God had to use a Thor-sized hammer to get this insight through to me.
Perhaps a hammer is the wrong image. It wasn't a single blow, more of 58 years of living finally spilling over the dam of my mind.
People consider me sweet. They call my books sweet. And for some reason, the characterization bothers me.
Perhaps I am too literal minded. I love "sweets," desserts of all kinds. When people say too much frosting makes a cake too sweet, I laugh. I LOVE the corner pieces with frosting on two sides as well as big flowers on top. I love to fill every hole of a waffle with syrup. The more sugar the better.
There are books like that, with so much sweetness and light that the layers of plot disappear under the heavy frosting. I guess my mind equates a "sweet" story with those that are "syrupy" and "saccharine."
So I did what I often do when stumped by the nuances of meaning of a word: I looked it up in an online dictionary. I discovered that in addition to defintions for "sweet," there are also meanings given for "sweet person." Aha! Just what I needed.
I found the first definitions on one of those answer sites. Six years ago, someone else was struggling with this same question. Someone else asked how to become a sweet person. Hmm, so I'm not the first person to ask what on earth does that mean?
One answer includes the downside, the reason I don't like being called sweet: someone who is sweet is easily manageable, who doesn't know how to stand up for herself. With my background of abuse, I refuse to accept that description. I also don't like to be called "soft spoken."
Other people gave lists of things sweet people don't do: wouldn't hurt a fly (or even think of hurting a fly); doesn't pass judgment or condemn; doesn't gossip or talk about people behind their backs; doesn't fight, threaten or intimidate. I actually have done a lot of those things. That explains why I don't see myself as sweet. I know all the bad things I still do.
The award for a humorous definition goes to the person who said a sweet person must be good-looking!
At last! The positive attributes that I can admit to: caring, genuine, thoughtful, compassionate, sympathetic.
This one makes me smile: "To become a sweet person requires inner strength. That is what we must first have in whatever situation, which can then help you to help others and achieve whatever you wish to achieve. You should have firm belief and optimism."
My favorite defintion says, "Someone with a big heart. Not someone to be run over, but simply someone who cares, and who is open to other caring persons."
My prayer is that whatever sweetness I possess goes beyond that.
I want to be open to people who don't return the favor, without becoming a doormat. I want to love them as Christ loves me. Unconditionally.
**For a chance to win one of my books, please leave a comment that answers the following question: How to people characterize you and/or how do you feel about it? There must be at least five answers to give away a book, and there are one book given away for every five comments.**
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Sunday, October 7, 2012
TIME FOR A NAP
While they were stoning him, Stephen prayed, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” Then he fell on his knees and cried out, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” When he had said this, he fell asleep. Acts 7:59-60, NIV
When I read the story of Stephen's trial before the Sanhedrin, the final three words of Acts 7 stopped me as I read: He fell asleep.
At first, I wondered, did he literally fall asleep as they were stoning him? No. But I decided it didn't matter. Stephen was enduring one of the most violent deaths possible. His accusers were stoning him for his faith in Christ.
He prayed, "Receive my spirit. Forgive them." After that? He passed from this life to the next as easily as falling asleep. As peaceful, as restful, as desirable, as anyone desires their experience of death to be.
God turned death into a nap for Stephen.
God made a fast-day lunch for my friend Karla into a feast. She shares the story:
I went to the store closest to my house, and grabbed this funky seaweed snack which tastes . . . well, funky . . . but it somehow adventurous and fun. I grabbed some antioxidant juice that was on sale. I went home and made a chocolate protein shake. I looked at the bounty--all healthy and good--and said to myself: "Funny how God can turn a fast into a feast."
If God can change death into a nap and a fast into a feast--what will He do with my day?
**For a chance to win one of my books, leave a comment (including your email address) answering the question: How has God transformed less-than-pleasant circumstances for you? One winner for every five comments will be chosen. Amy Campbell won last week's contest.**
When I read the story of Stephen's trial before the Sanhedrin, the final three words of Acts 7 stopped me as I read: He fell asleep.
At first, I wondered, did he literally fall asleep as they were stoning him? No. But I decided it didn't matter. Stephen was enduring one of the most violent deaths possible. His accusers were stoning him for his faith in Christ.
He prayed, "Receive my spirit. Forgive them." After that? He passed from this life to the next as easily as falling asleep. As peaceful, as restful, as desirable, as anyone desires their experience of death to be.
God turned death into a nap for Stephen.
God made a fast-day lunch for my friend Karla into a feast. She shares the story:
I went to the store closest to my house, and grabbed this funky seaweed snack which tastes . . . well, funky . . . but it somehow adventurous and fun. I grabbed some antioxidant juice that was on sale. I went home and made a chocolate protein shake. I looked at the bounty--all healthy and good--and said to myself: "Funny how God can turn a fast into a feast."
If God can change death into a nap and a fast into a feast--what will He do with my day?
**For a chance to win one of my books, leave a comment (including your email address) answering the question: How has God transformed less-than-pleasant circumstances for you? One winner for every five comments will be chosen. Amy Campbell won last week's contest.**
Sunday, September 30, 2012
THE SONGBIRD'S TALE
A couple of weeks ago a tiny, 80-year-old black woman joined our "family."
Quickly I dubbed her our songbird, because she sings, sometimes for an hour at a time.
The rest of the time, she wanders around the building, from exit to exit, testing all of the doors. At the moment she has removed her shoe and is pounding it on the door. She desperately wants to escape, because she always sees smoke and she's convinced we're all going to die.
An aide speculates she might have cloudy vision due to cataracts that create the illusion of smoke. She must be terrified.
And as a friend commented, the nature of songbirds is to fly. No wonder she doesn't like a cage.
But I have come to appreciate our songbird. Even when she's wandering the halls at any hour of the day or night, opening residents' doors and turning on the light. She's done it to me three times already. Either she is trying every door in her desperation to escape. Or she's wanting to warn us all of the fire.
Other times she just sings, though. She still sees the smoke. But she digs deep into the faith that sustains. In spite of the threat of imminent death, she sings, "It's all right, it's all right now. Jesus is all right, He's all right now." She sings the same 2-3 note melody with variations on the same words. The theme is constant: it's all right now. When she praises the Lord, her fear goes away.
Oh, to have that rock-solid faith when my mind starts going and I'm eighty years old . . .
Not enough people left comments last week to give away a book. A reminder: I will give away one book for every five comments left on my blog this week. Please answer the following question: Does our songbird remind you of someone you know? Talk about a senior who has influenced your life in some significant way.
Quickly I dubbed her our songbird, because she sings, sometimes for an hour at a time.
The rest of the time, she wanders around the building, from exit to exit, testing all of the doors. At the moment she has removed her shoe and is pounding it on the door. She desperately wants to escape, because she always sees smoke and she's convinced we're all going to die.
An aide speculates she might have cloudy vision due to cataracts that create the illusion of smoke. She must be terrified.
And as a friend commented, the nature of songbirds is to fly. No wonder she doesn't like a cage.
But I have come to appreciate our songbird. Even when she's wandering the halls at any hour of the day or night, opening residents' doors and turning on the light. She's done it to me three times already. Either she is trying every door in her desperation to escape. Or she's wanting to warn us all of the fire.
Other times she just sings, though. She still sees the smoke. But she digs deep into the faith that sustains. In spite of the threat of imminent death, she sings, "It's all right, it's all right now. Jesus is all right, He's all right now." She sings the same 2-3 note melody with variations on the same words. The theme is constant: it's all right now. When she praises the Lord, her fear goes away.
Oh, to have that rock-solid faith when my mind starts going and I'm eighty years old . . .
Not enough people left comments last week to give away a book. A reminder: I will give away one book for every five comments left on my blog this week. Please answer the following question: Does our songbird remind you of someone you know? Talk about a senior who has influenced your life in some significant way.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
SPEAKING WITHOUT A VOICE
My mind is blank today, blank as an artist's canvas with only cloudy grays for a palette. Maybe that's what happens when my body is fighting some kind of sinus infection and my voice disappears.
Ah, there's subject. My VOICE. And so a writer's secret is revealed. Write rubbish until something clicks. I should delete the previous paragraph except I like the phrase "with only cloudy grays for a palette."
My voice, literally, is like a squeaky toy, to quote the med aide here at the nursing home. A terrible case of laryngitis and a hurting throat. My writing voice is doing okay, as I'm closing in on the final quarter of my book Hidden Dreams.
I have a hard time describing my writer's "voice." The question "who would you compare yourself to?" still stumps me. (Gulp. Have I come far enough for people to start comparing themselves to ME?)
But I have learned a few things about myself in writing this book. One is, I tend to emphasis internal conflict over external, and I resolve those internal conflicts before beginning the more action-packed sequences of the story. Hidden Dreams includes a heroine in danger and a grand chase scene--all in the last quarter of the book. Her hiding place isn't discovered until 3/4s of the way through the book.
Another is, people often speak to my eye for detail. I've developed a theory about that: I research a specific question: what children's picture books were published/popular in the 1920s? Winnie-the-Pooh. I chased the rabbit trail further. Where did "pooh" come from? Further research led to Shakespeare's Hamlet and the Lord High Everything Else from Gilbert and Sullivan's The Mikado. All of those facts add depth to my heroine's character and worked into a fun scene.
I'm also beginning to wonder if I will become more of a New England writer than Western author. I am working on books 5-7 set in Vermont (an eighth book, Beacon of Love, takes place in another New England state, Rhode Island). Vermont isn't known as a "popular" state the way Texas is, but my Vermont books have been well received. We'll see what doors God opens in the future.
My question to you this week: for those of you who have read my books. Who would you compare me to or how would you describe my writing? For those of you who are writers, what have you learned about your own voice?
**We had TWO WINNERS last week: Dana and Kendra. For a chance to win one of my books, leave a comment answering my question above on today's blog. I will give away one book for every five comments left (except by me, of course).**
Ah, there's subject. My VOICE. And so a writer's secret is revealed. Write rubbish until something clicks. I should delete the previous paragraph except I like the phrase "with only cloudy grays for a palette."
My voice, literally, is like a squeaky toy, to quote the med aide here at the nursing home. A terrible case of laryngitis and a hurting throat. My writing voice is doing okay, as I'm closing in on the final quarter of my book Hidden Dreams.
I have a hard time describing my writer's "voice." The question "who would you compare yourself to?" still stumps me. (Gulp. Have I come far enough for people to start comparing themselves to ME?)
But I have learned a few things about myself in writing this book. One is, I tend to emphasis internal conflict over external, and I resolve those internal conflicts before beginning the more action-packed sequences of the story. Hidden Dreams includes a heroine in danger and a grand chase scene--all in the last quarter of the book. Her hiding place isn't discovered until 3/4s of the way through the book.
Another is, people often speak to my eye for detail. I've developed a theory about that: I research a specific question: what children's picture books were published/popular in the 1920s? Winnie-the-Pooh. I chased the rabbit trail further. Where did "pooh" come from? Further research led to Shakespeare's Hamlet and the Lord High Everything Else from Gilbert and Sullivan's The Mikado. All of those facts add depth to my heroine's character and worked into a fun scene.
I'm also beginning to wonder if I will become more of a New England writer than Western author. I am working on books 5-7 set in Vermont (an eighth book, Beacon of Love, takes place in another New England state, Rhode Island). Vermont isn't known as a "popular" state the way Texas is, but my Vermont books have been well received. We'll see what doors God opens in the future.
My question to you this week: for those of you who have read my books. Who would you compare me to or how would you describe my writing? For those of you who are writers, what have you learned about your own voice?
**We had TWO WINNERS last week: Dana and Kendra. For a chance to win one of my books, leave a comment answering my question above on today's blog. I will give away one book for every five comments left (except by me, of course).**
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
THREE BOOK GIVEAWAY
Three copies of Postmark: Christmas, a contemporary Christmas novella anthology set in the town of Christmas, Florida, are being offered today at: http://lenanelsondooley.blogspot.com/.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
BOOK REVIEW: PREACHER'S BRIDE by Laurie Kingery
I seldom review books on my blog, except to offer a few comments in my side bar. But I had to make an exception for Laurie Kingery's upcoming book, Preacher's Bride.
On the face of it, Preacher's Bride spins a fairly predictable romance between a bachelor preacher and one of the town's spinsters. The setting is familiar--Texas in the late 1860s.
But Preacher's Bride is so much more. The heroine, Faith, has lost her faith. A great premise. It is a story of lost faith, the nature of faith, of sacrifice and heroism, of deceit and reconciliation. It stands as a clear example of a book that transcends the genre, profound and touching, yet ending with the perfect fairy tale romance ending so loved by readers.
On top of that, I appreciated Kingery's seamless writing. I wrote a book (A Ranger's Trail) in the county next door to San Saba and Lampasas in the 1870s. This is an area and time period I researched thoroughly. Kingery blew me away with her integration of everyday Comanche life and faith, the threat from both Comancheros and Comanches (I want to go back and read the book that included the raid).
As far as I'm concerned, this book is a must-read!
**Leave a comment here AND in the blog entitled "Dancing With Grief: Unexpected Surges" to double your chances to win a copy of one of my available books. Be sure to leave your email address or your entry is invalid.**
On the face of it, Preacher's Bride spins a fairly predictable romance between a bachelor preacher and one of the town's spinsters. The setting is familiar--Texas in the late 1860s.
But Preacher's Bride is so much more. The heroine, Faith, has lost her faith. A great premise. It is a story of lost faith, the nature of faith, of sacrifice and heroism, of deceit and reconciliation. It stands as a clear example of a book that transcends the genre, profound and touching, yet ending with the perfect fairy tale romance ending so loved by readers.
On top of that, I appreciated Kingery's seamless writing. I wrote a book (A Ranger's Trail) in the county next door to San Saba and Lampasas in the 1870s. This is an area and time period I researched thoroughly. Kingery blew me away with her integration of everyday Comanche life and faith, the threat from both Comancheros and Comanches (I want to go back and read the book that included the raid).
As far as I'm concerned, this book is a must-read!
**Leave a comment here AND in the blog entitled "Dancing With Grief: Unexpected Surges" to double your chances to win a copy of one of my available books. Be sure to leave your email address or your entry is invalid.**
Saturday, September 15, 2012
DANCING WITH GRIEF: UNEXPECTED SURGES
But now, as it is, sorrows, unending sorrows must surge within your heart as well—for your own son’s death. Never again will you embrace him striding home. My spirit rebels—I’ve lost the will to live, to take my stand in the world of men.
From Homer's Iliad
For some reason, Jolene and Mom have been on my mind fairly often this last week or so. Oh, I could trace the sequence of events . . .a woman posted somewhere that her son had committed suicide. I suggested she read the early posts here on this blog, when every day was a struggle and I wrote about it.
I went back and read those posts again. And even more than Jolene, I felt the loss of Mom. She was so much a part of what was happening. By this point four years ago, I reported that Mom no longer looked up on a Friday night, expecting Jolene to walk through the door. We had accepted the reality that she wasn't on an extended trip. She was gone from this earth, permanently.
But Mom wasn't. And yet, looking back on it, Jolene's death marked the beginning of the end for Mom. It was that summer that her heart began to fail, that fall when she had her heart valve replaced, the next spring when she went into an assisted living center permanently, and two years from Jolene's death when she went home to be with the Lord.
I lost them both, leaving me the single Musketeer. And I am missing both of them, sometimes quietly, sometimes fiercely.
I am working on devotional readings from the hymn "It Is Well With my Soul," and, at the moment, the phrase "when sorrows like sea billows roll." As I examined many quotes on sorrow, I was surprised that over and over, sorrow and joy were mixed together.
I guess that makes sense. If I cut myself off from sorrow, I also cut myself off from love and joy. Loving someone leaves me vulnerable to hurt. If pain is a measure of love, then I loved them with everything in me.
When I read Homer's poetry, oh, how I related. I will never again see Jolene or Mom walking through the door. Jolene will never again crush me with one of her hugs or rid my back of tension with her magic fingers. My spirit, too, rebels. I have the will to live, but I've been there. It hurts. It's hard.
And yet I know the truth that God comforts those that mourn. He comforts me. And like Paul, I pray that God's comfort will flow through me to others who are mourning.
**A reminder: I run a book giveaway every week. Leave a comment here AND in the blog entitled "Book Review: Preacher's Bride by Laurie Kingery" to double your chances to win a copy of one of my available books. Be sure to leave your email address or your entry is invalid. (Note: there have to be five comments for a valid giveaway.)**
From Homer's Iliad
For some reason, Jolene and Mom have been on my mind fairly often this last week or so. Oh, I could trace the sequence of events . . .a woman posted somewhere that her son had committed suicide. I suggested she read the early posts here on this blog, when every day was a struggle and I wrote about it.
I went back and read those posts again. And even more than Jolene, I felt the loss of Mom. She was so much a part of what was happening. By this point four years ago, I reported that Mom no longer looked up on a Friday night, expecting Jolene to walk through the door. We had accepted the reality that she wasn't on an extended trip. She was gone from this earth, permanently.
But Mom wasn't. And yet, looking back on it, Jolene's death marked the beginning of the end for Mom. It was that summer that her heart began to fail, that fall when she had her heart valve replaced, the next spring when she went into an assisted living center permanently, and two years from Jolene's death when she went home to be with the Lord.
I lost them both, leaving me the single Musketeer. And I am missing both of them, sometimes quietly, sometimes fiercely.
I am working on devotional readings from the hymn "It Is Well With my Soul," and, at the moment, the phrase "when sorrows like sea billows roll." As I examined many quotes on sorrow, I was surprised that over and over, sorrow and joy were mixed together.
I guess that makes sense. If I cut myself off from sorrow, I also cut myself off from love and joy. Loving someone leaves me vulnerable to hurt. If pain is a measure of love, then I loved them with everything in me.
When I read Homer's poetry, oh, how I related. I will never again see Jolene or Mom walking through the door. Jolene will never again crush me with one of her hugs or rid my back of tension with her magic fingers. My spirit, too, rebels. I have the will to live, but I've been there. It hurts. It's hard.
And yet I know the truth that God comforts those that mourn. He comforts me. And like Paul, I pray that God's comfort will flow through me to others who are mourning.
**A reminder: I run a book giveaway every week. Leave a comment here AND in the blog entitled "Book Review: Preacher's Bride by Laurie Kingery" to double your chances to win a copy of one of my available books. Be sure to leave your email address or your entry is invalid. (Note: there have to be five comments for a valid giveaway.)**
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