The man at Burger King sits alone. His once hot coffee has run out of warm. But I don’t think he’s noticed. Occasionally, he sips from the paper cup and exhales loudly after swallowing. Gray-brown teeth, stained with what I imagine to be a mixture of coffee and nicotine, show as he moves his mouth.

He sits alone.

And, yet, he talks. His eyes looking at a person across the table from him. A person I cannot see. But, I’m convinced, he sees the other clearly. He even breaks in his speech to listen to the person I cannot see. Thoughtful pauses. He nods his head. Smiles. Laughs. The person I cannot see must have a sense of humor that delights the man. He even tosses his head back and claps, pointing at the person I cannot see.

I wonder.

Does he really see someone sitting there? Does he love that person? Is it a person who he once knew, in real life? Someone who is now gone, except for in his mind?

As I walk past the man, he sips again from his paper cup. Giggles. Points to the person I cannot see and says, “That was a good one”.

And I wonder more.

Could that be me? Someday. Alone at Burger King, drinking tepid coffee, talking to someone very real to me. A person the world cannot see.

This morning, I’ve got Theme on the brain.

I have the lovely Bonnie Grove to blame  thank for that. She wrote a themed blog post about themes today on Novel Matters.

She likened theme to a string truths. Like a necklace.

Theme of my current novel in progress: You don’t know mercy until you receive it.

Theme of my current short story collection in progress: Without community, we wander aimlessly.

Theme of my current week: What the hee haw is going on?

No. That’s not a good theme. Sounds a little too bitter.

How about…

Life throws curve balls. DUCK!

(quack, quack).

No. That is the exhaustion speaking.

Oh. I’ve got it…

When things are not as planned, you must work to see the good in all the unexpected things.

Right now, in my life, I’m squinting, trying so hard to focus on the good.

My boys were to start preschool this year. My daughter, kindergarten. I was to have all kinds of time to write a second novel, a collection of short stories, promote “Paint Chips”.

That all looked real good to me last spring.

But the preschool shut down. My daughter is still on the waiting list at a charter school. I am homeschooling. All three of them. Two of them are more eager to learn than my speed to print more worksheets (they love worksheets!!!). The other fights against me. He just wants to color.

And I have, once again, over-committed to outside things.

Coming off a summer of struggling to write, I long to write…but have little to no time to do so.

On and off, I’ve had the feeling of walls crashing around me.

And that makes me feel selfish. Like I’m stuck in my own big old pity party. And nobody brought cake. 😦

So, here I am, trying to look at the good.

More time with my kids. Getting to share in their learning.

Those are the best good things. And those are the two that I can see right now.

What about you? What’s your theme right now? A lot of us are experiencing changes. How are you doing with them?

Just a few housekeeping details…make sure you read my post from yesterday (click HERE). An FYI regarding that post…yes…I did attend a weekend service as part of my Sabbath. Also, make sure that you enter to win a FREE piece of jewelry in a fun, creative contest! Click HERE.  AND, my writing gal pal is hosting a give-away on her blog of a fabulous necklace made by yours truly. Click HERE for that contest. That is all. Now for the regular Wednesday blog post.

Last night, my husband packed us in the van and took us to a local river beach. I’d had a bit of a frustrating day. He knew that if I didn’t get out of this house, I would implode. And that, my dear friends, is not pretty.

When we arrived, I saw two heads bobbing in the water. Now, before you get nervous, those heads were, in fact, attached to bodies. A fact that I became quite aware of as soon as I opened the van door.

Loud, shrill, annoying. The laughter of female, adolescent gossip carried across the water.

“Great,” I thought.

Then, they caught a glimpse at my husband.

Now, if you have seen my husband, you know that he is extraordinarily handsome.

Another thing that you must know about him; he is oblivious. Oh, yes. Mercy does exist in this world.

Well, the girls with the bobbing heads got one look at him and hooted. Hollered. Whooped.

I was…ahem…annoyed.

Then, not five minutes after we arrived, these girls dropped the F*Bomb.

Yes. THAT F*Bomb.

And not just once. Or twice. No. These girls dropped it thrice.

Yea. Thrice. And the ire that burneth…

Wait…when did Shakespeare take over?

Anyway, I was pretty upset.

Granted, my kids have no idea what the F*Bomb means. And I doubt that they’ve ever heard it before. But, I most certainly did not want them learning it and repeating it at church. Or to my mother. Or when ordering at a restaurant.

So, I looked at the bobbing heads of the girls and said, “Excuse me. There are young children here.”

And in that moment I became a different kind of mother.

Standing on that beach with my mom-swim-suit peeking out of my cut off jean shorts, I became that kind of mother.

I felt just a little bit tougher. A little bolder. Sassier.

Empowered.

In my novel, “Paint Chips” (releasing January, 2013), I wrote a scene wherein a mother stands up for her daughter. This mother speaks with authority and confidence, even though everyone is against her. I have to admit, I envied that courage in the woman I wrote (I know…I know…she’s not real…well, she kind of is…but…).

Last night, I realized that I was able to write that part because that courage really is within me.

This time, I stood up to the bobbing heads.

Who knows what it will be next time.

But I do know this…

You don’t wanna mess with mama.

On Sunday, my hubby took the kiddos to the zoo so that I could have some time to write. Ah. So, I packed up the old, faithful laptop and headed out to Starbucks.

Soy misto (aka cafe au laut) and a piece of pumpkin bread next to the computer, my fingers pecking away at the letters, I felt quite fine indeed.

I decided to share this picture. “Working on Sunday,” I captioned it.

A good friend of mine responded with a Tweet (seriously, it catches me off guard when I get a Tweet-back. I often forget about Twitter altogether). She twittered…er…twatted…um…Twizzlered…well, you know…she did the Twitter thing.

“So, when do you take a Sabbath?”

I had to think for a moment. Yes. Keeping a Sabbath day holy. No working on the Sabbath. Right? A day of the week to leave off of work and focus wholly on the Lord.

Had I broken one of the commandments? I had to consider it.

If I hadn’t gone to Starbucks and the kids hadn’t gone off to the zoo with Jeff…hmm…what would I have done at that moment.

1. Laundry

2. Dishes

3. Keep the kids from wrestling inside the house

4. Cook lunch

5. Clip coupons

6. Make a grocery list

7. Swap the laundry and fold

8. Put laundry in drawers

9. Think about dinner

10. Wonder when in the world I’ll ever have time to write

But, sitting at the brand new, shiny Starbucks, a huge cup of coffee in my hand, I sighed. Listened to a whole lot of nothing much (beside the Bob Marley CD they had playing over the speakers). The aroma of freshly ground dark roast wafting around me. A story taking shape on the screen before me. A story of mercy. I realized, yes, that moment was a Sabbath moment. A moment of rest. A moment to train my focus on the work that God has for me.

That Sabbath moment was a gift. From my husband. The barista. The Father.

It was made for me. Not I for it.

I relished the moment and praised God for it.

Then set my fingers to typing some more.

Found rest in the writing.

Just an FYI; I’ve got a creative and fun contest going over at my Jewelry Blog. Click HERE to enter…it’s pretty cool. 

Right now, as I sit at my computer, I have a cluster of unknowns bouncing around inside my skull.

Will my daughter start school next week? Or will I need to home school for a while? (we’re on  a list at a charter school)

How will my husband’s first review at work go?

How will “Paint Chips” sell?

Will a publisher even want to take on this second novel I’m writing?

Can I write a second novel? Third? Fourth? Oh, mercy.

Who is going to fold all this laundry?

And, for the love of humanity, what is for lunch???

It’s enough to send this girl into a swirly-twirly of anxiety.

So. What is known?

My daughter can read, tie her shoes, add, subtract, sing, dance, and love. She will be okay.

My husband works hard. He has integrity (more than most). He will do well.

I have the most loyal friends and readers. “Paint Chips” will be read. And that is far more important than if it sells.

Even if a publisher won’t take on my second novel, I’ll be okay. They might take the third. Or fourth.

Yes. I can write more novels. Because Christ gives me the strength. It is a mercy.

Who cares about the laundry. It will get done.

I have bread in the fridge, peanut butter and honey in the cupboard, and fresh tomatoes. We have never gone hungry in this home. And that, too, is a mercy.

And, over all of that which I know and don’t know, I have the assurance that I am held. I am loved. I am treasured by my Father who gives all of these good and perfect gifts.

Sometimes the best gifts are the ones you don’t see until it’s time to unwrap them.

Like Christmas every day.

Fiction is a powerful tool. Many an author has used it as a device to inform, convict, to evoke the desire for justice and mercy in the hearts of the reader.

John Steinbeck used it to awaken a nation to the plight of those exploited during the Oklahoman Migration.

Charles Dickens used it to highlight the dangers of inequality.

Harriet Beecher Stowe used it to ignite compassion for those enslaved in the Pre-War South.

Harper Lee used it to remind a nation that we cannot understand a person until we’ve gone for a walk in their shoes…even if that person is very much different than we are.

I’ve noticed, recently, that many writers are once again championing causes. No. Not causes. They are championing people. The Christian Literature scene has not been an exception. And, for that, I am pleased.

Jody Hedlund (author of “The Doctor’s Lady” and “The Preacher’s Bride”) has recently joined the list of championing writers. In her most recent novel, “Unending Devotion”, Ms. Hedlund writes the story of one woman who struggles to set free girls and women who have been exploited in the brothels of 19th Century Michigan. She writes the story of an Abolitionist. One who fights for the freedom of others.

“Unending Devotion” is written with such compassion, dignity, accuracy. Ms. Hedlund developed characters that break the heart, instill hope, inspired the reader to realize that we can all do something. In her story, set well over a century ago, she reminds the reader that sex slavery is nothing new. Also, that slavery never truly ended at all. It just changed.

As many of you know, I am passionate about the end of slavery. Reading this book inspired me. Reminded me that, even in the dark moments, Christ triumphs. He desires that all live Freely. And that I am capable of participating in that Freedom.

Jody Hedlund used her abilities, her words, her passion to illustrate the struggle of those who desire freedom for others. And to show the possibility and the importance of that work.

This novel is classified as “historical fiction”. That may be. However, I think that also could don the title of “justice and mercy fiction”.

(Note: I received a complimentary copy of this novel for an honest review. My opinion of this book was not influenced by this fact. I truly believe that Ms. Hedlund has a a book that will impact her readers and cause them to delve deeper into the cause for Freedom.)

January is coming.

Oh, I know. We’ve got all of Thanksgiving and Christmas and the New Year between now and then. But January really is coming.

For real.

In just over four months.

Excuse me…I’m feeling a bit dizzy at the moment. I’ll be fine. I will. Anybody have a paper bag I can hyperventilate into?

Whew.

All better.

Do you know why January has me all uppity? Because it’s the release month for the ebook of “Paint Chips” (my novel, published by WhiteFire Publishing).

And I need help.

From YOU!

I’m forming my Official Launch Team.

Let me give you the down low (or low down? I get that mixed up all the time) on Launch Teams. Basically, it is the group of amazing, fabulous people who commit to spreading the word about a book/album/movie/etc. They use their circle of influence (friends, family, social media, blog, and more) to rocket launch the project.

Sounds like a pretty cool team to join. Right?

Maybe we should have T-Shirts made up with our little nicknames on the back.

No really. Wouldn’t that be cool?

Well, anyway, back to me needing your help.

I’ve got infinite positions on this Launch Team. No try outs. Everybody who wants to participate is on the team! And no bench warmers!

Here’s what I’ll need:

-Bloggers. Lots of them. To interview me on their blogs (we can even try a video blog…ooo…fancy), review my book (kind honesty is important), etc. I will link up your blog to mine as well as on Twitter and Facebook. It doesn’t matter if you have 5,000 followers or 5. Every single reader matters. And you, dear Bloggy friends matter, too.

-Social media gurus. Many of them. To link the Amazon page (once “Paint Chips” is up for sale) to Facebook, Twitter, Google+ (do people use that?), Pinterest, Instagram, Goodreads…and any other that pop up in the next few months.

-Reviewers to go on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Goodreads to leave gently honest reviews.

-Book clubs! I’m looking for groupings of readers that are willing to read the book. Then I will come to your group (either in person or via Skype) to discuss the book. Added bonus: Coffee and chocolate. 🙂

-Churches that will invite me to speak. Different themes on which I could speak (that relate to the book): Depression/Anxiety, Domestic Violence, Sex Trafficking in the United States, Reconciliation. Or I could do a reading, discuss the book as a whole, question and answer session. (This would also work for any kind of group). NOT in the West Michigan area? I can figure out a Skype event, too.

And more and more and more. I could go on forever.

I heard a story once about a New York Times Bestselling writer. His first book had just been released and yet to garner the HUGE attention he’d wanted. His mom contacted all of her friends for help. Whenever they went to the bookstore, these ladies would find this author’s book and turn the cover face out (so that it would grab shoppers’ attention). They would pick up the book and carry it over to the Bestseller rack. They told everyone they knew to buy the book. And, you know what? It worked.

And that was before social media took over the world.

Friends, I have been more and more convinced over the past few months that I have some of the greatest support known to man. Your enthusiasm for “Paint Chips” is both humbling and heartwarming. You have made me feel loved.

Thank you.

And, would you pretty please be willing to join my Official Launch Team?

Everyone who joins the team will receive a coupon code (in their inbox) for 10% off at my Etsy shop (click HERE to see the shop). I know it’s not much…but it’s what I can do right now. (And 50% of the original purchase price will still be used to raise funds for great causes).

So, if you’re willing, please let me know in the comments (also letting me know how you’d like to help). Or you can email me at susiefink@gmail.com

Thank you, All. You are, without a doubt, the best.

Much love.

It can’t be said that my neighborhood is perfect. We have our eyesores and rough spots. Certain neighbors that I don’t know all that well. Some that I keep an eye on. A few that I watch because they make great characters come alive in my head.

My neighborhood is full of stories.

The Wyoming Police are familiar with my street. As are the ambulance drivers. And Fire department.

We’ve got dysfunction. Issues. Situations.

Friday night, I packed my car for an event I had. A few of my neighbors were out. Not too uncommon for a nice evening. But it wasn’t a nice evening for a stroll. It was blazing hot.

But that’s my neighborhood. Beyond explanation.

I waved at my neighbor, Scott.

“Hey, have you been home all day?” he asked.

Weird question. But, then again, that’s my hood.

“Yup,” I answered.

“Have you seen Joseph?” He walked closer to me. “You know, the kid from the foster home. He’s 15 or 16. He has autism.”

“I haven’t seen him,” I said.

“He’s missing.”

It seemed that the temperature outside rose. My stomach clenched.

“Nobody’s seen him since, like, 2 o’clock or something,” Scott said.

It was 5:30.

“His foster dad said he went to play basketball.” Scott pointed down the road toward the park. “I found his basketball. But he wasn’t there.”

“Oh, man.”

“Yeah. They just put out an Amber Alert.” Scott shook his head. “Joseph is pretty high functioning for having autism. But, you know, he can get confused. I’m gonna keep looking. If you see him, tell him to go home. Okay?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Neighbors rode together in cars, moving around the area together to find Joseph. They walked through the park. Into the hidden areas of trees and creek and tall weeds. They comforted the foster parents.

I feared for the boy. The world is full of people who hurt others. Exploit them. Misuse them. Especially when those others are trusting. Vulnerable. Lonely.

They found Joseph late at night. 6 miles from home. Scared. Shaken up. Exhausted.

He’d been trying to make it to a huge car show. He went the wrong way. Got lost and couldn’t figure out how to get home.

My next door neighbor sent me a text message to let me know that he was okay.

The Amber Alert was canceled.

My neighborhood went back to being…well…my neighborhood.

Or did it?

Maybe my neighborhood changed a little on Friday. Not that we all didn’t care before. Not that we wouldn’t help out. No. That’s not how we changed.

We changed, though. And I think we changed because we witnessed each other in a different way. We watched each other caring. We saw each other desiring to help out.

Good stories aren’t about the functional neighborhood coming together to help. No. That’s predictable.

Why do you think Jesus made sure to have the priest and the Levite pass by the beaten man?

Because that wouldn’t make for good story.

I’ll tell you, though, a good story uses the unlikely characters to do something beautifully outside themselves.

Like a Samaritan putting a beat up Jew on his donkey and leading him to get help.

Or a neighborhood full of dysfunction that shows how loving their hearts truly are.

Don’t forget, we’ve got a Back to School give-away. Click HERE to learn more.

Here in Michigan, we are gearing up for the official start up of the school year. We start after Labor Day…hey, summer only sticks around just so long around-bout these parts. We have to take advantage of it!

Well, in honor of the last week of summer, I’d like to host a contest!

I’m calling it…drum roll…

SUSIE’S SPECTACULAR BACK TO SCHOOL EXTRAVAGANZA OF CREATIVITY AND FUN AND SOMEONE WILL WIN A LOVELY PRIZE!

Or, to keep things simple, SSBTSEOCAFASWWALP.

Hm. That doesn’t keep things simple at all.

Okay. How about “Back To School Give-Away!”?

Don’t worry. This contest includes everyone!

Kids who are returning to school.

Parents who are really looking forward to dropping the kids off on the first day of school.

Parents who are dreading it (ahem…me).

People who went to school once and remember that first day.

People who went to school once and have blocked it from their memory.

But, most of all, this contest is for people who like to WIN FREE STUFF!

So, here’s what you do to enter…

1). Comment on THIS POST (just below here). I want to know what “first day of school” triggers in you. How does it make you feel? What do you remember? Do you have a funny story? Leave a comment to get your name entered once into the drawing.

2). Subscribe to this blog (look to the right hand side of your screen). That will get you one more entry into the drawing.

What will you win?

Oh…is that what you want to know?

You will win…

THIS!

Tibetan silver pendant hangs from ivory and teal colored beads on a 17 inch necklace. This necklace (a $15 value) is inspired by a quote from Alfred Lord Tennyson.

“If I had a flower for every time I thought of you…I could walk through my garden forever.”

Isn’t that just lovely?

To see other jewelry inspired by literature, check out my Etsy site, Inspired Novelties (click HERE). Remember, each month, 50% of the money from sales goes to a worthy cause/family/ministry/etc. This month, we’re hoping to bless the Wartella Family in the process of adopting 2 children from Ethiopia.

I will draw a winner on Monday night, 10:45.

Ready…Set…Share your back to school thoughts!

I wish I could run. Effortlessly. With joy. Graceful gliding on sidewalk. Easy breath. Confident stride. Smile of bliss crossing my face.

But I can’t run. When I try, it’s more like a shuffle. It’s tough. Demoralizing. Choppy. With the wheeze of asthmatic lungs. Insecure. Grimace of agony pinching my face.

To summarize: it isn’t pretty.

And, yet, I ran track in high school. I signed up my freshman year for two reasons.

1). My big sister told me to.

2). It was the only co-ed sport at my school.

Turns out, these were foolish reasons for running track. Because…

1). My big sister wasn’t my Mom. Why did I feel like I had to obey this demand? (Sorry, Betsy)

2). The boys were less than impressed by my daily asthma attacks.

Not to mention, I hated running. I’m not a competitive person. Track shorts weren’t incredibly flattering (on me, at least).

Being forced each day to participate in torture just wasn’t my thing.

So, I didn’t try.

My motto became, “Hey, somebody’s gotta lose. Might as well be me”.

Not exactly a great attitude.

Now, I attended a small Christian school. We (I use the word “we” very loosely here…the word “they” meaning my teammates would be far more accurate) destroyed the competition at the Christian school invitational meets.

Those kids would shake in their boots when they saw us coming. (Again, “us” meaning “my teammates”)

However, my freshman year, my school joined a different athletic association. Tougher. More competitive. Full of (shudder) public schools.

Schools that actually had a budget for their track team.

We were almost always the only Christian school at the meets. And our jerseys made sure everybody knew who we were.

“CHRISTIAN” printed in bold letters across our chests.

Suddenly we were destroyed (this “we” is all inclusive). Those schools had us shaking in our cute little spikes.

I distinctly remember one invitational. The track for this meet was bigger than my entire school. The stands packed full of fans. Lots and lots of them. More than the student body of my school. Including the elementary kids.

Things weren’t looking so good for me.

Time for my event. The 800 meter run. Now, if you don’t know anything about track, the 800 is three minutes of sprinting. Or, in my case, four or five minutes of shuffling. And that was when I was at my peak physical condition.

The 800 is for champs. Masochists. Real athletes.

It is not right for flirty girls. Asthmatics. People who don’t care about winning.

That, folks, was not a good event for me.

But, hey, I got to hang out with guys.

Yeah. Still not worth it.

Anyway, that day, I got myself up to the starting line. Breathed deep in hopes of settling my nerves. I wasn’t nervous about losing. No. Nothing like that. I just didn’t want to scream when the gun shot to start the race.

I readied myself. Yelped when the gun popped. Ran. Or jogged. Okay. Staggered.

Lap one. I lagged. Heard my coach yelling.

“Go faster, Susie!”

Had I been able to breathe, I would have screamed, “I AM! GET OFF MY BACK!”

Lap two. Way behind. The first place runner passed me. Then the second. Third. And so on.

By the time I was on meter 600, the race was done.

Except for me.

I wanted to quit.

“Come on, Christian!” someone yelled from the stands.

Then another, “You can finish, Christian!”

The fans in the stands stood. Clapped their hands. Cheered me on.

“Hey, Christian, don’t give up!”

“Keep going!”

“Almost there, Christian!”

100 more meters. My eyes filled with tears of pain and embarrassment and love.

“You got this, Christian!”

I lifted my knees a bit higher. Pushed off the track with the spikes on my feet. Pumped my arms. Set determination in my face.

And kicked.

Pushed myself.

Finished that race.

“You did it, Christian!”

“Good job, Christian!”

They cheered. For me. Louder than for the girl who came in first.

They cheered for the little Christian girl who never won a race. Not even one.

And they called out my name.

Not “Susie”.

No. They called out my real name.

“Christian”.

The name I imagine the great cloud of witnesses calls when they cheer for us.

To finish the race.

To keep going.

To never give up.

To run with joy for the prize.