It is nearly the end of June and have I really only posted one entry? Lots of reasons why and here they are:
1. The A/C Adapter for my laptop broke. Unfortunately two attempts to get a new one have failed thus leading me to believe it has something to do with the laptop. We still have a plethora of other computers to use at the house, but nothing beats writing in my bed on the laptop. I have discovered that is where I get my best writing done.
2. School ended. I know, it sounds pathetic, but seriously, it has rocked my world. The little straw that broke the camel's back was the decision that the kids should be on the swim team this summer. Being novice aquatic parents we had no idea at the time what this little endeavor would involve. I thought I was being smart by planning all camps, vbs stuff, etc. in June, but didn't know that adding swimming would mean swim practice every day and meets that last a minimum of 4 hours! It has been a "good thing" as Martha would say, but good gravy what a time commitment!
3. Jay has been traveling what is a ridiculous amount for us and for him. He has been home about 7 days in the last 21 it seems. We are out of sorts without him. I am not geared to be a single parent for so long and neither are my kids. We have all suffered with the snippy and snappy and backtalk from a frazzled me. Without him, there is no uninterrupted time to ponder through blog entries, let along type them. I spent the better part of church this morning praying to God to give me more strength and patience with the children during a sermon about trust.
4. Sick kids. Step invaded our house. First, Ethan, then Sadie. Ethan's was never diagnosed, but Sadie's was. Talk about tough on scheduling when 2 have swim practice and VBS and one needs sleep and rest.
5. Funerals...death of a friend's mother. This will be a blog entry in itself, but in an overview, I have relieved a lot of those first weeks after Ansley's death in order to impart what little wisdom I have to my dear friend. My heart hurts for what she is going through and what is to come. But, I praise God for allowing me to use my circumstances to possibly bring comfort to someone else.
6. Wedding of my (step) sister at which I was the matron of honor. A flurry of pre-wedding activities (including that age-defining weekend in Boone) made for a very hectic 2 weeks prior. However, it will go down as the best wedding I have ever attended. Maybe it is age, the music (the band rocked), the food, the family? I don't know, but it was just great!
Regarding the bloggy world...I have about 5 good posts that have been swirling around in my head for weeks now and I have promised myself to get them out this week. I need to clear out the clutter in my brain as it appears these thoughts have infiltrated the part of my brain that holds short-term memory causing quite a bit of damage. It makes me feel very congested with emotions when I don't write, too. It is good for my soul.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Friday, April 03, 2009
Embracing Me
Inviting someone into your home for the first time is stressful. Right or wrong, our little nest tells others about us whether in its decor, upkeep, or income level. You open your home to someone who previously only knew the "prepared for the world" you, but there is not much you can hide from someone when they are in your home. You open the front door wide open for some one to know the real you and all that goes with it - anxiety, judgments, and internal criticism.
A friend came over to my house yesterday. It was her first visit at my home. As we walked through it, I found myself doing my usual "tour guide script." The same type of chatting I have done whenever anyone comes to my house. In fact, I could tape myself and play it whenever fresh faces enter my domicile because I have repeated it over and over since we moved into it nearly 5 years ago. It is a script riddled with justifications for its contents, as in, "Oh, that mirror, I got that at Costco." My own self-defined shortcomings, as in, "Oh, this room, it is the one that I just can't make work." My own plans for improvements as in, "We have long-range plans to rework the entire laundry room area as it is like a closet where you are beaten by coats and backpacks just to get out the door." And, I usually throw into the mix these carefully selected phrases, "Well, you know it is always a work in progress," or, "You can't take it with you when you die, " or, "We have been blessed. I certainly don't feel deserving of it." Lest anyone think that I spent any money in building or furnishing my house, take any pride in the home I have created, or believe that I actually enjoy my house. Deep down, it would destroy me if I discovered anyone left my house feeling as if my life were defined by material things. Or, if I ever came across with an air of snobbery, unaware of how blessed and appreciative I truly am.
So, after we completed the obligatory tour, my friend and I sat down to talk about my writing project. Interestingly, I could not receive any compliments about my writing. Even in talking about this book project, I was nearly apologetic.
I am not a writer. I mean, history does not support this notion of being defined as a writer. I was not a keeper of volumes of journals throughout my life. A few scattered here and there, but they are mostly filled with teenage angst and my first experiences with puppy love. I have only taken one journalism course and changed majors because I didn't find any pleasure in it. I also did not enjoy the class on journalistic ethics, either, as everything is grey to me - not black and white. I had two papers in college on which were written, "You might want to get some tutoring at the Writing Center." I have never had a job where writing was the main objective. Up until now, I haven't had the time to read a pamphlet, let alone write anything. This whole writing thing is a bit of a shock to me. And yet, it is the most pleasurable outlet I have at the moment.
To admit I am even a writer means that I have to admit that I am good at writing. Admitting that I am "good" or "excel" at anything is admitting that there is something good or excellent within me. And, this is something that I have believed, falsely I might add, is not true. I have believed that I have no part, no role in anything good in my life. Quite similar to what I wrote about my house, I don't want anyone to think that I believe that I am a great writer, blessed with a eloquent vocabulary with professional editing or grammar skills (clearly the latter is NOT the case). Additionally, I am wary of judgments regarding the time spent and effort put forth in my writing. And, I don't want you to think that I might take any pride in the posts I have crafted, or believe that I actually enjoy my writing and its resulting reactions.
On the flip side, denying or dismissing this means that I am saying no to the gifts that God has given me. I am beginning to understand that humility does not mean complete dismissal of self. It means recognizing that God has given me this talent or gift and I have chosen to act upon it. Therefore, I can give God the full credit for the awakening inside of me. Yet, I can have confidence and satisfaction, and gosh do I even say this word - pride - in my choice, knowing that I am walking down the path chosen for me. At least I think I am. (Doubt, always doubt)
A quote was passed to me and I feel very compelled to share it:
A friend came over to my house yesterday. It was her first visit at my home. As we walked through it, I found myself doing my usual "tour guide script." The same type of chatting I have done whenever anyone comes to my house. In fact, I could tape myself and play it whenever fresh faces enter my domicile because I have repeated it over and over since we moved into it nearly 5 years ago. It is a script riddled with justifications for its contents, as in, "Oh, that mirror, I got that at Costco." My own self-defined shortcomings, as in, "Oh, this room, it is the one that I just can't make work." My own plans for improvements as in, "We have long-range plans to rework the entire laundry room area as it is like a closet where you are beaten by coats and backpacks just to get out the door." And, I usually throw into the mix these carefully selected phrases, "Well, you know it is always a work in progress," or, "You can't take it with you when you die, " or, "We have been blessed. I certainly don't feel deserving of it." Lest anyone think that I spent any money in building or furnishing my house, take any pride in the home I have created, or believe that I actually enjoy my house. Deep down, it would destroy me if I discovered anyone left my house feeling as if my life were defined by material things. Or, if I ever came across with an air of snobbery, unaware of how blessed and appreciative I truly am.
So, after we completed the obligatory tour, my friend and I sat down to talk about my writing project. Interestingly, I could not receive any compliments about my writing. Even in talking about this book project, I was nearly apologetic.
I am not a writer. I mean, history does not support this notion of being defined as a writer. I was not a keeper of volumes of journals throughout my life. A few scattered here and there, but they are mostly filled with teenage angst and my first experiences with puppy love. I have only taken one journalism course and changed majors because I didn't find any pleasure in it. I also did not enjoy the class on journalistic ethics, either, as everything is grey to me - not black and white. I had two papers in college on which were written, "You might want to get some tutoring at the Writing Center." I have never had a job where writing was the main objective. Up until now, I haven't had the time to read a pamphlet, let alone write anything. This whole writing thing is a bit of a shock to me. And yet, it is the most pleasurable outlet I have at the moment.
To admit I am even a writer means that I have to admit that I am good at writing. Admitting that I am "good" or "excel" at anything is admitting that there is something good or excellent within me. And, this is something that I have believed, falsely I might add, is not true. I have believed that I have no part, no role in anything good in my life. Quite similar to what I wrote about my house, I don't want anyone to think that I believe that I am a great writer, blessed with a eloquent vocabulary with professional editing or grammar skills (clearly the latter is NOT the case). Additionally, I am wary of judgments regarding the time spent and effort put forth in my writing. And, I don't want you to think that I might take any pride in the posts I have crafted, or believe that I actually enjoy my writing and its resulting reactions.
On the flip side, denying or dismissing this means that I am saying no to the gifts that God has given me. I am beginning to understand that humility does not mean complete dismissal of self. It means recognizing that God has given me this talent or gift and I have chosen to act upon it. Therefore, I can give God the full credit for the awakening inside of me. Yet, I can have confidence and satisfaction, and gosh do I even say this word - pride - in my choice, knowing that I am walking down the path chosen for me. At least I think I am. (Doubt, always doubt)
A quote was passed to me and I feel very compelled to share it:
“It is in the quiet crucible of our personal private sufferings
that our noblest dreams are born and Gods greatest gifts are given,
and often given in compensation for what we’ve been through.”
- Wintley Phipps
I think there will be further explanation of how timely, relevant and accurate this quote is in the book. But for now, I will leave you to ponder on it, your gifts and your noblest dreams. Oh, and while you are at it, click here to complete my questionnaire. I need you!Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Things That Go Bump in the Night
Whirlwind. Whirlwind. Whirlwind. Borderline tornadic. I don't even think that is a real word (and I think I can write a book). But it feels appropriate in describing my brain the past few days. I have a million little pieces of paper, random words in my journal that I keep in my purse, emails to friends, comments on blogs all wrestling for order and understanding. I figure this will be my life for a while until I understand where this is all headed.
Oh, and if you were looking for "Confessions of a Real Mom," click here. Comments are still welcome and always will be (just click on the word comment after each post). If you are a new reader, feel free to browse, comment, follow or lurk at random.
Yesterday, Ethan, Sadie and I were coming home from soccer practice. Ethan began this conversation about "things that creeped him out." It ended up with each of us making a list of the things that we thought were creepy or scary. I think it was very productive seeing that it occurred in the car, while it was still daylight, rather than right at bedtime when scary things are usually brought to light, thus giving multiple excuses for not going to sleep. Here is a sampling of what brings us much fear:
Ethan, age 8
1. Some character named Cyrus, a lizard-like "slinky serpent" found on "Dragon Tales." My research indicates that he often tries to steal others' eggs to eat. Ethan would be horrified if he knew that I posted this for the world to see, but well, which one of you is going to bring that up to him? I didn't think so. It also says something about how an innocent show on PBS viewed at the age of 3 can linger in the darker areas of your brain. Sure, Ethan can watch Star Wars and Indiana Jones and not bat an eye. But, give him a cartoon lizard and he falls to pieces.
2. The boa constrictors in Riki Tiki Tavi. Or, as he puts it, "Riki Tiki Tacky." The point here is that a) they watched it in class at school (thank you for that well-utilized tuition money) and b) I found it creepy (not scary) as well at that age, in the same exact movie when I was in 3rd grade. Genetically connected in that part of our brain? Maybe.
There was a smattering of other things...including some Naria character, but really, I am beginning to believe that reptiles are just not Ethan's thing.
Sadie, age 7
1. The blame for this one rests solely on my in-laws. Jay took Sadie, then 3, to the Netherlands to visit the in-laws while he was on business there. My in-laws are a bit on the snobbish side, musically, often only listening to classical music. Well, I take that back. My father-in-law has some thing for Tina Turner as most European men his age, but I digress. Anyway, they bought the CD of "Peter and the Wolf" along with a book with graphic illustrations to peruse while listening to the music. I am not sure what my in-laws told Sadie about the book - maybe a mistranslation occurred? That is not clear. What IS clear is that the book and its illustrations and the music nearly make her cry. Sadie could not bear to think about that book being in her room one night and I tore apart her room, looking for the book in order for her to sleep. Keep your judgments to yourself - I know I indulged her.
2. The Hawk in "Seven Brothers." This is actually a movie my mother owns and it stays at her house. Now that I think about it, ALL the grandparents are to blame for the terrifying moments in Sadie's mind. Interesting. In the movie, the hawk swoops down to gather and kill the little baby rabbits. It is an intense moment. I know Sadie was subjected to this movie at least 5 times as my mother thought it was just so cute and sweet to see the relationship between the puppy and his adopted rabbit family. Meanwhile, my daughter won't sleep for days after viewing this movie. Thanks, Mom.
Kelsey, age 37
My main source of terror as a child was none other than Darth Vader. I am sure this was perpetuated by my sister who would hide in my closet at night, mimicking his heavy, labored breathing, causing me to intensely clutch my covers and whimper. I would also conjure up Darth Vader hiding in every corner of our house, just waiting to kill me. At night, I would hold my breath as Vader passed by my room with a "life detector." Why I felt I was so important to Darth Vader is unknown. I certainly didn't have the power to use the Force to bring down the Empire.
When I mentioned my childhood fear to my children in the car, they laughed. Yes, they LAUGHED at me. They just couldn't see it. They saw nothing in the world scary about a man in a dark suit who underneath was "just Luke's dad," as Ethan put it. He is right. When Vader takes off his helmet, he really just looked like Uncle Fester on steroids. To their credit, however, my children have had the benefit of knowing how he evolved into Darth Vader and that he died in the final movie.
I think that is where I am right now. No, not still fearful of Darth Vader (well, maybe a little). Life would be a little less scary if I knew all about this "writing stuff" I am doing - from beginning to end, start to finish. I am not completely clear on what I am writing and it is partly-cloudy as to whom. All I do know is that I am writing. Revelations are coming quickly and yesterday it hit me like a TON of bricks...in writing a book about relationships and transparency, I would have to be totally transparent. And, someone might actually read it! Ack! Am I ready for that? Frankly, this is, as my children put it, creeping me out.
Oh, and if you were looking for "Confessions of a Real Mom," click here. Comments are still welcome and always will be (just click on the word comment after each post). If you are a new reader, feel free to browse, comment, follow or lurk at random.
Yesterday, Ethan, Sadie and I were coming home from soccer practice. Ethan began this conversation about "things that creeped him out." It ended up with each of us making a list of the things that we thought were creepy or scary. I think it was very productive seeing that it occurred in the car, while it was still daylight, rather than right at bedtime when scary things are usually brought to light, thus giving multiple excuses for not going to sleep. Here is a sampling of what brings us much fear:
Ethan, age 8
1. Some character named Cyrus, a lizard-like "slinky serpent" found on "Dragon Tales." My research indicates that he often tries to steal others' eggs to eat. Ethan would be horrified if he knew that I posted this for the world to see, but well, which one of you is going to bring that up to him? I didn't think so. It also says something about how an innocent show on PBS viewed at the age of 3 can linger in the darker areas of your brain. Sure, Ethan can watch Star Wars and Indiana Jones and not bat an eye. But, give him a cartoon lizard and he falls to pieces.
2. The boa constrictors in Riki Tiki Tavi. Or, as he puts it, "Riki Tiki Tacky." The point here is that a) they watched it in class at school (thank you for that well-utilized tuition money) and b) I found it creepy (not scary) as well at that age, in the same exact movie when I was in 3rd grade. Genetically connected in that part of our brain? Maybe.
There was a smattering of other things...including some Naria character, but really, I am beginning to believe that reptiles are just not Ethan's thing.
Sadie, age 7
1. The blame for this one rests solely on my in-laws. Jay took Sadie, then 3, to the Netherlands to visit the in-laws while he was on business there. My in-laws are a bit on the snobbish side, musically, often only listening to classical music. Well, I take that back. My father-in-law has some thing for Tina Turner as most European men his age, but I digress. Anyway, they bought the CD of "Peter and the Wolf" along with a book with graphic illustrations to peruse while listening to the music. I am not sure what my in-laws told Sadie about the book - maybe a mistranslation occurred? That is not clear. What IS clear is that the book and its illustrations and the music nearly make her cry. Sadie could not bear to think about that book being in her room one night and I tore apart her room, looking for the book in order for her to sleep. Keep your judgments to yourself - I know I indulged her.
2. The Hawk in "Seven Brothers." This is actually a movie my mother owns and it stays at her house. Now that I think about it, ALL the grandparents are to blame for the terrifying moments in Sadie's mind. Interesting. In the movie, the hawk swoops down to gather and kill the little baby rabbits. It is an intense moment. I know Sadie was subjected to this movie at least 5 times as my mother thought it was just so cute and sweet to see the relationship between the puppy and his adopted rabbit family. Meanwhile, my daughter won't sleep for days after viewing this movie. Thanks, Mom.
Kelsey, age 37
My main source of terror as a child was none other than Darth Vader. I am sure this was perpetuated by my sister who would hide in my closet at night, mimicking his heavy, labored breathing, causing me to intensely clutch my covers and whimper. I would also conjure up Darth Vader hiding in every corner of our house, just waiting to kill me. At night, I would hold my breath as Vader passed by my room with a "life detector." Why I felt I was so important to Darth Vader is unknown. I certainly didn't have the power to use the Force to bring down the Empire.
When I mentioned my childhood fear to my children in the car, they laughed. Yes, they LAUGHED at me. They just couldn't see it. They saw nothing in the world scary about a man in a dark suit who underneath was "just Luke's dad," as Ethan put it. He is right. When Vader takes off his helmet, he really just looked like Uncle Fester on steroids. To their credit, however, my children have had the benefit of knowing how he evolved into Darth Vader and that he died in the final movie.
I think that is where I am right now. No, not still fearful of Darth Vader (well, maybe a little). Life would be a little less scary if I knew all about this "writing stuff" I am doing - from beginning to end, start to finish. I am not completely clear on what I am writing and it is partly-cloudy as to whom. All I do know is that I am writing. Revelations are coming quickly and yesterday it hit me like a TON of bricks...in writing a book about relationships and transparency, I would have to be totally transparent. And, someone might actually read it! Ack! Am I ready for that? Frankly, this is, as my children put it, creeping me out.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Random Thoughts on a Sunday Morning
Silence is golden. That little phrase sums up my weekend in several ways. I was treated to the most coveted of situations for a mom - a day and night at home ALONE! Yes, the husband gathered up our brood and took them camping with the cub scouts amidst some excitement and protest among the campers. Right when they were leaving Sadie announced that she DID NOT want to go. Here is the conversation that followed:
Me: You are going and that is that.
Jay: Well, I am fine with that. She can stay home.
Me: (Seeing my weekend crumbling before me) No, she is going. No discussion.
Jay: Kelsey, this is not about your weekend alone.
Me: It most certainly is. She is going.
Lily walked around the house for about 30 minutes prior to leaving wearing her backpack. Ethan lugged everything to the car. Sadie, had a fit about which shoes to wear. Despite having three choices, none worked for her. A definite sign of pre-teen years worming their way in to our home a little too early. Everyone in the car, I waved the family off with a little too much exuberance, shut the door and jumped back into bed to plan my day.
I'll go ahead and get the embarrassing part out of the way - I played Rock Band. Only for about 30 minutes as my own behavior actually ended the session. After each song, I would make some comment out loud like, "Wow! That was tough," or "Well, that stunk," or "Oh, that was cool." I began to creep myself out with this "talking to no one blather" and turned it off.
I ventured into the scraproom and worked on quite a few layouts. A friend came to work on her album as well. As usual, we ended up talking more than we got done, but like a modern quilting bee, that is part of the process. Still three years behind in the documenting our lives department as I just completed Lily's first steps. For perspective, she will enter kindergarten next year.
Late in the afternoon my fantabulous stepsister came over to leave for dinner. We shuttled through the city to pick up a couple of more willing "hen party" victims and flew into Greensboro. Dinner and conversation flowed nicely. It was a great dynamic because no one knew each other. I was the only common denominator. Not that I need to be the one in control, but no one came with an agenda or deeply connected past. Well, that is not entirely true. I had an agenda, but will write about that in a moment. I suggest, that throwing together a mix of ladies that are usually not connected can bring a very delightful outcome.
Ok, so my agenda...I have been thinking a lot about my post, "Confessions of a Real Mom." It was my most read and most commented entry. Clearly, it is a topic that deeply resonated with other women. I knew I wasn't finished with this topic, but wasn't sure how to proceed. Then, I had a few ladies comment to me personally or via email about their experiences and they encouraged me to continue along this vein, possibly in a longer format. In my prayer time, I had asked God to make this happen because honestly, I am clueless. I can't work through the details or timing or gather my thoughts in a coherent way.
Hang with me on this, there is a point to this. In the meantime, I found out Wednesday night that I would have Saturday and part of Sunday sans family. I sent out the "girls' night out" flares to see what might transpire. Amazingly, God made it possible for the three ladies who had been the most prolific commenters on that particular post to attend. And one was from out of town. We had a productive conversation about our struggles as moms, the performance and expectation traps that snare us so easily. Clearly, God is giving me the encouragement, the information and support and confirmation that I am, indeed, to write more about this topic, in the form of a... book. There, I wrote it. It is out there. No taking it back now! Here's to a new journey!
I will refer to this project every once in a while, but will keep the majority of the writing on another site. However, I do need help. My short list follows:
1. Will you link to my blog? If you feel comfortable doing so, email this link to your friends, families, whomever. The more, the better. I need a larger audience to whom I can pose some questions and receive feedback. My world is fairly homogeneous and I need it to be more varied in multiple ways (geography, beliefs, seasons of life, culture, race).
2. Be part of my research. I will be hosting several, multiple, maybe hundreds of round table discussions. Would you like to participate, even if in only one discussion? Or, would you be willing to answer some interview questions? Don't worry, I won't make "an good or bad example" out of anyone in the writing. I will respect the privacy of those willing to assist.
3. Would you be a reader? Are you a good proofreader? Do you have editing skills. Nothing professional, but are you easily NOT offended? Let me know.
4. Will you pray with and for me? Above all, I want this book to be what God wants it to be. There are multiple directions I can take and varying audiences I can address. I am easily discouraged and frequently filled with self-doubt.
I need you, the question is...will you join me on path?
Me: You are going and that is that.
Jay: Well, I am fine with that. She can stay home.
Me: (Seeing my weekend crumbling before me) No, she is going. No discussion.
Jay: Kelsey, this is not about your weekend alone.
Me: It most certainly is. She is going.
Lily walked around the house for about 30 minutes prior to leaving wearing her backpack. Ethan lugged everything to the car. Sadie, had a fit about which shoes to wear. Despite having three choices, none worked for her. A definite sign of pre-teen years worming their way in to our home a little too early. Everyone in the car, I waved the family off with a little too much exuberance, shut the door and jumped back into bed to plan my day.
I'll go ahead and get the embarrassing part out of the way - I played Rock Band. Only for about 30 minutes as my own behavior actually ended the session. After each song, I would make some comment out loud like, "Wow! That was tough," or "Well, that stunk," or "Oh, that was cool." I began to creep myself out with this "talking to no one blather" and turned it off.
I ventured into the scraproom and worked on quite a few layouts. A friend came to work on her album as well. As usual, we ended up talking more than we got done, but like a modern quilting bee, that is part of the process. Still three years behind in the documenting our lives department as I just completed Lily's first steps. For perspective, she will enter kindergarten next year.
Late in the afternoon my fantabulous stepsister came over to leave for dinner. We shuttled through the city to pick up a couple of more willing "hen party" victims and flew into Greensboro. Dinner and conversation flowed nicely. It was a great dynamic because no one knew each other. I was the only common denominator. Not that I need to be the one in control, but no one came with an agenda or deeply connected past. Well, that is not entirely true. I had an agenda, but will write about that in a moment. I suggest, that throwing together a mix of ladies that are usually not connected can bring a very delightful outcome.
Ok, so my agenda...I have been thinking a lot about my post, "Confessions of a Real Mom." It was my most read and most commented entry. Clearly, it is a topic that deeply resonated with other women. I knew I wasn't finished with this topic, but wasn't sure how to proceed. Then, I had a few ladies comment to me personally or via email about their experiences and they encouraged me to continue along this vein, possibly in a longer format. In my prayer time, I had asked God to make this happen because honestly, I am clueless. I can't work through the details or timing or gather my thoughts in a coherent way.
Hang with me on this, there is a point to this. In the meantime, I found out Wednesday night that I would have Saturday and part of Sunday sans family. I sent out the "girls' night out" flares to see what might transpire. Amazingly, God made it possible for the three ladies who had been the most prolific commenters on that particular post to attend. And one was from out of town. We had a productive conversation about our struggles as moms, the performance and expectation traps that snare us so easily. Clearly, God is giving me the encouragement, the information and support and confirmation that I am, indeed, to write more about this topic, in the form of a... book. There, I wrote it. It is out there. No taking it back now! Here's to a new journey!
I will refer to this project every once in a while, but will keep the majority of the writing on another site. However, I do need help. My short list follows:
1. Will you link to my blog? If you feel comfortable doing so, email this link to your friends, families, whomever. The more, the better. I need a larger audience to whom I can pose some questions and receive feedback. My world is fairly homogeneous and I need it to be more varied in multiple ways (geography, beliefs, seasons of life, culture, race).
2. Be part of my research. I will be hosting several, multiple, maybe hundreds of round table discussions. Would you like to participate, even if in only one discussion? Or, would you be willing to answer some interview questions? Don't worry, I won't make "an good or bad example" out of anyone in the writing. I will respect the privacy of those willing to assist.
3. Would you be a reader? Are you a good proofreader? Do you have editing skills. Nothing professional, but are you easily NOT offended? Let me know.
4. Will you pray with and for me? Above all, I want this book to be what God wants it to be. There are multiple directions I can take and varying audiences I can address. I am easily discouraged and frequently filled with self-doubt.
I need you, the question is...will you join me on path?
Saturday, March 07, 2009
Definition
"The more you run, the more you are a runner."
I imagine you can insert any hobby, sport, occupation in that quote and feel confident in its accuracy. Definitely, there are varying levels of success in that quote. Some are better runners than others. But what makes someone a runner? Is it because they diligently take a jog every other day? Is it that they can survive a minimum 5K without collapsing? I believe it is all self-defined.
Can the same be said about a writer? The more I write, the more I am a writer? I am doubtful. I went to a party this weekend to celebrate a pending family marriage. Most of the guests were people of my father's generation. People I had not seen in over 10 years, since my own wedding. The natural flow of chit-chatty conversation brought forth the question - so, what do you do? What are you doing now? And you know what? I didn't really have an answer. I mean, I know I am a mom. I know I am a wife, but yet, that didn't really seem to be a satisfying answer.
I am cycling through a period of change. Clearly, I am being asked to relinquish a heavy amount of control I have fought to constantly administer throughout my life. And, it stinks. Really, really stinks. It makes my life undefinable at present. I always had control of that definition and now I don't. I am teetering on this razor sharp edge between two worlds and it seems that I just keep getting little nicks and cuts. For someone who has drawn every bit of her energy and drive from this type of behavior, it has left me dizzy, nauseous and a bit crazed. Doesn't that sound appealing?
In the meantime, you might see me here a little less often. I'll admit that my computer time has taken its toll and I think I am missing out a bit on lessons I need to learn in the environment around me.
I imagine you can insert any hobby, sport, occupation in that quote and feel confident in its accuracy. Definitely, there are varying levels of success in that quote. Some are better runners than others. But what makes someone a runner? Is it because they diligently take a jog every other day? Is it that they can survive a minimum 5K without collapsing? I believe it is all self-defined.
Can the same be said about a writer? The more I write, the more I am a writer? I am doubtful. I went to a party this weekend to celebrate a pending family marriage. Most of the guests were people of my father's generation. People I had not seen in over 10 years, since my own wedding. The natural flow of chit-chatty conversation brought forth the question - so, what do you do? What are you doing now? And you know what? I didn't really have an answer. I mean, I know I am a mom. I know I am a wife, but yet, that didn't really seem to be a satisfying answer.
I am cycling through a period of change. Clearly, I am being asked to relinquish a heavy amount of control I have fought to constantly administer throughout my life. And, it stinks. Really, really stinks. It makes my life undefinable at present. I always had control of that definition and now I don't. I am teetering on this razor sharp edge between two worlds and it seems that I just keep getting little nicks and cuts. For someone who has drawn every bit of her energy and drive from this type of behavior, it has left me dizzy, nauseous and a bit crazed. Doesn't that sound appealing?
In the meantime, you might see me here a little less often. I'll admit that my computer time has taken its toll and I think I am missing out a bit on lessons I need to learn in the environment around me.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Set the World on Fire
Second post for today, but I just couldn't help myself.
When I opened up my blog several months ago, I knew that I might be setting myself up for negativity, or worse, apathy. However, upon receiving some encouragement, I decided to actually solicit my friends to glance over it. I had hoped to get some dialogue going and well, that hasn't happened too much. On the flip side, what has happened, much to my utter surprise, has been well, cry-inducing, speechless rendering, stun creating...compliments. Seriously, people, I am so completely undeserving, but derive much pleasure in the fact that you get any amount of enjoyment out of reading my blather!
Everyone has a little dream that they keep a candle burning for. I can't say I have always wanted to be a writer. Growing up I have kept journals (now those are hilarious), but only in the last three or four years, has it become a flame in my heart. I just, at this moment, realized the beginning in all of this for me. Wow. It was Ansley. It was those email updates I kept going for three years about her condition and ultimately her death. Just another lasting mark on my life that she made. Ok, I am crying now. I love her.
This morning, I heard a song on a new CD I bought recently. I had heard the song on the radio but never really listened to the lyrics. It is a great song and despite what even I perceive as a bit cheesy, I will post the lyrics and a link to hear the song.
"Set the World On Fire" by Britt Nicole.
When I opened up my blog several months ago, I knew that I might be setting myself up for negativity, or worse, apathy. However, upon receiving some encouragement, I decided to actually solicit my friends to glance over it. I had hoped to get some dialogue going and well, that hasn't happened too much. On the flip side, what has happened, much to my utter surprise, has been well, cry-inducing, speechless rendering, stun creating...compliments. Seriously, people, I am so completely undeserving, but derive much pleasure in the fact that you get any amount of enjoyment out of reading my blather!
Everyone has a little dream that they keep a candle burning for. I can't say I have always wanted to be a writer. Growing up I have kept journals (now those are hilarious), but only in the last three or four years, has it become a flame in my heart. I just, at this moment, realized the beginning in all of this for me. Wow. It was Ansley. It was those email updates I kept going for three years about her condition and ultimately her death. Just another lasting mark on my life that she made. Ok, I am crying now. I love her.
This morning, I heard a song on a new CD I bought recently. I had heard the song on the radio but never really listened to the lyrics. It is a great song and despite what even I perceive as a bit cheesy, I will post the lyrics and a link to hear the song.
"Set the World On Fire" by Britt Nicole.
I wanna set the world on fire
Until it`s burning bright for You
It`s everything that I desire
Can I be the one You use?
I, I am small but
You, You are big enough
I, I am weak but
You, You are strong enough to
Take my dreams
Come and give them wings
Lord with You
There`s nothing I can not do
Nothing I cannot do
I wanna feed the hungry children
And reach across the farthest land
And tell the broken there is healing
And mercy in the Father`s hands
My hands my feet
My everything
My life, my love
Lord, use me
I wanna set the world on fire
I wanna set the world on fire, yeah
I`m gonna set the world on fire
Set the world on fire
I hesitate to even write about this. My thoughts are - I am not a writer, what if I am humiliated, embarrassed by this post next year when I have failed, who do I think I am, do I have the nerve to actually write this down for the world to read?, is this really just pride?, what about the reaction of others who are much better writers, just who do I think I am? Basically, a lot of doubt. But here I go...into the DEEP. Please hang on with me, ok?
My prayer is that if this is God's will for me, that He will continue to keep this flame burning, that He will open doors to those that need to hear, that I may have the support from those near me, that my words will be authentic and real about a journey with Him - the triumphs, the failures, the mountain tops and the desert wanderings, and even the every day. I want to be used to His glory, an accurate estimation of who He is, not me, but Him. May you find inspiration in this song today - each one of us can set it on fire for Him...only because of Him.
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