Lifesummit

Shore Book Project Update - Framing

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Sat, 26 May 2012 13:48:00 +0000

Mike and Christa's book project is well underway. We met two weeks ago to officially kick off the project and begin framing the story's theme, purpose, and other details to set the direction.

Mike and Christa are already hard at work writing and sending various stories, memories, and photographs. We will also begin several sessions with them—interview style—to voice-record parts of the story that will later get transcribed onto paper. Given this is not Mike and Christa's first rodeo for sharing their story (via pastoring, speaking, and music), they're making my job pretty easy as their rodeo 'podnah' (a.k.a, writing partner). :)

If you're on Facebook, I encourage you to join the Beyond the Veil Fellowship Facebook page. There you can interact with Mike and Christa and stay up-to-date with ministries they're involved in, particularly the wonderful church family they pastor at Beyond the Veil Fellowship in Evansville, Indiana.

You can also visit the Beyond the Veil website for more information on Mike and Christa, BTVF, and Christa's artwork and music.

Thank you again for your support and encouragement of this effort,

-brock

The Final Rumpus

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Wed, 09 May 2012 04:47:00 +0000

My 15 year-old son shared with me the disheartening news.

"Dad, the author of 'Where the Wild Things Are' died today."

You're kidding me, I thought.

Maurice Sendak died today (Tuesday, May 8th) at age 83. Read the NY Times article here.

The second blog post I wrote for Lifesummit in 2009 paid a brief tribute to one of my all-time favorite short stories and Sendak's most famous work, and a bit of—ahem—emotions I bore while watching the movie at a theater with two of my children. You can laugh at me all you want here for the October, 2009, post: "Let the wild rumpus start!" Just a word of caution though—it might awaken your wild side.

Shores of Hope

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Mon, 07 May 2012 11:35:00 +0000

According to the initial diagnosis, he should be a dead man. Mike Shore has survived not one but two lung transplants, the first of which almost failed due to one lung in the set being damaged in transport. Under normal circumstances, the doctors would have canceled the operation.

But nothing normal ever seems to happen for Mike and Christa Shore. One of the doctors sensed they needed to perform the surgery—even if they only had one usable lung. Mike survived the transplant but not without edging death several more times before receiving a second transplant with a suitable set of lungs.

Mike was diagnosed in 2005 with Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis (IPF), a disease that scars and stiffens the lungs making it increasingly difficult to breathe. And no, Mike has never been a smoker.

But even in the darkest moments of their lives, Mike and Christa found a way to hang on to threads of hope in the midst of shattered dreams. Their story has reached thousands through involvement in their local community, speaking engagements, and a passion for faith-inspired art and music.

My wife, Sarah, and I are excited to begin a most challenging effort working alongside Mike and Christa to help build their story in book form. That we've known Mike and Christa long before Mike's illness gives us all the pleasure and privilege to work with them. But for Mike and Christa, writing this book will require them to revisit painful places that they'd rather leave behind. Their aim is to give others hope in difficult and often unfair circumstances.

We'd love for you to come along on this journey, and the best we can ask for is to pray. Pray for Mike and Christa to have strength in re-telling their story. Pray for courage—their desire is to be real, which requires being vulnerable.

Pray for the writing process itself, and for my own determination in piecing together Mike and Christa's story through their journals and interviews in a way that captures their voices well. My work will be done mostly late at night, outside of my day job and after family time.

I'll post updates on the project here at the Lifesummit blog. Just click "The Book" menu at the top to stay up-to-date. For writers, I'll also share details on the writing process. I look forward to sharing all that we learn for those interested from a writer's perspective. (And yes, there will be mistakes to learn from!)

Read more about Mike and Christa and the church they pastor at here at Beyond the Veil Fellowship.

Thanks for supporting!
-brock

Five Spoons to Rule Them All

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 02:22:00 +0000

Five Spoons to rule them all, Five Spoons to find them,
Five Spoons to bring them all and in the chocolate bind them

This Bag Is Not a Toy

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 08:00:00 +0000

Obviously. So I slough off the warning and throw away the bag that is not a toy.

But the words bother me. I return immediately to the kitchen trash can and wipe away the ketchup from the little plastic bag.

WARNING: THIS BAG IS NOT A TOY.

It makes sense. People sue anybody these days over anything to make a buck. A hot coffee burn. Slipping on a wet floor. Or suffocating in a plastic bag. I get the disclaimer. Even still, something itches me. I decide to forget about it.

Several days later, a brief lull at the office resurrects the bother. I spot a plastic bag, this one holding a computer power cord, albeit no warning is printed on it.

When I arrive home that evening I hunt down the bag with the "NOT A TOY" imprint. It's nowhere to be found. I cross the border into ridiculous by weeding through a trash bag full of sticky newspapers, soiled Kleenexes, and the smell of meatloaf and sour mayonnaise. Where is that flippin' bag!

I rush to the basement and luckily, thankfully, find it on the table where I'd placed it. I press the bag flat, smoothing the creases toward each corner. The bag, and its message, shimmer beneath the ceiling lights. I laugh at this crazy episode, but I'm catching on.

Life is so obvious sometimes that we miss it. We disregard it. We toss aside the warnings meant to preserve the very life we are throwing away. We ignore our bodies cries for healthier choices. We suppress our anxiety and deny our need for help. We neglect the eternity of our souls by avoiding the subject altogether. We see, we hear, we touch it even, but we keep missing it.

I'm starting to like this bag. I'm recognizing, again, as when I first found it, that I don't need the silly warning to tell me it's not a toy. But I think I'll keep the bag anyway.

A Better End

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 06:27:00 +0000

I welcome 2012 like a cool surf on a warm beach morning. I leave behind a year of transition, and quite frankly, months of frustration.

One year ago, in January, I wrote in my journal these words:

My big, extraordinary circumstance for this year is whether to move to Indiana or stay in Colorado...I'll walk wherever God leads, albeit severe difficulties...

On this cold and windy evening, one year later, I sit in my home office with a Rocky Mountain landscape adorning the western wall and a window overlooking an Indiana countryside. Moving across the country straddles so many facets of life. Patterns change. Habits. Comforts. Familiarity. And often, we change.

How our circumstances change isn't always up to us, but how we respond to that change is.

And I've been a bit of a grouch...for months. Moving my family 1,000 miles, even to a familiar place (our Indiana hometown), would seem easy, but writing this new chapter has proved as rough as swallowing sandpaper.

Moving twice in 8 months—once to our temporary residence with my in-laws and again to our new home just one week before Christmas—simply put, has sucked. Starting our three children in new and unfamiliar schools at ages 15, 12, and 11, is not a comforting experience for parent or child. A new job—like all new jobs—brings its own set of demands and challenges. And saying goodbye to dear friends and the mountains my family loves will wrench even the strongest of heart.

Even with the many positive reasons to relocate (and there are many), that much change puts life on hold. For a guy like me who has goals, plans—a vision even, for his family and future—putting life on hold is not a place I like to linger. But here's what has helped me make it through:

Pray without ceasing. We read in the Bible to "pray continually" (1 Thessalonians 5:17). More oft than not, my unceasing prayers in the car have resembled angry shouts at God instead of the two verses sandwiching verse 17, which say "Be joyful always" and "give thanks in all circumstances." But God is big enough to handle my shouting. And when I pray, I know He is listening.

Stay in the Word. "I run in the path of your commands, for you have set my heart free." (Psalm 119:32.) There is no substitute for the truth of God's Word. Power dwells in its words, the power to calm my shouting and frustration despite how I feel. I've had to force myself to sit and read it. Sometimes I just refused and pushed it aside. But my refusal is proof enough that something positive occurs inside of us when we read it. When we sit in a pity pool, we naturally only allow in whatever amplifies, and thus justifies in our mind, our emotions. The Bible, contrarily, draws us out of the stench, but it usually requires us letting go of our emotions and our blame before joy can wash away our pain.

God has a plan, and it is good. Despite how life changes course, and no matter how difficult the new path, God will use it to grow us and reveal more of how much He really does love us. The difficulty won't last forever, and peace can exist within a storm (think Jesus sleeping on the fishing boat amidst a brutal storm, Matthew 8:23-27). God is not freaking out because we are. If we let Him, He'll use those situations for something important down the road, whether for us or for another. "'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'" (Jeremiah 29:11.)

Small things trump the big ones. It's cliche`, but it's true. The small things matter most. Give thanks for every blessing we have, and I mean every single one. Write them down. Count them. Thank God for each one, out loud. Although I don't feel thankful at times, I'll thank Him anyway. For my wife. For my children. For my relatives and friends. For my health. For my car. For my job. For food to eat. For clean drinking water. For a roof. For clothing. For rain. For sunshine. For sleep. For forgiveness. For freedom. For love. And yes, even difficulty—not for the problem itself but for the good that waits on the other side.

This time, I'm not walking into the new year with hopes that it will be a "better" year. Seems I re-live that mantra every New Year's Eve. The only thing that improves is how fast I close the curtains on last year and re-open them to what's really the same stage. Let's be honest. The only thing different come January 1 is the calendar, and if we're lucky, we might get to sleep in.

No, instead I'm walking into 2012 hoping that I will find the strength to overcome the challenges I will face in the new year, and the ones I still face today. To pray my engine doesn't break down with every bump in the road. To choose a positive attitude when life isn't smooth, and when easy only comes after "eggs over." And to believe the result will give hope to at least one other person. To make a positive difference.

God bless, and here's to a wonderful, life-changing new year.

Stay Tuned...

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Wed, 31 Aug 2011 00:40:00 +0000

Photo courtesy of Ryan's Journal

...the transmissions aren't over. Just delayed. 10-4?

My family is transitioning from the alpenglow of the Rocky Mountain morning to the harvest moon of the Midwestern horizon. Two beautiful landscapes, one journey all the same.

Seasons change in life with no regard for nature's calendar. In one sense it is spring. In another, autumn. It's always been that way. But it's good.

Thanks for checking in at Lifesummit. I appreciate your time and interest! Despite leaving Colorado's 14,000+ foot peaks for Indiana's highest molehill of roughly 1,200 -- quite a downer for a guy who gets high on elevation -- Lifesummit's theme remains the same, to climb Life's summits. And that's the real high.

So yes, I'm still climbing mountains. Are you? I can't wait to share this next leg of the journey with you. Remember, we're all in this together.

Many blessings to you!

If People Can't See - A Proverbs 29 Post for Goforth's Journal

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Thu, 30 Jun 2011 02:05:00 +0000

Photo by sweetzphotography

There’ll come a day when life tests you, even “tumbles in” on you, as described by the writer of Proverbs 29:1 (The Message). I don’t like things tumbling in on me. I don’t like being tested. And I especially don’t like to fail. But it’s usually neither tumbling nor failure that cripples me, but the fear of failing.

It’s the fear that drives me to push away what matters most when life feels out of control. I’m afraid of being considered a fraud, a boy who has been pretending to be a man. A father who wants to be the world’s best Dad, but feels like the worst. A professional, one mistake away from a major business screw-up. A husband of sixteen years, who still rushes out last-minute for a Valentine’s Day gift and the one remaining bouquet of wilted roses—nobody will know, right? So I cling to that which anesthetizes my fears. My hands reach for any illusion that makes me believe I’m still in control, that I’m somehow immune to a personal meltdown of disappointment.

...to read the rest of this post, please click here for Day 29 of Proverbs at Goforth's Journal. (post is listed below a read-through of Proverbs Chapter 29)

Thanks to writer and friend from the Pacific Northwest Chris Goforth for posting today's story! If you want to take a trip through the real, check out Goforth's Journal and follow Chris @pacnwdadof6 on Twitter.

The River

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Sat, 21 May 2011 14:26:00 +0000

Photo by Ansel Adams

"The River"
by Garth Brooks

You know a dream is like a river
Ever changin' as it flows
And a dreamer's just a vessel
That must follow where it goes
Trying to learn from what's behind you
And never knowing what's in store
Makes each day a constant battle
Just to stay between the shores...

And, I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry
Like a bird upon the wind
These waters are my sky
I'll never reach my destination
If I never try
So I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry

Too many times we stand aside
And let the waters slip away
'Til what we put off 'til tomorrow
Has now become today
So don't you sit upon the shoreline
And say you're satisfied
Choose to chance the rapids
And dare to dance the tide...

Yes, I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry
Like a bird upon the wind
These waters are my sky
I'll never reach my destination
If I never try
So I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry

There's bound to be rough waters
And I know I'll take some falls
But with the good Lord as my captain
I can make it through them all...

Yes, I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry
Like a bird upon the wind
These waters are my sky
I'll never reach my destination
If I never try
So I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry

Yes, I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry
'Til the river runs dry

Pool Closed

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Wed, 11 May 2011 12:05:00 +0000

Image by jeinny. Sourced through rgbstock.com.

"Pool Closed." My wife and I and our three children huddled around the sign with wide mouths and a beach bag full of goggles and squirt guns. We had strolled by the hotel pool just ten minutes earlier, smiling as another family laughed and splashed together. And now it was—closed?

It had been a rough week. We needed this winter weekend getaway, even if only to the next town for a one night stay, a nice meal, movies, and...swimming.

Pool. Closed. The sign was mocking us. With heavy hearts, my wife and kids returned to the room. I huffed over to the front desk.

"So what's wrong with the pool?" I asked the manager...

...to continue reading "Pool Closed," please click here for the full story at TheHighCalling.org.

Thanks to writer and THC editor Ann Kroeker for reprinting this article!

It's You or the Mothballs

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Tue, 05 Apr 2011 03:57:00 +0000

"This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there."

-- C.S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Often that is God's plan for us, to draw us beyond our ordinary world into a place of wonder and majesty, yet riddled with battles and difficulty, to know Him better than we did before.

Like Narnia.

To grow us, change us, break through to us. To show who we are and where we are going. Our identity and our future. So we will know Him more deeply, love more passionately, and carry the treasures of that world into our own.

My family stands at a Narnian juncture of sorts, preparing to return to our hometown in Indiana after a five year journey doing life together in beautiful Colorado. One of my relatives in the Hoosier state recently said to me (as I shared our tough decision), "I bet [living in Colorado] has been like a long vacation."

Not exactly.

Think Narnia. Wonderful. Mysterious. Majestic, yes. But dangerous, sometimes isolated, and often stretching its travelers through difficulties unimagined on the safer side of the wardrobe. But as you might expect if you were to ask Peter, Susan, Edmund, Lucy, and Eustace, they and I have no regrets and would gladly face the challenges of Narnia again.

God has been in the business of transforming people into men and women of purpose since man and woman first walked the earth. And that doesn't mean you have to move to another city or uncover a magic wardrobe to experience His life-changing adventures--although you may.

It might just be switching jobs. Sometimes it's finding a new church, or simply admitting your need for God in the first place. It may be breaking off a bad relationship, or finding the courage to build a new one.

Whatever the decision staring you in the face, God allows change--and difficulty--to refine us. We are like silver and gold in His eyes, but these precious metals must be boiled in the crucible, separated from dross, to be made pure and adorned.

We can choose to ignore God's call, to hide from the furnace, and to reject the joy He desires to lavish on us through refinement, but we risk losing the precious gift of becoming the person God intended. We become riches left deep in the gut of the earth, never recovered, never tempered, never shining in the light of day let alone the brilliance of His glory.

When we fail to step through the wardrobe, we retreat from the battles we were meant to face, the lives we were meant to rescue, the hearts we were meant to help recover--including our own.

The good news is even in our rejection, Narnia doesn't die. The good guys still win in the end. But if you and I choose our own paths, force our own destiny, God will find another who will accept the risk and face the challenge.

He seeks one who will step forward in faith, to stand side-by-side on the battlefield, one who desires to leave a wake of magnitude and purpose--a legacy of greatness.

Your door to Narnia awaits.

If You're in the Neighborhood: Upcoming Events

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Thu, 24 Mar 2011 05:32:00 +0000

I had a surprise encounter with C. McNair Wilson a couple weeks ago in Colorado Springs. (If you're not familiar with McNair, click here to read a prior blog post about him. A super creative guy.) He was tacking a poster to a local Starbucks bulletin board for his upcoming production, I, Witness.

The story is based on the novel The Jesus Chronicles: Matthew's Story by Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins and explores the depth of Jesus Christ's impact on the lives of His disciples, providing a never-before-seen opportunity to experience the intimate weight of the Gospel story.

If you're in the Colorado area, performances are set for April 7 - 10 at Colorado Christian University in Lakewood (near Denver). Click here for more information and to watch an interview about I, Witness with Jerry and McNair.

And for you readers and writers who may be in the vicinity of Colorado Springs on April 2nd, New York Times best-selling author Jerry B. Jenkins is keynoting at the 5th Annual Mountain of Authors in the Springs area. And get this...it's FREE. No registration required.

Click here to view the detailed flyer, but in a nutshell, two panels will be held ("Paranormal Fiction" and "Publishing") in addition to Jerry's keynote. The event will also include the presentation of the Golden Quill Award, book signing opportunities, and a reception. Did I mention it's FREE?

Divided We Must

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Sun, 06 Mar 2011 16:57:00 +0000

Photo by Brock S. Henning

Division. It's a word that leaves a bitter taste either because of those blasted speed drills in math class or bad memories of torn friendships and war. Most of us prefer addition and multiplication, right? Positive outcomes over the negative. United we stand, divided we fall, so we were taught.

From up here, at roughly 13,000 feet, I'm stretched out in the snow above the famous Dwight D. Eisenhower tunnel in Colorado -- and division is a beautiful thing.

Image courtest kscland.com

To my west, mountains. To my east, more mountains. I sit precisely on a great North American pinnacle, the true gateway to the East and West. The Great Continental Divide.

Come spring, the very snow molding to the rear of my ski pants will melt and trickle its long trek into creeks and streams and rivers, eventually flowing into one of two major masses of water -- the Atlantic Ocean or the Pacific. That decision will be made not by the snowflake, but by the mountain and its east or west-facing slopes where uncountable flakes have come to rest.

But the outlook for these frozen granules looks bright. I've seen the sandy cliffs of the west coast, the white beaches along the Gulf of Mexico, and the tangerine sunrise of an Atlantic morning. If I were a snowflake, on whichever slope the wind chose to lay me down would surely end in a warm paradise. Oh come, sweet spring.

What if we mulled that thought over for a moment. Wherever God chose to lay us down in the world, whatever talents, skills, people, that He surrounded us with, are ultimately meant with His best for us in mind. Says the psalmist, "I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful." (Psalm 139:14)

If the horizon looks bleak, what if we stepped back from our current situation, sat here at the Great Continental Divide of our conscience, looked east, looked west, and asked God to show us down which slope would He direct our path?

What if we, like the quiescent surrender of a snowflake, chose to go with God's flow, to let the spring sun unsettle our frozen souls and put His purpose for our lives in motion?

And what if we believed that His destination for us might be different from the enviable Jones's next door but equally as wonderful and unique only to us? How would that make you feel?

Think of your confidence level, as you flow through life, knowing what awaits you at the final tributary because you chose to go with God's flow instead of the currents and pressures of everyone else.

Here at the Divide, snow falls on both sides. Imagine if all the snow fell to one side, how desolate an entire region would become. If we all chose what we wanted and neglected what God might intend, life might cease to persist on the dry side of the slope. And eventually, life might cease to exist.

Here at the Divide, division is good. Here at the Divide, division is intentional.

No matter which slope you landed on, you were placed there for a reason, at least for a season. This side was meant for you, and you are needed here. That side was meant for them, and they are needed there.

And consider not only the destination but the journey the snowflake takes to reach the serenity of the coast. The valleys, the fields, the forests, the farmland. Yes, even the cities. There's a lot more to see along the way. It is intended for you.

Hold Us Together by Matt Maher

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Sat, 26 Feb 2011 18:19:00 +0000

Whatever you're going through today, this week, this month. Just remember, this is the first day of the rest of your life.

It's gonna be alright.

(if the video feed doesn't appear above, click here to listen)

Hold Us Together
by Matt Maher

It don't have a job, don't pay your bills
Won't buy you a home in Beverly Hills
Won't fix your life in five easy steps
Ain't the law of the land or the government

But it's all you need

And love will hold us together
Make us a shelter to weather the storm
And I'll be my brother's keeper
So the whole world will know that we're not alone

It's waiting for you, knockin' at your door
In the moment of truth when your heart hits the floor

And you're on your knees

And love will hold us together
Make us a shelter to weather the storm
And I'll be my brother's keeper
So the whole world will know that we're not alone

This is the first day of the rest of your life
This is the first day of the rest of your life
'Cause even in the dark, you can still see the light
It's gonna be alright, it's gonna be alright

This is the first day of the rest of your life
This is the first day of the rest of your life
'Cause even in the dark, you can still see the light
It's gonna be alright, it's gonna be alright

And love will hold us together
Make us a shelter to weather the storm
And I'll be my brother's keeper
So the whole world will know that we're not alone

Weekend Refresher - The Corner of Your World

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Sat, 19 Feb 2011 20:13:00 +0000

What is your passion, be it hobby or profession? How do you immerse yourself into that avocation? What do you surround yourself with for motivation, or do surroundings matter to you at all?

Last year I wrote a post on Writing Abodes. Does the environment we work in actually inspire or detract from our creativity? (Two cool websites for writing room photos are Where I Write and Desk Space.)

And I want to extend this idea beyond just writers and writing, but any venture you find yourself passionate about. Gardening. Woodworking. Computers. Photography. Reading. Baking. Fixing cars. Teaching. Etc.

Do you dream of a setup that would motivate you further into your passion? A tool-laden work shed. A home office. Your dream kitchen. A photography darkroom. Racks and stacks of computers and peripherals in a basement lab. A home library with a push-button fireplace. Or do you already have the ideal scenario?

I've always wanted to be a writer who can write anywhere, anytime. And for the most part, I can block out noise and surroundings to focus on writing, but I've also found that having a dedicated area in our home and using it consistently reels me in on days I would otherwise slack.

Fellow writer Audra Krell wrote about Office Dress for Success at her blog, and it motivated me to upgrade my private writing world. For less than $100 and using a few items around the house, I turned my stark writing corner of the bedroom (card table and all) into a cozy and much more appealing work area. Since making this small investment last year, my weekly word count has increased drastically.

Here's the before and after:

Do you find surroundings important for motivation and creativity? Do you have a photo of your personal work space? A writing area? Your workshop? Garden and tool shed? Photo room? Home computer lab? Chef-inspired kitchen? Teaching room?

Whatever space you've created to pursue your ambition, I'd love to see it. Share your comments and if you'd like, include a link to your own blog with a "corner of your world" photo for all of us to see!

The Tool That Cannot Fix

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Sat, 12 Feb 2011 19:33:00 +0000

I'm no stranger to tools. My father is a retired electrician, and so was my grandfather. Somewhere there's a photo of a five-year-old boy, standing in a living room on brown shag carpet, with his daddy's toolbelt hanging lopsided around his bony waist. The photo is likely stashed at the bottom of a box in an attic, but the image is fresh in my mind.

I'm a fixer. That doesn't mean I know how to fix everything, but it does mean I'll try.

Last week my Jeep died. With a torx screwdriver in one hand and a red and white can of throttle body cleaner in the other, I attempted to fix an engine idle problem. Thank God for Google and How To pictures on the Internet. I'm no mechanic, but I'll try. Today, my Jeep is running just fine.

Two days ago our clothes dryer stopped working. I'd known about the problem for months. The dryer would run and then stop mid-cycle. My wife would reset the timer knob with a few clicks and cranks, yell into the other room, "Brock, the dryer's broke again!" and press the start button a few times until it resumed its mechanical hum. But this time, the old beast refused to turn over.

But I'm a fixer. And that doesn't mean I know how to fix everything, but it does mean I'll try. With a socket wrench in one hand and a Phillips-head screwdriver in the other, I performed surgery on the ol' lug, exploring the innards of its time piece and discovering years of dirty build-up on the metal switch contacts. I'm no appliance repairman, but I'll try. Today, the dryer is running just fine.

But being a fixer has one major drawback -- the paralyzing feeling when you can't fix a problem. When you look at your toolbelt or rummage through your garage or search through the hardware store but you can't find the right tool for the job.

Like when my daughter was nine months old and vomited her food for several days. From a blanket on the couch she lay staring at me. Our little girl, once loaded with healthy baby fat, was now a sickly skinny body boasting a hungry frog belly. Her baby eyes cried, "Daddy, fix me! I'm hurting!"

But I couldn't fix her. The doctors didn't even know why and could only comfort us with the prognosis of "something like rotavirus" that would resolve itself after forcing nutrition into her starving body. But I didn't like that answer. No, not the virus. The forcing. Any fixer or handler of tools knows you never force anything. That's how things break. But my tools were useless, and my wife and I agreed to the doctors' orders. We stayed with her at the hospital, caressing her forehead until she eventually calmed down and later recovered.

And at funerals, us fixers want to be there, to somehow offer a word of encouragement, to go home after the church service and visitation and feel that we resolved something for the loved ones of the lost one. But we can't. We stand instead at a loss of words for those left behind, realizing in that moment there is nothing we can say or do that will repair the broken hearts. Our ability to fix is crippled. We have no tool for the job.

Or on a late night in 2005 when the F3 tornado tore through Southern Indiana and part of our neighborhood, killing over 20 people and injuring over 200. The twister lifted our roof an estimated two inches before releasing its pull, but that was nothing compared to the damage one block away.

Come morning, my oldest son and I grabbed our tools for the day: a handsaw, an axe, and a chainsaw. Downed trees and leveled homes overwhelmed us. All we could do was pick a yard, cut a few limbs, and pile them near the street for a pickup crew. Despite the kind lady who'd lost her home, thanking us for coming to help and offering us a drink, I was at a loss for words. Should I say "thank you?" Or "I'm sorry?" Words nor my axe and chainsaw could fix this.

Then later that same day there was the elderly man, staring at us blankly from his half-demolished homestead as we assessed the uprooted trees in his yard. No word of thanks. No word at all, not that we expected it. His heart and soul, paralyzed. Just the way I felt. I would have bet my own roof that he was a fixer, too.

And I think of my 91 year-old grandmother, doing well given her age but with the realization that she is writing the final chapter of her beautiful life. I'm reminded of many childhood weekends fishing on the banks of the Ohio River at her river camp, or playing card games at her kitchen table, her energy and fire.

But when I visit her today, and hug her, and look into her eyes that have seen more than twice my own life, I cannot stop nature's call. I cannot take us back to relive the good times. I may be able to reset the timekeeper in the dryer but I am powerless over the keeper of time.

Fortunately us fixers are not without reprieve. In an age where we are taught to do something, to learn tools of the trade, pressured to say the right word or offer just the right fix, one tool hangs off our belt that is often overlooked because it cannot fix, yet it is desperately needed.

It doesn't need to be twisted, it doesn't need to be hammered. No special training is required. You need only hang it on your belt when another looks for it. It is for you to offer, for them to receive. This tool does all the work for you.

Your presence.

*****

Jesus Wears Snowshoes

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Fri, 04 Feb 2011 08:30:00 +0000

Photo by Brock S. Henning

I leaned over my hiking poles, gasping for oxygen like a fish out of water. Snow and ice hung like weights on the lodgepole pine, a constant reminder of the heaviness over my soul. And with every crunching step of my snowshoes, my leg muscles responded with the rhythmic burn of my private anger.

Not two years prior had I climbed one of Colorado’s 14,000-foot mountains with relative ease, but on this day I struggled to reach a Rocky Mountain foothill that stands 3,000 feet lower. I grumbled at myself for slacking my regular exercise program over the past year. I complained to God that this refreshing outing is yet another example that sustaining joy in life is too much work...

To continue reading "Jesus Wears Snowshoes," please click here for the full story at CBN.com.

Thanks to Beth Patch and the CBN.com editorial team for publishing this article!

"Visibilty"

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Thu, 27 Jan 2011 07:32:00 +0000

That's the way it came out.

The school library was packed with sweating parents seated amidst three-foot-tall bookshelves and wall-tacked posters lauding "Reading is fun!"

"V...I...S...I...B...I...L...T...Y," he said, each letter spelled with confidence into the microphone.

Thirty years earlier, my demise was "orcestra." I was eight. For my ten year-old son, it was "visibilty." Well, that's the way they came out.

Twin mistakes separated by thirty years, and the one absent letter comes directly before the other. Like a father and son. Hmm. But no doubt my son works much harder than I did at age ten. I think that's what hurt me the most.

While my older two and I were weekending in front of the TV, watching the NFL playoffs and jam-banding Guitar Hero gigs on the Wii, Braden sat at the kitchen table with my wife, studying for his elementary school's spelling bee championship -- he'd earned the spot to represent his fourth grade class. Doing well in the bee meant more to him than a Sunday afternoon playing video games -- and he loves video games.

But one letter did him in.

He passed the first two rounds, returning to his chair each time with a relieving smile, his blue eyes scanning the rear of the library to make sure me and Sarah were watching. We were.

But in round three, it all went wrong. Oh, he knew the word. He had spelled it before. But that single letter hung like a glob of honey off his lips, the spoonful that missed his mouth, and the bee took him out.

"Visibilty," he uttered, letter by letter. His fair-skinned face immediately turned as splotchy red as a spanked rear-end, all the while rolling his eyes across the ceiling and exhaling forcibly through clenched teeth -- common allergic reactions amongst those who take a swat at a spelling bee and realize they just got stung. He knew he was guilty several long seconds before the spelling judge delivered the verdict.

He returned to his seat, his back facing the audience. No more smiles. No more peeking over his shoulder to check on mom and dad. The disappointment emanated from his little chair to the far reaches of the library. We were without escape.

He let himself down. He believed that he let his class down. And he was certain that he let us down.

I wonder how "Tiger Mom" Amy Chua would have handled this. Maybe I should have followed her over-the-top parenting style and threatened to burn alive my son's stuffed animals if his performance wasn't perfect. (Follow the link above. I'm not making this up.) Maybe I should've grounded him from play dates -- one month per missed letter. Oh, wait. Amy Chua's methods don't allow for play dates, even on a perfect week. Can't use that one.

Maybe I should've [fill in the blank with something punishing].

No, I don't think so. Sarah and I gave him a big hug and told him how proud we were for his hard work and making it as far as he did. We even surprised him that evening with a couple of Tron miniature "light cycles" he'd been eyeing in the toy section, to speed along the living room floor and race up and down his bedroom walls. Sounds fun, huh?

He gave it his all, and sometimes when we give our all, it doesn't always work out. We screw it up. We forget a letter. That lesson may be one of the hardest for us to live with.

Fortunately there is One who did give His all without messing it up, so we wouldn't have to. He knew that there was one hurdle, one life-threatening challenge we would not overcome, no matter how prepared we were. The word is easy to spell but impossible to conquer on our own: death. But He made overcoming possible.

We can misspell all the words in the dictionary, forget all the letters, and never win the spelling bee, yet He still loves us and brings us a surprise late in the evening. He's already won the spelling bee on our behalf.

And He is proud of us because He knows we're trying, He knows deep down we desire to perform well. No, to live well. All we have to do is open our hearts and accept His fatherly hug. What a cool, heavenly Dad we have, and He's quite the speller.

"Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God--" (John 1:12, NIV Bible)

The End of the Book Voyeur

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Sat, 22 Jan 2011 07:20:00 +0000

Photo courtesy of Gettyimages.com

"What is that?" said the flight attendant, pointing near the region of my, ahem, crotch.

Startled after a 35,000-foot nap, I snapped my eyes to where she had dared go. Is my fly open?

"Oh, this!" I said, relieved I wasn't exposed. It was the top half of the book cover, a colorful scene of adults and children sledding. I lifted the seat tray and held up the book resting on my lap. "I'm reading Snow Day by Billy Coffey. It's his debut novel."

"I noticed the cover and I love to read. What's it about?"

Given that she'd paused her pre-descent checklist to ask about the book, I knew she was sincere. I gave her as thorough a synopsis as I could in thirty seconds.

"Wow! It's his first novel?" she said, accepting my offer to look closer at the cover. "Sounds like a good story. Thanks for telling me about it!"

Upon exiting the aircraft, I gave her a card with the book title and the author's website. She thanked me, and I went on my way.

Walking through the terminal, I couldn't help but consider, What if it was the top half of my Kindle eReader sticking out from under the seat tray? Would she have asked about it?

After all, it was the snow-laden cover art that distracted her during the routine seatbelt check -- I wasn't even reading it. The book was sandwiched halfway between the seat tray and my thigh, yet she still noticed. Does this episode reveal implications for the death of free advertising an author gains with printed copy and cover art?

Every time I've sat near a fellow reader on an airplane, I've cornered my eye or looked between the seats in front of me to see what they're reading. Most of the time I'll catch a glimpse of the cover or title. I'll note if the reader has read much of the book. If so, coupling that observation with the title, I might investigate further at a bookstore. Great advertising for authors.

Thriller writer Joe Moore had blogged about the demise of free advertising resulting from the stark plastic chassis of an eReader over an eye-catching book cover. Moore says, "Seeing someone reading from a Kindle on a plane or in a Starbucks tells you absolutely nothing about the book."

Short of asking a stranger in public what they're reading, how will you recognize the title if they're holding an eReader? If word of mouth is the writer's best marketing friend, how much advertising potential is being lost when book voyeurs can't see the cover of their prey?

Despite the excitement over my new Kindle (read why I chose the Kindle), printed books will always find a way to my shelf, be it a favorite author, a discounted price tag, or a compelling cover that looks and feels good in my hands. Most readers could care less about silent publicity for the book they're reading, but what about the authors? The publishers?

Do you have any thoughts? If you're a published author, have you thought about the impact of seeing more eReaders in the airport and less chances of seeing your book in a reader's hand? If you're a reader, do you take pride in showing off what you're reading in public settings?

Billy Coffey's Snow Day - Book Review

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Fri, 14 Jan 2011 08:14:00 +0000

Peter Boyd is the neighbor we all want to have. He's hardworking, loves his wife, adores his children, lends a hand, and carries that small town common sense we all could stand to tie to our own hitch. But there's one problem nagging at an otherwise blessed man.

Talk of layoffs at the local factory has Peter worried about everything he has worked so hard to build and support. If he becomes a victim of the sign of these poor economic times, he's up cow-patty creek to find suitable work in his hometown. The water is rising fast on the few dreams still holding breath for his family.

And worse yet, the special needs of Peter's young daughter only add to the strain of a man already doubting his faith in a God who is supposed to care.

In his debut novel, author Billy Coffey gets it. One might be tempted to call Snow Day an easy read. The only thing I found easy was the one-click ordering at Amazon.com and the knock at the door a few days later from the delivery man.

I choked up teary-eyed twice. I laughed at least twice more. And several chapters left me closing the book -- not to put it away, but to think. To roll each story over like stones in a stream, smoothed by years of flowing wisdom, and releasing gold flakes of hope from life's muddy bottom. Coffey's ability to see and describe what most of us fail to notice on a given day is nothing short of impressive.

Author L.L. Barkat compares Coffey's storytelling ability in Snow Day to "the wit and energy of Mark Twain, albeit with compassion and spiritual vision." I could not agree more.

What touched me further is that, according to Coffey, the circumstances Peter Boyd finds himself in are similar to those faced by Coffey himself at an earlier point in his life. Not to mention how relative the story is to the countless men and women wondering where God is, at a time in our history when His presence feels most distant.

We all could use a gentle reminder and a fresh set of eyes to recognize that God is closer than we might believe. Through a string of unconventional yet oddly ordinary encounters on a surprise snow day in rural Virginia, Coffey's Peter Boyd will have you reaching deep into your heart for those people and dreams you've always held dear but didn't quite know how to engage. This particular Snow Day will have you walking through life with an extra two-step in your boots -- and you'll still be home in time for dinner.

For more about Snow Day and to order, click here to directly access the book's information page at BillyCoffey.com.

To learn more about Billy Coffey and to read his blog filled with down-to-earth yet often profound stories of everyday life, please visit his website at http://www.billycoffey.com.

Get On with Yourself in Three Steps

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Sun, 09 Jan 2011 08:30:00 +0000

You're into the second full week of it. A new set of ten. It's 2011. How will this next decade define you? What about this next year?

Don't let the opportunity of another beginning slip into the weeks and months ahead, leaving you shuddering one year from now at the could, would, and should haves of the previous year. Don't let your dreams sleep for another 52 weeks, and God forbid, don't let them die. You've been down there, Neo. You know that road.

Do grab this moment to recover hope. Oh, I don't mean to sound like another cheesy motivational speaker shouting tired clichés and holding your hand as you walk over hot coals. But I believe one cliché is still universally accepted. Whatever it is you've aspired to do, just do it.

Here's how in three steps:

Photo courtesy of TheFuntimesGuide

1. You MUST pause. No excuses. If you don't intentionally choose to set aside some time to establish your plan of attack for this year, come January 2012 nothing in your life will have changed -- except your age and a few more wrinkles.

I recommend a bare minimum half-day, uninterrupted, to consider where to direct your life this year. Half a day. Bare minimum.

If you're married, ask your spouse to do the same. Then talk about it. No, not in the mirror. Together. And don't shoot down your spouse's ideas and hopes. Let them flow. Discuss how you can reach your goals together.

And better yet, take it one step further and check out Bradley J. Moore's post, Six Ways to Take Your Micro-Sabbatical. This post was featured on Michael Hyatt's blog (Chairman and CEO of Thomas Nelson Publishers). I love Moore's first two: Take a day off and Schedule time for nothing. Wow, imagine that. I think I'll take two days off.

Photo courtesy of Worth1000.com

2. Stop griping about the economy. It could be worse. I'm preaching this to myself, by the way. But c'mon, let's get over it. For those of us living in the United States and other well-developed countries, is it really that bad? I'm not downplaying the roughly 9% of unemployed U.S. laborers (as of this posting date). It is very real to the millions of individuals and families without jobs.

I suppose I tend to sift my own whining through the filter of underdeveloped countries. Even a bad day without a job in America is a great day through the eyes of those living in fear of tyrant leaders and starvation. Smile over the blessings you do have, and give someone a hug today.

Photo courtesy of WomenOfTheSky

3. Just do it. No, really. Get on with yourself. Get on with your dreams. Get on with your life. And no hiding behind the age excuse.

Anna Mary Robertson Moses, a.k.a. Grandma Moses, didn't begin a serious painting career until her late 70s. Charles Perrault, known for Cinderella and other popular fairy tales, wasn't published until age 69. Political activist Granny Haddock (right) walked over 3,200 miles across the United States at age 89. Pardon my assertiveness, but don't give me that "I'm too old" crap.

This final link from Bradley Moore will charge you up with some not-so-ordinary goal-making ideas. Bradley shares how to begin conquering your world in 2011 in his post, How Are You Planning to Grow in 2011?

Now get on with your bad self!

Flying Over Christmas Morning

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Tue, 28 Dec 2010 22:25:00 +0000

Roads branch
into lanes
bearing fruit
of tiny farms,
a patchwork quilt.
Ten thousand feet.

Angels
blow smoke
over the hills,
settles
in ravines.
Twenty thousand feet.

A thin band
of yellow and red,
smudges
the horizon--
blue above, gray below.
Thirty thousand feet.

Angelic smoke
now covers all,
an untaut blanket
rippled with waves
frozen in time.
Forty thousand feet.

The white carpet
welcomes
His entrance,
too bright
in my window.
And holding.

Check out other great poems at this week's One Shot Wednesday (part of One Stop Poetry).

On Characters and Writers - Quotes

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Mon, 27 Dec 2010 09:00:00 +0000

Photo courtesy of Scienceblogs.com

Two writing quotes I like from the January 2011 edition of Writer's Digest magazine:

"Writers are the ones who don't let failure stop them."
-- John Dufresne, "What to Do When Your Novel Stalls." (pp. 42-45)

"Compelling characters are not cogs in the machine of your plot; they are human beings to whom the story happens."
-- David Corbett, "Hooked on a Feeling: The Emotion-Driven Method of Crafting Compelling Characters." (pp. 32-36)

Desert of the Wise: A View-Master's Journey

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Thu, 23 Dec 2010 09:00:00 +0000

The sandy hills roll like waves in the moonlight. Four sets of footprints follow the silhouettes of six along a ridge. Two of the travelers ride on tapestry-covered platforms atop shaggy humps, and the third walks, rope in hand, with his lanky animal.

The desert is quite cool tonight, and calm. Except for the faint grumbles of the camels. I think they're aware of my presence, but their masters pay no heed. The heavily-robed strangers appear focused, intent.

Every few minutes it seems, the short one riding center points just above the horizon. His camel jerks its head and stops. A heel kick in the side and a "hut-hut!", and the beast is moving again.

The short one speaks a language I don't understand--it's too fast. He points again.

I see now what he's aiming at. It was staring at me this entire time. No, it was shining. Leading. And the interesting grown-ups with long beards and funny hats are definitely following it.

The star is brilliant! How did it take me so long to see it? Maybe because I wasn't looking for it. The camels are fun to watch, especially when they get irritated and swing their heads. But I already know what lies beyond the dunes. I had heard the story many times. And now I am sad, because I cannot go with them.

***

Thirty minutes earlier I had sat at Grandma's breakfast bar munching on saltine crackers and grape jelly. I washed it down with one of those small bottles of Coca-Cola. It was June, but I was already thinking about Christmas.

The stairs creaked as I made my way to the basement toward the storage and wash room. My tube-socked feet slipped a little with each step on the smooth concrete, and I had forgotten to sidestep the drain dimpled in the floor. Grandpa had showered that morning. I wouldn't need socks in the cool desert sand anyway.

I rummaged through cardboard boxes, most of them brittle with age and dust. I found what I was looking for. It's what I always looked for at Grandma and Grandpa's.

Photo from RetroToGo.com

The View-Master, and the Christmas Story reel about the Three Wise Men.

***

I was sad because I could not go with them. I knew the baby was in the stable just ahead, but that was 2,000 years ago. I held in my hands a plastic toy with a three-dimensional photo reel of clay figures. But held against the light, the story came to life, and I was happy again.

And that star! I really wanted to see that star. In real life. How fascinating it must have been, to witness a fireball in the night sky and to know something greater was about to shake the universe. The star was just a symbol. A guide. To something--someone--like the world had never seen before.

This Christmas season, are you looking for a star? Maybe a lucky star. Or a star to wish upon. Yeah, it all seems childish and cute, like a toy View-Master. Without the light, it's just a story reel with dark photos of clay figures. I choose to look at it through the Light.

"Jesus once again addressed them: 'I am the world's Light. No one who follows me stumbles around in the darkness. I provide plenty of light to live in.'" -- John 8:12 (The Message)

Photo from the Science Channel

Today's post is also being shared at:

The "Reflection" One Word at a Time Blog Carnival over at PeterPollock.com and

Bonnie Gray's blog carnival at Faith Barista. Click here to check out other stories from the carnival.

Highlights: A Free Book Contest, A Story, and A Donkey

noreply@blogger.com (Brock S. Henning) — Wed, 22 Dec 2010 19:21:00 +0000

Do We Need to Be Here?
Author Ann Kroeker (annkroeker.com), also the Content Editor of The High Calling online community, asks the question, "Do We Need to Be Here?", that is, on the Internet. Is there any value in the hours we are spending with online friends? Are real friendships forming in cyberspace, or are we getting sucked into a vacuum of shallow relationships? Ann offered to highlight one of my previous posts as an example, followed by a contest that could win you a free copy of Philip Yancey's What Good is God?: In Search of a Faith That Matters. Click here to check it out. Thank you, Ann!

A Social Network Christmas
If you even remotely know what Facebook is, you MUST see this version of the Christmas Story, linked by Dan Roloff, Managing Editor of The High Calling. A reminder that although the world has changed, the Story is still relevant and very much alive. Click the image or here to view.

Dominick the Donkey
It's Wednesday, and you're stressed about Christmas. You haven't finished your shopping--heck, you haven't even started. Maybe you're traveling, or maybe they're traveling to see you. You know what happens every year with that certain someone. Yeah, you know who I'm talking about. The person who always seems to say something at the dinner table that ticks you off and ruins your holiday spirit. You're mad that I even brought it up. Thanks Brock, you say. Actually, you might want to thank me for this.

The video below is my Christmas gift to you. When your anxiety level skyrockets this week, come back to Lifesummit and play this. If you have a SmartPhone or other handheld iSomething device, just excuse yourself to the bathroom when that special someone spits venom across the room. Make sure you laugh loud enough so they can hear you. Merry Christmas!