Sleep and Wake

Posted on February 1, 2016 by sherryrossman

My daughter’s blanky is a “she.” After receiving countless blankets as baby gifts, we found purple blanky when none of the others were the right size for swaddling. The others were either too big or not long enough to tuck Chloe into a snugly burrito—the only thing that soothed her during the colicky months.

As Chloe grew into a toddler, purple blanky had to be turned fuzzy side down for her to sleep. When she outgrew “her,” Chloe would wad her up like a baby and hold her as she slept. On the darker nights, nights when the boogey man still exists, she still needs purple blanky to hide under. In fact, I often find her asleep with purple blanky spread across her torso like she’s sleeping underneath a hanky. But just the same, purple blanky is always there. As I write this, purple blanky drapes across Chloe’s waist as she struggles through a tummy bug.

The grown-up blanky is a “He.” We can’t really wad Him up, or lay Him fuzzy side down, but we can’t outgrow Him. When our nights are darker than normal, He covers us entirely, fears and all.

When the monsters my kids don’t know about yet try to convince me that He isn’t real, or that He can’t cover me in protection, I just pull Him closer and rest under His strength. He fits me, no matter what size or what season I’m in.

Too often, we forget we are always covered in God’s love, no matter what. Go into this Monday with courage. He’s got you covered.

This moment, I’m clutching Him tight, wondering how people will receive my newest book. Today is launch day for Wake.

If you would be interested in a review copy, let me know at srossbooks@gmail.com. It’s already approved by Readers’ Favorite.

Amazon.

The Dark Side of Editing

Posted on January 18, 2016 by sherryrossman

Good editing is key to a polished book, but on occasion, a manuscript can be edited so much that it loses the intended message. When the focus shifts from story to higher sales, it becomes nothing more than another product. Many products built on the root of greed saturate our lives.

As my husband explained to our kids why today is a celebration, not just another day off school, he emphasized that Martin Luther King Jr. got his inspiration from God—another thing edited out by most schools. Our history is being reshaped into a product line of lies–it’s important to us that our kids know the true story.

Like so many things, the truth of God has been edited and rewritten to produce false ideas that saturate our culture. Christianity, aka the gospel movement, has been labeled a hate group. And although Jesus instructs us to love one another, His message has been largely misinterpreted by a world doused in half-truths. A world that hasn’t sat down to read His entire book. Even many believers don’t take the time to read His whole story, and in ignorance, state that we must all change along with society. God, knowing where the direction of our culture would go prepared an answer in advance:

Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever. Hebrews 13:8

Now, usually the response to this would be something about the Bible being edited by countless generations, but we forget one thing: God is always prepared. If God is really God, He will find a way to preserve His word. He even gives us a guarantee:

All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness…2 Timothy 3:16. Here’s an article that goes into more detail.

What do you think readers? What is it that makes you trust your sources?

Christmas Love

Posted on December 21, 2015 by sherryrossman

My Grandparents had a simple little house, with sparse decoration and healthy accents of clutter. I think Grandma must have grown up with too little, because she often washed our clothes as soon as we stepped in the door as if they were our only outfits. We hung out in my Grandpa’s t-shirts until the house smelled of downy softness, and our clothes were ready for another day of play. That’s what we did mostly—ran around their expansive yard all day. That is where their wealth was. In the roses that smelled better than any perfume, on the swing placed in the shade of a giant cottonwood tree, and in the rows of vegetables—I can still taste those homegrown tomatoes, spilling down my chin and sliding into my stomach, forever spoiling me for garden freshness.

When we came inside for lunch, we were usually served something like ramen noodles. I thought it was the best meal ever. We ate over a basic laminate table, next to the glass doors where we could see their beautiful yard. There were usually a few piles of mail and Parade magazines strewn about the living room. I can’t pick up a newspaper today without thinking of those piles with the summer light washing them in home-style glory.

Mostly what I remember is the smell of laundry detergent and a whole lotta love. There was never a house redecoration, or new clothes for my grandparents—no brand names haunted them—only ghosts of the Great Depression dressed as frugality. Although they could have lived a little richer, Their values were of family and the spirit of God. No matter what I did, what I said or didn’t say, I always knew I was good enough for my grandparents.

This is the spirit of Christmas. It’s a reflection of Love coming into a dark world haunted by the things that hurt and the things that hide in piles not dealt with. But there’s a light coming in, washing all of us in home-style glory, because no matter how broken we are, no matter how much we mess up, there’s a Savior loving us anyway.

Snow and Fashion

Posted on November 16, 2015 by sherryrossman

It’s a Snow Day. As you can see, there’s not much on the ground, but it’s Arizona. So school was delayed, my blog was delayed, and well…I’m going to have a guilt-free week off.

But before you go, who likes t-shirts? Who likes symbolic t-shirts? Rook Publishing (Faith Seekers) set this up on Zazzle. Go take a look, and have a GREAT week- before-Thanksgiving week!

P.S. This is my favorite:

The Broken Paradigm

Posted on October 12, 2015 by sherryrossman

During fall break I took my kids to my mom’s place. It’s nice out there with a few acres to run free. We followed Chickenpea’s (mom’s dog) trail along the fence line he carved to chase cars. It starts out nice and clear where only a few feet separate him from the road, but about thirty yards along the fence where the cat claw and desert brush thicken, the trail becomes spotty. We made a game of it, pushing our way through the weeds to find the driveway once again.

Along the way, we stumbled upon my old fort. A tilted monster stone pushed up against a hill fringed in thorn bushes made “headquarters” for me and my friend Mike. I even found the cactus he fell on when we pretended to run from bad guys. It looked small compared to the porcupine it made of Mike when he was about six years old. They both survived and thrived.

My daughter devoured my memories, pouring through the fort and my old yearbooks. She laughed at the photos of my “awkward” years, and oohed over the evidence that I was indeed a cheerleader for a season. I’m really not the cheerleader type, but at the time I enjoyed it and I’m glad for the experience. I

I’m on the bottom right. What was I thinking?

endured the try-outs (pretty tough for a wallflower), pulled on that stifling hot sweater at every basketball game and learned to kick higher and yell a little louder than I ever had. I even surprised myself.

Every Friday, my school gathered around the flagpole for the pledge of allegiance, to sing the school song (Go Bobcats!) and for announcements. Once, in eighth grade, my teacher called me up for making the honor role. I assumed it was a mistake and didn’t go forward. It wasn’t, and that surprised me too.

In fact, lots of things have surprised me which pretty much proves why it’s okay to leave the well-worn trail for the unknown. I followed art, but ran into writing. I prefer to hang in the background, but since my college days, find myself being ushered to the front. Sometimes I decline, but occasionally there’s this soft voice that says it’s time to get uncomfortable.

It’s okay when things don’t go exactly our way. It’s okay to point our feet toward God and His unknown heights, even when He seems too far away, because when we underestimate ourselves a little too often, He might surprise us by showing us what we can do.

Have you found yourself veering from your carefully plotted trail? Tell us in the comments.

Perspective

Posted on September 28, 2015 by sherryrossman

Despite the whir of deadlines blowing in with fall, my dog still gets her morning walk. She naps until I return from taking the kids to school. Black licorice fur nestled into the couch with her floppy lips squished half-way to her nose, tail thump-thump-thumping a slap-happy rhythm. Walk now! Walk now! Walk now!

I remind her to get a drink of water because she’s a hyper puppy and will occasionally play until the froth of dehydration lines her mouth. It’s all about living in the moment.

She licks a few from her bowl then I strap my phone to my arm and off we go, walking along the weedless lawns of unoriginal-house-ville.

Usually, I take a big breath of fresh air and thank God for the town I live in because the mornings are always lovely, there are still a few patches of undeveloped land—and it amuses me that no matter how much sprucing of lawns people do, dogs will pick the most beautifully manicured bush to pee on. All of them. It’s no wonder the more elite greenery is discolored.

Don’t get me wrong—I love seeing the neighbors caring for their lawn. I can literally see affection spilling from some of them—arms to watering cans, life to flowers—beautiful touches to otherwise drab rows of brown and brownish and somewhat-brown southwestern homes. And then there are those in industrial strength masks, and gloves that would make a welder proud, attacking their yards as if a single weed might engulf their pristine home.

But dogs don’t care. They just want to enjoy every moment. The moment, not the results.

Peeing on the most attractive bushes.

Dogs are so happy. They don’t care if the bush grew roots in the Finest Garden Center or if it was pilfered from the sticks. I’m convinced they’re put on this earth to remind us all to relax.

*lick*

We like walking along the trail around the community too. There are weeds everywhere, but when the light hits them right, it looks like we’re surrounded in a sea of gold.

That’s what dogs see—gold around every corner. And that’s why Bella’s time comes before I sit down to work—so I remember the results are meaningless if I can’t laugh over the messes it took to get there, and the joy it is to just be.

The Hot Debates

Posted on September 21, 2015 by sherryrossman

It’s been a while since I’ve given my ear to politics. With two small children, engaging in adult activities has been a neglected luxury, but now that my littlest one is in Kindergarten I have a few hours to listen. And breathe.

In AND out.

It’s nice being able to form a complete thought again–to be hugged by the calm of morning. What surprised me most is this: a little chaos is actually a good thing.

The best example would be the presidential debates. Up until now, I’ve found them pointless. After watching presidential hopefuls running around questions like they’re participating in a dodge-ball tournament, I quit watching them. Nothing like a roomful of political correctness to stifle the truth of things.

But the mad scramble for the oval office right now is the most educational and entertaining thing on TV right now.

What?

Absolutely! They’ve ( a few at least) thrown political correctness aside to finally get to the heart of matters. I suppose it took our current mess of things to do it, but the chaos is refreshing. Why?

People are getting Mad. Offended. INTERESTED. Donald Trump is so politically incorrect right now, that people are tuning in and CARING what each candidate has to say. Even the hot debate guy’s opinion is sought after. Do people take you more seriously if you look handsome while watching politics? Is this sophomoric?

Not if it gets people interested.

Hilary Clinton has garnered so much attention by her inaction that people see the importance of finally taking action.

It’s okay to state an unpopular opinion. Please do if you think it’s important. Complacency is quickly swallowing our country, so feel free to say something offensive if that’s what it takes to light the fires in America’s cold, revolutionary britches.

Go ‘Merica!

Snapshot

Image

Monday, the highest ranking fake-it-to-make-it day.

Posted on August 31, 2015 by sherryrossman

I watched my first horror movie in elementary school. It was a field day and we could either go outside and (be charbroiled by the Az sun) play, or stay inside and indulge in what we’d never be allowed to watch at home.

Three cheers for the glorious ‘80’s.

The room was darkened and so were our virginal eyes. Fear, blood, and sounds that were as paranormal as the eighties hair styles, started as a low murmur from a violin, crescendoing to the shriek of a teenager being attacked by her braces. Or something like that.

When it was over and we were shooed to the next diversion, I felt like I had grown up a year. I saw something only older kids were supposed to see. Except many of my peers had already seen it, so maybe not older kids—just kids with less than strict parents, or kids who saw those movies at the houses of less strict parents.

When I finally let the whole movie sink in—plot, acting, story—it was really just meh. The exciting part was watching a forbidden movie. At school. Okay, that made it a little less fun, but after the thrill wore off, I decided that a person just liked what they liked, forbidden or not.

I wonder how many other kids really liked the movie and how many kids faked it for the joy of the thrill.

The other day, I talked with an elderly man who had just lost his son. Wanting to bring him a distraction, I asked him why he didn’t show off more by doing pushups for his friends. Did I mention he’s in his eighties? And does push-ups? He smiled like he always does, shrugged and said, “I just fake it. That’s what we do—we fake and smile our way through life to get through it.”

He went on his way, after I gave him an awkward smile, knowing he wasn’t talking about the pushups.

So a recent night ago, when I noticed my daughter faking a prayer to please me, I stopped her mid, “Thank Y—“, and told her no.

“Don’t fake a prayer. Just talk to God. Thank Him for what really makes you happy and tell Him what makes you mad. Ask Him for help.”

“Oh.” Her performance mask slid from her face and she just stared at the wall, silent. She declined her prayer that night.

The next night: “Please help me to stop worrying about——, God. Thank you for funny Noah. And help me to stop being scared at night. Amen.”

It wasn’t eloquent. It was disjointed. But it was the deepest part of her gut, grabbing hold of genuine gratefulness and reaching out from her greatest need.

She started laughing, and talking about funny Noah (brother). The next day, she told me she thought of Noah’s funny faces that night, and was able to laugh herself into good dreams.

Perhaps we need to fake it sometimes. To get through the crowd, to get through the day—to reach out for a thrill.

But I’ve never found real joy there. Have you?

I’ve never found real joy in religion, but I’ve found it in God. He opens His arms wide to catch the prayers from my deepest needs, and answers it by pouring out boundless streams of grace. Like He did for my daughter, He’ll do that for anyone who sends Him a genuine prayer.

Superkids

Posted on August 24, 2015 by sherryrossman

Sometimes I think kids should rule the world. They’re much better at finding contentedness in it. Really, how many adults would squeal in delight if you handed them a giant cardboard box? My kids don’t care about the quality of washing machine that came in the box. They don’t care that the washer is a much brighter white than our ancient dryer—they have a box! It’s a spaceship….a treasure chest—No!—It’s a castle! That box will bring the hours of endless joy.

But we know it’s not the box—it’s the beholder of the box.

My family tries to shop smart. The way we see it, our kids outgrow clothes too quickly to plunk down tons of money on brand names, so we do Walmart, resale shops, Ross, etc. Our kids don’t care, and we’re certainly not going to point out the labels to them. They don’t see labels anyway—they beg me to cut them out so the bothersome things won’t tickle the back of their necks. “Why do they put those in clothes, Mommy?”
One of my son’s favorite shirts came from a yard sale. It was mostly worn out, a little too big, but it has Spiderman on the front! He snatched it up before I could fish a quarter out of my pocket. If kids could teach the rest of us that kind of gratitude, maybe the world would be much happier.

Reality shows are the best with kids. My daughter thinks the ladies are pretty as little girls see it—nice hair style (especially if there’s a pink streak), a pretty smile…sparkly jewelry. There’s no mention of jiggly thighs or a stray pimple here and there. And I’m not going to point out flaws to her—I want her to see things without the critical eye of an adult. We’ve been brain washed, really—beauty is not perfection—it’s a woman/man who spends more time with the reason behind the smile, than perfecting the physique of a smile.

I can’t finish without mentioning books. I’ll have to admit, since I’ve become a writer, I’m more critical of books…I don’t go so far as to be legalistic, in fact, I love a writing rule that’s been successfully broken, but I don’t finish as many books as I used to because of my critical eye. But Noah and Chloe love books of all kinds/voices. Some of their favorite ones are what I would call amateur attempts as writing, but if there’s a good story and an interesting protagonist, my kids will sit through twenty readings in a row! Forget reader analytics—as long as there’s a grand adventure, nothing needs changed!

So hand over the keys to the city, give children a platform, because they don’t need as many of our opinions as we think they do–in fact, maybe we should take their example and quit judging the world–Lets just focus on the grand adventure.

sherryrossman

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