Back to Camp

I joined what is now known as InscribeChristian Writers Fellowship (ICWF) in the late nineteen hundreds and attended my first annual conference in Edmonton in 2000. If you don’t count participating online, my second conference was two weekends ago, held at Echo Lake Bible Camp near Fort Qu’Appelle, Saskatchewan. With only four and a half hours of driving time, no cities to navigate, and the camp setting making it affordable, how could I not go?

I recruited Valerie, a fellow Manitoban and long-time ICWF member, to go with me. We didn’t know each other, but we hit it off easily, getting into below-the-surface conversation before we hit the outskirts of town and not stopping for the rest of the weekend.

I confess nothing, but we may or may not have consumed more coffee than is advisable on a road trip. As a result, we may or may not have driven all over Wapella desperately looking for a public washroom and ended up using one in their laundromat. We may or may not have gotten the giggles while trying to figure out how to pump our gas at the pay-at-the-pump station in Grenfell. We may or may not have temporarily lost our confidence when Google advised us to take a gravel road.

If you’ve never made the drive to Fort Qu’Appelle, I recommend it—especially in the fall. Imagine driving along Crescent Lake for twenty miles but with a lot more curves and hills. The bursts of autumn glory in the five-p.m. sunlight took our breath away.

The campus proved lovely as well, although the cabins were everything you’d expect at a camp founded in 1933. Old. Rustic. Smelly. (In retrospect, not as primitive as the camp of my childhood where the bathroom was an outhouse. And showers? What are those? You simply swam in the pool every day, which was nothing but a large concrete box built into a creek, the icy water flowing in one end and out the other. Compared to that, this place was the Ritz, boasting three whole showers for only 40 women and actual electricity.) Not that it really mattered, since I may or may not have forgotten half my makeup and spent the weekend looking like a flu patient.

The highlights of my weekend? Making a new friend in Valerie, having my heart and soul truly touched by Steve Bell’s music and teaching, eating terrific food I didn’t have to prepare, walking along the shore of the beautiful lake, selling a few books, and finding out both Valerie and I won some writing awards to bring back to Portage!

Photo of award-winners taken from Inscribe Facebook page.

The low light? Fatigue. After two nights of little sleep in our wooden beds with wafer-thin mattresses, we felt like royalty checking into the Best Western in Moosomin on our way home Saturday night. Alas, for some reason I still tossed and turned much of the night and came home exhausted.

I learned how much I depend on my hubby on road trips. Sure, I’ve traveled on my own but always by air and always to cities large enough to have airports with shuttles to and from my hotel. Driving demands far more of you. Navigating, keeping an eye on the gas gauge, the speedometer, road signs, and of course, other traffic. Deciding where to park and where to fuel up. Determining whether to obey or ignore Google. Thank God for my passenger!

Having to be a grown-up was good for me. Now if only I could learn to be a grown-up and not require more naps than an infant.

P.S. Local friends, you're invited to my come-and-go Book Launch for April's Promise at the Portage Library on Saturday, October 21, from 11:00 - 2:00.

 

To Plant an Oke

As a twenty-year-old newlywed transplanted from the Canadian prairies to a small Texas city where my new husband would pursue his degree at a Christian college, I took refuge in the school’s library. Its books would become a source of companionship, inspiration, and emotional health. There, I discovered the earliest novels of Janette Oke and devoured them with passion. I could not have dreamed that, nearly forty years later, I’d find myself seated in an elegant Nashville banquet room filled with authors, editors, and agents from the Christian publishing world while they announced the recipient of the 2016 American Christian Fiction Writers Lifetime Achievement Award: Janette Oke.

Mrs. Oke was not present to receive that award, but it didn’t stop my tears from forming as I saw her photo on the screen and heard the wonderful tribute to her and her work. I’ve never felt prouder to be a Canadian Christian writer!

I thought back to those lonely days of feeling swept away by Mrs. Oke’s Love Comes Softly stories. The way Clark and Marty came together through difficult circumstances built my faith and my commitment to marriage and family. Not only did those books inspire me to be a better wife and more devoted disciple, but I believe a tiny seed was planted. Could I be a writer, too?

As the years passed and children joined our family, my writing opportunities were limited to Christmas family newsletters. Later, when I took the lead of my church’s puppet team and then a drama ministry, I began to learn the art of script-writing. This was followed by a column in the church newspaper, which I also edited. Little by little, the seed—perhaps an acorn—received enough water to sprout.

When I had the privilege of hearing Mrs. Oke speak at an Inscribe conference, I felt stirred by her ability to remain so humble and encouraging. Once again, she inspired me. My little seedling grew stronger. I returned home and continued to pursue writing through articles, short scripts, and Chicken Soup for the Soul contributions. The idea of tackling a novel seemed far too lofty.

Then, while praying for me one evening, a dear friend received a spiritual image. She saw me, sitting on top of an old-fashioned silver suitcase. The case was filled with papers, trying to escape. From that picture—at age fifty—I began writing what would eventually be my first novel, The Silver Suitcase. I chose historical fiction largely due to the influence of Janette Oke. (It didn’t hurt that my middle name is Janette.) I felt elated when a beta reader of that first rough draft said, “I felt like I was reading a Janette Oke book!”

Although seven years would pass before The Silver Suitcase was published, it would go on to win awards, accumulate over seven hundred reviews on Amazon, and be quickly followed by two other inspirational, historical novels. Next year, it will be translated into Macedonian!

I started a little late in life and will never be as prolific an author as Janette Oke. But I’m confident I would never have started at all had it not been for the seed her books planted in my heart. I believe that little acorn has grown into a sturdy enough oak to become a source of shade, comfort, and inspiration to my readers. Nothing would thrill me more than to one day learn I played a role in planting a similar seed in a young writer’s heart.

One question I’ve heard repeatedly throughout 2018 is “when is your next book coming out?” I wish I knew the answer. I’ve finished two more books since the last released, but my publisher discontinued its fiction line and my agent is seeking a new publisher. It’s a long process when you’re committed to the traditional publishing method. Although I’ve not released a book in 2018, it has been the greatest privilege to receive a couple of writing awards. One of those was the Janette Oke Award given out every other year by Inscribe Christian Writers Fellowship. The essay I’ve shared above helped bring this award home to Portage la Prairie.

I wish my readers all the best in 2019!

City Slide Walks and My Guardian Angel

When you live with the fear that one icy morning while crossing the bridge on your walk to work, you’ll get nailed by a sliding car and go flying over the railing and down to the tracks below—but you walk to work anyway—is that courage or stupidity?

It’s been that kind of week. And it prompted me to rewrite Silver Bells. Go ahead, sing along. You know you wanna.

City sidewalks, slippery slide walks

Iced in holiday style

On the streets there’s a feeling of danger.

Children sliding, people gliding

Meeting pavement and stone

And on every street corner you fear…

Chorus:

Slippery falls, slippery falls

It’s winter time in the city

Ouchy ouch

I’m a grouch

Soon I’ll be needing a cane.

Horns a-honking, cars a-skidding

Through lights bright red and green

As the shoppers slide home with their treasures

Feel the sleet punch, hear your bones crunch

For these hazards you’ll pay      

And above all these death-traps you fear…

(Repeat chorus if you dare)

I never did fall, thanks in part to my husband’s Yaktrax which may be ruining my boots. But at this stage of life, I figure a pair of boots is cheaper than a broken limb. I was surprised by how many people noticed my grippy fashion accessory and commented. What was far less noticeable, but I’m certain as effective, was my guardian angel. When I returned home on Tuesday, the slipperiest day of all, I received an email from Connie Inglis who serves as the spiritual advisor for Inscribe Christian Writers Fellowship to which I belong. I’ve never met Connie, but she wrote to tell me she prayed Psalm 91 for me that day.

Of course I looked it up. Among several other promises about how God will keep his children safe from harm, are these words in verses 11 and 12:

“He ordered his angels to guard you wherever you go. If you stumble, they’ll catch you; their job is to keep you from falling.” (The Message)

Good work, guys!