Devotion: Musings from a Dot in the Atlantic Ocean

by Sherma Webbe Clarke | @sdwc8181 

Beloved, I pray that you may prosper in all things and be in health, just as your soul prospers.
3 John 2 (NKJV)

Inspiration and Habits 

Some writers stick to a fixed schedule. First thing in the morning before the birds and children are moving around. Two o’clock at the same café every other afternoon. Ten o'clock to midnight every evening. Others write when inspiration prompts them, hastily recording their thoughts onto napkins, scraps of paper, or into electronic devices.

One famous writer visited Bermuda many times and considered the Island vital to his health and creativity. Between 1867 and 1910, Mark Twain (born Samuel Clemens) frequented the Island as an escape from his routine life in favor of the natural beauty and slower pace that he enjoyed during his residences here. His famous quote, “You can go to heaven if you want to; I’d rather stay in Bermuda,” floats around the Island like a longtail (white-tailed tropicbird) soaring over the ocean. I liked the idea of a connection between the Island and this revered literary figure, but the statement never settled well with me. As beautiful as Bermuda is, it can't compare to God’s heavenly paradise.

Digging into the context of the quotation, however, I discovered that Mark Twain’s intention is opposite to the message that is conveyed as popular understanding. Or misunderstanding. Whether convalescing at one of the local hotels or enjoying the eerie beauty of the Crystal Caves, Mr. Twain experienced a revival in his health after the doctors had pronounced their grim prognoses. As a man defying his ailments and infirmities, he declared to those who seemed poised to make funeral arrangements, “You can go to heaven if you want to; I’d rather stay in Bermuda.” In other words, “Don’t write me off yet; I’m not going anywhere.”

In one particular way, he was right about staying in Bermuda. Bronze statues of Mark Twain dot the Island, giving him a permanent presence, albeit in an immobile form. I recently worked in an office building that boasted a statue of the author at its entrance. His bronze likeness also sits on a bench at the hotel he frequented in the City of Hamilton.

What inspires you? 

As writers, we receive inspiration from many sources, and we pour these experiences into words, sentences, novels, a series. What inspires you? Is it a long, scenic walk? Camping by a lake? Or playing with your grandchildren? Jesus connected with people through stories crafted from situations in ordinary life. Seeds and sowers. A woman sweeping. Lost coins. Vineyards and grapes. A traveler who helps an unfortunate man without expecting a reward.

Some of us may not be as prolific as Mark Twain. And having multiple statues built in our honor? Probably a long shot. Maybe we have one book in us. One book that will fulfill our purpose. One book that will touch the heart of someone who will experience God’s love and grace through our story. As the words of a favorite hymn say, You may have this whole world; give me Jesus.


Let's chat: Where do you live? Has any particular place, close to home or far away, inspired you on your writing journey? I'd love to hear about it!

About Sherma . . . 

Sherma is a contemporary fiction writer, amateur photographer, reading enthusiast, and wife who often takes her husband by the hand to explore nearby and far-flung areas of the globe. This wanderlust has its perks. She credits many of her story ideas to these adventures, which provide great opportunities for research for short stories and the novel series she is currently working on. Quiet, early-morning walks along the railroad trails on her home island of Bermuda provide inspiration when she is homebound.

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Devotion: How's Your Sense of Direction?

by Sherma Webbe Clarke | @sdwc8181 

Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths. Proverbs 3:5, 6 (NKJV) 

My daughter is blessed with a keen sense of direction. She remembers landmarks and learns her way around new places quickly. Even if she is a stranger to an area, she maneuvers on foot or on public transportation as if she lived there all her life. I was amazed that, on her first trip to London, she was able to guide me from place to place using the Underground and bus system after only a matter of hours. On several occasions during our time together in London, I relied on her to get us to our destinations without getting lost.

I am the opposite.

I arm myself with detailed, written instructions or a map to find my way around in unfamiliar places. Before starting any trip, I pour over the directions several times to create a mental map. Online maps are great for virtually “walking” the streets of an unfamiliar destination. When driving, I use GPS to guide me, although I have been known to argue with the mechanical voice. “Are you sure?” I ask.

Even with ample preparation, there is no guarantee I won’t lose my way while trying to find a hotel, locate a particular store, or drive to a certain town or city as a first-time visitor. I have a talent for getting lost. A street sign could be missing. Or I might get sidetracked by an unexpected event (or a bookstore). More than once, a detour has caused me to take a different route than anticipated, sending my anxiety level through the roof of my rental car. The airport of one particular city--that shall remain nameless--is constantly involved in or surrounded by construction. Construction means detours. Detours mean. . . well, let's just say I'd rather have someone pick me up than attempt to drive from that airport.

Sometimes self-doubt is the culprit. At the last minute, I turn right when I should have turned left at the grocery store on the corner or at the second intersection. These mistakes can result in frustration, not to mention in a loss of time and energy. Doubting clear directions can be particularly costly when making life choices. Some can be life changing.

Peer pressure may lead to addictive habits such as drug or alcohol abuse or lifelong struggles with nicotine. Hasty purchases can result in long-term financial debt. Life is full of detours and side roads. It provides more than anyone’s fair share of doubtful moments. As writers, we stare at the page and make no progress in finding the words we need. We compare the first draft of our WIP to another writer’s new release and question our talent. We think it would be wonderful if we could make all our plans work out according to our timing and desires. But when self-reliance or self-doubt creeps into our thinking, plans go awry.

God’s word reminds me that the most essential sense of direction I need comes from following Jesus. I can have confidence in Him because He already knows what is best for me (Jeremiah 29:11). He sets up divine appointments. If I follow and obey, I don’t need to depend on my own instructions, a carefully drawn map, or even the skill of others when traveling in unfamiliar territory. All I need to do is put my hand in His and allow Him to lead.

Do you have a testimony about claiming Proverbs 3:5-6? Please share in the comment section. It might encourage someone else.

About Sherma... 

Sherma Webbe Clarke is a contemporary fiction writer and a 2017 ACFW First Impressions Finalist. Her inspirational writing has been included in Christian devotional books: Grace Notes and Blessed. She loves to take her husband by the hand to explore nearby and far-flung areas of the globe. This wanderlust has its perks. She credits many of her story ideas to these adventures. Quiet, early-morning walks along the railroad trails on her home island of Bermuda provide inspiration when she is homebound.

Devotion: Three Bridges and a Shelter

by Sherma Webbe Clarke @sdwc8181 

Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths. Proverbs 3:5-6

What is your favorite thing to do when you travel to someplace new? Is it meeting people? Enjoying nature? Sightseeing? May I claim all of the above? 

While on a trip to North Carolina, my husband and I visited the Smoky Mountains for the first time. With miles of trails to accommodate every activity level, the mountains offered a peaceful break from the busyness that often distracts us from God's creation. One morning, we decided on a short, leisurely path of about two miles to the Kephart Shelter. 

Here's what the visitor information said: “The hike to the Kephart Shelter at the end of the Kephart Prong Trail begins by crossing a footbridge over the (Oh-kon-a-luf-tee) Oconaluftee River.” 

No problem. 

The wide, sturdy footbridge was the perfect beginning for a scenic trail. We stopped to take pictures and admire the varieties of green and the sun’s rays cutting through the trees. 

The next bridge was narrower than the first but broad enough for us to cross it while walking shoulder to shoulder. It stretched over a stream and was supported by rocks and logs. It had a thin log railing on one side. 

The last bridge was a moss-covered log, suitable for one person at a time placing one foot in front of the other. 

For balance, the bridge provided an awkwardly positioned log railing, slightly tilted. Not the easiest way to cross a stream of rushing water. Images of Nik Wallenda’s tightrope walk over Niagara Falls crossed my mind. I have to admit, I hesitated. It almost looked safer to wade across the stream than take a chance on that bridge. 

We walked and watched out for the shelter. A couple of times we considered turning back. We met others who had. “We couldn't find it,” they told us on their retreat to the Visitors’ Center. I enjoyed walking among the trees, snapping photographs, and occasionally chatting with others along the trail, but where was the Kephart Shelter? 

More from disappointment than fatigue, I sat on a rock to rest before suggesting we turn back. I struggled with that idea and continued a few more steps around a bend in the path. Nothing. Then a few more steps. Still nothing. Then it seemed as if a small voice whispered, “Look around this corner.” That's when I saw a sliver that might be something manmade. Finally, we found it. A shelter in the middle of nowhere. 

Whenever I remember that I had considered turning back because it didn’t seem we were going to reach the shelter, I think about what it means to have faith and to trust in God. Even when the bridge looks like a moss-covered log with a tilted railing and we become unsure about reaching our destination, we can hold onto our faith in God’s leading. We can find security in His promise to be our refuge: You are my refuge and my shield; I have put my hope in your word (Psalm 119:114). And His word, the Bible, is our roadmap and trail guide. When God puts you on a path, keep following as He leads, even if you think you’ve walked long enough. 

How does God encourage you to keep going when you can’t see the see the goal? How can you encourage others when they are thinking about turning back? 

Thanks to Ricardo Clarke for the use of his photographs.

About Sherma... 

SHERMA WEBBE CLARKE is a contemporary fiction writer and a 2017 ACFW First Impressions Finalist. Her inspirational writing has been included in Christian devotional books: Grace Notes and Blessed. She loves to take her husband by the hand to explore nearby and far-flung areas of the globe. This wanderlust has its perks. She credits many of her story ideas to these adventures. Quiet, early-morning walks along the railroad trails on her home island of Bermuda provide inspiration when she is homebound.

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Wandering Wednesday: From Georgia to Germany with Patricia Beal + a Giveaway

By Patricia Beal  @bealpat

Yesterday Narelle Atkins posted about my debut novel, A Season to Dance. A Season is the heart-wrenching journey of a small town professional ballerina who dreams of dancing at the Met in New York. It's about her, the two men who love her, the God who loves her even more, and the forbidden kiss that changed everything.

I hope you'll read Narelle's review (if you haven't yet) and participate in our giveaway. You can comment on either post to enter to win a signed copy of A Season to Dance. More details at the end of this post.

Today I want to take you behind the scenes into the real life settings of the book. 

Welcome to the world of A Season to Dance!

Brazil in the seventies. The beginning.

This is the real theater and the real marquee in Columbus, Georgia. I had to take some architectural freedoms to make the marquee scene work. I danced at that theater when my husband was stationed at Fort Benning. My daughter was nursing when I participated in the advertised shows. I learned nursing pads and snow costumes don't go well together :)

The RiverCenter in Columbus, Georgia

This would be the view during on-stage classes and rehearsals. This is also what Ana and Claus see when they go over corrections and before climbing the wobbly steps to Juliet's balcony. "I ran down to him. The melody became fully established. Luminous. Exalted. Beautiful. We locked eyes. We locked hands. We locked hearts. And then we danced." 

RiverCenter for the Performing Arts - Bill Heard Theatre

This is the sign Ana sees at the entrance of Callaway Gardens when she's looking for Peter. "If I wasn’t going to Mom’s and wasn’t going to Peter’s office, why was I still driving toward the park? Because I have nowhere else to go. That’s why…"

Callaway Gardens

Here's the Callaway Gardens chapel. "Tomorrow, I think. Today, I remember. I remembered the first day I’d met Peter. The chapel, the organist playing Vivaldi’s 'The Four Seasons,' and the little girl with the white sandals that showed her cute little toes, her dress flowing as she ran. I remembered the warmth and the sweet scents of that beautiful spring day. Turning the corner, my eyes looked for the bridge where we’d first seen each other." 

Ida Cason Callaway Memorial Chapel exterior

Ida Cason Callaway Memorial Chapel interior

Peter's bridge. "He stood on the bridge looking out at the lake. He was cuter than I’d imagined, and anything resembling quiet reverence departed from me fast. I just wanted to go behind an azalea bush and squeal. I started walking toward him. He turned to me and smiled. The scruff on his face and his tan made him look surprisingly boyish, and his dark blue eyes were even bluer than in the pictures from his profile. 'Hi.' I reached out for the metal rail to steady myself and breathed in his soapy smell. Everything about him was warm and inviting." 

Callaway Gardens

Callaway Gardens

Callaway Gardens

The real Barysh was a girl and a boxer. "My tan border collie, Barysh, scooted toward me when I opened the balcony doors. 'Here, let me help you.' Soon I would have to do something about him too. He hadn’t stood on his own in weeks and wasn’t getting any younger. I picked up his hips and helped him get outside."

Kyllian at Callaway Gardens the year before she died

Wiesbaden. "A white heron stood on the bank of the rain-swollen river, looking in the direction of the submerged rocks where he normally stood. Germany, huh?"

Wiesbaden was so fun to write. I lived there as a single public affairs officer in 2003. These images are from a visit in 2012. "Downstairs, a narrow stone driveway, edged by clusters of miniature roses, ended at a dark iron gate that led to quiet Blumenstraße, two long blocks from the downtown attractions and from the Warmer Damm Park, a large English landscape garden with a lake and a fountain, which bordered the southern façade of the state theater where Claus danced."

The real Di Gregorio

The theater

The neighborhood

Rüdesheim."Most restaurants and hotels by the water had the charming half-timbered architecture generally associated with Germany. Lush vegetation and vibrant flowers shaded outdoor tables, and window boxes overflowed with bright geraniums, petunias, and begonias. At a restaurant with a large courtyard and a fountain, a group of women— three generations for sure—danced the polka, accompanied by a live accordion, and a teenage boy who was watching them from the sidewalk picked up his girlfriend and spun her around to her giggles and protests. Everybody looked happy and relaxed, and I noticed that even though we were surrounded by vineyards, most people were drinking beer—vom Fass."

I love this place :)

Europe and the double-decker stroller

View from Germania

In the footsteps of Claus

A side trip to Prague for a performance. "We didn’t sleep. Instead, we watched the sunrise from the Charles Bridge, and his tender kisses were as precious to me as the pedestrian-only stone bridge in the soft light of the morning sun’s rays."

Charles Bridge in Prague

A Side trip to Mallorca. " 'Are you mocking me, Jody Sawyer?' Claus held his chest as if heartbroken. 'Shut up, Cooper.' The sound of our conspiring laughter rolled through the night air like the gentle waves that rolled into our Cala Romantica beach, rhythmic and unassuming. 'Can I speak seriously now?' His brows drew together. 'If you must.' Claus held my hands and looked into my eyes. He did look serious. I hadn’t seen him that serious since the day we left Georgia."

Cala Romantica in Mallorca

From Mallorca to Ibiza to Barcelona during a month in Spain

I wrote most of the Callaway Gardens chapters at Callaway Gardens but finished the first draft of A Season to Dance in Germany, at this square in Idar-Oberstein (after many trips to Rüdesheim). 

Idar-Oberstein

In a million ways, my ballerina dreams didn't work out. I was in pre-professional companies in three different continents. Never went pro, though. But now that A Season to Dance exists, it all makes sense. Every twist and turn of my life is in this story to one extent or another. Had my path been different, the novel would have been different. And it is exactly what it needs to be, I'm confident in that. God knew that A Season to Dance was the only way to my heart.

Because of A Season to Dance

Also because of A Season to Dance

Maybe there will be other published books, but if this is the only one I ever publish, if A Season to Dance is my life's work, I'm okay with that. I now know that I was born to write it and I did.

Thank you, Narelle, for loving the story and for feeling it intensely, like I do :)

I will close with the words of my protagonist:

"The studio was old—the best always were. The dark marley floor had seen years of pointe work, and the wooden barres looked worn—worn by sweaty hands holding tight to big dreams. 'You are so beautiful,' the girl cast as Dew Drop whispered. 'Thank you.' I grinned. 'Your variation is looking beautiful too.' Her cheeks turned pink, hiding most of her small freckles. A newer generation was dreaming now, but the ballet studio still was what it should be: a bastion of civility in an everything-goes world."

 

My little girl - the real Dew Drop :)

Love,
Patricia

*Remember to comment to participate in the giveaway. The prize is one autographed print copy of A Season to Dance (open worldwide, void where prohibited). The deadline to comment is 11 p.m. EST on Friday, January 12. Participants can comment on the A Season to Dance review posted by Narelle Atkins on January 9 and/or on Patricia Beal's Wandering Wednesday real life settings post of January 10. People who comment on both posts get two entries. Winner will be selected via random.org and announced on Saturday via comment on both blog posts. Thanks!

About Patricia Beal

Patricia Beal has danced ballet her whole life. She is from Brazil and fell in love with the English language while washing dishes at a McDonald's in Indianapolis. She put herself through college working at a BP gas station and graduated magna cum laude from the University of Cincinnati with a B.A. in English Literature. She then worked as a public affairs officer for the U.S. Army for seven years.

 She now writes contemporary fiction and is represented by Bob Hostetler of The Steve Laube Agency. Her debut novel, A Season to Dance, came out in May (Bling! / Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas 2017). 

Patricia is a 2015 Genesis semi-finalist and First Impressions finalist. She and her husband live in North Carolina with their two children.

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