by Roseanna White | Sep 24, 2015 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
What does it mean to be made in the image of God?
This is a thought that’s floated to the surface of my mind several times in the last month or so. I look at all the racial tensions . . . I look at all the unrest in the world . . . I look at all the gender issues . . . I look at all the sexual orientation topics . . . I look at all the religions . . .
And it begs the question: how can a species so very diverse, so very discordant, so very dissimilar be made, as a whole, in the image of God?
And then the answer sneaks its way into my heart. Quietly, stealthily, like mist over the mountain.
When God created humanity, He created us with burgeoning potential. In the DNA of those first people was stored the potential for every color of skin. For every variation of hair. For every size, every weight, every look. Beauty and ugliness. Generosity and stinginess. We have the potential for greatness, and for failure.
Some parts of our lives are choices, governed by free will. This is where sin comes in, and that’s a rainbow of topics for another post.
But other parts we’re born with, and–up until modern history, anyway–that means we’re stuck with it. This is where my attention is fixed just now. The rainbow over which we have very little say.
So often we say, “God doesn’t see the outside, only the in.” There’s truth in that . . . and there’s lie. God does see the outside. He created it, after all. When I look at my children, I see their hair, their eyes, the shapes of their noses. It’s silly to say God doesn’t. It’s silly, even, to say, “Fine, He sees it, it just doesn’t matter.”
It does matter. He chose it for us. He chose to make each of us who we are. But here’s the thing. He sees it as beautiful.
God loves that rich brown skin He mixed with Heaven’s pallet. He loves that bright blond hair that catches the sunlight. He loves the way this group tends toward shorter frames, and the way that one stretches upward and upward. God not only sees the beautiful in each trait, He fashioned us just so. He chose those particular traits for each of us.
When I look at my kids, I see their differences. I see their similarities. And I love it all. I adore Rowyn’s dimples. Xoe’s bright blue eyes. I wonder what color their hair will end up, and I know it’ll be lovely. I delight in how tall my little girl is, how short my son still is. I find it infinitely amusing how one of them will curl up in my lap at every opportunity and the other thinks “hugging” is a one-way activity in which one need only stand there passively. They are different. And they are the same.
We are all different. And we are all the same.
What is the color of God? Black, white, brown, red? Being incorporeal, the answer is, “None of these.” He is, in a way, like pure light.
Us? We’re darkness. Every time I hear one people group claiming that they matter more than their neighbors, their rivals, their former-oppressors, their enemies, their friends, their allies . . . something inside me just weeps. We take our differences and we glory in them. Or we hate them. We say they don’t matter. Or we say they’re the most important thing.
We miss the point.
Our differences are. And they are beautiful.
Our differences are. But they’re not all.
What is the color of God? Is He black, white, brown, or red? He is none of these. But He is more than that.
He is all of these. God is, in a way, like pure light. Containing every color, even those beyond what our eyes can see.
And I just pray I can see through His eyes. Not beyond our races or genders. Including them. Because difference is a part of us. And that’s an amazing thing.
by Roseanna White | Sep 23, 2015 | 17th-19th Centuries, 20th Century, Remember When Wednesdays
Gracious, my blogging has been sporadic! Sorry about that, all. I came home from vacation and was completely swamped by work. A good thing, but I kept totally spacing what day of the week it was and what that meant concerning blogs. 😉
But this being me, you can rest assured I spent my vacation being geeky and collecting history books about the Outer Banks. I found myself wondering as we drove along what the islands would have been like before the big bridge was built to connect them to the mainland. Where did they get their fresh water? (Cisterns and desalination shacks.) When did electricity arrive? (The 1940s!!!)
Well, I found so many interesting tales! One of my favorites was from the antebellum days, when the Outer Banks were an oft-forgotten outpost occasionally used, even then, as a resort. One young man told a tale of arriving on the island by boat for a stay at the hotel in Kitty Hawk. He describes with awe the great sand dunes he has to hike over to get to his lodging–the most sand he had ever seen in his life, and it went all the way up to his ankles while he walked.
He and the other guests found charming the laid-back island atmosphere…which wasn’t so laid back when it came to meals. Being a sophisticated fellow, he was accustomed to supper being served at 8 o’clock or even later, but not so on the island. It was served at 6, and if you missed it, sorry ’bout your luck.
Houses on the island never had cellars, but what I hadn’t realized was that early ones didn’t have ceilings either. All the rafters were open, which this guest found lovely and pleasant when it was a matter of the frangrant breezes whispering to him…but when the wind kicked up, it would blow sand straight into the houses, filling beds, bowls, mouths, eyelids…
That’s one part of history I’m happy to leave in the past, LOL.
Most of the gentleman who came to the islands did so for the duck hunting. And most residents of the island made their living from catering to these rich folks, or from hunting and fishing and selling it to New York or Philadelphia. So it was a huge setback to island life when a law was passed in the 1920s that severely restricted hunting. This was also near the time when the government first talked of making it a national park–and so, to preserve it, they constructed beach-side sand dunes to keep the island were it was.
The problem for locals? With the dunes came a law that animals were no longer allowed to run free. As a small, insular community, islanders had to be pretty self-sufficient, which meant keeping chickens, cows, pigs, etc. But it’s not exactly fabulous pasture around there, so everyone let their livestock run free until this point–and were none too happy about this whole “park” idea when it began interfering with even their most basic way of life.
But the idea got derailed anyway. At one point after WWII they even saw oil prospectors arrive…but who found nothing. The park service did eventually turn part of the island into a wildlife preserve, and like people everywhere, the islanders adapted to the times as they changed. Eventually it was rediscovered as a vacation spot, and now, driving through the bustling towns of Nags Head, Kitty Hawk, and Kill Devil Hills, you can’t see so much as a glimpse of the island’s beginnings.
But it’s there, hidden in the more out-of-the-way places. Still whispering on those sea breezes.
by Roseanna White | Sep 16, 2015 | Uncategorized
My big giveaway has ended! Thank you so much to all the many people who entered, and who showed such enthusiasm along the way! The launch of The Lost Heiress has been so incredibly fun, and so rewarding to see it climbing the Amazon ranks. =)
Now, without further ado. The winner of Brook’s Treasures is…
Rebecca Sullivan Dewey!
If you didn’t win, don’t worry! You still have time to enter the Taste of Nobility Giveaway that Bethany House put together.
And if anyone is just desperate for Brook’s necklace, drop me a note at roseannamwhite at gmail dot com and I’ll give you a quote. 😉
Thank you, everyone, for all your support these last two weeks as Brook began her journey into the world! Now, go have a minute of fun with this cool little quiz that Bethany House put together. Find out which of their September heroines you are! Take the Quiz
(I was actually Brook! Kinda surprised me, though my husband insisted I subconsciously skewed the results, LOL)
by Roseanna White | Sep 14, 2015 | Word of the Week
Back from vacation, but not quite ready to let go. 😉 And so, today’s word of the week will bring us a bit of the beach…
Surf began its life as a noun meaning “waves coming ashore” in about 1680, though it was quite likely a variation on suffe, from the 1590s. Where did it come from? No one’s quite sure. But it was originally used to describe the coast of India, so speculation points to it being borrowed from an Indic word. It could also be a variation of sough, which means “a rushing sound,” which is an Old English word.
The verb meaning “to ride the crest of a wave” dates from 1917. Surfing as an activity and surfer both date from 1955. And of course, the internet usage is first recorded from 1993.
by Roseanna White | Sep 11, 2015 | Remember When Wednesdays, Uncategorized
This is a repost–many times over–but a bit of a tradition. During this week when I’ve been so focused on promoting and marketing a new book, it seems vital to pause to remember a day that changed all our lives forever.
I remembering thinking on September 12, 2001, “What stories are going to matter now? How will they ever look anything but trivial?” But we always need stories. Mine, however, may have changed a bit after that day. Because suddenly it wasn’t just an academic idea anymore that life can change in an instant. That enemies lurked. But that even in that darkness, God is still there. A theme you’ll find in much of my writing.
In this piece, published by a local newspaper that week, you’ll see I pray that this would wake us up to recognize, and stop tolerating, evil. Looking at the world today, I fear we’ve fallen back into a slumber, since it isn’t our buildings tumbling today.
But it’s the Church. Today, I pray this same prayer again.
To my Brother, the Stranger
(written on 9/12/01)
I
did not know you. I never met you. If I had seen you, you would have
been simply a face in the crowd. My thoughts never touched upon the
possibility of your existence.
And yet. . .
And
yet when I heard of the tragedy of losing you, you were suddenly my
brother, my sister, my best friend. You were the comrade I never had
the opportunity to meet, the face I could sketch simply because of how
many faces you are. And every time I open my mind, it is to realize
anew that you were a person, you were loved, and now you’re gone.
It’s
a shock I never expected to feel, a pain no man, woman, or child should
ever have to endure. And I did not know you. How much worse must it
be for the widows, the orphans, the childless parents, the brotherless
sisters that were made on that day? How much worse again for those who
yet know nothing about the fate of those dearest to them?
It
is a pain no one should have to gaze on, much less be consumed by. It
is a piercing that should quickly tear down all barriers until there is
nothing left but a shaken humanity, a resolved people, a united nation.
It should induce the best in man when he looks at evil, when he sees
the dancing in his enemy’s camps. It should make him realize that the
sickness he feels, the death he sees is a presence to be ignored no
longer.
I pray that
somehow this change in our lives will be used in a way to make us
better. I pray that as I walk down the streets of my untouched city I
never forget that it could be gone in a moment. I pray that as I pass a
stranger I remember to remember that he is not a stranger to someone. I
pray that soon all our fears are exhausted and we are left instead with
hope. And I pray that we never take for granted the greatness of our
nation, lest through our disregard it lose that thing that sets us
apart.
I can never say the
right words to those who are grieving, because there are no words to be
said. I did not know you. I never met you. All I can offer you is
the love of a face you have never seen and the prayers of a heart that
is reaching across the miles to the strangers it now calls brothers.
May
God enfold us in His arms until the terror goes away. May He settle
his peace over us until the rivers of tears run dry. May He comfort us
until we become victorious. And may we never forget that it is He who
will lift us from the mire. Today America has united in common
anguish. Tomorrow we will rejoice in justice. And all the world will
know that this is a nation that God has blessed and will never forsake.
Let us be the first to proclaim that.
To my Brother, the Stranger
(written on 9/12/01)
I did not know you. I never met you. If I had seen you, you would have
been simply a face in the crowd. My thoughts never touched upon the
possibility of your existence.
And yet. . .
And yet when I heard of the
tragedy of losing you, you were suddenly my brother, my sister, my best
friend. You were the comrade I never had the opportunity to meet, the
face I could sketch simply because of how many faces you are. And every
time I open my mind, it is to realize anew that you were a person, you
were loved, and now you’re gone.
It’s a shock I never expected to
feel, a pain no man, woman, or child should ever have to endure. And I
did not know you. How much worse must it be for the widows, the
orphans, the childless parents, the brotherless sisters that were made
on that day? How much worse again for those who yet know nothing about
the fate of those dearest to them?
It is a pain no one should have
to gaze on, much less be consumed by. It is a piercing that should
quickly tear down all barriers until there is nothing left but a shaken
humanity, a resolved people, a united nation. It should induce the best
in man when he looks at evil, when he sees the dancing in his enemy’s
camps. It should make him realize that the sickness he feels, the death
he sees is a presence to be ignored no longer.
I pray that somehow this change
in our lives will be used in a way to make us better. I pray that as I
walk down the streets of my untouched city I never forget that it could
be gone in a moment. I pray that as I pass a stranger I remember to
remember that he is not a stranger to someone. I pray that soon all our
fears are exhausted and we are left instead with hope. And I pray that
we never take for granted the greatness of our nation, lest through our
disregard it lose that thing that sets us apart.
I can never say the right words
to those who are grieving, because there are no words to be said. I did
not know you. I never met you. All I can offer you is the love of a
face you have never seen and the prayers of a heart that is reaching
across the miles to the strangers it now calls brothers.
May God enfold us in His arms
until the terror goes away. May He settle his peace over us until the
rivers of tears run dry. May He comfort us until we become victorious.
And may we never forget that it is He who will lift us from the mire.
Today America has united in common anguish. Tomorrow we will rejoice in
justice. And all the world will know that this is a nation that God
has blessed and will never forsake. Let us be the first to proclaim
that.
– See more at: http://roseannamwhite.blogspot.com/2011/09/reality-union-hope-from-911.html#sthash.cODtO3eq.dpuf
Roseanna M. White is a bestselling, Christy Award winning author who has long claimed that words are the air she breathes. When not writing fiction, she’s homeschooling her two kids, editing, designing book covers, and pretending her house will clean itself. Roseanna is the author of a slew of historical novels that span several continents and thousands of years. Spies and war and mayhem always seem to find their way into her books…to offset her real life, which is blessedly ordinary.