Take Care of the Birds

Ears to Understand Church

2010-11-03T11:29:00.000-07:00

"When we reach the station, that will be it!" we cry. "When I'm 18." "When I buy a new 450SL Mercedes Benz!" "When I put the last kid through college." "When I get a promotion." "When I reach the age of retirement, I shall live happily ever after!"

Sooner or later we must realize there is no station, no one place to arrive at once and for all. The true joy of life is the trip. The station is only a dream."

-The Station, by Robert J. Hastings

This morning, I met with an amazing woman named Lisa Purkey. She is a mom of two little boys and the wife of Jon. Both have just launched Nexus Church in Kansas City. Lisa knows me from Mothers of Preschoolers (MOPS) when I spoke to her MOPS group about my hearing loss experiences. She came to me on a quest for information. After hearing me speak before, Lisa never forgot that there are thousands of people in our city who can't hear well. Her mission now is to find out as much about the needs of people who are hard of hearing or Deaf and somehow engage us through Nexus.

Lisa posted this on the Nexus Facebook page:

"I'm so excited that Nexus Church is going to be taking an active role in reaching out to our deaf and hard of hearing community in Johnson County!!! We have some amazing things in store for reaching these people creatively, and not just setting them in a corner for deaf people! We want them to be a part of every aspect... of our church!!! Details to come!!!!!! Can't wait!!!!!!!!!!"

Something interesting about Lisa is that although she can hear fine, she can't see well. In high school, she was diagnosed with vision loss and began wearing contact lenses. All those years prior to getting help, her world was fuzzy. Words on the chalkboard at school were a strain to see, and she squinted to read words on a TV screen. After getting help, Lisa remembers seeing the detail on blades of grass, how the texture and color popped in the sunlight. Her vision was clear... with help.

I've written articles and spoken before what a struggle it is to hear in group settings. Church is among one of those hearing-challenged settings. Without real-time captions at each service, I miss key words in a sermon. I lose the connection with other able-hearing people during the worship and sharing times because I can't lipread all the moving lips speaking into microphones.

The meeting with Lisa opened my eyes to a mission: I want my ears to *hear* everything at church. If Lisa could see so clearly with help after such a long time of struggling, what is stopping me from being able to attend church where I can hear and understand all that is being said?

Examples Lisa and I discussed about ways Nexus Church could help those with hearing issues:

* Immerse yourself in the Deaf and hearing loss cultures. Visit the U.S.'s only Deaf Cultural Center, based in Kansas City. Get to know the staff and volunteers, many of whom are Deaf. Attend a meeting of the Hearing Loss Association of America. Visit the Kansas School for the Deaf and meet teachers and students. Ask them what their needs are with regards to church.

* Provide interpreters for the Deaf and CART (real-time captions) of all spoken words during the service. Words would be projected onto a screen behind the stage. CART is especially useful to people who do not know sign language and can't hear well. It also can help the entire audience understand everything spoken from the stage.

* Visit audiologists, and get to know their lingo. What is the difference between a behind-the-ear hearing aid and an in-the-canal aid? What is an audiogram? What do the words "hearing assistive technology" mean?

I am encouraged from this meeting with my friend, Lisa. It has opened my eyes to someone pursuing a mission and not waiting for the right time, place or feeling. Just getting on that train and taking it wherever it leads... down a hilly path, or a smooth one, or one with all the lows and highs that come from doing the right thing.

How to Hear God When You're Deaf

2010-10-28T12:51:00.000-07:00

Would life be better if I could hear better?

Would I notice the subtle differences in people's voices, or the tones used in their speech? Or be able to hear the door bell ring or the microwave beep, or the wall clock tick? Or distinguish instantly who is calling me by listening to voice, not merely glancing at caller I.D.?

Would all the sounds I am no longer able to hear suddenly become recognizable? The sound of my two-year-old son giggling in his room when I am downstairs. The guitar music my husband strums behind closed bedroom doors while I'm standing in the laundry room with a dryer rumbling.

Would I hear the soft voice that doesn't come from anywhere but the heart? God's whispering throughout the day of promises...that He would never leave me, that He has a plan for me beyond what I can hear.

Would I listen to God, or pay attention to all the other noises coming through my ears? Let the shouts from family, television, and radio take priority over holy whispers?

Maybe, just maybe God allowed my progressive hearing loss so I could hear those whispers better.

"The Lord says, 'I will lead (them) by a road they do not know, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them. I will turn the darkness before them into light, the rough places into level ground ... I will not forsake them." (Isaiah 42:16)

I don't hear well, but I know this: Life is better BECAUSE I don't hear better.

Writing Detour at Starbucks

2010-10-27T09:40:00.000-07:00

All around me at Starbucks are reminders of my children. This is my one free "kid-free" day when all three of my beauties are in school. I look forward to this day. So why am I constantly thinking about my kids?

It started when I stopped to check my mail. In my P.O. box was a copy of a parenting magazine called MOMSense. Sitting at the coffee shop, I flipped to an article titled "Divine Detours." This quote by author Carol Kuykendall made me think:

"I know for sure that my divine detours have shaped my mothering, and kept me from promising our children that they can do or be anything they desire, if they just try hard enough. I know it's not always the depth of our longings or even our determination that controls our outcomes. We sometimes hit barriers that we can't control."

Wow! Talk about a divine reminder of what I am experiencing now.

My own detour is leading me more into the role of mothering. For three years, my mom life competed with other roles: writing, publishing and promoting Lip Reader; traveling for public speaking and teaching events; volunteering with Mothers of Preschoolers (MOPS) and the Hearing Loss Association of America, co-leading a church Bible study and a prayer ministry for moms.

Over the summer, I sensed God's pull in other directions. For starters, being more attentive to my husband and children. Spending quality time with my kids before and after school. Staying on top of their projects and homework. Calling or texting my husband during the day just because. Having meaningful conversations, listening more, snuggling more. Not being so distracted by my book-in-progress or volunteering or traveling all over the Midwest for book signings.

My divine detour: STOP BEING TOO BUSY FOR MY FAMILY.

This new way of thinking and living draws me less to the computer to work on a book, and more to my family's needs. My kids need their mom. My husband needs his wife.

I'll admit: it feels good to make a difference beyond the four quarters of my home. Yet, I have a 9-year-old boy with special needs who needs constant intervention at school; a 6-year-old daughter with an amazing heart that longs for one-on-one time with mom; a two-year-old son at home; a husband of almost fifteen years who is the most loyal person in the world. If I don't fulfill their longings for a mom and wife, who will?

This fall, my roles have been much more domesticated. Caretaker, meal planner and preparer. Spelling tutor and carpool queen. Potty training instructor. Prayer leader on the way to school and at bedtime. Storyteller. Listener.

As I sit at Starbucks, reading my mommy magazine and thinking about my family, I also people watch...

Look, there's a mom coming in for coffee with her pajama-clad tot in her arms. I smile at her. Since she doesn't know me, she probably thinks I'm a crazy lady.

But I bet if she saw me surrounded by my three kids, she'd know why I grinned. She would probably flash a knowing, mom-to-mom smile back.

Being Still with Thomas

2010-10-26T12:31:00.000-07:00

A Personal Note that Has Nothing to Do with Writing

This morning, I got my older two kids ready and off to school. My two-year-old son and I returned home and did our casual routine. Breakfast. Decaf coffee for me. Bible reading time. Checking my e-mail via phone. Routine accomplished by nine o’clock.

I felt a sense of, "Shouldn’t I be going somewhere today?" Then I remembered: It’s Tuesday. MOPS Tuesday.

For six years, I’d attended a Mothers of Preschoolers (MOPS) meeting or Bible study every Tuesday morning at nine o’clock at my church. In recent months, I’d become aware that my time with MOPS was about to be over. I felt God tugging me away from this parenting ministry for unsure reasons. From sitting on the local MOPS steering committee to serving as a citywide MOPS training coordinator, I had lived and breathed the MOPS life – and loved it – for so long.

In my Bible reading today, I read in the fourteenth chapter of Luke about Jesus telling his disciples to "take up your cross and follow me." To do that, the disciples had to put everything else behind Jesus – their parents, siblings, spouses, children and even their own lives.

I heard God speak loud and clear through those verses: TURN AWAY FROM YOURSELF.

Like I so often do, I debated God. "How do you expect me to do that?"

Did God expect me to turn away from my desires, my passions and feelings, my goals and ambitions? That felt like taking a trip and not being able to see the road or maneuver the steering wheel. Like God expected me to turn away from myself while Tuesday moved on and left me not knowing what to do. That felt so odd. To be completely, one-hundred percent selfless.

Before God could answer, my two-year-old son squealed, "Thomas."

I turned around and saw him pushing his beat-up plastic train car on the kitchen floor. His favorite toy. His favorite show: Thomas the Tank Engine.

Left without an answer from God, I felt so unsure of how to spend the day. I didn’t know what to do with a Tuesday morning without a MOPS meeting to attend or a Bible study to co-lead.

"Thomas," my son squealed again. "Wa’ Thomas."

This was two-year-old language for, "I want to watch Thomas. Get up and watch it with me."

I dragged myself from the kitchen table, feeling so unfocused. My two-year-old squealed some more as I reached for the remote, flicked on the TV, and searched for Thomas the Tank Engine On-Demand.

Instead of spending the morning encouraging and being encouraged by my MOPS friends, I spent the rest of the morning watching a dozen Thomas episodes. My son curled beside me, clutching his plastic train to his heart. I lay still and watched the model trains chit-chat with each other. With each “toot-toot” of an engine, I felt my sense of pride disappear.

I didn’t hear God’s audible answer to my question, but I did feel him with me. Cuddled in my arms, holding a train. My son had so wanted me to watch Thomas.

So I did that all morning.

The Life of a Writer Mom

2010-10-25T13:29:00.000-07:00

Being a hands-on mom involves sacrifice. Instead of playing on the computer at sunrise and putting the finishing touches on Chapter 10 of the novel, I need to fix my kids breakfast and spend time with them at the table. Instead of traveling this way and that to promote my first book, I need to be present at the kids’ parent-teacher conferences, fun fairs, and homeroom parties.

To some moms, being attentive isn’t a sacrifice at all. It’s what they do naturally and consistently. For me, it can sometimes be a struggle. I love and appreciate my children. I want to be with them at the breakfast table, take them to school, pick them up, and pray with them at bedtime. My favorite moments in life are spent with my children.

But there is also this restless energy inside me that asks me to do more. More writing. More speaking . More book promotion. More social media networking. More of making a mark outside of my home.

So I struggle with fulfilling the responsibilities of an attentive mom with the pent-up energy of creative pursuits. How do I finish writing my novel without sacrificing an important moment with my kids? How do I travel to speaking and writing events without neglecting one of their school events?

Right now, I am in limbo with how to move forward. Should I jump in full-force as a mom and put creative interests on hold? Should I carve out time to do both, forgiving myself for not giving one-hundred percent to either one?

I love my children, and I love being creative outside of the mother realm.

So I must forgive myself for the less-than-perfect outcome of Chapter 10.

A Writer Stuck in Metaphorland

2010-10-11T08:19:00.000-07:00

This is the bane of writers I know – to be stuck.

Unable to move a storyline forward, character descriptions and setting details choke the forward momentum of plot. As Character One wonders when Character Two’s dialogue to be written, a book is left with loose ends nowhere close to being tied up.

Take Care of the Birds has become a quilt of various multicolored fabric swatches left unstitched to a backing. Anxious for fingers to push thread through a sewing needle, the pieces wait.

I’m curious when Sapphie Traylor will find out the truth about her mother’s latest crisis. Months of writing a storyline also has me wondering: Do I even know what happened to her mother?

Until then, my plot development hovers inside a dark garage. Not even a cup of super-caffeinated coffee or an interrupted morning can propel this engine to take off. I have a thousand meandering thoughts but can’t take the twenty steps to my computer. While the world outside my brain ticks with adrenaline, I am tempted to take ten steps back to my pillow to, um, ponder.

Shouldn’t I be concerned that a chapter hovers on my computer, waiting for fuel to launch?

How to Hear a Bird Sing When You're Deaf

2010-09-23T12:07:00.000-07:00

I heard a bird sing in the dark of December
A magical thing and sweet to remember.
"We are nearer to Spring than we were in September."
I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December.

-Oliver Herford, I Heard a Bird Sing

The late Poet Oliver Herford didn't have hearing loss. If he had, the robin's solstice song would have been silent. So why, as a person with hearing loss, am I fascinated with a poem about a bird I will never be able to hear?

The name Take Care of the Birds is my metaphor for acceptance. Acceptance of the cold reality of winter. Acceptance of most birds fleeing from that winter. Acceptance of the rarity of hearing a bird's voice in winter. Acceptance of my hearing loss.

I grew up on an Oklahoma farm. From spring through summer, male Scissor-tailed Flycatchers did their roadside "sky dances." They'd soar 100 feet into the air in V-shaped flight, then plunge in a zigzag pattern toward the ground. A cackling mating call accompanied their repetitive dance as their scissor tails flapped open and closed. As a child, I remember how visually and audibly stunning the birds were.

Several seasons passed, and I grew up and moved away. By the winter of 2001, I was a new mom caring for an infant, making up songs to lull him to sleep. I was elated and exhausted. My voice sounded so weak, I had trouble hitting the high notes. And there was an unexplained ringing noise inside my ears. The sound reminded me of the the summer's fowl and insect chorus on the Oklahoma farm, and it never quieted. My doctor diagnosed me with tinnitus, or ringing of the ears. The reason: an unexplained hearing loss that would get progressively worse.

Ten years later, and I still hear that ringing. The melody of birds chanting and calling and warbling and trilling playing 24-hours a day, seven days a week inside my ears. I have accepted that bird song. It plays in the warm breezes of spring and summer, in the blowing winds of fall, and in the numbing, wintry gusts.

I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December
We are nearer to Spring than we were in September

I will always hear that bird sing.

Take Care of the Birds: A Synopsis

2010-09-09T13:30:00.000-07:00

I may be jumping the gun with posting a teaser for Take Care of the Birds. The book is still a work-in-progress, and there are many loose ends that need tying. But for the curious few who have asked, here is a preview of what happens after Lip Reader...

Sapphie Traylor is back on the road again to Little Paw, Oklahoma—this time without her mother.

Two years after fleeing with Mom Rea Traylor to visit their Bebop family, Sapphie is older, wiser and full of new questions. Dad and younger sister Roni are along for the journey that may or may not provide Sapphie with the answers she needs.

What happened to Sapphie's Mom on February 14, 1984? Why won't Dad talk about it? It is up to 14-year-old Sapphie and her golden-hearted Bebop family—most of them deaf or hard of hearing—to solve the mystery.

While Grandma Bebop communicates with Sapphie in sign language, Grandpa changes his name to Ol' Man and develops an ornery streak. Aunt Jolene still gossips about everybody and their dogs, and Cousin C.K. carries more burdens than most girls her age. Uncle Red Jack prepares for a bright future in the world of fast food management and matrimony.

Meanwhile, Mom Rea tells her side of the story from a dark and lonely place, although, at first, she is as unsure of her fate as Sapphie is.

Who will take care of Sapphie and Roni, two girls who flutter like helpless birds in search of Mom?

Back to the Birds

2010-08-26T13:03:00.000-07:00

The first full week of school for my kids means back to writing for their mom.

After a three-month hiatus from Take Care of the Birds, I am at the computer writing about young Sapphie Traylor and her whirlwind of preteen emotions. Here's a sample of her complex inner world in the Lip Reader sequel:

HAVE MERCY ON US, O LORD.
HAVE MERCY ON US.

A bald man with a long, bushy beard hanging from his chin stood at the curb, holding a cardboard sign with those words. His eyes were black like a crow's. The man was about five feet away from our car. Dad locked the driver's door, then leaned over to lock mine.

The stoplight changed to green, and Dad pushed his foot hard on the gas pedal. As we sped away in Dad's old VW Bug, the force made me a little sick at my stomach. We’d just eaten our usual McDonald's lunch of French fries, quarter pounders and chocolate shakes, and were heading home.

"Wha' wrong wit' 'im?" My sister Roni pointed at the bald man, who was now just a speck in the rearview mirror.

I cupped my hand to sign the letter "c" and waved it beside my head.

Dad glanced over at me, his forehead scrunched up into an imaginary question mark.

"Crazy. The man's crazy," I said.

In Take Care of the Birds, Sapphie often deals with typically CRAZY preteen thoughts and emotions. This makes everyone else around her appear to suffer from the Big C. Crazy Bald Man standing on the street. Crazy Dad. Crazy Mom. Crazy Sister.

When I think about my own experiences as a preteen, I can so relate with Sapphie's distorted vision. Why couldn't I push a button back then, and everyone would say, act, feel, think and behave as I wanted them? Instead of embarrassing me or questionning me or ignoring me. The thrills of being 12.

The fun part is living through my characters for the 20 minutes I write each day. Today, I am a sullen preteen girl. Tomorrow, I'm her exasperated dad. The next day, a crazy bald man holding a sign on the street corner.

It's so good to be writing again.

Embracing Life and Loss

2010-04-16T14:58:00.000-07:00

The past two months have brought challenges to Take Care of the Birds. Two of my family members and a close friend passed away and went to their heavenly home recently. After a month-long hiatus to grieve and think, I am back to writing the book.

Chapter 9 begins with a character questioning her life. Trapped in a dark place, she confronts the choices she made that got her there. Could she have been a better friend, a better daughter, a better person? "What does 'better' really mean?" she questions.

I have thought a lot about this character as I said goodbye to my three loved ones. One of them longed to be in heaven with his wife of 64 years and passed away suddenly almost a year to the day after he lost her. Another died tragically and unexpectedly in a motorcycle accident at the age of 19. And the other was a young wife and mother of three daughters, who refused to give into her fierce cancer until she took her last breath.

Without giving too much away for those who have read my first book, Lip Reader, one of Take Care of the Birds's character not only loses the ability to hear, but to see. She is isolated, afraid, confused. Where is she, and who will rescue her?

Is her rescue too late?

Life Takes Over

2010-03-01T13:23:00.001-08:00

Due to an extreme case of life imitating art, Take Care of the Birds has been a struggle to write these past two weeks.

In the current chapter I am writing, the themes are loss and various characters grieving a loss. While writing, three major life events happened. The anniversary of my sister Monica's death was in early February. It's still a challenge for me to make it through that day even after all this time has passed.

Then, a week later, my husband and I lost two beloved family members unexpectedly. One was our pastor-grandfather, who conducted our wedding ceremony in 1996. The other was my sister's 19-year-old former stepson, who was struck by a delivery van while pulling out of a parking lot on his motorcycle.

Take Care of the Birds has been a painful writing project lately, so I'm taking a short break from it.

Sixty Pages

2010-01-21T12:54:00.000-08:00

The first 60 pages of Take Care of the Birds are completed. It feels like a turtle race, writing in bits of time each day... 20 minutes here, 15 minutes there.

Lip Reader took two years to write. The first four chapters were written in three months. When my sister died in February 2007, I didn't write for almost a year. Once I got with it again, the book took off and the first draft was completed in 11 months. Four months to edit, three months to publish, and the book debuted in June of last year.

I've got to keep remembering that the slow turtle does win the race. And my time frame with completing the sequel is not necessarily God's time frame.

My Editor (and Friend)

2010-01-11T13:09:00.001-08:00

I am blessed to have a professional editor who is also a wonderful friend. Rebecca and I worked together on my first novel, Lip Reader, and she is giving up a small part of her life to help me polish the in-progress sequel book.

When I e-mailed her the first chapter of Take Care of the Birds, I was nervous:

Me: "It might help to read the last chapter of Lip Reader again, since the new chapter picks up exactly where the storyline left off. What I am looking for in this edit is a way to flesh out the plot, dialogue and description. It reads too fast and sketchy. Also, could you please use the Track Edit Changes feature in Word? Thanks so much."

This past weekend, I received her comments and edit changes:

Rebecca: "I've used the track changes as you suggested. I purposely didn't go back and read Lip Reader, because a sequel needs to stand on its own as well as having back story for readers who didn't get the 1st book. You did a great job of back story at the bottom of page 6. Lots of action in this chapter and a great lead. One suggestion throughout: since you have so many characters whose dialect will be dropping the 'g,' you might do a Control Find for 'ing' at the end of each chapter. That way, you could automatically change those verbs and gerunds."

Rebecca and I belong to the same writing group and attend church together. I've attended book signings with her and listened to her fantastic workshops on prayer.

For those of you who have ever worked with an editor, it is like a dance. The writer writes, the editor edits. Back and forth. Two steps this way, two steps that way. Without my editor, I can't dance and my book stays on the computer, unpublished.

Please remember Rebecca in your prayers. After Christmas, she was laid off from her full-time job and is now strictly freelance. Without insurance for herself and her son (she is a single mom; he is in cancer remission), this has been an uncertain time for her. I know Rebecca appreciates those prayers.

Twenty Minutes a Day

2009-12-17T13:07:00.000-08:00

8-1-09

That is my writing quota for the Lip Reader sequel. Five days a week, minus the weekends, when my children are sleeping or at school. There is no other way to write but like a turtle, pacing myself in bits and spurts whenever I can find the time or the inspiration or both. Only stopping when I'm satisfied with the last sentence written or twenty minutes have passed or one of the kids wakes up, whichever comes first.

9-15-09

What makes a novel sequel-worthy? Is it a story left unfinished or characters that have future lives necessary to explore? I wonder if Sapphie Traylor and her Lip Reader world have what it takes to fill another book.

11-20-09

I love watching birds in the sky. They seem to be able to escape so many things: dirt, pollution, fighting, technology, confusion. And God takes care of the birds; isn't that what the Bible teaches? The flying creatures don't plant anything, harvest anything or store anything, yet look at their healthy bellies. Plus, they are always on the move, exercising their freedom of flight. Taking off above the clouds and city smog.

I wonder why I can't get the words "Take Care of the Birds" out of my head for this sequel.

12-17-09

What character in the Lip Reader sequel changes for the better? For the worse?

Silence

2009-07-17T08:45:00.000-07:00

Heavy burden
No one can see it
But I can hear it
The sound of noise gradually decreasing to a soft volume
The sound of a scream only now a whisper
The sound of ringing a constant reminder of something being gone

As the crowded room erupts into glorious conversation
I sit back and watch as lips move and listen as words are distorted
The children and their enormous laughter compete with the sound of ringing in my ears
Do they not know that I watch their every lip movement to understand what their words are?
Would they think differently of me if they did?

My days are spent observing the people around me for I cling to my sense of sight
If one sense is failing, one becomes that much stronger
I grapple with all the fears of what the future holds
I don't want to be fifty and deaf but what choice do I have?

The heavy burden
Something I must come to peace with
Is accepting that my hearing loss
chose
me