Unfathomable Love - Shirley S. Tye

I know God loves me. I don't doubt that. But I can't understand why He loves me and why Jesus agreed to sacrifice Himself in such a grisly manner. If He'd waited a few hundred years until the electric chair was invented or when lethal injection came into use, His death wouldn't have been so gruesome. And with television, more people would have witnessed it. It could have been videoed and played back to other generations. But would more people have believed? Would His death have had the same impact?

Jesus went to great lengths to win me back; to make a way home. I can't look at the grisly pictures of crucifixion. On Good Friday, my heart was heavy. I fidgeted in my seat at church. I turned my eyes away from the video and counted to ten over and over again as I fought back tears. How wretched! Yet, this is how God chose to demonstrate the depth of His love for me. Am I worth all that? The ugliness of that death makes me think of how ugly my sin is to God. Hideous!

Yet, on Easter Sunday, I was happy; no, truly joyous! I felt like dancing in the street! How could I dance when Jesus had suffered so much? My dancing doesn't make any more sense to me than Jesus' death. Yet, here I am; overjoyed that I'm fully alive but most of all that my Jesus is alive! Unfathomable! Am I really worth all that? I don't understand it; the sacrifice; the love. Yet, here I am rejoicing in this great gift and I know beyond any doubt that Jesus loves me. I'm on the road home! Come with me!

According to the Rules - Shirley S. Tye

A few years ago, I didn't even know what a thesis was let alone have any clue as to how to write one. I've just finished writing one and boy, it has really stretched my knowledge and abilities, not to mention my patience. All those rules! Before I even began to write, I took a course on how to write a paper.
Rules! Rules! Rules! The margins have to be so wide, the title begins on line such-and-such, bibliography must be listed this way, footnotes written thus, et cetera. The list is long and involved. It's all there in "A Manual for Writers of Research Papers, Theses, and Dissertations" by Kate L. Turabian. I can't imagine writing anything as dry as that manual. But, it's a good thing Kate made it her business to record the rules so that all papers have uniformity and a professional appearance. She certainly had an eye for detail, and obviously way more patience and stamina than me.

As I wrote that paper and continue with assignments, I search for better words to explain and describe a topic. My old thesaurus which I've had for years is much heavier now with all the tape that is holding the pages together and the whole book is tightly bound with a rubber band. My paperback Oxford dictionary which is much lighter to handle than the huge hardcover Oxford has been used the most and therefore is showing signs of wear; pages are curled and creased and the spine is beginning to release its hold. My Bible is still hanging together although the pages look a little crumpled and my "Strong's Comprehensive Concordance" is looking a little tired, too.

Soon the courses will be over. Well, for a little while. And during the break I'll enjoy writing and living in my fantasy world again; writing down whatever thought or mini movie floats through my head. Maybe I'll get back to that romance novel or the murder mystery play. Ah...to dream again.

The Flowing Ink - Shirley S. Tye

Sometimes the words flow easily onto the paper, recreating the mini movie that dances through my mind. Changing a word is like focusing a lens; slowly the image becomes sharper and the characters take on a life of their own. It's exciting when others read the words I've written and see the same image. Even more exciting is when a reader or a listener responds with the emotion I hoped the words would invoke. But then add that excitement to the exhilaration of a published story that is paid...wow! I'm soaring above the clouds. What a feeling! What a high! It's that feeling that keeps me addicted to writing.

Do I get weary or discouraged with writing? No. However, I do get frustrated when I have difficulty formulating my thoughts onto paper. But I've had enough highs to keep me captivated and determined to reach that high again; to learn more; and to write a better story, a better devotional, a better article, a better whatever. I simply must write. And I must stay connected with other writers to hear about their successes and their dreams. They too keep me motivated.

Do I have writing goals for this year? Of, course! Are they realistic reachable goals? Who knows until I try? And try I will! I'll put my best pen forward so-to-speak and write a play for amateur theatre and ask a director, who I know, to read it and give me feedback. I enjoy live theatre. In 2011, I acted in a play and it helped me see what works and what doesn't work for amateur theatre. I'll finish writing the first draft of my adult novel and finish the last little bit of tweaking on my children's novel before sending it out to publishing houses. Somewhere there's a publisher interested in the story.

There are many other plans but for a few months most things are on hold while I finish writing a thesis for a BA in Christian Education/Counseling.

I'm excited about where God is leading me with the writing and this new career.

May you be blessed as you let the ink flow for the Lord.

Jockeying for Position - Shirley S. Tye

And they're off! Yes, it's Christmas and drivers are jockeying for parking spots. Right there in front of the coffee shop. It was like watching two rams lock horns. Okay, they weren't rams but a 4X4 truck - a mean looking thing at that - and a mini van.

The 4X4 driver raced to a spot next to the building just outside the window where I was sitting; a spot where later he'd have to back out into busy plaza traffic. Now with his bird's eye view from his high cab you'd think he'd have noticed the two convenient drive-through parking spots just a few yards over. It would have been easy to drive the truck straight into the spot and later drive straight out; no backing up required; one simple move.

The driver had just gotten the truck nose turned and aimed at the spot when he realized a mini van was already backing into the same spot. Obviously he saw the spot but not the back-up lights of the van. The irritated truck driver leaned hard on the horn. The van driver was oblivious to the sound and continued backing. I could almost hear him singing 'Da dump, da dump, da, da, da, da, dump' or did I hear him singing that silly little Christmas song 'Grandma Got Run Over by the Reindeer'. Now there's a song to capture the Christmas spirit. Soon they came to logger heads - okay, more precisely nose to butt. Gross, you say? Exactly! Peace and goodwill were non-existent. Crazy, you say? Well, maybe just narrow visioned; the 'me syndrome' showed up again.

Oh, you want to know who won the coveted spot? Funny thing, the aggressive 4X4 driver lost because the van driver was persistent or perhaps just blind to the fact that there are others in the world.

Someday there will be peace on earth but not today.

May peace reign at least in your corner of the world.

Merry Christmas!

Writing On A Slant - Shirley S. Tye

You've probably heard it said that when a person's handwriting slants downward it's a sign they are sad, tired, or ill. If the writing slants upward, the person is feeling happy, energetic and well.

Lately, my writing has been slanting downwards despite two writing successes this year. My children's middle-grade novel was short-listed in a contest. My friend's novel which I ghost wrote was self-published by my friend. Many who have read her book have enjoyed it; in fact, some have said they couldn't put it down. Both achievements should have been celebrated. But for a year, I've been in a slump; everything I've tried has fallen apart. I'm feeling discouraged and these two "accomplishments" only added to my list of failures. Through my sad eyes, I viewed being short-listed to mean "close but no cigar" and "here's the big looser". And hearing all the compliments about my friend's book made me jealous that my name wasn't on the cover. God forgive me.

Sure I'm feeling discouraged now but I'll be up soon. I still have plans and there are other paths I'd like to explore.

First of all, I'm making corrections and improvements to the novel that was short-listed. Next time it's submitted, it'll be a winner and be published.

Second thing I'm working on is a play. That's a totally new genre for me but I'm learning about playwriting and will boldly try it. This past spring, I had an acting part in a comedy play and was told by many that I did a very good job. That experience taught me what works and what doesn't work for amateur theatre. The director, who I worked under, is also the President of the Executive at the amateur theatre in town. Since he was pleased with my acting, I feel confident that he'll at least read my play. That'll be a big step forward on the learning curve.

This summer, I began work on a romance novel. It's another unfamiliar genre for me but I thought I'd give it a go and see what happens. I like new adventures.

Yes, I'm beginning to feel hopeful. My writing is developing an upward slant again. Praise the Lord!

Rock My Boat - Shirley S. Tye

Happily I drifted, watching the afternoon sun's rays glisten and dance on the lake; little sparkling water jewels. I stopped paddling, scooped some water in my hand and slowly released it over my head. The refreshing water trickled down my hair and face, and unto my neck. Repeatedly I scooped water and dribbled it over my hair until my head was cool and wet. I leaned into the backrest of the kayak seat and turned my face heavenward. Soothing rays caressed my face; colouring my cheeks with natural rouge. I soaked in the quietness of the little bay.

Suddenly the peace of the lake was disturbed by the thundering of a motor. I sat up and looked around. Headed toward me at full tilt was a personal watercraft. Quickly I began paddling toward the rocky shore. My strength and speed was no match for the roaring machine. The driver turned hard on the handle bars as he stood up. The rear end of the machine appeared to sink into the water as the front end pivoted upwards like a rearing horse. The propeller churned the dark blue water into a white spume. Like a Phoenix rising from ashes, the machine triumphantly rose, splashed down hard and then speedily headed back to the open lake.

As the machine raced away, the loud sound of the whining motor softened. In its wake large rolling waves approached me. I turned my kayak into the oncoming barrage of waves and braced myself. The little boat rode easily over each one; one, two, three, four. Soon I was riding on calm water again; drifting happily and admiring the dancing water jewels.


 

Moving Day - 1986 - Shirley S. Tye

The large moving van inched its way backwards up the gravel driveway to the front steps. Red brake lights lit up as the air brakes hushed the groaning motor. Two young muscular men climbed down from the cab. They hurried to the back of the truck, slid open the rear roll-away door and lowered the loading ramp.

Like storybook elves, they scurried about the house, happily doing their work. They lifted heavy appliances without a moan and juggled the queen-size bed-sofa through the narrow doorway while chatting about the latest hockey game. They seemed to be experienced, conscientious movers but would they take extra care with the dinning room suite?

The oak buffet and hutch which had been purchased the previous year, stood majestically against the wall. The flower design of the carved trim was dust free, the glass doors glistened in the morning sunshine and the wide two-pedestal table stood proudly in the centre of the room; the polished top displaying the natural wood grain. Neatly tucked in their places around the table were the six high-backed velvety cushioned chairs waiting for dinner to be served.

I couldn't bear to watch. Quickly I left the house and anxiously waited at our new address.

Soon the movers were unloading the truck and setting the furniture into place in our new home. Washer, dryer, and deep-freeze were carried downstairs. The bed-sofa was placed against the far wall in the sitting room. Then came the dinning room set. Gingerly the men carried the pieces in one by one and arranged the room to our wishes. Finally it was all done. And not a scratch to be seen anywhere! I sighed in relief.

As my husband and I leaned the refrigerator forward to adjust the feet under it, we heard a sound within like a bottle rolling about. Surely my husband hadn't forgotten to remove a bottle when he emptied the refrigerator that morning. Was it a bottle of ketchup or sauce? Slowly I opened the door expecting to see a smashed bottle with its contents painted in an abstract fashion on the inside walls. To my surprise the refrigerator was clean. What had rolled about? Then I checked the door compartments. There on the inside of the door were half-dozen eggs nestled in their pockets. Not one broken. And to think I had worried about the dinning room suite!

A Winter Forest Walk - Shirley S. Tye

I followed the path that skirted the corn field. There the path was not icy. Cold and hard it lay without a blanket of snow for protection. I stopped and imagined the surroundings dressed in summer green. Three months ago, the trees had been draped in bright autumn robes. Now they stood naked, grey, and lifeless under the dull winter sky. Their power to sleep through the winter and awaken young in the spring amazed me.

The path wound around the sleeping trees. Further down the trail I came upon a small clearing where a majestic tree stood proudly towering above the others. Was this the king of the woods? Trees like this always held an enticing power over me. It beckoned me; to climb its strong branches; to view the world from above; to touch the heavens. I wanted to approach it; to finger its rough bark; to set my foot against its trunk; to make the exhilarating climb; and be cradled in its large arms. But doing so would mean succumbing to temptation that probably would end in a drastic fall. I stood transfixed. The urge grew stronger and stronger.

Suddenly I heard my mother's voice from the past, "Stay out of the trees! You've torn enough clothes, child!" True. I had torn many clothes and good coats by climbing trees. I was a child then. I'm an adult now. But yet the lure was still there, as enticing as ever.

I studied the tree from a safe distance. Several broken branches were entangled in the grasp of other branches, clinging, afraid to fall, still wanting to be part of the whole. I wondered about the cause of their brokenness. Perhaps an enthusiastic but careless climber had caused the damage or someone with a saw attempting to rid the tree of sick and decaying parts. But why they were left dangling precariously I did not know. One branch hung strangely loose touching the ground like a hangman's noose. Cautiously I approached and touched it. I was surprised it was not limp as it appeared but firm and solid. Then I realized it was not a branch but a vine. I moved around the tree and saw a green clump of grass nestled amongst the large twisted roots. It was an odd sight; green grass in the middle of January; a promise of warm past days to arrive again.

I turned and left the forest; filled with the wonder of God's creation and strengthened by the triumph over temptation.

Shirley writes from her hometown, Sudbury, ON - the Nickel Capital of the World.
Visit her at: www.auntshirley.wordpress.com