My Picture for 2013

This is my picture for 2013, a lion in winter. The sculpture, only done in November, is new at Buhl Farm Park. I saw it last Sunday on a sunny afternoon walk. I found it slightly stylistic, but still conventional.
So why a lion in winter? Lions represent courage. Jesus is the Lion of Judah. And of course, my last name for thirty and a half years is Lyon. Lions are also often in family crests. Scottish have the roaring lion.
As this past year, I have learned to yield more to Jesus, this year, I need courage to follow Jesus. Courage to listen to the leading of the Holy Spirit. Courage to write what is true. Courage to follow my dreams.
I want to be bolder. I desire to be open to people talking; ready to pray and expect miracles. I was not given a spirit of fear; this year I will live that way.

Picture of the Year

Last year, I had a picture for the year, but couldn't find it until September. That was the old oxen yoke with a light shining through it. I am learning to surrender each day to Jesus, to take on His yoke. It is easy and light. I know I had been carrying too much on my weak shoulders for many years.
Being a Navy wife, alone half the year with relatives living eight hours away. My father, then, was able to help and when they came, I relaxed, even if I worked. He took over often. He had the burden of caring for us, which he joyfully executed. But sometimes, I saw the deep down despair that he couldn't always fix things, like my mother's health or moods.
My in-laws, too, helped when they came. My father-in-law packed our cars or the truck whenever we moved. He was a mechanic, always, checking over my car. My mother-in-law loves with her cooking and food. When she worked at Sear's, she used her discount for the family to get things.
Also, those many years ago, our parents were available by phone. I could call and dump my problems or not. If I were lonely, calling to hear their voices sometimes helped. Yet, many Sundays in my lonely apartment, I would howl in loneliness, because a phone call didn't fix it. I missed my husband when he was out to sea. I missed the chance to just watch a football game at my parents' house after Sunday dinner or napping in a recliner there.
Then the years after my father died and feeling responsible for my mother. Helping her with her health, her groceries, her well being. I loved her and I loved doing that. I fell into that, maybe it was the guilt my grandmother laid on me when I left Mom, an invalid, when I got married. But she had Dad and she improved because I lived my life, not giving up.
Also raising children, I feel responsible for their physical and mental health, maybe placing too much emphasis on ME. For awhile, I was the sandwich generation.
When my husband got a job away from home, my sweet little world dissolved. It felt it was all on me. Even though I prayed. I still felt I was one to be strong and make things happen and come together. I don't think, I really depended on God till the end of this year. Oh, there were a few times, like when I quit my job in the fall of 2004, with no job lined up. I was on an Abrahamic journey, going not where I knew. I leaned on God those few months, with His blessings. We had to place Mom in a skilled nursing facility, I got my kids back on track at school, and I rested in God's hands- a wonderful place to be.
Years passed with many difficulties and again, I forgot to truly lean on God. I had to make it happen. I pushed my way through life. I worried too much, anxiety causing rapid heart rates and jaw pain. I wouldn't check it out, because I thought the diagnosis would be, "she's crazy." I was too proud to seek help. Just a passing, "Pray for me." I didn't give up control of my life.
The writing seemed my savior.  If only I could first get to a writer's conference, then I'd find an agent, get published, then be home with my children. I read all I could on writing, platform, publishing, the business.  I worked hard on my first novel, just to say I could do it. Finances and important events leading to my daughter's senior year, I didn't want to miss, kept me from conferences. I agonized my dream would fade before I could achieve it.
Then I learned slowly to allow God to be in control. I know that sounds weird. Like isn't God always in control? I can't explain God, but I know He allows us to control our response to life, to make our decisions. Sometimes, though, like finances, and the tug of being with my children, seem to control those decisions. I relaxed in His arms, a restful place to be. I took on the yoke to let Him lead me.

So I look to this new year, still wearing His yoke, with His burden, but I have a new picture to give me the courage to follow Jesus where He leads. Tomorrow, I'll reveal the picture.

Listen

An interesting link, http://johnshore.com/2010/10/23/what-non-christians-want-christians-to-hear-2/ that I have been trying to live the last few months. In Christian attempt to bring truth to the world, we tend to be overpowering. I harken back to the old song we sang in the 70's, you know the Flower Power era, They Will Know We Are Christians by Our Love.
I cried one morning reading how Jacob, when meeting his brother after many years, sheltered all his family, especially his beloved wife and Joseph. Esau ran to his brother with open arms. They chose not to live near each other, but Esau, being the fleshy one, demonstrated love. Jacob, hesitant, because Esau represented the world. Did I hold back my children from situations that I should have embraced those in it?
How often, Christians surround the wagons, as it were, hunkering down in the country club churches, afraid to associate with those non-Christians. They round up the children in Christian schools, sports and guarded overnights visits. But what to do, if your own family is not as strict, when children have to interact with cousins, who may read material not approved by the strict ones? Or watch movies that do not honor God? Sheltering arms and nervous observation stem from the parents.
Can we really protect our children? Is it  on our strength we depend? Have we forgotten to trust God and love as the Bible tells us, as Jesus pointed out was the second greatest commandment?
This link summed it up that non-Christians, just want Christians to listen to them. We in the church call this friendship evangelism. We hear lessons of Jesus with the woman at the well, the Canaanite woman, Philip with the Ethiopian. Ask questions first, slowly develop a relationship, do not judge.
Again, with my writing, my faith is deep, but I want to reach out. I don't want to write for the Christian ghetto, as it has been nicknamed. A story can point to the redemption story without being blatant. I suppose no one wants a heavy sermon. The Holy Spirit draws quietly those who are searching.
As Christians live in the Holy Spirit, with the fruit-love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness and self-control- the sweetness should pull people to Jesus. That is the Holy Spirit's job. So Christians must listen, first to the Holy Spirit and then to those in need.

Novel Reading and Writing

I was so motivated to read the book I commented on yesterday that I finished it, about two hundred pages last night. I'm glad to say, it did turn out to be a happy, positive ending. I still had a hard time getting over the lack of quotation marks.
Sad beginnings, a desperate middle and lately I feel the modern authors want the pathos to continue with no resolution of conflict. Am I the only one who gets frustrated reading stories like this? I know I want to write novels with conflict. I don't want them to end with the "pat ending," though, either. I guess we are always looking for the edge.
I desire to remain true to my faith. I want my stories to lift up Jesus. I determined to not write the "Christian Harlequin" where everyone and the chicken get "saved." Would Christians like to see that? Of course, but I have been living long enough to know that no matter how often the Gospel is presented, how God may intervene, and I know He does, because His deep yearning is that none shall perish, hearts remain hardened. Life is complicated. 
I want my novels to carry weight, address messy situations, but to also bring a resolution. Sometimes, though, like in real life, answers are not what we desire. The Buffalo Soldier ended promoting marriage, adoption, and life. Even race differences shone in a positive light. I will try another of Chris Bohjalian, like Midwives, to understand his style better.
Now, back to Hemingway and some C.S. Lewis, I think.

The Important Thing with Story

I'm reading a book now, The Buffalo Soldier, by Chris Bohjalian. I picked it up at the library, searching the jacket for clues whether it were an historical novel or modern day. It set in modern day. I'm about half way through it. I wonder if he wrote it for NaNoWriMo.
He uses no quotation marks. The conversation flows with little punctuation. That ups the word count, I'm told for the official counter at NaNoWriMo. I felt distracted by the lack of "proper" writing, at first. And the sad story, of the couple's twin daughters drowning in a flood. They struggle through, with the hope a foster boy will help two years after the twins' death.
Each chapter is told from a different character's point of view. He also includes the retired couple next door, reaching out to the boy after their trip west. They buy the African American boy a cap with a buffalo imprinted on it and a book on the buffalo soldiers, named so by the Native Americans.
I have overcome my prejudice of the writing, becoming involved in the story.  As many modern stories and as life goes, it seems there is no good or bad character, just people caught in complexities. I'm still not sure, I like this style, but I'm learning from it. I'm rooting for the couple and the little boy to not again get lost in the cracks of the system, if the couple don't hold themselves together.
I'm not finished with it, so I'm also withholding judgment. The important thing with story is involvement of the reader. I have found myself wanting to read it, but it isn't one that stays in my head.

Snowy Day

Snowed in. The temperature in the upper twenties. No wind. But the snow keeps falling, falling, falling, with even some icy rain around two.
I watched the little girls romp in the snow on the miniature hill between our yards. The bigger hill is too dangerous. Toby, the chocolate lab, loose, barks his delight again and again. I think Sarge, the black and white dog across their street, tied up yelps in envy. I heard a snowmobile of the young teenager up the hill roaring around.
The girls' colorful snowsuits stand out in the snow and the snow flakes that won't quit. The girls are small, holding hands up the hill, then the older one in kindergarten, drapes an arm around her younger sister. They are both adventuresome girls and the wicked weather doesn't bother them.
Oh, if I didn't have this head cold. My sinuses bust through my head. My body aches. I want to play in the snow, watch Harrison romp, plowing the snow with his nose. Much more fun than seeing him attack my pajama bottoms after trotting them out from my bedroom.
I hunker in, wondering how people traveling are doing. My husband is driving into this storm and the depot may even close. But how do we know that twelve hours out? He knows now why he bought an SUV. A mild winter last year caused him to judge his wisdom. I'm glad he is in one now.
The snow keeps coming and coming. From twenty minutes, the pavement is covered where Katie made it bare. Quarter to six and all I want is bed.
Aw, a cup of hot tea. The dark covers the window, hard to watch the snow fall. A good time to catch up on charting, I'd say. Since I don't have a cozy fireplace.

An Exert from Summer Triangle

As a treat to me, I'm sharing a small part of the Christmas scene from my novel I wrote for NaNoWriMo, last month. I'll be working on getting this one published, as well, as the one almost ready for publishing. I think 2013 will be a productive year. This novel is called Summer Triangle.

 Allison crept into the family room that welcomed her as the cozy lights in the new dark glowed. Her mother slept with her empty tea mug depicting Santa Claus on the stand beside her. Allison looked in shock and wonder at her mother, appearing so young in this subtle light with her blossoming belly. She was beautiful, she had to admit.

She hadn't seen her mother since homecoming weekend in the beginning of October. She came up to help Amber adjust to all this drama. She wanted to string her parents up then for both being incredibly selfish, worse that it was in Amber's senior year of high school. They should be enjoying each other, like the past years. These were supposed to be happy years. Allison wondered where her dad was. It was after five and he should have been home. Maybe he was doing his last minute Christmas shopping. So like a man.

Allison hung her coat up and dropped her bags in her old room. She passed the den and saw the permanent bed her dad set up. What has happened to this family? This was going to be a banged up Christmas. Unless Jesus intervened. Mom could believe that, but Allison didn't. If He had wanted to help, Mom would never had been raped. Grimm would be following her around right now. Amber would be loving her senior year without wondering when Dad would leave the household. He was already living like a separated man.

Allison returned to the family room and got comfortable on the cushy love seat. Maria opened her eyes, “Oh, Allison, I didn't even hear you come in,” she jumped up to hug and kiss her oldest daughter.

“Hey, Mom. You looked so beautiful and peaceful in the Christmas lights. It seemed like a Christmas card. How are you feeling?”

As they conversed they walked into the spotless white and cobalt blue kitchen. Maria turned on the gas stove burner under the tea kettle. Then opened the refrigerator, “You feel like chicken?”

“Sure, Mom.”

“I made those homemade noodles like Dad's mom and grandma used to make. All I have to do is heat them up.”

“You were busy, huh?”

“Always for my family.”

“Mom, you are the greatest. I can understand why you want to keep the baby.”

“Why, Allison, that is nice, but unusual.”

“You are such a good mom. You should have had more kids. You did so much for us and you still do. I bet you were feeling a little sad about Amber moving on, too, in the spring.”

“Well, I wouldn't have gotten pregnant, if that's what you mean.”

“No, I know you felt you were done, but this unfortunate event has led to something that gives you a glow. I'm sorry Dad is having a hard time accepting it.”

“Well, it is a stranger's baby. I just couldn't get rid of the innocent child. I mean what did he have to do with it? He has no voice, yet. I'm afraid, though, he's going to be from a single parent home. I have a feeling after Christmas and the New Year, your dad will make a decision.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I overheard him asking Larry for a divorce attorney's name. Larry is the family lawyer and he couldn't fight against me.”

“Mom, are going to get a lawyer, too?”

“Not yet. Praying for a Christmas miracle.”

“Me, too,” as the tea kettle screamed.

“Tea? Since I have the water hot.” Maria smiled. She felt such a closeness this evening to Allison that hadn't been there for a long time. Maybe because Allison showed a genuine concern for her mother and didn't show a favoritism toward one parent or the other. She was rooting for the family, which is what Maria was doing also.

The chicken, breaded and on the pan, baked. The noodles would only take a few minutes to heat up in some boiling water. Maria hardly ever used her microwave. She like the way things tasted not cooked in the microwave. Pizza was too soggy. The meat had a metallic taste. She did like hot chocolate with milk and Hershey's syrup in the microwave, if she was just making it for herself, other wise she dragged out a pan and warmed it up on the stove top.

Allison washed the dishes as they went along or put the dishwasher safe ones in the dishwasher.

Brendan still hadn't arrived at the house. “Is this now the normal, Mom?”

“No, he has still been making it home for supper. You know, he'll read the paper before, clean up from being at the mill. I did tell him Amber worked until six and we wouldn't eat until six thirty.”

At six fifteen, Amber strolled in, “Mm. Chicken. Like Grandma's, huh, Mom. Homemade noodles, too?”

“You know it, girl,” Allison hugged her sister, “How was work?”

“Crazed. All those Christmas shoppers and tired, whiny kids. Everyone had their last day of school today. Mom, I'm glad you like to cook.”

“That's encouraging to hear. I may get spoiled with you two girls complimenting me.”

Amber crooked her eyebrow at Allison. Usually by now, Allison has managed to make some argument, from Christmas isn't actually Jesus birthday to all the pagan traditions. She just couldn't leave Mom to her Christmas celebrations. Well, if anyone would ruin Christmas this year, it would be Dad, with his talk of divorce.

He tried to hide it, but Amber read the writing on the wall. Dad was ticked about Mom deciding to keep this baby. Not that she blamed

Dad, but oh, these adults. Up to the kids to keep the Christmas spirit going. Too bad, Allen wasn't coming tomorrow for Christmas Eve. That would so brighten everyone up, especially Mom. She loved Christmas Eve more than Christmas Day.

Brendan arrived right at six thirty. He acted glad to see Allison. He hugged and kissed her. Asked her how her trip was through the West Virginia mountains.

“Not bad. Actually I made good time. I was all packed and left from work, which is just that half hour closer without the rush hour traffic. I could just hop on I-70. No problem.”

“I'm glad, I'm glad,” he glanced at Maria, “You made my mother's dinner.”

“Yes, and your grandmother's”

“She did like to make it the day before Christmas Eve,” Brendan breathed in the fresh smell of baked chicken.

The table was set with the Christmas china. Creamed green beans, the chicken gravy, the homemade noodles and the crispy oven fried chicken arrayed the plates. The pitcher held ice tea. Tall glasses with ice cubes sat at each setting.

“I just wish Barry and Allen were here. Oh, and Amy, too.” Maria flushed.

They sat down and looked at Amber. She bowed her head and prayed for a blessed Christmas season. Brendan engaged the girls in conversation. They joked and laughed. This was the first non silent meal at the table for quite a few months. Maria smiled.