by Roseanna White | May 1, 2014 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
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| Happy May Day! |
I remember this week last year. It wasn’t meant to be a busy one. But it turned into it. I’d been sick the week before–like, flu. We’d traveled to Annapolis for the weekend and had a lovely time with friends. I was well enough to do that, but still dragging.
Then on the Tuesday, the 30th of April last year, my wine rack came crashing down. I spent most of the day cleaning up broken glass and crystal and mopping up wine. It fell partially into the two trunks the kids kept their toys in. Which necessitated a complete clean-up of those, which turned into reorganization. I’d been meaning to spend the day writing. Instead, I spent it cleaning, which so thoroughly wiped me out by evening that Xoe thought to treat me to a spa day, courtesy of Fancy Nancy. She made me a foot bath, and a face mask from banana and honey.
Apparently I have an allergy to banana when it’s applied to my face, LOL. I broke out in hives and felt like I had a serious sunburn all evening. Had to run out for some hydracortizone cream. And I woke up on May 1 thinking, “Well, it can’t be as bad as yesterday. The wine rack can’t break again.”
No, it couldn’t. But bones could.
Today marks a year since Xoe ran through the yard, tripped over her too-big shoes, and broke her elbow. Xoe, who usually cries for about two minutes when she gets hurt, wailed for half an hour and showed no signs of stopping, though she wouldn’t let me really touch her arm to see what might be wrong. At last, I got her onto my lap, and I could put my hands on her elbows. That would be when we decided a trip to the doctor was in order.
It turned to a trip to the ER, which lasted all evening as they tried to find a pediatric orthopedist to send her to.
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| Xoe, the day after the break |
So many people prayed with us for healing, and receive it she did–the bone healed so perfectly that the doctor said that, looking at the X-rays, he wouldn’t have known there had been a break. The soft tissue, however…
She’s still in occupational therapy, and she still has a ways to go before she regains full extension. But progress is being made.
And this year, this week is a busy one–planned that way, LOL. Since last Friday when I had the Joy of speaking at the Fourth Friday Tea at my local historical society, it’s been nonstop. We’ve had field trips and therapy and well check-ups and book club talks, and today is class day for our homeschool group. And as I’m buzzing from place to place, I keep thinking back to last year.
I keep praying, Thank you, Lord, for planned busyness instead of ER trips and prescription pain relievers, hospital gowns and trips to Baltimore doctors.
This year, I’m within a few scenes of finishing up a book instead of sending a note to my editor saying I’ll be out of touch for a few days. This year, we’re planning summer camp instead of worrying about surgery. This year, I need an extra cup of coffee because I’ve been getting up early to write, not because I got no sleep because my little one was hurting.
It’s so easy to get overwhelmed in these weeks that are go-go-go. But you know…I’ll take it in a heartbeat over those weeks that force normal activities to a halt. And I’ll praise the Lord that this May Day, I can just drive along and notice all the flowers in bloom. This year, I can look back and see how brave and strong my little princess was, knowing that today she doesn’t have to be. This year, I can just be plain ol’ busy.
by Roseanna White | Apr 24, 2014 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
This is a repost of a guest blog I had up on a friend’s blog at the beginning of the month, but in case you didn’t make it over there to read it…
Free Indeed
“You have prayed for forgiveness
from your sins. Have you prayed for freedom from their bonds? . . . Never once
in the bible does God speak either for or against physical slavery. But
spiritual slavery—that is a topic He addresses time and again. Over and over
Paul pleads with the early church to embrace the freedom of the soul that
Christ offers. You must do that, Mari. You must cling, not just to cleansing,
but to freedom.” ~ Barbara Gregory in Cirlce
of Spies
This was a line in my latest book that
I really loved—so I was beyond thrilled when the very first review of the novel
quoted this line. But it has an interesting history in my little mind.
As I was writing Circle of Spies, our president was about to be inaugurated for the
second time. And as my husband was flipping through the TV channels as he’s
wont to do of an evening, he landed for a minute on one of those commentators
on a news channel that I usually ignore. Especially on this particular channel
(no names mentioned, LOL). He was saying, loudly and with great condemnation,
how ridiculous it was to expect the president to take his oath with his hand on
a Bible.
Insert me narrowing my eyes and
thinking, Oh, this should be good!
The guy held up a typical-looking
dollar store Bible. “Not once,” he said, “does this book condemn slavery—an
institution that held the President’s ancestors in bonds. Not once. I looked!”
My first thought was Yeah, sure, an internet search is really
going to show you everything, dude. But then I thought about it (because I
try to do that, LOL). I’d read the Bible through several times. And had I too not
been struck by this?
He was right. The Bible doesn’t condemn
slavery. Ever. It gives instructions on how to treat slaves from among the
Israelites (namely, they’re not to be held in perpetual slavery, but more as
indentured servants). But in the New Testament, all we ever hear is that slaves
ought to obey their masters.
Yeah, I could kinda see where this guy
took offense on behalf of the once-slaves. But it was also clear he hadn’t read
this Book, not really. If he had, he would realize that especially in the New
Testament, God doesn’t address society. He doesn’t tell a nation what laws it
should make. He tells individuals how they should act in the society. And the Bible does
talk about the importance of freedom. A LOT. But as my Barbara points out
above, it’s just that God isn’t so concerned with physical slavery or freedom.
He’s concerned with whether our souls are free of the bonds of sin.
I did a lot of thinking and praying on this as I wrote my
novel. I had a few characters who were slaves, yes, and one of them in
particular chafed against those bonds. But she was free. Because she had embraced salvation, she was far freer than
her mistress, who had been long held captive by her sins.
There were men and women of great faith on both sides of the
Civil War. Many people today assume that any real, true Christian must have
been against slavery…but the fact is, they weren’t. They lived by different
standards, with different assumptions. We assume God judged them if they held
slaves…but did He? I think, more likely, He judges on what we let hold us captive. He sees the chains on our
spirit, not on our wrists.
And so I would challenge that commentator, and my readers,
to ask the real question. Because today, every American is free in body. But
how many are free in spirit and soul?
by Roseanna White | Apr 17, 2014 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
So I’m working now on the rewrite of the book I wrote at age 12-13. And as I’m writing, I pause (as I do at some point in every book) and wonder to whom I’ll dedicate it. But with this one, it wasn’t much of a question.
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| Photo by Bangin |
When I was 13, still working on that first draft, my grandfather was diagnosed with cancer. This was the first time cancer really invaded my life, and I remember pretty well the feelings that swamped me. There was denial that it could really happen, that it would be more than just something he beats. There was the startling realization that though I loved this man, my Pappap, intensely, I didn’t often show it–for some reason, I was bashful about giving him hugs. Maybe because it was my sister who was Pappap’s girl. There was the painful reality that while my parents and sister cried, I couldn’t.
I could only go back to my room, close my door, and pull out a notebook. Words were my tears.
Though we had the diagnosis–though we knew it was in the bone already and inoperable–Pappap wasn’t sick yet. It was easy for me to tuck it away that 8th grade year. Still. When I finished my book in the spring, I thought, I want to dedicate this. And so I wrote on the first page:
To Pappap
CWM
His name was Charles William Mulligan, though he went by Bud. And my pappap was probably one of the funniest people I’ve ever known. He always had a joke. He always played a joke. He would tell us, when we were little, that we had better trim out toenails, so the toenail fairy would come…and then go plant quarters in our pillows while we laughed. A down-payment, he said. He would tell some jokes so many times that they became part of our family, and we still occasionally break out in old punchlines.
And he loved stuff. He yard saled, he upgraded, he personalized. And on every single thing he kept, he would put his initials. His truck had CWM on it. So did his toaster. And the beer stein he never once used. And his other toaster. And his VCR. And his other other toaster. Another family joke, that. And so I knew, when I decided to dedicate the book to Pappap, that it would have to bear his initials too.
I’m not sure I understood, then, what it really meant to put his name on my book. It was a nice thing to do. And when I considered this step–dedicating my first-ever novel–I just knew it was the right thing.
Then 9th grade came, and Pappap got sick. We got to know the hospital very well. We watched this strong man fail. Tears finally blurred my eyes when I saw him fumble to get a mouthpiece for a breathing treatment into his mouth–and when he couldn’t remember anyone’s phone number but ours and called my mom in a panic one day when he couldn’t find my nanny (who was hanging laundry outside).
I learned, that year, what heartbreak is. I learned what it means to lose someone who was so integral to your life you thought you couldn’t. I learned how to trust in God for a miracle…and then to trust Him even when you don’t get the one you ask for. That’s the year I started reading my Bible on my own, every day, instead of just when I had to in church.
That’s the year I learned how to laugh to keep from falling apart, to find
Joy in the smallest thing–because that’s what Pappap wanted. And it’s the year I learned to hug all I can, while I can. Because no one lives forever.
I’d rewritten my book the summer before he died. This summer, with that loss still fresh, I tore up that first-first page. And I typed out a new one.
In loving memory of Pappap
CWM
Looking back now, I see how his life, his death shaped me. I see where it forced me deeper–into faith, into my heart, into my family. I see that, if he hadn’t taught me how to laugh at everything, I could so easily have been too serious. I see that, if I hadn’t known the pain of losing him…
I don’t even know. I don’t know who I’d be without all the reflection that forced upon me. I don’t know what I’d feel. I don’t know how I’d relate to this world where death plays such a part.
So as I made a new first page on this new version of this old, old book, no. It wasn’t a question of to whom I would dedicate it. It was just a question of the right words to use. Because the book wouldn’t be worth redoing without what I learned from him. I wouldn’t be capable of rewriting it without the lessons his life and death taught me.
The ache of missing him has faded, but the memories haven’t. I still talk to my kids about my pappap (that’s what they now call my dad), and earn their giggles with the tales. I still occasionally look at his picture on the family shelves and hear his laughter. And I know that of all my dedications in all my books, this one is perhaps the truest.
It’s a week to think about life and death, of sin and consequences, of victory over the grave. And it’s a book that made me do the same, thanks to him. This is what my first page now reads (though it may yet get a tweaking, who knows.)
“To Pappap” was my dedication when I
first penned this novel at age 13.
After I had rewritten it at 14,
it said, “In loving memory of Pappap.”
Your life taught me to laugh in every possible moment,
your death taught me trust Him with all my might.
You helped make me who I am,
and I’ll always love you.
CWM
by Roseanna White | Apr 10, 2014 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
So glad I got to share yesterday about how I’ve finally, after 19 years, sold
the first book I ever wrote. Okay, so it’s a little different than it was back then…which is why I’m plowing my way through a complete rewrite. As of this time last week, I was a little less than 1/3 of the way into my projected 110,000 words.
Right now, I’m at 76K. Chugging right along–and solely because of the awesomeness of a writing retreat with my best friend. Now, I know that lots of writers have get-togethers and retreats and writing marathons with each other. I don’t know how often they look like this for approximately 18 of each 24 hours, but that’s about what it was for us:
We were blessed to have an awesome home for our retreat–Stephanie’s parents volunteered their house while they were on vacation. =) So what you’re seeing here are the most amazing 0-gravity chairs I’ve ever had the pleasure of sitting in for 3/4 of the day, our laptops, our water, and our peanut butter M&Ms. You know, the staples.
Our meals most often looked like this.
And in the mornings we might be found at the breakfast bar.
But we did also surface about once a day to check in with the real world. One of our favorite destinations was Groundhouse Coffee, an awesome coffee shop also owned by the amazing parents of Stephanie. Here we daily received an amazing concoction of blackberry and espresso that they call, aptly, the Euphoria.
We stopped in on Saturday night for one of these, and there was live music. Apparently when one combines jazz with me shouting to the cashier “Roseanna!” when he asks for my name to write on my cup, you get this.
I decided to embrace the exotic appeal of Brizana (who is surely a Brazilian beauty) and answered to it the rest of the weekend.
But one of the highlights was when Stephanie took me to a Kansis City institution — Oklahoma Joe’s Barbecue. Apparently part of the OJB experience is the long line that trails out the door and around the corner. So, you know, we waited in it patiently. And because we’re us, on a writing retreat, we started brainstorming. Our conversation sounded something like this.
“So I don’t know what to do now that they kidnapped Piper. Why don’t they just kill her?”
“Good question, yeah…does she know something they want to know?”
“Maybe. And then there’s the other girl. I kinda want her to take a bullet for her. Or a raid, maybe? That could work. I have the undercover dude.”
“Oo, yeah. But where’s Mariano through it all?”
“I really don’t know. He was at the police station. But they’re trying to set him up, so…would they try to get him there?”
“Well that’s what we need to figure out, I think. Once we know where Mariano is, we can figure out how to avoid killing Piper.”
This would be about the time when, from behind us, we hear, “This is a very strange conversation going on in front of us.”
Cue the laughter…and the memory of the sage advice from Brandilyn Collins, suspense writer extraordinaire: “Never talk about poisons and murder around normals. Trust me. You’ll scare them.” We’d never had to keep that in mind before, having spent our retreat last year brainstorming contemporary teen drama and how much faster travel was once trains came around.
Happily, no police came woo-wooing up to ask us what in the world we were plotting, LOL. And our next meals out, we kept our conversation tame. 😉
Overall, a fabulous retreat. Stephanie actually got to The End, and I, by the time I had to shut off my computer for the plane to land in Washington Regan, had logged 40,000 words for the weekend. It was a great time with my best friend, and a great thing to come home to my hubby and kiddos, who both greeted me in Superman shirts.
The trouble now is easing back into the real world and out of 24-hour-a-day thinking about Lady Brook Eden, Baroness and Berkeley, and the secrets that killed her mother and now threaten her… 😉
by Roseanna White | Mar 20, 2014 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
Yesterday I read the book of Malachi. Right off the bat, I learned that historians aren’t sure if Malachi is a name, or the equivalent of signing something “Anonymous”–it means “the messenger of God.” So it could have been a pen name–pretty interesting for this author!
It isn’t a long book. It isn’t one I often hear quoted. But this verse really jumped out at me, when he’s responding to the poor sacrifices the people have been making:
8 And when you offer the blind as a sacrifice,
Is it not evil?
And when you offer the lame and sick,
Is it not evil?
Offer it then to your governor!
Would he be pleased with you?
Would he accept you favorably?”
Says the Lord of hosts.
I’ve thought a lot about sacrifice over the years–and though we don’t do the traditional Hebrew sacrifices as modern Christians, how it applies to us. But this really put it in perspective for me. Here, God is saying, “Would you present this to your earthly ruler? If not, then why do you try to offer it to me? Am I not a King above all kings?”
That really makes me take a look at my life. To whom am I giving my sacrifice? Is it to God? Or is to my husband, my kids, my editors, my authors? Who gets the firstfruits of my labors? Of my time? Of my earnings?
Who gets my best?
If I were having a royal family over for dinner, you can bet I wouldn’t be offering them leftovers–unless that was all I could offer. When I give a gift to someone I love, I don’t fish trash out of the can and wrap it up. When I hug my children, it isn’t half-hearted, I don’t then push them away.
So why do I think I can get away with treating God like He’s second-rate? Because let’s face it, that’s what we sometimes do. We think, “I’ll squeeze in some time for prayers later…unless I forget. I’ll read my Bible tomorrow. I’ll take a few bucks out of savings for the offering, maybe. I’ll give up something I don’t really care about.”
But you know what? God says He’d rather have nothing than our leftovers. Because a halfhearted offering is an insult. No, worse. It’s evil. That’s the word He uses there in Malachi, and I can’t think of a stronger one.
So when I give Him my worst instead of my best, I’m being evil. When I give Him my moldy leftovers instead of my feast, I’m being evil. When I pray as an absent afterthought instead of first, I’m being evil.
And that hurts. Because I so often get too busy. Too caught up. Too distracted. My heart’s in the right place, but the rest of me doesn’t always follow. And I think, “It’s okay. God knows my intentions. God loves me. God knows I’m trying.”
Yeah. He does. But He also knows when I’m not. He knows when I push thoughts of Him down. When I think, “Yes, I should do that, but I can’t. It’s too hard.”
And He knows that I wouldn’t make those excuses for a king who stood before me. And He mourns that I’m trying to do it with Him.
I think a lot about how my Lord is like my father. How He loves, forgives, chastises, embraces, guides. And all that is true.
But He’s also my Savior, my King, my Lord, my God. And that means He deserves my praise. My worship. My awe.
My all.
He deserves my best.
by Roseanna White | Mar 13, 2014 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
I figure I’ll just keep posting thoughts from my Bible study. 😉 Worked well for me last week, LOL.
This week, the study of James led us into a discussion on temptation. It’s worth noting up front that the root of temptation is tempt, and the root of attempt is also tempt. So there’s already a link between tempting and trying. And the dual meanings of try–both to try to do something and when something tries (vexes) you–are in the original Greek.
So. There were a few things in the verses we studied that jumped out at me. First is that trials, troubles, tribulations are not themselves any indicator of sin…but they often lead to it. Why? Because when things are going well, it’s easy to keep our focus (sometimes) where it needs to be. A healthy marriage doesn’t often lead one to an affair. When there’s nothing to get mad about, we don’t often fly off the handle and hurt somebody. When we’re not sick or injured, we’re not inclined to drown ourselves in self-pity and curse God (as Job’s wife told him to do).
But when the bad things come–that’s when that invisible finger curls, beckoning us. Telling us to come this way, it’ll be easier. It’ll be satisfying. It’ll give us what we lack. Sometimes even promising us that Noble Thing we’ve so long striven for, but in a way that goes against what God instructed.
You can be like God…if you just eat this fruit.
Ever pause to think how clever that enticement really was? Satan didn’t promise them riches. He didn’t promise them fleshly pleasure. How could he? Adam and Eve already had a perfect life. The one thing they wanted was to be ever more like the Father who walked with them. So that was the one temptation the adversary could offer. You can be like God, just like Him. A good thing–but to do so, they’d have to disobey. So he twisted the words, made them question their understanding. Are you sure he said that? Just like that? I don’t think so. And you’ll understand as soon as you eat…
But here’s the other thing that struck me. When we think of temptations, we think of something external, like that beckoning finger. We are tempted by something. By someone. By some force. And sometimes, yeah, that’s true. It’s an outside person or being luring us. But in James it says we are led by “our own desires” into temptation.
Not always by Satan. Not always by other people. By ourselves. Because we want the fleshly thing. We want the donut. We want the alcohol. We want the sex. All things that are good in the right time, in moderation, so why not more?
A lot of translators even put “evil” into the verse–that we are led astray by our own evil desires. But that’s not in the Greek. The Greek word just means “natural desires.” The desire for food, for drink, for warmth, for comfort, for love, for arms around us. Natural. Not bad in and of themselves. But they can lead us toward sin when we put those desires above our desire for God. When we let those desires rule us instead of the other way around.
This is why denying ourselves is a pretty big theme in the Bible. Because we need to get those urges under control. We need to not be enslaved by them. Because if we have to have them, and struggle with it when all is well, what’s going to happen when the trials come?
They’re going to test us, that’s what. Tempt us. Is it God? Well, James says God doesn’t tempt. But sometimes God tests–He doesn’t lead us to the temptation, but he allows the trials. Why?
This is another lovely realization that came through our study. Because we need to know we’re stronger. God already knows–these trials aren’t for His benefit. But seriously. How do you know how strong your faith is, until you have to use it? How do you know how much you love Him until you see that love under threat?
I remember back when Xoe was about 11 months old. She was cruising but not walking on her own yet, and in her usual way was going around the living room by holding on to this and that. We had a pedestal end table she’d just grabbed. I was across the room, on the couch. I saw it happen–her hand slip, her knees buckle. I knew she was going down. But before I could get there, she’d already fallen, hitting her head on the table edge on the way down. At 11 months, this was her first bloody injury. And it wasn’t bad. A Band-Aid made all well again. But it was the first time I’d seen my baby bleed. The first time she’d been in real pain.
And it made me sick. Dizzy. I had to hand her to David and sink down to the floor until my head and stomach righted themselves, and I have never gotten weird at the sight of blood.
But it was different when it was hers.
I’d obviously known I adored my little girl. I loved her to pieces. But not until that moment did it become perfectly clear to me how much. The pain–terrible as it was–acted like a lens. With Rowyn, that lens came at birth, when he couldn’t catch a full breath and had to spend his first two days under an oxygen hood. Newborn, and my baby had a problem. My heart hurt beyond what I thought it could. And my love just gushed from me.
No one wants trials. No one wants to be tempted. But it’s through these tests that we understand how much stronger God is than our weaknesses. How the longing for Him can outdo the longing for anything else.
And then I look at the world around me, and I have to wonder. Because “temptation” has become a sexy word. An alluring word. Not a word of warning, but a word of enticement. Come, be tempted. Give in, the world says.
Hearing the call isn’t a sin. Feeling the longing is only natural. But giving in to it–deciding to give in to it–that’s where the danger lies.
But it’s not going to give you what you hope it will. It won’t. Don’t be deceived, James warns in the next verse. Every good and perfect gift comes from God. God. Not the world. The world can make you happy…for a while. But it can’t make you joyful. It can meet the needs of your flesh…but not the needs of your soul.
That’s why God is always there. Always waiting. He always has His hand outstretched, so that when those trials come, when we feel the temptation, we can turn to Him instead. And we can know that He already gave up so much for us. He already paid the price that sin would exact. He already defeated the temptation.
We just have to remember it.
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.