Double Vision

We've recently discovered that our nine-year-old's eyes are not functioning as a team. One eye wanders to the side when he is trying to focus, making everything blurred or doubled. He's always passed eye tests with flying colors, because they only test one eye at a time.

To fix this, he is going to weekly eye therapy and doing 20 minutes of eye practice at home each night. It's very eye-opening (ha) to try some of his assignments. Last week he had one called "pointer in the straw." While wearing a patch over one eye, you hold a drinking straw in front of you with one hand, and with the other hand try to slide a wooden skewer through the straw. This is a pretty fun game. I skewered my hand several times. My son is actually very good at it, probably because he's been working with one eye for quite awhile.

Our depth perception is based on our two eyes working together. My son thought it was pretty funny when I could not get the silly skewer into the drinking straw. But, I could do it easily when I used both eyes.

The book of Ecclesiastes says, "Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work: If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up! " Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 [NIV].

Just like two eyes functioning together, God designed people to work together. One of the first things God said about the new human He had made is that it is NOT good for man to be alone (Genesis 2:18). He immediately set out to create a helpmate for him.

At my mom's group today, a special guest speaker talked to us about friendship and finding support. It's important, she reminded us, because "...in this world you will have trouble (John 16:33)" and we need our friends to support us.

Just like my son's eyes can function separately, we can survive on our own. Sure, we might run into walls occasionally and have trouble reading fine print, but we can get by.

Whether it is friendship, marriage or family relationships, think of how much better it is when we pull together as a team. Sometimes relationships take a bit of work. We may have to "practice." We may -- like my son's eyes -- even need professional help. But it should be worth the investment and it will see a "good return."

God designed us to function together as a team. Let's work together and remember to help each other up.

Scribe

There's a hymn called "The Love of God" that was written in 1917. Our church's worship leader taught us a new version that mixed the beautiful old words of this hymn with a newer melody. The words of the final verse truly captured my heart, as a writer.

Could we with ink the ocean fill
And were the skies of parchment made
Were every stalk on earth a quill
And every man a scribe by trade
To write the Love of God above
Would drain the Ocean dry
Nor could the scroll contain the whole
Though stretched from sky to sky

No matter how many books, articles, stories, poems and devotionals we write, we will never be able to "contain the whole" of God's love. Have you ever tried to take a photograph of the sunset and only come away feeling discouraged? You desperately want to save the moment before the sun and it's colors slip away. But, when you try to capture the whole sky in the viewfinder of a camera -- you discover that it's impossible. All you can get is a glimpse -- just a corner of the magnificent canvas. Without the rest of the sky, the scene just isn't as impressive.

And that's all we get here on earth: a glimpse of His majesty.

Can you just imagine what it's going to be like when we get to see the whole thing? When we get to see Jesus face to face? When we get to understand the mysteries of the world?

I love the image of us all as scribes, patiently scratching away with our quills at a parchment that reaches across the sky.

I remember reading once about scribes. They sat every day and copied the scriptures, word for word, by hand. Talk about carpal-tunnel syndrome! Can you imagine if you took one of those scribes today and set him in front of a computer? Today we can get the scripture in any language, any version-- with just a few keystrokes. (My favorite on-line bible site is http://www.biblegateway.com/. Try it sometime.)

Someone taught me once a great thing to do if your devotional time is getting a little stale. Sit down with a notebook and your bible and write down a familiar chapter of scripture, word for word. Watch how God opens your eyes anew to words you have read many times, but never written. It's amazing. There is something about writing the words that helps them sink into our soul. Maybe I shouldn't feel sorry for those scribes of old, toiling away copying scrolls. Maybe they had the best job of all.

Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. 1 Corinthians 13:12

Mom Can Write!

Yesterday, I posted about my writing journey. I wrote about my sad lack of time-management skills and my inability to write when I had children underfoot during the day.

If you are a mom and have a desire to write, I do not want to discourage you! In fact, quite the opposite. Many moms have found ways to juggle the tasks of mothering and writing much more successfully than me. I want to point you in their direction.

Yesterday, Mary DeMuth (Christian author and mom with six published books) interviewed another author, Marlo Schalesky on her blog. These women are both GREAT examples of moms who write. Don't miss this interview, because it's full of great suggestions.

Another writing mom is Christian author, Tricia Goyer (eighteen books!). She is currently running a series on her blog that she calls, "Mommying and Writing." She started writing as a single mom with very young kids. You must check out her story. The posts started last Tuesday, so scroll back a few posts and start at the beginning to catch the whole series. So far, she has included suggestions regarding schedules, chores and goal-setting.

So, don't let my story put you off from writing if you have small children underfoot. I wish I had this advice when my children were small and maybe I wouldn't have waited so long. Or, perhaps that's just what God had in mind for me. I'm not sure. But check out these great blogs and be inspired!

My Writing Journey

Many people ask me the impossible question: "How long have you been writing?" I never know how to answer that. I learned to write in Kindergarten, and I imagine most of you did, too. Somehow, I don't think that's what they are asking.

When I was little I filled notepads with stories. My favorite was about a group of stuffed animals who had been wrongly donated to Goodwill.

When I was in junior high I started collecting Hardy Boys titles, so I wrote mysteries. I loved horse books, so I wrote horse books. One time I got adventurous and wrote a mystery about horses. When I became a teenager, I wrote about becoming a member of my favorite rock band.

I still have some of these treasures. None of them were ever finished. None have ever been read by anyone but me. None WILL ever be read by anyone but me, so don't ask!

But at some point I decided that writing was not my future, the same way I decided I wouldn't be a rock star or a great artist.

It wasn't until years later, sitting cross-legged on the floor in the children's section in Borders reading picture books (still before I had kids) that it dawned on me, "I could do this. I could do BETTER than this." I never said I was humble.

I started trying to write picture books in about 1998. I joined a writer's group. I discovered that picture books were much more difficult than they looked. I moved on to children's chapter books. I wrote stories about bigfoots and bunnies. I was a little too timid to try writing about people.

I went to a local writer's conference and met children's author, Susan Fletcher. She gave my bunny book a great critique, giving me hope for the future.

Then I had kids. I planned for this. It was perfect. I'd quit my job, be a stay-at-home mom and write books. I imagined the baby cooing in a cute moses basket next to the computer desk while I happily typed away. Go ahead and laugh. I do when I think about it. It didn't exactly work out that way.

My toddler son and I were in the backyard playing once and made up a silly rhyme about chickadees. On a lark, I sent it to Ladybug magazine. They printed it. (It actually took about two years to see it in print). I have another short poem that has been accepted for Babybug Magazine.

It wasn't until this past fall when my youngest started first grade that I've had the self-discipline to get my rear in the chair and get back to work.

Someone praised me the other day on my "time management skills." I have to be honest. I have NO time management skills. Just ask my family. I have met writers who homeschool, jiggle babies on their laps, keep their homes clean, run side-businesses and still are able to get up at dawn and write novels. That is SO not me. Thankfully my husband pitches in (oh, let's be real, he does more than me) and doesn't mind eating out a lot. That's how I've gotten so much writing done this year.

But I do feel now that my writing is a calling. God has blessed it in so many ways this year. I no longer hem and haw when people call me a "writer." I have confidence that I will one day have a book on the shelves. Now that God has set me on the path, I am ready to run with it. Hopefully I will remember not to run faster than He intends.

I want to say "Thank you" to those of you who have been following my blog and keeping up with my writing journey. I appreciate your interest and your prayers, more than you can even imagine.

Shade -- Book Review Friday

Well, my hubbie pointed out the grammatical error/typo that I made on the first line of yesterday's blog. Ugh. Yes, I be a writer! Oh, well. It's a good thing that blogs aren't graded, right?

Today is "Book Review Friday," but I'm wondering if I shouldn't call it "Book Recommendation Friday." It's doubtful that I would ever bother to review a book that I didn't like.

Today's book is Shade by John B. Olson. While attending the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference this year, I overheard many people refer to a "vampireless vampire book" and I just HAD to find out what that was all about.

There was plenty of buzz about the Twilight series by Stephanie Meyer. There were two camps. There were those who were terrified and dismayed about the books' evil influence on our children and how Christian fiction needed to provide suitable alternatives. The other camp felt that we needed to study the books and discover what it was about them that has so captured a generation. With that said, many at the conference held up Shade as Christian fiction's answer to Twilight. Since I haven't had the opportunity to read the latter, I can't really speak to that.

Shade is the story of a young female graduate student who is living a nightmare. Chased by an apparation (real or imagined) into Golden Gate Park, she is rescued by a towering homeless man. Doctors try to prescribe away her alleged hallucinations, but too many questions remain. Who is the strange homeless man and why is she so drawn to him? Are they both delusional or are they being swept up in an ancient terror which is trying to kill them both?

Shade is a twisting, turning, spooky, suspenseful, evocative, romantic and redeeming read. How's that for lots of descriptive words? John Olson had me drawn in from the first chapter. I spent the entire book guessing as to the true nature of the story's hero. Was he a maniac or a "chosen one" sent by God to fight evil? I was actually still waffling on this until the last few pages of the book.

My spirits soared when the two main characters discussed the true nature of redemption. Olson does a splendid job of weaving it seamlessly into the story so that the reader does not suddenly feel ambushed by a sermon. Instead it's a natural progression of the characters' growth.

The story does get a bit complex in sections, so it's not a good book to read in a busy airport when you are trying to keep one eye on your bags and your ears peeled for announcements about your flight.

Save it for a time when you can really sink your teeth into it and suck out the...
Oh, wait. That's right, it's a vampireless vampire book.

Imaginary Friends

Several people have asked me how lately how the rewrite of Shaken is going. Usually I smile and say, "Great, great. A lot of work, but it's going great!" That is mostly true. I'm a little overwhelmed at the idea of doubling the length of an already-finished story, but it's going surprisingly well.

What is disturbing to me is that when I re-opened the story and woke up those sleeping characters, they started "doing stuff." Stuff I didn't expect or hope for. This probably sounds completely crazy to a non-writer, but sometimes our characters take on a life of their own and decide to start making their own annoying choices.

On Facebook today another writer mentioned, "My character just informed me that she has a pet iguana. Now I have to go online and research iguanas. Why can't she have a goldfish? I know a little about goldfish."

I recently finished reading the book Shade by John B. Olson (I'll be reviewing it tomorrow). The lead character was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. At one point in the story she thanks her friend for giving her a ride. The friend answers, "What are imaginary friends for?"

That's really what our characters are: imaginary friends. We have lofty goals about directing their path, but they often choose their own road and even get lost sometimes.

A few days ago, my lead character, Wanda and her friend were walking through earthquake-ravaged San Francisco (1906). She heard a faint cry and they began digging through the wreckage of a building and unearthed a baby. I didn't plan for this. I know the climax and ending of the book. It doesn't include a baby. I started trying to delete the section, but I couldn't do it. Wanda was determined to save this baby and fought the delete key with everything a sixteen-year-old fictional character has.

Okay, fine. Keep the baby for a few chapters. We'll just see what happens.

But every day (and chapter) that passed, I started getting more anxious. I've got to get rid of this baby! It became a joke around my house.

"Get rid of the baby yet, Mom?"

"No, Wanda refuses to give it up."

I was starting to get nervous that I was going to have to re-write the ending of the book. I was starting to envision scenarios where she raises the baby on her own, or her parents adopt the infant, etc.

Today, I'm tapping along at the keyboard and suddenly a woman with sad eyes appears. "Hey, who's this?" I wonder. "Oh, hey, maybe Wanda could give... Nah, she's too stubborn, she won't do it."

Imagine my shock when she actually makes the right choice. Call it a writer's hallucination, but I think Wanda was smirking at me. "You thought I couldn't do it, didn't you?"

Only a writer can come home from a day's work, shouting with glee: "I got rid of the baby!"

I suppose it's good that I had the common sense not to yell that in public.

My Next Book

I had the grumps last night. The weather was gorgeous outside and I desperately wanted to sit outside and read a book. Instead, I did the right thing and cooked dinner for my family. My son proceeded to complain about what I served. He's nine and has suddenly become finicky and opinionated. Okay, maybe not so suddenly; it's been building for years. But this was NOT the night to complain to Mom. I shot him a dark look and growled like a pit bull who has been poked with a stick.

My husband tried to help out by clearing the dishes (except for my son's, because said child was still glumly staring at the chicken taco and refried beans) and joking about the matter. "Just think dear, your next book can be 101 Things To Do With a Nine-Year-Old."

It was then that my son piped up with, "Yeah, and 92 of them HURT!"

Good Things

One of my three cats, has a passion for twist-ties. It may border on cat obsession, really. This stupid little thing came on some toy packaging and got dropped on the floor. Life has never been the same since. He chases the thing, endlessly. He kicks it up and down the hall like a soccer player (often in the middle of the night), carries it around the house in his mouth and will even play "fetch" with it. It is hilarious to toss the thing down the hallway and watch him go scrabbling across the wood floor in wild pursuit. Like a dog, he will sometimes pick it up and bring it back, waiting for another throw.

This cat has had many toys over the years, most of which have been ignored. But this little piece of trash has beat them all.

The sun came out in Oregon the other day. It seems like months since we've seen it. What a simple joy sunshine is. It doesn't cost anything, but it brings such happiness. The kids rush out to play. The adults go out and just "soak it in" while trying not to see the weeds in the garden.

God gives us so many good things, and many we accept joyfully and then place them on a shelf. But sometimes the simplest gifts -- like sunshine, flowers, a child's smile... and twist-ties -- are the easiest to appreciate.

Praise the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits- who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion, who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's. Psalm 103:2-5

God's Smile

My sincerest apologies to the photographer of this picture. I would love to give you credit, since it is such an amazing photo. But since I don't know who you are, I just say, "Wow!"


When I saw this online, I thought, "I have to post this on my blog." Have you ever had one of those days when you felt like God was smiling down on you? I'd love to hear about it. Feel free to share your story in the comments section below.

But, remember... You are His precious child. Just like we smile over our children, He is smiling over us, everyday. I hope you get a chance to really feel that smile today.

The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing. Zephaniah 3:17 [NIV]

Book Review Friday

Okay, I'm going to start something new! Since I came home from the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference with a huge stack of books to read, I've decided to make Friday my new "book review" day. I'll be focusing on Christian fiction titles.

Today I want to discuss a two-book series that I recently finished, Oxygen and The Fifth Man. These books were co-written by Randall Ingermanson and John B. Olson. While preparing for the conference, I tried to read a book by each of the authors who would be teaching mentoring classes. I was blown away by Randy Ingermanson's book, Transgression, and so I quickly requested him for my mentor. When I was researching the authors, his name came up under the category Christian--Science Fiction. I remember thinking...whoa, does such a genre really exist? Well, Randy doesn't like to be called a science fiction author. I'm trying to remember the term he used -- was it intellectual fiction? Suspense? I don't remember his term -- sorry Randy, I was focusing on all the other good stuff you were teaching.

Anyway, I excitedly started in on Oxygen. It's the story of a troubled NASA mission during which an explosion damages the vessel while in route to Mars. The crew must figure out how to survive on the oxygen that is left -- enough for only one. They are also haunted by the fear that one of them may be the saboteur. I found myself still turning pages at 3:00 am, furious that I could not put down the book until I learned if the crew survived. The fact that the crew is forced to explore (and expand) their faith was simply icing on the cake of a great story.

I held off reading the sequel for a few months. I was so pleased with the ending of Oxygen that I was afraid to return to their story, knowing the authors would be forced to shake them up again for the sake of a good plot. The Fifth Man is a very different story. The discovery of fossilized bacteria on the planet leads to fears of contamination, and strange noises and sightings unleash terror that they might not be alone. Is the saboteur back? Are they having illness-induced hallucinations? Or is there intelligent life on Mars? If there is, it certainly doesn't seem friendly.

I found this second book unnerving, but certainly as entertaining as the first. I nearly panicked one afternoon when I spotted a swift movement out of the corner of my eye. It turned out to be our neighborhood squirrel. Oops. No unpleasant aliens in my back yard. Yet.

For not being "science fiction," these books certainly had their share of science. I was fascinated by the scientific detail (and being written by a physicist and a biochemist, that's to be expected) but it did not overwhelm the story. The books are loaded with suspense, romance, faith, and imagination.

I give them two thumbs up. Unless you are an alien, then it would be two antennae up, right?

God's Gift: Ice Cream?

I was feeling pretty "blogged down" today and was having trouble coming up with anything interesting to post. So I asked my husband for something short and funny to blog about. He did not disappoint. "Tell the ice cream story," he suggested.

Last week, while I was at the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference in San Jose, my brave husband decided to tackle some grocery shopping with our two children in tow. Actually, he does this most weeks -- so yes, he deserves a husband of the year award. Anyway, Mr. Amazing Dad tells our kids that they can each pick out an ice cream treat. While he is helping our daughter reach something in the freezer, our son runs up and shows his dad what he picked. "That's great. Put it in the cart," my husband tells him and our son obeys. So dad and daughter return with her chosen item, retrieve the cart and continue shopping. Meanwhile, our son is staring forlornly at a woman pushing a cart away down the aisle and around the corner.

"Dad! Dad! That woman just took my ice cream!"

"What?"

"I thought THAT was our cart!"

So, Dad and kids wander the store, peeking into other carts and talking to various women shoppers around the store, hoping to find the AWOL ice cream. No luck. They finally return to the freezer section and get another package. Someone is going to have a surprise at the checkout stand!

As they take their place in line, Andrew spots the missing package in the cart in front of them. My now-very-embarrassed husband explains the mix-up and offers to return the ice cream to the freezer.

The woman who had unknowingly received the sweet treat finds the whole situation hilarious. "No, leave it. My kids will love it!" She even asks my son his name, so she can tell her kids who picked out their treat.

Okay -- a gospel parallel for this story -- you knew it had to be coming, right?

Sometimes God knows when you need ice cream.

"Our Creative Best"

Wow, I had a great writing day yesterday. I sat in the coffee shop and typed out two new chapters for Shaken. And they're good chapters, too. Ever since two agents at Mount Hermon told me that I needed to lengthen the book by nearly 30,000 words (doubling it, essentially), I've been stressing out. How can I possibly do that in a few months? Especially considering that I felt like the book was essentially done; the plot-line finished. Not polished, of course, but written from beginning to end.

I figured I would need to put in long hours to punch out that many quality words. No more free time and little extra time for family fun or volunteering on field trips and such. So, when my son forgot his backpack yesterday morning, I about blew a gasket.

"I don't have TIME for this!" I fumed. "This is YOUR responsibility, not mine!"

Poor kid. No one likes stressball Mom.

But it was a teachable moment -- for me. God grabbed me by the collar and said (essentially), "Look here, who is writing this book, anyway? Is it you? Or is it Me? If it's Me, then don't you think I can get it done in MY time? Not yours? If it is you, then we need to have a long talk."

I felt like crawling under my bed.

So, I'm (we're) back to writing a few hours a day. But they are good hours. Amazing hours. The story is going places I never dreamed of. It's going to be so much better than I imagined. As usual, God is blowing my socks off. I just have to trust Him.

I read this today in "The Message." It's a paraphrase of Galatians 6:4-5. "Make a careful exploration of who you are and the work you have been given, and then sink yourself into that. Don't be impressed with yourself. Don't compare yourself with others. Each of you must take responsibility for doing the creative best you can with your own life."

Go do your creative best today! Just make sure you're not doing it alone.

What's bugging you?

Bugs have been a constant discussion in our home during the last week. My son's fourth grade class is writing their first major report on -- you guessed it -- bugs.

And it's really starting to "bug" me!

They are collecting bugs for their classroom "bug-a-torium," which I'm imagining as something along the lines of Carnegie Hall for insects.

No problem, I think. We've got a big back yard... Here's a jar, go at it!

It was a very happy kid that came running back to me ten minutes later. He proudly held out the jar which now contained one of the biggest, ugliest spiders I have ever laid my eyes on. And the jar lid was closed--sort of. I could see that it was screwed on crooked. So I really WANTED to take the jar and fix the lid. But I really DIDN'T want to take the jar, either, if you know what I mean. I guess that comes with the job title of "Mom." So I fixed the lid and my son proudly showed his new pet to his dad.

"Isn't that a Hobo?" my husband asked.

"What??? No...it couldn't be," I said while re-checking the jar lid.

My hubbie pulls out a spider trap he bought at a first aid class last year. We peer at the pictures of the ugly spiders on the front and then look back at the now very angry arachnid.

"It must just look sorta like a hobo," I say. I'm the former park ranger of the family, after all. I should know, right? "Let me get on-line and do some research."

After learning way more than I ever wanted to know about spiders, I decided that my husband was right. It was a poisonous Hobo spider. Also known as the "aggressive house spider."

Lovely. Wonderful. Fantastic.

Now what?

Take him to school? Hmmm. I don't think the other parents would approve, somehow. Release him (actually "her" we learned) back into the yard? No way. Open the lid and drop in a brick? Tempting...

I carefully wrapped about three layers of postal tape around the lid. This spider was in lock-down until we made a decision. It was quite a quandary: can't keep it, can't let it go.

It had to die. There was no other option. My son looked up at me with big eyes. "But Mom, you just CAN'T kill her. It's not her fault that I dug her out of her web! She hasn't done anything wrong. She didn't even bite me!"

It was heartbreaking.

It was a SPIDER!

I can't believe that all this anguish was over a spider. It wasn't even an "insect" by definition.

Thankfully, God intervened and did the job for us. The spider died in her little jar after two days of deliberations. My son did a wonderful job of interceding for her, but her time just ran out, I suppose.

Once again, I was reminded of the Easter story.Whoa, big jump... Stay with me! Just like that ugly spider, I was condemned for my sin. I deserved to die. Who would go to all that trouble to save a lowly person like me?

But I had an intercessor, too.

God intervened. My ransom was paid. I am free.

My story has a happier ending than the Hobo's. But I have faith that God cares for all of his creatures. Even spiders. Will spiders be in heaven? I have faith that they will.

Of course, I hope they will be a little less creepy by then!

The Beginning and the End

Yesterday was Easter -- Resurrection Sunday. A few years ago I bought a package of "resurrection eggs" at our local Christian bookstore. Each plastic egg is filled with an object that symbolizes a part of the Easter story. My kids take turn opening each of the eggs and telling me what the items mean. There's a donkey for Palm Sunday, silver coins for the betrayal, a strip of leather symbolizing the whip, etc.

Today, we opened each of the eggs, like we do every year. My daughter opened one of the last eggs -- a linen cloth. She said, proudly, "They wrapped him in cloth..." and my nine-year-old son interrupted in a silly voice: "...and they laid Him in the manger!"

I felt like I had been struck by lightning. The beginning of the story met the end of the story in a powerful way. I had never realized this connection before and my son had nailed it. On the day of Jesus' birth, they wrapped Him in cloths. On the day of his death, they wrapped Him in cloths, again.

This is one of those tricks that we writers add to stories to make the reader go "Ah!" The perfect circle which brings us back to the beginning.

God is the ultimate creator of story. A popular worship song calls Him the "author of salvation." He used lots of "foreshadowing" to plant the story in the minds of His people. He developed His characters, mapped out the plot and perfectly crafted every scene.

My son reminded me of another parallel in Jesus' story. Many historians believe that the original stable was actually a cave. The tomb was also a cave.

The Beginning and the End, the Alpha and the Omega.

What's even better? When they wrapped Jesus in those burial cloths and laid him in the tomb (the cave), it wasn't the end of the story.

It was a new beginning for each of us.

Sliding Down the Mountain

When I was hiking this last week, it triggered an old memory. I used to spend my summer vacations during graduate school working as a park ranger at Mount Rainier National Park. I worked at Sunrise Visitor Center, which is on the northeast side of the mountain. I remember my mother always warning me not to go hiking by myself. Unfortunately, when I had free time, most of my friends were at work.

One evening, I set off on a walk. The soil in the area is covered in small chunks of pumice, which is an extremely light-weight rock that crushes down into a sandy, silt-like dirt. So, it's a bit like walking on very stale popcorn. I remember that it was nearly dusk when I came around a final bend in the trail, overlooking a beautiful gorge below with the mountain rising vividly on the opposite side. My eyes were drawn to the amazing grandeur of the scene and my feet were left to fend for themselves.

Not my proudest moment.

For some reason, I missed the sudden bend in the trail and my hiking boot stepped off the edge and into oblivion with the rest of me quickly following suit.

Realizing my mistake, I threw myself against the hillside and spread all four limbs wide, trying desperately to grab hold of something, or at least spread my weight evenly to slow my rapid descent. The steep slope was covered in this loose pumice, which unfortunately slid along with me.

After descending rapidly for about ten feet, I somehow came to a stop. I still remember the feeling of the rough pumice against my cheek and the sound of the stones rattling on down the hill without me.

Once my breathing slowed, I began slowly crawling back up the slope. It was slow going as the rocks kept shifting beneath my weight and tumbling free down into the gorge. I finally hoisted myself back onto the trail as the sun began to go down. I turned and sat in the dust, my legs still dangling over the edge.

That's when I looked down.

The slope steeply dropped off into the White River valley. I knew from the map at the visitor center that it was a 2,000 foot elevation drop.

I sat there shaking for about ten minutes. Finally I dusted myself off and walked back home, carefully watching my feet every step of the way.

This story came back to me this week as I listened to someone read a Psalm that spoke of God being our rock and how we need to cling to Him. When I hung on the side of that hill, I was desperately wishing for a rock instead of loose gravel. I would not have slid so fast and so far if the hillside had been sturdy. I would have easily gotten back up to the trail if it had been a strong rock surface. But, when you cling to gravel, it slides out from under you.

So, what are you clinging to? So many people expect their friends and family to hold them up -- emotionally support them-- during desperate times. But people often fail us. And when they fail, they sometimes take us down the hill with them. Some people cling to their jobs as their identity. It's very obvious right now what happens when we do that. Some cling to their looks, to their money, their possessions, their security, etc. All of these things can fail us and send us hurtling down into the unknown.

But if we cling to the rock... that's when we are strong.

We can certainly appreciate the support of the people and things in our lives. They are the blessings given to us by our Father. If you want to carry the analogy farther (maybe too far) you could think of them as trees or shrubs that you can grab on to. But it is the rock provides the true strength.

May you cling to the rock today.

When I said, "My foot is slipping," your love, O LORD, supported me.
When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul.
But the LORD has become my fortress, and my God the rock in whom I take refuge. Psalm 94:18-19, 22 [NIV].

Laughs from Mount Hermon

I've been posting all week about the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference. Today I realized that I've been talking about the pressures and the joys, but left out some of the funnier moments. So, I'll remedy that today.

I'm hoping these aren't "you just had to be there, I guess" laughs.

The one moment that still makes me smile when I think about it happened at one of the breakfasts. A writer leaned over to me and said, "So, are you in high school or college, dear? Are you enjoying the teen track?" She looked like she wanted to crawl under the table when I informed her that I am actually 39 and NOT part of the teen track. Little did she know that she made my day. My age actually came up several times during the week (I have no idea why) and several people told me they thought I was in my twenties. Must have been a good hair week or something.

On Palm Sunday, a group of us hiked to the top of Mount Hermon to see the sunrise and the cross. I was very careful to stay with the group on the way up, since I have a horrible tendency to get lost. I was less concerned about the way back, since I figured I could just follow the path straight back down the hill. So one other writer and I dawdled around taking pictures and chatting. Well, you guessed it. We got lost on the way back down. Neither of us remembered seeing quite so many forks in the trail on the way up. After a frantic cell phone call to my new friend's roommate, we spotted a car. Both of us simultaneously jumped into the street and nearly landed on the hood to get it to stop. It was one of the hikers from earlier who was quite amused at our predicament. She gave us directions and offered us a ride. We turned down the ride now that we knew where we were. A few more wrong turns later, we finally stumbled back into camp, laughing. So "Amy from Indiana" -- I can't wait to see your book in print. I'll never forget our little adventure.

There were other funny moments, but the best one I did not actually know about until this morning. I remember walking around the "autograph party" and hearing a loud shriek and screams of laughter from the other side of the room. I didn't know what had happened until I read author Brandilyn Collins' blog this morning. It had to do with a rubber snake and a hollowed out book. Since Brandilyn writes suspense and has the tag line "Don't forget to breathe," this seems like a very appropriate prank. I would have loved to have witnessed it. If you have time, click on the link (her name) and read her version of the story. It is hysterical.

On the last morning of the conference, I was walking back to my room to pack and I spotted a bright yellow banana slug. Now, in Oregon, our banana slugs are usually green with brown spots. As a former park naturalist, I was excited to see the real thing. So, here I am, kneeling in the mud, getting face-to-face with a slug and trying to get it to pose for my camera. All I could think was, "I sure hope no publishers or agents walk by right now..."

My Day Off

Hi everyone!

I've decided to take today off from blog writing since I am utterly exhausted from the conference. I need to absorb what I have learned and give it a chance to settle before I start writing again. I have every intention of posting tomorrow, so check back then.

I have posted a newer version of the first chapter of Shaken. This is the edited version that I sent to Mount Hermon and that received such a powerful response from the critiquers and agents. Feel free to read this edited version and let me know what you think. It will still need more improvements before it is ready to send off into the world.

Have a great day everyone! I'll see you tomorrow.

Surprises from Mount Hermon

Well, my week at Mount Hermon is almost done and I have been blessed beyond my wildest dreams. Let me give everyone a brief update on the week.

I arrived Thursday scared out of my wits. I felt a bit like a freshman on her first day of high school and I was pretty certain that at any minute I would be shoved into a locker or duct taped to a flagpole.

Imagine my shock (surprise? delight?) to learn that this conference is not the intimidating, competitive scene that I had been dreading. The people here (writers, editors, agents, mentors, etc) are supportive, friendly and real. They want to see you succeed. They worship and pray with more intensity than they "network." It's remarkable. This conference is not only about the business of writing, it's about the call of writing. It's about furthering the kingdom. One person praying tonight at the main session said it best, "Thank you Father that my name is already on a book -- the book of life." Wow. That's really sums it up.

Here are some more blessings:

By Saturday's lunch, I was feeling slightly discouraged and overwhelmed. At lunch and dinner meals, you choose which editor/agent/faculty table you want to sit with and "impress." I wasn't feeling impressive and did not want ruin my future chances with a book editor, so I sat at the table of a magazine editor that I knew would have no interest in my book. While there, we began talking about my blog and I told her about one of my posts. She said, "That's great. Write it up and send it to me. I want it for my magazine."

Isn't that just like our God? Feeling down? Feeling discouraged? Boom! How about something unexpected to bring some delight to your day?

After lunch, I walked downstairs to retrieve my critique submissions. Critiques are always a useful tool, but they are often emotionally difficult to read. I wanted to enjoy the feeling of success for awhile longer, so I put them away to read later. After about an hour my curiosity got the better of me and as I walked to another workshop, I pulled them out. Scrawled on the top was this note: "I showed this to ____ agent and she wants to meet with you."

I had to sit down and read that a dozen more times.

I could drag this out, but I will keep it short. I actually spoke with two different agents. They both want me to submit Shaken for their consideration. It will need major revision first, and I am eager to get started. This is a remarkable turn of events for me and a huge blessing. No, I have not sold a manuscript. I don't have a contract. But I do have interest and that's light years from where I started.

I'm flying home tomorrow. I'm planning on taking a plane, but I could probably fly home without one.

Thanks everyone for your prayers. That's the only way to explain this entire week. Thank you.

Mount Hermon, continued.

Well, I've survived my first full day at the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference. And, miracles of miracles, I was able to get up the nerve to speak to an agent about my work! Hooray!

She doesn't want it.

Okay, she didn't say that. But, it's no big deal, I'm just pleased as punch that I was able to stammer out a few phrases about my work and not faint in the process. I know, I'm being overly dramatic, but I'm actually a very shy person and the concept of walking up to a total stranger and telling them why my writing is so great -- that's a terrifying idea to me. I will NEVER be a used-car salesman, that's for sure. But, I believe in my story and I did it.

What was even more shocking was to find out that she was born and raised in San Francisco and her brother is a historian and has written a book on San Francisco history! Wow! That's a very strange coincidence (or something else...). Anyway, she doesn't represent children or teen books, so she referred me to another agent who isn't at the conference. I guess that's sort of a positive response.

But... I did it! I did it! I did it! Yeah!

It seemed fitting that later in the evening, our keynote speaker, Bill Butterworth spoke on courage. Maybe that's what God is really trying to teach me this week. Trust in Him and take courage from Him. And then I can set out to do what He is calling me to do.

I need to learn from my own words -- the last phrase of my "pitch" focuses on Hebrews 12:29: ...or will she (my character, Wanda) be forced to seek out the one thing that cannot be shaken?"

Every time I face an editor or agent, I'm shaking in my tennies.

But I can cling to the fact that God is in control... and He cannot be shaken.

Arriving at Mount Hermon

Hello from the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference!

Well, I hit the ground running. . . Or should I say I was running before I hit the grounds? I stepped into the baggage claim area at the San Jose airport and immediately spotted a friendly looking fellow named Bob who was holding a Mount Hermon Shuttle sign. I mentioned that I wanted to grab something from the snack bar to take with me, so he grabbed my luggage and took off with them. I hesitated for a moment -- is it really safe to let my luggage walk away in an airport? Probably not, but I shrugged and went to get my food.

As soon as I got back, I was in a cluster of unfamiliar faces. We started chatting about where we were from, the weather, etc. By the time we piled in the van, talk had turned to writing. The lady in front of me turned around and asked what type of things I wrote. I stammered out some nervous phrases about kids and teens and fiction and then tried to return the question. She smiled at me and told me that she worked for a publisher.

GULP! I just talked to my first publisher and I'm not even at the conference yet!!!

Okay, they need to make these people where special hats or something. I need to KNOW when I'm talking to someone who could have the power to say "yes" or "no" to my book!

Also in the van were a few writers (mostly newbies like myself), another editor, an agent (I think) and a public speaker. Unfortunately, I was in the back row with my knees shaking, so I didn't get to know anyone all that well.

Walking around the conference center has been an interesting experience. People stop and peer into my face and at my name tag with great intensity. One woman said, "I know you, right? Are you from California? I must have read your books, are you someone famous?" I assured her that she had NOT read my books and no, I was not famous. She apparently has several books out, but unfortunately, I didn't recognize her name.

The nice surprise is how everyone seems like a big family. I was picturing a competitive fish-feeding frenzy kind of atmosphere. The writers and the editors actually hang out with the newbies and everyone seems very supportive. They ask what you write and genuinely listen -- not just shut you out after they find out that you write historicals and that's not their thing.

Well, the editors do not wear funny hats, but I discovered at dinner that they (and the faculty) do wear ribbons on their name tags.

So, no more rookie mistakes for me.

Well, it's only 6:40 am. No mistakes until breakfast, I hope.

You Are My Sunshine

As I head off to the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference today, I want to thank all of my family and friends who have been supporting me and praying for me and made it possible for me to get to this point. I never would have made it this far without you. I am a nervous wreck, but I know that I will get through it because of your support and prayers.

I'll try to post some of my thoughts from the conference each day, so stay tuned. Same blog time, same blog channel... Okay, I'm tired and feeling goofy.

This may be a bit sappy, but I can only think to thank you with the words to a Veggie-Tales tune. Okay, it's a bit older than that... but I like their version. So imagine it being sung by a big, silly cucumber. Or if that's too hard, imagine it being sung by me. Thank you and I'll see you soon.

You are my Sunshine

You are my sunshine, My only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

You'll never know, friends, how much I love you

You have been my sunshine today

A little sunshine, God's love is sunshine

It makes us happy, most every day

Always remember how much He loves you

Then you can give His sunshine away

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray
You'll never know, friends, how much I love you
You have been my sunshine today
You have been my sunshine today
You have been my sunshine today!

Not My Home...

I was fortunate to grow up in a fantastic home. My parents have always been amazing -- steady, loving and supportive. I had great older brothers who served as role models to me. One taught me that I could have an opinion and stand up for it (thanks Mark!). Another taught me that it was okay and even desirable to be smart (thanks Chris!). And the last one taught me to love music and that church was fun (Thanks Scott!)

But, even beyond all these blessings -- I grew up in a great house. It was almost like a member of the family, itself. Built at the turn of the century, it had little nooks and crannies (perfect for hide and seek or quiet moments to yourself), creaks and groans (great for overactive imaginations like mine) and a huge yard (perfect for an outdoors-loving kid). Being the youngest child, I got to see all of my brothers head off into the world and finally inherited the much desired attic bedroom -- perfect for a reclusive teenager who needed her "space" and liked to play her music loud.

Between my awesome house and my loving family, I had the place of my friends' dreams. They all wanted to hang out at my house. I think, it retrospect, it was less about hanging out with me than it was absorbing the loving atmosphere and eyeing my "cute" brothers (their words, not mine).

But, as time passed my parents decided that the house was a little bit too big for our needs. When I was a junior in high school, my parents sold the old house and moved into a smaller one. As an overly-dramatic teenager, I thought this was horribly unfair to me. But I eventually got over it, and a year later, left for college myself.

I often used to drive by the old house with longing in my heart. It passed from owner to owner and no one seemed to love it the way we had. It fell into disrepair and became a shadow of its former self. I fantisized about buying it and restoring it to the gleaming beauty from my memory.

Last year, when we arrived at my folks for a visit, my father greeted me with bad news. I still remember the words, "bulldozer" and "backhoe"and a shiver goes down my spine. It was like the loss of an old friend. We piled back in the car and drove over to view the remains. It was nothing but a pile of splintered boards. We stood outside the yellow tape and pointed out various things. "Oh, look, there's the bannister that we used to slide down." "There's the old porch railing, do you see it?" On the top of the stack leaned the doorpost, still sporting the familiar house number.

It was a heartbreaking sight. Memories reduced to rubble.

And yet, it was a reminder, too. A house is just a building. A building is just bricks and wood. A home is so much more than that.

And you could take it further that that. This world is not our home. One day the bulldozer will come to this little corner of our universe and it will be gone.

But our memories will remain. And our new home will be so much more than bricks and wood, rocks and stones. Can you just imagine it?

I can. (and I'll see you there!)

There's a great song by Audio Adrenaline called "Big House." Every time it comes on the radio, I crank up the volume and sing it at the top of my lungs (just ask my kids). It reminds me of my childhood house and my family and how my friends were drawn to my home. But it also points me toward my future. I'm going to wrap up this post with these words. Enjoy!

Big House, by Audio Adrenaline

I don't know where you lay your head or where you call your home
I don't know where you eat your meals or where you talk on the phone
I don't know if you got a cook, a butler or a maid
I don't know if you got a yard with a hammock in the shade
I don't know if you got some shelter, say a place to hide
I don't know if you live with friends in whom you can confide
I don't know if you got a family, say a mom or dad
I don't know if you feel love at all, but I bet you wish you had

Come and go with me to my Father's house
Come and go with me to my Father's house
It's a big big house with lots and lots of room
A big big table with lots and lots of food
A big big yard where we can play football
A big big house -- its my Father's house

All I know, its a big ole house with rooms for everyone
All I know, its lots a land where we can play and run
All I know is you need love and I've got a family
All I know is you're all alone so why not come with me?

Come and go with me to my Father's house
Come and go with me to my Father's house
It's a big big house with lots and lots a room
A big big table with lots and lots of food
A big big yard where we can play football
A big big house -- its my Father's house