One Toe Step At a Time! By Alan Anderson

“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well” (Psalm 139: 13, 14).

A small step in my writing life was not the often-termed “one step at a time.”  My small step was more of a “toe step at a time.”  I had to learn when I was young to make my way in the world by going to school.  As an introvert I would rather keep my distance from the world.  During my years at school, both elementary and high school, my world was loud and crowded.  A lot of my peers were loud, aggressive and emotionally draining.  Crowds were not and are not my scene.

In a twist of irony my first “toe step” of my writing was when in my first year of high school I had to present an oral report to my class.  First I had to write the report then, to my horror, I had to read it in front of my class of peers.  I remember trying to convince my teacher that this was something I didn’t want to do.  He didn’t agree.  I had to do it, shaky knees and all!  I’m not kidding about the shaky knees!

While I was presenting my report I was standing by the teacher’s desk and I kept hearing a tap-tap-tap noise.  My teacher politely said, “Alan, perhaps you could step back a bit from the desk.”  To my amazement the tapping stopped right away.  “Oh boy,” I thought to myself, “I was the one doing the tapping!”  I don’t remember what the report was about.  All I remember is the tapping.

There have been many toe steps since that nerve-wracking experience.  Over the years my toe steps have indeed included a number of full steps.  These full steps all surround the growth in my love for writing.  Certainly, I guess due to my cautious nature, most of my steps have been small.

When I put these small steps together I see a lot of ground has been covered.  This includes fifteen years of pastoral ministry and a whole bunch of sermons written.  With writing then preaching the sermons I was taught by God’s people about encouragement and rejection.  Rejection is not failure.  It is an aid to growth for us as writers.

It has taken me literally decades to accept that God “knit me together” to be a writer.  Even while in my mother’s womb, I was being formed by God for a purpose.  It has been approximately forty-eight years since I heard the “tapping” from my class report.  The tapping has turned to praising. Praising the One who gave me the gift of writing one "toe step at a time!"

Blog: ScarredJoy@wordpress.com

It's all about the Shoes! … by Jocelyn Faire

The concept of The Journey has intrigued me for the past decade. Foot shots in over a dozen countries have been a way for me to keep track of the pilgrimage and to say: I was here, I have walked in this place. 

Any journey of significance begins with the step of daring to dream, followed closely by the courage step. Courage is what ties up the laces of desire's boots to give stability to wavering ankles.                                                
Those boots get us to walk on the path we have been called to, or the path that has chosen us. 
While the Psalm 37 tells us that "the steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord," we still have to pay heed to those orders and get up off the chair and move, or pick up the pen to write, or sign up for that class.
In 2009 after a series of events in life, I began to pursue a long time dream to live in another country.  What began as a longing to relocate to Australia, needed the courage to make the inquiries, to pursue the goal and file the paperwork. And that pursuing of a dream has changed my life to help me realize that I could do it. While in the land down under, I took my first writing course. 
I realize relocating countries is a major step, and many smaller steps are needed to make that happen. Life is full of daily decisions to choose courage, to choose to conquer the fear that would hold us back. 

It's all about the shoes …

Cement Blocks

Cement blocks, ill fitting shoes

Doubt on the left

Fear on the right

Laced with guilt

It is hard to walk

Harder to dance

Impossible to fly

   Barefoot she skipped ahead.

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage.  Anaïs Nin       

Cement Blocks was previously printed in my May 2014 blog.

Jocelyn is author of Who is Talking Out of My Head?  and blogs at

http://whoistalking.wordpress.com 

It's All Part of the Dance - Joylene M. Bailey

I’ve done it before. Taking steps in the wrong direction, which eventually helped me to make a giant leap in the right direction.

When I was 15 I started dating a boy who turned out not to be the right one for me. We dated for two years before I finally surrendered myself to that fact.

(I have a tendency to continue to give things the benefit of the doubt long after all the warning signs are there.)

I started dating my husband when I was 17, and by then I knew exactly what I didn’t want. And he wasn’t what I didn’t want!

That is to say, he was exactly what I needed.

So the steps in the wrong direction weren’t wasted. They led to a giant leap in the right direction, and enhanced my life forever.

It’s all part of the dance. A beautiful dance includes varied steps, twists, and turns. A dance consisting of steps only in one direction would not be very interesting at all.

In the last couple of years I started taking small steps towards following many of those writing promoters out there who say do this and this and this, and you will be published in 30 days, you will grow your followers, you will build your platform.

Long after the signs were there that this method would not work well for me, I finally conceded.

That final acceptance led to a giant leap in peace and contentment with myself, and writing what I love to write. I don’t think I’d have had such a giant leap in contentment unless I had taken those steps in the “wrong” direction first.

So, sometimes it’s the small steps in the “wrong” direction that lead to valuable giant leaps. Even those misplaced steps are not wasted. And who can say if they really were misplaced?

Maybe they were just part of the dance.

Joylene writes from her home in Edmonton where she lives with her husband, who doesn't dance, but cooks like a Baryshnikov! She blogs at Scraps of Joy.









Photo credits:
silhouette
photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30595068@N06/28069443336">The Waltz</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/">(license)</a>


steps
photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/14113765@N00/5013143266">I'm Confused</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/">(license)</a>

leap
photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/122495188@N08/26579720771">...through the purple flame...</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/">(license)</a>

A Small Step, A Last Trip - by Gloria Guest

*Hello everyone. My apologies for forgetting to post yesterday. Upon thinking if I had anything at all to contribute to the subject of One Small Step I decided to share a small piece I wrote this past winter when I actually took a small step and enrolled in a writing course at the U of T. This piece is loosely based on an actual event between my son and his grand-parents and turned out to be all the more poignant because Grandpa died a few weeks later at the age of 96, making this truly his Last Trip. I hope you enjoy it and my small attempt at capturing a moment. And yes, small steps and big steps have been a part of my writing journey in the past but right now I find it most important to concentrate on the steps I can take now and so I hope to continue on this fall with other writing courses from the U of T and perhaps an Editing class from Simon Fraser University.

Last Trip

“Grandpa it’s time to go home.”

He shuffles his bag of bones body in his chair but gives no response.

“Heh Grandpa,” I repeat louder. “ I have to take you back. I have cows to feed.” I’d brought him out of the nursing home to visit grandma who lives in a different nursing home an hour away. It was against my better judgement to bring a ninety-six year old man on a road trip but how can you say no to two old people who may never see each other again?

At the mention of the word ‘cows’ grandpa’s almost sightless eyes meet mine; two grey, lifeless fish floating in a murky pool.

‘Hmph.’

I feel my impatience rise. I change tactics.

“Grandma,” I say loud enough for her to hear as her purple, shawl covered back is turned to me, tidying up her over stuffed room. “Grandpa needs to go back now.”

She turns her head. Her wrinkled neck folds in on itself like an old accordion that grandpa used to play in church.

 “Oh Evan. You’re still here? Oh….well I thought maybe Grandpa could…. spend the night?” Is that a blush creeping across her pink rouged face? I find myself surprised.  Well, what the heck, maybe old people do still think of one another in that way. Still the very thought…sort of makes my stomach lurch a bit. I shake my head to rid the thoughts.

Grandpa beside the old house where he was born on the farm

“Grandma,” I try again, a little gentler this time.  “He can’t. They’re expecting him back at the home by supper time.”

“I’m staying,” Grandpa speaks  from his encampment in the corner. Sitting Bull, is all I can think. And grandma’s renewed passions haven’t helped either.

“Well, he’s not a prisoner there is he?” Grandma chimes in, her voice shaking slightly as it does when she’s feeling some indignity.  “I mean, he does have a choice doesn’t he?”

Great, I think. Now I’m being ganged up on by two geriatrics. This could go on and on. I’ll never get out of here. Already I can hear the late night bellows of the cattle as I show up late to roll out the bales.