So… What does it say about me?

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I have two empty 1-gallon tubs of ice cream in the dirty-dishes bin under my sink.

It’s been so long between a complete dishes-washing (i.e., more than a single pot or pan for a night’s dinner) that my family has gone through two gallons of ice cream.

Yes, the sickness streak broke my good-housekeeping streak and I’m trying to get back on-top of things.

So think what you want. That we eat a lot of ice cream (we do) or we let dishes go a long time (we do).

I just thought it was a funny random fact. Take it how you will. ;)

Holding it Together

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At the church I was visiting this morning a fellow was talking about a conversation he’d had with his brother who’s not a believer.

They were sharing the regular stuff about car trouble and sickness going through the family, until the one brother said to the other:

“It really doesn’t make any difference, does it?”

“What”

“Your being a Christian. You’re going through all the same junk that I am. What good is Christianity?”

And I loved the Christian brother’s response. He told his brother there is this verse in scripture (Corinthians 1:17) that points out:

In Him (Christ) all things hold together.

And there it is right there.

We Christians don’t claim to be better people, and we’re not saying going to church instantly fixes everything.

We’ve just found the One that can hold it together, and are learning to live on the strength He provides.

~ ~ ~

I get so disappointed sometimes when I hear people talking negatively about “the church.”

Part of that is because it is my culture (know any other peoples with a strong sense of culture that enjoy it being minimized or maligned?).

Part of that is because I know the complainers frequently are griping based on a stereotype.

And part of my let-down is that the “culture at large” seems to expect us to be better than them, somehow. Really.

I wonder what people expect the church to do. On the one hand they say, “Don’t judge me.”

Which is fine: Paul, one of the major (human) writers of the New Testament, basically said the behavior of those outside the church wasn’t his concern as a spiritual leader, it was those inside.

Then, with the next breath, these people who want to be let alone judge those they see, saying (it seems) “How dare you be imperfect?” (I think we all know Christians don’t have the corner on hypocrisy. Just the spotlight.)

It was Jesus himself who said,

“It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”

This is what the pastor talked about this morning: the church being imperfect.

He quoted Philip Yancy (I should have asked which book, because I didn’t recognize this) when he pointed out three humiliations Jesus had to endure:

  1. Becoming a human baby (and all the helpless ignominy that includes).
  2. To die on a cross like a common criminal; a sinless man with all the wrath of God heaped upon him for the sin of the world.
  3. To leave his representation and reputation in the hands of fallible, sinful people.

~ ~ ~

People sin. People do stupid things. People do things that wreck their own lives and wound those around them.

And Christians are people.

The whole reason true Christians are in church, the reason we’ve submitted ourselves to the Lordship of Christ, is because we know we don’t have it all together.

We’ve usually proven to ourselves and to others that we’re not capable of getting it together.

And that is why we look outside of ourselves.

He has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.

He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation.

For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him.

And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together.

Colossians 1:13-17

Home By Choice— a book review

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I read this last Friday through Monday while most of my family was sick and my husband was running the home.

Written by Dr. Brenda Hunter who completed her Ph.D. after her daughters were in high school, the book accomplishes what it sets out to do.

It makes a very complete argument for the importance of Mother staying away from full-time work in order to focus on nurturing her family.

The regular difficulty of this discussion arise: Those not fulfilling the needs Dr. Hunter describes (or having missed an early, critical window) will probably feel guilty.

It disappoints me, but I assume it’s unavoidable:

  • Either you point out the importance of the work at home (thereby building up stay-at-home moms and telling double-time working moms they’ve got it wrong),
  • Or you normalize out-of-home care, saying it’s just as good (thereby reassuring double-working moms but telling the at-home crowd that what they do doesn’t matter— a minimum-wage somebody could do just as much for your child).

That acknowledgment out of the way, those women who are “home by choice” will very likely be encouraged by this book.

Continue reading »

My Husband is so Quotable

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So over dinner I’m talking with Jay again about my novel content, and observing I need to create more about the brothers on their quest (so we still recognize/trust the hero when he rejoins the heroine at the end of their concurrent storylines), which will make the book even longer than it is.

“That’s okay,” Jay said. “It’ll give the movie something to cut out. You know they never think their job’s done till they’ve cut something.

My jaw dropped.

“You know that’s going on my blog.”

“As soon as it was out of my mouth.”

I Hate Busy Work

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But it’s working….

I finally opened a spreadsheet and did a Y x X of characters and their ages at major events.

This precipitated the necessity of starting a second sheet verifying the dates of said major events, and deciding how the calendar is ordered in this region/age.

April through March, in case you wanted to know.

Before too much longer I’m going to have to figure out some cartography, which will in turn necessitate wraping my mind around the concept of scale– something that heretofore has eluded me horribly in all fantasy contexts (books, games, movies, whatever).

I start out wanting to tell a story, and love how the “fantasy” can just happen (Hey, cool! no research required!). But while I really hate the act of filling in the little squares– connections of age, event, etc., I have to admit it’s been highly useful in rounding out character interactions and even motivations.

Rats.

Has anyone already written an Excel program for this? It seems eminently doable in such a formula-based program, I just don’t know how.

*Okay.* Vent over. Back to punching numbers.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Edited 2/28 to add:

Here’s my second Blogiversary. Just thought I’d mention it, though I think I said everything pertinent in my First Blogiversary post a year ago.

God continues to be faithful, I continue to learn. (And I praise Him for both.)

I think this is
The prettiest world— so long as you don’t mind
a little dying, how could there be a day in your whole life
that doesn’t have its splash of happiness?

Yes, There is a Time I Feel it’s Ready.

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I’ve always loved the joke that Software is never “released;” it *escapes* largely because it makes me thing of writing.

I first discovered the line when I was working toward my bachelor’s in journalism, and it’s how I felt about many of my articles.

But as a “professional” (albeit pre-published) writer, I’d like to get a little more credit for recognizing the (lack of) quality in my work.

Especially as a blogger I feel I’m aware of this: I publish a lot of stuff— sometimes on a daily basis— that varies in quality. I hope I put thought and feeling into everything, but my life is too busy to *angst* over every post, waiting and wondering if it’s “ready.”

Obviously, I must break through the it’s-not-good-enough wall on a frequent basis. Or I wouldn’t have this many posts (pushing 450, believe it or not).

With my *limited* noveling hours anyone concerned may rest assured that I am not obsessing for hours about one page, waiting until I’ve gotten it “perfect” before I will unveil it for criticism.

Mainly I make sure I read-through/revise at least once, applying my own critical eye before I subject myself to others’.

~

The difficulty, I would guess, is that we have all read and heard (and regurgitated what we’ve read and heard) about people “never being ready” and needing to just do it whether or not they *feel* like it.

Surely there are times when “It’s not ready” (like “I’m overweight”) is simply a statement of truth, not an exhibition of insecurity or call for encouragement and reassurances.

For example:

I recently discovered a major character has a child born out of wedlock, and while that has clarified a bunch of issues and motivations, its also requires significant re-writing, again delaying its availability for general criticism.

Sorry, it’s just not ready yet.

Though if someone wants to read a first chapter… we might be able to work something out.

The Prince and the Orphan– A Tuesday Tale

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I found this story in Raouf Mama’s book, Why Goats Smell Bad, and Other Stories from Benin.

A great king had many wives, but only one of the children they bore him survived infancy.Two months before this child was born, the king and his seer went into the jungle and determined they must choose for the coming child a secret name, that not even the boy would know.

They named him Denangan, which means “One of Them Shall Live.”

He was indeed the perfect prince. Not only was he handsome and talented, he was beloved by all his father’s subjects because of his wisdom and kindness.

When he grew to be a man and there came upon him the desire for a wife, the king let it be known that whoever could guess the prince’s name would claim him for her husband.

There was among his subjects a beautiful orphan girl named Hobami, “Woe is Me.”

The lowliest girl ever to fall in love with a prince.

Hobami was forced to work like a slave in the home of a woman with three daughters of her own.

These daughters, too, hoped to win the prince, and their mother bought for them rich dresses and bangles and jewels. She also planned to pay a powerful diviner to magically learn the prince’s true name.

The sisters told one another stories about dazzling the prince with their beauty, and tricking him into revealing his name so they could all marry him.

Their mother also gave Hobami new clothing, saying the king required all maidens to attend. But it was only rags.

The three sisters promised to leave a palm branch to mark the correct train to the palace, since Hobami had to finish her chores and could not accompany them.

Of course, they marked the wrong trail intending to lead her away from the contest.

Continue reading »

Two Useful Books for Children– Children’s Book Monday

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As a storyteller I am always looking for the perfect story to introduce the seeds of an idea or an attitude I want to be able to discuss with my children.

Especially considering last week’s post regarding teaching children about evil, I remembered I already had a good book on their level:

Doctor DeSoto, about the mouse dentist who treated a fox, has been around for many years.

It tells the story of a mouse-couple who agree out of compassion to help a fox with “a rotten bicuspid and unusually bad breath.”

They must formulate a plan to protect themselves for when he returns without pain on the second day.

This story nicely illustrates once response to the snake situation.

Also on the topic of potentially- touchy issues, I was happy to find Daisy Comes Home. I don’t know if this is what the author had in mind, but I find it is a useful story to introduce the topic of standing up to bullying.

Written and illustrated by Jan Brett, it is the first story I have seen that deals with the topic.

Daisy, the smallest of the hens is always jostled off the perch at night, and finally sleeps outside to get away from the abuse. This precipitates an adventure when the rising river carries her sleeping-basket downstream.

Daisy learns that flapping and pecking makes the series of frightening (to a chicken) animals she meets back off and leave her alone.

This education prepares her to keep her spot in the hen house when she comes home, and the other hens learn to respect her.

I recognize not every parent wants to teach this method to their children (why I feel the need to state the obvious, I don’t know), but I appreciated finding this book because I’ve been wanting to discuss the topic.

And the pictures are great.

More Children’s-book Monday here at A Path Made Straight.

Love and Imagination

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Love

Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
~ Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
~ From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
~ If I lack’d anything.

‘A guest,’ I answer’d, worthy to be here’:
~ Love said, ‘You shall be he.’
‘I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
~ I cannot look on Thee.’
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
~ ‘Who made the eyes but I?’

‘Truth, Lord: but I have marr’d them: let my shame
~ Go where it doth deserve.’
‘And know you not,’ says Love, ‘Who bore the blame?’
~ ‘My dear, then I will serve.’
‘You must sit down,’ says Love, ‘and taste my meat.’
~ So I did sit and eat.

George Herbert
(April 3, 1593 – March 3, 1633)

Imagination

There is a dish to hold the sea,
~ A brazier to contain the sun,
A compass for the galaxy,
~ A voice to wake the dead and done!

That minister of ministers,
~ Imagination, gathers up
The undiscovered Universe,
~ Like jewels in a jasper cup.

Its flame can mingle north and south;
~ Its accent with the thunder strive;
The ruddy sentence of its mouth
~ Can make the ancient dead alive.

The mart of power, the fount of will,
~ The form and mold of every star,
The source and bound of good and ill,
~ The key of all the things that are,

Imagination, new and strange
~ In every age, can turn the year;
Can shift the poles and lightly change
~ The mood of men, the world’s career.

John Davidson
(April 11, 1857 – March 23, 1909)

To See the Resurection

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I picked up a Shakespeare’s Sonnets last week, and began trying to read them from the beginning. (I’ve never read them before.)

As I waded through the first dozen, I was struck by the recurring plea to the listener to beget. To parent children so that in their image the memory and beauty of the original might be preserved.

One of the maybe five Shakespeare plays I am familiar with (12th Night) has a whole scene built around this theme— Cesario trying to talk the beautiful Lady Olivia into marrying the Duke.

After a while the repetition got old and I gave up, but not before I was struck by this image:

When every private widow well may keep
By children’s eyes her husband’s shape in mind.

And I thought, maybe for the first time, how children were, for many eras and cultures, the only way to honor or remember anyone who had been loved and valued by you.

~ ~ ~

Last night I took my oldest daughter with me to a meeting, and while there I introduced myself to someone as my grandmother’s granddaughter, because she looked as though she vaguely remembered me, and I knew the woman had admired her.

She held the hand I offered as she studied my face, then turned to my daughter.

“And who does she look like?” the woman asked, smiling warmly but staring enough to make my 5-year old uncomfortable (which, admittedly, isn’t much). “Who’s eyes does she have? Are they yours?”

Not really sure how to answer, I said some familiar line about her being a remarkably even mix, not favoring anyone, and we went together into the meeting.

There were other women there who knew my parents or grandparents before me, and a round of recognition of my mannerisms were attributed while I smiled and nodded. This hasn’t happened in a long time, but I don’t mind it.

There was an absolute eruption when *just* after this exchange an new woman walked in and said, “You’re Rev. Dave and Sister Florie’s daughter, aren’t you?”

~

After the meeting I talked with another woman about my Grandmother’s last morning with me, and the first woman, the one I’d introduced myself to, watched us and finally spoke.

“It’s just amazing to watch the children and grandchildren of those you’ve known for years. It’s like your friend is resurrected. Brought back from the dead to stand in front of you.”

And I finally understood the look on her face and felt a tightness in my heart as I wondered if I would wear it one day, too.