What do you hear? by Lorilee Guenter

Birdsong, creaky floors, snippets of conversation, rustling leaves. Sounds abound, giving depth to life. Do you hear them? 

A number of years ago an advertisement featured a person asking: "can you hear me?" "Can you hear me now?" Even in many unexpected places we are connected. This past weekend, my girls and I were texting while hiking through a northern forest. We could have carried on a phone conversation taking us away from the forest while still surrounded by trees. We have a choice what we listen to and what we block out. 

Our conversations add to the hum of life. Just as we choose what we listen to, we choose what we contribute. Our voice can add to the symphony of sound or it can detract from it. When I played in a concert band, I needed to know my part and I needed to listen to the conductor while being aware of the other instruments. I could know my part well and add noise if I was out of tune or out of tempo. Too loud or too quiet and the whole became unbalanced. The most important person to pay attention to in a band is the conductor. They tie the pieces together. 

Listening increases the impact of our part. We choose what we listen to and what we block out. We can listen to the Holy Spirit as He conducts the symphony of life, or we can let distractions pull our attention away. He sees the whole just as the conductor of the symphony sees each part. If we let Him give us our cues then our words, our voice is infused with His power. If not we become part of the background noise adding to the distractions of life. 

The Holy Spirit asks: "can you hear me? Will you listen?" Our best answer is: "yes Lord, I hear you. It only comes when we silence the distractions and enter into conversation with Him. Then our voices, shown in our art and our life, sing out reflecting His vision. Some of us will play a solo, some harmony, all part of the song of life.

Guest Post - The Clarity of God's Whisper by Wally Pohlmann

Walking the game trails in the hills of the Okanagan valley, I had “jumped” several deer. I was only able to gain a glimpse of my prey as they casually sauntered away.

There was no indication they were there, no sound that I heard before they decided to leave my presence. They had been aware of me for a while, I was sure, staying put until I got too close.

I had a problem. I was loud, and the trails were covered with small broken branches, dry pine needles, and leaves from the low bush. On some of the hillsides, the rocks seemed to constantly fall down the slope, gathering friends along the way, loudly welcoming my arrival. I was so loud I wondered if I could ever get close enough to the game I chased when all I heard were my own footsteps and the scrape of branches on my clothes. It was true the rocks and trees can cry out. They shouted about my presence to every deer in the area as I walked, climbed, and stumbled my way along the hillside.

Mid-morning, I took some time to sit on an old stump for a breather in the middle of an old clearing, cut many years before. While having a drink from the thermos I carried and a bit of cheese to eat, I watched a fog rise from the valley. The mist slowly climbed the hill towards the clearing, and I remember thinking it looked thicker than the proverbial pea soup.

As I sat on my stump this fog continued up the hill towards me until I was enveloped in the milky white of some of the thickest cloud I have ever been in. I could see, possibly, eight feet of the ground before it disappeared into the white nothingness. To move would not be wise, as I was aware of the slope and the sheer drops that accompanied my noisy walk when I could see, and at that moment I could not. So, I had another cup of coffee.

While I sat, I noticed the sounds of the morning which had followed me seemed louder, more distinct. I could not only hear the squirrel that seemed to dog my footsteps all morning, I could almost point out the branch he presently watched me from, even in the state of blindness I found myself in.

Minutes into this forced interlude I heard the footsteps of a deer coming in my direction, and even though I knew it would need to come within the eight-foot radius where I could see, I still prepared my rifle. On the steps came. My prey came closer and closer. I listened as the mule deer hesitated, then took a few more steps. I thought that if I just had arms that were ten feet long, I would be able to touch it. I did not have the arms, and I did not get a shot at the deer, as the sound of his footsteps receded. The fog lifted slowly, and I found myself once again alone in the middle of the clearing. The tracks of the deer were right there in front of me at about fifteen feet, and I had seen nothing.

This is how God has spoken to me as I have stumbled and staggered through life, as much a rookie Christian as I was a rookie hunter then. I make too much noise as I stumble around in blindness.

When I was fired, the polite term is laid off, for the first time in my life, we had two mortgages, teenage kids, and even when we cut every expense we could, we were still giving out more than we were taking in. I spent a time or two in the garage making more noise, again.  I tromped around in my self-pity, frustration, and anger. “Why me?” I prayed, loudly. “I considered, and I took the risk I thought you were asking me to take, and now what will I do?” I yelled a lot, and then I fell into a deep, dark hole. I stopped yelling in the garage and began the noisy outcry called depression. The noise I speak of is the constant buzz of a mosquito in one’s ear. It was made up of whining, crying, bargaining, and negotiating with God about what I thought should now happen since God hadn’t held up His part of the bargain I thought we had entered into, all wrapped up in a neat package called “What now?”

I was once again on the hunt, but everything I tried was spooked before I could even get my sights on it as I traipsed around in my mind. And then it happened. I sat on another stump and watched the fog once again roll in until I could no longer see anything, but it was then that the noises became defined. I could no longer move. I simply had to sit quietly until this fog lifted and I could once again proceed on my journey. But it was also in that moment that I heard God’s voice. He approached, just as the sound of that deer’s footfalls suddenly made their appearance and grew louder and clearer until I felt I could reach out and touch Him.

I still make too much noise. I walk too loudly and scrape through the bushes of life, announcing where I am. The stones I kick still rattle down the incline of life as I struggle to climb up. But I stop more now than I ever have, and I listen more. I find my voice is also still too loud while my whispering thoughts must sound like a prairie freight train rolling past God’s ears. So, he waits. He waits until I stop talking, stop walking with my purpose, stop stumbling around in my life so certain I know the path He has for me. That is when I can hear God give me the direction I so desperately need.

So He said, “Go forth and stand on the mountain before the Lord.” And behold, the Lord was passing by! And a great and strong wind was rending the mountains and breaking in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind. And after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. 
After the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of a gentle Blowing.                                                          1 Kings 19:11-12 (NASB)

Just as Elijah found that God is not in the windstorm, the earthquake, or the fire, but He was in the quiet whisper meant for Elijah’s ears, so too, I have found myself back on that hillside from so long ago, wrapped in the silent white of God’s presence, listening to His voice as He draws ever closer to me. When I stop to listen, and when I write, I hear, and I realize I am the windstorm, the earthquake, and the fire.

Wally Pohlmann pastors a small-town church in northern British Columbia. He enjoys hunting, golf, motorcycles, and always has time to share a coffee.

Are you still writing? by Sharon Espeseth

Yes, I’m still writing, but. . .

Are you still writing, Sharon?

When I run into friends or acquaintances I haven’t seen for a while, they often ask me, “Are you still writing, Sharon?" Then the person might refer to a story of mine they read in a certain publication. I feel,  apologetic--to them or to myself--for not having a book of my own out there.

In conversation, I may add that I write a blog for InScribe Writer’s Online once a month. That doesn’t seem like much, but it is an accumulation of work. The present period of my life has been busy, but then each decade of life has had its time gobblers. That’s what I’ve always told myself. But I come up defenceless, against Julia Cameron’s chapter, “The Time Lie” in the Right to Write.

Cameron claims, “The myth that we must have ‘time'--more time--in order to create is a myth that keeps us from using the time we do have. If we are forever yearning for ‘more,’ we are forever discounting what is offered.” Single parenting, along with full-time teaching and full-time writing, she says, taught her “to grab for time to write instead of wait for time.” As prolific as Ms. Cameron is in several art forms, she has learned to live beyond the convenience of the “'if-I-had-time’ lie.” (pp. 14-15)

But I write not to criticize myself, but to celebrate! 

Today, being November 9th when I’m writing, I am celebrating my birthday and I am also celebrating what Susan Barclay referred to as my “oeuvre." Today's blog is my 82nd blog on IWO. I have written, I believe, each month since I began on June 10, 2012, except for two months when I was ill.

Celebration: Photo by Frame Harirak of Unsplash

I do have a body of work. My blogs above, for example, all 82 of them, but what should I do with them? I wonder. I have stories published in six anthologies.

Stories in Six Anthologies

I have five hefty binders filled with my stories, anecdotes, articles and poems that have been published in Western Producer, Grainews, Edmonton Journal, Western Catholic Report--which no longer exists, Devo’zine, and other places. I worked for four years with Alberta Distance Learning, where I worked on developing primary course material. I have a box with stories that I hope to develop into a memoir. And I have a start on a devotional book for writers.

Potential Memoir

Where did all these ideas come from? 

Julia Cameron, in The Right to Write, wrote a chapter called, “Let Yourself Listen.” She talks about listening rather than speaking, about getting things down on paper rather than straining to think things up. “Julia,” one of my favourite writers on writing, claims that writing then becomes "the art of taking dictation rather than giving it.”

Listening: Photo by Luve Christian of Unsplash

When one's writing becomes an act of listening rather than an act of speaking, “. . . a great deal of the ego goes out of it.” We become less self-conscious about our writing. We write with more ease. And we become “the vehicle of self-expression.” I like the conclusion to her chapter on listening: “When we are just the vehicle, the storyteller and not the point of the story, we often write very well--we certainly write more easily.” (pp. 10-11)

I try to listen before I write. Sometimes it’s a quote I’ve read, a book I’m reading, a discussion I’ve had with a friend or writing buddy. I scratch things down in my notebook. Then I hear something else and it connects to what I’ve just discovered or a theme I keep bumping into. A blog, devotional or an article may start to gel. It’s  not quite set, but I pick up my pen or settle down at the keyboard and I begin to write. At that point, I might hear, or feel,"This is the way. Write about it."


Adjustments and Moving Forward in Faith and Writing

Hank (aka Dad and Pap) hanging out with some of the crew

Some of you know my husband has been ill the last few years, so the two of us continue to make adjustments to our lives and habits. While Hank was in hospital recently, my early morning writing and devotional time didn’t work. Now, he’s home and feeling somewhat better. Mornings allow a more reflective pace. I’ll try again to write and use my time wisely, while remaining mindful that I am a caregiver and a writer.

I’ve been reading and marking up my copy of The Right to Write, as far as I’ve read. I knew I wanted to refer to this book in my blog. Previously, The Artist’s Way, also by Julia Cameron, energized my writing. Following the exercises and activities helped me get back into writing then. I plan to do the same with this book.

For me, “Julia’s" writing provides spiritual insights as well as writing perspective. Devotional time works well for me when I read the Bible, pray and write. Writing often becomes prayer and prayer often turns into writing.

Closing Thought: “Few souls understand what God would accomplish in them if they were to abandon themselves unreservedly to him and if they were to allow his grace to mould them accordingly.” St. Ignatius of Loyola (1491-1556)

May it be so, Lord. May it be so.

How God Speaks (to Marnie Pohlmann)

God has spoken to me since I was a child. From the time He sat with me at a bonfire at Bible Camp to the times I felt His arms around me when evil came to call in the dark night, I have known His presence.

Perhaps it is the untainted trust of childhood or the smallness of a child’s world that makes believing in God and hearing Him so much easier than it is as an adult. Adults are surrounded by such differing ideas, various values, and a multitude of morals. The doubts and questions that must be answered to be firm in one’s own beliefs are not at all like the simple faith of a child.

As much as I continue to know God’s presence in my life, I’m not as good at simply enjoying His company and conversing with Him, as I once was. Yet God does still speak to me about faith, life, and, maybe, especially about writing.

I have continued to learn how God speaks to me, as well as others, in today’s noise-infused world in which we must “adult” whether we want to or not. I am not always paying attention or listening, though. And sometimes I have “selective hearing” where I choose what parts of God’s message I want to hear and what parts I will ignore. Trust me, though, when I tell you that selective hearing never bodes well for me.

So how does God speak to me?

First and foremost, God speaks to me through His Word. Reading Scripture makes God’s voice audible. And yet the words on the surface of the page don’t always mean what we might think they mean. Studying Scripture and the meaning behind the words is what truly makes God’s voice loud and clear. Unmistakable. Compelling.

For example, when questioning whether I could write, whether I should write, and even more so, what I could/should write, God spoke to me through Psalm 26, specifically verse 7.

“⁶ I will wash mine hands in innocency: so will I compass thine altar, O Lord:

⁷ That I may publish with the voice of thanksgiving, and tell of all thy wondrous works.

⁸ Lord, I have loved the habitation of thy house, and the place where thine honour dwelleth.” (KJV)

Secondly, I hear God’s voice when being taught, whether by reading or listening to wise Christians expound on God’s Word, God’s character, and God’s actions.

One such time was when I was asked to help a leader with a skit at a women’s meeting. If I remember correctly, the skit was about how God prompted a lady to consider another’s needs and she said, “I will pray for that need.” Now, we all know prayer is important, but sometimes God wants us to do more than pray, perhaps do something more practical and earthly. In time the lady dies and meets God in Heaven, where He hands her a crown decorated with jewels which He explains were set in place as a reward for her actions on earth. The lady is pleased, but when noticing more jewels on a table, she asks God, “What are those jewels for?” He answers, “Oh, those were for your crown, too, but you did not take advantage of the opportunities when I prompted you.”

What I learned through that skit was when God is prompting me to write something, whether or not I think it is of any value or will make it out of my journal for others to read, I need to write. I am called to write. I am responsible to act, and God will use my writing as He pleases. Just thinking about it is not enough when God prompts me to write. (Yes, dear hubby and friends, I hear what your facial expressions are saying!)

Linked to that experience was a the time I was teaching a Sunday School class of teenagers about gifts and talents. One question a musically talented girl asked was, “If I don’t use the talent that God gifted me with, or if I don’t use it in the way God asks me to, will I lose it?” The ‘use it or lose it’ fear

that we guilt ourselves with made me stop and consider. At the time I had decided I would write anything but Christian content, and certainly not share anything of my own life. The girl’s question made me realize that while I didn’t think God would stop me from writing, not using His gift to me in the way He asked would lessen jewels set aside for my crown. Scripture says we will lay our crowns at Christ’s feet, and I would like my gift to Him to be worthy of Him, not crafted by my own feeble works.

Perhaps the way God speaks to me most often is through my own writing. As I write in my journal or prepare an article to share, I hear God teaching me, helping me to make sense of my thoughts and solidify my beliefs. Even as I go back to read some of my own blog posts of the past couple years, I am often amazed at words I wrote and realize a new depth of God’s character or recognize how He has again proven another truth in recent days.

God has also used family and friends, dreams, and circumstances to talk to me. And like the Bereans of Bible times, I must be careful to discern these messages in the light of Scripture to determine whether I am truly hearing God’s voice and not simply my own wants and desires. I continue to learn to recognize my Shepherd’s voice. I continue to listen to His message, and ultimately to respond with action.

Does God speak to you in these ways as well?

     What does God speak to you about?

          How well do you listen to God’s message or prompting?               What is your response when you hear God's voice?

*photos courtesy of www.Pixabay.com CCO license

Marnie Pohlmann strives to listen and act on God's writing prompts while working and ministering in northern BC. Read more about God's presence in Marnie's life at her blog, Phosphorescent.

Mending Hearts & Loving People by Alan Anderson

The writing prompt question for this month’s blog post is an interesting one. It asks, “In what way do your writing, speaking, music, publishing and/or other ministries bring hope and redemption to others?”

I have spent a lot of my ministry or work years with people who are grieving a loss, seriously ill and those who are dying. I call them my teachers. I now include them in my writing. I believe I’ve written about them in this blog before.

I protect the privacy of my teachers by being cautious with how I write about my experiences with them. If I use names they are fictitious. I may also combine their stories with others or summarize them.

For the most part my teachers are like me, ordinary people. Like me they are not world famous and they seem to be content with that. They had childhoods, attended school, grew up, worked, raised families and some reached a retirement stage in life. In time their health was compromised and life experienced a major adjustment.

As my teachers came to trust me I was allowed into their lives to hear their stories. Their stories are real. They are stories glowing with pride as they talk about their families. They are stories of remorse as they mention regrets. Stories that include the stinging pain of loved ones no longer with us. My teachers remind me through their stories that life is precious and is to be savored.

My approach when serving people is to come as an ambassador of God’s love. I have always given my teachers a piece of my heart. To approach them as if I want to fix them would come short of showing compassion. My teachers have primarily been people who are broken in some way. I come alongside them as one also broken, yet living in hope.

I summarize my writing and work/ministry by one simple phrase. My phrase is “Touched by grief and held by hope.” It identifies me with other broken people. I have experienced grief. I live embraced by hope. This phrase found me after years of coming alongside people and listening to them.

Listening to hurting people is an act of healing that brings hope. I don’t mean it cures them from their suffering. It allows them to know someone cares about the pain in their hearts. Through the years a number of my teachers have said, “thank you for listening.” That “thank you” is a beautiful expression from someone perhaps lonely or held captive by suffering.

I cannot think about my teachers without being emotional. They taught me how to be present, to truly listen without the need to speak. I tell myself if I don’t listen to people, I don’t have the right to speak into their lives.

Do you have teachers in your life? Who are they? Relish them. Hold them close to your hopeful heart. Let them know how much you appreciate and love them. They will accept this with grace.

Beware of taking your teachers for granted. Realize that they may not always be with you. Treasure your time with them. These are the people who make the world a better place. Be one of them. That will be your greatest gift to them.

Blog: scarredjoy.wordpress.com