The Greatest Adventure

Once an aspiring newspaper reporter asked me what was the most exciting thing I'd done in my life. To me the answer was a no brainer--being a mother.  I don't think she believed me, but it's the truth. Flying on a refueling mission, scaling the Snake River Canyon wall, donning fire gear and going inside a burning house, rafting on the "River of No Return", hiking in Montana's wilderness area, sinking in quicksand up to my shoulders, being part of a traveling theater group, are just a few of the exciting adventures in my life but raising five children of my own and three foster children has brought me more excitement, tears, laughter, and personal satisfaction than anything else I've done. 

A few days ago I finished reading Covenant Motherhood by Stephanie Dibb Sorensen.  More than any other book I've read about motherhood this one touched me and expressed many of my own feelings and discoveries about motherhood.  She compares the essential elements of mothering children to the key concepts Jesus taught and lived while here in mortality:  creation, teacher, succorer, provider, cleaner, defender and protector, one who loves, sacrifices, forgives, shares, and saves.  With realistic short sketches from her own life as a young mother she points out the challenges, discouraging moments, and the triumphs that face mothers and relates them to mothers' eternal relationship with God as they walk closely in the Savior's footprints. 

When I was a young mother I really didn't like Mother's Day.  No way could I measure up to the saintly examples extolled in the talks or poems given that day.  The perfect mothers lauded that day made me feel inferior and like a failure.  Fortunately Mother's Day talks have become more realistic through the years and I've gained a better understanding of what being a mother means.  I'm not perfect and I didn't raise perfect children.  What matters is how much I love them and how grateful I am to be their mother.  I'm thankful too for the memories we share and that they've all grown up to be responsible adults.  Along with the fine people they are, they've given me five more responsible adult children to love, and a baker's dozen nearly perfect grandchildren.  

In the Art of Motherhood, which I've talked about before, I had the opportunity to tell of the miraculous arrivals of my two youngest grandchildren. (The two-year-old has been very concerned about Grandma's big owie and became nearly hysterical when she saw my leg in the CPM machine.  She's convinced it's an alligator because it opens and closes like the actions for a familiar nursery song about an alligator that snaps monkeys out of a tree.)  I often call these two little girls our miracle babies, but in truth I consider all of my children and grandchildren "miracles."  Nothing could possibly bring me more happiness than being their mother and grandmother.

Sisters

I have driven a long way to be with my three sisters. Once a year for the last several years we have gotten together (with husbands) in Palm Springs. This year we decided to do something different - sans husbands. Unfortunately, after my trip was planned, and one sister had made her reservations to fly from Michigan to join us, the youngest decided she had to have knee surgery - it couldn't be put off. So three of us are doing fun things for the weekend, then on Monday we will join her, fresh from the hospital, to fix lunch, watch a movie, help her with her rehab exercises and just have a fun time reminiscing. We are all so different. I'm 5 years older than one, 7 years older than the next, and 9 years older than the youngest, but it's funny how age difference disappears as you age. We are all grandmothers, and this year I will be the first to have a grandchild marry. (when we finish our sister's retreat, I'm on my way to South Dakota to help plan the wedding!) We don't look anything alike. One is taller than the rest and her hair is red (now.) Another is pencil thin stemming from drinking turpentine when she was 18 months old. Her hair is rich dark brown (her daughter keeps it that color.) Another is pleasantly plump and has blonde streaked short hair. I couldn't stand the thought of the time, effort and expense of coloring my hair, so I'm almost white. We make an interesting quartet. Our interests are all very different. The Michigan sister discovered quilting and has done several masterpieces. Another is totally devoted to grandchildren and spends copious amounts of time in that glorious cause. The youngest just retired last year and is enjoying her first year of being able to choose what she does with her time, but is involved with all her grandchildren who live nearby. I had lunch with my two favorite cousins yesterday and we were talking about the passions that govern our lives. They both named family history as their passion, and indeed, it is. I guess that would have to be listed along with grandchildren and doing things with hubby as my passions. Interesting that family seems to take precedence in our lives. After all, it is the most important thing we can devote our lives and our passion to - and the most rewarding. May our families continue that tradition down through the generations.

Through the Years

Here's a photo of me, my sisters, and my cousins, taken in the mid 1950's. I'm the little tyke on the right hand side. My sisters are the two on the left. My cousins are in the middle.Don't you just love the girl's Capri pants? I think mine are so stylish with the little bow ties.

My sisters and I are holding apples, and, if you look carefully, you can see that I've already taken a bite out of mine. Perhaps that was my philosophy from early on, "Don't let any good thing pass you by."

Through the years, I've been offered my share of  "good things:" love of a mom and dad, enough food to eat, a modest but comfortable home (my sisters and I shared a small bedroom, but we liked it), pets, a safe town where I could roam, friends, schooling, and scope for my imagination.

As the years flowed, I was caught up in the waves of change and adversity. Sometimes the changes were exciting: making new friends, advancing to a new school, or moving to a new house. Sometimes the changes were sad: the death of pets, the divorce of parents, and the moving to a new house.

As I reached adulthood, the vicissitudes of life were much more intense, perhaps because I did not have the buffer of parents to stand between me and the crash of the wave. I had a good husband, but for the majority of challenges, we faced them together--head on into the storm.

I look intently at my face in this photo and think, "Oh little one, you have no idea what's coming." But here's the interesting thing...it's okay. Even though I've spent a lifetime navigating the rough and smooth seas, I'm still okay. I still get that little gleam in my eye; I still giggle when my picture's taken, and I still hurry to take that first bite of apple.

Genres and Pen Names

I'm often asked what genre I write in. Hmm. Let me see...

• Haven and its sequel A World Away might best be described as gentle women's fiction
• Easterfield was a religious historical novel
• Honeymoon Heist was a comic romantic thriller
• No Escape was a romantic thriller
• The Saved Saint was a religious novel based on a true story.

It gets even more complicated when I factor in my current projects:

• Emon and the Emperor is YA science fiction
• Finders Keepers is chick-lit
• The White Queen is fantasy
• Random Ramblings is a collection of short stories and poems in a variety of genres, including dystopian.

I write in many different genres because I love many different books. My favourite books ever include The HitchHikers Guide to the Galaxy, Pride and Prejudice, Wool, Twilight, The Hunger Games, The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency and Bill Bryson's Notes from a Big Country. If you asked me to read books in just one genre for the rest of my life I'd be pretty miserable about it. 

I don't want to write in just one genre either.

Problem is, my poor beleaguered "fans" (I have just one that I know of, hello Sarah) are going to be a bit confused when they love, say, Honeymoon Heist and expect my next book to be similar, only to discover that it's a totally different genre and style.

I recently heard an interview with Sophie Kinsella, author of Confessions of a Shopaholic and many other successful chick-lit books. Turns out her name is actually Madeleine Wickham and she wrote several books under her real name before reinventing herself as Sophie Kinsella in order to change to writing chick-lit. (The cool part is that she submitted a manuscript to her own publishers under her new name without telling them it was her. She wanted to see whether they'd accept it. They did.) 

Naturally that has led to me thinking about whether I need to use a pen name when writing in a different genre. I haven't yet had my sci-fi book published; maybe I should use a pseudonym for that and my fantasy novel. I just used this random name generator (very useful for writers) and it told me that my pen-name should be....

Janie Chester Ellison

So, what do you think? Should I publish in different genres under different names?

This Is My Quest . . .

It seems that we all get bitten by the genealogy bug at some point in our lives. (Note: My mother will deny this fact. She purposely assigned out the 4 main branches of our family tree to her four children in the hopes that we would take care of this "tedious task.")

I'll admit that I didn't really get into the family history adventure for several years. Being a wife, a mother of three active boys, a frequent YW leader, camp director, etc. not to mention the tendency to dabble a bit in the writing world occupied most of my time. Then one night I experienced a vivid dream--something that would draw me deep inside the realm of genealogy.

In this dream, my mother led me to a building and indicated that I needed to venture inside. When I did, I met a woman who was dressed in the traditional pilgrim attire. She was tall, slender, blonde, blue-eyed, and beautiful. She told me her name (Mercy Young) and shared that she was one of my ancestors. I stood there in a slight state of shock, wondering why I hadn't taken after her side of the family. (My sense of humor often carries over into my dreams. Yeah, I'm weird like that.)

As the dream continued, she told me some things I needed to know concerning a situation I had been praying about. Then she gestured to several people who were hidden in the shadows and told me that I needed to find them.

When I woke up, I was filled with a burning desire to discover if this dream was on the mark. I called my mother and asked if there was a Mercy Young on her side of the family tree. She replied that she had never heard this name before and didn't think so. A bit discouraged, I continued my research  . . . and eventually discovered that Ida Mercy Young was my fifth great-grandmother. I also found that she was on the branch of the family tree that I had been assigned to tackle.

I remember feeling a bit overwhelmed by this discovery. Mercy Young was real . . . she truly was one of my ancestors. After that, I began thinking about the advice she had given me in the dream. I took it to heart and did exactly as she had instructed--and things fell into place, just as she had promised. After that, I began trying to return the favor by researching her family lines, desperately seeking those who were in the shadows.

Several years have passed. I have two large files filled with information, pedigree charts, family group records, and a 15-generation chart that begins with Mercy Young. Through the research that I have completed on her line, I have discovered several pilgrim ancestors, and a few Native Americans from the Wampanoag tribe. Yep, we had ancestors sitting on both sides of that first Thanksgiving table.

It has been a fascinating journey discovering who these people are. I have found stories of courage, devotion, and humor. (Yes, one of my ancestors [John Howland] had the misfortune of falling off the Mayflower. This explains my lack of grace upon occasion. It seems to be a family trait.)

I found out that one of my ancestors was a gypsy, sent from England to the New World as a punishment for some minor infraction of the law. Because of who he was, he wasn't allowed to date any of the pilgrim daughters. Instead, he spent time with the Wampanoag tribe and eventually married Mary (Little Dove) Hyanno, the granddaughter of the chief.

William Brewster, one of the religious leaders of the Plymouth Colony, is also one of my beloved ancestors. His example of perseverance and courage has touched my heart in many ways. He stood firmly for what he believed throughout his life, and though he often paid a high price for his convictions, he never shied away from what he knew was right. 

I could go on and on . . . but I will spare you further details of my ancestral "peeps." Instead, I will challenge you to seek out your own--if you aren't already doing so. I can promise that it will be one of the most fascinating journeys through history that you will ever experience. And weird things will happen, like the book one of my cousins happened to mention to me during a family reunion last year. This awesome book contains biographies of several of my ancestors, and I didn't even know it existed until last summer. It has helped fill in some of the missing pieces to the family puzzle I'm still trying to assemble.

The other perk I've noticed is a love that develops between yourself, and your ancestors. I will always be grateful to Mercy Young for the "boot to the head" moment we shared during that brief, but unforgettable dream. And I hope someday, when my adventure of a lifetime is finished, I can meet some of these people, knowing I have done my best to bring honor to our family name.

An Update Instead of a Blog

This was supposed to be my day to blog here on the V-formation. I didn't get it done. Instead I did two rounds of rehab exercises, spent four hours on the CPM machine, had a few dozen staples removed from my knee, spent untold hours strapped to an ice machine, took a lot of pills, fought to stay awake, and never managed to get dressed. I read Esther by Heather Moore while on the CPM machine. It's a great book and I look forward to reviewing it. I caught one little error (and believe me only one error is fantastically good). You really have to look hard to find a typo or misused word in her books. I also cast my Whitney votes--I didn't do all of the categories this year and I regret that I won't be able to attend the gala.


All in all, I'm doing well and I see a slight improvement each day. I'm not allowed to go down the stairs from my bedroom to my office yet, so I'm stuck using my old clunker laptop instead of my desk top computer. My husband rigged up a board to go across my armchair to set it on because I can't hold it on my lap and I can't twist far enough on the bed to set it beside me there. If I don't get an okay to wander down those four stairs to my office by Monday, I'll have to recruit one of my daughters to post my review for Meridian for me. It's written, I just can't access it to send in from this computer. With some cooperation from my editors at Meridian I was able to post today's review. By the way thanks to all the great authors who have helped me through some long CPM sessions, especially Abramson, Sowards, and Moore!

Hopefully this will be my last surgery. Two knees and a pancreas in six months has been rough, but I've been the recipient of a lot of love and kindness. My husband has made so many trips up and down the stairs to take care of me, keep our home running smoothly, cook meals, etc. I'm convinced that the most romantic gestures are not flowers and candy, but putting on Ted hose, doing the laundry, brushing hair, helping in and out of the shower, keeping track of which pills and when, and serving as an exercise coach. My kids have all been great to help and even my two-year-old granddaughter has been helpful. A few days ago she tried to cover me with a blankie because "Grandma has big owie."

The Roads to Peace

I have a file filled with clippings and articles and pages saved from newspapers, magazines, and my Dad's file of thoughts. As I was flipping through it, I discovered this one that I thought particularly insightful. It was written by someone named Masferrer and in view of the broadcasters who tried to fill up the silence with inane chatter instead of facts, I submmit this for them (as well as for me): Silence is remembering that I would be free today if I had not said yesterday's word, and that today's word will be my chain tomorrow. Silence is remembering that if just one more hour had passed before I judged a certain person or event, in that hour I would have discovered something new to soften my cruel and hasty judgment. Silence is remembering that the simple act of repeating what others say forms an avalanche to destroy tranquility and reputation. Silence is refraining from complaint in order not to worsen the grief of others. Silence is devotion that knows its direction. Silence is being oneself, not a drum that sounds under the fingers of the crowd. Silence is having one's own heart, one's own brain, and not changing sentiments or opinions because others wish it. Silence is speaking with God before speaking with men, in order not to have to repent after having spoken. Silence is speaking quietly with one's own sadness and holding it within until it becomes a smile, a prayer, or a song. When someone said, "Silence is Golden," they definitely spoke a truism.