Morning Tangles

When's the last time you just needed to take some time out and get organized? 

Today was one of those days for me. Over the past several weeks, I found myself lacking focus and feeling frustrated--especially while working on my computer. Over the last year or so, as I hurried to meet deadlines, I didn't always take the time to organize my files. By day's end, it felt good to finally have my documents in order. 

And I found it to be a little like cleaning a closet when you find a forgotten gadget. I discovered a piece I'd written years ago when Elisabeth, now eighteen, was in elementary school. One summer while I sat poolside watching her swim, I scribbled down some poetry--just for fun. Here's one your family might enjoy, especially if you have girls with long hair!

 

Morning Tangles

Morning tangles
Mazes in my hair
Secret snarls
Undercover nightmare

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

Morning tangles
Aggravating spots
Bottle of detangler
Sprayed on all my knots

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

 

So I hope you'll take some time to do a little organizing this summer. You never know what will turn up - and it may be just the thing to bring back some good memories and lighten up your day.

Photos from bling.com/images

To Tell or Not to Tell - Behind the Scenes # 5

When sharing a story from your life, can you be honest about what has happened without saying too much?  Do you find it tricky to find the appropriate level of disclosure?

I felt this tension when writing Penned Without Ink. On one hand, I desired to share an authentic perspective, one that revealed raw emotion and told an honest story. I wanted it to be personal, not plastic. I can't tell you the number of times tears slipped down my cheeks as I wrote our family's story paired with the accompanying gut feelings and limiting new realities . . . true of any hardship, really. Often, I wrote from open journals, citing Scripture that still brings hope and comfort to me. Unless there's a certain level of vulnerability, the story falls flat; there's not much to say, It's when we acknowledge the exposed places that the grace of God begins to lift the heaviness and brighten our way.

On the other hand, I felt compelled to protect the people in my memoir. My characters are real people with real names in real places, after all. Real people who, in their humanness, struggled with the unexpected and the unexplained. Real people who didn't always get it right--including me. I knew that whatever I wrote would be in print, literally an open book for anyone's eyes to scan its pages. 

Ever conscious of this tension, I asked permission of each person mentioned in the book. I wanted to be careful to find a healthy balance of grace and truth on every page.

And isn't that the way to live life? To be honest about our stories, yet offer a little mercy to ourselves and those around us when we struggle to accept the unexpected and unexplained? To trust the Master Writer to write our stories with both truth and grace?

Photos from bing.com/images

The Last Lunch

This past Friday I packed the last lunch. 

Elisabeth graduates from high school this week so my lunch-packing days have come to an end. I took a few minutes to figure out how many lunches I'd prepared since 1988 when our oldest entered first grade. It's over 6400 minus the few times the three girls purchased their meals. Almost every day I bagged up sandwiches, fruit, and pretzels or chips . . . and sometimes, I'd tuck in something special to remind them of my love.

Mothers have been packing lunches for centuries, I suppose. I wish we knew more about the mom who packed her young son's lunch the day he gave it to Jesus. To her, it was just another lunch. Simple ordinary fare: five loaves and two small fish. She had no idea Jesus would bless this quiet offering and feed thousands with her humble preparations.

Fish and bread. 

How many times have you offered the ordinary? Perhaps . . . a bedtime story, a prayer over the phone, a bouquet of flowers, a day of babysitting, a meal, a listening ear, a few heartfelt words typed on a page . . . On good days we offer the plumpest of fish paired with the freshest of bread. On other days, the fish may look pitiful and insignificant alongside day-old loaves that flopped despite our best efforts. The Lord accepts our little bit, blesses it, and feeds the multitudes--for His glory. 

Can you imagine this mother's surprise when her young son burst in the door that evening shouting the story of how his little lunch fed so many people? We have no way of knowing what will happen with the most ordinary of offerings.  

So let's not hold back. Even the simplest of gifts may reach far and wide. You never know what God will do! 

See also: http://www.sarahlynnphillips.com/2015/02/loaves-and-fish.html

Pictures from bing.com/images

It Takes a Team . . . (Behind the Scenes # 4)

Do you ever scan through the Acknowledgments of a book? I do. Maybe because it tells a little bit more about the story. 

Today, I want to give you a glimpse of the team behind Penned Without Ink. This book would never have been born without my writing critique group. I'm indebted to these writers who sit at my dining room table every other Monday. This is how it works. We each bring copies of a piece/chapter we've written and read our work aloud. The others, pen in hand, give input and offer suggestions. What works? What's unclear? What would make it better? It didn't take long for me to realize that accepting criticism with a teachable spirit is part of the writing process.

With time, our group has grown closer. We laugh together, cry together, brainstorm together, pray together, cheer each other on, and shoot emails back and forth for feedback on our latest projects. What a gift these dear writer friends are. May I introduce you to them?

Barbara writes wonderful stories for children. Cindy gives history a heartbeat with her middle grade Underground Railroad novel, Dark Enough to See the Stars. Sherry, speaker, author, and creator of But-Kickers: Growing Your Faith Bigger Than your "But!" combines humor with deep truths from Scripture. Becky, who brings a three-inch thick synonym finder to our meetings, wordsmiths science fun for children and offers her Martha's Vineyard books to vacationers each summer. Jo Ann writes with flair as she shares devotionals and stories about her time in China and living on Layton Road. Over the years Vi, Shari, Leslee, Gail, and Cheryl have also made significant contributions to my writing journey.

The team at Lighthouse  Publishing of the Carolinas, with Eddie Jones as Founder and CEO, patiently worked with me over several years. Cindy, the acquisitions editor who handed me a contract last summer, is overseeing my book, making sure it goes through the process smoothly. Andrea has worked with me through two edits and more. She smoothed out the wrinkles and graciously asked, "What do you think?" The Design Team is presently working on the book layout and has put together a marvelous cover. I can't wait to show it to you! Soon the Marketing Team will step in with guidance and direction.

I solicited permission from every person named in our story. Ten people graciously read the manuscript and wrote an endorsement. Then there are the "beta readers," friends with laser-sharp eyes who look for mistakes, reading with expertise. Last but not least are the "influencers" who believe in our story and its power to offer hope in the hard times. They act as the front runners to get the word out and share the book with others.  

Authors don't write their books alone. We gratefully depend on many others to help us. No wonder we want to include a page to say "Thank You."

Life's a little like writing a book, wouldn't you say? We need community, a team of cheerleaders, critiquers, and come-along-siders . . . the give and take of faithful interaction . . . all to push us toward our potential and bring out the best in each other's life stories. 

Photos from bing.com/images 

The Memory of a Man

2012

One year.

The events of May 15, 2015 changed my life and the lives of many others forever. It's been a year since my husband, Barry, passed away. 

2014 Birthday

A year of tears, loneliness, and loss. A year of uncertainty mixed with grit and determination. A year of learning about cars, home repairs, finances, health insurance, and legal matters. A year of trying to think of what he might decide . . . and of learning about myself . . . without the man who would do anything for me.

It's also been a year filled with grace. A year of experiencing God's loving-kindness and mercy day after day, night after night. Even through the tears. Even when I paced the floor wondering what to do. Even when one more thing went wrong. God's grace often showed up in the form of new friends and old, who came along side at just the right time to give counsel, coach me through home projects, and offer wisdom about everything from tax questions to gardening. 

Barry with his siblings

So, how does one commemorate a life? What would you do? On Friday, I found our local Red Cross and gave blood. It seemed fitting in light of our car accident in 2003 when someone else's life-giving blood saved Barry's life. Our family is spending the weekend together, the girls cutting squares from Barry's shirts to make quilts. Good memories mingled with masculine patterns and the hum of sewing machines somehow seem comforting. 

Mexico in 2002

The words of Steve Green's song have played themselves over and over in my mind during these months: "May all who come behind us find us faithful." When a person passes on, everything is left behind. I've done my share of sorting Barry's "everything" over the last year. And as I've sifted through boxes and files and papers and drawers, I've found him faithful. Faithful to God. Faithful to me. Faithful to our girls.  A wonderful legacy. 

Memory Quilt, May 15, 2016

So, today as we remember Barry, I pray we will be faithful . . . in the little things and in the big things . . . and that we will run with perseverance the race marked out for us (Hebrews 12:2). 

Behind the Scenes # 3: Ready. Set . . . No?

I felt ready. Ready, after a half a dozen years, to share my journey through trauma and change--a journey I didn't choose or could ever imagine.

Helicopter Pilot, Altoona Hospital

I let my mind wander down hospital hallways, beside hushed, uncertain bedsides, and into the busy room of rehab centers. Once again, I looked into the misty eyes of my children, who had to be so brave. I remembered, with gratitude and guilt, how they and others cared for me and my husband over many months. Memories poured over me in vivid color, always with one common thread. From the moment of the multi-car pile-up, God surrounded us with His grace.

And so, with the support of my family, a few friends, and my writers' group, I began to write. But writing a book isn't that easy.

bling.com/images

I brought my idea to a writers' conference only to be told my book didn't have much of a chance to succeed. I needed a platform, and in addition to the story, a practical or spiritual takeaway. The next year, I brought the first six chapters of a Bible study with the themes of God's Story, My Story, and Your Story. A wonderful idea, some said, but each Bible study publisher already has a format in place. It would be better to use my themes in a non-fiction work. They even gave me a word count. But culture and markets change. I had expanded my platform and offered a takeaway, but now the book was too long.

Seven years have passed since my first attempt. I'm grateful for the advice I received. In the process, I have unwittingly and painstakingly learned the craft of writing . . . and waiting.

My story begins on the Pennsylvania Turnpike at 10:53 a.m. on Saturday, April 5, 2003. Bit by bit the chapters came together as I poured over articles, reports,  journals, emails, photos, eye-witness accounts . . . and recalled many quiet conversations I will always cherish. Each one involved in the aftermath of our car accident has his or her own story.

This is mine.

bing.com/images

The events unfolded in Penned Without Ink reflect what I saw, felt, struggled through, and dared pray for. At the same time, our families and friends experienced the story in very different ways, often no less painful. I could never have written this book without their perspectives, so willingly given. I carefully pieced their stories together with mine, like shards of a mosaic, to form picture after picture of our story. Even then, my book reflects only one journey of many. All of us walk forward changed, with the assurance that, even in the darkest of times. God writes our stories with purpose.

We can trust Him.