New Every Morning

New Every Morning

I live in the Appalachian Mountains (the part that pronounces it APP-uh-LAY-shun, not LATCH-uhn, thank you). My house is in the middle of a forest, trees towering all around. Here, we can track the drift of the seasons quite easily, as leaves first bud in a splendor of white and yellow and pink, then spread a curtain of brightest green over the hillsides, then darken to emerald, then move into a fire of red and orange and yellow, then drift away into brown and the gray of bare limbs.

Those changing seasons never fail to make me smile in appreciation. But they’re a slow crawl, over the course of the year. The landscape doesn’t do rapid changes–and if it does, it’s usually a bad thing. Trees downed by a storm, gullies carved by a flood.

The other day, though, as my husband and I were walking the beach during our vacation, I realized that one of the reasons I love escaping to a place like this for my holiday is because literally every morning, it’s new.

The tides are constantly changing, and changing the beach with it. One day it will be still and calm, the tide will be out, and the beach will be wide and solid and undisturbed. The next day, the waves will be frothing, the wind will be whipping, wiping out any hint of human footprints, and the tide will be carving cliffs into the sand. When we set off from our rented house, we can see glimpses of the ocean from our upper decks, but we have no idea what the beach will look like. Not until we trek along the wandering path over the dunes, evading cacti and burrs and swatting at mosquitos, and then finally emerge into the loose sand.

Will the beach be wide or narrow today? Is the tide in or out? Soft sand or hard? Windswept clean or still bearing yesterday’s footprints? 

It’s new. Every morning, it’s new. And if you stay down there long enough, you can watch it renew itself with every surge of the tide in and draw of it out. And as I walk the waterline, those verses fill my head each and every time. 

“The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.”
~ Lamentations 3:22-23 (ESV)

Perhaps it’s strange that I ponder the steadfastness of the Lord thanks to a landscape that’s ever-shifting. Perhaps something as capricious as a tide shouldn’t make me think about His faithfulness. Or maybe it’s the contrast that makes the truth so bright.

Maybe it’s because, as ever-changing as this landscape is, it’s also everlasting in its changes, a cycle that doesn’t stop. And isn’t that like the Lord? He doesn’t always speak to us in the same ways, He doesn’t always answer prayers in the way we expect Him to, He doesn’t always give us the same thing in each season…but He’s always there. Always working. So big that He holds the universe in His palm, so exact that He knows how to speak to each heart in the way that will best help us.

His love never stops. And while in some seasons we might sense it like those towering trees or rolling mountains–always there, surrounding us–I think quite often we experience His love like a tide. Sometimes it’s surging high, sometimes our perception of it ebbs. But like the tide, it’s always there, always cycling, always moving. Like the tides, it never ends.

And like the landscape carved by those tides, we can let Him make us new every morning, just as His mercies are.

I love that these verses are from Lamentations, a book literally about grieving and mourning and calling out to the God that hasn’t forsaken His people, even when His people have forsaken Him. It’s in the midst of those tears that the prophet gives us this promise.

Great is His faithfulness. Morning by morning, new mercies are there for us to behold.

What do they look like today in your life?

The Dim Mirror

The Dim Mirror

More life lessons from watching beach sunrises incoming. Or rather, in this case, eternity lessons.

As I mentioned last week, watching the sunrise over the ocean in the Outer Banks is one of our favorite things to do on vacation. In years past, I would always wake Xoe up for it to (upon her request), and usually the wake-up call went something like: I’d shout, “We’ve got color!” toward her bedroom as I darted up the stairs to turn on the coffee pot.

We’d all go out to the deck, and Xoe would take over my phone and take a slew of photos as the sunrise evolved. We’d pick one to send to the grandmothers.

Well, Xoe is in her senior year of college right now and couldn’t join us, so she instead tasked me with the sacred duty: “Send me sunrise pictures!”

Guys…I am no photographer. And as I fuss with the camera on my phone, I realize anew that Xoe put a whole lot more effort into settings than I frankly know how to do. My photos just aren’t as gorgeous as hers were, even on the same device.

Instead, every morning I gasp at the beauty before me, at the range of colors–the gorgeous pinks, the lightening purples, the spilling gold. I raise my phone, I look at the screen and…I scowl. Pinks look orange. The sky looks brassy and yellow. Shadows look black instead of purple.

I know why. I know my phone’s light sensor reacts to the extreme brightness by dimming, to protect itself. I try fiddling a bit with the brightness, but I’m never happy with those results either, and…I give up, because I’d rather watch the actual beauty unfolding than miss it because I’m arguing with my phone’s camera.

This morning, though, as I set my phone aside, I couldn’t help but think that this problem, silly as it is, is a bit like a modern take on Paul’s dim mirror illustration.

See, back in the day when he was writing, mirrors were made of polished bronze, not the silver-backed glass we know today. If a high enough polish was achieved, you could see yourself in that mirror, yes…but it wasn’t the sort of reflection we’re used to. The colors would have been off. The image would have been darker than reality. You could get an impression of yourself…but not an exact likeness.

My phone camera attempting to capture the sunrise has those exact problems. Too dark. The colors are off. The pictures I’m taking and sending to my family give an impression of the beauty, and for those not here, they see that impression and respond with, “Wow, gorgeous!” without ever realizing how much better the real thing was.

And that is exactly what this life is, compared to eternity.

We think it’s beautiful–and it is.

We think it’s bright and brilliant–and it is.

We think it’s bursting with goodness and light–and it is.

But all that it is, all that we see, all that we are capable of perceving, all that we understand and experience…it’s filtered through our very human senses. And much like my phone’s camera, our senses come with protective sensors that dial back the true Light to keep from blinding us.

We know from the stories of Moses having to shroud his face that our eyes just can’t handle the glory of God. And not just our eyes–our minds. Our hearts. We can accept portions of it, of Him–slivers of His goodness, His radiance, His glory. We get glimpses, and those glimpses are enough to make us gasp in appreciation, to prostrate ourselves before Him, to hold out our hands and lift up our hearts and cry out, “Glory to God in the highest!”

But Paul tells us that we’re only seeing in a old bronze mirror, dimly. Our understanding is dim. Our perception is dim. Our knowledge is dim.

And yet most of the time, we’re content with that. We’re happy with our dull imitation of glory, because even it is beautiful. 

But what if we set aside our phones? Our dim mirrors? What if, instead of staring at this imitation as if it’s all there is, we remind ourselves to look up? Look out at the world beyond what we can see? What if we look away from the reflection and to what is being reflected?

His glory will blind us, yes. But that isn’t a bad thing. I’m sure you’ve noticed that you can look at a rising sun in a way you can’t a noonday one…and I’m sure you’ve also noticed that when you look away, you see a lot of spots.

Isn’t that exactly what we should be doing with the Lord? Staring at Him until, when we look away, we see those impressions of His light wherever we turn our gaze.

His light, imposed over our darkness. His goodness, blotting out our shadows. His promise, there wherever we turn our eyes.

These mirrors that we live are always going to be dim, compared to the eternity where He lives. Perhaps it’s all we can handle, most of the time. But praise God that He invites us to look away. To look up. To bask in the light of His face, through the One who tore the veil between us and ushers us into that light-infused sanctuary.

Receiving His Gifts

Receiving His Gifts

I’m currently sitting in a rented beach house in Avon, North Carolina–one of my favorite places in the world. And one of our favorite things to do while we’re on vacation here in the Outer Banks is to watch the sunrise.

Now, in September, this is no great feat. The sun rises at a civilized 6:30ish, so we have plenty of time to get up and enjoy it (my husband and I usually wake up at 5:30, do our morning prayers together, and then go about our day). As we settled in our beachy routine, we remembered that last year, though we were down here for two weeks, there wasn’t a single day where we had a “perfect” sunrise. By which we mean a clear horizon over the water, some scattered clouds to catch the light and be painted with that gorgeous sunrise rainbow. Each and every day, there was a big ol’ cloud bank on the horizon that obscured the sun.

On Monday this year, I looked out the big east-facing windows of the house, saw a big ol’ cloudbank dumping rain somewhere out at sea (though it was perfectly clear here), and sighed. Still, we climbed the weathered wooden stairs up to the rooftop deck to watch what we could see of the sunrise.

As I was sitting there in my newly-purchased beach chair, looking out at that single storm cloud marring my idea of a perfect morning and reflecting on last year, I found myself praying, Lord, please give us a few good sunrises this year.

And then I sensed the Lord giving me one of those smiling shakes of the head, like we give our kiddos when they’re cute but oh-so-off-base. And a new prayer filled my heart instead:

Lord, I will receive whatever you give me. Help me to do so with open hands and an open heart.

With that prayer on my lips, the morning suddenly looked different. Instead of a selfish outlook that was utterly ridiculous when I stopped to think about it–why would something as large as weather be changed for a fleeting moment of pleasure for me? Not to say the Lord never gives us those gifts, but it struck me as so selfish a request in that moment–my eyes were opened to what He had already given.

If I wanted painted clouds, I had only to look away from that single storm cloud and watch the ones skuttling to the south wash rose and gold. If I wanted drama, I need look no further than the fire-limned edges of that big raincloud. If I wanted a reminder of His goodness, I had only to listen to the sounds of the ocean and the wind and the birds.

One of the reasons I love the beach is because every time I walk outside, no matter where I look, I see the bigness of the world around me, and it reminds me of the eternal vastness of our God. I love the mountains I live in, the beauty they show, but you can’t ever see as much sky as you can down here, nor, for that matter, so much land; the horizon is never a distant thing, it’s just the next ridgeline. I love that…but I love this too. Because as I stand on the shore where the waves lap at my feet or on a deck where I can see for miles, I know that I am such a small part of this world–no more to history than a grain of sand. A drop of water. And yet, as important as every grain of sand, every drop of water, because the Creator crafted me just so, just as He did this landscape that fills my soul with contentment.

When David and I went for our first walk the other day, I kept just sucking in a long breath and letting it back out with a sigh of pure bliss. Life with all its irritations and challenges continues even on vacation–I got attacked (ha) by a cactus the very first time we walked from the house toward the beach, I’m recovering from some congestion we brought back with us from Memphis last week, my inbox is overflowing with tasks I need to take care of. But being here helps me put it all in perspective.

Being here helps me open my hands, open my heart, and turn my face up to Heaven. Being here helps me set aside my own desires and expectations and instead just receive. Receive whatever the Lord wants to give me.

There will be good. There will be bad. There will be victories. There will be defeat. There will be smiles. There will be tears.

Because that, my friends, is life. There is suffering…and there is glory unlike anything we could imagine. We can get a glimpse of it in every sunrise…in every sunset. In every rainstorm…in every gust of wind. We can hear it in the song of the birds…and in our own hearts, when we quiet them enough to step back from ourselves, from our wants, from our desires, and listen instead for His whisper.

He has such wonderful gifts in store for us. Do we have the eyes to see them?

ACFW in Review

ACFW in Review

The very first writers conference I ever attended was the national ACFW conference in 2007. I was pregnant with Rowyn at that conference–and I met another young woman also pregnant (with her first), who was carrying the same red leather briefcase. We struck up a conversation, eventually exchanged emails, and eighteen years later, she’s still my best friend (hi, Stephanie! LOL). In fact, I realized before going that I’ve been a member of this organization for 21 years. Clearly, ahem, I joined at age 7. 😉

I’ve been to quite a few ACFW conferences since that first time, but it’s been a while. In fact, I think the last I attended this conference was twelve years ago, when I first went as an editor representing WhiteFire Publishing. I’ve been to many other conferences in the meantime, including quite a few regional ACFW ones. But this is the first I’ve gotten to go back to this big, wonderful national conference–and yet again, I’m representing WhiteFire. And this time, David came to rep the company too!

I’ll admit that we weren’t off to the best start, when driving from dropping our daughter off at college and then driving from Annapolis to the airport resulted in a cracked windshield (boo!). But from there, things were great. We’d managed to find super-cheap upgrades to first class, which meant free checked bags…which meant I could bring my books for the bookstore in a suitcase. I think that upgrade actually ended up saving us money in book shipping! 

In the airport, I looked over and saw who I was 98% sure was Tamela Hancock Murray, agent in the Steve Laube Agency (Steve is my agent). I was about ready just to call out, “Tamela!” and see if she looked over, but she beat me to it. She came over and said hello, and that was fun! Turns out, another conferee was on the plane too, though I didn’t realize it until the next day, at a meet and greet. She said she saw me on the plane and nearly fan-girled but thought it would be weird, so didn’t. I assured her no fangirling was ever unwelcome, LOL.

We had a friendly, chatty, helpful Uber driver from airport to hotel, and oh my word, y’all, the Peabody! It has live ducks in the fountain, with a duck parade every day from rooftop to lobby, and duck-themed everything. It was so cute! And the hotel is super posh. It was an absolutely delightful stay.

On Thursday, before the official start of the conference, I had a chance to enjoy a leisurely breakfast with the aforementioned agent Steve. I’ve met him before, but not since he’s been my agent, so it was fun to catch up. Then in the afternoon, I got to sit down with two ladies from the Tyndale team. I just learned on Tuesday that my acquisitions editor is leaving (sad!) but that Stephanie, who I met there (she’s head of the fiction line) will be taking me on (happy!). David and I also joined the Tyndale team and the other Tyndale authors at the conference for dinner of Friday night, which was amazing. I also had a chance to hug my previous editor from Bethany House and catch up with her, which was also a joy.

Thursday night was the “Milestones Dinner,” and I got a lovely little pin honoring my 50th book release.  They also do ribbons for your lanyard, and I had the 20+ year member ribbon, as well the “honor roll” ribbon…which I had to ask someone to explain to me, LOL. It’s for being on a bestseller list and/or winning other awards. And pins, too, for my two Carol Award finalist titles this year.

As an editor, I got to meet with quite a few authors who were pitching their books to me, and that is always a delight. I look forward to seeing what might come of those meetings in the weeks and months to come!

For me, though, the most amazing thing was that every time I went anywhere, someone called out my name. Sometimes to say how much they love my books, but ALWAYS to say they’ve been praying for me. Guys…that just makes me teary and smiley and humbled and awed. It was strange, first of all, to be recognized–the last time I’d attended the national conference, I had some friends there, of course, but it was nothing like this.

Saturday evening was the Carol Awards gala. The dinner was scrumptious, and I was all dolled up in a vintage style dress (that I found for $8 on Poshmark!). I had two books that were finalists: The Collector of Burned Books for the Historical Romance category, and The Christmas Book Flood for novella. I will admit that, of the two, I thought Collector had a better chance of winning. But the Historical Romance category went to the super-sweet Christine Hill Suntz, who I’d had the chance to get to know at all the Tyndale dinners and hang-out times, for The Lawyer and the Laundress, and I was thrilled to cheer for her! But then The Christmas Book Flood won for novella! How lovely!

Two of my Patrons & Peers ladies were at the conference, and hanging out with them was just wonderful. We closed the ballroom down chatting after the award ceremony. =) Total delight.

Of course, we had to leave for the airport on Sunday morning at a ghastly 4:15 a.m., which wasn’t the most fun in the world. A young lady from our Mid-Atlantic zone joined us on the Uber ride (she was understandably leery of riding by herself at 4 a.m.), and Tamela was yet again on our flight home, LOL. 

All in all, it was a wonderful experience all round (minus the chipped windshield, but they were able to repair it, it didn’t require replacement! So even that isn’t so bad!), and I can’t wait to go back! I was amazed that it still felt like home, even after so many years away. Because they’re my people–fellow Christian writers, fellow Christian novelists even. What a joy it was to visit with old friends and make new ones…and just to hear straight from people’s mouths how many prayers have been covering people.

David joked that he was less “publisher of WhiteFire” and more “Roseanna’s husband” there, but he said it was amazing to hear how loved I am. The last day, I kept catching him thanking everyone for their support of me (my editor and agent specifically).

I can’t wait to return!

Terri Harr, Me, Tracy Gimpel
The P&P Contingent!

The Peabody Ducks

My Carol Award acceptance speech. The video picks up a couple seconds in–I begin with “I did prepare something to say, then, much like with my outlines, I chucked it out the window…”

A Triune Love

A Triune Love

Have you ever wondered where we get the idea of the Trinity, of a threefold God, when the word itself is never used in the Bible?

Well, the word may not be, but the concept is all through it. In studying it, though, what left me breathless with epiphany was when I read that the verse “God is love” is where all these triune understandings are rooted.

Love doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Love doesn’t exist in nothingness. Love can’t exist on its own, outside of a few crucial things.

First, someone to do the loving. That is God the Father.

Next, someone to be loved. That is God the Son.

Third, the outpouring of that love between them, the love itself. That is God the Holy Spirit.

This is an incredibly old teaching and way of understanding the Trinity, but it’s one I only encountered a few years ago. It struck me then, and it struck me even more when I came across it again recently.

Because the beauty of this concept is rooted in a truth so deep it goes back to the very beginning. To before the beginning. To what made the beginning. Why, we might ask, did God create us? Why did He speak that Word by which all that is came into being? Why did the Spirit go forth and hover over the waters?

Love.

First, before the world, that love still existed. It existed in God Himself. It is God Himself. He loved, and so the force of that love created something–created everything. He loved, and the world and all that’s in it came into being. He loved, and mankind sprang up. He loved, and all of history unspooled.

That first love–Father, Son, and Spirit–is the eidos, the ultimate form that all creation then harkens back to. We belong in families because our Creator IS a family. And made in His image as we are, we naturally long for that. We need that. We, too, are a dim reflection of that triune love.

We are the lover.
We are the beloved.
We are the physical representation of the love of our parents.

I am, of course, speaking in ideals–the “act of love” is not always done in love, I know that. But it’s meant to be. Which means we are meant to be that manifestation, that outpouring of love.

Just as we are meant to love others with our whole hearts, undefiled.

Just as we are meant to receive love wholly and openly and truly.

We are meant to embody that love here on earth, with our fellow-men. Just as we are meant to return that love to the Lord, as we receive it from Him.

I don’t know about you, but pondering that just leaves me in awe. That all of creation, all of history, all of everything is rooted in that one little word, that one boundless concept, that one thing we all know yet can’t know fully while we’re bound up in these selfish, sinful bodies:

LOVE.

If we spend our lives seeking to give it, to receive it, to embody it…well then, we’re spending our lives seeking to better understand Him.

The first Lover.
The first Beloved.
And the Love itself that pours out into all of creation.

Idols

Idols

What exactly is an idol? Why are they dangerous?

Over the last couple months, it seems like the subject has come at me from many different directions, several of them including some historical insights that I was grateful to receive. And then, as I wrote A Storm to Still, which is set during the reign of King David but takes place largely in Philistia, I got to explore those lessons and themes in ways I hadn’t done before.

If you look idol up in the dictionary, you get these definitions:

1: an object of extreme devotion
2: a representation or symbol of an object of worship
     broadly : a false god
3: a likeness of something
4: a false conception
5: a form or appearance visible but without substance

But there’s more to it, historically, than that.

You see, part of the ancient practice of creating an idol involved ceremony. It was not just carving a figure. It was saying words meant to attach the god to that figure. (Which means that not every carved figure was an idol–ONLY those that supposedly had the god attached, and hence were worthy of worship.)

In our modern world, where overt idol-worship has gone out of style, we tend to think of it only with those metaphorical, broad definitions. Idols, we’ve all heard pastors and teachers say, are the things we put above God. The things that come between us and God. And there is definitely truth to that

But it wasn’t until I learned about that “attaching” thing that I began to understand something deeper, more fundamental about idols…and how we fall into idol-worship today. Because, you see, one of the biggest differences between God and the gods of the rest of the world, is that He cannot be contained–not by a figure made with human hands…and not by the boxes we try to put Him in.

To us, this might sound like an “of course.” But it is, in fact, HUGE.

It means that, unlike every other god, the Lord is not just the God of one city or place, bound to those lands.

It means that, unlike every other god, the Lord cannot be forced to act in a given way because we say given words.

It means that, unlike every other god, His power is not shackled to an object, and so praying to that object does not do anything.

Now, that is NOT to say that God doesn’t have sacred objects! He was pretty specific about the creation of the arc of the covenant and the tabernacle, down to the most minute detail. They were important. They mattered. But not because He was contained by them or in them–rather, because they are meant to be a reminder of His glory.

This is a crucial difference. Our sacred objects should never make us limit God–they should only ever make us remember how limitless He is.

So how do we actually create idols today? 

Yes, I think they are the things we put before God: money, power, fame, influence, success, even things like our families or people we, ahem, idolize.

But I’ve recently come to understand it’s other things too.

It’s expecting to make God move by doing certain things.

It’s putting God into a box, creating Him in our image.

It’s trying to contain Him.

It’s telling Him how to do His job, or what He does or does not like, or limiting His movement.

How many times in the Gospels did Jesus rebuke the Pharisees with words like “You say…but I say…”? Those strict adherents to the Law would have been indignant if anyone called them idol-worshipers–it was the very thing they made all those rules to prevent! But it is, in fact, what they’d fallen into. Because they worshiped the Law above the Giver of the Law. They worshiped the Words instead of the Heart behind the Words. And in so doing, they tried to bind God to their understanding of God.

I daresay none of us have physical idols in our houses. But have we done the same? Have we tried to limit Him to our own understanding?

In A Storm to Still, my heroine, Shaala, finds herself before an idol-seller’s stall in a Philistine market. She sees all those carved and cast and shaped idols, along with amulet necklaces. She, too, wears a necklace–a silver pendant with the Shema (“Hear, O Israel: the Lord your God, the Lord is One”) inscribed on it. At a glance, her necklace looks exactly like some of those amulets.

But with that key difference: hers is meant to remind her to turn to the Lord. It, in itself, has no power; it can do nothing. She has to do something, to communicate with God–humble herself, call upon Him, remove whatever is between them, ask forgiveness for her sins.

It’s not the words of a prayer that matter–it’s the heart of the one who prays.

It’s not the words in our Bible that save us–it’s the Word who became flesh.

It’s not anything we do or make or say that makes God act–it’s His love for us that made Him condescend to us.

Lord, help us not to limit you. And never stop reminding us of your glory.