I Lost My Voice

It’s inevitable.  It’s Spring.  I know it’s going to happen it’s just a matter of when.  My kids always found great amusement in teasing me when it would happen. 

“Is that a mouse in the house?”

“Too bad mom isn’t up and calling me to leave because I’m totally ready.”

I would try to respond, but only a squeak or a hoarse whisper would be returned. 

This losing my voice thing has always been with me.  I don’t know the medical cause.  I’m sure someone who gets paid more than me could figure it out, but since it comes and goes I’ve never felt compelled to solve it.  Give it a day of not talking, some tea with honey and lemon and it will return.

As a writer, it shouldn’t make much difference.  After all, writers use words on paper, not verbally. It’s the perfect opportunity to use talent instead of vocal cords.

This time, however, it occurred to me that not only did I lose my voice verbally, but I have lost my voice on paper.  That’s a much greater problem.

I looked back on my blog and see there are scant posts for the last several years.  No attempts to explain, interest, engage, or exist outside of my bubble have been made.  I didn’t realize it was happening.

So, how did I lose my writing voice?  I became very intensely involved in teaching, mentoring, guiding, and helping a school and all of the people in that community.

It wasn’t a bad thing.  In fact, it was often quite good.  I watched several students find their purpose, their voice, their talent.  That is the real reward of teaching.  I poured my time and ability into them.  I wrote the best lesson plans I could.  I found activities to stretch them and bond them together.  I searched for opportunities to pull them out of their circumstances to see the greater good in the world. 

I watched the K-8 school slowly expand to high school adding one grade level at a time until this year there will be high school graduates.  I’m so proud of the progress. I’ve worked with colleagues that stretched their own imaginations and abilities to create tools to build successful students.  We cried together over losses, laughed with each other in joyful celebrations, and dug up old mindsets to create growth.

It has been a wild and rewarding ride.

All of those good things were good.  But it didn’t leave time or energy to write.  The miasma of activity circled me and pulled me higher and higher into its grasp.  There was no time to think, no time to play, no time for relationship building outside of the work. 

It’s what was needed.  It’s what was required.  It’s what was important.  Until it was done.

Now, in the stillness after the rush, I hear the words pulling me to paper again.  Perhaps this is the season of my life where writing will give back enough to keep body and soul together.  Or, perhaps, this is the season when the words will bring rest to my exhausted spirit. 

A good cup of tea with a dollop of honey and a splash of lemon will soothe my voice and help me to speak again.  A good hour of prayer with a dollop of reading and a splash of music will soothe my soul and help me to find words again.

Have you lost your voice?  I recommend you take some time out to rest, refresh and renew in the One who gives life. 

Wait-y Words

It’s been a bit since I sat down at the computer to write on purpose.  I have done some scribbling and some rambling, but they aren’t words for sharing, just for emoting. 

I’m not sure where my serious words have gone.  I apologize for having lost track of them.  I know you are waiting to hear all about my marvelous Moscow adventures.  But the words are winding elsewhere winging away on the winter wind.

I go from here to there in Moscow surrounded by millions of people.  I am lost in a sea faces moving from one place in line to the next.  Forced to walk the pace of those before and behind and around me.  I am closer to them than to any other human being here, but without words.  We move in syncopated silence. 

I purposed to share that with you in a long short story so you can see through my eyes, but there seemed no reason for the writing.

Yesterday I sat down on purpose with a blank sheet of paper before me and started six time – SIX TIMES – to tell you something important.  But nothing important wanted to be heard.  Stumped, I closed the computer and made my way to the house of a great writer – Count Leo Tolstoy - hoping he had left some words for me.   Like a slow-moving lava, the ideas began to surface. 

But not enough to write about.  And evening turned to morning and a new day dawned.

This morning, thanks to modern technology, I saw the home going service of a patriarch of Pentecost - Bishop Frank Tamel.  In true Pentecostal fashion there was rejoicing and laughter and much, much music.  Story after story was told of the influence of this man.  Thousands of voices rose together in affirmation of the affect this life had had upon their lives. 

There, in the middle of the Pentecostalisms, in the middle of the crowd thousands of miles and hours away the words began to form.

One of the sons of the deceased told the story of how one man talked to another man who was the father of the Bishop.  Because the man and the father spoke, Bishop eventually gave his life to Jesus.  One conversation caused a chain reaction shift that changed an entire city worth of lives. 

Imagine that.  One man talking to another man offering a simple sentence of hope. 

It occurs to me that the real reason words exist is to communicate a message between persons.  I have something to tell.  You are listening to what I am saying.  If my message is mundane, you will quickly lose interest and move on to another conversation elsewhere.  When the words are hiding, it is because they think they have nothing to say.

As a Christian, as someone whose life has been changed by a message of grace and hope, my words carry an extra treasure.  No conversation, no communication, no sharing of words is ever rudimentary, it is never useless.

With that in mind, I thought again of what I have to tell you. 

Much is happening here in Moscow.  It is easy to make an acquaintance in Moscow, but not so easy to make a friend.  There is a definite distinction.  Yet, I find the grace of God creates a strong bridge easily crossed regardless of language and culture. 

I have mentioned before my classroom full of bright, curious minds.  One of them is a Muslim girl who is always quick to raise her hand to pray “In Jesus Name!”  She loves to read the Bible and to tell the stories she is learning.  Another child has asked me to write down the simple prayers we pray in class so he can teach them to his family at home.  Yet another comes to me frequently with Bible questions.  Those conversations are eternally valuable and only time will tell how many lives are affected.  I hope I don’t brush them off as incidental conversations, but see the weight they carry like the man-to-man conversation above.

My classroom is also a place where parents come to talk with me.  Sometimes we talk about their children, sometimes we talk about them.  Mothers in difficult situations have sat at my table as they tried to sort out what the Bible teaches, what does God expect of them.  I find myself struggling for words of hope.   I recall my own dark nights of the soul and dredge up the hopeful verses that shone brightly into my life.

This room is also a place of prayer.  I pray there myself, often as a means to keep balance when the students’ personalities ignite one another to mischief.  I pray there also with my colleague as we seek God’s help for problems bigger than our experience.  The joined faith of those words brings courage to us as we listen to the other.

Yes, there is much to talk about in Moscow.  It’s not that the words have escaped me.  They have just found another way to be expressed.  I hope that my words would have a lasting impact on many generations.  I hope that my faith would create a chain reaction so explosive a city’s worth of people can be changed.

I have decided that words are treasures to be spent lavishly.  If you feel you have run out of words, just wait a minute.  They will come.

Tolstoy? Timeless!

Now that I'm in Moscow I find myself discussing Russian literature at odd turns and my love for Tolstoy's short stories always rises to the surface.  

My Russian friends look at me oddly as if to say, "Of all the great Russian writers, you pick Tolstoy?  You are a crazy American!"

In my defense, I thought I would post a reprint of an article I wrote in 2003 for the e-zine Ninetyandnine.com.  I believe it will help you understand my fascination with Tolstoy's work.  I love his use of language and the twisting of his allegories.  I am curious about his life and how he saw himself though the lens of a Christian.  I am drawn into his teaching - but not quite as much as those who followed him religiously.  

So here I go throwing words into the universe which I hope will inspire you to read some great words, to think on some broader views and to strive to consider the value of your fellow man.  

What does a writer do in a Moscow winter?  Studies great writers to learn to write!

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Tolstoy? Timeless!
What Men Live By
By Kris A. Newman
November 3, 2003

In an age where we are inundated with information, sometimes it’s hard to remember what the nitty-gritty of Christianity is all about—is it found in worship? Is it found in Bible memorization? Is it found in hearing the best preacher? Isn’t there someone who can tell us the simple rules that men ought to live by?

Actually, the simple lesson has been found. Count Leo Tolstoy wrote it many years ago in his novella and short story collection entitled What Men Live By and Other Tales.
It begins with What Men Live By, where we find an angel named Michael, disobedient to the plan of God, has fallen to earth and relies upon the mercy of a simple peasant family. Michael is assigned three lessons to learn—what dwells in man, what is not given to man, and what men live by. Unwittingly, the peasants and their neighbors teach him the answers.

Woven through this beautiful allegory of giving is a sense of common beauty. The beauty of family life and community breathe through every chapter. Tolstoy’s characters live simply, unburdened by the traps of possessions. They have one another. They have their work. They have God. What else could they need? They are not oblivious to the grand riches of the wealthy around them. Rather, they are satisfied with the richness of their relationships.

The first lesson is learned when the peasant looks beyond his own discomfort to share his coat and clothes with Michael as he suffered by the wayside. The peasant’s wife, likewise, has pity on Michael. They feed him, clothe him, and give him work. Their kindness teaches Michael that love is what dwells in man.

A year later, a verbose, obnoxious wealthy man demands that Michael make him a pair of boots from a specially tanned piece of hide. The rich man threatens that Michael will not be paid for the work unless the boots last for an entire year as if they were new. Michael, however, sees the death angel hovering near the rich man. He knows that God is about to take the man’s life. Carefully, he cuts and stitches the leather into a very fine pair of slippers. While the confused peasant is reprimanding Michael for wasting the gentleman’s materials, a messenger enters to tell them the gentleman perished before arriving home. They will need burial slippers instead. Thus, it was learned that it is not given to man to know what he needs. One must rely upon God for his needs to be met.

Several years pass before the final lesson is learned. Through the telling of a sad story with a rich ending, we learn that men live by love for another.

I John 4:20 tells us, “If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar; for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen?” (I John 4:20). Tolstoy is clearly teaching this lesson in What Men Live By. This thought is exemplified by the last line of the story, “All men live not by the thought they spend on their own welfare, but because love exists in man.” When we learn to give, we discover a new depth in God and the relationship He has with us.

Continuing on this theme, Tolstoy moves on to “Three Questions,” the story of a king who seeks to find the answers to these questions—“What is the most important thing to do? Who is the most important person? When is the most important time?” The answers are found when the king becomes actively engaged in helping others. The busier the king is about giving, the happier and safer his life becomes.

“The Coffee House of Surat” explores thoughts of spiritual prejudice and misconception. A discussion of religiosity introduced by a bitter, deceived man causes a disruption in the coffee house. Finally, a student of Confucius quietly addresses the crowd. He likens God to the sun and man’s ideas of God to their ideas of the sun. He concludes that the more learned a man becomes about the subject of God, the more he realizes how big God is, how small man is; He points out that our relationship with God should draw us closer to one another and never cause us to become haughty.

Finally, the Devil presents himself to a man who is overcome with greed in “How Much Land Does a Man Need?” Driven to succeed, Pahom continues seeking after the elusive perfect piece of land. Finally, the title question is answered—six feet deep by six feet long. That’s all you have in the end.
It is common knowledge that the great Russian author was a wealthy landowner. How, then, could he write about peasant life, and why would he choose peasant life as his recurring subject in this book? (After all, he did write War and Peace.)




However, Tolstoy had a spiritual awakening of some sort in his later years. Realizing his need of people rather than riches, he denounced the money he made, freed his serfs, and worked among them as an equal. Thus, his teachings relating to Christianity flow from a forgiven heart.

Although rife with historical intricacies, the substance of Tolstoy’s teaching is timeless. Likewise, the opium drink in the coffee house was a common thing in Tolstoy’s day and certainly not allowable today. However, coffee houses still brew conversations and discussions as meeting places for bright minds.

Tolstoy is worth reading. Just don’t start with War and Peace. Start with his short story collections. You need go no further.

ninetyandnine.com
© 2003, Kris Newman

10,000th Page View

Much to my pleasant surprise, we have surpassed 10,000 page views!  Wow, that's fantastic!  I can't even believe five people would want to read my rambly words or see through my writer's eyes.

So, friend, what is your favorite piece?  I would really like to know.

Thanks for stopping by and sharing this space of the path with me.

Blessings back to you!!

To order a copy of A Book of Pages About Crossing Bridges or a Friend Named Jesus,
 please visit my website:  Writer's Pages

Facebook:  Author Kris A. Newman

Blessings

For the first time in many, many months I am sitting in a Starbucks with nothing required of me.  

I can write if I want.  About anything that fills my mind. 

Bliss.

I considered all the different types of muse I might find about which to pontificate.  I considered the music, books, movies I might review.  I considered the people, places and things which I might discuss.

After all is said and done, all my mind can conjure are the good things in my life right now.  My angelbabies, my sons, my siblings, my friendships, the sunshine, the joy of music sliding along my thoughts, the pattering words dancing in the clouds.  Good things.  Those blessings stand in stark contrast to the hard days of this season of my life.

I’ve come a long way in the last seven years.  I remember dark, dark days when I asked God why He didn’t just let me check out and come on home.  But love held me here.  Angelbaby kisses, friendship hugs, shouts of encouragement from so many places.  Those rich relationships have me driving hither and yon using my last dimes to be where they are to share just one more afternoon, one more cup of coffee, one more chat with them.

After all, you never know when that door will close and I love you cannot be exchanged again.

These seven years have had long winters full of snowy, rainy, closed in days when gloomy clouds filled the sky.  I cherish the feel of sun kissing my skin, Vitamin D drenched moments when I soak up the warmth.  Making like a snake and baking in the sun never gets old to me.  Nothing charges my batteries more than sitting in the sun.  Thanks, God for sunshine.

Silence has shouted to me in these seven years, too.  Profoundly still silence that shook the walls with its resonance.  Today, however, I hear gently the sounds of music from angelbaby laughter, music made by those I’ve watched grow.   The lingering joy in this music makes my heart smile.

All these things give me cause to write.  The words will not remain tucked inside.  They tug and pull and nag for my attention.  All these good things in my life crowd out the quietness of this season.  I know what I would rather, but since I don’t have my druthers, I may as well enjoy what I’ve been given.

Thanks, God, for time to consider the blessings and words with which to share them.

And that, my friends, is what a writer thinks about when they are staring out of a coffee shop window with a laptop open before them and a coffee cooling beside them.

To order a copy of 

A Book of Pages About Crossing Bridges 

or A Friend Named Jesus, 

please visit my website:  Writer's Pages

Facebook:  Author Kris A. Newman

Writer Teacher

Besides being a writer by nature, I am also a natural teacher.  It’s an automatic response for me to want to help others do better what they do well.  Sometimes to the embarrassment of my children, it’s another instinct I can’t shut off.  

There have been times in public spaces where I see a child struggling with something, reading a sign for example, when the Teacher Button flips on and I am in the moment guiding their learning.  “Excellent!  You did that really well!” Complete with teacher smile and thumbs up.

Did I mention I don’t have to know the child to participate in their learning experience? 

 

The instinct is ramped up when someone I know hesitates exercising their abilities in the face of criticism or fear.

“I know you can do this. It will be fantastic!  People need what you have to give.”    I heard myself saying these types of phrases several times over the last two years or so as I watched a friend of mine grapple with the idea that his words have value. 

I recalled facing the Writer Bridge.  Walking up the steps on someone else’s confidence, looking across the divide with many voices echoing the need, the value, the purpose of my words. Then walking step-by-editing-step through the book building process.  Chapters falling together, editor advice filling in blanks, sharpening the product, revising and revising until suddenly I found myself on the other side of the bridge.  

There is an e-mail that you get from CreateSpace when the uploading is final and you can print your book.  It’s the coolest thing.  I remember anxiously waiting for it and then reading it 10 times out loud to myself.  It’s hard to explain what it feels like to know your words will be read by people – some you know, some you don’t.  

Frightening, comes to mind.  

What if they find my mistakes?  What if they see my inconsistencies?  What if I ramble and make no sense?

Excitement follows.

What if someone is blessed by my story?  What if I make someone smile? What if someone faces a challenge with confidence based on my experience?

I watched all of this through another set of eyes this week as my friend’s book hit the world.  I played a very small part in getting the book from idea to print.  Recognizing my own lack of knowledge, I even dragged others into the fray.  

As a writer I am glad to have something good to read.  As a teacher I am glad to see the success of someone else.  As a friend I am glad to have a friend published.

I recommend his book.  It will challenge how you see yourself as follower of Christ.  It will encourage you to stretch farther, do more, be more like Jesus.  His writing is uplifting, encouraging, thought provoking.  

His name is Mark Showlater and his book and website can be found here:  Message of Hope Ministries

Sometimes writers see through a teacher’s eyes.

To order a copy of A Book of Pages About Crossing Bridges or a Friend Named Jesus,

 please visit my website:  Writer's Pages

Facebook:  Author Kris A. Newman