Sunday Salon: The Gift of Art

It’s that time of year, the countdown to the holidays. People hustle and bustle, make lists, check them once, twice, thrice. Amazon’s server is on fire with orders flying in from around the world.  If you haven’t finished your shopping by now, well – you’re in a bit of pickle, aren’t you?

Photo Credit: Ben White for Upsplash

For quite a few years I’ve eschewed the whole holiday shopping enterprise. My husband and I are at the stage where we don’t need or want much of anything, and if we do, we get it for ourselves. We might treat ourselves to a concert or dinner out, maybe a little trip somewhere. But buying more “stuff” for each other has lost its charm. As one of my elderly friends put it: “If I can’t eat it, read it, or go to it, I don’t want it.”

But in these often troubled times, when materialism and greed run rampant throughout our society, there is one still one gift well worth investing time and money to give.

The Gift of Art.

Sadly, this gift is not valued highly in the modern world. Artists struggle for recognition, for funding, for space to do their work. When budgets need cutting, the arts are the first place to point the knife.

For the past three weekends, I’ve been out performing with my group, Classical Bells. We’ve watched our audiences come in tired and cold, stamping snow from their boots, looking weary and downhearted. If we do our job well, the music helps thaw those icy places in their lives and even provides a few moments of transcendence from the mundane problems of daily living so they go back into the world with a quieter, softer heart.

“Every piece of art, every performance, is a state-of-the soul address,” wrote poet Jane Kenyon. “The love of the absolute beauty of art, the longing for the well-being of the planet and all its creature, the awe we feel in the face of life and death, the delights of the inward eye and inward ear, the understanding and nurture of the soul – these are the gifts of art.”

And it’s not only the recipient but also the maker of art benefits from this gift. This has been a horrible week for me. Our little dog Molly died unexpectedly Monday, just five months after we lost her brother, Magic. I grieve mightily for these precious companions of my home and heart. But the hours I spend playing music are a balm for that ache, directing my focus away from sadness and toward the task of creating something beautiful.

“Artists report on the inner life,” Kenyon continues, and the inner life distinguishes us from centipedes.” The inner life – our imagination, our compassion, our spiritual awareness – these are the places art touches in us. Art allows us to glimpse something larger than ourselves, that “awe in the face of life and death” as Kenyon put it. We ignore our inner life at our peril, Kenyon warns, for when we do, we “become capable of extreme cruelty and destruction.”

The evidence of that abounds in the world right now, doesn’t it? So this holiday, commit yourself to making art and sharing it widely with young and old. If you’re a writer, volunteer at a local library to do a reading or host a workshop. If you paint, set up your easel in a public place and invite questions and comments. If you’re a musician, take your instrument or your voice to a hospital, a nursing home, your neighborhood coffee shop. If you knit, make scarves and socks to pass out to the homeless.

The possibilities for gifting are endless.

And the gift of art is PRICELESS.

About the Author: Becca Rowan

becca_rowan_bio_may2016Becca Rowan lives in Northville, Michigan. She is the author of the books Life in General, and Life Goes On, personal and inspirational essays about the ways women navigate the passage into midlife. She is also a musician, and performs as a pianist and as a member of Classical Bells, a professional handbell ensemble. If she’s not writing or playing music you’ll likely find her curled up on the couch reading with a cup of coffee (or glass of wine) close at hand. She loves to connect with readers at her blog, or on Facebook, Twitter, or Goodreads.

A Quiet Thrill by Michelle GD

I am like a child again when the meteorologists call for snow.   Looking out the window frequently, watching the sky, holding my breath just the tiniest bit.  Did it start yet?  Is it coming?  I remember being thrilled by snow as a child.  I am still thrilled (perhaps more?) as an adult.

With snow come challenges of slippery roads and cancellations.  As I child, I cared only of the latter; as an adult, I must consider both.  Still, I eagerly await the first flakes.  Sometimes the birches blow in the wind; sometimes they stand like statues.  Sometimes the sky seems an even wash of grey; sometimes, if I look closely enough, I see darker greys and lighter greys and greys in between.  Always, I feel like the world at my feet is in the midst of some pause.  Or maybe it’s just me.

As I wait for the snow, I am surely in the pause.  I am present and attentive.  I feel alive.  I watch excitedly for changes in the sky and on the ground.  I am in awe once those changes arrive.  The blanket of white laid upon the ground, the hush accompanying the laying of that blanket.

I remember that hush as a child.  For a few years, we lived in upstate New York, just south of the Canadian border.  We got a lot of snow there; I had many opportunities to step into that hush.  Now, my family of four lives in Virginia, and we don’t experience the frequency or amount of snow I enjoyed in those childhood years.  But we do get snow; I do step into the hush.  And every time I step into the hush, my shoulders drop a little lower, and my eyes widen in wonder.

The beauty is not a surprise to me.  And yet, every time it snows…it surprises me.  It delights me, softens me.  Every time it snows, I step into the pause.  I am present and attentive and alive.  And isn’t this what I continually practice, no matter the season?  The presence, the attention, the alive-ness?

This time of year is busy for many of us.  We are celebrating and decorating and making merry.  Likely, we are also reflecting on a calendar year about to close, and preparing to open another.  It’s a time of year full with work outside ourselves (all that merry-making); it’s also full with work inside ourselves (all that reflecting).  It’s a time of year filled with so much.

Just the other day, it snowed.  I was grateful for Nature’s invitation; she called me in, and I responded.  I stepped into her pause, I felt her hush.  She beautified my world that was already beautiful, and I like that she didn’t out-do herself…she was humble and just-right.  I left the busyness and merry-making of the house, and walked through the falling snow with my kids.  We laughed, and we were silent.  I felt snowflakes on my eyelashes, and watched flakes rest but a moment on the lashes of my kids…each snowflake a gift.  Each one an invitation to pause, to notice, to be a little bit amazed.

There’s something in that pause, that being a little bit amazed.  There is a certain release I feel, as if I lie back and the world catches me and holds me.  Though I must do my part:  I must, on occasion, allow my shoulders to drop; I must allow my eyes to widen in wonder. I must anticipate, and I must receive.  I must allow myself to lie back and be held by the beauty of this world.

Now do you understand why a forecast of snow thrills me to my core?

About the Author: Michelle GD

Michelle GD is an artist living in Virginia.  Using writing and photography as forms of meditation, she explores the connections between the beautiful and messy bits of life.  You can find her at MichelleGD.com.

The Puppies by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

Cleaning house in her nightgown
Donna spots me on my morning walk,
leans out the door and yells,
“Hey, wanna see the babies?”
I do, of course .

We stand over the nursery,
gaze at the ten huddled scraps
of multi-colored poodle puppyhood,
barely four days old,
wearing teeny collars.

First time mama Paris
is surprisingly cool, supplies faucets
as needed to ten seeking mouths,
tolerates giants looming
and fingers poking at her children.

Donna coos, I try hard not to,
and grandpa Shadow keeps an eye on us all.
As he nudges my hand, black and white
stuffed toy in his mouth, Donna says,
“He wanted his own baby
so I bought him one.”

She looks down at her flowered gown
and bare feet, grimaces then says,
“Forgive the mess.”
I don’t see anything
but beautiful babies.

About the Author: Patricia Wellingham-Jones

PatriciaWellingham-JonesPatricia Wellingham-Jones is a widely published former psychology researcher and writer/editor. She has a special interest in healing writing, with poems recently in The Widow’s Handbook (Kent State University Press). Chapbooks include Don’t Turn Away: poems about breast cancer, End-Cycle: poems about caregiving, Apple Blossoms at Eye Level, Voices on the Land and Hormone Stew.

Instrumental: The Holiday Grieving Survival Kit by Jeanie Croope


It’s the season of hope and wonder, of parties and cookie and decking the halls. We are told to have a Merry Christmas or Happy Hanukkah and we say the same in return.

And sometimes we are neither Merry nor Happy.

The winter holidays can be stressful even for those who love them and “Martha to the Max.” But for those experiencing grief and loss, the first winter holidays without someone they love, they can be especially challenging.

This year there will be many who have lost loved ones in fires and hurricanes, through accidents and illness. Add to that the loss of a home or a job and the holidays don’t seem so merry and bright. For many years I volunteered at a family grief center and clearly the winter holidays were the hardest time. If you are dealing specifically with grief or loss issues, these tips on getting through the holidays might be helpful. And if you are not currently on that grief journey, you may see some ways you can help someone who is.

Sometimes Tradition, Sometimes Not

A dear friend facing a challenging holidays said recently, “I’m dreading the traditional this year. The new experiences I am looking forward to, but the old ones — I don’t know.”

Too much food, too much stress, too much pressure and too little time. Add to it a major life change and the old-familiar may be a little too tough.

So, give yourself a break. I’d never advocate changing traditions that work, but consider trying something new. Good grief, even if you’re happy as a clam, try something new, whether it’s a cookie recipe or a change of venue! It may become a new tradition or maybe it’s just an event for this year to help shake things up in a good way.

You may see your best (and most unexpected) holiday concert ever. Enjoy a walk through a dazzling winter wonderland on a zoo walk. Sample far too many treats as you stroll through a holiday gallery walk. Go caroling for the first time since college. Watch “The Nutcracker” live or on video.

Consider a road trip. If being home is too hard, venture to a new place or accept the holiday invitation to spend it at the home of friends or relatives. It doesn’t have to be a permanent tradition, but it might make the first year under new circumstances a little easier.

And if your friend is grieving? Help out with a surprise meal of pasta, salad (in a bag makes it easy, if not exciting!) and some crusty bread. And if you can, join them. Dinner alone can be tough for the newly widowed.

Be willing to listen — to sadness, to memories, to fears for the future. And remember, loss can be complicated. Not everyone is sad for a death — they may be sad for what was and now can never be. Don’t assume you know how they feel. You might know how you think you would feel but everyone’s experience with a person who died is unique.

Welcome the Person Who Is No Longer With Us by Remembering

You might light a candle in someone’s honor — whether it is at the dinner table or privately. Honor the light they brought to your life. Or stop by the cemetery to lay a pine bough or some holly.

I have the “Dad” Christmas tree (with ornaments that reflect things he loved) and the “Mom” tree, with ornaments that were some of her favorites along with new ones that I know she’s love.

Try a helium balloon flight — write a note to the loved one, tie it to the string of the balloon, then let it go high in the air. This is especially meaningful for children. When I was volunteering in the grief center, the annual balloon launch was the “event of the year” and the kids and adults alike valued sending up their thoughts to their loved one.

If stitching is your thing, consider making ornaments from one of their clothing garments or jewelry or use something that was part of them as part of your holiday decorating. Or ask your crafty friend if they can make you something in the year ahead — a stuffed bear or tree ornaments, for example. This year my friend Suzanne gave me several necklaces of her mother’s, whom I knew and liked very much. She thought I might pass them on to charity. They are costume jewelry but that long strand of pearls and another necklace are now a beautiful beaded garland on one of my trees. The others will be given away but these memories of Nolda will remain on my tree for years to come.)

Do Something that Might Make You Feel Like You Are Making a Difference. 

It can be hard to give back when you feel you have nothing left to give, but volunteering doesn’t mean just working at an organized activity with a major time commitment. You may have an elderly neighbor who might not easily be able to wrap gifts for the family. A couple of gift

bags, some tissue and you’re good to go — you’ll make that person’s day and you’ll feel pretty great yourself. Park yourself in the lobby of the nursing home or assisted living site or in a room at your church after Sunday services, loaded with wrapping paper.

Often I do what I call my “Random Acts of Christmas” — chipping in $5 at the grocery cashier to go toward the order of the old man behind me, anonymously of course. Priming the meter or parking attendant with another dollar’s worth for the next user. An anonymous gift to someone who needs a lift. Once you start, it is really hard to stop.

Most of All, Be Gentle with Yourself

Remember, holidays can be tough on a good day. There are parties when you don’t feel like partying, a whole lot of sugar and butter, things to do, like shopping and wrapping and mailing — presumably with a deadline, and so much more. Sometimes it’s good to

go out, see friends, make merry. Sometimes that’s even very healing.

But there are other times when you just can’t. Don’t beat yourself up over it. People will understand. If the cards don’t get out, it’s not a crisis. If you can’t bear to write the holiday letter that covers your year, skip it and just send a card or an e-card.

Pick a few things to do — not everything. Talk it over with your kids (young and older, too) and let them know where you stand, and learn where they do. You can probably come to consensus.

As a friend, if you are headed to the store or the post office, ask if you can pick up groceries or stamps. Bring a tray of crudites instead of cookies, maybe with a light dip or cold shrimp and sauce. There are loads of ways you can help someone take care.

Remember, There IS Hope. And There IS Wonder.

It may feel impossible to find hope when things dark and sad. But it’s the time we need it most. And seeing the wonder of the world may just be an important part of the antidote. The twinkling lights, whether on your own tree or in a shop window. The smile on a child’s face. The grateful appreciation for an act of kindness. The quiet snowfall on Christmas Eve. The blanket of stars in an inky night sky or the dazzling pinks and lavenders of the perfect sunset. There is wonder in the love we have known, that great gift that carries us through.

 

And there is wonder in the cycle of life, of knowing that flowers will bloom, leaves will change into a glorious array of colors and snow will fall. The sun will rise and set and the world will spin its orbit. And with it comes the hope that next year will be a little kinder, a little easier, a little more settled.

I will not wish you a Happy Holiday — I’ll leave that to you, and it may be hard. But I will offer my wishes for peace and healing and the hope that you will find even just a wee bit of wonder to help you in your journey this season. May that star shine brightly to lead you into a new year of hope.

About the Author: Jeanie Croope

Jeanie Croope bioAfter a long career in public broadcasting, Jeanie Croope is now doing all the things she loves — art, photography, writing, cooking, reading wonderful books and discovering a multitude of new creative passions. You can find her blogging about life and all the things she loves at The Marmelade Gypsy.

Pivot to Hope & Wonder by Keva Bartnick

When I saw the theme was “Hope & Wonder”, I wasn’t sure how to write about hope and wonder because lately it seems that I have been short on both. I don’t know if you believe in God, or Spirit, or the Universe stepping in with a helping hand every once in a while, but I sure do.

Though this sounds like the strangest gift ever, when my mother-in-law got me a subscription to ‘Prevention’ magazine, I was thrilled. I love this about her, she seems to know what people need in their lives. She reminds me of Spirit in this way.  I had received the December issue in the mail sometime last week and have been too busy to open it. Seems to be that my editor and Spirit were on the same page, not that that should surprise you.

Sometimes waiting for a serendipitous moment takes some patience and a little luck.

Today I want to talk about ”the pivot.” The Pivot can be described as a mental transformation from a desire into an expectation, and life will sometimes deliver what you hope for. As described, it’s the process of stopping destructive thoughts and consciously exchanging them for the best possible outlook. This outlook had been influenced by Esther Hicks, inspirational speaker and author. I ask myself:

“How can I use the Pivot to influence my outlook with the upcoming holiday season? To bring hope and wonder back into a season that has notoriously seemed to lack these sentiments for me?”

I have three young daughters. You’d think that these three minions would bring me all the hope and wonder that I could ever need in my life. They remind me of three hurricanes, smack dab in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle. Life is never boring. It feels like I meet myself coming and going. It’s always windy.

I’m always trying to find my “wanna.” My wanna to NOT do anything besides sitting on a beach somewhere with a drink in my hand, and my toes in the sand.

The last time I clearly remember feeling hope and wonder was the day they were born. Hoping that I don’t screw this up, and wondering if I was going to be the best mom for them. Every day after that has been a blur. But having to write about hope and wonder has got me thinking about how far I’ve come. How using the pivot in my everyday life would make my simple everyday experiences better.

More meaningful moments are the bees knees, right?!

I am a person that believes that when I set my mind to changing the direction I am going nothing will stop me. The universe hears me and conspires in my favor. I truly believe that with my heart and soul. Maybe, just like the Grinch, my heart can grow three sizes bigger this holiday season.

Maybe, I can look on every rough moment and embrace my inner child, sticky fingers and all.

I believe that God, Spirit, the Universe gave me our three beautiful daughters to help me FIND my hope and wonder. To help me embrace the moments fully, to help me work on my pivoting skills. To help me feel young again, to make me a better person. I am blessed beyond measure. I find my hope and wonder in the little moments, looking at them look at the world with such a big light in their eyes. They are my hope and wonder expressed in human form.

About the Author: Keva Bartnick

Keva Bartnick is an artist, writer, and lightworker. Happily married mother of three; she’s been inspiring people to be their most courageous selves since 2015.

She can be found at Taleoftwofeathers.com

Sunday Sensations: The First Christmas Without You

I’m slipping into the holidays sideways this year.

1986 Tabitha & Hannah02022015When you experience tremendous loss, the whole world functions differently for awhile. Grief is a weird sensation. It’s simultaneously universally known and deeply personal. If you’ve lost someone dear to you, you know how it feels, but you can’t know how someone else feels. Your own grief is picking through a town that you haven’t been to in years. It feels familiar, but the signs have changed. You never walk the same street twice.

So bring on the presents, hot chocolate and cheer. Let me touch things my mother touched. It’s all familiar, but foreign.

If my mom hadn’t been so great at Christmas it may be a bit easier on my heart. Everything I do echos her. There’s an echo here as we make cookies and my husband asks why I put the sugar on after bringing them out of the oven. “Because mom did it.” There’s a wisp of her as I hang ornaments she crafted years ago. If I close my eyes and listen I can hear her as I wrap gifts for my dad.

Mom is Christmas. It’s as if the holiday was made just for her — her creativity, her skills, her belief in Jesus, and her heart for others all came to life at the end of the year. From presents to tree to cookies and decorations, she was the event planner and we her happy elves. I ached every year to put out her Precious Moments nativity set. Every tradition cemented my love for Christmas and for our faith.

Christmas I’ve had the ache of loss at Christmas before. Losing my grandparents early and watching my friends travel from grandparent to grandparent was hard. Seeing a tree decorated in all blue still conjure up images of my Grandma Shirley singing “I’ll have a blue Christmas” over her petite live Christmas tree. I remember the story of my Grandpa’s favorite childhood Christmas. But this is different.

This is not to say that my life is full of despair. Loneliness is hemmed in by family and friends. Puppy kisses and kitten purrs sooth the rough spots. There are many happy moments of peace, kindness and love. There’s simply something about grief that’s so personal, and (at times) a bit selfish.

So here’s to all of us coming to the holidays sideways this year. Our journeys are different, but similar. The lights are a bit dimmer, but they still shine brightly. We drink deeply of the sweet and bitter. We will love. So cry. Rest. Love. Christmas may not be as magical as it has been, but they won’t always be like this.

About the author: Tabitha Grace Challis

Tabitha Grace ChallisTabitha is a social media strategist, writer, blogger, and professional geek. Among her published works are the children’s books Jack the Kitten is Very Brave and Machu the Cat is Very Hungry, both published under the name Tabitha Grace Smith. A California girl (always and forever) she now lives in Maryland with her husband, son, and a collection of cats, dogs, and chickens. Find out more about her on her Amazon author page or follow her on Twitter: @Tabz.

Snow Day by Molly Totoro

Let me set the scene.

It is a dark, cold Wednesday morning. The alarm rings for the second time. I dare not press the snooze option again for fear I will oversleep. I brace myself before turning back the warm flannel sheets – allowing the cold air to hit my legs as I swing them over the side of the bed. I’m partially awake now.

I grope for my glasses resting on the nightstand. I put them on and check my phone: 5:30am. Time to start the day.

I shuffle my way through the hall and down the steps. The pot of coffee I set to a timer the night before is ready. I pour myself a cup and head to my special seat in the family room. The Basset barely moves to make room, but I’m appreciative of his efforts to warm my spot. I find the remote and turn on the morning news.

… you will find a listing of school closings scrolling at the bottom of the screen.

I’m now fully awake. I watch the names of schools make their way across the television. Blue Valley… Bonner Springs… It will be a while before they reach the Os.

I try to keep my excitement under control. After all, these are the last weeks before the end of the semester. There is so much more work to do before finals. But…

Edgerton… Excelsior Springs…

I am prepared for class. All grading is complete. Lesson plans are in order. Photocopies made. The students are working on long-term writing projects. If we don’t have school, they will know what to do at home.

Kearny … Lee’s Summit…

 So many school districts are closed. There’s about three inches of snow on the ground now, making rush hour traffic slow and treacherous. News anchors are advising all to stay inside if possible. The forecast is for another six inches before nightfall.

Peculiar… Olathe…

 I let out an audible squeal. The basset gives me a look of disdain and returns to his slumber. A snow day!!

I’m not sure why I’m so fond of these special occasions. I am usually mature and reserved, but snow days bring out my inner child.

Perhaps it’s because I grew up in Texas. I never experienced snow until we moved to Connecticut when I was twelve. And that first snow was magical. Rather than hard, pelting raindrops, soft silent flakes floated around me. The drab gray ground transformed into an unblemished swirl of white. Rain told me to stay safe indoors while the snow beckoned me to come outside and experience winter joy.

Of course, I understand the scientific cause: cold temperatures and moisture in the clouds create ice crystals that stick together and form snow before falling to the ground. The valid explanation, however, does not diminish the magic.

While I no longer choose to spend my snow days outside building snowmen or engaging in friendly snowball fights, I do relish the joy of an unexpected day off.

I light a fire in the fireplace and enjoy sipping an extra cup of hot coffee. Because my school work is complete, the day belongs to me – to do as I see fit. I refuse to sully the hours with mundane chores like laundry or housekeeping. This day is reserved for spontaneous creativity.

A portion of the morning hours will be spent reading that novel I bought months ago but never found the time to open. Today is the day to escape to that literary world.

Around noon I will inspect the refrigerator to see what I can make for dinner. I find enough leftovers and vegetables for a nice pot of soup and some melted cheese biscuits.

The afternoon hours may be spent on a craft project, like catching up on family scrapbooks or creating greeting cards for the upcoming year. If I’m in a particular culinary mood, I may scour the cookbooks for a new dessert recipe to try.

The leisurely day is bound to pass quickly. Before I know it, the dinner dishes will be washed and put away, and I will begin thinking about school tomorrow.

The magic of a snow day, however, is not limited to one 24-hour time period. The spontaneous day off is simply the catalyst to re-awakening our creativity. Once we open that novel, take out those craft supplies, or delve deeper into a personal project, we look for ways to continue.

We discover a ten-minute pocket of time between cleaning the kitchen and starting the nighttime routine. We set the alarm thirty minutes earlier to give us some quiet uninterrupted space. We turn off the comedy re-runs in favor of me-time.

I’m not sure who enjoys a snow day more: students, teachers, or the basset.

About the Author: Molly Totoro

Molly Totoro is a Connecticut Yankee currently residing in the Midwest with her husband and trusty basset. While Molly retired from full-time teaching in 2014 to pursue her writing dreams, she continues to work with students to achieve their writing potential. Molly recently published her first book, Journaling Toward Wholeness: A 28-Day Plan to Develop a Journaling Practice with the hope of inspiring others to experience the health benefits of writing their inner thoughts.

Connect with Molly at her blog, My Cozy Book Nook and on social media: FaceBookTwitterInstagramPinterest

Him by Kolleen Harrison

I watch him as he talks to himself, laughs, and talks some more.

I watch him as he attempts to line up his glass just perfectly in the
cupboard – over and over and over again.

I watch him as he stares out the window with a big smile plastered upon
his face, wondering what it is that is making him smile so wide.

I watch him in his nervousness and anxiety as someone he doesn’t know
says “hello” to him.

I watch him with love.
I watch him with admiration.
I watch him with curiosity.
I watch him and wonder if he knows just how amazing he really is.
I watch him grateful he is mine.

About the Author: Kolleen Harrison

kolleenHarrisonbioKolleen Harrison is a creative living in the beautiful Central Coast of California. She is the Founder of LOVEwild and Founder/Maker of Mahabba Beads. Her passions lie in nurturing her relationship with God, loving on her happily dysfunctional family, flinging paint in her studio, dancing barefoot, making jewelry (that is so much more than “just jewelry”), and spreading love and kindness wherever and whenever she can. You can find her popping in and out at LOVEwild.org or MahabbaBeads.com

Conversations Over Coffee with Kelly Chripczuk

The call to create is certainly something deep within each of us, yet to take the next step and share our work with the world. Isn’t that the way of wonder, though? To witness the bravery of others? That’s just one of the reasons I loved reading Kelly Chripczuk’s new book of poetry Between Heaven and Earth as she took a collection of writings she’d been doing mostly for herself and then shared it with folks.

It was a joy to sit down with Kelly and we dive into what it takes to write, raise a family, and manage all the idiosyncrasies of life.

We call this series Conversations Over Coffee because it’s the things I’d ask you if we were sitting across the table from each other over a casual cup of coffee….. so, let’s set the stage: where would you suggest we meet near your current home….and what is your go-to beverage and/or snack were we to meet?

Café 101, a cute little coffee shop, is just a ten minute walk from my house, so we could meet there.  I’ll have coffee and, if it’s morning, baked oatmeal.  But, if one of my kids is home sick from school (as often happens this time of year) meeting in my kitchen will work too.  I’ll just put on some water for tea or reheat a cup of coffee, and we can talk around our old butcher-block kitchen Island.

Tell us about your last two books Chicken Scratch and Between Heaven and Earth

I started writing my first book, Chicken Scratch: Stories of Love, Risk and Poultry, about four months before my youngest kids were due to start Kindergarten.  As a work-from-home mom, I was anxious about weathering the transition and knew I would need something to keep me busy – writing a book seemed like a good way to fill the time.  For my birthday that year, I bought a flock of hens (because I also through selling free-range eggs might be a good way to fill the time).  I decided I’d write about tending the chickens every day for a month and see what came of it.  Six months later, after a lot of editing and revisions, I had a sixteen-chapter book filled with stories of love, risk and poultry.  My biggest goals for Chicken Scratch were to learn about writing a book, to experience the self-publishing process, and have it be fun – both for me and for my readers.

My second book, Between Heaven and Earth, is a collection of 45 contemplative poems that I wrote over the past five years.  I’m not a disciplined poet, but I find it a helpful format for times when other forms of writing fail me.  Between Heaven and Earth came out last week and, so far, I’m most excited to hear that people who “don’t normally read poetry,” are finding it accessible and engaging.

My biggest goal for Between Heaven and Earth was to Just. Get. It. Done., as it’s something I’ve been meaning to put together for a long time.

 In what ways does real life inform your writing (and vice versa)?

I wrote as an academic for years before I began writing creative non-fiction.  As an academic, the rules were clear – real life wasn’t supposed to inform anything.  But, in 2011, we unexpectedly gave birth to twin boys, doubling the number of children we had from two to four.  I left my job as an Associate Pastor and plans for a PhD in Old Testament were rather permanently shelved.  In that time, just before the twins were born, I set up a blog online.  Although a year passed before I published my first post, the blog became the one space in my life that was truly my own and the one way I could still have a voice outside the bulging walls of my own home.

At that time, real life was the impetus for my writing.  I wrote to understand and make meaning of the upheaval I was experiencing.  I wrote to maintain a sense of humor because the things that were happening in our home were too crazy to be true.  I wrote to survive – to believe we would survive – and to hold on to a sense of my own identity.  All of that to say – there’s a very natural flow, for me, between writing and life because, for so long, there was no way to separate the two.

As for writing informing my life, writing has helped me learn to risk more, to endure possible failure, to keep working and moving when the outcome is unknown.  Devotion to creativity has deepened my faith in the goodness, wholeness, and possibility of life that make themselves known when we are committed to showing up.

When did you first know you were a writer?

I stumbled into writing when I joined Facebook, just around the same time I became pregnant with twins.  Facebook gave me an audience and aroused in me an awareness of my love of words.  Something would happen and I would walk around all day thinking of the perfect way to phrase it to get a laugh online.  After the twins arrived, the level of absurdity happening in our house (4 kids five and under) and my sense of humor made my posts more and more popular.  People started telling me I should start blog and, eventually, I did.

Once I began writing, I remembered how often teachers praised my writing in high school, college, and beyond, but no one had ever suggested I might be a writer.  When I think of myself as a writer, I think of someone who loves words and enjoys the work of communicating things in a way that elucidates and/or forms a connection.

What’s your best three pieces of advice for folks that write?

The practice of writing shapes you – commit to the practice, rather than to an outcome.

Be clear about why you write, and cling to that when the writing is tough, or you aren’t getting the outcomes you want.  I write “for love and for joy.”  When I get frustrated or start playing the comparison game with other writers, I try to come back to two central questions:  Is writing helping me (and my readers) be more aware of love?  Is my writing helping me (and my readers) be more aware of joy?  If the answer to that is yes, then I am doing what I’m called to do.

Don’t spend a lot of energy focusing on your fears or the hurdles in your life.  Fear and distraction will always be there, nod your head at them from time to time, if you must, then get back to the work at hand.

What’s typical day like in your household?

During the school year, I get up at six and try to be downstairs on the couch, by the woodstove, with coffee cup in hand, by the time my daughter comes down fifteen minutes later.  We start the day together quietly while she eats and I pack lunches.  She is out the door at 7am and I quick, grab a shower before my twin boys explode out of their room at 7:10 with their older brother not far behind.  I spend the next hour and a half reading aloud, packing lunches, finding missing articles of clothing, and pushing kids out the door.  During that time, I also try to tidy a little, start a load of laundry or empty the dishwasher to get a jump on housework for the day.

I write and offer Spiritual Direction in a little building about thirty feet from our main house.  The office used to be a summer kitchen and, before that, a hen house.  I try to be in my office with Coco (our dog) by 9 or 9:30 and work until around 1.  I take frequent breaks to run into the main house and feed the woodstove, switch the laundry, and grab snacks.  I also keep a painting space set-up in one corner of my office and find that adding a layer to something I’m working on offers a good timeout when I get stuck working with words.

Some days I keep working until my daughter’s bus arrives at 3, but I often use the afternoon to run a never-ending list of errands.  From 3pm on, my day is filled with housework and family time although, if a project demands, I can always head back out to my office once my husband gets home.  All of this changes at the drop of a hat, though, if someone is home sick from school, during in summer months, and during times when I pick up other away-from-home work.

How do you manage the balance of real life and creative work? (Especially with kids and family responsibilities). How do you carve out time to create?

For me, carving out time to create, is like carving out time to eat or sleep or breathe.  If I don’t do it, I suffer, and if I suffer, those closest to me tend to pay the price.  We our kids were very young, I realized writing was key to my emotional and intellectual survival, so I hired a babysitter to come three hours a week.  The minute arrived, I would drop everything, throw the babies at her, grab my laptop, and run out the door, like a woman fleeing a burning building.  Having kids in school has made life more routine, but it remains unpredictable, especially during the summer months.

Three specific practices that have helped me carve out time are:

– All of our kids have Quiet Time alone in their rooms for one hour every afternoon.  This is non-negotiable.

– I try to think about my writing time as a set block of time (say, an hour) that can be moved around depending on the demands of any particular day or week.  For me, finding a balance between flexibility and discipline is key.

– I occasionally keep a ‘time diary’ as a way to keep track of how I’m actually spending my time and, using the insights gained, make adjustments, like adding a little housework to my morning routine, that helps free up time later I the day.

Why IS it important to write if you feel the call?

Writing isn’t a means to an end.  To me, writing is a particular way of being in the world.  It’s a posture of listening, of exploring, and of dancing between what is and what is not-yet.  I think, if you feel a call to write, its because that’s the kind of person you are and there’s nothing more lovely or more necessary to our survival, than people being true to what author Parker Palmer calls, ‘their native way of being in the world.’

What’s your advice to other writers and creative souls?

Creative people need creative community – seek it out, invest in it, offer it to others.

Also, keep learning new skills.  Teach yourself to yo-yo, cook a soufflé, chop wood or buy a flock of laying hens to tend.  Every new skill you embrace will feed your creative life, will feed your writing, if you let it.  Always ask yourself the curious question, “what does this have to do with that?”

What do you know now that you wish you knew at 30?

I know so much more now about who I am.  The stripping down of false identity was a long and arduous process, but I think, if I’d had a glimpse of who I am now when I was 30, I would have been awed, amazed, and so very surprised.

This is our “Hope & Wonder” issue. How do you keep those tenets alive in your daily life? Your creative life?

Wonder, for me, is fueled by attention to what is.  That’s why I find learning new skills (gaining new information) so helpful – when we are in learning mode, attention and focus are increased and we’re more open and aware process, more capable of surprise.

Hope, for me, is fueled by storytelling.  Writing about the crappy week when our car died and the kids were sick, or the time I was hospitalized for a nervous breakdown, helps me step outside my small, ego-centric perceptions of the world and allows me to embrace a larger narrative that seems to be hidden just behind (or beneath) all of the smaller stories of our lives – the one in which grace and mercy are new every day and love itself is what keeps us.

About the Author: Kelly Chripczuk

Kelly Chripczuk is a licensed pastor, Spiritual Director and writer who lives with her husband and four children in a 100+ year-old farm house in Central PA.  She writes regularly online at www.thiscontemplativelife.org and for public speaking and retreats.

Sunday Brunch: Winter Flames

“The darkness of the whole world cannot swallow the glowing of a candle.”  ~Robert Altinger

Christmas. Hanukkah. Yule. Whether you come from a single faith tradition, or from a family like mine, that blends and merges traditions from several cultures, there is no shortage of winter holidays to choose from.

All are radically different. Christmas celebrates the birth of Christ. Hanukkah remembers the Maccabees and their defeat of the Seleucids as well as the rededication of their temple and the miracle of the oil, which was only enough for one night, but lasted for eight. Yule originated as Nordic and Germanic midwinter celebration that involved feasting and gift-giving (and in the oldest celebrations, sacrifices).

And yet, these winter holidays all have something in common as well – aside from the tendency to celebrate with incredibly delicious, albeit unhealthy foods. They all bring light to the longest nights of the year.

Copyright: arcticphotoworks / 123RF Stock Photo

True, in this age of technological wonders when we can have books in our hands at the touch of a button, and get antsy when we’re away from our smart-phones or tablets for more than a few minutes, and are limited in our ability to work late into the wee hours, not by waning daylight, but only by our stamina and the amount of caffeine we’re willing to ingest, we no longer rely on candles or firelight for physical illumination.

And yet…

And yet we light candles to mark the progress through Advent.

We light them, one at a time, to count the eight days of Hanukkah.

We build fires in our hearths as symbolic representations of the bonfires our ancestors might have danced around, or we build actual bonfires and invite our friends to dance with us.

We fill our homes with candles that represent nothing more than a cozy glow, and we gather ’round our gas logs or Franklin stoves even when our houses are fitted with central heating systems, because there’s something – some magical thing – about fire that seems to drive away the stress and darkness of winter in a way that electric light never can.

I think we forget, sometimes, that the holidays aren’t always merry and bright. They’re not always full of smiling faces and joyous laughter.

These winter holidays come to us at the end of the year, which means they’re both an ending, a sort of finish line we’re all racing toward, and a final hurdle we must overcome before we have the opportunity to start anew. We fill our homes with those colorful candles and crackling fires as much to keep the shadows at bay and drive away the darkness, as we do to celebrate the light.

Our flames aren’t some form of denial, though. Rather, they’re sort of a nightlight for our souls. They keep our hearts warm and our homes welcoming, and remind us that all winters end.

Hanukkah begins on Tuesday evening. Yule comes with the Winter Solstice on December 21st. Christmas follows a few days after that. Whether you’re celebrating one of those old holidays, or you’ve embraced something newer, like Kwanzaa or Chalica – or even Festivus – may the flames you ignite keep you warm in body and soul this winter.

About the author: Melissa A. Bartell

Melissa is a writer, voice actor, podcaster, itinerant musician, voracious reader, and collector of hats and rescue dogs. She is the author of The Bathtub Mermaid: Tales from the Holiday Tub. You can learn more about her on her blog,  listen to her podcast, or connect with her on on Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter.