You know the look. You're jabbering happily along to a non-writer type and suddenly she goes into zombie mode. Her eyes glaze over, face becomes expressionless, and she starts edging away.
You should have known she wouldn't care about every minutia in the development of the interior journey of your favorite movie character . . . or of your struggles with plot development, or even your angst about the writing journey. But you went off, talking about your passions, and in that moment your best friend would have preferred Barney to your company (even though he is big, purple, sappy, and sings irritating songs).
It used to really hurt my feelings. I mean I love my friend, she loves me, and I thought we were a happy family. So why doesn't she care about what I care about?
I even got this kind of stuff from my family. I mean why didn't the kids what to hear me read the next chapter of my WIP? And why hasn't my husband read my novels? Sure he prefers football to chick flicks and biographies to romances, but shouldn't he care that my hero and heroine finally found their way past all the obstacles?
And so what if I'm sobbing at the computer? Does it really matter that the kid who got nailed by a speeding car exists only in my imagination? He's in a coma for heavens sake! Shouldn't I get a little sympathy?
Thankfully the writer's journey has taught me a few things about relationship over the last eight years. First, I now know my friends and family really can love me to pieces even if they don't want to read my latest manuscript or have a philosophical discussion about why a character responds to life as he does.
Non-writer types just don't have the capacity for all this. They love me, not my world, and want the bottom line. Am I okay? Did I sell something? Get a good (or bad) review? They care how I'm managing this crazy world called a writer's journey even though they don't want to know many details about what that looks like.
Another thing I've learned is there are strange types who don't hear voices in their heads. They never discover a whole story line in the way the gal scanning their groceries glimpses discreetly over her shoulder at the buff guy moping aisle 4. And it really does take massive amounts of effort for them to relate to those of us who do.
My husband may not read every chapter I write, but he has to put up with my brooding as I'm discovering a new character or waiting for that rejection letter or fighting writer's block. And my kids my not want to hear about what I write, but they believe I'm a writer even when I don't. Maybe all that pounding of the keyboard convinced them something real is going on and they believe it even on the days I don't.
And my friends? They give me wide berth when I'm under a deadline. Despite my neglect they believe that I really do still love them and will come back to the real world when I wrap up the one I'm creating. Until then they wait patiently for me to return to them.
The other really important thing I've learned is I have a great need for people who DO hear voices. Some of my happiest, safest places are wherever writers gather. They get me. They understand my angst. They, too, wonder about interior motivates and strange plot twists. And it's probably 4 a.m. before their eyes start to glaze over when I talk about such things.
See, while we need those weird creatures who live firmly grounded in reality, we also need a place where we make sense to our fellow sojourners.
So, my dear friends who hear voices, be patient with the non-writers in your life. Save most of that word count about the writing world for your writing buddies. Take time to develop healthy relationships in your writing community.
And the next time you go to crit group or your local ACFW chapter meeting, greet those buddies with a great big hug and a kiss from you to them.
And they'll say they love you, too.
A writer, speaker, and homeschooling mother of four, Paula Moldenhauer is passionate about God’s grace and intimacy with Jesus. Her devotional website, Soul Scents, offers a free weekly devotional and you can visit her blog at GraceReign. Paula serves as president of HIS Writers. A devoted Pride and Prejudice fan, she loves good conversation, peppermint ice cream, and walking barefoot. Her greatest desire is to be close enough to Jesus to live His fragrance.
The sun warms my face as I listen to the soft rustle of autumn leaves and the faraway bark of a dog while I sit on my back porch. I sigh in pleasure at the musty smell of leaves and the brightness of the clear blue sky. This moment of peace and tranquility is something new for me. My world has been the scream of an electric guitar playing the same lick over and over as I stifle the urge to knock on my son’s door one more time and ask him to please find some headphones. Or the mindless entertainment of the latest reality TV show that my daughter has on. But for now, all I hear are the sounds of my Creator’s music. This is a good thing, I tell myself.
I am adjusting to a new season in my life. This isn’t something that I can try on like a new pair of pants at the store and discard if I don’t like them. This season is here to stay. I’ve passed the “raising my children” season and am on to the “empty nest” season of life. No more running after a toddler to wipe his runny nose or waking up in the middle of the night to soothe a crying child. No more cleaning out the Big Wheel that someone decided to use as a toilet since he couldn’t be bothered to stop playing and make it to the bathroom. No more listening to a teen complain about the social injustices of high school or even youth group. This is a good thing, I tell myself.
I know that many women might think that I am crazy to not embrace this new season with abandon. Isn’t it the goal of every parent to have finished this stage of the race? I never thought I would feel like I was 18 again struggling with what to do with the rest of my life. I had already answered that question and now I am faced with it once more. Is this a good thing, I wonder? Now I can act on my interests and desires like writing and speaking. Things that have been carefully stuffed in the back of the closet like clothes that don’t fit anymore but are kept because we just know that someday we’ll be able to pull them out again.
So now it is someday. I will dust off my dreams and sit on the porch to spend time reading the Word and hearing from the One who made me and knows the desires of my heart. I will take joy and pleasure in seeking Him as I start this new season that is the next step on life’s journey. And while I grieve for what once was, I look forward to experiencing all that He is setting before me. Obedience will bring fresh awareness of His long-term plan. This is a good thing, I know.
Yesterday I told my youngest sons they had to write for 15 minutes or one decent paragraph, whichever came first. (Yes, I'm one of those crazy women who thinks God said, "Homeschool your children," and eventually, after peeling her hands off her ears, began a journey that has been going on for the last 13 years.)
Son #1 lamented the assignment. Nothing he had to say was interesting. He didn't want to write some old, boring stuff. It just wouldn't turn well. (Reminds me of Evangeline's post. (See below.) I'm thinking there was some serious negative self-talk going on there.)
Son #2 suddenly lit up, grabbed his pencil and wrote in his best handwriting about his favorite subject: how sharks are innocent, beautiful creatures of God and constantly misunderstood because us land lubbers (including marine biologists) are just to "pansy" (his word not mine) to get close enough to sharks to really understand them.
Now Son #1 came up with a very decent paragraph about how much hard work it's going to take him to earn enough money to get to the Bahama's with his scout troop. Son #2 wrote a few pages of impassioned words which would have continued indefinitely if I hadn't insisted math was also a subject for the day.
I'm rattling on like this because, frankly, my attitude as I sat down to write this blog was exactly like Son #1. I have nothing brilliant to say today. I don't want to waste my time writing trivial slop. I don't want to bore my readers. Why do I have to do this?
The thing is . . . once I sat down and started writing, I could feel this thing shaping up. I could feel a message in this blog that I hadn't thought about before putting my finger to the keyboard. That message sounds an awful lot like a phrase I've heard kicked around ACFW circles for years now--something like "put your bottom in chair and write." Now depending on the cultural upbringing in the particular Godly women who said this to me, the word "bottom" has been replaced with every extreme thought that is probably coming to your mind right now. But whatever your cultural sensibilities, the point is clear. Sit down. Put your fingers on the keyboard. Write.
Sometimes you'll get a decent paragraph. Other times you'll get pages of impassioned words. You might even have a few days of . . . "uh . . . I really don't know what to write today, but the sky is sure a pretty blue . . . " But unless you put that backside down and turn toward your computer screen what you'll accomplish in your writing is . . . well, nothing.
Fingers on keys ladies and gentlemen! Let's do this thing!
(And now I'm off to my laptop where there is no Internet, no enticing facebook comments, no emails from long lost friends to entice me away from my latest novel. Happy writing!)
My friend's posture was a little defensive and matched the I know what I'm talking about look he was giving me. I tried not to smile, but couldn't stop myself. I hope he didn't take it the wrong way.
"All I have to do is punch the address in and my GPS will get me there."
I had been there several times and knew the way. I had given him a detailed map, and turn by turn directions. I reassured him that I would arrive first and be waiting on the curb watching for him. We had exchanged cell phone numbers. But he was more comfortable trusting an electronic device than me and my experience.
The smile had come as I recalled a recent conversation with my brother. We chatted on the phone as he navigated his way around an unfamiliar city. His language got a little colorful as he told me he had to hang up because his GPS had given him the wrong directions and mistakenly led him to turn into a military facility. On another occasion, it had told him to make a u-turn in the middle of the interstate and take a road that wasn't there. Sometimes technology can't compete with good, old fashioned, human know-how.
Back to my friend. Would I have responded the same way had our roles been reversed? Maybe. I've been there before with my writing. I know a handful of authors, editors, and agents. I've asked the same questions other writers have been asking for centuries. I've filled notebooks with what I've learned through seminars, classes, reading, and one on one advice. Do I always put it into practice? No. I have my days when I'd rather punch in a formula regardless of what these experienced voices have to tell me. Some small part of me fights against trusting the advice of those who have been where I want to go. What if their path led them a different way and if I follow, it will take me longer to reach my destination? But what if I don't listen and find out that they knew about a construction zone that's not on the map? A detour could delay me in more ways than I can imagine.
I'm pretty good with directions, my friend arrived on time, and I was waiting for him as planned. He had looked up the address anyway, and though I didn't take it personally, I wondered why he'd choose not to listen to the voice of experience.
I'm discovering that's how it is in the writing world. I'm thankful for those who have already been to the place I want to be and are willing to give me directions. Our paths may vary, but the goal is the same - to make a difference in this world through the written word. So I'm paying attention, trying to be teachable, and holding onto the courage to take the path I feel led to take. GPS is great, but I'd rather follow the person who's already been there, done that.
I arrived home from camp Sunday night and began the arduous task of reading a week's worth of emails. It's times like these that I forget to be thankful for news and the Internet in general. The temptation to "select all" and "delete" can be overwhelming. Then something caught my eye. Someone had left a comment on a blog post I had written three years ago. Scanning down my inbox, I came across a second comment on a two year old post. Two different people found my blog while searching for specific topics, and took the time to leave a comment even though it was now old news to me. A slow smile spread across my face as God whispered a deep truth into my soul.
Only God knows how or when your words will hit their mark in the hearts of those who need to read them.
I came back from the writer's conference ready to jump in full force, and yet the busyness of summer and the call of running a ministry has left my writing aspirations and dreams mingling somewhere off my radar. What was once a burning passion and a desperate need to write has become a siren call that faintly echoes from a far away place. The voice is beautiful and strong, but soft enough that I can easily ignore it if I concentrate. And I must if I am going to keep my sanity and witness through my over-scheduled July. I pray this season isn't long and I can reclaim my writing time and move forward soon.
One of the posts was about the movie August Rush, which I loved, so I clicked my way over to YouTube to watch a clip from the movie. I wept through "Raise It Up," a beautiful song about beating the odds, and pursuing hope and God. The last line rings loud and clear for my writing journey at the moment. Young Jamia Simone Nash sings "Sometimes it seems impossible, that's why we pray." I pray these words hits their mark in your heart as they have in mine.
Our church has been going through a video series during our Sunday School class called, Faith Lessons--In the Dust of the Rabbi. In it evangelical historian Ray Vander Laan takes a group of people through the holy land and teaches history and practical application. It's a great series.
Recently, we watched the group climb a hill overlooking the Sea of Galilee. Ray tells the crowd that Jesus went here after the feeding of the five thousand. He had just told the disciples to get into a boat and go ahead of him to Bethsaida, which was across the lake. Ray asserts that they probably didn't want to go because of the squalls that took place in this part of the lake, dubbed "The Abyss." (This isn't in my Bible, but Ray, as a historian has other geographical resources.)
As they fatefully predicted, a huge squall came up and they strained against the oars. Ray tells the group that Jesus was no doubt sitting on the mountain and watching them the whole way. About the fourth hour, (probably around four o'clock in the morning,) Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake. He nearly passes them by because he was intent on getting to Bethsaida, as he said he would. But did Jesus not see them out there struggling? Or was this a faith lesson for the disciples who didn't understand the miracle of the five loaves and two fish? (Mark 6:52)
They see him walking by on the water and fear it's a ghost. I mean, seriously. Who else would be walking on the water? No doubt, if I'd been in that boat, miles from the shore, I wouldn't have thought my rabbi would be chancing by. He tells them "Take courage! It is I. Don't be afraid."
Matthew 14:28 picks up the story. Peter calls out to him. "Lord, if it's you, tell me to come to you on the water." And Jesus says, "Come." Poor impetuous Peter. Wanting to be just like his Lord, he jumps out of the boat, but fearing the wind--promptly sinks. Jesus shakes his head and says, "Why do you doubt?" as he fishes him out and escorts him back to the boat.
This is where Ray posed a question that had us discussing at great length later. "What did he doubt?" Jesus? Why would that be? Jesus is still only toes deep in the water. The conclusion was that he doubted himself.
Okay. Let's look at the big picture here. Jesus gives the disciples a directive. "Go to Bethsaida and I will meet you there." They all hop in the boat, grumbling. They'd just seen the miracle of the loaves and fishes, and still didn't quite get it. (Our class decided this was a faith lesson for them.) Just as they feared, they hit a storm, and what do they do? Panic! In the meantime, Jesus is watching them from the hill. Once they're good and scared, he heads out onto the lake. Then, during one of their most dramatic lessons, they doubt.
You know where I'm going, don't you?
In 2002, I received a clear directive from God. "Write, and I will partner with you." At various intervals along the way, I have felt the squalls of life threaten to capsize my dream. Where is Jesus? I cry out.
He's on the hill watching me. Seeing how I will do. Probably shaking his head as I panic when the words don't come, and when they do they sound amatuerish. He says, "Oh, Kathy," when I want to quit because an editor has torn at my precious story, slashing and ripping at the carefully placed concepts like fierce winds to a sail. Finally, at the fourth hour, He gets up, and walks toward our previously agreed upon destination. I want to be like my Lord. I try, yet I fail, and He asks me "Why do you doubt?" He hasn't changed. I don't doubt Him. I know He will partner with me. I know His will for me is to produce written witnesses. I know He is still standing there, waiting for me to "get it."
Why do I doubt myself?
Sound familiar?
If you're in a storm, take heart. Jesus is watching to see how you'll do. To see if you've grown in your faith. Every trial is a strengthening exercise. And once you "get it," you will be able to walk with Him hand in hand. Safely. Without getting wet.
Did you think I was going to make you wait a whole month for the second half? Naw, I'm not that mean. If you missed the first part, scroll down and read it first.
BEYOND THE MIDDLE: It’s not right putting “the end” for this last part, because the end doesn’t come until the Lord takes her home. Her story is an ongoing one.
Anyway . . .
So the grownup little girl started writing fiction for adults; prairie romance, contemporary romance mystery, even a futuristic adventure romance. She joined a writing group and started attending writer’s conferences. She submitted novel proposals and got no thank you letters in return.
She submitted a couple of sample chapters at a conference for an author to review. A new editor had come to that publishing house and assumed the slot that the author was going have, including the chapters she had to review. The grownup girl was mortified. It was hard enough to have a favorite author of hers read her chapters, but an editor, and particularly this editor. She was scared witless. She wanted her chapters back.
A friend of hers sat at this editor’s table at lunch because she knew the grownup little girl needed to talk to this editor. The editor wasn’t there yet. Her “friend” finished her lunch in a hurry and left. The editor arrived and sat . . . right next to the girl. The editor kindly asked each person around the table what they were working on. Lunch was almost over and there wasn’t going to be time for the grownup girl. Yes! She had succeeded at being invisible.
But the editor turned to her and asked what she was working on. Immediately every thought, story idea, and all words fled her brain.
Uh . . .
She did manage to get out a word or two about the editor having a couple of her sample chapters. The editor said she had them in her bag but hadn’t read them yet, but the grownup little girl should make an appointment with her. “Sure,” she said, while wondering if she could snatch her chapters from the editor’s bag. It was right there on the floor between them. She could drop her napkin and when she bent to pick it up, she could slip the pages from the bag. Well, it was more like she would have to rifle through the editor’s bag and search for them. She didn’t know how to do that all while looking like she was picking up her napkin. The editor walked away with her bag and the grownup little girl’s chapters.
The grownup little girl walked into their meeting with fear and trepidation. She figured if she could get through the meeting without fainting or throwing up, it would be a raging success.
She didn’t embarrass herself too bad, even found a word or two in her empty brain, and the editor liked one of her story ideas. The editor was willing to work with her. It took a few years to go through the process, but finally her first book was born. Someone had finally chosen something she had written. Since then, she has been chosen many more times.
The grownup little girl’s writing journey is far from over, so this is not “the end” either. The Lord has been with her through it all, guiding her and teaching her. If not for Him, she’s sure she would have given up a long time ago. She’s a better reader now than she has ever been, even if she still reads slow, still has difficultly writing, and her spelling still couldn’t save her life, but she’s so thankful for Spellchecker, even if it doesn’t know what she’s trying to spell half the time.
As others have posted their writing journey, I thought I’d tell you a writing journey story. The Lord takes us all on this writing journey in a different way.
THE BEGINNING: Once upon a time there was a little girl who couldn’t write well, could hardly read, and couldn’t spell her way out of a wet paper bag to save her life, but she was creative and had people running around in her head with whole lives of their own.
The little girl thought she was stupid and people told her so. But not the people in her head. They liked her and told her she was smart. When other kids were reading chapter books by the armloads, she struggled through a simple picture book.
The little girl loved creative writing in school. The teacher would give a prompt and a story would immediately start swirling in the little girl’s head. She would start scratching out words with her stubby little hands. The letters were crude and the spelling atrocious, but her story was fun and adventurous. She couldn’t wait for the teacher to choose those few stories that would be read aloud in class. She was sure hers would be chosen this time. She had a great story and everyone would see that she was not stupid.
The stories were chosen and the little girl sat disappointed while others read their stories aloud. No one would know that she wasn’t stupid.
She continued to make the space between her ears a haven for characters to live out their lives.
THE MIDDLE: The little girl grew up and married. She decided to write a special story for her new husband, a picture book. She typed it, edited it, rewrote it, typed it up again. When she had it perfect, She typed up each page, leaving room for the planned pictures. Since her typing ability wasn’t any better than her spelling, she had to type some of the short pages several times before she had one good enough to use.
When the pages were all typed, she sat down to do the artwork. (FYI: She was not artist. Not by a long shot. But she loved her hubby and would do the best she could.) She first drew rough drafts then held them up to the window to trace them onto her finished pages and colored them in, afraid of making a mistake that she would have to type the page over again.
Finally all the pages were complete. She bound them together and created a fabric covered cover. She even made a teddy bear to accompany the book. Her hubby loved it. Her family loved it. Her mother had the audacity to say, “You should get this published.”
She almost laughed out loud. Her? A published author? That was about as likely as getting oil and water to mix on their own. Maybe her mother needed helped. Don’t worry her mother is perfectly sane, but she got the grownup little girl thinking. Eventually, the grownup girl enrolled in a correspondence course.
She started writing children’s stories for magazines. But like with her teachers, her stories weren’t chosen to be published.
Before you breathlessly peruse this post for information on plotting your novel, let me say up front this post is about a storyline--yours and mine--but not craft!
After I finished my first novel I assumed the writer's journey would be like a straight line. Sure there would be some climbs and dips emotionally, but the pursuit of becoming a novelist would be straightforward, moving in a linear direction. I wrote a novel. I would re-work that book, go to critique group, write another, go to conferences and eventually sell a book. Then I would keep writing novels, rewriting them, and going to crit group and conferences. Only I'd get to have the word "author" on my name tag and once in a while I'd be the one signing the books instead of asking for a signature.
I have friends whose journey has been pretty much that. My crit group member Kathy Kovach and Donna Robinson started writing novels, keep writing novels, went to conferences, had their work critiqued, and they are now published. I'm not saying there were no tears or struggles, but their path made sense. Donna did have to stop for a few years to finish raising her children, but when she came back into the writing world, the journey continued. Straightforward.
My journey has been very different. I wrote my first novel in 2002. I attended a conference and began learning novel writing and rewrote that novel . . . and rewrote it. Over and over. In 2003 my husband became convinced I needed to create a website and begin a devotional ministry. After some coaxing from him and conviction from the Lord, we launched Soul Scents, a weekely devotional ministry, in January of 2004. I thought, "Okay. I'll write a weekly devotional, but I'm a novelist. That will still be my focus. Besides, the conference speakers say I should develop an audience. This will still work toward my ultimate goal of becoming an author."
Before 2004 was out, I was offered a montly column on Crosswalk.com's homeschool channel. That was okay. The exposure made my devotional subscriptions grow, I got emails from homeschooling moms like myself who were encouraged, and added a few more publishing credits to my bio. But the goal was still novelist, right?
By summer of 2004 my husband had convinced me I had to have a blog--and I began throwing up my "extra" words on blogger before most of my friends even knew what a blog was. By the end of 2005 I was spending a lot of time answering emails from Soul Scents subscribers and Crosswalk readers. A couple of other channels on Crosswalk started picked up my work and I was able to promote several of my friends on Crosswalk's book channel. I found I was good at interviews and used the skill to help my friends out when I could.
In 2005, my article, The Guilt of a Homeschool Mom, was named #1 article of the year for Crosswalk.com. In 2006 I had two articles on their top ten list. I answered tons of emails from bleeding moms who struggled with the issues I wrote about. Other homeschool venues contacted me and I ended up writing a chapter in a homeschooling book as well as writing consistently for other magazines.
But I was still a novelist, right? I mean, wasn't I still headed in that direction?
I did eventually write another novel, this time about a mom, giving her a journey that I thought my Crosswalk readers could relate to. And then I wrote much of a non-fiction book, hitting those issues from a more straight-forward viewpoint. And I thought the Lord would sell those books, speaking His truth to readers from both venues. I would still get to be a novelist, but I'd have a few non-fiction books thrown in.
My writing journey was starting to look a lot different than my novelist friends.
After many rejection letters on my novels, my non-fiction book went to committee in two different houses. Okay--that was all right. I'd just publish first as a non-fiction writer, eventually I would sell those novels, too. But the book was shot down by marketers in both cases--they didn't know how to sell to the audience my book focused upon.
2008 found me weary. But that's all a part of the journey, right? The disappointments, the rejections, the ups and downs were just part of the process. I was still on the journey.
Then the Lord starting reminding me how much I loved my children and how my I loved being a mom. I should have know what was coming. My family hit several hard spots and God asked me to lay down my novels and focus on them.
I'd thought I was finally getting close to my dream of writing novels. I was beginning to learn the craft and once in a while I even tapped into some artistry in my stories. But after seven years of hard work, He told me to stop. The stories dried up within me and even my article writing, blogs, and devotional writing slowed down. I shed my tears, but dug into renewed focus on my precious family, who needed me now in new and demanding ways.
But God did make me a promise when He asked me to let it go. He told me He would send me writing that would fit with this season of my life.
Last fall I got my first job writing curriculum for David C. Cook. Today I'm working on my third assignment with them. It's writing that fits well into both my schedule and the emotional season of my life. I LOVE the work, feel passionate about sharing Jesus with children, and am incredibly honored to get to do what I do.
But oh how I miss my stories. How I miss more poetic phrases, symbolism, and beautiful word choice.
Maybe someday the Lord will give me my stories back. I really believe He will, I just don't know when.
Saturday's mini-conference made me reflective. It was really hard to be immersed again in the novelist's world, focusing on plotting, point of view, and writing good proposals. I did some crying--a fair amount actually. I can't help but grieve the loss of my goal, my dream . . . the joy of writing stories.
But I suppose I've also realized that what I want more than selling a novel is to be putty in the Lord's hand. I want to use the gift HE gave me as HE chooses. I am His, and I've given Him the right to move me around as He sees fit, to use me where He wants me when He wants me there.
This journey is very different than I'd planned. Instead of a linear path I' ve gone in circles, taken crossroads I didn't know existed--and maybe even jumped to a completely different line. But I believe today as I did back in 2002 that God will lead me down this path.
I cling today, as I did eight years ago, to the verse the Lord gave me the first time I asked Him if I would get to see the novel I'd written be published. He replied through a Psalm. "I will lead you on the best pathway for your life. I will guide you and watch over you."
And really, that's all a writer can ask for.
A homeschooling mother of four, Paula Moldenhauer is the President of HIS Writers, the Denver ACFW chapter. She is passionate about God's grace and freedom in Christ. To sign up for her free weekly devotion, visit www.soulscents.us. You can also visit her blog at www.gracereign.blogspot.com
The following article was published on Crosswalk.com. I originally wrote it for homeschooling moms who had put aside their dreams for the sake of their children, but I think it will strike a chord with you writers as well. It was timely for my readers on Crosswalk's homeschool channel because it was published right after I was recognized as having the top article of the year in that venue.
I'm in another "mommy" season, only this time the children are nearly grown. I laid aside my book projects last summer due to a surprise diagnosis of visual dysfunction in all four of my children. My energies had to be refocused to researching their needs, finding help, and then starting therapy.
Funny how God works. After I laid down those books, He brought good paying assignments writing curriculum. The projects were focused, manageable, and included less emotional investment than pursing book publication--and helped pay therapy bills! Writing has looked different for me in recent months--hand picked by my Father for the season--but it still happened.
I feel the stirrings of another novel project, but I'm waiting, letting it percolate, and seeking God's perfect timing to dig back into my dream. Hope you enjoy the article!
Keeper of A Mother's Dream
My belly swollen with child number 3, I sat amidst dirty laundry piles and wondered what happened to my dreams. While being a stay-at-home mom had always been on the list of plans for my life, I’d thought I could do it all. As a college student, dreaming of my future, I’d worked it out. I’d teach elementary school for a few years (which I did), get married and have children (check), and then, while staying at home with my kids, I’d craft great the American novel during naptime.
And now on top of that, my husband wanted me to homeschool our children. Though we’d planned to homeschool since the early days of our engagement, at that moment the sacrifice seemed too great. Our oldest was ready to start kindergarten and the reality of sixteen years of hard work loomed before me.
I’d told my husband we needed to rethink our plan, that I could barely keep up with the children’s needs and didn’t know how I could homeschool on top of a new baby. I suggested we check other options. These concerns were all real, but in my heart of hearts, much of my struggle to begin homeschooling was an unwillingness to continue to sacrifice my dreams. I had now lived the reality of motherhood and wondered if I could really take another step into my childrens' world. Six hours of alone time each weekday while my children attended school away from home enticed me. I imagined quiet days—hours when I could release my creative muse and embrace my dreams.
I’d been playing with writing. Poetry and articles for women’s magazines sat untouched on my computer. I believed owning a printer might give me the tool I needed to start submitting my work. Knowing we couldn’t afford to buy one, I’d asked God to supply it.
But now, it felt like a choice. Send my daughter to school, and when her brothers were old enough to join her, I could write. Or, keep her home and put my life off for another sixteen years.
For a while, my husband was unbending. He was convinced homeschooling was the best choice for our children and that I could handle it. Finally, after listening to my woes, he suggested we begin to examine other options. In that moment, I knew the issue was really about obedience. Could I let go of my dreams and obey what I’d always known God had called me to do with my children? Or would I push away the Father’s prompting and chase after my own agenda?
I quietly admitted to my husband what I’d known all along. The Lord wanted us to homeschool our children and I needed to follow His direction.
About this time, the washing machine broke down. The dirty laundry piles multiplied and shoving aside any writing dreams I prayed fervently for a washer. I’ll never forget where I was when the call came. I sat on the bottom step of our stairs, looking at all the laundry that needed to be washed. A friend had something she felt the Lord had told her to give me. I was sure it was a washing machine.
It was a printer.
I hung up the phone and fiddle with another laundry pile, processing what had just happened. I felt the Lord whisper, “I know your dreams don’t end in laundry piles. I gave you those dreams.” It was as if the Lord was showing me that as I followed Him in obedience and homeschooled my children, He was going to take care of the rest.
For the next several years I wrote very little, other than in my journal and annual holiday letter. Another little boy came quickly on the heels of the baby I’d been carrying when I decided to homeschool. I was thrust again into a world of diapers, sleepless nights, and bath time. Somehow, the older two children learned to read, write, add and subtract, while I nursed little ones. It all seems rather miraculous looking back—that school happened in our house as babies were nurtured and toddlers chased. Eventually, everyone was potty-trained, dressing himself, and tying his shoes.
And then one day, seven years or so after the day the Lord gave me a printer, I sat down at my computer and started writing. I kept writing in stolen moments—when my husband took all four children to baseball practice, or after the children were asleep. And before I knew it, I had written my first book. I began attending writing conferences and a critique group. Opportunities to share my writing came.
And through it all, we homeschooled.
The oldest entered highschool. The little ones, too, learned to read and write—and today, we continue. I shuttle the kids to hockey, debate competition, and Boy Scouts. We read books and crunch numbers.
I write when the Lord gives me the time and I walk through whatever writing doors He opens before me. Today, I write from the wealth of experiences and spiritual growth He gives me while I homeschool. And I trust Him with the future.
I’m learning an important truth: God is the keeper of a mother’s dreams. He is the only one who knows how to weave her unique talents and gifts into the landscape of her mothering. He knows the seasons she can reach beyond her family, and the seasons she can’t. And He will bring into fullness the dreams He has placed within her in His time and His way. All the Lord brings her through as she is obedient to the call to her children will provide training and a deepening of character that will translate into her other gifts and callings.
Our God can be trusted to take good care of the dreams He has given us. When we lay down our personal goals and sacrifice our time choosing to pour into the lives of our children, we aren’t leaving our dreams in the dust. We are simply placing them in the Father’s hand and giving Him permission to shape them as He sees fit.
A home schooling mother of four, Paula Moldenhauer is passionate about God's grace and intimacy with Jesus. Her website offers home schooling hints, book reviews, and a free weekly devotional, Soul Scents. Subscribe to Soul Scents at www.soulscents.us. You can contact Paula at Paula@soulscents.us.
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nd homeschooling mother of four, Paula Moldenhauer is passionate about God’s grace and intimacy with Jesus. Her devotional website, Soul Scents, offers a free weekly devotional and you can visit her blog at GraceReign. Paula serves as president of HIS Writers. A devoted Pride and Prejudice fan, she loves good conversation, peppermint ice cream, and walking barefoot. Her greatest desire is to be close enough to Jesus to live His fragrance.
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