ACW

ACW

Thursday, 25 May 2017

What's that smell? by Fiona Lloyd


To fully appreciate this post, you’ll need your “scratch-and-sniff” technology enabled.



Ready?



Right, then: what do you think of this?




For those of you who don’t recognise it, this is allium ursinum – or wild garlic – and its dainty white flowers and not-so-dainty aroma permeate British woodlands at this time of year.



To my mind, however, it’s not quite so pungent as its more widely recognised cousin, allium sativum, which is the usual garlic you find in the supermarket. Personally, I rather like the smell of both varieties, and use enough of the regular stuff in my cooking to send any level-headed vampire running for cover.





I’m pretty sure, though, that while a large number of you are now licking your lips and nodding in agreement, others will be grimacing and making a mental note not to sit too close to me in future. Garlic – like that well-known yeast-extract product – is one of those things that divides opinion.



But wouldn’t life be boring if we were all the same? Some people like garlic; others loathe it. There are those who think a perfect Saturday afternoon involves watching 22 grown men chase a ball up and down a muddy field…but I’m not one of them. My tastes in music tend to lag about 200 years behind those of the general populace, but that doesn’t make my preferences any less valid.



One of the mantras beloved of writing courses everywhere is to think about your target audience.  It’s not realistic to expect that our writing will appeal to everyone, and yet so often we start off with only a vague idea of who it is we’re writing for. If we worry too much about people not liking our work, there’s a danger we’ll never share it with anyone. Either that, or our words become so insipid that they lose their ability to hold the reader’s attention. We need to continually remind ourselves that it’s okay to divide the critics: if our intended readership enjoys and / or benefits from our writing, it doesn’t really matter if others are less enamoured.



And after all, who wants to be bland?


Fiona Lloyd works part-time as a music teacher, and serves on the worship leading team at her local church. Fiona self-published a violin tutor book in 2013 and blogs at www.fjlloyd.wordpress.com and at http://thejesusonthebus.blogspot.co.uk. You can find her on Twitter at @FionaJLloyd. Fiona is vice-chair of ACW and is married with three grown-up children.


Wednesday, 24 May 2017

The Dark is Rising




In Susan Cooper’s 1977 children’s novel Silver on the Tree, the hero, Will Stanton, encounters some boys from his school bullying a younger boy, Manny Singh, on the bank of a stream. They are taunting him for his ethnicity and his musical studies; the biggest bully, Richie Moore, snatches his music case and drops it in the water. Will’s grown-up brother Stephen comes on the scene, and, having tried to reason with Richie, finally drops him into the water to retrieve the music case.


Later, the bully’s father calls round at Will’s house. A discussion follows between Mr Moore on the one side and Stephen and Will’s father on the other. After Stephen has explained that he acted in response to Richie’s bullying Manny Singh, Mr Moore, addressing Will’s father, says: ‘Made a lot of fuss about nothing, that kid, I dare say. You know how they are, always on about something.’ Thinking he means children, Mr Stanton agrees. ‘Mine usually are,’ he says.


Mr Moore replies: ‘Oh no, no...I’m sure your bunch are very nice. I meant coloureds, not kids.’ And after some further, slightly sharper interchanges, he says ‘I’ll be honest with you, I don’t think they should be here, them or the West Indians. Got no right, have they? Taking jobs that should go to Englishmen, with the country in the state that it is…’


An argument develops between him and Stephen. Mr Moore, still sitting in his car, becomes heated:


The man’s face had darkened. He leaned belligerently out of the window; his breath came more quickly. ‘Let them solve their own problems, not come whining over here!...They don’t belong here, none of ’em; they should all be thrown out. And if you think they’re so bloody marvellous you’d better go and live in their lousy countries with them!’


Mr Stanton makes a very measured response, ending with an offer of ‘reparation’ for any harm done to Richie. But:


‘Reparation hell!’ The man started his engine with a deliberate roar. He leaned over the seat, shouting above the noise. ‘You just see what happens to anyone laying a finger on my boy again, for the sake of some snivelling little wog.’


And here is Will’s reaction:


From the moment when he had heard the man in the car begin to shout, and seen the look in his eyes, he had been no Stanton at all but wholly an Old One, dreadfully and suddenly aware of danger. The mindless ferocity of this man, and all those like him, their real loathing born of nothing more solid than insecurity and fear...it was a channel. Will knew that he had been gazing into the channel down which the powers of the Dark, if they gained their freedom, could ride in an instant to complete control of the earth. He was filled with a terrible anxiety, a sense of urgency for the Light, and knew that it would remain with him, silently shouting at him, far more vividly than the fading memory of a single bigot like Mr Moore.


Now, in Susan Cooper’s fantasy sequence, The Dark is Rising, the Old Ones are a select group of people from all times and places whose mission is to combat the rising Darkness and prevent it from taking possession of the world. But when I was reading this passage it jumped out at me how applicable it is to ourselves and our own times. Christians are the true Old Ones, the people selected to champion the Light and stand against Darkness. In Cooper’s mythology the weapons that Will and his comrades use are various symbolic objects which have to be recovered in a race against time. For us, as no one reading this needs to be reminded, the weapons are prayer, righteousness, and faithful lifelong witness. Cooper’s portrayal of hatred—‘real loathing born of nothing more solid than insecurity and fear’—seems to me still to ring true, 40 years later. And Will’s insight that this hatred could be ‘the channel down which the powers of the Dark, if they gained their freedom, could ride in an instant to complete control’ sounds a warning note to me as a Christian.


In my April blog post I suggested that there are moments in history when, inexplicably, normal restraint is removed, society begins stepping towards chaos, and fearsome mockery and cruelty are unleashed. When unbelieving society sleepwalks into the jaws of the rising Darkness, Christians are called to make a stand.


Perhaps I am reading the signs of the times wrong, but I fear that now may be one of those times. This is my last blog post before the General Election. I am praying for all leaders, friend and foe alike, and for all voters, especially those beguiled into apathy. And let us pray especially for our fellow writers, the journalists and editors of our national newspapers, that they may tell the truth. Will you join me?

Tuesday, 23 May 2017

Switch to technicolour - by Helen Murray

In a couple of days I will have been a Christian for thirty years. Technically, I have been a Christian for thirty years.

I'm not sure that I was much use to God for many of those years, but by the same token I know that He can work through us when we look least likely to be any use to anyone, so I won't rule it out.

The fire was lit in 1987 when I first encountered Jesus in one of those, 'I'm talking to you. Yes, you,' moments.  I burned brightly for a few years, and then my light sort of dimmed to a faint glow for a long, long time. It nearly went out a few times. He kindled it afresh in the years following the loss of my Dad, when motherhood and near-despair knocked me over at the same time and I found myself unable to get up. This time, God breathed on the embers and there was a flame again.

Something happened. I woke up? I changed gear?  I grew up?  I don't know, but about in the last decade things have changed. It's the hardest thing to describe; things shift subtly and incrementally and then one day I look over my shoulder and I am amazed to see how far I've come.

'Isn't it funny how day by day nothing changes, but when you look back, 
everything is different?' *

It's as if my life changed from pastel shades and muted greys to full, glorious technicolour. It's vivid and vibrant and exciting. It still has ups and downs - indeed the ups are higher and the downs are lower than they used to be. Until this last decade I didn't really understand what it felt like to be so miserable that it's hard to breathe, or so filled with wonder and awe and joy that I find myself in laughing even as I cry.

It's hard, living a full-colour life.

For many years I was in a constant state of waiting: when this happens, when that happens... for the next hurdle to be over. Then things would 'get back to normal'.

Then one day the penny dropped. This is normal. 

It's relentless, ongoing, never-stopping, day-in-day-out exhausting normality of life on His team. Not normal at all.

Better than normal. Harder than normal. More worthwhile than normal.

I could get the old normal back, I think; I could choose it, back off and get comfy on the sofa again instead of putting one foot in front of the other over and over each time the going gets tough, but why would I?  I feel as if I'm living.

Time is rushing past so quickly. It's nearly the middle of another year, one that only feels as if it only started last week. It isn't five minutes since I was grumpily packing away the Christmas decorations for another year and waiting for the first shoots to appear, and here I am with the longest day only a month away and wondering when someone will tell me how many shopping days there are until Christmas.

Jesus said, '... I came to give life - life in all its fullness.'
John 10:10

Full colour.
This is life, then. Is this what Jesus meant when He said 'life in all it's fullness'?

Full as in busy, constantly on the go?  Probably not.
Full as in rich, complex, endlessly challenging, surprising, amazing? Yes, definitely.

Life with Him. It's hard, but I wouldn't change it for anything in the world. He never said it would be easy; He said it would be worthwhile.

These last few years have been more meaningful than most of the others put together.  I have learned more about God, about hearing His voice, about staying close to Him, living under His wing, being sent out on His business and doing things I never thought I could do.

I have learned a little about how He sees the people around me; His hopes, His dreams, His heart, His plans.

I have learned life-changing things about myself.

I am loved. Right now, as I am, imperfect, middle-aged, overweight, tired, confused. Sheep-like. Special. Unique. Loved by the true and living God.

Full colour.
The colours are breathtaking. A kaleidoscope. Never the same. Each day different.

I blurted this idea out to someone the other day, the idea that life can change from black and white into colour, and they knew what I meant. It's not just me! I was met with nods of agreement and recognition of my description, especially when I said that it wasn't a fluffy sort of change; things got harder, not easier. Things weren't 'normal' any more.

So perhaps this is a self-indulgent anniversary reflection. Thirty years since I first gave my life to Father God. I've taken it back and handed it over many, many times since then. Thirty years since I first heard His voice; since His Spirit first moved me to tears of awe and gratitude for what He did for me.

Thirty years.

And then, a few years ago, He fitted me with a warp-drive and I've learned more in those years than in the previous twenty. It turns out that you're never too old; it's never too late.

Thankyou, Lord.

Thankyou for the colours, thankyou for the ride, and for holding me close when the curves and inclines and steep drops make my tummy go funny. Thank you for the breathtaking scenery, the places that I could never go if you were not with me and for the exhilaration of the journey. For the sunshine and the rain. For the sound of your voice and the treasures that you show me. For the music of heaven and the wonder of your company and the promise of more to come. For the gifts you are giving me; the things I never imagined that I could experience and most of all for the hope that nobody can take away.

I feel as if I'm really living.




* This quotation is often attributed to CS Lewis, speaking as Prince Caspian, in the Narnia book of the same name. I thought that was where it was from until I tried to check it, and it turns out that it was not actually said by Lewis. I don't know who said it, originally, but it has a lot of truth in it. 





Helen Murray lives in Derbyshire with her husband, two daughters and her mum.

As well as writing and reading, she drinks coffee, takes photographs, swims, breeds Aloe Vera plants and collects ceramic penguins.

Helen has a blog: Are We Nearly There Yet? where she writes about life and faith.

You can also find her here:

Pinterest: @HelenMMurray
Twitter: @helenmurray01

Monday, 22 May 2017

The Gift of Perspective by Emily Owen


On May 11th, the ‘On this Day’ part of my Facebook page was flooded with memories.  It was exactly a year since the launch of my memoir, ‘Still Emily’, and there were lots of photos recalling the event.
During the last year, a big thing that’s changed since the launch is, fairly obviously, that people have read the book.  Some have been kind enough to leave a review on Amazon, or contact me directly to give feedback.
What people often comment on is the final chapter.
You see, my story, as many of our stories are, is one of happy times, sad times, ups and downs, easy times and struggles, knowing despair and then discovering hope again.
My story also involves a diagnosis of a condition called Neurofibromatosis Type 2 (NF2), and the final chapter of Still Emily is a letter I write to NF2.
Writing to, rather than about, a situation can be very powerful. Recently, I wrote an article from NF2's perspective and discovered that giving a situation a ‘voice’ can be powerful, too.
Here is part of the article:
My name is NF2. Well, Emily’s NF2. Us NF2s are all different. I guess you could say we have different specialities, different ways of making our presence felt.
Being Emily’s NF2 often feels as though I’m in a battle.  I want to be boss, but so does she; so we fight it out, every day. Sometimes Emily wins. She wins more often than I’d like, to be honest. But sometimes I win. It’s great when I win: then it’s impossible for Emily to ignore me. I hate being ignored, I like to be the centre of attention. But Emily ignores me a lot, even when I try really hard to make her acknowledge me. 
Anyway...I thought I’d tell you about my day.  Not a specific day, just a day. It could be any day.
6 am I like to wake Emily early these days. She used to sleep for longer than she does now but, once I’d cottoned on to that, I realised I should wake her. The best way to do that is with her eyes. I don’t mean forcing her eyelids open, I mean by making her eyes sore. Emily’s eyes are really dry and, by 6 am, I can be pretty sure that the soothing cream she applied before she went to sleep will have gone. So, when she wakes, it’s not only early but she’s also in pain.
9.30 am I know Emily wants to work on some of her writing today, so that makes my plan for the day easy: mess around with her ability to focus and concentrate. Since her brain surgeries – and I have to say, I’m pretty proud of my efforts here – Emily’s memory and concentration span are a shadow of their former selves. 3-0 to me.
12.30 pm Well, what a rubbish morning. I tried really hard but nothing worked. Emily ignored me and got on with what she was doing. 3-1 but at least I’m still winning and now it’s lunchtime. I’ll score a few easy points here, as Emily finds eating difficult. She has done ever since one of her surgeries. A surgery which, I might add, was all because of me. Better make that 4-1.
1 pm Emily is looking at food and rejecting it. This is great! She can’t eat bread, crisps etc very easily at all. 5-1. Now Emily knows what she can eat, though, so eating is not too much of a problem most of the time. I’d better give her a point for that, I suppose. 5-2.
5 pm I feel better after my failure this morning. Emily tried to carry on writing this afternoon but her concentration vanished; by which I mean, I took it. 6-2. To be fair, though, Emily did stop trying to write before she got too frustrated with her brain. She never used to manage that, which meant more points for me as she got angrier with herself. So I’ll give her 2 points I think. I may be in competition with her but credit where credit is due. 6-4.
Instead of writing, Emily decided to go for a walk. She forgot to take her crutches but thankfully I managed to make her nearly fall over as she left the house, which reminded her to get them. She doesn’t need her crutches indoors but she does outside. Since surgeries (yes, credit to me again), Emily can’t walk too well. Her legs are weak and her balance is poor. Which makes it what, 8-4 to me?
6 pm Emily’s niece wanted to sing a song to her. Massive win for me: Emily can’t hear since her surgeries. 9-4.
But then, unbelievably, her niece sang the song in sign language, so Emily could understand. 9-5.
I hate it that Emily has so many people helping her beat me. It’s not fair: she has medics, friends, family, strangers. Nearly everyone Emily and I meet is nice. Well, they’re nice to her. Mostly they ignore me. Except the medics, but that doesn’t really count, as I’m their job. But even they see Emily more than me. Worse than that, Emily does too. She didn’t used to. I used to win every day. But I don’t now. I win some days. But they are becoming fewer. And today is not one of them. Even I have to admit that Emily and all the people who help her, together, deserve 5 points. At least. So it’s 10-9 to her...
Feedback, whether positive (mostly) or negative (a bit), tells me the concept of writing to or from a situation, to or from a perspective other than a directly human one, is powerful.
Image result for Feedback Is a Gift
Why not try it?  Write a letter to a situation in your life, and see where it takes you.
(The fact that you read this blog is a gift as well. To me. May is Neurofibromatosis Awareness Month. And you’ve now heard of Neurofibromatosis. Thank you.)

Sunday, 21 May 2017

Seize the day




A time to be born 
and a time to die.
              Eccl.3:2




 


So many friends, family and church members have their birthdays this month.  In counting back nine months I realised factories would close down their production lines for two weeks in August to give their staff the obligatory two weeks annual holiday, the rest is history!  Christmas has the same effect. My husband’s sister had three of her four children nine months on!  However, my theory breaks down when my brother-in-law's birthday is 31st December, mine on 1st January, a great nephew 2nd January, and my-sister-in-law on the 3rd.  

In a few decades there have been huge changes in when and how a woman can control conception.  And for those previously unable to conceive there’s hope with IVF treatment.  Yet despite this thousands of babies each year are condemned to death before they have a chance to live.

Man is now in control of the time to be born or not, and it appears is already working to be in control of when he dies.

But overall death is still very much in God’s hands. This month we have said ‘goodbye’ to two people, one who fell short of one hundred years, and the other falling short by ten days of his 60th birthday.   Steve only found out he was riddled with cancer twenty-four hours before the Lord took him home.  His words, “If I get healed, or if I die, it’s a win win situation.”  The Bible tells us that God knows our name before we were born, and He has a plan and purpose for each of us.  It has caused me to consider my life, and desire for each day to count for Him.

Only I know how my latest book will end.  I've a 'bucket' list of people and places to visit.  What is God’s list for me to do before that day comes?  I want to reveal His love and salvation in all my writing, for in this life we are meant to have a deep and meaningful relationship with the Lord in preparation for when the next one begins?

Shocked by Steve’s diagnosis, the Lord reminded me of the scripture “Behold I stand at the door and knock if anyone hears my voice and opens the door I will come in and sup with him and he with me.”  In my mind’s eye I ‘saw’ Steve open that door, immediately light flooded in encompassing him.  I had the inner realisation that even though Steve had known the Lord most of his life, he needed time to imbibe that love, peace, glory of the Lord and was in the final preparation of meeting with Him. Twelve hours later, those in the room with Steve felt the Presence of God overflowing from him, they sensed his earthly discussions, perhaps a final cleansing, before he stepped over the threshold into the fullness of the light and all that was awaiting him. 

How good to be in, and know, God’s timing.

Saturday, 20 May 2017

Fact and fiction

One of the joys of writing fiction, so it seems to me, is doing the research so often necessitated by the subject. Even if you are writing about a time and place that are familiar, inevitably questions arise, and some answer must be found that will satisfy the most hawk-eyed editor and reader. These days the internet is a valuable resource - of  course not the only one, but still extremely handy for those very specific and often obscure questions which might otherwise take some time to answer.

My next novel has a medical background, something about which I am lamentably ignorant. I have always harboured an interest in medical matters even though I could never have pursued such a career: rubbish at science, clumsy, no good at sewing, and squeamish into the bargain. So researching it from a manageable distance is both engrossing and safe. My recent researches have taken me into worlds I could barely have imagined and I  am immersed and agog. One book I recently devoured was the extraordinary true account of a young man determined to become a surgeon. It starts during the First World War and finishes before the Second; it was first published in 1938, so I read it for background interest only, rather than for anything appropriate to my projected story. The vicissitudes of the author's career, the setbacks, privations, triumphs, disasters, determination and sheer punishing hard work made fascinating reading. However it was his concluding sentence that gave me most pause:
'I had learnt that no triumph and no defeat is final.'

His story made my petty frustrations and disappointments look quite pathetic, and I took his words as an encouragement to pursue one's goals no matter what: to maintain faith, to be resolute in the teeth of apparent failure and personal adversity, to use one's gifts for God's purposes.

So far, so good, if easier to proclaim than to execute!

But his dictum, however admirable, applies only to this life that we have been given. It has no bearing on the life that we, as Christians, hope for when this one is extinct. I know it's fruitless to speculate (even though it doesn't stop me wondering just what eternity will be like. Will there still be work to undertake, goals to chase after, development, progression? Or...what?)

Meanwhile I am trying to remain focused as well as faithful. Ours is the work, His is the increase. And there is still much learning to be done, if I am not to fall on my face over a verifiable fact. The story may be fiction, but the facts have to be right; and here I must acknowledge the inestimable value of a good editor.

How about you? Do you enjoy research? Do you perhaps, like some, enjoy it a bit too much, so that the actual beginning of the writing is endlessly deferred, and the book (or whatever it may be) never gets written? I'd love to know.






Sue Russell writes as S.L.Russell and has written five novels from a Christian viewpoint, available in the usual places. A sixth, 'A Vision of Locusts,' will be published by Instant Apostle in the autumn.

Friday, 19 May 2017

What must be said, by Veronica Zundel

Love, as a well known 1970s book and film has it, means never having to say you're sorry. Except that it doesn't, of course - however much two people love each other, they will never have the gift of
telepathy, and will need to hear the words 'I'm sorry' many times to mend their relationship. Sometimes a rueful facial expression is not quite enough.

My late mother, Holocaust refugee
Does forgiveness, however, mean never speaking of the offence again? I've just been writing a guest blog for another Christian writer on forgiveness, and it's caused me to think again about what should be completely covered by forgiveness, and what perhaps shouldn't. Can I, for instance, forgive Hitler for what was done to my family in the Holocaust, leaving me with no extended family in my country of birth and precious little anywhere else? Or is it not my place, since the offence was against others? Perhaps more importantly, if I did decide I had forgiven (and the jury's still out on that one), would it mean that I never spoke of those terrible events, and the effect they had, not only on my family but on my own upbringing and development, again?

And what has any of this to do with writing? Until I started my poetry MA, now somewhat on hold because of my cancer, (although I haven't yet made the decision to defer to next year), I was, theoretically at least, writing a memoir of my late brother, who killed himself in 1975 after many years of mental illness (I refuse to say 'committed suicide' since it has not been a crime for a long
time). I regard him as just as much a victim of the Holocaust as my grandmother, great-aunt and great-uncle, who died in a concentration camp in 1942. The second generation has borne the trauma of the first, and the third generation continues to bear it in many and various ways, as I suspected and have confirmed by attending a Second Generation group for the children of survivors and refugees.

Concentration camp incinerators
The memoir, then, which is half drafted, is as much a Holocaust memoir as a record of a sibling's mental illness and suicide (which probably makes it harder to get a publisher for, as it's inevitably going to be a bit of a hybrid). And there was never any doubt on what the dedication, or under-the-title quote, at the front was going to be. It's an excerpt from the Paul Simon song 'Silent Eyes', a song about Jerusalem, and it goes like this:

And we shall all be called as witnesses, each and every one
To stand before the eyes of God, and speak what was done.

There are some things we must write about, however painful, things about which we cannot be silent, because if we are, others (and there are many already) will come forward to claim they never happened, and to write false history that denies what we know. Are there things that, like Jeremiah, you must write, because while you don't, they are burning up your heart?


Veronica Zundel is a freelance writer whose latest book is Everything I know about God, I've learned from being a parent (BRF 2013). She also writes a column for Woman Alive magazine, and Bible notes for BRF's New Daylight. Veronica used to belong to what was, before it closed, the only non-conservative, English speaking Mennonite church in the UK, and is currently playing at being a high Anglican. She also blogs (rather occasionally!) at reversedstandard.com

Thursday, 18 May 2017

shadow: learning to savour seasons of small and stillness by Joy Lenton

Such a small creature, a tiny little thing had been my daughter-in-law's constant companion while she toiled at unyielding, winter-hard ground. Pausing from her labours, she would smile to see him perched nearby, before attending to her garden again with renewed gusto.

As spring segues into summer, daylight lengthens and myriad feathered friends come to the bird feeder, this faithful little robin is still present, hopping to and fro with an inner felicity born of knowing his place in the scheme of things.

He doesn't seek attention or strive for prominence. He's just happily going about his own sweet thing: gathering, gleaning, feeding, singing and celebrating life. 

I wonder if we are so easily pleased with small, if we can celebrate seasons where God calls us to be still, to be small, labouring behind the scenes on our own (often challenging) plot—the fertile garden of the soul where few know we are secretly tending God-sized dreams within our hearts?

Maybe we long for significance, ache to be seen, to have worth and value in the eyes of others, for our voice to be heard. Or we could be prayerfully cultivating things only God sees and knows about, while He works within our stilled, surrendered soul.




As I watched the robin at play in the warmth of sun's rays, I saw his shadow extending beyond his petite frame. It loomed larger than he was. Likewise, as we seek to serve God and potter faithfully through our days, we are casting a holy shadow larger than ourselves, as He shines in and through us.

Our lives may feel small, insignificant, our work endless and unrewarding, but if we were given eyes to see how God sees things, what then? He watches the shadow we cast as we labour under the sun. God observes and rejoices in every act, every deed done in love, in His Name, watching their reach extend much further than we know, preoccupied as we are with the tasks before us. 

Nothing we do in love is ever too small or insignificant to count. The caring cards, texts or emails you send, those encouraging words you write and share, the gifts you so generously give and persistent prayers you pray, every act of mercy and grace we perform adds up in God's Kingdom economy.

We are apt to prize the strong, vibrant, shining, vociferous ones who look and sound like they know what they're doing. God pays close attention to the lost, lonely and hurting, the quiet ones leading humble, sacrificial lives, the people who prize His attention above all earthly things. 

We can take heart from being weak and largely invisible to the world, knowing God notices and does so much more through us than we could ever achieve by ourselves. And in similar ways to the Apostle Peter, the Holy Spirit-lit shadow we cast as we walk through this world has potential to reach out and affect the lives of others for good.



The more we live in the Light of God's presence, content to stay small so He can be large in our lives, the greater Holy Spirit shadow we will cast to bathe a hurting world in God's mercy, grace and love, His tender, healing touch.



Joy Lenton is a grateful grace dweller, contemplative Christian writer, poet and blogger, author of 'Seeking Solace: Discovering grace in life's hard places'

She enjoys encouraging others on their journey of life and faith at her blogs wordsofjoy.me and poetryjoy.com as she seeks to discover the poetic in the prosaic and the eternal in the temporal. You can connect with her on Twitter and on Facebook.

Wednesday, 17 May 2017

Inspiration why are you so elusive? By Claire Musters


I have recently had a bout of writer's block. It doesn't happen to me that often, and I found it particularly alarming as I had a looming deadline. I spent days researching, but nothing was grabbing my attention. I just couldn't reach that place of knowing what I was meant to be writing about; which angle I was to take.

After a few soul-destroying weeks, I decided to sit down and write about my frustration as a means of processing it. It seemed to help, so I thought I'd celebrate that fact by sharing what I wrote during that time. I'm hoping it might resonate - and possibly help others who may be going through difficulties with writing currently.

Inspiration why are you so elusive?

I have looked for you everywhere…

In the shower, where a song of joy and freedom often comes, leading into focus and clarity. But I keep emerging with the same sense of confusion…

In the cleaning – I usually ignore the state of the house until the weekends, but this time my mind has decided that I can’t write in a messy house!

Within social media – surely I need to know what is going on in the world, in order to write in an informed way?

Settling down to research has been difficult, and full of distraction. My chair has ‘hurt’, my eyes have been tired and my mind not happy to concentrate for more than a few moments at a time.

Chocolate has become an even dearer friend. Yes I’ve tried being healthy, in order to aid the process, but fruit just hasn’t hit the spot (unless accompanied by copious amounts of cheese)…


Inspiration, why are you so elusive right now?

Claire is a freelance writer, speaker and editor, mum to two gorgeous young children, pastor’s wife, worship leader and school governor. Claire’s desire is to help others draw closer to God through her writing, which focuses on authenticity, marriage, parenting, worship, discipleship, issues facing women today etc. Her books include Taking your Spiritual Pulse, CWR’s Insight Into Managing Conflict and Insight Into Self-acceptance, Cover to Cover: David A man after God’s own heart and BRF Foundations21 study guides on Prayer and Jesus. She also writes Bible study notes, and her latest co-written book, Insight Into Burnout, was published in February 2017. Her next book, Taking off the mask: learning to live authentically, will be published on 1 November 2017. To find out more about her, please visit www.clairemusters.com and @CMusters on Twitter.