by jphilo | Jan 5, 2011 | Book Updates
Here it is – this week’s recycled blog entry. This one hit cyberspace on January 27 about a year ago. No wonder the subject matter resonated with me. For the past two months, I’ve been consumed with writing the book that came out of the proposal mentioned in the old post.
Surprising how many feelings remain the same a year later, though the rough draft is almost 2/3 complete. The the oh-my-goodness-I-can’t-possibly-fill-this-blank-screen-with-enough-words-to-be-anything-substantial sensation returns with the start of each new chapter. But more than that, my heart still overflows with gratitude for all those who volunteered to share their families’ stories. Their wisdom and perseverance will be the heart of this book, and I’m blessed by the opportunity to share their stories.
But before I go off on the here and now, let’s go back to January 27, 2010 and see what what happening that snowy, snowy day.
Book Proposal Update – Recycled
A burden lifted from my shoulders last week when I mailed my latest book proposal to the editor. Not that this proposal was extra-difficult to write. Once I got past the stages of oh-my-goodness-I-can’t-possibly-fill-this-blank-screen-with-enough-words-to-be-anything-substantial, and how-do-I-organize-this-beast, and why-did-I-think-this-topic-was-a-good-one, it quickly took shape.
Chapter topics to address and resources to include became evident, thanks to three women – Cheryl, Cindy, and Lorie – who shared their struggles as moms of kids with special needs. They words were the hope other parents need to hear. And their experiences created a road map for the common journey parents embark upon when they discover their child has special needs.
Working with them was delightful, as was weaving their stories and suggestions into the proposal. So the sensation of immense relief once the proposal was sent surprised me. Since the relief wasn’t the result of completing a dreaded task, it must have come from fulfilling a responsibility I didn’t feel equipped to handle.
For now, the baton of responsibility has been passed on the publication committee. Since they’re praying about the proposal, along with me and my agent, if they decide I’m up to the task, I’ll take the baton and run with it.
Until they decide, I’m moving on to other things: researching and writing www.DifferentDream.com blog posts, writing articles to promote A Different Dream for My Child, preparing for upcoming speaking engagements, and maybe, just maybe, finding time to work on my new mystery series idea. Hopefully, two things will happen before everything is checked off the list: the publication committee will make a decision and winter will be over.
Either one will make me smile!
by jphilo | Nov 25, 2010 | Book Updates
Tuesday, while crowing about the cover art for Different Dream Parenting, I hinted about the significance of the teddy bear in the corner. Today’s entry explains that significance.
This story was written shortly after receiving the cover art for my first book, A Different Dream for My Child, in January of 2009. As I wrote, one month after Allen finished treatment for PTSD, we were hopeful but unsure of the treatment’s success. Reading it today, I am reminded of what God has done in our family over the past two years. Indeed, we have much to be grateful for this Thanksgiving Day.
The Teddy Bear
Yesterday my editor emailed the final cover design for my book, A Different Dream for My Child: Meditations for Parents of Critically or Chronically Ill Children. I opened it, and chills ran down my spine.
The picture of two hands, those of a parent and child, caused the first chill. For months, a similar image had flashed into my mind whenever I tried to picture the book’s cover. The second chill came when I realized the book title was intact. Because of its length, I expected it to be changed. But the designer arranged the title and subtitle so it flows beautifully.
The tiny teddy bear in the top, right corner of the cover made me gasp and brought on the third chill. The little bear was a dead ringer for the one our son received from a neighbor when, at almost three weeks old, he was released from neo-natal intensive care. The little brown bear had a red ribbon around its neck and music box key poking from its back. When our fragile baby, still recovering from surgery, lay in his infant carrier, we would wind the key and perch the bear in front of Allen.
After a few days, his eyes began to search for the bear when he heard the thin strains of Teddy Bears’ Picnic. My heart rejoiced to see our baby aware of the world around him, able to hear and see and seek out the music. The day he raised his small hand and reached for the bear, I gasped. A chill ran down my spine, and voice from deep within reassured me. He’s going to make it through this and so will you. You’re all going to be okay.
Though many unexpected medical and emotional hardships lay ahead for our family and for Allen, those words proved true. Twenty-six years later, we are okay. We have made it through. That’s why the tiny teddy bear in the top right corner of the book’s cover sent a chill down my spine and made me gasp. The little brown bear with a bright red bow around its neck assures me that parents will hear the message in A Different Dream for My Child.
You’re going to make it. No matter how hard things get, no matter how long it takes, you’re not alone. You’re going to be okay.
by jphilo | Nov 23, 2010 | Book Updates
Yesterday, an editor from Discovery House Publishers (DHP) emailed to say the cover design for Different Dream Parenting had been finalized. She also sent a jpeg attachement of the design. I held my breath while clicking it open, certain nothing could top the beautiful cover created for A Different Dream for My Child.
But I was wrong. Way wrong.
The new cover is every bit as lovely and inviting as the first one. The designer even heeded my timid suggestion that the new cover include some elements from the previous book’s cover so the two look like a matched set. Of course, being wholly deficient in the finer points of graphic, I had no idea of how the feat could be achieved. But some nameless artistic whiz did a bang up job, right down to the tiny teddy bear that still sends chills down my spine.
More on that story in another blog entry.
The cover is so good I want to crow with delight. And I’m sorely tempted to strut my stuff, except I don’t have any stuff to strut. The design, no matter how lovely, will look pretty silly if there’s nothing between the front and back covers. Which means it’s time to start writing. But before I get to work, please grant one tiny delight.
Cock-a-doodle-do!
by jphilo | Oct 1, 2010 | Book Updates
Yesterday, I interviewed Stacy Remke, the coordinator of the Pain and Palliative Care program at the Children’s Hospitals and Clinics of Minnesota. Our conversation about the services they offer to families of kids with chronic and sometimes terminal illnesses brought to mind a friend who lost his son a little over a year ago. I thought of this post, written last June, and how the right occasion never arose to post it. In light of yesterday’s interview and in honor of little Evan Newport, today is the right day for the post. Perhaps, you will read it and agree.
A friend called the day after Father’s Day. He said Sunday, the first Father’s Day since his son died the day after Thanksgiving, had been brutal. “It felt almost like depression, but that’s not what it was,” he said. “I was just so sad, so very, very sad.”
He talked about how hard it was to lose his seven-year-old son, even though he was was born with a severe heart defect and they knew his lifespan would be short. Seven months after his son’s death, my friend is surprised by the intense and relentless grip of grief he’s experiencing.
He’s also surprised by the comments of well-meaning Christians. They quote Bible verses like Romans 8:28 which says “All things work together for good for those who love God, to those who are called according to His purposes.” By their tone, they imply that if he’s a true Christian, it’s about time for him to snap out of his grief because after all, his son’s death is working together for good.
How come, I wondered as he poured out his hurt and pain, they don’t quote John 11:35? The shortest verse in the Bible, it’s much easier to memorize than Romans 8:28. And if those well-meaning people want to comfort a man grieving the loss of his little boy, these words are salve to a wounded, aching soul.
Jesus wept.
Jesus, God in the flesh, wept when told of the death of his friend Lazarus.
Jesus wept, though he knew his friend would soon rise again.
Jesus, who is light in the darkness, wept.
My God, who knows the end from the beginning, wept.
Surely my friend, who can’t yet see his way through the darkness of loss, can weep, too.
by jphilo | Jun 22, 2010 | Book Updates
It’s official. The contract for Different Dream Parenting: Raising a Child with Special Needs is signed, sealed and delivered. Whew and yahoo!
Not that I thought Discovery House Publishers (DHP) would pull out of the deal. The people there have great integrity. Still, for this former teacher who loves to dot ever “i” and cross every “t” (not to mention put check marks in the little boxes on her to do lists), receiving the final, signed contract was an “ahh” moment.
The biggest “ahh” is the deadline date for the manuscript. Between the daughter’s upcoming wedding and the research intensive nature of the book, I fretted a little, wondering if enough time would be allowed to do the subject justice. I shouldn’t have worried. DHP’s manuscript deadline of April 1, 2011 is extremely generous. Ahh.
I am looking for both families of children with special needs and experts to interview as part of the book research. You can read the details at www.DifferentDream.com. If you have expertise in any of the areas or know someone who does, please send an email. I won’t be scheduling interviews until several weeks after the wedding (July 11), but am compiling a list in the meantime.
Thanks for your continued encouragement and prayers. You are a great source of strength to me. To quote a dead guy named Paul, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me,” to which I add my own two cents, “but not much else.”
by jphilo | May 21, 2010 | Book Updates
Two things happened recently that have me simultaneously dancing with joy and worrying about my compulsive tendencies.
The first thing was the completion of some really cool planning charts for my latest book projects. There’s a chart for each of the six sections of the books. Each chart is neatly divided into five boxes, for the four chapters in each section and the corresponding appendix. The charts have neat, centered titles, summaries of each chapter and bold-faced headings followed by blank spaces where I will jot down important information and ideas. Of course, from past experience, I know how unlikely it is that I will remember to use the charts throughout the project. But for now, the completion of the charts makes me feel industrious, and their existence make me very happy.
The second thing makes the charts seem like child’s play. A school teacher friend of mine has agreed to coordinate reception preparations for our daughter’s wedding. This is a woman after my own heart. She loves to make plans and check off lists and label tubs as much as I do. She will not laugh when I give her a ten page, reception instruction list, complete with a perfectly centered title and lovely little check off boxes. She will be as thrilled as I am.
It could be because:
- We bonded 22 years ago, when we huddled together in the corner of my classroom each noon hour, pumping breast milk for our babies who were born just a week apart.
- God knew I would need peace of mind during my daughter’s wedding weekend and provided someone able to give me such a gift.
- Compulsive people naturally come together and arrange themselves into neat rows and columns.
I can’t choose A because it explains our friendship but not our innate personality traits. I can’t choose C because I’m in denial about being compulsive, and I hope she is, too, at least until after the wedding. We can face our demons later, I always say.
So that only leaves B, which is the best, most comforting answer. I’m not compulsive, but my God is a God of order, not chaos.
Me and my friend, we’re just trying to be more like him.
