The Power of Story

By Jebraun Clifford

I had the privilege of being the speaker at a holiday camp last weekend, though at first I admit I was a little terrified apprehensive at the prospect. While I regularly teach Sunday school, I have, on average, only fifteen kids in my class who I know and whose parents I know. The kids are used to me, and we always have a good time. Plus I keep my pockets stuffed with lollies to bribe them for good behaviour.

But how would a room full of fifty-five 8-12 year olds react to a stranger? That age group is notoriously challenging. Not to mention wriggly and easily distracted. Could I be engaging enough? Funny enough? And how on earth was I going to fit the whole gospel message (without being too preachy) in two half-hour evening sessions and one breakfast devotion?

It turned out better than I expected in that wonderfully chaotic way only God can orchestrate.

And it’s all because of the power of story.

Picking out a broad theme—God’s love for us—I found three parables in the gospels that detailed a different aspect of His love and what our response to it should be. One of the parables I chose was about the shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine sheep in the fold to look for the one lost sheep.

It’s no coincidence that when I arrived at camp Friday afternoon, there were three newborn baby lambs gamboling about. Or that one of the campers’ duties was to feed the lambs. Everyone got very attached to these adorable creatures and their habit of snuggling with whoever held them. If the lambs were lonely, they’d bleat pathetically until someone ran to their pen to pay attention to them, and we had more than one camper disappear during mealtimes to get some sneaky individual cuddle time.

When it came time to present the parable of the lost sheep, I asked them to imagine one of our beloved lambs was afraid and wandering alone somewhere in the dark, and everyone became immediately invested in the story. They all insisted they would brave the cold and the wet in order to rescue the missing lamb and promised they wouldn’t rest until the lamb was found. Nothing would stop them until the lamb was home safely.

When I explained that the love, tenderness, and protectiveness they felt towards the lamb was a smidgen of the thoughts God has towards them, you could see the realisation sink in.

One simple story, personalized and made very real, brought home an eternal truth to these kids in a way a boring (to them) sermon never could. All I did was follow my Saviour’s example.

Instead of laying out complex theological treatises, Jesus often told stories. He took powerful truths about the kingdom of heaven and cloaked them in the images of a treasure in a field, a mustard seed, and a net full of fish. He enthralled His audience with thrilling tales of wicked vinedressers, a foolish farmer, and an unjust judge. He populated His narratives with people we could each imagine ourselves as: a wayward son, an unforgiving servant, and a woman who lost a valuable coin.

These parables spoke volumes about God’s unfailing love. A love we get to tell others about.

And that’s what I love best about writing stories.

I get to weave my Christian worldview—that life is rich and amazing, that each one of us is deeply cherished, that we all are designed with unique gifts and talents for a good purpose, that we have a Creator who ardently pursues us and holds all things in the palm of His hand—into a fictional tale anyone might pick up to read.

It’s an opportunity we each have when we sit down to write a story.

Whether you pen fantasy, romance, mystery, or historical fiction, you get to hide your unique perspective of who God is and what His love means to you into your writing. Isn’t that exciting?

What powerful truths do you disguise as story?

About Jebraun Clifford

Jebraun Clifford always wanted to step through a door into an imaginary kingdom, so it’s no surprise she now calls Middle Earth home. Too short to be an elf and too tall to be a Hobbit, she lives in a gorgeous town smack-dab in the centre of New Zealand’s North Island filled with thermal activity, stunning lakes, and enough Redwoods to make her Californian heart swoon.

Her unpublished YA fantasy, The Two Queens of Kyrie, won both the American Christian Fiction Writer's 2015 First Impressions contest and the 2016 Genesis contest. She loves coffee, tree ferns, dark chocolate, and Jesus, and harbours a secret penchant for British spelling.

You can find Jebraun online at:

https://jebraunclifford.com/
https://www.facebook.com/jebraun.clifford.author/
https://www.instagram.com/jeb_clifford/

How to Stay Authentic in a Counterfeit World

By Jebraun Clifford

There’s something attractive about authenticity.

People crave the real thing.

Being real is engaging. Being real is endearing. Being real is essential.

But at the same time, another force exists. Working against authenticity, against real, is another concept.

Imitation.

I see this battle between real and imitation at the grocery store.

At the back of the store, in the refrigerator section, sits a wonderful concoction made of real milk carefully cultured and aged into a magical substance called cheddar cheese. It’s beautifully tangy and sharp and tastes delicious sliced onto crackers or sprinkled over nachos. Melted in a toasted cheese sandwich. Whisked into a sauce to pour over broccoli or other vegetables (can you tell I was hungry when I wrote this post?!?).

On the other hand, sitting somewhere sad and lonely, is a particular product.

In a can.

Bland.

Soulless.

Fake.

This…stuff…thinks it’s cheese, but we all know better. It’s mostly salt, oil, and artificial flavouring with a leetle bit of dairy thrown in as an afterthought—and if you’re a lover of cheese-in-a-can, then I apologise for maligning your very poor taste in snacks. But I gotta ask, why would you choose the imitation when the real thing is so much more…real?!?

The battle between the authentic and the counterfeit area extends to other arenas, too.
Every day, we experience pressure to take the easy way, the fake way. So how can we stay authentic? When we remember who we really are. When we’re consistent with our goals and values. And especially when we silence the temptation to compare ourselves with others.

Identity vs. image

My husband preaches a lot about identity and why it’s important to Christians. We need to remember who we really are: sons and daughters of God! Chosen, blessed, and accepted! We only have to read the beginning of Ephesians to get a glimpse of these promises.

But sometimes, we trade this amazing identity of who God says we are for the poor shadow of image, or who we want people to think we are.

There are some crucial differences between identity and image. Identity is effortless. God says it, so that’s who we are. But maintaining an image is hard work. We’ve got to constantly be on our toes, projecting a fake picture, hiding our thoughts and emotions and all the little quirks that make us a unique person. What’s more inauthentic than somebody pretending to be somebody else? You are obviously the only you in the entire universe. You matter. You are important. You play a vital role in God’s Kingdom. Don’t forget it!

What do we hold close to our hearts?

I chatted with a friend recently who quit her job. She realised she forced herself into a situation that betrayed the very values she held dear. Her job wasn’t unethical or anything, but she felt she was turning into somebody else because she was promoting ideals that weren’t really hers.

Can anybody else relate?

If we don’t have a firm grasp on our identity, it’s easier to push aside our true values and adopt what everyone else is doing. But stopping for a moment, taking stock of where we’re at and what we’re doing, making sure it aligns with the things that are important to us, can help us stay authentic.

Comparison is the thief of authenticity

This one is hard. As I scroll through Facebook or Instagram and see all the amazing things other authors are doing, I can get really down on myself.

I should be posting awesome pictures of the books I’m reading in front of my bookshelves!

Why aren’t I collecting Funko Pop figures of all my favourite characters?

When will it be my turn to share a photo of me signing a book contract?

These comparisons slowly erode my confidence in my authentic self. I stop striving to be me, and I start wanting to be like them. I want my platform to be as big as their platform, my writing style to be similar, my success to be like their success…the list could go on and on.

I want to imitate them instead of being me. But whilst imitation might be the sincerest form of flattery, it’s also the quickest killer of authenticity.

This comparison game is also closely linked to our identity.

I heard another pastor recently talking about the Tower of Babel. He found it interesting that the people in Genesis 11 specifically chose to build with bricks rather than stones. He surmised it was because bricks are uniform and therefore easier and quicker to build with.

Whereas one brick can easily be exchanged for another identical brick, stones are uniquely shaped. 

Each on is different. It takes time and skill to fit stones together properly. A builder has to look carefully at each one to discover exactly where it will fit in best.

The truth is, we can’t be exchanged, one person for another, which is what we say when we compare ourselves to others. So climb out of the comparison trap to find your true self (and I’m telling this to myself as much as you).

Bottom line?

I want to interact with authentic people. And I want to be an authentic person. Living a life of authenticity can be difficult but it means seeking your identity in Christ, staying true to your core beliefs, and not comparing yourself to others.

What about you? What do you find keeps you from staying authentic?

About Jebraun Clifford

Jebraun Clifford always wanted to step through a door into an imaginary kingdom, so it’s no surprise she now calls Middle Earth home. Too short to be an elf and too tall to be a Hobbit, she lives in a gorgeous town smack-dab in the centre of New Zealand’s North Island filled with thermal activity, stunning lakes, and enough Redwoods to make her Californian heart swoon.

Her unpublished YA fantasy, The Two Queens of Kyrie, won both the American Christian Fiction Writer's 2015 First Impressions contest and the 2016 Genesis contest. She loves coffee, tree ferns, dark chocolate, and Jesus, and harbours a secret penchant for British spelling.

Connect with her on:
Website: https://jebraunclifford.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jebraun.clifford.author/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jeb_clifford/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/jebclifford

A Season of Contentment

By Jebraun Clifford

Spring is a tricky, fickle season here in New Zealand, especially on the Central Plateau of the North Island. While the days may be getting longer, that doesn’t mean they’re consistently getting warmer. I keep glancing at my calendar and rooting for summer to make its grand entrance. However, the weather isn’t cooperating. Yesterday I couldn’t stop shivering despite layering on the clothing, and I’m just going to pretend I didn’t have to throw the wool blanket back on the bed a few nights ago because of a freakish cold front.

If I had my way, it would be summer year-round. You see, at my heart, I’m a California girl who craves the sunshine. I can’t get enough of summer. I love everything about it: dripping ice-cream cones and ripe stone-fruit, hours spent sweltering on the beach or by the lake, bare feet and floppy sun hats, loading up the car for a holiday road trip, and lying under the stars on a warm evening—not forgetting to apply plenty of bug spray!

But waiting for summer to actually get here can be problematic. I admire the swelling buds on my hydrangeas and all I can think about is how beautiful they’ll be when they’re finally in bloom with all their purple glory. I watch the rain shower down on my teensy, tiny tomato plants and imagine biting into a juicy beefsteak or popping a tiny heirloom cherry tomato into my mouth. I go to my closet and sorrowfully hold up t-shirts and shorts and pine for the day when I can wear them without also needing a puffer jacket and scarf. Spring to me is all about restless expectancy. I want summer, and I want it now.

This impatience trickles over in other areas of my life as well. As a pre-published writer (which sounds so much more optimistic than unpublished), I feel like I’m suspended indefinitely in the early stages of spring. I’m still tilling the ground, preparing the seed, getting ready to plant, when what I want is to have a hardback copy of my book in my hands. I don’t want to wait any longer.

I’m realizing what I need to have satisfaction with whatever season I’m in. Like Paul writes in the book of Philippians, I want to “…learn the secret of being content in any and every situation.” This isn’t a new lesson for me. I’ve had to put into practice this concept before.

When my children were little and I was still getting up with them several times during the night, I remember older and wiser mums telling me this season wasn’t going to last forever. That my babies were eventually going to grow up, sleep through the night, and I should enjoy the special cuddles while I could get them. Thankfully, I listened to these women and tried to cherish that early bonding time with each of my children.

When it comes to writing, I’ve had more than one conversation with authors who have encouraged me to have patience, enjoy learning more about the craft, relish the days of flipping open my laptop and simply telling a story without a deadline looming over me.

So that’s what I’m trying to do. I’m trying to find the joy in this season, trying not to only look ahead to what could be, but also focus on what is. Some days I have more success than others, but I’m hoping to look back one day and be thankful I was content with the time I was given.

I’d love to hear any strategies you might have for being content!

Be blessed, Jeb

About Jebraun Clifford

Growing up, Jebraun Clifford always wanted to step through a door into an imaginary kingdom, so it's no surprise she now calls Middle Earth home. Too short to be an elf and too tall to be a Hobbit, she lives in the centre of New Zealand where she and her preacher husband planted a church over a decade ago. She has three children, a crazy Jack Russell named Bree, and Gidget, a tortoiseshell kitten. She studied English Literature at Cal Poly San Luis Obispo, and the Central Coast of California is still one of her favourite places ever.

Don’t Give Up

By Jebraun Clifford

One of the things I’ve learned in my life is that perseverance is key. Whether it’s pushing ahead a career or committing to a relationship or raising kids or pursuing our walk with the Lord, anything worth doing is also worth doing well. And all of the above take a great deal of perseverance.

It’s easier, of course, to react rather than become proactive. To allow things to simply happen, the chips to fall where they may. But being proactive (which sounds kinda passive) is also the key to perseverance.

“Let us not become weary in doing good…” Galatians 6:9 tells us. “…for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.”

In this case, Paul urges us to not become weary. I love how it’s translated in the Amplified version: do not grow weary or become discouraged. That sounds like wariness is a process that can be recognised, staved off, and recovered from.

I’ve found returning to my writing after a twenty year hiatus to be a study in perseverance. 

Unlike many writers who write and write and write through all stages of their lives, I stopped completely. The tasks I had before me—marriage, three kids, moving to New Zealand, church-planting—seemed quite enough, thank you very much. Perhaps are some (many?) who would’ve been able to add a writing career to the mix, but I found my perseverance stretched so tightly in all these areas that I was not up to the challenge of writing as well.

Now I’ve jumped back in. And for some reason, I thought it was going to be a lot easier than it’s turned out to be. I entered two manuscripts in the 2015 Genesis contest, fully confident that they were both amazing, primo, wunderbar…pick a superlative in any language and I thought they were it. 

I was shattered with scores in the low 60’s and comments like, “I believe this was entered in the wrong genre” and “you have way too much back story here.” I wanted to delete my hard drive and pretend like I hadn’t secretly already planned my Oprah book club selection speech.

And then the bane of every writer’s existence, the dreaded writer’s block, hit with a vengeance. Every single thing I wrote was flat and boring and full of –ly words and so uninspired I decided I’d rather take a job painting road markings than continue writing. Not that there’s anything wrong with painting road markings. In fact, there’s this really cool Segway-like painting contraption they use here that looks really cool to operate. But I digress.

I grew weary. I grew discouraged. I stopped persevering.

I forgot that writing (and again, anything worth doing) is like planting trees, not growing radishes.

So I took some steps to refresh myself, enjoyed getting outside as much as possible (we had a brilliant summer/autumn this year in Rotorua!), and wrote even though I didn’t feel like it. I also spent a lot of time praying.

God, I believe the stories You’ve given me, the ideas You’ve planted in my head, and the talents You’ve sown into me are good things. And I believe they’re going to yield a good crop. Help, help, help me to not give up! Help me to keep going!

Well. God was faithful. 

I kept chugging away like the Little Engine That Could. And the joy came back, the words began to flow, the confidence that what I was writing mattered returned.

So where are you today? Are you a multi-award winning author with a heap of books under your literary belt? In the middle of some serious line-edits with a gazillion post-it notes stuck throughout your manuscript? Perhaps you’re planning a promotional tour. Have you signed your first contract? Or perhaps you’re like me…at the very beginning of the process, tucking tiny seedlings into fertile soil.

Wherever you’re at don’t give up. Don’t grow weary. Don’t grow discouraged. You are doing a good work! You will reap a harvest of righteousness!

Look to the Author and Finisher of our faith to help you persevere.

Be blessed, Jeb

Using Our Words to Heal, by Jebraun Clifford

Jesus cursed a fig tree, and it died. He told a dead little girl to rise to life, and she did.

Words are powerful.

Words create reality.

Words have the ability to harm or to heal.

Whoever made up the children’s nursery rhyme about sticks and stones was mistaken. People of any age who hear that they are ugly or stupid or useless can carry emotional wounds that often take longer to mend than a broken bone. But a positive word brings encouragement. Scientific studies have shown that even houseplants thrive more when nice things are said about them!

This shouldn’t surprise us. Proverbs tells us that life and death are in the power of the tongue.

Whilst this refers to the spoken word, I believe the written word can have just as much of an impact.

The written word is powerful and can't be altered or denied. It carries explosive ideas between cultures. It expresses the deepest yearnings in our hearts, explains what it means to be human. Some words are deemed too potent, and the books that contain them are banned.

The written word creates reality. Historical fiction brings the past to life. A skilled writer can make us feel like we’re walking through Ancient China, Elizabethan England, or the Oregon Trail. And who hasn’t been so lost in the imaginary world of a novel that coming back to reality is a shock? Sometimes the ordinary can seem hum-drum after wandering in Narnia, Middle-Earth, or Pern.

And, yes, the written word has the ability to harm or heal. The introduction of any topic on Facebook – be in controversial or inoculate – will garner remarks of all sorts. It’s astonishing, really, how people write the most insulting, belittling, and downright mean words to one another. These words cut deep, piling on top of each other, until we stagger beneath the weight of them.

“So much death!” King Theoden says in The Two Towers. “What can men do against such reckless hate?”

What can we do?

We can write!

We can write words that uplift, inspire, and restore. We can tell stories of forgiveness, hope, and reconciliation. We can create winsome and complex characters who struggle and fall, get up and try again. We can introduce our readers to the Word who became flesh, and let His life-giving words colour ours.

For that is the privilege of a writer.

“My pen shall heal, not hurt,” vows Emily Starr from L.M. Montgomery’s book Emily Climbs.

We would do well to imitate her example.

Whether you’re a published author, a hopeful one, or simply a person who scribbles privately in his or her journal, your words matter.

Your words can change a life, or even the world!

Growing up, I always wanted to walk through a door to an imaginary world so it’s no surprise I now call New Zealand home. Too short to be an elf and too tall to be a hobbit, I live in the centre of Middle Earth where the Preacher and I planted a church over a decade ago. I love tree ferns, dark chocolate, British spelling (except for tyres...that one still looks weird!) and Jesus. When inspiration strikes, I blog at www.jebraunclifford.wordpress.com

I Am a Writer, by Jebraun Clifford

"And what do you do?" he asks me. Not in an accusing tone but with sincere interest. I'm working at one of my myriad paid and unpaid jobs and I quickly think of all the hats I've worn in the past and the many I wear today. Wife. Mother. Homemaker. These are the responsibilities closest to my heart. Pastor. Teacher. Friend. Ditto. Sister? Difficult as I live 10,000 kilometres from my siblings. Student? Not for a long time, unless you count a student of life.

Sometimes I work at a picture framing and art supply business and that's where I am today. I help an artist pick out an easel and we talk about various mediums. He likes acrylic and I (very infrequently) dabble in watercolour.

"But what do you really do?" he asks.

And for the first time ever, I announce my newly reclaimed identity. "I am a writer."

"Really? Well, good on you. The world needs more of that, doesn't it?" His eyes crinkle as I slide the easel into the carry-case and take his bank card. He doesn't even ask me if I've published anything (I haven't yet) but accepts my declaration without question, smiling as he leaves, no doubt busy with plans of his own on what to paint first on his new piece of art equipment.

And me? I'm buzzing at what I could be. What I do. What I am.

I've made up stories in my head from the time I was a little girl. I used to beg to write skits instead of reports at school and am thankful for one particular teacher who let me write and perform dramatisations. Often I roped in various classmates for these dramas, one of which was a three act play about Jacques Cartier and his exploration of Canada, complete with the unoriginal though applause-worthy line, "Hey! Jacques back!" as a catch phrase. I kept a journal all through junior high (oh, the agony!) and high school (oh, the angst!) and even through university when my hand was constantly cramped from the excessive note-taking in my English Lit and Cultural Anthropology lectures.

And then I took some time off. Oh, willingly enough. I don't regret at all the twenty years spent writing grocery lists and to-do lists and birthday cards. I'm happy my creativity was channeled into good meals, nappy changing, and crafty ways to turn a few boards and some bricks into a bookcase. This was before the days of Pinterest and, trust me, some pictures and video tutorials might've made all the difference between a snazzy looking masterpiece and the Leaning Tower of Piza we ended up with.

So instead of a shelf full of published novels, I have three amazing children who are my "living" epistles as L.M. Montgomery's indomitable heroine, Anne Blythe née Shirley, called her own children. Maybe I could've written and looked after my babies at the same time but when I was knee-deep in said nappy changes, I found it tricky to keep the dust bunnies at bay let alone imagine character developments and story arcs.

But now it's time to slowly turn my attention back to a passion I've kept under wraps for so long. I've still got two at home but they're older teens now and don't need me to keep them physically alive twenty-four seven. And I've got a husband who doesn't seem to mind the occasional - all right, weekly - breakfast for dinner. Seriously, aren't bacon and scrambled eggs the best? He's even taken over all the washing, for goodness sake, and our clothes have never been more promptly washed, dried, and folded.

So I'm stretching my mind, squeezing in as much writing time as I can manage, cracking open the old thesaurus again though it's on an app now instead of in a huge, hardbound book. And I'm excited to see where it will lead.

Eric Liddell, an Olympic athlete and missionary once said, "God made me with a purpose but He also made me fast. And when I run, I feel His pleasure."

I know that writing is not my ultimate purpose. I was meant to live and move and have my being in Him but I believe He gave me this gift of wanting to - needing to - tell stories. And when I write, I feel His pleasure. So I'm going to keep on writing.

After all, I am a writer.

How about you? When did you first know you were a writer?

Growing up, I always wanted to walk through a door to an imaginary world so it’s no surprise I now call New Zealand home. Too short to be an elf and too tall to be a hobbit, I live in the centre of Middle Earth where the Preacher and I planted a church over a decade ago. I love tree ferns, dark chocolate, British spelling (except for tyres...that one still looks weird!) and Jesus. When inspiration strikes, I blog at www.jebraunclifford.wordpress.com