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!
“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!
dishes, mugs, and glasses.
wore them as you’d expect a shy girl in the 1960s to do – not much at all. Through the rest of school, I dealt with the visual issues, but not until I was married and trying to work two jobs at once did I begin having serious problems.
(of Women of Faith), jumped out at me. I paid for the ebook, installed their app on my tablet, and logged in to watch the first video portion. Besides Christine’s delightful Australian accent, the topic and accompanying Bible story brought joy as I realized what a perfect study I’d been led to.
Let’s leave the rest of that part of the story for another time. Today’s memory came from what happened later (no church for us). After icing my hand, I went to my bedroom and grabbed a journal I’d started a couple days before. I’d never kept a diary, but being a writer, it was bound to happen that I’d fall in love with journaling sometime.
What kids wouldn’t agree to such a proposal? Stay up late while the babysitter takes the rap if they get caught? But, this first-time babysitter had a problem. Oh, it wasn’t the kids, though they did have behavior problems. The trouble was the creaky old farmhouse they lived in, the one which could have been from the set of some horror movie.
first big-girl job as a hostess at the local Elby’s Family Restaurant. I don’t recall my starting wage, but that job didn’t last. Maybe because of my dislike of coring two huge mounded flats of strawberries every shift … or maybe because of my embarrassment from hanging up on the “big boss.” I’d answered the phone right when I’d gotten a $600.00 overring on my register and forgot to hit “hold” before putting the receiver on the hook.
When it came to the second article, I met with the woman editor of an online magazine for writers. She enjoyed the humor in the article and offered to buy it for $10.00, the price mentioned on the website as their normal payment for articles of this type. Again, no surprise there. HOWEVER … in order to see said article when it got published, I had to purchase a subscription to the online-only magazine … a subscription costing $25.00.
How recently have you meandered into a bookstore and checked out the magazine racks … and racks … and racks? Even with the number of magazine publishers closing, there remains a plethora of choices to fit any age, any interest. Women’s magazines full of recipes and homemaking tips. Men’s magazines filled with car engines and fishing lures. Kids’ magazines with puzzles and coloring pages. How can anyone decide on just one?
reativity, when it came to teaching our daughters about writing, I chose not to focus on reports—the dreaded book reports of elementary school and those nasty 10-pagers of secondary levels. I figured the skills necessary to write those scholarly pieces could come through a more fun and no-less-educational foray into the world of magazine-making.
habitats became word search puzzles. Pictures made from those old trace-and-color books became “Color Your Own Picture” pages.
e, art, and more.
ma, I want to make my own magazine and sell subscriptions to it!” And so we did … and Focus on Fun was born.
days with more learning, academic and life-skills, than any 10-page research paper would have brought her. And it was a whole lot more fun!
thought of what wonderful words they should type next. Then came the well-known sound of the backspace bar as sentences were written … re-written … deleted … changed … written the same way as the first time … and then deleted again. Finally, one of them would grab a jar of peanut butter which was never too far away, and they’d scoop out a spoonful to eat as they thought. Somehow, the magic never failed and soon they would be back to typing away.
Now, as the Montrose Christian Writers Conference draws closer, I am spending more and more time in front of my computer trying to write furiously. But with extra writing comes extra writer’s block, and I will be forever grateful that my mom and sister instilled me with the great peanut butter secret. Dipping a spoon into a jar of creamy goodness (crunchy peanut butter is an abomination) always starts my creative juices flowing again. I like to think the stickiness is pulling the block away, leaving a fresh path of thought in its wake. As I’ve said before and I’ll say again: “Writing Peanut Butter to the rescue!”
legaciesletloose 