Have you ever thought about writing or illustrating your own picture book? It isn’t as hard as you might think. In this video, I share a quick look at my book creation process. Time-lapsed videos of illustration-painting are included.
Bring Back the Jar
Thanksgiving is fast approaching, so I’m bringing back my Blessing Jar. I’ve been very stressed lately, so it is time to shift my focus back to my many blessings. I will post an earlier blog in case you’d like to join me and don’t remember what I’m talking about.
Several years ago, I was privileged to join Heart to Heart on a trip to Guatemala. We were installing water purification units and distributing deworming pills for the kids. The people were so grateful for clean water—something we take for granted in the United States. The homes we visited were small enough to fit into my bedroom, with thin 
corrugated steel walls and leaky roofs. Most of the kids only had one extra pair of clothes. No iPhones. No computers. And yet, they were happy. They were grateful for what they had. (Check out the book I wrote for Heart to Heart about their water purification project.)
I hope that one day my kids can go with us to serve in a third world country. I want them to experience what it’s like to live without so much excess. This could be a life-changing adventure for your family as well. I don’t know about you, but my family will need to save money for a while to get us there. In the meantime, here is a thought you can discuss with your teenagers: What if you woke up today with only the things you thanked God for yesterday?
A project for all ages, is to write down your blessings. You can do this in a journal (like my family did after reading One Thousand Gifts), or you can write them on strips of paper and put them in a jar or box. November is a natural month to do this, due to Thanksgiving, but it could also be a year-long project. Your family could read all of the blessings on New Year’s Eve.
A visual way to teach the concept to younger children could be through the book The Blessing Jar by Colleen Coble. The story is about a little girl who is having a bad morning. Her grandma takes her on an adventure where they collect small objects 
related to happy memories. They place these objects in a blessing jar to remind them to be thankful, chasing away the grumpy attitude. After reading the book, you could begin your own blessing jar. This activity would be extra special if you had grandparents available to join in the fun.
Battered Scarecrow
Potted mums, a pumpkin (or two or three), a jack-o-lantern, and a stuffed scarecrow adorn my front porch each fall. Sometimes the weather manages to disturb my decorations, making them shift this way or tip that way. My scarecrow used to topple over, so I screwed a tiny hook into the house trim and looped it through his green felt hat. The hook has held him upright for years.
Until now. The wind has been so fierce lately that even the hook cannot keep the scarecrow in place. Every time I climb my porch steps, I see him in a different death pose. Sometimes he’s face down, blocking the front door. Sometimes he’s on his back, staring up at the jack-o-lantern. Once I found him tossed into the bushes. His hat and straw hair are hanging on by one glue strand and the stuffing keeps trying to pour out of his left mitten hand. The wind has battered his poor cloth body to the point where I’m contemplating letting him retire. For now, I will just have to let him stay inside when I know it will be a particularly windy day.
There are many times when I feel like that tattered scarecrow. I’ve had my share of heart-ache stress, and disappointments. Life can be brutal, tossing us around until we start falling apart. Sometimes we are just worn out and may want to give up. But the wind won’t last forever—even if you live in Kansas like I do. There’s bound to be some sunshine on the way.
So for now, I’m going to try to keep it together. I’ll go inside to escape when the wind becomes tornadic and allow myself to rest. But then I’ll head back out prepared to face the storm.
Hang in there, my frayed friend. A gentle breeze may be in the forecast soon.
The Signs
I saw you last weekend. So brave and strong. Smiling even though your heart must still be aching.You didn’t bring up his suicide, so neither did I. Was that right? I don’t know. There probably isn’t a “right” in this situation. For now I will follow your lead.
I often think of my friends who have lost loved ones and realize that I could be in their position all too easily. The pressures we face can bury us if we try to carry the burden alone. I can’t imagine trying to navigate life without God carrying me and my family and friends holding my hands. It’s all just too much.
Whenever we hear about a suicide, it’s natural to go on high alert about our own loved ones. The counselor at my school shared some risk factors for suicide that I have filed into the back of my mind. These include:
- mental illness
- substance abuse
- previous suicide attempts
- hopelessness
- access to lethal means
- recent loss of loved ones
- unemployment
- vulnerability to self-harm
Warning signs for suicide include:
- increased substance use (alcohol or drug)
- no sense of purpose in life
- anxiety or agitation
- unable to sleep or sleeping all of the time
- feeling trapped
- withdrawal from friends, family, and society
- rage, seeking revenge
- acting reckless
None of us are to blame if someone decided to end it all, but being informed just might help us save a life. We can make a difference.
Worst Nightmare
My worst nightmare became a horrifying reality to two nearby families this week.
I can’t imagine anything more painful than losing a loved one to suicide.
Words fail me.
Our school counselor gave a suicide prevention workshop this month. My mind could barely believe the statistics. Suicide claims around one million lives worldwide each year. That’s one suicide every 40 seconds. What?! On top of that, there are ten to twenty attempts for each completed suicide.
As staggering as those numbers are, they are just statistics until someone you know takes their life. What can I even say?
My words are shallow because the suicide dagger has never pierced all of the way into my immediate family—and I am so grateful. There have been close calls, and oh my, they sent my heart racing. I’ve spent many nights desperately praying for my loved one’s protection from depression’s claws. But thankfully they are still here for me to hold.
The only thing I can think to give to those who are grieving are thoughts from people who have actually endured the suicide of a loved one.
“Loss from suicide is like no other loss, and there’s no time limit for grieving. Allow yourself that time to process. And then talk to someone, anyone.” — Deenie Bagley
“The ‘ton of bricks’ that are thrust upon your shoulders by a loved ones’ suicide never goes away. But you do get stronger shoulders.” — Frank Kaufman
“Be patient with yourself. One day you’ll be able to celebrate the life and not focus on the method of death. Please, please, just be patient.” — Judi Swenson
For those of you still stuck in a nightmare: I am so sorry for your loss. Please know that you are in my thoughts and prayers.
Cardboard Boat
Sailing on a cardboard boat is a soggy adventure.
Last weekend our teen group travelled to a campground for Fall Retreat. The sun beamed down on us, providing the perfect weather for trying a new team-building activity. Mounds of cardboard, wrapping paper, drinking straws, and duct tape littered the lawn. We divided by grade levels and began our assignment to make a boat for an upcoming race.
Armed with a pink foam pool noodle, a red marker, and a box knife, my team of 9th graders began to brainstorm construction plans. Only one person could sail on the boat, so our lightest member was selected. The teens fashioned a small canoe with the foam noodle as the base. They then covered the canoe with straws and duct tape. A wrapping paper paddle and cardboard shield completed our boat entry.
We joined the odd assortment of boats at the edge of the lake. Pirates on huge inflatable rafts were already in the water. They might have looked intimidating if the rafts weren’t shaped like a rubber duck, unicorn, swan, and flamingo. The pirates’ mission was to sabotage any team who was having too much success reaching the finish line.
The boats gradually absorbed water and began sinking or disintegrating. Pirates helped speed up the demolition. By the time our boat reached the goal, it was merely a pool noodle dragging a few soggy shreds of cardboard and straws.
As we cleaned up the boat remains, I couldn’t help but think about how my life is sometimes like that cardboard boat. I’m trying to stay afloat, but all of the stress and burdens of life start soaking in until I’m a soggy mess. Sometimes it’s all I can do to keep from falling apart. And just when I think I might just make it, there’s a pirate trying to cause more chaos until my journey is even more challenging.
I’ve got to keep my eyes on the finish line and keep paddling, trusting that my creator knew what He was doing when He made me. My goal is to help a few other disintegrating boats hold it together and complete the race with me.
New Release: Like Ghosts in the Hallway
CRESCENDO PRESS RELEASES TEEN THRILLER LIKE GHOSTS IN THE HALLWAY
Tami Brumbaugh delivers the drama as a family is ripped apart by a terrible secret
OLATHE, Kan./September 5, 2017—Crescendo Press LLC is pleased to announce the latest addition to the boutique publisher’s adolescent literature portfolio: Like Ghosts in the Hallway by Tami Brumbaugh. The fast-paced, 275-page novel moves from life in the backwoods to foster homes and concealed identities as JaDon and his sisters run from their estranged father, J.R., who will stop at nothing to keep a family secret from being revealed.
Like Ghosts in the Hallway is Brumbaugh’s third teen novel, following Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award quarterfinalist Thanks to Wapiti (2013) and Tornadic (2015).
“Some of the students I’ve taught and the teens that I’ve mentored have told me chilling accounts of their family drama,” Brumbaugh said. “I often came home with a heavy heart, burdened for kids who had huge obstacles to overcome just to survive. This story is fiction, but the message of hope is real.”
Readers will need to fasten their seatbelts, because this book accelerates from the very beginning as JaDon and his sisters are whisked away from their abusive, drunken father after the mysterious disappearance of their mother. The children are reunited with relatives on their mother’s side and begin to relax. After a dangerous encounter with their father, the children are separated and moved into protective custody. At his new high school, JaDon connects with his English teacher and begins sharing elements of the family secret in a journal for class—entries that Miss Jane says she will not read. Essentially invisible to JR’s hunting excursions, JaDon unwittingly reveals his location in a moment of heroism. After JaDon disappears, Miss Jane must work with a social worker to uncover clues of his whereabouts and the secret that keeps him on the run from JR.
This book will help readers understand some of the challenges facing teens from abusive homes. It will also inspire readers with the notion that there are “islands of hope” all around us—people and places of safety and healing.
Like Ghosts in the Hallway will initially be available on Amazon.com for $11.99 as a paperback and $3.99 as an eBook. Starting today through Sept. 11, Crescendo Press is making the Kindle version of the book available for a special price of 99 cents on Amazon.
Real Drama
Cruel texts. Too much homework. Unreasonable parents.
As a teen mentor, I’ve heard many of the concerns that plague junior high and high school students. Some of the drama would seem trivial to me now, if I didn’t remind myself how challenging those issues were when I was their age. (And what it was like when hormones were raging and identities were still forming.) Usually I have encouragement and a few words of wisdom to offer, because I’ve been there and survived.
But sometimes their tales leave me with my jaw dropped to the floor. When they share stories of abuse—mental or physical—I can’t relate. And I’m so grateful. I have my share of scars, but they weren’t inflicted by people I should be able to trust.
I can listen, give hugs, and make sure the teen has talked to other family members and authorities, but I usually don’t feel like it’s enough. How do you ease the pain of someone who has a parent who strikes them repeatedly or inflicts emotional scars that run deep?
When I can’t get the right words to come out of my mouth, I turn to writing things on paper. The book I’m wrapping up right now is my way of offering hope when life is unfair. It shows that while there are some truly evil people in the world, there are also compassionate people willing to help. It was painful to write because I didn’t sugar-coat anything.
I’ve been thinking about the teachers, counselors, and staff returning to the classrooms this month who continually invest in kids. Thank you for encouraging them as they navigate life. While all teen drama feels heavy and real to them, there are some who carry more than they were ever designed to bear. Hopefully all of us can help lessen the load.
A Song for the Autistic Soul
As the start of the school year quickly approaches, my mind is turning toward my little autistic friends at Harmony. Here’s a poem I wrote that gives you a glimpse into their world.
A SONG FOR THE AUTISTIC SOUL
©Tami Brumbaugh
The words struggle to pass your lips
But remain locked inside,
Prisoners behind a pearly white gate.
Thoughts pile up
Tripping over themselves
Forcefully jammed into cardboard boxes in your mind.
Shoved aside and collecting dust
Unopened
Unappreciated
When you just want to be Understood.
If only I could lure the words to my ears
Tempting them with a wide smile
Releasing them from their stronghold
So I could listen and respond.
Instead, silence.
My eyes are blank,
No spark of understanding.
Wanting to relate, but clueless.
I slide a PECs book in front of you
Laminated pictures Velcroed to worn pages
I know it isn’t enough
But it’s a start.
You shuffle through the pictures
Searching for what you crave.
Sometimes you find the picture
Apple
Cheese
Toy car
At last our minds graze each other
The tips of our thoughts connecting.
I honor your request.
You smile
Temporarily content
And my soul soars.
Other times, there is no adequate picture.
Nothing illustrates your desire.
You keep flipping through pages
Over and over and over.
Stuck in the motion.
The pounding in your brain intensifying
As the words hurl themselves on closed doors
Begging for relief
Aching for a response
You can’t reveal your thoughts and I can’t relate.
Shapeless screams erupt from deep within your turmoil.
How did they break through the barrier
When words cannot?
You slam the book to the floor
Blood boiling
And my soul sinks.
I wrap you in my arms, holding your heart to mine,
trying to impart peace
I rock you and whisper affirmations of safety
One day it soothes your frustration, relaxing muscles
The next, it aggravates you more, causing arms to flail.
I sing to you, hoping to distract.
You hum back, pitch perfect note for note.
I vary the tune
You match it with ease, rich tones unbound to words,
Incomplete syllables that speak volumes.
Will music be the key that sets you free?
Full words still snag on sharp white guards
But the pressure is siphoned.
Hope brims as our eyes meet.
For now we will savor our moment of connection
And sing a new song.
Do What You Love–Unless It Makes You Starve
I made a mistake.
At the time it felt like the right thing to do. But there are days where I wish I could turn back time and make a different decision.
Ever been there?
I started teaching preschool when my youngest daughter started preschool. I loved working with little ones, and the job allowed me to earn some money, yet always be home when my kids were home. I could carve out time to write, so I was content.
After my husband’s sudden job loss, I quickly realized I needed to contribute more financially. I crammed in enough graduate classes to renew my teaching certificate and went back to my first career of being an elementary music teacher.
So much had changed during my absence from the public school setting. New technology. New curriculum. New behavior issues. I wanted to be a good wife and mom, so by the time I cooked and cleaned and spent time with the kids, it was bed time, yet I still had to formulate lessons and choreograph musicals. It was like I was a first-year teacher all over. I had no time to write, so I was not content.
As the end of the school year approached, I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and grumpy. I was careful not to gripe at work, so my poor husband heard it all. He had a job by then and told me I should regain my mental health (and probably preserve his) by writing full-time instead of returning to my school in the fall.
You often hear, “do what you love.” It sounded heavenly. So I did. We created a business where I could edit, write life-stories for others, and keep writing my books.
If there weren’t such things as unexpected expenses, or kids who always seem to need something, we probably could have made it. But after about four months we started realizing “do what you love” should really be “do what you love on the side unless you’re rich.”
I went back to work mid-year, but with a hefty pay cut. (And if it is a pay cut from a teacher’s salary, you know that hurts.) I have learned that I need to find a balance between being practical and feeding my passion. My house may not always be spotless, and some of the meals I cook are not gourmet, but I will squeeze time to write into my schedule. My books take longer to finish. (I’m just now completing the edits on a young adult novel that I cranked out during my months of freedom, but then got put on hold. But I am completing it.)
So the wiser version of me faces the reality that the bills still have to be paid, but I will not shove my passion out the window. So my mirrors may have smudges on them—but you can see a smiling face in the reflection.