Fashion for The Rest of Us

Posted on April 27, 2015 by sherryrossman

Ever feel misunderstood? Like you pull on the most awesome outfit of the century, slide into your shiny-like-new car, pull into work with the latest tunes that wrap your “vibe” into one awesome moment—but instead of flowing with the rhythm of awesomeness, your day pukes onto you 15 raised eyebrows, 10 corners of mouths lifted in sarcasm and exactly 1 million snickers when people pass you but are still within earshot?

Oh, poop. I’m still wearing my daughter’s blinged-out head band from our fashion fun this morning. Strangely enough, a few people got it.

Yep, that’s like many of my days. I like to use the word unique, sheesh, even God uses the word, unique, but on some days that word feels more like scatter-brained mess. Sometimes those of us who are normally challenged want less uniqueness and more ordinary. Sometimes.

Really, Jesus used ordinary people to change the world. Of course, Peter had a lot of unique foibles with the whole cutting off an ear thing and sinking into the lake when the KING OF THE WORLD was watching. But God still used him for the good stuff.

Think of Peter, think of Peter.

So on those days when I’m not thinking of Peter, I do what the experts say not to do and read the reviews of my novel.

I think I started to twitch about half-way through. Let’s see:

One reviewer: “Lyrical”. Another reviewer: “Staccato”.

One reviewer: “Slow start”. Another reviewer: “Excellent pacing”.

One reviewer: “Outside the classic Christian genre”. Another: “Classic ideas based on the knowledge of God”.

And my all-time favorite: “This would have been a good story, I think, if the author had just used evil people in the story, and left God, the devil, and his demons out of the plot.” They go on later to say it wasn’t enough Christian enough. And yet another reviewer: “It was an interesting and new take on Christian fiction.”

Is my book schizophrenic?

We’ll call it unique.

Some dig it, some don’t, and that’s okay because Peter eventually found his peeps like I’m finding mine. But sometimes, there are misunderstandings that need clarification.

I need to address one thing that a few reviewers have suggested (spoiler alert). They said my book represents paganistic or idol worshipping ideas because God appears to my protagonist as an elk. Negative. God is I AM, the one true God and the Father of Jesus. The elk is a symbol, like the Lion in The Chronicles of Narnia.

This book is for out-of-the-box thinkers, and fans of fantasy, so reader beware. And so is my fashion, heh.

My readers might also get blinged-silly by their children, or even delight in kids that mismatch their clothes because to them, the interpretation works.

Are you a writer with out-of-the-box ideas, or someone who feels too normal? Guess what? There is no normal. That’s why God calls each one of use unique. Tell us your story in the comments.
Have an awesome grooving-with-your-own-vibe kind of Monday.

Dreaming

Posted on April 13, 2015 by sherryrossman

I hate today. I’m on the couch as I write this, sipping out of a water glass my sweet four-year-old can’t fill quick enough. This is the first time I’ve had a fever since I can remember, and I’m unproductive. What a waste. A big, fat, ugly day filled with piles getting bigger, research not getting done and muscles getting flabby. I consider my weights in the closet—the ones I haven’t used nearly enough because the past few months of busyness have leached a good portion of my time. I curl up under my tea-sloshed blanket and scowl.

I don’t have time for this.

I sift through my email and social media. Everyone seems to be thinking about success today. What is it, really, and how do you know you’ve found it? Am I supposed to consider this as I camp out on my couch, not getting success done? I click on another blog and there it is again.

I just finished reading a book on the meticulous ways to map out a novel before beginning writing—“this is where you find success”, the author said. I think I yawned 2.5 million times before I was half-way through. I couldn’t give that book away fast enough. And extreme organization is a great way to suck the life out of a story if that’s not how you’re wired. I’ve tried it. Success is not found in changing the way God wired you.

Several years ago, someone insinuated that I needed to go back to school. My job didn’t pay enough, it wasn’t prestigious enough, and they insisted I would find success in getting a degree like theirs. They said my idea of advancing in the arts was unrealistic.

Says no one who dreams big.

Thankfully, I ignored them—otherwise I would never have completed and published my novel (and since then, that person’s priorities of prestige and $$$ ended up landing them in a world of hurt). Success is not found in a bank account or in the opinions of others.

My daughter keeps a notebook everywhere she goes—in the car, on her bed—being a sensitive soul, she needs all kinds of creative outlets to express herself. When her glass is half-empty a little too long, I encourage her to write about the things she’s thankful for. Somewhere along her words, she finds her answer—and I find mine. I pick up the paper she handed me before school this morning and delight in her wisdom on the art of ballet. Here is a condensed version of Chloe’s rules for being a successful ballerina:
Be good.
Keep your back straight.
Don’t bend your knees unless your teacher tells you to.
Keep your balance.
Have strength, courage and Faith.
Never give up.

There it is—in the word she capitalized—Faith. That’s where success is. I think many of us feel like a good portion of our time is spent in between Good Friday and Resurrection Day. It’s dark, confusing, and feels like all we have invested our time and energy into has been sealed inside a dark tomb—going nowhere fast.

When success comes, it looks nothing like we thought it would. There are scars. The steps we take from now on require strength, courage and a whole lot of Faith. But someone carries those scars for us, and He’s not the product of human realism. He’s supernatural.

So there’s the answer. Our only option is to dream big.

What is your dream?

Why Shredded Cheese is Awesome

Posted on March 9, 2015 by sherryrossman

It’s spring break for us this week, and we’re about to set out on a few adventures, but before I go, I want to mention something I’ve learned lately. I’ve been A LOT busy, I mean, overloaded-times-a-thousand-busy, and one of the things that has helped keep me in smiles has been my kids. Children know how to live–they laugh, they have no problems throwing the norm aside and being themselves. So while I take a break before finishing a few (thousand) projects, here is a breath of fresh air from writer, Jeff Goins:

“We are not born embarrassed. Fear and self-doubt are habits we learn, often from those who have teased us into compliance or forced us into conformity. And at some point, if we are going to discover why we were born, we must unlearn these habits.“-Jeff Goins (click here for the entire article)

Here it is: permission to be you, from every angle. Have a blessed week.

Hats And The People Who Wear Them

Posted on March 2, 2015 by sherryrossman

My little guy wears many hats. His crocheted Yoda hat works well for cool weather, the blue and white striped fedora works well for going out, and his pumpkin stem hat goes on for sleep. He has a shelf full of them, one to identify every kind of event.

I have many hats too. I love them despite the guaranteed hat head—after years of sun damage, a hat is much more valuable to me than stylish hair. Vanity got me nothing but skin cancer.

But the hats I wear most come with valuable names: Mommy, Wife, Friend, Writer, Artist, Employee of that other job, and the not-so-valuable names: scrubber of floors and bathrooms, scooper of the litter box, cleaner of hairballs, puke, random pee puddles, and anything gross and sticky.

What usually happens is the need to pile on multiple hats at once. This is where blessed, too busy, and exhausted morph into one hat. I call it: Huh? It’s kind of like a fedora and pillbox hat in one—half stylish and the other half—not so much.

This hat is heavy, but it’s the hat-in-fashion because we’re supposed to wear it with pride, right?

Wrong.

I have another hat—one that our culture laughs at. It does give me hat head—that pressed down circle around my head. I think many of you wear this hat too (it’s called The Crown)—but like me, you probably keep putting on Huh? because we think it works better to take everything on ourselves. And despite the pillbox influence, people think Huh? looks more stylish.

When The Miracle of Rain came out, someone in the publishing industry sent me an article on how authors are supposed to manage their time. “I have a newborn baby”, I said. “I’ll do my best, but…”
“Read the article,” he said.

So I did. I read how this woman became a bestselling author because she marketed her book full-time, wrote full time, was a full time mom, held down a full time job, went back to college and managed to stay in shape. I’m serious, this woman claimed to have done it all—full time, wearing her extra-strength Huh? hat.

Me thinks her hat was fiction.

The person who sent me that article? I don’t work with him anymore, and I will never put on that hat again because what it does is squeeze your brains until they fall out. And then you have another sticky mess to clean.

But The Crown is light. And it works for you when you need to rest.

Wait—what’s that word?

Rest.

So disregard those brain squishing Huh?’s and the people who pawn them. They’re nothing but bling for the pillbox. The Crown? Well, the Maker of your crown said that people will indeed mock you, but that’s okay, it’s only because they’re tired and unable to see what they’re really wearing. It’s been said that when the whole kingdom wears their crowns, they light up the world. I think our world could use a little more of that.

Noah and Goliath

Posted on February 16, 2015 by sherryrossman

My son tears through the house with his cape on. I still see a chubby-cheeked baby, but he is not. He is Superhero Noah. He is Thor, defeating the villains, Spiderman protecting his home from invaders.

When I sit him down to practice his letters, he frowns. Even S for Superhero doesn’t capture his attention.

“I need to get the bad guys, Mommy.”

I admit, I have concerns about him starting school in the fall. Is he ready? His legs don’t want to be tamed, they want to run, they want to pedal his bike…he is energy wrapped up in uncontrolled blond hair and smears of ketchup.

He does love books though. He will soak in a story—sitting still—and learn from any kind of adventure, especially if there is some kind of battle.

But if it’s not akin to The Very Hungry Dinosaur or Tyson the Terrible, he has no interest in learning the traditional way.

We read about David. David is a superhero for sure—small guy beats huge giant—Noah is all kinds of excited about that.

Something pops out at me about this story so I dig into it a little more—I even open a book I had waiting on my kindle and begin making my way to the heart of this small King, because no matter how often I have heard about him, flannel-board memories keep popping up and it loses something.

Until I focus on the slingshot.

It’s the slingshot. David doesn’t bat an eye at the seasoned soldiers or worry about his lack of experience. He doesn’t even consider that he doesn’t have a sword like everyone else has.

He hasn’t been schooled in battle. He is a harp-playing Shepherd.

I don’t think he cares about what he lacks. No—he draws upon who his God is, and the tools that God has placed before him and pulls out all he has.

Thump. He kills Goliath with a child’s toy.

I’ve decided not to worry about Noah (as long as I think of David). Because God gave him those busy legs and fighting spirit, and somehow, somewhere down the road, he will face a giant. And hopefully he will remember who God is. Hopefully he will remember that who he is and what he has is more than enough.

What’s your slingshot? Tell us in the comments.

The Lion

Posted on February 9, 2015 by sherryrossman

There’s something comforting about driving a clunker. Maybe it’s because I come from a long line of clunker owners (present and former). I peer at the narrow nose of my Nissan and remember riding in Grandpa’s Nissan-from-a-different-decade, and smile. Yeah, these are the clatter traps that have taken a few kids through fast-food drive-thrus. They’re permeated with years-old perfume: pine needles from camping trips, French fries, and shampoo wafting from headrests. What’s a new car smell when you can be accessorized by memories?

And there’s a reason why they live longer than dirt—they’ve driven over all of it. Sure, when a car has lost its luster, just spruce it up with some Arizona pin striping. Plow through those cat claw bushes, tear through those dusty trails and be proud of your baby’s new threads.

Anyway, by the time you can afford a new car, you’ve had to replace so many parts in the old one that it becomes like new again.

But with experience.

Would you want an SUV that purrs up a hill, or one that Roars? Uh huh, my Nissan is a Lion. She’s a scarred-up, battle-strengthened, vintage-awesome Lion.

And she’s not afraid to get her wheels dirty.

So if you happen upon a ~~rust bucket~~ Lion today, give her a wave and think about the service she’s done. And remember, one day, your car will be someone’s treasure. Stuff her with joy.

Grace and the Doppelganger

Posted on January 5, 2015 by sherryrossman

My kids are sweet, round-cheeked, kitten-cuddly miracles. But they have doppelgangers. Oh yes, these creatures of darkness bear fangs. They shout and push their competitive natures into my peace at least three times a day. It’s a tug-of-war about which creature got more juice, who got to sit on Mommy’s lap the longest. Who got the most violent…

“Mommy, he hit me, and threw my baby bear!”

*sigh*

But I know what it’s really about. It’s why when people come to my desk at work and dump their bad day into my lap, I know better than to take it personally (although I do bite on occasion). It’s not about who got served first. It’s not even about the doppelganger who complained about the staff member that refused to personally clear the snow around their car, de-ice the path from their car to the front door andwipeofftheirshoessotheydon’tslipontheimportedtile. It’s really not. And when someone flips you off in traffic because you’re only going 5 miles over the speed limit instead of the expected 15, it’s really not about how much they dislike you or your driving decisions. Like my kids, what they’re really saying, in the deepest parts of their heart is: “What about me?”

People hurt. And they display their pain in various ways. Revengeful natures, criticism, anger, jealousy; it’s all a masked plea to gain the attention of our parent.

“Do you see me God? How much do you love me, really?”

Even those of us who know Him forget how much he has already done for us. Would I, like Him, sacrifice my son for the jerk who spit on me? No, I wouldn’t. But God did.

His only beloved son, who at one time was a child–a round-cheeked kitten-cuddly miracle, minus the doppelganger side.

My kids hear me only when they’ve quieted down and taken their masks off. Otherwise, they get consumed by The Creatures, blinded to how much they’re loved.

A good plan for the New Year would be to live in grace. To give it, receive it, and give thanks for all that’s been given to us. That’s where we find peace.

Looking Hope-Forward

Posted on December 29, 2014 by sherryrossman

Good Monday, friends.

I hope this day brings you unexpected blessings (Did you win a copy of Faith Seekers from last week’s contest? Check your inbox to find out).

The thing I’m hearing from a lot of people is that the rundown from 2014 is such a mixture of blessings/struggles that it ends up being a heavy year regardless of the good. Yea, sometimes it’s hard to shuffle through it all.

I had a great year with some shadows mixed in like most, but what stands in front of me, staring me in the eyes with fire-hot intensity are these words of wisdom from Hannah.

Have a blessed week, and remember:

The Magical Kingdom

Posted on December 15, 2014 by sherryrossman

The wind moans through the park as I stare at the old tree. It cranes over, dry and brittle like a tired old man. Its back is arced from carrying heavy branches that creep across the expanse of it like withered spikes on a crown. It looks one moment away from crumbling back into the dust.

I hold on to a that picture two hours after my Grandpa walked through Heaven’s door, and for a wonderful minute I feel some of his joy as he left his failed body behind and walked into glory. His crown is new now, and I’m sure, full of splendor.

I sift through the memories like we all do when we lose someone. I can smell the downy fresh sleeping bags draped over dusty camper beds. I hear him and my Grandma singing on their front porch as we string beans, and the sounds of multiple trips to Disneyland play their faded tunes. My Grandpa never outgrew the magical kingdom.

I take another look at the tree, a heavy shadow tucked inside the Christmas lights strewn about. Life blooms and celebrates around it. It’s really a picture of all of us—those who can see the lights weaving among those who only see the shadows.

I step back and take it all in. If I take my glasses off it all whirls together. It’s no longer joy separated by pain, party here and sorrow there. It’s a true magical kingdom—a glimpse of heaven touching earth.

But that’s how it really is. Even though there are days when walking in the shadows of the fallen seems like the only thing to do—days when it feels like everything has fallen—seeing the magical Kingdom around us is just one choice away.

I would like to extend my gratitude to all of you who’ve joined or visited this blog. Thank you for becoming a part of this community and supporting my writing efforts. The digital version of Faith Seekers is now available for $2.99 here.

How to wrap a Christmas gift

Posted on December 8, 2014 by sherryrossman

Sometimes the most wonderful time of the year feels like living inside a mobile barrel of monkeys. It starts off a jolly good time until you realize it’s just a huge bucket of chaos. One monkey’s using your hair as a steering wheel, tugging you to every Black-Friday-Cyber-crazy-half-off-sale until you wonder how wonderful time became synonymous with stressful.

Don’t misunderstand, there is much joy in giving and gratitude in receiving, but what can we offer our circle of family and friends when the stress gets in the way of the heart of Christmas?

How do those who live paycheck to paycheck give generously?

Or for those who have a few more dollars, what can bless others that will mean more than the newest gadget or someone’s 200th DVD?

Hildreth has been coming to my mind a lot lately as I deal with the monkey barrel. She lived in the Retirement Resort for a few years before she left us for Florida. She was one of the quietest, but her impression was one of the deepest. How many times she shared her dessert with me, I can’t count…how many times she kept me company after I dimmed the lights and waited inside the empty lobby for something or someone to need my attention…but it was mostly that time she invited me to her apartment that I saw her shine.

She had welcomed me inside so she could clean my wedding ring for me, but what a delight I found at her dining room table. She laughed when my smile spread the width of her apartment, and tried to brush off what I saw as a silly thing, but it wasn’t. I can still see inside her dimly-lit apartment, the teddy bears—one in each of her dining room chairs around her table—several were Victorian elegant, some fluffy, but they were all her family. She had flesh-and-blood family, her daughter Jane was just as sweet, but those bears filled the empty places when she was alone.

“They keep me company,” she said, and smiled as she escorted me into her bathroom. She dipped my ring into a tub of cleaner and talked about how it wonderfully it shined up her jewelry and didn’t it make my ring shine too?

“It sure does,” I said, but it wasn’t the ring as much as it was Hildreth. She shined, in her smile, in the way she made a family out of a collection of Teddy Bears, in the way she gave me all that she really wanted—company.

I have this monkey pounding on my head this year, steering me this way and that, demanding I drive it through blocks of politically-correct commerce. It’s annoying, demanding, and works hard to suck the joy out of all that’s wonderful.

I keep my memory of Hildreth in front of me and reach for the catalog on the buffet. That darn monkey is yanking on my hair and pointing toward that stores that won’t let its employees say Merry Christmas, but I turn my head away and look back to my own table. This is the only catalog that hasn’t found its way into the trash can. There are photos of babies. I can pay $9 and feed one of them for a week. There are shoeboxes I can fill with toys and toothbrushes that will be the only gift a child will get this year. I can give to our patriots, help build a school or a church—there is something for every income and I AM IN.

This is stable-love.

This is shaking those monkeys out of my life, the light coming from Hildreth, the Jesus the world needs to see.

This is Merry Christmas.

sherryrossman

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