by jphilo | Jul 15, 2009 | Book Updates
A few days ago I received an email from Teresa Lasher, a woman I met at the Iowa Christian Writers’ Conference. She sent me this picture and told me how much the little teddy bear, which she won as a door prize during the session I facilitated, means to her.
If you don’t know why I give teddy bears as door prizes when I speak, go to this link at Maria Keckler’s website where she recently posted the story. To explain further, I tell the teddy bear story at speaking engagements. I end my saying that whoever receives the door prize needs the reassurance from God I felt when I saw the teddy bear on the cover of my book – “It’s gonna be alright” – or they know someone who needs to hear the message and will pass the bear along.
Well, at the writers’ conference I gave away two teddy bears. The first went to a woman who is recovering from the tragic deaths of two of her sons. The other went to Teresa, who recently went through brain surgery and has recently welcomed back a prodigal son after a separation similar to what we experienced with Allen.
To say a few tears were shed when the women came forward for their teddy bears would be an understatement. The three of us bonded immediately and have begun what I believe could be lifelong friendships. And all of us left the conference with a “God sighting” story we’ll never forget.
by jphilo | Jun 30, 2009 | Book Updates
Okay, okay, so this hometown girl hasn’t made it big yet, and I may never make it big. But for the first time in a long time, my hometown paper, The Le Mars Daily Sentinel ran a story about me in which I am not:
a) Perched on an improvised Sopwith Camel
b) Sporting a green, ratted up-do
c) Dressed as a hedgehog
d) Garbed in theatrical black
e) Pretending to be someone I’m not, and having a jolly time doing so
Instead, the story is the first of what I hope will be many newspaper stories about my new book. My goal isn’t to get my picture taken, though it was fun when the reporter, who is also my old friend Beverly Van Buskirk, snapped my photo in front of our former high school. And my goal isn’t to create a big fan base, though it was fun to get a congratulatory FaceBook note from a former high school classmate.
My goal is to get A Different Dream for My Child into the hands of parents who need answers and hope as they deal with their children’s health issues. Bev’s article helped realize that goal because the former classmate who sent me the FaceBook note also has a special needs son. She’s eager to buy the book. And if it helps her and her family, no matter how many or few copies are ultimately sold, I will have made it plenty big.
by jphilo | May 23, 2009 | Book Updates
The publicist from Discovery House emailed yesterday and said Annette Selden, one of their editors had reviewed A Different Dream for My Child on her blog. I followed the link, of course, and read what she had to say.
You read the review at Annette’s blog, along with one of the devotions from the book, “The Shirt of Her Back.” Just so you know, the story is completely true. An elderly woman we barely knew took off her shirt near a busy Omaha intersection in a vain attempt to help us unlock our car.
Now I’ve piqued your curiosity. To satisfy it, you’ll have to click on the link and see!
by jphilo | May 20, 2009 | Book Updates
Yesterday, the editor emailed the first proofs of A Different Dream for My Child for me to examine. That means the design and layout experts worked their magic on the manuscript, and it’s starting to look like a book. My job is to look for mistakes and make suggestions to improve upon the good work they have done.
Throughout the book-writing process, I’ve kept my emotions in check even though writing and publishing a book is a lot like giving birth. But when I read the introduction page, where our son’s birth is described, and I saw Allen’s name and birthdate on a real-looking page of what will be a real book, I began to cry. Too bad I can’t claim hormones caused my emotional outburst. That was such a convenient excuse during and after pregnancy. And I can’t say I was high on laser printer toner since it doesn’t work like mimeograph fluid did in the olden days.
When I saw his name on the page, the old memories came flooding back. My heart swelled with gratitude to see how God can our hardships, and those of the other families featured in the book, to minister to hurting kids and parents in the future.
Is it a coincidence that the first proofs arrived a few days before my son’s birthday? I don’t think so. For almost twenty-seven years, the third week in May has been pregnant with preparations for the celebration of his life. This week promises to be more of the same – gifts, a family meal, German chocolate birthday cake, and one more thing – first proofs to cry over when no one is looking my way.
by jphilo | Apr 22, 2009 | Book Updates
The weather this morning was full of promise – warm, still, and cloudless, the sky intense and blue. The magnolia buds sensed the warmth and sent forth pink feelers to test the day. They may bloom tomorrow or the day after that, but the promise is there. They will bloom.
I should have been joyful to see the petals peek through their fuzzy grey blankets, but my thoughts were with a family who recently lost their son to neuroblastoma. Little Braeden was just shy of his fourth birthday when he died early Saturday morning.
I haven’t met Braeden or his family, but my book is being published, partly because of them. When the Discovery House Publishers selection committee was considering my proposal, they asked one of their co-workers, Braeden’s dad, to read it. The editors asked him if a book like it would have been beneficial to them. Yes, he said, it would have been helpful.
The book will be released in September, but Braeden’s life was nipped in the bud. My future holds promise, sweet as magnolias in the spring, while Braeden’s family grieves though the promise of heaven is their sure hope. While their loss remains raw and wrenching, I am praying that God’s promises will be real to them, revealed to them as hope in their grief. And one day, I hope to share letters with them, letters from parents encouraged by the stories in a little book that came into being, in no small part because little Braeden lived.
by jphilo | Feb 12, 2009 | Book Updates
Yesterday my editor said A Different Dream for My Child will be released sometime in September. Instead of being pleased to have a specific date for scheduling speaking engagements around the release date, for contacting magazine editors willing to run articles related to the book, and to share with my family and friends, I immediately panicked.
September? But it’s only six months away, give or take two weeks. So much needs to be done. There are query letters to magazines, articles to write, a website to build, medical and parent support groups to contact. How can I possibly get it all done while getting Mom’s house ready to sell and helping with her finances, working on the mystery novel with Ginger, writing for Facets and Health Connect, preparing two months worth of kids’ devotions for a new Tyndale House publication, and not neglect my husband, son and daughter? Suddenly, my life seemed as convoluted as some of my sentences, and my undies were definitely in a bunch.
Then I thought of my early days of teaching, when I spent much of the month before school began getting my a hot, stuffy classroom “ready.” August after August, I worked myself into a frenzy trying to prepare nine months worth of material by the first day of school. After about twenty years (call me a slow learner), I realized that on the first day of school I only needed to be ready for the first day of school, or at the most, for the first week.
Maybe there’s a lesson to be learned from my teaching career. I don’t need to be ready for September in February. I need to be ready for today, for this week at the most. So this afternoon, I’ll look at what needs to be done by September, break everything into doable bits and choose one small thing to tackle tomorrow. My learning curve for the next six months will be high, it’s true, but that’s a whole lot better than twenty years!
