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Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

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Divine appointments (or what happens when you pay attention)

September 3, 2016

Full disclosure: I don’t know what I believe about so-called divine appointments. Is God really arranging meetings like some sort of cosmic secretary or matchmaker? Sometimes when I think about divine appointments, I imagine God picking each of us up like chess pieces and moving us from one side of the board to the other.

Please don’t check out just yet.

I’ve heard the phrase used as a motivating tool for evangelizing every stranger with whom a person comes into contact, so forgive me if I twitch just a little when anyone suggests that we be on the lookout for “divine appointments.” (Do I need to explain this phrase? I’m hoping it makes sense as is.)

But I know that some meetings cannot be explained as simply accidents or chance meetings. They just can’t.

I saw this happen numerous times at the writing conference I just attended. In a group of almost 600 people, I continually found people with whom I had common ground. And not just, oh, you write the same kind of thing I write, but life story kind of common ground. I didn’t see everyone I wanted to see in that crowd of 600, but I “happened” to meet a few people I needed to meet. I don’t see it as chance.

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I wore this name tag during the entire conference. When I registered, I had the option of including a second line on my name tag and because I didn’t know what to put, I chose the name and theme of my blog. (You can read more about that here, if you haven’t already.) I was hoping people would ask about it and I could tell them, but nobody did.

Until I sat down in a class on Saturday and a woman sat in the same row. She read my name tag and asked about the second line and so I told her.

“So, what kinds of back roads have you seen in life?”

I could have told her so many things, but I focused on our seminary story. How we had one plan for our lives when my husband entered seminary and how partway through, we felt a shift and how we’re still feeling the shift but have no idea where that shift is taking us. She shared with me that the same happened to her husband, who decided partway through seminary to become a chiropractor instead.

I was shocked. Out of 600 people at a conference, this is the woman who sits next to me in a workshop and we have a same story about seminary? Not a coincidence. At all.

Then I picked a lunch table, which is the absolute worst part of any large group gathering for me. I assume everyone already has a table of people and I’ll be intruding on some kind of popular crowd. (News flash: it seems everyone has this fear and everyone is welcoming when you ask to sit at their table.)

I plopped down at the closest one where a few people were starting to gather and besides sitting with a wildly successful author and her husband (who were sweet and friendly and normal), I was next to a woman whose husband had served in the Marines. They lived on Okinawa for three years. That’s the same island where my grandfather served in World War 2. We’re just a little over a month past his death, and it was a sweet reminder for me, as well as a future contact for what the island is like now. (I’m always thinking of stories and characters and settings. You’ve been warned.) Again, I could have sat anywhere in that ballroom, but I didn’t.

Those were the two most memorable examples from the conference.

Then, yesterday, it happened again.

Earlier in the week, my son had brought home a birthday invitation from school for a gymnastics party for a classmate we hadn’t met yet. I’m not against birthday parties, but we do try to limit ourselves a little bit, especially if we don’t know the family well. (I understand this is not a great philosophy for making new friends, but what can I say? I’m almost a recluse.) My son did not want to go because it’s a gymnastics center and he did not want to “do gymnastics.” I said okay by me and threw the invitation away.

Fast forward to Friday and the kids were off school. I’m behind in my miles for the walking challenge. So, we biked and walked to the park because for the first time in weeks, the temperature outside was bearable. We made it to the playground where another child was playing. I sat down on the bench next to the mom, and we started talking. I asked if they were in the same school district, since we were both out and about on an otherwise normal school day, and we quickly learned that my son and her daughter were in the same class.

It wasn’t long after that I realized this girl was the birthday girl, and her mom asked me about the invitation. We had the most pleasant visit two virtual strangers can have, so I asked my son after we left if he might want to change his mind about the party. He agreed. Which, of course, meant that I had thrown the invitation away and had to ask the mother for all the information again.

A small price to pay for developing friendships.

All of this to say that I still don’t know if God is arranging meetings or messing with people’s schedules so they run into people at certain times. I do know that I don’t believe in coincidence and that it’s important to pay attention to my life and the world around me. I’m slowly–very slowly–leaving my phone in my pocket and my book at home when I enter a social situation. I’m slowly–very slowly–looking around for the people on the outskirts of a crowd because that’s where I usually am, too, and I figure they might need a friend as much as I do.

I read this quote in a book this summer and I loved it so much I made it my pinned Tweet on Twitter so I can see it all the time.

“Afflict me with Attention Surplus Disorder so I can see what is in front of my face.” -Tom Andrews, poet.

I want to be attentive to what’s happening around me. To really see the people and the events as they are happening. To take a chance that maybe this person I’m seeing isn’t a chance meeting at all but someone who needs me, or whom I might need.

What do you think about divine appointments? Are there people we are meant to meet throughout the course of our day? Is it all just chance? What stories do you have of people you’ve met “by chance”?

Filed Under: faith & spirituality, Friendship Tagged With: divine appointments, making new friends, welcoming strangers

Investors, cheerleaders and what makes the dream work

September 2, 2016

I don’t know who coined the phrase, “Team work makes the dream work,” but that person was totally on to something. I saw it play out in real life.

A few weeks ago, I told you about the chance to pursue my dream. Or at least take a step in the pursuit of my dream. Last week, I went to the writing conference in Nashville, nervous, excited, scared, insecure, hopeful. I had no solid idea of what I was walking into.

All I knew was that I didn’t walk alone. And yes, I mean that I know God was with me because His Spirit is everywhere, but I also mean that I had a team–some members near, some far–cheering me on. One friend sent a text: “Come home with a book deal!” I laughed because that was so far beyond the dream, but I loved her enthusiasm and belief in me. Another friend texted a lengthy prayer of encouragement about what she saw in me as a writer. I almost cried. Another friend let me know when she was praying for my appointments, and I knew that she was joining me in Spirit in those meetings.

These were my cheerleaders, encouragers, supporters. They did their work from another state but their work lifted me with every new step.

Mathias Jensen via Unsplash

Mathias Jensen via Unsplash

Then there were the other conference attendees, the ones I either only knew from Facebook or had never met in my life. Would you believe me if I told you that there was nothing but support and love for each other as writers? No feelings of envy or competition, just a spurring one another on? It was refreshing and humbling.

One of the opportunities this conference afforded me was to meet with agents and/or editors to talk about my writing. I requested two agent appointments and got them. Then, I freaked out because the story I consider “finished” is anything but and I thought maybe I should cancel because I didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. More than once, an author I barely knew asked, “Are you pitching?” (i.e. presenting your story idea to an agent or editor).

“Uh, maybe. I’m not sure,” I replied.

“You should go for it.”

And again, “Give it a shot.”

“Don’t be nervous.”

I decided to go for it, and I had this great plan to visit the prayer room before my appointment so I could calm myself and gain some perspective. Then, the main session ran late after lunch, and I really had to pee and there was no way I had time to go to the bathroom and visit the prayer room, so you can guess which need triumphed. As I was standing in line for the bathroom (because there’s always a line at the women’s rest room), I must have mentioned my upcoming appointment, and I kid you not, two complete strangers (who are now friends) stopped and prayed for me. In the line to the bathroom!

I couldn’t believe it. They knew nothing about me except that I was a fellow writer and Christian and I was nervous about the appointment. I’ve told the story many times, and I still can’t believe it.

And then there was my friend Beth, who gets a special mention because she was not attending the writing conference but she decided to spend the money and travel with me to Nashville. When she first mentioned the idea, I wasn’t sure she was serious. Who would do that?

But she did. We traveled together, laughed together, explored together, and at the end of each day, she was there for me to download to. If not for her, I would have cried more and I certainly wouldn’t have fallen in love with Nashville because I never would have left the hotel.

This dream of mine was made possible by a whole lot of people: my husband, who practically pushed the computer key when I hesitated to register; my family, who took care of the kids their first week of school so I could do this for me; my church family, who picked up responsibilities I was absent for; and probably more that I’m forgetting.

It is so humbling for people to believe in my dream because I don’t always feel like I believe in it.

I’m so inspired by people who go for their dreams. It’s what I love about Kickstarter (and similar) campaigns. You put your dream out there and you ask people to invest and spread the word. This one particular campaign that ends in a few hours is a BIG dream monetarily with worldwide potential impact. I love the opportunity to be a co-founder of this dream, and I want to find ways to be a co-founder, an investor, in other people’s dreams.

Dreams need investors because all dreams cost something.

[bctt tweet=”Dreams need investors because all dreams cost something.” username=”lmbartelt”]

And all dreams need cheerleaders because the journey from dream to reality is long and winding and full of obstacles. Dreamers will doubt their dreams–and themselves–so they need people to rally around them and urge them to continue working toward their dreams. At the writing conference they talked a lot about the 20-year-overnight-success of being a writer–how the authors some of us look to for inspiration didn’t get that way overnight. They put 20 years of hard work into their writing to get where they are today.

I am thankful beyond words for the investors and cheerleaders for my dreams. And if you want to be one or the other for me, stay tuned for some specific ways you can help.

Because I’m going after my dream of writing and publishing fiction. And I’m going to need your help.

What dreams are you pursuing? How have you seen people invest in or encourage your dreams? 

Filed Under: dreams, Friendship, Travel, Writing Tagged With: acfw national conference, encouragement, fiction writing, investing in dreams, nashville, pursuing dreams, writing conference

Dream on

August 19, 2016

Earlier this year, our family read aloud The BFG by Roald Dahl. Dahl has become one of my favorite authors. His books are funny and sad and clever and full of wisdom even an adult cannot miss.

This week, we saw the movie version, which is not exactly like the book but had its share of great moments, too. There’s an exchange between Sophie and the BFG that has stuck with me. Sophie has accompanied the BFG on his rounds blowing dreams into people’s houses. They’re watching a young boy’s dream unfold in his mind and suddenly it’s over.

“Dreams are so quick,” Sophie observes.

“Yeah, on the outside,” the BFG says with a chuckle. “But they’s long on the inside.”

—

Though he’s talking about our at-night dreams, I think his words relate to our day-dreams, too, or the ones that keep us up at night. Our someday dreams.

Sometimes it takes a long time for our dreams to happen. Almost always, dreams take time and work and effort and patience. But they can appear to happen quickly, especially if we aren’t given the background. I remember reading a book once that was so beautifully written and well crafted it actually discouraged me as a writer. “I’ll never write anything that good,” I thought. “She makes it look so easy.” Then I read the author’s note where she revealed that this book was a 10-year project that had evolved many times.

I had been mistaken because I couldn’t see the work that had gone into the dream, only the result.

—

Dayne Topkin via Unsplash

Dayne Topkin via Unsplash

I have dreams. The waking kind. The someday kind.

And sometimes it’s hard to believe those dreams will ever come true. And they might not. Maybe they’ll be replaced with other dreams. Or turn into nightmares.

But I think we need to have dreams, even if they don’t ever come true.

More importantly, I think we need to work as if our dreams will come true. Not that we have to do whatever it takes to make our dreams come true because that can be dangerous. But we have to do something. Few people have their dreams handed to them without any effort. (I appreciate this post in a series on dreams because it reminded me that my dream is my responsibility.)

—

In one sense, I’m living my dream. I’m a writer. I work from home. These are good things that have bad moments but mostly they are the elements to my dream job.

On Wednesday, I leave for a conference that has also been a dream. It’s for fiction writers and it’s big and potentially overwhelming and I already feel like maybe I shouldn’t be there (and I’m not even there yet). The last time I attended a conference I was clueless. Maybe it was better that way. Now, I feel like I know too much.

Going to this conference, though, is taking responsibility for my dream. Because if I ever want to publish a novel, I have to take a chance and let people know I’m out there, writing, and I have stories to tell. No one is going to find me and give me my dream while I’m sitting at home in comfy clothes watching Netflix. (I wish!)

The truth is that this conference isn’t going to be the realization of my dream. Not by itself, anyway. It will be a step in the process. (I think it may be true that publishing a novel may not even be the realization of my dream.) Just the beginning of the work. Or a continuation of it.

I worry that it might be the thing that crushes my dream because that is always possible. But even a crushed dream serves a purpose and makes way for a new dream to develop.

Maybe the path to my dream will be long. And winding. Maybe I’ll encounter a dead end. Maybe my dream will die.

As hard as that is to write, it’s almost easier to accept. I have an easier time believing my dream will be crushed than that it will be realized. (Analyze that, if you will.)

—

I won’t stop dreaming. I can’t.

And neither should you.

Dream on.

When I was growing up, that phrase was used to discourage people from pursuing something that seemed out of reach.

Dream on, we were told if we were aiming for something big or amazing.

I say, keeping dreaming.

Dream on and on and on.

Filed Under: Writing Tagged With: dream on, dreams, the big, writing conference

Why I will walk 100 miles (or more)

August 13, 2016

100 miles.

That’s the distance from my hometown to Chicago, an interstate’s drive that takes nearly two hours. I have no idea how long it would take to walk it. Especially not in the middle of a muggy Midwestern summer.

100 miles.

It’s a number that scares me because it is SO big. And yet, it’s nothing compared to some other numbers.

Numbers like 65 million. That’s how many people are living as refugees or in refugee-like situation worldwide.

100 miles is small when compared to the thousands of miles some refugees travel to find safety, in the pursuit of hope for a better life.

But 100 miles is still important. Let me tell you why.

Over the next eight weeks, I have pledged to walk 100 miles to raise money for a local organization that helps refugees in our community. (My husband has also taken this pledge, so whatever you read here, double it. That’s what we need to achieve.)

one team.one goal.3000 miles for refugees.

Between today and Oct. 8, it is my goal to walk 12.5 miles each week. That’s about 1.8 miles a day.

Why on earth would I do that?

Because there are people on this earth who need help and Church World Service is providing the help. Over the course of 10 days, our local CWS office welcomed 59 refugees and asylees. That’s double their monthly average. In just 10 days.

In the coming days, I want to tell you more about my time with the refugees I meet while volunteering with CWS. But today, I’m asking if you’ll consider sponsoring this goal. I’m joining a team of 30 people who each have the goal to run or walk 100 miles in the 8 weeks. We’d like to raise $7,500 as a team, which breaks down to $250 per team member.

That’s $2.50 per mile.

You can pledge per mile or make a donation.

In case you need more math help like I do:

Ten cents a mile would be a $10 donation if I walk all 100 miles.

Twenty-five cents a mile equals a $25 donation.

Fifty cents a mile would a $50 donation.

I welcome any and all pledge amounts or donation. If you want to make an online donation instead of a pledge, you can go here.

If you’re interested in pledging, leave a comment or send me an e-mail at lmbartelt (at) gmail (dot) com or a PM on Facebook and I’ll add your name to my pledge sheet. All the money collected stays in Lancaster to help with the resettlement efforts here. I know that for many of you reading this, that’s not your community, but I can tell you firsthand what happens to that money. I can tell you the names of the men, women and children who directly benefit.  If you have any questions, please ask.

We’ll be reporting our miles to CWS every week, and I’ll keep you updated on our progress.

Let me tell you from the start: this will not be an easy goal for either of us. Many of our teammates will be running these miles. Phil and I will be walking, for various fitness-related reasons. But we are determined to do this.

If you’re interested in joining either one of us for a walk, we’d welcome the support. Times of day will vary based on work schedules.

100 miles.

Let’s do this.

Filed Under: health & fitness, Refugees Welcome Tagged With: church world service, fundraising, refugee crisis, refugees welcome, walking goals

What was growing all along

August 12, 2016

It started with a garden. All we really wanted was fresh vegetables for the summer. The kind for which you can walk out to the backyard and pluck right off the plant and use for that night’s dinner. Garden-to-table.

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We got that–and a whole lot more.

We expected the tomatoes and the cucumbers and the squash. We were surprised by how quickly the winter squash we planted from seed took over the garden and matured. We have pumpkins in August. #gardenfail

We did not expect the community.

We planted a garden, but we didn’t do it alone. One neighbor offered extra tools. Another gave us a tomato plant that is producing the biggest tomatoes I’ve ever seen. A couple of kids who go to school with our kids came over to see what it was all about. They helped set up the fencing to keep the bunnies out. They watered. And we all waited.

To read the rest of this post, head over to Putting on the New, where I blog on the 12th of each month.

Filed Under: faith & spirituality, family, gardening Tagged With: gardening, harvest, kingdom of God, sharing

What to do in the depths: Review of How to Survive a Shipwreck by Jonathan Martin

August 3, 2016

I will admit: this is not the kind of book you want to have to read. Storms and shipwrecks, disasters of any kind are not the kinds of things I like to dwell on. Preparing for a disaster is not a priority for me. I prefer, instead, to pretend disaster won’t happen to me, even though it already has.

shipwreckI wish I had had this resource years ago.

In How to Survive a Shipwreck: Help is on the Way and Love is Already Here, Jonathan Martin uses his own experience with a crumbling life as the basis for a guide through the wreckage. It is more hopeful than it might sound.

But it’s also deep and a tiny bit painful. Martin does not provide easy solutions or sweet suggestions. It is a guide full of words like “death” as well “resurrection,” “letting go” and “holding on.” It is the baring of a soul who found out that he couldn’t keep his world from falling apart and he couldn’t put it together without help.

So many words moved me, but here is one passage that sets the tone for the entire book:

But it does not really matter how you got here or why; and it doesn’t really matter if it was God or the devil or yourself or some ancient chaos that spilled up from the bottom of the sea. What matters now is that you are drowning, and the world you loved before is not your world any longer. The questions of why and how are less pressing than the reality that is your lungs filling with water now. Philosophy and theology won’t help you much here, because what you believe existentially about storms or oceans or drowning won’t make you stop drowning. Religion won’t do you much good down here, because beliefs can’t keep you warm when you’re twenty thousand leagues beneath the sea. …

The shipwreck is upon you. And there is no going back to the life you had.

The waters that drown are the waters that save.” (p. 20-21)

I read this book while a series of minor storms hit, leading up to a more devastating one. Martin’s words offer comfort as well as encouragement to not be afraid of the fallout. Everything might fall apart, but that is not the end of everything. And, eventually, good can come from it.

The surprise on the other side of the shipwreck is that, while your capacity for pain proved to be far beyond your wildest reckoning, now you have a capacity to feel everything deeper. You are capable of a depth of empathy and compassion that would have been unthinkable before.” (p. 194)

Martin’s book is a must-read for anyone attempting to navigate one of life’s many storms, or for anyone who is helping someone else navigate one. Take it slow and let the words seep into your soul.

Filed Under: death and dying, faith & spirituality, Non-fiction, The Weekly Read Tagged With: jonathan martin, new non-fiction, spiritual growth books, surviving life's storms, zondervan books

When the time comes

July 28, 2016

Just before the kids and I left Illinois three weeks ago, I asked my mom to take a picture of my kids with my grandparents. We only get home a few times a year, and my grandpa was 90, and something inside of me wondered if I would have another chance to take this kind of picture.

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That something was right. Four days ago, my grandfather died, and though it was not unexpected, because of his age, it was sudden and tragic, not the way we thought it would happen.

I know it is a rare gift to be 38 years old and still have my grandparents around. Until this week, three of my grandparents were still living. I knew the time would come when I would experience deep grief over such a loss, and I sometimes wonder if it is made worse by coming so late in life. My last funeral of a family member was 16 years ago. I was just about to graduate college, and my paternal grandfather succumbed to lung cancer. I remember the tears and the need to be with safe people and the emotions I felt for my other family members who were grieving.

This time time, though, it’s more personal. And a kind of sadness I’ve not experienced before.

We’ll start our good-byes today. (Or our “see you laters” as a friend has said.) More than once in the last four days, I’ve woken with a fog. A cloudiness in my brain. Emotions at surface level. I can almost touch the sadness.

Part of me wants to stuff it down. To deal with it later. But another part of me wants to let it all out, however raw and intense and frightening it might be. There is a time to mourn, an ancient writer tells us, and I know that time is now. 

—

Yesterday, we gathered as a family to be together, to choose the photos of Grandpa that would sum up his life to those who come to pay their respects. It was a time of loud talking and catching up and laughing. It was a time of chasing children and playing baseball and eating so.much.food. It was a time to remember and celebrate, in a way, the bond that makes us family. There was a hint of sadness, an empty spot in the house, an awareness that big feelings hovered just out of reach. We distracted ourselves with the work we needed to do. The work of remembering. And being together.

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—

Two days before my grandfather died, I ate soup with crackers at a local buffet. I didn’t use all the cracker packets I had taken, and I told the kids, “Grandpa Johnson would be so upset with me.” My grandpa’s trademark move was to ask for more crackers with his soup. Every time. Guaranteed.

The next day, I worked a funeral meal for a family at our church, and I talked about my grandpa with one of my church friends whose dad is the same age. Only hours before my grandpa would leave the earth, I was talking about him.

Is it possible my spirit knew that the time was coming?

—

Life and death are mysteries to me. I cannot understand them completely. We have no say in the day we are born, and almost no say in the day we die. The time comes for us all, and this is not a statement of fear, only truth. My 6-year-old son is leading us all in the way of truth, saying the most true things his young mind can manage.

“Grandma, the rain gauges are yours now because Grandpa is dead.”

“So, this is where Grandpa died.”

It is shocking at first to hear the words so plainly spoken out of a little mouth, but it is also refreshing. There is no beating around the bush. No euphemism for what happened. He tells it like it is, and we all must face the facts.

And this is a fact we cannot change: Death comes for us all.

When the time comes, there is sadness and joy; mourning and celebrating; remembering and forgetting. The forgetting is the thing that I fear the most. His voice. His words. His laugh. That mischievous smile that belied his age.

We knew he would not live forever, but now that he is actually gone, I am more determined than ever to make his legacy last.

I will teach my kids to play dominoes and to ruthlessly buy up all the property in Monopoly.

I will tell stories and crack jokes, no matter how corny.

I will treat people with kindness and remember those who are in need of prayer.

I will give what I have because I will always have so much more than I need.

—

We are a family of givers. Being on the receiving end is not our preferred place. But there is a time for that also. The time will come when we must receive what others have to give. And the time will come again for us to give what we have received.

—

A lot of words will be said about my grandpa in the next few days. Already, I’ve heard many stories from people who knew him, even if briefly. The writer in me wants to record everything that is said. But I know that even if I could, they would not come close to describing his life.

My life and the lives of my children will be the best stories we can tell about my grandpa.

Because of his life, we have been given life. It was always ours to live, but now it feels like the baton is passing to us, that now it is time for us to live what we have learned from him.

When my son shoots baskets, I will tell him the stories of learning to shoot baskets in my grandparents’ driveway. How my grandpa, a former basketball coach, tried to teach me and how I didn’t want to listen.

When we eat ice cream, I will talk about all the days spent in the back room of the Dairy Queen my grandparents managed.

When we do yard work, I will tell my kids about all the hours my brother and I spent raking leaves from the massive walnut tree that shaded my grandparents’ house.

We will talk about all the things Grandpa survived: poverty, childhood accidents, war, heart disease, a house fire. We will laugh and cry and remember.

His is a generation that is dying every day and so few people remember.

These are our most important responsibilities now: to remember and to live accordingly.

Grandpa is dead. This I cannot change.

But I can choose to remember. And to live.

Filed Under: death and dying, family Tagged With: death, funeral, grandparents, greatest generation, remember

The fate of every beginner

July 14, 2016

Every day this week we’ve hauled ourselves to the pool, not because it’s summer and that’s what people do in summer. (Honestly, we’re not that kind of people. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a pool person or not.)

No, our reasons for being at the pool at 9 a.m. are so our children, who are 8 and 6, can learn how to swim so that they don’t have to cling to us grown-up types anytime there is water nearby. They are not afraid of the water. Just unskilled.

Earlier this summer I was feeling shame at my lack of effort to enroll them in swimming lessons. Work schedules and finances were easy excuses but frankly, it just wasn’t a priority. And then we stayed at a hotel that had a pool and the kids had tons of fun splashing while gripping our necks. And then we went to a resort that had TWO pools and the kids could have had much more fun if they had some swimming skills.

So, this is where summer finds us right now. At the pool every morning for two weeks in the beginner class.

Our beginner class has a lot of older kids in it. Our son, who is 6, is the youngest. Our daughter, who is 8, had swimming lessons about five years ago and retains some knowledge. In fact, she was secretly hoping she’d get to move up a level immediately.

I can totally relate.

—

Several months ago, I applied for a scholarship to a writing conference. As part of the application, you have to assign yourself a level of expertise. Descriptions help with that process, and although I have many years of writing experience behind me, I have to click the “beginner” option for this particular organization.

Because it’s a fiction organization. (Not to be confused with a fictional organization. It is very much real.) And fiction is something I’m new at. A total beginner. I’ve been studying fiction fewer years than my kids have been alive, and I use the word “studying” loosely. I read books. I write some words to made-up stories. I learn from other writers.

But I have yet to take the next step. Like approach an editor or an agent. Or really let anyone see my work.

I’m a beginner.

Deep breath.

Let me say that again: I am a beginner.

I have this in common with my kids as they learn to swim. They have passion and enthusiasm for swimming in abundance. Same for me with writing. They know enough to know they like it and want to do it, but the “how” escapes them. Same. They expect to be good at it without much effort. Ouch. Same.

On day three of swimming lessons, the kids started practicing arm strokes and proper kicking. I don’t know if you know this or not, but beginner swimming lessons differs from Olympic swimming in one very noticeable way.

The splashing.

These beginning swimmers slap the water wildly with every limb while the trained swimmers glide through the water almost unnoticed.

Todd Quackenbush via Unsplash

Todd Quackenbush via Unsplash

At the same time our kids are taking lessons, a couple of twin girls a year older than my daughter are having private lessons. They dive and swim lengths of the pool like they were born in the water.

It can be discouraging, on the one hand, to be a beginner in the same pool with someone more experienced. It can be tempting to think that the effortless way they move through the water is the product of genetics and natural talent when in reality it is lots and lots of hard work.

This is what I keep telling myself when I read a book I love. This book I hold in my hand is a finished work, the product of years, or at the very least months, of hard work. Of laborious hours of writing and editing. Those are the stages I can’t see from behind my computer screen but that I know are there because a few authors have been willing to push the curtain aside and let us newbies see the reality.

It can seem a daunting task to bridge the gap between beginner and experienced, but just as my kids won’t learn to swim just by sitting on the side of the pool or playing around in the shallow end, neither will I become a better writer without some awkward splashing.

Technique takes time, no matter the skill one is attempting to learn.

—

I love starting things.

Until they get hard.

I want to be good at new things without effort. So, when faced with the hard work that leads to improvement, I’m tempted to quit. I’ll never be like this person or that one. I’ll never make it to that level.

And that’s true if I quit. It’s almost a guarantee.

What isn’t guaranteed is the outcome if I don’t give up. If I work hard and learn and start as a beginner, who knows where that could lead?

Mosts beginners will be faced with the temptation to quit. And the fate of every beginner will hinge on how he responds to that temptation. Will he give up before he’s really begun? Or will she learn everything she can to improve and do the work required to achieve the next level?

The fate of every beginner begins at the beginning.

Filed Under: Children & motherhood, family, Writing Tagged With: beginners, learning new things, swimming lessons, writing

When the pieces don’t quite fit

July 12, 2016

Sometimes I think God’s will is like a puzzle that needs to be completed. Find all the right pieces, put them in the right order, and voila!: A completed picture of His plan and purpose for my life.

Digital Camera

Freeimages.com/Dorony John

Our family enjoys a good jigsaw puzzle. When my husband and I went on our honeymoon 9 years ago, we began collecting jigsaw puzzles as souvenirs. We’d pick them up at the places we visited as a way to foster togetherness and memories long after the trip was over.

It’s a tradition we’ve continued with the kids over the years. Most recently we collected some from Philadelphia, Williamsburg and the Chesapeake Bay, giving us numerous choices for family nights.

In reality, putting a puzzle together as a family is not as charming as it sounds. We all approach the puzzle with different styles and varying attention spans. What typically happens is the children help with the sorting of the outside edges and the inside pieces, and with the assembly of the frame. Then, their interest wanes, and before we know it, it’s bedtime. Over the next several days, I’ll sit down at the table where the puzzle is and put a few pieces in while I drink my coffee or finish my lunch. Maybe we’ll give it a second “go” as a family before we finish it, leave it on display for a day or so and then put it away.

The last couple of puzzles we’ve done have been tricky. Some similarly shaped pieces have seemed to fit in multiple places, and only when we place more pieces in the puzzle do we discover the error and have to move them.

The pieces seemed to fit, but the picture didn’t look quite right.

To read the rest of this post, visit Putting on the New, where I blog on the 12th of each month.

Filed Under: faith & spirituality Tagged With: finding God's will, jigsaw puzzles, souvenirs

100 minutes in the air & those who journey with you

June 30, 2016

One of my favorite parts of flying is the people.

For an introvert who often prefers her house and solitude, this might seem out of character. I should be clear: I like people. Just not a lot of them all at one time. Being a writer allows me to be a casual and, I hope, an unnoticed observer of people, who are generally fascinating. As long as I don’t have to make conversation, being surrounded by people is mostly entertaining.

The moment I set foot at the airport, I’m on the lookout for those who will be traveling with me. Will it be the woman at the curb who is also crying after her husband pulls away or the family ahead of me in the security line who let me ahead of them while the other members of the family check in?

At the airport, almost everyone is going somewhere. Or coming back from somewhere. And my writer’s mind concocts a hundred stories or more. It’s almost overwhelming. I had trouble falling asleep my first night back in Illinois because my mind was full of people and conversations and faces and possible stories.

Brennan Barrows via Unsplash

Brennan Barrows via Unsplash

There was the Jewish family I noticed in the waiting area at the gate. I knew they were Jewish because of the way they were dressed and their focus on finding kosher food. The older girl was excited to be flying for the first time in what seemed like a while. She was hoping for a window seat so she could see the houses get smaller. And to pass the time, she was asking questions that all began with, “Can you imagine …?” She wondered what it was like to be a flight attendant.

When we boarded the plane, they ended up sitting behind me, and her excitement was contagious and obvious. I, too, am a bit giddy about flying. I love the anticipation of the takeoff as the engines fire up. I love the feeling of power as the plane surges forward and we lift into the air. I hope I never get over the marvel of flight.

But mine is a quiet wonder. This girl could not contain her excitement.

“Flying is so amazing!” she exclaimed. And I could not help but think of my own children whom I hadn’t seen in almost 10 days and how they are going to experience their second flight in just a few short days. I hope they feel free to express their joy.

It helped that we saw a rainbow as we took off. I even mentioned it to the guys sitting in my row. I prefer to fade into the background on a flight and keep my nose in a book, but I didn’t want them to miss the beauty.

Ours was a low-key flight, little to no drama. Not like the last time I flew. No one was extra-memorable, and that’s okay.

Still, when you share a space with strangers, even it’s only for 100 minutes at 40,000 feet, they do make an impression. Even if it’s faint. Their faces are recognizable in a crowded airport, and because we were on a plane to the same destination, I can’t help but feel a connection. For a brief period of life, you and a plane full of strangers share a trajectory, though the paths before and after differ.

It’s not all that different in the rest of life, is it?

I think of all the people I’ve shared space with. Maybe not at 40,000 feet but maybe for a semester at college or a year at a job. And maybe not as impersonally as strangers in a plane but as roommates or classmates or colleagues.

When I really give it thought, I can count hundreds of people who have left some kind of impression on me, and they are scattered all over the world. We have shared experiences and some have been more memorable than others. There are those who have merely traveled the same trajectory and those with whom I’ve developed deeper relationships.

There are those who inspire me to look at the world with wonder, like the Jewish girl who wanted a window seat, and those who have helped me see beauty, like I hope I did with my seat mates and the rainbow.

It’s so easy to just go about our business and blend in and keep our heads down and not be noticed. Much harder to engage the people in the space around us, whether it’s in a house or at a job or in a grocery store. I’m definitely guilty of tunnel vision, with my eyes on the destination, no looking to the left or the right.

But the truth is we need each other, even when we don’t think we do. My seat mate on the plane took my beverage from the flight attendant and handed it to me. All I’d said to him before that moment was, “Look, a rainbow.” I probably could have reached the drink myself, but he did a kind thing.

I could have kept the rainbow to myself, but not everyone has a window seat to beauty, so I shared what I saw. It’s the same in life. Some of us are stuck in an aisle seat, with necks craned to catch a glimpse of what’s outside.

Sofia Sforza via Unsplash

Sofia Sforza via Unsplash

[bctt tweet=”Sometimes we need someone with a better view to tell us what they see.” username=”lmbartelt”]

We’re all traveling somewhere. Maybe it’s not a literal journey. Maybe we’re not even sure where we’re headed. But if we take the time to look around, I think we’ll find our fellow travelers. And if we’re not sure of the way, we can lean on each other for guidance. We can share our stories of journeys past and commiserate when things don’t go according to plan.

We can take comfort in knowing there are others on the same trajectory. Others coming from the same place and headed in the same direction.

We might be together for as little as 100 minutes or as long as 50 years.

Sometimes all that matters is we’re not alone on the journey.

Filed Under: faith & spirituality, Travel Tagged With: air travel, airports, flying, journey, people watching

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Hi. I’m Lisa, and I’m glad you’re here. If we were meeting in real life, I’d offer you something to eat or drink while we sat on the porch letting the conversation wander as it does. That’s a little bit what this space is like. We talk about books and family and travel and food and running, whatever I might encounter in world. I’m looking for the beauty in the midst of it all, even the tough stuff. (You’ll find a lot of that here, too.) Thanks for stopping by. Stay as long as you like.

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