Writing Day

This is my Writing Day. For years I have tried to eliminate anything but writing from this day, at least from 9-5. If I went to Zumba, as I did this morning, I’d start earlier so I’d get in my full day of writing. Steve would be in classes at NKU and I’d apply myself diligently.

Now Steve is retired. He has great intentions of leaving me alone on my Writing Day, but things come up—small things, certainly, but concentration-interrupters. They are always prefaced by “I hate to bother you on your writing day…,” which is very sweet.

This morning, one of them was to invite me to go with him to lunch on the river at a nearby marina, going, of course, in the convertible. It’s a beautiful day, so I measured my priorities and decided husband should come before writing, especially since my upcoming deadlines are in July, August, and October.

Turns out the marina is closed on Monday and Tuesday, so we picked up sandwiches and drinks at Subway and took them to the park by the river. Delightful!

I could tell he thought I was rushing it a bit to leave only 15 minutes after we’d finished eating, but he said nothing. Then, since our icemaker is non-functioning AGAIN (another sad story), we needed to buy ice en route home, so we went to our little “old Kroger,” as opposed to the super-duper Kroger Marketplace. He said he needed tomato juice and bottled water, so he got that and I got the ice and a couple of things. We agreed we would each check out and meet at the car.

I waited almost ten minutes for him to emerge from the store, and meanwhile I began to fume. That only lasted a few seconds, for I figured out long ago how to spend random moments such as this. I began praying again for some in special challenges right now—our friend who is trying to keep three jobs in order to pay her bills, our friends whose loved ones died and they are deeply grieving, a marriage that is in danger because the husband has fallen back to some of his past destructive habits. Those kinds of prayers can keep me occupied for a long time!

When Steve finally emerged, I chose to say nothing about the long wait. I’d figured he’d thought of dozens of other items, but evidently not.

Often even when he has a good excuse for something, he won’t say so because he disdains people who always make excuses. Fortunately, this time he said immediately, “Well, you might know the two things that would slow me down at this store—one, a person.” He grinned.

Surprised, I named a talkative friend of ours and, sure enough, that’s who he had run into. She had fallen playing tennis and was bruised and battered all over, even to a broken rib. A sad story that needed listening to. (And after all, he is the listening guru!)

Then there was some difficulty at the checkout, and someone’s groceries had to be unbagged and refigured before he could get through the line.

So he had good reasons, and I was sorry to hear of my friend’s misfortune. I got some perspective on my wait, and gained appreciation for my good health and good husband. And since I hadn’t written a blog post lately, I now had a plan for when I finally arrived at home. Waiting on the Lord (Psalm 27:14)is always in order, and sometimes waiting on our spouses works that way, too.

Maranatha Christian Writers' Conference

My week at Maranatha was inspiring and helpful, both to my Christian goals and my writing goals. The main speakers—Jerry Jenkins, Lynn Austin, and Crystal Bowman, among others—were so focused on presenting Jesus in all their work that I was quite humbled. I’d say a main point I got was that I don’t pray enough over what I write.

So I wonder how many Christians take seriously the “pray without ceasing” instruction. Sometimes I get up with the intention of praying about everything all day, and then I simply forget. I get so caught up in the day’s activities that I don’t think to continue to pray. I doubt that I’m alone in that.

Jerry Jenkins told about asking Billy Graham about his daily disciplines as a Christian. He keeps a Bible open all day so he’ll be reminded to go to it often. He prays constantly about everything that arises in his day. No wonder the man has influenced so many people for Christ! And already my Bible is closed and I didn’t pray about watering the yard. Should I have? I did pray over this blog post and have no idea where it’s going. I guess I just want to remind us all to pray without ceasing. (Yes, I learned that verse when the King James Version was the only one I’d ever read, but “pray continually” is equally powerful.)

I’ve always been inspired by Nehemiah’s response when the king asked him, “What is it you want?” He says, “I prayed to the God of heaven, and I answered the king….”

I can recall specific instances where I was in such a hard spot that all I knew to do was to pray. Afterward, I rarely remembered what I said, but I knew it had been the right thing because the situation worked out okay.

Once a parent accosted me on my way to class one morning. She was upset that her son had gotten a C on a paper—a gift, from my perspective. I suspected she had written it because it in no way fit the assignment as we had discussed in class, so I knew I was treading on dangerous ground. I prayed as I began to answer her. Whatever I said worked for her, because we parted amicably. I still wonder what words God gave me to say to her that diffused her anger and allowed us to remain congenial. And remembering that always inspires me to pray about everything, but especially when I am speaking. I need special prayers to control that tongue of mine, since I know it is “a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body,” as we read in James 3:6. But no doubt the “pray without ceasing” approach (I Thessalonians 5:17) can overcome the evil of my tongue. I'm sure I need to pray more about that.

Farm Life as I Knew It

I've gotten some questions about the farm, so here's a summary. The first few years of my life we had a milk cow, Bessie, that Daddy milked twice a day so we had fresh milk, which I disliked. Much later, when I tried skim milk and liked it, I realized that it was the cream that I didn't like. We always had a garden where we raised tomatoes, potatoes, corn, beans, squash, and flowers for cut arrangements. At one time we had chickens, but that didn't last long because my dad didn't like to eat chicken and just getting the eggs wasn't worth the bother.

We always kept pigs and had them slaughtered in the fall, making pork sausage and smoking hams and bacon. Quite a foreign idea to those living in a Muslim country! We also kept beef cows and would have one slaughtered and the meat cut up and frozen. We had a large chest freezer that was often filled with beef and vegetables from our farm.

The part of the farm I disliked the most was working in tobacco. We would take the tobacco worms off the leave and kill them, one plant at a time. Then we had to "sucker" tobacco--take off the small sprout out of the middle so the base plant would grow stronger. Then we had to cut it, stalk by stalk, and hang on wooden sticks in the barn. I still have a scar on my toe from the time the tobacco knife slipped. At least that got me out of the job for the rest of the day!

The barn in the picture on an earlier post was one of the tobacco barns where the sticks of tobacco were hung to dry. After the leaves dried, we'd "strip tobacco," taking off each leaf and binding several together at the stems. Then it could be sold at market. The tobacco leaves were sticky and the stuff would be almost impossible to get off our hands. After Steve joined the family, he was shocked at how labor-intensive it was to grow tobacco. Then he persuaded my father that it was inconsistent to be opposed to smoking and raise tobacco, so Daddy quit growing it, though it was his most profitable cash crop.

We also raised wheat, and harvesting it was the only part of farming that I liked because I was allowed to drive the tractor from about age ten or so. The wheat would go into bags and a person had to tie off one bag while the wheat grains were pouring into the other bag. Daddy and I would take turns on the tractor or bagging the wheat. It was hot work, but I did enjoy that part.

The best part of all of it, whether canning beans or cooking or farming was that my parents talked to me and listened to me. I think that may be the most important part of parenting—listening to your children and responding. Mother, especially, would tell me Bible stories and stories from her childhood. Daddy would talk about the soil quality and seeds and sowing and reaping and draw spiritual connections. They were constantly planting seeds in my mind and watering them as well. They were both life-long learners and encouraged me also always to keep learning.

That learning thing really stuck, too. So next week I'm attending the Maranatha Christian Writer's Conference http://www.writewithpurpose.org/ to see what else I can learn about writing and publishing.