesn’t throw punches. The guy is lead away in chains to work off the whole restored debt.
“And this”, Jesus told them, “is what it will be like when you stand before Our Father in heaven”.
Get the picture?
So my husband calls me up to front to give my little speech. I tell the congregation about a mission trip my son Joe and I took to rural Kentucky to help out Laurel Mission. The youth group at our church had bake sales all year long to raise $9000 for the trip. Most of that money went to help the community at Greasy Creek, Kentucky, a small, dirt poor community tucked back into the mountains. The song Fingertips and Noses by Daniel Amos quickly comes to mind.
The main project multiple congregations had taken on was to build a house for a woman and her kids. They were living in a run down trailer with their nine dogs. Mom home school the kids and the oldest was now starting ninth grade. They only had curriculum through seventh grade, so the eldest would be repeating the material for the third time (fortunately, one of the members of our group was a teacher. She promised to send the mom materials to carry them through high school). Our team also had a licensed electrician and an experienced drywaller. These two men basically lived in that unfinished house that week, getting all the wiring done and the rest of the sheet rock up.
We also handed out bags of groceries and staples to 50 families and painted the home of a widow recovering from eye surgery.
It was an awesome experience.
But what does a mission trip to Kentucky have to do with the story of the Unforgiving Servant? A lot.
See, unforgiveness isn’t just forgiving some who owes you something, or has done you wrong. It’s also an attitude many of us hold toward others. Often people we know very little about, but have already formed opinions of.
“She has NINE dogs? What are you building HER a house for?”
“She homeschools? Well, THERE’S the problem!
Why were you giving out food? Why don’t those people find decent jobs so they don’t need a handout?
He’s from WHERE?
She’s from the wrong part of town
Sigh.
God has forgiven us of so much. Why are we so eager to hold onto prejudice and judgement? Let go of your desire to label, or Jesus warns, we will be judged with the same measurement.
“We can finally recycle the untouched moment,” the keynote speaker told us the first night of the writer’s conference. He went on to explain he had no idea what that meant. It was a snip-it from an in-progress conversation he heard in passing. But it had impressed him enough to remember it and share it.
I wrote it down, wondering at the meaning of the cryptic message.
It was my first keynote speech at my first writing conference ever!!! I was so pumped! The only dark spot so far was finding upon arrival that Cy (not his real name), the one and only agent scheduled for one-on-one meetings with hopeful authors, already had all his time slots filled.
Dang.
A host at the conference suggested I see if I could sit at his table during one of the meals. I found Cy at dinner and asked if I could be at his table during lunch the next day. He was agreeable. It made me think about the keynote’s quote. Would lunch instead of a one-on-one be considered recycling a moment? I had my one sheet giving a quick overview of the book, a three page proposal, and the first three chapters of my book. If this was to be my recycled moment, I was ready for it.
But at lunch the next day, Cy barely even looked at my manuscript.
“I can’t run with this.” He said. “Christian fantasy just doesn’t sell.”
I was stunned. This was my baby. My life blood. It wasn’t sell-able?
“Wha…what should I do?” I asked shakily.
He flipped to the first page of the story, scanned it and shook his head again. “This needs redone. I was thinking there was a dragon in it.”
“No, Dragon is the name of one of the characters.”
His head never stopped shaking. With a sigh, he handed the papers back. My recyclable moment was heading toward the land fill.
“You should talk to Dan (not his real name either).” Cy said, pointing. “He’s an editor. Have him look over your first page and ask for some tips.”
I thanked him. Fortunately, I already had scheduled a session with Dan the Editor. Maybe my moment was in sight after all.
Like Cy, Dan had trouble getting past the one sheet.
“Triune Godheads scream Christian.” He told me. “A secular reader is going to see that and feel like he’s being tricked.”
“Ok.” I agreed. Cy had already made it clear Christian fantasy wasn’t marketable. “So, what do you think of the story’s beginning?”
He was still stuck on the one sheet.
“‘Elyon, Logos and Spirit’.” He was shaking his head in a very Cy-like way. “Those are too common in Christian writing. That isn’t going to fly.”
“Yeah, but could you look at my first page and give me some pointers?”
Unfortunately, our time was almost over. Dan apologized for not having any more time and gave me his business card.
“Why don’t you email your page to me and I’ll look it over?” He promised. That was generous. I thanked him and relinquished my chair to the next starry eyed hopeful.
I was feeling pretty depressed. My moment wasn’t being recycled at all. Any hope of getting my fantasy series published was looking slim. “God, what are you doing to me?” I wanted to scream. “I’ve put so much time into this! I re-wrote it to make it Christian because I thought that’s what you wanted! Was it a waste of time and money even coming here?”
Dejected, I sat down for my next one-on-one; this time with an acquisition editor for a children’s publishing house. She was running a few minutes late, so I had a moment to collect my thoughts. Cy had already told me my fantasy work was not for children because the first page had kissing on it. The book proposal went back into my folder. I had a couple other stories I had written years ago, but had never taken any farther. Maybe she’d like one of those. Or maybe I’d get a round of head shaking from her, too.
She sat down across from me, apologising for being late.
“Whatcha got?” she asked.
“I’ve a story about a boy fantasizing he’s a ship captain as he’s playing with his food.” I offered.
She shook her head. “We only do children’s books with Christian themes.”
“Well,” I said slowly. “I have another story called Tommy: Otherwise Known as GOD. It’s about a boy who’s angry with God for taking his Grandmother and how he comes to grips with her death.”
She held out her hand for the story. I had only brought the first ten pages. No one sheet. No proposal.
She did a lot of nodding and pointing out things she liked as she probed me for more information.
“I like it!” She said. “It sounds like something we could run. Could you get it down to 5000 words and write a proposal?” She handed me her card.
I was blown away.
“We can finally recycle the untouched moment,” the keynote speaker had said. I think I figured out what it means. We all have “moments” we are hoping to touch: fame, fortune, success. Many of us will never reach them. But sometimes, if we trust God, he can take what we thought was our moment – in my case, my fantasy novel – and recycle that dream into something we hadn’t yet considered.
It’s Sunday night, and on Thursday I will be attending my first writer’s conference.
It’s kind of overwhelming. My hope is to meet with some agents and publishers, present a few of my stories and, hopefully, launch into a career as a writer.
But you can’t go in unprepared.
The venue provided a lists of the representatives who will be there and accepting one-on-one sessions with hopefuls. It also provided a list of does and don’ts: DO follow the format guidelines, DO research the reps. DON’T waste their time by pitching material their company doesn’t handle (such as proposing a horror story to a children’s picture book publisher)
I went down the list and put stars beside the reps that I want to see, and question marks next to the ones I want to research more before deciding. I’ve got a one-sheet ready to hand out to all takers. For those of you new to writing, a one-sheet is a quick one page presentation of your story. It includes the title, a pitch line (one quick line to catch someone’s interest), a back cover tease, info about the book (number of words, and genre), and contact info about the author.
A few weeks ago, Kathy (my writing mentor) and I had totally reworked my pitch line and back cover teaser on my one sheet, changing the feel of it. I’d loved the wording I’d originally come up with and felt a bit defensive.
“This sounds like it’s for a young audience.” Kathy commented. “It sounds 2nd or 3rd grade-ish. Isn’t your target audience middle school and young adult?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Maybe it should be a little darker.”
So, we spend an hour working it over. My original pitch line went from “When a relationship starts in a spider’s web, it’s hard to know what to expect”, to “being a princess in an oppressive society holds no future until she discovers the power of the alliance”.
My back cover tease used to read like this:
She’s a fairy princess from a colony of scavengers. Her life has been one of hunger, emptiness and fear. In a year’s time, she will have to choose one of her ruthless barbarian kin to marry and be condemned to a life of servitude and hopelessness. And she has wings.
He’s a well educated young elf, used to a life of books, warmth and friendship. With his pack full of vials and potions, he was just wanting to get home.
One chance encounter with a spider web entangled their lives and changed their worlds forever.
Here’s the new back cover hype:
Ariel is holding him hostage high in a tree.
“Teach me to read and I’ll keep you alive.”
Basil has no choice but to comply.
But Ariel is not aware of the undeveloped power lying dormant within. In their world of fairy creatures, is she up to the challenge?
So, what do you think? Which one draws your interest better?
“I wrote a book,” I confessed to my friend, Pam. We had met at Bible Study Fellowship the previous year and spent time together after our group let out, waiting for the high school class to dismiss. It was the last class before summer break and I had decided to gather up my courage and take the plunge. She was the first person outside of my own family that I felt safe confiding in about my hidden life as a writer.
“A book, huh?” She perked up. “Is it Christian?”
I stopped and considered. “Well, kinda,” I said, stretching the truth. It was written by a christian author, but was the content Christian?
The senior high kids started funneling out the door of their class.
“Joe, is my book Christian?” I asked my son. I had forced my family to listen as I read my manuscript aloud a few months earlier on a road trip. We had gone from Grand Rapids, Michigan to Tulsa, Oklahoma for a wedding. It was 1600 miles round trip. Nearly 24 total hours of reading from a loose leaf notebook to my captive audience, whether they wanted to hear it or not.
“No,” he told Pam. “it’s not.”
“Oh,” Pam sounded disappointed.
For some reason, I felt ashamed. There’s nothing wrong with writing a secular book! I told myself. There’s no swearing, the violence is mild, and there’s no sex. It’s supposed to be for middle school kids!
But for some reason, Pam’s reaction was really bugging me.
“So, you don’t think it’s a christian book?” I questioned my son on the way home. Joe actually rolled his eyes at me, as if to imply the answer was glaringly obvious.
“Well, it’s still a good book,” I grumbled. “And I’m gonna get it published someday.”
Joe nodded, bored. I wasn’t overly impressed by his confidence in me.
Over the next few days, Pam’s reaction continued to dig into my psyche. Why was it bothering me so much? A lot of the people in my Word Weavers group were writing secular material. Chris had two books published, one christian and one not, and the secular tome had sold way more copies than the Christian one. There are a lot of good books that aren’t Christian.
But Pam’s reaction continued to nag at me.
I can’t make it Christian themed, I reasoned. It’s a fantasy book about elves and fairies. Putting God and Jesus in there would just be too weird.
And then I thought of the chronicles of Narnia. Those were Christian themed and God is never even mentioned. But, oh! Aslan lead me to see facets of Jesus I had never considered before. (“Of course he isn’t a tame lion! But he’s very good,” as Mr. Beaver would say.)
What are you doing to me here, God? I argued. The book is done. Are you saying you want me to start all over and make it different?
Yes, He seemed to be telling my heart.
I grumbled and sighed. I liked my book. I really didn’t want to change it any, but I couldn’t help remembering how He’d got me fired up to be a writer, had led me to a writer’s group and also to Pam who I felt was a confidant.
God seemed to be nudging me. I gave you this talent. He was saying. I led you to Word Weavers and to Pam. Give the book back to Me. If you will, I promise to bless it.
I knew from experience the God blesses those who follow him. With another sigh, I decided I would at least try to make it somewhat Christian.
I pulled out my old Ryrie Study Bible and flipped to the back, looking up names for God. Jehovah. Nah, that’s too well known. Elohim. Same thing. Adonai? Nope, that made me immediately think of the song sung by Amy Grant back in the ’80’s. El Shaddai – That one was definitely tied to the Amy Grant song. El Olam. Nah. That sounded close to Odin the Norse god, or the sound Gollum made in the Hobbit movie.
El Elyon.
I liked that one. It means the Most High. Yeah. So I decided on Elyon.
Now for a name to represent Christ. All the ones listed were too widely know, so I settled on Logos (the Creator)
The Holy Spirit seemed to only ever be referred to by the one name, so I shortened it to Spirit the Companion.
I poured over the different traits and characteristics of each deity, adding in a lot of sweat and prayer. Lord, if I’m doing this, I prayed, You gotta help me do this right. Help it reflect you with honor and accurately reflect who you are.
When I thought I was ready, I went through my manuscript again, purposely looking for potential areas I could change. I saw an opportunity in one section and took it.
Ariel, my main character, is confused by a song I added that some of the others sing. The tune praises the Son of Elyon – someone she’s never hear of before. Another of the characters pulls out a book and begins reading the elven story of creation. It begins as follows:
At the beginning of all things, there was Elyon the Most High who looked into the darkness and saw its potential.
And Elyon reached into his heart and called forth his Son, Logos the Creator, the first of all things, and the Son’s brilliance illuminated all the universe with its power and glory. Then Elyon breathed out Spirit, the giver of life, the smallest of the three. Spirit flew forth from Elyon, eager and expectant to begin his purpose. Together, the Three Great Ones looked into the darkness and beyond the darkness and knew what could be, what would be and what would never be. Elyon nodded.
“Let it begin.” He said. Together, the three set time into motion. And the first day was done.
I sat back and looked at what I’d written. Like Elyon, I nodded. OK, God, I prayed. I think I’m on the right track here, just guide my fingers on the key board, ok?
So, while going through Pray the Circle, I started praying about my writing.
“God, I have a manuscript, but I have no idea what to do to get it published.” It’s the main lament of the novice writer. Yeah, there the publisher’s bible that comes out every year.It’s thicker than War and Peace, changes every year, cost a small fortune and, admittedly, it’s overwhelming. I had checked one out a few years ago, taken it home and barely got a tenth of the way through before my two weeks was up and I took it back. There had to be a better way. ( To those who actually get published that way, you have my eternal respect. The idea of dog paddling through that ocean of info takes more courage than most of us possess.)
I had no idea what to do, and I let God know about it. “If You really want me to get published, Lord, You’re gonna have to help me out here. Just point me in the right direction, ok?”
So, I did what most of us do when we have no idea what to do. No, I didn’t google. I actually went to the library, sidestepped the self-help section, and headed for the main desk.
“Do you know of any groups for writers?” I asked the librarian.
He thought a minute. “Well, we DID have a group that used to actually meet here every week, but that broke up a while ago.”
“Oh.” So much for that idea.
An assistant overheard us. “Have you tried the book store?” She suggested. “They have a bulletin board that people hang fliers on.”
Well, that didn’t sound very promising, but I was willing to try anything rather than have to check out their copy of War and Peace, Publishers Edition again.
My son accompanied me to the bookstore and we searched around for this bulletin board. Come to find out, it’s not a board at all. Its pillar about 1 foot wide and 6 tall standing near the entrance.
We circled that post for about five minutes, perusing its offerings: dog walker, dance lessons, math tutors and night clubs. Finally, buried under three layers of various pleas for attention, we located something that was promising: a group called Word Weavers that met up on the other side of town every other week at Russ’ diner.
It definitely perked my interest, but would it be worth the 30 minute drive (on a good day), through the heart of Grand Rapids to get to the Russ’ diner way up on Alpine Road? I tentatively sent an email and got a welcoming response. Ok, I hesitantly decided. I’m gonna check it out.
It turns out, that flyer at the bookstore was EXACTLY what I needed. Word Weavers is an organization dedicated to providing Christian writers with a forum to critique each other’s work and share insights and information. There are six of them scattered about South West Michigan where I live. Members read through pieces of manuscripts presented by fellow writers and offer helpful tips and advice. The format is uses a sandwich approach: start with what works in the piece (Wow! Great use of foreshadowing! You description makes me feel like I can actually see it! My kids would love reading this!) Follow that with observations to strengthen the work (You used had six times in that paragraph! This run on sentence should be broken apart to make it easier to read. A glossary would be a neat addition to your story about boating. Could you clarify why he’s there? Maybe add a few more examples so the readers get the jest) Then follow with encouragement.
I left the first meeting in utter awe, feeling as if I have been presented with an invaluable gift. I got to my car, and had just put the key in the ignition when I was struck with the irony of the path that had lead me to this group: set goal, ask God for help, go to library and get tip from someone who overhears your question, find obscure flyer buried on bulletin post, go to meeting, discover prayer was answered.
Whoa. Did that really just happen?
Word Weavers was a stepping stone God laid for me on my path and a major stepping stone at that. I joined the group at Russ’ diner, and then joined a second group – a new group that meets five minutes from home – at the library I first inquired at!
So, I’ve been plugging along at playing the writer since before high school. It was my big dream: write The Great American Novel, get thousands of adoring fans, go on talk shows, make lots of money, become a house hold name…yeah, the whole enchilada.
This summer, my youngest graduated from high school.
I wasted a life time dreaming.
Kinda.
I’ve been writing all that time, I just never took the plunge and seriously pursued getting published. Oh yeah, I sent a few things off with some wimpy cover letters, but once the rejection letter arrived, I went back to dreaming and gave up on pursuing.
Then, about two years ago our church did a lent devotional using the book Draw the Circle – the 40 Day Prayer Challenge by Mark Batterson. It’s about spending 40 days getting into God’s presence so He can outline an agenda in your life that you can circle and focus your prayer on.
Ok, I thought. Whatever. Since everyone else is doing it, I will too.
I began reading the book daily and following guidelines.
Day 1: get ready for God to move in your life, and begin a regular prayer life. The take-away idea was “if you pray to God regularly, irregular things will happen on a regular basis.” Ok, so I need to start praying more consistently. Got it.
Day 2: Established by God. “God is in the business of strategically positioning us in the right place at the right time, but it’s up to us to see and seize those opportunities that are all around us all the time…Only God can make the appointment, but only you can keep the appointment…. It’s your job to recognize and respond to the God ordained opportunities that come your way.” Whoa! That was a profound thought!
Day 3: Amazing things. That’s what God want to do in your life.
Day 4: Don’t pray away. Praying away is asking God to take away a circumstance. Praying through is asking God to get you through a circumstance. “The primary purpose of prayer is not to change our circumstances; the primary purpose of prayer is to change us.”
Day 5: Write it down. “Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart. Psalms 37:4” So the goal of this chapter was to determine what your desire in life is and write it down. Actually write it. Typically, I blow off questions asking for self reflection, but this time I didn’t. I had enjoyed what this author was saying to this point, and I wanted to get the most from my reading experience.
So, what exactly was the desire of my heart? It didn’t take long to gravitate toward the one thing I truly enjoyed in life: I like writing. I enjoyed the challenge of coming up with the perfect sentence, sitting back and just basking in the awe of knowing I had created that little masterpiece. I love weaving adventures in my head and watching them mature under a collection of a keyboard strokes. Writing was the desire of my heart. I looked at the verse again. Seriously? Was this book saying God would fulfill my desire to be a writer? Not just writing to get ideas out of my head, but actually become a published writer? Maybe even successful enough to make writing my full time career?
That was the moment I began taking my writing seriously.
A few months ago, my writing mentor advised me to start a blog.
“Give it a catchy name.” She suggested.
It didn’t take too long to decide on “The Reluctant Firefly.” “Reluctant” because at the time I had no desire to start a blog at all, and “Firefly” because that’s the nickname I gave to my main character, the fairy named Ariel.
If you’ve been following my posts, all 1-2 of you, you’re probably thinking I do more movie watching than writing. In a lot of ways, that’s true. I like movies. Most of us do. Movies, TV, tablets and computers are a huge part of our lives and do a lot to interrupt our desires to be productive.
Rory, my walking companion and main interruption
Case in point: we got a dog this summer (Dogs are another BIG interruption to productivity). His name’s Rory. He’s a chihuahua / Scottie mix. That either makes him a Chiwatty or a Scottiwawa. Anyway, I had every intention of getting this blog out yesterday after taking Rory for his morning walk (This is a legitimate distraction, as I have no desire to be cleaning urine and other body waste out of the carpet). It was Saturday, so Rory was entitled to a long one hour walk first thing, as opposed to our once-around-the-block 15 minute walk he gets on work days, before I run out the door for my job that has money attached to it. As luck would have it, we got home and I was ready for a nap.
“Just one TV show to sleep through, then I’ll get writing.” I promised.
Four hours later, my husband gets home from his weekend job, and I’m still watching TV. I give him the highlights of two of the programs I watched. Granted, all four of them were interesting, but none of them were on my agenda for that day.
He tells me a bit about his day over lunch. He just started working as a driver’s ed instructor and had four driving sessions with prospective former pedestrians. They all did a great job and are motivated to get their licenses and the wheels that go with them.
“Wanna watch a movie?” he asks. He’s had a long day and wants to unwind.
I can’t. It’s already 3 pm. I gotta take Rory for his afternoon walk, and then he has a 4:00 obedience school session. I finally get home at 5:30.
“Wanna watch a movie now?” My husband just wants some time with me.
Yep. We watch a movie, hitting the pause button a few times for bathroom breaks, microwaving something for dinner, and scooping up some ice cream for dessert. We watched Hacksaw Ridge. It’s AWESOME!!!
Now it’s time for Rory’s evening walk. We get home at 9:30. Time to get ready for bed. Pick out clothes for church on Sunday, brush teeth, then lights out at 10:00.
It’s morning again. Rory’s had his walk, we’ll leave for church in an hour. My weekend is already half over, and I haven’t gotten any writing done.
I should rename my post. I’m not really a reluctant firefly. I’m a distracted firefly.
My oldest son had taken an advanced placement class in high school in
literature. His textbook was a paperback tome titled How to read Literature Like a Professor by Thomas C. Foster. Once the class was over, he handed the book off to me and suggested I read it. That was back in the time I was devouring books like food. Sadly, once I started devoting my time to seriously writing, reading time became sparse.
But one idea in the book stayed
with me. Basically, as Solomon said, there really is nothing new under the sun.
Most story lines are a re-hashment of stories told and retold for centuries.
For example, let’s break down the
story line of a famous movie to its most basic parts: Man comes into foreign
environment, with designs to use said environment to his own gain. He meets a
woman. learns to see the environment in a whole new light and ends up winning
the girl and saving the environment.
It’s a story line from Avatar. It’s also the story line from Disney’s Pocahontas, Fern Gully, Wreck it Ralph, and half a dozen others you could think of. (Yeah, I watch a lot of movies. They’re like books, only visual.) Would it be a stretch to think Jurrasic Park is an example of this, only it gloriously back fires and the environment is saved by the man fleeing?
My husband and I were watching What’s Eating
Gilbert Grape when I suddenly realized we were watching a remix of
Rapunzel. My husband wasn’t buying it.
“Think about it:” I said. “The
children are trapped in the house and can’t leave. They are only free to go
after their mother dies. It’s Rapunzel!” As I’m typing this, I’ve figured out
it’s also the plot line to a book I read as a teenager: Flowers in the Attic.
Is there anything wrong with rehashing a plot line? No. And unless you’re really cleaver and original, chances are people will see plot line similarities between your work and others. The key is making it your own. If someone says “Your story reminds me of…” take it to heart and look for ways to change it up. Add a plot twist, change someone’s role or personality. No one’s going to say “Wow! The movie Saw is just like Rapunzel, except at the end, Rapunzel’s still locked in the room!”
Yeah. Believe it or not, Rapunzel
is the basics for a lot of horror movies and books. Things look a bit different
when you take out the long hair and add a chainsaw, huh?
One
of my favorite movies is “Throw Momma from the Train”. It’s a story of a down
on his luck writer named Larry (played by Billy Crystal) who suffers from a
persistent case of writer’s block during the whole movie. He’s working on a new
novel and is stuck on the first line: The night was wet. The night was hot. The
night is moist… He painfully vacillates between possible choices, unable to get
past that first line. He moonlights as a writing instructor and ends each
session with “A writer writes.”
He
explains to Owen (played by Danny DeVito) how the writing drives a writer on.
It’s a continuous adventure trying to find the right word to convey exactly
what you mean and creating the perfect sentence. It’s the thrill of the
creation that drives the writer on to their next perfect statement, and on and
on and on.
The
night was wet. The night was hot. It all hinges on one little word.
“The
night was sultry.” Momma sneers.
Is
it any wonder Larry wants to heave the woman off the train?
Writers
write. Its something that gets in your blood and impacts every part of your
life. When I am in writer’s mode, I stop seeing the world in pictures and start
writing it out in my head.
I
don’t take showers. I engage in stimulating cleansings where deliciously hot
water cascades down my back.
I
don’t watch movies. I explore plot lines (the dinosaur lunged at the hapless
lawyer, taking him up in his teeth and shaking him as a dog worries a chew
toy).
I
don’t make dinner. I prepare tantalizing flavors to present to my family for
our evening nourishment.
And
I’m not just writing a book. I am transferring mental images and ideas into
script with the hopes of my writings one day transforming me into a
self-supported author.
Well, really, I scowled and Clara, my desktop computer, simply
gave me a blank look. I was ranting at her, and it wasn’t really her fault.
Still, she had no answers for me.
This summer has been nuts. I got my blog page started in late June. In early July, the family took a trip to Washington DC to celebrate our youngest son Joe’s graduation from high school. We got back and a week later, Joe and I were off to Kentucky, to work at a mission in the heart of the Appalachian Mountains. We got back just in time for me to plan and throw Joe’s 18th birthday party The suitcases are unpacked, the cake cleaned away and I sit down to check on my blog page. I had left with two pages up and two more set up to post while we were gone.
I open the blog to see two pages.
Only two pages.
The same two that
were there before we left for Washington.
You’re kidding me, right?
This isn’t what was planned. The other two entries can be
pulled up in the pages, but there’s nothing showing they ever got posted for
anyone other than me to see.
Please tell me you’re kidding.
Clara wasn’t kidding.
Sigh.
My apologies to my one current follower (two if you count
me). I got a plea in to my tech people to help
me get those pages posted for you.
In the meantime, can someone explain this to me:
My husband was a computer programmer for 30+ years.
My oldest son builds computers in his spare time and is an avid
gamer.
My middle son designs computer programs for hot/cold
injection molding systems.
My youngest son runs a server out of his bedroom and will be
starting college this fall to get a degree in computer programming.
Not one of them knows a thing about blogging.
My house is full of computer geeks who are social media
idiots.
So, why start a blog called The
Reluctant Firefly?
Well, because I am writing a book
and the main character earned the nickname of Firefly. In the fifth chapter,
Ariel and Basil have a heated argument in which she calls him a bouncing green
bean, and he retaliates with labeling her first as a flying dung heap, and then
as a hot-headed firefly.
Yeah, that’s how fairies and elves
argue. But just where did these characters come from? Let me explain.
When I was a kid, my
family moved around a lot, and when I say a lot, I mean A LOT! I
attended 16 different schools, in three different states before I graduated
from high school. When you move so much, it’s hard to make and keep friends, so
I spent a lot of time making up my own little worlds in my head. These worlds
grew into elaborate stories, and as an adult, they started making their way
onto paper.
Back in 1977, when I was 13, a
fantasy movie produced by Ralph Bakshi called Wizards came out. It was a weird
movie about good and evil, with wizards and fairies and lots of wacky
creatures. A far from being a top-notch flick, it did had some cool special
effects for its day and has since become a cult classic.
The same year, Weird
World Comics came out with a story about two fairies trying to slay a dragon so
some evil wizard dude will return them to their home. The bad dude gets eaten
by this slave girl he has chained to the wall, who is actually a changling that
turned into a dragon. Talk about your poetic justice!
On the heels of these
exposures, in 1978 The Lord of the Rings (cartoon edition) was released and my
high school caught Frodo Fever. The movie itself was pretty pathetic and is a
far cry from the epic classic produced by Peter Jackson, but it had its desired
effect: our library couldn’t keep J.R.R. Tolkien’s masterpiece on the shelf. And
as for me: I was hopelessly hooked on fantasy.
The world in my head quickly
shifted from the last year’s story line of Jedis and helping Luke Skywalker
save planets to imagining tiny people hiding in the woods and forests of my
dreams and behind the furniture of whatever low rent apartment we lived in at
the time. My main two characters, Ariel and Basil, were born during my final
years of high school. They were destined to meet, go from point A to point B,
and have a happy ever after. End of story.
Over the years, point A and point B
became farther and farther apart, a lot of stuff snuck aboard in between, and
the happy ever after got modified. One of my characters got wings, the other
didn’t. The cast expanded to include tree sprites, water nymphs and gnomes
(mine don’t wear pointed hats, thank you). The story grew from a short tale to
an epic adventure. As I sit here typing this, the manuscripts for two books are
finished and I am well into the third.
