We love challenging our writers, and recently asked our SCWC Fall workshop attendees to submit a personal essay for a special competition.
All attendees of the Fall workshop, "Share your Story: Devotional Writing and & Personal Essays," (both in person and online) were invited to submit a devotion and/or personal essay for our judge's consideration.
Read the winners of the devotional challenge AT THIS LINK on judge and workshop leader Shirley Crowder's blog. (Congratulations to Laura Lee Leathers, Vicki Creel and Jenna McIntyre on their winning submissions.)
And read below the winners of the personal essay category of the challenge!
What were we looking for in our personal essay challenges? We wanted to read a true story written in a creative way that communicated a universal emotion and or experience; a good essay affects the reader in a personal way, providing insight in a new manner.
We were so pleased with our submissions in both categories, and we know that you'll be inspired by reading them yourself.
Our winners:
1st place: "Every Church Needs a Disco Ball," by Sonia Sticker
2nd place: "The Defendant," by Jena Reeves
3rd place: "Leftovers," by Christy Bell
"Every Church Needs a Disco Ball,"
by Sonia Sticker
I don’t remember if it was the first time we were in our church but I do know it was early on in our attendance of our little lake church that I looked up and saw the disco ball hanging from the ceiling. I remember finding it funny, and then my thoughts wandered a bit.
I had heard the stories. Of how our church was once a supper club for our community. You see we live in a lake community and our church is a building that sits out on a peninsula in the lake. It’s a pretty building with glass on either side so that you can take in the lake scenery. The community was built back in the early 80s and this building was a gathering place for the residents of the community as well as a few outside guests. On Friday nights there would be a band that would play and there would be dancing and dinner. It was called a supper club. While I don’t think it was necessarily bad, I don’t think it was necessarily wholesome either. I feel sure that there was alcohol consumed and as would happen at most bars, on any given Friday night, even though this was not a bar, it was not served, you could bring your own if you so chose to. I’m sure there was some dancing and some drinking and possibly some cussing and some fussing. There may have even been some making up. It really is no telling what else went on and I wasn’t there so I don’t really want to speak on it, but I can imagine. That disco ball was a remnant of the past in that building.
The building had also over the years been used as an office, a real estate office for the lake community is my understanding. This building was used for business as usual, nothing necessarily bad, just life carrying on. I am sure money changed hands and deals were made in that little building of glass and a stage and mauve carpet going up the stairs to the offices on the second floor, and a disco ball that hung from the ceiling. I don’t think there were bad business dealings, but I wonder how many times the business dealings were prayed over. I’m not saying it was bad business but it may not have been necessarily Holy business either. And there hung the disco ball.
I hear there is a pool table and a beer light sign up the stairs behind the stage but I’ve never been up there. The stairs are too steep for my liking and there are no rails on those stairs. But I wonder if there were ever bets made over a pool game, as there might be in most pool halls on a Friday night in any town, USA. Now I used to love to play pool and I am not going to lie and tell you I haven’t spent a little time in the days of my youth in a pool hall. I’ve seen bets made, fights break out and pool sticks broken over silly pool games. I wonder if any of that was happening here too. I’m not saying it was necessarily debauchery but not necessarily wholesome either. And this disco ball was overseeing it all.
As I looked up at that disco ball that Sunday morning, and I looked around at the people, I couldn’t help but think of the redemption of God. Here in this building where dancing and dinner was served up, drinks flowed on a Friday night, deals had been made and bets were on the table, on this day there were people worshiping God. Please don’t misunderstand me. I, myself spent a little time dancing and drinking on a Friday night in my younger years. I, myself have played pool and maybe even made a bet or too. I’m not much of a dealer in my work, but there was a time in my life that my work life didn’t necessarily flow into my church life and vice versa. But now I have been redeemed, much like this little church with the disco ball hanging from the ceiling.
When I looked up that Sunday morning and saw the disco ball and I looked around and saw the people singing their praises to the One True God, I remember thinking that God must be smiling. Not only were these His people who were sitting in that room, with me maybe being the biggest surprise of them all, His redeemed people, but He had also redeemed this building for Himself. I prayed that morning to always see that disco ball as a picture of His redemption. You see it’s not that the past things in that building were necessarily bad, but they weren’t necessarily Holy either. But now this building was set apart as Holy! It’s now His church even with a disco ball hanging from the ceiling.
As I was thinking of myself that morning, it’s not that my past was necessarily bad, I’ve never murdered anyone, I’ve tried to be a good person even before I found Jesus and truthfully even after I found Him but wasn’t walking with Him. But now as I try to walk with Him daily, He has set me apart as Holy. Thinking of the people in that room, most of them I’d say 50 and up, I wondered what God had redeemed them from. Not that it matters, what really matters is just like that building with the disco ball, and just like me, God had redeemed them and here they were, set apart as Holy, just like me, and just like the building with the disco ball hanging from the ceiling.
I still remember the business meeting when it was voted to take the disco ball down. In my spirit all I could think was NO because of what it represented to me, but I also knew that my opinion would not be the popular one to leave it up. So I kept quiet. But I do admit that a lot of Sundays I look up to the ceiling and I picture it there. And I thank God for redeeming this building, but most of all I thank Him for redeeming me! And I remind myself that everyone there has been redeemed from something. And I thank God for His grace that redeemed me, and redeemed them, and redeemed this building! I am so grateful for the disco ball that hung from the ceiling of our church to remind me of His redemption. And that is why I think every church needs a disco ball.
"The Defendant"
by Jena L. Reeves
I don’t know how I became a law nerd, but it happened. A celebrity court case popped up on my YouTube one day and I was hooked. I watched the trial, then went back and listened again on another channel with a real lawyer breaking down what was happening. If YouTube had been around in my growing up years, I might have gone to law school.
Sometimes in the middle of conversations, I find myself thinking, “Objection, hearsay.” or “Objection, speculation.” Yep, I know some legal words now.
I’ve even watched a few police interrogations and have been surprised at how easily some people lie. They keep lying when a video or other evidence is presented that reveals the truth.
In November 2021 there was a horrific incident at a parade in a small town. Less than a year later, the court proceedings for the person charged with this heinous act showed up on my YouTube feed. The defendant decided to dismiss his court-appointed attorneys and represent himself.
During the trial, he constantly spouted nonsense, even going so far as to object to being called by his legal name. Screaming at the judge and prosecution team. Arguing with the judge every step of the way. Questioning her jurisdiction to try the case. Being removed from the courtroom multiple times due to his disruption of the proceedings, he once built a fort around himself with boxes of documents. He was exhausting. The judge must have toddlers or teenagers at home to be able to deal with the nonsense he was putting out. She deserves a medal.
Facts presented, there was no doubt. He drove through that parade with his window down and cameras filming. He looked some of his victims in the eye as he ran them over. He left his phone and DNA in the car when he abandoned it and took off on foot. An old music video he created was presented in trial. He was standing in front of the car, license plate in full view.
I didn’t watch many of the testimonies or questioning of the witnesses, just the
proceedings around the trial. Interesting to watch, until one stops to think. This man killed six people and injured over 60. Now he sits in the courtroom screaming about his rights. What about their rights?
And he did this all with a bible on the table in front of him. Picking it up at times and pretending to read from it. Although the judge noted he had never turned a page. During the month-long trial, he never turned a page.
I have to admit, the fact that the defendant kept a bible in front of him irked me. In a big way. I love the Word of God. It gives life to me. It is beautiful. Seeing him use it as a prop was disgusting.
During the victim impact statements, which I did watch, his disrespect continued. He rolled his eyes as people spoke of the pain and suffering. Pain he caused. Children, mothers, fathers, and the elderly whose lives were changed forever. The judge was in tears, as was I. The defendant only cried when speaking about the effects on his life. Never acknowledging they were the results of his own actions. There was no remorse, no repentance.
At one point he said that his conscience was clear before God.
“They profess to know God, but they deny him by their works. They are detestable,
disobedient, unfit for any good work.” Titus 1:16 ESV
I wonder how a person becomes like this defendant. I wonder how someone becomes like those who lie so easily. How does one become so devoid of conscious?
Perhaps it is one bad decision at a time. With every bad decision, the conscious dies a little bit more. Eventually there is no little voice inside to say, “Stop.” Perhaps. I don’t see how this kind of evil could not be something cultivated choice by choice throughout one’s life.
“How can a young man cleanse his way? By taking heed according to Your word. With my whole heart I have sought You; Oh let me not wander from Your commandments! Your word I have hidden in my heart, that I might not sin against You.” Psalm 119:9-11 NKJV
Oh, that the defendant would have hidden God’s word in his heart instead of using it as a prop.
When I was a new believer, I heard a teaching on walking before God with a repentant heart, being open to His correction and reproof from scripture. What if the defendant had been someone who walked before God with a repentant heart, open to re-direction? When the police tried to re-direct his car, perhaps he would have turned his car away from the road where his victims were celebrating. Six lives would have been saved.
"Leftovers"
by Christy Miller Bell
We have a saying around our house. “Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without.” It’s a saying that floats around the internet, but I’m pretty sure is originated with my Mamaw. She lived by this mantra. It was bred into our family like blue eyes and red hair. We really show out when it comes to using up leftovers. Nothing gets me more riled up than having to throw away perfectly good food! So the other day, in the true spirit of using it up, I had some leftover
mashed potatoes. Pinterest is a well-spring of ideas about what to do with leftover mashed potatoes. You can put them in a soup, make bread, or, my favorite, fry up some potato cakes. I had a little leftover sour cream to use up and a few bits of shredded cheese. Rolling out those smooth cakes in my floured hands took me back to my childhood.
I remembered my grandmother standing in her tiny galley kitchen with the green marbled countertops. When she fired up that gas stove and heated up the house, none of us minded because we knew good things were coming. My Mamaw was a wonder. She rose every day with the sun, donned an apron and started dinner - aka, the afternoon meal. We’re not talking a sandwich and chips, mind you. Mamaw cooked a full blown meal of vegetables, proteins, and the all important cornbread, which has its own place in the food pyramid of the South. Back when chuck roast was a cheap cut of meat, she would put it in the oven on low always covered with a can of whole tomatoes, because that made the meat tender. After cutting hair for a few hours in her beauty shop, she would come in around 11:00, turn on her “stories,” and make some of the best cornbread I’ve ever eaten. Crunchy and just the right amount of greasy on the outside. Soft and moist in the middle. To this day, I still can’t replicate her recipe.
My grandparents were raised in a simpler time. Born out of the depression when scarcity was a way of life, they learned how to make do and use it up. They lived this out in every area of their lives, but Mamaw made “making do” an art form in the kitchen. I think she held some of that tender roast back just in case we got a little greedy, because there was always a delicious stew the next day. I can see her now. Hardworking hands cutting up the leftover roast. Working the can opener to add whatever canned vegetable she had in the cabinet. One last potato and a the few green beans left in the bottom of the pan from yesterday’s meal were added to the pot. What came forth was a steaming bowl of comfort and love. It was her way of saying life is good because there’s always enough.
There’s something to be said for simplicity of making do with what we have. We get too complicated with our busy schedules, our super smart electronics, and our Pinterest recipes. How often we forget that, in the hurry to get things done, we might be losing the joy of simple things. Now, don’t think I’m ready to give up my dishwasher and my washing machine. But, it makes me wonder…when was the last time I sat down to relax and enjoy a simple pleasure. Baking cookies with my daughter. Reading a well-loved book. Watching a sunset.
The old Shaker hymn, “Simple Gifts,” reminds me to find joy in the simple things of life.
'Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free,
’Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be.
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
‘Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gained,
To bow and to bend we shan’t be ashamed,
To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come ’round right.
That last line gets me. Sometimes I think too hard about the next best thing instead of seeing the good that is right in front of me. I need to be brought back around to the “right.” To remember the old ways of my grandparents when there wasn’t all the complicated gadgetry and endless trips to the store. To remember that the simple gifts in life are filled with the best flavor. Those are the things that mean the most. Just like creating a delicious meal out of what was leftover. As I roll out the last potato cake and drop it in the hot cast iron, I smile. It’s a satisfying
feeling to know that I’m following in my Mamaw’s footsteps and probably her mother before her. The simplicity of using it up and making do are gifts I’ll share with my daughters, too.
~~~~~~
Personal essays can be wonderful outlets for sharing our experiences and how they've made an impact on our lives. And they can be an effective way of giving readers an experience of shared emotions and convictions. If you've never thought about writing an essay, you should give it a shot! They can provide you with insight and revelation--and they're fun to write as well.
We provide challenges to all participants of our regional writing workshops. (Be looking for the winners from our November workshop in Columbia, Tennessee!) Our next regional workshop is the Winter workshop on Feb. 11 in Hattiesburg, Mississippi, which you can participate in online or in person. Email us at scwritersconference@gmail.com. And our annual conference in June provides attendees with many opportunities and challenges to present their writing to conference speakers, agents, publishers, and the publishign arm of the of SCWC. We hope to have you with us for that!
Congratulations again to our winners...and keep writing as God calls you to do.