"Hoosier Ink" Blog

Showing posts with label Thanksgiving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Thanksgiving. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

A Thanksgiving Prayer



By Kelly Bridgewater

Heavenly Father,

As we come to another season of thankfulness and my birthday, I want to thank you for a few things this past year. First, I want to thank you for my husband, Michael, for the past thirteen years. Without him, I don’t know if I would have finished my Bachelor’s and Master’s degree. I probably would be worrying about how to pay my bills. I wouldn’t be exploring my ability to write. I wouldn’t be a stay-at-home who has the time to write while watching my children grow. Even being at home, my children seem to grow too fast at times, but then on the other hand, they sometime don’t appear to grow at all. The life of a parent.

I want to thank you for Elijah, my oldest son, who is in seventh grade and twelve years old. I love the creativity you have given him, and the child-like faith he still has even though the world is probably pressuring him to change. I enjoy watching him build and play with his Lego’s. However, please help him control his hyper movements and allow him to be a big brother not a parent. His time will come soon enough.

Next, I want to thank you for Isaiah, my middle child, who is in fourth grade and nine years old. I enjoy his moments of wanting to be cuddled, even at his age. He loves to crawl in my lap and just talk to me. It still feels nice when he wants to do that. Isaiah love language is spending time with others. When you don’t pay attention to him, then he starts to become moody. However, please teach him how to control his temper and learn to keep his room clean.

Obadiah. My baby. He appears to be so big at times, that I can’t believe it. He started kindergarten this year, which still surprises me. Lord, keep his love of learning going as he advances through the years. Allow him to absorb all he can from his teachers and never leave his competive spirit. I pray for his grace and understanding as he grows older. I pray that his joy of sitting in my lap and being read to advances him to a life-long reader.

I thank you, Lord, for my two dogs, Happy, our seven-year-old golden retriever, and Snoopy, our three-year-old Beagle. I couldn’t imagine anyone having a home without a dog. They love you unconditionally and are always happy to see you. Whenever you feel down, they know it and will sit next to you, wanting you to pet them, which will put a smile on both your faces.

Last, I want to thank you for the desire to write. I want to use my words to lead others to you. I want to create a story where the reader forgets their reading a book, but they learn something about your grace and love and ponder if they should be seeking you with their life.

Thank you, Lord. I appreciate the path you have set my life upon.

Amen. 

This same prayer will be featured on my blog, Creating Justice One Suspense at at Time,  this Friday, November 21st. Thank you!

Thursday, November 24, 2011

Happy Thanksgiving!

From all those behind the scenes at the ACFW Indiana Chapter. We are thankful for all of you!

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

P-I-P (Poem-in-Progress)


I'm posting several days early this month, using an open day.


Fall's Rainbows

Summer leaves, reluctant.
Pensive, Chow and I meander in the woods.

Farewell, our friends! We’ll miss them all!
We'll not forget their early sounds of softest green,
nor their next tones of vibrant verdancy.

Now in rustling murmurs, in multiple shades of flame,
they promise we’ll survive the dark'ning days of winter,
and join their spring descendants in a new alluring summer.

Exultant, our eyes and hearts uplift.
Thanksgiving!

Millie Samuelson

PS -- Next blog (Dec 9), I plan to focus on some bookselling tips.
I'd like to include suggestions from both authors and readers.
Do you have any memorable suggestions or experiences to share?

Photo above: Fall view these days from my writing deck.

Monday, November 29, 2010

Random Thankfulness

Yes, you're right of course. Thanksgiving Day is over for another year. Now, we're catapulting toward Christmas. Black Friday has faded to a dingy gray by now.

Someone on the Christian radio station I listen to said, "Thanksgiving is Christmas without the guilt." I like that. So if you'll extend to me a small portion of grace, I want to linger around Thanksgiving for a bit, listing a few random things for which I'm . . . grateful.


I'm thankful for Jerry Spinelli. One of my junior high English classes just finished reading Maniac Magee. We loved it. Spinelli is the master of lists, a.k.a. catalogues. (Until I read MM, I thought Walt Whitman held that title.) Spinelli will make a general statement, one that would cause a critique partner to scream, "Show! Don't tell!" Then he slaps down eight or ten short, descriptive sentence fragments to paint in the sensory details. And what the man does with with extended metaphors is phenomenal. Some of those run for two or three paragraphs. As I taught novel structure and literary devices, Spinelli taught me.

I'm thankful for God's providence. When I resigned from classroom teaching to go full-time as a storyteller, I had no intention of ever serving in that capacity again. Just over a month ago, I was offered, and accepted, a teaching position at a Christian school. My first reaction was, "Hooray!" My second was, "How am I to finish my manuscript for The Second Cellar in time to get it to the agent who [at the ACFW conference] asked to see the full in six months [from conference]?" My third was, "Isn't that just like You, Lord, to plop me down smack-dab in the middle of a bunch of wonderful junior-high kids--my target audience?" Five days a week I'm surrounded by their vivacity, their chatter, and their adolescent angst. It's amazing. And I'm thankful.

I'm thankful for lots of dirty dishes on holy-days. They signify much. Family. The sound of adult voices, each with its own cadence, lost in conversation, trying to hear and be heard above the cacophony of the little cousins giggling and chasing each other through the house, up the stairs, and back again. Family. Gathered around the table. Holding hands and praying, while trying to ignore the mingled fragrance of roasted turkey, sage-and-onion dressing, assorted pies, some specialty coffee, and a caramel-scented candle. Family. Reciting a litany of ingredients for the corn casserole, the cranberry relish, Gran'ma's oyster dressing, the absolute best pie-crust recipe known to man. Family. Listening to the cousins sing, "We Gather Together," "For the Beauty of the Earth," and "Over the River and Through the Woods." Family. God's family. Enjoying a dress rehearsal for the coming Heavenly Feast where the King of Kings will sit at the head of the table. Where we won't have to worry about the dirty dishes. As Maniac Magee would say, "Amen."

by Sharon Kirk Clifton
Blog

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Restoring What the Locust Has Eaten

Lifeway Christian Corporate Sales Meeting - 2007
“You’re on!” Mary-Beth, my author relations person, shout-whispered, running toward me as I walked out of the ladies room and down the hall of the Life Way building. I wasn’t supposed to speak until 9:30 AM but apparently they were running early. What luck! I didn’t even have time to get really nervous as they introduced me. Instead, I had to burst through the door, scoop up my notes and head toward the stage, hoping I wouldn’t trip in my high-heeled, platform sandals. As I headed toward the microphone and the podium, my knees began to shake and my palms started to sweat. I prayed one of my more eloquent prayers, “Okay Lord, this is it.”

Time to give my speech.

I stared out at the sales and marketing people, eighty or so upraised faces, and tried to smile, opening with a crack about the high probability of me blacking out. My voice shook while I promised to “come to” if they would wave some Starbucks under my nose. That got a laugh, and so, a little encouraged, I plunged into my Olympic relay-race analogy. Which, I hasten to mention, the Lord had just given me the night before. I’d worked hard on my speech, had it mostly memorized according to instructions . . . but the night before, in a lovely hotel room that the publisher put me up in, I lay wide awake most of the night while God…rewrote….my….speech. Ahhh! Why does He always wait until the last minute? But I was sure. I knew what He wanted me to say, and while it was pretty raw, “very transparent” as my editor later said with a kind smile, I was certain it was His message for this group.

After explaining to the crowd how much I viewed this process as a team effort – first me writing it, then the editors and art department polishing it up and then the sales team taking it on the road – and how incredibly blessed I felt to just be standing up there (I finally have co-workers!!) I plunged into how I began writing in the first place. It’s the question I’m always asked, “How did you start writing?” or “What made you want to become a writer?” or “Have you always written?”

In trying to honestly answer that question, God reminded me how it all began. On one hand, I have always loved lyric writing. As a girl, I used to swing on my swing (one of those 10 pound weights at the end of a rope tied to a big, old walnut tree in our yard) and make up song after song for God. I didn’t care who was around or if anyone heard me, I just worshipped him, loud and long. I also wrote some poetry and had a “diary” as we called it then, which my brother would find and break into (those locks never worked!) waving and taunting me until I chased him down and wrestled it back. But on the other side, the darker side, stories became a sort of salvation to me throughout my life. In the second grade I began having night terrors. One, in particular, was so bad I wouldn’t leave my mother’s side for three months (literally). I lost weight, I couldn’t sleep, I was as white as a sheet – the fear dogged me until I felt like I was living from panic attack to panic attack. I looked like I was being haunted in my early grade-school pictures, and I felt like I was being destroyed. My parents prayed for me, encouraged me and tried everything to help me overcome my fears, but nothing worked.

I have a son who was diagnosed with ADD and Dyslexia. For years he struggled to read, doing phonics programs over and over and then taking a special “Discovery” class in 4th through 6th grade. It helped and he’s a much better reader now, but something happened during those early years that has become a special strength for Seth. Because he couldn’t read the world around him, he saw everything differently. Seth can easily remember faces, pictures and symbols. He remembers little details, saying things to me like, “Mom, did you see that man with a red hoodie? He had on a couple of rings on his left hand, curly black hair and a big, jagged scar on his arm?” I look around clueless. “What man?” Now, when Seth looks at signs he doesn’t just read them, he notices things like – letter shape, color, lighting, a missing bulb, etc. While I just read it, Seth really sees it and I know that someday God is going to use this gift in Seth’s future work. That’s kind of what happened to me. To help myself sleep at night, I started to focus my mind on building stories and characters, not allowing the fearful thoughts a chance to come in. This took intense concentration. But after awhile, I got better and better at it until eventually, I could fall asleep within minutes of lying down. Years later, I now see that what the enemy had planned for my destruction, God used for good. When I first sat down to write a novel, the scenes played out in front of my eyes with the ease of long practice. Praise God, He really does make beauty from the ashes of our lives.



Last Saturday I had the privilege of being in the Vincennes (my hometown) Christmas Stroll and Parade. I had the even greater privilege of seeing a dear friend/mentor that I haven't seen in over twenty years - Joyce Crockett. Joyce was my neighbor girlfriends' mom. She was, and still is, I'm sure, an awesome mother and wife and now grandmother. And Joyce is the person who first introduced me to historical romance novels. By the grocery sack full!! I can't imagine that I would be writing in this genre without her influence and it is, to me, another amazing example of God's will being done in my life. How he was giving me the tools I needed as a teen to help fight all the anxiety in my life and how He turned those hard times into something He could use for His kingdom and His glory.

How great is our God? How worthy to be praised! It was a full-circle moment and this Thanksgiving I am so thankful to have had that gift.


What about you? Who inspired you to write? How can you thank them this Thanksgiving?