by Roseanna White | Oct 15, 2015 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
Freedom.
It’s a subject being discussed quite a bit these days in hot-topic conversations . . . though sometimes I don’t think people realize that is at the heart of what they’re talking about.
Freedom.
It’s the heart of the Christian faith, something Americans certainly make a show of valuing . . . but often atheists’ main objection to Christianity is–though they rarely realize it–our freedom.
Freedom.
Something we want so desperately, but understand so poorly.
Last week, a friend of mine had changed her social media profile picture to be a little thing that said “I Am a Christian.” For some bizarre reason, this triggered attacks on her by total strangers on Twitter, who took it upon themselves to insult her in some rather colorful language and accuse her of “liking to be a victim then.”
I was so very impressed with how my friend handled herself. Not at all confrontational, she just asked the person to explain what they meant. The root of their argument? That there had better not be a God, because if there were, He was doing a lousy job of protecting people. Just look at all the violence and crime!
My friend’s response: “So you want a God who controls you completely?”
The confrontational person certainly didn’t take kindly to that. But it sure got me thinking.
That is, in essence, what people are asking for when they say, “Why doesn’t God stop these bad things from happening? Why didn’t He stop that shooter? That bomber? ISIS?”
When those are the questions churning through our mind, we see only one side of the equation, and it looks grossly unfair. God should put a halt to these terrible thing! Right?!
Wrong. So very, very wrong.
Because if God put a halt to those terrible, terrible things–things people choose to do to each other–then He, being perfectly just, would also have to put a halt to everything you do that isn’t perfectly pleasing to Him.
Is that how you would want to live? With God controlling your every word? Your every action? Your every thought? Do you want to live as nothing but a puppet?
I daresay no one, even those of us who strive to be better and live according to God’s will, want that. We, by nature, value freedom. Free will. We, by nature, want to choose whether we love God, whether we serve Him. He doesn’t demand compulsory service–He softly requests our hearts.
But if we grant that He should give us free will, we have to extend it to all humanity–including those who abuse it.
And there will always be people who abuse it. There will always be people who heed the whispers of the enemy rather than those of God, who take perverse delight in hurting, killing, abusing, misusing other people. Could God stop them? Of course He could. But except for a few occasions where His people are praying and His glory needs to be demonstrated, He doesn’t. Because He already let us choose–He granted us that most basic freedom. We don’t really want Him to take that away.
Not from us, anyway. But we still wish He would take it away from them, don’t we?
At least until we realize that God loves them just as much as He loves us. And because He loves them, He wants them to have that freedom to choose Him too. He wants to reach their hearts, not to bind their hands.
But freedom, as much as we treasure it, terrifies us when it’s extended to those whose views are different from ours. Because what if they abuse it? How do we stop them?
Well, as I know I’ve said before, we don’t accomplish it by tying their hands, since God won’t. We don’t do it by taking away guns. We don’t do it by limiting everyone’s freedoms.
We do it by praying a revival into the world. By turning hearts to Him. By reinstating the morality that God, in fact, gave us to try to guide us away from these abuses we find so heinous . . . but which also include Him guiding us away from abuses we find pretty nice. You know, like sex with whomever we want, whenever we want, married or not. Like getting rid of whatever child (oh, I’m sorry, fetus [which, now that you mention it, means “child” in Latin, no differentiation between born or unborn]) we find inconvenient. Like putting anything and everything before Him in our priorities and loyalties.
We call those things freedoms, proving how little we understand the concept. Free choice. Free love. Free time.
Those things aren’t free–they come with a cost. One America and the world are paying every day when we create a generation, a people, who value life so little that they see no reason not to end the lives of those they disagree with. We, as a culture, have taught them to do that, then we wonder why God didn’t stop them?
Freedom.
It’s a crazy thing, isn’t it? Something we want so fiercely . . . understand so little . . . and don’t know what to do with once we’ve got it. Something we go to war to protect . . . and then give away in terror. Something we say is a basic human right . . . even if that requires changing the definition of “human” so it doesn’t have to apply to those to whom we don’t wish to grant it.
Freedom.
It’s one of God’s sweetest gifts to humanity. And one of the things that make people doubt His very existence.
Freedom.
A gift we can’t accept without extending it to others too.
by Roseanna White | Oct 8, 2015 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
We’re surrounded by them. Couples. Siblings. Families that are super close. People we think of individually, sure, but also, always, as part of a unit.
Over the weekend my husband and I went to the airport to pick up friends flying home from a mission trip. As I was saying a prayer for them the next morning, they came to mind as they often do: Mike and Terri. I’ve thought of them this way for nearly 30 years. Mike and Terri. And it got me thinking.
What units have I been a part of in my life? Growing up, I was often grouped in with my sister: Jennifer and Roseanna. Just like my kids: Xoe and Rowyn. My nieces: Isabelle and Paisley. Because these groups tend to travel together. Share space. Live in the same home. Because when you see one, chances are you see the other.
But these units change as children grow up, don’t they? Then they’re often paired with their friends. In high school, my friend and I joked that people seemed to think our name was Jen-and-Annie.
Then it becomes the couples. David and Roseanna. Brian and Jennifer. Mike and Terri. And so on.
It’s a normal thing, in life. We spend time with people. So in the minds of other people, we’re a unit. We arrive together. We share time and space. We have the same stances on things, usually. We work together.
We’re a unit.
It’s a normal thing, in life…but one that shifts. Relationships break. People pass away. Move away. Things come between us. Distance, sometimes physical and sometimes emotional. The unit breaks down.
But there’s one unit that shouldn’t. I wonder though…
Do people ever think of us as part of a unit with Him? Do people know what when we show up, the Spirit does too? Can strangers ever glimpse Jesus walking with us as surely as our spouses do?
That’s what the Church should be, right? The bride to Jesus, the bridegroom. The other half of His unit. But are we? Can we be, when we fight so much among ourselves that one has to wonder what “The Church” even means anymore?
At the end of the day, that’s the only unit that matters…but the one so often neglected. I strive to keep accord between me and my husband, for example–do I strive to keep it even more between me and my Lord? Do I spend more time with Him than my family? My spouse? Am I in unity with my God?
These earthly relationships, the earthly units are important. But not as important as unity with Him. So that’s something I’m going to be thinking more about. How do we fill in this blank in our lives?
Me and ______________________________________
by Roseanna White | Sep 30, 2015 | Uncategorized
A friend of mine contacted me a while ago about designing a fun project–a novel broken into 3 parts. She wanted them to look cohesive, and yet have something different on each one. To achieve this, we decided that we’d keep the same background image for each cover, and change the figure in the foreground. The compilation title would be large and prominent, with the individual title of each part smaller and lower. There was also a series title to work in, and of course the author name. That’s a lot of information to include, but I think we pulled it off. =)
I began, of course, with that background image that would be carried throughout. April explained that “Blackberry Moon” meant something pretty specific to the Native American tribe she was writing about, so I went out in search of a summer field with a full moon glowing over it. I found a series of photos that I really liked.
These were all of a field with a mountain and trees and a full moon, with a beautiful blue coloration that we wanted. But annoyingly, I couldn’t find one quite how I wanted it. I needed a big swath of field for my foreground…and a moon that wasn’t too obscured by clouds…and we wanted the tree line rather than mountains. So I actually ended up taking 4 different pictures from that series and combining them.
This is mainly used for the up-close grasses.
This I added for the large expanse of sky up above. But the moon wasn’t how I wanted it, so…
A different moon. You’ll see that there’s still a line visible where the new sky hits the old one. I didn’t bother fading that out because I knew I was going to add a line of trees. Like so.
April also wanted some glowing fireflies, so I overlaid that…
Strange as it may seem, my next step wasn’t to put in the figure, since there was some decision-making to be done there. My next step was actually all the various title elements. I began with the main title, which I wanted in the sky.
I like using a script font for just one word–and for “Beneath” I chose to drop the B down lower than the rest of the word, to frame the “the” and add a nice bit of balance to that “th” at the end. The rest of the title is simple in Georgia font, all caps, with a space between each letter.
Now it was time for the part’s title. I had a lot of info to put there. “Part X”, the title itself, and somewhere I had to put the series name.
As you can see, I couldn’t fit the series title here, but we liked the arrangement. To mirror the main title, I dropped the capital letters of the main words down lower than they’d usually be. I have most of the title here in the script, with only the “Part” part in Georgia. This provides a nice visual balance against the main title.
Behind the words you’re seeing a faded out rectangle with a texture laid overtop it. The color matches that lighter cyan beside the moon.
I knew I wanted author name–and as it turned out, series title–in the grass at the bottom.
But the contrast in the grass made it so nothing quite stood out well enough all by itself, so I also had to add some shadow. I think this really helps the name and series title pop. (Look at the bottom)
Now it was time for the people! The girl for this first one turned out to be the hardest. We couldn’t find an image we liked on the stock photo sites, so April ended up having a photo shoot with a friend of hers who fit her description. I gave April a few suggestions for the shoot–namely, to make sure she had a full-length image. A solid background would be great but wasn’t necessary–and ended up impossible, but that was all right. She came back to me with this (among other images):
Of course, you might notice that this is in daylight, and I need a nighttime image. 😉 But this is something we designers change all the time with our brightness/contrast and color balance options in Photoshop. Had I just plopped her down in the background, she would have looked (roughly) like this.
After altering her coloration, she looked, by herself, like this.
But we still had a bit of an issue. See, the heroine was supposed to be ten to fifteen years younger than the model. April asked if I could do anything to make her look younger.
As people age, bone structure stands out more–young faces are softer, rounder. So I rounded out those awesome cheekbones (sorry, model!), softened the chin, and also smoothed out the area around her eyes.
Which gave us, for part one, this!
Model selection for #2 was easier–we found the guy we wanted:
I just had to add some hair and a moon tattoo, and change the coloration on his clothes slightly, and add a silver armband. Which gave us this.
Part 3 was somewhere between the others in difficulty. April wanted to use this image:
But she wanted the dress brown and the cloak black (given that it’s title is, you know, ebony cloak). Her skin had to be darker, as she’s of mixed race, and the hair was also wrong, LOL. Which eventually gave us this:
And there we have it! The complete series, which look enough alike that they’re obviously part of the same book, but also different enough with the figures that people can tell at a glance it’s something new!
Which part do you like best?
by Roseanna White | Sep 24, 2015 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
What does it mean to be made in the image of God?
This is a thought that’s floated to the surface of my mind several times in the last month or so. I look at all the racial tensions . . . I look at all the unrest in the world . . . I look at all the gender issues . . . I look at all the sexual orientation topics . . . I look at all the religions . . .
And it begs the question: how can a species so very diverse, so very discordant, so very dissimilar be made, as a whole, in the image of God?
And then the answer sneaks its way into my heart. Quietly, stealthily, like mist over the mountain.
When God created humanity, He created us with burgeoning potential. In the DNA of those first people was stored the potential for every color of skin. For every variation of hair. For every size, every weight, every look. Beauty and ugliness. Generosity and stinginess. We have the potential for greatness, and for failure.
Some parts of our lives are choices, governed by free will. This is where sin comes in, and that’s a rainbow of topics for another post.
But other parts we’re born with, and–up until modern history, anyway–that means we’re stuck with it. This is where my attention is fixed just now. The rainbow over which we have very little say.
So often we say, “God doesn’t see the outside, only the in.” There’s truth in that . . . and there’s lie. God does see the outside. He created it, after all. When I look at my children, I see their hair, their eyes, the shapes of their noses. It’s silly to say God doesn’t. It’s silly, even, to say, “Fine, He sees it, it just doesn’t matter.”
It does matter. He chose it for us. He chose to make each of us who we are. But here’s the thing. He sees it as beautiful.
God loves that rich brown skin He mixed with Heaven’s pallet. He loves that bright blond hair that catches the sunlight. He loves the way this group tends toward shorter frames, and the way that one stretches upward and upward. God not only sees the beautiful in each trait, He fashioned us just so. He chose those particular traits for each of us.
When I look at my kids, I see their differences. I see their similarities. And I love it all. I adore Rowyn’s dimples. Xoe’s bright blue eyes. I wonder what color their hair will end up, and I know it’ll be lovely. I delight in how tall my little girl is, how short my son still is. I find it infinitely amusing how one of them will curl up in my lap at every opportunity and the other thinks “hugging” is a one-way activity in which one need only stand there passively. They are different. And they are the same.
We are all different. And we are all the same.
What is the color of God? Black, white, brown, red? Being incorporeal, the answer is, “None of these.” He is, in a way, like pure light.
Us? We’re darkness. Every time I hear one people group claiming that they matter more than their neighbors, their rivals, their former-oppressors, their enemies, their friends, their allies . . . something inside me just weeps. We take our differences and we glory in them. Or we hate them. We say they don’t matter. Or we say they’re the most important thing.
We miss the point.
Our differences are. And they are beautiful.
Our differences are. But they’re not all.
What is the color of God? Is He black, white, brown, or red? He is none of these. But He is more than that.
He is all of these. God is, in a way, like pure light. Containing every color, even those beyond what our eyes can see.
And I just pray I can see through His eyes. Not beyond our races or genders. Including them. Because difference is a part of us. And that’s an amazing thing.
by Roseanna White | Sep 16, 2015 | Uncategorized
My big giveaway has ended! Thank you so much to all the many people who entered, and who showed such enthusiasm along the way! The launch of The Lost Heiress has been so incredibly fun, and so rewarding to see it climbing the Amazon ranks. =)
Now, without further ado. The winner of Brook’s Treasures is…
Rebecca Sullivan Dewey!
If you didn’t win, don’t worry! You still have time to enter the Taste of Nobility Giveaway that Bethany House put together.
And if anyone is just desperate for Brook’s necklace, drop me a note at roseannamwhite at gmail dot com and I’ll give you a quote. 😉
Thank you, everyone, for all your support these last two weeks as Brook began her journey into the world! Now, go have a minute of fun with this cool little quiz that Bethany House put together. Find out which of their September heroines you are! Take the Quiz
(I was actually Brook! Kinda surprised me, though my husband insisted I subconsciously skewed the results, LOL)
by Roseanna White | Sep 11, 2015 | Remember When Wednesdays, Uncategorized
This is a repost–many times over–but a bit of a tradition. During this week when I’ve been so focused on promoting and marketing a new book, it seems vital to pause to remember a day that changed all our lives forever.
I remembering thinking on September 12, 2001, “What stories are going to matter now? How will they ever look anything but trivial?” But we always need stories. Mine, however, may have changed a bit after that day. Because suddenly it wasn’t just an academic idea anymore that life can change in an instant. That enemies lurked. But that even in that darkness, God is still there. A theme you’ll find in much of my writing.
In this piece, published by a local newspaper that week, you’ll see I pray that this would wake us up to recognize, and stop tolerating, evil. Looking at the world today, I fear we’ve fallen back into a slumber, since it isn’t our buildings tumbling today.
But it’s the Church. Today, I pray this same prayer again.
To my Brother, the Stranger
(written on 9/12/01)
I
did not know you. I never met you. If I had seen you, you would have
been simply a face in the crowd. My thoughts never touched upon the
possibility of your existence.
And yet. . .
And
yet when I heard of the tragedy of losing you, you were suddenly my
brother, my sister, my best friend. You were the comrade I never had
the opportunity to meet, the face I could sketch simply because of how
many faces you are. And every time I open my mind, it is to realize
anew that you were a person, you were loved, and now you’re gone.
It’s
a shock I never expected to feel, a pain no man, woman, or child should
ever have to endure. And I did not know you. How much worse must it
be for the widows, the orphans, the childless parents, the brotherless
sisters that were made on that day? How much worse again for those who
yet know nothing about the fate of those dearest to them?
It
is a pain no one should have to gaze on, much less be consumed by. It
is a piercing that should quickly tear down all barriers until there is
nothing left but a shaken humanity, a resolved people, a united nation.
It should induce the best in man when he looks at evil, when he sees
the dancing in his enemy’s camps. It should make him realize that the
sickness he feels, the death he sees is a presence to be ignored no
longer.
I pray that
somehow this change in our lives will be used in a way to make us
better. I pray that as I walk down the streets of my untouched city I
never forget that it could be gone in a moment. I pray that as I pass a
stranger I remember to remember that he is not a stranger to someone. I
pray that soon all our fears are exhausted and we are left instead with
hope. And I pray that we never take for granted the greatness of our
nation, lest through our disregard it lose that thing that sets us
apart.
I can never say the
right words to those who are grieving, because there are no words to be
said. I did not know you. I never met you. All I can offer you is
the love of a face you have never seen and the prayers of a heart that
is reaching across the miles to the strangers it now calls brothers.
May
God enfold us in His arms until the terror goes away. May He settle
his peace over us until the rivers of tears run dry. May He comfort us
until we become victorious. And may we never forget that it is He who
will lift us from the mire. Today America has united in common
anguish. Tomorrow we will rejoice in justice. And all the world will
know that this is a nation that God has blessed and will never forsake.
Let us be the first to proclaim that.
To my Brother, the Stranger
(written on 9/12/01)
I did not know you. I never met you. If I had seen you, you would have
been simply a face in the crowd. My thoughts never touched upon the
possibility of your existence.
And yet. . .
And yet when I heard of the
tragedy of losing you, you were suddenly my brother, my sister, my best
friend. You were the comrade I never had the opportunity to meet, the
face I could sketch simply because of how many faces you are. And every
time I open my mind, it is to realize anew that you were a person, you
were loved, and now you’re gone.
It’s a shock I never expected to
feel, a pain no man, woman, or child should ever have to endure. And I
did not know you. How much worse must it be for the widows, the
orphans, the childless parents, the brotherless sisters that were made
on that day? How much worse again for those who yet know nothing about
the fate of those dearest to them?
It is a pain no one should have
to gaze on, much less be consumed by. It is a piercing that should
quickly tear down all barriers until there is nothing left but a shaken
humanity, a resolved people, a united nation. It should induce the best
in man when he looks at evil, when he sees the dancing in his enemy’s
camps. It should make him realize that the sickness he feels, the death
he sees is a presence to be ignored no longer.
I pray that somehow this change
in our lives will be used in a way to make us better. I pray that as I
walk down the streets of my untouched city I never forget that it could
be gone in a moment. I pray that as I pass a stranger I remember to
remember that he is not a stranger to someone. I pray that soon all our
fears are exhausted and we are left instead with hope. And I pray that
we never take for granted the greatness of our nation, lest through our
disregard it lose that thing that sets us apart.
I can never say the right words
to those who are grieving, because there are no words to be said. I did
not know you. I never met you. All I can offer you is the love of a
face you have never seen and the prayers of a heart that is reaching
across the miles to the strangers it now calls brothers.
May God enfold us in His arms
until the terror goes away. May He settle his peace over us until the
rivers of tears run dry. May He comfort us until we become victorious.
And may we never forget that it is He who will lift us from the mire.
Today America has united in common anguish. Tomorrow we will rejoice in
justice. And all the world will know that this is a nation that God
has blessed and will never forsake. Let us be the first to proclaim
that.
– See more at: http://roseannamwhite.blogspot.com/2011/09/reality-union-hope-from-911.html#sthash.cODtO3eq.dpuf
Roseanna M. White is a bestselling, Christy Award winning author who has long claimed that words are the air she breathes. When not writing fiction, she’s homeschooling her two kids, editing, designing book covers, and pretending her house will clean itself. Roseanna is the author of a slew of historical novels that span several continents and thousands of years. Spies and war and mayhem always seem to find their way into her books…to offset her real life, which is blessedly ordinary.