Yesterday, I saw my faith being shaken. As I was about to
embark onto a ferry to Victoria and collect hundreds of dollars in misprints-
of my book.
My past wounds were being exposed to the salty ocean and the
sting of my errors, in okaying the wrong file to the printers, seemed too
overwhelming. I felt the enemy trying to get a stronghold over me. His caustic
words were upon me, like stinging nettles upon my bare skin, he whispered in my
ear….you are not worthy of anyone’s love.
I had to find a spot, where my tears would not be seen.
Walking up the stairs, I leaned over the railing of the ferry and took a deep
breathe in.
Folding my hands together in prayer, I allowed the light to
slowly engulf me. I stood my ground and reminded myself…whom shall I fear?
I reminded myself that God not only loves me, but all my
trust is in him.
The mistake I had made, was a human error, not to be
confused with the enemy- who I was giving too much credit for.
What had occurred in the first print of my book was to serve
a better purpose.
The day of my PFO closure on my heart, I had made the
mistake of bringing my cell phone with me.
I knew better. The last time I was in hospital- after my
stroke- I took my cell and changed every password I held within my device. I
promised myself, I would not make that mistake again!
However, my anxiety grew the morning of my surgery and when
I typed my okay for the printers to print off the first copies of my book…I
gave consent to the wrong file!
I tried, but it was too late, to stop the printing of the
first fifty copies.
In typing this…I breathe a sigh of relief that it was not
500 copies!
After many tears shed, and me calling myself unkind names –
due to my error, I set out to share with those who were interested in buying
the first edition of Under the Sitka Tree.
I was honest and accountable, for what was my error- not at
all the printers.
To my surprize and delight, everyone who has ordered a
polished edition, also requested a misprint.
After speaking with Lindsey Cocking
from Island Blue Print Co. Ltd, he assured me it happens often when the first
run of the book, needs revising. Lindsay also shared how these ones are sold as
“Advanced Readers Copy” and it was then I decided to slash the price of these
paperbacks to ½ off. The next run will be sold at original cost of $20 and
these misprints are now only $10.
Being an avid researcher, I
decided to read about other instances, where something has happened to the
first copy of a book being printed. The most brilliant example I found, was a
woman reading her romance novel, discovered inserted within her book, a few pages of a
Stephen King novel! Now, that is some transition and one that made me feel
relieved that I am not alone.
By the time the ferry docked in
Swartz Bay, I was feeling lighter, as I was determined to rise from the dark
ashes that once bound me to the Island.
Driving off the ramp and onto the
highway, I reflected on the person now returning eight months later.
I thought of all I have become as a Christian writer, due to everything I have endured.
When in 2000, I set out to write
my first novel, I did not plan on composing a story of happily ever afters.
From the beginning, I knew God’s purpose for me was to take every bit of my
pain, my sorrows and my losses, in order to create characters that were likable,
relatable and even loathed.
In my novel, there is purpose in
the pain. The Lord took the battle scarred heart of mine and in my own research
of my characters, I was shown the depths of each one. As I wrote, I worked on my novel knowing the presence of the
enemy was often near, for he was trying to deter me. Yet what God has done in me, fills me with his light and love. In Him, I see hope arise.
One day, as I read my bible, I
read a sidebar story that resonated deep within me…
In the shop of a
blacksmith, there are three types of tools.
There are tools on the
junkpile: outdated, broken, dull and rusty.
There are tools on the
anvil: melted down, molten hot, moldable, changeable.
There are tools of
usefulness: sharpened, primed, and defined.
They lie ready in the
blacksmiths tool chest, available to their master, fulfilling their calling.
We
are all somewhere in the blacksmith’s tool chest. We are either on the scrap
pile, on the anvil, in the Master’s hands, or in the tool chest. From the
shelves to the workbench , from the water to the fire, I am sure you will see
yourself. ~ Max Lucado
I know, in my own tool box and connected to my grief, there are many bent and misshapen tools. This is due to an aching void that remains, where there has been a loss of control and a struggle for others to see…who I really am.
Often though in fighting to just let go, I have lost myself in the transition and I am pulled back- into the
throes of an addicted family, where our roots are scarred...but still hold threads of connections.
As the years of my writing has
carried me throughout various life chapters, I never have wanted to be a writer
who projects being perfect. If anything the things within, are not secrets I am
holding unto. In being authentic, I name my darkness, yet refuse to let it
claim me. There is a power coursing through my veins when I look into the
distance for the lighthouse…when I have lost my way. My hope is that others
will still see that light shining within me.
Extending my hands, I reach out
for the grace that anchors me, when the storms prove too much.
After departing the ferry and driving along the Pat Bay
Highway, I knew where my first stop would be.
Pulling over by the sign that states: “Welcome to
Victoria,” I parked at the spot where I lived (on and off) in my car for 7 ½
months. This area, I arrived at, was to express my gratitude for all I had been brought through. As I closed my
eyes, I gave thanks to God for how far I truly have come….since those nights
of despair.
I allowed myself only a short visit, as I no longer had a right to linger...in the past.
Next, I went and paid for my 2
boxes of first edition books. I don’t like to always refer to them as
misprints, because I have learned a valuable and costly lesson from this!
I certainly will never forget this process! I have worked diligently with my formatter, Leon Oldale, to ensure the next file I okay to send, is the correct one!
Another thing I discovered about books that
have had this happened… some are considered a worthwhile investment.
A rare first edition of a “Harry
Potter” book featuring a misspelled title, fetched $90,000 at an auction.
Now, I am not claiming to be J.K.
Rowling…however, if your going to dream…it may as well be big! 😊
Later on in my visit to the Island, I spent my afternoon
seeking some of my brothers and sisters in Christ.
I shared with them some of the
journey of Under the Sitka Tree.
How I was inspired to write about indifference, as it stems from how I have felt. I chose to share about equality in my novel, because I believe in it. How I decided to have a character in my novel, have the same weaknesses I have, because I know of
the shame associated with it.
I then talked about how I missed attending church and listening to the sermons. We talked about some of the ones that have stayed with me. I shared how I found it interesting that as a church attendee, when there was a bulletin announcing pornography, to be
discussed…the following Sunday- attendance was down. The truth is, more needed to be said and shared about addictions, of all kinds.
The broken, were the ones Jesus liked to keep company with.
I believe because no one wants to be judged, branded and stigmatized, there was prior to the pandemic, a reluctance to put on display in church, those addictions that are being sought out in the dark.
I know it's also because no one wants to be signaled out and labeled.
Throughout the journey of my novel that took me over two decades to
complete and in print, there were chapters of sin and shame. I experienced betrayal on horrible levels of heartache, while I suffered my greatest loss, in the death of my only child. I spent many nights of solitude struggling, therefore I would invite Jesus in...to guide my way.
The word says:
For the spirit of heaviness
Put on the garment of
praise
That's how we fight our
battles
~ “Surrounded” by Michael W.
Smith
After dropping off some copies of my books, I felt a pull towards a place that holds painful memories. After praying, I decided to venture into territory, where the soil was tainted- from the night of
my attack, back in May 2014.
I grabbed an ice cap and found my
way to an address; I truly wish I could forget.
Parking my car in Esquimalt, in
front of an apartment building, I did my best to ‘blend in.’ However, with my mirrored sunglasses and blond highlights- I drew a poor comparison to the former Police-detective series (Starsky & Hutch).
I was unsure of my purpose, in stopping at a location, where a crime had occurred, all those years ago.
I honestly did not expect
anything to happen, but something drew me to the place where I survived a night
of terror.
Taking a sip of my ice cold
beverage, suddenly I saw a man emerge. I almost dumped my drink all over me.
For my perpetrator had never been caught nor charged with the crimes against
me.
In a city where another news story
covered the ‘rape culture’ of Victoria, there had been instances where a few
bartenders had been guilty of lacing drinks- in order to receive kickbacks.
I now know this is exactly what
happened to me, when I was taken against my will and brought to the very
apartment building, I was now staking out.
As a man walked down the
sidewalk, my anxiety was surmounting. In an instant, I recognized him as the one who had me drugged, kidnapped and sexually assaulted me during one night of terror- I've never completely healed from.
While I have shared openly with readers
that I have forgiven the man who added another layer of stain, upon me- who
stole from me what was mine – I still felt the need to see if he existed?
Much like my statement I finally provided Police, it was with purpose
I returned here- to reclaim for me/Tonya- what was once lost.
Now, as he continued to walk near
my vehicle, something else caught me off guard.
In his hand, he held onto the
hand of a child.
In an instance, I saw something
different about the man.
It was a reminder that while it often hurts to revisit
a place where you saw only pain… there can be a new perspective.
While I was denied my god given
rights that horrible night in 2014, here was this man who I felt justified in
seeing as a terrifying villain- holding the hand so tenderly, of a loved one.
In that moment, he was not the
monster I had referred to….no, he was stripped of the ugliness and now I simply
saw him…as a perfectly- flawed- human being.
Starting my car, I drove off,
with tears streaming down my face. My thoughts were flooded with memories and my heart was beating fast. As I drove out of a city, I struggled eight years to survive in, I remember a Counselling session in my support group, where a beautiful Japanese girl had brought a once broken piece of pottery and now it was repaired.
As I drove back along the highway, the
rays of sun burst through the clouds of cobalt. Suddenly, I let all of my emotions
out...onto my steering wheel.
The little girl in me, realized
there was peace in knowing that despite all of the pain I had endured, no one can ever harm my soul, within!
My next stop saw me go into the
local grocery store, to pick up a bouquet of sunflowers.
I then drove out to the local
cemetery, to visit the grave of my dearest friends daughter.
I stayed there for awhile, as I
had to collect my thoughts, after what had just taken place.
My eyes spotted a pine cone and
as I held it in my hand , I thought of the one at my home- from my beloved
Sitka spruce tree. That cone represents nearly half of my writer’s life,
connected to its roots.
I thought about the lie – the one
from the enemy- that tries to convince me that I am unloved. Yet there can be beauty
found...even in some of the most difficult places.
For when my mind is at war, riddled with anxious thoughts, I
turn to the light and find inner harmony.
I thought about how I am drawn to write about such dark things, with rawness and honesty.
The simple answer is…I want to
bring my readers, back into the light and share the joy I have found, in my faith. Not because I am a perfect Christian...no, rather I want to share what I've experienced to say that there is hope despite my own flaws.
If anything I've learned, as a writer, I know I am part of
a bigger group of talented souls- whose ink is dipped in depressions, addictions and struggles.
Novelist Anne Rice grew up steeped in the myth and lore of
New Orleans. She didn't find success as a writer until tragedy struck. Rice is
said to have fallen into a deep depression after her 5-year-old daughter died
from leukemia. She found that her only relief from despair was writing. Her
first novel, Interview With a Vampire, was turned into a successful movie,
followed by many other tales in The Vampire Chronicles series. Today, this
famous depressed writer has a huge cult following. Dr. Thomson notes that
though many writers struggle with their work, there are others — such as Rice —
for whom writing is a release.
It can bring pleasure and a sense of peacefulness, through being surrounded by a world of people the writer created, he suggested.
Depression and creativity are thought to go hand in hand,
leaving us with an impressive list of famous depressed writers.
Source.
By Madeline
R. Vann, MPH Medically Reviewed by Pat
F. Bass III, MD, MPH
Reviewed: June 19, 2013
Through it all, I always strive to keep my eyes on the
light.
In the Bible (Romans 8:38) Paul writes, “… I am convinced that nothing can separate us from God’s
love… neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow - not even the
powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in
the earth below - indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate
us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.” The same
Lord is Lord of all, and gives richly to all who call on Him, for, “Everyone
who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.”
My day ended at a beach; I know well. I have walked barefoot
along the wet sand, in search of sea glass. I have sat in my car at 4am, awaiting the sunrise
over the rolling waves.
I returned to do a special release of sorts. The first thing I did, was to take a sunflower and place it next to something special, on a brilliant piece
of driftwood.
In the placement of the flower, it was my way of releasing what had taken place over the
course of my one day, back in Victoria.
To remind myself how it is well within my soul.
To reflect on such a beautiful and powerful reminder that I
AM Worthy. The light within…was not to be destroyed.
I then decided to do a unique book release on this beach…
I had brought a card and a clear plastic bag, to protect my
novel, from the elements. I signed the book and wrote in the card that instead
of a ‘message in a bottle,’ this was a ‘message in a book.’
I then wrapped it up and placed it higher up near the road,
as opposed too close to the water- where the incoming tide could possibly wash it away!
It was my way of giving thanks back…to an Island, where I
had spent years working on my book, shared in fellowship and found the healing in some places, I truly needed.
As I drove back to the ferries, to return home, I would encounter a setback to do
with my reservation. Soon, I realized it was the enemies way of keeping me from
departing onto the open sea…to my new beginnings.
A quick call to friends I consider family, saw their serving
hearts help me out of my predicament.
The irony of this, was I had to leave the ferry area, to
make a call to them. Turning down a road I thought I had never been down before, I discovered a couple living/sleeping in their Honda civic. Their belongings were crammed in the back seats.
They were holding onto each other. I just wanted to
say to them: This isn’t permanent. You can get out of your situation and find hope...even in the darkest of places.
Turns out, that road they were on...I had travelled plenty of times, during my own bouts of displacement.
As I completed my call and request from my friends, I prayed again for the couple in front of me.
Ever so grateful for the means to arrive home, I boarded the
ferry. By now, my day that had begun at 6am saw me step out onto the ferry
deck at dusk. The sea breeze felt so good against my skin!
As I admired the coral sunset over the
ocean, I saw a reflection of myself in one of the windows. Instead of having a
sorrowful ending to my story, the light was resettling its way, back into me.
Once, where the cracks had been, I saw the handiwork of God who is the ink in my pen.
His mercies are multiplied…
In the end, as I continue onward… I understand the flawed,
imperfect parts of me...sees my tool chest have various shapes and sizes all within it ~ be a part...of who I am.
by TL Alton
