Be A Coal Heaper

I am a terrible arguer. I'm not usually the first to admit it, but I am. I get flustered and emotionally involved and when my temper is really up I make weak accusations that are easily deflected.

On the other hand, my siblings are great arguers. I don't know how they do it, but they tear my points apart like confetti and I always end up trying to figure out the best way to extricate myself from the situation with the least damage to my dignity.

One would think that I would have figured out "oh, just don't argue", but I'm also stubborn and quick-tempered. I don't mean to get into arguments but if pushed just a teensy bit too far I will wade into the fray.

Obviously, this bothers me - A LOT. I can't argue. I can't defend myself. I can't justify my temper because I always end up in the wrong. I'm just not smart that way. I used to wonder how I could become a better arguer {as if that would solve the problem...} but I never came up with a conclusive curriculum to follow.

And then today it occurred to me:

Why would I want to become a better arguer? As a Christian {and not speaking of persuasive or debate-style argumentation} I should have zero use for such a skill! There is absolutely no situation in a Godly life where a bolstered skill in "I'm right, you're wrong" argumentation should come in handy. I shouldn't take pride in destroying my opponent because I shouldn't be arguing at all!

Proverbs 25:21-22 says "if your enemy is hungry, give him food to eat; if he is thirsty, give him water to drink. In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head, and the Lord will reward you."

I know this is a pretty obscure verse to pick out when discussing arguments {especially with verses like Proverbs 15:1 going around} but I personally think that coal heaping has a lot more context than food and water.

I hate it when I'm spoiling for a fight and my opponent refuses to be engaged. It's humiliating. There I am steaming like a kettle on the boil and they're as cool as a cucumber, taking the wind out of my sails and heaping coals of "this is how you should have responded to the situation" on my head.

The Holy Spirit doesn't miss a beat. If you take the wrong path, you're liable to get heaped with coals. So don't be the receptacle, be the heaper! Not only is it impossible to humiliate yourself by doing what's right, but you'll generally come out on top just by staying calm and also have nothing to regret or explain later on.

 Until next time!

What It Means...

Living in a family of eleven - where two members are parents and the rest of us give it our best shot - is a pretty foreign concept to a lot of people we meet outside the house. {We're homeschooled too, so this doesn't happen much [Sorry, homeschool joke... :-D]}

I'd like to give a small dissertation on what it's really like around here, because I know from only limited observation that we're nothing like the Duggars.

Living in a family of eleven means...

...cleaning the bathrooms is a once-a-day job {though it only really happens once a week - and that's if we get lucky}.

...privacy is only available if there's a shower involved - or a bathroom door that can be locked from the inside {this really only works if there's actually a key for the lock and not one of those knobs that you can pick with a toothpick or screwdriver}.

...laundry comes in half-ton allotments where the only things that are right side out are the clean clothes someone found on the floor and tossed back in.

...you're forced to play the I-pick-a-number-between-one-and-one-hundred game whenever there's only one of something left {it used to be ten, but more than half the numbers were taken and siblings figured out how to block their lesser-liked siblings out}.

...the personal food in the fridge or pantry {i.e. chai concentrates, melty chocolate, fruit snacks} that isn't marked with the initials of the owner is fair game for anyone to dig into - and often is.

...doubling recipes is automatic and tripling is rarely questioned. 

...the only leftovers in the icebox are the ones no one liked

...if a recipe calls for the dough to be chilled, it is considered debatable that these cookies will ever make it to the 350 degree stage

...you cannot walk through the front door without tripping over at least twenty shoes, which are generally missing their mates.

...being left home alone isn't a frightening prospect.

...you've never seen a grocery receipt that's less than two feet long.

...you've learned how to evade the laundry hamper, dresser, wardrobe door and bunk bed ladder in the six-person room without a light, but still manage to kick the metal garbage can every time you heed the call of nature at one in the morning.

...you haven't slept in a non-bunk bed since you were four years old.

...you brace your hand on the sliding bathroom door when you sit down because you're lucky if only one person walks in on you during the two minutes of your residence.

...you participate in the briefing every night to decide what order the cars get pulled into the driveway.

...first come, first served is sometimes the thin line between satisfaction and starvation {or at least whether or not you get the leftover chinese takeout}

...there's no guarantee that the page you left your book on when you went out of the room is the page it will be on when you return - if the book still happens to be where you left it anyway.

...your mother made a rule that you could only read biographies while utilizing the facilities. Result: drastic cut-down in bathroom lines.

...you've been asked so many times if you're like the Duggars that you're considering legally changing your name and cutting in on some of the profits.

...you can study in a room where two people are practicing, one person is playing and three others are talking and still get something out of the text.

...family councils are called, but nothing is ever resolved before everyone leaves.

...you open up a jar of peanut butter to eat a spoonful and look for it the next day only to find the empty container in the garbage.

...you deliberately stir the jam with a knife only because it irks a certain family member and not because you really prefer it stirred.

...you actually think about stirring jam.

...grocery lists are an all-family effort and generally contain but are not limited to fifty items.

...seating in the car is mapped out before long trips and rearranged throughout the day to reflect changes in sibling compatibility. 

...English is your second language - sarcasm is first. He who stings last missed the argument by half an hour.

...cooking for a family of four is a challenge.

...babysitting for non-family members is difficult because you can't spank the kids.

...bedtimes are ambiguous - and mom and dad are usually the first ones in.

...entering a restaurant generally involves dismantling the interior to make enough space to seat you.

...transferring car seats is a way of life.

...younger siblings will sacrifice their time to watch your screensaver when you leave for a minute.

...you can't do anything without three people looking over your shoulder.

...random acts of joy are met with questions like "how many coffee beans have you eaten today?"

...the things you do are always observed - and never forgotten.

...what you choose to watch, click on or listen to will eventually affect the entire family.

...you have great responsibility to be a role model - either good or bad.

...you are a part of one of the most misunderstood factions in the United States. Your image is monitored, critiqued and questioned. You're praised by some and mocked by others. You're a symbol of success and a symbol of failure. You're never going to be "normal".

And that's ok.

Because, according to you, there's no better way to live. 

Till next time!

But God, it's MY stuff!!!

We all have these times, I guess. The convicting times where you realize that you're not as good as you fancy yourself to be - or the uncomfortable times when you realize that you are a lot worse off than you righteously believe yourself to be. Those times when you realize the glaring thing you're doing that's separating you from God as effectively as a ten-foot-high brick wall with razor wire on the top separates you from the prisoners in the local jail.

As much as I hate these times, I know that they're when I grow the closest to my Savior. When I get off my high, righteous horse and realize what a failure I am. It's uncomfortable, often difficult, and usually involves a lot of sacrifice and growing pains.

Lovely.

So here I find myself in the midst of conviction with a path carefully set out before me. All I have to do is walk it in complete obedience with my Savior.

Yeah...

As Anne Shirley would say: "Therein lies the rub."

My problem is simply stuff. Anything and everything that I own becomes to me a prized possession, to be guarded even with my life. I treasure it, take care of it, store it, and -- this is where the biggest problem comes in -- find my joy and contentment in it.

It seems that no matter what I have, no matter what I get, I always want more. There's always that elusive "one more thing" that'll make my happiness complete. When I feel down, my stuff is what I think of -- it's what makes me smile.

It should be what makes me cry.    

It should make me cry buckets because I've put it higher in my estimation of value than my relationship with God. Where God should be the one I find my joy and contentment in, it's something silly like a book or music or a knick-knack or electronic gadget of some sort that makes me glad to be alive. How pathetic and shallow is that?

And since God is a jealous God, who wants my heart and soul to belong completely to Him, He sends along the Holy Spirit to whisper in my ear that I'm putting to much store in my treasures-on-earth.

Many, many times He has done this, I'm ashamed to say, but I've only half-heartedly listened and given perfunctory and -- ultimately -- ineffective efforts to right the problem. Truth be told, I wasn't too concerned about it. I figured that there were bigger problems in my life that God should be tackling, like my temper or my self-righteousness. (Just a hint, ye reader: If God brings something to your attention over and over again, don't tell Him that He should be focusing on something else or try to focus on something else in your own all-knowing power. God's not stupid. He knows your biggest struggles better than you do. If He brings it up a lot, it's important!) Recently, I realized that telling God stuff like that isn't very smart. I also realized that my protectiveness of my possessions was a big problem - and that it was creating a huge rift between me and Him. Then I decided that I didn't want that rift to be there anymore and that my prayers to know Him better were basically ineffectual when I refused to face my obsession with things squarely in the face and admit that it was bigger than I wanted to own up to.

So, I prayed and gave God my stuff - every last thing - and resolved to place less store in the things I owned. By the way, if you give something to God, expect Him to test your sincerity. He doesn't want a mamby-pamby giver. You've got to mean it or you'll be right back at square one when the first test comes.

My first test came in the form of my older sister.

She has a habit of storing the books that she's reading in her lunchbag when she's at work. Normally, I don't care whether or not she does it (except for the time when she accidentally refrigerated one), but when she's reading my books, I, as the meticulous and obsessive owner, request that she keep book and lunchbag separate.

As my older sister, she doesn't place much store in what I say.

So, she borrowed one of my brand-new books and stored it in her lunchbag. I nervously asked her to keep it out of the bag, in which was stored a Tupperware container of very juicy watermelon. Despite my pleas, she put the book in her lunchbag (don't judge her; I'm sure it was God who arranged this) and, by some twist of mischief, the container leaked the juice, which my book happily sopped up.

I had a moment of paralyzing (I'm joking a little) shock when I discovered it (after all, it was a new book...) and when my sister offered to buy me another one, I stumbled over the Holy Spirit, who was whispering in my ear that I had decided to give God my stuff; and that the book didn't really belong to me; and...I shut him up after that and accepted her offer.

It didn't take God long to send the Holy Spirit back to work on my conscience and eventually I -- rather unwillingly -- went back to my sister and told her that it wouldn't be necessary to buy me a new book. When that was out of my mouth, my only regret was that I hadn't said it when she asked the first time. Especially when the book dried so well that you could hardly tell it had been soaked for three-and-a-half hours in watermelon juice.

I'm still waiting for the second test, and I have an uncomfortable feeling that it's going to be a little bigger than watermelon juice. I constantly have to remind myself that it's God's stuff, not mine, and He can do what He wants with it. It's a strange feeling to know what He could do with it, but the relief of not having to be so protective of it and the thrill of being more generous with it (it's amazing how easy it is to give people something that doesn't belong to you!) so far have outweighed the "inconveniences" of giving it to Him.

I want to encourage anyone who reads this that if there is something that God is bringing to your attention and you are ignoring Him because it seems too hard to change or because you just don't want to do it, think about this: Is it really worth holding on to if it's going to separate you from the God who gave everything -- including His life -- for you? When I realize that, my collection of stuff that I've gathered over the years (that will someday all be broken and gone) doesn't seem as important anymore. I mean, just think about it. God gave you everything anyway, so what's the harm in giving it back? Would it be a big deal if He took it all away? (The horror, I know...) It's not likely that He will, but there's always the possibility. All I'm saying is that if my house starts on fire and all my stuff goes up in smoke, I'd rather it belongs to God than me. Then it's His loss - not mine.

As Otto Koning says: God can take better care of your things than you can.  
   
So, what's the harm?

'Till next time,

Research Smesearch

Good grief, where has the time gone? I have a thousand posts half-written in my head, but I can never seem to find the time (and gumption) to write them out. Mainly because I've taken off on one of my, what I call, "writing binges". Unfortunately for my summer reading resolution, this means that I have little to no interest in reading, but can sit for hours typing away at one or two of my many novels at a time.
And, of course, this means it's time for that necessary evil. Research.

Blech.

I have a rather unaccountable fear of research. I'm always afraid I'm going to find something that will completely destroy my fragile, idealistic plots or force me to do a ton of reworking to make something fit. Usually, this is overly-cynical, since I've found that most things can be squashed in without too much trouble, but there's a first time for everything and I'm always convinced THIS will be that time.

Not only am I afraid of that, but I also detest the hours of wrangling for information, ogling maps, typing in destinations and starting points, hoping beyond hope that someone will have some information on the most obscure topics you can think of...For instance, I spent almost the entire day in the depths of southwestern Montana (I just found out that the abbreviation for that state is MT -- after months of wondering. Amazing!) trying to find a decent place to set up a cow-calf ranch. You would not believe the difficulties I came across. And I couldn't find a decent map anywhere that said "here is a piece of ground that fits your exact specifications". Outrage! In fact, it took me forever just to find out where the East Fork of the Bitterroot River began. Multiply that by about seven or eight towns to choose from, 100 miles of valley land, two mountain ranges (wonderful things that they are), innumerable creeks, annoying little roads that cut right through where you want to land your ranch, distances that are either too great or too small for your purposes, government preserves, little bed and breakfasts, and ect.Then divide it by a 7000 acre ranch that needs to be situated just right with water and mountain ranges and a town that is just a bit too far away for convenience and viola! you have a pile of crumpled paper and a bad case of frustrated brain-cramps (not to mention that you're dead tired too).

Sometimes I ask myself why I keep on doing it. I mean, for pete's sake, is anyone really going to care if I accidentally set my ranch right smack on top of a campground, or a tourists hotel or a fly-fishing lodge? The only people who are going to know would be the people that live in the area and considering the small population of the Bitterroot Valley, I don't think it's very possible that I will get in trouble for it.
The only problem with that line of reason is that I care. If even one person read that novel (should it ever get published) and told me that my location was a virtual impossibility, I would be humiliated to the grave. (Ok, that's a bit dramatic, but I would be very embarrassed.) Besides that, I want my novels to sound like I really know what I'm talking about. That's why I am currently working my way through a book I never thought I would be reading.

The Modern Cowboy by John R. Erickson (which, I should make haste to inform you, is a virtual fount of information. It's a researcher's dream. It's straightforward, concise, tells you EVERYTHING and, as a side bonus, is really fun to read.)

The only problem I have with reading the book for research is that I stink at summarizing and thus practically write down the entire book while I do my research. To be sure, as it's from the library and can only be renewed two (or is it three?) times, such a fund of hand-written information is extremely convenient, but I have a rather difficult time selling that theory to my impatient self when I'm in the midst of writing it up. (This is getting way too long, as all my post seem to tend to do, but I'm going to finish my thought and if you don't want to read on, well, you'll probably find that quitting it now is a display of good sense.)

As for the material I find, I think I tend to be overzealous with it. My mindset is that if I've done all this research, well then, the reader might as well get the benefit of it! Of course, only my wonderful friend who reads all my stuff hot off the press (a terrific job, I tell you. It's astonishing that she and I are still friends after what I've treated her to) and my wonderful editor (who also happens to be a dear friend - especially when she edits things) could tell you whether I pile on the information or not. I am, admittedly, rather partial to my work. But really, there are so many interesting details that can be found while researching. I confess that I usually don't bother to find them until I'm on the second draft of the novel (and then I cram them in like a madman). I actually wrote almost an entire novel without researching much of anything. Not a good idea... Everyone mended fences because that was basically the only chore I could conjure up and going in the first time, I wouldn't have known the difference between a filly, colt, foal, gelding, stallion, heifer or steer if they had hit me in the face. (I do know now, by the way.)

In conclusion, I read a depressing chapter in Thomas Monteleone's The Complete Idiot's Guide to Writing a Novel where he instructed a budding writer to "immerse" themselves in the era, customs, settings, ect. of their time period. Immerse? I was barely standing on the edge and dipping my toe in. But, as with most advice from people who know their stuff, "immersion" was a good idea. The writing flows so much better, reads so much more realistically, and sounds 100 times more authentic (go figure).

Despite all that, I still can't stand it. Even though I sometimes happen upon a freak coincidence (I tend to think they're more than coincidence) where I find something that fits so perfectly that it completely opens a new door for my plot, I would still ditch it all to a research assistant if I could afford one. (Actually being published would probably also be an aid in that area as well. Someday, perhaps.) Anyway, methinks this is a book I should be reading soon.

'Till next time,
-- Jamie
   

Writer's Block

Isn't that the way of things?

When I started this blog, I had a million things swimming around in my head that I wanted to write about. Now I can't find a single thing to write about. It seems silly to have a blog if you don't know what to share, but it also seems silly to go through *all* (not true. This thing was amazingly easy to start) the work of setting one up and dropping it after the first post. At any rate, this mental effort is killing me. I'm so enthused that the moment I start a blog, I'm incapable of writing it. Well, I might as well fill up the space with something... 

Things I've learned today: 1. That staring at the blinking cursor is not a substitute for writing, but if you want to look like you're writing, it suffices. 2. That 'Ian' is the Scottish substitute for 'John'. (I actually learned this yesterday, but it hasn't been twenty-four hours yet, so it's still in). 3. That I could have beaten my brother at Trivial Pursuit last night if I'd remembered more of the geography lessons I took back in grade school and 4. That the buzzer on the washing machine does not stop going off if you ignore it. 

Writer's block is something that never fails to show up at the worst times and always seems to take down everything in its path. I still find it hard to believe that a person who works on eight novels simultaneously can be susceptible to an all out case of this annoying phenomenon, though 'tis true that I have pretty much dropped work on three that I keep only to turn to in dire circumstances. 

I've heard that some people don't believe there is such a thing as writer's block. If so, I'd like them to come over and explain what exactly it is that causes this mania for staring at a blinking cursor. Perhaps they'd call it a "lack of inspiration" -- which I also have at the moment. 

Whenever I feel like this, the most dangerous thing for me to do is go back and look at the stuff I've already written. I want to erase the whole thing and start over. Something I do enough as it is. I have one novel that has had more backward motion than forward because every time I get to the good part, I start over and rewrite the beginning. This has driven one of my sisters crazy for years. I've given her the same beginning, rehashed with a few changes each time, so many times she probably has it memorized. By now, when I ask her if she wants to read it, she always suspiciously wants to know whether or not I've gotten any further or if I'm going to put her through the same rewarmed sequence again. I guess my tactics are getting a bit antique... 

My remedy for writer's block is about as uncreative as the (what do you call this anyway? It's not a disease, though, at times it feels like one...) problem (?) itself. I let the novels moulder and read books until I get my inspiration back. For a really bad case, it takes a really large amount of books. Which is fine, because I have more unread books on my shelf than I know what to do with. 

'Till next time...which might be a while; I've got to think of something more interesting to write about than this. 

-- Jamie