When you Can't Run, Crawl

by Kelly Klepfer

I’m no stranger to discouragement. Likely, you could say the same. How many opportunities are there to find a brick wall, a difficult situation or challenging person in our lives? Yeah, that many. Sigh.
I’m sharing about a trudge through the mud of discouragement I suffered while co-writing my book, Out of the Frying Pan. More importantly, what I learned in that season.

My co-author, Michelle Griep, is far more disciplined and prolific. As a matter of fact, this is her sixth or seventh book release and she’s just contracted for three more.

She’s very good. I mean, the woman can write. We met at an on-line Christian author critique group. She and I hit it off right away. We bantered, shared sarcasm and even began sharing lives. Soon our families got involved and bonded. We became sisters separated at birth and became aunties to each other’s kids.

Michelle plugged away at writing. I played with it. We both got little pieces published and had some bigger successes, too. But I hung on the fringes. Not that I didn’t want to write and be published, but I didn’t want to pursue publishing if I didn’t feel like there was something that I specifically needed to say. I did have an idea for a story. About elderly sisters-in-law who happen upon a murder scene. Michelle loved the idea and we decided to write it together. I was given the task of putting the skeleton together and then we’d each pick main character points of view to write and add the muscle, skin and personality.

Other than the fact that I would drag my feet, this worked well. She would pester me to write a few scenes, I would, she’d write a few. Then I’d suggest she write another book and we’d put it on hold. This novel has been a very long labor. Because Michelle was the stronger writer, I deferred to her. The woman loves to edit, too. At one point she sent me the manuscript so I could get up to speed and I noticed my scenes had been edited to sound very much like her voice. Now picture Pac-Man and that sound he makes when those little ghost things get him. That is the sound my confidence made.

The changes were in rewording some of my stiffly written prose. My heart was still in my scenes but I couldn’t see that. I sunk into a funk. Finally, we talked about it, and she agreed that she could just send me suggestions and I could fix the problems, but the arrows of insecurity and failure had sunk deep into my joy. I told her I needed a break from the story and went to a corner to lick my wounds. I’d love to give you deep spiritual truths and applications revealed by the Lord through my prayer and immersion in the Word in my time of need. But I have to admit that taking this to the Lord wasn’t a priority. My pity party was.

Delighted that Michelle had another project to work on I slowly began to process and deal with my insecurity. I continued to read, review and blog, working on my writing skills that way. But Michelle eventually asked me to pick up where we left off. The story was too good not to tell and we needed to finish it. I agreed and persevered. What I noticed was that the tools, the conference knowledge, the how-to book sense, I’d packed in the back of my brain somehow had come to the surface through the reading and processing I’d been doing which was using those neural pathways.

Since I had shared my heart with Michelle, and my commitment to work on the book was short term and a close family member was hospitalized leaving me hours sitting in a quiet hospital setting I set out to finish as soon as I could. I just wrote scenes on my phone and sent them to her telling her to let me know what I needed to fix.

I will never forget the comment I received from her after: “Did you seriously just crank that scene out in twenty minutes? Because if you did, I hate you. It would take me hours to get a scene that ready.” Another critique partner read it and said I had grown leaps and bounds as a writer.

I don’t tell you this because I think I’ve arrived and am a good author. Far from that. But I share because of what I learned:

1.    Sometimes we have to process hard things. And in the processing we mature. However, if we ignore what we are supposed to work through we get stinky.

2.    A real friend is willing to tick you off, even hurt you to help you deal with something that’s holding you back.

3.    What you’ve learned and poured into your mind isn’t wasted. God has created an amazing brain for each of us and it doesn’t sleep. If something is important to you and you are willing to do the addition and subtraction you will eventually wake up and realize you understand more complex things.

4.    God’s faithfulness to me isn’t dependant on my attitude or choices. He lets me pout in the corner until I come to my senses. And teaches and blesses me anyway.

And on the chance that you are a writer or want to be, take heart. If you plug away and follow the wisdom of those who have gone before and you read good books, books like you’d like to write, you might be amazed at what happens when it clicks.

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I initially wrote this post for Elaine Stock for the blog tour for Out of the Frying Pan. Michelle, my co-author suggested that I share it here, too. Because writing is 20% soaring and 80% agony, insecurity and angst and anyone in the 80% needs all the encouragement they can get.

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When you Can't Run, Crawl by Kelly Klepfer (Click to Tweet)

What you’ve learned and poured into your mind isn’t wasted.~Kelly Klepfer (Click to Tweet)

Kelly Klepfer had ambitions to graduate from the school of life quite awhile ago, but alas . . . she still attends and is tested regularly. Her co-authored cozy/quirky mystery, Out of the Frying Pan, is the culmination of several of the failed/passed tests. Kelly, though she lives with her husband, two Beagles and two hedgehogs in Iowa, can be found at Novel Rocket, Novel Reviews, Scrambled Dregs, Modern Day Mishaps, Instagram, Pinterest, Facebook, Goodreads and Twitter with flashes of brilliance (usually quotes), randomocities, and learned life lessons. Zula and Fern Hopkins and their shenanigans can be found at Zu-fer where you always get more than you bargained for. 

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A Perfect Complement

by Cynthia Ruchti

"Look how the clouds make a perfect complement to the scene," our host said on our tour of Oregon's beauty. 

Hours earlier, we stood on the shore of Trillium Lake, near Mt. Hood, as clouds rolled in. Soon, we we dodging raindrops to get back into the vehicle that took us to lower elevations, toward our host's home. After the rain spent itself, the clouds thinned again and split apart so we could see edges of light outlining the clouds. With sunset approaching, the outline turned from bright-white to orange to crimson against pockets of blue.

Rather than praise the return of blue or the brilliant color palette of light, our host said, "Look how the clouds complement the scene."

His words made it to my ever-present notebook within seconds. What a great perspective! Too often we see clouds as barriers to the real view. What if instead they are enhancements? The perfect foil, perfect backdrop, for spikes of light, creating something to reflect, ensuring the viewer notices the contrasts?

Rather than resent their presence, wouldn't we then see clouds as a vital part of the picture?

What if the latest rejection is actually brush strokes on canvas to provide a foil for an upcoming acceptance? What if a disappointment is the base for an outline of riotous light? What if having to rewrite the whole second half of your novel because of a sticking point you discovered two sentences from the end produces a more compelling story than the cloudless original?

This is what we saw when we got to Mt. Hood: 

As we toured the grounds and the lodge, we waited for the shroud to lift. We walked to another spot for a different angle. Still encased in clouds. A peak of sun seemed on its way, if we gave it a few more minutes. But the majestic mountain refused to let its face be seen no matter how long we waited or how much we wanted to see the top of the mountain.

The clouds got in the way? In some respects. But in another way of thinking, they added an air of mystery. I had no trouble believing the rest of the mountain was there. Thousands, perhaps millions of others had seen it. Many had captured its image by camera or artist's canvas. It likeness had been sculpted in bronze and stone. Our host told stories of his ski and hiking adventures and helped us imagine how much more of the mountain lay beyond the clouds.

We didn't walk away disappointed, as we might have. The clouds formed a complement to the scene and forced our imaginations and faith to take over.

Novelist, caregiver, parent, teacher, striver, what circumstance clouds are forcing your imagination and faith to take over these days?

Where's Jesus in this?

Mark 9:7 CEB records one of many times in the biblical account when God demonstrated how a cloud can FORM and enhance the scene, not hide it. "Then a cloud overshadowed them, and a voice spoke from the cloud, "This is My Son, whom I dearly love. Listen to him!"

What if that same message came from the depths of the cloud in your view? Isn't it?

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SACRIFICE OF PRAISE by Cynthia Ruchti

I watched a woman in the row in front of me several Sundays ago. She lifted her head and joined her voice in song with the other worshipers. Not so unusual? Her daughter had miscarried the woman's first grandchild earlier in the week. Tears streamed down her face as she worshiped.

Across the aisle, a couple linked arms as they worshiped. The words were raspy, but the pushed through the pain of having an imprisoned son in order to give God glory.

Behind me, I heard a familiar voice. An older man attending church alone for the first time in fifty years. His wife lay three blocks away in the cardiac unit at the hospital. He'd been by her side since the latest heart attack. The nurses insisted he take a break while his wife rested. He chose to take his break at church.

Later that week, I logged onto a social network and noted a writer friend of mine encouraging another writer about a recent success. Others may not have known that my friend had experienced a career-threatening disappointment that same day.

Hebrews 13:15, Common English Bible--"So let us continually offer up a sacrifice of praise."

Praising when it feels like a sacrifice adds an impressive depth of grace. Worship from a broken heart is exquisite in its beauty.

Disappointment in the arenas we care about most can force worship to the bottom of our list of go-to reactions. But worship then becomes a true gift to the Lord, as much a gift as a hungry family's blemish-free firstborn animal brought to the altar as a sacrifice to God.

Life's disappointments don't change who God is or what He deserves from us. Career reversals don't alter who He is. He rides publishing world shifts without tensing. Even the heart-wrenching is incapable of diminishing His power or person.

Worship may seem a challenge when life is hard. God's Word tells us He looks on it as a gift from us to Him--a sacrifice of praise.

If you're offering a continual stream of sacrificial praise, please know your determination to worship through pain registers in the throne room of heaven as an exquisite gift.


Question for you: When has worship cost you the most?


Cynthia Ruchti is a speaker and author of novels, novellas, devotions, and nonfiction including two recent releases--the novel When the Morning Glory Blooms, and the nonfiction Ragged Hope: Surviving the Fallout of Other People's Choices, both from Abingdon Press. You can connect with her at www.cynthiaruchti.com or www.facebook.com/CynthiaRuchtiReaderPage.

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APPLAUDING THROUGH OUR TEARS

It's an awkward moment in many churches around the world today. Pastors will pause at some point in the service and say, "Could we have all the mothers in our congregation stand? We'd like to recognize all the moms who--"

He'll catch a look from his wife in the front row and alter what he was about to say. "Let's have all the women stand. That's right. All you ladies, stand to your feet. We'd like to honor you on this Mother's Day with our applause and a lovely potted plant as a token of our appreciation for...for...moms." His wife stares at him again. But it's too late now.

Photo Credit:  Flowers Quata (potted Hydrangeas)

It's a day of celebration. Family dinners. Phone calls from across the country. Cards. Gifts. Poems written by little children with wild imaginations and few spelling skills. Hugs and flowers and...

Incredible, indescribable pain.

Within that congregation are the women who've never heard a child call them "Mom." Women who miscarried two weeks ago. A woman whose son would be a teen now, but he died a stillborn. Moms whose children tore out of the house years ago with a curse and a vow never to return. Women who wanted children but whose medical records note the date of their hysterectomy.

Women with sons serving in the military, in harm's way 24/7. Women with children who won't look them in the eye or who can't. Moms wracked by guilt. Moms whose children were ripped from their arms by the courts and their own bad decisions.

"Weep with those who weep," the Bible tells us in Romans 12:15. "Mourn with those who mourn." Those of us whose children and grandchildren are alive, with us, overtly loving and caring, feel a pang inside thinking about those for whom Mother's Day is a reminder of pain and loss. It tempers our own celebration.

That dizzying pendulum swing of emotions--happy for me, sad for you; or happy for you, sad for me--hits us when we win the award and our best friend doesn't even final, when we receive a book contract and our critique partner doesn't, when a husband gets a transplant in time but someone had to die for that to happen.

It rattles us when we're undergoing fertility treatments and the neighbor's fifteen year old daughter is the one whose pregnancy test reads positive. Or we're forced to sell our dream house and it becomes an answer for another family. Or the scholarship we needed desperately is awarded to someone who needs it more.

"Rejoice with those who rejoice." That's the first half of Romans 12:15. Before the Apostle Paul urged us to weep with those who weep, he encouraged us to rejoice with those who rejoice. Moved by the Spirit of God to write those easy-to-memorize words, Paul started with the instruction that we rejoice with those who rejoice. As if we needed to be told.

Maybe we do. On days like Mother's Day.


AUTHOR'S QUESTION: How do you find the courage to rejoice when you feel like weeping, or the compassion to weep when you feel like rejoicing? I'd like to hear your stories.


Author and speaker Cynthia Ruchti has moms and babies on her mind these days with the recent release of her novel, When the Morning Glory Blooms, which traces the paths of three women in three eras of time, all dealing with some aspect of the aftereffects on unwed pregnancies. Desperate for hope, each of the women is sure it won't come in time. You can read more about this and Cynthia's other books at www.cynthiaruchti.com or www.facebook.com/cynthiaruchtireaderpage.

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