Lillian Duncan's Blog, page 44

Ever had this conversation?

"Is Santa Claus real, Daddy?"

"Go ask your mother."

"Mommy, is Santa real?

What parent hasn't heard this dreaded question?

If not, with Christmas just around the corner, many of you may hear it this holiday season. Your heart breaks just a bit for your child's loss of innocence.

So, what's a wonderful parent like you supposed to say in that moment?

There are lots of choices, but how about the truth in a way you may not have thought of? "Santa Claus is real, but now that you've asked that question you're old enough to learn his real name—Jesus."

Turn that dreaded question into a learning experience that will begin your child's journey with Jesus. After all, Jesus is better than Santa any day. He's always with us—not just at Christmas time. He gives way better gifts than Santa ever could—peace, joy, love, and an eternity in heaven with Him.

Bring out a picture of Santa and use it to teach your child even more about Jesus. The red suit signifies the blood of Jesus. The white in the suit shows the purity of Jesus. His white hair, beard, and kindly smile shows the love of Jesus. And that ample belly that shakes like a bowlful of jelly shows the abundance of God. And his never-ending bag of toys symbolizes God's never-ending grace.

And what about Santa's helpers—the elves? Teach your child we are Jesus's helpers here on earth. We should help others wherever and whenever we can. The more you think about the analogy of Santa Claus as an alter ego of Jesus, the more similarities you'll discover. Everyone knows Santa lives at the mythical North Pole, but exactly where is that? It's heaven, of course!

Is Santa real? You bet he is…and his name is Jesus.

Happy Birthday, Jesus! And Merry Christmas to all!

Tagged: is santa real, santa, santa claus, truth about Santa

For the Love of the Game?

Nothing brings out more fan complaints than a strike or lockout by their favorite sports team.

Right now, that means the NBA is the focus but at any given time that can change to any sport. And the favorite complaint is: "It's all about the money—not the love of the game."

Sports fans utter and bemoan this fact all the time.

The loyal basketball fans are very much complaining about this at the moment. Whatever happened to playing for the love of the game? Most of the pro athletes became professional athletes because they love their game, whether it's football, basketball, baseball, or even bowling. T

here are few were able to get into the sport because of their last name, but most professional athletes do it the old-fashioned way—God-given talent along with hard work, determination, and perseverance. But an odd thing happens as they become professionals in the sport.

It's not just about the love of the game any longer.

It can't be. Because the game becomes their livelihood, their job, and their paycheck. And that means things change. That doesn't make them bad guys—or girls, it's just a fact of life. It doesn't mean they don't still love the game, but…When you become a professional, things change.

I've experienced this myself this year.

For fifteen years, I wrote because I loved to write. I wrote because I loved to read.

Funny thing happened when I got those two book contracts in my hand. Now, it wasn't just about the love of the game any longer, it was about being successful at the game. It changed everything—for awhile.

But as so often happens, God has a way of speaking to us when we least expect it as well as when we need it the most.

A few weeks ago as I was lying in bed reading in the middle of the day because I was sick, I had an epiphany. In spite of being sick, miserable, and in pain, I was having a good time—just me and my book.

It occurred to me that I'd become so focused on my writing and on making my book successful, I'd forgotten why I write in the first place. Because I love books and I have a message God wants me to share. 

Writing is fun for me, and, hopefully, because it's fun for me, that's what makes my books enjoyable for my readers as well. I'd lost that joy in books. I'd been so busy trying to be a successful writer, I'd forgotten how much I love books.

Lesson learned!

As in all things, whether life or my writing life, moderation is the key. Proverbs 16:32 says "moderation is better than muscle." I like that.

When things get out of balance, we start to lose our perspective and our moderation. And that's when things start going haywire in our life.

I want to be a successful writer, but not at the expense of losing my love of the game. I still want to win the game! I want to be the best writer I can be and sell lots of books, but I will do that within the context of keeping it all in perspective and keeping it balanced.

Simply put, I love books, whether I'm reading them or writing them. And I want my readers to have the same enjoyable experience when they read my books. When they close my book after reading the last sentence, I hope they say, "Now, that's a writer who loves books as much as I do."

And that's my definition of success!

QUESTION: What's your definition of success—as a writer or in life?

Tagged: authors, basketball strike, Chrisitan Fiction, sports fans, success, writing

Glad you asked.

None of us are just one way all the time. Some days we love a burger and other days we want the filet mignon—with lobster, of course. Some days, we're the life of the party and others—not so much. For me, I love beautiful jewelry. The sparklier, the better. But I'm a very casual dresser and usually wear tennis shoes. Fancy jewelry with tennis shoes and T-shirts? Mmm…I don't think so.

Thus, the title of Tiaras and Tennis Shoes.

Along with this duality comes conflict and struggle. Between right and wrong. Between being good and bad. Between the face we show the world and the face we see in the mirror. Between expectations and desires. Between our insecurities and confidence. The list could go on and on, but I won't. You get the idea.

I don't know about you, but life can get confusing at times, don't you think?

So, how do we come to terms with the contradictions in life and in ourselves? I'm still working on it. But as a Child of God, I have a wonderful source of wisdom to help (you might even call it a secret weapon), God's Word.

As I was writing this blog I was reminded of the fact God made me and that HE loves me just the way I am, including the fact that I like pretty baubles and tennis shoes. So, I'm going to make an effort to start wearing all my shiny, glittery jewelry even with my tennis shoes!

Tiaras and Tennis Shoes is just my teeny tiny corner of this humongous electronic world where I'll be musing, pondering, and pontificating about this, that, and whatever else catches my fancy. Not to mention, you'll be hearing about me, my books, and my writing career from time to time.

Hope you'll stick around so I can get to know you better. Tell me about one conflict in your life.

I hadn't heard the name Josh Krajcik a month or so ago and now I hear it, say it, read about it in one form or another almost every day. In case you don't know who Josh Krajcik is, he's one of the 16 finalists on Simon Cowell's new music competition show-The X Factor. And he's an awesome singer!

But that's not the point of this blog post.

Josh is from my part of the country, graduated from the same high school I did, and went to school with my step-son. And everyone around here's very excited about Josh and how well he's doing on the X Factor even if he keeps saying he's from Columbus (Come on, Josh, give a shout out for Triway!)And so am I. So, Josh, if you happen to read this, please don't get the wrong idea. I'm thrilled for your success and hope you go all the way. You've definitely got my vote!

But somewhere along the way talent, success, money, fame, and most of all celebrity got all jumbled together. And many people seem to think if you're not a celebrity, then you must not be talented.

 Is Josh any better of a singer now that he's on TV and "famous" than he was a month ago before anyone had heard of him? Not from what I hear. Everyone tells me, Josh is an amazing talent and always has been. But, now that's he's on TV that makes him a celebrity and so…he's suddenly legitimate as a musician.

And that brings me to my point of this blog.

I wonder how many writers, artists, and musicians are overlooked because they aren't a celebrity. Does fame and talent have to go together? Why are writers, musicians, artists, and others with creative talents only considered legitimate if they are a celebrity?

And what about all of us struggling creative artists types, do we do the same thing?

If we aren't "rich and famous," does that mean we aren't successful? Does that mean our artistic efforts aren't good enough because we aren't famous enough? Sadly, I think this mindset hurts many very creative, very talented people. Every day talented people give up their "art" because they don't view themselves as successful.

The truth is they may have achieved success as an artist, but not celebrity.

I am a writer. It took me a lot of years to believe that and that's partially because like so many others I believe fame and success are the same thing. It's not, but I wonder…

If Oprah had me on her show as the hot new writer of suspense novels and I became an instant celebrity, how many of the people I know would have to go out and buy my books to see what all the fuss was about because they hadn't supported my artistic efforts up to this point?

Mmmm. Interesting question and that brings me to my second point. Whether we are singing, making music, writing, or creating in another way, we are sharing a part of us with the world and that makes us insecure.

Please support the artistic efforts of the people you know. That support could come in lots of different forms. For me, it could mean visiting me at a book signing (Nov. 12-Gospel Bookstore-Berlin, Ohio), buying my book (PURSUED at www.whiterosepublishing.com ), visiting my website (www.lillianduncan.net), reading my blog (www.lillianduncan.wordpress.com), arranging speaking engagements, asking us about our work, or just encouraging us.

And for those cynics out there who are saying I wrote this blog and used Josh Krajcik's name simply as a way to get more attention, did it work? After all, everyone loves a celebrity!

And the last thing I want to say is GO JOSH!!

When people learn I'm a writer, I get lots of different reactions. Some are excited and want to learn more. Those are the ones I like. Then there are some who look like I started talking in another language, nod, and walk away. I don't like those quite as well. And then, there are the others….

You know the type—super intellectuals. They look down their nose and say. "Oh, I don't read fiction, I only read non-fiction." As if reading fiction is a bad thing. As if it's somehow demeaning to read fiction, let alone write it.

I used to let these people bother me—but no more!

Now, I say—if it was good enough for Jesus, it's good enough for me.

I recently learned this definition for a parable. A parable is an earthly story with a heavenly message. Wow! Isn't that exactly what writers of Christian Fiction do? We write funny,wonderful, exciting, fascinating stories that have a heavenly message.

In my last book, PURSUED, I had two main heavenly messages. The first was God loves each and every one of us. The second was believers should spread God's love to others—even it's in inconvenient and/or dangerous! And in my books, it's always dangerous!

At times, we might be tempted to say (and believe) that what we do (writing Christian fiction) isn't all that important in the big scheme of things but…

Where would our Christian faith be without the parable of The Prodigal Son? No other story I know illustrates the depth of God's love or the fact HE will never turn us away when we come back to him—no matter the circumstances.

Where would our Christian faith be without the parable of The God Samaritan? This story teaches us that God wants us to love one another in a true and meaningful way, not just with words.

Jesus used stories to entertain. Jesus used stories to teach. Jesus used stories to connect with others. Jesus used stories to illustrate a concept. Jesus used stories to elicit emotions from his listeners.

And we as Christian writers should do no less.

And that is why I'm proud to say I am a writer of parables. If it was good enough for Jesus—it's good enough for me.

If you are a writer, what heavenly message do you put in your books?

If you are a reader, do you enjoy books with a heavenly message or just get on with the story?

To learn more about Lillian Duncan and her writing go to:    www.lillianduncan.net

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Heroes Don't Come Along Every Day.

In the books I write and in most of the books you read, there's always a hero or a heroine who saves the day so everyone can live happily ever after.

But in real life heroes don't come along every day.

One of my heroes went to be with the Lord after a too short battle with cancer. His name was Jay and he was by brother-in-law for 39 years. The first time I met him he was a long-haired hippie with a guitar. My first thought was why is my sister with this los..I mean man?

Boy, was I wrong!

Through the years, he became my role model for what a husband and father should be. His family always came first. He did what he had to do to take care of them and he did it with humor, love, and gentleness (most of the time.)

In real life heroes don't come along every day, but Jay became one of my heroes.

And here's the poem I wrote as a tribute to him.

SNAPSHOTS

A snapshot is only a moment in time.

A snapshot can't show the character of a man.

A snapshot can't show the worth of a man.

But a snapshot can help you remember…

The first time I met Jay—black hair, long and thick with a mustache strumming his guitar. Time moves on.

Jay—hair still black but not so long off to work to take care of his young family. Time moves on. Jay-standing strong and proud with an Army short cut, taking care of his growing family and his country.

Time moves on.

His hair is silvery white now but it matters not. He stands strong and tall beside me, comforting me, protecting me, reassuring me.

 Time moves on.

And if you look closely at the snapshots—always, always you'll see his wife-his children—his family in the photos.

Snapshots may only be a moment in time, but  together they form a picture of a man.

The picture of Jay's life shows a man of integrity, a man of justice, a man of responsibility, a man of excellence, a man of compassion, but most of all a man who loved his family.

God Speed, Jay—you are loved and missed.

Jay Rohrer—March 23, 1953-September 27, 2011

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September 11, 2001: a day that will live in infamy, just as surely as December 7, 1941 was for those who lived through that day.  I will be only one of millions who blog about 9/11 this weekend—and rightfully so.

Going back to that day, it was a Tuesday and I was hard at work as a speech pathologist for hearing-impaired students in Cleveland. Life was good. I had a job I loved, just arrived home for a wonderful honeymoon, and had married my childhood sweetheart eleven days earlier.

Another teacher came into my room and said one of the Twin Towers had been hit by an airplane. Like most Americans I assumed it to be an accident, but as I watched that second plane crash into that building, I knew in that moment life had changed.

There are moments the world never forgets. I'm old enough to remember the Kennedy assassination (both of them), Martin Luther King's murder, the attempt on Ronald Reagan, the Challenger explosion…and of course, the events on September 11, 2001.

All horrible events—no one can argue that. On the other hand I also remember the intense patriotism that spread throughout our country, the care and compassion for fellow Americans, and the millions who fell to their knees in prayer searching for answers.

Of course, it's ten years later and some might argue that America hasn't really changed all that much since 9/11, but I would disagree with them. Economically, we might be a mess…but I think we are a kinder and more caring country than before. Patriotism is alive and well. And many who turned to God in that dark time found what they were searching for—a supernatural peace and joy that surpasses understanding.

Unfortunately, that's not true for all Americans. As each day, each, month, each year passes we, as a nation, forget just a little more. So, we become a little less kind, a little less patriotic, and have a little less time for God.

That's why this ten year anniversary is so important. We need to honor the dead, but we also need to remember the lessons learned from that day.

We need to remember we are Americans, united together for the common good of our country.  We need to remember that America was built by Christians who came to this country searching for religious freedom for all.

It seems as if it always takes a disaster of some sort to pull us together as Americans. Let's not wait for the next disaster to be kinder, more patriotic, and pray more. Let's remember every day what an amazing country we live in and every day let's do at least one thing to make it even more amazing. That is my challenge to every American.

God Bless the USA.

Dreams, Bucket Lists, and God's Sense of Humor

Everyone has dreams, but not everyone reaches their dreams. Have you ever wondered why that is? Well…I have a theory. I believe people who reach their dream don't sit around and wait for it to happen. Instead they are willing to step out on faith, take a risk, and they never ever give up!

Long before the movie came out, I had a bucket list and one of the things on it was to experience the Grand Canyon from its floor.

The problem was I knew it wasn't going to happen.

No way was I going to raft down the Colorado River and camp out in a tent to get there. Hiking it was out of the question. And being afraid of horses, I also knew I wasn't going to take the mule trip down. OK, I know a mule and a horse aren't the same animal, but they're close enough that I'm not going to take any chances riding one.

As my husband and I planned our Grand Canyon trip, I came across a fairly new activity. At least it wasn't available (as far as I know) the last time I went to the Grand Canyon. Helicopter rides to the floor of the Grand Canyon.

Yep, my bucket list was within my grasp.

The only problem—I'm afraid of heights and since helicopters go up high that means I'm afraid of helicopters. I've never been in one and never had a reason to want to be in one—until now.

I stared at the details of the tour on my computer screen, but in my mind I saw a helicopter careening wildly out of control with me inside and crashing into the sides of the Grand Canyon and then falling into the Colorado River—and sinking. Did I mention I'm not a very good swimmer either?

What's a girl to do?

I took a deep breath and called out to my husband, "Hey, do you want to take a helicopter ride when we go to the Grand Canyon?"

I knew what his answer would be before I asked the question.

The day arrives and…guess what? High wind warnings are out for the entire area. I kid you not. God has quite the sense of humor.

We board the small commuter plane to take us to the Grand Canyon. How would I describe that part of the trip? I only need one word—turbulence.

The turbulence was insane!! Even with my seatbelt on, I was bouncing up and down so high, that I almost hit the ceiling of the plane once!! Really!! The problem was I hadn't tightened my seatbelt enough to actually keep me in my seat. But once I realized it, it was too late so…bouncey…bouncey…bouncey.

My husband sits across the aisle from me—completely oblivious to my problems thanks to his IPod. He can't hear me calling his name over the plane's noise and his music—and his eyes are closed. So…more bouncey…bouncey…bouncey.

We finally land and even though my knees are a bit wobbly, I'm able to walk—just barely. The high winds continue as we sit and wait for our turn to board the helicopter. Every fiber of my being is screaming, "Don't do it. Don't get on that helicopter!"

I take a deep breath and clutch my husband's hand as we walk out to the helicopter. The flight wasn't bad at all and getting to view the Grand Canyon from the bottom up was AWESOME!!

So, why am I humiliating myself by admitting I'm afraid of heights, horses, and helicopters, not to mention swimming? Easy answer. We all have fears and it's so easy to give into them. But we can make a different choice. We don't have to let fear dictate what we do or don't do, what we become or don't become.

Don't let fear stop you from the life you want. Take that step of faith to follow your dreams even if it's in a helicopter during high wind warnings!

To learn more about my books, including my latest release (PURSUED) go to: www.lillianduncan.net

 

Colleen Shine Phillips with Me, Mom, and Matlock is the winner of my first ever Flash Fiction Contest and a $20 gift card from Amazon.com.

            Thanks to all who participated. I may do another one in November or December—just in time for Christmas so check back to see the details. And in keeping with the season it might have a Christmas theme.

            Ane here's the winner.

Me, Mom, and Matlock by Colleen Shine Phillips.

            Nestled in her nubby tweed recliner, my mother poked at a pill organizer.

            "Uh, need some help, Mom?"

            "I can still hold my own, Shannon."

            "What're you doing?"

            Her face told me everything, but I couldn't push her. She might be eighty-five, but that Irish fire was far from going out. Already wrinkled, her forehead creased into deep crevices. "Do you have to know everything?"

            Those razor-sharp words cut through me. Took me back to when I was a kid. I reached toward the organizer. "Tell me what—"

            She pushed my hand away. "I'm old, not useless."

            Irritation prickled my spine. "Nobody said that."

            "You didn't have to."

            My gaze swept the room, taking in the walls I'd painted a dull off-white to please her, the maple side tables that screamed post-World War II, the shabby couch she didn't want to let go of—all to make her to feel more at home.

            Swallowing my frustration, I gulped deep breaths, a habit acquired since Mom had moved in with me after Dad's death. "I just—"

            "I know. You always just."

            My lips pressed into a straight line.

            Then she bowed her head, and tears trickled over her leathery hands.

            "Mom?"

            "I'm sorry."

            "About what?"

            "My wretched attitude. You're so kind, and I . . . I hate getting old!" Her watery blue eyes searched mine. "Why is everything a task? When will my energy return?"

            Her questions broke my heart. Envisioning her nodding off during Diagnosis Murder and the pain that often assaults her frail body, my anger waned.

            "Some things are tough for me, too, and I'm only sixty. Like dill-pickle-jar lids. My fingertips slip like chunks of plastic."

            "And how about those pesky child-proofed medicine bottles? Impossible." She wiped at her tears. "But, it's not going to get better, is it?"

            "Depending on your perspective. Some things won't. But . . . hey, we live in Las Vegas, the buffet center of the world, so how about those Senior discounts? They rock!"

            Clapping weathered hands, she giggled. "South Point's my favorite. You're right."

            The two words I'd longed to hear my whole adult life. Ironic. Because now it didn't matter to me.

            I nodded toward the pill organizer. "So . . .?"

            She wiggled a gnarled finger. "Couldn't snag my heart tablet. How about your plastic-tipped one?"

            It took two tries, but I succeeded.

            Struggle forgotten, Mom grabbed the remote control. "Think Matlock's on?"

            A dozen important things vied for my attention. I plopped onto the couch and leaned back. "Well, let's find out."

 

 

 

Time for something fun this week. And winning a $20 gift card from Amazon sounds like fun to me. So, here's the contest. Submit your own sample of flash fiction and you might win.

Don't know what flash fiction is? No problem, I'm here to help.

Flash fiction is like a short story—only miniaturized. According to Wikipedia, word count is not set in stone, but most flash fiction ranges somewhere between 300-1000 words.  Even though flash fiction is short, it still contains all the elements of a story-plot; protagonist; conflict; and resolution.

Here's the way the contest will work.

Submit your flash fiction as a comment. Be sure to include the title, author and if you have a website you may include it.
Stories must be 500 words or less.
Ask others to vote for your story through Twitter or Facebook or whatever social media you use.
Voting will be simple. If you want to vote for a submission, simply name the title in a comment.
Story with the most votes wins a $20 gift card from Amazon.
If no submitted story gets any votes or there's a tie, I'll make the final decision.
If there are no story submissions, I'll buy myself a $20 gift card!
No bad language, explicit sex scenes, or offensive stories will be accepted. Again, my blog-my decision.
Contest will end at midnight on August 21.

 Just to get the fun going, here's my attempt at flash fiction. But no voting for it!

 FREEDOM by Lillian Duncan

           He stood strong, tall, and proud, his sun-browned muscles at attention while he shot arrows at his captors with his eyes. The wind whipped through his long black hair, revealing a majestic profile.

            The shackles on his feet prevented escape.

            The angry mob surrounded him. One man screamed, "Kill the savage." The others took up the chant.

            Their gazes met. His, dark, angry, and proud. Hers, soft and blue, held a promise. Acknowledging him with a nod, she picked up the ruffled hem of her dress and stepped forward.

            The angry chant dwindled to silence.

            "Brothers, sisters. This is not right, not the Christian way." Her voice as hard and strong as the mountains rising behind her.

            "But, he's a savage."

            She held up a hand to silence. "The judge will decide that. A fair trial. It's the American way."

            "We knowed he done it." A voice snarled from the back. "Kill the savage."

            The chanting commenced.

            Wind blew through her blonde tresses. Storm clouds darkened overhead.   "We moved here because we were tired of being prosecuted for being different. I will not be a party to such…" Her eyes flashed a challenge. "To such savagery." She bent down and picked up a rock. "Will you be the one to throw the first stone?"

            Women gathered their children, nudged their husbands, and crept toward home. Husbands soon followed. Evening chores awaited.

            Her father stepped from the crowd, anger in his eyes. He scowled at her. The star on his chest glimmered in the last rays of the afternoon sun. "Go home."

            She held her head up high as she turned and walked away.

            In the quiet darkness, she moved with the stealth of a lioness. The soft sounds of sleep greeted her as she glided past the sleeping sheriff.

            Holding up a finger to her mouth, she silenced the prisoner. His dark brown eyes revealed surprise as she slid the key in. Freedom so close now. The cell door squeaked open.

            Her father shifted and mumbled in his sleep. Each second seemed a lifetime until his gentle breathing resumed. When the time was right, she stretched out her arm. An invitation, the prisoner gladly accepted as he grasped her soft feminine hand.

            They crept through the darkened prison and out into fresh night air. The brightness of the moon above them. She pointed to the horse, his means of escape to freedom.

             He didn't move.

            Their eyes met. She stepped away and motioned for him to go. Still he waited. Taking a deep breath, the keys jingled as she laid them on the ground. And then turned back with a smile where he waited.

            Her blonde tresses glistened in the moonlight.

            His own muscled brown arms offered an invitation to freedom and a promise of love. With both arms, she accepted. With surprising strength and gentleness, he lifted her to him.

            He spurred the horse on to freedom—their freedom.

To learn more about Lillian and her writing visit: www.lillianduncan.net  Don't forget about her new book, PURSUED (www.whiterosepublishing.com) Guaranteed to keep you up past your bedtime!

Reggie Meyers has spent her life pursing the American Dream, but now she's the one being pursued— by an unknown killer. Putting her trust in Dylan Monroe, a man she barely knows, will either be the best decision she ever made or the last.