Reading Upside-Down and Backwards

My daughter was reading to me the other day from a Dr. Seuss book called, I Can Read With My Eyes Shut. It's an adorable book, but it got me thinking. The technologically savvy kids of today are reading completely differently than my generation and those that came before me. Much of their time is spent reading text messages, blogs, MySpace, Facebook and Twitter. Have you ever noticed that these things are always printed upside down? Well, not literally upside down. What I mean is this: the first "post" is always at the bottom (or the back page) and the newest post is at the top. So, if you are trying to catch up on a conversation or a story, you have to go to the end and read backwards.

This came up when a friend of mine started a blog for our church's Moms group. She posted a welcome message first, then some photographs, and so on. Now we are posting weekly activities, updates, devotional thoughts, etc. But every time we post, the original message gets pushed further back.

If you were just joining our group and wanted to learn more about us, you could start with today's post and work your way back (forward?) to the "beginning." Or, you could click your way to the back and read forward. Now, I'm thoroughly confused. How about you?

Kids growing up today probably view this as normal.

So, I'm thinking about starting a new book. I'm going to start at the end and write it backwards. Or is that start at the end and write it forward?

Ugh. It's giving me a headache just thinking about it.

Nasties or Loveables?

These are words I NEVER thought I would hear my sweet six-year-old daughter say: “But Mom, I LOVE that mad cow germ. It’s sooooo cute!” And then, from my nine-year-old son: “No, the flesh-eating bacteria is way cooler. Look, it’s got a little knife and fork!”

I know what you are thinking—what kind of wacko kids does this lady have? Before you think that my family has gone off the deep end, let me explain.

We were at a college bookstore this week and my kids happened onto a display of “plush” germs. This has to be one the of the strangest toy selections out there. Put out by a company called Giant Microbes, these tiny stuffed creatures are cute versions of real microbes. They have everything from E Coli to MRSA. And, believe it or not, they ARE sort of cute. My son is a budding scientist and when he started begging for these cute and “educational” toys, I had serious mixed feelings. Did I really want my kids playing with stuffed germs? But, on the other hand, it could be a useful teaching tool. I gave in, but encouraged them to pick “good” things (in my adult opinion) instead of germs. We came away with a white blood cell and a red blood cell. Not bad. Disaster averted.

Then, they discovered the website on the critter’s tags. I thought maybe there would be some educational games that would teach them more about their “cells.” Instead we found an on-line catalog. Now my kids are socking away their allowances to buy things like Ebola and Mad Cow disease. They are planning on acting out mass battles between the blood cells and the germs. I know, I know, my kids are a little odd sometimes— but, in a good way.

So, today in church, our pastor is talking about how God adopted us into His family. It’s a nice lesson, a sweet idea. But, then he gets into uncomfortable areas: God adopted us not because we are good and loveable, but because He chooses to love us despite our failings. He adopted us when we were His enemies. Suddenly the image of my kids and their excitement over these “adorable” but deadly germs flashed back into my mind. They LOVED the microbes regardless of what they stood for. I could tell my daughter, “Hey, Mad Cow is nasty – it attacks the brain and makes you go crazy!” But all she sees is the cute little fuzzy blob decorated with cow spots. “But Mom, I LOVE him!” she insists. All I can think is, "This killer is not worthy of your love!"

I imagine, from God’s perspective (holiness), we are even worse than E Coli and syphilis. We are more hideous than mange and athlete’s foot. We are nastier than Black Death and anthrax. But He refuses to see us that way. When He looks at us, He sees His son. He sees Jesus who came to pay the price for all of our nastiness.

So I imagine that we will be placing an order for some of these nasties pretty soon. I am going to do my best to look on these critters with my kids’ eyes. I will view them as cute, loveable, and worthy.

The way my God sees me.

I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. Galatians 2:20

Next Right

This week was Spring Break for our kids and I decided it was a good opportunity to go and visit my folks. We had a great visit.

During the four hour drive home, we saw plenty of road signs and it got me thinking about directions. I remember how often I was fooled by these freeway signs when I was a kid. Especially the "next right" ones. "Ocean beaches -- next right." It should really say, "next right and another two hours driving west." "Mount Rainier -- next right." Yes, take a right and keep on going east. Ever since I was tiny, I've been annoyed by this false advertising. I used to beg my parents, "Let's stop at the beach -- the sign says it's right over there!"

"Next right" should mean that you drive off of the freeway and into a parking lot. It should be more like those dining ahead signs that list several area restaurants. You know if you see those signs that the restaurants listed will be within a few blocks of the exit, not another two hours away.

Over the past few weeks I've been reading a lot of blogs from published writers and from various agents. It's opened my eyes to what a writing career will really mean for my future, should I achieve it. I may picture myself typing away at a computer, carefully crafting engaging stories and mailing them off to publishing houses. Apparently, that's far from reality. It seems as if most of these authors must spend a large portion of their time marketing themselves and their work. They blog, travel extensively, do radio interviews, book club visits, speak at retreats, classroom visits, teach at numerous conferences and attend book signings. I'm a little overwhelmed by the idea. Is this my future? Do I really want this?

I imagine the road sign on my life: "Writing career, next right." And I'm left wondering, next right and then what?

Last night I cracked open my bible looking for some answers. A ticket fell from the pages. I picked it up and smiled when I read the words printed on it: "God has a dream for your life." It was from the Women of Faith Conference a few years ago. This ticket might not qualify as the "inspired word of God," but it definitely felt like a message.

Maybe I don't know what I'm in for or where I am going. I may not even have the map. But, in reality, I'm not the one at the wheel. It's time to sit back and enjoy the scenery.

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. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. Jeremiah 29:11-12.

Lost

My son said something funny today that got me thinking. We were talking about some little collectible figures that he treasures. He mentioned that he had lost one of his favorites. I asked, "Lost, as in 'it's lost in your room somewhere or lost as in 'you took it to the park and haven't seen it since?'"

He said, "it's lost in my room somewhere."

I clarified, "so it's really just misplaced, not lost."

He shook his head sadly, "Mom, my room is such a mess... It really IS lost."

Having seen his room, I'm afraid I must agree.

But it got me thinking about how crazy and anxious I've been lately. My heart and my mind are a muddle -- a mess -- because of it. What gets "lost" in my mess? My trust. Anxiety takes over and I start thinking about all that I have to do to get out of this mess. I don't stop to think about what God is planning.

A few verses really spoke to me this morning:

• Don't fear; for I am with you; don't be dismayed for I am Your God; I will strengthen you; I will help you . . . Isaiah 41:10


• . . . Being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. Phil. 1:6

and especially this one:

• The One who calls you is faithful and He will do it. 1 Thes. 5:24.

He has called, He is faithful and He will do it! It's not about me and what I can or can't do. It's about Him and what He will do. It might not be what I expect or what I want, but I know that His plans are the best. There's that trust again! Better not lose that in the mess, again.

Those verses did a pretty good job of "spring cleaning" for me today. I can take a deep breath and remember to trust. It's not all up to me.

Now, if I can just find that pesky toy in my son's room.

It's in the mail, it's in the mail, Glory, Hallelujah, it's in the mail! (Happy Dance!!!)

Just in case you weren't aware -- I've been editing, rewriting and generally tearing apart the first 20 pages of Shaken in order to get it ready to send ahead to the critique panel at the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference. It has to be there by the 30th, and I really didn't want to be the "bottom" of the stack. But thanks to my dear, sweet hubbie who entertained the kiddos all weekend, it's done! And in the mail!

Now, to get on to all of the other stuff I need to do to get ready... Let's see, here's my tentative list:

• Write out and practice a 25 word pitch.
• Research the editors/agents/authors I should make a point to meet.
• Figure out what in the world a "one sheet" is and decide whether or not I need one.
• Read & critique the first 20 pages from the others in my critique group.
• Pack (duh).
• Decide which workshops I want to attend.
• Pray that my business cards arrive in time.
• Oh, yeah, on that note, pray in general about the conference (move this to #1).
• Find out if I need to pack bedding and towels.
• Buy some shoes that work for all of these: say "spring" instead of "winter," comfy, sturdy, can get wet, professional, and match every outfit I have.
• Read all of my mentor's books and blog entries.
• Get the next 80 pages of Shaken to match the first 20.
• and... rest, pray and relax (while still caring for my family) so I don't collapse in exhaustion before the conference ever begins.

No problem. I'll get right on that! But not tonight!

Tonight I finish my "happy dance."

Rest

I have such great friends. Everyone has been so supportive lately as I whine about getting ready for Mount Hermon. Well, maybe "whine" isn't the right word -- more like panic. After spending the last week working on revisions to the first 20 pages of Shaken, I posted this stupid comment on Facebook: "After spending days editing, I'm ready to chuck it all and become a milkmaid. Anyone know where I can buy a few cows, cheap?"

Obviously, I was joking, but my friend Terry read the frustration hiding there and reached out. She's an amazing speaker and writer (though she argues this point), herself, and she sent me a poem she had written a few days ago. I think I remember that day. She had posted a comment on Facebook about having an emotional and mental "meltdown" day. I guessing that is where this poem originated. (I am spending way too much time on Facebook!)

I asked her permission to share it with you. I know there are others out there having meltdowns today (...you know who you are) and I'm hoping this poem will touch you the way it did me. Thanks, Terry!

Please do not reprint or re-post this without my friend's permission!

Father, Dear, may I climb into Your lap?
I’m weary and need rest.
Perhaps I’ll hear Your heart beat
with my cheek against Your chest.

If You would, for just a while,
let me feel Your warm embrace
and, looking up, with searching eyes,
see the glory of Your face.

Your arms, so strong and tender,
surround my weary soul,
giving rest and peace and comfort,
to fill my empty bowl.

Renewed once more, You
set me down on lower ground.
I’m ready to go on with life
refreshed by what I’ve found.

And now, my heart remembers
Your promise to the blessed,
“Come unto Me, you weary,
And I will give you rest”.

Terry G
3/19/09

Tell me how can I become a butterfly?
You must want to fly so much that you are willing to give up being a caterpillar.

Trina Paulus.

I read this quote, scrawled on a whiteboard, the first time I walked into a weight watchers meeting, in October of 2007. I was full of doubts. "This will never work. Why am I here?"

I was there because after watching my mother-in-law die from complications related to her type II diabetes, I was ready to change the way I was living.

This quote made me think. What was keeping me from losing weight? Was it that I didn't want it badly enough? No. It was that I didn't want to give up my "caterpillar" ways. I liked eating whatever I wanted. I liked not exercising. It worked for me. But, I wanted to fly, too. I decided that, yes, I wanted it so much that I was willing to make sacrifices.

The program worked well for me. I lost 55 pounds in about a year. So far, I have kept it off. I still think about that quote frequently.

Today, out of curiousity, I went looking for the source of the quote. I was surprised to learn that it actually comes from a favorite book of mine, Hope for the Flowers by Trina Paulus. In the story, two caterpillars try to reach the top of a pillar of caterpillars by using any means necessary. As caterpillars, they are drawn to the sky, but don't know another way to reach it. They eventually discover that reaching the top doesn't actually get them anywhere. One of the caterpillars forms a cocoon and becomes a butterfly. She finds the other and tries to explain to him what he needs to do to reach the sky.

One day, while Stripe was almost at the top of the caterpillar pilar, he saw a beautiful yellow butterfly. Stripe admired the yellow butterfly who flew with beautiful wings and joined the earth to the heavens. The butterfly flew towards Stripe and told him "Stripe, I am your friend Yellow and like me, you are meant to become a butterfly. Butterflies drink only nectars from the flowers and carries the seeds of love from one flower to another. Without butterflies the world would soon have few flowers."

Stripe gasped, "It can't be true! How can I believe there's a butterfly inside me when all I see is a fuzzy worm?"

"Tell me how can I become a butterfly ?" Stripe asked pensively.

"YOU MUST WANT TO FLY SO MUCH THAT YOU ARE WILLING TO GIVE UP BEING A CATERPILLAR."

It's a beautiful book and has such a great Christian message: We have to be willing to give up our "selves" in order to put on Christ. When we pass into the next life, we think of it as death, but it's more like the transformation of the caterpillar into the butterfly. It's becoming what we were meant to be. But when we look at ourselves now, it's hard to imagine giving up being the caterpillar.

Two years ago, I went to a women's retreat where Christian author Robin Jones Gunn spoke. Our theme was "Taking Flight." Robin taught us that God sometimes gives us a "calling" that seems beyond us, too difficult to imagine. But that He can give us the strength to accomplish it. But we must be willing to spread our wings and reach for the sky. Just like the story, Hope for the Flowers, we have to want to fly so much that we are willing to give up the safe road.

My quest to get Shaken published is my newest attempt to spread my wings. It's taking me far from my comfort zone and stretching me beyond what I thought I could do. But it's worth it. I'm willing to give up being a secure caterpillar, if it means I can fly with the butterflies.

The Revision Process

Yesterday, I got a huge gift from a friend. Leiah has a background in publishing and I had twisted her arm into reading my manuscript. I can’t imagine how nerve-wracking this must be for a friend. “Okay, you want me to critique this? Are you SURE? Will we still be friends afterwards?”

So, yesterday we sat down and walked through the book from beginning to end, discussing her thoughts. I could tell she was a little nervous about offending me. But, I was part of a critique group for years and I am used to having people critique my work. That was not a problem. She had great suggestions and caught numerous typos and missing commas. It never matters how many times a writer looks at their work, some of those little mistakes always seem to make it through.

But there were some big issues, too. These issues have to do with my narrator’s age, timing and “tenses” (present/past, etc). I knew immediately that she was right (is right, will be right, has been right...). I have major work to do – my words, not hers. And I want to do it. I am thankful for her insight.

Now, as I stare my laptop screen, I am mulling over how to go about doing this.
Revising is a lot like ironing, I’ve learned. I’m not very good at ironing. I can be diligently working on one wrinkle, only to have two or three more appear because of what I’m doing. I just read a great discussion on revision where the author remembered feeling like the “train was about to go off the cliff.” I’m feeling more like I have a loose thread in my favorite sweater. What do I do? If I pull on it, the whole thing might unravel around me, leaving me standing there in my underwear. (Oh, great. I’m going to have THAT dream tonight!) And yet, I can’t leave it alone.

My mom is a knitter. She knits these amazing Scandinavian-style wool sweaters. She will work on them, painstakingly, for weeks or months. Then she discovers a flaw and starts ripping out stitches -- sometimes back nearly to the beginning.

“No one will SEE that!” I yelp. “Don’t rip it all out!”

Her answer is always the same. “I will see it."

That’s what revision is all about. I want this book to be the best it possibly can be. I will rip it out and redo it as many times as it takes. But right now, as I sit here with the loose end in my hands, I am fighting a sinking feeling in my stomach. Can I really do this?

No I can’t. But, as my character learns near the end of Shaken -- God can. After He was done creating, He stood back and looked at it, saying “It is good.” I can’t do that. Not yet. But with His help, maybe I will be able to soon.

So here I sit with the yarn in my hands. I guess it's time to fold those hands in prayer. Then I start tugging.

God's Scrapbook

Today I got to play "model" for my friend, Bethany Haile. She is an awesome photographer who has recently started her own business.

Even though I grew up the daughter of a photographer, it felt very strange to have the "focus" completely on me. But it was very fun to see Bethany at her best, always thinking ahead to the next shot as she was busy snapping. She got some great shots, considering the subject matter, and I'll try to share them here tomorrow or the next day.

The experience reminded me of a short devotion that I wrote for my Mom's group a few years ago and I decided to post it here today. I hope you enjoy it!

****

I just love digital cameras. I take thousands of photos of my family and I just love sorting through them on the computer. I can delete the bad ones and keep only the best. Blurry shot? delete. Closed eyes? delete. Kid sneering at the camera? delete. I look too fat? DELETE! Brother hugs his sister? Keep. Dad and daughter smiling at each other? Keep. I look okay? Keep. Nah, delete. Son sneaking a cookie with a mischievous smile? Well, okay, keep. Then I go back and look at what's left. Only the good, the cute, the memorable, the best. The rest is forgotten.

In my closet I have shoeboxes full of bad photographs from my old 35 mm camera. The good ones made the album, the rest are tucked into a box. I couldn't just throw them out for some reason. So they are hidden, but not forgotten.

It struck me today that maybe God has a digital camera. He sees all of our moments -- the good, the bad, the wart-and-muck covered ugly. But it seems like all we have to do is ask, and *poof* our worst moments are deleted. I'd like to think he files our great moments in a beautiful scrapbook that he will show us someday. So when we do some good for someone (hug our sister) -- keep. Have a moment of doubt (blurry shot) -- delete. Watch tv instead of doing our quiet time (closed eyes) -- delete. Shake our fist at God (sneer at camera) -- delete. Pray with our kids -- keep. Sing a song of praise -- keep. Pray for a friend -- keep. Smile at someone on the street -- keep.

Those bad moments are not tucked away in a shoebox in God's closet. They're not sitting in a file somewhere in His computer. They are gone. Cleaned forever.

My prayer for the day is that I can add a shot or two to my (God's) scrapbook today.

Bad Girl, Good Girl (Part 2 of 2)

Okay, so if you haven't read Part One: Bad Boy, Good Boy? then go read it. Or this will make NO sense to you!

Yesterday I wrote how my mischevious son came to accept Jesus at a young age because the idea of sin and punishment made perfect sense to him. He understood the gift that Jesus had given him by taking the punishment in his place.

So, fast forward a few years... I overhear my now son trying to explain the same concept to his four-year-old sister, who was refusing to have anything to do with it. I distracted my budding young evangelist and told him that this was really more of Mom or Dad's responsibility, but that we appreciated his efforts. "But, Mom!" he said, earnestly. "She won't listen!"

Later, I found a quiet moment to sit down with her privately. We had the same discussion that her brother and I had years earlier. I was ready. I knew what to say this time. I explained about sin and bad choices. I told her the wonderful gift Jesus had given us by taking our punishment for us. I told her how simple it was to receive this precious gift.

She looked up at me with big blue eyes. "But, Mommy," she said. "I never do anything wrong!"

I stumbled backwards in my mind. Of course she did things wrong. We all do things wrong. But as hard as I thought about it, I couldn't come up with a concrete example of something she'd done recently.

My daughter is far from perfect (except in my eyes), but one thing she has always been is obedient. She is so obedient that I occasionally fear for her future. Unlike her brother, she only had to go to timeout maybe once or twice. She was the perfect example of a "good girl."

I had been much the same as a kid. I rarely got in trouble. I had older brothers who did all that for me. I saw how they were punished and I chose to avoid it. I understood God's love the same way I understand my parent's love. That was always clear to me. But the whole sin/punishment, grace and mercy stuff? That had to wait until I was older and braver and began to make my own stumbling mistakes.

I've always related to the story of the "rich young ruler" described in Matthew 19. The man had done everything right, kept all the commandments since he was young. But when he pressed Jesus on how he could assure himself a spot in heaven, Jesus answered him "If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me." (Matt 19:21). The man goes away dejected and Jesus says that it is easier for a camel to get through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to get into heaven.

I don't really think Jesus was talking about earthly riches here. I like how He said, "if you want to be perfect..." I think He was saying that if we don't feel our need for Him, it makes it harder for us to accept Him. Those who are poor obviously feel need. Those who make lots of mistakes, feel need. But those who are obedient by nature sometimes have difficulty understanding this need. Why do we need forgiveness if we aren't all that bad in comparison to others?

The truth is, we are bad in comparison to perfection. God doesn't distinguish between big whopper sins like murder, robbery or cheating on your spouse and the little things like refusing to help someone you see in need. We are all sinful. It doesn't matter who we compare ourselves with, we still fall short of what God intended for us. But it is harder for some of us, the "good girls/boys" to understand that.

A person suffering from a simple sinus infection feels terrible and goes to the doctor for help. Another person may have an insidious cancer growing deep within and not know until it is too advanced to treat. This is why my five year old son recognized his need for forgiveness at such a young age, but my daughter, the good girl, didn't understand. Sometimes our sin nature is so far buried that it takes time for us to discover it.

Thankfully, Jesus is patient with us. When we finally recognize that need, He is ready to swoop in and pick us up in His strong arms. Our sin is never so "far advanced" that He cannot remove it. Whether a person is five or 105, it doesn't matter. It's always the right time. So whether we are "bad" or "good" or somewhere in between, after we've accepted what Jesus has done for us, we are all "perfect" in our Father's eyes. There is no greater gift than that.

Bad Boy, Good Boy? Part 1

My son spent much of his first few years sitting in the time out chair. He was an active kid and often learned his lessons the hard way. Throw a block at someone? Time-out. Knock your sister over? Time-out. Throw the cellphone in the toilet? Yep, you guessed it, time-out. He learned very quickly that if you do the crime, you do the time. For some reason that didn't really stop his crimes. But he understood the process pretty well.

I still remember talking about Jesus with him when he was five. I figured he was too young to really understand, but I gave it a shot anyway. We talked about sin. Sin is the "bad choices we make," I explained. "Do you ever do bad stuff?" I asked him. He looked straight at me. "Oh, yeah!" I remember him saying, very seriously, eyes big and round.

Bad stuff? Yeah, he got that. I had to fight not to smile.

"Well, when you do something bad, what happens?" I asked him.

"I go to timeout!" He said, matter-of-factly.

We talked some more about sin and how it separates us from God. I explained that the Bible says that the punishment for sin is death. But that Jesus took our punishment for us on the cross. A weighty topic for a five-year-old. I'm not sure I always fully comprehend it, and I'm way past five.

He looked at me with wonder on his little face. "Jesus took my timeout? Cool!" And like that, the little lightbulb went on. He totally understood how this whole Christianity thing worked. He got it. He wanted it.

I patted myself on the back. That was easy. I must be pretty good at this stuff, I thought.

It really is that simple. We do bad stuff. No one can deny that. No one is without sin. Romans 3:23 says "for all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God." We all deserve our punishment. But Jesus came and took that punishment in our place. He paid it, we don't have to. That's all there is to it. We just have to accept it. Someone taught me once, "Christianity is not about what you do or don't do, it's about what Jesus has already done."

It's so simple a five year old can get it. But yet, sometimes it seems so difficult that it's hard for an adult to get it.

Tomorrow: Part 2. Good Girl/Bad Girl: When it doesn't seem simple.

Leaving the Back Door Unlocked

I'm not sure if this is true for everyone, or just for me. But I have a spiritual "back door." And it's unlocked.

Maybe yours is too.

When people try to teach me things, whether that be in school, bible study, well-meaning advice -- whatever -- I have locks. "NO!" I think. "I won't be swayed!" I might politely listen, but words often bounce off. Like one of those door-to-door evangelists knocking on my locked front door.

But if something comes to me in the form of music or story, it sneaks in my back door.

A song can touch my heart like nothing else. Maybe because it seems so harmless. No one is really trying to "teach" me anything, it's just a song. But my heart swells and I go with it.

A story is much the same. Years ago, I took a college class from Christian author Walt Wangerin. He was teaching us about how the stories of the old testament shaped who the Jewish people were and what they became. He said, when we hear a story, we "dwell within the story, become the story." So, when Jewish children heard about Joseph, the favored son, they became like Joseph.

Much in the same way, when I was a kid reading Caddie Woodlawn, I absorbed her qualities. If my parents had said, "you should be brave and do what's right" I might or might not have listened. But if Caddie Woodlawn did things that way, it sneaked in my back door and became part of me. That is one of the reasons that I take writing for children so seriously. It's a huge responsibility. We need to make sure we're feeding our kids good stuff and not garbage.

I don't think that's just true for kids, either. I've learned recently that my spiritual back door is still wide open. Today I was listening to music while working on revisions to Shaken. Two songs popped up on my ipod that spoke to my heart. One I listen to every time I start writing. It's by a group called Mercy Me and is called, "Word of God, Speak." It goes like this:

I'm finding myself at a loss for words
And the funny thing is it's OK
The last thing I need is to be heard
But to hear what You would say

Sometimes I am overwhelmed with self doubt about my writing. "Who would want to read this?" I think to myself. "This is terrible. I'm going to make a fool of myself." I listen to this song (let it in my back door) to remind myself that it's not about what I want to say. It's about letting God speak through me. I hope that doesn't sound arrogant. I mean it humbly. I am not assuming God is speaking through me, I am praying that He will.

Another song came on today that spoke to my heart, quietly letting itself into the back door like a familiar friend who doesn't even need to knock. It was "Legacy" by Nichole Nordeman

I don't mind if you've got something nice to say about me
And I enjoy an accolade like the rest
And you could take my picture and hang it in a gallery
Of all the Who's Who's and So-and-So's
That used to be the best at such and such
It wouldn't matter much

I won't lie, it feels alright to see your name in lights
We all need an "Atta boy" or "Atta girl"
But in the end I'd like to hang my hat on more besides
The temporary trappings of this world

I want to leave a legacy
How will they remember me?
Did I choose to love?
Did I point to You enough?
To make a mark on things
I want to leave an offering
A child of mercy and grace
Who blessed Your name unapologetically
And leave that kind of legacy

I must admit, one reason I write is to someday see my name on the cover of a book. I think that would be awesome. I'm sure I will stand an inch taller when that happens. (Notice I say "when," ever the optimist.) But, I am trying to let this song take over my heart. A book isn't forever. It gets remaindered. It grows old and the pages fall out -- or are replaced by blogs and "kindles." But I am praying that I can remember that my writing isn't for me. It's for Him.

That back door was open today. The song spoke to my heart.

How is your back door?

Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me. Rev 3:20

Kids and Questions

I've been working lately on getting SHAKEN ready to pitch to agents and editors at the Mount Hermon Christian Writer's Conference in April. I have discovered that publicizing, pitching and selling your writing is so much more intense than the writing itself. There are so many hoops you have to jump through. No longer does a writer sit down and write a story, send it off to a publisher and then sit back and wait for the checks to roll in. Perhaps that never was the case, I don't know. But now, the writer must meet and impress the editors in person, cajole them to read their work, package it into deliverable sound-bites that can be "pitched in an elevator" and all of this while designing business cards, websites, blogs and arranging school visits and other publicity events. It's all a bit overwhelming!

But I have learned quickly that this process of streamlining your work and your mission into "soundbites easily delivered in an elevator" can be extremely beneficial for me, the writer. I have been forced to ask myself these questions:

Why do I write for this age group (9-14 year old girls)?

Who is my audience?

What other books is my audience reading?

What types of things does my audience wish to read?

The first question has truly intrigued me this week. Why am I writing to this age group? I am not a "youth leader" at my church, I do not have kids this age (my son is nine, my daughter is 6), I am not a teacher... What is it about this age group that interests me? How am I qualified to speak to them?

My answer is fairly simple. First of all, I am writing the story God has called me to write. It is a step of obedience.

Secondly, I am writing the story for myself. No, I am no longer 9-14 years old, but that is the age when I was inhaling books like air. Just ask my mom. She would send me outside to play, "Go get some fresh air and exercise!" I would stick a book under my sweatshirt, climb up the cherry tree in our backyard and continue reading. I guess I got fresh air, but not very much exercise.

This is an exciting age to be. You are no longer a small child who accepts everything you are taught by your parents and your teachers. Kids are beginning to question things and make their own decisions. In terms of faith, it is the age when kids raised in a Christian home are beginning to decide whether this is something that they truly believe, or is it just what they were taught. Evangelist Luis Palau once said, "God has no grandchildren." We are not Christians by birth. We are Christians by choice. Eventually kids need to make their faith their own.

When I look around the bookshelves in the children/young adult section in the Christian bookstores, I do find some good historical fiction for this age group. But I have noticed that it is mainly written to teach history or values. SHAKEN is not this type of book. SHAKEN is about a crisis of faith. With the death of her sister and her family's sudden move, Wanda's life has fallen down around her. In the depths of grief and misery, she knows the only one to blame is God. She soon discovers that God isn't done shaking her life as she finds herself immersed in one of our nation's worst natural disasters, the great San Francisco earthquake and fires of 1906.

Is God good? Can He be trusted? If He exists, does He really care about me? These are the questions kids are asking. SHAKEN doesn't presume to answer these questions for readers, but it will lead them through one girl's journey from grief and anger into trust and joy. I am praying that a publisher will agree to work with me to help bring this story to future readers. If you would like to read a sample chapter, there is a link in the sidebar to the right.

I write for this age group because they are asking questions. I hope to point them to the One who can provide the answers.