by Roseanna White | Jan 16, 2014 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
|
| by Jean-François Millet Angelus, 1859 |
Prayer.
It’s one of those things that believers know we need. It’s communion. It’s supplication. It’s worship.
It’s crucial. Vital.
And hard for me to find the time to engage in.
That sounds awful, and is awful. But it’s true, and I suspect I’m not the only busy parent who encounters this. I can find time every day to read my Bible, because whenever a little one comes up and interrupts me, it’s just a matter of finding my place again and continuing. But when prayer is interrupted (which it always is), it’s a little harder to get back to.
Sometimes I journal my prayers, and that works well…until I can’t find a pen or misplace my notebook. Which happens, LOL.
But one of my resolutions this year was to spend more time in prayer. And so, each day, I’m trying.
Usually, it looks like this. The kids run out of the room on some search, and I whisper to the Lord the thoughts weighing on my mind. It lasts about half a minute, before the little ones come tearing back in. Or I’m in the shower. Shower has become prayer time. It’s the only solid 15 minutes I have in a day without guaranteed interruptions, so I’ve made a concerted effort to use it for that God time.
And mostly, I’m trying to listen. You know those times you get that feeling? I’m making a conscious decision to heed those.
Like last week, when I got that feeling that I should fill up the water jugs. We have a well, so no electricity = no water. It was supposed to be colder than it had been in 20 years, and windy. So I filled up the jugs. And I prayed the Lord would keep us warm. And I knew–knew–we’d lose power.
It went out at 3 a.m. and didn’t come back on until twelve hours later. The house had dropped down to just under 50 degrees, but we had water. And we kept warm enough. And I thanked God for that warning whisper.
I’ve also found myself praying very pointedly lately. Like, when praying for a new opportunity, being very specific in what I hope for and when I hope for it. These prayers always feel a little strange to me, and I tend to hedge them with, “You know…maybe…if this is Your will…” But they also feel right. And they keep proving themselves. Twice now in the last couple weeks these very-specific prayers have yielded very-specific, very quick results.
When I think of prayer, I often think of Jewel of Persia. My heroine had a prayer life I aspire to, yet which feels very out of reach to me. She, after all, had servants to help her out, LOL. But though I can’t feasibly spend hours on my knees before the Lord, I can give Him my all. I can trust Him fully to deliver what’s best for me. And yes, I can listen.
And when I listen…well, I won’t say nothing ever catches me by surprise. But a lot less has lately. Good news and bad have been more a “Okay…yep…that’s what God was saying, all right” than a “Wha????”
I’ve got a lot of growing to do here yet. A lot. But I love these lessons. I love crawling up into the lap of my God and knowing He’s holding me tight. I love pausing, stopping, and getting that feeling. I love knowing it’s my heavenly Father, guiding me through my every day.
I love having prayer in my life. And I’m so, so grateful that my Lord loves it too.
by Roseanna White | Jan 9, 2014 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
Yesterday marked my 1,000th published post on Writing Roseanna. Happily, my chosen post for the day was a fun one, LOL. Apparently I’m not the only one in the world so intrigued by book covers and the process of making them. 😉
I was debating what to do to celebrate this milestone. A giveaway? Maybe. Maybe. Some sort of party was surely in order. But…what?
Honestly, as I sit down to write this, I’m still not sure. But I figured I’d start with a few things I’ve learned through blogging.
* It’s a great way to make friends. Some of you readers I would never know if not for blogs, but I’m so, so glad I do!
* I like having a venue for my thoughts. I’m not exactly a record-setting blogger with a devoted throng of tens of thousands who come by to see my wisdom, LOL, but I’ve worked through a lot of faith issues on here. That’s not to be disdained.
* Consistency is definitely key. So even though I’ve gone down to three days a week from my at-first five, I do try to keep those days consistent. And when I miss one, I notice.
* God can use blogs in a big way. Which sounds funny, LOL. But seriously. I couldn’t tell you how many times a blog reader has left a comment that just brightened my day and kept me going. And I love those days when I get a note, either in comments or email, saying my post was just for a particular person that day. Those are always, “Wow, God. Thanks.” moments.
And so, I’d like to thank you all today. You who comment so faithfully, you who read but don’t often choose to interact like that. You who insist I keep blogging when some days I wonder if the blogosphere really needs one more voice.
So I’m going to offer one of my books to someone. Not gonna make it fancy–two ways to enter, and one of them is tell me what you’d like if you win. =) (A Stray Drop of Blood, Jewel of Persia, Love Finds You in Annapolis, Ring of Secrets, Whispers from the Shadows, or Circle of Spies)
(Circle of Spies isn’t out yet, but I’m giving you that option anyway–with the understanding that you’ll be waiting on it if you select that one.)
a Rafflecopter giveaway
by Roseanna White | Jan 2, 2014 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
I know, I know, I’m a day late. 😉 But since that free novella went live yesterday, I had to feature it on the 1st. So I’ll get thoughtful today on the day designated for it instead.
Well, here we are. In 2014. Xoe made sure I put up the new calendar at the first possible moment yesterday, the old one tucked away. Another year to fade into the annals of history. (And I do love history…)
2013 was a busy, crazy year. It had some major disappointments and some major successes. We moved. Rowyn started kindergarten. WhiteFire put out a record number of books and contracted an equally huge number for 2014. I as an author had releases every 6 months, plus two free novellas. Yep. Busy.
But do you know what moments stick out most to me? Realizing how brave my beautiful little girl was in the face of a broken elbow. Hearing a group of ladies in Massachusetts open their hearts to me after reading A Stray Drop of Blood, showing me anew how God can use those words we put to page for His amazing purposes. Taking a walk with my family one evening and realizing that God was preparing us for some big changes…and then knowing, the moment those changes pummeled me, that yeah, He had it in His hand all along, and He has me there too.
It was a year of uncontained giggles from my kids, of a few storms of tears. It was a year of the bittersweet…and a year to trust.
And I think that’ll be even more true of 2014. When I prayed for a word for this new year, that was the first one that sprang to mind, though I’m not totally sure it was His voice–I was so tired yesterday, I can’t be sure of much, LOL. But it feels right today, so we’ll see if I get any clearer direction, or if that’s it.
Trust.
Sometimes that can be a scary command. If God is telling me to trust Him, then it might mean some questionable situations are on the horizon, ones where I’d be tempted to doubt. Or maybe it means new opportunities are coming. Or…or…or… 😉
I can’t really know that. But I can be sure that, just as in the year past, He’ll lead me through it. That no matter my feelings on one day or another, He’ll be steady. That no matter how something might look to my human eyes, He knows what I need to travel His path.
I used to make resolutions as a kid, the kind that were actual achievable goals. I remember the year that Finish my book was on the top of my list–and I achieved it, at age 13. I want to set some goals this year too, but more the kind to help me spiritually, so that no matter what else comes up, I’ll be ready.
1. Spend more time in prayer
2. Be more patient with the kiddos
3. Make a smile my first reaction
4. Serve–and serve happily, be it my family or strangers
What goals are you setting for the new year? Or what word has the Lord whispered to guide you through 2014?
by Roseanna White | Dec 19, 2013 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
Yesterday I had the honor of being a guest-poster on the Steve Laube Agency blog, at the invitation of my agent. A few of us did a series together on different discouragements writers face–others tackled a lot of the “big” things like chronic pain and this fickle industry.
I talked about the discouragement that comes from within ourselves when we are too focused on how we rank next to others. I’ve always had a competitive spirit, and sometimes it leads me straight to a not-so-nice place.
If you haven’t dropped by the Laube blog already, here’s a snippet and the link:
As a kid, I was used to being the best. Best grades, finished my
homework before leaving school, understood everything without needing
the teacher to explain it more than once. (Well, fractions gave me grief
for a week or two, but let’s just call that a blip on the screen.)
Every year, my mom would issue the same warning: “Roseanna, next year
the work will be harder. You might have more homework. It might not come
so easily.” I took that as a challenge. 
And all through school, I proved my wise mama wrong.
Then I hit the real world.
Read the whole article
Oddly, I wasn’t sure when this was scheduled to post and didn’t know it had until I got an email from someone who had read it. And was not exactly encouraged by it, as she’s dealing with some big things right now. Allow me to say that this is focused on one specific thing, not all the discouragement we face in life. Competitiveness certainly isn’t the worst trial we go through–but if it’s part of your nature as it is mine, it’s one of the most constant, and can sneak up on us when we least expect it.
And I would just like to also say…two more days of school until Christmas break for us! 😉 We’ve got a good start on our holiday fun with lollipop sugar cookies and gingerbread men…er, and girls. And, er, trees…and moons…and teddy bears…
Of course, the little ones have also been distracted by the newest addition to our family, Noah–who is currently spending most of his time up the driveway at my mother-in-law’s (who does NOT have new carpet), but who will be spending a lot of time down here once he’s housebroken too. =)
 |
| Noah the Boxer puppy |
 |
Noah with his three best friends–
Xoe, Rowyn, and Heartbeat Bear |
Hope everyone is enjoying the season!
by Roseanna White | Dec 12, 2013 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
I just read a book. Technically I was editing it, but mostly I was soaking it in. Always such a pleasant surprise when I can do that. When I can let a book engage not just my mind but my heart. And sometimes my soul.
My Mother’s Chamomile is a WhiteFire title, coming in February, so obviously we expect a little bias from me. But. But.
I need to talk about this book, and it has nothing to do with my interest as its editor when I say this is a novel that everyone–everyone–should read. Because it deals with some things we all–all–deal with.
Grief. Mourning. Death.
The main characters in the book are small-town funeral directors. The folks no one wants to talk to because seeing them is a constant reminder of bad times. Of how short life can be. They’re a family mostly avoided–until their neighbors need them. Then they’re the givers of mercy. The hands of love. The calm and peace in an ocean of uncertainty.
But who will comfort them when they’re the ones dealing with tragedy?
Let me tell you why I couldn’t stop reading this book. And why it actually had me mopping tears off me cheeks–me, who gets teary-eyed from time to time but does not cry like that over books! For one thing, the writing style is just so incredibly authentic. For another, it has a surprising amount of action. For another…well, it struck a chord.
Because I’ve stood in those funeral homes. I’ve heard the quiet voices of the directors, seeking to soothe. Trying to bring comfort where it shouldn’t rightly be. At fourteen, I attended so many viewings that I knew my way through all the rooms of both the old Victorian houses converted to funeral parlors in my home town, I knew where they kept the hot chocolate and tea, I knew which rooms were bigger and which convertible when you shut or opened those accordion doors.
I knew death well that year. In addition to several folks from my church, I lost my uncle. I lost my grandfather.
And oh, how cynical it made me about the whole process of saying farewell.
On the one hand, that’s the year my faith went deep. When I started reading my Bible just because, every morning, and not just in Sunday School. That’s the year I went from always-being-a-Christian to grasping hold of the Lord with both hands and begging Him never to let go. My faith went deep…but my cynicism got a good root too.
I hated those viewings. I hated having to walk up to the casket and see the body that was no longer the one I loved. I hated seeing the makeup on skin that never wore it. I hated seeing the careful arrangement of hands that, in life, were never still. It all felt so fake to me. So false. That was when I decided that when my time came, I didn’t want that. I wanted a party, New Orleans style. Play some jazz, talk about my life. Laugh over the memories, cry too. But don’t pat my hand and say how natural I look. Please.
The cynicism took a turn when I was 20. My best friend got married right after high school. I was in her wedding, and she was in mine a year later. It was only another year after that when David and I came home from college one weekend, and my mother-in-law handed me the phone. “It’s Christy,” she said. I took the phone with a smile.
It didn’t last long. Christy was calling to tell me that her husband had died in a car accident the night before. Widowed, at age twenty. She was calling to ask me to be with her. So I drove to her mom’s house. I held her when she cried. And when she asked me to go with her and her family to make the funeral arrangements, I went.
All my many visits to those viewing parlors, but that’s been my only trip belowstairs. I don’t remember much. Just the quiet voice of the directors. Their patience. Their assurance that they’d take care of everything they could. Make it easier on the family in any way they could.
That’s what they do. But that was the first time I really paused to wonder how, day after day, they did it.
It was a question that didn’t linger long, I gotta say. College had its other losses for me–my boss committed suicide, as did one of my professors. Not many months later, my grandfather died of a brain tumor. I was letting one of my other professors know I’d be missing a class for the funeral, and he got this sad smile on his face. He was the one who had taken over my class the spring before after Mr. Allenbrook died. And that day, Mr. Tuck said, “It’s been a bad year for you, hasn’t it? Are you okay?”
Questions like that can break a body. Break a dam. Bring the tears that usually one only shed when the shower was covering the sound, when there was no one around to see. Grief, for me, had long been so very private. So very muted. It wasn’t my way to rant and rail.
But you know, when I went into one of those same funeral homes again for yet another grandfather, I gave myself permission not to go up to the casket. I stuck to the flower-drenched tables, to the rows of chairs, to the family I hadn’t seen in a decade.
I haven’t gone right up to the casket since. Not because of any fear or disgust. But because I didn’t want to let that cynicism rear its head. I didn’t want it to taint the grief of those who needed it.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last seventeen years, it’s that everyone mourns differently. But everyone mourns. And if they don’t, well then, that’s even harder. I’ve learned that some get angry and some get bitter, some get quiet and some get loud. Some turn to God, some want answers. Some just need a hand to cling to.
But we all break. Because we’re human, because we love, because losing someone we love is meant to hurt. We break. We’re broken. We have those cracks and chips and holes inside us, the ones no one but the Lord can ever fill.
In My Mother’s Chamomile, the Lord uses the hands of His servants to touch hearts all over that small Michigan town. And then He uses the town to touch the hearts of the comforters. It’s a book that reminded me so clearly of all those times I’d lost. All those times I’d trekked into that familiar funeral home. All those times when I realized how fragile life is. How tragic it can be. How death makes no difference between rich and poor, young and old. It’s always there. I’ve known for so long that it’s always there. And maybe it sounds strange that I so loved a book that drove that home.
But here’s the thing. We all have those broken places. We all have those times when sorrow takes us over. When death invades our world. We all deal with it in different ways. And we all wonder if we’re doing it right.
This was a book that said, “Right is however you can. Right is whatever it takes. And love–love is what will get you through it. Love of those still with you, yes. But more, the love of God. And if you can’t feel that love right now, that’s okay. He understands. But you’ll see it in us. You’ll feel it in our embrace when there’s no one else beside you to hold onto. You’ll hear it in the quiet when we back out of the room so you can cry. You’ll sense it in the flowers that we place with such care around you.”
Grief is so very real. Mourning is so very hard. And sometimes–sometimes we just can’t wrap our minds and hearts around the whys. They overwhelm us. They make those cracks go wider. And never in my life have I read a book that soothed those old, scabbed-over, broken places like My Mother’s Chamomile did. That made me cry because of the beauty that can take root in that moment of greatest sorrow. The pure love that can soak through all the brittle spots.
Something changed in me as I read that book. Something that made me gather my babies close and smile over them. Something that made me pray harder for those I love who are struggling right now. Something that made me wonder how I can better be the hands and feet of the Lord.
Something that made me wake up in the morning and think, Yes. This is life. And it’s so, so very precious.
Something that made me determine not to squander that.
by Roseanna White | Dec 5, 2013 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
In reading through the Old Testament again, I keep noticing something I noted first several years ago. So often, God reveals His power to the world, and not just to the Israelites. He demonstrates his majesty to people great and small from all the nations.
I love reading about those cases. I love reading how people who were raised with the pantheon of gods and idols go wide-eyed in the face of the all-powerful Yahweh. I love reading about how they fall to their knees before the prophets.
But so often their words are the same. “I know that your God is supreme,” they’ll say.
Your God.
They recognize His omnipotence…but rarely do they claim Him as theirs. When they do, it’s striking. When Ruth proclaims, “Your God shall be my God,” that’s huge. When a man returns to his own land determined to worship the Lord, that’s really worth getting excited about. Because for a believer in many gods to grant that one is the most powerful…meh. It almost rates as a “so what?” But to serve Him–to count themselves as one of His children–that requires a complete shift in their thinking. God does not want to be served along with others. He wants to reign alone in our hearts. So when He is our God, my God, that means none other can claim the same.
|
| David Presents the Head of Goliath to King Saulby Rembrandt, circa 1627 |
These pronouns really struck me when reading about King Saul and David. Never once does Saul call the Lord his God or his Lord. He refers to Him instead as David’s God, or as the God of their fathers. Yet in the same passages, we see David crying out to Yahweh with those personal pronouns.
There are many nuances to David’s story that I probably don’t understand. But when I noticed this, it made a light go on in my head. That, right there, is a perfect illustration of where Saul failed and David succeeded. Whatever other successes or failures each had, the real issues of their reigns came down to serving the Lord.
To Saul, He remained always distant. He was someone else’s Lord. To be feared but not understood. To be heard from the mouth of a prophet, but who Saul never approached himself.
Then there’s David. To David, God was an ever-present Father. He was savior and friend. David called on Him directly, every hour, throwing himself at the feet of the Almighty as a child will fall into the lap of a parent. Knowing that though chastisement will come when he does wrong, it will be tempered, always with love.
David knew God. David loved God. He was his.
There’s a passage in Jewel of Persia where Kasia notices this. Where Xerxes, king of all Persia, of all the world, it seems, recognizes the full power of her God…but still calls him hers. In that moment, she sees it as a step along the road. He at least sees Him. But when will he call the Lord his?
In today’s world, we tend not to look at things in the way they did back then. People don’t go around talking about my God versus your God very often. People don’t serve (knowingly, that is) the Baals. But oh-so-often they worship their own creations. Their idea of God, or of some creator being they force into their own image. They serve their own desires, their own wants, their own lusts. Maybe they pay lip service to that God they see in church. Maybe they toss around the words God and Jesus.
But is He theirs?
Is He ours? I pray so. I pray that we don’t look upon Him as distant, as better known and better loved and loving someone else. I pray I never look at another believer and think God loves him better…he knows God better. Because then I’ll start to think of Lord as belonging more to that other person than to me.
I may be weaker. I may be of lesser faith. I may be a lot of things that need shored up and strengthened. But may I always know this–He is mine, and I am His. Our relationship is like no one else’s.
And that’s exactly as it should be.
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.