by Roseanna White | Mar 6, 2014 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
Last week the small Bible study group I belong to began a study focused around James. I’ve always loved this little book of the Bible, so I was pretty happy to learn that’s what we would be studying. My hubby’s leading us this time, and I know he has always loved James too. We had a great discussion centering around this:
“”Consider it Joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience.”
I memorized this verse as a teenager. I’ve known it for years. I think about it fairly often. But I’d never examined it like we did on Friday. Consider it comes from a verb that carries a lot of weight. It doesn’t just mean “name it.” It doesn’t just mean “say it is, whether you think it or not.” It means to dwell on it, to journey through it, to arrive at it, to bring it to Joy. It’s a process, one that involves our minds.
Another key word there is when. Not if. When we fall into trials. We’re going to, that’s not a question. In this world, trouble and sorrow find us no matter whether we’re wicked or righteous. (On a side note, I’ve also been reading the book of Job, and the commentators have been stressing how Job’s assertion that a good man could suffer like he is flew in the face of the Wisdom doctrine of the day.)
Which led to another good point in our discussion, when one of our friends related how someone had just that day asked, basically, “But why? Why do bad things happen to good people?”
It’s an age-old question. Such an age-old question that I’d pretty much stopped considering it and figured everyone else in the world had too, LOL. But obviously it still bothers people. It was pretty silly of me to think otherwise. Because yes, we always ask why. We always ask what we did to deserve a bad turn. We always get angry when someone we love is hurt or dies, or when we do everything right and still seem to be punished. When we lose our jobs. When we suffer injury or illness. When, when, when…
But something hit me while we were talking about that. Not a new thought, I’m sure, but a striking one.
How are we defined, if not by how we react to those trials? What makes us who we are if not whether we stand or fail in the face of adversity?
It isn’t about bad things happening to good people. Bad things happen to everyone. It’s how we respond to them that makes us good or bad.
(“Good” and “Bad” probably aren’t the right words there, actually…)
See, life isn’t about being happy. That’s part of it, and obviously a part we love. But Joy is something more. Joy isn’t about circumstances. If it was, then how could James have possibly told us to consider trouble and trials a Joy? It would be insensible.
But Joy is that something-deeper we can arrive it. It’s that knowing that, even when we don’t feel it, God is good. That even when we’re in the valley, the mountain top is waiting. That even through the pain, there’s Someone holding us and loving us.
Joy is finding the beauty in the clouds of the approaching storm (inspired by that photo above I took at the beach last summer). Joy is knowing that when something is yanked out from under you, it’s because God has a different plan. Joy is in the journey of trusting Him, that long road where you learn so much. Joy is in looking back and realizing that if that terrible thing hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t be who you are today.
Joy is in trusting that day will come even when you’re still in the terrible thing.
Joy isn’t easy. It isn’t supposed to be. But the things worth fighting for are just that–worth fighting for. We need to fight for our Joy. We need to stop focusing on the things this instant-gratification world tell us will make us happy and start focusing on what will make us better. On what will make us stronger. On what will make us raise our hands and praise Him through the storm.
You know that phrase we sing to that hand-clapping, upbeat melody? We bring the sacrifice of praise…
It’s a sacrifice. That means it’s hard. It’s rough. It’s supposed to hurt. That’s what praise is. Praise is giving Him that shout when we don’t feel it. When we can’t understand it. When the questions are bigger than the answers.
Praise is considering the Joy. Considering it–that trial, that trouble–a Joy.
Nope, it’s not easy. But that’s what makes it beautiful.
by Roseanna White | Feb 27, 2014 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
Yesterday a friend of mine emailed. She’s as editor but has recently been trying to find representation for a children’s book, with the goal of publication. Now, I know very little about writing kids books, so I haven’t been a whole lot of help. But in her email last night, she said something I know well: “I’m so frustrated! How do you writers do it?”
My answer: “With much frustration. Over many years.”
I’ve been working to get my books published for half my life now. Half. Over half, technically, by a little. I sent out my first queries when I was 15 years old. And though I didn’t keep querying constantly for the next 10 years until I sold something, I did go back to trying that at least once a year. Especially after I got married.
There was one time when I’d just finished a manuscript, and my husband of about a year said, “Now no more writing until you try to get this one published.” High on the feeling of being finished and convinced the story was brilliant, I said, “No problem!”
Problem. LOL. I’m a writer. Not someone who likes to write, someone who has to write. And within a week, I had this other brilliant idea that I couldn’t not work on. I would sneak into our den to write, LOL. For the first day or two, when David walked in, I’d flip to the internet, all like, “What, me? No, I’m not writing…”
That obviously didn’t last long, and we had a good laugh about it. I could appreciate that he wanted to push me outside my comfort zone, away from “being a writer” and into “trying to be a published writer.” That was important. It mattered to me. But not as much–never as much–as just writing. Having him beside me, reminding me to try again, and again, and again to get my books into the world has been invaluable. No doubt otherwise, I’d just have the collection of books in my computer and nowhere else.
But it’s always been about the writing.
Also last night, I took my daughter to ballet, and the grandmother of one of her friends asked, “Are you working on a book right now?”
I had the pleasure of answering, “I just finished one on Monday!” (Did I mention I finished A Soft Breath of Wind on Monday??? Woot!) And then added, “Right now I’m editing someone else’s book. Then my next deadline is July. Yay for deadlines!”
At this point, another mom across the room heard the conversation and piped in with, “Hey, wait. What? You’ve written a book? Like, a book? A real one?”
LOL. I love these moments in the life. The ones where I get to be a writer. Where I don’t celebrate my novel completion by vacuuming my kitchen or finally answering the plaintive “Mooooooooooooom! Where’s my bear!” cry that’s been distracting me for five minutes. Where I don’t have to get up at 5:30 to have that time with my computer. Where I’m not balancing a stack of home school books or WhiteFire books or dealing with inventory or taxes or royalty reports. Where it’s just me and someone who doesn’t know me well and that lovely truth.
Yes. I’m a writer. I’ve written 28 books. Some of them are even good, LOL. I have nine either out now or due out within the year. More in the works. I am a writer.
I fished a bookmark out of my purse and ran it over to this other mom, who said, “Oo, you even have fancy bookmarks! This is so cool!”
It was. It was a cool moment. As a writer, I don’t get a whole lot of those, so I soak them in when they come along. Most of my days are spent with my kids and their schooling. Or helping David run WhiteFire. But I love those moments when I’m just a writer.
Not everyone likes my books, and over the years, I’ve gotten to be okay with that. They’re not sky-rocketing bestsellers, and I’m okay with that too. I’ve never won an award, and I don’t need to. I’m a writer.
Writing a book is hard work. Getting a book published can be mind-numbing–and yes, frustrating. Getting bad reviews can bring you down, and seeing royalty reports can get depressing. But I’ve realized several times lately that for me, all that stuff is second. If I never made a dime off it, I’d still write. If I never sold another book, I’d still write.
It’s part of who I am.
Now where, you wonder, do the zombies come in? Right now. 😉
David and I like to watch The Walking Dead, which might surprise some of you. =) I’m not exactly a lover of zombie stories. But what I am is a lover of well-drawn characters, and this series has some of the best. And I especially love how this zombie apocalypse they’re dealing with helps define who they are at the core.
Rick is a hero. A sheriff’s deputy before the world falls apart, a leader. That’s a role that gets better hewn in the midst of strife, and when he falters at it, when he loses that for a while, he loses himself. He’s just an echo.
Hershel was a vet, a farmer, and a man of faith. Though the world turns upside down, those skills helped the entire group keep going…but especially that last. If there’s no medical emergency, no land to tend, he still needs the faith. The faith still keeps them going. And though that, too, falters for a while, it becomes clear that if he loses it, he won’t be Hershel anymore.
Glen–Glen was a delivery boy before the apocalypse. That’s not who he was, that was just what he did. When everything fell apart, he had to discover who he really was. And he turned out to be a capable, fearless, smart dude. The kind everyone wants on their team.
The people who just had “jobs” in the “real world”…they get redefined. But the people who were doing what they loved, what made them who they are, that always shapes them through the strife.
Me…if an EMP wiped out all technology and publishing as I know it ground to a halt, I’d still write. On paper (gasp!) if I had to, but I’d still write. If the world descended into anarchy and we were all on the run for our lives, I’d still write. Maybe just in my head, and my books might just been campfire story time, but I’d still write. It’s how I cope. It’s how I process. It’s how I deal.
It’s not the only thing I am. It’s not the only thing that defines me. It’s not the only thing that I would always, always be no matter my circumstances. But it’s linked to all those other things. It’s part of them, as they’re part of it.
And it’s fun to think of. If life as you knew it ground to a halt…if you were stripped of job or house or circumstances…who would you be?
_-_Foto_Giovanni_Dall)
by Roseanna White | Feb 20, 2014 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
You know one of the things I’m really enjoying about my current Bible-in-a-Year reading? I’m doing it in my Chronological Bible. So I’m not reading it in the traditional order, but rather according to the timeline. I’m reading Daniel, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and a few others all at once. And it’s so interesting!
_-_Foto_Giovanni_Dall'Orto,_15-Oct-2008.jpg/800px-0370_-_Siracusa_-_Duomo_-_Agostino_Scilla_-_Abacuc_porta_pane_a_Daniele,_Ritr._Juan_de_Torres_(1657)_-_Foto_Giovanni_Dall'Orto,_15-Oct-2008.jpg) |
Fresco of Daniel in the Lion’s Den by Agostino Scilla
Photo by Giovanni Dall’Orto |
Daniel begins in the first wave of captive-removal from Israel. There are several of these, which I didn’t realize. But if my memory and understanding are correct, while Jeremiah was still preaching impending doom to Judah, Daniel and Ezekiel had already been in Babylon for many years. Daniel was involved, of course, in court life. Ezekiel was a priest–one who had been taken so very far away from the temple at which he should have been serving.
So while Daniel and his friends are earning the respect of Nebuchadnezzar, Ezekiel is trying to help his fellow exiles understand this new kind of Judaism they will have to learn, to survive as children of the Most High in a foreign land. And here’s the part I love.
At one point in the book of Ezekiel, he uses a phrase I never noticed before: “wiser than Daniel.” He’s speaking against the king of Tyre here, and God is observing how puffed up said king has become. The tone is without question sarcastic as the prophet proclaims, “Oh, you’re wiser than Daniel! You understand everything! No secrets can be kept from you, nosiree, you know so much that you’ve gained all the riches of the world. You think you’re so big-time, Mr. Big Shot King…”
Oh, how I love this. That Daniel’s wisdom was so well-known, so wide-spread that he had become a standard. Saying “wiser than Daniel” is like someone today saying, “He’s richer than Bill Gates” or “faster than a super-computer.” Daniel was so wise that even a foreign king would know of him. And would know that he was being mocked–because no one was wiser than Daniel.
In other parts of Ezekiel, he includes Daniel in the list of God’s most righteous followers. When speaking of coming doom, he says, “Even if Noah, Daniel, and Job were in that city, God wouldn’t spare the city for their sakes, He would only save them.” Another time he reiterates the same phrase: Noah, Daniel, and Job. The most faithful men in Jewish history. The ones who did not doubt.
I can’t quite explain why this is so much fun to me, but it really is. I love getting context for one story from another. I love when the firsthand account we get from one source is solidified by someone totally different. Maybe it’s the history-lover in me, who knows. But this made my already-great respect for Daniel grow even more. Here was a guy taken from his land and then separated from the other captives. He was pulled from among the Jewish exiles and put in the king’s palace. He thrived–not as someone who adjusted to his circumstances and took on the ways of his captors, but as someone who outdid all the Babylonian in their own arts by remaining true to his God.
And God made him wiser than any other man on earth at the time. God made his fame go out among the nations. Yet still Daniel led a humble, selfless life. He says to kings, “Keep your riches for yourself, but I will give you the answers you seek.” He does not want power. He does not want glory. He wants only the Lord.
And that’s why he was hailed as the wisest. That’s why we still remember him today. And though we can’t all aspire to such greatness that everyone the world over will know our names, we can still emulate his standard. We can keep out eyes on the Lord and seek to find the way to flourish in His truth. We can be in the world, surrounded by those who do not understand us, and excel because of the understanding He gives us. And we can always know, always trust that He who got us this far will see us through.
And if He doesn’t, as Daniel’s three friends proclaim in the face of the fiery furnace, then we’ll praise Him anyway. Because it’s better to die glorifying Him than to live without Him.
I know very well I’ll never be wiser than Daniel. But I’d sure like to be his student.
by Roseanna White | Feb 13, 2014 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
|
| The Vision of Ezekiel by Francisco Collantes, 1630 |
In my year-long read-through of the chronological Bible, I’ve been covering the Babylonian exile. Interesting in many ways to me, given that I’ve already written one book set not so long after that (Jewel of Persia) and I have a few other ideas that tie in with it. But this week I’ve been reading Ezekiel, and one of the historical notes got me thinking.
The commentators introduced this section of Ezekiel by saying how this period of time became a huge shift for the Jewish faith. Up until the exile, Israel and Judah–long since fractured–identified their religion by their place in the world. The knew when God was angry because the tides would turn against them. They knew when He was pleased because they flourished. Yahweh set them apart from the other nations. His promises kept a Davidic king on the throne without fail. As long as Israel or Judah were a nation, then they were the beloved of God.
But suddenly that nation was nothing but crumbled stone. They were destroyed. Ripped to shreds. No Davidic prince sat on the throne. Their God, it seemed, had forsaken them. The other nations would mock them. Would revile their God and say He was nothing but another of the pantheon, weak and worthless. And if He was weak and worthless, then they were even less. They were exiles. They could do nothing but sit by the waters of Babylon and weep.
Yet in this destruction came a hope that redefined them. A hope that took faith from a cultural level to a personal one. Prophets like Ezekiel led the way in helping Israel redefine itself. He spoke of hope. He spoke of trusting in God to preserve them even amid the heathen nations. He spoke of a future Israel that would be united, and of a people stronger than ever.
I love watching this change unfold. I love seeing how faith had to go from a set of rules more often forgotten than obeyed to a belief to be written on the heart.
And as I read these sections the last few days, I felt that resonate. I look around me today and I see a world that has forgotten what the point of morality is. We’ve forgotten why we should keep sex sacred. Why we should put God first. Why we should not speak His name in vain. Why we should honor our parents.
That’s where Israel was, in a lot of ways. Rereading the Old Testament has shown me how often the Law and the Prophets were utterly forsaken. Forgotten. How many times they had to be rediscovered in some hole in a temple wall for even a semblance of obedience to be restored. How a king or prophet would try to get the people to follow His ways again…for a while…until it got too hard and they gave up.
Because it’s easier to live how the rest of the world lives. It’s so, so much easier. It’s more fun.
Until destruction comes, and God calls us to accounts. Then He finally gets our attention. But how many times did He call Israel to repentance before it came to that? Frankly, I lost count. He gave them so long. Hundreds of years. He would hold back His wrath when they made a small effort, perhaps sparing them for the sake of a few. For the sake of His covenant with David.
But the people…the people just wouldn’t learn. Because it’s more fun to sleep around, and really, what’s the point of abstinence? Why in the world should they release their Israelite slaves every seventh year? Keep the Passover—pssh. Maybe when it was convenient. So what if the next thing they knew they were under a siege so bad that time and again it’s reported that women were eating their own children? Surely it was worth it. Surely.
Where are we now? How many times has the Lord already called us to accounts, called for repentance? How many times have we ignored Him, because it’s easier to live however we want?
I pray He holds off His wrath. I pray the faithful’s prayers are enough for now. I pray enough are turning to Him. And yet I look at the rebirth of Israel, at the giant leap faith took because of that exile. And I know that no matter what may come, He’ll use it. He’ll use it for His glory. He’ll use it to show the nations He is God.
He’ll use it to bring His people to new levels of faith in Him.
I know in my heart this will still hold true today. Not just for nations where Christians face persecution, but in individual lives. No matter the siege we’re under. No matter the destruction we face. Maybe sometimes it’s a result of our decisions, maybe sometimes we’re caught in the world’s crossfire. But no matter what, He’s there. He’s there in the exile. He’s there in the battle. He’s there on journey, when we sit by the waters of Babylon and weep.
And He has something new waiting for us even then. We might feel like the dry bones Ezekiel saw in the wilderness. But He is the God who breathes new life into us.
Breathe on me, Lord. That is my constant prayer, whether I’m sitting by the waters or soaring through the clouds. Breathe on me.
by Roseanna White | Feb 6, 2014 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
|
| A Wet Sunday Morning by Edmund Blair Leighton |
I am a Sabbath keeper.
I don’t talk about it much online because, well, it doesn’t come up a whole lot. But it’s something I make sure those I work with know, since they’re unlikely to have their questions answered by me on Saturday, but will find me hard at work on Sundays. Today, though, I want to talk about it.
Last Saturday, my dad (pastor at my Seventh Day Baptist church), preached on the Sabbath. He doesn’t do this often, but it’s a topic we’ve discussed quite a bit in church for obvious reasons, and I was curious what else he could find to say about it. His message really intrigued me. And made me want to proclaim that yes, I keep the Sabbath.
He read from Exodus, but not the part I expected. Before, we’ve focused our attention on the verse in the Ten Commandments. This time, he read from a later section of Moses’s tenure on Mt. Sinai, in chapter 31.
Surely
My Sabbaths you shall keep, for it is a sign between Me and you
throughout your generations, that you may know that I am the Lord who sanctifies you. 14 You
shall keep the Sabbath, therefore, for it is holy to you.
I’ve read Exodus quite a few times, but I’d never noticed that before. And I loved the context Dad gave it. Back in that day, the sun was the center of worship in nearly all major religions. The chief god of most pantheons is represented by the sun. So from the dawn of time, more or less, there was a day named after it, the first day of the week. That was the day when most people in the ancient world worshiped.
God wanted something different for His people. He wanted them to be set apart. So worshiping instead on the last day of the week was an outward sign. It was a clear statement that they belonged to the living God. The God who is not represented by the sun, but who created it. That’s pretty cool, right? The Jewish day of worship is a testament, and a covenant. It’s a sign not just for man, but between man and God. It’s His people saying, “Yes, Lord, here I am to worship!”
I’ve heard a lot of reasoning for why Christians worship on Sunday, and most of it comes down to tradition. In the first church, most of the believers were still Jewish, and they would still go to the temple on the Sabbath. They would therefore gather with the Christians the following day. Okay. I’m totally cool with that. But as with many of our holidays, it became the “official” day of worship when Constantine made it the official Roman religion. He wanted it to palatable to his people, so he said they shouldn’t change their day of worship.
Now, I’m the first to say that our day or worship is by no means a matter of salvation. That starts and ends with belief in Christ. I totally understand that we live in a society that really doesn’t care anymore about religious days, and we could lose our jobs sometimes if we insisted on a particular day off. I understand that for most people, the thought of changing from Sunday to Saturday just doesn’t make sense in their heads. Isn’t Sunday the Lord’s day? The day Jesus rose from the dead?
Yes, it’s the day He rose from the dead. But the disciples still called Saturday “the Lord’s day.” But didn’t He free us from those laws and rules?
He freed us from the judgment of them, yes. And redefined the ceremonial laws. But the order to keep the Sabbath is one of the Ten Commandments. I’m not sure why Christianity has decided to toss number 4 out the window but insist that the other 9 must be followed out of loving obedience. We don’t think murdering or adultery is right…so why do we forget the one the we were told to remember? It’s not a ceremonial law, it’s a moral one.
And as I sat in church last Saturday, I realized why it’s a moral one. Because it marks us as God’s. That’s something I wouldn’t trade for the world.
Now, I know this post is unlikely to change anything for anyone, LOL. Most Christians will still go to church on Sunday, and that’s totally fine. Again, it’s not a matter of salvation. I certainly don’t judge anyone for following centuries-long tradition. But I just wanted to publicly claim my covenant with God. I am choosing, now as I first did ten years ago, to remember the Sabbath. I am choosing to keep it holy. Because He is the God who sanctifies me, and this is the day He set aside.
I am a Sabbath keeper.
by Roseanna White | Jan 23, 2014 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
I’ve been writing for a long time. As in, a long time. I finished my first novel at age 13. My second at 16. Then six more by the time I was 21. That’s a lot of words on the page. A lot of plot. A lot of characters to come to love. And I always had the goal of getting published. Putting those stories into the world.
That means criticism.
Now, no matter what you do in life, you’re going to come up against criticism. But me…I wasn’t so good at taking it, and I can admit that now that I’m old (ahem) and wise (cough, cough). 😉 Even when it was a simple matter of needing to trim a few scenes, I couldn’t do it. I was too attached. I loved every word. I mean, if I read through something all on my own and saw a mistake or a way to make a sentence sound better, sure. I’d change it. But on someone else’s advice?
Nuh uh. No way.
Yeah…I had some work to do, LOL. I formed a critique group, and that helped so much. My internal protests to every suggestion quickly shrank from a day to a minute to a few seconds’ debate. I learned to measure and weigh advice.
I learned to adopt a distance between me and my work. To realize that my book wasn’t me. An attack on something I created (not that my critique partners attacked! But looking forward here to reviews…) was not an attack on my person.
Distance. It’s the friend of a writer. It’s the friend of everyone when it comes to these situations. It’s so easy to take things personally, but what does that lead to? Hurt feelings. Offense. Division. It happens in friendships, families, churches.
Lately, I’ve thought that I have distance pretty well down. Mastered. I invest my heart in my books while I write them, then I put them down. I walk away. And I approach all else about them with what I figured was healthy detachment. Changes to a book? In my whole direction? In what project I’m working on? I can do that. Why not. No problem.
But here’s the thing…when one has “mastered” distance, sometimes it masters you. Sometimes you look at everything with that lens. Sometimes you stop investing altogether. And that can’t be good. Because hope, faith, and detachment are a strange combination. And when that last one has the upper hand, you don’t always even realize if the other two have faded.
In this balancing act we call life, it seems like something or another is always out of whack, doesn’t it? We always have work to do. Right now, part of mine is in finding this particular equilibrium. In making sure that keeping a distance from my work doesn’t turn into keeping a distance from faith that God’s working through it.
I definitely need some space between me and the things of my hands. But between me and the work God’s doing in me–no. That I need to embrace fully. That I need to hold close. That I need to be protective of. So that I can still hope…not in a particular outcome, but in the One who’s controlling it.
_-_Foto_Giovanni_Dall%27Orto,_15-Oct-2008.jpg/800px-0370_-_Siracusa_-_Duomo_-_Agostino_Scilla_-_Abacuc_porta_pane_a_Daniele,_Ritr._Juan_de_Torres_(1657)_-_Foto_Giovanni_Dall%27Orto,_15-Oct-2008.jpg)
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.