Another November ends...

I have missed you this month.

I have missed me this month.

I chose once again to dive into the madness that is NaNoWriMo.

I sat, I typed, I drank too much coffee.

I kept my schedule free of lunch dates with friends.

I spent many evening hours apart from my beloved husband.

But I have broken the surface victorious with 50,000 new words.

I will take time now to inhale and celebrate.

Here's a tiny little clip I posted on my NaNoWriMo profile:

Linda’s father was a man of few words and what words he did use were harsh and cold. She learned to stay out of his way whenever possible, afraid of the steel freeze of his eyes. It seemed to the young girl that her mother did the same, slipping in and out of rooms like a shadow.

Laughter in the house rarely rang out and only when her father was away, then and only then would Linda catch the faint edges of a smile from her mother. The turn of her father’s key in the front door lock always chased the smiles away.

Linda, her older sister and her little brother walked nervous through their own house, never certain when the eerie stillness would be shattered by the next storm.

It might be the meat on his dinner plate was too well done, or his favourite white shirt was not folded perfectly square, or a toy happened to not get put away before he got home. The air cracked as his voice cut through like a whip, accusing and condemning.

Plates were thrown, glasses smashed and flesh bruised. The children and their mother were given names like labels branded on their hearts. Stupid. Useless. In the way. They were idiots, pains in the ass, good for nothing and failures. Time and again they were reminded that they really were not worth his time.

“I could do so much better than all of you” he would announce. “I should just walk away and start over.”

Linda never told anyone about the small hope she kept burning in her heart that he would live up to his threats and leave. But day followed day, week after week, and the years piled up one after the other.


 

I'm still here

I seem to have been away.  I miss wandering in this space.  November will soon come to a close and my time here will return.  Here's another little taste of what i have been working on:

Jessie went back upstairs with her legs feeling shaky and weak. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this yet” she thought.

“You are ready indeed” said the steady voice. “Look for the words I speak about truth in your Bible. It’s time.”

She hung her new coat in the closet and flopped into the armchair, picking up her Bible as she was told.

“How do I find the words about truth” she thought and then remembered there was a kind of index in the back, not a dictionary, she thought, more like a table of contents. She looked for the word “truth”. There was a long list of page numbers and places where truth was mentioned with the beginnings of the passages listed too. She didn’t really know where to start, but as her eyes moved down the list they noticed these words in John:

And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free

“It is freedom that the calm voice keeps talking about” she thought and though there were many other things on the list, she thought that this is what He really wanted her to know.

“Free from what?” she pondered.

“Free from the lies. Truth will silence the voices. You have already seen a bit of this.”

“Yes, I think I have. When I listen to you, they have no more words to say” Jessie answered out loud.

“Truth is light. This is why I tell you to bring everything into the light. Lies cannot live there.”

Jessie was comforted by His words, yet once again the voices rose.

“You think you’re hearing from God? You silly girl, you’re making it all up.”

“No!” Jessie answered loudly. She held up the Bible in her hand. “I didn’t make this up, did I?”

There was no reply.

Jessie snorted, boldly saying “No answer to that huh?”

Closing her eyes she slipped into a place of dreams.

She found herself walking into an old house. The floor creaked with each step and she could hear the sounds of crying and voices arguing. She walked from room to room and each time she flipped a switch and turned on the lights there was silence in that room and the noise moved to another room. Over and over again, the voices scattered away when the light was turned on, only to move to a room that was still dark. Only when she had turned on a light in every room of the house was there silence and a sense of peace.

“This is what You have been trying to tell me” Jessie said, waking suddenly. “I have to turn the lights on everywhere so that the lies have nowhere left to hide.”

“Yes. You are letting Me teach you”

“But I am still afraid” Jessie thought aloud. “There is so much that no one knows.”

“I know. I know all of it. And I will be with you.”

“And if I don’t tell? Then the secrets will still have power over me, right?” Jessie asked.

“You already know the answer to that” replied the calm and steady voice.

“The truth will set me free
The truth will set me free
And then I can be
Who I was meant to be
Maybe everything before
Was really just a lie
And when I turn the lights on
You can teach me how to fly”


 

Looking up

Skies darken fast
once November comes
glory streaks rose
gold and hot
but doesn’t linger
the plunge into winter
complete

Look up into black
watch the sky
shatter
drift down
a billion silver
sparkling bits

Snow covers
fault lines
cracks
the daily dirt
what was broken
makes all things new

He sends the snow like white wool; he scatters frost upon the ground like ashes
Psalm 147:16 NLT

Taking a moment away from fiction writing for National Novel Writing Month to dive back into a random act of poetry with the prompt look up.

 

His plans

I have been scarce around here lately due to NaNoWriMo and I miss taking time to ponder blog posts and poetry.  It is a struggle to stay away, when I would prefer to be here instead of waiting on God's words for my novel-in-progress.

But while I may be taking time away from many things, I have not taken a break from my morning time with the Lord.  Here is what He shared with me yesterday:

For I know the plans I have for you and they are good plans and they will unfold just as morning unfolds in the Eastern sky.

Walk beside Me.  Allow My light to fall upon you, not so that you have light, no, so that you reflect that light so that more would see Me.

Keep not the glory that is due My name.

As you shine, shine for Me.
As you speak, speak for Me.
As you have breath and live,
live and breathe for Me alone.

I know what I'm doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for. Jeremiah 29:11 The Message


 

Strategy? What strategy?

Image found at http://www.dreamstime.com/nib-pen-and-inkwell-thumb2029268.jpg

I should have a plan
that's surely what the world would say
what writing logic would say
50,000 words in 30 days
there must be a strategy to accomplish such a task
and yet

the only plan I can follow
is His
the only words I wish to write
are those He supplies

my only strategy
is surrender
to be a pen in His hand
leaking Jesus onto every page

joining Peter Pollock and others talking about strategy

 

November madness

The last hours of October are passing quickly, with cloudy skies and temperatures well above normal.

It doesn't feel at all like October 31st.

But indeed, tomorrow is the first day of November.  Though it seems as if only weeks or months have passed since National Novel Writing Month 2010 wrapped up, I will wake tomorrow to begin afresh for 2011.

Again I ask for your patience, your grace and your prayers.  I may not be present here on my blog quite as often as I settle into the imposed (and much needed) discipline of daily fiction writing.

I am surrendering myself into the hands of the Lord, once again permitting Him to supply the stories and the words, in His way for His purposes.

I pray that He will be glorified in what gets accomplished.

 

Passion to plunge

My beloved Rick started to snicker when I told him the topic for this week's jam and I wasn't quite sure what to write:

What is a passion or interest you’d like to nurture and grow?

When I asked him what he was laughing at he said "It is so easy, so obvious.  Your passion is to go deeper."

Deeper indeed. 

Into His heart.
His hope. His love.
Into the depths of His empathy for the lost, the hungry, the broken.
Plunged deeper into truth, revelation, wisdom,
with a burning desire to share what He teaches me
in words written and spoken.
May I ever be consumed with the desire
to be His pen, His instrument, a simple tool in His hand.

I pray I will trust where He leads me, simply because He is the leader
I will jump, I will swim, I will climb
to do the will of the One Who loves me beyond reason

Do you have a passion to plunge?
Let go of fear and fall into His arms.
There is no better place to land.


Jamming with Bonnie - talking about passion

Sharing with the rest of the imperfect, broken yet redeemed at Emily's

No time to be silent & a giveaway

The Lord has been urging me, by His Spirit to speak up for those things that hurt His heart.  After reading Priceless - A Novel on the Edge of the World by Tom Davis I know beyond knowing that the Lord grieves over the trafficking of both children and adults in the sex trade.

In my review posted December 1st I wrote:

Do not begin reading this book if you do not want to be forever changed. You will be moved to weep, to pray and to speak out for the rights of those who have been unable to speak for themselves.

But now I do want you to read this book, and Children's Hope Chest wants you to read this book, because God needs your hearts to be moved.  I have been given a copy of this compelling novel to give away to one of my readers.

First, visit the website She Is Priceless to learn more about the book and find the answers to the following questions:

1. How many children are trafficked every year?
2. Every ______ minutes a child is being prepared for sexual exploitation?
3. How many times each day is the average victim forced to have sex?
4. What is the average age of a trafficked victim?

Next , leave your answers in a comment to be entered.  Be sure to leave an email so I can contact you if you win.  A winner will be randomly chosen on January 15th from entries with the correct answers.

Lastly, but most important, please pray for the end of human trafficking now.

Imperfect Prose - Sugar Hearts

Jessie and Sara Jayne sat without speaking, drinking their coffee. Sara Jayne’s two year old Miranda had fallen asleep with her head on her mama’s lap, while Laura and Charlie, her other two children busied themselves, building a city out of creamers, cutlery and sugar packets. They were uncommonly quiet for children only seven and four, as if they knew that they mustn’t attract too much attention. Instead of speaking, Charlie would tug at his mother’s sleeve and point at what he had constructed, looking for some sign of approval. Vacant eyes looked upon his work without comment. Instead, Laura, his older sister smiled at him and noiselessly clapped her hands. He smiled sadly, accepting the morsel of her encouragement.

Laura took some sugar packets and laid them out on the table in the shape of a heart, tapped Charlie on the shoulder, pointed to herself, then to the heart, then to him. The unspoken “I love you” made his smile a bit brighter. He tugged on Jessie’s sleeve again until she looked at him, then he repeated what his sister had just done for him, pointing at himself, at the heart and at Sara Jayne.

“Right” she said, brushing the sugar packets off the table, onto the floor and the children’s laps. “What’s that’s supposed to mean anyway.”

Charlie’s lips began to quiver as he turned his eyes away. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry” said a voice similar to the one that echoed in Sara Jayne’s head. “It will hurt even more if you cry.”

Laura collected whatever sugars she could, and stacked them neatly in the holder on the table, creating order out of disorder so quickly that Jessie thought she must be well practiced at such.



Stop by Emily's In the Hush of the Moon for more imperfected words

HisFireFly

Rejoicing

This morning I am rejoicing in the overwhelming sense of victory and wonder at all that God has done as I determined to surrender again and again to His leading, allowing me to write Redeeming Silence, the story that He chose.

Last night, even knowing I still had today to complete the NaNoWriMo 50,000 word challenge, I felt the need to press hard and get it done, in a sense compelled to feel the breaking of the tape at the final lean into the finish line.

To anyone I have ignored or neglected during this past month of hiding out in front of the keyboard, please forgive me.

To my beloved Rick, nothing I do would be possible without the love you allow God to pour through you. I will continue to lean on your encouragement and support as I work with and trust in our God to complete what He has begun.

I have may have reached 50,000 words, but the story has much more to go. I pray that with His strength I have the courage, boldness and conviction to see it through.

Not that I have already attained, or am already perfected; but I press on, that I may lay hold of that for which Christ Jesus has also laid hold of me Philippians 3:12 NKJV

Momentary rest

Feathers fluffed
against the wind
this chickadee
finds momentary rest
a frozen foothold
providing peace.

The intensity of NaNoWriMo is coming to an end. November has slipped past me and I have likely missed many things along the way. The work God has begun in me and through me shall continue as December turns the calendar but perhaps with a bit more time to participate in life as it continues all around me.

May I also find my foothold, strong and secure, in the shadow of His wings.

Imperfect Prose - Horses

Jessie was tall for her age, all gangly arms and legs, so thin she looked as if a rough touch would snap her in pieces. Her hair, the colour of weak coffee hung straight and limp without a curl or wave, cut chin length with bangs. During the days of summer her skin would turn a deep golden brown, for she stayed outside as much as possible, but when driven indoors for the winter she would grow pale, her thin skin almost transparent. This had the effect of making her green eyes seem larger than usual, deep, glowing, following every movement around her, every sound. She was skittish, like a racehorse, easily startled, ready to run and hide whenever she sensed danger.
She truly loved the animals she resembled, tearing out magazines pages that had pictures of horses, talking about them, pretending she was riding when she sat straddling swings in the park.

“If I had a horse I could ride away. I could ride away anytime I wanted” she would say to her brother Jack.

“When you are dreaming up horses, get one for me too” Jack would reply “and I’ll ride away with you.”

Jack had already seen too many things that a boy of eleven should never see, the ripping of clothes, welts rising on his mother’s arms and legs and bruises on his own skin when he stood in her place and took blows that were intended for her. An icy hardness had developed deep inside and a fierce protectiveness. He would lie in bed at night and promise that he wouldn’t let anyone get hurt. Each time he failed to keep that promise he heaped the blame upon himself.

“It’s your fault” repeated voices in his head. “You’re just not good enough to stop this.” He didn’t know how to shut out the voices, the thoughts, the blame.

One night, when all was silent and he couldn’t sleep, he wandered out into the living room. Larry was sleeping or passed out on the sofa and Jack found a couple of beer cans that were still half full. He took them back to his bedroom quickly. He had tasted beer before and did not at all like the flavour. Holding his nose, he drank quickly, from one can and then the next. He started giggling almost too loudly when he heard himself burp. The taste lingered, so he decided to go back to the kitchen for a pop to wash it away. There was a strange, unstable feeling beneath his feet, and he fell back on his bed. In the spinning, he found a softness, a blur, as the voices grew faint. He struggled to remain awake, enjoying the unusual sense of peace, but sleep overtook him. He had found his horse, his getaway.

Stop by Emily's In the Hush of the Moon for more words imperfect.

Word fight

Image via Wikipedia

For many years,

I had left poetry

behind
and for reasons of His own
in this season
my Lord has led me

back to rhythm,

meter

and rhyme.
If I try to force

a poem
what flows is prose.

With fictional prose as my goal
the words tumble out as poetry.

Words with a life of their own
seem to have donned boxing gloves
and taken to the ring.

So I wait before the Lord
Who has a story
He desires unfolded
and I lay out adjectives,
verbs, nouns
like a jigsaw puzzle.

I ache for these newly developed
characters
that they would know Him.
Then I think
how much more He grieved for me
before I turned.

I am behind in my word count for NaNoWriMo, but feel I can only move as quickly as He allows. I am not writing my story this year, but instead I have surrendered to Him and will allow Him to lead me.

Almost November...

Tomorrow the madness begins.

I am taking the National Novel Writing Month NaNoWriMo Challenge for the second year.

God hasn't told me what I'm to be writing about, but writing I will be, 50,000 words in the next 30 days.

I intend to continue to blog regularly as well, but if you notice me more silent than usual, pray that I'm writing, writing, writing away....

The "What If?" Challenge

Image by laurakgibbs via Flickr

Last week, the Faith Barista, Bonnie Gray asked me to particpate in her "What If" Challenge.

I responded with the following list of five what ifs :

What if I believed God truly is for me and not against me?
What would I do knowing He would move all of heaven and earth to accomplish His work through me?
What if I really wrote that book?
What if I finally learned how to organize my time effectively?
What if I forgave every person who I ever felt hurt by?

Bonnie asked us to post today on how we met the challenge and link back to her.

I must admit I'm not sure that I've made much progress this week toward making these a reality.

I have meditated on the power God has to work all things for good, which touches on what if I believed God truly is for me and not against me and what would I do knowing He would move all of heaven and earth to accomplish His work through me?

I posted another excerpt from my NaNoWriMo Challenge work for last week’s Flashback Friday, so that counts as progress on what if I really wrote that book?

I haven’t even started on what if I finally learned how to organize my time effectively? I’m too disorganized to begin, I suppose.

The need to forgive has been following me, knocking around in my heart and spirit. The Holy Spirit is gentle yet persistent, convicting me that what if I forgave every person who I ever felt hurt by is a challenge I must meet.

As I pondered and mediated this week, I sat down with my journal and my Lord, and this is what Jesus had to say:

I am holding your broken heart. Even as you extend it to others, it remains in My hands. I know when you hurt, little one, but I am the One Who calls you to love. Your heart cracks, then grows as it heals. The bigger the heart, the more pain it can feel.

No, I didn’t create you for misery, child, but to feel a portion of what I feel. You have a heart in training, learning to love against all odds, those who do not return love, and those who seem most unlovable. When that heart bleeds, not for itself, but only for the pain of others, its lessons will have been well learned.

You have asked Me to use you. And I do, and I will. But as you surrender, it is not your choice of use, but Mine.

Does the clay tell the potter what form it should take? So too must you allow Me to craft a vessel suited to My purposes. As I broke for you, you also, little one, will break for Me.

Then help me to know Lord when the pain I carry is not my own, that I might bear it well.

Keep looking and listening to Me. Other voices swirl about like winds and create confusion. My voice is Truth and Light and brings you revelation and wisdom. Voices that bring darkness are not Mine.

We will open each room in your heart to discover those things that do not belong there. Some were indeed proper for a season; others were never supposed to be stored there at all. I already know what your heart holds, child. Now it is time for you to see as well.

I see netting around my heart, almost as if it’s there to keep my heart from falling apart, but it also stops it from growing. Have I used this net to protect myself?

Indeed, like a safety net – old patterns and beliefs, that you think will help you if you fall. Only I can catch you, little one, and I will.

Nets can be cast off. Chains can be broken. Walls can come down. Your heart is in My hands.

Rejection revisited

Bonnie is doing a link-up on rejection over at Faith Barista today.

Here's a selection from the work in progress (Sticks and Stones and Beach Glass) that I began for the 2009 NaNoWriMo challenge --

Sixth grade was a year of firsts. First time in a new school. First time of not going home for lunches. First time for romances that felt like the biggest love affairs ever, for a day or two. Sixth grade was a year of wanting to grow up. This was the year for most that the kids of the opposite sex were not something to be despised but desired. All the girls could talk about was boys.

The cafeteria at noon is where hearts were set ablaze and also where hearts were broken. After a meal shared across the long dining table alliances were formed, identification bracelets were exchanged and couples were “going steady” in the jargon of the times. Not that they were going anywhere, or that there was anything at all steady about those new roller coasters of romance. To keep track of who was “with” who, one needed to write the names in pencil, for relationships began and ended in a day, in an afternoon, in an hour. Beginnings were exciting and celebrated. Endings were rapid, bitter and wept over. Same sex friendships were shattered along the way as rivalries and jealousies tore apart old alliances. Ugly words were spoken or passed as notes on little scraps of paper. Sticks. Stones. Bruised egos.

Sara Jayne was content that she had Robbie and didn't even try to compare him to the other guys. They were neighbors and best friends and she just took for granted he would be her “boyfriend” as well. He didn't have time to spend with another girl when they spent so much of their time together.

On the way home from school one afternoon, Robbie seemed nervous. He was walking with his head down, kicking pebbles that were scattered on the sidewalk. Sara Jayne didn't know what was wrong. When Robbie said “Hey, listen, we have to talk. I need to ask you something” her heart jumped.

“This is it” she thought. “He's going to make it official and I can tell everyone that he is my boyfriend”.

When he pulled an id bracelet from his pocket, Sara Jayne know she was right, and almost shouted “Yes, of course!” before he asked.

“You're my very best friend, right?” Robbie asked, looking into Sara Jayne's eyes.

“Yes I think so. Yes I am” she answered.

“That's why I need your advice” Robbie said, holding out the silver bracelet that had his own name engraved upon it. As Sara Jayne looked at it she could almost feel how the metal would be cold against her wrist.

“Do you think” he said

“Oh come on, come on” thought Sara Jayne. “I can't stand it. Just spit it out and ask me.”

“that Jill would wear this? Do you think she'd go steady with me?” Robbie stopped speaking, and in the silence that followed, his eleven year old ego couldn't have heard the explosion of a young girl's heart.

Sara Jayne felt dizzy and hot, the ground beneath her not at all solid anymore. She had been so sure. “Put one foot in front of the other.

"Just keep walking” said a voice inside her head. “Don't cry now. Don't let him know.”

Feeling as if the world itself would end, she struggled to spit the words out. “Yes, I'm sure Jill would be very happy to go steady with you.”

Thankfully, they had arrived home and she ran from him saying “Gotta go start dinner. See ya.”

The scalding tears began in a rush as soon as she was out of his sight.

“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!” screamed the voice in her head. “What made you think he was going to ask you?” She threw down her keys and her books and lay sobbing on her bed, fists pounding, heart cracking. She was still crying when her mother got home. Her mother tolerated her tears for just a short while before saying “I'm sorry you were hurt, but that's what happens.” So much for comfort and consolation.

Sara Jayne poured herself into her school work, known as one of the “smart kids”.

Like the rest of the sixth grade romances, Robbie and Jill didn't last more than a week or two. Sara Jayne was happy to have him back, all to herself again. She was able to forgive him for wanting someone else for a little while now that it was over. Over homework one afternoon, he took her hand.

“I want you to wear this now” he announced, clasping his id around her wrist “because you're really the one I like to be with”. The bracelet wasn't as loose as fashion would dictate because of all the extra weight on Sara Jayne's bones, but the silver caught the light and sparkled. Like beach glass.

Now things could be the way Sara Jayne had imagined. Thoughts of proudly wearing her new prize to school the next were interrupted when Robbie said “Let's keep this a secret between just us two, okay?”

Sara Jayne wasn't quite sure why he would ask that, but then all at once it seemed mysterious and intriguing, like the secret games they used to play. With her heart beginning to soar, she agreed. “Yes, of course. A secret only we know”.

“Good” Robbie said, clasping his hands together, looking relieved by her reply. “I wouldn't want anyone else to know I was going steady with you, what would they think of me?”

A stick. A stone. Another hard fall.

I was going to allow this post to stand as is .. just a story of a young girl's broken heart, but the Holy Spirit knocked and asked to be heard. He wants to remind us all that when we belong to Him, we are never alone.

And the LORD, He is the One who goes before you. He will be with you, He will not leave you nor forsake you; do not fear nor be dismayed Deuteronomy 31:8 NKJV

And be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age. Matthew 28:20b NLT

To God be all the glory!

I did it! With time left to spare, I completed the National Novel Writing Month Challenge to write 50,000 words in the thirty days of November.

There is more yet to be added, and lots of rearranging and editing ahead, but I can say, for the first time in my life -

"I wrote a novel!"

Well, actually, I should say "God wrote a novel using me."

to the only God our Savior be glory, majesty,

power and authority,

through Jesus Christ our Lord, before all ages,

now and forevermore! Amen.

Jude 1:25 NIV

Battle position

While I've been here at my mother's, helping her, keeping her company and simply being the presence God has asked me to be, I haven't been able to write during the daytime hours. In order to keep up with the NaNoWriMo challenge I have been up late into the night , writing after Mom has gone to bed.

With each passing day I have grown more weary, from tension that has no release here, from sadness and from lack of restful sleep.

Last night, as I sat down at my laptop my flesh was screaming "Give up and go to bed!" The spellchecking parts of the software have ceased to function and it felt like my brain had as well. I did NOT want to write a word, but knew that I would feel better if had put something in the bank.

500 words, 620 words, they came slowly, and many times I almost stopped, telling me self I would make up for the shortage another day. But I am too stubborn to allow the enemy to manipulate me, so I pressed in and pressed on and just short of 2 am I had slightly surpassed my goal for the day.

My Lord is at work here, taking me on this journey, and even if I don't know where He is leading me, I will take my battle position at the keyboard, and in the strength He gives me, type on!

Stepping out of the boat

The organizers of National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) say that for most people writing a novel is one day event, as in "I'll write it one day". My voice has too often been a part of that chorus.

Yesterday, as I stumbled across info about this November challenge I sensed the Holy Spirit urging me to jump in. Dive. Take a step on the water. 50,000 words in one month. I can't imagine doing that it my own power, but He reminds me I am not alone. He will and does take my hand.

Lord, if it's you," Peter replied, "tell me to come to you on the water."
"Come," he said.
Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, "Lord, save me!"
Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. "You of little faith," he said, "why did you doubt?" Matthew 14:28-31 NIV

Let me pay no heed to the wind and waves. Abiding in Him and eyes fixed upon Him I can do all that He asks of me. So as of yesterday, my name is entered. Beginning November 1st I begin a task much larger than I can accomplish on my own. When I cross the finish line, the glory will be His!