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New Life in the Wasteland

Tue, 2015-07-21 07:01 -- Jocelyn Green
As we've been talking about what this month was like in Gettysburg in 1863, I ran across this blog post which originally was published in 2013, just a few weeks after Widow of Gettysburg released. It's worth sharing again today. (Some of you may remember that our guest blogger, Kimberly Drew, is now my co-author for a new devotional book for parents of children with special needs children, too!) ___________________________ Today we have special guest blogger Kimberly Drew sharing her heart with us. Kimberly recently finished reading my latest novel, Widow of Gettysburg, and found that several of the concepts discussed between the characters related to her own life as the parent of a child with special needs. She says. . . There were several quotes throughout the book that grabbed my attention, but this one in particular has been running through my mind today. “Where we think there is wasteland, God will bring new life.” [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"954", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter size-full wp-image-3377", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"480", "height":"600", "alt":"NewLife2"}}]] As the parent of a child with multiple handicaps, there have been seasons of my life where I felt like I was living in, and surrounded by a wasteland.  Doctor’s appointments, therapies, insurance battles, isolation, grief, and fear sucked every last bit of energy from my spirit.  I was recalling with my mother-in-law just this morning that during the early years of Abbey’s diagnosis, I felt like I would never get out of the emotional wasteland I was living in.   I couldn’t see relief in the future, I couldn’t feel God’s presence (even though it was always there), and uncertainty seemed to be overwhelming my ability to grasp and deal with our situation. Perhaps while you’re reading this, you can relate to one or all of those feelings.  I want to encourage you to never forget that God is in the business of making all things beautiful in His time.  If you had told me eleven years ago that there would come a time in my life that I would thank God for allowing Abbey to become disabled, I never would have believed you.  I barely believe it now!  But it’s true.  Somewhere deep in my heart, God has tenderly spoken kindness and mercy over my pain.  Where there once was a wasteland of isolation, now there are new and invaluable relationships.  Where fear of the unknown robbed my joy, my trust and faith in His plan allows me to laugh freely and often as a part of my day.  The horizon of my heart was once a barren and empty black hole of grief, and today it is so very full of the lessons I’ve learned about God’s character and compassion for me. Isn’t it amazing that while I was looking around and feeling and finding nothing, deep underneath the layers of my heart God was planting something new? There beneath the cracks in my faith, a tiny seed of hope was growing.  This seed needed deep roots to withstand its environment.  Out of the wasteland, God brought new life.  This life is more transparent, vulnerable, and authentic than it ever could have been if someone had planted it in the lush and fertile soil of ease. Now it's your turn. If you'd feel comfortable sharing, how has God brought new life out of what seemed like a wasteland in your own life?

My Hurting Son, Nurses in Denial, and a Message for Those in Pain

Mon, 2015-06-29 10:45 -- Jocelyn Green
Last week, I took my six-year-old son in to have his cast removed and replaced with a new one for the final three weeks of his healing. I didn't think it would hurt. Boy, was I wrong. Between the old cast and the new cast, they x-rayed his arm to make sure the bones were still in good alignment. (They are.) They wouldn't let me in the room, so I don't know what happened in there exactly, but when he came out, he was white as a sheet, as white as he was when he first broke his arm. He told me the way they turned his arm hurt. A lot. "Oh no, you're just scared," the nurse informed him. "That didn't hurt you." She turned to me. "He's just scared." Mmm hmmmm. Right. The next nurse put a new cast on his arm, and then decided, after it had already dried, she'd made it too close and tight between his forefinger and thumb. "I'm not going to get you with this," she said as she turned on the saw and started cutting away the plaster in small chunks between his fingers. And then, guess what? She cut right through the plaster and the saw pushed into his skin. It didn't break the skin, but he screamed, and why not? A very loud, hot, spinning saw just landed on his skin. The child is six years old. "You're just scared," she told him. "That didn't hurt. I didn't cut you, it's just hot." She laughed. My Mama Bear hackles were rising now, but we got out of there before I lashed out. Unfortunately, the spot where she had cut away the plaster was so rough and sharp, and still too tight. But he didn't complain until 5pm. So the next morning we were back again. This time, a different nurse shoved long metal tongs between the cast and my son's hand and pried the plaster up and away from his thumb so he could cut it off. That doesn't sound too bad, but getting it in, from the thumb side, was a very challenging angle, and skin was pinched (hard) between the metal and cast. Can you guess what the nurse said whenever my son said that it hurt? Yep. "No, I'm not hurting you. No, you don't feel any pain. You're. Just. Scared." Over and over again, this was the only response. I'm sure this nurse is a good and kind person in general, but his chuckling denials were making me crazy. I would have accepted "It will be over soon," or "I know it hurts, but we need to do this now so you aren't hurting for three weeks." Instead, we felt ridiculed. My son was crying, my daughter was crying, and so was I by now. Every time I interjected, the nurse just smiled and shook his head at me. By the time we were done, I could barely maintain composure until we were out of the office suite and into the hall. I dropped down into the first chair I saw and cried openly in public for the first time I can remember. I just could not get it together. My heart ached for my son, whose feelings had been repeatedly and completely invalidated, but I was also overwhelmed with the realization that this happens to so many of us--perhaps even some of you. Earlier this month I talked about denying my own pain, which is bad enough. But when other people dismiss or minimize your very real pain, whether it's emotional or physical, that adds a fresh layer of hurt on top of everything, doesn't it? I know many of you are experiencing pain or fear right now. Perhaps it's an impending surgery. Maybe you just learned that the new treatment plan you were so hopeful about has actually failed to bring about any healing and you're back at square one. It could be financial hardship, a marital crisis, or conflict in another relationship. Perhaps you're plagued by chronic pain, or by fear for a loved one in harm's way on deployment. Maybe you have a child with special needs and you try not to worry about the future but fear creeps in and grabs hold with a vice-grip. If this is you, I'm willing to bet that many voices in your life are trying to minimize your pain or fear, perhaps to make themselves more comfortable regardless of how you really feel. May I remind you that God never does this? He will never deny your feelings. In fact, He weeps with those who weep. He is the God Who Sees. He has something to say to you today, and I promise it isn't "You're just scared." May the following verses bring you comfort today. “Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go” (Joshua 1:9). “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the Lord your God…” (Isaiah 43:1b-3a). “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam  and the mountains quake with their surging” (Psalm 46:1-3). “He will have no fear of bad news; his heart is steadfast, trusting in the LORD” (Psalm 112:7). “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand” (Isaiah 41:10). “For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control” (2 Timothy 1:7). “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own” (Matthew 6:34). “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me” (John 14:1). “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God” (Philippians 4:6). “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7). “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid” (John 14:27). Your pain is real. Your fear is real. But God is bigger, and He longs to comfort you. Dear friends, I pray that today you experience His peace.

Broken Bones, a Stranger in a Wheelchair, and the Power of Scars

Mon, 2015-06-15 06:00 -- Jocelyn Green
The kids and I wanted to do something really memorable for the last day of school a couple of weeks ago. Mission accomplished: my 6-year-old son broke his arm when  he jumped out of a swing and landed wrong. Poor little guy! I think his fear was as difficult to bear as the pain. He kept saying, "I don't want to be broken!" It took some time to assure him (and his big sister) that in time, he would heal. For the next several days, my shy little boy bristled every time we went to the grocery store, pharmacy, etc., because strangers would notice his sling and come talk to him about it. "How did you do that?" everyone wanted to know. "But was it fun doing it?" "What a way to start the summer!" "At least it wasn't your leg!" My son learned to make small talk about his broken bones (both bones in the left forearm snapped), but I could tell he didn't care for the attention. And then we went to the orthopedic surgeon's office to get his cast put on. As we stood waiting at the receptionist desk, a man was rolled out into the lobby in a wheelchair. He was a large man, with bushy white hair and beard, not unlike our typical image of Santa Claus, except for this gentleman sported shorts, a T-shirt, and an eight-inch scar traversing his right knee. I thought my son would be afraid of this stranger. After all, he was big, even in a wheelchair, and he had facial hair, which for some reason still makes my son uncomfortable. But what happened next brought tears to my eyes. The stranger in the wheelchair locked eyes with my son--after all, they were on the same level. The man then said simply, "Are you OK?" My son glanced at the scar on the man's knee, the wheelchair, and up to the man's eyes again. He nodded. "I'm OK." What touched me about this was that the man didn't ask what happened. It wasn't curiosity that prompted him to speak. He had noticed that a little boy had been injured, and simply asked if he was all right. He could have pointed to his own pain, to his immobility, in a  "Be grateful, I have it worse than you," sort of way. But he didn't mention it. He didn't need to. And in that moment, I saw a connection take place between my shy little guy and a burly stranger my son would normally be afraid of. They saw each other's pain, and acknowledged it. No fanfare. No jokes. Just simple, quiet, beautiful validation. Friends, scars have power. No one wants to be wounded, either physically or emotionally. But very often, when we are, we are marked by it. God can use those scars for good: 1. Being wounded opens our eyes to the suffering of others. 2. Scars  give us credibility when we speak of both pain and of healing. 3. Scars bear silent testimony that we have lived through something excruciating. We made it through to the other side. For those currently suffering, the reminder that better days will come is a wonderful gift, indeed. It is hope. Col. Brian Birdwell (U.S. Army, retired) survived being in the Pentagon when a plane crashed into it on 9-11-01. He was burned over 60 percent of his body, and his mere survival is a miracle. But he still bears scars. When he talks to other burn victims now, he doesn't start off by telling his own story. He doesn't need to. His scars make it clear that he understands. Of course, some scars are invisible. Laurie Wallin has four daughters, two of whom have special needs. When she sees another mom in a doctor or therapist's waiting room with tears in her eyes and a faraway look on her face, Laurie doesn't tell that tearful mom to buy Laurie's new book, Get Your Joy Back (which, BTW, is an amazing book). She offers her a kleenex, and puts her arm around her shoulders. True compassion need not say much. When Jesus appeared to His disciples after His resurrection (see Luke 24:38-39), the scars in His hands and feet proved three things: 1) He was who He said He was; 2) He had conquered death, just as He said He would; and 3) He can relate to any degree of human suffering. What a comfort! A very wise man I worked with once told me, "If we Christians never experienced pain, we would be tragically irrelevant to the rest of the world." Our scars are our proof that we can relate to others in pain--and that there is hope.  [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1276", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter size-medium wp-image-3218", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"300", "height":"300", "alt":"scarshavepower"}}]] And we are not without comfort. Neither are we without the ability to comfort others. "Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God." ~1 Corinthians 1:3-4 In five weeks, my son's cast will come off and he'll be able to ride his bike, play baseball, and swim again. He's really looking  forward to being "back to normal." But I'm hoping and praying that his "normal" from now on will include a generous portion of compassion for those who hurt. What about you? Have you had a life experience that has brought you more compassion for others? Or have you received compassion from someone that was especially meaningful to you? 

We All Need Backup Singers

Wed, 2015-06-03 06:39 -- Jocelyn Green
This is a picture I didn't know was being taken. What do you mean, you can tell? ;) My dad had asked my daughter what "that famous Frozen song that everyone is groaning about" is. So we popped in the Frozen soundtrack and my daughter began singing along to "Let It Go." I thought Dad was taking a picture just of her, but clearly, he captured me, her dish-wiping-but-ever-so-sincere backup singer, as well. I'm actually OK with this. In the future, when we look back together on my kids' growing up years, and notice that Mom isn't in all that many pictures (because normally I'm the one with the camera), I'm going to use this snapshot and tell them, "See, look! I was your backup singer. Still am." And I will explain what this means, on more than one  level. The truth is, we all need backup singers: those who not only believe in us, but who lift us up, and even sing for us when we forget our own song. [Tweet "We all need backup singers to sing for us when we forget our own song."] May I confess something to you? There have been times in my writing life when the only thing keeping me at my computer was the fact that I had a legal obligation to fulfill my contract with a publisher. I had been so burned out I was white-knuckling through my word counts, not at all certain I had anything of actual value to tell the world. But when I confide in one or two trusted writer friends, they bolster me. They sing back to me the words I was no longer singing myself--words of hope, and trust, and confidence in our calling--until I remembered the tune and found my groove once again. This is not something I can do on my own. And then, there are times when my backup singers do something even more important for me. They pray on my behalf, when I can barely breathe. This was certainly the case when my husband was unofficially diagnosed with cancer. (See My Two Secrets.) You see, I have another confession to make. When the surgeon told me the mass was Hogkin's Lymphoma, I didn't pray for a miracle. I didn't pray for instant and total healing. I'd seen too many friends struggle through cancer and the painful, ugly treatment cycles to think for a second that my family deserved to be spared all of that while others suffered. It didn't cross my mind to pray for a clean bill of health. I did pray, but it was for the strength and grace to endure what lay ahead. I prayed that our testimony as Christians would not be marred by ungodly responses to trials. Little did I know, while I was praying these things with a breaking heart, my backup singers--who didn't yet know what the surgeon had told me--were praying for good news. Really good news. Miraculous news: no cancer. God heard them, and He said yes. Maybe the surgeon was wrong from the beginning. Maybe there never was any cancer in my dear husband's body. Then again, I can't help but think of the story in Mark 2:1-12, in which Jesus healed the paralytic after seeing the faith of the friends who had carried him to Christ (verse 5). This is what friends, true friends, do for us. They bring us to Christ in prayer when we ourselves are running low on faith. They sing truth to us until we sing it ourselves. They support us, harmonize with us, and help us make sense of life together. They do this, not from a distance, but on the same stage, in the same mess in which we stand. [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1251", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter wp-image-3125", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"400", "height":"400", "alt":"backupsingers"}}]] Who are these people in your own lives? Won't you tell them how grateful you are for them? Now, think about the people you know who may be struggling with their solos right now. Can you step up and be a backup singer for that person today? Send an email, or a message, or a card. Call. Visit. Sing truth to her. Pray. You may never know how much it means. We all need backup singers.
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My Two Secrets

Mon, 2015-06-01 06:08 -- Jocelyn Green
*Pssst...if this looks familiar to you, don't worry. I'm not a chronic secret-keeper. This post originally appeared on author Susie Finkbeiner's blog on April 29, but I figured I should also share it with my own peeps. So here you go: When I began writing Spy of Richmond, I had no idea I’d learn for myself what it meant to keep a gigantic secret from everyone I loved. My heroine’s secret, of course, was that she was a spy. My secret? My husband had cancer. We thought it was just a lump on his clavicle. A very painful, swollen, hot-to-the-touch and out-of-nowhere lump. Even as they wheeled him into the operating room to remove it, the word “tumor” did not occur to me. So when the surgeon came to consult with me afterwards and said the tumor was too large to remove, I was completely caught off guard. “We’re sending a sample to the lab,” he told me, “but if I were you, I’d want to know what we’re dealing with here. Hodgkins Lymphoma cancer.” I jerked backwards, as if his words had slapped me across the face. “I see this all the time,” he continued. “It’s a textbook case.” More words.  Chemotherapy . . Meet with the cancer team . . . treatment plan. . . I was crying by now. “Are you going to tell Rob? Am I supposed to tell him?” “No, I don’t want to tell him until the labs are in. But you need to process this now so you can support him when the time comes.” Well, if I wasn’t to tell Rob, then I wasn’t going to tell anyone. This was my first secret. I went through the motions of life, holding the ugly news close to my heart until it bore a hole right through it. At the pharmacy, picking up Rob’s post-surgery prescriptions, I couldn’t bear to answer the cheerful question, “How are you?” On Facebook, someone asked Rob if the doctor said anything about cancer. Rob said no. My secret gnawed through my middle. Days later, the phone call came: no cancer cells were detected. The mass was completely benign. This was the first time the doctor had been wrong, the nurse told me. I was stunned. After I hung up the phone I told Rob, “It isn’t cancer,” and started sobbing. “They told me it was cancer,” I choked out. It felt like a miracle to me, and suddenly the only thing that mattered was that Rob was going to be OK. Still, recovery from that surgery was very challenging. Because of the depth and width of the incision, he needed follow-up appointments at the wound care clinic for weeks, and I was in charge of changing his dressings a few times a day at home, which was painful for him, and distressing to me. Add to this the fact that he developed a dependence on his narcotic and went through a terrible withdrawal. A month or so after Rob’s surgery, our family took a mini-vacation, and I cracked my toe on a deck chair at the side of the hotel pool. Really hard. It hurt like the dickens, but I wasn’t about to complain. After all, look at what Rob is still going through! I thought. This is nothing. So we carried on, walking around the Science Museum that night and around the zoo the next day. My toe was killing me, but since it was nothing “compared to Rob,” I tried to deny the pain. Weeks later, I still was limping. I finally went to the doctor, where an x-ray revealed I’d broken my toe. This, then, had been my second secret, one I had tried to keep even from myself. The truth of the matter—my secret—was that I was in pain. The lie that I had chanted to myself to drown out the truth, was that because my pain was less than someone else’s, my pain was invalid, and did not deserve attention. The lie was that acknowledging my own pain would be a wimpy thing to do. Don’t we all deny our own pain sometimes? But here’s the thing about pain, whether it’s physical or emotional. It’s real, even if/though someone else is currently suffering more than you are. Comparing burdens is useless. Pain is a sign that something is wrong. And only when we acknowledge that something is wrong will we be able to fix it. I have this hunch that at least some of you are experiencing pain today. Hear this: your pain is real, and you are not weak for seeking help. What you’re feeling is valid. Don’t tell yourself that because someone else has it worse, you should be fine. C.S. Lewis once called pain the gift that no one wants. Pain is a message that we are not whole, and that we should be. Pain says something needs to change in order for us to feel better. But we have to be honest about it before we can get on the path to healing. It’s a delicate balance, but one worth striving for. Let’s be grateful for the blessings we do have, but please, let’s not walk around on broken toes.

Why I Say No to Good Things

Tue, 2015-05-19 05:00 -- Jocelyn Green
Recently, I read something in my gardening book which you natural green thumbs have probably known for eons. I read that in the spring, one of my gardening chores should be to strip off the smallest peony buds, leaving only the largest one to grow on each stalk of the plant. That way, the plant will put all of its energy into one bloom per stalk. So, rather than having several small-yet-somehow-still-droopy flowers, I can look forward to "show-stopping blooms" instead. This made so much sense to me, on a life lessons level, that I immediately marched outside and set to work pinching off the smaller peony buds. Each time I dropped one to the mulch below, I thought about how similar this is to how I must manage my time when I'm trying to grow something beautiful, which is usually a book. I have to say no to several small, good things, so I can pour my energy into something bigger. I love this analogy. I love the promise that it holds, and the freedom it gives me, and all  of us, to place our energy where it will do the most good. But would you believe that it is much, much easier to pinch peony buds off my own  plant than it is to actually say no to a real person? Today, a lovely person asked me to do a good thing that should be done. I cringed when I read the request in my inbox. She was asking for time that I had already set aside to spend working on my new book project, whether it will be conducting interviews with parents of kids with special needs, or writing the devotions. My children will be cared for during this time frame, which makes this time frame absolutely precious to me. Being a home schooling mother, this kid-free time is really, really important so I can work without distraction. "Pinch the peony!" I told myself almost right away. "Tell her you can't do it! You're already committed!" I was right, of course. And yet, I still struggled. I prayed about it, deliberated, prayed some more, and finally asked a trusted friend to weigh in. Being the wise woman she is, my friend affirmed my gut reaction. I was already committed to working during those hours. I had to pinch the peony to preserve my best energy. (Judge me now, if you will, just please don't be mean in the comments. I will delete them. Because I can.) The fact that Lysa TerKeurst has written an entire book on this concept of not saying yes to every request--and the fact that it's wildly popular--tells me I'm not alone when it comes to my desire to please others. I don't think any of us relish the idea of disappointing people. We want to serve, and isn't service a good thing? Yep. But we are allowed to discern where our service will do the most good, given our skills, gifts, and experience. Lysa TerKeurst, in The Best Yes, puts it this way: Here's the reality of our current technique: Other people's requests dictate the decisions we make. We become slaves to others' demands when we let our time become dictated by requests. We will live reactive lives instead of proactive. And reactive lives get very exhausting, very quickly. Oswald Chambers, in My Utmost for His Highest, puts it this way: The greatest enemy of the life of faith in God is not sin, but good choices which are not quite good enough. The good is always the enemy of the best. [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1245", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter wp-image-3129", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"400", "height":"400", "alt":"The good is always the enemy of the"}}]] When we say no to some good things, we empower our "yes" to the best--that which God has uniquely called and equipped them to do. As TerKeurst writes, "This isn't just about finding time. This is about honoring God with the time we have." Amen to that, Lysa, amen! [Tweet "When we say no to some things, we empower our bigger "yes.""]   Now, here's the thing about pinching off the smaller buds, the ones you know should not receive your best attention. It's only helpful if we literally nip the bud right off, right away. Waiting until it has already bloomed before plucking it means you've already spent valuable energy on it, and there's more to clean up. In other words, it's easier to say "No, I can't take on that commitment right now," than to later say with a knot in your gut, "Oh no, I can't keep up with this commitment anymore!" Believe me, I've done it both ways. (I'll save that story for later.) Sometimes, people won't understand why we're saying no. After all, that bigger bud we're spending most of our energy on--it hasn't bloomed yet! No one can see what we're growing before it flowers, so they may doubt the value of what we've chosen. [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1246", "attributes":{"class":"media-image wp-image-3095", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"400", "height":"400", "alt":"Sorbet peonies in full bloom"}}]] Sorbet peonies in full bloom   Stand strong anyway. Whether you are a work-at-home mom like me, or work outside the  home, whether you're an entrepreneur or a college student, we all need time for what God has called us to do in this season. Sometimes pinching off the smaller buds means declining to volunteer for something altogether, like I did today. But other times it could just be saying no to doing things the hard way. For instance, I will say yes to bringing treats to my daughter's violin class, but no to making homemade sugar cookie cutouts with piped icing and fancy fondant. I can say yes to having friends over for a meal, but no to making a four-course gourmet dinner. (Delivery, anyone?) We can't say no to everything, nor should we. But we do need to say "no" to some good things so we can say "yes" to the best thing. Have you found this to be true in your life? If so, please share. I would love to hear about your best thing. Which buds have you dropped to the ground so a bigger bloom could blossom?

Truths To Keep Us Afloat

Wed, 2015-05-06 05:16 -- Jocelyn Green
With all the rain we’ve had around here lately, my eight-year-old has been asking questions. “How much rain does it take to make a flood? Do you remember when the streets became rivers? Can anyone die from a flood? How do I not drown?” Patiently, I answer each one, because I remember very clearly when the river seven blocks from our house flooded so severely that we evacuated our home and headed for higher ground. (Our house was spared, thankfully, but thousands were not.)   [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1227", "attributes":{"class":"media-image size-full wp-image-3041", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"480", "height":"360", "alt":"Photo courtesy Matt Herzberger. Downtown Cedar Rapids, Iowa, June 2008."}}]] Photo courtesy Matt Herzberger. Downtown Cedar Rapids, Iowa, June 2008.   “The way to not drown,” I tell her, “is to stay above the water.” “Get in a boat?” She offers. I nod, and visions of flood victims being rescued from their homes wash over me. My heart catches in my throat. [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1228", "attributes":{"class":"media-image wp-image-3042", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"550", "height":"381", "alt":"Photo courtesy Matt Putney. Tammy Durnin, left, and her daughters dog Crystal are given a ride to safety by her neighbor Jamie Wood, right as the Cedar River flood water rises Thursday, June 12, 2008 in Waterloo, Iowa. Wood made numerous trips back and forth to evacuate his neighborhood with his boat. "}}]] Photo courtesy Matt Putney. Tammy Durnin, left, and her daughters dog Crystal are given a ride to safety by her neighbor Jamie Wood, right as the Cedar River flood water rises Thursday, June 12, 2008 in Waterloo, Iowa. Wood made numerous trips back and forth to evacuate his neighborhood with his boat.   Save me, O God,     for the waters have come up to my neck. I sink in the miry depths,     where there is no foothold. I have come into the deep waters;     the floods engulf me. ~Psalm 69:1-2 Life has its own storms. We can feel powerless and out of control. How do we stay afloat during these tumultuous times when circumstances batter us? We need to stay in—or get in—a lifeboat. That lifeboat, of course, is the truth of God’s Word. Truth does not make life trial-free, just like a boat doesn’t make the floodwaters recede. But it does buoy us and carry us through. Since this is Military Family Appreciation Month, I’d love to share with you three truths that I've noticed sustaining women during the Civil War—arguably our nation’s stormiest era in history. While researching for my Heroines Behind the Lines Civil War fiction series, I have delved into the diaries of real women who endured unfathomable hardship. Whether they were north of the Mason-Dixon line or south of it, they waged their own battles against near-paralyzing fear or sorrow. Some women came out victorious. And some succumbed. Those who lived with faith and courage weathered their storms by clinging to truths that apply to all of us today, as well. We are in good hands. Psalm 31:5 says, “My times are in your hands.” It’s a truth Mary Custis Lee, wife of General Robert E. Lee took to heart, even after the war ended. When a well-meaning journalist called her husband’s death untimely, she fired back with her own pen: “We must not deem that untimely which God ordains. He knows the best time to take us from this world; and can we question either His love or wisdom?” [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1229", "attributes":{"class":"media-image alignleft wp-image-3044 size-medium", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"240", "height":"300", "alt":"StrengthRequired"}}]]We are not confined by our own limits. Every one of us, at some point, has felt as though we simply couldn’t go on. That whatever was pressing down on us was far too heavy for us to shoulder. Sarah Broadhead, a Gettysburg housewife, certainly felt this way as she emerged from hiding in the cellar for three days of battle. Never one to stomach the sight of blood, she rolled up her sleeves and help nurse as many of the 24,000 casualties as she could. I’ll never forget her quote: “We do not know, until tried, what we are capable of.” With Christ, we can do all things (Philippians 4:13). [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1230", "attributes":{"class":"media-image alignright wp-image-3045 size-medium", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"240", "height":"300", "alt":"Weeping2"}}]]We are on a journey, and it doesn’t end in the valley. “Weeping may remain for a night, but joy comes in the morning” (Psalm 30:5). One of the biggest fears we deal with is that we will never be OK again. That our world has been broken in a way that can never be fixed. But God’s word says otherwise. The night may feel endless, but dawn is on the way. Joy comes in the morning. Psalm 23:4 says that we walk through the valley of the shadow of death. We don’t pitch a tent and camp out in it. We are moving through it. And God is with us, for there can be no shadow without the presence of Light. I’m inspired every time I consider the depth of faith and courage demonstrated by women during the Civil War—and by military families today. Are you struggling to keep your head up right now? Dwell in these truths, and let them carry you through the storm. There are more than three truths that keep us afloat. Which truths do you cling to?
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What Does an Author Do Between Contracts? My Top 20 List

Sat, 2015-04-11 09:38 -- Jocelyn Green
When I turned in Spy of Richmond to my publisher last July, I was without a contract for the first time in seven years. At first, I felt both free and untethered, which I realize sounds the same, but whereas freedom is desirable, being untethered felt uncomfortable. I felt both of these things in equal parts, in alternating stages. It sounds weird, because it was weird. Life was suddenly, drastically, different. And sometimes, different is good. :) It has been a wonderful sabbatical for me.  So what have I done with myself this year without a book to write? Here's 20 things. (Not an exhaustive list.) I supported/support my husband, who is now in grad school on top of working full-time. For years, he has taken care of the kids in the evenings and on weekends so I could write. He has put up with a limited rotation of meals and with a house that could be cleaner. Now it's my turn and my privilege to support him. [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1204", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter size-full wp-image-2987", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"550", "height":"432", "alt":"Robandkids"}}]] I went on more family outings. Whenever I've been on a deadline in the past, my husband would take the kids on these great field trips so I could have time at home alone to write. This was lovely and generous of him, and incredibly helpful. But it also meant the family memories were being made without me. This year, I was in on it. SO glad. [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1205", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter size-full wp-image-2971", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"550", "height":"550", "alt":"FamilyFun"}}]] I read! I read books written by other people, fiction and nonfiction, and oh what bliss!! [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1206", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter size-full wp-image-2968", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"550", "height":"316", "alt":"IRead"}}]] I organized my tupperware cabinet and my children's legos. Also got rid of two huge bags of old toys the kids have outgrown. Can I get an amen? I mean come on. This is really something. [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1207", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter size-full wp-image-2972", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"550", "height":"465", "alt":"Organized"}}]] I worked out, and not just once. This is saying quite a lot for me. But I am happy to say I am now in the habit of regularly working up a sweat. Don't tell Jillian Michaels it's mostly to test the theory that exercise promotes good ideas, and I'm more interested in that than in having a "rocking body." I blogged more. And pinned more. I kept my haircut appointments. When I'm on deadline, I cancel these in order to get more writing time. As I look back at pictures, I can tell how stressed I am by how long and frizzy my hair is. Ick. I taught three units of American Girl History at our local homeschool co-op. I homeschooled our kids last year too, but this year I actually had time to prepare and teach weekly classes with other people's kids. [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1208", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter size-full wp-image-2973", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"550", "height":"550", "alt":"americangirl"}}]] I cleaned the tops of my kitchen cabinets. Among other things, of course. I did more public speaking. I saw a photo of myself during said public speaking and realized my desperate need for a personal stylist. Signed up for StitchFix. Fell in love. We adopted a cat. He was to be our only family pet. We named him Oreo because he's a tuxedo cat. Too late, I kicked myself for not lobbying for Catticus Finch. [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1209", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter size-full wp-image-2974", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"450", "height":"294", "alt":"Oreo"}}]] We adopted another cat. Named him Rolo. Should have named him Purrman Meowville. (I did not come up with that, but it would have fit. Rolo purs like nobody's business.) [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1210", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter size-full wp-image-2976", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"550", "height":"302", "alt":"Rolo"}}]] I took a lot of pictures of said cats. Couldn't help myself. (I also love dogs, for the record.) [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1211", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter size-full wp-image-2979", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"450", "height":"819", "alt":"Morecats"}}]] I took a lot of pictures, in general. In other words, I lived in the moment, enjoying the present instead of constantly calculating how to squeeze in more writing time. [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1212", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter size-full wp-image-2980", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"550", "height":"336", "alt":"crazyEthan2"}}]] I tried new recipes! And I have always been sure to make a huge deal of this accomplishment at the dinner table every time it happens! Being on a deadline does not allow any of my brain cells to be creative with the menu. None. So this is a major deal. I spent time with friends, in person and via Skype. Oh, how heavenly.[[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1213", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter size-full wp-image-2986", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"550", "height":"486", "alt":"Susie-and-me-1024x882"}}]] I cleaned out my gardens this spring even before it's warm enough to plant things. This is highly unusual for me. I also made out my wishlist of landscaping items to buy as soon as the weather is consistently above freezing at night: Japanese maple tree, feather reed ornamental grass, purple coneflower, a few yews, some annuals like sweet potato vine and verbena and pansies and impatiens... My garden is going to look great this year! I took some naps. I decorated for the seasons. I hovered over guided my daughter more during her violin practices. I started teaching my son piano. I switched to shopping at Aldi's and slashed our grocery bill by 30-40 percent. Wowza! I brainstormed and researched future book ideas. Because even though I really needed this sabbatical, I'm not done writing. [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1214", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter size-full wp-image-2981", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"450", "height":"676", "alt":"library stack2"}}]] After getting over that initial untethered feeling, I have thoroughly enjoyed the last nine months. It was exactly what I needed! Pssst... The footnote to this blog post--and it's a fairly big one--is that my sabbatical is now officially over. A few days ago, I signed a contract. [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1215", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter size-full wp-image-2983", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"550", "height":"279", "alt":"contract"}}]] If you're signed up for my enewsletter, you'll get the details next week. If you're not signed up yet--see the form in the footer! It's easy! See you in your inbox!
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What's So Good About Good Friday?

Fri, 2015-04-03 08:38 -- Jocelyn Green
For years, I felt uncomfortable calling the day Christ was crucified "Good" Friday. It didn't feel right to me, and I bet at least some of you can relate. Why call the day God died a good day? The following video explains it so beautifully. I have watched it every Easter season since I saw it in my church's Good Friday service a few years ago. It never fails to encourage me, and I hope it will encourage you today, too. Why We Call it Good Friday from St. Ignatius Church -Baltimore on Vimeo. Friends, whatever you're going through right now, remember Sunday is on the way. Christ wins. "Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning" (Psalm 30:5). Happy Good Friday to you!

#AmReading During Reading Month! (Plus a Give-away!)

Fri, 2015-03-06 04:00 -- Jocelyn Green
Did you know March is officially National Reading Month? I didn't until I read this. Furthermore, yesterday apparently was World Book Day. Clearly I missed that one, just like I missed my son's doctor appointment on the same day. (Do not be alarmed. It was only a check-up.) I've really been on a roll. The day before that, as I was driving a minivan full of children, I missed the exit for the birthday party and made half the guests late.  #MissedIt was definitely trending in my life this week. Books, however, are also trending here! Here's my current #amreading pile. Each book cover is linked to the book's Goodreads page. #AmReading Daughter of Liberty (American Patriot series, #1) by J.M. Hochstetler Historical fiction: Revolutionary War This one grabbed me from the first sentence. I adore Revolutionary War era, and Hochstetler is one of the best authors I've ever read. She deserves way more attention than she's gotten. (If American Revolution isn't your thing, check out her book Northkill.) [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1158", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter wp-image-2833 size-medium", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"200", "height":"300", "alt":"daughterofliberty"}}]] Under the Silk Hibiscus by Alice J. Wisler Historical fiction: World War 2 Important novel highlighting the plight of Japanese Americans in internment camps. Wisler is such a versatile author. She writes nonfiction and fiction, both historical and contemporary. Her novel Still Life in Shadows, inspired by an ex-Amish man who assisted others fleeing their Amish communities, remains one of my favorite contemporary fiction books. [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1159", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter wp-image-2834", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"200", "height":"313", "alt":"perf6.000x9.000.indd"}}]] In the Field of Grace by Tessa Afshar Historical fiction: Biblical In the Field of Grace is a story of Ruth and Boaz--but begins before Ruth was even wed to her first husband, Naomi's son. Afshar is a Christy Award winner, and basically a rockstar of biblical fiction. [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1160", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter wp-image-2835", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"200", "height":"309", "alt":"FieldofGrace"}}]] By the Shores of Silver Lake by Laura Ingalls Wilder Biographical novel: 1800s This is our family's current read-aloud book. We're working through this series, and loving it, especially since we were able to visit the Ingalls homestead outside De Smet, South Dakota, last summer. [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1161", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter wp-image-2836 size-full", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"200", "height":"296", "alt":"bytheshores"}}]] Everyday Graces: A Child's Book of Good Manners edited by Karen Santorum Not sure exactly which genre this fits into. Parenting? It's probably the best book we own to teach our kids manners, virtues, etc. Based on the idea that stories convey morals better than a list of rules, Karen Santorum has put together a collection of short stories, poems, and chapters from classic children's literature to show the importance of things like patience, self-control, kindness, etc. What's not to love? [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1162", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter wp-image-2837", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"200", "height":"275", "alt":"everydaygraces"}}]] *Not pictured: stack of research books for a potential new novel series, plus various and sundry library books for the kids. Books on Tap My list of books to-read is really long. But here are a few I'd love to get to this month: Boom: Oil, Money, Cowboys, Strippers, and the Energy Rush that Could Change America Forever by Tony Horwitz Nonfiction I love Tony Horwitz's work. My favorite of his is Confederates in the Attic: Dispatches from the Unfinished Civil War. I also really enjoyed his A Voyage Long and Strange: Rediscovering the New World. Boom looks like a shorter read at 117 pages, and it was only $2.99 for Kindle. [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1163", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter wp-image-2842 size-medium", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"194", "height":"300", "alt":"boom"}}]] Call the Nurse: True Stories of a Country Nurse on a Scottish Isle by Mary J. MacLeod Nonfiction I hadn't heard of this one until my mother loaned it to me recently, but I see that it's the #1 book on nursing on Amazon. And you know I love nursing stories. :) [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1164", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter wp-image-2843 size-medium", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"198", "height":"300", "alt":"callthenurse"}}]] Miranda Warning by Heather Day Gilbert Contemporary fiction I read and loved God's Daughter by the same author, and look forward to seeing how this West Virginia mystery unfolds! [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1165", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter wp-image-2844 size-medium", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"194", "height":"300", "alt":"mirandawarning"}}]] Kept by Sally Bradley Contemporary fiction I've never read this author before, but I keep hearing great things about this novel. I tend toward historical fiction, quite obviously, but it's good for me to read outside my preferrred genre. [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1166", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter wp-image-2845 size-medium", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"199", "height":"300", "alt":"kept"}}]] Sword of Forgiveness by Debbie Lynne Costello Historical fiction: medieval Yes, back to historicals! :) I've known Debbie Lynne for years, and this is her debut novel. You all know I love the Civil War era, but I'm also fascinated by the medieval era. I studied literature in England for a while during my college years, which is where and when my interest really took flight. [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1167", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter wp-image-2846 size-medium", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"200", "height":"300", "alt":"swordofforgiveness"}}]] How about you? What are you reading this month? GIVE-AWAY Speaking of reading, if you haven't gotten your copy of Spy of Richmond yet, enter for a chance to win a free copy at the blogs of Amelia Rhodes and Lena Nelson Dooley! While you're there, look around. Both Amelia and Lena are wonderful authors themselves!   [[{"type":"media", "view_mode":"media_large", "fid":"1168", "attributes":{"class":"media-image aligncenter wp-image-2724 size-medium", "typeof":"foaf:Image", "style":"", "width":"194", "height":"300", "alt":"Spy high-res"}}]]

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