Ruminating about Roots: Why I Write - Ruth L. Snyder

According to the calendar, it's Spring. In Alberta, that means it could be warm enough outside for the snow to melt into puddles, but also cold enough for fresh snow and freezing wind, still making it feel like Winter. When I was younger, we used to joke that Alberta is the only place you can slip on ice, fall into a mud puddle, and get up and dust yourself off—because the weather changes so quickly in the Spring.

We do know that warmer weather will come to stay sooner or later (Genesis 8:22). Then we will see shoots of green pushing through the sod, pussy willows, and fragile crocus blooms. Everything that grows has roots.

"Roots have two main roles—anchoring street trees in the ground and collecting minerals, oxygen and moisture to supply the tree." (citygreen.com/solutions/managing-tree-roots/)

In other words, roots provide a strong base from which a plant can grow and roots also enable the plant to gather what it needs to grow. As I thought about it, the reasons we write are like roots. Having a clear defined reason to write provides a strong base for our writing. Knowing why we are writing also enables us to sort through material that comes our way and select only those facts, anecdotes, and explanations that will help our story or article grow, blossom, and bless. If we are unclear about why we are writing, we end up with writing that is rambling and ineffective.

This week my husband and I had the opportunity to watch I Can Only Imagine, the story behind the popular song by MercyMe.

The quote that jumped out at me was, "Write about it—Let that pain become your inspiration." 

My first published piece, Gifts From a Loving God, shared how God led my husband and me through infertility and a miscarriage to the place where we adopted our children. My book, Twitter Decoded: Tips and Tools for Authors, shows writers how to use social media and do it without using up precious time they need for writing.

God has been showing me that lately I have been hiding my pain. I choose not to be authentic, because it hurts too much. The problem is, when I hide my pain, my writing comes across as trite and phoney. People around me are hurting. They are hungry for authentic words. The reason I write is to give hope. God wants to use my pain to minister to others:

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ" (2 Corinthians 1:3-5).

I'm working on sharing and being more authentic in my relationships and my writing.

What is God teaching you? Why do you write? Please share in the comments below.

FYI: I wrote this post in a hotel room with four kids around me. Frequent interruptions, a pillow fight, and kids asking me when I would be done.

Ruth and her husband are enjoying the transition to grandparenthood, are working through the struggles of transitioning their twins, who have developmental delays, into the adult world, and are continuing to encourage all five of their kids to grow in grace.

Rose-Coloured Glasses by Marnie Pohlmann

Since last January when the year’s lists of prompts for this blog were shared, I have been dreading this month. The prompt is to choose a memory connected to our writing, and tell how it is a memorial for us, which is an appropriate subject for the month we commemorate Remembrance Day. However, memories are difficult for me. Childhood trauma buried most good recollections along with bad. As an older teen, some of those good memories began to return, as did flashbacks of pain. Stories told by my siblings also raised reminiscences, however good times were often bracketed by confusion. So while I could try to tell a story of how books and writing provided escape from pain, I believe it’s more helpful this month to share that God heals pain.

Shared on Facebook recently was a meme with a picture of blankets thrown over a table and chairs to make a tent. The sentiment was that as an adult we want to go back to those simple days of playing in such a shelter. I was reminded that seeing my own children play under the dining table many years ago, and not recognizing what they were very naturally doing, was the impetus for me to focus on healing from my past. And so began a journey from darkness, through memories, to learning to wear rose-coloured glasses.

If you read my post last month, you may wonder how a girl who sees most situations as glass half-empty can also wear rose-coloured glasses, but I don’t mean seeing life outside of reality. My rose-coloured glasses are God-given, developed by building memorials.

I love memorials! They are different from memories. Memorials are monuments of when we recognize God at work. Memorials can be built in celebration or in the midst of troubles, or even in the blank spaces of memory - because God is sovereign in all these times.

A definition for memorial is “a written statement of facts presented to a sovereign,” so we can take our understanding of the facts of our past or present situation to our Sovereign God. When I write a memorial like this to God, He faithfully shows me His presence and speaks into my heart.

God’s presence makes it possible for me to see not just the pain of the past, but also the blood of Christ that redeems that pain. When we know Immanuel, “God with us,” He helps us make sense of life, providing bloodstained truth about our struggles. As we take the time to build this kind of memorial, facing the hard things and testifying to God’s work in our life, the memorials become guiding lights, shining when we again find ourselves in darkness and pain. Memorials provide Hope for God’s good plan. 

Seeing life through rose-coloured glasses does not mean ignoring pain or insisting our glass is only ever full. The frame of our glasses may be coloured by the pain we have experienced, but Christ’s blood tints the lenses through which we view life. 

Our memorials light not only our own path, though. God’s light can shine from our path into the lives of others. There has been a lot in the media lately about the effects of trauma on soldiers, first responders, and refugees. When those affected are struggling in darkness, our memorials show them there is hope. Writing is how I build memorials, knowing God can use them to light the journey of others.

So I wear God-given, bloodstained, rose-coloured glasses and write memorials of God’s work in my life.

Beyond Our Pain by Brenda J Wood

I never know what will bring on memories and tears. I start into church thinking today is a good day. Someone says hello and I dissolve into tears. A song plays on the car radio and I have to pull over because I can’t see to drive.

A part of me is gone. I am not who I was. I was a We for fifty years and now I am a Me. I’ve lost part of myself. I feel like a birch tree, bark slowly being peeled away, limbs being ripped off one by one. My better half is gone.

I feel off balance, abnormal even. Empty space surrounds me. It is the absence of my Beloved.

I slowly adjust. A large socket wrench twists at my being, turning me into a different person with excruciating slowness. And why not? Husbands and wives are one flesh. That is why recovery time is so long, so hard and so difficult. How would you feel if someone ripped off your arm or your leg, leaving a gaping hole where it once was attached?

The man said, “This is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called ‘woman', for she was taken out of man.” Genesis 2:23 - 24 NIV

That is why a man leaves his father and mother and is united to his wife, and they become one flesh.

Much of our human comfort comes from those who have been through the same things. In my case it is other widows, simply because they too have had gaping, open wounds in their innermost selves.

He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him.  Luke 10:34 (NIV)
 

And our spiritual comfort comes from the Christ…..who also experienced wounds.

He himself bore our sins” in his body on the cross, so that we might die to sins and live for righteousness; “by his wounds you have been healed."  1 Peter 2:24 (NIV)

Prayer:  Lord God, give us courage to reach beyond our own pain to encourage another. Amen.


~ Brenda J Wood

Selective Memory--Janet Sketchley

Then the chief priests and the Pharisees called a meeting of the Sanhedrin.

“What are we accomplishing?” they asked. “Here is this man performing many signs. If we let him go on like this, everyone will believe in him, and then the Romans will come and take away both our temple and our nation.” John 11:47-48, NIV*

This comes near the end of Jesus’ ministry. He’s been preaching, healing, restoring people who’ve been dead for short periods, and now He’s raised Lazarus after a four-day stay in the tomb.

Many of the people watching Him think the only way someone could do miracles like this is if God is involved. Others can’t get past their suspicions.

Then we have the chief priests and Pharisees. Yes, some are secretly impressed by Jesus, but the party line is clear: “denounce this itinerant preacher who dares rock our boat.”

They’ve recognized His claim to equality with God—and that’s a killing offense. They’ve also seen how the people love Him—and how he makes religious officialdom look bad. He doesn’t play by their rules, doesn’t buy into the monopoly they’ve built on holiness.

But there’s more: they’re afraid the brutal Roman empire will crush a perceived uprising. They’re not just scared for their cushy positions, they’re scared of their beloved nation being pasted again.

I don’t have much sympathy for their self-protection, but protecting their people sounds more noble.

They remembered the exiles, the military humiliations in the past. Now they’d achieved a form of peace under Rome, and they didn’t want anything to wreck it.

But they weren’t remembering back far enough.

What about the God who brought the Israelites out of Egypt’s slavery? The God who brought them back from exile in Babylon?

Even the God who sent them into exile in the first place because they had turned away from following Him.

What if... the leaders believed Jesus was who His words and actions claimed? God come down to His chosen people?

I know it couldn’t have happened that way. He came to die, to sacrifice Himself to buy us back. To bring healing and eternal life.

But think about it... what if they’d recognized God in their midst? Remembered what He could do? Relied on Him to do it again?

The threat of Rome wouldn’t have seemed so overwhelming if they knew God was there: God who had defeated so many of their enemies, often at incredible odds. Running to Him would be much smarter than trying to kill him.

They remembered the pain, but they didn’t remember the hope.

Aren’t we the same?

© Janet Sketchley, 2010

* THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2010 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
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For devotionals, reviews and conversation, stop by Janet Sketchley's blog, God with Us: Finding Joy.

Wounds Heal All Time - Pam Mytroen

It’s backwards but more true than the original idiom, don't you think? I am thankful that I have not suffered extreme loss, yet for my past hurts, time is merely a thin skin that covers each one.

When I was seven years old I had a cold sore on my lip. It finally began to heal and scab over. But I couldn’t leave it alone. I would pick at it until the fresh warm blood oozed out. Then it would sting all over again and the healing process would resume.

It seems that our afflictions are like that cold sore. All it takes is a memory or a touch and those old wounds start to bleed again. The gash is still there, just under the surface.

If only we could erase the pains we’ve endured and the ugly scars that remind us. Wouldn’t life be so much easier? We’d have no regrets, no flush of shame, and no painful stab at the recall of such memories.

We could wake up each day and carry on as if nothing ever happened, as if we’d never been abused or betrayed.

Ted Dekker has some wise advice that he shares through one of his characters in his novel “Kiss”.

He says, “...your history is no less important to your survival than your ability to breathe. In the end, you can only determine whether to saturate your memories with pain or with perspective.

Forgetting is not an option. I tell you the truth now; Pain was not God’s plan for this life. It is a reality, but it is not part of the plan.

“Pain or perspective. ...That’s all that’s within your control.”

It’s a difficult pill to swallow. Fresh bruises blind us. Time gives us distance from them and some perspective, yet it does not heal.

There are hurts in my life that I still do not understand. Why did God allow me to go through that awful scrape? I ask. I never did feel his presence in certain valleys. Yet that does not change God. He was there.

Someday He will guide me back through those memories with sagacity and I will become a stronger person because of the perspective He gives me.

God does not take away our memories. He does not wipe our minds clean of loss. In fact He asks us to purposely revisit those aches. He says, “Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt,” (Deuteronomy 5:15). He wants us to recall the snap of the whip on our bleeding backs? God doesn't stop there. He finishes, "and the Lord your God brought you out of there by a mighty Hand...”

The Lord wants us to remember the things of the past. He instructs the children of Israel again just before they enter the land of promise: “Remember the days of long ago.”

However, we are to focus not on the darkness, but on our Deliverer. Not on the hurt, but on the Healer.

The words of Jeremiah may resonate as he was honest in his recall of suffering. “I can never forget these awful years; ...Yet there is one ray of hope: his compassion never ends...Great is thy faithfulness” (Lamentations 3:20-23).

“That’s the point of holding onto memory,” continues Dekker, “delivery, not darkness.”

Pam Mytroen

Obedience -- Janet Sketchley

The NIV is my usual Bible of choice, but every so often I’ll pick up a different translation. Sometimes a phrase in a different version jumps out at me.

When the Apostle Paul made his final trip to Jerusalem, the Holy Spirit warned him there was trouble ahead. Paul’s friends begged him not to go, but he said, “You’re looking at this backwards. The issue in Jerusalem is not what they do to me, whether arrest or murder, but what the Master Jesus does through my obedience. Can’t you see that?” (Acts 21:13b, MSG*)

Let’s make this personal to our own lives. Whatever the stress, fear, pain, can we say “The issue isn’t what happens to me, but what the Master Jesus does through my obedience”?

What the Master Jesus does through my obedience. What will He do, if we trust Him with our circumstances, and choose to obey? After all, it’s not about us at all...it’s about Him.

*The Message MSG Copyright © 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002 by Eugene H. Peterson

© Janet Sketchley, 2008
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For devotionals, reviews and conversation, stop by Janet Sketchley's blog, God with Us: Finding Joy.

The Art of Peeling Onions by Elsie Montgomery

Ever examine an onion? An arduous art. You peel back layers. Your eyes water. Soon tears blur your vision.

Ever examine a soul? An arduous art. You peel back layers. Your eyes water. Soon tears blur your vision.

At least mine do. So I cannot . . . no, I refuse to be a counselor. Good counseling is the arduous art of peeling layers of the soul.

“Clients” seldom expect that. They come initially because relationships are breaking down. What worked for them no longer works. They want me to help them make it work again. They have no thought to change, only return to what once worked, they think. This failure must be another onion’s fault, they say.

Probing, I first discover that they have a thin skin, but hardened by exposure to dirt and little sunshine. Objective sympathy gains their confidence. Soon they tell me about themselves, about what the other person did, then what other people did. Together, we peel the layers.

Finally, without warning, somewhere deep inside under the layers, a lump appears. Is it a hard stone? Or a blob of clay? It sprays out foul odors. I realize this gave the onion its odd external shape, made it deformed on the outside. The onion rocks back and forth. It is small now, exposed and in pain.

The lump begs expression. The onion tells me this foul wound is from someone they thought loved them. They trusted this one, but trust was betrayed. This important person hurt them at the deepest place, under their layers. Both I and the onion fight tears.

At this point, clients begin resistance. I have peeled too deep. My counsel will now remind them of their pain only. I assure them it can be healed. They pull back, unsure, afraid of false promises?

I want to tell them this painful place can become a source of life. That is not what they resist. Is it change? Do they want to be a lumpy onion, with many layers and a tough skin?

They make an appointment for more counseling but they never keep it. Instead, they flee leaving the dry, transparent parchment of their layers—and me—crying.

How can the church help its members as they counsel one another? Assuming that a congregation is relating well and loving one another, this mutual sharing and caring will happen. Getting through the layers to the pain buried deep inside is difficult, yet once there, counseling often ends because the only solution to their pain is forgiveness, and forgiveness is often misunderstood.

The biblical concept of forgiveness is far from the world’s idea of “forgive and forget.” Of course God removes our sin as far as the east is from the west. He put them on Christ and refuses to hold them against us. He never brings them up even though He may allow their consequences. But He does not forget. Instead He bore the pain.

Sally cannot do that. Her church did something she considers unforgivable. She left it, but hasn’t stopped talking about it; what they did, how awful it was, how justified she is to be deeply and profoundly angry. The church apologized, asked her forgiveness. She would not grant it. What more could they do? They moved on. Sally sits and sours. Her pain and anger slowly becomes bitterness. Her friends, at least those who share her faith, now avoid her. The others add one more reason to their excuses why they are not interested in church or Christianity.

While bearing pain can be expressed as a callous ‘suck it up’ we still need that exhortation. God’s goal for us is to be like His Son, yet becoming like Jesus includes the cross. While we cannot atone for the sins of others (nor need to), when someone sins against us, He feels the pain. When Saul persecuted Christians, Jesus said, “Why are you persecuting me?” He knows. He is with us in it.

Jesus did not retaliate, fight back, point fingers. Instead, He “submitted to the Father who judges righteously” and let God take care of those who drove the nails. He suffered rather than retaliate.

Jesus did not internalize His pain either. He felt the awful sting of betrayal to its full measure, saying, “Father, forgive them. They know not what they do.”

The pain of those we counsel may not be so noble. Perhaps they have fought back. Perhaps they inflicted retaliation against their tormenter, fully realizing that the person who hurt them knew very well what they were doing. Human conflict is seldom tidy or the problem totally one-sided. No matter. The answer, though not easy, is still the same.

The pain of conflict between members of the church does require counseling, but it also requires a deep understanding of what it is that Jesus has done for us. When I peel onions, I better be thinking of how Jesus gently works with me, how He knows when to ease up, when to prob more deeply. I must also remember that while those in pain need someone to cry with them, they also need someone to challenge them. God’s solution to abuse, betrayal, abandonment, and any other pain afflicted by someone else, is eventually and always forgiveness.

© Elsie Montgomery