Courageously Cultivating Connection by Joylene M Bailey

 

Image by Anthony Scanlon from Pixabay 

One early morning last week, I stepped out onto our deck into the quiet country air. As I walked around the corner of the house, the quiet was eclipsed by a chorus of coyotes from across the lake. Just before I turned back to go inside, a cock began crowing, joining forces with the coyote community. Maybe he thought he was a crowd-pleasing crooner, but my imagination, which is seven years old at the best of times, concluded he might be seeking connection... aww he needs a chum.

Maybe it's lonely being a rooster.

Sometimes it's lonely being a writer, even for this highly introverted one. We need connection with other writers (as well as publishers, editors, and agents), not only to make our work better, but to confirm again and again that this craft that calls to us is indeed worth our time and pursuit. That our readers are out there, awaiting our content.

Connection for writers takes cultivation, and courageous cultivation at that, especially for introverts. It's hard to put oneself out there. All kinds of thoughts go through one's head - What makes me think I even deserve to be here? Can I even call myself a writer? - to name only a couple.

The first time I ever met with a writers' group, I abashedly told them, yes I've written some children's stories. My friends and family like them, but they are very kind. I expected, I suppose, to have these seasoned writers blast me with a cutting and condemning critique. Only, they didn't. And I blossomed from my cocoon.

Since then, I've been involved in writing conferences and contests. I started a writing cohort, inviting other writers into my home. Each of these acts required continuing courage on my part in order to cultivate the crucial connections to further my work. In the end, it was enjoyable and gratifying. So worth it. Like-minded individuals encourage us and spur us on.

Which brings me to a cautionary caveat: be sure to find like-minded people to encourage you on your way. I would calculate that a cock consorting with coyote choirs could be considerably calamitous for the chicken.

There's a fine line between constructive critique and condemning criticism. So, find a congenial community (like InScribe!), or at least a compatible writing buddy. The connection will make all the difference.

Image by svklimkin from Pixabay 

*****

P.S. If you concluded that I challenged myself to use as many c-words as possible, you'd be correct. Extra credit for you! (And a lot of chuckles for me.)

*****

Joy is currently carousing with kids of her kids, but normally resides in beautiful lake country with the Cowboy and Chara, and a cat named Rhubarb. Find more of her Joy-infused writing at Scraps of Joy.

The Rhythm Came First by Joylene M. Bailey

 

  Image by Frauke Riether from Pixabay

~~~~~

Music is never far away from my mind. I usually wake up with a tune in my head. Sometimes it's a worship song we sang in church three Sundays ago. More often than not, it's a melody I've listened to in the past few days. Instrumental, of course, because that's what I listen to most.

Even when there's no music in my head, there's rhythm. Always rhythm. When I'm walking, when I'm sewing, when I'm baking, when I'm listening to the birds or the trees, even when I'm just breathing, I'm hearing rhythms.

So, that busy Christmas season six years ago, it wasn't unusual to have a rhythm bouncing around in my brain. But there was something special about this one.

Something tingly.

In light of the fact that I was extra busy preparing for the arrival of nine people, including two active toddlers, who would be staying for ten days, you'd think I wouldn't have time to take note of this particular rhythm. But, as I said, there was something special about this one. So, I paid attention.

Ideas started snowballing and my Christmas preparation time intensified. I'd be in the middle of making a bed or adding icing sugar to a recipe when an idea - a word or phrase - would hit, so I'd leave what I was doing to run up to my little study and write it down.

Something about this writing felt important, felt like it wasn't just me writing. It was a collaboration between Father and me, and it was so fun! Him giving ideas, me rushing up to my study to write them down before I forgot.

I wrote lists of words ending in ING, lists of familiar Christmas song phrases that met the DUM de DUM DUM DUM rhythm, all the while consulting with Father - is this the phrase, or is it that one? 

Over the course of three or four days the creativity flowed, and it truly felt like a collaboration. Like He and I were sharing ideas, and I was doing the work. I felt Him watching over my shoulder, MmmHmmm that sounds good. No, try something else there.

A week before Christmas, the poem was finished. I shared it that year as my December InScribe Writers Online post. (You can find it here)

Since then, I've often wondered what it was that made that particular time of writing special. Why did it feel so significantly collaborative?

I like to think that Father knew me well enough to understand that a rhythm would capture my attention. But then it was up to me to stop in my tracks and really listen. And I did. I listened while I worked; while I baked and cleaned and wrapped gifts. And I was willing to interrupt the task at hand (so unlike me) to do the writing work.

I also like to think that the work of the collaboration, and the result, delighted us both.

I don't know how Father God likes to capture your attention, but I've learned that it could be through something that's very every-day. It's then up to us to stop and really listen. 

For me, the rhythm came first. 

~~~~~

Joy is delighting in her new country home where she listens to music, rhythms, and her Father's voice, not necessarily in that order. Find more of her Joy-infused view of the world at her blog, Scraps of Joy.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Not a Plan in Sight by Joylene M Bailey

 

Portrait painters captivate me. Maybe it's because I'm not a portrait artist, but I could watch them do their thing for hours. With some artists, the image they're creating is recognizable almost immediately. That's definitely the sitter's eye, her chin, her hair. The plan is clear, the method ... well, methodical. Deliberate.

Then there are other artists who seem to slop their canvases with a mash of bright or monochromatic colours. Completely unrecognizable as a portrait. When asked at this point in the project, I've heard some of these artists say they hope a discernible resemblance eventually materializes. Indeed, as they work, pushing the paint around in sweeps and flourishes and straight lines, a likeness does begin to emerge, rising from the depths to amaze me every time. One tiny brush stroke can change a painting completely. Was that the plan all along? Or did it surprise the artist too?

*****

What writing projects make my heart sing?

I had to think about this question for a long time. I love to write all kinds of things: children's songs and stories, adult fiction, poetry and rhymes, vignettes and scenes for a novel, my blog posts. Sometimes the project makes my heart sing and sometimes it doesn't. And it doesn't seem to have anything to do with the genre. What is it about each of these writing ventures that brings a thrill. And what makes it feel offkey? 

As I dug deeper I slowly came to realize that my heart sings when I write with no plan. When I let myself go, tap into that je ne sais quoi, and let the story materialize through my fingers somehow. That's it. That's when my heart soars.

One of my favourite stories came out of a prompt given at our writers' group meeting. The prompt was simply: Hello. What grew from there was a whimsical children's story that still makes me giggle every time I read it. Maybe it's only fit to read to the grandchildren, but what a delight it was to write it. And I imagine God delighting in my delight, like I take joy in the joy of my grandchildren.

A keynote speaker and author I once heard at a writing conference called himself an intuitive writer. He related how, during the writing of one of his novels, an essential character decided to get up and leave the book three-quarters of the way in. It completely changed the trajectory of the story.

I LOVE THAT!!

I love the unpredictability and the surprise. Just when you think you're going one way, something happens to make the story change. It's unexpected, and brilliant as a firework. Like the one tiny brush stroke that completely changes a portrait.

Maybe you are a planner. You enjoy the outlines and the method. Like the methodical painter, your portraits are beautiful and full of wonderful details that delight your Creator.

Or maybe your heart sings when you have no plan and no boundaries. You too delight your Creator with your unique, surprising, and beautiful portraits. 

I think we are all one-of-a-kind creations of our Creator, created to create works of art for His glory, His delight, His purpose. And how wonderful to be able to do it in a way that makes our hearts sing.    

~~~~~

Photo by Pixabay

Today Joy writes from her home in Edmonton, where she will be living for nine more days before moving with The Cowboy to their new home in the country. You can find her Joy-infused view of the world at Scraps of Joy. 

A Holy Work by Joy Bailey

"Your work and my work is to be holy. 

That means we are to set it apart so that 

we may honour God in what we do."

Jerram Barrs

https://www.cslewisinstitute.org/webfm_send/461

~~~~~

Several years ago when I considered starting a blog, I struggled with the purpose of it. What would I write? Who would ever read it? There were so many blogs out there already, and I had nothing new or weighty to say. I'm not a Biblical teacher or preacher of the Gospel. I'm not a 'How-To' kind of explainer. I don't write devotionals. (I don't even like reading them - gasp!)

I just wanted to write and hone my craft. To use the gift God had given me and be useful to Him.

It was a stop-in-my-tracks spotlight from heaven when I sensed the Lord tell me that He didn't want me to be a Biblical teacher or preacher of the Gospel. He didn't want me to write devotionals. He didn't even want me to write with a specific purpose. He wanted me to be me.

"People need YOU. They need Joy. Use your words to give them the YOU I created you to be."

How freeing! How absolutely thrilling. And how profound and humbling to realize that He could use me just as I am.

When I write, whatever I write, I'm being faithful to who God made me. And the Holy Spirit within me is a constant Presence, helping me choose the right words, what to leave in and what to take out. Ideas that seem to come out of nowhere are, of course, whispers from Holy Spirit. The path of my day and seeming coincidental encounters and occurrences that find their way into my writing are not fate or a stroke of luck. He is in it all because He is my Guide. He is even there to nudge me on when I'm ready to give up.

It is a holy work. And I don't have to be someone I'm not to do it.

~~~~~

Photo by Megan Ruth on Unsplash

It's a busy month for Joy and The Cowboy as they make final preparations to move to their newly built home in the country, where a 'really big room' with lots of natural light has been set aside for Joy's beloved library and writing space. Find more of her Joy-infused writing at Scraps of Joy.

Busy, Blessed, and Grateful by Joylene M Bailey

 

image from Pixabay

A few nights ago, I woke up at 3 a.m. and began thinking about this blog post.

How was my pandemic?

My brain percolated with all the ways God had blessed us through two years of worldwide upheaval. The thoughts came so fast and furiously that I finally got up, crossed the hall to my study, and in the light of a single lamp casting a warm glow into the room, I jotted three pages of blessings.

Three pages! When I counted the bullet points, they added up to 45 blessings.

Don't worry, I won't list them all here. But I will highlight three significant and transformative ones.

Creating Community in Isolation   

As lockdowns were put in place and everybody was isolating, I felt urged to encourage those who may be feeling afraid, lonely, or hopeless. My creativity kicked into gear and before I knew it, I was writing two blog posts a week. I called them my Tea-Time posts, where I welcomed people for virtual tea, treats, and a visit. Not many commented, but according to my stats, I had visits from around the world. If you're interested, here is one of those posts.  

Creativity kicked into gear some more when it became clear that our children and grandchildren, from one and two provinces away, wouldn't be able to come for Christmas 2020 as planned. In my disappointment, my eyes rested on a long-legged snowman that The Cowboy had given me. Suddenly he had a name - Jubal - and a pet reindeer named Reggie. Jubal and Reggie got into many predicaments, and every day for more than a month there was a new Jubal story sent to the grandkids. I had so much fun I almost forgot that our home would be quiet over Christmas. (click here to hear about some of Jubal's predicaments)

God used my creativity to keep me busy and joyful when I could have been down in the dumps. He is so good!

Building a Dream   

Just before Covid hit, plans for the home we'd been dreaming and designing for so long were finally done. The builder was ready to go into the ground. And then ... suddenly people were in isolation, tradesmen opted to take government assistance rather than go to work, supplies became hard to find, and prices for those supplies soared. Our dream seemed dead. 

Until, God directed us to a new builder. His business hadn't slowed down at all, and even better, he understood our vision for the place. It wasn't just a new house for us. It was to be a place of sanctuary for others. "Built for us, with others in mind" is what we always said. Because of skyrocketing prices, we had to give up on our original design and pare down. It was either that or wait until the pandemic was over, but we felt such an urgency to move forward that we were willing to modify the dream. If we hadn't, we'd still be waiting. Instead, possession of our new home is seven weeks away. Our present home goes on the market today.

It's been hard. It's been very busy. But, every step of the way, God guided us through. He has been so good!

A Wedding Window  

We were one of many families trying to plan a wedding during a pandemic. With restrictions fluctuating and businesses trying to cope, a plan made one day would have to be completely changed the next. Nothing was guaranteed. And how do you invite your guests? Do you say you're invited but leave room to be uninvited in case restrictions change ... again. It was all so chaotic, and we felt like we were in limbo most of the time. Then, summer 2021 opened up in Alberta. We jumped on it, planning and executing a wedding in six weeks.

Babe and her fiancée got the date they wanted. An outdoor venue they loved was available and offered a covid flex plan, just in case. The photographer had one day free, and it was their day! A friend volunteered to make the wedding cake and seven dozen cupcakes, unaware that the original wedding cake-maker had fallen through just the day before. The entire six weeks was blessing after blessing.

It was a gorgeous day, enjoyed by friends and family, and blessed with good health for everyone, even weeks later. The very next month, restrictions closed in again. It was almost as though God had made sure restrictions were lifted just for our wedding.  

How good God is!

~~~~~

Yes, there have been hard times over these last two years, both personally and globally. But I choose to count my blessings - 45 so far, and those are just the ones I jotted down in the middle of the night.

God is so good, and I am grateful.

~~~~~

Joy and The Cowboy will live in Edmonton for seven more weeks before moving to their new home in the country, which they've named The Cleft.

Find more of her joy-infused writing at Scraps of Joy.

Seraphina - Mistress of the House by Joylene M Bailey

 

That does it, now I've seen everything. It's not enough that our rooms are full to the rafters. Now this Roman senator, Marcus Metellus, has barged in, demanding the best room in the house. Benjamin told him we were full, but the loudmouth doesn't listen. He ordered his servant boy to carry in carpets and tapestries, to the room at the top of the house. I believe he was called Julius. The poor boy looks half starved. And oy, that ragged tunic! 

Well, what can we do? When a Roman Senator commands, we must bow and obey. I'm sure our leaders could have handled this census on our own. But no, they must constantly check up on us. 

I tell you though, when I saw young Julius cower as Marcus's hand raised to strike him, I stepped in. Yes, I did. Senator or no senator. I received a dark look from Mr. High and Mighty for my impertinence, oh yes I did. But I didn't back down. The poor motherless boy!

Now, Abigail, quick run up and kindly ask Jacob to move his family in with Efren, Ruth and their children. Ach, so crowded they will be! But they will understand. I'm sure they've heard the commotion.

My daughter, Abigail. She is obedient and kind. Such a help to me, though she is only ten. And to have your help now too, Miriam. I cannot thank you enough. Will you make the dough for six more loaves? There are eight in the oven, but we'll need more now that his highness has arrived.

And the stew ... well it will have to stretch. Mmmm ... it is tasty!

To think I didn't even know I had a relative named Miriam until three days ago. Such unexpected times. Two other relatives showed up some weeks past: Joseph from Nazareth and his young wife Mary, who is now heavy with child. She is due any time, poor child. I could not turn them away, and gave them my best guest room, but as more relatives arrived, I've had to move the two of them to make room for nine more. And so, they've ended up in the cleanest corner of the stable. I see I'll have to find another stable corner for young Julius.

Oy! Look at the poor boy, his arms the size of my broom handle. And why does he insist on wearing that ratty cloak about his neck? He keeps tripping on it.

Levi!

Levi! Help Julius carry his load up those stairs, now!

I have no idea where my other sons are. Thankfully, Levi is always hanging about.

Here, Miriam, set aside a bowl of stew and half a loaf for young Julius before we serve his lordship, for I'm quite sure he is not a sharing sort of man.

Now, I'm going to set a pot of water to heat. That young Julius needs a good scrubbing, and I think Levi can do with one less tunic. 

*******

Miriam, there you are. Thank you for cleaning up and getting things ready for tomorrow. It will get busy before sunrise.

I tell you, getting young Julius washed up was a chore. In the end, he was glad to be clean. And he thanked me over and over for the tunic. His ratty cloak, on the other hand. Ach, what a fight! He wouldn't part with it. Apparently, it was his father's, given to the boy as the father lay dying. After all, it's a boy's last memory of his father and so I agreed not to throw it on the dung heap. I washed it instead. What a job that was! And do you know, it wasn't as ratty as I first thought. It's drying there, by the fire.  

And here is where we will put our bedrolls. Yours, mine, and Abigail's. The last bit of space in the house not occupied by sleeping creatures. And that is some noisy sleeping creature on the top floor, is it not?

What's this? Young Julius, what is it?

Oy, oy! Miriam, get up and put a pot of water to boil. Mary's time has come. Abigail, hand me my birthing kit there, then help Miriam tend the fire. Come, Julius. Show me.

*******

Such a sweet baby boy, Miriam. Something quite special about him. Julius kept to his corner until the baby was swaddled and then he couldn't resist holding him. I tell you, that baby has a hold on young Julius. Do you know what he said to me? "I think he loves me." Bless his heart, the poor motherless boy. When I was done cleaning up, I looked up to see that he had covered Mary with his cloak, fresh and dry from the fire. 

Well.

They're all sleeping now, even young--Oy!

What's this? Abigail, go get your father. Tell him there are a bunch of ruffians at the door. Shepherds, I think. What on earth are they doing here? They're going to wake the whole household. 

Are we to get no rest tonight?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was drawn to write this story by two accounts of life around the time Jesus was born. One article described how it would have been more likely that Joseph found shelter with relatives rather than looking for an inn. After all, it was his ancestral home. This led me to research what a house would have looked like back then, and I discovered that the ground level of the house usually housed a small stable, where the family animals were kept. The other article I read theorized that Joseph and Mary actually arrived in Bethlehem some time before the birth of Jesus. They reference Luke 2:6 - While they were there, the time came for her to give birth. 

With these thoughts in mind, I started wondering what it would have been like for the mistress of a house during the time of the census. Busy, crowded, and with little choice but to welcome relatives needing shelter. Seraphina (which, incidentally, means fiery) is so busy hosting and mothering in her loving home that she misses the significance of the birth of Jesus. But poor, orphaned, Gentile Julius does not.

Merry Christmas, all!

Joy

Featured Photo from Pixabay

Self-Talk by Joylene M. Bailey

As I thought about the theme for this month, two stories from my past came to mind.

1.  Back in my childhood I did a Royal Conservatory of Music piano exam every other year.  They were terrifying for me, but eventually I figured out a way to power through the fear.  I would tell myself, “It’s only 20 minutes out of my WHOLE LIFE.”  It made the experience less daunting somehow.

2.  Years ago at a little country school, I got into conversation with 5 year old Ryan.  He told me that one day when the bus had dropped him off at his home, there was nobody there.  It scared him and he wanted to cry.  “But I thought, there’s no use crying,” he said, “So I decided to sit on the step and wait.”  I marveled at his thought process.

When facing fear, I do a lot of self-talk.

You can do this.   

It’s a learning process and it’s okay to make mistakes.

God gifted you to write so WRITE! and let Him worry about what to do with it.

Eventually my self-talk becomes prayer talk.  I tell God what’s got me worked up, ask Him for help and direction and that I would know He is present.  Scripture often comes to mind that encourages me on.   

I was nervous sitting down to write my first blog post for Inscribe Writers Online.  After all, who am I?  Why would anybody be interested in anything I had to write?

Then I read some of the other blog posts for this month and was comforted to see I wasn’t the only one. You all encouraged me.  Thank you!  I will use some of your comments for my self-talk next time I need to push through my fears.

If you’re looking for some inspiration for your own self-talk, here are a few great quotes to get you started:

“The best way out is always through.”  Robert Frost

“Each of us must confront our own fears, must come face to face with them. How we handle our fears will determine where we go with the rest of our lives. To experience adventure or to be limited by the fear of it.”  Judy Blume

“Fear doesn’t go away.  The warrior and the artist live by the same code of necessity, which dictates that the battle must be fought anew every day.”  Steven Pressfield

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal, it is the courage to continue that counts.”  Winston Churchill

“People who don’t take risks generally make about two big mistakes a year. People who do take risks generally make about two big mistakes a year.”  Peter Drucker

“I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that don’t work.”  Thomas Edison

“I am able to do all things through Him who strengthens me.”

Phil. 4:13 (HCSB)

“For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but of power and of love and of calm and well-balanced mind and discipline and self-control.”

2 Tim. 1:7 (AMP)

“As Christian writers we have no excuse for letting fear stifle the words we are called to write.”  Sheila Webster