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A CHURCH EXPERIENCE by Carolyn C. Holland


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By beanerywriters(11,546)
About beanerywriters(11,546)


Posted Tuesday, December 11, 2007 (173 days 10 hours ago.)

The prompt for our writer’s group meeting was: Write a resume for a Santa Claus---or Mrs. Claus---job you are considering this Christmas season.
Any writers want to write a letter of application? Send submission to beanerywriters@yahoo.com ---remember, put the word “Submission” in the subject line!
The prompt was: Write a resume for a Santa Claus---or Mrs. Claus---job you are considering this Christmas season.
Years of Santa experience--ho, ho, ho
Capacity to chuckle
Willing to work with children
Possess sturdy lap
Owner of eight frisky reindeer, one with bright red nose
Jolly belly from eating well
White hair, beard, and mustache
Owner of dependable sleigh and huge sack of toys
Employer of elfish elves
Dear Santa Re: Position
The prompt for our writer’s group meeting was: Write a resume for a Santa Claus---or Mrs. Claus---job you are considering this Christmas season.
Any writers want to write a letter of application? Send submission to beanerywriters@yahoo.com ---remember, put the word “Submission” in the subject line!

Jessica Wreth, 111 Single Street. Available, South Pole 77133 December 10, 2006 Santa Claus Director of Human Resources North Pole International 777 Candy Cane Lane North, Pole Universal 11111. Dear Santa, I am writing in regards to your advertisement in the Christmas Classifieds regarding the position of assistant to Santa. My objective is to anchor a pemanent position with a bearded, jolly man who enjoys children and speaking in elfish. I have twenty six years experience in multi-tasking with children, wrapping gifts, falling asleep under the tree among packages and bows. I once was asked to attend an elementary Chritmas function with a young man by the name of Nathan. He was a favorite of mine and his classmates were glad to see me when I walked in with my gray bun, glasses, my rosey cheeks (the ones on my face), my Christmas apron with poinsettas and holly berries appliqued onto the pockets, and my green Christmas stockings; most of the superficial Santas I met that season really liked my green nylons. I suppose that bonus might fall under the benefits package for Santa. I have been known to stay up late deleting and eating cookies. I am fluent in Christmas song and good cheer. I enjoy decorating and sitting by a warm fire roasting marshmallows and drinking hot chocolate and I don't mind staying up late when I know it is for a good CLAUS. I am familiar with noel spreadsheet, snowball office XP, and am able to navigate the sled hard drive quite comfortably. I am more than interested and quite certain that I would be an asset to you personally and I would like to become a vital member of your merry family. Will it be convenient to meet you and talk to you further about the position? If you wanna take a sleigh ride... For further questions you may email me at Mrs.Clauswannabe@southpole.com. I look forward to meeting you. Yours truly, Jessica Wreath

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Posted Saturday, December 08, 2007 (176 days 14 hours ago.)

Visit the BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE, Volume 2, at www.beanerywriters.wordpress.com (enter through the Google search engine), to read ABOUT THE BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE Parts 1 and 2, which describes developing an online literary magazine.
www.ProBlogs.com/beanerywriters remains the BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE, Volume 1.
"WRITE WHAT YOU KNOW," OR "WHAT YOU WANT TO KNOW ABOUT" was the theme of the discussion at the May 25, 2007 Beanery Writers Group Meeting. Below are excerpts from two articles used for the discussion (unfortunately, I’ve lost the reference where they were published):
From:  Writing True by Timber Shelton
I suddenly understood that "writing true" doesn't mean you have to write about your actual biographical occurrences, the setting and situation is just the wrapping paper. To "write true" means to write about the core of any situation - the anger, envy, joy, grief, shame, loneliness, abandonment, longing, denial, rapture, fear and, of course, love - and the impression it makes on your spirit. Emotional landscapes that most of us have visited and sometimes lived in. Finding the grain of truth in any circumstance your characters are given and how the emotions brought on by those circumstances shape their hearts. It is not the specific experiences that readers usually relate to. Instead, it is the truest, deepest and most profound sentiments that lie behind those experiences - whether it be the humiliation that we wish to keep hidden, or the passion we want to shout from every roof top.
From: How to Outgrow Write What You Know  by Jenna Glatzer
"Write what you know" is a very good starting point. But that's all it is. It's a place for you to go to get your feet wet, and a place to come back to when the tide gets too high. But it's not a place to stay for very long.
I have no experience with (many) of the above topics, and there's a good reason for that: I never really WANTED to have experience with them. Since I have no real passion for any of the topics, if I had to write articles about them, it would feel like work.
But did you ever stop to think about the things you always wanted to know, but never found out? Or all the interesting people you wanted to meet? Or the problems you've encountered that you wanted solved?
Think of freelance writing as your own opportunity to learn about all the things you ever wanted to know, and don't worry if you're not yet an "expert" in any of these areas! Among my favorite writing assignments have been topics in which I had no previous expertise:
When working to broaden your writing horizons, be sure to think about two things: your passions, and your curiosities.
Consider it a challenge. Keep learning. Use your writing as a vehicle to answer every question you never had time to answer before. There are lots of people out there who have wondered about those very same things, and you can help them!
You don't need to be an expert. You need to be a great researcher, and you need to be willing to ask questions. Lots of questions, sometimes. But that's one of the great things about writers--we're such curious creatures.  Jenna Glatzer is the editor-in-chief of http://www.absolutewrite.com

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Posted Sunday, November 25, 2007 (189 days 11 hours ago.)

---written by Beanery Online Literary Magazine visitor, Barb
It plays among Alpine peaks capped with snow.
It rushes down mountainsides to where violets grow
in lush green fields, bathed in sunlight.
Shepherdesses gather there Edelweiss, snow white,
while singing the song of my people.

It flows on the Rhine and passes castles
where many German kings and vassals
hold their pompous courts and masquerades.
It goes on to the farmlands, where rosy-cheeked maids
move their hands to the song of my people.

Martin Luther hammers it as he nails to the door
his theses, telling the Church to do more
to meet the needs of the people in the burgs.
In the small, small town of Wittenburg,
Luther sings the song of my people.

It hums in the simple meeting house
so softly it wouldn’t disturb a mouse.
It whispers as gently as a breeze
of plans to go to England’s colonies
to save the song of my people.

It ebbs and flows in time to the boat’s sway
that carries them across the Atlantic gray.
It reaches the new world’s shores at last.
In Pennsylvania, my people find peace steadfast.
The colonies ring with the song of my people.

It moves in time to the Susquehanna River
and to the plows that till fields by the acre.
It clops in time to the horses’ hooves
riding along steadily with the buggies smooth.
It continues, the song of my people.

The modern world now closes in on me
with its science and technology.
I wonder what my place there will be.
Come what may, I’ll forever be
the keeper of the song of my people.

Song of My People, written by beanerywriters blog visitor Barb, was first published in Into the Foothills, A Publication of the Foothills Writers 2001.

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Posted Sunday, November 25, 2007 (189 days 11 hours ago.)

---written by Carolyn C. Holland

Below is a conversation between Lucy, a contemporary woman, and Jochebed, a woman from the Bible’s Old Testament. Both women “lost” infants they “gave up” for “adoption” due to the exceptional circumstances of their lives. Lucy’s story is based on a true story of a mother releasing her son for adoption.

As Lucy strolled along the river’s edge, head down, pondering the birth of her six-year-old son and his placement for adoption three days after his birth, she came upon a teary-eyed woman sitting on the riverbank.

Her peaceful expression belied the sorrow told by the tears washing her cheeks.

Lucy knelt beside the woman, rose on her heels and slowly, solemnly, stretched her arms towards her.

A soul-depth communication transpired between the women as one of the woman’s calloused, wrinkled hands reached for Lucy’s smoother extended hand. Lucy responded by wrapping an arm around her thin shoulder. Both seemed empowered by the water flowing by them.

Lucy softly broke into their reverie. “I knew you’d be here, Jochebed.”

“I come here often. The water…comforts me…it was the safest place to put Moses…it…it was a fate better than certain death.”

“Knowing your story gave me a permission slip to let Robert go,” Lucy said. “Your story inspired and guided me. You let Moses go and God didn’t strike you dead. I felt if He had compassion for you, perhaps he’d have compassion for me.”

Lucy told Jochebed about the short bedside service her pastor lead just before she relinquished Robert to the adoption agency director, when he retold her the story about Moses he’d shared with her during her pregnancy.

“It wasn’t a bedspread I laid my baby on, but a river with reeds,” Lucy said. “I too placed my son in the water, throwing him back into God’s breath, back into the universe. It seemed the safest place for him.”

“Tell me about it,” Jochebed urged.

“I was scared I’d hurt him,” Lucy began. “I didn’t want to teach Robert the wrong thing, to raise him to fit into my father’s…my brother’s…my ex-husband’s…violent mold. I couldn’t raise him because I didn’t have any good medicine to give him. All I had was fear.”

Lucy paused before quietly continuing. She’d been molested at the hands of her father and others before she was old enough to attend school. And Robert was conceived during a rape episode.

“Had he been Roberta, I would have raised her with two-year-old Amy. But I didn’t want to touch one of those things.” Her body shook uncontrollably. “It grossed me out.”

The anger’s---no, the rage’s---depth reached deep into the creases of her soul. The very thought of dealing with a male child sent her into spasms of fear, even now.

“The sexual abuse left my bones like shattered glass---the shards of glass grinding together with each movement become unbearable pain---yet I have to keep walking, because that’s what it’s like being a mom.”

Lucy knew she’d been robbed of her ability to provide a male child with a healthy, loving, safe home. She also knew about healthy couples unable to conceive. Perhaps Robert could find safety and refuge with one of them.

“Trust me, it wasn’t an easy thing to do,” she mused. “Someday he may return to me, but I’ll always grieve his growing up years I missed.”

“I know,” Jochebed answered. “It wasn’t easy for me either, letting Moses go. It must be difficult not knowing Robert’s circumstances. Knowing where Moses was, caring for him, nursing him, comforted me. I could love and hug him even though I couldn’t claim him. He was no longer mine.” She smiled. “He was quite the little man.”

“Wasn’t that worse than a clean break?” Lucy questioned, picturing Jochebed’s daily despair in touching and hugging Moses while concealing and denying her maternity. “At least I don’t have my heartstrings tugged each day.”

“I comforted myself by seeing Moses’ growth, even if I couldn’t acknowledge my motherhood,” Jochebed responded. “Sometimes when I rocked him to sleep in my arms I whispered inaudibly to him… ‘I love you, MY son.’ It was our little secret.”

Jochebed suspected the Egyptian princess who rescued and “adopted” Moses knew her secret. The princess, unable to conceive children, considered Moses’ sudden appearance during her river-bath a gift of the gods. She called on Jochebed to wet-nurse the infant, and thereafter the two women formed a rare, strange, intimate bond while nurturing Moses.

“I think of Robert every day,” Lucy said, unable to contain her tears. “I imagine his first steps, his first word, his first day of school. I wonder if he loves to draw,” she continued, studying her hands and recalling her own childhood love of drawing that had turned into a career as an artist.

“You had to hide Moses so society wouldn’t harm him,” Lucy continued. “I had to hid Robert so his own mother wouldn’t hurt him!”

“We are so blessed,” Jochebed replied. “God had his hand on both of us. He’s also with our boys. He is protecting Robert in a miraculous way, as He did Moses.”

“I hope so,” Lucy sighed. “For so many generations we’ve hurt those people we should love. We’ve been doing the same thing since day one. We continue to do it. How can we speak and describe it? Why can’t we stop it?”

Tears fell as the two women prayed for an end to the violence that separates mothers and children. As they departed to go their separate ways, they dreamt of the day when they could acknowledge their maternity to their sons.

Carolyn - your story really touched me! I thinks it's great to convey something powerful in a short piece - mainly cause most of mine are so long. I never gave up a child for adoption - but I'm presently struggling with circumstances concerning my own son - that are ripping me apart. Also, perhaps your piece will serve to inspire me to draw a similar comparison with another Biblical character. Thanks! This is great! Written by: Kathleen | 03/05/2007 10:32 am

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