BJU Press Blog

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The Story Behind Benjamin’s Sling

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When JourneyForth approached me about writing a Christmas picture book, I jumped at the chance. What could be more enjoyable? I loved writing, I loved the poetic possibilities of the picture book genre, and I loved Christmas. Of course, this was something I wanted to do.

But as I tossed around ideas for the project over the next several weeks, I couldn’t seem to settle on anything. What could possibly be said about Christmas that hadn’t already been said? Or perhaps the better question was how the age-old truth about the meaning of Christmas could be presented in a fresh way. I began to pore over the accounts of Christ’s birth in Scripture, and then I turned to mining my own experience.

book cover of Benjamin's Sling by Eileen BerryThe year before, my mother had become ill suddenly and unexpectedly. At Christmastime she had been a healthy, fun-loving woman in her sixties, still full of energy and zest for life. Then in May we learned that a form of cancer she had battled years before had recurred. I was able to spend only one last week with my mom before she entered the Lord’s presence on June 1, 2008. During the busy days following her death, I was a little numb, and I knew that God’s grace was carrying our family. But when the visits and cards of faithful friends stopped coming and life returned to a semblance of “normal,” I struggled with an emotion I had not expected to feel. I was afraid. I feared that the hollow feeling inside would never go away. I worried that others in our family would develop the same kind of cancer. I was afraid of experiencing more loss.

Gradually in those painful months, I came to realize that my problem was not caused by externals. My fear did not arise from my circumstances. It came instead from a fundamental problem between myself and God. I was afraid to trust the Lord who had redeemed me, written my name on His hands, and proven Himself to me over and over again. He was asking me to trust Him alone—with my past, with my present, with my earthly and eternal future, and with the future of those I loved. After all, He is utterly trustworthy. He can never be or do anything other than good.

When I looked back on all God had taught me over that year before the writing assignment, I knew that my Christmas story had to include both grief and fear. The problem Benjamin the shepherd boy faces is very similar to the one I dealt with. He has experienced loss, and he is afraid to trust. The solution to the problem is the truth of the gospel. Jesus Christ was born to abolish death forever for those who trust Him. He can be utterly trusted. Once I knew what must happen in Benjamin’s heart, his story seemed to write itself. It’s my story. And I hope that it’s your story too.

Read Cosette’s review of Benjamin’s Sling.

Something to Celebrate

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WP-Story-Journal-2-2015My teacher friend Mary Beth invited me to come visit her kindergarten classroom. She had been reading aloud one the children’s books I wrote, and her students were ready for the last two chapters. “We thought it would be neat if you could come and finish the book for us,” she said. “My students would enjoy meeting a real live author.”

Before I even entered Mary Beth’s classroom, I could tell that for her, writing was something to celebrate. “Here are our snowman stories,” she said with a twinkly-eyed smile. “Some of the students dictated their stories, but many of them wrote their own.” I scanned the hall bulletin board decorated with painted snowmen sporting an eclectic mix of outerwear. I even noticed a story about a snowdog. Most of these South Carolina children had probably not seen a single snowflake since last winter, but obviously, their imaginations were healthy and active.

She opened the door to her room and began showing me around. “We’ve been talking about weather in science,” she said, indicating a large hanging chart decorated with rain and snow scenes and sunny beach pictures. A poem was also carefully lettered on the chart. “This is my poem. Don’t be too critical—it’s probably not very good. But my students were impressed that I actually wrote a poem.” I paused to read the four-stanza poem about types of weather, using a variety of age-appropriate words—and it was good.

When I sat down in the rocking chair with the children gathered on the rug in front of me, I could immediately tell that they loved being read to. Silence settled on them right away, and almost every eye stayed locked on my face as I read aloud. When I finished and asked for questions, a sea of hands went up. “Where did you get the idea for the kitten?” “Why did you write in chapters?” “Who drew the picture on the cover?”

Mary Beth walked to a shelf and took down a stack of stapled pages. “They’re very interested in books right now,” she said, “because we’ve just finished writing our own books.” I oohed and aahed over the books while here and there a student burst out with an enthusiastic comment about his or her story. “How many of you like to write?” I asked. Nearly every hand in the room shot up.

As I left Mary Beth’s room that day, I realized I was the privileged one—because I had met not just one, but an entire roomful of “real live authors.” I hope those students never lose the joy of writing that their teacher has worked so hard to instill in them. I hope they will never view writing as merely a chore to be done and a grade to be tallied. I hope they’ll always see writing as an art to be celebrated.