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I stand on the threshold of my thirty-ninth year, but my earliest memory still remains clear in my mind. Daddy scoops me up in his arms and takes a seat in his worn living room chair. He drapes me on my tummy across the soft cotton of his shirt, my little arms and legs relaxing over his then-smaller belly, my cheek and ear pressed just so over his heart. And I fade to sleep while that beat resounds through the deepest parts of me.

My dad is a saint because he is redeemed, but he is not perfect. Yet, through the course of my life, from birth until now, he has stood by me or held me through a hundred sorrows and smiled with me through a thousand joys.

Funny, how both of us are creative introverts. This is a strange combination, because we are always seeking and appreciating good words, and trying our best to aptly describe what we are thinking. And yet, in our quietness, there are things we have never said to each other, other things we rarely talk about, and still other things we can never repeat often enough.

This weekend, I find myself at a point of frustration. I know that the small gifts and card I’ve prepared are a pathetic shadow of how I proud I am to be his daughter and how blessed we are to have each other. And even in writing those words, I know they are not enough to fully express my feelings.

So, I will tell my dad how I feel about him in another language – the language of music.

When I think of all the ways Dad blessed me in my early childhood, this is what my heart says: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2a20VuIecgM

And when I think of how dear his love and support have been to me through all the additional years of my life, this is how deep and sweet my echoing gratitude sounds: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3lS7iU8vXWc

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy. This weekend and every day: thank you for cherishing me.

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Tracy Tyner-Padilla passed away a couple of days ago; she suffered from a brain aneurysm about a week before and never regained consciousness. She leaves behind a mother, two sisters, and a thirteen-year-old daughter. She also leaves behind many friends and colleagues who are thankful for the opportunity to have known her.

I am one of those colleagues.

Tracy was a bright light in my working life. Among the hundreds of employees who work for our university, she is/was definitely one of my favorite people.

She wasn’t just a “nice” person, she was a self-sacrificing person. She wasn’t just a “good” person, she was a quiet and beautiful example of a Christ-follower. She wasn’t just an able woman, she was incredibly intelligent and articulate, and she was a great mom and example for her sweet daughter. She wasn’t just another name and face in the world, she was a treasure – whose memory is to be cherished now even as she was appreciated while she walked this earth.

Waiting for updates on her condition over the last week, I was reminded of how suddenly death can often come. Suddenly for us who live in time, anyway.

And I pause now to reflect and be grateful.

Grateful for the legacy each of us can leave behind by our words and deeds, grateful for Tracy’s life specifically, and grateful for the reminder of what a precious gift we have been given with every breath we take.

Enjoy the arms of Jesus, dear sister.

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What do I believe I deserve?

In the grand scheme of things, most people seem naturally disposed to assume that “good” people deserve good things and “bad” people deserve bad things – or at least they deserve less than their “good” counterparts.

A Jesus-centered view of the world sees things in a different light. In the light of His holiness, every single person has done things to distance him/herself from God, and therefore, on our own, we can never truly be good again – we are all correctly labeled as bad, marred, or undeserving. And the only thing we have really earned or deserved is punishment for the laws of God and man we have broken. Ironically, it is also in the light of His holiness, and His blood, that we can be made good again in the eyes of God, and filled with the desire to do good. And so, we acutely feel our struggle against the old wrong while we continue to reach for what is better.

Yet, even such redeemed hearts can sometimes struggle to know what to do with the undeserved. Every day – a hundred blessings are poured out on us. Some seem tiny and others are huge. If we have eyes and hearts to see them, it can still be hard to accept them. We sink back to thinking of what it was to depend solely on self, and we steep our minds in worries over our unworthiness.

But the Bible shows in more than one place that blessings and opportunities are poured on each person, no matter whether we would judge them “worthy” or not. For example, Ecclesiastes 9:11 (NIV) says, “I have seen something else under the sun: The race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong, nor does food come to the wise or wealth to the brilliant or favor to the learned; but time and chance happen to them all.”

In The Voice of Melody, there is a point when Owen is acutely reminded of what a treasure he’s been given in his wife, Peggy. And in his words to her, we see the bottom line of our choice for how we will respond to all the blessings we don’t feel we deserve…

We can either deface God’s gifts to us, refusing them or snatching them from His hand with grumbling in our souls.

Or we can open our hearts to let them be poured in by the Blessing Giver, and echo back goodness with words of humble gratitude.

 

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Julie Covington, a fellow creative-kindred spirit, kindly invited me to join her in her booth at the Memorial Day Flea Market in Brownville, NE this past weekend. We spent all day Saturday in the triple degree heat, guzzling liquids and interacting with customers. My little book table was surrounded by her wide assortment of delightful products, including little stuffed friends known as Cuddle Monsters.

Some were sad or goofy looking (like the one pictured), and others were happy or spunky in appearance. But each one was uniquely fun and absolutely hug-able. They also came in a variety of sizes, from the “mini” monsters (my favorite) on up to those perhaps two feet in height.

Being surrounded by those adorable monsters for hours led me to think about the monsters in our lives. Some look a lot worse than others. And some seem comparatively larger or harder to fight. But each of them – or the sum total of them all – can, at times, overwhelm us or bog us down in everything negative, painful, anxious, scary.

Yet in the grand scheme of life and the world, the One who created you and me knows about each monster we will encounter long before we do. Some monsters are truly scary, but He dwarfs them. And other monsters are actually small and harmless, and He shows us how to pat them on the head and send them on their way.

And those times when we may personally feel like monsters? Yes, He can also meet us in those times, at those places, and turn what was bad into something good.

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When it comes to the love between a man and woman, what is romance?

I had an opportunity to attend my older niece’s senior piano recital yesterday. An absolutely lovely experience. All of her pieces were well-done. But the one that she seemed most at home with and the one she had memorized was Romance Op. 24 No. 9 by Sibelius. (Recording of another young pianist playing the same piece can be seen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wtxf8OT6z-U)

While I listened to her play this moving piece for the second time, my mind wandered to pose and answer the initial question.

I have heard some people use romantic to describe a type of atmosphere that makes everything cozy. And others have used romance to refer specifically to aphrodisiacs and only physical passion. Still others envision this term as the best of all that is airbrushed in the world of dreams and ideals.

But as I listened to Emma move from one measure to the next and heart-fully spill out Sibelius’s composition, I saw in my mind’s eye something more.

I think that true romance is the soft beauty of first, sweet attraction – and the pure core of devoted other-awareness that remains true when the storms of life blow over…or sometimes when those storms seem like they are stuck and will never leave us truly in peace.

Part way thought the piece, there is a clash, a crash, and a point where it seems like the piano is broken. And then, majestically, the beauty of the initial soul-theme returns to ride atop the last wind gusts at storm’s end. And finally, the bit of love’s first blush floats away in conclusion like a soft kiss offered in the light of a heart-melting sunset.

Such romance is more than eros. It morphs into agape. Or…perhaps…it was rooted in agape in the first place. For no other bond and type of love will ever be so beautiful, nor so persevering.

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In honor of caring women everywhere: a Mother’s Day, every-day poem…

 

Many a womb has brought about

a life both wanted and received —

a life begotten out of love

and raised in blessed cherishing

Many a womb has borne to full

a child whole in limb and form —

a child ignored, rejected, crushed

by worth dismissed, appearance scorned

Many a womb has ached to house

a child’s live and beating heart —

a child who comes but cannot stay

so that the womb cries: hollow, hurt

Many a womb has never grown

any sort of seed at all —

no seed to enter sacred space

within the garden’s secret wall

But many arms have held and rocked

and many hands have nursed fresh wounds

and many eyes have unearthed beauty

and many voices have hummed and soothed

And so, today, no matter what

the state of her womb may have been

I say to each heart that has mothered,

“Thank you for the love you’ve shown.”

 

~Kaylene Powell (May 13, 2018)

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I had an opportunity to sell books at the Old Market Farmer’s Market in Omaha a couple of days ago. It was delightful to meet folks from all walks and stages of life, to sell copies of The Voice of Melody to a number of readers, and to introduce the story to many more.

But being there early to set up meant peeling myself out of bed at 5:30 a.m. As I threw back the covers, I prayed, “God, give me energy to go and meet people today – and bring the people by that You want me to talk to, the people who need to hear this story.”

One of my later sales of the day was to a customer in a bright yellow blouse (my FAVORITE color!). She walked up to the booth and was obviously, instantly captivated by the book’s cover.

After I gave her a brief synopsis, she decided to get one. And I said, “I’d be happy to sign your copy. What’s your first name?”

She smiled and said, “Melody.”

I laughed.

And later, I remembered my early morning prayer. There is something about the men, women, and children of this novel, both the historical characters and the completely fictional ones, that creeps into the inviting heart and makes us think about our own experiences in a meaningful way.

Yes, most volumes written are not suitable for every reader in the world. But I firmly believe that certain readers are meant to read certain books at certain times.

I’m so glad Melody walked by my booth. And I hope she’ll enjoy her journey back in time.

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I spent the majority of the past two days at the Wordsowers Writers Conference in Omaha. The annual gathering draws in writers, editors, agents, and marketers from the local area and even across the country. This year, we had the privilege of hearing from the award-winning author Ronie Kendig. We were also joined once again by such writing experts as Tosca Lee and Alex Marestaing.

A famous proverb from the Bible says, “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.” I learned enough during this conference to keep my head spinning for a little while. I was humbled to realize mistakes I’d been making all this time and how I needed to learn from and avoid them in the future. I was also struck by the need to sift through the information overload and consider what practical steps I can take to improve my writing right now (instead of trying to do EVERYTHING all AT ONCE!).

In the midst of it all, I seized multiple opportunities to speak an encouraging word. Several of my co-attendees needed a listening ear and a gentle reminder that they were on the right track, that they should not give up. Others simply needed to hear a word of confirmation about how their heart and soul indeed blesses the world. I was overjoyed when I could share that listening heart and such uplifting words – and watch my response visibly bless the other(s) involved in the conversation.

Many hearts in our world today need both comforting and sharpening. Over the course of this weekend, I was acutely reminded of it. And challenged. Will you join me in considering how you can comfort and sharpen others in your sphere of influence?

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Image result for native american beadwork stock images The Voice of Melody has been released to the great, wide world. Yippee!

My heart was skipping for joy…until it tripped when it saw outstanding typos in this first printing. Ugh. I tried so hard to catch them all. But there they were, large as life. A commonly confused word, a misspelling, a date slightly off. It wounds the writer’s soul in me, like a knife to the gut.

One reader joked that this is how early buyers will know they have a true first edition of the book when I am famous one day. 🙂 And my dad assuaged my frustration with a simple text reply: “Perfection, where art thou?”

Where indeed?

It is the elusive dream I’ve been chasing all my life. The one where I’ll have even a single day without mistakes and I’ll not hurt another soul with my words or actions. And the one where I can say, without a single shred of doubt in my heart or second guessing in my mind, “Yes, this or that is truly very good.” The dream is elusive because it can never be achieved this side of heaven. And my human self must come to terms with that on a daily basis.

One of my colleagues, Irene Harper, listened to me share similar thoughts while we were chatting yesterday. And she told me about a piece of Native American bead-work she’d bought upon which the artist intentionally left one bead of a completely wrong color in an obvious place. This was done so that we would be reminded of the artist’s humanity…and that in it, we would see our own.

A beautiful thought.

Though I can correct them in the next round of printing, those typos still make me cringe a little. But they are also a reminding gift. We are each being refined and restored day by day, and there is mercy to meet us when we need it while we walk an imperfect path through life in a broken world.

(Photo credit: dreamstime.com)

 

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The final post in a four-part series before the release of Kaylene’s first novel on April 17…

 

I’ve never given birth to a child. But I have felt the pangs of labor. 

A book and a baby are alike in some ways. Both are often conceived in love. Both require a long period of incubation and growth in the deepest places of the carrier. And both come forth at last through the most grueling ending – the final hours of blood, sweat, and tears.

Then what are both mother and author left with? A small but magnificent creation. A beautiful gift. And a bundle of potential they want to share with the world.

But this is scary.

For the world will look at the baby and judge it. Some will say it’s cute – and mean it. Some will say it’s nice while privately thinking otherwise. And some will tell the parents (or the child as he/she grows) that their little treasure is no treasure at all.

And the world will look at the book and judge it. Some will say it’s good – and mean it. Some will say it’s okay but quietly complain about elements they don’t like and rate it halfheartedly. And some will tell the author (or everyone else of their acquaintance) that the written creation is a piece of garbage.

I thought the hardest part of writing a novel would be starting. Then I thought the hardest part would be getting over the hump in the middle of the draft. Then finishing the draft. Then getting stuck time and again in the revising process. Then surviving the red pen of the professional editors. Then moving past the rejection of publishers and agents and more publishers. Then working feverishly through the last, crazy edits of the galley…

I was wrong.

I think the hardest part is now. Hours away from the moment my baby will be released to a judging world. Anticipating this moment with great joy because I want to share the story. Yet holding my breath because I can’t control what other people will say about it.

Like a good mother, I know the truth about my baby and will love it, no matter what the world may say. So if there’s anything to be learned from critiques and criticisms, bring ’em on. But in the end, I have told the story I was given to tell. And there is a joy in that no amount of judgement can touch.

 

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