Sunday, June 21, 2009

La Fetes des Peres

Father's Day is nearly over but before the evening melts into Monday morning I realised I hadn't really celebrated much with my heavenly Father.

Indeed I sang my heart out at worship this morning and hoped it brought a little smile to God's face but whereas I sent my dad in England a card and called him in the afternoon, I realised I did neither things.

Not that I know anything of a direct phone line to the heavenlies or a post code either, but you get the gist.

So I did something I haven't done since my Kensington Temple Encounter days (a weekend retreat in the sort of boonies of Bournemouth, England). I wrote God a Father's Day in multi-coloured gel pens, nonetheless.

Of course I won't be posting this belated card anywhere, but at least when He looks in He'll see a card made out to Him. And know I thought of Him today. And I was thankful that He has stuck with me through my gripe and grief.

What a Dad.

Monday, June 15, 2009


You've heard it be said, "So, I have your word?" Maybe the term seems rather archaic, but I think it shows something deeper that for some reason I missed. God's promises are exactly that, His word. Not simply as in He is the one talking but more than that, He swears on His very life and nature to fulfill His promise; to fulfill that thing He said He would do. Like a vow, giving your word can not be taken lightly, it isn't for the fainthearted. In Israel of old, if you broke a vow you could literally be cut in half by your peers.

When God gives His word as He did to Abraham and as our Hebrews author reminds us in Hebs 6:13-19 He is swearing on all that He is. He is putting His reputation, His name, His sake, His breath, on the line, to say, 'It will be done.'

Friday, June 12, 2009

English Fairy Tales

Is what I am currently reading (along with The Magician's Nephew, where I get to read a lot of, "Look here, Diggory," said Polly presently. Only Lewis could do that). And so far the fairy tales have not disappointed. What with their shot length, formulaic stages of character improvement, rhymes and riddles and of course the ever present good versus evil battle; I have been happily entertained since I started reading them last night.

I can remember a lot of these stories from when I grew up. Especially, Jack and the Beanstalk and The Three Bears (I have no idea why Goldilocks doesn't get a mention in the title) and of course Rumpelstiltskin, or his cousin, Tom Tit Tot. But then there are the others that I never touched on when I was 6 years old and sat in awed silence on the itchy mat during reading hour when we would sit stock still and listen to stories (such blissful, sweet afternoons). There's, St George of Merrie England, The Black Bull of Norraway, Nix Naught Nothing and The Red Ettin; all so rich in colour and character with tales of courage, solid love, endurance and some magic for good measure. But it is the more human qualities of the characters who make stupid choices that lead to curses and adversities until rescued by others with more sound minds and generous hearts that keep capturing me. I know I'd be the one who would cut corners because of impatience and find myself in a bog of quicksand 100 yards from home weeping and wailing until rescued. I know this, because I have done this; I do this. But it seems it's okay to make mistakes, to take the wrong turn, to get confused and lose your place in the story because this big story we're in the midst of is being written by one with such keen skill, He'll have us back on track with lessons learned and the added bonus of first hand experiences.

The only thing missing from my fairy tales is who wrote them. But then where do you begin trying to narrow down the folk stories that have been shared and whispered, reshaped and passed along the ages by scores of men, women and children?

Maybe that's what gives fairy tales their timeless quality. The authors are all of us, who have ever lived, travelled, trusted, loved, betrayed and done the same or fought for something bigger than ourselves.

The authors were those. The authors are us.

Thursday, June 11, 2009


Oddly and wonderfully enough I got to see my good friend from my Pride Magazine days (and no, it wasn't a gay pride magazine).

During the twirl and whirl of her stylist job she happened to be here-Nashville, TN of all places. So of course I picked her up on one of our warm sweaty nights took her down to Hillsboro Village for a large glass of Rose, incessant chatter and laughter about our woes and joys and uniformly turned our noses up at the man in the bar who decided to heckle us (or as the kind, lovely man who took our picture said, 'Holla'.)

All in all, a fun night. I have another friend in New York right now. If only we could teleport :(

Monday, June 8, 2009


It seems I have grown an odd obsession with that one word. Whether for it's meaning or description; I have knitted it in my mind at regular intervals until I now have something to wrap around me a thousand times over.

It's been described as several things including the starting position of the cursor on a text-based computer display.

But I have become rather fond of this conclusion;

" A) An environment offering security and happiness.

B) A valued place regarded as a refuge or place of origin."

Sometimes it feels as if the battle in my head is won and I know where I am standing and I know who I am and I know why I am here. But then other times, there's a reprise of the same question; perhaps spun differently; but there nevertheless.

Maybe it's because I feel as if I am living a very transient life. Always scribbling dreams and packing up boxes and books. Planning farewell evenings and reconnecting over cyber letters. Collecting names and stories, faces and voices. And all the while still not quite having the sense I'm there yet.

This is not a charmed life, though it does have it's sweetness in the countless lives of those who have opened their hearts and homes to me. I have received so much and yet still I am near empty, waiting for my fill and my turn, of a place I know without doubt is that little four lettered word.

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

The Edit/Work on it some more stage

My Editor is a jewel. She truly is. She is one of the most kind hearted, wise and honest women I know. She's also fierce and thorough with editing.

Needless to say I've had my initial response back from her regarding Ridley's story, which I really should call by it's name, 'Keepsake'. Though she genuinely loved it there are still two areas which need work (which in my mind branches out to several other smaller branches, thus creating a monstrous tree of work).

When I got her feedback back my first thought was, 'Okay not too bad.' This was promptly followed by, 'I actually have no idea how to do these suggested things (part of this thought still remains). Followed next by an extended period of wailing mentally at what a crap book I must have written not to have knocked her off her seat first time. This period was so extended that I took to feverishly trying to plan a new first story for my characters even though I have already been plotting the second book.

And finally and quietly as it always does after my brain fever outbursts of inadequacy, I realised something. I realised an old, and solid truth that I had buried away in my supposed self-sufficiency. "Remain in me, and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me." - Jesus. John 15:4.

It seems even writing a children's fictional tale can not and will not be a stand alone project. Of course I had always known this and in the beginning I knew the ideas and initial flurry came from God alone and then somewhere in the latter middle part and end, I simply ploughed on myself.

So God has brought me back to where He is, or perhaps brought me forward. Now I wait in stillness and try to be silent. I try to clear my head from possible character conversations and explorations and hear what the Spirit is saying. It's still very hard and I have no idea how this will pan out, but God knows this story, beginning from end, so I'm sure He knows how.