Hide in your shell

This weekend I found myself at a place that was . . . unexpected.

The hubby and the kids and I went to my brother’s new house to visit and see how things were coming along with the unpacking. The bonus for us is that Uncle Jeremy’s house came equipped with a swing set. It’s rickety, and actually leaning at least twelve inches to the right, but the kids don’t seem to mind and their little toddler weights haven’t affected the sad, little structure’s stability thus far. But you won’t catch me on the swings—I’m just sayin’!

I’m digressing.

Okay, so we are outside, avoiding the demolition of my brother’s new, non-baby-proofed home, enjoying the thick, balmy air that is likely laced with 100 percent humidity, when my brother’s neighbor invites—no insists, that we join the party across the fence. After a few awkward moments of polite refusal and some heavily accented guilt-tripping, the man manages to wrangle my brood of boys (brother included) over to his wife’s birthday celebration on their lavish patio.

This is how I ended up spending Saturday night at an Authentic Polish Barbeque.

The vibrancy of their dress, the foreign tang of the spices in the air, the weaving of languages . . . it all sort of awakened my senses, made my world a little bit bigger.

Immersed me in a state of culture shock.

Oh, there was some very questionable food, strange homemade spirits forced into our hands by the kindly, eighty-year old Polish man who doted on me for the duration of the party. He not only made the aged cognac himself but watched intently as we sipped the burning liquid out of courtesy. And at one point, the entire population of Polish-American transplants broke out into a native song, raising there glasses to honor their lovely hosts who treated all—even the motley crew of strangers from next door—as family.

Sometimes I am amazed at life’s little oddities. We dig in our heels, fight against the inevitable discomfort of the unknown, but then . . . when we give in and find ourselves someplace completely out of our element, or doing something way beyond our comfort zone, we find it’s (dare I say it) . . . fun.

Yes, it was completely insane. I felt like the whole thing was straight from a movie script. But when I finally let go of my notions of escape, I opened myself up to the possibility of something new. Something great.

How often does our stubbornness rob us of these beautifully rare moments?

We hide away in our routine, in our comforts, and we miss the party going on right next door.

Have you ever had one of these moments? When was the last time you ditched practicality and did something crazy? Are you glad you did?

I’d love to hear your Polish Barbeque experience.  

Even if it breaks your heart

So it’s contest season. And that means high hopes—maybe even delusions of grandeur—and the set up.

What is the set up, you ask? It’s something you might understand if you have say, a big brother, a friend who is a practical jokester, or a boss who will never be satisfied. The set up is the potential for our dreams to find the brunt of a serious beating. Regardless of the outcome, when we lay it all out there we set ourselves up for the inevitable effect of gravity.

And I’m not just talking the fall, but also the splat.

Of course, there is always the possibility that you won’t fall. Or splat. Sometimes you fall and land on your feet in a better spot. But if you ever want to fly, well, let’s just say the ledge will never get you there. You gotta leap.

Whether you are riding high on a win, sopping up tears over the devastated remains of your masterpiece, or scratching your noggin over conflicting opinions, your dreams are still in God’s hands.  

Now, having surrendered my work to be tarred and feathered in grand standing public forum several times makes me feel like I have earned a few stripes for courage. And each time you receive a critique or contest scores you may discover that you are developing the coveted “thick skin” you need to take a licking and keep on ticking.

After all, haven’t we all heard those stories about the most successful bestselling authors having collected a stack of rejections navel to nose before someone, the right one, saw that certain spark.

It’s easy to say, “Don’t get discouraged.” And yet, like so many things, It’s not always easy to practice.

Let’s face it, sometimes our weakness wins out. We are human after all. Vulnerable. Sensitive. Soft. I know I am. And if our dreams are stored within these jars of clay, might they also be frail from time to time?

In those times of doubt, it would be easy to let the enemy win. Let him steal our dreams. Taunt us with whispered thoughts of our foolishness and inevitable defeat. We know, without question, that the enemy comes to steal, kill, and destroy. And still, when we are surrounded by destruction, we think it is God telling us to move on.

Don’t let those lies in. Keep on dreaming even if it breaks your heart. Believe in the dreams God gave you. He put them there for a reason.

Isaiah 54

How about we build each other up? What is your favorite encouraging scripture? And how do you expel doubts about your dreams?

Over you

After a month long hiatus I am back. My intention for my sort of media fast was to buckle down and wrap up the last few chapters of my book. But then something happened that kept me away much longer. My heart is still heavy from the devastating loss my family suffered. And though the last thing I want to do is continue to drown in the grief, it seems to have a hold on me. As if I lost this enormous part of myself, and there is no hope of getting it back.

There is a new song on the radio that keeps tugging at my admittedly shaky emotional stability. And though the words are a constant reminder of my pain, they are also a beautifully cathartic release.

But you went away

How dare you

I miss you

They say I’ll be okay

But I’m not going to

Ever get over you  

When the song is over, and I’ve had myself another good cry, I think about how blessed I am to have a life unencumbered by an excessive burden of loss. God has always been my refuge. And I am thankful to have been shielded from a hard life marked by tragedy.

Even in my despair that past few weeks, God’s grace has been so evident. His loving arms my safe haven. But as this loss sinks deeper into my soul, I wonder how I will walk through life without a scar etched onto my heart.

They say time heals all wounds. Maybe that will prove to be true. But how do you deal with grief when the wound is still raw? And have you every lost someone you still carry with you?

Dream On-Part Two

So I have spilled my big secret. (Read Dream On-Part One to catch up.) Though I suppose it was a shotty attempt at truth since you all already know my secret, you just didn’t know it was just that. A secret.

Perhaps I should explain. Let’s go back to the beginning. In the beginning there was a songbird. A tiny little blonde songbird belting out Sleeping Beauty’s “Once Upon A Dream” from her car seat. Growing up singing in church, on stage, in the theater, and eventually in a band in a recording studio, it was my dream to make it in music. To reach and effect my generation with the songs God gave me.

It turns out, this very public dream of mine had some definite flaws. Mainly, a lifestyle I had no desire to live. And as much as I wanted to sing for a living, I wanted to have a family more. Marriage. A home-life. And more than anything, I wanted to stay at home and raise my kids. What I learned when I walked away from the relentless pursuit of my dream was that maybe God lets some dreams die so that others can find roots and flourish.

Those dreams are a distant memory now. I honestly don’t think about it. There are no scars left behind to torture me. But the thing is…very few people I know have forgotten about it.

To everyone who knows me, and even those who really don’t, I am a singer. I probably always will be that girl trying to make it big. Every time I run into someone from the past, the probing questions about my career seem to dominate the airwaves.

I have no regrets, but there was always this mountain of pressure that came with such a public expression of my lifelong dream. Everyone had an opinion. A way in. Why don’t you try out for American Idol? Or if you just send that demo to so and so, or play some gigs here, or give this guy money to make a new album, or sing a different style, or change your image, ect, ibsofacto, and so on and so forth. These people had always meant well, but somehow they stole my joy. Dug up all my doubts and fears. Failures and insecurities.

Now, I am blessed with a new dream. Something that brings me more satisfaction that I could have imagined, and gives me such a personal sense of accomplishment everyday I labor lovingly at my laptop. I never dreamed I would repurpose the message of my heart from songs to novels. But God made a way. And birthed a beautiful new dream.

Beauty for Ashes.

At first, when I started writing, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to finish a whole book. So why tell anyone? And then the first book took form. And the second. And it was so freeing to have something so pure. Untouched by expectations and probing questions that I held it close to my heart a while longer.

But then something happened. My dream grew. God opened doors. And dreams of publication danced in my head. The dream of sharing the stories that have changed my life became so great that I even, despite my long standing rebellion, broke down and joined Facebook. Gasp! I know! I must be from the Stone Age or something.

My problem now is that this whole dream comes as a package deal that I am just getting my sea legs for. Social media. No I am not an imbecile, just a busy mom that’s not big into gossip. And for a long time, that’s all I saw social networking to be. Let’s just say, I, uh, had a negative experience early on in the game, and pretty diligently avoided the pitfalls of superficial friendships online.

But now I am forced to ask myself some tough questions about this secret I have treasured. And I am hoping for some Godly counsel from those of you trusted few who have shared in my excitement of building a new dream. In a day where social platform is key, am I going about this all wrong?

Am I really protecting my dream . . . or sabotaging it?

Also…How do you hold up under the pressure of expectations? And when did you know when the time was right to unleash your dream into the wild unknown?

Dream On-Part One

How far would you go to protect your dream?

No, not reach your dream, protect it. Perhaps I should clarify by spilling my guts. A good soul deep purge can be quite cathartic and I fear it is high time I seek some counsel on my big, festering secret.

I am a writer.

Okay, so if you are indeed reading this blog you already know that. The secret is, other than you few, no one else knows this about me. Fellow writers from ACFW this is why I appear so unpopular and lame online. And those handful of my closest friends and relatives who have been entrusted with my closet writing, I know I am weird, but thank you for your continued discretion, and ban from befriending me on Facebook.

Whew! Man, that feels good to get off my chest. But I suppose that was just the warm up for the day I will really need to confess. Why would I hide this, you may ask? Perhaps I am not serious about it? Dabbling?

Let me just say that that is NOT it. Not at all. I am, in fact, one of those crazy go getters. Where my dreams are concerned I am driven to succeed. Nothing short of God’s hand can sway my course once I set my mind to something.

Though I may be misguided in my attempts to do so, I honestly feel like I am protecting my dream. But protecting it from what?

I’ll get to that in part two, but for now, I have a question.

Have you ever hidden a dream? What were your reasons? And as a writer, did you have to come out at some point? What was the deciding factor for your decision?

Stay tuned for part two of Dream On, for the nail-biting conclusion and a chance to school me severely. I fear I am gonna need it.

Heavier things

We are all our own unique bundle of imperfections. Our hearts rebel, our minds wander of their own volition, our actions speak words we wouldn’t dare utter. Yes, we strive toward righteousness. Oh, to be like David and be seen with a like-minded heart of God. But inherently, we are vagabonds, flitting from one preoccupation to the next, and yet still, we are loved.

In a hectic world of countless distractions, I often wonder what it would have been like to live in simpler times. No cell phones, or overstimulating television. No 24-hour convenience stores or road-side service. Heck, what if I had no electricity, or running water? What might my day look like if instead of waking in a toasty warm house, I had to split logs and build a fire? Cook over an open flame? Haul water from a stream to bathe my children?

Now being a mother in the 21^st century is a tough job. Don’t discount it! As it is, at the end of the day my sources are often so liquidated I can scarcely muster up enough energy to fall into bed. And that’s with all the modern conveniences my life affords. You can’t imagine the pitying, or often shocked looks I get when I have to carry my toddler in one arm, my baby in his pumpkin seat in the other, and a massive diaper bag strapped across the whole mess just to run into a store. Imagine how tough our ancestors had to have been to manage without a stroller, washing machines, disposable diapers! (I know you mean well, but you cloth diaper mother’s are a bit loony if you ask me!)

After the chaos of the emergency room visits from last week, I was looking forward to finding solace in some nice, quiet, normalcy. Ha! It’s funny that I am still naïve enough to think there can be normal, or quiet days. Already this week we’ve had a nasty fall, two sleepless nights, and a big ole batch of baby vomit in the crib at 5 a.m.

And then, as if to remind me of my dependence issues, my new cell phone died. May he rest in peace. Spoiled as I am, it was a huge inconvenience to stand around the Sprint store for over an hour—with two restless babes—only to have the technicians confirm the untimely death of my beloved smart phone. And be mocked by the fact that we don’t have a home phone, and thus I would be unreachable until the new phone arrived by mail.

How crazy that it was difficult to survive a little over a day without a phone! Pathetic even! Times have changed, and every little convenience becomes something we can’t live without. The things we form attachments to may help us, but might they also weigh us down? Steal our time, our focus? My phone has become my safety net, my crutch. What if my car broke down on the side of the road? What if there was an emergency—Lord knows we’ve had a lot of them lately, so I am not simply paranoid—and I couldn’t call for help?

What distracts you the most? Facebook? Latest episode of your favorite show? And what is the one modern convenience you couldn’t live without?

Fearless

How often are we ruled by fear?

Let me preface this by saying that the two’s are hitting us hard at the Simpson house. My sweet and loving toddler has these Bruce Banner moments where he is withdrawn one minute and belligerent the next. Lord only knows what switch was thrown to turn my baby into the Hulk but, Jesus, we need your help!

So I was at my son’s Mommy and Me soccer class yesterday. Week two. Lord, please let it go better than week one where I was the recipient of every pitying stare in the soccer dome. My almost two and a half year old, Kael, executed the most blood-curdling meltdown for the duration of the 45-minute class. Impressive, yes. Enjoyable, let’s go with ‘heck no!’ And yesterday, we were forced to drop the class after ten minutes.

After the miserable experience, and the unquestionable torture you would have sworn my son was experiencing, doubts and fear started to worm their way into my mind. My heart. You see, I stay at home with my kids. That means most days it’s just me and the boys. We have play dates and we go to parks and museums so it’s not like we are quarantined, but I got to worrying about my son’s social development. All the other kids loved the soccer class. And Kael, though he was the youngest by several months, was easily the fastest and most athletic kid out there. The kid loves sports! He could throw a strike and hit a ball off a tee before he could walk. (Thanks to my hubby who played ball in the minors) And he can actually run and weave while kicking the soccer ball. I was sure this class would be a home run for us. He could deplete those seemingly endless stores of energy before naptime and do what he loves in the process. So what is the problem? Could it be something more than the terrible two’s?

It’s hard not to let fear squeak through the cracks. What if something is wrong? What if I have ruined him? Now, I know that sounds like an overreaction, but it’s crazy where your mind goes when fear is involved.

My mom, the wise warrior that she is, witnessed my distress and took a moment to convince me I am not the worst mother to ever walk the earth. Thanks mama! But she said something that was so simple, yet so profound. And it really resonated and gave me peace.

She said, “The opposite of fear isn’t faith, it’s love.”

Now, we have all heard the verse, ‘Perfect love casts out fear’, but somehow, it always feels like fear is a faith issue. If we could just have enough faith and trust God that everything will work out, we can win against fear. The truth of the matter is there are lots of reasons to fear. The world is a scary place. Terrible things happen. But the anecdote for living in fear isn’t something that can be overcome or exorcised by your great faith.

It is the realization of Christ’s love. It’s so basic it’s almost confusing. Isaiah 41:10 says So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

Like everything else it has nothing to do with who we are or what we do, but rather who Jesus is, and what He did.

What do you fear the most? And how has God helped you to overcome fear?

Sparks fly

How do you make your romance sizzle?

I, for one, favor a love-hate dilemma. The hero and heroine teeter dangerously between not being able to stand each other and not being able to get enough. I love to write strong and feisty women who don’t easily swoon. At least they think they don’t. The tension of these kinds of relationships fascinate and excite me. One minute they are tearing each other’s heads off in a battle of wits, the next they are nose-to-nose, suspended in a heady spell of heated desire.

I think part of the reason I prefer this saucy version over say, a sweet romance, is because of my very own love story. Jaded, heart-broken, man-hater, (okay so that’s taking it a little far, but just go with it) has no intention of being swayed by any man after the last one bludgeoned her heart into an early grave. Let alone a baseball player, whom she has been forewarned are all bad news. The ruggedly handsome center fielder has caught her eye, much to her dismay, but is as aloof as a brick wall.

Unforeseen circumstances have them paired up for a tutoring session. The brain schools the jock on statistics to find that yes, in fact, he has a brain. And a sense of humor. And a dead sexy smile. Trouble! Head-butting ensues as two strong will’s clash.

Okay, so there is some interest there, she’s brave enough to admit it to herself. But girls don’t chase boys. At least, girls like me don’t. And the big, dumb oaf has had more than a dozen tutoring sessions of sarcastic and witty banter—some of my finest work—and has yet to ask the girl out. Could the rumors be true? Is he really a player working her over with some serious game?

Then, the girl discovers the ball player is a believer. He even suggests that they do a bible study before they tutor. What girl wouldn’t swoon over a hunky, self-assured man of God dangling himself as tasty man-bait? Oh, but no, the heel dragging continues. Frustration mounts, sparks fly, and hearts finally collide.

Let’s just say, my husband knew what he was doing. Informed me about his little plan to get my attention after he’d reeled me in. But as exciting as it was, I remember it being infuriating! I told my girlfriends I though he was the biggest idiot on the planet and had officially washed my hands of the imbecile. But I will admit it set the stage for one steamy, albeit rated PG-13, romance.

It’s hard not to infuse some of ourselves in our writing. The way we felt when we were being chased. The zsa zsa zoo that defined our very own romances slips out onto the pages. Ahh, I love to remember falling in love.   

What about you? What is your love story? And how does it relate to the way you write your romances?

Telephone line

I’m back! Holiday break/sick leave/ten month old started walking and getting into everything adjustment/reading extravaganza has come to an end. Hope 2012 has been good to you so far!

Okay, back to business.

A recent snafu with my internet/telephone company had me thinking about that old game of telephone. While I have been explaining myself over and over to the very convincing con artists who run the AT&T call center for two months now regarding the issue, I see that they neither pass along the correct information, nor do they actually fulfill those promises to resolve the issue. Humph! Needless to say after more than a dozen phone calls, and more than twice as many wasted hours on hold, I am at the end of my rapidly fraying rope of gracious tolerance. And apparently, I have learned the hard way that I am far too trusting.

Hear me AT&T, you have poked mama bear one too many times. Watch out!

And so, to avoid any further miscommunications, I have drafted a very bold, and comically enraged short story masquerading as a complaint letter to the incompetent criminals who continue to work me over with their ‘can do’ attitude and their contrite apologies. The silver-tongued jezebels. I think it is some of my finest work!

But the whole process got me thinking about how naive we can be. How trusting. How easily we can believe blindly in decency and honesty. Whether from a person we know and trust, or a complete stranger on the other end of the line, we all put some trust in humanity to do right by us and shoot straight.

The novel I am working on centers around a great deception the main character believes from the mouth of his best friend when they were in high school. The ramifications of that blind belief come to the surface ten years later with an unexpected and horrifying outcome. We have all engaged in gossip at one point or another, and know how something seemingly innocent can have a rippling effect that ends up causing great devastation.

Much like that tried and true game of telephone. The facts get tweaked and twisted bit by bit until the truth has been rewritten into something else entirely. A lie. And more often than not the consequences of lies (okay, not generally when we are referring to the harmless game of telephone) are great. Often irrevocable.

How different things might have been had the person sought out the truth from the source instead of buying into a slew of lies that altered the course of their life.

I remember, all too well, being the subject of such demoralizing rumors and lies. How absurd they sounded. No one could possibly believe something so outlandish. Right?

Wrong.

Those tentacles of deceit can be like Stretch Armstrong. Much more far reaching than seems possible and far more damaging than a stretchy lump of rubber that miraculously shrinks back to size.

Are there any lies you chose to believe that affected your life in a major way? The devil is the master of lies, he knows just what seed of doubt to plant to make you buy in, hook, line, and sinker. How do you protect yourself from gossip? And for my sanity, has anyone else ever been worked over by the crooks on the other end of your phone line?

In the light

Today was one of those beautifully rare days. Sixty degrees, azure blue sky cloudless to the horizon and back, and a tickling breeze hinting at the coming spring. We still have so many long months of the bitter, dreary winter ahead, but that glimpse was enough to satisfy my longing to hit the pavement, drink in a lungful of sweet, warm air, let it refresh my already winter weary bones. 

And yes, I’ll admit, that after some playtime outside with the kids, I abandoned my hubby with the crabby monsters to spend an hour with the road, the hills, the wind.

And my iPod.

And oh, can I just say how wonderful it was to not have been pounding away mercilessly monotonous minutes on a treadmill. It’s just not the same. The wind kissing your face, whisking away the surface of simmering heat. That extra push in your spirit to crest that mountainous hill. The accomplishment of actually getting somewhere, seeing the distance you’ve traveled. A treadmill might keep the extra pounds at bay when old man winter blows into town, but for me there is no substituting the real thing.

But now I am off point.

Which is the song I came across on my iPod during my euphoric run. An old gem I played on repeat for a solid thirty minutes because it seemed to just move me. "In The Light" by DC Talk. The lyrics poured over my soul, almost a cry to God.

This only serves to confirm my suspicions that I’m still a man (okay, woman—DC Talk is made up of all guys, check it) in need of a Savior. I wanna be in the light, as you are in the light. I wanna shine like the stars in the heavens. Oh, Lord be my light, and be my salvation, ‘cause ALL I want is to be in the light.

There has been a lot of talk about rebelling against the seemingly fruitless pursuit of New Year’s resolutions. I’ll be the first to admit that mine are basically the same every year and usually not super effective motivators. Get in the Word more. Lose weight. Stop crabbin'. Okay, to be fair I am not a total crab, but I do tend to indulge in a little cathartic whining when the situation merits a meltdown of sorts. But hey, I have two kids two and under. I allow myself one meltdown a day. Sometimes two J

But the words to this song wove into my heart, struck a chord, resonated the rest of the day. And I heard the whisper of God breathe into my heart.

Abide.

Yes, I love the Lord. I attempt to honor Him with my life everyday. But my efforts inevitably fail. The business of life catches up and the whirlwind sweeps me away in a daily scramble of playtime, cooking, cleaning, the eternal struggle of naptime, more cleaning, feeding three boys with bottomless bellies, diapers, storytime, crying, more cleaning, errands, paying bills, temper tantrums, the tidal wave of bathtime, more cleaning . . . And even if those weren’t the things occupying my day, something else would inevitably steal my time. I can’t win. I can’t be devoted enough. Earn God’s grace, His love, His forgiveness, His favor, His blessings.

I am not worthy.

And yet . . . He calls me His own. He loves me and asks only for my heart in return.

How often are we distracted by life, our own goals. OUR plans. Resolutions too unattainable to ever achieve.

What about this one? Abide. Abide in the light and love of Christ this year.

See that you can’t and never will have it all together. And that’s okay. His love, His grace, they are not conditional on your performance. On your ability to check those goals off your To-Do List. You don’t have to be perfect or anything close. If we could earn it, Jesus needn’t have come to this earth and died on a cross.

So maybe this year, instead of focusing on what we want to make of ourselves, what if we just submit to being in the light of Christ. Resting in his arms. Trusting him with our dreams, our goals, and how to get there.

I, for one, could definitely use more rest in my life.

So, this is my New Year’s resolution for 2012.

Anyone else actually trying out a resolution this year? Or is the revolt united across the writers’ world. Oh, yeah, and anybody else remember this song?

Happy New Year! Be blessed to overflowing!