Marla looked into the mirror. She liked what she saw…thirty-five going on twenty-five, dark hair, slim except for a bit of a rounded tummy…testimony to the two children she had during the last five years. She fastened the gold chain that Zack had gotten her for Christmas and put on the matching earrings.
As she walked around the corner of the dining room, Zack caught a glimpse of her. He smiled and then whistled. “Hey lady, would you like to go to a party tonight?”
She smiled back, “I’ll think about it.”
She walked into the living room and looked at Kerry, their babysitter. She was playing with the kids, and everything looked okay. “We’ll be back around midnight.”
“No problem, Mrs. H. I can spend the night if you decide to stay out later.”
Marla and Zack headed out of the building and flagged down a taxi. She was excited to go to the mayor’s New Year’s Eve party. “Wow,” she thought. “What a group of movers and shakers we will be with tonight. I wonder how many new contacts we will make for our real estate business?”
She had met Zack at the office, and over the last ten years, they had climbed the sales ladder. They were close to being at the top, and she was happy. What more could she ever ask for?
The taxi dropped them off at Gracie Mansion. She felt almost giddy as they walked in the door. She looked around and smiled. There were so many people that she recognized but didn’t really know, and of course, there were several actors. She tried not to stare at them, but wow, what a night this was going to be!
They walked over to the bar and got their drinks. As they turned to walk off, Rob, a man from the office, came up. “Do you mind if I talk to Zack for a few minutes?”
Marla looked at Rob, then Zack. With a slight note of irritation, she said, “No problem.” Rob steered Zack over into the corner of the room and their conversation began. Marla looked around. She didn’t recognize anyone she knew, so she thought she would just walk around and look at the architecture of the place. When would she get another chance anyway?
There were people in almost every room on the ground floor. She walked slowly as she perused each room. She walked back into the living room. Rob was still droning on with Zack. “Well, that’s about enough of that,” she thought. “I am just going to the ladies’ room, and when I get back, I am going to rescue my husband from that bore.”
She walked into the ladies’ room and was surprised that there was only one lady there. She had her face down on her mirror and looked like she was trying to inhale something. “Excuse me,” Marla said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“No problem, dearie. This is the only way I can get through another of these nights. They are just so bo-r-r-ring!”
Marla turned to use the facilities. She heard the lady behind her say, “Would you like to try a line? It’s on me.”
At first, she was indignant, “Who does that lady think I am?” She thought to herself, then, “I’m sure she doesn’t mean anything by it.” She said, “No thanks.”
“You’ll never know what you are missing,” the lady said.
Marla used the facilities and came out the door. The lady was still sitting there. She looked normal, not even strung out, just normal. “Last chance, dearie. These things are the ultimate bore.”
Marla began to consider her offer. She had never used drugs, especially cocaine, but she had heard a lot about it. Several people she knew used it occasionally when they had a lot of work to get done. “I mean, what could it hurt?” She knew it wasn’t instantly addictive. At least, that’s what she had been told.
She looked around. No one was in there but the two of them. “I don’t know,” she said.
“Aw, come on, you’ll thank me later. I promise you,” the lady said.
Marla hesitated again. “Just this one time, maybe I will try it, just this one time,” she thought to herself. She turned towards the lady. The lady lifted up the mirror; and handed her a rolled piece of paper. “Just inhale. It will light up your night.”
Marla sniffed the white powder up her nose, and then, Wham! She instantly felt energized. I mean alive, really alive for the first time. She felt like she could do anything. “Wow,” was all she said.
“I told you,” the lady said. “This party will be ten times the fun.”
Marla turned to go. She looked back at the lady, and the lady just had a sly smile on her face. She hesitated, then walked out the door.
She went back into the living room and found Zack. She rescued him from Rob, and they walked around the mansion together. She was just SO happy and SO high, she realized. Zack didn’t notice a thing. He was looking at all of the people and pointing them out to her. They walked into the ballroom and sat down at one of the tables. Every now and then, they would get up to dance. She had so much energy, she didn’t even feel tired at the end of the night.
When they got home, Zack was beat. He wanted to go straight to bed, but she knew she wasn’t going to be able to sleep. She told Zack she was too excited from the night out and would come to bed in a while. She poured herself a bourbon on the rocks and slowly drank it. She began to relax. After a couple more, she felt like she could go in and sleep. “She wasn’t going to try that again, but boy was it ever fun,” she thought.
Other than a bit of a headache, she felt fine the next morning. It was Sunday, and she, Zack, and the kids all hung out for the day. She had a relaxing day, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the rush she got from the drug….wow!
They attended a few parties every month, but she never saw anyone else doing cocaine, and so she tried to forget about it. It was always in the back of her mind, though. Finally, about three months later, she was at a party, and true to form, there was a group of people in a closed room, and they were all doing lines of cocaine. She wandered in, and they asked her if she would like to do a line. She didn’t hesitate this time…just said yes…and true to form, there was that feeling she had been craving. “Somehow, I need to work this into my life, every now and again,” she thought to herself.
She began to choose parties to go to where she knew there would be people doing cocaine. She would slip into the room, do a line, and then check her face. She didn’t want any white powder on one of her nostrils. The more she attended the parties, the more she wanted that feeling. At the last party she went to, she asked who their supplier was and where she could purchase some. She was handed a slip of paper with a name and number on it.
She could hardly wait until Monday when Zack was working. She told him she didn’t feel well, and then, when he was out the door. She called the number. She made arrangements with the man on the line, and it was delivered to her door. She always had plenty of cash around, and Zack would never know.
She waited for the kids to go down for their naps and then did a line. “Ah, that feeling she loved was there.” She would have to work a line in every day so she could look forward to that feeling.
Marla was able to keep the charade up for a few months. She began to drop weight, and Zack was worried something was wrong with her. He insisted she go to the doctor. He thought she was becoming anorexic. They began to fight about it, and finally she admitted to Zack what she had been doing.
Zack was stunned, to say the least. He looked at her, didn’t say a word, and walked out the door. When he walked in that night, he said, “We need to talk after the kids go to bed.”
Marla began to get nervous. Zack had changed, and in the blink of an eye, no less. He was very serious and not happy at all. She told him he had nothing to worry about and that she had it under control. Zack looked at her and said, “No, not in my house. You either give it up, or I will file for divorce and take the kids.”
“How dare he?” thought Marla. “I have been a good mother, kept the house clean, and worked at the office. I mean, I have been twice as productive as I normally am.”
Marla tried to reason with him, but he would not budge. She was going to have to think about it. She loved her husband and kids, but she really loved the feeling the cocaine gave her. She didn’t think she would be able to go a day without it.
Marla didn’t say a word. She got into bed and stayed awake all night. She had a great life, but life with cocaine was an even better life. Why did he want to take it from her?
In the morning, after he went to work, she packed a bag. She bought a plane ticket to see her friend, Lisa, in Las Vegas. She waited for Kerry to come over; and then left a note for Zack. She told him where she was going and that she would let him know her answer when she made her decision.
That morning, she flew to Las Vegas and took a taxi to Lisa’s house. They had been best friends as kids and had stayed in touch. She knew she would be welcome there. She knocked on the door. A tired and somewhat shocked Lisa answered it. “Marla, what are you doing here?”
“I tried to call, but you didn’t pick up. I had to get away and think, and this is the only place I knew to come,” Marla said.
Lisa brewed a pot of strong black coffee and listened to Marla’s story. She didn’t say a word until she finished talking. “So, what you’re telling me is you’re addicted,” she finally said.
“I’m not addicted. I just love it, and I love the way it makes me feel. Why is that so bad?” Marla asked.
“Come on, Marla. You aren’t addicted, but you would leave your husband and kids over it? Get real.”
Marla felt she had been slapped in the face. How dare Lisa say she was addicted to Coke? She hadn’t even been using it a year. “You don’t understand Lisa, you really don’t!”
“Do you know where you are? Do you know what goes on down here?” Lisa asked.
“Not really,” Marla said sheepishly.
“I must know at least twenty women who have come down here to use drugs and live the way they want,” Lisa said. “And not a one of them is happy, really happy.”
Marla thought for a moment. In her self-righteous anger, she believed Zack didn’t understand. But she knew in her heart that somehow Lisa knew her story and understood.
“Do you know what I do? ” Lisa asked and then answered her own question. “I am an escort.”
Marla was shocked. “I knew you had a good job. I just didn’t know how you earned your money.”
“I wouldn’t suggest you start down this road. Once you do, Zack won’t want you back, and you will be too ashamed to see your kids. You can stay here until you figure this out, but what you really need is to go into rehab.”
“Rehab? You must be joking. I am not addicted. I can stop anytime I want to,” Marla said.
“Okay, I dare you to. Go without it for a week, and then tell me how you feel,” Lisa said.
Marla reached into her makeup bag. She took the white powder out, and she gave it to Lisa. “It’s a deal…one week…then we’ll talk about it.”
Lisa took the cocaine and flushed it down the toilet. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room. It’s going to be a rough week.”
Marla took her suitcase and followed Lisa down the hall. She sat down on the bed and unpacked her suitcase. She put her makeup in the guest bathroom, and then she lay down on the bed….could she do it? Was she really addicted?
The next week crawled by. She had trouble sleeping and felt agitated most of the time. Lisa tried to fill their time with shopping and going to different shows, but all she could think of was getting more cocaine and getting high. She was also hungry for the first time in a long time, and she wanted to eat, really eat a full meal. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt like that.
On the sixth day, she got out of bed and looked at herself. She really looked at herself. She looked emaciated; she had lost about twenty pounds, and she didn’t have it to lose. When she was high, she thought she looked great, but nothing looked quite as good as it did back in New York. Everything was flat here, and she could see herself for what she was, and she didn’t like it.
She spent hours in the bedroom that day. She didn’t open the shades; she just sat in the dark and thought about her life. How could everything change so much in less than a year? She knew she was addicted, but when did it start? She thought about the woman at Gracie Mansion. She knew that she was addicted from the very first time; from then on, that’s all she really thought about, that first rush, that first high.
She knew if she was going to stop, it had to be now. If not, she would never stop. That desire would consume her. She had been willing to give up her husband, her kids, her job, and her entire life just for the cocaine. She shuddered. She needed to call Zack, now.
“Zack. Hi,” she said. “I’m coming home. Please find a rehab facility for me to go to. I can’t do this alone, and I don’t want to lose you and the kids.”
“Thank God,” Zack said. “Anything you need, Babe, anything.”
(This story is creative non-fiction. I heard a woman interviewed about twenty years ago. This was how she became addicted. She lost her husband, kids, job, and her health. She became a sex worker to get her drugs until she finally came to the end of herself. Just one line was all it took to upend her life.)
Several years ago, I lived in the mountains. One Christmas, I was invited to spend it with a wealthy elderly gentleman. I had never met him but knew he had a sterling reputation, so I said yes. He was known for inviting ten people from the surrounding villages to his home each Christmas. When I read the invitation, it said, “Please RSVP with one thing your heart truly desires.”
At that time, the Vietnam War was raging and was in the news nightly. I had such a desire for peace, and so when I sent my RSVP back, I just said peace. As the day approached, I selected what I was going to wear and packed my bag. We were to arrive the night before in time for a late dinner at 9:00.
At about 8:00, I got into the Land Rover and headed up the road to his home. I drove slowly as the roads were covered with snow and ice. Those of us who lived in the mountains were used to driving in these conditions and knew that if we just drove slowly, all would be well. The Rover lumbered along at about 25 mph, and I thought about what the next day would be like. I wondered what the gentleman would be like, and all the time I was imagining spending a night in the home of someone I had never met.
As I neared the top of the mountain, the road ended in his driveway. There was a large gate across the road. I got out of the Rover and walked over to the gate. There was an intercom on the post. I pushed the button and waited. “Yes?” the voice on the other end asked. I stated my name and what I was there for. I heard a buzzer sound, and the gate opened automatically. I got back in the Rover, drove up and parked at the end of the circular driveway.
The home was magnificent, huge by any standard, and it looked like a forest lodge. It was built entirely of wood and stone, and floodlights covered the driveway and front with a soft yellow light. I picked up my bag and walked up the sidewalk. I could see several people inside as I looked in the front window. I rang the doorbell and again waited. Soon, a butler opened the door and asked to see my invitation. I opened my purse and showed it to him. He checked it and crossed my name off the list. “Welcome,” he said. “We have been expecting you. There is only one person left to arrive, and we can begin our festivities.”
I walked in and another servant showed me to my room. I followed her upstairs and down a long hall. She opened the door to a room that was almost iridescent. A candle had been lit, and the walls glistened as the light bounced off them. “Wow,” I thought. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.” I thanked the small woman, and I closed the door. I unpacked and put on my favorite dress and went downstairs.
People were talking in the great room. I looked around for our host, and in the corner, I saw an older man with white hair chatting with one of the guests. He kept looking out the window for the final guest to arrive, but the man or woman never came. After about an hour, the butler came into the room and announced that dinner was served.
Everyone looked for their names on the place cards on the table. I finally found mine and sat next to a younger man and woman. There was one place empty at the table, and the older gentleman would look there off and on. You could see it bothered him that whoever he had invited did not come.
We all then participated in what I would say is the most memorable dinner I had ever eaten. Over the next few hours, we went through several courses. Each course was a delicacy of one sort or another. The gentleman introduced himself, and then each of us introduced ourselves and shared a little about ourselves. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, and it took away any sense of shyness I would normally feel in a group of people I had just met.
When we finished dinner, we were told to go pick up our gift by the Christmas tree. We were to take it to our room and open it. He made a point of telling us that our gifts had been purchased specifically for us by his son. When I picked up mine, I walked back up to my room. It was beautifully wrapped, and I wondered, “What could possibly be in there?” After all, my desire was for peace.
I sat down on the bed and slowly pulled on the bow. I pulled the ribbon off the box and took off the lid. There inside, under the tissue paper, were two envelopes. The parchment was delicate, and the writing was in calligraphy. One envelope said, “For the World,” and the other one said, “For you, Valerie.” I opened the one for the world, and inside was a piece of parchment written in calligraphy. It said, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill towards men.” I thought about those words for a few moments. Yes, I had heard the story about angels showing up at the birth of Christ and announcing it. Those words were famous, but had I ever believed they were true, that God’s desire for the world was peace and goodwill towards men? I really hadn’t given those words any real thought. The world I lived in was ruled by war and crass materialism. Was there really a benevolent God who existed and wanted good things for men, even though they were so far away from what he desired?
Slowly, I opened the other envelope. There was another exquisite piece of parchment with beautiful writing on it. This one was for me personally. It said, “Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give you.” And sure enough, after I read those words, I did feel a peace come over me. I could not control the world and all of the terrible things going on in it, but I personally could have the peace of God if only I would accept the gift I had been given.
I put my envelopes back in the box. I put my pajamas on, turned off the light, and lay down in the bed. For the first time in years, I realized there was a God, and if I would only accept what he was offering me, I could have his peace. I got back up and opened the box. I took the envelope that was meant just for me and held it in my hand. I lay back down in the bed and put it next to my heart. I remember thinking that I wanted that feeling to last forever as I fell asleep.
The next morning, I awoke late. I had slept longer and more deeply than I had for a long time. I was refreshed, and I pulled the curtain and looked out at the snow. This would be my last day here, and we would all leave after the mid-day meal. I didn’t want to go, but I knew I would have to. I got dressed and went down for brunch. The table was full of Christmas sweets, and people wandered in and out of the dining room, ate, and then went and sat by the fire. Everyone was quiet and reflecting on the gifts they had been given. As I went and sat by the fire, I noticed there was one gift left, unopened by the tree. Whoever had been invited had not come, and had missed out on a tremendous experience, perhaps even a life-changing one.
Over the years, I wondered about that person. Who was he or she? Was it someone I knew? Who missed out on such an important event? I will never know. All I know is that our host was saddened by the fact that this person had not come. His son had purchased a gift just for him or her, and it would never be picked up or opened. As I drove around each year at Christmas time, I looked at the people shoveling their driveways; or skiing along the paths. That person had no idea what they missed out on, and perhaps never would.
What if it had been me, or you? I shudder to think of how my life would be today if I had not accepted the invitation. It was a milestone in my journey to find the Father and get to know his Son, Jesus Christ.
May you open every gift available to you during this Christmas season.
Sub Rosa means “under the rose” in New Latin. Since ancient times, the rose has been associated with secrecy.Merriam-Webster Dictionary
When I look at what’s happening in our world today, I see many things that are cause for concern…wars, natural disasters, famine, and disease. All of these problems capture my attention, but the things I am most concerned about are the things that are happening sub rosa. In other words, they do not appear on the surface of society, but they are taking place in secret, unbeknownst to most of us.
Take the dark net, for example. If we knew the things, i.e., weapons, deadly drugs, and people that are being marketed, we would be aghast and unable to sleep at night. My greatest concern is for the people, the living souls, who are being bought and sold. Yes, it is human trafficking that grabs my attention the most.
Human trafficking is happening in most communities in this country. And yet, the only people who know about it directly are the people involved and the police who are trying to put a stop to it. Why, you ask? Because it is happening sub rosa, in secret, under the radar.
What is human trafficking exactly? Oxford Languages defines it as, “the unlawful act of transporting or coercing people in order to benefit from their work or service, typically in the form of forced labor or sexual exploitation.” Most people think that it is not happening in their communities, but it is everywhere. Last week in our community, in one of the most affluent suburbs, three people were arrested for human trafficking and prostitution.
The statistics are staggering. In Texas alone, it is estimated that 313,000 people are being trafficked with 79,000 of the victims being minors involved in sex trafficking. My concern is that many of these minors crossed the border looking for a better life but instead were forced into a life of sexual servitude. This is a huge problem, especially in the states that share a border with Mexico.
Is there anything that we can do? First, we have to be aware that the problem is present in our communities. Just because it is happening sub rosa does not mean it doesn’t exist. In our area, there are three organizations that help people who have been trafficked. All of them could use funding or some other kind of support. Second, we need to keep our eyes open for those who need help. If there is a house in our neighborhood where there is activity that is suspicious, we can report it to the police. Know the universal sign for help: a person puts their thumb in the palm of their hand and closes their fingers over it. If you see someone do this, call the police; that person is probably being trafficked. And third, pray. Pray that these terrible deeds of darkness will be exposed to the light and that the people responsible will be arrested and the victims will be rescued from this form of modern-day slavery.
During the last two decades, I have been blessed to have several articles and a few books published. It was certainly encouraging when a piece was published, but that is not the whole story. For every article published, I am sure I received three rejections on another piece. Why? Because rejections are part and parcel of the writing experience.
Not only are rejections part of the writing experience, they are an essential part of it. I remember the first rejection I received. To say I was devastated is an understatement. I had thought about the piece, worked on it, refined it, etc…but no go. After I nurtured my bruised ego, I picked myself up off the floor (metaphorically) and went on.
You see, I had never intended to be a writer. Words just started coming to me and I believed the Lord was giving them to me so they could be published for others to read. No matter what my motivation was, I still had to go through the process that every writer needs to go through. I had to read, research, go to writing seminars, and connect with others in the process. I had to write, learn more, get rejected, learn more, and keep on trying. There is no way to shortcut the process, one has to write, send out their work, possibly get rejected, and continue on.
For those who are in the process, I have a few suggestions. First, educate yourself on the craft of writing. Read what you can and follow the advice given by others who have succeeded. I can’t tell you how many books I read on writing and the process of publication.
Second, write and rewrite your piece if needed. Usually, a first draft is only the beginning point, not the final product. Walk away from it for a few days or a week and pick it up again. Make any necessary corrections and read it out loud so you can get the sound of it in your ears. That is what the readers will be hearing as they read your work.
Third, know your audience. Pick up a Writer’s Market Guide or Christian Writer’s Market Guide so you send your work to the right publisher. Every publication has its own niche and you need to follow the submission guidelines for each publication. They may be similar to the last place you sent your piece but you have a better chance of getting published if you follow their guidelines to the letter.
Fourth, learn from your rejections. Most rejection letters are standard, but every now and again, an editor will give you personal feedback on your work. Take it to heart and learn from it. If they encourage you to rewrite your piece and submit it again, then by all means rewrite it. Remember, you are unique, and someone somewhere needs to hear what you are saying.
Fifth, be flexible. If an editor wants your piece but needs some modifications then, by all means, be accommodatingif their suggestions don’t violate your principles. I figure there is only one Book whose words are not open to change, and that book is not mine. My work can be modified to fit a publication, whether it needs to be shortened or lengthened. If a paragraph I wrote doesn’t fit, then fine, let’s take it out.
Finally, don’t give up because of rejections. Everyone who has written for any period of time has a drawer or inbox full of them. Most of us could wallpaper at least one wall in our offices with them. I consider them my personal badge of courage because I tried and sent my work out to a publisher. I know many writers give up after their first rejection. That is like giving up if you don’t get the first job you apply for. Stay at it, sooner or later you will get your first piece published and you will be so glad you did not give up.
This week WordPress let me know that I had been blogging for five years. It was one thing that I was “never gonna” do. And yet, thanks to all of you, it has been one of the most rewarding things I have ever done.
I am So Thankful for all of the reads, comments, prayers and love you have sent my way. You have made the journey worthwhile and I thank you from the bottom of my heart!May the Lord Richly Bless each and every one of you!
As writers, we tend to judge our writing by the markers of success. We check the likes and comments on our blog posts. As authors, we check our reviews and the numbers of copies we sell. It is normal to look for success in our endeavors, but is that the only measure of their success or worth? What about their impact?
I have read hundreds of books in my lifetime, but the ones that made an impact on me are in a separate category. I love to be entertained by a good historical fiction book and an informative non-fiction book is always welcome but how many have made a significant impact on my life?
“IMPACT – TO HAVE A STRONG EFFECT ON SOMEONE OR SOMETHING.” Oxford Languages
When I think about the books (other than the Bible) that have impacted me in my life, I think about those I read as a teenager. First and foremost was “On the Beach” by Nevil Shute. It gave me an abhorrence for the thought of all-out nuclear war. “The Prophet” by Kahlil Gibran was a lovely book of poetry and prose that spoke to my soul. And of course, “1984” and “Animal Farm” showed me about the abuses of totalitarianism.Then there were those that spoke to me as an adult. “Hinds feet on High Places” by Hannah Hurnard taught me about the difficulty of the Christian journey and the faithfulness of Christ. The Zion Covenant series by Brock and Bodie Thoene taught me about the personal costs of World War II. “The Crucifixion of Ministry” by Andrew Purves is teaching me again (as I read it the third time) about laying down “my agenda” and letting Christ work in and through me.
Impact in writing is not always about a book, though. Articles in magazines have impacted me at just the right time when I needed help or information on a subject. And blogs, how many times have blog posts spoken to me and encouraged me? One blogger who always informs and educates me is Jack Parquette, who writes the “Quo Vadis” blog. I have laughed at his wry sense of humor and been enlightened by his historical view on many of the issues we are dealing with today.
Remember, there is more to writing than the fleeting markers of success, there is the possibility of making a real impact on someone’s life.
Think about those writers, books or bloggers that have made a significant impact on your life. In the comment section below, please share some of them with us.
Several days ago, a friend read something I had written. It was an allegory, and I thought what I had written was very clear. Funny thing was, she didn’t get it at all. In fact, she thought that what I had written had a completely different meaning than what I had intended. We visited, and after I assured her I wasn’t going to the dark side, she suggested that I insert the meaning of the allegory in the story. I thought about what she had said, shared it with my husband, and of course, she was right. I did need to explain what I was writing about. If someone I know and trust did not get it, how could I be assured that everyone reading it would also get it? I needed to make a course correction on that particular piece of work.
Sometimes, we can be a click off. You know, not a lot…just a little. It doesn’t seem like much, but if not corrected, we can be way off further on down the line. Did you know that if you are only one degree off on your trajectory from Earth to the moon, by the time you should have reached the moon, you would be 4,169 miles off? You wouldn’t miss your expected destination by a little; you would miss it by a lot.
It’s hard to listen to correction from someone, but many times, we need that objective voice to speak into our lives. I really appreciate my friend’s opinion on the piece, that’s for sure. What if 4,169 people read it and didn’t get it? I would be so sad that I had given people the wrong idea.
What about you? Has someone spoken into your life, and you are not listening? Are you balking at the thought of making a course correction? It’s not easy to consider another opinion on your work or the direction of your life, but we must do it if we want to stay on our expected trajectory. After all, we don’t want to miss what we are aiming for!
“Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful.” Proverbs 27:6
As believers in Jesus Christ, it is necessary to write to a higher standard than the secular media requires of us. If we want to write about someone who has hurt us personally, we need to think carefully about our words. It will be important to extend grace to the individual(s) as we write our story. Many times, we are not released to write about our experiences until the offending person has passed away.
Most individuals are not entirely good or evil. They are, like us, a composite of both positive and negative traits. It would be easy to portray an offending individual in the darkest of terms and paint them with a brush entirely filled with black paint, or in our case, as writers, negative adjectives. People have also been shaped by the circumstances they have endured throughout the course of their lives. When we write about them, it is important to write about some of the extenuating circumstances they found themselves in.
When people have hurt us deeply, it may take us years to fully forgive them and heal from the pain of their actions. Only because we have received the forgiveness that Christ offers, are we are able to extend that same forgiveness to the offending person. The further away from the negative experience we are, the easier it is to write about it from an objective viewpoint.
We need to remember that there are always two sides to any situation. When we portray the situation from our point of view, the offending person, if deceased, will not have the opportunity to provide an answer to our statements. There will be no one to speak in their defense, and even if their actions are indefensible, we should allow them a certain amount of latitude when sharing our story. It might seem impossible to do this, but I have found that through prayer, I am able to view them in a more compassionate light.
Remember, when writing publicly about those who have hurt us, we must reflect on the words we use. After all, dead men (or women, for that matter) can’t defend themselves!
I’ve noticed a few of my recent followers are newbies to the Blogging Community. I could write a post and tell you what I have learned about blogging, but most of what I have learned, I learned from Kristen Lamb in her book “Rise of the Machines.” I highly recommend it to any blogger or author who is making their foray into the world of social media. It is a great resource, not only for blogging but also for publishing.
This week, my blog hit 500 followers. I want to thank everyone for the follow. God Bless! I have so enjoyed meeting you and reading your posts!
There are some specific things that I have heard over the years that stick in my mind. They make me think about them and ponder them for a long time. One of these is about influence.
photo by ElisaRiva courtesy of Pixabay.
I heard a pastor speaking about the final judgment. He said people will be judged not just by their works but by the influence they had on others. He spoke about how some people’s influence will last generations and affect thousands or millions of people. I have thought about that a lot.
We all have a level of influence on others’ lives. Maybe it is our family, the people we work around, the students we teach, our friends; we will influence them. There are times in our lives when we will have greater influence than at other times.
When we are given a public platform of one kind or another, our influence grows. Whether we are a speaker, writer, actor, or a pastor, we begin to influence a greater number of people than before. We need to think about that, because with influence comes responsibility and ultimately accountability before God. We can influence people in a positive direction or in a negative one.
If we are writers, think about Mein Kampf. How many people has it influenced over the decades, and what did people do with that influence? How many millions of lives were taken because people read that book and believed what it said? Conversely, what is the most positive book you have ever read? How did it influence you and change your thinking? Were you able to apply that positive influence into your own life?
As writers we will write thousands or millions of words that others will read. What kind of influence are we having over the people that read them? Are we leading them in a positive or negative direction? Are we writing things solely for our own ends or material enrichment? Do we really care about the people reading the things we write? We need to think about it and not just blow it off casually, it really does matter.
Influence…we all have it. The question is, “What are we going to do with it?”
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photo by ElisaRiva courtesy of Pixabay.
Valerie Cullers 