Most of you will be celebrating Halloween, but there is something else that marks that same day, a page in history turned... and sadly, forgotten by too many.
We are just five days away from the 500th Anniversary of the Reformation, marked by the day Martin Luther nailed the ninety-five thesis to the church door. I am amazed at the legacy that the Lord blessed from that moment.
If you missed my second-to-last post, you can click on the link provided to follow my thought process. I have been thinking about what has shaped me as a writer and made me love words. This week, I began reflecting on what the Reformation means to me. What does it say about who I am?
I am proud to call this my heritage. I have no blood connection or relation to Martin Luther at all, nor to any of the other known Reformers, but that is not the only way someone can be a part of who you are. I may not ever know all the people in this world who I am related to, or all the people who came before me that I could be related to. That doesn't really matter so much, as they are only a part of who I am physically, and physically I will not last forever. The other part of me is the spiritual heritage that is just as ingrained in me as my DNA, and it will last forever.
It affects the way I think and the way I treat others.
It affects what I believe and what I read.
It affects who I choose to call friends.
It affects what I choose to do in my future and how I choose to react to what happens to me today and in the future.
That is far more impacting than any blood connection or DNA in my physical body. It changes what I take in, and it changes what I give out.
Luther knew the precious value or words, and with fiery dedication he pushed the church to reconsider its purpose and to teach individuals in the church how to appreciate their heritage in it instead of being indebted constantly. Christ died for us and gave us hope, but He didn't leave us with just the idea of hope, He left us with real words so that we can know not only who we are and where we came from but also where we are going. There is no physical DNA strand or blood test that can tell me what's going to happen to me in the future, but my identity in Christ does. Isn't that amazing? The greatest part about this is that I don't have to do anything except know with all my heart and soul that I am His.
I am thankful for those men who sacrificed their life and comfort to teach and share God's words so that I can have them readily available at any time and any place. I am thankful to witness the 500th anniversary of the Reformation.
Go make a Reformation cake! Throw some confetti! Pray a prayer of thankfulness! Comment below and tell me what you will do to celebrate this day in your Christian history. I would love to hear!
Wednesday, October 25, 2017
Saturday, October 21, 2017
War of Loyalties Cover Reveal
So folks! Friday was the official date the Folkestone Files #1: War of Loyalties cover and release date was revealed! I am thrilled to share this with you, as Schuyler McConkey is a wonderful word-crafter, story-teller, and woman of God and I could not be more happy for her. War of Loyalties will be released on November 30, 2017 (that's just 49 days away!). Congratulations on your ink baby, Schuyler!
Here is a summary from the back of the book, and the gorgeous cover (I mean really, just look at it). I've already got my copy ordered and cannot wait to read it!
April, 1917. A ring of German spies threatens the coastal town of Folkestone, England. Newly-recruited agent Ben Dorroll must uncover which British citizens are traitors to their country. When his first attempt at espionage falls prey to a trap laid by German sympathizers, the security of the British Secret Service is threatened. Feeling lost in a strange country and aching for a steady place to call home, he wants to resign and go back to his American medical work. But when he learns that his family identity holds the key to capturing the spy ring, Ben has no choice but to unite with the mysterious Jaeryn Graham so that the truth can be discovered.
In the aftermath of the Irish Rebellion, Jaeryn Graham's British colleagues look warily on his Irish background. Always up for a challenge, he thinks his a new mission in the Secret Service should be an opportunity to prove his prowess. But after an encounter with death and alienating two agents, he finds the road to victory isn't as easy as he thought. Unless he can win the loyalties of his newest assistant, Ben Dorroll, his secret ambitions and his perfect success record will be destroyed.
Join the Fun!
Check out more about War of Loyalties at My Lady Bibliophile
Thursday, October 12, 2017
Childhood Books That Made Me Love Reading
I have been thinking a lot lately about what shaped me as a writer. I have decided to do a few posts on this but what better way to start than at the beginning! One of my favorite activities as a child was reading, and so I thought it appropriate to reflect on what stories I loved, which stories made me want to write, and which have stuck with me all these years.
I don't remember when I decided to write. I only remember always wanting to tell stories, to create and to build. Everyone else in school was building things with their hands, solving difficult math equations, and choosing careers that made sense but I had no interest in those things. I just wanted to create worlds and weave stories. Making something from scratch was more interesting to me than following a set of instructions to make a pre-designed plan work out.
My first experience with reading was being read aloud to, before I knew how to decipher the letters and sounds myself. Those nightly routines of after-dinner devotions and before-bed stories were highly influential in how I perceived the world and live in it today. It was comforting to listen to my father's voice after my belly was full of supper and my schoolwork finished. My parents were loving and wanted us to know God as a loving Father, too. Sometimes we heard about people in the Bible but other times, if one of us had a particularly rough day, my father would choose a passage of instruction, comfort, or reassurance- what he chose would sometimes depend on the situation and what we all needed to hear. God is like that; He knows what we need and if we talk with Him daily we can see that He provides in a very specific way for us.
The day ended with other stories from picture books, not from the Bible, either spoken aloud by my mother or father and snuck into bed with me after lights-out. There were certain stories that each parent had a knack for. Sometimes mom would cuddle us. Sometimes dad would do funny voices. I often share stories that I read now, but rarely stories I have read before. In contemplating which stories have shaped me as a writer, I wanted to think a little more deeply on which stories I started out with, even if they don't seem that significant.
Trumpets in Grumpetland
This particular story had to be read by dad. Mom just couldn't do it right. There were voices for each of the characters, and multiple sound effects. The illustrations inside were wonderful, with lots of detail, and the whole world it takes place in so imaginative and detailed! The creatures looked like hippos, who rode in cat-faced helicopters and wore World War II uniforms. The story itself is quite simple and easy to follow, but told in a completely original way with those unique illustrations.
I Love You Forever, I'll Like You For Always
This was one that mom always read. Tucked under her wings, pressed close and our bodies finally still after a busy day, she would say the lines like she had written them herself and drop kisses on our foreheads after.
A book whose title I can't remember :(
I tried to find it, and alas, it was not to be found. I remember nothing about the words in the book, because I spent so much time pouring over the illustrations. I remember sitting up late paging through it over and over, making up stories to go with each page. Each picture had detailed cross-sections of animal homes inside trees or underground, complete with kitchens, furniture, and decorations. In some of the pictures, mice had pet snails on leashes and held picnics. It was such a charming book, that I am a little sad that I couldn't find it and can see the pictures so clearly in my head.
Bread and Jam for Frances
I loved Frances. She was sort of a snot sometimes, but I was entertained by her wit and confidence. I specifically recall how she ate her lunch one bite at a time, alternating food, and how I tried to eat like that in kindergarten more than once. I liked how mom read this one, though I can't remember what, exactly, she did when she read it that I liked so much. It was just the pattern of her voice, I suppose, something about its cadence that is stuck in my head.
Dr. Seuss
Like with the Grumpets, there were certain voices and sound effects for each page, and the illustrations for Dr. Seuss stories were unique and imaginative. Our favorite one included a character who played his violin badly, and Dad would make sounds like a wretchedly played violin that would have us in fits of laughter.
Harvey's Hideout
Equally as entertaining to me as Frances was Mildred, the sassy muskrat who wouldn't share with her brother Harvey but she was so interesting because she had a secret hideout and tea parties. Besides which, in the end she and her brother made up and that was nice. Even though Harvey and Mildred were sassy little muskrats, they were not above forgiving one another to mend their brother-sister friendship.
There is one collection of stories that I can't really title and I can't really tell you where you can buy them, but it was perhaps one of the most memorable bed-time stories I was told. This collection of stories was mostly shared on cool summer nights, around a flickering campfire beneath falling stars. My father was a wonderful story-teller, his head so full of ideas that he could free them with a blink of an eye. There were numerous Ricky Raccoon adventures, and a very amusing tale on How the Cat Bird Got Its Call. Never once was a story told exactly the same, and they always became more grand than the last time- if he ever did tell them a second time. It was like magic, the way the stories were born in the dark and shaped at that very moment. I already loved words, and this was just proof that words were the least recognized but most valuable currency.
Words were shared in the morning when we woke, and whispered in prayer. They were recited midday at school and murmured after supper, then shared before bed to usher us to peaceful rests. The greatest gift Jesus gave to us was His Word, infallible and invaluable and that will always be the most precious book I have and will read.
I don't remember when I decided to write. I only remember always wanting to tell stories, to create and to build. Everyone else in school was building things with their hands, solving difficult math equations, and choosing careers that made sense but I had no interest in those things. I just wanted to create worlds and weave stories. Making something from scratch was more interesting to me than following a set of instructions to make a pre-designed plan work out.
My first experience with reading was being read aloud to, before I knew how to decipher the letters and sounds myself. Those nightly routines of after-dinner devotions and before-bed stories were highly influential in how I perceived the world and live in it today. It was comforting to listen to my father's voice after my belly was full of supper and my schoolwork finished. My parents were loving and wanted us to know God as a loving Father, too. Sometimes we heard about people in the Bible but other times, if one of us had a particularly rough day, my father would choose a passage of instruction, comfort, or reassurance- what he chose would sometimes depend on the situation and what we all needed to hear. God is like that; He knows what we need and if we talk with Him daily we can see that He provides in a very specific way for us.
The day ended with other stories from picture books, not from the Bible, either spoken aloud by my mother or father and snuck into bed with me after lights-out. There were certain stories that each parent had a knack for. Sometimes mom would cuddle us. Sometimes dad would do funny voices. I often share stories that I read now, but rarely stories I have read before. In contemplating which stories have shaped me as a writer, I wanted to think a little more deeply on which stories I started out with, even if they don't seem that significant.
Trumpets in Grumpetland
This particular story had to be read by dad. Mom just couldn't do it right. There were voices for each of the characters, and multiple sound effects. The illustrations inside were wonderful, with lots of detail, and the whole world it takes place in so imaginative and detailed! The creatures looked like hippos, who rode in cat-faced helicopters and wore World War II uniforms. The story itself is quite simple and easy to follow, but told in a completely original way with those unique illustrations.
I Love You Forever, I'll Like You For Always
This was one that mom always read. Tucked under her wings, pressed close and our bodies finally still after a busy day, she would say the lines like she had written them herself and drop kisses on our foreheads after.
A book whose title I can't remember :(
I tried to find it, and alas, it was not to be found. I remember nothing about the words in the book, because I spent so much time pouring over the illustrations. I remember sitting up late paging through it over and over, making up stories to go with each page. Each picture had detailed cross-sections of animal homes inside trees or underground, complete with kitchens, furniture, and decorations. In some of the pictures, mice had pet snails on leashes and held picnics. It was such a charming book, that I am a little sad that I couldn't find it and can see the pictures so clearly in my head.
Bread and Jam for Frances
I loved Frances. She was sort of a snot sometimes, but I was entertained by her wit and confidence. I specifically recall how she ate her lunch one bite at a time, alternating food, and how I tried to eat like that in kindergarten more than once. I liked how mom read this one, though I can't remember what, exactly, she did when she read it that I liked so much. It was just the pattern of her voice, I suppose, something about its cadence that is stuck in my head.
Dr. Seuss
Like with the Grumpets, there were certain voices and sound effects for each page, and the illustrations for Dr. Seuss stories were unique and imaginative. Our favorite one included a character who played his violin badly, and Dad would make sounds like a wretchedly played violin that would have us in fits of laughter.
Harvey's Hideout
Equally as entertaining to me as Frances was Mildred, the sassy muskrat who wouldn't share with her brother Harvey but she was so interesting because she had a secret hideout and tea parties. Besides which, in the end she and her brother made up and that was nice. Even though Harvey and Mildred were sassy little muskrats, they were not above forgiving one another to mend their brother-sister friendship.
There is one collection of stories that I can't really title and I can't really tell you where you can buy them, but it was perhaps one of the most memorable bed-time stories I was told. This collection of stories was mostly shared on cool summer nights, around a flickering campfire beneath falling stars. My father was a wonderful story-teller, his head so full of ideas that he could free them with a blink of an eye. There were numerous Ricky Raccoon adventures, and a very amusing tale on How the Cat Bird Got Its Call. Never once was a story told exactly the same, and they always became more grand than the last time- if he ever did tell them a second time. It was like magic, the way the stories were born in the dark and shaped at that very moment. I already loved words, and this was just proof that words were the least recognized but most valuable currency.
Words were shared in the morning when we woke, and whispered in prayer. They were recited midday at school and murmured after supper, then shared before bed to usher us to peaceful rests. The greatest gift Jesus gave to us was His Word, infallible and invaluable and that will always be the most precious book I have and will read.
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