last call...

Here we are in the closing moments of the fiction writing contest that’s been weighing on me since it was announced back in October. Before the winners are announced (tomorrow) I’d just like to chat for a moment about the outcome.

I know a lot of you have jumped on the “support Elissa’s crazy scheme” bandwagon, some of you because you love to watch God do amazing things. And some of you likely cast a vote just so I’d stop the relentless facebook posts already.  To both camps I say, thank you.

But before the results come back I’d just like to remind each of you that in my world results are slightly irrelevant, because just like everything else I tell you about, this contest is not about me. This is not the story a little girl’s dream to one day write stories finally coming true. Nor is this the fulfillment of some crazy desire to be rich and famous. It’s all about God. And the fact that sometimes God asks you to do crazy things. Like write silly stories.

I told you about the last time I did something crazy for God – adopting my youngest – and I stepped before a Russian judge knowing she could very likely laugh at my plea. But I didn’t care. I didn’t lose a wink of sleep, because I knew the outcome was out of my hands.

As it should be.  

And here I am again, on the brink of something potentially life changing, and I’m not particularly worried about the outcome. I could be selected as a contributor to this writing project. Or not. This project could be the ticket I need to get someone important to pay attention to my writing. Or not.  God could do something really amazing. Or I could go back to watching episodes of Macgyver on Netflix in my spare time.

Either way, I’m still with Jesus. Waiting. Listening. Watching. I do have a few more tricks up my sleeve, so the scenario where I get to veg out in front of Macgyver is unlikely at best.  Which is sort of a bummer.

Thanks for sticking with me through this process, I’ll let you all know when I find out.

And yes. This is your last call to go vote.

Here’s the website

Here’s the email address:  thequestfortruthbooks (a) gmail (dot) com

Tell them contestant #2 sent you.

(nearly) wordless wednesday

snowy coop...
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Between the lines part 2

So last year I shared a little “getting to know you”  post full of things that you may or may not have figured out about me as you read between the lines of what I tell you here on this little bloggity.

Well I had a few more to sentiments to share with you. And like all good bloggers I know you only want to pay attention to me for about 90 seconds before you get bored. I’m not offended, I’m the same way.

So in order for me to optimize the amount of time you spend learning about me and my captivating yet humble personality I broke my list into two parts.

Because like most bloggers I probably think I’m way more interesting than I really am. Just stating the obvious.

So since I’ve already used up 28 seconds of your interest I’ll just get on with it. Here you go.

I don’t like talking. At all. But mostly I hate talking in large group settings. Aka more than 4 people. The worst is when someone calls on me like “Elissa you must have something captivating to tell us, don’t you?” Nope. Just listening. I’m a writer, remember? Let me chew on this conversation for about a week and you can hear my feedback in a blog post which I’ll schedule for sometime in late June.

And there’s a lot to be said about the fine art of listening. But that’s a book that will have to write itself on some other day by some other person.

I am a huge fan of world news. Local news generally slides past my “who cares” filter, but I’m all over middle eastern peace conflicts. Like obsessively.

My house is a mess because I hate cleaning. Having a clean house does not make me feel like a beloved child of God, or a productive member of society. It makes me feel cranky. So I pretty much avoid it at all costs.  

I love a good podcast. I even like mediocre ones. So many interesting topics to listen to. Conversations to be a part of where I don’t actually have to say anything. Again with the listening, I know.

I like naps. Long naps, with Macgyver playing in the background.

So there you go.

Confessions of a church not pay attention-er

Yep. It’s time to come clean to a truth my children have known about me for some time now. You may have guessed it already. But if not, here goes:  I don’t always pay attention in church.

No, I wasn’t the lady two rows behind you having a conversation with her neighbor about lasagna during the pastoral prayer. You should know me better than that.  

I was the one with a pen and paper scribbling madly away before the pastor even put his first bullet point on the screen. And just between you and me, my furious note taking had nothing to do with Pastor Andy’s sermon. (Even though he’s fantastic, and you should totally listen to him. Like every word.)

The truth is, God meets me in church, and He meets me with words. And the words that He tends to dump upon me in profusion aren’t necessarily the words that are coming out of the pastor’s mouth. Eep. I know.

For way too long I tried to tell God to just shut up already so I could hear what the man up front was saying. But now that I’m older and smarter I realize just how silly that sounds.

Can’t talk now Jesus, I’m listening to Andy. Your truths are just going to have to wait. How’s 7:30 pm sound? I can talk then…

Yeah. That doesn’t really work, does it?

I cannot tell you how many of these blog posts are the fruit of my tendency to not pay attention in church.

You can count this one as one more.  

(nearly) wordless wednesday

back off...

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Worst day ever

When the news people tell you that today is the day that your community will likely break the record for worst winter in recorded history...

 

What else is there to do besides go jump off the 10 foot snow piles in the grocery store parking lot. 

  

Yahoo.

Tomorrow they'll be a half foot deeper. And no one will even notice.

And then you wake up to realize that last night's white out was enough to close school

for the 14th time since January 1st.

But you're still .8 inches away from the record.

It could be the worst day of winter.

Happy worst day of winter everyone.

Tell me I can’t

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This month we’re talking about a contest I’ve entered. A fiction contest with the prize being a publishing opportunity in a book. A real book. With chapters, and contributors, and a royalty check. Not that I’m in it for the money. Cause I could really care less about that part. You should know that about me by now.

Anyway.

As I contemplate this season of anticipation. Of waiting to see whether the chips are going to fall in my favor or not. Of whether I really understood that not so gentle tug on my heart to put a bunch of made up words together into a somewhat coherent story line.

All I can do is think back to the last time I challenged God to put up or shut up. The last opportunity I had to stand on a rather precarious perch and announce that God was about to do something big.

That day I walked in front of a Russian judge and dared her to say no to God’s plan for my son.

You know how that story ended. The proof is here for you to read.

When I stepped in front of that judge on that cold November morning over two years ago, I knew in my heart that God had made a promise. Max was already my son. All I had to do was jump through the proper bureaucratic hoops to make the Russians know I wasn’t kidding about claiming him as my own.  

And today I stand on another precarious perch and tap hesitantly on my mic to see if anyone can hear me. Is this thing on? Because my God is about to do something big, and He wants you to be in the front row to see the whole thing.

So pull up a chair already. 

Here  I am. Not only am I about to win this dang contest, but I’m about to plop myself into a new job description. I’ma take that whole industry by storm. Just you watch. 

Not because I’ve always wanted to be a published author. Not because I’ve daydreamed about it since I was little and wished upon a star and all that crap. Because it’s mostly the opposite of that. Obviously.

This is the story of Mama who used to be totally happy wasting her days away in her beloved garden, taking way too many pictures of her precious children. A Mama who was dragged kicking and screaming into a roll that’s bigger than herself, her camera, and her garden. A Mama who’s willing to look like a big doofus by making a rather ridiculous claim on victory well before the winners are announced because her God made a promise. And she believed it.

But.

I do need votes.

Here’s that link again.
Leave a comment voting for #2 (me!) and #7 (my writing buddy Suzanne)
or you can send an email to the host: 
thequestfortruthbooks (a) gmail (dot) com

Just you wait. God’s going to do something big. BIG I tell you.