Using Our Writer’s ‘Voice’ for God’s Glory

By Elizabeth Musser

I’m sitting on the couch in my parents’ den in Atlanta, Georgia, the home I grew up in; it’s the day after Thanksgiving. Amy Grant’s first Christmas album is playing in the background as I sort my mother’s sterling silver. I’m counting each piece to make sure none got accidentally thrown in the trash after our feast. Yesterday eighteen of us enjoyed the goodness of life, celebrating with Mom’s fine china, her linens, her silver, and her recipes, all the while missing Mom. I am doing what my mother used to do because Mom passed away last year, and now, I, the only daughter, have taken over her duties. Just for this year.

This year we’re ‘home’.

Amy is singing ‘Tender Tennessee Christmas’ and it takes me back, so far back, to my first Christmas as a missionary in a dried-up mining town in France. My dear teammate and I were staying at the house of the one French elder in the tiny Protestant church where we served. We were babysitting the elder’s five little kids while his dear wife was in the hospital birthing the sixth.

I was feeling so overwhelmed and homesick. Fortunately, the day before, I had received a package in the mail from my home church, finding inside Amy Grant’s brand-new Christmas album (as a cassette tape—this was 1983). Now I stood in the kitchen of that French family, bawling my eyes out as I listened and listened to Amy’s sweet voice singing of nostalgia and faith and home.

Amy came into my life when I was a college Freshman. I will never forget the night she visited our college fellowship group as a shy seventeen-year-old, guitar on her lap, singing of her love for Christ. I loved her music and her heart for God. She inspired me to want to use my writing ‘voice’ to reach others with hope in Christ, just as she was using her singing voice for the Lord. I prayed for this, often writing in my journal, “Lord, if there is something else You want me to do with this gift You’ve given me, please show me.”

I watched as Amy gained popularity and produced her first album. 

I attended her first concerts. And always, Amy’s words echoed my heart. When I left for the mission field right after college, Amy’s songs went with me. And on that dreary December morning in France, her songs brought solace to my soul.

Over the course of these thirty-something years on the mission field, I have obtained each of her cassettes and CDs, laughed and cried with her, and dreamed. Her Christmas albums have filled my home in France with the wonder of Christmas back in the US. Oh, on how many a hard day has her music lifted my spirits and kept me going.

Today, as I listen to Amy, I reflect on the unique ways God ministers to each of us. 

He used Amy’s voice to encourage me during all my years on the mission field. He also answered my far-flung prayers—that deep desire to be a writer.

I sit on this couch and read sweet emails from readers, telling me that my stories have encouraged their hearts, drawn them ever closer to Christ. Some have even been inspired to use their ‘voice’ after reading my ‘voice’, just as Amy inspired me.

As writers, may we always strive to use our ‘voice’ for His glory, even on those days when we wonder if our words are reaching anyone. Take courage. There may be a homesick soul with a big prayer and a little faith who happens on one of our stories and feels God’s hug and encouragement to keep pursuing the dream.

About Elizabeth Musser

Elizabeth Musser usually writes ‘entertainment with a soul’ from her writing chalet—tool shed—outside Lyon, France. For over twenty-five years, Elizabeth and her husband, Paul, have been involved in missions’ work in Europe.

 To be closer to family, the Mussers have moved back to the Southeast for 2017-2018 school year and are living in the Chattanooga area near their son, daughter-in-law and three grandkids. But you can read about her humorous Thanksgiving experiences in France here. Find more about Elizabeth’s novels at www.elizabethmusser.com and on Facebook, Twitter, and her blog.

Thankful

It is that glorious time of year, where us Canadians in the North, get to celebrate, Thanksgiving.

It always comes up so quickly. I have always preferred it be in November, but then of course, we usually have two feet of snow on the ground and we aren't celebrating the harvest.  But we always have to wait longer for Christmas to arrive, it seems.  Right now, I believe it's about 83 days to go. I

The leaves are changing their glorious colours, and then they drift to the frosty grass so we can crunch them with our rubber boots.

People sneak into pumpkin patches to take photos of their children climbing on the largest pumpkins and then post them on Facebook.

Dilapidated barns and sheds look so much more magical and romantic.

See my dilapidated barn? Doesn't it look magical and romantic? It has mice.

The moon is so much more crisp, so much larger than ever before, that one cannot help but just...stare.

That's my neighbour's house.

 The harvest is ready for picking with fresh, crunch carrots, tiny pearl quinoa grains, solid butternut squash...

Me and my carrots.

And sometimes a little surprise of hard, crunchy red corn which is perfect for decorating your house.



But one thing to remember, amidst the pumpkin spice lattes, snuggly socks and your favourite sweaters, is to remember to be thankful.  

Just as Easter reminds us that Jesus died to save us all, and Christmas reminds us of His glorious birth, and birthdays remind us of a loved one, anniversaries remind us of our sweet soul mates, Valentine's day reminds us to love, Thanksgiving is to be thankful. 


Life can be horribly hard. It can be wrought with pain and angst and loss of loved ones. 

But life can also be filled with moments of joy, of laughter that happens deep in your belly, of letters, of showing kindness, of babies being born, of new jobs, of someone being healed.

A thankful heart is a happy heart.

This year we have decided to have a 'Thankful jar'.  Just a plain jar that one can put little notes into. To write down every single day, what we are thankful for. And on Christmas Eve, we will read them all.  


My dear friends.  Despite your situation... will you be thankful? Will you look for those hidden gems and realize that you do have many blessings that might be in disguise?

I am thankful for you.
Don't give up on your writing.
Don't give up on your reading.
And do not, under any circumstance, give up on GOD.  Because He is thankful, for you!

Do you have any Thanksgiving traditions?

Caleb and the Cotton Candy Calamity – A Thanks-Not-Giving Story

Children do some things fabulously well. Joy is one of them. They spin around, sing, shout, giggle, and run with wild abandon. You know why? They don’t carry their burdens. They know they depend on everyone for everything all the time. Dependency is their way of life. Bravo, kids. I want to be more like you. 

But they are fabulously terrible at other things. 

Once upon a time, a first-grader named Caleb got to go to Disneyland. His parents saved for months. They drove for days. They walked for hours, from ride to ride, show to show, souvenir shop to souvenir shop. His parents bypassed the coolest rides, shows, and restaurants because Caleb was too young for them and this trip was for him. 

Then somewhere between standing in line to get Phineas and Ferb autographs and a character meal, young Caleb decided he wanted cotton candy. If they were to stop for cotton candy (there was a long line for that too) they would be late for the character meal, so they didn’t get the cotton candy. 

Caleb was cross. He complained about the walk, about the heat, about the bags, and about the crowds. When Lilo & Stitch came his way at the restaurant, he turned away, fighting back tears. 

Dad talked to Caleb about how hard they’d worked to make that trip a success and about all the fun things they’d done already. He told Caleb he was yet to hear a “thank you.” 

Caleb lowered his head, let the tears fall, and said, “thank you.” 

No, I don’t have a boy named Caleb. I made him up after hearing my pastor talk about a similar situation during one of their family trips to Disney. But we all know a Caleb—we’re probably raising one. 

Surely we’re quick to spot thanklessness in our children, like David was quick to spot the error of the rich man in Nathan’s parable of the ewe lamb. But how about us? Are we like Caleb toward God? Do we cry and whine about cotton candy when He’s taken us to Disneyland? 

I know I am. Getting published is my cotton candy. I have all the things I really need and plenty of extras, but that cotton candy (so fluffy, so sweet, and so pink!) allures daily. Like Caleb, sometimes I’m so busy wanting cotton candy that I forget to thank my Heavenly Father for all He’s given me already. 

Good thing God loves us even when we act like rotten kids. Good thing He forgives us as often as we confess, and delivers us every time we cry unto Him. But I don’t want to treat God like my kids treat me half the time. Good grief. I don’t want to be like children when it comes to thanks-not-giving. 

Psalm 107:8 (and 15, and 21, and 31) – “Oh that men would praise the LORD for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the children of men!” 

I’m so sorry for taking my many blessings for granted sometimes, Lord. Thank you for Disneyland, for the rides, for the souvenirs, and for all the wonderful adventures—no cotton candy required. 

What’s your cotton candy?

Patricia Beal is a Christian author, Army wife, and ballerina. She writes contemporary fiction and is represented by Leslie Stobbe of the Leslie H. Stobbe Literary Agency. She’s a 2015 Genesis semi-finalist and First Impressions finalist. 

Patricia is from Brazil and immigrated to America in 1992. She graduated magna cum laude from the University of Cincinnati in 1998 with a B.A. in English Literature. After an internship at the Pentagon, she worked as a public affairs officer for the U.S. Army for seven years. 

She and her husband live in El Paso, Texas, with their two children. 

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/patricia.beal.author 
Twitter - https://twitter.com/bealpat 
Web - www.patriciabeal.com

Thanksgiving in Canada

 Today is Thanksgiving Day in Canada.  A time to celebrate the harvest, walk among crisp fallen leaves, and admire the late blooms still brightening the garden. This weekend is the last hurrah of summer, before we settle in for a long, Canadian winter.

    Thanksgiving is one of my favourite holidays.  No presents to buy.  No cards to write.  No concerts to prepare.   The garden supplies most of the food.  The decorations are easy and simple, a potted flower, a couple of pumpkins, a basket of home-made jam.  

   And turkey leftovers to last the rest of the week.  What's not to like?

   This year, with our streak of incredible weather, a surprise second crop in the strawberry patch and an autumn coloured maple tree outside my back door, the holiday is even better.

   Living so close to the USA, I'm aware that our thanksgiving comes more than a month before theirs, so I decided to look into the origins of our festivity.  Turns out Canada can trace thanksgiving back to the 1587 voyage of Martin Frobisher, an English explorer searching for the Northwest Passage.  On his third voyage into what is present day Nunavut, the expedition suffered from ice and storms and the loss of one of their ships along with much of the building materials they had brought with them.  The fleet was scattered and didn't meet up again until they drew anchor in Frobisher Bay.  At that time, a preacher who had sailed with the expedition, preached a sermon exhorting his fellow seamen to be "thankful to God for their strange and miraculous deliverance in those so dangerous places. . ."

    Thus, the first thanksgiving in Canada was held 43 years before the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock.

    In 1604, French settlers with Samuel de Champlain  in New France, now the Province of Quebec, held huge feasts of thanksgiving, sharing their bounty with local First Nations.  Years later, following the Seven Years War, New France was ceded to England and Halifax, a British outpost, celebrated with a Thanksgiving day.

    While Canadian customs are similar to European harvest festivals, it was United Empire Loyalists fleeing the American revolution who brought the tradition of turkey and pumpkin pie to their new homes.

    The date of Canadian thanksgiving has shifted about over time, occurring anywhere between April and November and often coinciding with the end of hostilities of some form or other.  The first Thanksgiving Day after Confederation in 1867 was on April 5, 1872 to celebrate the recovery of the Prince of Wales from a serious illness.   It wasn't until 1879 that Thanksgiving was declared a national holiday and even then the date wasn't fixed, although it usually occurred in late October or early November.  Finally, in 1957, Parliament declared the second Monday in October the official date of Thanksgiving.  

     Since I love to set my thanksgiving table with the fruits of my own garden, the date works perfectly for me.  At church too, we celebrate our blessings by loading the communion table with samples of the harvest.  We sing hymns like "Come, Ye Thankful People, Come," and "We plough the fields and scatter the good seed on the land."

    

  In the USA, shopping has become a major part of the thanksgiving celebrations and I notice merchants here are attempting to lure us into the malls over the long weekend, but our holiday is farther away from Christmas so the impulse to begin the Christmas shopping spree is not as great.

   

     In writing this post, I was amazed to discover how a holiday I believed was a simple celebration of the harvest, had so many political overtones. Huh!  

    

     So, what about the rest of the world?  Do you celebrate the harvest?  Do you call it Thanksgiving?  Is it a religious occasion?  Are there special foods or activities associated with the day?  Do Aussie's celebrate Thanksgiving in the spring?  

visit me at www.alicevaldal.com  where I talk about writing and gardening and singing and cats.

If you'd like to read my books, they're here.

Her One and Only

The Man for Her

Love and Lilacs

The Man Who Loved Christmas

Thy Will Be Done

      Here, in Canada, we're only a few days away from Thanksgiving Sunday, a day when we celebrate the bounty of the earth and give thanks for the harvest.  Churches are decorated with the fruits of the earth, pumpkins and corn stalks, tomatoes and onions, sheaves of wheat and baskets of potatoes.  My own larder is full.  The shelves of preserves double stacked.  The freezer is bulging with the harvest from my garden and bushels of apples are safely stowed in insulated boxes on the verandah.
     This is the time of year I love.  The nights are cold, the days crisp and sunny, the trees are decked out in scarlet and gold.  Yet, in the midst of plenty, some are hungry; in the midst of joy, some are sorrowing.  Here in our own community, one of our members has suffered a harrowing loss.  In the midst of Thanksgiving, some are bereft.  
      At such a time, I'm often lost for words, and so I turn to music, that language that transcends all barriers, melds the body, mind and spirit and offers balm to the aching heart.
       "Thy Will Be Done" by Joyce Ellers is one of my favourites.  The lyrics acknowledge that we all suffer, that we are often weak.  There is no condemnation here, but a deep and certain hope that we live in God's world, our lives are in His hands and we can trust His will.










To all of my ICFW friends, I wish you a Happy Thanksgiving and a year filled with abundance and joy. 

To connect with Alice Valdal, visit her website at www.alicevaldal.com   Her good news this month is that her first published book, "Love and Lilacs" is now for sale as an ebook from Amazon.  I had such fun writing this novel, before I knew "the rules" of writing.  So glad it is available again.

Giving Thanks

It's that time of year again. The leaves are falling and this weekend we will celebrate Thanksgiving. We celebrate it a little earlier here in Canada than in the land to the south, because our harvest is earlier. Thanksgiving is a very old tradition in our North American culture, a tradition begun by a group of men who had a lot to be thankful for. They had made an arduous journey across the Atlantic, leaving their homeland in hopes of finding a passage to a new country. There were probably many days when they despaired of ever finding it. Imagine the excitement they must have felt when suddenly land was sighted. Imagine their relief. Imagine their thankfulness to God. 

Perhaps you’ve been thinking of the Pilgrims of Plymouth Massachusetts, but I’m speaking of the men who accompanied an explorer named Martin Frobisher who was looking for the northwest passage to India. That crew of men, aboard a ship called The Gabriel, beached on the shores of Newfoundland in July, 1578. So it was that 53 years before the Pilgrims landed on the shores of the United States, the first Thanksgiving was celebrated in North America.

But that wasn’t the first thanksgiving to be celebrated. The tradition goes back much further than that, all the way back to 1450 BC. It’s recorded in Exodus 23:16, where God tells the Hebrew people -

“Celebrate the Festival of Harvest with the firstfruits of the crops you sow in your field. Celebrate the Festival of Ingathering at the end of the year, when you gather in your crops from the field.”

Many of us will sit down to a feast of turkey and all the trimmings in the next few days. And we will all be thankful for what we’ve been given. Warm houses, the money to purchase the ingredients in our dinners, family to celebrate with. It’s easy to be thankful in the midst of such bounty, isn’t it?

But what about when things aren’t going so well? Are we able to be thankful then? Are we able to be thankful in the midst of struggles and hard times? The scriptures tell us that’s what we are to do. Philippians 4:6 says – “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” 

On April 1st 2011, I was given the opportunity to find out if I was really capable of doing that. I was at a trade fair in Calgary when my cell phone rang. It was my family doctor, calling to give me the results of a biopsy. And I heard those  terrifying, mind-numbing words: “You have cancer.” This wasn’t an April fool’s day joke. Those were words that meant the beginning of months of having to face a new reality and a new routine – days full of chemo and radiation treatments, days of weakness when I rejoiced if I was able to put my clothes on without panting, days of such bone-deep weariness that I just wanted to close my eyes and wake up in heaven, days of wondering if I would indeed survive. Those were days that were filled with anxiety that could only be relieved by prayer.

But I discovered I was able to be thankful, even though I had cancer, thankful for what God was teaching me. I wasn’t able to write much during that time, but I did manage to post a few things to a blog for people dealing with cancer. This is one, about a moment when I learned to be thankful because I realized that what I was going through had purpose. 

It’s called Comfort Overflowing.

          Two doses of chemo over and I'm feeling like it's letting go of me again. Such a blessing to be able to eat normally and not have indigestion that makes it feel like a small block of wood is forcing its way through my intestines. Slept through the night last night too, another blessing I don't think I'll ever take for granted again. I even went shopping with my daughter today, though I sat through it while she searched the racks. :)

          Sitting in the mall it was interesting to watch all the "normal, healthy" people. Some avoided my turbaned head, some smiled a wee bit, some just stared then looked away. Then I noticed a woman walk by whose neck was a bit crooked. Another had a slight limp, another dragged an oxygen tank behind him. Not so "normal and healthy." And I thought, how many times did I breeze by them all in a mall like this, uncaring, oblivious to all the hardships and pain around me. In the glitz and glimmer of a shopping mall it's easy to think the world is all as it should be as we spin along on our quest for consumer items, avoiding the pain, the sadness, refusing to look it in the face, refusing to do anything to alleviate it.

          But the reality is, the world underneath all that shine and polish is rather sad and broken. A friend posted a quote from CS. Lewis on Facebook recently - "Human history is the long terrible story of man trying to find something other than God which will make him Happy." So very true.

          Yet there is hope, there is purpose.

          The author of the second book of Corinthians said it this way - "Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows (2Corinthians 1:3-5).

          As we see the pain and suffering around us and attempt to minister to it, we enter into the ministry of Christ through His suffering. We enter into the humanity of our race, joining ourselves together with bonds that hold us all up as we stand at the cross. And in so doing we are made more human, moulded more and more into the image of God, which is our true identity.

          And some of the brokenness is healed, the sadness turned to joy, the reality of God's love made known. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

When you are very ill your world shrinks a great deal. You aren’t able to get out much. But you learn to be thankful for small, ordinary things. This is another post I wrote.

It’s called Thankful for Trees

          The two Poplar trees stand side by side in the park across from my living room window. I've been watching them slowly turn golden for the past few weeks and a few days ago the fall winds came and began to strip them bare. A few stragglers are still hanging on, but soon the trees will be only trunk and branches. The inner sap has probably almost completely stopped flowing.

          They mimic how I'm feeling these days as I continue through chemotherapy. Bare. Sparse. Dried out. Enthusiasm is a word that seems foreign. I've forgotten what it's like to have hair. There are days when I want to rail against what's happening to me, days when I'm just angry. But then I look at those trees and I think of the scripture that has so often come to mind as I've watched them fade into dormancy.

          "As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. ... You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and the hills will burst into song before you and all the trees of the field will clap their hands. Instead of the thornbush will grow the pine tree, and instead of briers the myrtle will grow. This will be for the Lord's renown, for an everlasting sign, which will not be destroyed." (Psalm 55: 8-13)

          So I'm thankful for those trees that are standing guard so close by. I can see they're still standing, still swaying in the fall winds, waiting. I know the biology of tress; and though I know winter is coming I know their sap hasn't disappeared, it has just stopped running for a while and will run again in a few months. When it does they will sprout tiny green leaves that shout the word 'Revival' and will grow and clap loudly in the spring winds as their sweet scent permeates the air. And their creator will be glorified.

          God is in the business of revival on all levels. But there is purpose in the dormancy. A friend sent me a link to a wonderful song, Blessings, by Laura Story. The lyrics rang so true -

'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears?
And what if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You're near?

What if my greatest disappointments
Or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst
This world can't satisfy?

And what if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are Your mercies in disguise?

          "His mercies in disguise" - things like trees that have been stripped bare but still stand in the wind.

There were, of course, those days, as I went through the cancer treatments when I didn’t have the energy to be thankful. I didn’t have the energy for much at all. I remember one particular long grey day in a long grey week. The new chemotherapy drug they had said would be easier wasn't. It knocked me to the ground then stomped on me until every bone ached. I was seriously thinking about cancelling the next dose. I just didn't think I could do it.

I was lying on the couch in our living room late one afternoon, moaning and barely able to lift my head. But then I opened my eyes and saw that a thin beam of light had pushed through the clouds, through my living room window, and along a slim tendril growing out of my small Spider plant. The tendril had looked so fragile as it reached out, pale and oh so thin. But when that beam of light touched it, it began to glow. Then the light illuminated the tiny white flowers that had just bloomed. The flowers glowed in that ethereal light. It took my breath away. And hope blossomed. I managed to get up off the couch and find my camera. It took a few tries to get a picture that wasn't blurry. But I managed to steady my hands and do it.  

Hope. At that moment it was a living dimension - a shaft of real light that slipped into my living room along that tendril of plant at just at the right moment. At just the right moment God reminded me that he was there, watching, waiting with me and smiling as he made that tiny flower glow. And I was more thankful at that moment than I had ever been in my life.

John 8:12 says - "When Jesus spoke to the people, he said, "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life."

The light of life, the light of hope. It's Him. Jesus Himself. Right here. Right now. No matter what the circumstances. That’s something to be thankful for.

There were many things God taught me to be thankful for through those months of treatments and long days of recovery. Those days were hard but I learned that you can make the choice to be thankful, even when you are in pain, even when it seems there is no joy left in life. And when you make that choice an amazing thing happens. Jesus becomes more real, life becomes more rich and the joy you find is deeper than you ever could have imagined. 

****

Marcia Lee Laycock writes from central Alberta Canada where she is a pastor's wife and mother of three adult daughters. She was the winner of The Best New Canadian Christian Author Award for her novel, One Smooth Stone and also has two devotional books in print. Her work has been endorsed by Sigmund Brouwer, Janette Oke, Phil Callaway and Mark Buchanan. Marcia's second novel, A Tumbled Stone was recently short listed in the contemporary fiction category of The Word Awards. Abundant Rain, an ebook devotional for writers can be downloaded here. Visit Marcia's website