Episode 5: Making Use of a Broken Gift

I figure it’s time to tell you a bit about myself since we’re a few episodes in and maybe not all of you know me in real life. Unfortunately, every attempt I make at writing this thing out turns into a list of labels. So, I’m just going to run with that and start with giving you some of my labels.

I’m a wife and mother. I’ve been married to my husband for eleven years, and we have two children. My seven year old son is very creative and imaginative, as well as energetic and a very sensitive soul. My daughter just turned four so she basically thinks she’s grown now and is ready to do everything. She’s super bossy, but also very nurturing and loves to take care of people. We also have a dog, can’t leave my furry boy out. We adopted Bode nine years ago as a rescue dog. He’s a total weirdo but he’s a good fit for our family that way.

I’m also a homeschooler. I never thought I would be. I always thought homeschoolers were weird so that was a big no for me. Then, when my son was preschool aged and we looked into programs, we found that we couldn’t afford it. So I started exploring the homeschool world. I was amazed by what I found. There are so many styles, curriculum choices, and research which shows how beneficial homeschooling can be. Now, clearly, I believe in it because we do it. That said, I don’t sit in judgment of anyone who makes a different education choice for their kids. Homeschooling can be really hard and there are days I question my own choices (insider info: all homeschoolers question their sanity at some point. We’re not filled with everlasting patience for our own children all the time). But I do really love having the extra time with my kids, the opportunity to be creative in our learning, and being able to pursue any interests and passions we uncover. Maybe someday I’ll do a whole episode about homeschooling to debunk some myths or offer encouragement for those who are interested, but today is not that day, so we’ll move on.

I’m also a Christian. Now when I say Christian, I realize that can be a loaded term. I do not mean someone who just goes to church or who follows a bunch of rules or hates people. I don’t hate people. I’m not very good at following rules (I have a big fat sin nature just like everyone else) and while I do go to church, I don’t think that makes me a better person that someone who does not. When I say Christian I mean that there came a point in my life where I realized things were pretty messed up and I needed Jesus. It also means that in my darkest moments and hardest seasons, I’ve not been alone. I seriously have to tell you guys about the fireflies of 2016 someday….but today is not that day, so we’re moving on again.

I am also an author. And being an author is what led me to this podcast. Let me give you the backstory.

When I was in third grade I had this wonderful teacher. Her name was Mrs. Morris. She has since passed away after a battle with cancer. But I was lucky enough to have her. She was like one of those teachers you find in story books. She was young and pretty and full of life. She had new ideas and ways of doing things. She wasn’t afraid to be a little outside the box and she encouraged us to be a little outside the box too. I still remember her reading Charlie and the Choclate Factory aloud to us. And I remember she had these stations set up in the classroom. One was a reading station with a big carpet and some big squishy teddy bears and bean bags where we could just curl up and read. Now, I’ve loved books and stories for longer than I can remember so anytime I’ve ever been encouraged to just sit and read, it’s been my favorite. But Mrs. Morris also had writing stations. We would write in our spiral notebooks about all kinds of things. They could be lilke journal entries or short stories or just telling her what our plans were for the weekend---cause you know, eight year olds have some great weekend plans. And she would write in the margins all manner of encouragement and feedback to nurture our writing. She also had each of us write our own book. She made cardboard covers and put blank pages inside so each of us could write and illustrate our own story. Mine was called The Old Horse in the Beat-Down Stable. It sounds so bleak, doesn’t it? I still have it somewhere. I was so proud of my story and it lit a tiny spark of passion for writing.

Fast forward to 11th grade, English Lit with Mrs. Clark. I knew by then that I really loved reading, especially old classics but it was in her class that I realized I was different. We were studying couplets and while most of my classmates needed a minute to figure them out, I seemed to be getting it instantly. This was the moment I realized not everyone was like me and I was good at something. And I don't care who you are or what your thing is--if it's couplets from English poetry or trigonometry or fixing cars or styling hair--when you have that moment when you discover a talent, skill, or strong interest, it's a good moment. And that was one of my moments. Also, in this class, Mrs. Clark had us each write an allegorical short story. We had just studied Jonathan Swift and learned how he used allegory to make political points through story. I wrote a short story for this assignment that I absolutely loved. In fact, I turned it into a full length novel by the end of my freshman year of college. Then it morphed into a full series. Actually, for the next ten years, I continued tinkering with the story until it became this huge, unwieldy thing that didn't make much sense any more. Characters kept changing, the idea of what it was really about kept evolving, there were fairies at one point. It was a lot. But it kept the passion for writing alive and active in me.

However, there have been times when the writing stops, when the part of me that is a writer seems to go to sleep. It's usually because of excessive busyness, or sometimes it's because it feels like it doesn't matter so I should just watch TV, but whenever I stop writing, it's like I'm missing something that is inherent and essential to being me.

There was a gap for a few years when I stopped. Life was breakneck busy after my son was born. I was transitioning from working full time to being a stay at home mom and I also ended up leading our church's youth group in our living room. I had a blog then I posted in sometimes, and I wrote my own youth lessons most of the time, but that was it. I wasn't really writing. For two years, I didn't work at all on my novels.

Then, when my son was two, I realized I needed something that was just mine. I loved being a mom, but it's so demanding. And my boy as a two year old was an absolute dynamo from the moment he woke up to when I finally convinced him to fall asleep at night. And not only was I exhausted, but I had lost a sense of self. It was like I was a mom who was supposed to do mom things and think mom thoughts and just have mom feelings. And wife feelings too. But there was nothing left for me. So my husband and I talked and agreed I should have a night every week to do whatever I wanted. We didn't have a lot of money then so I didn't want to just do shopping sprees and I didn't have a lot of friends then so I couldn't just go out with the girls (plus, my friends were all busy too). I did, however, have a laptop, and there was an amazing coffee shop nearby. We lived outside of Bowling Green, Ohio then and in Bowling Green there is a coffee shop called Grounds for Thought that has not only coffee and a really good chai latte, but used books. Tons and tons and tons of used books. So I would grab my laptop, order a big mug of chai, get a donut with strawberry icing, and settle in to write.

The novels I had been messing around with since high school were unusable. It was all nonsense at that point that no amount of editing could unravel. But there were a few fantastic characters worth air-lifting into a new book. I changed their names and decided to start anew. Yet, when I opened that new Word document and bright shiny white page was staring back at me, I had no idea how to start. It's very intimidating to sit down and try to just write a book. So I decided to just start with a single scene and whatever characters came to mind. In my mind's eye, I could see a grandfather and his adult granddaughter. They were outside in a plaza. My hometown, Cuyahoga Falls, has this riverfront area with stores and a cobbled streets. That's where I saw them. And the granddaughter was in a hot pink vintage party dress. And as I crafted the scene what bubbled to the surface was how much they adored each other. These characters were based on my own grandfather and me, although I don't own a fabulous pink party dress and my PapPap was a man of much fewer words. But this relationship gave shape to a brand new story. It was a launch point.

I took my laptop to Grounds for Thought every week for months. I pounded away at a rough draft morning, noon, and night in spare moments. I stayed up to two or three in the morning. I finished it on my thirtieth birthday. It would be three more years before the final draft was finished and ready for publication. It took four years in total.

I published that book in 2018. It was the first novel in the Sayen Falls series, and it's title is Once More. It's basically my third baby. But as I said, Sayen Falls is a series. There are four novels in total. Or there will be. When I published Once More, I assumed I'd start right away on the next one. I have the entire story arc in my head. I have the story arc for the whole series in my head. I can tell you who gets married, who has babies, what everyone argues about, what kind of tea they drink for breakfast. The trouble is, I can't seem to get it to come out of my head and onto the page.

Every time I try, what comes out isn't good. I suppose it's a form of writer's block and I've analyzed it six ways from Sunday. It feels like my words--the words I've had since third grade--have dried up and gone away. Every now and then there's a cloudburst and I can write something good and beautiful. It just never lasts for long.

And so I've tried to give this gift back to God. Here you go, it's broken and I can't use it anymore. The
trouble with that is that God doesn't accept returns and he doesn't make exchanges. He gently hands it back to me, in his own way, and tells me that he doesn't give gifts that are broken and he doesn't give gifts just so I can hand them back and say I don't want this. He gives gifts so we use them, even when it's hard, and when it doesn't flow, and even when you feel crazy doing it. If it's a gift, you're meant to use it.

So that's where I am. I'm simply trying to be obedient to use what I have. I don't want to be the guy who buried his talent in the ground because he didn't have any better ideas and fear stopped him from making better choices. I might not be the five talent guy who gets the biggest return on his investment--and that's okay. Maybe, just maybe, I can be the three talent guy who used what he had and didn't compare himself to the five talent guy and didn't give up like the one talent guy, and had something to offer the master when he returned. I'd rather have something, even if it's small, than nothing.

And that's what i'm doing now. When writing the novels started to feel so strained, I turned my attention to blogging. In fact, that's where you find all of my show notes, so you can look around at the blog posts as well. But even that has felt so hit or miss and hard to do. Then, one day, I decided to try podcasting. I'm going to be very honest--I have no idea why. If writing wasn't working, it doesn't really make sense to think that talking will work. If the words are gone, then what in the world am I saying? Still, I did it anyway. And here we are.

In a way, I wish I fit into a nice little niche and could tell you that I'm always going to talk about motherhood or homeschooling or books, but I've never been good at pigeon holes. I'm also not sure that's what God has for me. He not only gifted me words, but a vivid imagination and a thirst for beauty and passion for an inspired life. It will all be used somehow, some way. As author Erma Bombeck said, "When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, 'I used everything you gave me.'"

In the first episode I talked about Plotting Possibility and plotting a course. God is plotting the course here, the course of my life, the course of my story, and the course of this podcast. We're all in this together to see where we're going. I promise to be obedient and to use my gifts, and I hope and I pray that it's a blessing to you as we go together on this journey.

Gather the Good

Since this post is all about me, I thought I'd just tell you about a few of my favorite things in the entire world. These are really just a few random things that I truly love and I don't know when else I'll be able to talk about them.

My favorite vacation spot is Ocean City, New Jersey. In fact, it was the inspiration for Summerstead Isle in my novels. It's the perfect family vacation destination with beautiful beaches, a long boardwalk with miniatrue golf, amusement parks, and delicious food. If you ever go, you have to do Golden Galleon mini golf, grab a slice of Manco and Manco's pizza, and bike all the way to the end of the boardwalk to get some hot fresh donuts from Browns. It's worth the exercise.

My kids enjoying the ocean on our last night in OCNJ this past summer. 

The kids and husband playing skee ball on our first night in OCNJ. Only $0.10 a game!

The Music Pier reaching into the sea. 

That said, my favorite trip I've ever taken was to London and Ireland when I graduated high school. My uncle is a world traveler himself, and took my brother and me each on trips when we graduated. I got to pick so we trotted off for a week in London and a week in Ireland. I still look at the pictures all the time and tell the kids all about it like I was just there last week (It's been 16 years). It's true that the Irish are the friendliest people ever. And London is an amazing city. Someday I must go back.

18 year old me on The London Eye

While I was there, I got to go to the Globe Theater where Shakespeare's plays were first performed. Now, I'm actually not a total geek for Shakespeare but I do have a soft spot for him. His writing comes up quite a bit in my own actually. The title Once More is from a quote in Henry V, "once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more!" The Hollow Crown series is excellent. It stars Jeremy Irons and Tom Hiddleston, but also Michelle Dockery (think: Lady Mary from Downton Abbey) has a supporting role. It's pretty amazing to watch Scar, Loki, and Lady Mary do Shakespeare. But my very favorite play of all time is Much Ado About Nothing. The title for the second novel, Mend, is from a quote in that play. "Serve God, love me, and mend." I absolutely insist you watch the Kenneth Branagh version from the 90s. It was my first real introduction to Shakespeare when I was about 14 or so, and I love it as much now as I did then.

My last bit of goodness for today, the Cuyahoga Valley National Parks. As I said, I grew up in Cuyahoga Falls and as a teenager, my friends and I regularly went to the valley to hike and talk about our cute boys and feelings and other things that were important to us. I sorta thought everyone had a valley nearby for doing such things, but when I went to college, in the flattest county in Ohio, I realized that's not so. I desperately missed my green, twisty, windy valley in the ten years I lived in very flat, very straight lined Wood County. If you're an outdoorsy type, or ever find yourself in the Cleveland-Akron area with a few hours and nothing to do, you must drive into the valley and explore. And if you can go in the fall, enjoy how golden everything becomes as the sun pours through golden leaves. It's good stuff.

10 Things I've Learned from Les Miserables

(Fair Warning: There will be plot spoilers so if you're unfamiliar, go rent/stream the 10th Anniversary Concert, the 25th Anniversary Concert, or the Hugh Jackman film and come back. Or, if you'd rather, here's a great synopsis.)

July 1994
On top of the Empire State Building

My backstory: 

I first saw Les Mis in 1994 with my dad on a hot summer's day in New York City. We were vacationing in relatively nearby Ocean City, New Jersey, and Dad took me up to the Big Apple for a day. I was nine-and-a-half years old. I remember on our drive into the city my dad explained two things to me. One, don't look at anyone in a raincoat because they might be a flasher (this stayed with me for years ). Two, for the purposes of seeing Les Mis, he had to explain prostitution. Of the two, the flasher thing was more traumatizing. I was wary of trench raincoats for years. 

I'm sure I barely understood what was happening in the show and I certainly didn't grasp the  profound themes of human nature, but something magical happened to me. Magic always happens with Les Mis and me. And on that hot July day, a spell was cast on me that has lingered for the last twenty-five years and shows no signs of fading. 

May 1998
7th Grade Choir Concert

When my dad purchased the three-disc complete symphonic recording I commandeered it and made it mine. Sorry, not sorry. I read the liner notes cover to cover multiple times. I learned about where the cast members were from and how they did the recording. And I poured over the lyrics to soak them up. I must've been about eleven or twelve by then. The second disc was my favorite. It had all of Eponine's songs. And I really loved me some Eponine. When I was thirteen, I got to sing "On My Own" for my first real solo at the seventh grade choir concert. I remember our director raising an eyebrow when I asked if I could, but he humored me and it remains one of the proudest moments in my personal history. (Incidentally, it's been twenty-two years and I can still sing every word with as much feeling and gusto as I did then. Probably more.)  

April 2011
Playhouse Square

Les Mis has a way of surfacing when I need it. As a teenager it gave me music for my emotions. As a twenty-something it was a declaration of the triumph of grace and light. As a worn out mom in my mid-thirties, it refills my cup with the fullness of music, story, and magic. I got to see the 2019 staged production in a cinema showing on my thirty-fifth birthday the other night. It was everything I needed and more.

The deep connection I've had with this show for twenty-five years has proven to be rich and enriching. I've grown up, like a little Cosette, with the story and songs of Les Miserables as a sort of soundtrack running in the background of my life. I certainly had no idea as a wide-eyed nine-year-old little girl of the gift I was given that summer day in New York City, but it's one I now hold very dear indeed. 

The lessons: 

The themes of grace, redemption, love, mercy, justice, friendship, comradeship, sacrifice, light, and dark didn't become clear to me until I hit adulthood. There are about as many themes as there are characters and scene changes in Les Miserables (so a lot). Every time I do a deep dive back into it I resurface with some new truth uncovered. Reading the novel enhanced that by about a billion. It's a hefty tome, but I recommend reading it at least once. The character development alone is enough reason to power through the girth. In the rest of this post, I'll share with you just ten lyrics that have taught me something or resonated deeply with me over the years.

1. To love another person is to see the face of God: This is hands-down my favorite lyric from any show or any song ever. And my favorite book of the Bible is 1 John. What in the world do these two things have in common? This verse right here, which I'm sharing in the Amplified translation because I like how full it is. "No one has seen God at any time. But if we love one another [with unselfish concern], God abides in us, and His love [the love that is His essence abides in us and] is completed and perfected in us." (1 John 4:12) Because God is love and mankind is made in His image when we love, we are showing Him to others, and seeing Him in the object of our love. It's not easy to remember. Unselfish love is not the typical knee-jerk reaction when we're wronged or have our patience tested, but it is the manifestation of God within us. This kind of love changes both the giver and the recipient. This kind of love is actually divine.  

2. "Another story must begin!": Okay, so honestly, I used to gloss over the beginning because I was all about the students later on. But then, as I grew older, I realized that the most incredible thing happens in the prologue. After Valjean is released from prison, he's treated abominably by people in the villages where he tries to make a life. Then, the kind old Bishop of Digne invites him to stay for the night. This scene is even more powerful in the book as Hugo tells us what the Bishop's servants think (Bishop be crazy) and how precious the silver really is to the Bishop. In the musical, we see Valjean marvel at the foolishness of the Bishop in trusting him as he steals the silver. He's caught and arrested (as a kid, I always thought maybe he wouldn't have been caught if he didn't sing about it so loudly. *shrug*) and brought back to the Bishop. Valjean has told his captors that the silver was a gift from the Bishop, and shockingly, he corroborates the story. In an act of heaping mercy, the Bishop also gifts Valjean the silver candlesticks which he had left behind. As he does he tells him that he must use the profit from selling the precious silver to become an honest man, that in his act of forgiveness and mercy, he is showing him God's love, and it must change his life. This single act of radical kindness changes the trajectory of Valjean's life which then in turn saves the lives of Cosette and later Marius. Because Valjean experiences the sacrificial, radical love of God through the Bishop, he has to grapple with his own sin and hatred. He recognizes that this is a crossroads. Does he allow himself to be changed by this love? Or does he cling to what he knows? For Jean Valjean, he must literally create a new identity and begin again, but I find this a brilliant example of how we are all made new in Christ. Valjean becomes a new creation through redemptive love and mercy, and although we aren't convicts fresh off the chain gang, we too must be made new in Christ. And in that new identity, there is freedom to love and forgive generously.

3. "Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise." : Darkness doesn't get to win; light is always the victor in the end. This line is taken from the epilogue, when all the characters who have died return as a somewhat ghostly chorus. It begins very softly and faintly, but it is "the music of a people who are climbing to the light." By the time the last notes ring out, it's a full fanfare about the victory that's promised "when tomorrow comes." I am one who often has to climb to the light. To put it as simply as I can, depression is hell. When I'm experiencing depression, it cuts off all that is good, healthy, and light from my experience. I know it's out there, but I can't reach it. I can't make it mine. Still, I climb for the light not just because I know it's there, but because I am a child of God. There's a fullness of life that is my birthright now. It is absolutely worth the struggle--I am worth the struggle--to fight the darkness of the night, and sing as the sun rises.

4."It is time for us all to decide who we are...": Very recently I realized how intensely devoted almost every character is to something or someone, and they each have a point at which they're willing to die for it. Fantine is desperately devoted to the well-being of her beloved child. Javert is devoted obsessed with justice; Enjorlas with equality and freedom. Grantaire is devoted to both wine and his friendship with Enjorlas (usually in that order). Eponine is devoted to Marius. Marius is devoted to both the cause of equality and to his new found love, Cosette, and ballads passionately about the conflict. Cosette is devoted to her father and to Marius. And Jean Valjean, the star, he's devoted to loving and protecting Cosette, and honoring God and using every bit of the redemptive grace he was given for the good of others. Devotion abounds, people, it's dripping off the walls. It's probably embarrassing it took me two and a half decades to really notice it. (continued in #5)

5. "We're the ones who make it in the end." : The exception to all this devotion is the Thernadiers who care only for themselves and self-preservation. The contrast, in fact, is startling. As they tell us, they're the ones who make it in the end.  And they're right. Spoiler: by the time the curtain falls, only four characters are still alive--the young lovers, Marius and Cosette, and the stinking Thernadiers. But what is the survival of the Thernadiers for? Their legacy is worthless. Utterly and entirely worthless because it only serves themselves and their good fortune is only ever temporary. On the other hand, the lives and sacrifices of (almost) all the others are beautiful. To love deeply and truly, and to be devoted sincerely to an ideal gives meaning to their lives and purpose in their legacy. The love, friendship, and devotion can carry Marius and Cosette into their future together infused with strength of those they've lost. Which prompts me to consider my convictions, my personal sacrifices, and the legacy I'm crafting. A legacy doesn't just pop up upon death, instead, it's the culmination of things cultivated in life. What do I believe in passionately? Who do I love unselfishly and sacrificially? What foundation am I crafting for those who will carry on when my time has passed? If my life is all about me, it's worthless. If my love stops just short of sacrificial, it's incomplete. If my convictions run dry when tested, they don't have much value

6. "My heart is stone and still it trembles.": There is one more exception to this devotion rule. Javert's obsession with justice ends up being the end of him. And try as I might, I can't find anything redemptive about it. Instead, what I learn is that mercy is a polarizing thing. It either changes you or it hardens you. Case in point? Inspector Javert. Over the years, I've come to see his suicide as one of the saddest parts in the show. Michael Ball's recent performance as the inspector definitely aided in that sympathy. But the heartbreaking thing about Javert is his deep misunderstanding of God, the law, and humanity. When he's offered mercy, it breaks him. The same act that set Valjean free to live a redeemed life, condemns Javert to suicide. His devotion to justice crowds out any room for mercy. His intense distrust for mankind pushes away any connection he might make. His legalistic understanding of salvation leaves him without any place for the love of Christ. He's a strong contender for the most tragic figure I've ever encountered in a musical.

7. "In my need, you have always been there.": If "Bring Him Home" isn't one of the most emotional songs in a musical, then I don't know what is. And here's the thing, in the musical, it sorta gets lost that Valjean marches his self to the barricade hell-bent on killing Marius after he intercepts the love letter to Cosette. Then, he's so impressed with Marius that he ends up saving his life. But in the musical, since this is the way musicals work, we get this incredible song. The whole thing is a prayer in which Valjean wholly recognizes that it's all in God's hands. I personally really love this lyric because I know that in my own life, God has always been there. Through heartaches and trauma and grief, God has never left me. That doesn't mean I've always gotten my way or that life is just sunshine and roses. Go back and re-read that line about heartache and trauma and grief. Life is life and sometimes it knocks the wind right out of you. And yet God remains steadfast, and I can always call on Him. I also like that God's way of answering Valjean's prayer is to make him an active participant in making it so. Marius isn't miraculously spared from any injury; instead Valjean carries him through sewers and pleads with Javert to give the boy a fighting chance to live. And, in my experience, God's answers to prayers usually require us to step up and do something too.

8. "This rain will wash away what's past...and rain will make the flowers grow.": Major spoiler: This is the heart wrenching moment between Marius and Eponine when she finally feels the warmth of his embrace and love as she dies in his arms. It's rough. Yet there is something so poignant and hopeful about Eponine. Unlike her parents, the Thernadiers, she's not bitter, covetous, and nasty. Eponine takes her hardships in stride, constantly imagining what could be and giving of herself to an absolute fault. In this song, she tells us that rain is really okay. That sorrow can lead to healing, that darkness precedes light. And rain is actually life-giving. Without it flowers don't bloom, trees wither, fields die from want of water. How too we humans blossom and grow with rain, even if we think all we really want is sunny days without the challenges of clouds and storms. The truth is, if we want beauty and strength, we must accept also what is bleak and hard. 

9. "I will never go away and we will be together every day.": Okay, full disclosure, I used to make fun of this line. Like, okay, Cosette, literally all of Marius' friends have just senselessly died, but it's alright because you exist. That's not narcissistic at all, sweetie. But I was terribly wrong about Cosette! What she's doing in this moment is drawing Marius from the edge of despair. He has survivor's guilt and is deeply grieving his friends. Grief is important. He must grieve, he should grieve. But he can not stay there, it will consume him. And Cosette knows this. With gentleness and hope, she helps him recall that his life has meaning, and that there is love in it. Love, as we have already seen, is a very powerful thing. Love and hope have the strength to pull us back from the edge of darkest despair.

10. "Take my hand, I'll lead you to salvation. Take my love for love is everlasting.": Les Mis shows us the vital importance of human connection, tenderness, and friendship. Without it we become narrow-minded, self-serving, and cruel. In the absence of love and mercy, only brutality and depravity can grow. Yet when love and mercy are given, hope is born. And out of hope, all manner of new life begins. Kindness, gentleness, sacrificial love, honor, and integrity blossom and take deep root. In friendship and camaraderie, there is strength to stand in the darkness and proclaim the light. It is love that lasts forever and ever. "And now there remain: faith [abiding trust in God and His promises], hope [confident expectation of eternal salvation], love [unselfish love for others growing out of God’s love for me], these three [the choicest graces]; but the greatest of these is love." (1 Corinthians 13:13)

And if you made it to the end....here's a special treat! I've been binge-watching this clip for about a week now. Michael Ball and Bradley Jaden singing a duet version of "Stars". It's pretty fantastic. 

Who They Really Were: A Journey

I never imagined I would make a serious attempt at writing historical fiction. When I was in early high school, I started a manuscript of a story set in the 1840s but that's because I was working at a living history museum and thought I knew everything. I think I still have it in a bright purple envelope, but I refuse to go looking. Reading it, I'm sure, would we incredibly cringe-worthy.

*shudder*

You see, despite the fact that I have a real love for history, and even minored in history in college, I'm really not much a historian. I get bored too easily by non-fiction to read much of it. It often seems like a lot of dry detail packaged with a nice cover. So I figured I would never write historical fiction because I would never know enough about any given period to write about it well. And when I started working on The Sayen Falls Series in 2014, I made a solemn commitment to myself that I would not write any story if I couldn't tell it well, tell it truthfully, tell it with the honor it deserves. That's why I made certain creative choices with my characters and not others.

But there's one story I've always wanted to tell. A true story. The story of two people I love very much and who loved me very much. My grandparents--Milford and Betty Buterbaugh. I mean, I've thought about this since I was probably seventeen years old. That's half my life at this moment in time. I was just never sure how to go about it. Screenplay? Novel? I don't write historical fiction. Guess this won't work.

Then last year it hit me to construct a story that's told largely through the paperwork of a life, the mementos and souvenirs, the scrapbooks and photo albums, the stuff and clutter. So I decided this was my vehicle. This is how I would finally be able to tell their story. And then I was hit with a new unexpected problem. 

I didn't really know them.

We were very close. They absolutely doted on me and I couldn't have adored them more. The thing

is--I knew them as my grandparents. Kind, generous, old people who told interesting stories about days gone by....but they weren't like the young people in the photos, the young woman who scribbled over the faces of his ex-girlfriends in the yearbook, the young couple who eloped and had to hide it. I've always known that they eloped. BOTH sets of my grandparents did, in fact. (And my dad's parents have an incredible story as well that I know even less about and will perhaps be another quest someday). But since I've always known it, it didn't really seem that surprising. Until I stopped and thought about it, and tried to figure out how my "never do a wrong thing" grandmother ran away to marry my grandfather. That made me scratch my head. That made me realize: my grandparents were real people. They were more than my grandparents. They were young once and in love. They took risks. They were newlyweds and first-time parents and struggled to make ends meet. They had a whole story and it must be fascinating. 

Yet, when I sat down to piece together the narrative there were huge cavernous gaps. A major reason for this is that by the time I was born in 1984, Grammy was 63 and PapPap was 71. I didn't really have grown-up question to ask them until she was in her late 80s and he was in his 90s. By then, my grandmother's memory had started to fade. Plus, I still didn't really know the right questions to ask. "What was life like during the depression?" is a stupidly open-ended question that always yielded vague answers. 

Thankfully, some of the gaps can be filled in partly by my mom (who had the smarts to ask them detailed questions AND write down answers), or my aunt and uncle. But some things...no one knows. My grandparents were deeply private people and had no problem telling us "that's none of your business" if we asked something a little too intimate. This is not my default setting--I'm an open book type--so I'm especially perplexed by this. So, even if I had asked some of the questions then that I have now, I might not have gotten answers. Although, maybe I'd be pushy enough now to really ask because I desperately would like to know what kinds of things they fought about when they were first married, was she scared the first time she was pregnant, how did she know mom things without the internet? 

Anyway...I digress a bit. As usual. 

Now, faced with this mystery, I feel challenged to discover them for who they really were. I want to know who the young Milford and Betty were. How did that sweet 18 year old fall in love and run away with the quiet 26 year old who drove his car too fast? So I'm researching. I have a stack of non-fiction books on my side table that's very high. I'm combing through the precious few documents I have that they wrote and saved, and I'm hoping to get more from those who have them so I can piece together the story.

Which brings me back to writing historical fiction. Yes, I do intend to make a book out of this. BUT for several reasons it will be fiction. The most important reason is that because my grandparents were private, I think it would be disrespectful to them to not fictionalize it in some ways, change their names, etc. And the second important reason is, I simply cannot know the whole and complete and true story. It's impossible. So I have to take some creative license, make educated guesses, and fill it in as I go. (Hence the mile high stack of books). Milford and Betty are the inspiration, but truly at this point in time, only God knows what's going to come of this. I'm just setting out to discover not only their story, but the story God wants me to tell. Basically, all I have so far are names and a very sketchy outline. (Van and Ivy, if you're wondering. Aren't those great names??)

I decided the other day--whilst sitting in my closet staring at my great-great-aunt and uncle's wedding registry from 1913--that I should chronicle this in my blog. Most posts will not be this long, I just wanted to lay out the back story before I jump in. The fact is every question leads to another one and another one. I've been rapid fire texting my mom and googling things and making lists out the wazoo to even make the semblance of a narrative right now. And I think this journey is in some ways just as interesting as anything I will write coming out of it.

It's not that I'm so interesting or that I think anyone on this planet (other than my mom) will be interested in me figuring out minutiae like how long my great-great grandparents were married before my great-great aunt and uncle got married (why is that interesting even to me? Because they were two sisters that married two brothers but there seems to be a big gap between the two weddings....). It's that I think there are lots of people out there like me who one day realized that those who went before us were real people and we want to know what they were really like. And by sharing my own journey to know my grandparents, maybe other people will be inspired to dig in and see what they can find too. There are things we can yet learn from those who came before us.

The Bible tells us that human life is fleeting. We're all here today and gone tomorrow. But we leave traces of ourselves behind and it tells a story. And those stories matter.

Joy, Wonder, and Lessons from Mary Poppins

"Once upon a time, I knew a man with a leg named...oh, wait, that's not the right story....This is a story about a little boy named Michael. He wanted to give his tuppence to a bird lady...."-- Mr. Dawes, Jr. Mary Poppins Returns

"I was just about your age when I met Mary Poppins for the first time myself. I was working with a chimney sweep named Bert."--Jack the Lamplighter, Mary Poppins Returns

"I didn't think I'd ever feel this much joy and wonder again. I thought that door was closed to me forever."-- Michael Banks, Mary Poppins Returns

(Full disclosure: I'm quoting from memory. Don't sue me if it's not word-for-word. 😉)

I took my little boy to see Mary Poppins Returns tonight. It was his second time seeing it since he's about as obsessed as I am and was heartbroken at the thought of having to wait until March for the DVD. I made him earn it by doing some extra reading, though I certainly don't feel bad for indulging him in this treat. I want to fill him up on good, hearty stories. Those are the things we carry with us all our lives, although we aren't always aware of it. The stories we experience and internalize as children shape us and guide us into adulthood. The fairy tales help us believe in believing, the adventure stories help us be adventurous, and the hero stories teach us heroism is in us all. We learn about friendship, hard work, love, and family through stories. And stories stay with us forever.

I've seen Mary Poppins Returns *cough* four *cough* times now. I tear up every single time in the same darn spot. And while I've avoided spoilers in my previous posts.....I'm throwing up the SPOILER ALERT warning and plunging full speed ahead (Admiral Boom would approve).

There are two major hurdles the Banks family are trying to clear in this sequel. The first is that Michael's wife, Kate, has died in the past year. He's left heartbroken and lost, and the children grow up much too quickly to cope. The second is that Michael had to take a loan out against the value of their home to stay afloat, but he's defaulted on the loan and may lose the house. Mary Poppins comes back into Michael and sister Jane's lives just in time to bring some magic and direction to set them back on course. All of this is explained in the first ten minutes or so.

Let's jump ahead to the climax of the movie. It's crunch time. Michael and Jane must deliver a crucial piece of paper to the bank by midnight, but there's only seven minutes to go. Mary Poppins and the children decide to "turn back time". Without hesitation, Jack the Lamplighter not only naturally assumes he's part of the rescue team, but also tells his buddies to gather all the lamplighters at Big Ben. The race against time begins, and hundreds of shadowy figures rush through the night to join Mary Poppins, the children, and Jack at the most famous clock tower in the world. This is community in motion. This teaches my son that when someone needs help, you jump in. And if it's a big problem, you bring all your buddies with you. We don't do hard things alone. We don't do impossible things alone. And life without community is an impossible thing.

At last they're at the bank, and the issue of time has been resolved (I won't spoil HOW because it's one of my very favorite parts and I hold my breath every time), but it still seems that Michael will lose the house after all. Villainy and all that, you know. And then--big spoiler--Dick Van Dyke as Mr. Dawes, Jr. appears. I have to stop myself from clapping and cheering like it's live theater every time. Of course, he saves the day because it's just the best cameo ever. And he tells Michael's children about the time their father wanted to give his tuppence to a bird lady. Michael and Jane listen in rapt attention, remembering themselves, and their eyes become glassy with tears. That's when I notice mine are too. And in this moment, I have to remember that I'm not Michael. This story isn't real. It just feels so real because I internalized that story as a child.

Like Jack the Lamplighter, I was just a little kid when I first met Mary Poppins. And in the way Disney designed the film, it felt like Bert was my friend and he introduced me to her. And so, just like Jack, I've remembered all the magic and possibility over all the years. I haven't forgotten her.

But like Jane and Michael, I've also suffered hardship and loss and worries, I've lost some of the magic and wonder. I've start disbelieving all the imaginative adventures could be true,

So, when Mr. Dawes starts down memory lane, in that moment, I am Michael and the investment I made as a child has been guarded well and invested wisely. Mr. Dawes reveals that the tuppence Michael eventually gave to the bank has been kept safe and sound, and in fact, has grown into a tidy sum. And in the tenderness of this moment, as Mr. Dawes remembers how his daddy, Mr. Dawes, Sr (previously played by Dick Van Dyke) died laughing at a joke Mr. Banks told him that he learned from Michael, it all sort of comes full circle. The real investment here is joy and wonder. And that is a most worthy investment. That's why I've taken my son to see this film twice and he listens to the soundtrack until we're all crazy. That's why we read and read and read all manner of wonderful stories. That's why we talk about silly things and scary things and all the things we can. It's an investment in his heart and his character. Guarded well and invested wisely, it will grow and carry with him into his grown-up years. Just like it has for me. Stories and wonder yield high dividends in the long run.

There are so many little lessons to be learned from Mary Poppins. We first learned that 'in every job that must be done there is an element of fun' and that 'enough is as good as a feast' and that there's a word for every occasion. And now we're learning that 'some stuff and nonsense could be fun' and 'nothing's gone forever, only out of place', and that we can't 'think so much about where we've been that we don't pay attention to where we're going'. We can learn about good friends like Bert and the chimney sweeps, and Jack and the lamplighters, and Ellen the Maid, and Admiral Boom, and Miss Lark and her spoiled pups (first Andrew and then Willoughby). We can learn about doing the right thing even when you're surrounded by the wrong people, like the nice lawyer Mr. Fry. And we can learn that there's magic inside balloons when we don't lose that spark of joy and wonder.

I keep using that phrase because Michael says it himself and I think it's the best description of what Mary Poppins really offers us. Yes, there's inexplicable magic in jumping into chalk drawings and laughing on the ceiling. But the lesson contained within those magical moments is how to cultivate joy and wonder. You find it with friends, in laughter, in sharing hard things, and in cherishing those you love and those who love you. Love, family, friendship. Yes, that's where joy and wonder is found, sown, tended, and harvested.

I think this probably does it for my Mary Poppins Returns posts. At least until March, I can't say for certain the inspiration bug won't bite in the viewing party my son and I are planning. It's funny--I was so adamantly against this film; I didn't want something magical and beautiful from my childhood tampered with. I think we all jealousy guard our most cherished stories from childhood that way. But I'm glad Disney tampered and I've taken in this story. It's not like the original, but then again, neither am I being a grown-up now.

Trading Typical

"So trade that typical for something colorful, and if it's crazy, live a little crazy."-- 'The Other Side' from The Greatest Showman. Music and lyrics by Justin Paul and Benj Pasek

I know, I know, that movie is so last year. But it's also the only music my three-year-old daughter will consent to in the car. Especially now that Christmas is over. We pretty much give the little one what she wants because she's scary. Especially when I'm driving.

Anyway, The Greatest Showman is a breathtaking, beautiful musical on the life of PT Barnum. Sort of. They took a lot of poetic license. But it's the story that matters. And since I am a lover of stories, as I've said before and will likely say in almost every post, I forgive their historical discrepancies and wholeheartedly love this film. It's colorful, musical, and hopeful. Clearly, something I would love.

So I've had a year to listen to the music, to notice little lyrical things, and subtleties. Yet, just yesterday when my son requested we skip to 'The Other Side' after indulging his sister in the title track, something new hit me.

Usually I'm the PT in this song. I've been a wide-eyed dreamer literally my entire life. I cannot remember a time when I didn't daydream and imagine. And sing. And dance. The dancing was bad. I digress. There were a few awkward years--you know the ones, about fifth grade to ninth grade--where I was uncomfortable in my own skin, uncertain of who I was, and if anyone would even like that person anyway. Eventually, I came into my own (perhaps a story for another time), and I loved my vibrant, vivacious, loquacious, gregarious personality.

But now I'm a grown up. And I'm tired. (Can I get a witness?) I've had my fair share of moving and losing friends and the pregnancy hormones and the post-partum hormones and the 'I don't know what is happening anymore' hormones and sleep deprivation and the ever-present 'mental load'... It's like I've lost myself. Oh, and adding to my insecurity, I'm a home educator. Much to my own surprise.

I never imagined I would chose to be one of those weirdos. Honestly. However, when my son was preschool age and we couldn't afford preschool, I started doing research. On all kinds of things really--homeschooling options, the effects of Common Core, studies on early childhood education. I came to the conclusion that home educating our kids was the right choice for our family.

Let me tell you how many times since I've questioned that right choice. Well, actually, I can't. I've lost count. I lost the peace of my decision because I've been comparing my son and myself to everyone around us. Truly, everyone. Public schoolers, private schoolers, homeschoolers, unschoolers. I've been trying to measure up my son to see if he's doing okay. The poor kid. I keep changing rulers! If we do THIS, if we do THAT, if we focus HERE, if we redirect THERE. I've compared him to every kid we know and even some we don't! And me? Oh, man, I've been even harder on myself. Did you know that everyone  in the entire world is more put together than me? That every other homeschooling mom is successful and I'm a ding-dong?

You see, I've lost myself. I've lost the confidence in who I am and so I can't share confidence with my kids in who we are. I keep leading us in circles looking for some kind of affirmation or approval. And those circles keep getting smaller and smaller, hemming us into little spaces we were never meant to live in. Choking off the natural curiosity, creativity, and wide-eyed wonder I used to pride myself in, and that which my children have quite naturally.

This is where the song comes in. In the bridge of the song, PT slows down to tell Philip (the young aristocrat he hopes will invest in the show) exactly what's at stake here. Philip has just told him in no uncertain terms, "if I were mixed up with you, I'd be the talk of the town--disgrace and disowned, another one of the clowns!"

But PT replies....

"But you would finally live a little, finally laugh a little

Just let me give you the freedom to dream 

And it'll wake you up and cure your aching

Take your walls and start 'em breaking

Now that's a deal that seems worth taking

But I guess I'll leave that up to you" 

So I'm driving the car, singing along with Hugh Jackman and my son, and it just hits me like lightning. I'm Philip. I'm afraid to be different. I'm afraid to lose some kind of public approval. I'm afraid to do something in my own way. I don't want to take risks in case it's 'wrong'. 

I've been listening to some podcasts lately, particularly those of Sally Clarkson (At Home With Sally and Friends), Joy Clarkson (Speaking with Joy), Sarah MacKenzie (Read-Aloud Revival), and Julie Bogart (Brave Writer). The Brave Writer podcast specifically cut straight through the fog of comparison and the haze of doubt I've been swimming in for months. Listening to Julie, I realized that my instincts are totally right and I'm messing this all up by worrying too much about what everyone else is doing. Like a kid at school that can't keep her eyes on her own paper, I need to just hunker down and keep my eyes on my own work. *Commence building mini-fort with folders*

Look again at those lyrics. There are some powerful words there. Live a little. Laugh a little. Freedom to dream. Wake you up. Cure your aching. Take your walls and start 'em breaking. That's everything I believe in on paper. That's how I describe myself to everyone except myself deep inside. That cranky little narrator in my head has gotten the wrong stage notes or something. THIS! This is who God created me to be. I knew it when I was a kid, and I figured it out again around fifteen and held on okay through college. But somehow in the ups and downs and melee of adulting, I started berating myself for all that I'm not, instead of believing in who God says I am and who He created me to be. And it's absolutely worked it's way into my abilities to teach my kids.

I think all parents need to throw off the bonds of comparison and the ubiquitous messages that we're messing up our kids. Even more so, as a home educating parent, I have to stop. We are different. We are a little weird, we're not like everyone else. I have to stop expecting us to look like everyone else. I mean, duh. I've been slow on the uptake--it's the sleep deprivation and lack of alone time.

"Forget the cage, 'cause we know how to make the key! Oh, damn! Suddenly we're free to fly."

This song has been stuck in my head for a couple days now. My son and I take turn finishing each other's lyrics when one of us starts singing it mid-chorus. (Lest you worry that my six-year-old is singing the "oh damn" part...he thinks the lyrics are "up, down"...and I just haven't corrected him). But we are suddenly free to fly. Together. As I re-learn how to trade the typical for something colorful, he'll learn with me that being who God created you to be is really the only way to live. That ignoring the voices--even the mean ones inside your own head--and trusting in the Lord is the only way to make choices. That we have freedom in Christ (even a command) to be different. And the cure for aching is in the workload and rest of Jesus, because His burden is light. 

If you need me, I'll be making fresh memories with the kids where I'm less stressed out and more likely to be having tea parties and teddy bear picnics. And more than likely, The Greatest Showman will be playing in the background because we give the little one what she wants. 

The Stuff of Good Stories

What do you think stories are for? These stories are classics. There's a reason we all know them. They're a way for us to deal with our world. A world that doesn't always make sense.--'Once Upon a Time' (Pilot) Writers Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis

Do you know why Peter Pan would fly to the nursery window of the Darlings' house each night? It was to listen to the stories. In fact, this is why Peter brought Wendy to Neverland with him in the first place. He wanted to hear her stories. Wendy even spends some time on the Jolly Roger regaling Captain Hook and his pirate crew with her stories. The most dastardly of villains and the most impish of boys both softened by stories.

In the book A Little Princess Sara Crewe becomes the most popular girl in her boarding school. Not for the many lovely gifts her father sends her, but for the stories she tells. When Sara loses everything upon her father's death Sara copes with her loss and her poverty by spinning marvelous stories to believe in. Her stories give her hope and comfort.

Everyone's favorite red-headed orphan, Anne Shirley, (did you really think I was going to say Annie, puh-lease) survived lonely days and lonelier nights with stories. A voracious appetite for reading and a verbosity only a lonely little girl can have made Anne a masterful story-teller. Anne could even imagine away her carrot red hair and her plain name.

And many of us have fallen in love with their stories. We all love a good story and lean in close to soak it in. Stories are our common language. Like music, stories cross cultural barriers and give us a common experience. Even the simplest stories tackle something of the human condition.

Hope, grace, redemption, faith, commitment, second-chances, true love, rescue...this is the stuff of good stories. From Cinderella to Les Miserables, from The Brothers Grimm to Charles Dickens, stories are full of emotions, fears, and desires we can relate to. This is why we love stories, we see something of ourselves. Or something we hope to be.

“Since it is so likely that (children) will meet cruel enemies, let them at least have heard of brave knights and heroic courage. Otherwise you are making their destiny not brighter but darker.” ― C.S. Lewis

Perhaps this is why God thought it was fitting to relate to us through stories. He knew that we could understand a story and that we'd come back to it time and again. His Word is full of stories, I believe true stories. Stories of loss, worry, fear, and failure. Stories of hope, faith, adventures, and fulfillment. Every story lined with grace, redemption, and second-chances. No one falls too far, too hard, or for too long for God to save them. The only people who are truly lost are the ones who harden in the light. The Bible is full of the human condition. There isn't a single aspect of human life that isn't addressed in some way. Oppression, vengeance, retribution, forgiveness, liberation, loss, loneliness, hatred, exile, victory...

Who knows better the human condition 

than the One who created us? 

Only one. 

Emmanuel, God With Us. 

Literature is full of heroes--Byronic heroes, tragic heroes, super heroes, ordinary heroes, unlikely heroes, antiheroes, even heroines. But only one Hero can really save us and only one Story really tells His tale.

No one can resist a really well-crafted and expertly told story. This is what drew Peter Pan to Wendy's window, gave Sara Crewe her friends, and allowed Anne Shirley to survive. It's what packs movie theatres, prompts binge-watching marathons of hit shows, and fills crammed bookshelves. And it's what makes the Bible the number one bestseller of all time. Of all the stories in all the world, it's the one that rings most true (because it is) and brings the most hope. Its Author is our only hope.

"For I know the plans [the story] I have for you," says the Lord...--Jeremiah 29:11

Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith...Hebrews 12:2