About sherryrossman

I'm a tea-loving momma who loves to write. And when I say write, I mean exploring the things of life we get tastes of in dreams, in the things that go bump in the night, and those that hover at the corners of our eyes. No matter what they are or aren't I believe God holds all these things in His hands.

Don your ball gown

Posted on November 4, 2013 by sherryrossman

Autumn is a beautiful misery. Shade trees flame into golden reds before undressing for winter. They drop their clothing to the earth, stripped of their ball gowns, leaving their skeletons to point at the sun. After their dramatic exit, our heroes burn through the decayed clothing to protect us from its fury that can turn a town into ash. It’s necessary, I know. Prescribed burns help protect us from the monster blazes, and even promote germination of certain trees. It’s a death to promote life, and in the midst of pumpkin pie excitement, we try not to choke on its polluted breath.

The smoke keeps me on a steady diet of tea and honey. My son has to hole up inside to protect his fragile lungs, and in our living room we become part-time hermits for the holiday season. But we still sing to the Silent Nights and lift our tea cups to the King that died on his own tree, bleeding into the earth an invitation where death has no place and the only fires that exist are the ones He placed inside our hearts.

My children marvel at the trees that are in-between green and red, orange and yellow. Something about this season has wired them with energy beyond what sugar can do. They delight in the tie-dye colors and wind that blows the leaves into a confetti spice, weaving in and out of fence posts and windshield wipers. A passion for life has filled them, almost as if the flames are teasing their feet.

And we sniff, and cough and sneeze in the beauty.

When Christ displayed His love on the cross, didn’t He show it with fiery passion? I think on how often I stay in the fire compared to the times I just want to crawl underneath security blankets and block out the smoke and darkness the next few months will bring.
But, the fire, when shaped and pruned by God, is what lights up the world.

So maybe this season is God’s reminder to keep the flames going. If you let yourself get lukewarm, the decayed things collected through the years will ignite uncontrollable and consume all that is good. But if we stoke the fire, and let God strip the dead stuff away, how much more will the world see His glory?

What does autumn remind you of? Tell us in the comments.

Faith and Imagination

Posted on October 7, 2013 by sherryrossman

A childhood friend lived in a house with a hidden passageway. It opened from the kitchen, curtained and dark. It was lined with saddles, a shadow walk with wooden floors a cowboy could tread with his spurs on. At the end was a bookcase full of mysterious volumes all dusty and dim.

Outside were horses and goats, a barn with antique parts that looked like they came straight from a western musical. The rutted driveway connected with a creek where we donned frilly swimsuits and swam along the cottonwood lined waterway until it grew stagnant. One time a snake swam alongside us. There was nothing like a terrifying adventure to paste in the memory album.

It was a childhood kingdom.

Looking back a few decades later I can see the house in need of a remodel, the add-on that I thought was a secret passageway and the barn full of rusty threats.

This is how I often see my own children’s world and the need to keep them from all danger.

Maybe I’m not supposed to focus on the dangers…I might really be a knight, ready to slay the dragons but not forsaking their adventure, their right to believe the unbelievable.

Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it. Luke 18:17

When I was a young child, fear brought me into my parent’s bedroom during a sleepless night. Every shadow was a villain, every creak of the house shouted danger. Lying in their bed, I could see into their bathroom when that night of all nights produced a scene I still can’t explain. In the mirror above the sink, bright yellow somethings drip-dripped into the sink like fluorescent yellow honey, and then stopped. My parents were lost to snores and dreams and I just stared at that mirror until exhaustion finally gave me rest.

I told them about it the next day. “The sink was probably not turned off all the way”, said one of my parents. “But it was high on the mirror”, I said. I liked my brother’s explanation best. “It was an angel pouring good luck into the sink.”

Our cats, of course, told me nothing, as well as the dog, but in my childish perspective, I knew that animals sensed things we could not. Those invisible things they followed with their eyes, the growls that came ten minutes before someone arrived at our door.

I bet my friends horses knew all kinds of things about the secret passageway and the mysteries within the old barn that seemed to hold such magic.

Maybe if we had faith like a child, animals would talk. How quickly we forget the one that did:

Then the LORD opened the donkey’s mouth, and it said…Numbers 22:28

Or superheroes would really protect us in the face of danger:

So he answered, “Do not fear, for those who are with us are more than those who are with them. And Elisha prayed, and said, “LORD, I pray, open his eyes that he may see.” Then the LORD opened the eyes of the young man, and he saw. And behold, the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha. 2 Kings 6

Maybe the imagination of youth is just a taste of what could be if we saw through eyes of faith…eyes of a child. Maybe that secret passageway opened up my imagination, rooted the love of story-telling inside because maturity makes us forget the unbelievable…that sometimes life is full of hidden unbelievables that are ,in reality, truth.

Imagination is not just the mark of childhood, but a gift, the ability to see what is beyond human capability.

Do you have any amazing childhood stories? Tell us in the comments.

Signs of Life

Posted on September 30, 2013 by sherryrossman

37 On the last and greatest day of the festival, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink. 38 Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them. John 7: 37-38

From day one, He forged this reminder in us, in creation. We are given signs of His presence but lose sight of it in the rush of our days. We say “busy”, and get in the car and press the gas while we labor through the day. We say” tired”, and tuck the children in bed before we collapse into a heavy heap. We say “forsaken”, as we stare at the blue eyed screen that lights up the tragedies and heartbreak until all we see is this life is broken and worn.

Sometimes wearing His name will bring anger. “Where is your God when this happened?

I understand anguish. I’ve felt loss and anger and exhaustion so strong I’ve slapped myself to keep my eyes in the right direction, and yet I can’t help but see.

I see Him, this source of life, in the heartbeat of our land; a bird’s eye view gives us sight – the twists and turns of our waterways, one blue artery feeding the pathway of another, spreading throughout the country like our own collection of veins.

I see Him in the breath-giving trees, generous with shade and reflective of that river that flows through their verdant garments.

There are days that press in tight, sucking dry my energy, my creativity, the light. And I walk outside for some fresh air and His signs of life are nestled at my feet.

I see Him in the bloodshot eyes of a man in pain, shouting, “Where are you?” when The Lord is there all along, keeping company with him, mourning with the man in the blood rivers around his irises.

He surrounds us in grace. He shows us the road to Him, everyday, from the thump-thumps of our hearts to the flutter of a vein-winged butterfly.

I in them and you in me—so that they may be brought to complete unity. Then the world will know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me. John 17:23

How do you see God day-to-day? Tell us in the comments.

The Inheritance

Posted on September 23, 2013 by sherryrossman

“I’m an artist.” I made known that identity when a woman called my hair dynamic. I get that a lot.
It’s also crazy curly and glows a bit honey in the sun. It’s thick – a boy in junior high used to call it the jungle. When I wash it, out comes a bunch of brown, blonde, and a few random streaks of black and red. From a distance, it’s dusty mush, but up close it’s the equivalent of my ancestry knitted into my scalp. I’m my Scottish, Irish, Native American, Dutch (etc.) heritage.

My days are born into family chaos that drip restless streams into most nights. The whites of eyes peep open, closed, big, and squinting all the way from bouts of laughter only to pop from terrors of the night. It’s love and anguish, joy and sheer exhaustion. I’m blessed.

I’m tired.

I can trace the colonels, the sergeants, the soldiers that marched all over the world and feel pride for this blessed soil that was nourished with the blood of freedom, and honor. I descend from these and take pride in their sacrifice for a blessed land. So…I’m a patriot.

Whether I’m dipping into a palette of paint or chalking up a tree, I’m happy to let loose when the words don’t come, but…the words….it’s the words, at the end of the day, that flutter onto the screen when the house pauses in a hush, where God has led me through this door for a season that I hope will extend a lifetime.

I’m a writer.

To weave the family (and hey – who’s family doesn’t include a few skeletons?) – then and now, the art, the words, and even the dynamic hair takes time where there isn’t, and energy so quickly, too quickly spent. Some days, caffeine is a tool and sometimes it’s just a word among many, mushed into the day. Sew in some wisdom, learn some more, kiss the boo-boos, paint some passion, and write some truth. I flit from thought to thought, sending my thanks on a breath only to be interrupted by the next flight.

I’m scattered.

What then, do I write on my dog tags? I can never be separated from Mother, will always love creating art and I’m sure I will never hear the end about the hair I inherited.

God has sewn a story into each of us, but He is not about our past or the deeds of our ancestors. True, we are in a sense, a quilt of their making, an extension of their talents, passions and motivations and even failures.

But the minute we stop following the world and its desire to label us into structured categories according to our religious affiliation, political party or who and what we descend from, and follow the song God sings us, we become new.

A new creation.

And that’s what propels us past the boundary lines, past the limitations of man.

Into the arms of a perfect inheritance.

What words would you write on your dog tag? What influence you the most? Tell us in the comments.

Interview with Matt Maher

Posted on September 20, 2013 by sherryrossman

Matt Maher, born and raised in Newfoundland, Canada, made the move to Arizona State University when they offered him a jazz scholarship. Playing piano in hotels paid for three years in college. Afterward, he became the worship leader at his church in Mesa, Az. He released three albums with spiritandsong.com before signing with EMI publishing. He currently lives in Tennessee with his wife and son.

“Alive Again“, “Your Grace is Enough“, and “Turn Around” are among his many popular songs. Three of his six albums have reached the Top 25 Christian Album’s Billboard Chart.

I’m a big fan of his music, and an even bigger fan of his graciousness. He took time out of his busy schedule to answer a few questions about life, music, and God (and he’s coming to Prescott this weekend…keep reading).

I’ve read that you became a Christian at the age of 20. Up to that point, how did you envision your future in the music field?

-I wanted to be a film scorer (background music in movies)…but I guess there were other plans 🙂

Music is not only an integral part of worship; musicians are mentioned, by name, in the Bible. What is it about music that connects us so deeply with God?

-Well, I think art in general has a special place because its an area of creativity that not only reflects the of God as creator, but it also reveals beauty….it is a special part of the calling of every artist

“Alive Again” is one of my favorites –we sing it in my church and there is no doubting the connection people feel with its message. Many Christians, no matter where they are on their walk with God, sometimes come to that place where they ask, “Where have I gone?” When you wrote this song, were you in one of those places or did you just receive it in a divine rush that can happen to artists?

-It was a song that was inspired by a part of a book called “the confessions of st Augustine”…there’s a poem in there called “late have I loved You”…and he talks about being stolen away from God by the world he was so enamored with…and how God rescued him..he says “You called and You shouted…” I definitely identified with those words, and felt a strong connection to that.

Our society tends to get stuck on identity labels, such as, political party, job title, religious affiliation, etc, but you cut through all that, straight to the gospel. As a Catholic, have you faced any of those hang ups working in the evangelical worship realm?

-Not really at all! I’m glad to say that I think the whole Church is growing to a place of being able to disagree about theology (and work out those differences ) while doing the missional work of proclaiming the love of God in the world…I know that isn’t the case everywhere, but in my life that’s what I’ve witnessed more and more.

How has becoming a father impacted your ministry?

-In every way. God rewrites your DNA with marriage, and your character when you become a parent. Of course, you have the freedom to not embrace change…but when you do you start to get glimpses on the way that inspire you to keep moving forward 🙂

Matt Maher, along with several other Christian music artists will be playing this Saturday at Hope Fest at the Prescott Courthouse Plaza. It’s a free community event starting at 10:00 am with music beginning at Noon.

Dreamscape into God’s world

Posted on September 16, 2013 by sherryrossman

We are all given this tree

And it’s kind of nice the way it reaches toward heaven,

giving us breath and shade.

We go through the seasons and wonder, “What should I do with this gift?”

I could feed it with all the normal stuff and the sun will do the rest,

or I could get help because we all know that blessings sometimes feel like burdens…

We could come together and paint some joy onto our allotted acre of this world…one brush stroke, one effort at a time.

What started out as a kids craft became a conversation with God.

He gives us canvases of many kinds.

Sometimes we just have to recognize that He works in many ways…not in the theoretical box that we tend to put Him in…

but in mystery, wonder and through the miracle of faith.

Do you have your own projects (family friendly) that you’d like to share? Post your links in the comments.

Journey of the Raccoon

Posted on September 9, 2013 by sherryrossman

I’m taking a week off to work on a special project… so I dug up one of my earlier experiments to post. I don’t consider myself a poet, but I wanted a quick story to go with an old painting I did. It was a lot of fun and for those of you who enjoy geocaching – you can find this raccoon scrambling around a forest somewhere.

I am the masked adventurer
sharp of claw and strong of heart.
Armed with ears and eyes so ready
for this journey, I depart

I make my way through glen and forest
full of trees and mystery.
I long to find the clear sweet truth
of our earthen history.

Glinting light through darkened branches
makes me think that I am near
though hills to climb and streams to cross
I must push away all fear.

I come upon a glassy pond
still and clear this balmy night.
I rinse my paws and wash my face
And spot three fishies, Oh delight!

Now refreshed, I must press on
for my journey to complete
before illusions and deceptions
find in me retreat.

What light! A glorious light
shining brightly in its tree.
I am drawn to this brilliant light
and it draws near to me.

I climb the branches humbly,
touch it to my whiskered face
this wondrous beacon of hope
now surrounds me; His embrace.

It was there, all this while
the answers without disguise.
I would have seen it sooner
had I pulled the mask from my own eyes.

That invisible theory

Posted on September 3, 2013 by sherryrossman

Something didn’t sit right about the teacher’s statement. Not that I loved sociology or paid a whole lot of attention in his class, but when he stood firm on this notion, standing in his straight gray suit, he seemed very certain – I was sure he had gotten lost in a study gone deaf.

“Man has lost all instinct. Only animals have it now.”

A young woman debated him, giving her own example of motherhood and how mama’s just know things about their children. He stood firm, and I thought, tilted — maybe he’s looking for some healthy debates to promote discussion, but no. His ears stopped at the stream of information and his stance stood stubborn.

My instinct is to eat. And sleep. And eat. And sleep…

Some scientists warn that the term, instinct, should be taken with a grain of salt because we don’t know how animals have a built in knowledge of survival. Some theories go something like “animals can probably hear a disaster coming at a level humans can’t detect….vibrations in the earth warn them of earthquakes and hurricanes, but we don’t know how they are able to feel them….air pressure – it’s got to be the air pressure! For heavens sake don’t say instinct…it’s not a proven theory yet!

(Shall we ask them about the theory of evolution? He he)

Some pay attention a little better.

“There have also been examples where authorities have forecast successfully a major earthquake, based in part on the observation of the strange antics of animals. For example, in 1975 Chinese officials ordered the evacuation of Haicheng, a city with one million people, just days before a 7.3-magnitude quake. Only a small portion of the population was hurt or killed. If the city had not been evacuated, it is estimated that the number of fatalities and injuries could have exceeded 150,000.”- The National Geographic.

Eight years ago, I was checking the security of the building exterior at work. Door locked-check, No one collapsed in the driveway-check, trail where the homeless population clear-oh wait, there’s a guy. I walk on, hoping he moves on his merry way but out he comes, straight towards me. I’m not by any of the exit doors and there are neither scrubs nor badge of another employee around. Crap. I could haul derriere to the smoking area where there should be a few buddies, but something reaches in my gut and pulls me to a stop. So I did, and faced him. I held up my maglight and gave him the “I will crush you” look.

“What are you doing here?”

He turned and left.

Score one for that unproven theory.

Thank you, instinct. Thank you, God. You are mightier than logical man and all things proven and unproven and whether you emit ultracrazy sounds or vibrations to warn us or just whisper into souls, you are sovereign.

So, I imagine Mr. Sociology would have ran, or called for back-up. And he might have been fine.

But I won’t discount a nudge if it’s stronger than a theory.

Do you have your own experiences with instinct, or whatever you want to call it? Tell us in the comments.

The saddle

Posted on August 26, 2013 by sherryrossman

The saddle that rests in my Mom’s house is a family relic, displayed on its stand in the living room of brick and western hearth. It is draped in ropes and leather chaps my Dad made when he worked on a ranch.

“Ride ‘em cowboy!”, I would shout with spindly legs drowned in the chaps, hands gripped around the horn while I ran alongside the painted cowboy on the wall above the piano. Sometimes my friends joined me and we would ride off into the sunset of imagination, dreams yodeling over the horizon.

The lasso engulfs many a memory of Halloween costume contests with my oldest

A friends daughter

brother standing in the chaps with a rope hanging from his leather belt. 1st place for authenticity. The fringed leather legs got thrown back on the saddle while the spiders creep-crawled in the saddle bags that once held more than dreams.

The last year that Santa was real to me, my brother, Kenny, told me about his latest act of espionage, hiding under the saddle while the jolly old elf filled our stockings above the fireplace. I bet Santa never dreamed his cowboy career would betray his identity.

The grass wasn’t so soft when we pitched tents on the lawn layered in packed earth and stickers, but this is how our Dad slept in his round-up days – under the stars (without the tents) and drifting to sleep with the coyote song. It was especially great when we wound down the evening with my Dad strumming his guitar, singing Ghost riders in the sky and scanning the night for a shooting star.

Childhood fantasies danced alongside us, and above us, and in the dreams lighting up the darkness.

The awkward teenage movement cast the saddle into a shadowy corner, briefly drawing my attention for art class when I needed something to sketch. It was simply lines, texture and layers of dust. The western theme permeated those days. My school was full of cowboys, the mascot was a cowboy and the saddle stand stood without favor for a few years.

Baby showers and parties began to drape the stand in streamers, balloons hung from the saddle horn to celebrate another decade and it bore witness to a new trail of dreams.

The fringe ran down the chaps just the same and it stood there, holding up our new-found adventures along its neck like paternal support.

A cliche for one is life for another. Some call it a museum piece. We just call it The Saddle. How many people can say they were raised by a leather seat?

Do you have a family heirloom that speaks volumes? Tell us in the comments.

sherryrossman

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