Friday, February 11, 2011

A Saga of a Book

When I began to work on my newly published book, More Questions than Answers, I gave no thought to the marketing of that book. I knew that I wanted to write about love as the distinguishing mark of a Christian. That was about all. Then as I picked up books and articles, I kept coming across phrases that related to listening, caring and accepting without judging. When a tragedy struck our family, I was forced to look deep within for some answers. I had begun to develop a collection of these articles and chapters of books and when I was ready to begin writing I began to sift through them and try to organize them into consistent categories, coloured by the experiences of my pilgrimage. Slowly my book began to take shape.

The gestation of the book lasted ten years during which time its form developed during evenings at the computer where I spent hours writing and editing and rewriting and editing some more and then rewriting and editing again. Finally, I arrived at a stage where I dared to let some trusted friends who seemed to be on the same wavelength read some of the chapters I had written. Their comments and suggestions led me to more rewriting and editing until the manuscript was polished enough to present to publishers.

Each year I sent the manuscript for advance critique before attending a writers’ conference. The critiques helped me to see areas that needed improvement and the positive comments that accompanied the rejections gave me enough courage to keep persisting because the material itself had merit.

Finally, an editor was ready to consider publication but assigned me the task of rewriting the whole book in a less scholarly and pedantic way, creating instead a friendlier, everyday manner of expression more consistent with the material in the book. It was the advice my husband had given me. The timing was precise. It happened just at before I was laid off one job and was unable to start a new one for three months. The amount of time was sufficient to do the rewrite.

By this time, I was convinced the Lord could use what I had to say for his purposes. I had come to a fork in the road. I loved the material of my book, but I knew that I either had to persist, rewrite and see it through to publication or let it go forever. I prayed what I thought was a bold prayer. “Lord, if you want to use this book, you will have to give me the time to write. I cannot work full time and give it the attention that it needs. “ Two weeks later, I was laid off from my employment.

The next three months were such joy. Every day I spent eight hours at the computer rewriting the text as a story and not as an instruction manual. I found that my own heart was stirred as I read over what I was writing. I sensed the presence of the Spirit with me. I knew that I was the instrument that He was using to echo His thoughts and ideas. They were being fashioned in His love.

When it was rewritten, I submitted it to another publisher and it was accepted. When I first read the e-mail, I could not believe my eyes. Signing the contract with the publisher was only the beginning of the next stage. The book required professional copyediting and preparation for typesetting with re-readings at every step along the way.

I loved the cover that the publisher created and I sensed it was just right. I was so excited the first time I clicked on the publisher’s website and saw the book there ready for purchase. I did not even have my author’s copies yet. They were in the mail to me.

By the time my copies arrived, I had begun to understand something about the next stage in the life of this newborn. I could not just tuck her away in a corner and expect her to survive. I had to care for her, to nourish her, to expose her to the light and take her out to be with others. That was going to mean I had to learn about marketing.

When writers want to learn about anything, the first place they look is in books (or at least that was the case before the internet). I went online to The Word Guild listserv and requested suggestions of good marketing books. Off I went to the local bookstore to buy the first one. The others I ordered on line.

While the publisher is helpful, I know that they have hundreds of books to market and if I am going to get mine into the hands of those who will benefit from it, it is up to me to try and find as many markets as I can myself. I am gleaning ideas about marketing from all kinds of sources. Just as when I began to think about the book, I kept running into articles and stories about listening, now I am constantly finding material about marketing.

A debate that rages is particularly acute for us as Christian writers. The key issue is whether we need to market ourselves, which is often what we are doing as we try to sell our books or whether we just leave it to the Lord to bring the people who need them to our books. As with most debates, I expect this is not an either/or question but there are times when we need to speak out for our books as Arthur Paul Boers pointed out in an earlier post. At other times, we will be able to stand still and see God at work using the creation that He has gifted us with for His purposes in ways we could never have imagined. It is not all work and it is not all grace. As it so many other areas of life, it is cooperative grace.

Monday, January 10, 2011

Recommendation

See the recommendation given by Women Alive for my book More Questions than Answers, Sharing Faith by Listening at http://www.womenalive.org/newsfull.php?NewsID=155

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Encouragement from a friend


Here is a note that I received from a friend from France about my book More Questions than Answers, Sharing Faith by Listening:

"FYI - excerpt from a letter I wrote to a friend:

...

I am now in Seattle with Jan and my darling grandchildren, and feel so grateful and blessed to be able
to spend one week being part of all the various circumstances of their daily lives. I'm working on laying
the foundations for trust and sharing (based on the reading I have done so far in Eleanor Shepherd's book
"More Questions than Answers", about the importance of good listening before any kind of faith sharing),
which I expect will "pay off" in the future course of our relationships.

...

Thank you, Eleanor, for enumerating many simple, but important principles, which are already paving the way
forward! (I only just received the book upon my arrival in the U.S. and am now in the process of reading through it.)
Blessings and God's provision to you as you promote this uplifting, encouraging and useful book you've written!"

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

John’s Story

The Paris sky was still dark as I sat in the den talking with the Lord, at six o’clock that February morning. The peaceful silence was shattered by shrill of the telephone. Fleetingly I thought as I reached for the receiver that it must be someone in North America. The tone of my daughter’s voice, made my heart sink.

“Mom,” said blurted, “There has been an accident. It’s John.” Icy fear gripped me at her words.

“Is he alive?” I asked anxiously.

“Yes, but he is paralyzed,” she replied.

Stunned, I passed the phone to Glen, my husband who was by this time at my side. He tried to speak comforting words to Elizabeth and assured her we would come, as soon as we could get a flight.

Within hours, we had thrown some clothes into our suitcases and were winging our way to Montreal. John had been visiting Elizabeth there that weekend. He left Sunday evening to drive back to Boston.

He was near St. Alban’s, Vermont when his rented vehicle hit black ice. In the few seconds, it took to roll over and slide to a stop in the meridian, John became a quadriplegic.

The flight across the Atlantic seemed interminable. I was unable to concentrate on anything. I just wanted to be at John’s side. Occasionally when I glanced at the in-flight movie, all I saw was young men striding across the screen. Inside me, something cried out, “It’s not fair! They are walking around and my son cannot.” I did not know it at the time, but not walking was only one of many challenges that John would face in the ensuing months.

Friends met us at the airport in Montreal and whisked us into their waiting van. They had packed a lunch and offered us their cell phone to call Elizabeth. By this time, she was at the hospital in Burlington, where Vermont State police had taken John.

“Mom,” she said, when I reached her. “Prepare yourself. This is going to be difficult. He is hooked up to a lot of machines.” My apprehension mounted.

The next few days, it was difficult to drag myself away from John’s side. Somehow, I felt that if I stayed close, I could somehow will life and health into my son. I sat by the bed, my eyes darting back and forth between John’s swollen body and the monitors recording his vital signs. If the indicators on the monitor dropped below desired levels, I would immediately pray until I saw them come up again.

Friends and family insisted that I leave John to go to the hospital cafeteria or a nearby restaurant and eat. For the first couple of days, I just could not swallow. As soon as I put anything in my mouth, I felt like my throat closed and I could not get it down. I just wanted to get back to John.

What amazed me, in the midst of the traumatic fog was the support that we received from all kinds of unexpected places. It seemed that the news spread fast. John’s friends from Harvard Business School were on the phone to us asking how they could help and if they could come to see him. Our friends from all parts of the globe, and many people we did not know personally sent us cards, e-mails and phone messages to let us know that they were praying for John and for us and offering to do anything they could to help. This outpouring of love carried us over the rough road we journeyed during those months.

Weaving around and about all of our experiences seemed to be a sense of divine grace. This kindness was evidence of it but we saw it also in many circumstances that you could interpret as chance.

About a month earlier, a friend from England had given me a book by one of my favourite British authors, Jennifer Rees Larcombe. It was called, “Where is God in our Deserts?” I had thrown the book into my suitcase in Paris, in case I needed something to read. As the acute crisis began to pass and John’s vital signs stabilized, sitting by his bed, I opened the book and began to read. As I did, her words ministered to my own soul and gave me hope.

As we learned more about the accident, we discovered that the Border Patrol spied John’s white vehicle in the white snow and they called the Vermont State Police, who rescued him, entrapped in the vehicle.

Coincidentally, as I had been traveling back to Paris on the train from Valence, in the south of France that Sunday evening, I was constantly praying for John. I had not felt good about him taking this trip. I felt an urging to pray in what was for me an unusual manner. I found myself asking the Lord to send His angels to watch over John on this trip. When I heard about the Border Patrol, I knew they were the angels God sent to preserve John’s life.

Several months earlier, I had established a prayer support team for our ministry, as Glen and I found ourselves facing some huge challenges. We needed their support when the crisis came. Habitually, I sent the prayer requests in a newsletter to our team on the sixth of each month. Three days after the accident John had surgery to put rods in his neck. Then they could remove the halo that was holding his head in place to avoid further injury to his spinal column. The day of his surgery was the sixth. While John was in surgery, I was able to spend the time productively, preparing and sending out our prayer newsletter. It was an activity that gave me something meaningful to do during the long hours of the surgery. In addition, we had a ready support system in place for us.

The accident happened in ski country. Sadly, the hospital was accustomed to dealing with this kind of injury, but fortunately, for John they had all the necessary equipment available. Knowing the story of Joni Eareckson Tada, I was afraid that I was going to find John in a Stryker frame. Instead, the hospital had just ordered a mattress with air chambers, programmed to inflate and deflate, so that the body was not in the same position too long, thus avoiding pressure sores. John was the first to use the mattress.

John was in the surgical intensive care unit for three weeks, before his transfer to a semi-private room on a post-surgical care floor. We faced huge complications with arranging for his transfer back to Toronto, Canada where we would be moving from France.

There were bureaucratic differences between funding systems for his rehabilitation. The methods of payment seemed irreconcilable for the coverage that was available to him in the two countries. It seemed for a long time that somehow we would have to come up personally with a huge amount of money so that he could come home. Grace showed up again when from an unexpected source came the offer of an interest free loan. It turned out we did not have to use this. As grace prevailed, we were able to make contact with someone who knew the right people and unblocked the communication, the day before John was to fly by air ambulance from Vermont to Toronto.

In addition, the rehab hospital in Toronto was not equipped with oxygen, so John had to develop his breathing enough to be able to function without any oxygen supplements before they would accept him as a patient. Healing from a tracheotomy and learning to breathe without using chest muscles, because of his injury, required a significant length of time to adapt his breathing. The day before his scheduled discharge, he was finally weaned off all additional oxygen.

The air ambulance itself was another huge obstacle where grace once again intervened. Although John’s health plan did not cover the air ambulance, a generous donor came forward and underwrote the cost.

Frightening as the intensive care experience was initially, I gradually adjusted to the environment. Facing the next stage of the journey again filled me with apprehension. An ambulance took John and I to the airport at Burlington, where he was transferred in the stretcher to the waiting Lear jet. A nurse accompanied us and John’s stretcher took up one side of the plane. (He is over six foot two.) Another ambulance greeted us in Toronto, along with Canada Customs and Immigration officials. John had lost his passport. Again, grace had been at work. When Glen went to the crash site, and the automobile wreckers to find John’s vehicle, he had been able to recover many of John’s personal effects, including his driver’s license. This was necessary to get John back into the country.

Through the months of rehabilitation, we expected people would forget about John, once they had learned of the initial shock. We assumed they would get back to their own lives. However, many did not forget. John constantly received cards and notes and letters and remembrances. We often heard from those told us that they continued to remember John in prayer. It was while John was still in rehab that he was invited along with the family to attend the graduation of his class at Harvard Business School. It gave John the incentive he required to learn the necessary skills for adapting to life as a quadriplegic. In a wonderful way, solutions came as we encountered the obstacles that made this adventure such a challenge. When we discovered that his power chair would not fit though the door of the plane that someone hired to get us to Boston, we found out that a power chairs were available for rent in Boston. Going to his class-mates’ graduation gave to John and to us the hope that perhaps one day he would be able to return and complete his degree.

To see my son, who had the world by the tail, lose all his dreams and start again with a huge deficit was something I never believed I would have the courage to face. Yet when tragedy strikes, we have no choice. The wonder is that grace is there, flowing in, around and through all the experiences. One grace was simply to be in the presence of the courage shown by John. There were times when my husband, Glen and I sat silent in awe overwhelmed by such courage knowing the challenges John was facing.

In 2005, grace renewed hope for us and for John as we met him again on the campus of Harvard Business School. We cheered him on as he wheeled across the stage to receive his degree three years later than originally anticipated having overcome obstacles we could have never imagined.