by Kathy Brasby | May 22, 2013 | Stories
Google Plus is not dead, although I thought so for months. Maybe you gave up on Google Plus as well.
Then I read an article by Dave Llorens about the future of Google Plus and decided to stir the waters of my account again.
I know, one more social connection to try to maintain.
But the Google Authorship aspect caught my attention. When my name is googled, I want people to find my blog and other connections. Google Authorship ties my photo to my writings and I like that.
The core of the ability to do that is Google Plus.
So I’m giving it a run. I wish WordPress could automatically post blogs to Google Plus like it can to Facebook and Twitter but I suspect that’ll come soon. In the meantime, I have to remember to copy the url from my blogs and paste them in my Google Plus account.
Unlike Facebook, Google Plus members are more focused on business, art, technology and ideas rather than complaints about the boss and the stale coffee. I like that. There are less photos of grandkids but I go to Facebook for those connections.
I scored an information find that I’ll share with you. The chart below came from a Google Plus community, Christian Authors, which is packed with intelligent interaction about writing. As you can see, there’s a lot of help with technology in that community.
If you’re a Google Plus member already, consider adding me to your circle. I’m listed as Kathy Brasby. And if you’re a Christian writer, check out the Christian Writer community.
Now, take a look at the chart about website design and see some content available on Google Plus. Thanks to Tim Young on Christian Authors at Google Plus:
- 8 Compelling Reasons to Use Google Authorship (business2community.com)
- Promoting Content with Google+ (socialmediatoday.com)
- Why You Need Google Authorship Now (business2community.com)
by Kathy Brasby | May 10, 2013 | Stories
The Bible uses many genres but the most common one is narrative. The many stories of the Bible populate our literature and our imaginations.
Mention the prodigal son and heads nod. We understand the one who wandered away but then returned to a joyous father.
We know the good Samaritan, who defied cultural bigotry to extend a kind and sacrificial hand to another in need.
Let’s look briefly at a powerful story that packs a bigger punch than you might first think.
The book of Ruth, at first glance, seems to be a sweet romance with a nice moral to the story. But let’s go deeper into this amazing narrative.
This is the story of a Israelite woman, Naomi, who travels with her husband and sons from their hometown of Bethlehem in the midst of a famine to the land of Moab. While they live in a foreign country, the husband and sons die.
A woman in that culture without a husband or son was destitute, unable even to transact business.
Left devastated, Naomi decides to return to Bethlehem. One daughter-in-law, Ruth, determines to follow her and so they return with Naomi complaining about what God has stolen away from her. She calls herself Bitter and says that she left Bethlehem full and now returns empty.
Ruth, a foreign widow – and her status couldn’t be much lower than that – goes out into the harvest fields to gather up the grain that has fallen to the ground. She took on a servant status out of kindness to Naomi, picking up heads of grain as food for Naomi and her.
While in the fields, she is noticed by the field’s owner, who is impressed with her commitment to Naomi. He extends kindness by providing protection while allowing Ruth to gather in his field.
As it turns out, this owner, Boaz, is a family member – and one who is qualified to rescue Naomi from her problems – perhaps by buying her land or perhaps through marriage to perpetuate the lineage.
There are a number of subtleties in the process but in the end Boaz marries Ruth, provides her with a son that legally is Naomi’s lineage, and heads up the line of King David – and ultimately Jesus.
The book allows Naomi to blame God of cruelties, including afflicting her with emptiness. Yet the book ends with Naomi nurturing her newborn grandson, with Ruth and Boaz both deeply devoted to her.
We get to see how Naomi’s perception of God’s nature changes as we follow her story. Where Naomi says she returns empty, the reader immediately is shown that she returns at the time of an abundant harvest. That harvest symbolizes the fullness God has ahead for her.
The story of Ruth unveils kindness in many ways: from Ruth to Naomi, from Boaz to Ruth, and from God to Naomi.
Naomi thought she understood how destitute her life had become. But she would soon learn the true nature of God, that of abundance and goodness. He restored a family – and her second family became a royal lineage.
The women of Bethlehem, who heard Naomi blame God for her empty status, remind her after the baby’s birth that God provided a redeemer, renewed her life and would sustain her in her old age.
In the end, this sweet romance reveals the kindness of God. That’s the power of narrative.
by Kathy Brasby | May 8, 2013 | Stories
Contrary to some appearances, productivity apps are not the key to understanding life or unraveling the mysteries of the universe.
I’m not opposed to the idea of being more efficient but I’m more of a seat-of-the-pants writer who struggles with the idea that getting more organized will cure problems I don’t want to admit I have.
My desk, with the piles of papers that I am avoiding today, is ample testimony that a little help might be appropriate.
I do not like to-do lists. They feel restrictive and, well, boring. On those rare occasions when I write down my list, I lose it. Sticky notes disappear under magazines. My to-do list tends to be the stack of projects beside my computer.
Enough confession. I met Nozbe last week and it has helped.
Nozbe is, in part, a digitized to-do list and I like that. When I’m cruising the internet or even doing some digital reading, I can quickly type in a task to do and Nozbe stores it for me. Not only on my computer, but I can link the list to my cell phone and my tablet.
Nozbe also allows me to organize to-do lists within various projects but, if I need more than five projects, I need to subscribe. That’s $10 a month and I haven’t taken that step yet. I’m still on the free version.
But I’ve gotten a lot of back-logged projects done this week and there really is a certain buzz in checking off items.
Maybe productivity apps would help unravel the mysteries of the universe.
Nah.
But Nozbe has lightened my week’s list of projects. Not bad.
Do you have a favorite productivity app that might help rescue me?
by Kathy Brasby | May 6, 2013 | Stories
A cool night breeze floated into the room, giving the candle a little dance. The black summer sky flickered with stars while the glowing moon backfilled the window. Delicate notes from Josh Groban filled the air and we tipped sparkling glasses to each other. He looked deep into my eyes and spoke with a voice like silk, “I smell skunk.”
I did too, actually.
Candles (Photo credit: magnuscanis)
We gave each other an accusing look but moved on. I wondered if the candle had gone bad. He raced to the window to see what the dogs had drug up.
Often we enter marriage expecting a steady flow of candles and sparkling cider when sometimes what we get is skunk.
It’s not the mishaps that define us but the way we respond. In the skunk episode, I got the giggles.
In another absolutely unrelated episode, I was helping my mother move from her wheelchair to the front seat of the car. My job was to stabilize her as she stood and be sure she landed on the seat.
This day, we jigged when we should have leaned and Mom found herself lying across the seat, her back where her bottom should have been.
We looked into each other’s eyes and I could see a clear “Now what?” in hers. Another mishap. And I did it again.
I got the giggles. Both of us laughed until enough strength returned to boost her into the seat.
Once I thought that more than one mishap in a day meant the day was lost to morose self-pity. No more.
Now when things don’t go according to plan, I’m more likely to get the giggles first. I’m not sure that solves anything but it transforms a disappointment into a memory.
by Kathy Brasby | May 1, 2013 | Stories
If you’ve followed my blog, you know that I consider stories central to uncovering meaning in our lives. I ran across this post about the science of storytelling which is fascinating.
Leo Widrich, the co- founder of Buffer, shares insights of marketing using stories.
Storytelling is powerful communication. Here’s more of Widrich’s article, The Science of Storytelling.
by Kathy Brasby | Apr 29, 2013 | Family, Stories
In my father’s last morning on this earth, I was privileged to sit alone with him for over an hour.
The night before, I realized that the family had come to tell Dad goodbye and assure him of their love. But Dad wasn’t able to speak at that point and I went to his bedside that last morning with one idea in mind: to speak what I thought he’d like to say to us.
I assured him that we knew he loved us. We knew he’d worked hard for us and that he had provided very well for our mother. I told him that we knew many practical things because of his teachings.
And then I launched into stories that I knew he’d remember.
“Remember our neighbors up north? Remember when they had a sick horse and called the vet but by the time he arrived, the horse had died. So the neighbor met the vet at the driveway. ‘The horse died. Do you want to see it?’ The vet shifted his pickup in reverse. ‘Naw, I’ve seen plenty of dead horses.'”
My dad loved a story and had told this one to the family many times.
I took his hand that morning and searched my memory for another story.
“Remember when you were tired of buying fly swatters for Mom? She was murder on those flies but the swatters splintered under her stern hand.” I swabbed some water in Dad’s mouth before going on. “You decided to cut a fly swatter from an inner tube and punched holes in it. That fly swatter could take on Flyzilla. The only problem was the black marks left on the walls when Mom went fly hunting.”
Once Dad would have snorted with laughter. Now he blinked and swished drops of water in his mouth.
“You’ll remember this one better than me,” I went on. “But I hear that when I was two, I could escape the fence around our yard and go exploring. When a guy doing groundwork with grader found me watching at the edge of his field, you decided to fortify that fence. I could shinny under the gate and I could climb up the wire fence. So you jammed railroad ties under the gate and put barbed wire at the top of the fence. It was that way until we moved. I was 13 by then, Dad!”
No chuckle. Once he would have leaned his head to the side and told me that he couldn’t be sure about me at 13, either. Not this time.
I gripped his hand like it might slip away at any moment. “You were always a little slow to talk about your World War II days, Dad. Being an orderly kept you away from the front lines. Maybe that was a failure to you but it was great to me because it meant you came home in one piece.”
No one drifted down the hallway past our room. Even the horse in the painting on the far wall seemed to hold its breath this morning.
“I remember the story you told about the young soldier who arrived in a body cast. The nurse insisted on pulling the bedsheets tight and clamped that young man’s feet flat to the bed. When he cried in pain, she called him a baby. But you came behind her and jerked the sheets off his feet. I still remember you bobbing your head as you said, ‘And he said “thank you” after I did that.'”
As Dad’s health had declined over the years, so had his ability to fix things. Whether inventing a better fly swatter or freeing a soldier’s painful feet, Dad responded to problems with a solution.
In his final years, Dad had not been able to solve what he had once easily fixed. He needed his children, whom he’d taught.
On that last morning, I wanted him to know that his gifts were remembered. And that his family, who had watched him for many years, could carry on what he had begun.
