On Becoming a Stephen King Fan

Before you take me too literally, let me qualify that—I’m becoming a fan of Stephen King the writer. Prior to a couple weeks ago I’d never read a word King wrote; I don’t like being terrified. Ever since Miss Gultch turned into the Wicked Witch of the North before my very young eyes, I’ve preferred to keep my distance from scary. I screamed out loud in the theater when the alien appeared in the TV reflection in “Signs”.

However, some of the top Christian writers recommend “On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft”, (with a warning about the language), for learning about writing and being a writer from one of the most prolific and successful contemporary American writers. So I read it. I was stunned. The guy can really write! And the language is really bad!

It’s fascinating to read the autobiographical part of the book that tells about King’s formative years as a writer. Of course, since I’m a psychotherapist, I was also reading for psychological and personality development. When your babysitter locks you in the closet and generally abuses you, no wonder you write scary things. And oh so much more that explains who Stephen King is.

What emerges in the book is a vivid picture of King and his approach to writing. I’m inspired. He didn’t get where he is fooling around at writing. He also doesn’t fool around at life. He’s a devoted husband of one wife, father, and grandfather. I looked at a video clip of an interview with King and his wife five months after King’s near-fatal accident June ’99. They seem to be the people he writes they are: genuine and loving.

Currently I’m reading a collection of short stories by King. I’m reading with one eye to learning about plot development. He sure makes things happen: things the reader believes, even if they’re unbelievable.

Will I read any of King’s three inch thick horror stories? Probably not—I have enough trouble sleeping.

http://www.amazon.com/On-Writing-ebook/dp/B000FC0SIM/ref=sr_1_1_bnp_1_kin?ie=UTF8&qid=1369065290&sr=8-1&keywords=on+writing+stephen+king

If Martha Had an Open-Plan Kitchen

If Martha had an open-plan kitchen she would’t have missed out on what Jesus was teaching; she might not have whined about Mary not helping her, and Jesus might not have chided Martha that Mary did the better thing, (Luke 10:38-42). And we might have missed that lesson from the Lord.

This silly thought occurred to me when friends were visiting. Sunday morning we had church at home. The dad of the visiting family was giving a little homily to his kids. I was puttering away in the kitchen, making waffles for brunch. I enjoyed doing both: serving our guests by cooking and listening to the Word of God.

Martha, Lazarus’s sister, must have just been having a grouchy day when Jesus was in her home, because we later see her to be a woman of great faith. Whatever the reason, the Lord knew what was in her heart and used the opportunity to teach and encourage her.

Here’s Martha meeting the Lord after Lazarus has died, John 11:20-27:

When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went out to meet him, but Mary stayed at home.

“Lord,” Martha said to Jesus, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask.”

Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.”

Martha answered, “I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.”

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; ²⁶ and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?”

“Yes, Lord,” she replied, “I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, who is to come into the world.”

Martha trusted Jesus completely. 

Mother’s Day’s A Pain

You motherless children of all ages…you know what I mean.

I lost my mother when I was 22, and she was 46—too young. Ever since, a long time ago, Mother’s Days have been tough.

The pain lessens, but it’s always there.

Being a mother helps ease the heartache of the motherless—so I’m told. Being a step-mother helps—this I know. Being a grandmother helps—yes it does. Being a Christian—well, that’s plugged the hole in my heart from the inside.

If you’ve lost your mother, and on this Mother’s Day you’re remembering her rather than giving her flowers and taking her to brunch, I pray comfort for you.

A wise woman I spoke to years ago said, “A woman is always too young to lose her mother.”

Mother’s Day Flowers—Poppies for Remembrance

Thinking + Thinking = Nothing

Strange math. But it’s true.

I learned this equation from a psychotherapy client years ago. She proved the theorem when she was trying to lose weight— she said, “Thinking + Thinking = Nothing.”

Seems obvious. No action, no results. An equation that applies to just about everything.

We still don’t know for sure how Stonehenge was built, but we do know the builders didn’t just think about it, they did it! An amazing accomplishment.

Stonehenge

But Thinking + Action = Accomplishment doesn’t have to be gargantuan. Look what a friend did. Aren’t they gorgeous! She wanted to knit, and she did. Diane inspired me to take knitting action too. It’s not as hard as I thought.

Diane’s Norwegian design mittens.

First Page—Critique Request

Here’s the first page of my novel. I’d appreciate your feedback. Thanks.

Yearning for a mental fly swatter, Lissa shifted her grip and hauled her suitcase up the stairs. Rather than bang up the walls of her parents’ house, she let her ankle take the beating.

At the top of the stairs she dropped the case on its wheels. The carpet runner muffled the thud.

What’d I do—pack it full of pig iron? She jammed her fingers in her graying hair and shoved it out of her eyes. Screaming wouldn’t help, unless she wanted to terrify her parents, which was the very last thing she wanted to do.

Lissa pulled her case into the first room on the left—her old room. With a grunt, she heaved her suitcase onto the bed where it landed beside its smaller mate.

This homecoming was already harder than she had imagined. Turning her back to her suitcases, she plunked down on the edge of the bed and exhaled too loudly. It felt like her whole body sagged into the mattress, slipped off the bed, and puddled on the floor. Oozing through the floorboards seemed like a good idea.

No such luck. Lissa closed her eyes, wishing away her life as she now knew it.

She sat—frozen. Relax, she repeated to herself, trying to free her mind of the thoughts that stung like nettles.

The Baby Ben clock on the nightstand ticked a heart-calming sixty beats a minute.

When she opened her eyes, there was Daisy in black-and-white, gazing at her from the dresser top. A sharp breath stabbed the back of her throat. She stood and picked up the picture frame in both hands. Lissa wanted to hug her old dog around the neck, but could only press Daisy’s picture against her chest.

Lissa still missed Daisy. She was the best dog a child could hope for—well, usually. A smile tugged at Lissa’s mouth and set a tiny flicker of light in her eyes. There was a day when Daisy wasn’t quite the perfect dog—over forty years ago.

Daisy had run around the swing set and the clothes pole so fast, Lissa said Daisy might turn into a pool of melted yellow Labrador butter. Everyone had laughed, even Mom.

Lissa couldn’t remember if Mom mended the apron or not.

 

You Can’t Go Home Again

You can’t go home again. Thank you Thomas Wolfe. Trying to recapture what’s gone is elusive at best, but the trying can be fun.

I recently got back from another foray into my past—a trip to England. A saudade fix. If you want to know what that means, check back on a previous post, “Saudade, A Deep Longing”.

We visited my former neighbors from the 70s who now live on the south coast of England. My how England has changed. It’s so crowded. One of the things I loved about England when I lived there was the pace of life: slower than in the US. Not anymore, at least in the population centers, which seems to be all of the south of England.

The quaint little villages have changed. Incomers, people not from there, are putting up lovely new stone cottages, filling in the spaces between the existing cottages. Stone rabbit warrens. Some houses are so close to the road that if the occupant opened their front door they might clip off the wing mirror of a car whizzing by, or so it seems.

Traffic is frightful. My husband calls the one-lane country roads “hedgeroads”, because they’re bounded by ancient stone walls covered with vegetation. The way you negotiate the roads with two-lane traffic is that someone has to back up to a passing point or wait in the nearest one for the oncoming traffic to pass. When that works (driving on the left, mind you), it’s fine, but we were turned back on one such road where there was an accident involving a lorry (truck) and a car. The locals drive their familiar roads as if they’re in a grand prix, so we timid non-left drivers hold our breath and drive on. I’ve often said we need a big red “Y” sign on the backs of our rental cars denoting “Yank”.

Yet it’s a challenge. I’ve got the driving out of Heathrow down, but the getting back to the rental car drop-off is another matter. So far I’m 0 for 3. But if we make the same mistake we made this last time, we’ll know exactly where we are.

I continue to resonate to my toes with England and all things English, but we may have to make the next visit to the Scottish Highlands where there are more sheep than people.

Buses wedged together for five hours—it’s crowded in the south of England!

A Little More Couple Psychology

If you want to be in a better couple relationship—here’s a news flash—BE NICER!

Happy Ever After

This seems like a no-brainer, but you’d be surprised. Men and women have been bickering since that incident with the apple.

I often tell my couple psychotherapy clients that I’d like to stamp three words on their foreheads—backwards—so they can read them when they look in the mirror.

• RESPECT
• KINDNESS
• CONSIDERATION

There are way too many people who are disrespectful, mean, and self-centered. I like Dr. Phil’s bluntness: “How’s that workin’ for you?”

Marriage should be a safe haven.

Now, I believe the principle that everything makes sense—it may not work, and you may not deserve it—but there’s a reason people think, feel, and do everything.

We think and act based on anger, hurt, fear, lack of self-esteem, arrogance—a pile of junk—some of it old, some of it new.

The point is, even if it’s familiar, neither you, nor your spouse deserve it.

The first step is to recognize what isn’t workin’ for you—and then start changing what you think and what you do.

BTW, I didn’t say that would be easy—just worth it.

For more about couple therapy, read “A Little Couple Psychology”.

Cristine Eastin © 2013

Lilias Trotter Devotional

He said to them, “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.” Mark 6:31

Taken from “A Blossom in the Desert: Reflections of Faith in the Art and Writings of Lilias Trotter”, compiled and edited by Miriam Huffman Rockness.

Desert Teaching

…And then the desert hills took on their pink and blue afternoon lights and shadows. One moment’s glory of sunset flashed out between the showers, after we got in, shading the desert from the mauve of the distant hills to the flame color of the cliffs of the riverbed in the foreground—a chord of color that is simply unpaintable and indescribable and unimaginable.

Oh, the desert is lovely in its restfulness. The great brooding stillness over and through everything is so full of God. One does not wonder that He used to take His people out into the wilderness to teach them.

A Parent’s Heart

LET FREEDOM RING

Prayer request: Pray for our friends in Christ who are parents of soldiers. Pray for their children who are at war on our behalf.

I have three friends whose sons are: on deployment to a war zone, waiting for the next deployment, and starting Basic Training.

These young men, two of them fathers, have been on our prayer list for some time.

Though we’ve been told a timeline for an end to US involvement in the war in the Middle East, it seems like a war without end. It must especially seem so when people you love are in harm’s way.

I’m privileged to be a counselor for a military benefit program which serves our soldiers and their families, particularly (though not exclusively) related to deployment and reintegration issues. It breaks my heart to see spouses sobbing with the pain and stress of separation.

PRAY FOR THEM.

The Greatest Paradox

Joy is the Lord

The greatest paradox: our sins are washed white as snow, washed in the blood of the lamb.
I don’t get it, I’ll never get it this side of heaven, but I know it’s true.
And I’m so grateful!
Leaping with the Joy of the Lord.

“Joyful, joyful, we adore Thee,
God of glory, Lord of love;
Hearts unfold like flow’rs before Thee,
Op’ning to the sun above.
Melt the clouds of sin and sadness;
Drive the dark of doubt away;
Giver of immortal gladness,
Fill us with the light of day!”

Text: Henry Van Dyke
Music: Ludwig van Beethoven, “Ode to Joy”

Cristine Eastin © 2013