Everyone loves receiving accolades for things they do. From the sticker star on our homework to the badges earned in Scouts, children learn to enjoy being rewarded. As adults, we earn a raise on our paycheck, get a pat on the back, receive a thank you card … all for a job well done.
In elementary school, I decided to be a writer, not realizing at the time that this also was God’s calling for me. Before that, I’d already had formed a habit of doing my best in school to see those A’s on my papers and report cards. I tried hard to make sure every essay or story I wrote received a 100%.
But better than that were the notes from the teachers. I thrived on those notes: “Well written! Great story!” I loved those accolades.
Then, I became an adult. When I worked fulltime, my work ethics, a gift from my parents and grandparents, helped me get a good reputation and earned the right of positive recommendations when I moved to different job.
But my writing was another story. Some writers adore seeing their name on a published book. (No book published yet.) Some enjoy getting enough income to buy another book on “how to make money with your writing.” (Been there, done that, bought the book.) And most writers like to hear how their writing affected their readers. (With my devotions in Guideposts, I’m beginning to.) Accolades drip in.
But I’ve found another accolade that outshines all the others for me. I often write books for gifts. I write board books (and have our daughter Holly illustrate them) to give as baby shower gifts. I create 30-day devotionals to give at Christmas. When our daughter Faith turned one, I began writing a book every year for her birthday … from picture books to an American Girl type series of chapter books. (Disclaimer: yes, Faith, I know you’re still waiting for the last couple.)
And then, we had grandchildren! I’d planned on doing as I did for Faith, beginning on each one’s first birthday, but unfortunately, that’s not the case. However, I have written some of them books, and those are the ones which have brought me the accolades that no other awards or honors will ever equal.
For our toddler granddaughter, I wrote a series of tiny board books about trees, something she and her grandma both love. Whenever I visited their home, she’d grab one and climb on my lap. “Read!” And I’d read. “Read ‘gain!” And I’d read again … and again … and again. Those little books became as well-worn as my childhood copy of Big Red. There’s no better praise than “Read ‘gain, Grandma!”
And recently … well, let’s just say no writer has ever received a finer accolade than I got when our grandson invited me to join his play acting and gave himself the name “Peter,” me the name “Kelly,” and his brother the name “Jeff.” To you, those are just names out of the imagination of a six-year-old boy. But to this writer-grandma, those names brought a special joy to my heart.
“Why?” you might ask. Well, for the boys’ recent birthdays, I wrote them the first of a chapter book series based on a game we’ve played in their yard in which we jump through a “trap door stone” into various lands. Their favorite? Dinosaur Valley! And the title of the book series? The Trap Door Adventures. The first book, Adventure Awaits, takes place in Dinosaur Valley, where three cousins—Kelly, Jeff, and Peter—landed when they jumped through the trap door they found in their yard.
The day after we finished the book, our grandson came to me and said, “Hey, Kels (the nickname Peter and Jeff used for Kelly), I’m going to look for some food while you tend that gash on Pete’s head,” an EXACT wording of a line in the book. For the next two hours, we play-acted the entire book, as well as their ideas for book two! Not only was I amazed that he’d listened to the whole story, nor that he’d memorized the lines after hearing them only once (he is his mama’s son!), but that he liked it enough to consider it worthy of his play time … usually reserved for Star Wars or his newest infatuation, The Hobbit.
So, you can keep your Caldecott and Newberry Awards. THIS writer’s awards from the mouths of a toddler and a six-year-old cannot be equalled!
******Your turn to tell me a story! What accolade from your life has meant the most to you? Or is there a story about a time you gave an accolade to someone in a unique fashion? My honors in this blog come in the form of your sharing your stories with me and my readers!
too, and never got salmonella.
If it involves paper, paint, yarn, fabric, glue, crayons, sketchpads, scissors, cardboard, popsicle sticks, pipe cleaners, googly eyes, clay … just about anything you can buy at Joann Fabrics or Hobby Lobby, we probably owned, used, or dreamed about it. And we could sure dream up some doozies!
My earliest turtle-crafting memory used those flannel-backed, vinyl tablecloths popular in the 1970s, felt, sewing materials, a cardboard pattern, and scissors. In fact, I believe, I still have a bag with the pattern we used and a few pieces of vinyl cut into turtle-shell shapes.
uncomplicated turtles are easy for children to make, but they can be embellished in many ways, enough to allow an adult the fun, too. The simplest ideas include gluing a walnut shell onto a paper cutout of a turtle body, adding googly eyes, and voila! You have a turtle. Put a magnet on the back to use it on the fridge. Paint the shells or add sequins or glitter. Use your imagination and see what comes!
Now, on to my favorites! I love to crochet. As a baby shower gift, I found a pattern for a sweet stuffed turtle with a granny-square-style shell. (The photo is the actual one from the pattern!) I believe my first one was made out of white or pink yarn, with a multi-colored shell. So cute! I’ve made at least three or four of these in various yarns and colors, and I intend to make several more for our grandbabies.
glued them on the water, the pinecones, and the flowers. (The pattern here will help you make your own, though I suggest starting with larger paper! LOL!)
What goes “tic-tic-tic” and brings smiles of wonderment to the faces of toddlers? A wristwatch … or a pendant watch … or a pocket watch.
and model cars, clothes and more. And when they emptied the box, the moment for the “big one” came. For there was always a big one, the major gift of Christmas. Once, I got Dancerina, a magical doll that, with one push or pull on the button hidden in her tiara would twirl or bourrée across the floor. The boys got “boy things.”
I sighed a little and opened the gift slowly to drag out the inevitable. I don’t know what I expected, but when I opened the tiny box, the world changed. Christmas angels sang, bells rang! Delight poured through my heart and soul!
astronaut walk on the moon a bit over-dramatized. At nine years old, I was only interested in playing house and taking our cat for walks in my baby carriage. I let the space stuff to others. Even today, my interest in space lies in whether or not I’ll get to see the full moon this month and for the day I’ll share a moonlit walk with our grandchildren.
the same plants. My dad planted his spring onions as soon as the ground warmed enough. Next came the sugar peas and radishes. Then, carrots (which never amounted to much), green beans (which amounted to too much), and cucumbers (which amounted to more than all the others put together). They also planted marigolds as a border to ward off the rabbits. (Disclosure: don’t bother. The rabbits ate them!) And finally, they added tomato plants: red, yellow, and cherry.
But the potatoes … oh, the potatoes! I never saw more luscious, vibrant plants. From the moment they broke through the soil, the leaves turned a deep forest green, and as they grew, they took on the look of mini-landscaping bushes. I was proud and excited, imagining the harvest of potatoes from such amazing plants.
having only a literal handful of itty-bitty potatoes. I could not understand it. Those gorgeous specimens of plants produced only this pitiful harvest? Why?
assistant manager for the A&P chain, but we called it “Dad’s store.” As with most dads who worked (or work) at grocery stores, our dad always brought home what we needed.
Before we go further, I should mention the prerequisite for choosing. It had a little to do with taste, nothing to do with slogans, and everything to do with the treasure inside the box. We’d been known to skip our favorite to take a box with little taste appeal just because of the trinket hidden in the bottom of the box.
of the missing treasure. And when we found it, our hands (hopefully clean) reached way down, plucked the surprise out, and reshook the box, trying to make it look like the toy was sitting on top all the time. Of course, the bloated box that never fit quite right in the cupboard told a different story.
Of course, we all know which cereal wins the prize for the best auditory brand. You guessed it—Rice Krispies®! Okay, ‘fess up—how many of you actually listened to see if you could distinguish a “snap,” “crackle,” or “pop”?
s face it, the apple spice smell didn’t mean apples were in the box, and the enticing chocolate odors may have added pounds from just a whiff or two, but it wasn’t from any real chocolate in the box. We admit our parents were right about the imitation this or that, but the sense of smell won us over at the time.
Anyone else grow up having this delicacy made from Brinser’s Best Yellow Corn Meal and water, cooked over low heat for half an hour or more until thick and creamy. Poured hot into a wide bowl (to allow it to cool faster … and have more space for sugar), doused with pats of butter, covered with plenty of sugar (the bowl took care of that), and topped with milk. Nothing says breakfast cereal … and love … to me like mush and milk.
“Hey! Since you lost your job, you could go to the writers’ conference with me!”
was a good book, an action-packed movie, or a surprise sister date. But really, adventure makes me think of one of my favorite series to dive into as a kid: the Choose-Your-Own-Adventure books. I loved flipping through the pages, making choices that adapted the storyline. (Somehow, I always ended up getting sucked into a black hole or releasing a squirrel inside the Statue of Liberty and having to start over.)
You would think I would have quickly finished the novel, wrote a bang-up proposal, and sent it on its way. Nope. I made the decision to not touch the manuscript for four months (CHOICE #3). See? Sucked into that black hole again!
Once Upon A Book. I think I made the right choices on this adventure, and I can’t wait to see where this choose-your-own-adventure life takes me next!
diapers or bottles. Buy a savings bond! A wedding? No dishes or silver. Buy a savings bond!
But the story I have to tell is about a U.S. savings bond bought in the 1960s for me as a child. I’d tucked it inside my cedar hope chest, along with my birth certificate, my SAT scores (in case I decided to go to college), and other important papers. I never looked at it or considered cashing it in, so I had no idea if it had matured or not.
schedule. Now and then, I’d think about that brochure and sigh. Towards the end of May, I prepared for my annual writer’s club picnic. I’d led writers’ clubs in my home for eight years. Homeschool parents brought their K-12 students to the meetings every other week, where we learned writing techniques in fun ways. The picnic was a highlight of the year with nearly 40 kids. I had never charged for this club, nor any of my teaching or tutoring. I enjoyed it and wanted to serve my fellow homeschoolers.
At the end of the picnic, one of the mothers approached me and handed me a card. I figured it was just a simple thank-you card and stuck it in my box of supplies to take home. When I opened it, though, I discovered not only a card signed by all the kids and their parents, but money! A lot of money! I was shocked. A still, small voice whispered in my ears: “Writers’ conference ….”
added to the money in the card from my students would cover the cost of the Montrose Christian Writers Conference!
with a pinecone hanging on pine branches, compliments of our eldest daughter’s knowledge of my love and her animosity for pinecones. A ceramic travel-mug, paint by a different daughter with Christmas designs, I of course use year-round. And don’t let me get started on Christmas mugs; that’s another storage-shed’s worth!
“Bookmarks?” you wonder. Ah, yes, the white rectangular pieces of cardboard between the four rows of 25 teabags each, just perfect for making into bookmarks. Another memory of my aunt is the many letters arriving by mail into which she slid several of those bookmarks-read-to-be-made for our girls. Or the visits during which she’d pull out a rubber-banded stack of them (remember, she drank a LOT of tea). The girls would use stickers, markers, and other craft supplies to design the bookmarks. The photo shows two I still have stuck in with my Christmas book collection.
books?
legaciesletloose 