Face to the Sun

 

“Sunflowers end up facing the sun, but they go through a lot of dirt to find their way there.”

― J.R. Rim

Every year, whether I intend it or not, I inevitably have a crop of sunflowers grow in my garden. I'm not even sure where the first sunflower came from, but I'm guessing it grew from the birdseed I put out. The following spring, this seed grew into a plant. And the plant, of course, grew a flower. And the flower grew more seeds. We all know this cycle. 

I love birds. And the birds love the sunflowers. So the birds eat the seeds, but not all of them. One or two (or more) always fall back into the dirt, and the next spring, I have more sunflowers than the year before. And the birds, well, they have more seed to eat. It's an amazing cycle that gives me beautiful flowers, attracts my favorite feathered friends, ultimately with very little effort required on my part.

This year, I had a vision of a wall of sunflowers growing next to my porch, blocking the view from the street. I was sure this wall of plants would succeed- after all, the sunflowers grew without any fuss at the lower end of my garden. I bought seeds, hoping for a variety of sunny faces. Big ones. Colored ones. I wanted them all. I planted them and watered them and waited. And waited. And waited. 

I watched as the sunflowers I did not plant sprouted and grew strong to the sun. Taller and taller. And still... my seeds were dormant. Finally, I began to see signs of life. Little sprouts. I continued to water and wait. 

It's now nearing the end of September. Very few of my planted seeds grew tall- and some of them never got the chance to bloom thanks to the passing mule deer who took off their heads as a snack. The sunflowers the birds planted are pecked nearly clean- the chickadees and goldfinches come every day to polish them off. 

My wall of sunflowers did not turn out at all as I imagined. But I do have this: 

This sunflower is taller than I am, even standing on my porch. It is covered with heads that have yet to open, 360 degrees around the stem. And this beautiful face greets me every day when I walk out the front door. Only one. And yet this one has been such an encouragement to me during the last few weeks. 

It's been a season of changes, and I don't just mean the seasons. There have been days when I am completely overwhelmed and wonder if and how we are going to make it. It sounds so dramatic writing it out. Ultimately, I know we will make it. It will be ok. As long as I remember the lesson of the sunflower.

Keep your face to the sun. 

This flower knows where it's life comes from. It needs warmth to attract the bees to pollenate the flower to create more flowers. It needs light to grow taller and stronger and withstand the winds that come and blow it. It needs the light to feed the leaves that feed the roots and grow them deep. It knows where to look.

In the same way, I must know where my life comes from. Keep my face to the Son. Where my help comes from. Where I turn to get the strength and courage and feed the roots and grow them deep. I know where to look. 

So if today is a dark day, and you can't see a way out, I want to remind you what the sunflower taught me. 

Keep your face to the Son. 

 

Eleven Seconds

"All of our ancestors give us the precious gift of life. Do we use it wisely? Do we use it well?" 

                                                                                                                                -Laurence Overmire

Did you know that among other things, September 27th is Ancestor Appreciation Day?

Genealogy is one of my many interests. I'm fairly confident it started out of a need to know more about my maternal grandfather. He died 25 days before my mom was born. Unlike her older siblings, she never got to be held by the man whose voice she no doubt heard, but can't remember. He died putting up an antennae on the roof of their home so that when time came for Mom to be born, my grandma could contact him. My mom, in utero, got to experience all the trauma my grandma felt losing her husband. To this day, Mom can't hear "Taps" without breaking down.  

My grandpa was in the Army, and most of the pictures my mom has are from his time in the service. 

All we had to go on were a few photos, and the little my grandma could tell us. I combed every scrap of detail I could out of those pictures, and each new little bit of information was a huge revelation for us. 

My grandpa was in the military (yay! records!) BUT stationed only at Army Security Agency posts (Read: top secret eavesdropping bases). Drat.

We thought we would attempt to find people who served with him, and  often heard "Oh, he was an MP? Yeah, I tried to avoid them." Double drat.

When we filled out the paperwork and attempted to get his records from the military, we were told that they didn't have anything- that his records were probably lost in a fire at one of their facilities. (Given the nature of his service, we're a bit skeptical about this.) 

In an attempt to consolidate the information and find more records, I signed up with Ancestry. And the rest, as they say, is history. In this case, that phrase is actually true. SO much history. Of course I didn't stop with my grandpa. I branched out and even added John's family tree to mine. (His is way more fun because he has roots in Scotland, but I'm not bitter.) *Cough* And I've learned so many things about my family and where we came from, and about John's family and their past. And I'm able to share these things with our girls and give them insight into their collective family history. 

I've gone so far down the ancestry rabbit-hole that when I saw this meme I busted out laughing because, hey- it's true! 

As I reflect on my 4 year membership with Ancestry, I see there are 666 people (apparently, I need to add one more ASAP) on my tree. 

And the person who started it all, Sergeant 1st Class Wesley Lemuel Johnson? Well, the facts are just as sparse as when we started. One bonus could be that we now have a semi-accurate timeline of his deployments, which we added to his wedding and births of his kids. 

But I will never forget the day we found the video. You see, my grandpa was present at the dedication ceremony for an outpost in Asmara, Eritrea. Kagnew Station was dedicated in May of 1953, and my grandpa was chosen to stand guard next to the official plaque. My mom has had this photo for years: 

Wax (right)

One day, I stumbled across a video of the ceremony on Youtube. 4 minutes and 29 seconds. I watched, breathless, waiting to see if I could catch a glimpse of my grandpa, hope sinking as the seconds ticked by. Then... at 3:22.... there he was. For 11 seconds. He moved. He was alive. I remember my excitement as I frantically passed it on to my Mom, who promptly sent it to her siblings. 

11 seconds. But how precious and dear they are in all their grainy glory. 11 seconds of life! And not possible without all the scrutinizing and analyzing and zooming in photos to try and decipher patches. Without those frustrating and often fruitless searches, I wouldn't have known where to look. 

It started with a photograph.

You know how they say a picture is worth a thousand words? I am endlessly thankful for the pictures my Mom (and her siblings) share. Because without them, we wouldn't have this:

I may not have many "facts" about my grandpa, but this I know. He loved my grandma. He came to know Jesus and was baptized in the Pacific Ocean. He served his country and he provided for his family. And his last act on earth was one of love and care for my Mom, who never heard the words but can't doubt the action. 

Someday, on the other side of Heaven, my Mom will finally get to be held by the hands that gave their life loving her. 

Just like Jesus.

And I can promise, that moment will last infinitely more than 11 seconds.

A Sky Full of Stars

 "I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night."

Sarah Williams

Twilight Hours: A Legacy of Verse

Recently, my family and I watched the movie Sing 2. I won't delve into my love-hate relationship with the fun, lighthearted and musically light qualities that I want to enjoy, while at the same time being so irritated and incapable of getting past the fact that the "leader" is a total con artist who by lying and manipulating everyone around him (including his friends- who sometimes even aid his cause), still manages to get his way, and this is the "happy ending" we are supposed to cheer for. But I digress. 

The music in this film is supposedly a playlist of popular songs from recent years, which I wouldn't know because I rarely listen to secular radio stations. But one of them in particular has been stuck in my head for the last week, the song "A Sky Full of Stars". I had to look up the artist (laugh at me if you want), and discovered it was recorded by Coldplay (whom I have heard of, but now I can also name one song they've done. Hooray.) To my point:

Last night, my youngest daughter asked if we could go out and look at the sky after dark. I've always loved the night sky, and we live far enough outside of town to view them unhindered by street lights. We wandered out in the dark and waited for our eyes to adjust, and I let the fresh wonder of it wash over me.

The expanse of the universe blows my mind- a constant press of light shining and pushing back the dark. If you do any research on space, you'll discover there is way more dark in space than light. You'll learn about the massive distance between stars and the driving force of dark that continues to expand our universe outward. And I look up and think about our world. 

My husband ran inside to get his glasses. He came back outside and was amazed at what he could see. Because he could see! And I realized something.

I know every person is made to bear the light- the Light- capital, L, meaning Jesus- in dark places. We were also created to bring our own unique gift to those around us. Because we have to push back the dark. We were made to shine. Our little globe, Earth, just a speck in the universe, could be the brightest light of all. But in order to do that, we have to see. To look up and love and encourage and stir up the light in those around us. Give them a reason to shine. 

And then, I thought about myself and all the stories I want to tell. 

Each one a star. Each one created to bring light. To push back the dark. 

And I think it's true. I am a sky full of stars. So are you. 

And I don't mean it in some mystical "we're all part of the universe" kind of way. I mean that you and I have light, and Light, that only we can bring to this world. We need to love the stars- the light- too fondly to be fearful of the night. 

Whatever is stirring inside you, let it shine. Don't hide your light. The world needs what you have to bring. 

Mist of Midnight

Greetings to my fellow readers! I will confess to a bit of nervousness here. I have never been part of an official "blog tour" before. As you can see, my little piece of the web is pretty small, but I'm thankful for the chance use it as I share author Sandra Byrd and her newest book, Mist of Midnight, with you.

What I appreciate about Sandra is her diversity as a writer. I have enjoyed everything she has written, from the French Twist Series to the Ladies in Waiting books (see my review for Secret Keeper).
There is a different flavor to each series, but Sandra brings the same passion and zest to every story she undertakes and I love it. I was really looking forward to reading Mist. 
To be honest, I was a bit apprehensive when I started the book, because it was SO different from what I am used to reading, and really, from anything that is out there right now. I honestly couldn't decide if I liked it or not.
But I couldn't stop reading. And the deeper I got into the story, the more I began to find the rythym and flow of the words. I found the flavor of the story- and I remembered other books I enjoyed with a similar feel.
Mist of Midnight is mysterious without being dark. There are clues dropped along the way for you to discover,  but they leave you with more questions than answers. I did feel the ending was a bit rushed, with the truth finally being told almost at the last moment. Mist really reminded me of Bleak House by Dickens- as a reader you know more is going on, but what is truth? And who is telling it? These questions keep the pages turning. I loved the details about India- and the way Sandra tied the two worlds together.
Mist of Midnight is different. But it's a kind of different that is needed in a market filled with so much of the same. I enjoyed the book, and the reminder of books-gone-by that it stirred in me.
I recommend for fans of Jane Eyre & Victoria Holt books.

Synopsis

In the first of a brand-new series set in Victorian England, a young woman returns home from India after the death of her family to discover her identity and inheritance are challenged by the man who holds her future in his hands.

Rebecca Ravenshaw, daughter of missionaries, spent most of her life in India. Following the death of her family in the Indian Mutiny, Rebecca returns to claim her family estate in Hampshire, England. Upon her return, people are surprised to see her...and highly suspicious. Less than a year earlier, an imposter had arrived with an Indian servant and assumed not only Rebecca's name, but her home and incomes.

That pretender died within months of her arrival; the servant fled to London as the young woman was hastily buried at midnight. The locals believe that perhaps she, Rebecca, is the real imposter. Her home and her father's investments reverted to a distant relative, the darkly charming Captain Luke Whitfield, who quickly took over. Against her best intentions, Rebecca begins to fall in love with Luke, but she is forced to question his motives—does he love her or does he just want Headbourne House? If Luke is simply after the property, as everyone suspects, will she suffer a similar fate as the first “Rebecca”?

A captivating Gothic love story set against a backdrop of intrigue and danger, Mist of Midnight will leave you breathless.

Glass House

It's been a while since I've written a personal post. But these words have been floating around in my mind and heart for a week, and I finally let - or made- myself put them down.
You may not know this, but I'm grieving. I'm also tired. Mostly, I'm tired of grieving. But it's okay. And it will be okay. And maybe you need to hear this, too.

Glass House

"How are you?" They ask.

"I'm fine." I say.

And most days, I mean it. I'm not 'good' - but I'm better than 'okay'. And really, it's not fair of them to expect much more from me.

After all, life isn't easy inside the glass house of grief.

I can't help feeling it. Exposed. Everywhere I go. Everyone I meet. I wonder, "Are my curtains drawn tight enough? Can they see?" Because I know- I know- if they took the time to look closely, they would see it all. You can't hide behind transparent walls.

Everything was stable, secure, and safe. And in one moment- one instant, frozen forever in the endless drift of time- everything changed.

Fragile. Precarious. Exposed.

Wounded. Still bleeding. Half-alive. Pieced together. Barely breathing.

I'm fine.

Just don't look too closely.  You might see through my "socially acceptable" smile. My "polite conversation". My "normal life".

The glass house came down again last week. Shattered from the inside. I don't remember what triggered the collapse. It doesn't matter anymore.

I know when it's coming. I can feel the cracks forming, hear the soft splintering sound as the fissure spreads. Reaching out, never satisfied. It grows.

So does my panic. I feel it building inside me. The explosion. The loss of control. There's nothing I can do to stop it. It's time to hide.

I curl into a ball. I hold myself together while I fall apart. And it comes.

The explosion. Again. And again. And again. Like waves against the shore. Powerful, destructive, relentless- it radiates out from me.

Like Jericho, my crystal fortress lies in ruins at my feet. I don't like to lose control. And yet, there's a bitter beauty to it all.

This... is real.

My shattered, broken heart laid bare. Raw, exposed, unprotected. Such a strange relief.

I am myself.

Light breaks through the smoke of my destruction.

It falls from heaven, reflects off each and every piece of glass. Color erupts around me.

Ah yes. The breathtaking glory found in the midst of this place of death.

And yet, I choose to rise again. The Light reminds me I cannot stay here in this ruin. My hands are strengthened. My heart, re-bound. I take up the shards.
I bleed. I feel the pain of all that's wrong with my world. I keep working.

Piece by piece, life fits together again. The glass house shines in the light of a new day. Because life, you see, must go on.

I am not destroyed. I am whole.

I am...fine.

For now.

Tears of the Sea

It's been just over 12 hours since I finished Tears of the Sea by MaryLu Tyndall, and this book still hasn't let me go. It is truly one of the most beautiful scriptural allegories I have read in a very long time.

Wait a minute. Amazon says this book is about a mermaid. 

Yes, it is. Skeptical? Don't worry- I was too. In fact, I had no idea the book was an allegory when I started reading it. It didn't take long for the parallels to start standing out, and suddenly I was filtering the book in an entirely new way.

A King, holy, glorious, righteous, and good.
A lost world, full of suffering souls.
A Prince, sent to save the lost, willing to give himself for the least of these- even unto death.
A crew of faithful servants, unsure what the big picture is, but willing to follow their Captain anywhere.
An evil overlord and his minions, desperate to take over the world and defeat the King once and for all.

And one woman. Cursed. Unloved. Alone. Desperate for redemption, freedom, love.

Can you see it?

Books like this are the reason this blog has it's name-  Tears of the Sea is more than words. Written by & from a heart surrendered to Christ, this book is truth. It is powerful, and deep, and wide as the ocean.
I refuse to say more because I don't want to spoil it for you. I want you to read it for yourself. Let it wash over you and open your eyes again to the truth of scripture. See in a new light just how much He loves you. What He gave to redeem you. What awaits those who press on toward the upward call in Christ.

If you only read one book- just one- this whole year, make it this one.

Amazon Link

I recommend for fans of C.S. Lewis' Narnia, Francine River's Redeeming Love, and Ted Dekker's Black, Red & White (The Circle Trilogy)

PS- I couldn't resist a light-hearted post script... I was already in love with this book, but after visiting MaryLu's Pinterest board and discovering her model for Savion was Chris Evans? Well....let's just say I love Tears even more now.  :)

Just A Hop, Skip, and a Jump

(Also known as, Joy Has Been Tagged)
My friend Gretchen over at Spec Fiction GEKE tagged me in a writing style blog hop.  I am horrendously late in posting my responses (apologies, all), so without further ado:

What am I working on? 
My current project is a fantasy (or speculative) fiction series set in a medieval time. The idea behind the series comes from Matthew 16:18: "And I say also to you that you are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell will not prevail against it."
I will build my church, and the gates of hell will not prevail against it. My writer mind started chewing on this verse. "What if I wanted to tell a story about this truth? What would it look like?" And slowly, my story was born. In it, 3 siblings, children of the one true king, represent the church. Only when the three become one will they be fully equipped as warriors, and able to storm the "gates of hell". And don't worry, this isn't some cheesy "Captain Planet" kind of oneness. It's meant to be a portrayal of the power God wants to unleash through His body, the church, to release the captives, and vanquish the evil in this world.

How does my work differ from others in it's genre?
I'm honestly not sure how to answer this question. I don't pretend to think that a story like this has never been done before. And I know several other speculative authors who strive to weave spiritual truth into their stories. So the type of book I am writing is not uncommon. But the Lord gave this  story to me, to be told in my voice, with my heart. So, at the risk of sounding arrogant, what makes my work different is the fact that it's mine. :)

Why do I write what I do? 
One of the reasons I love speculative fiction is because there is so much room to share spiritual truth- to write a powerful allegory- and have it be an amazing journey at the same time. When I read Ted Dekker's Circle Trilogy (Black, Red, & White)- it changed how I looked at speculative fiction. It was a great story. But it was so much more than just a story. It was truth! It was amazing, powerful, redemptive truth. And I thought, "I want to write like that. I want to tell a story filled with the truth of God's word in a way that will impact people long after the last page."
The other reason I write what I do is because God has called me to it. Some may consider that a "cop out" or an easy answer, but it's true. He continues to write this story through me. I hesitate to even call it "my book" because it's not. It's His.

How does your writing process work? 
Um, not well. Haha! Seriously. I am a total pantster (for those non-writerly types who may be reading this, being a 'pantster' means I write by the seat of my pants). I will get a scene in my mind, write it down, take it as far as it goes, and stop. Again. And again. And again. You see the problem, of course. I end up with a bunch of  "brilliant!" scenes which have no context, no depth, and no flow. So this girl is retraining herself to plot. Because random, "brilliant!" scenes tied loosely together do not a solid story make. Plot. Plot all the things! Haha!
I'm learning a lot from fellow authors who are wiser than I am, and always looking for a good writing craft book. I am also working hard at character building. You can sometimes get away with a plot-driven story, but not in speculative fiction.

Well- I hope you've enjoyed this little window into my writing world. :) I now invite you to:

Skip! On over to the blog of a fellow writer and friend. Martha Artyomenko is homeschooling mom and one of my heroes, who still makes time to write while raising 4 boys. :)

And please, do also Jump! To the blog of Nicole Deese- one of my favorite contemporary romance authors! If you haven't yet read her Letting Go series you are seriously missing out.