BJ Hoff's GRACE NOTES

One More "Encore"

 

Yes, I'm still on break and therefore doing one more encore entry before switching to new stuff for 2009. So ignore it if you want, or read it again, your choice, but here's my after-Christmas entry from last year with just a few changes:

Hear the silence? That's the sound of After-the-Holidays: Absence of car horns and traffic jams. Company now gone. The blessedly inactive calculator. Children soon to be back in school. The end of squawking, dancing Santas at the mall and frantic shoppers vying for position.

Unfortunately, it's also the sound of missing Christmas carols, gone from the airwaves until next year. Silenced silver bells. Fading echoes of church cantatas and carillons and singing children. Sighs and lingering good-byes of loved ones leaving. 

It's over, and life is ... back to normal again. And even though we don't miss the squeezed budgets, the crass commercialism, the desperate retailers hawking their wares, the late nights, the frenzied trips and wearing fatigue, and the noise that seems inescapable--isn't there, deep within, a small part us that feels an emptiness, a yearning for the colors, the music, the smiles of strangers, the good will that somehow thaws the coldest of hearts for a season?

Don't we miss the meaning and the magic of those winter weeks that make the ordinary things shine and set the common things aglow? Don't we, every now and then, at least in secret, wish we had it back so we could capture the best of it to take out and look at when we need to touch the wonder one more time? We'd treasure it more, be more sensitive to its beauty, more reverent in its holiness, more thankful for its gifts--the ones without a price tag.

Next year, we tell ourselves. Next year will be different. We won't rush as much, buy as much, bake as much, eat as much, fret as much. We'll do less and enjoy it more, bask in the priceless things and cherish each passing moment. We'll live the season so thoughtfully, so gratefully, so generously, there will be no feelings of lament, no memories to regret, no sadness when it passes ... only a fullness of joy and a smile of remembrance.

-----

Can you tell I was feeling nostalgic when I wrote that one? Well, "next year" is here, and just as I was last year about this time, I'm already missing the season--at least my favorite parts of it.

We haven't "undecorated" yet--I delay this as long as decently possible and as long as I can before the neighbors start shaking their heads as they pass by. Radio stations have already pulled the plug on their Christmas music (and while I'll admit I won't miss hearing "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer" a dozen times a day, I'm grateful for all our Christmas CDs so I can keep the sounds of the season going as long as I like). Most of the lights on my street have been taken down and packed away. And the "Christmas spirit" that seems to shed more kindness, more thoughtfulness, more "peace and goodwill" among us every year is slowly but surely drifting out with the fog.

Now we're left with tacky "year-in-review" shows and gaudy after-Christmas ads. Some are no doubt relieved that the house is quieter and neater (a little too quiet and neat to suit me), and everyone talks about getting "back to normal" again. Whatever that is. I'm not so sure "normal" is my favorite part of life.

Did you have a white Christmas? We didn't, but I'm hoping it will come any day now, to help me prolong the season and my favorite things ... things such as hot chocolate, lights reflecting on the snow, carols and church bells, rowdy grandsons blowing the electric train whistle, "The Sound of Music" and "It's a Wonderful Life," leftover candy and cookies, a blanket of laughter and love mingling with peace and nostalgia, and ...  well, you know.

I can almost see the eyes of some of my friends rolling heavenward about now. "There she goes again ... why doesn't she just turn over her calendar and face reality?"

Well ... the reality is that I have always loved Christmas. Even those Christmases that were bittersweet or sad for one reason or another. I think it's because the season is that one time of the year that allows us to become children again, to see the world through the unjaded eyes of the young, to make wishes and believe they just might come true, and to know the wonder of days and nights bathed in beauty and light and hope.

So even though I've put the gifts away, transferred the calendar, stuffed the freezer with leftover goodies, and made out a brand new To-Be-Done list, I'm going to hold onto Christmas-past just a little longer before allowing "normal" to descend. 

For now ... and for 2009, may God rest ye and bless ye!

BJ

Yes, I'm still on break and therefore doing one more encore entry before switching to new stuff for 2009. So ignore it if you want, or read it again, your choice, but here's my after-Christmas entry from last year with just a few changes:

Hear the silence? That's the sound of After-the-Holidays: Absence of car horns and traffic jams. Company now gone. The blessedly inactive calculator. Children soon to be back in school. The end of squawking, dancing Santas at the mall and frantic shoppers vying for position.

Unfortunately, it's also the sound of missing Christmas carols, gone from the airwaves until next year. Silenced silver bells. Fading echoes of church cantatas and carillons and singing children. Sighs and lingering good-byes of loved ones leaving. 

It's over, and life is ... back to normal again. And even though we don't miss the squeezed budgets, the crass commercialism, the desperate retailers hawking their wares, the late nights, the frenzied trips and wearing fatigue, and the noise that seems inescapable--isn't there, deep within, a small part us that feels an emptiness, a yearning for the colors, the music, the smiles of strangers, the good will that somehow thaws the coldest of hearts for a season?

Don't we miss the meaning and the magic of those winter weeks that make the ordinary things shine and set the common things aglow? Don't we, every now and then, at least in secret, wish we had it back so we could capture the best of it to take out and look at when we need to touch the wonder one more time? We'd treasure it more, be more sensitive to its beauty, more reverent in its holiness, more thankful for its gifts--the ones without a price tag.

Next year, we tell ourselves. Next year will be different. We won't rush as much, buy as much, bake as much, eat as much, fret as much. We'll do less and enjoy it more, bask in the priceless things and cherish each passing moment. We'll live the season so thoughtfully, so gratefully, so generously, there will be no feelings of lament, no memories to regret, no sadness when it passes ... only a fullness of joy and a smile of remembrance.

-----

Can you tell I was feeling nostalgic when I wrote that one? Well, "next year" is here, and just as I was last year about this time, I'm already missing the season--at least my favorite parts of it.

We haven't "undecorated" yet--I delay this as long as decently possible and as long as I can before the neighbors start shaking their heads as they pass by. Radio stations have already pulled the plug on their Christmas music (and while I'll admit I won't miss hearing "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer" a dozen times a day, I'm grateful for all our Christmas CDs so I can keep the sounds of the season going as long as I like). Most of the lights on my street have been taken down and packed away. And the "Christmas spirit" that seems to shed more kindness, more thoughtfulness, more "peace and goodwill" among us every year is slowly but surely drifting out with the fog.

Now we're left with tacky "year-in-review" shows and gaudy after-Christmas ads. Some are no doubt relieved that the house is quieter and neater (a little too quiet and neat to suit me), and everyone talks about getting "back to normal" again. Whatever that is. I'm not so sure "normal" is my favorite part of life.

Did you have a white Christmas? We didn't, but I'm hoping it will come any day now, to help me prolong the season and my favorite things ... things such as hot chocolate, lights reflecting on the snow, carols and church bells, rowdy grandsons blowing the electric train whistle, "The Sound of Music" and "It's a Wonderful Life," leftover candy and cookies, a blanket of laughter and love mingling with peace and nostalgia, and ...  well, you know.

I can almost see the eyes of some of my friends rolling heavenward about now. "There she goes again ... why doesn't she just turn over her calendar and face reality?"

Well ... the reality is that I have always loved Christmas. Even those Christmases that were bittersweet or sad for one reason or another. I think it's because the season is that one time of the year that allows us to become children again, to see the world through the unjaded eyes of the young, to make wishes and believe they just might come true, and to know the wonder of days and nights bathed in beauty and light and hope.

So even though I've put the gifts away, transferred the calendar, stuffed the freezer with leftover goodies, and made out a brand new To-Be-Done list, I'm going to hold onto Christmas-past just a little longer before allowing "normal" to descend. 

For now ... and for 2009, may God rest ye and bless ye!

BJ

Yes, I'm still on break and therefore doing one more encore entry before switching to new stuff for 2009. So ignore it if you want, or read it again, your choice, but here's my after-Christmas entry from last year with just a few changes:

Hear the silence? That's the sound of After-the-Holidays: Absence of car horns and traffic jams. Company now gone. The blessedly inactive calculator. Children soon to be back in school. The end of squawking, dancing Santas at the mall and frantic shoppers vying for position.

Unfortunately, it's also the sound of missing Christmas carols, gone from the airwaves until next year. Silenced silver bells. Fading echoes of church cantatas and carillons and singing children. Sighs and lingering good-byes of loved ones leaving. 

It's over, and life is ... back to normal again. And even though we don't miss the squeezed budgets, the crass commercialism, the desperate retailers hawking their wares, the late nights, the frenzied trips and wearing fatigue, and the noise that seems inescapable--isn't there, deep within, a small part us that feels an emptiness, a yearning for the colors, the music, the smiles of strangers, the good will that somehow thaws the coldest of hearts for a season?

Don't we miss the meaning and the magic of those winter weeks that make the ordinary things shine and set the common things aglow? Don't we, every now and then, at least in secret, wish we had it back so we could capture the best of it to take out and look at when we need to touch the wonder one more time? We'd treasure it more, be more sensitive to its beauty, more reverent in its holiness, more thankful for its gifts--the ones without a price tag.

Next year, we tell ourselves. Next year will be different. We won't rush as much, buy as much, bake as much, eat as much, fret as much. We'll do less and enjoy it more, bask in the priceless things and cherish each passing moment. We'll live the season so thoughtfully, so gratefully, so generously, there will be no feelings of lament, no memories to regret, no sadness when it passes ... only a fullness of joy and a smile of remembrance.

My Wish for You ...

I'll be away from Grace Notes until after the holidays, so I borrowed something I wrote for my web site some time ago to offer as my Christmas wish for all of you...

If I had three wishes for Christmas, I would wish for:

The love of Christ to fill every home, every heart, throughout the world...the healing of Christ to touch the heartbroken, the helpless, and the hopeless...the mercy of Christ to seek and save the forgotten, the abandoned, and the lost.

If I could give three gifts to the world at Christmas, I would give:

The music of heaven, to lift our human hearts above time and place and self to embrace the unimaginable, inexpressible magnificence and majesty of the Divine...the hope of heaven, to help us live today without looking back on what might have been, and without fearing tomorrow for what might, or might not, be...the light of heaven, to banish the shadows of suspicion, the blindness of bigotry, the darkness of despair...

If I could bring to each of you three priceless, enduring blessings, I would offer you:

Full measure of contentment...a treasury of happy memories...a life of grace and peace--all this to share forever, together with family and friends.

My warmest wishes and a special prayer for each of you for a Christmas...and a season...to cherish--and a New Year that brings you God's peace and enfolds you in His love. 

BJ 

The Writerly Gifts

 

 

This is the season of the year when we spend a lot of time thinking about gifts, even before we get around to making them or purchasing them. Hopefully, our first thought during this festival of giving will be of the greatest gift of all: the Child Who changed history and brought hope to a hopeless world ... the gift that will always be, for His followers, the incomparable, shining, enduring gift, the only gift that could reflect the love of God in all its glory and wonder and splendor.

As writers, we often speak of our "gift" when we refer to what we do. But what does this gift of writing encompass? What's it made of? How, exactly, has God "gifted us" for the work He placed upon our hearts? And not just our gifts--the "writerly" ones--but the gifts that enable each of us to do what we're called to do. He gives different gifts to teachers than to surgeons, different gifts to musicians than to artists, and different gifts to writers than to scientists. As writers, how aware are we of those gifts that work together to form the abilities and skills, the artistry and rhythms, the stories and word pictures of our craft?

Surely imagination would rise to the top of any list. Without that inexplicable, elusive, and at times the seemingly mystical ability to think and imagine--how would we ever begin, and continue, to write? No one can actually define it, nor can we ever hope to understand it. Because imagination is a gift. A part of who and what we are, certainly--but a gift all the same.

What  about patience? And perseverance? The will and the willingness to "keep on keeping on," to remain steadfast when it would be so much easier to stop and rest, or to quit altogether.

And can you imagine how difficult it would be--if it were even possible at all--to go on writing if no one in the world cared whether we ever penned another word? If we had to labor without the love and support of our families and friends--and, yes, our editors and publishers? Sometimes that faithful, unflagging support group is the only motivation we have to continue on, especially in the early years when it seems as though no one is ever going to want to read anything we write.

Gifts. Each and every one of them, all of the above...they're special gifts.

So in the midst of making lists and taking those last-minute trips to the mall, I'm also trying to take a moment when and where I can to say thanks for the loved ones for whom I purchase every gift ... and especially for the One Who gave me everything He knew I'd need in order to imagine, to be patient, to persevere and be encouraged and sustained all along the way in this journey of being a writer.

BJ

(republished from an earlier Christmas entry)

 

This is the season of the year when we spend a lot of time thinking about gifts, even before we get around to making them or purchasing them. Hopefully, our first thought during this festival of giving will be of the greatest gift of all: the Child Who changed history and brought hope to a hopeless world ... the gift that will always be, for His followers, the incomparable, shining, enduring gift, the only gift that could reflect the love of God in all its glory and wonder and splendor.

As writers, we often speak of our "gift" when we refer to what we do. But what does this gift of writing encompass? What's it made of? How, exactly, has God "gifted us" for the work He placed upon our hearts? And not just our gifts--the "writerly" ones--but the gifts that enable each of us to do what we're called to do. He gives different gifts to teachers than to surgeons, different gifts to musicians than to artists, and different gifts to writers than to scientists. As writers, how aware are we of those gifts that work together to form the abilities and skills, the artistry and rhythms, the stories and word pictures of our craft?

Surely imagination would rise to the top of any list. Without that inexplicable, elusive, and at times the seemingly mystical ability to think and imagine--how would we ever begin, and continue, to write? No one can actually define it, nor can we ever hope to understand it. Because imagination is a gift. A part of who and what we are, certainly--but a gift all the same.

What  about patience? And perseverance? The will and the willingness to "keep on keeping on," to remain steadfast when it would be so much easier to stop and rest, or to quit altogether.

And can you imagine how difficult it would be--if it were even possible at all--to go on writing if no one in the world cared whether we ever penned another word? If we had to labor without the love and support of our families and friends--and, yes, our editors and publishers? Sometimes that faithful, unflagging support group is the only motivation we have to continue on, especially in the early years when it seems as though no one is ever going to want to read anything we write.

Gifts. Each and every one of them, all of the above...they're special gifts.

So in the midst of making lists and taking those last-minute trips to the mall, I'm also trying to take a moment when and where I can to say thanks for the loved ones for whom I purchase every gift ... and especially for the One Who gave me everything He knew I'd need in order to imagine, to be patient, to persevere and be encouraged and sustained all along the way in this journey of being a writer.

BJ

(republished from an earlier Christmas entry)

And the Winner Is ...

To say I'm amazed by the number--and the content--of the recent contest entries would be an understatement! They poured in so quickly it was all I could do to keep track of them. And what a variety of intriguing wishes: some were touching, some were funny, some were surprising. I thoroughly enjoyed reading all of them!

I would never have imagined that that so many among us harbored a secret wish that they could fly! Because I have a real problem with heights, that is not one of my own wishes, but apparently many of you would love the experience.  

It was heartwarming to see such a great number of those who wanted to help others in some way. A lot of genuine unselfishness and concern for those in need was in evidence.

More than one entry expressed the desire to travel, including time-travel. Some wanted to be writers, others singers, others artists. Some hope to develop their own businesses.

And then there's Erma, who would like to marry the actor, Alan Rickman. And Anne, who dreams of being a princess for a day. Jennifer would like to pay off her friends' mortgages--anonymously. Stephany would like to travel to Scotland and visit her family's heritage. Susan would like to go on a mission trip to Mexico and help out there however she could. Aletha is so interested in the Amish she'd like to live among them, at least for a time. Kristen would like to become a doctor. Ruby has always wanted to do something great for God. Elizabeth wishes she could have her dad back and tell him how much she loved him. Joni would like to do more to help dogs and cats in need.

Many of you asked about my own secret wish: In truth, I would absolutely love to conduct a huge concert choir on the order of the Mormon Tabernacle with a full orchestra. I've actually done a fair share of directing but not on that scale! On the other hand, though, I've been able to experience that wish in a very special way--and more than once. For example, I was there when the blind musician Michael Emmanuel conducted the Hallelujah Chorus with full orchestra and more than one choir in New York City in my American Anthem series. And in the same series,  during his patriotic concert in Central Park, I was there. Come to think of it, I stood right beside Jonathan Stuart of my Mountain Song Legacy when he led his "singing miners" in an enduring gift of music ... and hope ... from the top of a mountain in Kentucky. In a way that only God could bring about, I've been a participant in these events, and I'll not ask for more.

But back to the contest. I'm delighted to announce that Amanda Pugh of Fletcher, Oklahoma is our winner! In her entry, she stated that she wished she "could write a children's series where the main character is a blind child who uses her other senses to help her solve the mysteries." This intriguing idea called out to me as a writer, and I've encouraged Amanda to follow her dream. 

So--congratulations, Amanda! You'll soon receive the autographed copy of Rachel's Secret and the handcrafted wooden puzzle box!

I want to emphasize that all the entries were just excellent. It was truly a special treat to read them, and I thank each of you for taking the time to enter and sharing your heart.  

Remember: this won't be the last contest so stay alert for word of those to come!

BJ

 

Last Day of Contest

Today is the final day to enter the "What's Your Secret?" contest. The winner of the autographed copy of Rachel's Secret and the handcrafted heart-shaped puzzle box will be announced here at Grace Notes sometime on Monday, December 8.

If you haven't entered yet, you have until midnight tonight (EST) to sign up. 

 Enter the "What's Your Secret" Contest!

BJ

Contest Reminder

Just a reminder that December 5 is the last day to enter the "What's Your Secret?" contest to win a free copy of my most recent book, Rachel's Secret, and a handcrafted wooden puzzle box.

The number of entries has far exceeded what I expected, but there's still time for you to express your own secret wish and qualify to win. Just submit your entry via my contact form.

BJ

BJ