And you thought your floor was dirty

by Niki Turner

We've put a man on the moon. We've created vaccinations to combat some of the most vile diseases. We can communicate with each other at least as well as the Jetsons and Star Trek (although I'm still waiting for Rosie the robot maid and that transporter thingy).

This was the thought that occurred to me as I swished my mop across my kitchen floor Saturday afternoon. In spite of the advances in technology -- from automated homes to cars that park themselves -- if I want my kitchen floor to be clean, I still have to mop it.

It could be worse, though. As a preteen, I distinctly recall pulling the following book off a shelf at my local library (based entirely on the cover, which for all of us who write, should stand as a reminder...) It
was a wonderful story. A kind of Oliver Twist tale with a charming (and obviously memorable) female lead.

Linnet by Sally Watson via Amazon

What's funny is that one of the primary recollections I have of this story is the author's description of the floors in the London manor house where the heroine was lodged. Why? Because I didn't know what "rushes" were, exactly.

Back in those pre-Internet days, if you had a question about something, you didn't just "Google it" to find the answer. Sometimes, the answer required deeper digging than even your local library or your parents' outdated set of encyclopedias had to offer.

As a result, I never did find out what those "rushes" were. Until now.

Our esteemed Inky leader recently asked us to share a list of our favorite books. For lovers of books, that's a HARD question. When you can consume a book in four hours or less, you tend to forget little details like title and author, sad to say. I closed my eyes and tried to think of books that have stuck with me over the years. Linnet was among them, and immediately, the "rushes" question returned. Armed with Internet access, I Googled it. (Stop laughing ... you've done the same.)

The result? I stumbled into a debate. *sigh* At some point in my life I would like to set out to research something that ISN'T up for debate.

The traditional theory is that fresh cut greens or straw, usually with herbs added, were scattered loosely across the floors of medieval homes as a sort of carpet. In Linnet, the household where the heroine found herself was the modern equivalent of a crack house. As such, the rushes were soiled with leftover food and animal excrement and who-knows-what. Rodents used the dirty rushes as cover when they scavenged for food. Frequent replacement of the rushes was considered a sign of prosperity and proper housekeeping.

The debate centers around whether rushes were loosely scattered, like straw in a stable, or woven into nicely civilized mats that wouldn't catch on the floor-length skirts worn by women at the time.
Debate or not ... I come back to the same problem. In thousands of years of human civilization, whether we're talking about putting in a fresh layer of elephant dung and letting it dry to create a nice hard floor, or my ridiculously stained synthetic fiber carpet, or changing out the rushes and mixing in some nice smelling herbs, the process of keeping the floor clean has not kept up with technology. We're still relegated to the broom, the mop, and (in the last century) the vacuum.

Mop photo by rudenoon via PhotoRee

What unresolved questions plague you in your historical reading and/or research?

Responding to Racism with a Christ-Colored Pen

by Dina Sleiman

Don’t you just love it when you stumble upon a book that gets the wheels in your mind spinning and permanently changes the way you view the world. I certainly do. Hmm, I think I may have mentioned that recently. And before I fall into the temptation to give you an exhaustive list of those books, let me get to my point. This summer I read What the Bayou Saw by Patti Lacy. You might recall that Patti is a former Inky, so you can imagine my excitement when I realized she had written one of those life changing books dealing with one of today’s toughest issues: racism. I waited until now to post this in honor of Black History Month.

I’m shocked and sobered each time I’m reminded of how atrocious the racial situation was in America when my own parents were children. This book takes a look at the deep South in the 1960’s and will turn your stomach in a good way with the stunning and very realistic portrayal of racial injustice. The young girl in the story calls to mind Huckleberry Finn as she deals with guilt over desiring to love and accept the blacks around her. She has to hide her relationship with her new best friend, which leads to all sorts of horrendous trouble. Yet Patti Lacy forges bravely forward and withholds none of the awful details.

Perhaps even more shocking than the glimpse into recent history, is the fact that the fictional present in the book is Midwestern America, where white supremacists are still wreaking havoc at a local university. This resurrection of racial issues in the life of the heroine forces her to face her haunting past.

For me, this book brought up all sorts of thoughts and memories as well, but of a different sort. I grew up loving red, yellow, black, and white equally. So one of my first memories of racism was a story from my mother. During her teen years when a black friend of hers was forbidden entrance into a white friend's home, my mother was so enraged that she refused to enter as well and sat on the porch the entire time. And I recall my parents dropping me off at government housing for my African-American friend's birthday party. I’m sure it wasn’t easy for my overprotective mother to leave me in the ghetto, but I’m so grateful my parents sent me that message.

I don’t say any of this to pat myself or my family on the back. And I don’t say this to try to talk my way out of my part in the racial rift in this country. Sometimes, as a people group, we need to repent on behalf of those who have committed atrocities. And on behalf of the white race, I am more than willing to apologize to the African-Americans in this country.

It can be easy to turn a blind eye to racism today. To glibly act as though it doesn’t exist. To blame it on others. But instead we should press toward healing and racial reconciliation. There are still divides and hard feelings between races in our nation.

I remember the night President Obama was elected. Although I could not bring myself to vote for someone with such blatantly liberal politics, I secretly hoped he would win. I kept all my prayers in the “your will be done” category, because I had a sneaking suspicion that God wanted to do a work in this nation through President Obama. I felt that electing our first minority president would have an impact on a spiritual level, and go a long way in healing old racial wounds.

When I watched Obama’s victory speech, I clapped and cried along with everyone else. As the camera panned over brown-skinned faces filled with hope, my heart welled along with them. When Sasha and Malia walked confidently across the stage in their beautiful designer dresses, I knew I was witnessing history in the making.

But racism still exists. On one hand Obama’s victory was a victory on the racism front. It proved to our nation that blacks are not inherently inferior and whites are no longer inherently prejudiced. On the other hand, the way we perceive race as an issue in this presidency points to residual problems.

My brother recently moved to the Deep South, where segregation thrives. He quickly discovered that the new version of racism involves all the white people sending their kids to private schools, and his family is still struggling with how they should respond to this situation. Blacks and whites remain geographically, economically, and culturally segregated in that part of America.

Let us all pray for a complete racial reconciliation in our country, and let us all look for ways to reach out and bridge that gap. Thank you, Patti, for bringing this important subject to my attention once again and giving me this opportunity to look at it through fictional eyes.

What does black history month mean to you? What can you do to help bridge the racial divide in our country? What books have you read by African-American authors that have touched your life?

Dina Sleiman: Dance with Passion. Dina writes lyrical stories that dance with light. She is an aspiring novelist and a published poet, but she is also much more. Most of the time you will find this Virginia Beach resident reading, biking, dancing, or hanging out with her husband and three children, preferably at the oceanfront. She is passionate about anything related to creativity. Over the years she has enjoyed many opportunities to teach literature, writing, and the arts. Her primary goal is to serve God and live a spirit-led life. Join her as she discovers the unforced rhythms of grace. For more info visit her at http://dinasleiman.com/

Give Me Something to Learn

by C.J. Chase

When I first tried my hand at writing novels, I targeted my books to the general (secular) market. I experienced some success (a couple major contest wins, an agent), but a book contract remained elusive.

After a writing sabbatical and a bit of introspection, I decided to change my focus and write "Christian" fiction. But how intimidating! I'm not a Super Christian. In fact, I'm so far from Super Christian status, I don't even know who designs the cool uniforms for the Super Christian community. Did I really have anything meaningful to contribute? "Lord, if you want me to write, give me something to say" became my prayer as I began each new book. But recently, I realized my prayer is incomplete.

A few weeks ago, an unpublished writer friend mentioned her fear that she might never publish a book. What, she asked, if she spent all that time writing the book and no one ever read it? She would have been wasting her time. I'm familiar with that fear, having lived with it for years.

As I thought back over my stash of unsold manuscripts, I had an epiphany. Each of those books has characters who wrestled with difficult questions about God and faith. Each of those books required prayer and Bible study from me to answer those questions in a meaningful way. And each of those books changed me long before I attempted to send them out into the world.

Jesus spent three years preparing the disciples before he gave them the Great Commission to go-and-tell. Joseph spent years as a slave and prisoner before God put him in a position of authority. And then there's Moses. Moses spent forty years as a prince where he had access to the best education of his day. And then he spent another forty as a desert shepherd. What did God assign him to do at the age of eighty? Use the skills he developed during those two disparate times of his life to lead hundreds of thousands through a desert.

Peter instructs us to be prepared to give answers to those who question why we believe (I Peter 3:15). My characters -- and by extension, me -- have struggled with weighty issues universal to all humans. How do I deal with people who hurt me and refuse to express regret? If God is loving, why does He allow evil? Such questions don't allow for glib answers. Not in fiction and especially not in real life.

Maybe God will have me speak to a stranger, to a person who lives far away and whom I will never meet, through a book. Or maybe the person who needs my answer will be as close as my own family, in a quiet moment with a troubled teenager.

I have a long way to go to earn my Super Christian cape, but these days, I've amended my prayer. I still ask the Lord to give me something to say -- but I also ask him to give me something to learn. Because even if I never sell another book, I won't have been wasting my time if I spend it learning about God.

Being prepared isn't just for Boy Scouts. It's to be a way of life for all Christians. We cannot share what we do not know.

Book Recommendation: Masquerade Marriage

by Anita Mae Draper

Masquerade Marriage by Anne Greene, White Rose Publishing

I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service. And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God. Romans 12:1‐2, KJV

It’s 1746 in the Scottish Highlands and Brody MacCaulay wakes to a massacre. Blinded in one eye, buried beneath his dead clansmen, he hears the clipped English voices as they walk amidst the wounded Highlanders and finish them off with bayonets. Against his urge to strike out in fury, he silently waits for them to pass. Then leaving his fallen brothers and father behind on the battlefield, he gathers other injured clansmen and makes his way to a hidden cave. If they leave, they’ll be hunted by the English. Their fight, their world, is over.

In a distant castle, Megan MacMurry mourns the loss of her fiancé who led and perished in the Highland battle. Upon her pastor’s advice, she decides to honor her fiance’s death by saving one of his men the only way possible – through marriage. Megan is sure the chosen man will be willing to trade his doomed life for a new name, new clothes, and new life as her marriage-in-name-only husband. When the list is presented to her, she chooses the only familiar name – that of a boy who teased her mercilessly until she took a club to him and his friends. No doubt, Brody MacCaulay wouldn’t remember her girlish warrior stance. And if his teasing was what she had to put up with, she’d do it for her fiance’s sake.

Of course, once Megan is introduced to the adult Brody – a man with a mind of his own who fears nothing for himself - she begins to doubt her choice. Brody has turned into a fine specimen who turns the lasses’ heads. Surely she’s not jealous!

For his part, Brody only agrees to the marriage because his sister and mother are now under his care and they’ll be safer under his protection in a castle. And no matter what Megan says, he’ll never admit to making a secret vow of love when he was but 15 yrs old and a 12 yr old female warrior with flaming red hair stood defiantly before him with a club and warned him to stop the taunting.

Totally satisfying, the end was not been what I expected. On reflection, I realized it was what I’d hoped would happen in a fleeting moment of despair. For I cried when the end was near and things had not gone as planned. I felt Brody and Megan’s loss when they realized precious time had slipped away and there was nothing they could do. And then, when I read the last paragraph of Masquerade Marriage, I smiled.

The story is one of faith in the face of adversity. Faith in God. Faith in yourself. And faith in those people God surrounds you with.

My only concern with this book was the thick Scottish brogue in the beginning chapters since the book starts in Brody’s point of view. But the farther I read, the more I began to appreciate the soft burr of his words. I knew when he was talking and began to follow his speech patterns in my mind. And after a while I didn’t want to separate the brogue from the man, because … well… that was part of Brody.

Anne Greene, I commend you on your character choice of worthy adversaries. And more.

Anne Greene can be found at http://www.annegreeneauthor.com/