Your Story Matters–Leslie Leyland Fields

 

I have often considered writing “my story,” my testimony, something to leave to my children. Several weeks ago, my pastor encouraged us as a congregation to do that very thing. Write down your story. Why? Because it is your testimony of God’s power in your life. No one can argue with your story, discount it, discredit it. It is yours and it is God’s gift to you. Why do we hestitate to share it?

In Your Story Matters, Fields leads you chapter by chapter in how to seek out, put together, and tell your story. Why? “And since the One Who is Running All Things, including galaxies, takes care to notice lost sheep, dying sparrows, and falling hair, we should notice as well. Writing helps us notice what God notices. So write your story because God attends to every moment of your life and you should too.”

Writing your story doesn’t mean writing about your life from birth until the present. It’s not about telling every childhood memory (whether good or bad); it’s not about spilling the beans on your personal or family secrets; and it’s definitely not about a chance for revenge. It should be about a significant moment of your life, a turning point, and–if you’re a Christian–a refining moment between you and God.

“The inner story is not the record of everything that has happened to you; rather, it focuses on a key theme and transformative event in your life.”

You may not believe yourself to be a writer and may have no interest in writing anything else, but this book is for everyone because everyone has a story. At the end of each chapter are writing prompts and assignments with practical steps for discovering and writing your story. I read through the book first, but I now plan to go back and do the assignments and write my own story. I can’t wait to see where God will take me in this adventure.

If you’ve been wanting to share your story, but not sure where to start, I highly recommend reading this book and following the writing exercises.

This book is now available for preorder wherever you buy your books.

*A pdf copy of this book was provided to me for an honest review.

On a previous post, I reviewed Crossing the Waters: Following Jesus Through the Storms, the Fish, the Doubt, and the Seas. https://pmgilmer.com/2017/07/01/crossing-the-waters-by-leslie-leyland-fields/ 

One Starry Night–A Christmas Poem (part 3)

One Starry Night (part 3)

A manger, they knew, would be found where the

animals were fed, so they made their way

behind the first inn and followed the sounds

(and smells) of animals whose nightly slumber

had been disturbed. Quietly, they approached

a cave carved into a small hill where the

soft, smoky glow of an oil lamp cast a

shadow. They stopped as one when they reached the

entrance, suddenly unsure of their next

move. Just as Reuben decided to go

forward, the cry of a baby broke the

stillness of the night. The shepherds gasped and

several of them surprised themselves with tears.

Going in together, they peered in awe

at the sight. A young woman (a girl to

their eyes) along with a man dressed in

garments plain, crouched over a manger where

a newborn infant lay wrapped in cloths just

as the Messenger had told them. They crept

as close as they dared, wondering at the

babe whose birth had been declared to them by

a heavenly being and even sung

about by a heavenly choir. “We

were told to come here,” the old shepherd broke

the silence. “By a . . .” He stopped, unable

to continue and unsure of how to

explain the phenomenon they had witnessed.

The young woman smiled at them. “An angel?”

she suggested. “Yes!” they all said at once.

Then, mindful of the sleeping babe, they told

their story in excited, though hushed whispers.

“Yes, yes! An angel, that’s what he was. A

messenger sent from God. He told us he

had good news.” “Good news for everyone. The

whole world.” “He said it was great joy.” “For

everyone.” “He said we would find a baby.”

“A baby wrapped in cloths.” “In a manger.”

They stopped for breath and gazed anew at the

sleeping babe. How could such a small, helpless

newborn baby be the cause of such a

revelation? Of a heavenly

announcement? The promise of good news for

all people? “He said,” the old shepherd, Asa,

cleared his throat. “He said, the Messenger, I

mean, that this baby is the Christ. Our

Messiah.” Tears filled his eyes. “I never

thought he’d come for me.” The plain-dressed

man, who seemed to be the baby’s guardian,

placed an arm around the old shepherd’s shoulders.

“We were as amazed as you when the

Messenger came to us and gave us the

same good news. This baby is God’s gift to

us and will do more for us than we can

ever imagine.” “We must go and tell

everyone what we have seen and heard,” Asa

declared. His companions, though mildly

amused at the old shepherd’s change of heart,

joyfully agreed. With a final look

at the Christ child and a farewell to the

young couple–whom they all knew would face times

of trouble and sorrow as they raised this

baby in this sin-struck world–they set out

to walk the streets of Bethlehem as morning

broke and people began to stir. They stopped

and told everyone they met of the

celestial announcement they had received

about the baby and the significance

of his arrival. Though some had no interest

in hearing news of any kind from lowly

shepherds, many others marveled at their

story and spread the word throughout their town

and still others carried the story to

their homes in places near and far throughout

Israel. “A baby has been born to you.”                  P.M. Gilmer     Soli Deo gloria

One Starry Night–A Christmas Poem (part 2)

One Starry Night (part 2)

The shepherds all gathered together to

discuss this news that had been given to

them. “Could this be true?” one old grizzled

veteran shepherd asked. “A baby who

is the Christ?” “Did you ever hear such

singing?” asked another, his eyes still on

the sky and his ears still ringing with the

fading heavenly melody. “What should

we do?” worried a third. “Go and see!”

exclaimed one eager shepherd. This shepherd

put on his sandals, grabbed his cloak and staff,

and made ready to leave for Bethlehem,

not caring if anyone joined him

or not. He wanted to see this baby

whose birth had launched a choir of heavenly

messengers. “Now, wait,” the old veteran

cautioned. “We can’t just run off and leave our

sheep, especially when we’re not sure who

those creatures were or even where they came

from.” The rest of the shepherds looked at him

aghast. “Why, they surely came from heaven.

Where else could they be from?” “They were angels,

I be certain,” declared another. “And

I am with Reuben. To Bethlehem, I

am bound.” And he, too, put on his sandals

and took up his sack and staff. Soon, they were

all picking up their things, murmuring with

excitement. “A message from heaven, did

you ever hear of such a thing?” “No!” said

the old shepherd. “I never have and neither

have any of you. Why would someone from

heaven want to speak to the likes of us?”

Reuben placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder.

Good news for all people. Come with us, Asa,

and see if this baby is where the

Messenger said he would be. Our sheep will

be fine until we return.” The old shepherd

considered his companions, shrugged, and fell

in line. A trip to Bethlehem in the

middle of the night seemed like madness to

the old shepherd, but this whole night had been

unlike any he had ever encountered

in his eighty some years. A messenger

from heaven? Or a demon to mislead

and taunt them? His friends seemed certain the word

came from Heaven, but he had experienced

more of the latter than the former. Still,

a surge of hope went through him as he

tottered after his fellow shepherds,

listening to their excited chatter

as they made their way along the moon-lit

road to Bethlehem, the city of David.

They entered through the gates of Bethlehem,

(How did those shepherds know which way to go?)

and walked unerringly through the darkened

streets. Shops were closed and houses still, but from

overflowing inns, light and noise spilled out

and in front of one of these the shepherds

stopped and considered again the words of

the Messenger. “You will find a baby

wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”               P.M. Gilmer

One Starry Night–A Christmas Poem (part 1)

One Starry Night  (part 1)

A long day finally over, the sheep

now settled to sleep. The weary shepherds

found places to rest–some to lay their heads;

others to keep watch over their flocks (many

of them destined to be a sacrifice

for man’s sins), alert for any dangers

that might be lurking or for any sheep

that might decide to take a midnight stroll.

Under a clear sky with stars so bright,

the night air took on a chill, causing the

sheep to huddle together and the shepherds

to wrap their cloaks around themselves and most

stayed near one of the fires kept burning throughout

the night. The men on the first watch neither

saw nor heard anything to make them believe

this night would be any different than hundreds

of others. When their time was ended, they

went to wake their companions for the second

watch. Before they could rouse the slumbering

shepherds, a light so bright filled the sky and

caused the poor shepherds to gasp and cover

their faces. Some fell to their knees and one

even stumbled into the companion

he had come to waken causing a stir

amongst the others whose dreams had just been

shattered. But when they tried to open their

eyes and grumble at their rude awakening,

they too were blinded by the light and covered

their faces in fear. Barely able to

think or breathe, they heard a Voice speak from–

where? The Light? The sky? It seemed to fill the

very air. “Do not be afraid!” the Voice

cried out. Though still they trembled, they slowly

lowered their arms and their hands from their

faces; and their eyes began to make out

a form. A form so majestic they knew

it was no ordinary being and

had to have come from Heaven. “Behold!”

the Being proclaimed and as he continued

to speak, the shepherds ceased their trembling and

stared and listened in awe. Even the sheep

had shaken off their drowsiness and seemed

to be listening as well. “I bring you

good news that will bring great joy to all

people. Today in Bethlehem, the city

of David, a Savior has been born to

you. He is the Christ, the Messiah, the

Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you

will find a baby wrapped in cloths and

lying in a manger.” Before the shepherds

could marvel at these words, the Messenger

Being was, in an instant, joined by a

whole host of more of these Heavenly Beings.

They began to sing in voices so sweet,

the shepherds stood entranced and the sheep

bleated softly as if in accord with

their song. “Glory to God in the highest

of heavens, and peace on earth among all

those who delight Him.” And as suddenly

as they had appeared, the messenger choir

was gone, leaving the shepherds to stare up

into the star-filled sky as if waiting

for more miracles to appear. The sheep,

however, knew the heavenly show

was over and so settled themselves to

to return to their peaceful slumber.            P.M. Gilmer

 

NC Christian Writers Conference 18

Last week I attended a writers’ conference in Liberty, N.C. put on by Serious Writer (www.seriouswriter.com) Going to a conference can be a big commitment as well as an extra expense–especially for struggling writers. What are some reasons for attending a writers’ conference?

  1. To meet other writers. Why is this important? We writers spend our working hours alone and a lot of time just in our own heads. To meet others who also have this strange way of living is refreshing and encouraging. As C.S. Lewis put it: “Friendship is born at that moment when one man says to another ‘What, you, too? I thought that no one but myself . . .'”
  2. To meet people in the “business.” You know, editors, agents, publishers, and, did I mention other writers?
  3. To attend workshops that will help you better your craft.
  4. To have your questions answered. To learn what your questions should be in the first place.
  5. To hear other people’s stories. You know, other writers.
  6. Encouragement. I had to force myself to make some appointments to pitch my book, but I’m glad I did. I don’t know yet what may come of the appointments, but I did get some positive feedback.
  7. Worship. As Christians, we should worship God in whatever we do. Attending a conference with other Christians makes this easier and is a good reminder of Who we’re working for.

I’m already looking forward to next year. What about you? Have you been to a writers’ conference this year? Making plans to go soon?

My Name is Hadesh Part 2 by P.M. Gilmer

If you missed part 1, here’s the link: https://pmgilmer.com/2017/11/09/my-name-is-hadesh-part-1-by-p-m-gilmer/

From Part 1: At almost fourteen, I found myself pregnant and soon Jemimah was as well. It may sound foolish, but it excited us both to think of having our own child. I promised myself, and the LORD God, that I would take care of this baby, and he would always know his mother’s love. No matter what.

The months went by both quickly and achingly slow. I couldn’t wait to see my baby’s face, to touch him, to hold him. But, there is much to prepare when bringing a baby into the world, especially with no real family to help, so the days flew by with always more to do.

Finally, the day came when my pains began, and I knew my baby was preparing to enter this world. Zebidah ran to get the midwife, and Hoglah helped me to walk around until time to sit on the birthing stool. Jemimah hoovered in the background, her babe almost ready to burst forth as well. As she was as inexperienced as I (and twice as scared), she gladly stood back and let the others tell me what to do.

Well, if you’re a woman, you know what follows, and if you’re a man, you know enough to know you don’t want to hear any more details. My baby entered the world with no complications, his voice as loud and demanding as any man’s. Yes, he was a fine boy, and I loved him at first sight.

Everyone cooed over him–except Jemima. She looked rather ill at all the mess this young one had made. I’m sure she was thinking of her own trial to come, so I tried to smile reassuringly at her, but she looked away, then left our house altogether. To get some air, she said.

“Don’t go too far!” the midwife called after her. “You look to be ready to have your own at any minute.”

This only served to increase her look of distress as she scurried away. The other women laughed knowingly. I paid them no attention, having eyes only for my newborn son who slept exhausted at my breast.

Sure enough, three days later, Jemima cried out in pain and dropped the laundry she had been carrying in. “It’s time! Oh, LORD God of the heavens, help me!”

I had been dozing with my little one who had just finished nursing, but I quickly settled him in his small basket and went to try to comfort and encourage Jemima. She wanted nothing but sympathy, however, and that not from me. Since I could well understand how she felt, I left her alone and went back to my baby who was fussing a bit at all the noise.

Jemima raised such a clamor as the other women tried to get her settled that the midwife soon appeared without anyone going to fetch her. News travels fast in our little neighborhood, and Jemima had been complaining for days, so I’m sure the midwife had been anticipating our call. Though she snubbed us in the streets, we paid her well enough, so she had no problem helping us when we might need her. Truthfully though, we hardly needed her at all.

Jemima’s labor was no easier or worse than normal–though that’s not the story she tells. They say you forget all about the pain once you see your little one’s face, but Jemima swore she would never forget one moment of the pain her little boy put her through. Still, she was just as enamored with her new son as I was with mine. It was just her way to complain and let her voice be heard.

“Another boy,” commented the midwife as she cleaned herself and made ready to leave. “You know, I’m sure I could find a home for either or both of these two lads if you decide they’re too much for you.”

Jemima and I both stared in horror at the old woman, clutching our babes to our chests. Though I wanted to screech at the nosy biddy, I said, (as politely as I could), “Though we appreciate your help with our births, you can go now.”

Jemima felt no reason to be polite. “Just get on out of here with your idea of help! You think just because we’re not rich or respectable women that we can’t raise our sons to be fine men.”

The midwife shrugged, unperturbed by our reactions. “Raising children is not cheap or easy. And there’s plenty who would be eager to raise a healthy son. If you change your minds, you know where to find me.”

I continued to hug my Seled so close that he began to squirm. I made myself relax my grip before he began crying. I shouldn’t have been surprised at the midwife’s offer, but it scared me somehow. I knew people would think we had no business raising children, but this was my baby, and no one could take him from me.

Part 3 coming on Tuesday.

“My Name is Hadesh” part 1 by P.M. Gilmer

This is the story of Hadesh, to be told in eight parts. 

I grew up in the city of Jerusalem during the days of King Solomon. I know some people only think of King Solomon as the man who built the temple and had so many wives, but I will always remember him for the wisdom and kindness he showed to me when others would have thrown me out or ignored me or even laughed at me.

I hope you won’t stop reading when I tell you what I did for a living or think any less of King Solomon for helping me. It might help if I tell you a bit of my own story first.

My father threw me out of our home when I was only six. My mother had just given birth to another daughter, and when my father learned he now had eight daughters, he picked me up and told me it was time I learned to care for myself. He was a very superstitious man, my father, and thought if having daughters could be lucky at all, he could have no more than seven. Why he didn’t just kill my baby sister, I don’t know, except he never seemed to like me. I felt I reminded him of something bad, but I never knew what. Two of my older sisters brought me food for a few days, but soon enough, they got caught, and then I was truly on my own.

I won’t go into the days and years I spent just trying to survive as that is not the point of my story. Suffice it to say, I survived the best way I could, and it wasn’t long before I was selling my body for something to eat. I made friends on the street, and by the time I was twelve, I was living in a house with three other women: Zebidah, Hoglah, and Jemimah. Jemimah and I were of a similar age, but Zebidah and Hoglah were several years older. They mothered us a bit (bossed us more like), but it felt good to have others in my life. Our life was hard, but we worked together, and usually, we could count on each other. But not always.

At almost fourteen, I found myself pregnant. Jemimah, too, discovered she was with child. It may sound foolish, but it excited us both to think of having our own baby. I promised myself, and the LORD God, that I would take care of this little one, and he would always know his mother’s love. No matter what.

_________

Part Two coming Saturday.