Trusting – Delighted – Committed

‘Trust in the LORD and do good; dwell in the LORD and enjoy safe pasture. Delight yourself in the LORD and He will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the LORD; trust in Him and He will do this: He will make your righteousness shine like the dawn, the justice of your cause like the noonday sun. Be still before the LORD and wait for Him…’ – Psalm 37, MSG

Thinking about something from four years ago and something else from twenty-three years ago.

This week was the first of But I Don’t Feel Like Writing Anything and I’m surprised and pleased to say that not having work to do was not a struggle.

My Spirit continues in peace and (this is the unexpected part) so did the rest of me. The ever-constant what if I’m doing something wrong/missing something important buzz hovered, but it was background noise, mostly.

This week was the first time in the five years since God gave me the words back that I wasn’t either working on a writing project or waiting out ‘mandatory vacation’ time, as it were, until I could get back to writing. As mentioned last week there’s a half-dozen potential novels I could be researching, several screenplay projects I could be thinking about…but there isn’t anything I want to do next, at least there wasn’t this week, and God didn’t spur anything.

For the record one of those half-dozen, not the one I had kinda expected to be working on right now, involves a tornado-chasing-tour family and I couldn’t turn around without somebody referencing tornadoes this week.

Which puts me in mind of the ‘four years ago’ story.

Regulars will (possibly) remember that five years ago The Feud leapt out of my fingers. Speaking of not waiting super well, the five weeks right in the middle of the first draft when I had too many Dance Recitals to deal with, wasn’t really free to write, kinda drove me crazy – and after it was given out to the world I wanted to jump into the next thing.

Another book. Please, God, let me write another book.

Didn’t know then what I know now—thought, worried about if I’m honest, that I had to choose the right project or be getting it wrong. Be outside God’s will, ruining the plan, blah blah blah.

Thing is—I’m anointed to write and if what I’m creating honors God, and it’s something I have a desire for, it’s the right project. Whether screenplay or blog post or novel or grocery list.

But I wasn’t aware of that, so I agonized. Didn’t want to get it wrong.

And while finishing up The Feud, I happened to drive up into the Colorado foothills, stop at a little place for lunch, got served by a Cassandra.

Could probably count on one hand the number of times in my life I’ve met anybody named Cassandra and this one had no idea, don’t recall mentioning it to her, that one of the potential books I was considering, one that could be next, involved twins then named Casey and Cassie.

Short for Cassandra.

Having met one half of the Baker twins I figured, in the silly way I have of doing math sometimes, that when I met the other half, when I ran across a Casey, that would be God telling me it was time to start A Pair Apart.

The Feud got finished. Got published. I might have taken a week or two off to enjoy the success but I was ready to get going.

And believe me, as soon as Andromeda’s story was anywhere near complete I started looking around. Made a point of going back up the hill to that specific little hole-in-the-wall…wasn’t served by a Casey. Started asking, every time I went out to eat, the server’s name. Guy or girl, would have been fine. No Casey.

I even, not making this up, debated which food court kiosk to go to when at a mall because what if my Casey was working at Chipotle and I went to Del Taco instead?

Got to the point where any Casey, no matter where I met them, would have done—honestly I’m not sure I’ve run into anybody by that name in ages. Like there was a really specific rapture; they seem to all be gone.

In the meantime, and don’t think I wasn’t foolishly desperate, about missing it, about what I was surely doing wrong that would result in total failure…….

Figured research on another book might be allowed, might not be disobeying God’s as-yet-unrevealed-plan and I knew by then that when I got around to Jessie’s Species there would be a falcon. Didn’t know falcons from  budgies so I bought T.H. White’s Goshawk, from the library I borrowed Helen McDonald’s Falcon and in reading that, noted that she had written another book on birds of prey, H is for Hawk.

Was planning on getting that one, too, and then one day in October or so I needed a new book to read. I have a shelf of books I’ve never read, picked up at thrift stores or yard sales because they look interesting, and at the time that shelf was groaning under double-stacks. I couldn’t even see the ones in the back so I moved a whole pile to see what lurked behind and what was waiting for me, completely forgotten about, but

H is for Hawk.

And thusly did William know exactly what book he was supposed to write next.

Wrote Jessie’s Species in 2020, wrote Symphony Alexandra in 2021, still didn’t run across a Casey despite having my radar up pretty much constantly, and either I figured God could stop me if I was wrong or I just got over it but wrote A Pair Apart that same year.

And, you may have been saying this all along, what was I thinking, twins named Casey and Cassie?

Exactly the sort of thing real-life parents do (Katherine and Kathryn is one real-life example—do they just call one and figure they get both everytime?) but what a hassle for a reader! I had people refuse to even start reading the book when the two names were that close, I realized in the editing process that even I the writer had gotten confused a few times…

…and so for various reasons I decided to change Casey (had already met Cassandra) to Abigail.

And immediately ran into an Abigail. In fact I started tripping over them, nearly. Church worship leader’s daughter. Old friend’s oldest daughter. My kid’s kindergarten teacher. Somebody took all the Caseys and switched them out for Abigails, apparently and occasionally I wonder if God teases me a little. When He knows I’ll get the joke.

Anyway.

Point of the long-winded story is that (a) I don’t agonize over the right project anymore and (b) to illustrate the difference between then and now.

Where there isn’t anything I want to work on and I can’t prove that I’ll ever write again.

Be astonished if I didn’t; this is what God put me here to do and I have zero reason to think we’re done.

But as I sit here I don’t have direction from Him or passion for anything specific.

All those tornado references – could be God is telling me something and being real subtle about it; also could be He’s teasing me again—if so I definitely get the joke.

And given how I’ve been and not all that long ago, I’m extremely very thankful that this was a good week. My wife has expressed surprise and pleasure that it wasn’t hard for me—if she was braced to deal with Mr. Cranky Writingpants I don’t blame her for a second; I was braced to deal with Mr. Cranky Writingpants.

But it was a good week. I didn’t have to fight to believe, which I was willing to do. For the most part I was just…at peace. Content.

Trusting. Delighted. Committed. Being still. Waiting patiently.

My Bible in a Year version is mid-Psalms at the moment; wonderful encouragement there today.

‘Yet I am always with You; You hold me by my right hand. You guide me with Your word, and afterward You take me into glory.’ – Psalm 73 ESV

‘Blessed are those whose strength is in You, who have set their hearts on pilgrimage’ ‘Blessed is the man who trusts in You.’ – Psalm 84 ESV

‘May the favor of the LORD our God rest upon us; establish the work of our hands for us—yes establish the work of our hands!’ – Psalm 90 ESV

I’ve been highlighting passages that speak to me; that last one was circled before I got there. Accompanied by a handwritten note from a time-traveler, speaking the faith he had available at the time.

‘4-28-2001 as I pray + believe for editing equipment + work’

The handwriting is mine; twenty-three years ago I was just hoping to afford a computer with an editing program and find somebody, anybody, who would pay me to produce anything on such.

On one hand it would be another six years before Ninja Boy Productions was really humming along

but on the other…God certainly answered that prayer.

‘Not to us, o LORD, not to us but to Your name be the glory, because of Your love and faithfulness.’ – Psalm 115

Don’t forget to write

Action Verbs

‘Abruptly the teacher, who had been perched on a desk, stood up and went to a cupboard. Omri was not surprised to see a magnifying glass in her hand when she turned around.’ – ‘The Indian in the Cupboard’, Lynne Reid Banks

‘So that’s fun;’ this week ‘Hero’s Eyes’ dropped, an episode from season three of the Blind Play Podcast. A Blind Play (buzzsprout.com)

Just wanted to mention it because the actors involved in the recording are reading my words, performing characters I created and for the first time I got to experience what it’s like to release a creation to someone else who might see/hear it differently. The actor reading for my beloved falcon had a different vision than what I’ve always had in my head but also for the first time I got to hear other people reading my words and I’ve been waiting three decades for that.

It was marvelous. Link above has the ten-minute story plus the forty-or-so minutes we all spent talking about the story; both free for the listen if you’re into that sort of thing.

Often when I’m beta reading for someone, I’ll get on their case about passive voice. “They were walking” – “the mouse was chased by the cat” – “the safe was blown up by the robbers” – there’s a time and a place for all storytelling tools but the passive voice is almost always a drag on a story, an unnecessary handicap. They walked, the cat chased the mouse, they blew up the safe and so forth, brings the action to the forefront.

More on that in a minute.

Have heard it preached—and fully buy into, hard as it is in the moment sometimes—that we get to choose how we feel. What we focus on. When Scriptures, and there’s more than a few, talk about magnifying the Lord…it’s not just praise or worship though that certainly helps the process in my case, but determining that no matter what is going on in the natural, I’m going to focus on Yahweh. Make Him the important part and weirdly enough, the bigger I make Him (and have I ever comprehended one-thousandth part of the real? One millionth?) the smaller the problem gets by comparison.

Being incredibly faithful as He is, sometimes God even helps.

This morning I read a Psalm out of my Message-based collection, as I’m wont to do, and today it was Psalm 105.

And something tugged at me while I was reading. I’m always ready for anything God wants to tap me on the shoulder—or hit me between the eyes—with; always looking to be encouraged or strengthened or even rebuked. If it’s what He wants me to see I want to see it.

What struck me about Psalm 105, for perhaps the first time despite multiple readings over the past few years, were all the action verbs. The Psalm is about God’s faithfulness, specifically with the Israelites back in the land of Egypt. And for whatever reason, instead of seeing the whole picture, it was all those things God did that pointed themselves out to me. I bothered writing them down.

He rendered – He remembered – He made – He swore – He established – He permitted – He told – He called – He broke – He sent – He confirmed – He sent – He gave – He turned – He sent – He spoke – He turned – He made – He gave – He substituted – He stabbed – He wasted – He brought – He struck down – He led – He spread – He brought – He filled – He opened – He remembered – He led – He made them a gift – He helped them – He told them…

Yahweh did quite a bit, actually – and looking at it like that…I was blessed.

Because, I’m not ashamed to admit, when I manage to swing away from I must be getting it wrong somehow and ruining everything the pendulum tends to veer over into maybe God’s forgotten me territory. Maybe He’s not going to do anything to help me.

Given that these dreams, these enormous, ridiculous dreams require God’s help, if He doesn’t move I’m utterly without hope here…the fear which is never from Him that maybe He’s got better things to do with His time, that maybe I haven’t really been keeping up well enough to warrant His attention…

These thoughts can become burdensome.

They’re not from God; thanks to what Jesus did for me all the blessings in Deuteronomy 28 are mine by right of adopted sonship; I never have to earn them which is great because I can’t. The whole point of the law was to show us how high that bar is. Nobody but Jesus ever cleared it, I’m not going to be the first so if God would bless, say, David or Moses or Abraham or Peter or Joshua or Gideon…I can have faith that He will bless me.

Remember me.

As I read Psalm 105 this morning (writing this on Monday for all you won’t see it until Saturday, Best Beloved) just looking at that laundry list of action verbs blessed me. Comforted me. He’s a God of action and He’s promisedto act on my behalf. In time.

I’m not religious about it by any means—God forbid I’m religious about anything; it’s a dirty, nasty word—but most mornings in addition to the Message-based Psalm I also take a couple minutes to read, meditate on one chapter out of my English Standard Version.

As of last fall I’ve also started, usually do this around lunchtime, adding in whatever chapters comprise the daily reading in one of those Read Through The Word In A Year Bibles.

The one-chapter-a-day ESV Bible, on January 1^st I was in Exodus or Deuteronomy, somewhere in the Great Wildnerness Excursion with the Israelites while meanwhile the Bible In A Year started (you’ll never believe this) in Genesis 1.

Still, with the BIAY giving me several chapters every day, I knew the two would line up sooner or later, have been waiting for it as in the ESV I’ve been reading Samuel and the BIAY last week had done with Joshua.

They caught up last Saturday, with 2 Samuel chapter 2 in both, and…God showed me something.

Something I’m going to keep to myself for now, in that pondered these things in her heart kind of way, but for the record—it’s very cool and I’m excited.

Anyway. Given that BIAY was humming straight through the Old Testament to where ESV was moving more slowly, as it were, I knew they’d sync up as I’ve said.

What I did not anticipate was that my BIAY would match up with my Message Psalm.

My version of the Bible In A Year is also chronological, so with most of the Psalms being David-related, they’re coming up shortly, little over a week instead of waiting until after Kings, Chronicles, Ezra, Nehemiah, etc.

All the same, most of them, like I say are a couple weeks away.

Except for a few where they stuck them right when they happened.

For example the Psalm David sang when the ark was returned to Jerusalem, chronicled in 2 Samuel 6.

Also known (I know this now) as Psalm 105.

Which they stuck in today’s BIAY reading.

No lie and most definitely no coincidence, the Holy Spirit wanted to make sure I got it so doubled down on those action verbs today.

Remembers, commanded, made, swore, confirmed, allowed, called, destroyed, sent, proved, made, turned, sent, turned, spoke, turned, struck, shattered, spoke, struck down, brought out, spread out, brought, satisfied, opened, remembered, brought out, gave…

Worth noting, I certainly have, that remembered is in there twice.

God is not passive. He’s not out there somewhere wringing His hands.

He is at work and anybody who would choose to give up, well, everything (no less than what He gave up for us, may we never forget) can join Him in the adventure. (see also Psalm 107, 111, etc)

“And now, O Lord God, confirm forever the word that You have spoken concerning Your servant and concerning his house, and do as You have spoken. And Your name will be magnified forever…” – 2 Samuel 25, 26a – ESV

Dreaming with our eyes wide open, Best Beloved

Don’t forget to write

Button Down

              “Be glad, Zion Mountain; Dance, Judah’s daughters! He does what He said He’d do!” – Psalm 48 MSG

photo credit Tom Sweeney C2020

              Trivia time; don’t Google it unless you’re a lousy rotten cheater…which stand-up comic’s album was the very first to ever hit #1 on Billboard’s Top 100 list?

              Adam Sandler? Eddie Murphy? Steve Martin?

              It happened in 1960 if that’s a clue.

              No, not Cosby or Carlin. Not Steve or Woody Allen.

              I’ll let you think about it; we’ll come back.

              “He set us at the head of the line, prize-winning Jacob, His favorite.” – Psalm 47 MSG

              Mentioned a couple weeks back that God gave me the green light to hang out my Edit-for-Hire shingle. Have officially done so (if you know anybody) and feedback has been quite positive. Several people have lined up for my help as soon as they gather the funds or finish the manuscript or what-have-you. Several others in addition to saying I will be contacting you when I have need have also, of their own volition, spread the word to writers they know.

              Which is validation of the idea for certain.

              Thing is, and as I’ve said many, many times the way I feel about things doesn’t necessarily reflect reality in either the natural or the Real (read: God-oriented) world…

              While I am glad response has been positive and look forward to charging people money to suggest ways to make their writing better—noticed, specifically as I walked hand-in-hand with my almost-three-year-old toward library storytime on Tuesday, a certain feeling.

              Rather an overwhelming one. Had to work during said storytime to focus on singing along and paying attention and engaging rather than being swallowed by the feeling

              that this new venture, this Editing thing, is…

              my Participation trophy.

              My consolation prize.

              My copy of the Home Game.

              “Jacob-wrestling God fights for us, Yahweh of the angel armies protects us.” – Psalm 46 MSG

              Don’t know that this is a thing anymore, especially as game shows seem to appear and disappear like soap bubbles nowadays but last century those that lost on Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune or Family Feud were consoled in their loss with a free edition of the game they were just humiliated by losing on national television.

              Random thought as I struggled to sleep at 2A.M. this morning—did any runner-up ever take pleasure in playing that home version? Being reminded of their loss?

              Kind of a backhanded gift, now that I think about it. Wouldn’t surprise me if 20^th century game show producers had a Production Assistant shadow the contestants when they left, to retrieve the immediately-tossed-in-the-garbage Home Versions to hand to the next losers.

              Anyway.

              This feels, and believe me I am regularly reminding myself that the way I feel does not necessarily represent the views and opinions of Almighty God—like my, well, safety school.

              ”It’s not the job I wanted, but beats flipping burgers for a living.”

              I’d far rather edit for folks than flip burgers—pay’s better, don’t have to put pants on if I don’t want much less wear a nametag plus I would do any job to provide for my family but right this second

              it feels

              like it’s over.

              Wrote up Victory Lane the screenplay last week. Could, very well might if I don’t have an editing client to take care of next week, start typing up Hawkstone, volume two in The Chronicles of Wystfalia.

              Despite the feeling, assuming I feel Monday morning the way I do right now, that it’s kind of a pointless exercise.

              Looking back, setting aside last week when I celebrated my wife and our tenth anniversary, every blog post so far this year has mentioned this feeling.

              The road is…really stretching out right now. Appears endless.

              “I’ll make you famous for generations; you’ll be the talk of the town for a long, long time” – Psalm 45 MSG

              Cross-country trip back in 2012, astride my newly acquired used Harley to visit Mom and Dad, I took Highway 50 across Nevada. Called The Loneliest Road in America for good reason; two lanes, six-inch-wide shoulder, at one point long after I’d left I-70 behind I decided “Hey, next time I can I’m gonna pull over. Need a break from riding.”

              Was ready at any moment to stop and yet an hour, no exaggeration, a full hour at 65 MPH passed before an abandoned gas station appeared and I could get off the road.

              This winter feels like that. The road

just

keeps

going

              and I’m so tired.

              I’m so tired.

              “We didn’t fight for this land; we didn’t work for it—it was a gift! You gave it, smiling as You gave it, delighting as You gave it.” – Psalm 44 MSG

              God encouraged me on the Christmas roadtrip to meditate on the blessings in Deuteronomy 28, start speaking them over myself, that discipline has helped lately. A lot.

              Not in terms of feeling better but I believe I can say that despite acknowledging how I continue to feel I haven’t spoken any disbelief. I’m speaking His words, His truth, although I can say that sometimes saying that everything I set my hand to prospers feels as ridiculous as saying “two plus two equals Lon Chaney Jr.”

              Feels like nonsense.

              But the way I feel, much as I’m struggling to slough it off at the moment, does not reflect even the natural world to say nothing of the Real.

              And He promised.

              He promised.

              And it’s not like there are no stories of people succeeding, writers succeeding despite the odds. Despite effort on their part or indeed a lack thereof.

              The Smothers Brothers were this close to calling it, going to college, becoming teachers or something before they got a gig in Aspen they spent all the dough they had to show up for. One that put them on the map.

If Red October hadn’t happened to end up in President Reagan’s hands, through (far as I know) no effort or design on Tom Clancy’s part, nobody’d ever have heard of Jack Ryan.

Fresh Prince of Bel-Air would have been off the bel-air after a couple episodes, rather than running for six seasons, if the NBC president’s daughter hadn’t begged him not to cancel her favorite show.

Best Original Screenplay Oscar winner William Goldman couldn’t get the college paper he was one of three editors for to accept his stuff.

Joss Whedon turned (basically) failed movie Buffy the Vampire Slayer into a successful seven-series television show and then failed television show Firefly (sob) into a successful movie; two things that never happen.

Stephen King’s wife fished Carrie out of a trash can, convinced her husband to get out there one more time.

Theodore Geisel was contemplating pitching Mulberry Street into the fireplace when he just happened to get a visit from a friend who just happened to have a publishing company looking for children’s books.

              “Why are you down in the dumps, dear soul? Why are you crying the blues? Fix my eyes on God—soon I’ll be praising again. He puts a smile on my face. He’s my God.” – Psalm 43 MSG

              And, speaking of the Smothers Brothers, recently read David Bianculli’s excellent Dangerously Funny: The Uncensored Story of the Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour and heard about another accidental success.

              Bob Newhart, you might remember him from The Big Bang Theory or Elf or, well, The Bob Newhart Show, in 1960 he was a thirty-year-old accountant who could make his family, his coworkers laugh their socks off, and recorded his routines “for the fun of it”. No indication, according to legend, that he had any aspirations beyond local guffaws.

              “…the tape eventually made its way to a Chicago disk jockey, who forwarded it to a record executive from Warner Bros. The label offered Newhart a contract and agreed to pay to have his next nightclub appearance recorded for the album. The only thing was, Newhart had no nightclub appearance booked.”

              He’d never officially performed anywhere. Had no plans to officially perform anywhere.

              “So they found a club with an open date, two weeks later in Houston, and Newhart stepped out as a professional stand-up comic for the first time.”

              They called the resulting album The Button-Down Mind of Bob Newhart, released it in May of 1960 and it became the first comedy album in history to hit number one.

              The second album in history to do so?

              The Button-Down Mind Strikes Back! – released in September of that same year. (Pre-dating Star Wars Episode Vby twenty years, he mentioned in passing) The two albums were Number One and Number Two for a brief, shining moment.

              An accountant makes a recording for the fun of it having, near as I can find, no expectation that he was creating a six decade career.

              Couldn’t tell you what Bob Newhart believes in. Whether that accidental success had God’s hand in it or if he was just lucky

              but I do know that I don’t need luck.

              God knows what He’s doing and maybe this road doesn’t look like what I had in mind but I’m right where He wants me regardless of how I feel just now.

              Which is the right place to be.

              “Why are you down in the dumps, dear soul? Why are you crying the blues? Fix my eyes on God—soon I’ll be praising again. He puts a smile on my face. He’s my God.” – Psalm 42 MSG

              Everything I set my hand to prospers, Best Beloved.

Don’t forget to write

New Castings

“They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall mount up on wings as of eagles…” Isaiah 40

photo credit Tom Sweeney 2021

              Have a great story about God’s faithfulness and encouragement and apparently its for next week. I didn’t struggle to get back to sleep Thursday night, writing half of this in my head, for nothing. (wink)

              I’m not great at asking for help.

              There’s two main reasons for that; one is our delightfully broken Western tradition, you know, the one that pounds into boys that the two things they must never do is (a) cry and (b) ask for help. I’m not saying I received these messages directly from caregivers, but it’s hard to escape in the overall popular culture. John Wayne never shed a tear. The Terminator gave a thumbs-up even as he (well, it) was melting into that molten ore.

              And the second thing.

              In wonderful excellent coming-of-age movie Twenty-Eight Days, please do not confuse with dreadful zombie movie Twenty-Eight Days Later, the manager of the rehab facility Sandra Bullock is trying to survive felt-tip-markers a sign that she has to wear around her neck.

              Confront me if I don’t ask for help

              And one of the wonderful excellent friends I saw that movie with, back in ’02 or so, said to me, she said, “Sometimes you need to wear that sign.”

              Darned if she wasn’t right. And being the all-or-nothing person I usually am, I didn’t just make a sign, I paid to print a t-shirt that said

              Confront me if I don’t ask for help

              and on occasions where I really screwed something up by trying to do everything myself, I made me wear that shirt the next day. Because people would ask about it and the explanation helped me remember.

              I think I still have it around somewhere; haven’t worn it in ages.

              Not that I haven’t had reason to, mind you.

              [Wazzat? Crying? Was never good at not crying; God wired me to be empathic. Fortunately, over the years I’ve learned that there’s nothing wrong with tears except denying the need to shed them]

              Anyway—God is good, might have mentioned that before, and the way He speaks to me more than any other is through His Word. It’s incredible how alive Scripture is, how a verse, a story I’ve read/taught/heard preached a thousand times suddenly has a facet I’ve never seen before, that weirdly enough speaks to exactly where I am at that moment.

              Case in point, July 25^th of last year.

              When I stop and spend time first thing in the morning with God, which I try to do every morning because it grounds the day real good, my usual method is to read a chapter in the overall Bible and a chapter in my standalone Message version of Psalms. When I’m in Psalms in the overall Bible, of course, that means a Psalm and then a Psalm.

              On July twenty-fifth, in the overall Bible, I found this in Psalm 2: “Blessed are all who take refuge in Him.” (Meaning God.)

              Then in the day’s standalone Psalm, which happened to be 40: “Blessed are you who give yourselves over to Yahweh.”

              Feeling chuffed by the double encouragement, I made sure to go to my journal and write down this revelation.

              Lest any reader perhaps think I was maybe seeing what I wanted, hang on while I mention that this particular journal happened to have a different Scripture verse printed at the bottom of every page.

              The verse that day?

              Psalm 55: “Cast your cares on the Lord and He will sustain you.”

              Even a wonky donkey such as myself knows when he done been hit upside the head.

              That wonderful 7-25 morning in God’s Word just happened to be on my Saturday blog-writing day and so made a lovely addition to what I already had to say.

              Lo these nine months later those three stand-out Scriptures still come to mind, as they did last night. Nine months later I’m still believing in things I can’t see, trusting for a harvest of which there’s been no sign, plus sometimes I find other things to worry about. And I find myself walking along struggling under the burden and God, again, says What if you handed that to me?

              Last night as He asked, it came to mind that seemed unfair. To do that. They aren’t His burdens, after all; I was carrying fear and unbelief and worry all because of my own foolishness. Why should He have to endure that?

              One good reason, which He gently reminded me of, is because He’d hardly know the difference.

              Back in my 90s high-school days I had a brand-new 486 PC. I’d look up the stats but it would probably be depressing; suffice to say that at one point I wanted to load a game onto my sweet rig that required a full gigabyte of hard disk space, and in my frantic efforts to clear up that much room, I, uh, managed to delete the Windows Operating System.

              Still not sure how.

              Can’t recall if I ever got the game loaded but nowadays, one gigabyte is nothing. I get one gig flash drives in my junk mail. I’d use one gig flash drives as Q-tips if my ear holes were USB shaped.

              God’s capacity to handle my burdens is like my 1997 self sitting down in my office now. “Is there any possible way to save a gigabyte worth of data?” he might say, at which point I could plug in one of several 500G hard drives that I hardly use anymore, because frankly with hi-def video 500G isn’t really all that beefy. But one gig? Throw it onto that hard drive, make 200 backup copies if you like, still won’t take up half the available space.

              Why not cast my cares on God? Besides the fact that He has repeatedly encouraged me to, it’s not as though He can’t handle the extra weight.

              Maybe the real struggle is that to cast my cares on Him means admitting that I’m out of my depth. That I need help.

              Which as we’ve already established is hard for me.

              There’s that process again. The journey I keep noticing I haven’t made as much progress on as I would wish.

              But we keep moving.

              May or may not slide neatly into the essay I’m crafting here, but couple different things could be meant by ‘castings’; certainly what I’ve been speaking of, with the casting of cares, could apply. Online dictionary also offered up choosing actors for a play or movie.

              Then there’s the one I was thinking of, and went to that online dictionary to make sure I was getting it right.

              ‘The making of an object by pouring molten metal or other material into a mold.’

              As one army sergeant I’ve heard tell of put it: “This process is gonna melt you down. The shape you are in the end is up to you.” (Either way, make sure to give a thumbs-up as you disappear, guys)

              God’s not going to force me to accept His help.

              But His help is always always always available.

              I imagine middlest child Andrew and I walking to a friend’s house. Maybe he’s invited to a neighborhood sleepover. In my imagination, and I could absolutely see the real-life version doing this, Andrew has a backpack crammed to bursting with monster trucks, books, puzzles, Lego creations, and maybe if there’s room pajamas and extra clothes he might actually need.

              He’s carrying more than half his own body weight and initially, “Dad, I can do it.”

              As we walk along I can see him struggling. “Want me to carry that, buddy?”

              “Dad, I can do it.”

              Another block or two and tears are streaming down his face.

              “Want me to carry that, buddy?”

              “Dad, I can do it.”

              Why won’t he let me help him? It’s not as though I can’t easily handle the weight.

              But God won’t make us yield. If we choose to carry the burdens till we collapse He’ll honor our choices.

              Even when I do realize I’m being a putz and submit to Him, it’s not like I get off scot free, (is it scott free? I’ll look it up.) Not that I get off scot-free; there is no such thing as something for nothing. Everything has a price and casting my cares on Him frees me only to take His yoke in return. But His yoke is easy and His burden light and it’s a much better deal. Being subject to His authority and ‘burdened’ with obedience to His plan only costs me that ‘freedom’ that had me staggering under a ridiculous load in the first place. I’m still way ahead of the game.

              One more analogy because I just can’t help myself and also to do that circular beginning-is-the-end-is-the-beginning bit I adore.

              (And because God apparently wants me to—chose the picture seen above Friday morning, having no idea I would be with the boys at a Denver park Friday afternoon and see a raptor that looked just like the one in the photo!)

              Birds, in my experience, sometimes they’ll have a twig or a mouse or a fish in their talons for awhile.

              Can’t recall ever seeing one in real life with a bunch of crap on their back.

              Hard to fly that way, you know?

              Don’t forget to write…

Ninety-Nine

              “They that sow in tears shall reap in joy. He that goeth forth weeping, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him.” Psalm 126: 5-6

            

              The adorable picture of the six-month old isn’t just for reader magnet purposes (though if it worked, welcome! Glad you’re here) but is also allegorical; been reminding myself that I’m a dearly loved child this week.

              No sign of harvest to report, and I will say that when in my daily devotions I happened across Psalm 126, partly seen above, I was heartened. I shed a tear or two this week, longing for that harvest. I want to bless as many people in this world as I possibly can and my words, my stories are the best chance available. (Far as I know. Everything I have is God’s to do with as pleases Him and maybe He has other ideas)

              The waiting, as I’m sure I’ve said before, the waiting can be so very hard. Being out on the open water with no control over the wind, no idea how far over the horizon land might be. Can be hard to stay focused in seemingly endless waters.

              And while back in August I was struggling with feeling like maybe God had forgotten me, lately the struggle has been much more familiar; fear that some small part of this journey is up to me, a harvest requires a farmer’s effort after all…and that that’s where things will come apart. Imagining an immense ocean liner tied to an immovable dock by a fraying piece of thin rope.

              What if I have ruined/am ruining/will ruin everything somehow?

              Over and over this week I reminded myself that I did nothing to make that first elementary school video client happen; they came to me out of nowhere. The first dance client also.

              I’ve reminded myself that I was moving in completely the wrong direction all the time God was drawing me and Tiffany together. He didn’t let me miss His best.

              Then yesterday He arranged an object lesson that—I completely believe—was in direct response to this fear. And which has provided, is providing, another direct confirmation that this is all really going to happen.

              On Wednesday, out of nowhere, our next-door neighbor asks if I’m home, and meets me at the fence to hand me a gift card. He had taken some old CDs and such to a local We’ll Take Your Old CDs And Such store, they’d handed over store credit, and he wanted to give said credit to me.

              A gift card for $21.25.

              I was glad to get it; thanked him and God for an unexpected blessing.

              Yesterday, Friday, my wonderful wife took the two older boys to the museum, leaving baby Ryan and I free to paint the town red. As I had been unable to sleep from about 3:45 on, I didn’t have a lot of paint available, but still wanted to take the opportunity, so RC and I drove over to the We’ll Take Your Old CDs and Such store, find a way to blow $21.25.

              Quick side trip before we walk in; long, long ago (in 1993) Detective Comics ran a continuing saga with flagship character Batman. Arch-nemesis Bane broke everybody out of Arkham Asylum, then broke our hero’s back. Someone else had to take over being Batman who proved to be something of a villain himself and those of us who cared (stick with me, this is going somewhere) wondered if Bruce Wayne would ever be Batman again.

              The story spread across half-a-dozen different comic book titles spanning several years and thankfully for those of us who have lives and can’t spend hours pawing through cardboard boxes in comic store backrooms, DC has collected the whole megillah in several large volumes, (Knightfall part One and Two, Knightquest part One and Two, and Knightsend. Aren’t you glad you asked?) which I’ve had for some time.

              The story itself, though, sometimes references the events that led up to Knightfall. And as I, in the past fortnight, just happened to be reading through Knightquest, the thought struck me as it has before that going to the trouble to gather up the fifteen-or-so comic issues representing the prelude might be nice. Have the whole story.

              Hopefully you’re still reading; this is where all of that geekery comes to a point.

              I walk into We’ll Take Your Old CDs and Such carrying Ryan, possibly having remembered to ask the Holy Spirit, should He care, to point out anything He wouldn’t want me to miss. I beeline for the Graphic Novel shelves.

              And I just happened to find something there I didn’t know to look for.

              Because I didn’t know it existed.

              Batman: Prelude to Knightfall.

              Fifteen-or-so comic issues leading up to the Knightfall saga that DC figured Bat-dorks like myself might want to have, conveniently bound together in one volume.

              Once again, once again, God answered a prayer I hadn’t even prayed, giving me something I didn’t even know to ask for.

              I walked into the store with $21.25 on a gift-card.

              Guess how much they wanted for Batman: Prelude to Knightfall.

              Wrong.

              $21.59.

              And that’s the really cool part. That extra thirty-four cents.

              It took me about ten hours to realize why, though. (I was very tired)

              At the time, I was happy to whip out my card and cover that last little bit. If necessary Ryan and I could have gone out to the van and scrounged behind the seats for that last little bit. It was no problem to provide.

              And if the gift-card I had walked in with had been for the exact amount, or for a little more, or two-thirds of that amount, I’d probably still be telling the story but it wouldn’t mean nearly as much.

              Bought the volume at 10:30 in the morning. Ten hours later as I drove home from filming at a high-school yesterday, what I realized was that God, by way of my generous neighbor, provided ninety-nine percent of the cost. Leaving me to kick in the last percent. (Okay, 1.6 percent, technically)

              Because Batman: Prelude to Knightfall wasn’t just meant to be a little extra encouragement after a challenging week. It was also meant to be an object lesson.

              This week, as I said earlier, I’ve been struggling with fear that I’m the weak link. That what little part of His plan rests on my shoulders is where everything is going to fall apart.

              But what I believe He wanted me to see in that gift-card, graphic-novel buying transaction is not only that my responsibility is just one percent, and that He has the other ninety-nine taken care of.

              He wants me to see that my one percent has already taken place.

              Not that God has taken the ball ninety-nine yards downfield and handed it to me with one yard to go, chancing a fumble perhaps; no…I handed off to Him on the one-yard line and He’s taking the ball the rest of the way.

              To reference my second favorite analogy, I’ve used my strength to bend that bow of bronze a quarter-inch, and He’s going to pull the other three feet, so that the arrow might hit that ten-mile-away target.

              To reference my first favorite analogy…it was up to me to get into the boat. To set sail. The fact that I’m out here where I have zero control over the winds, I don’t have to be concerned about that. They’re His winds, it’s His boat and I did my one percent.

              I planted the seed that I have no ability whatsoever to make grow.

              Whichever book it is that’s going to break out and kickstart a ridiculously successful publishing career, I’ve written it. I’ve done my part.

              The encouragement from the end of Psalm 126, that came in Thursday morning. Yesterday morning I moved one verse further to the beginning of Psalm 127, and was encouraged yet again.

              “Unless the Lord build the house, the builders labor in vain.” Psalm 127:1

              This time last year, give or take, the Holy Spirit showed me that the opposite of that verse is also true.

              If the Lord is building the house, the builders aren’t laboring in vain.

              I couldn’t sleep for thinking about it.

              I’m so excited right now.

              By the way – not that it proves anything, but for obvious reasons I titled this post Ninety-Ninein reference to God’s faithfulness without being aware, which I just became when I went to save it, that this very post just happens to be the ninety-ninthblog post in this continuing saga…)

              Don’t forget to write…

Who Do You Trust

“It is better to trust in the Lord than to trust in man.” – Psalm 118:8

                Like fun facts about the Bible? Been told the by far best-selling book of all time is flawed, inconsistent, written as it was by a bunch of guys thousands of years ago?

                This might bake your noodle a little—there’s a small Psalm in the middle of the book of Psalms, in the middle of the Bible, that is distinct in one way because the previous Psalm, 117, is the shortest and the following Psalm, 119, is the longest.

                Also interesting to note that there are one thousand, one hundred and eighty-eight Biblical chapters before Psalm 118, and one thousand, one hundred and eighty-eight Biblical chapters after Psalm 118. It would be too mind-blowing here to say that Psalm 118:8 has been proven to be the central verse of the Bible. Different translations have different overall numbers of verses (there’s a passage in Mark 9 the NIV translators had a problem with, for example) but let’s allow that 1188 chapters before and 1188 chapters after Psalm 118 in a manuscript crafted across thousands of years, all before electricity or moveable type or Google was harnessed to be pretty significant, shall we?

                And perhaps verse 8 of Psalm 118 should also be considered significant.

                Keep that verse handy as we go on.

                It’s 10pm in the evening, bedtime was an hour ago and I’m filming five dance shows tomorrow so this is the last thing I should be doing, but I was lying in bed mentally writing, so thought getting up and physically releasing myself of these thoughts might allow for sleep faster than trying to make my brain be quiet.

                There’s a self-published, poorly written, typo-plagued Amazonly available book on my mind tonight.

                This isn’t uncommon; I belong to several Facebook groups where people regularly promote their books (despite that being in violation of the rules) and I often check out the real vs the hype; how many reviews, how does the author describe themselves, how bad are the first few (thank heavens for free Kindle Samples) pages. As is often the case, this particular book could be considered something of a rip-off, pricewise; the author feels that $14 for roughly 30,000 words is perfectly acceptable. For comparison, that’s twice the cost of a John Grisham novel for one-fifth the story (even if the writing were of a similar quality. It is very much not.)

                As I’ve written about before, there is a tidal wave of quick-write, boot-strapped, pay-someone-to-polish-garbage-no-self-respecting-agent-would-touch fiction swamping the online beaches. One more is hardly worth mentioning.

                Except.

                Keep this book and that verse handy, I’ll get back to both.

                The philosophy of “Whatever I can get away with” isn’t new. The last four vehicles I’ve purchased, two motorcycles and two cars, each time once the seller and I agreed on a price, they offered to write a much lower number on the Bill of Sale, so that I could save some money on the government’s Vehicle Tax.

                And in each case the seller seemed to think I was crazy to insist on honesty.

                After all, besides them and me, who would ever know? The government has plenty of money, who cares if they get a few hundred less?

                I’ve worked as a freelancer for several people who have shortchanged me (one case, by 10%, another, 100%) when the projects in question brought in less than they thought they would. They seemed to think it perfectly fair to cheat me, since life hadn’t been fair to them. (I also recently bought an Ebay item and now wish I’d checked the seller’s feedback; over and over people have reported that this person took their money and delivered nothing, which has been my experience as well.)

                I watch YouTube compilations of car accidents recorded on dashcam (don’t judge me) and when the aftermath is described, almost every description mentions the accident causer lying to the police, or their insurance company, or changing their story once video of what actually happened comes to light.

                The very dance company I’m honored to film tomorrow—about a decade ago a teacher left that company to start their own, and contacted me for the first annual recital video. Couldn’t say enough bad things about the people he’d been working for, people whom I had not had problems with, but whatever; I just film videos. And I filmed the video for this child of God, who after the performance hemmed and hawed at paying me what we had agreed on, since things hadn’t been as prosperous as he had anticipated. I was begrudgingly paid after I reminded him of our signed agreement. (Ironically, the contract had been at his insistence.)

                Next year he wants me to come film the 2^nd Annual show, and because I’m not as dumb as I look, I was ‘too busy’ and couldn’t help him.

                A friend of mine was hired to run the audio for the show and told me later that people put up a bunch of money for costumes, recital fees, etc. and when the day came, arrived at the venue to find locked doors. Confusion.

                My friend the dance company owner took everyone’s money and left the state.

                …how do people sleep at night?

                When did ‘whatever I can get away with’ become society’s moral standard?

                I’m not claiming that I live perfectly, or am perfectly honest—but for damn sure I try to be. Can’t tell you how many times someone has given me back more change than I deserved, but I can tell you that every time I’ve realized it’s happened I’ve called attention to the fact, and every time that’s happened, the giver has been astonished. Who wouldn’t quietly pocket the extra $10? Not like McDonald’s’ll miss it…

                Setting aside whether or not the mistake might cost someone their job—if I take $10 when my change should be $1, if I tell the DMV I paid $5000 for a car when I paid $7000, if I tell a person I can’t pay them a promised price because I lost money on a project…where am I putting my trust?

                “It is better to trust in the Lord than to trust in man.” – Psalm 118:8

                There might be a reason why that verse is (more or less) smack-dab in the middle of the Bible.

                Does it make sense, in the natural, to grab everything one can, get away with everything one can, take whatever advantage one can?

                I guess.

                But the more we do that, especially in this current season of fear, the more we devolve to that whole Might Makes Right nonsense that was supposed to have died out in the dark ages. The nice fellow or fellows who were just trying to make their way in a tough world and helped themselves to my Harley back in 2012, I wonder how they justify stealing. “This guy can afford a Harley and I can’t so it’s fair that I steal from him?” “He probably has insurance?” “You gotta take every advantage you can in this world?” I just wonder, how would they feel if they came home one night and some of their stuff was gone?

                The guy who felt justified in stiffing me the $500 we agreed upon, after I moved heaven and earth to learn thirty pages of script in a week, perform in a video he was sure would just light up the Internet, passing up the chance to work in blackface (no really, he thought it would be a great idea)…would he find it perfectly understandable if somebody left him high and dry in the same situation?

                If all we do is grasp and claw for whatever we can get, if our trust is in nothing more than our own wits and abilities and schemes…this world quickly devolves into chaos. Which it is measurably doing.

                Not that long ago people didn’t lock their doors at night. Or their cars during the day. Now we have 24/7 surveillance on our houses because the next time Amazon delivers a package somebody might come along and help themselves. We have to warn people, ‘be sure to check the reviews’, ‘be sure to read the feedback’, because some folks will offer $25 sunglasses they have no intention of delivering.

                Fraud investigations. Anti-trust lawsuits. Judge Judy’s career.

                It’s quickly obvious who puts their trust in man and who puts their trust in God.

                So the poorly-written self-published book I mentioned. It’s not all the telling instead of showing. It’s not the three typos in the first three hundred words. It’s not even that the posting the book in the FB group, promoting it to group members, violates the group’s no self-promotion rule.

                What has me losing sleep tonight is that this latest rule-violating post can’t be brought to the attention of the Admins because it was one of the Admins that posted it.

                And when I quietly, respectfully sent a private message to the author/Admin stating that I felt like the post was in violation of the rules, they breezily responded that while it absolutely is, they talked with the other admins and felt that since there’s no monetary compensation in doing their job, this particular rule doesn’t apply to them.

                It’s really not a huge deal. It’s one post in one Facebook group about a forgettable book. One person breaking one rule to try and get a leg up in this crazy world.

                Which in the natural makes sense. Do what you can get away with. Take the advantage. Every man for himself.

                The admin poster has chosen to trust in man’s way rather than God’s.

                And as I write this at near 11pm at night, hoping that when I’ve gotten it out of my system I’ll finally be able to sleep, who can say they’re wrong?

                My way, which is to follow the rules, and let God promote me should He decide to rather than scrambling to promote myself, keep my word even when it’s to my hurt and trust God for my provision…as far as writing career goes, as I type this sentence I can’t prove that my way is better. That His way is better.

                But let’s come back to this point in a year. In five years. And see whether or not God has proven Himself faithful.

                In the meantime…one thing I am sure of as I type this sentence.

                Either I will have a better sleep than my friend the Admin poster because my conscience is clear,

                Or we’ll have a similar sleep because his conscience is too dulled to be burdened by his actions.

                As I write this I fear it’s coming across as self-righteous. Pretentious. Holier-than-him.

                I am a sinner saved by grace. Like my FB friend. God loves him and loves me.

                I’m just stating for the record that despite what it might look like in the short-term, cheaters don’t prosper.

                But that’s just me.

                Hopefully I sleep now.

                In the meantime, don’t forget to write…

                (For more clever, life-changing and possibly pedantic words like the above strung into run-on, hyphen-heavy sentences, search Will Nuessle on Amazon.com; print, digital and read-by-the-author audiobooks available in a variety of flavors)