Does Every City Have a God?

My five-year-old grandson, Paul David is a deep thinker and a dreamer. He fantasizes about many things, especially superheroes. I always say he’s an up and-coming fiction writer.

He asked his mom one day, “Does every city have a God?”

“No,” my daughter Pam replied, “There is only one God.”

“Did God make water?”

“Yes, God made water.”

Paul David wrinkled his nose. “Naah…maybe his grandfather made water.”

Pam laughed. There goes his active imagination again, she thought. A few weeks later Pam and her kids spent a long weekend in Washington DC with her sister seeing the sites. They went to Sunday service. This was Paul’s first time in another church. As the priest walked in Paul’s eyes widened. He turned to his mom. “You said there is only one God.”

Pam smiled. “Yes, Paul, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”

He pointed at the priest. “Well then, who is that?”

She leaned over and whispered, “Paul, that man isn’t God. He’s one of God’s helpers. God has helpers in every church.” 

She had to laugh. His quirky questions about God now made sense.  And now he understood there really is only one God. Someday he will understand there is only one Superhero.

The Naked Salute

I've always said my husband, Frank, has a way with words. He is the master of the well-turned phrase and the quick comeback. Not me. I have to labor over every word.

One day he was exercising after work. As commissioner of the PA State Police he often swims at the training pool at the state police academy. He had the pool to himself, but several cadets were working out in the gym. After leaving the pool Frank entered the locker room to change out of his suit. While standing in front of his locker naked, he heard a voice behind him. "Sir, I didn't give you a proper salute." He turned around and saw a fully clothed cadet standing at attention and saluting.

"That's okay, son," my husband said, "I'm out of uniform."

 I laughed until I cried when I heard this story.The cadet never cracked a smile.

 

Don't Worry Be Happy

Frank and I just got back from a ten day cruise in the Caribbean. I can still feel my toes digging into white sand. Aaah.

This was our first cruise in the middle of winter, and despite the mild temperatures, and no major snow storms while we were gone, it was a much appreciated getaway. Vacations can be a flurry of activity, and mind you, we did plenty of eating, snorkeling, and boating—but rest defined this experience more than anything else. We spent a lot of time in the thermal suite, relaxing in whirlpools, lying on heated tile lounges, and sitting in steam baths and saunas. I paid no attention to my laptop, looked at no emails, wrote no book chapters, and checked no one’s status on Facebook. We read books and watched the sunset. The only bar we visited lay hidden under palm trees on an isolated beach. We ignored the casino, and retired early most evenings. The gentle rocking of the boat and the sound of water slapping the side of the ship lulled us to sleep every night.

The next to last day, I was lying on our bed gazing out the window at the huge expanse called ocean. God’s presence seemed to envelop me. “Be still and know that I am God” from Psalm 46 came to mind. Cease striving and know that I am God, says one of my favorite translations. And suddenly it hit me.

Quit worrying. Quit trying so hard. Don’t think about what happens next. Enjoy this moment. It’s my gift to you.

After a week of relaxing and leaving my cares behind, I thought I was doing that. But at that moment I realized that my head needs to rest as much as my body. Only then can I acknowledge God’s presence. He is in control. Didn’t He say to cast all my cares on Him?

At our last writers’ meeting someone mentioned a book called OneThousand Gifts which talks about the power of gratitude. A mind at rest takes time to be thankful. But can I let my brain pause now that I am back from vacation? I’ll give it my best shot.

Christmas Letter 2011

Merry Christmas!

I hope this has been a blessed year for you, despite the financial climate.

Our kids are doing well. Pam enjoys being a stay-at-home mom with her three kids. Kim still teaches music. Her son, Austin, got his driver’s license this year. Chip likes his teaching job in Italy, and Sherri is happy as an agent in D.C. Kelly made a career change. She now attends the Aveda beauty school in NYC. She loves cutting hair and graduates in January. Now I have my own beautician!

To say this has been an eventful year for Frank and I would be an understatement. Frank’s appointment by the governor as State Police Commissioner last January put a new spin on our lives. Then his statement about the Sandusky case, and the moral responsibility to report abuse whirled like a tornado as his words went national. He did a few interviews, but declined dozens more. Even so, the words he spoke at the press conference were repeated in articles, blogs, on TV, and even in Sports Illustrated. No one was more surprised than Frank. He never suspected that speaking about moral responsibility would hit a nerve with the nation.

There has been some criticism, but for the most part, he has received overwhelming support. The most striking example of how his words have affected others happened last week. A mother of ten drove fourteen hours from Michigan to Harrisburg to shake Frank’s hand. She had reported a crime and been criticized for it. She wanted to thank him, because his words gave her confidence that she had done the right thing.

I pray this Christmas season that we may we all speak life-giving words, as we reflect on the One who spoke everything into existence.

“For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given:
And the government shall be upon his shoulder:
And his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor,
The Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace
Isaiah 9: 6

Turkey Trauma

I can’t remember how many Thanksgiving dinners I have cooked in my lifetime, but it’s close to forty out of the forty-three years Frank and I have been married. I’ve got it down to a science. I cooked my first turkey less than two weeks after we were married. We had just moved from Pennsylvania to the army base in Lawton, Oklahoma, and were far away from any family. I roasted a twelve pound turkey, and learned that my new husband could gobble leftover turkey six days in a row and love every bite.

Frank spent three months learning how to call in artillery fire before leaving for Viet Nam. The next year I spent the holiday with my parents while Frank fought in the war. We have spent Thanksgiving together ever since.

We raised our five kids quite a distance from grandparents, aunts and uncles, and so we often celebrated without benefit of extended family. Now we have lots of grandkids, and I’m happy to say, we get to spend Thanksgiving with our own extended family. When I’m feeling stressed about shopping, cooking and the holiday rush that begins in November, I try to remember that it’s not about turkey. It’s about family.

Penn State Tragedy: A Week Like No Other

My husband, Frank, who is the Pennsylvania Police Commissioner, stepped out of his room at the Nittany Lion Inn on Friday morning when a surreal sight stopped him. At each doorway lay a complimentary copy of USA Today. As he walked down the hall, the headline, “Victim One,” repeated over and over like a silent cry.

Frank spent Thursday night in State College because rioting broke out on the campus the night before. By the next day, sentiment changed from anger over Joe Paterno’s firing, to compassion for the victims. A candlelight vigil demonstrated that.

To say that this week has been shocking, sad, and horrific would be an understatement. Our prayers go out to the victims, the students of Penn State, and those involved in the scandal.

No one was more surprised than Frank to see his remarks about the moral obligation to report child abuse race across the nation like a giant tsunami. Those words echoed the sentiments of a grieving public.

But in every tragedy, God provides the opportunity for healing. I believe people will be more willing to report abuse, and legislators will propose new laws. Penn State can be reborn as a better university with higher standards. Already, the Penn State community has shown that compassion for the victims rises higher than football.

But this story will not go away. “Victim One” will cry in the halls of justice until justice is done.

Who Knew?

Our pastor preached a message today about how life doesn't get easy just because we say yes to God and follow Him. On the contrary, when we follow his path we are usually in a fog, and are never sure of the next step. It seems that just as we think we know where we are going, He switches things up.

Take my writing journey, for example. I spent fifteen years writing and perfecting an urban fantasy. I never dreamed I would put down something I was sure God wanted me to write, and start a different project, but I did. From what I understand, this is the normal path for writers. My apologies to my former students who wanted to see that book in print, and heard me read it many times. Truthfully, my currant project is much better.

I have written 10,000 words and have 20,000 more to write before it is finished. However, an agent I met at a conference is already interested in it. I couldn't get an agent interested in my last book when it was completed.

Will this book get published? I don't know. But I do know that I am a better writer for not giving up and persisting to improve.I don't know what the next step is, but I will persevere at this one until God shows me the next one.

The Power of Water

I have learned a few things about grist mills since I've researched the Underground Railroad for my novel-in-progress. Grist mills dotted the rivers of our nation in the first two centuries. Families often gathered at the mill to socialize while they waited for harvested grain to be ground. The mill provided the processing needed to grind flour and corn meal, which could then be baked into bread, a staple of the early American diet.

The mill's grindstone operated through a system of cogs and machinery powered by a large wheel partially submerged in a river. The power of flowing water was harnessed for a common good.

Unfortunately, we in northeastern Pennsylvania have seen the waters of the Susquehanna River and local creeks unleash their power in a devastating way. Flooded homes, and washed out bridges and roads only hint at the underlying stories of human suffering and grief that will continue long after the waters have returned to their banks.

It is chilling to think that water, just like electrical and nuclear power, can be destructive.

God's silver lining in all this is the "love thy neighbor" principle we see as people put their lives back together. I saw many individuals on Facebook offer to provide shelter during the evacuation. Now neighbors are helping neighbors clean up the mess. It seems that disaster can bring people together even more than festivity.

If you have a story of hope in the midst of this tragedy, I would love to hear it.

Celebrating Heroes

My husband, Frank, is the Pennsylvania State Police Commissioner. Last February he set in motion plans for a tenth anniversary 9/11 memorial honoring living and fallen soldiers since 9/11 who serve, or have served in the PA State Police. He obtained a state trooper honor guard, the National Guard Band of the Mid-Atlantic, the Eighth and I Marine Corps Color Guard, and the following speakers: Adjutant General of the Pa National Guard, Wes Craig; Governor Tom Corbett; and Lt. Col. Oliver North. Frank planned a short speech, as well.

On September first, I listened to him give what one person said was the best speech they ever heard. He recounted how his father, a decorated WWII veteran and POW, who never talked about his imprisonment, often mentioned how he was honored by others when he returned home. Everywhere he went, people bought him drinks and meals. When my husband returned from Viet Nam, he and his fellow vets received no such treatment. They were ignored. Frank didn’t let that bother him. Years later our grandson, Austin, invited him to his middle school celebration honoring veterans. When they gave the Viet Nam veterans a standing ovation, he experienced the public gratitude he had never gotten. It was a defining moment. He told these trooper-veterans that he wanted them to have a defining moment, too. As the saying goes, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

That memorial service was a defining moment for me as well. Living without my husband for the ten months he was in Viet Nam, not knowing whether he would live or die, and bearing our first child without him, were difficult moments in my life. But this commemorative event helped Frank and I connect our past to our present, and in some respects, helped define our future. We can see God orchestrating all the events in our lives, and turning difficult situations into something good.

Frank showed his emotional investment in these troopers when he spoke at this memorial. At that moment he was no longer their boss, he was one of them. He had walked where they walked.

As a fiction writer, I must make the same kind of emotional investment. My readers must make a powerful connection with my characters to be drawn into the story. For them to make that connection, I must be drawn into the story as well. Maybe that’s why fiction writers feel like their characters are real.

Rafting on the River

No, I'm not planning on river rafting on the Delaware while it overflows its banks after Hurricane Irene.(Thankfully, all of my family and friends are safe.) I did, however, accompany Huck Finn on his trip down the Mississippi this week while we waited out the storm.

This read has been wonderful research for my middle grade Underground Railroad novel, When It's Dark Enough, You Can See the Stars..I learned that mattresses were called ticks, and could be stuffed with straw, and well-to-do folks topped it with a feather tick. Poor folks used corn husks, which could be uncomfortable with the occasional corn cob stabbing you in the back.

Reading a book published in the nineteenth century gave me a surprising perspective. Huck wrestles with his desire to set Jim, a slave, free. Jim belongs to someone else, and is stolen property. Whereas we would see this as a noble endeavor, Huck viewed it the way many people in his time did: he was stealing goods and sinning against God and Jim's owner. Huck assuages his guilt by writing a letter to Jim's mistress, Miss Watson, but never sends it. He says,"All right, then, I'll go to hell", and tears it up. Huck didn't realize he was making a choice of which God would approve.

The face of slavery has changed, but it is still out there. What do you think slavery looks like now? Let me know.

Plugging Away

Well, I've been working on my blog again.I found a funny picture, managed to load it, but couldn't crop the header to the size I want. Then I found a dynamic title: Scribbler's Travels. I published my first blog under that title, only to have a fellow writer tell me, "Hey, I found a picture of an old lady, and it's definitely not you."

Trouble is, I forgot to check Google to see how popular that name was. It seems a lot of people are scribbler travelers. Back to the drawing board. My new title is used less, so I'm hoping it comes up on the first page of a Google search.

When we were at the beach last week, I learned that the horseshoe crab has been around since before the dinosaurs roamed the earth. It's hard being a dinosaur in a techno-savvy world, but if a horshoe crab can learn to live in the modern world, so can I.

History Lesson

Well, here it is next week, and I’ve just come back from a class on blogging. I get the gist of it, but still feel very incompetent. They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, but I say it just takes an old dog longer.

Our family vacationed at Chincoteague, Virginia last week. We had perfect beach weather, and I found the perfect beach read. Nestled in the bedroom bookcase, my husband discovered Giants, a book that parallels the lives of Frederick Douglass and Abraham Lincoln. Buried treasure. Maybe I couldn’t work on my middle grade Underground Railroad novel this week, but I could do research as I soaked in the sun and watched my grandkids play in the sand. Life is good.

I learned something interesting. There were no child labor laws back then. Abraham Lincoln’s father hired him out many times before Abe was twenty-one. Guess who got all the money? Yep, his dad. This was the cultural norm in the early nineteenth century. It was also the law. Abe felt a little like an indentured servant. I had to go back and rewrite a bit of my book when I found this gem.

History gives us perspective. It’s kind of like growing old. We have a lot more wisdom when we can see where we’ve been.

New Beginnings

Well, here I am, cracking open the "cellar door" of my blog, which hasn't seen a post in over a year.

Oops.

At the last writers' conference which I couldn't attend, one of the speakers said you must have a blog if you are a writer, and every writer needs to post at least once a week.

Oops again.

Well, the truth is, I'm on a new threshold. The cellar in my fantasy novel, Beyond the Red Door, has just been transported back in time. Joyce Magnin, my writing mentor and friend, recommended I shelve Red Door and start an historical novel about a slave boy who runs away on the Underground Railroad. When I did that, my writing went up a notch. It flowed. I knew it was the right thing to do.

I have noticed that before novelists get that first contract, most of them write one or two books that don't get published. I spent fifteen years writing and rewriting one book. For years I called it my learn-how-to-write book. Now I know the pain and freedom of letting a pet project go. It is time to move on.

Maybe I will be able to incorporate the first book into a sequel.These two books have some things in common. They both involve a cellar that was once used to hide saves on the Underground Railroad, and they have the same theme: freedom from slavery.

Will I blog next week? Will the theme of my blog change? Tune in next week to find out.

Reality check

My character, Zach, imagines himself hurtling through space past stars and planets, headed for whatever exciting destiny lays before him. He is rudely awakened from his daydream when his sister yells from the kitchen. Reality check.

I dream of getting published, having a best-seller, and encouraging children in their own journey with God. The truth is, the agent and publisher voices out there bring me back to the real world. It's tough to break into the book market.

I attend workshops, and conferences. My indispensable writer's group friends help me dump adverbs, dialogue tags, unnecessary back story, passive tenses, etc. But good writing isn't enough.(Sigh) You have to be dedicated to your craft. You have to write about a subject people find interesting or entertaining.You have to know how to market your book. And you have to make connections. Relationships in publishing are important. Someone in the business needs to see your talent and recommend you.

In my book, Zach finds Someone who is necessary for him to find his destiny. We all need that essential relationship to find our way. God planned that from the beginning. Our relationshhip with Jesus is key to our final destiny.

At the end of the book, Zach still doesn't know where he's going, but he knows Who is taking him there. Even though I don't know who will publish me, I know Who guides my journey.

Going Where No Man Has Gone Before

When I go on a trip, I always know where I'm going, whether it is to the grocery store, or to a vacation at the beach. But in my journey with God, I often don't know where I'm headed. I think most people feel this way.In the Star Trek adventures, the starship wandered the galaxy with a search and do good mentality. But they never seemed to know what would come next. Why does God only give us the step right in front of us? Maybe it's because we need to trust Him. Could be that we don't know his voice clearly. Also, I wonder if it is difficult for us to see his path because his world and his path are so foreign to our world view. Heaven is beyond our imagination. We have inklings of it, but not a complete picture. How can we clearly see our destiny in Him, if we can't clearly see Him? Zach had the same problem. He has enough problems trying to figure out life, when along comes a dimension beyond his imagination. Zach could daydream about flying through space, but when he encountered heavenly spaces, it was beyond what he could ask, think, or imagine. We must remember that. God's plans for us are light years beyond our mundane thoughts. But you know what? I want to try to go there in my imagination. It's okay to dream about God, his plans, and his goodness.

Dream Big

Albert Einstien said,"Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you anywhere.

That quote came from a collection of quotes in a little book called Dream Big, Starring Olivia.This is a book of inspirational sayings by the author of the Olivia books, Ian Falconer. Of course it made me think of the power of imagination. In my book, Beyond the Red Door, Zach sits in front of the starfield screensaver on his computer and pretends he is flying through space past planets, asteroids and stars. When he sees into God's world, it is beyond what he ever imagined.

When we let the God of the universe empower our thoughts, true imagination is born. God is limitless, and he wants us to push past our finite boundaries into his creative realm. God-inspired fiction can awaken our minds, bring hope, and steer our imaginations to dream big.

YA Writing Contest

I'm entering an excerpt from Beyond the Red Door to this free contest for YA fiction. Wish me luck and I encourage anyone who's written an unpublished middle grade or YA book to enter as well.

Get more info on the contest here - http://tinyurl.com/yzbwj5h

We Win or Lose by What We Choose

Two elderly people inspired me this week. Last Friday I visited a friend in the nursing home. It saddens me to watch her gradually lose her mobility and mental sharpness. During this visit we talked about my five children and eight grandchildren. She clapped her hands in delight, exclaiming, "We have so much to be thankful for." Her response took my breath away. This dear friend has no children of her own, her husband has passed away, and all her relatives live hundreds of miles away. Visitors are few and far between. She could be bitter, but she has chosen to find joy in the blessings of others. The genuineness of her words penetrated my heart, reminding me of my need to be thankful in all situations. Would I weather old age as gracefully, choosing to find wonder in small things, ignoring the faculties I have lost?

Today I attended a Bible study and met a ninety-nine-year-old lady. She was spry, sharp, and witty. She recently moved to an assisted living center to ease the worries of family members. She had lived in her own home, far away from relatives who worried they wouldn't be nearby to help if she had an accident. She loves her new place despite the fact she must interact with some bitter and depressed people. "I choose not to be that way," she told us. "There are a lot of people here who need to see a smiling face." She chooses, not only to be happy, but to be light in the darkness.

I pondered the contrast between these two women. But the light of God that shined through their choices is what impressed me--choices based not on their circumstances, but on their ability to see God's goodness in an evil world. This kind of sight takes insight. They choose to use their imaginations to see what God sees.

When I choose God, everything else falls into place. Therefore, my primary goal in life is to look up. This is my writing goal, as well--to help others see from God's perspective.

What's in a Name?

On New Year’s Day my fourth grandson was born! My daughter and her husband spent many hours deciding on the perfect name for their child, Blaise. He is already setting my heart on fire. Every child is special. Each name is important.

My parents put much thought into my name as well. Trouble is, I never liked the name they picked—Cynthia. Sounded like a snooty spinster. Married forty years with five grown children—I’m far from that, but the image lingered in me. One day I stumbled upon a new way to look at my name. I was researching information about cocoons and found a silk worm named Samia Cynthia. Wow. Suddenly, I thought—my name is not aloof, distant, or uncaring. Silk is soft, shiny, luxurious. Something precious and desired. I read further. The Samia Cynthia moth eats leaves from the Ailanthus tree, a Chinese tree whose name means “tree of heaven.” I beamed with new understanding. Not only was my name valuable, it was God’s idea. He chose my name before I was born. I was his treasured child.

In my book, the main character, twelve-year-old Zach Jacobs, also discovers hidden value in his name. He and his friend, Renee McNichols, stumble upon a cellar once used to hide slaves on the Underground Railroad. They find a Bible with a family record page that includes the name Tillie Jacobs, a black servant who helped her mistress conceal runaways. Zach, who is bi-racial, wonders if they are related. A letter sandwiched in the Bible, and other historical information unveil a rich history about his ancestor. The difficulties Zach faces every day (divorced parents and bullies at school) temporarily fade as he ponders where he came from.

Long ago, the angel Gabriel whispered God’s chosen name for the Messiah to his servant, Mary. Did she tell Jesus how he was named? I imagine she did. The name Jesus means Jehovah saves. Did he ponder the meaning of his name in his formative years, as the Father disclosed to him his destiny?

God had a special plan for Jesus. Because he fulfilled what God called him to do, we may go to heaven. But it doesn’t end there. No matter what our parents named us, God has designed a destiny for each of us—something better than we have imagined. We find it when we seek him.

Is Your Imagination of God Starved?

Running late. No time to look for something to read on the two hour bus ride. I race down the basement steps anyway, and sort through some dusty volumes. Grab a small paperback copy of My Utmost for His Highest. Perfect size. Won’t weigh down my purse as I Christmas shop in New York City with my daughter, Kelly, a NYC resident. I arrive at the station just as the bus pulls in, board, and settle down with my book.

Years have passed since I read Oswald Chambers. The revisit refreshes me. I don’t stick to December entries, but skip around. The February 10^th title tugs at my writer’s heart. “Is Your Imagination of God Starved?”

Over fifteen years ago I began my journey as a writer when God invaded my imagination with a book plot for preteens. I labored on the manuscript over a decade, learning how to write in the process. I wrote, rewrote, attended writers conferences, and joined critique groups. Now my masterpiece hovers like an airplane in a holding pattern as I wait to hear from agents and publishers. Rejection letters are my traveling companions.

The word “imagination” speaks distinctly to me. God gives us an imagination, and wants us to use it to connect with Him and know him better. Oswald Chambers said the Jews in Isaiah’s day had starved their imaginations by gazing on idols. Hmmm. Times haven’t changed much. My heart grieves when I see some of what we gaze upon on television and in print. I think this is why God called me to write—to help young people open up the window of their imagination in a godly way.

Chambers points out the answer God gave to Isaiah. “Lift up your eyes on high, and behold who has created these things” ( Isaiah 40:26). In other words, Isaiah asked them to look up at the heavens. The New American Standard version says, “Lift up your eyes on high and see who has created these stars.”

We need to ponder what God has made. “In every wind that blows, in every night and day of the year, in every sign of the sky, in every blossoming and in every withering of the earth, there is a real coming of God to us if we will simply use our starved imagination to realize it,” Chambers says.

My book opens with the protagonist gazing at the Star Field screensaver on his computer, imagining he is flying through space to an exotic destiny. Zach wants to be a part of something great—something beyond himself. He would like to be a basketball legend like his dad, a former college star. On his journey to find what he’s looking for, he finds Who is looking for him.

Zach represents us all. We yearn for something more. If only we would realize God wants to come to us. Zach’s trek with God takes him farther than his Star Field daydreams. God comes to him in a way that is beyond his imaginings.

Some say that all are not called to great adventure in God. I believe we all have the capacity for it. God will meet us in the most improbable places—like on a shopping trip to New York. It begins when we look up.