The Things that Shape Us by Mary Folkerts

 

"Reuse, rethink, recycle—and perhaps relive? Sometimes, when we revisit our past, certain memories are stirred awake that have lain dormant for years. It can be restorative to embrace the emotions triggered by those events, as time and distance often help us process them with more clarity.

And as we process, we uncover nuggets of truth that remain as accurate now as they were then; truths about God's faithfulness in difficult times. As our hearts are encouraged by the remembering, we can use these nuggets to weave encouragement throughout our writing."

It was on a Tuesday in October 1978 that my husband Art's family experienced a tragedy that changed their lives forever. The siblings reminisced about that time on Messenger a few days ago, which led Art to recall his memories of being a twelve-year-old boy in grade 7.

The day started like any other. Art got ready to catch the big yellow bus that would take him down the gravel road to the small local school. His parents were preparing to go to a doctor's appointment in the big city, expecting to be back later that evening.

That afternoon, Art returned home from school, but when supper time came, his parents still hadn't returned. We imagine (Art's memory is fuzzy on some details, so we fill in the gaps) that Mom left food in the fridge for him and the hired man to warm up. All evening, Art waited, listening for the sound of tires crunching on gravel, signaling his parents' return. Finally, it was time for bed, so he turned off the lights and went to sleep. Tomorrow morning, he planned to ask them about their long day in the city.

Morning broke to a silent house. Throwing back the covers, Art hurried upstairs, and to his surprise and dread, the kitchen was empty. Mom wasn't packing lunches or preparing breakfast. Where were they? There had been no phone calls explaining their absence. What had happened?

With these questions and a sense of dread hanging over him, Art prepared for school. What was a twelve-year-old to do but continue his routine?

School must have dragged on long for him that day. I can only imagine the thoughts and fears swirling in his mind. It was unlike Mom and Dad to keep their plans from him.

That afternoon, as the school bus lumbered to a stop and before the doors snapped open, Art stood, grabbed his lunchbox, and ran up the driveway to the house. Still, the house stood empty.

Did panic set in? What would a boy of twelve think in a moment such as this? True, he wasn't entirely alone on the farm as a hired man lived nearby — but that offered little comfort. Where were mom and dad? Did he consider calling someone? Did he think of calling his older sisters, who lived far away in another city? Art doesn't remember.

Then, shortly after he arrived home, he suddenly heard tires on the driveway! Quickly, Art ran to see who it was, and with relief and joy, he saw it was his older brother, Fred, and his wife, Margaret. Eagerly, he ran out to greet them, but when he saw their faces, joy turned into confusion. And then there was Mom with them. What—?

Unbeknownst to Art, another trauma had unfolded in the city. Dad had completed his appointment, and the doctor had given him a clean bill of health, but during lunch at a restaurant near the hospital, he suddenly started having seizures. He was rushed to the ER, where they eventually diagnosed a burst brain aneurysm.

We will never know exactly why no word reached Art until Mom came home twenty-four hours later. Maybe it was shock; perhaps she didn't want Art to find out something was wrong while he was alone. Each of Art's siblings has their own story about how and when they learned that Dad was gravely ill.

Dad did survive, but he was a shadow of his former self. He lived another 20 years with his disabilities.

Art says that life changed for him, too, that day.

Sometimes it's helpful to revisit life-defining moments. Art felt the emotions of the young boy he once was, and it still brought tears for the trauma he endured. I hurt alongside him, imagining little Art, scared and alone. It may seem strange, but I believe it can be healing to go back to our childhood, to our places of pain, and to love on the child we once were.

Any trauma, especially childhood trauma, shapes us. It can have a devastating impact if God's love isn't poured into those wounds, because an open wound will continue to fester and bleed. But when healing occurs, the things that could have broken us only make us stronger and more compassionate.

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose" Romans 8:28 (NIV).

Mary Folkerts is mom to four kids and wife to a farmer, living on the southern prairies of Alberta, where the skies are large and the sunsets stunning. She is a member of Proverbs 31 Ministries' COMPEL Writers Training, involved in church ministries and music. Mary’s blog aims to encourage and inspire women and advocate for those with Down Syndrome, as their youngest child introduced them to this extraordinary new world. For more inspiration, check out Joy in the Small Things https://maryfolkerts.com/ or connect on Instagram https://www.instagram.com/maryfolkerts/

Reworking as an Act of Love by Michelle Joy Teigrob

Photo by Micah Strutzenberger 2025

Years after the death of my beloved twin Maria I discovered the magnitude of a new world she had been inventing. Maria had died within minutes after a horrific car accident in Mexico. She was 21 years old. I couldn’t touch her things for years.

When I could finally bring myself to open her many notebooks, I realized the treasure hidden there. Her world of Shumayim lay waiting to be explored, complete with fascinating landmarks, unique creatures, several languages, and even a partially completed history.

My discovery burst a new bird of hope and purpose out of my bones.

I would find a way to introduce Shumayim to the world, so that others could enjoy its wonder and be inspired by its depth.

Decades later, I have attempted to complete my twin’s invented world history, as well as rewritten her story into two children’s books, one book for adults, a mini blog series, and two podcasts.

While working on each of these iterations of my Maria’s work, I’ve felt inspired and hopeful. But, invariably, upon completion, a sense of dissatisfaction hangs so heavy on my spirit that I almost immediately set them aside as “not quite right.”

Weeks or months later, I find myself attempting a new version of her work.

My latest project is the telling of her story for middle-grade readers. This time, it feels “more right” than all the others. But who knows what the completion will bring.

Over the years, I’ve come to places of feeling deeply frustrated by my inability to find a way to share my twin’s work in a truly satisfying way. If only I had more time in a day. If only I was a better writer – as good as she had been.

If only she had not died, so that I could be the one helping her to pass on her amazing creative gift, instead of trying to do it myself.

Sometimes I park in the lot of “if onlys,” but usually only for a short while. It is too depressing, and I find myself yearning to get on the road of possibility again.

Most recently I have been considering that perhaps my constant reworking of my twin’s writing is more the point than completing it. That is, it’s a way to both stay close to her, and also to express my love for her.

Throughout our teen years together, Maria and I bonded most closely over our shared passion for reading and writing. While we can no longer huddle in our chilly attic room reading Emily Dickinson and John Milton aloud to one another, followed by hours of silent scribbling in our notebooks, when I sit down with my twin’s characters and wander into her invented world yet again, I feel like I am back in that attic again. It is just my twin and I, taking on the universe with our pens and our dreams.

Although I have long moved on to a full and fulfilling life blessed with marriage, three children, a career, and active church engagement, I am now coming to accept that I may always have a corner in my life where I chip away at my twin’s work.

Perhaps in each of our lives, we need to make peace with a project we have been reworking forever. Perhaps that reworking is enough, and a greater act of love than we realize.

Michelle Joy Teigrob lives with her family in Peterborough, Ontario. Her book on grief, Joyfully Star-mapping through Life's Dung-piles, was shortlisted for the 2025 Word Awards. Formerly writing under her married name, Strutzenberger, Michelle is in the process of shifting her writing portfolio to her pen name, Michelle Joy Teigrob.

A Lump of Clay ~ Valerie Ronald

                                      

                                     photo credit Pixabay

When a potter creates a vessel out of a lump of wet clay, they are re-enacting an ancient craft traced as far back as 400 BC and beyond. Although there have been some modernizations, today’s potters use the same methods as bygone potters, creating beautiful and useful vessels by shaping the raw clay with their hands while it spins on a rotating wheel.

In the Old Testament, God sent the prophet, Jeremiah, down to the potter’s house, where He had a message for him. “So I went down to the potter’s house, and I saw him working at the wheel. But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him.” (Jeremiah 18:3-4 NIV) This analogy of God’s intention to reshape the rebellious nation of Israel like marred clay in a potter’s hands can also be applied as a picture of His transformation of us. God is the Master Recycler.

“Yet You, Lord, are our Father. We are the clay, You are the potter; we are all the work of Your hand.” (Isaiah 64:8 NIV)

This month’s InScribe Writers Online blog prompt has given rise to many helpful suggestions and tools from our proficient contributors about reusing, rethinking, and recycling our writing. I do not think I can improve on what has already been offered. Rather, I want to go back farther to the birthplace of our inspiration˗˗to those creative sparks flitting around like fireflies before we sleep, or the hastily scribbled plot outline sprouting from a chance encounter.These lumps of wet clay, unformed nuggets of ideas hovering on the edge of our creative consciousness, are given to us by God. His intention is for us to shape, mold, and smooth them into useful vessels on paper, carrying His thoughts in our voice.

The possibilities are infinite, for each of us have unique life reservoirs to draw upon. Several years ago, I thought God was directing me to write a memoir about my former marriage to an abusive narcissist. I had a desire to help other women trapped in such a relationship. But no matter how hard I tried, I could not get past the painful memories so eventually I gave up, thinking I had failed God. Yet from that shelved project came the seeds for other articles, devotionals, and blog posts. My traumatic memories are not wasted, just recycled in shorter formats I can deal with emotionally, and will hopefully be useful to others.

Occasionally I am asked where I get my ideas for what I write. My reply? From everything! My writerly brain is always switched on, gleaning ideas from my environment, experiences, encounters, education, emotional responses, and more. As a writer, I have a way of experiencing life, seeing and mentally recording my observations for future reference.

I keep a supply of small notebooks ready to receive the myriads of writing ideas that flash through my mind but don’t stay there. They are tucked in my purse, bible case, bedside table, car, coat pocket˗˗essentially everywhere. Now I use an app on my cell phone to record ideas as well. I make sure to record the idea with enough detail so that I can flesh it out when I am ready to use it. One night I stumbled out of bed to record a vivid dream, which gave me the plot for a Christmas short story. The dream was so detailed that writing the story seemed more like a transcription.

The idea God gives us is formless until we spin the wheel of our creativity, apply the pressure of our unique skill and perspective, then mold and smooth it until a vessel of words takes shape on the page. Like the potter in Jeremiah 18, if the result is marred, we can start from scratch, then form it into another pot, shaping it as seems best to us.

We have a singular privilege of honouring our Creator with words created by Him, accessible to us so we can express the vast truths of His plans and purposes. None of it is possible without firstly an idea, a spark, an inspiration˗˗a lump of clay. 

Valerie Ronald writes from an old roll top desk in Portage la Prairie, Manitoba, with her tortoiseshell cat for a muse. A graduate of Langara College School of Journalism, she writes devotionals, fiction and inspirational prose. Her purpose in writing is to encourage others to grow in their spiritual walk.

A Personal History of Rethink and Presence by Alan Anderson

 

Oh, my word, the posts this month are pure inspiration and encouragement! In all humility, I cannot add to the experience and suggestions already shown by our blog writers. I can but offer a brief consideration of how a “rethink” sparked my writing.

My Rethink History (Well, at least some of my history)

A Merriam-Webster definition of “rethink” notes, “to consider again especially with the possibility of change or reversal.” This definition fits much of my life. Please allow me to flesh this out.

From my first year at school until I graduated from high school, I never thought I fit in. I always had friends, but I also thought there was something different about me. I struggled with subjects like math, science, and languages, yet I did well in English. Even when I would go to math teachers for help, the concepts never sank into my brain. I felt like a complete reject.

In time, over the years of school misery, two teachers stand out as those who gave me hope. These teachers, Miss Gordon and Mrs. Horne, showed me how to rethink my young life. They taught me through informal one-on-one chats I didn’t have to be like other kids. They let me know I had a place in this world.

At home, I liked to make up stories and use my imagination. I was a shy boy, and my timidity caused me to hide my stories in case my parents or siblings would find them. I was afraid of being made fun of. The only thing I could think of was I would discard what I wrote. I threw my stories away.

Years later, in my teens, the counsel of Miss Gordon and Mrs. Horne helped me discover my love for writing. I rethought my writing and my life. I enjoyed writing essays and always felt a thrill when I received “A” or “B” on my work. When I got home from school, I would even inform my mum of my good marks.

The early encouragement from Miss Gordon and Mrs. Horne motivated me through my university years. I look back in amazement after I completed a master’s degree and thank God for these two teachers. They were a brief but strong presence in my life.

Rethink and write, then write again

I love to rethink my words after my first drafts. A norm for me is if I come to a goofy idea I don’t need to rethink, my words giggle at me. I hear these giggles in my head and words saying, “You don’t have to rethink or revise? Yeah, right, get back to work!” This is enough motivation to take out a notebook or turn my laptop on and get back to work. Revision is a must!

Presence and Voice

Here is a helpful statement from an experienced writer I read while I prepared to write this month’s post. The context of the statement is in the revision of poetry, but I suggest is helpful in other genres.

"No matter how you write, poorly or well, a reader will sense a presence. It’s your job as you revise to think about the presence you’re communicating. What will the reader think of the person who comes through the words, and how can your reader’s assessment be directed and controlled? A great part of the poem’s effect on its reader has to do with presence." (Kooser, Ted, The Poetry Home Repair Manual, University of Nebraska Press, 2005, p. 33.)

When I write, I always hope to show my presence or voice through my words. The presence and voice I project will hopefully present readers with a sense of who I am as a writer.

There you have it, my friends. My contribution to our October 2025 InScribe blog post. Dear InScribe blog friends, you will never know how inspirational you all are to me.

Alan lives in a small village called Deroche, British Columbia, with his wife, Terry, and their poodle, Charlie. He enjoys walking on the dike near his home, with trees all around and where he finds inspiration to write. He has occasionally written articles for FellowScript Magazine and is a regular contributor to the InScribe Christian Writers’ Fellowship blog. Alan’s website and blog is https://scarredjoy.ca.

Poem in a Box by Gloria Guest

“Cast your bread upon the waters:

for thou shall find it after many days." (Eccl 11:1)

I’ve always liked this verse in Ecclesiastes for its mysterious promise and unique suggestion. Biblical scholars suggest that it means to cast our service, generosity, gifts and talents out into the world to bless others and in some way, at some time God will bless that obedience and bring good back to us through it.

This past year I had an experience like this with a poem I had written twenty years ago and forgot about. Then one day; there it was, before a completely different audience than I had previous written it for. It was written for a man named Jim.

I felt that many people did not see who Jim really was and he needed to hear how God saw him and how I did. Jim had stepped into my life as a mentor, a friend and most importantly, a father figure. He was the closest person I had ever felt as a father, on this earth.

I’d forgotten it so completely that when Jim’s wife contacted me to see if she could have it framed and put up on his memorial table at his Celebration of Life, that I couldn’t even remember writing it. It was only when she sent it to me that it came back to me. She explained that Jim had tucked it away in a special box of mementos that were important to him. I was deeply touched and of course said, ‘Yes’ to setting it up on the table.

To add to my surprise, when I arrived at Jim’s memorial and was handed his funeral card, the poem was actually printed on the inside. It made me cry to think of just how much our words can mean to others, when we aren’t even aware. It also reminded me of how our words can come back to us years later, in the most unexpected of ways.

As writers we have the unique opportunity to reach into others hearts, to encourage them along their journeys, and to be blessed ourselves when some sign of the impact of those words that we had cast out upon the waters comes back to us, and we ourselves are blessed.

The Heart of a Good Samaritan

I wonder how he felt that day as he lay by the road,

His body bruised and bleeding, His nakedness exposed?
I wonder if he waited with longing in his heart,

For some kind soul to pass his way, With healing to impart?
Imagine how his heart despaired, when footsteps hurried by,

Belonging to religious men,

They’d left him there to die.
And then it was unthinkable, it couldn’t surely be,

A man who was Samaritan,

Was helping such as he?

With gentle care he bandaged wounds, poured oil on and wine,

And even took him to an inn,

And paid his every fine.
It’s really not so strange to see, it happens every day,

When people quickly pass on by, And leave the injured lay.
But God he searches to and fro for good Samaritans,

To send to hurt and wounded souls,

And be his feet and hands.
It’s not enough to simply say, I hope you’ll soon be well,

Or even say, I’ll pray for you, So sorry that you’re ill.
I’m sure if you were dying now and bleeding by the way,

You’d long for one to take the time,

And step out of their way.
The hearts of good Samaritans are precious, pure and few,

They’re people who don’t just rush on by,

But cross the road to you.

Thank you Jim, for crossing the road to me.

Gloria writes from a small town on the prairies of Southern Saskatchewan. She writes creative non-fiction, memoir, poetry, fiction & more. As a past reporter/columnist she has many articles published in various newspapers in the province. She's furthered her writing skills with classes in editing from Simon Fraser University & Creative Writing classes from the University of Toronto. Currently she has re-started her memoir and is starting up a writers group for youth in her town.

Reuse, Rethink, Recycle by Lorilee Guenter

 

The blank page stares at me, taunting me. It mocks my ability to write something new, something worth my time to write, and your time to read. I'd like to claim this is an isolated occurrence and normally words flow off the end of my pen as a river flows across the land. Sometimes they do but more often I jot a sentence here and another there. I pause to consider the words. I scratch out half or more of what is on the page and wonder if the taunting is accurate.

We read in Ecclesiastes 1: 9-10, "What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun. Is there anything of which one can say, "Look! This is something new?" It was here before already, long ago, it was here before our time."

There is nothing new, so I can put my pen down in discouragement knowing the doubts and questions are correct. It would be easy enough to do. Except it isn't easy. I get restless when I am not creating in some way. I get grouchy and hard to live with.

There is nothing new, so I can put down the pressure. My thoughts have been thought, and my curiosities have been considered by others. However, these ones are mine and they have value to me if not to others. I have permission to consider, to process and to create from my place in time and space.

Because nothing is new under the sun, I can reuse my writing. I have heard others talk about re-purposing writing. I have read collections where authors put together a best of collection or a themed collection of their work. I did not consider this for myself until a comment I received about my A to Z blog posts. Now I am in the process of refining them based on what I have learned over the two years I wrote them. In this case, the blog commentators have helped by highlighting the words, phrases and sections that had impact. I am using the comments to hopefully strengthen each piece before I reuse it.

Because nothing is new under the sun, I can give myself permission to adjust my previous writing. Through revision I can re-imagine and rework a speech into an essay. Essays can become the seed of a story. I understand the theory behind this. In reality, I find it difficult to rethink writing from one format to another. The first format was chosen for a reason. There are times I have reworked a story from one format to another that is stronger.

Reuse, rethink, recycle. My favorite of the three is recycle. When I am revising my work, I often find sentences or paragraphs I do not want to get rid of. Yet I know they do not belong in the piece I am working on. If it doesn't fit, it needs to go. It goes into a snippets file. I have a snippets folder on my computer and I have a stack of scrap paper with phrase, fragments and ideas. None of these have found their home yet. Some of the fodder in folder of recycled snippets will never find a home. These files, both paper and digital, are one of the tools I turn to when I am stuck in my writing. As I read through the random words, new ideas begin to form. 

Since everything has already been done, I have permission to play with the words, ideas, curiosities and experiences that God has given me. It all has value when it comes from Him and not from my independent toil. The pressure is gone and the taunting voices silenced by God, the source of my ideas and curiosities.

Lorilee Guenter lives in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. She likes to experiment with plants, paint and words. Curiosity and creativity lead to many unexpected endeavors.

 

Reusing Writing by Carol Harrison

 

As I read the prompt for this month on reusing or recycling your writing, I thought of all the bits and pieces of writing on my computer as well as the books, articles, and stories I have written. What have I already reused at some point? What else could I recycle?

At an Inscribe Fall Conference a few years ago, our keynote speaker was Grace Fox. In talking to her about her thoughts on reusing or recycling our writing, she gave me a few ideas. With my memoir book, Amee’s Story, I could take portions of the story and rewrite them as a devotional to submit. I have used parts of the story as a devotional and also as illustrations when I have been speaking. Bits and pieces have wound their way into blog posts as well as short memoir style stories. Then I took one small section and expanded on it so it became a short story on its own. I submitted it to Chicken Soup for the Soul who published it. It referenced bullying Amee had experienced. For the short story I had the opportunity to add more of the details.

A devotional I wrote called The Crying Rock; I have used as an illustration when speaking. I also incorporated it into one of my novels, A Mother for Anna. It is a devotional based on a family story. I also wrote it up as a short story for a contest.

So as I pondered this prompt and remembered the conversation with Grace Fox at the conference, I realize I’ve recycled and reused some of my writing in a variety of ways. I need to revisit some other pieces of writing to see what else might be able to be adapted and recycled to submit somewhere instead of just sitting on my computer or on my bookshelf.

Maybe the first step is to organize all the files on my computer. They are in a bit of a disarray. Are there some bits and pieces or ideas that can germinate into short stories, devotionals, articles, or maybe even transform into a poem?

Each year I write family stories from various time frames and print them off in a booklet for my grandchildren for Christmas. Are there some of these family stories that could become, with adaptation, short stories to submit somewhere? The answer, I believe, is yes since I have used a few of them to submit to Chicken Soup for the Soul, several of which they have published. A couple of other ones have become devotionals or short memoir stories in the book I co-authored with Ruth Keighley called, Making Crooked Places Straight. Other stories for the grandchildren might just be waiting for their turn to be recycled and reused.

Then, as I organize my files and all the paper copies of writings, I might find some redundant pieces that can be reduced. Why do I need multiple copies or drafts of some pieces? But I am a packrat and it is hard to let go of the paper and just keep a digital copy of pieces of my writing. I am a work in progress on the organizing and reducing paper copies.

One thing I know about myself is I need to keep telling the stories in whatever fashion that takes. It might be through writing stories or devotionals. It might be when I am asked to speak or in conversation with someone else.

The verses from Psalm 71: 17, 18 resonate with this for me.

“O God from my youth you have taught me and I still proclaim your wondrous deeds. So even to old age and grey hairs, O God do not forsake me, until I proclaim your might to another generation, your power to all those to come”.

Now it’s time to tell some stories.

 

Carol Harrison is a storyteller who sometimes even writes her stories down. She is a packrat who has a hard time organizing her bits and pieces of writing on her computer or jotted down on pieces of paper or in various notebooks.

 

Superpowers and Dr. Seuss by Sharon Heagy

 

photo by Sharon Heagy

Once upon a time in a land called radiology, I was injected with some spectacularly blue radioactive dye so a surgeon could find what she was seeking. It worked too, because when I woke up parts of me were missing! But the most disappointing thing was I neither glowed in the dark nor had superpowers. How I had looked forward to buying fabric and designing a cape and mask for my alter ego. (I once tried to convince my grands that I was Batman, but that's a story for another time)

My superpower expectations were awakened once again this fall when three wasps injected me with their venom on three separate occasions. The toxic combination of their venom, which contains a variety of chemical components, should have succeeded in producing at least a little zap of something to fight evil in the world. But alas, none has been forthcoming. I live in hope that something will eventually show up. However, having had this experience three times, I would strongly advise against getting stung by a wasp as it is incredibly unpleasant and hurts more than you might think.

There is some benefit that comes from these two tales of my lack of extraordinary powers. Both provide fodder for some fanciful or inspirational writing. Perhaps I could encourage those who are facing the same surgery I had. Maybe I could calm the fears of those who encounter wasps and inadvertently get stung, including the difference between a regular reaction and one where it would be advisable to carry proper medication. Or, I could write a tale of a Super Granny who gets miraculous powers to fight bad guys or who uses her power gift to provide for those in need. The possibilities are endless.

These everyday occurrences can be reused and recycled many times over into wondrous tales that lead the reader into an extravaganza of adventure, or into calm waters in the midst of a raging river of fear, or something in between.

Once upon a time I was recycled. I truly was injected with superpower. It brought me to my knees and keeps me there because it is a dynamic and powerful force. Words fall short to describe this Infinite power infused with infinite love, grace and mercy. And just like the wasps, it came in three parts; Father, Son and Holy Spirit. They are my superpower and the guiding beacon for my life. I don't need a cape or mask because as I spend time with them, focus upon them and surrender to them, I will glow in the darkness with their light, fight evil with their weapons and bring comfort to the lost with their compassion. They will infuse my writing in the same way.

As we pray before we write, God takes what we may consider the mundane everyday things of our life and transforms them into brilliant pieces of writing. He is the key that unlocks the doors to worlds we never considered, stories beyond our ken and phrases beyond the thesaurus. Oh, the thoughts that will be awakened in the depths of our soul and the words we will pen for His glory.

Sometimes we think like the writer of Ecclesiastes 1:9-10 "What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun. Is there anything of which one can say, 'Look! This is something new?' It was here already, long ago; it was here before our time."

We have this inkling in our mind that it's all been done before, and it has, but never from your perspective in God's hands. Like Dr. Seuss says, "Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You!" God created us, each one of us, as an individual. It's spectacular to fathom. The world is currently filled with over 8 billion individuals created by God. Just pause and think about that. Awesome.

It is absolutely in the realm of possibility for God to use our words in a new way to reach those of His choosing. "See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland." (Isaiah 43:19 NIV)

Let Him take your ideas and inject them with His supernatural power. Let Him amaze and astound you. Let Him tickle the musings flowing through your brain, adding depth and dimension as only He can. Then write. Write and write and write. You have His superpower to do it

 

Sharon Heagy writes from the small but vibrant town of Rockglen, Saskatchewan, nestled in the valley near the Burning Hills. She writes to inspire and give hope with a chuckle or two along the way.

The Writers' Three Rs by Steph Beth Nickel

Laptop Computer Keyboard - Free photo on Pixabay

Are you sitting in front of your keyboard (or writing notebook) wondering if you have anything more to write? Anything to say that hasn't been said countless times before . . . by you and others? Anything that will truly encourage, entertain, or educate your readers?

Most of us have been there. Possibly, multiple times.

But as this month's theme indicates, there are three Rs that can help us address these issues: reuse, rethink, and recycle.

Our own words can serve as a springboard for new ideas. 

And those new ideas?

A new platform on which to republish our work with little to no changes. And don't be afraid to repost the same piece weeks, months, or years later on the same platform. The algorithms are always changing, and you never know who may be seeing it for the first time or who may need to read it again.

An expanded work with updated info.

A social media post or blog post that inspires a short story, a novella, even a full-length manuscript.

An old manuscript we've tucked away that we might want to revisit. You know the ones, those sitting in a drawer or on our computers gathering dust.

Our Discarded Sentences, Paragraphs, and More file. (You do have one of these, don't you? Sometimes, a line or paragraph doesn't work in our WIP, but that doesn't mean it won't find a home in a future work.)

And speaking of deleting our work . . .

Instead of deleting an old post, why not compare and contrast our thoughts from days gone by with those we have now?

And what about those journals we've squirreled away? Those words that were for no one's eyes but our own? Maybe it's time to pick up one of those journals and see if one or more of the entries inspires a new piece that you do want to share with the world?

There are several R words that apply to our writing: reuse, rethink, recycle, revisit, revise, reshare, etc., etc., etc. Let's give it a try today!

I'd love to know how you've reused, rethought, and recycled your writing. Feel free to leave a comment below or email me at stephbethnickel@gmail.com

Steph Beth Nickel is the former Editor of FellowScript and the current InScribe Contest Coordinator. Steph is an editor and author and plans to relocate to Saskatchewan from Ontario to be close to family in 2026. (Headshot Photo Credit: Jaime Mellor Photography)

Grandpa and Joseph's Blanket by Sandra Rafuse

The prompt for the month of October reminded me of a children's book called Something from Nothing by Phoebe Gilman. It's a lovely story about a Jewish family who welcome a new baby boy into their home. They name him Joseph. The grandfather in the family makes a wonderful blanket "to keep him warm and cozy and to chase away bad dreams". Over time Joseph grows older and the blanket becomes worn out. When his mother insists it be thrown out, Joseph, who loves his unattractive, torn blanket, takes it to Grandpa because "Grandpa can fix it'. And Grandpa does. The blanket becomes a wonderful jacket.

The story goes on and we see how Grandpa reuses the material from the blanket he made in the beginning. Joseph keeps growing so eventually the jacket shrinks and is too small. His mother insists it be thrown out. But not to worry; "Grandpa can fix it". Every time Joseph takes the most recently worn out item to his Grandfather, Grandfather figures out what he can make with the material that is still good to use, until, with the last piece of material Joseph brings to him, Grandpa makes him a button, a wonderful button. One day the button is lost! The last bit of material is gone. There is nothing left to use. Even Grandpa admits, "you can't make something from nothing." The reader might think the story ends here, but it doesn't. Joseph goes to school the next day, and, sitting down at a table with a pen and a piece of paper, he realizes he has "enough material to write . . . a wonderful story!"

Besides reminding me of Gilman's book, the prompt also stopped me in my tracks. Why? Because I do not have a collection of writing on hand to reuse, recycle, or reduce. Oh yes. . .I wrote interesting letters to friends, and I completed short essays on university exams and I penned brief accounts of events that took place during the previous year on my out going Christmas cards, but I never saved any of them. It never occurred to me to do that. And it wasn't the kind of writing I would have needed to be doing to use now anyway.

I feel my true to life writing journey started with joining the InScribe Writers Online Blog. I am so pleased to be a member. I can see so many opportunities that await me in the future. Just the suggestions that have been published so far this month could keep me busy for weeks, if not months. And I have so many experiences to draw on. I love what Lorrie Orr said in her recent blog; "God often takes messy life experiences and transforms them into good and beautiful things that reflect his light and love. Then we, in turn, can share about them in our writing". And, of course, there are all of our other experiences to share to bring glory to God.

I am not discouraged that I am a beginning writer. I am full of hope and anticipation and determination to increase my writing skills. I am a writer. I'm retired. I have all the time I need.

Sandra Rafuse lives in the small town of Rockglen, Saskatchewan, with her husband Bob, a Gordon Setter named Sadie, and a Peregrine falcon named Peet. She is a retired teacher, an amateur writer and is enjoying having the opportunity to share what God has been teaching her through her life experiences.

P.S. Our very old cat named Kitty is no longer with us. We are sure he is running and playing and eating and sleeping with the dogs he knew when he was with us here. He is missed.

 

Some Things Never Get Old by Bob Jones

I wrote this post four years ago. It generated high engagement on my blogsite. Re-posting the content here is my way of showing not telling, about rethinking not reinventing. I trust it encourages you.

Fear, procrastination, setbacks or discouragement will drain the life out of you if you let them. What's your plan of counteraction? Exercise? Reading? Prayer? Meditation?

The healthiest people replace depletion with inspiration on a daily basis.

Words have real power. (Proverbs 12:6).

Here are 21 pragmatic one-line insights to defeat your fears, break free of procrastination, act now and be fruitful.

21 Quotes

#1. Dream Big. Start small. Act now.
#2. Eat a "frog" first thing in the morning.
#3. Victims make excuses. Leaders deliver results.
#4. Your daily behaviour reveals your deepest beliefs.
#5. Worry about nothing. Pray about everything. You'll get through this.

#6. A problem is only a problem when viewed as a problem.
#7. Change your thinking and change your life.
#8. Excuses are nothing more than the lies your fears have sold you.
#9. Where victims see adversity, overcomers see opportunity.
#10. Success is when opportunity meets preparation.

#11. Small daily improvements over time lead to stunning results.
#12. Criticism is the price of ambition.
#13. Seven days without prayer makes one weak.
#14. Ordinary people love entertainment. Extraordinary people love education.
#15. Clarity breeds mastery.

#16. The only failure is not trying.
#17. Focus is more valuable than IQ.
#18. God doesn't call the qualified. God qualifies the called.
#19. The things that are hardest to do are often the things that are the best to do.
#20. An addiction to distraction is the end of your creative production.

#21. Life is short. Be of use.

Which is your favourite one-liner above? What is one-liner #22 for you?

(Credit the Bible, Mark Twain, Christine Caine and fellow Canadian, Robin Sharma, for the quotes.)

Thank you for reading and commenting. All the best to your rethinking and recycling endeavours.