We each have a life story, penned without ink, read by the people around us. Who's writing your story?

Wednesday, February 15, 2017

Deep, Hidden Spaces

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP  BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP . . .

The annoying sounds coming from my stove would not be ignored. I had just slipped Sunday night dinner into the oven for my dad and me when the incessant beeps began. I eyed the ERROR message staring back at me from the digital panel and instinctively hit the STOP/CLEAR button. Nothing happened. I frantically pressed every button on the panel. The oven didn't turn off and seemed to be getting hotter and hotter. The beeps continued. Loud. Unrelenting. Do-something-now insistent. 

I grabbed the owner's manual and flipped through the trouble-shooting pages. No answers, just an 800 number to call, which I did, thinking the help line could answer my dilemma. But the lady who answered only scheduled appointments for a repairman to come. Would Wednesday be okay? Wednesday? Three whole days away? Hardly a solution.

I finally found the sense to do what I should have done in the first place. Unplug the stove. Maybe large appliances are like cell phones. Just unplug them and plug them back in and hopefully they reset themselves. Fortunately for me, my dad arrived and between the two of us we pulled out the stove. Ah-ha! The plug had worked itself halfway out of the receptacle. I climbed down into the small space and pushed it in all the way. BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. It was only after I unplugged it and then plugged it back in that the beeping stopped. Whew!

But as I began to back out of the hole, I couldn't believe what I saw. Gunk had dripped down between the sides of the stove and the cupboards. Glass shards, crumbs, and a dried spill dirtied the floor. Ugh. Dad and I set to work, scrubbing and cleaning it all up. How long had it been since the stove was pulled out?

How many times have you been shocked by your own messes, especially if you're a pretty good housekeeper? Do we pay more attention to the things we and others can see? Maybe that's why it's necessary to take the time to do some deep cleaning now and then.

Later that week I ran across this quote by Oswald Chambers: "We can only be used by God after we allow Him to show us the deep, hidden areas of our own character."

Deep, hidden areas . . . like my stove space . . .

Deep hidden areas . . . like my heart . . .

How many times have you been shocked by your own messes, especially if you're a pretty good Christian? Do we pay more attention to what we and others can see? Maybe that's why it's necessary to take the time on a daily basis to pray, "Search me [thoroughly], O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts! And see if there is any wicked or hurtful way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting (Psalm 139:23, 24 AMPC).

And just like my dad, our heavenly Father is always ready and able to clean us all up.


*Photos from bing.com/images

  




Wednesday, February 8, 2017

Fun With Poetry

Today I went back to school! 
Photo by Jenny Brock


There's nothing like sitting with preschool and elementary school students, reading poetry to them, and chatting about writing. Many thanks to Abington Christian Academy in Northeast Pennsylvania for inviting me to their 100th Day Event. Several others from our community also came and shared their expertise.

Today I read a few poems I've written along the way. If you're young at heart, you might enjoy them, too.


Morning Tangles

Morning tangles
Mazes in my hair
Secret Snarls
Undercover nightmare

Brush it! Comb it!
Tug of war - OW!
"Could I please do it later
Instead of just now?"

Morning Tangles
Aggravating spots
Bottle of detangler
Sprayed on all my spots

Brush it! Comb it!
Snarls start of move
Tug of war's over
Finally smooth!
 Hiccups

I brought my hiccups with me.
They never left  my side.
As Mom and I went shopping,
They tried to hurt my pride.

I hiccuped by the broccoli
And near the peanut butter.
No matter how I tried to stop,
Those hiccups made me stutter.

I visited the drinking fountain,
Held my breath, and counted.
Those hiccups stayed - determined
And very much undaunted.

And so I brought my hiccups home.
My insides felt so shaken.
I promise you - This was no joke.
I really wasn't fakin'!

So if the hiccups find you
When you go into the store,
I'll meet you by the broccoli.
Let's keep score.



Coming Home
 
Gather up towels, swim suit, and sneaks.
Zip up my sleeping bag. Roll it up neat.

Laundry bag, camera, flashlight, and jacket -
Scramble to pack it - Ricochet racket! 

Voices echo, "See you next year.
Please write soon. Don't forget your gear."

Chattering car ride - So much to say:
Hiking, campfires . . . Wish I could stay . . . 

Home for Mom's supper. Yum. What a treat.
Finally, the favorites I love to eat.

A bath tonight? Okay. Feels warm and good.
Bedtime already? I'll go when I should.

Snuggled 'neath my covers like a bird in its       nest . . .
Camp was fun, but home's the best!




Treacherous Ride

old bike
red paint
black seat
wide tires
down the street

no hands
no feet
too fast
flip over
land hard
wind gone

next time
hang on!

*Photos from bing.com/images


Wednesday, February 1, 2017

Gold Stars Along the Way

Anyone who knows me well has heard me award a "gold star" to those who go above and beyond, do the hard thing, or just accomplish the ordinary in the face of difficult-to-manage circumstances. I give out gold stars to all three daughters for the work they do and the inspiration they are, two as mothers and one as a college student. I appreciate the people who serve our communities and make the world a better place every single day.

Everyone is encouraged when their hard work and efforts are recognized. We all need a pat on the back once in a while.

 
Over Christmas, one of my girls went through a couple of bins filled with her childhood treasures. It was fun to reminisce as she lifted out the bronzed baby shoes I had saved, her baby blanket, a doll or two, and outfits she had made in 4-H sewing class. She discovered trinkets, handmade cards, and  school papers. And she found awards . . . soccer trophies and plaques with her name, the year, and the event engraved on brass plates along with certificates, and blue ribbons . . . in a sense, all gold stars recognizing her efforts, good work, and exemplary character.

I bet you have a few medals, trophies, or awards hanging around. Specifically, what were they for? What circumstances surrounded each one? The fact that you still have them shows they meant something to you, at least for a while. Maybe it's time to gather the family around, dust these "gold stars" off, and tell the stories that often lay buried in forgotten boxes in the attic.

This week, I received an email containing an award. It read: "We are excited to announce that the book Penned Without Ink has won the Bronze/3rd Place Award in the 2017 Feathered Quill Book Awards Program for the Best Inspirational category! Congratulations! We had a HUGE response to our annual awards program, with many excellent books vying for top places. Your title rose to the top and you should be quite proud."

Imagine! A shiny gold star in my inbox!

And then I took time to remember all the people who helped Penned get on its feet . . . my family, my writers' group, the faculty at the Montrose Christian Writers Conference, the staff from Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas, those who endorsed and influenced and shared and  prayed and supported and ordered and read and reviewed the book . . .  Thank YOU for your part in this project. I'm giving out gold stars by the handfuls today. 

But the brightest gold star goes to the God who flung the first stars into the sky and said, "It is good."