Why I Almost Didn’t Register for Blue Ridge Mountain Christian Writer’s Conference

by Cathy Baker

While traveling home from the Blue Ridge Mountain Christian’s Conference last year, I sensed very clearly that “play time” was over. Not that I’d viewed it as such but I’d wasted spent a lot of time debating with myself if writing was where God wanted me to spend His time. Through a series of confirmations at BRMCWC, I left feeling confident I was exactly where He wanted me to be.
 
Within weeks of returning from the conference, my husband and I began discussing selling our home. The result was a seven-month pilgrimage that, in the end, played out more like a devilish detour. During that time, I shifted almost everything else—writing, meeting with friends, attending writing group—to the sidelines of life. 

When 2014 rolled around, I spotted Register for BRMCWC on my calendar, but ignored it. I didn’t feel I’d earned it. This past year was to be different. It wasn’t. I was going to write every single day—but I didn’t. Despite having my poetry published in two books last year, I felt like a total failure. The thought of facing conference mentors who’d spurred me on last May was, well…downright embarrassing. 

Then it happened. On a rare snowy South Carolinian day, I sat upstairs gazing out the big window in the front of our house. I soaked in every detail for a possible poem. One particular car kept driving by, when suddenly the man pulled off the street and hopped out of his car with a fancified camera pointed in my direction. He motioned for me to meet him on my front porch. I’d barely opened the door when he asked what I was doing up there. He scribbled a few lines on his pad and jumped back in his car. A few weeks later, I opened our local paper to see my picture with the tag line Inspired by a Snowy Day…Poet at work: Cathy Baker from her Curtis St. window. 

While taken back by his choice of wording, I couldn’t help but feel it was a divine wink to keep moving forward. The wink escalated to a nudge when my amazing hubster insisted I register for BRMCWC. 
 
So, Lord willing, I will enter the lovely Lifeway campus this May looking ahead, not behind.
 
Past regrets will not rob God’s unfolding plan for my future. 

Brethren, I do not regard myself as having laid hold of it yet; but one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Philippians 3:13, 14

Are you sensing a divine wink or nudge? I’d love to see you at Blue Ridge this May! We’ll already have something in common. 🙂

Poetic Pause: September Midnight

September Midnight
by Sara Teasdale

Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer,
Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,
Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,
    Ceaseless, insistent.

The grasshopper’s horn, and far-off, high in the maples,
The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence
Under a moon waning and worn, broken,
    Tired with summer.

Let me remember you, voices of little insects,
Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters,
Let me remember, soon will the winter be on us,
    Snow-hushed and heavy.

Over my soul murmur your mute benediction,
While I gaze, O fields that rest after harvest,
As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to,
    Lest they forget them.

My favorite line?
Let me remember, soon will the winter be on us,
    Snow-hushed and heavy.

How about you? Does a particular word or line catch your fancy?

 

Poetic Pause: George Arnold

“O sweet September, thy first breezes bring
The dry leaf’s rustle and the squirrel’s laughter,
The cool fresh air whence health and vigor spring
And promise of exceeding joy hereafter.”
—George Arnold
 
Thinking of “cool fresh air” ushering its way into our days almost makes me giddy. 
How about you? Are you sad to see summer go or energized by what lies ahead? 


Poetic Pauses: Egrets, by Karen Lucci

Egrets

Egrets as inevitable
As turtles and rare
As turquoise snakes

Sang along currents
Of solitude
Sand solicitously
Entreating attentive
Reflection

Sinking through shadows
Penetrating waters
Pale as March

Like lead they fell
Splitting water
Like pine logs
’til motionless the water

Deep and sharp
Straight to the heart
Arising again death
Gripped spun up
Like a cockcrow
Breaking night.

– Karen Lucci, Beach Dogs, A Collection

– photo courtesy of www.lazyrivercruises.com

Why It Feels Like Christmas at the Baker’s House

Snow wasn’t falling and bells were not ringing, but it sure felt like Christmas at the Baker house last Friday afternoon when a box of the above arrived on our doorstep. 

I never expected my poetry to be published so you can imagine my delight and depth of gratitude to the One who made it possible.

The poem below is not mine, but one that’s also included in Enter the Gateway, by Torrid Publishing. (Congratulations, Jane!)

Re: Paul to Timothy
(2 Timothy 4:3-4)

Heeding truth is hard to do,
As the test of time makes clear;
Doctrine sounds, but very few
Listen to what they should hear. 
Myth is so appealing to
Those who want to scratch an ear;
When desire does itch anew,
Fools seek fools from far and near.

Author: Jane Blanchard

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