I was reminded just the other day that we’ve entered Advent (the liturgical season leading up to Christmas). When I was a kid, Advent was a big deal at my church. We changed the colors on the altar and the stoles on our acolyte robes. We’d start singing different hymns. One family each week would light the Advent candles, reading the significance of each week.

I sure miss attending a liturgical church this time of year.

I remember vividly how sorrowful I felt when singing “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel”. The longing in that hymn pulled at my soul. And I recall wanting so desperately to get to the chorus so we could sing “Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.”

It’s a hymn about waiting. About sorrow and hope living together. Emmanuel shall come. But not quite yet.

This past weekend I was reading about the suicide bombing in Nigeria. Clicking through articles I came upon one with pictures. I didn’t know. I didn’t know they would be so close up on the gore. I didn’t know that they would be so real.

When I close my eyes sometimes I see those pictures again.

One of them was especially horrific. I clicked away from the article right away. And my first thought was, “Jesus, come get us”.

I’ve been praying that more and more often lately.

Jesus, come get us.

And today, with the trending news of terror and bombings and abuse and human trafficking, I say it again.

Jesus, come get us.

And today I hear that old refrain. And today I really listen.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee…

And today I sit, with sorrow and hope blended together, and hum that hymn.

Will you hum along with me?

Every once in awhile I get an email from one of my writer friends asking for advice. Sometimes I feel ill suited to answer the question because I feel I’m still a beginner in this writing game.

I kind of hope I always feel like a beginner. I hope I’m always learning more and more about this job I have.

Well, yesterday my buddy – let’s call him Paul – sent me a message I feel well equipped to answer. It went something like this:

Okay, okay. So, his name is Nathan and I just screen shot his question. Oh. And, Nathan. Is it cool that I used a screen shot of your question? Thanks.

See, Nathan is participating in NaNoWriMo (the month in which writers write 50,000 words of a novel). He’s a gifted writer. And he isn’t afraid of the hard work. Mark. My. Words. Nathan’s got what it takes to make it as a writer.

Here’s my answer to Nathan and to anyone struggling to get the words out.

Here’s the thing about writing a first draft: It’s going to be garbage. Rubbish. Trash. Junk. Poo Biscuits. You’ll be embarrassed by how idiotic some of the scenes play out. You’re going to feel like a fraud as a writer. You’ll wonder why some scenes flow and others are like hacking at frozen ground.

NaNoWriMo is all about the first draft. And that’s all right.

And it’s all right to feel stuck. But you can’t stay stuck. You’ve got to gnash your teeth against it, claw at it, drag yourself out. Remember how you learned that getting out of quick sand requires one to be still.

Well, that doesn’t always work in writing.

Sometimes you just have to force those fingers to move.

You know how I get unstuck? I turn on music that moves (Debussy piano music or a movie soundtrack). I make a note in the manuscript that looks like this:

THIS IS GOING TO SUCK, BUT…

And then I make things happen to my characters. I force them to go for a walk in those scary woods or open a door they’re told to keep closed. I write straight up dialogue as if I’m writing a script and see what my characters have to say.

I allow myself to screw something up. To write what I don’t want to have happen in the book. Why not? I can always slash it with my purple pen later. It’s cool.

And sometimes I get out of my chair. I put in a load of laundry or do the dishes. I run in place for 30 seconds or play piano. I stare out the window and watch the birds.

These things aren’t a distraction (watching TV is a distraction, gazing into the fridge is a distraction). No, these are brain breaks and they’re good for you.

No joke. Some of my better ideas for my novels came when I didn’t have my keister in the chair.

My last nugget of wisdom is this…come close…listen…

Trust yourself.

Trust yourself enough to let go. Trust yourself enough to know that if what you write isn’t perfect you’ll have the power to fix it later. Trust yourself enough to know that you CAN do this.

Because you can.

Oh! And, when you’re stuck, find a friend who just must be kind enough to tell you to get back to work.

At this  moment, that’s me. So…

Quit goofing off and get back to writing!

Last Wednesday a friend on Facebook asked how it is we all “keep a soft heart in this often exhausting world”.

This was Wednesday. Two days before we’d hear anything about the attacks of terror in Paris and the day before suicide bombers killed people in the streets of Beirut.

At the time, on Wednesday, I thought about the red cup brouhaha (which now seems really long ago, doesn’t it?). I thought about the loud mouth politicians who are all trying to out shout and out policy one another into the hearts of Americans (seriously, we still have a full year of this hollering). I thought about how venomous Facebook had become (among some) over the past year or two.

How do you keep a soft heart?

I knew my answer right away.

And today, after the bombings and shootings, my answer is the same. Today, after reading more poison that masks as opinion on social media, my answer is the same. Today, even though fear threatens to hold me in a vice grip, my answer is the same.

I look to those who are doing good in this world. Or, to borrow from Mr. Rogers, “I look at the helpers”.

I look at the box of Wheaties still on my table from breakfast. Stephen Curry’s gracing the cover (he’s a basketball player for the Golden State Warriors). Did you know that for every 3 pointer he makes he donates 3 mosquito nets to be used in third-world countries. And the guy makes A LOT of 3 pointers.

I look at the teacher who starts each class affirming the positive qualities of his students. Oh, and he teaches in a special needs classroom. He’s found that his daily encouragement has inspired his students to lift up their classmates.

I think of my friend who works with refugees in Lansing, Michigan to enable them to learn English, find housing, get some necessities.

I look at friends who organize meals for a family who is sick, the special collection taken at church for those in times of need, the couple that serves in the 2’s and 3’s Sunday school class every single week.

I think of my friend Tim who moved to the Dominican Republic to serve as a missionary. On one visit to a place called “The Hole” (literally a landfill that extremely poor people live in…I am not lying) Tim noticed that people walked barefoot through a rancid stream to get from one place to another. They didn’t have shoes and had little to no access to sanitation. So Tim built a bridge. And Tim used his creative mind to find ways to help that community (I seriously cannot list them all in one post…but it’s amazing). There is now access to clean drinking water, a food kitchen, a church, education, and hope. I went to The Hole years ago. He now tells me I wouldn’t even recognize it.

Good. Not for gain, but for others. Not in our name but in the name of the One who is, by definition good.

Keep your hearts soft, my friends. Don’t allow them to become calloused over by fear and hatred, bitterness and anger. Look to the good that people are doing in the world. It’s a balm.

And that good is everywhere, sometimes you just have to really focus to see it.

I could go on. But I want to hear from you. 

How is it that you keep your heart soft when so much is terrifying in this world? What is the good that you see folks doing in the world? I need a good dose of hope – not just today but all days. Let’s share that hope with each other. 

I wrote this post on December 14, 2012 after the shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary School and before we knew many details about the murderer or his family. It seemed this could apply to the many shootings, terror attacks, acts of violence that have occurred in the three years that have passed.

I pray for comfort and mercy. And I pray for Peace.

Some days I think being a mom is difficult. The laundry piles up. My printer paper is used to make pictures and snowflakes and airplanes. Emotions boil up over a lost shoe or milk spilled. Patience. Mercy. Gentleness. Peace. I pray for them daily. Some days they come. Other days I have to work for them.

Then, today happens.

Gunshots in a kindergarten classroom. Tiny children murdered. Families grieving. Broken. Marred. Mutilated.

And today I realize how my problems aren’t problems. They are part of life.

Because my children are okay. Giggling as they play a game together in the living room. Looking forward to family movie night. Our Christmas plans. A new year together.

And my guts wrench for the parents of those innocents. Those beautiful, precious children.

I keep grabbing hold of my children today. Hugging them so tight. Begging God to keep that tragedy from my home.

Knowing that mothers and fathers will have an emptiness in their arms today. Tomorrow. For the rest of their lives. And knowing that an easy answer doesn’t exist.

And knowing that today, for one mother, is a different day of sorrow. That mother who, I hope, loved her baby. Her baby that, today, is now labeled a monster. Her son who, today, the world wants to see burn in hell.

He was once a beautiful, precious child. And something went wrong.

And I want to hold my children all that much tighter. Because I don’t know how that kind of tragedy comes into a family. How that level of darkness can take over. But I pray that God will not allow that in my home.

I ask God why. And that’s okay. I ask Him why this happens. And I know that the answer is deep and wide and dense. And that the answer isn’t just because evil is in the world. Because that answer is too easy. And easy answers don’t belong with this difficult of a loss.

I have no answers.

I can only lament.

(I’m reposting this blog from January of this year. Sorry if this is a repeat for you…But, you know, The Partridge Family has been nothing but reruns for 30 years or so and nobody complains…) 

The other day, my husband asked our kids to clean the play room. It should have taken them less than half an hour. Instead it took f-o-r-e-v-e-r (according to one of my children). They’d clean for a minute, then collapse on the floor in exhaustion. I mean, it takes a lot of effort to pick up a Barbie shoe. Then they would harp on each other for not working hard enough. Or for having too many Hot Wheels. Or for dumping the box they’d just filled with those crazy making, itty bitty rubber band thingies.

And they left the room at least a septillion times each. “I’m tired”, “Can we be done?”, “This is taking f-o-r-e-v-e-r!”, “So-in-so isn’t doing anything! And I’ve picked up at least three Barbie shoes…it’s…not…FAIR!”.

At one point my husband said, “It is a lot easier to clean the room if you’re IN the room”.

“That’s a blog post,” I said.

You know, I’m thinking about writing about 75% of the day. The other 25% is spent trying to remember what I was doing before I traveled to La-La-Writer Land or trying to help my kids with their math homework (oy!).

When I’m thinking about writing, I often have fear in my periphery. Can I do this? Who do I think I am writing a novel about __________? Who told me I could do this? They were lying. Why would someone tell me I could do this when I. Can. NOT!?!?

Other times, I’m avoiding writing. Yeah. I do that some times. I check Facebook to see if anybody liked my status update. I read the comment sections of news stories. I search the house for chocolate. I check to see if anybody wrote a review of one of my books on Goodreads. I text somebody. Take an Instagram picture of my coffee mug.

Then there are days when I go to Starbucks, thinking it will spur me on to write more. But then I spy on the people there, wondering why that woman is ALWAYS smiling and nodding like that or why one guy is coughing so much (and hoping he keeps his icky germs to himself). Then I look up when Cheez Whiz was invented because THIS is important to know right this very NOW!

Ahem.

In short. I have writing days that resemble the way my kids clean a room.

It’s easier to clean a room when you are IN the room.

It’s easier to write a novel when you are…well…IN the novel. When you are focused, hands on the keyboard, file pulled up on the screen, characters and plot in mind.

I suspect this is true for all of us, writers or not. It’s easier to get our purpose accomplished if we’re actually there and ready.

So, here I go to work on my writing for the day…

Wait…what’s that? A guy ordered from Starbucks in a Slingblade voice? Shiny puppies? There’s going to be a Comedy Central Roast of Justin Beiber? Or is it Bieber? Where’s my chocolate…

At the end of the summer my family went to Indianapolis. One of our stops there was the Indiana Museum of Arts Sculpture Park.

One of the installations there is called Park of the Laments.

We walked through a dark tunnel to get to the exhibit, not knowing what was on the other side, not knowing the significance of the rock/basket walls around us. We were the only ones there, so we could take our time, checking it out.

Up the stairs and into a kind of courtyard, my family stepped onto the soft, well tended yard. I took in a big breath, glad for how peaceful it was there.

Then we read the flier to find out more about it.

Park of Laments was created to be a place of calling out, maybe in prayer or whatever else the visitor is inclined to do. It’s a space in which one can contemplate the wrong people do to one another, a place to lament it, an environment of letting it go.

I sat on a bench and looked at one of the walls, the trees and bushes soft against the rocks. I thought about genocide and human trafficking and the ways we harm one another. It’s dark, isn’t it? The ills of the world?

It’s easy to sit with those thoughts of darkness. It’s important that we know of them. That we wish to see an end to them. But, if you’re like me, the terror of it all can consume, dim the goodness that is still among us.

That was when I heard giggling. Then a little scream. A happy scream.

What I hadn’t noticed was the sprinkler on the other side of the courtyard. My kids took turns hopping through it, giggling and screaming, the day hot and the water ice cold.

I didn’t stop them. We were the only ones there, so I knew we wouldn’t disturb anyone.

In that place where one is asked to contemplate the bad, I saw that there is also relief. There is joy.

There’s this song we sing in church. It’s by Hillsong and is called No Other Name.

One stanza in that song gets me every single time.

Find hope, when all the world seems lost
Behold the triumph of the cross
His power, has trampled death and grief
Our life found in His name
The greatest name of all.

Today, even in the midst of bad reports and gloomy projections of the future, let’s be the people who in the midst of the muck and mud can find hope. Let’s be the people who, not only seek hope, but share it as well.

Because, here’s the thing, we are more than conquerors, my friends. We are.

What a release day! Yesterday was full and happy and I smiled a whole lot. Thanks to everyone who posted about A Cup of Dust, to those who came to the Facebook party, to all who sent me warm and happy messages. I am grateful to each of you!

Be sure to visit the following blogs to read fun interviews (each is different) and enter for a chance to win a copy of the book! Whee Haw! While you’re visiting, go ahead and check out my hosts Heather, Jessie, and Jennifer. They are great writers and I’m so thrilled to call them friends.

Heather Day Gilbert – Author of God’s Daughter and Miranda Warning

Jessie Clemence –  Author of There’s a Green Plastic Monkey in My Purse and If I Plug My Ears, God Can’t Tell Me What To Do

Jennifer Lamont Leo – Author of the forthcoming novel You’re The Cream in my Coffee

Now I’d like to share a video of me reading from A Cup of Dust. I hope you’ll enjoy it. Feel free to share!

Enter to win a copy of A Cup of Dust and stick around to read a fun interview! Jessie’s the kind of buddy I get a tummy ache around. Why? Because we laugh so hard the whole time. If I spent more time with her I’m sure I’d have a 6 pack.

Anywho, go on over and enter to win!