Ch 18: Little Tokens of Affection

By now, I expected The Great Editor to help me out. I wasn't disappointed.

I returned home from summer camp with renewed vigor and with confirmation that I was on the right track. I rolled up my sleeves to get started.

[Editor's Note: This article is Chapter 18 in my serialized spiritual memoir Well Guided: My Life as a Student at the International Academy of God, in which I share some of the many ways God has had a hand in my life. Access previous chapters via the Table of Contents.]

More Starts and Stops

First, I decided to re-organize my twenty short chapters into twelve longer ones, following the pattern I observed in books similar to mine. I was assuming these other Christian authors all had twelve to thirteen chapters so their books could easily be used for a class queued to one quarter of the Sunday School year. That seemed to be an appropriate marketing strategy that also improved the flow of the book.

Two weeks after camp, I had come close to drafting nine of the twelve chapters. Then, as Harry Potter’s birthday approached, I suddenly felt like the air had gone out of my balloon.

Out of the blue, there it was. My first case of writer’s block.

For one thing, there was a gaping hole in Chapter 7. Also, I had decided the material I was planning for Chapters 11 and 12 belonged together, in one chapter, which left me short one chapter, with no clue how to fill that void. Although I had gathered material for Chapters 10 and 11, I just couldn’t get excited about putting it all together into a draft.

Inertia took hold as the days dragged on. It would be easy to blame it on the hot, muggy weather, but that would be a cop-out, especially since I spent most days in my comfortably air-conditioned house. The first couple weeks in August, I could hardly bring myself to even work on the book. On the one hand, I felt guilty about not making progress. On the other hand, I had almost no desire to write. I didn’t feel inspired and excited the way I had been.

To be fair, there were other things going on in my life that were crucial to my overall effort—including an online, hands-on, time-intensive class on Internet marketing called The Thirty Day Challenge that had begun August 1st. The opportunity to get back to my technical roots sucked me into an exciting vortex of learning and experimenting. In the midst of absorbing new technology, working on my book just fell off my radar.

My Moment of Panic

I had a brief flash of concern that I would be one of those people the Internet gurus were always talking about in those ebook articles I had devoured. I was worried, for about ten seconds, that I would never finish this book. After all, I hadn’t polished it off in 72 hours, like the original ebook course had promised. I hadn’t succeeded in a month, like the highly achievable (it seemed) goal I had set for myself. And now I was worried I would fulfill the gurus’ prophecy: If I didn’t move quickly, the book would never get done.

Once I got over the momentary panic, I reminded myself that this wasn’t that kind of book. The gurus say Done is better than perfect. And yet, this wasn’t something I could throw together just to get it out the door.

Quite the contrary.

After all, Heavenly Father’s Day was my attempt to convey what the Spirit wanted me to tell people. Maybe the book didn’t have to be absolutely perfect, but a slap-dash job wouldn’t do it justice, either.

So, here’s how I handled writer’s block: I was able to force myself to make a little progress by working on side issues, like researching exact movie quotes I wanted to include. So, low-level tasks, just to keep my hand in. I wasn’t about to sit down and write some un-inspired drivel, just to fulfill the notion that I should be writing something.

As usual, God was working behind the scenes to lead me, putting the pieces in place. Once again, I found myself following a familiar pattern—working on the book by not working on the book.

Expecting the Unexpected

I was scheduled to speak at church on August 9th. Before I even looked at the topic, I began hoping this sermon would apply to the book, just like the one in June had. Then I looked at the assigned scripture, and my heart sank. The reading led to a message I had given before, which meant it was already in the pile of stuff I had considered for the book. I discounted it the first couple of times I looked at it. And it certainly didn’t seem like it was leading me to an entire chapter’s worth of material.

In the meantime, other seemingly random things happened. I woke up one morning thinking about ways that God talks to us. At the time, I thought maybe this was the beginning of a new book. This theme didn’t seem to fit with Heavenly Father’s Day, so I just made some notes for later use.

Then, I happened to come across some guidance I had received from a spiritual mentor, Pastor Bob, back in Pittsburgh. The lost was found—I’d been looking for that document for at least five years. So, naturally, I immediately sat down and read it. But I didn’t seem to get any added insight from the reading that would help with either the upcoming sermon or the book.

I had struck out on both counts.

How the Last Chapter Fell Into Place

Thursday morning before I was scheduled to speak, I woke up telling myself I really needed to get that sermon outlined. Pronto. Only first was my hair appointment.

I also had a message on my cell phone from my stepmother, Lois. When I called her on the way to the hairdresser’s, I told her how I was struggling with the last chapter. I said I had almost sent out the first six chapters to reviewers, but felt like I needed to know where the book was going first.

Lois told me about a book she had been reading. “Maybe you should read it,” she said. “It might help you.” I hung up the phone with a renewed sense of optimism. Maybe this new book was what I had been waiting for. Suddenly, it was like my balloon had been re-inflated. Well, almost. I would have to wait a few days before I could get my hands on a copy of The Shack.

After the hairdresser’s, as I made notes for my upcoming sermon, it came to me that one line from that old mis-filed document of guidance actually did apply.

The next morning I woke up ready to tackle that sermon. The thoughts started flowing. I even started taking notes while getting dressed. By the time I was ready for breakfast, I realized that this thought stream wasn’t only my sermon, it was the last chapter. God had come through again.

Over the next couple of weeks, as the book moved quickly toward completion, the Spirit chimed in.

August 15: Behold, do not all things happen in mine own good time?

August 21: It's time to finish the book. Don't worry about [your practice website], just finish the book. You have learned what you need to know about the Internet. The time is now to finish the book.

I declared the book finished on September 4, 2009.

Finishing the Puzzle

In late 2009, not long after I finished that book (Heavenly Father’s Day), I took the time to document the basic how-I-wrote-the-book story. Then, a few years later, I went back to that document to flesh out the story some more. All that “fleshing out” made it possible to write this book (in 2024).

At the same time, I noticed that in that last attempt, I had stopped after the story about the rocks. Why? I wondered. Why had I pulled up short?

Here’s what I had to work with. In the 2009 version, I mentioned Lois suggesting I read The Shack. I didn’t say what I took from that book. I mentioned coming across the long-lost guidance document, but not what a re-reading had revealed. And, I applauded a sermon I wrote that month as having led me to the final chapter of Heavenly Father’s Day. But no mention of the sermon’s topic.

These missing pieces amounted to another puzzle, and I was keen to put it all together. What was the significance of those seemingly disjointed events?

Writing this chapter, in this book, in 2024, I realized that none of these mysteries could be solved without going back to the 2009 manuscript, to scrutinize that final chapter.

Luckily, I keep the printed manuscript close at hand, in a cabinet right behind my desk. That made it easy to pull out the well-worn 3-ring binder marked Heavenly Father's Day - best copy, printed in November 2009. I flipped open the gray binder to Chapter 12, "Heavenly Father's Day, Revisited," and wandered into the kitchen for some lunchtime reading.

As I scoured those thirteen pages, I began to find answers to my questions.

I found the place where I mentioned William P. Young, author of The Shack, and the backstory of what has become an influential work. Turns out Young had written a lot of that book based on nighttime Guidance. Okay. So the significance for my project was more in how his book had been written than in its content. Put simply, he and I had had similar, not especially dramatic, encounters with God. Nighttime encounters, I noted with a wry smile.

Then I found the spot that mentioned what was in my long-lost document of guidance. Pastor Bob had told me to look for the little tokens of affection that God would leave for me every day. In Chapter 12, I had written:

Before this insight, I had noticed the color of the sky and birds singing and trees blooming. I appreciated nature around me. But somehow I now saw them in a whole new light—as those little tokens of affection. It was like getting little love notes in my lunch box.

At this point, I could now hazard a guess at the topic of my August 2009 sermon. A quick check of my computer archives confirmed it. The sermon had been a draft of most of Chapter 12.

As I cleared the lunch dishes and poured myself a cup of coffee, I realized why I had pulled up short.

I had been resisting writing about what happened in August 2009, because it was mundane. Nothing dramatic happened. No bag of rocks. No lightning strike of insight that released me from the bonds of writer’s block. No amazing timely finds at the end of a series of synchronous events.

Instead, it was just one foot after the other. Following up on a book recommendation. Re-discovering a poorly filed document. Preparing for another sermon. Just regular old, mundane, usual life.

Oh. Then I saw it. That's what Chapter 12 was all about.

The Last Chapter

I had begun the chapter by quoting an essay my mother, Zoanne, had written for her English class at Pitt in 1950. It was the one sample of her writing she had saved for me to find after her death in 1971. An essay about her Uncle Darrell.

Mom as a teen & her 1950 Pitt essay about Uncle Darrell

In wonderful, humorous detail, she wrote about how he would come for a visit to her childhood home, bringing fabulous tales of adventure—panning for gold, shooting a wildcat in Texas, traveling with the circus. Eventually, Mom discovered the stories were all from his imagination. But her mother, Frances, who also died in 1971, had told her these were tales he had heard from missionaries who had visited their childhood home.

Grandma Fay then told her the truth…the ordinary, not dramatic, yet exceptionally inspiring story of the real Uncle Darrell.

Here's what I wrote about that in Chapter 12, back in 2009:

Isn’t this sometimes what happens in our relationship with God? We may hear about others having splashy, dramatic spiritual experiences. We may covet those experiences. They just sound so wonderful. We may wonder what’s wrong with us, that we haven’t had such an experience.

But as we find out more about God, we discover the regular, everyday God is just as sincere, just as loving, just as important to us as the dramatic God. There is no need to be covetous of dramatic experiences. The everyday God is right there with you, if only you open your eyes to see him, and open your ears to hear his messages for you.

And now I saw it. August 2009 was mundane. Boring, even. Just another hot, humid South Carolina summer spent mostly indoors, with the air conditioner at full blast. Stepping outside only to pluck a few weeds and harvest the ripening tomatoes for a lovely tomato salad. Slathering on the bug repellant to gird myself for a trip across the expansive back lawn. All so our dog, Bronco, and I could escape to the luxury of freshly carved paths through the cooler, shadier woods on the far side of the yard. Criss-crossing our way down the hill to the tiny stream to listen to its quiet, tinkling music yet again.

The last full month of writing was my personal example of Everyday God. Small synchronicities. Small ups and downs. Regular instances of God's little tokens of affection. The same sort of life that's available to you, dear reader, as long as you keep your eyes, ears, and heart open to it all.

Next week: Epilogue

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