Stepping onto the Road

Song of Songs 2:4

New International Version (NIV)

4 Let him lead me to the banquet hall,
    and let his banner over me be love.

I am full of gratitude for the sense of belonging at Write! Canada, and for the intensive instruction, inspiration and fellowship packed into the two and a half days. 

Back in April, I had a mental image as one of my colleagues prayed. It was an image of a person I knew was Jesus, with his back to me and towards a person who was surrounded by balls lying on the floor. My colleague had been praying for help juggling the balls we all try so hard to keep up in the air.

The figure in the foreground picked up a blue ball from the ground and placed it so gently and lovingly in her hands; cupping her hands with both of his. The ball he gave her was the one to hold in that moment--it was the opposite of the stress of juggling balls, trying to keep them all in the air.

The image impacted me then and guides me daily, to submit my agenda to God moment by moment, but it wasn't until I was leaving Write! Canada on Saturday, that the message went even deeper.

The conference was at an end. Rooms had been emptied and cases loaded into cars as we prepared to scatter like seeds packed with promise, to all corners of Canada.

Ramona, a member of the prayer team, with short golden hair, tanned face and smiling tawny eyes, was giving out Word Guild, "stress reduction balls," to the departing writers. She headed in my direction, hand outstretched with one for me. As she pressed the ball into my hand, eyes smiling into mine, my eyes filled with tears, and I laughed and cried at its significance to me; for this, I knew, was the ball I was meant to carry. Its message: Changing the world with Words.

The next morning; Sunday; I knew that if I was seriously to follow this call, I had to step down from the worship team. Whenever I have thought about it before, it has felt like a difficult decision, but not now.  

My friend Frances, who leads our team, apologized for forgetting to tell me about last Tuesday's practice. "It was a ball I dropped," she said; I smiled inwardly.

As I told each person that needed to know, there were nothing but blessings on my decision when people heard the reason. 

Frances held my hand tightly and said, "Nothing will change--except that you will become a better writer."

“He used often to say there was only one Road; that it was like a great river: its springs were at every doorstep, and every path was its tributary. 'It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door,' he used to say. 'You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to.” ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

A Few More Snippets from Write! Canada Today

Write! Canada finished with more energy than a fireworks display in July. And this in spite of conversations in the lounge until the wee hours of the morning; and Night Owl and Early Bird reading sessions.

Photo by Susan C. Stewart

The final keynote speaker this afternoon, was Toronto scriptwriter, Dennis Hassell. He launched us like rockets for our journeys home, with fire in our bellies and flaming fingers ready to hit our keyboards.

Dennis spoke of the power of story. He likened stories to swallows. Stories go over and under defenses, like a swallow flies over the highest gates of a fortified city. The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis was one wonderful example he gave.

We bring people to "life," not through polemics but through parables. "Parables," said Dennis, "are not explicit, they are implicit. You have to puzzle it out."

About our excuses not to write, Dennis quoted Gandalf, the wizard of The Lord of the Rings, who said, "All you have to do is to decide what to do with the time given to you."

There is never enough time to write; but Dennis reminded us that we are not called to "successfulness" but faithfulness. He challenged us to, "Write faithfully and gave us 5 Commandments:

1. Thou shalt "Get over it." Get over your hurts and disappointments. "Suck it up, soldier."
2. You are interesting and what interests  you, interests others.
3. Thou shalt commit.
4. You shall remember your purpose and keep it holy.
5. Your first purpose is to grow up and be complete in Christ.

"A thousand years from now our earthly success will mean nothing, but our faithfulness will continue to pay royalties."

“I will take the Ring", he said, "though I do not know the way.” Frodo― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

( If you would like to order copies of the workshops, continuing classes, or keynote sessions, you can get them in part or full through Swordfish Digital Audio. I can let you know how to order them if you are interested--just send me a note with contact information.)

More News from Write! Canada

Tonight's keynote speaker was author and professor of literature, Carolyn Weber, who spoke about the spiritual journey chronicled in her book: Surprised by Oxford; a reference to C.S. Lewis's book, Surprised by Joy.

She read from her book; a beautifully written memoir; and she spoke about the impact it had on her family; as broken and dysfunctional as any of our own.

Marilyn Yocum wrote recently about Every Writer's Dilemma: To Write Privately or Publicly, and I wrote too, in my post entitled, Can't Do It, of my decision to draw a line in writing of some personal family history.

Carolyn spoke of that very thing tonight and I thought that I would share a little of what she said.

She quoted Samuel Coleridge--and I wrote it down quickly so it is just an approximation: "The process of selection is the hardest part of creation." How true that is!

Here are my rough notes on four of Carolyn's "5 Golden Rules for Writing Memoir:" I'm sorry that it is only four--but I only just realized that I missed writing down the last one. This is one keynote that I will probably order the audio CD for:

1. Pay attention to your life; be intentional about journaling.
2. Treat others as you would like to be treated.
3. Never write from anger or unresolved issues; writing through my anger or sadness brings me to the other side. No one has to see that draft.
4. Get several points of view on your final draft: Carolyn says she gets two people who can look at her theology professionally and two or three people who can look at her draft on a personal basis: a friend or believing spouse; and a non believing friend.

Signing off from Guelph. One more glorious day to go. 

Belinda

Where to Begin?

I can't tell every wonderful thing that has happened today; I hear the voice of one of my writing mentors, Marilyn Yocum whose beginner's class I took in two different years at Write! Canada because I loved it and her so much. She is telling me, "No home movies."  So just two fun snippets!

The conference has workshops and a selection of continuing classes over two and a half days. The continuing class I am taking is: Finding Your Way Deeper into Writing; taught by Bill Fledderus, Adjunct Lecturer in English at Redeemer University College. I am loving it.

This bit of writing comes from a writing exercise in his class this afternoon when he was teaching us about creative non-fiction:

My 41 year old daughter Brenda, has been packing up to move into a new house and came upstairs from her apartment, holding a small doll, saying, “Look what I found Mom." 

The doll came without movable joints, and it squeaked when she squeezed it. I remember looking for a baby doll about 35 years ago and this one was the best I could find at the time. 

But it wasn't the doll that was so important to her, it was the clothes, made by my Dutch Oma for a doll of mine when I was a child; a crocheted lilac jacket closed with the tiniest mother-of-pearl buttons, and a white dress, also crocheted, the yarn of the garments matted through much washing. 

And she held a two piece cotton outfit made out of fabric cut from a childhood dress of mine. The short sleeved top closed with a snap of silver domes, hanging loosely from thread now, the neck trimmed with a band of deep pink. The skirt had box pleats, all stitched lovingly by those hands I remember being always busy with some task.  

The fabric, crisp cotton with bright pink roses, and green leaves on a white background, brought back more memories. The dress it was from, I treasured. I was about ten years old when I got it. In a world of plain school uniforms and hand-me-downs; a rare new garment, so pretty at that, made me feel like a princess! Shortly after I got mine, the girl next door got one almost the same; my first ever experience of imitation being the most sincere form of flattery.

It was just a fun memory to capture in a few minutes writing!

The other joy to share from this day, was during the celebration time at the end of the evening, when all the writers who had published something they were proud of this year, got to line up and go up on stage to share with the crowd.

The first wave of enthusiastic writers shared their accomplishments and then Denise, the managing director of The Word Guild said, "There have to be more!" and that prompted a second wave of the more introverted writers to line up. 

I waited a few moments, struggling with the urge to share, but held back by innate shyness. Then I thought that not to share would dishonour not just God's blessing on my writing, but also my co-author Dave, so I joined the line and shared my privilege of having written with Dave Hingsburger, and published in The Direct Support Professional's Newsletter; the article, "Faith, Fealty and Freedom.

Dave, if you are reading this, we were well applauded, and I felt proud and grateful for both of us!

Identity

This morning I prepared to leave for Write! Canada, the writers conference in Guelph, which I have attended every year since 2000, with the exception of 2009 (due to a sudden illness that sabotaged my plans.)

Susan hadn't planned on going this year, but on Tuesday evening, was wishing to God that she might be there, serving all the writers there in some way. At the very time she was expressing her heart wish to God, the managing director of The Word Guild, Denise Rumble, connected with me by email to say that their photographer was unable to make it at the last minute--and  she asked me, was Susan Stewart a photographer?

In a whirlwind of phone calls and arrangements made at the speed of sound, the rest is history. Susan is going to the conference too, this year. We are all shouting, "Hurray!"

I go with an expectation of learning; hearing from God and renewing my call and commitment to write. I look forward to the old and new connections that always happen at this conference.

What's new? Well, for the first time ever, I am going with business cards that introduce me as a writer. At the very least this will save me the trouble of hurriedly searching for pen and paper in order to write out my contact information.

But I have a feeling there is more...here is my card imprint:

Belinda Burston

Writer: Blogger; speechwriter; personal experience articles; humour

Whatever He Says

www.whateverhesays.blogspot.com

Bearing witness in my small corner of the world

Email: burstonp@rogers.com

We must wait for the greatest, most profound, most gentle things in life; nothing happens in a rush, but only according to the divine laws of germinating, growing, and becoming.

Deitrich Bonhoeffer 

Guelph Bible Conference Grounds

Maplewood Lodge

Brenda posted this aerial photo Maplewood Lodge in the mid 1970's, on Facebook. That is my yellow Lada; a Russian car; parked behind the house.

Paul bought the car for me, and Rob painstakingly taught me to drive standard, which I needed to learn, to drive it. 

The house was not a mansion by any means; the old farmhouse is the building at the front, with a newer part at the back, surrounded by two acres.  There was an oil furnace and no air conditioning and the walls had little insulation. On cold nights the walls would bang loudly as they expanded and contracted with temperature changes. The pipes froze in winter and the septic system regularly gave us problems. Yet we loved living there.

We moved there in 1974, intending to stay two years, but lived there for almost ten, leaving at the end of 1983. It was the place that shaped us into who we are today.

The Fog Story

One foggy January morning, 35 years ago, three years after we moved to Maplewood Lodge, I walked down the long driveway to the road, to wait with our children; Brenda (5,) and Peter (7;) for the school bus.

The bus emerged from the fog and they climbed on board. I turned to walk back to the house. 

One minute the children's voices rang out--"Quick Brenda, get a kiss from Mommy," and, "Mommy, will you look after my snowball?" Then the whining hum of the bus driving off into the distance. Suddenly silence, hanging in the air. Palpable stillness.

There had been a light fall of snow the night before; enough to cover the trees and bushes with a magical new coat, but it was quite mild, and a mist hung all around the edges of the fields.

The hills that rose on the other side of the fields, were hidden, and in the quiet I was in a world at once timeless and peaceful.

From high in the misty treetops came the sound of birds chirping; the drip of snow melting from the rooftop; and occasionally a car whizzing by; intruders from the present, breaking the fragile spell.

I thought of my English childhood and my favourite foggy mornings there in the village, and how I felt securely blanketed in a world of cotton wool. It felt as though anything could happen; almost as if two worlds existed side by side. 

You could catch glimpses of the real world as you passed lighted shop windows or recognized friends or villagers on their way to school or work, but it all had a strange aura of unreality with sounds muffled so that they seemed to come from far away.

That was how it felt that long ago January morning. I looked across the fields, into the mist, at the beautiful land and the old farm house, and wondered about the family that had lived there for almost 200 years after carving a farm out of the wilderness.

What kind of people were Shadrach, Elizabeth and Lydia Stephens, and all the other Stephens's whose names I didn't know, but whose bones rested in the pioneer burial ground beneath the orchard?

I didn't know the answer and would never know. The house looked on enigmatically. It would keep its secrets, as it had for generations.

It was a morning of mist...and mystery.