My son is two and he loves to help me around the house. But the reality is that when James helps—whether it’s with the dishes or the laundry or the vacuuming—it takes me at least twice as long and often creates more of a mess than we started with.

So, why do I do it? Why bother?

I was thinking about this while I mopped up several huge puddles of water in the kitchen floor that were the direct result of my little man’s “assistance” and I remembered a quote I heard a while back at church.

“God doesn’t need you. But he chooses to use you.”

I’ll give you a minute to let that sink in.

So, why does He do it? Why bother?

He doesn’t need me to write a book or a devotion. He doesn’t need me to teach a Sunday school class or minister to a friend or pray for a hurting child.

He’s God. He spoke the universe into existence. So why would God, in His omnipotence, bother using humans to accomplish His will?

We quit. We get bored. We wander off to play with our toys and forget we said we’d help.

Or, even worse, we think we’re actually responsible. We shove Him away and don’t ask for His help. We wind up exhausted, leaving a lot of broken glass and stained clothing in our wake. And only then do we look to Him to clean up the mess.

But He continues to choose us.

Why?

Beats me.

We know that His ways are above our ways, His thoughts higher than our thoughts (Isa. 55:8-9), but we still want Him to make sense.

But let’s face it.

His track record indicates that not making sense (to us) is the way He operates.

Think about it. He chose to redeem the world—wait for it—by becoming a baby.

A baby?

I have a fantastic imagination, and never in a zillion years would I have written the redemption story the way God did.

  1. Become a baby.
  2. Live a perfect human life.
  3. Let the humans I created kill me.
  4. Rise from the dead.

Really? That was the plan?

I’m thinking He could have come up with one that was a bit more straightforward and involved a LOT less pain and suffering on His part. But He didn’t. He chose this way. And we’ll need all of eternity to grasp the reasons why.

With that in mind, why on earth do I expect Him to write my part of His story in a logical, formulaic, predictable way?

Today, my story has several subplots that make no sense. To me.

If left up to me, I would write them differently – a lot more straightforward and definitely with a lot less pain involved.

But I’m thankful it’s not up to me.

Because God writes the best stories.

Isaiah 9:6 – For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. (ESV)

I’ve had some of the most vivid and disturbing dreams of my life in the past few months. And I know what the problem is.

I take a shower before I go to bed.

Did I lose you?

Maybe I should explain.

I get some of my best ideas in the shower.

I’m trying to scrub the germs that are the hallmark of motherhood from my body. Trying to let the tensions and frustrations of the day disappear down the drain.

When it hits.

A scene, often with complete dialogue, starts flooding my mind. And every now and then, it’s perfect. I’ve been known to hop out of the shower after one of these glorious moments and spend another hour at the computer. I also have a waterproof notepad in my shower, so when the perfect sentence or phrase or metaphor strikes, I can write it down without bothering to dry off.

You think I’m joking.

I’m not.

Anyway . . .

All the writing of the past month has led to dreams too bizarre for words. Dreams I can’t get a handle on the next morning, but that leave me groggy and dazed as I drag myself from my bed, wondering why my brain can’t just work on this stuff during the daytime.

Recent dreams have included Frodo Baggins, Angela Hunt, DiAnn Mills and Aslan.

You think I’m joking.

I’m not.

Most of my dreams are weird, but sometimes, the dream hits a little too close to home.

Many of you have asked if I’ve heard anything about the Operation First Novel contest, and as of this writing, I haven’t.

But boy did I ever dream about it. I was outside in a line of people. We stood like pageant contestants and I realized that not only had I not made the top five, or the top ten, but I hadn’t made the top twenty-five. Or the top fifty. Out of 140 entrants, I hadn’t been in the top 50%.

And I was crushed.

Even though I knew it was only a dream and that the people at the Christian Writers Guild are far too polite to embarrass those of us whose writing still isn’t up to par, I felt humiliated.

It bothered me all day. Bothered me for the better part of a week. Especially when I read a blog post where the first reader for the contest said that the margins were supposed to be 1.25″ all around.

Mine were 1″.

The horror!

When I told my husband about it, he looked at me for a half second and then, without mocking or cracking up at my lunacy, he said something I already knew, but had in the midst of dreams and despair, forgotten.

“Do you really think a 1/4″ margin discrepancy could prevent you from winning a contest if God wanted you to win?”

Gulp.

He’s right a lot. It really irks me when he’s right.

(I hope he doesn’t read this – he’ll be impossible to live with.)

Besides, I’m not supposed to care if I win a contest or publish a novel.

That’s not why I write.

But sometimes, in the midst of contests and revisions, it’s easy to start thinking that if you don’t win, then you haven’t succeeded. If you don’t get published, then you’ve been wasting time.

I wonder if my Abba shakes His head in exasperation as I mope around, feeling like a failure, when what He sees when He looks at me is someone who gave her best.

I wonder if He wishes I would remember something I forget far too easily . . . that He gave me the dream in the first place.

And He is more than capable of seeing it fulfilled. In His time. In His way.

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I love historical fiction. I particularly love historicals set during and shortly after the time of Christ, when the church was young and the oppression of the Roman empire intense.

The Master’s Wall by Sandi Rog takes a unique approach to the genre. The main characters are children as the book opens, and we experience the tragedies that impact who they are and who they will become.

I was drawn in, wondering if David, the young Hebrew boy enslaved after his parents died for Christ, would continue to follow a God who didn’t protect his family. How would the faith his parents had instilled in his heart grow in a pagan environment?

And would Alethea ever come to know the God her father worshipped, even when it cost him his life? Especially when the man who sentenced her father to die is her grandfather and David’s new master.

The characters are flawed in a way that had me alternately rooting for them and frustrated by them.

The descriptions of life for the slaves, women, children and masters in the Roman Empire were detailed enough to bring the story to life without bogging down the plot.

The plot twists left me turning pages, stomach clenched with anticipation, wondering what would happen next and hopeful that things would eventually work out in the end.

The ending both satisfied and left me wanting more.

****

The Master’s Wall is Sandi Rog’s debut novel. For obvious reasons, I have a strong desire to support new novelists! But in this case, there’s an additional reason.

The day the book released, Sandi was diagnosed with a very aggressive cancer. Sandi lives in Colorado with her husband and four young children. The mother and novelist in me has been crying out to God to spare Sandi and I’m thrilled to be able to say that her doctors are optimistic. You can read more of the details of Sandi’s illness here. Her publisher has stated than an additional $1 from each book sold will go directly to Sandi to assist her during this time. I would encourage you to buy a copy of The Master’s Wall, read it, and pray for Sandi and her family as she faces the intense days of treatment ahead.

As you may know, my internal editor and I got quite chummy a few months ago as I edited every single word of my first manuscript. However, during NaNo . . . well, I had to tell her to hush. Quite a bit.

I was feeling guilty, so I tried to have a little chat with her earlier this week.

Come visit me over at the The Write Conversation to eavesdrop on our pleasant, enjoyable, interesting conversation!

A few of you have asked what it means to be a “winner” – well, for NaNoWriMo, all it means is you finished 50,000 words in 30 days. There’s no judging. No prizes. No limit on the number of winners.

But it’s still nice to win!

I finished my 50K on Sunday the 28th with two days to spare and several hundred words over the minimum.

I thought I’d share with you what I got out of the past 28 days.

Let’s get the bad stuff out of the way first.

  • I’ve been a deficient friend for the past month. I admit to screening phone calls. Especially if they came right as I sat down to write. So, um, sorry about that.
  • I’ve been a deficient housekeeper. So, nothing new there.
  • I’ve been a deficient homemaker. So, there’s been more takeout than usual. And quite a few things are in piles “to do” in December. I managed to double book myself at two doctors because I haven’t bothered to write things down on my calendar. And let’s not discuss the laundry situation, shall we?
  • And the writing . . . well, let’s just say I don’t want anyone to read what I’ve written. It’s sloppy. It’s full of lazy metaphors and overdone explanations. It’s also full of holes – plot holes, timeline holes and character holes. There’s a good chance that it wouldn’t make sense to anyone but me at this stage. Not to mention that while I’ve written 50K+ words this month, I didn’t finish my novel. Not even close. Best guess, I’m about half-way there.

So, with all that out of the way, on to the good stuff.

  • I wrote 50K+ words in 28 days!!! I can hardly believe it. I wasn’t sure it was possible. But it is.
  • I still prefer to write in long, uninterrupted stretches, but if I can’t get them, it’s amazing what I can accomplish in fifteen minutes.
  • I have a novel-in-progress! Before November 1st, I had an idea of where the story was going. Now, I have the makings of a real plot. Complete with drama, catastrophe and even – gasp! – death.
  • I learned to block out my internal editor for most things. I still can’t stand to leave misspelled words in the manuscript. And I did re-write the occasional sentence. But I tried to keep the focus on getting the story out, not in perfecting it.
  • I learned I’m a “take-outer” rather than a “put-inner” and I’m OK with that. I’ll cut at least 15-20% of this stuff. But that doesn’t mean it was wasted effort. Even a scene that doesn’t survive helps me flesh out the characters and their relationships.
  • As a winner, I’ll be able to purchase the Scrivener for PC program (a really cool writing program) when it comes out next year for half-price. Given that it will probably sell for $40, this equates to a $20 savings which means I made $0.0004 a word. Hmm…on second thought, maybe this should be in the “bad” list. 🙂
  • In 28 days, I only had 3 days where I didn’t write a word. Most days I wrote over 1000 words, which, in writing circles, seems to be a bit of a magic number and one that used to seem out of reach to me.
  • Even though I met my word count goal on Sunday, I don’t feel any inclination to stop working on the novel. If anything, I feel energized to press on.

So, thanks to all of you – for your support, words of encouragement, babysitting, and for, even though you may think I’m insane, cheering me on as I bounce around the loony bin!

I have a paper cut.

It’s on the tip of my right index finger. Every time I type, pain shoots through my fingertip and hand.

I press on because I’m tough.

But it made me think of things we should avoid during NaNoWriMo. I’m not talking about the usual stuff writers give up—sleep, TV, video games, free time, reading for pleasure, hobbies, etc.

I’m talking about hazardous things. Such as . . .

Paper—Obviously. Paper cuts will make you miserable. Trust me.

Hot objects—Including but not limited to ovens and irons. Have you ever suffered a burn on your fingers? I have. It’s worse than a paper cut. Save yourself a great deal of pain and time. Order takeout. It’s for your own safety.

Sharp objects—Knives and scissors are taboo.

Laundry—Why risk it? I know the clothes are soft and should be harmless, but save your hand strength for typing your manuscript.

Small children—Admittedly, this is not always possible. But in the past week and a half, my children have sat and stepped on my hands more times than I can count. And, they seem to enjoy being fed, repeatedly subjecting my fragile fingers to all manner of hot and sharp objects. They request pizza, hotdogs and pancakes. It’s a miracle I’ve survived unscathed.

Sports—Volleyball anyone? I think not.

Card games—Cards are made of? That’s right—paper! And, most games require that you hold the cards in an unnatural position, causing unnecessary hand strain. If you happen to be playing Old Maid or Go Fish, then you are consorting with small children while handling paper. Madness!

Power tools—Do I need to explain this?

Of course, there are other things that can mess with your writing rhythm.

Tight pants—Every writer should own at least one pair of “writing” pants. The kind of pants that you wouldn’t wear out in public, but that are soft, warm and have an elastic waist. Comfort is important. If you have a character who suddenly goes on a diet or starts complaining of abdominal pain—totally out of the blue—check your waistband.

Caffeine—Too much or too little can ruin your day. Too much and your hands shake and your mind wanders. Too little and you can’t stay awake to write. It’s a fine line. And maybe you should stick to soft drinks and frappucinos. If you want to live on the edge and go with the mochas or lattes, be sure you let them cool off.

Dieting—Your word count needs chocolate. And it’s tricky to diet while living on takeout. The diet can wait for December . . . or January . . . or whenever.

If you’re a NaNo participant this year, what else do you do to protect yourself from catastrophe? And if you aren’t a NaNo participant, feel free to make any recommendations you can think of.

My word count thanks you in advance!

Have you lost your mind?

These were the exact words my sister uttered when I announced my plans to participate in this year’s NaNoWriMo.

She pointed out that I was busy.

She pointed out that I don’t have time to do this.

She pointed out that my decision making skills might be questionable.

And then I told her what I was writing.

And she told me to carry on.

Hop on over to The Write Conversation to read why I’m doing this. And then you can decide for yourself if I’ve lost my mind.

If you follow this blog regularly, then you know that September was a roller coaster for me. Lots of writing and editing, interspersed with ridiculous amounts of drama.

But, I’m learning.

Maybe.

November is National Novel Writing Month. And the goal of NaNoWriMo is to encourage authors to finally write that novel.

The goal? 50,000 words in 30 days.

Not unattainable if, say, you don’t have children, or a spouse, or a full time job that doesn’t involve writing novels. Otherwise, 50,000 words in 30 days is a challenge.

My life is a bit nuts right now.

Nuts enough to totally justify skipping this year’s NaNoWriMo. But I have reasons for participating. And I’ll be sharing different ones with you in the days ahead.

It occurred to me this morning that November will be another opportunity – a 30 day opportunity – to focus on spending my time the way God wants me to spend it. My writing frequently takes a back seat to my life, and NaNo is a great way to bring it to the forefront.

But my life is important. The little life growing inside me is vitally important.

And no novel, not even the sequel the 15 or so people who’ve read my first novel have been clamoring for, is more important than spending my time in the center of God’s will.

So I’m diving in. Taking the challenge. But I’m not too hung up on completing the 50,000 words by November 30th. I want to. I’m going to give it my best. But if God sends me a new challenge, a new opportunity, a new twist on my already twisting road, I won’t be viewing it as a detour to my plans.

At least . . . I’ll try not to.

I’ll follow the path He’s laying out for me. And just like a good book, eagerly turn the pages to see what happens next.

There are a couple of things I really want.

I’m not talking about the way I really want a mocha, or a slice of pizza, or to weigh less. Although, let’s face it, the mocha and pizza aren’t helping the weight issue at all. Neither is my Oreo addiction. But I digress.

I’m talking about big wants. Life-changing wants. The kinds of things that would impact me and my family for years.

And I want them bad.

Sometimes I shy away from admitting I want things. Even when what I want is good and God-honoring, I still have the notion that the “wanting” is wrong.

But I don’t believe the wanting is where I stumble.

God created us to have dreams and desires. They are not inherently evil. They are, however, frequently misappropriated.

I stumble when my dreams become demands or when what I want becomes what I must have to be happy.

While I haven’t always been able to say this, at this time in my life I can honestly say that while I do want some big things, there is one thing I want more. So much more that it trumps all my other dreams and longings.

I want Him more.

I only want what God wants me to have. And I don’t want anything enough to step out of God’s will to have it.

Will I be disappointed if what I want doesn’t happen? Yes.

Will I be disappointed in God if what I want doesn’t happen? No.

I want Him more.

Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord; trust in him, and he will act. Psalm 37:4-5 (ESV)

image courtesy of photobucket.com

I like detailed directions.

Extremely detailed.

If you ever need directions to my house, I don’t just say turn left on this street and right on that one. Oh no. I include important information such as “Approximately 8/10 of a mile after you turn left you’ll come to a curve that makes you feel like you should put your turn signal on. The curve is 1/10 of a mile from your next right turn.”

People love my directions.

Okay. Actually, they laugh hysterically when the read them, but the reality is, if I give you directions, you are not going to get lost. At least, not if you follow them.

This need for detailed direction is probably why I struggle with Psalm 119:105.

Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.

I learned the verse as a child and my mental picture involved an enormous spotlight shining its powerful beam a good 100 yards down the path.

But that’s not what we’re talking about here. Oil lamps don’t give off that much light. We’re talking about just enough light to avoid stubbing your toe on a root or slamming into a boulder.

And this frustrates me.

After all, God is quite capable of giving detailed directions.

Have you seen the book of Leviticus? I mean honestly. Talk about details. (I like to think I get my detail issues from the Almighty—it’s nicer than admitting to being a bit OCD).

And talk about lighting a path. This is the God of the Shekinah glory cloud and the pillar of fire. God knows how to light up a path when He wants to.

And yet . . .

He seems to prefer to give me just enough information to take the next step.

No more. No less.

You can’t race along a path with that little bit of light. Each step must be measured. Each foot placement considered. You have to be on your guard at all times. And you have to have faith that the destination is worth the harrowing journey.

Of course, my faith is what’s at issue.

I have to trust that the One who lights my path, knows my path.

So I continue to step out, never knowing what’s next, but knowing He does.

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