relevantblog

Relevantblog has moved!

2010-08-02T12:41:00.002-05:00

I've launched a new look, providing more help for those who are overcoming a difficult past at the new and improved MaryDeMuth.com. I'd love your feedback!

So stop on by. Leave a comment. Linger. Read the archives. Share your own thin places story, a time when God came near, here.

For all you writers out there: Find out how you can write a powerful nonfiction or fiction book proposal here.

Find a listing of all my speaking topics, including new ones about healing from the past, here.

Like photos and photography? Here's a recent listing of my photos.

Don't know what to fix for dinner? All my recipes from A Daily Recipe are on this site. Click on Recipes on the upper part of the site to see over 90 recipes.

And if you'd like to read even more about writing, publishing, and the writing world, click the Writing link on the top of the site.

With joy,
Mary DeMuth
founder of Relevantblog

I'm sorry for my neglect

2010-07-26T21:01:00.000-05:00

Just a quick post of apology. I've been working like a crazy woman on my new site, so I've neglected this blog a bit. The new and improved site will have my blog spank dab in the middle, content changing daily. I'm really excited about that. It should be up in the next few days, and when it is, I'll announce it to the world!

Are you Listening to Goliath or God?

2010-07-20T17:30:00.000-05:00

This is a guest post from author and speaker, Jim Watkins, a terrific communicator and a sweet man of God. I hope you enjoy it!

***
David had a choice in 1 Samuel 17. He could believe the promises of Goliath or God.

Goliath walked out toward David with his shield bearer ahead of him, sneering in contempt at this ruddy-faced boy. "Am I a dog," he roared at David, "that you come at me with a stick?" And he cursed David by the names of his gods. "Come over here, and I'll give your flesh to the birds and wild animals!" Goliath yelled.

David replied to the Philistine, "You come to me with sword, spear, and javelin, but I come to you in the name of the LORD of Heaven's Armies—the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have defied. Today the LORD will conquer you, and I will kill you and cut off your head. And then I will give the dead bodies of your men to the birds and wild animals, and the whole world will know that there is a God in Israel! And everyone assembled here will know that the LORD rescues his people, but not with sword and spear. This is the LORD's battle, and he will give you to us!"

As you know, it was Goliath who became buzzard meat.

We have a choice whose promises we will believe: our enemy or our God:

"You're a loser, a worthless failure" or "You're a child of God."

"You can't do it" or "I will give you strength."

"You're out of work and you're going to starve" or "I will provide for you."

"You have six months to live" or "In Me, you have eternal life."

"Your prodigal children are lost" or "I will guide them home."

"No one loves you" or "I love you unconditionally."

"You're alone" or "I am with you."

We have a choice whose promises we will believe: the loser or the winner.

© 2009 James N. Watkins

Finding God in Difficult Places: Guest Post by Mary-Anne Crooks

2010-07-19T11:30:00.000-05:00

This email came to me from Mary-Anne after she read my missing chapter from Thin Places. (You can receive it by signing up for my newsletter here.) I loved her response so much, I asked her if she would allow me to post it on my blog. You can find out more about Mary-Anne here.

Hi Mary

Thank you for sharing that missing chapter with us. To tell you the truth, I found it inspiring - the reason for this was your honesty. So many of us were raised in churches where we couldn't say if we felt 'down' or 'sick' or were struggling financially as that was negative talk but what about the Psalmists and how honest they were with God, voicing their struggles but also their victories.

We had a prophecy years ago, (about 24yrs) when we were told we would 'be blessed beyond our wildest dreams' but would walk 'through fire' first - well, we have definitely walked through the fire, but we are not the only ones - I don't know anyone that has just flown through life with all falling into place at the right time, in the right place.

So often, as when we, as a family, faced my cancer - I didn't understand, I questioned God, I had a tantrum or two (being honest) but knew that my Father understood, that He cared and that He cried when we cried. I also knew He was holding tightly onto my hand and believe me, I was holding tightly onto Him. At the time we couldn't see the big picture, we only saw our tiny world, our fight, but as time as gone on we are starting to see some of the big picture. If I hadn't had cancer I would never have started to write as I have always been busy with business ventures, teaching etc and never found time. My husband encouraged me for years to write - I firstly didn't have the time and secondly never thought I could, even though God had given me the ability to start a computer teaching company; doing everything from the start (to the finish), from writing the manuals, to approaching schools, to being secretary, to teaching. Eventually we had 22 schools with 21 000 children going through our system weekly - but that wasn't me, it was a gift that God gave me.

Saying that though, that was a specific season in my life but He had other plans for us that involved us losing the business, going to Ireland (not understanding) but later seeing that if we hadn't gone there our eldest daughter wouldn't have acquired University status. We then went to England and I got sick - couldn't understand all of that, but I had the best Oncologist available to me, our youngest did her A-levels (major in drama) and went onto University - both have now finished, my youngest graduates this month. She was voted 'best actress' at their red carpet event at Bath University and then was voted as the most likely to become a famous actress. She knows that it was all because of the talent God has given her and is determined to make it and use any success that comes her way to glorify His name. My eldest is working this year to get enough money together to go back next year and do her Masters - she has a BA Honours degree in Writing - writes beautifully, much better than her mother!

Anyway, that is another story but what you said is so true - we so often don't understand why because we don't see the big picture and 'what to us often feel as failures' to God are 'opportunities of teaching, preparing, getting us ready' for the big picture that only He sees.

I so wish Christians would go back to being honest, as you are, to being real and human. God did not create us to be miniature God's, He created us in His image, to aspire to being and doing our utmost best as to Him, but as His children, to worship, need and adore Him. If we were these perfect beings that so many preachers are 'presenting' themselves as now, then we wouldn't need our Father. We have seen many pedestals kicked from under preachers recently - there can only be one God and therefore we will always be imperfect, will always face trials and tribulations; sometimes will not understand but it is not what we go through it is how we come through the other end - I think your time in France is a testimony to how you came through the trial, how you have grown closer to Him regardless - He knows the reason for that trial and believe me, I am sure He will shortly let you see some of 'that big picture' as well and be truly blessed by what He has prepared you and your family for!

Please don't take any note of my writing above - when writing novels and other stories, I am far more particular as to how I write - this is just straight from my heart and not from my brain (the one my husband claims to have all the time).

Best wishes and love

Mary-Anne

The Stuff or the Story…Which Comes First? Guest Post by Tim Sinclair

2010-07-12T04:27:00.001-05:00

Today I'm privileged to have guest blogger Tim Sinclair. He shares a very insightful and well researched post about story and stuff. I hope it blesses you! Feel free to pass this on!

For years I’ve been convinced that the phrase “money can’t buy happiness” was just something poor people said to make themselves feel better. You know, like the homely girl in high school who always said, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder” or the football player who insisted that he was “street-smart”.

Well, apparently, the money can’t buy happiness mantra is half-true. New studies out of Cornell University have revealed that investing in things (like video games or TVs or cars) doesn’t provide satisfaction…but investing in experiences (like bungee jumping or a trip to Six Flags or tickets to a Broadway show) does.

Personally, this makes sense. Other than my first bicycle and the original Nintendo, I don’t remember a single Christmas gift I got as a kid. But I vividly remember our family trip to Disney World and our regular vacations in the Rocky Mountains. I don’t remember what my co-workers gave me for my 27th birthday, but I sure do recall jumping out of that airplane two days later. I don’t remember any of the wedding gifts my wife and I received, but I can picture our honeymoon spot as if we were there yesterday.

I don’t know about you but, when reading research like this, I always ask myself two questions:

Why is this the case?
Why should I care?

The first question can be answered by Cornell professor of psychology (and co-publisher of the study) Tomas Gilovich. He says, "Your experiences are inherently less comparative, they're less subject to and less undermined by invidious social comparisons. Things like a new material purchase make us happy initially, but very quickly we adapt to it, and it doesn't bring us all that much joy.”

In non-Ivy League vernacular, the professor is saying that buying a new couch or shirt or shower curtain eventually leads us to second-guessing ourselves. We start wondering if we should have gotten a better deal, or a different color or the style that our best friend has. The story we told ourselves before the purchase (about what how amazing this new item would make us feel) quickly morphs with reality, leaving us with the stuff, but without the story.

Experiences are different. Paying for a hot air balloon ride leaves a lasting memory that can’t easily be compared to someone else’s experience. The memories are ours and ours alone…and, often, they get better with time. In a nutshell, experiences give us the stuff first, and the story later.

So, why should I (and why should you) care?

Well, as a writer, I’ve found that it’s easy to compare my stuff with other writer’s stuff. He sold 100,000 copies of his book. She signed a three book deal with Harvest House. That cover looks better than mine. Their agent has better publishing contacts. Etc. Essentially, I’ve told myself a story about what having these things would be like, forgetting that, if and when I ever reach those benchmarks, the story will be over. Over time, I’ll likely look back at my achievements as disappointments, because they didn’t live up to the naïve, made-up narrative in my head.

I’ve decided instead to let each phase of my writing journey be an experience. Signing with my agent will be a lasting memory for me. So will agreeing to my first-ever book contract last month. While there will always be someone with a bigger and better publishing deal, these memories (and those still to come) are mine and mine alone…never to be compared against anyone else’s.

It’s true…happiness can’t be found in stuff. But it can be found in stories. Just make sure you put them in the right order.

About Tim: Tim Sinclair is a radio personality, blogger and soon-to-be author with a passion for real and relevant discussions on faith. His first book, tentatively titled Re-Marketing Jesus, is due out in April of 2011 from Kregel Publications. You can find him on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/wbgltim), follow him on Twitter (@timjsinclair), or visit him at his website (http://www.tim-sinclair.com).

Very sweet affirmation today

2010-07-06T12:43:00.000-05:00

Today a twitter friend said she heard my name on Breakpoint (Chuck Colson's daily radio broadcast.) Since he's highlighted two of my books already, I figured it must've been a repeat. But it wasn't. He and his staff selected summer reading pics, and mine were a part.

For writers who write behind keyboards hours at a time and struggle financially, this kind of affirmation goes a long way!

You can listen to the broadcast here. Click on BP radio on the right. This is the transcript. And here is the verbiage about my books (They got the Life in Defiance title wrong, but that's okay.)

Finally, let me give a brief mention to Mary DeMuth, whose Life in Defiance trilogy I’ve talked about twice before. She’s now wrapped up that trilogy with Living in Defiance, the poignant story of a battered wife who has to learn to understand God’s love for her. Mary also has a stunning new memoir, Thin Places, chronicling how God helped her in her own struggle to overcome the sexual abuse of her past.

Do women have an on/off switch for our busy brains?

2010-07-05T15:12:00.000-05:00

As women, we carry so much. And not physically, though I've carried my share of babies, toddlers, hurting kids, etc. I'm talking about what's inside our brains. Pretty much chaotic craziness. I truly don't know how my hubby would survive without me. I hold so much in my database--bank statements, shot schedules, household chores, what's for dinner, who needs to be ferried where and when, grocery lists, car maintenance schedules, clothes the kids need . . .

I'm tired writing it all down.

Do you ever feel like throwing your hands in the air and saying a big, fat ENOUGH?

(Maybe I'm the only one.)

The thing is, I can take things off my plate. I've gotten really good at using the NO word. Only the NO doesn't extend to my crowded brain. I cannot stop my brain from thinking one thousand things at a time. Oh how tired it makes me!

So if you know where the on/off switch is to a woman's brain, please let me know. Mine's running on overdrive right now...

The Difference Between Those Who Are Healed and Those with Regrets

2010-07-01T08:43:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking a lot about healing lately, particularly since I'll be teaching about it the next six weeks at church. I'm living proof of two things:

That God can utterly transform a life.
That you have to want to be transformed.

Jesus asked the paralytic, "Do you want to get well?" Notice that the man, lame and crippled, didn't answer the question. And yet, even in that frail state of not knowing what to say to such a question, Jesus reached out his hand to the man and restored him. This man was waiting for years for healing at the pool, only to meet the Living Water and be healed.

My question to you: How have you placed yourself near Jesus? How have you sought healing? I'm convinced that often the difference between those who are emotionally healed from the past and those who are enslaved by the past is this: tenacious pursuit of healing.

Your past will either haunt you or it will break you enough to reach for rescue. Which will you choose? Haunting? Repeating the same sins that were done to you? Or will you be one who says, "Enough!" Will you chase instead after Jesus, the Author and source of all healing?

2 Corinthians 7:10 has some interesting things to say for those who are haunted by difficulties and pain. "Distress that drives us to God does that. It turns us around. It gets us back in the way of salvation. We never regret that kind of pain. But those who let distress drive them away from God are full of regrets, end up on a deathbed of regrets."

The truth? We all have distress from yesterday. The question becomes will you let it drive you to God or from God? He is able to transform your heart. He is. I'm living proof. He can salve the bitterness, slake the fear, give you a heart of compassion and forgiveness. But you have to choose. Actively choose. Running from God will only lead to a lifetime of bad choices and deep regret.

Which will you choose?

Splenda, Sophie, and Sunshine

2010-06-29T10:37:00.000-05:00

Before the Christy Awards, I had a nervous stomach. Wish I didn't. But I guess I'm human (well, let's hope so.) Sophie kept telling me to calm down, which I tried to do, but my body rebelled. In retrospect, I should've chilled, but alas, everything is easier to say in retrospect.

We'd joked before the ceremony that I could make a scene if I didn't win (believe me, this was a joke). How? By eating a Splenda packet and swelling up. Apparently, I am allergic to nothing in this entire world, except Splenda. Makes my throat swell up and my lips tingle. I set Sophie's joke aside and went on fretting.

I rehearsed the thank you I'd say if I won, which turned out to be a futile exercise (even if I did win, this year the winners didn't give speeches). But since I don't like to waste a good three hours of mental wrestling, here's what I would've said:

"For consider your calling, brethren, that there were not many wise according to the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble; but God has chosen the foolish things of the world to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to shame the things which are strong, and the base things of the world and the despised God has chosen, the things that are not, so that He may nullify the things that are, so that no man may boast before God." 1 Corinthians 1:26-29.

Thank You God for stooping to earth to choose weak little me. Thank You for using my small words to touch others. Thank You that You are the God who sees my unspoken words. Thank You for sustaining me on this writing journey. Thank You for my cheerleading family, for my critique group, for Andy, my editor, for Beth, my former agent, and Esther my current one. Thank You for the staff at Zondervan who shepherded this book to publication. But all the thanks turn brightly to You, Jesus. Any scrap of fame, any hint of glory must be turned on its head for the sake of Your fame and glory.

The speech didn't make its way to the microphone. When they read the first line of the winning book, I knew this. I had peace. And joy. And a little disappointment too. It's hard to work year in and year out as a writer, shouldering deadlines and bad reviews and angry readers. (It's also hard to navigate fame and praise--probably more so). I guess a part of me wanted to be recognized for all those hours at the keyboard, to prove to me that I did what was valuable. That others saw. That industry professionals believed me to have talent.

My friend D'Ann reminded me that it's really what God thinks that matters. He is the One who sees every single word typed or thought or written. He is THE Word. He is the One who spoke this earth into existence. He loves me. Oh how He loves me.

I rested in that as I applauded the winners. And then my daughter Sophie slipped something my way. A Splenda packet. Her sly smile tore into me in the best possible way. I laughed. She laughed. And I remembered how important it is not to take myself (and awards ceremonies) so seriously.

I didn't eat the packet. I did laugh. And I did learn a lesson in the futility of fretting.

Our Fantastic Road Trip!

2010-06-28T16:48:00.000-05:00

Here is daughter Sophie at Ouachita Baptist University. She liked it!

Proof of the loooooooong drive. And Sophie's craziness.

We went inside the arch. Small!!!!

Quote from Sophie: "This looks like the very first muppet." :)

Me staring at art in Chicago.

Sunny Sophie.

Fun times at the Christys with my agent, Esther.

Me and my friend Lisa Samson. She's amazing!

Me and novelist friend Alice!

Please help me title my next book!

2010-06-28T11:52:00.000-05:00

Click here to take survey

This is for what was formerly known as Authentic Parenting in a Postmodern Culture. I'd really appreciate your feedback!

Oh redemption!

2010-06-25T06:00:00.007-05:00

Julia, our youngest daughter, met Jesus in France. She knew about Him before that, of course, but she gave her heart and life to Him there as she struggled in several different ways. I will never forget her baptism on a public beach in Antibes.

Patrick asked her if she loved Jesus and if she had made Him Lord and Savior.

"Yes," she answered.

He baptized her in the Mediterranean Sea in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. When she came out of the water, her face shined with joy.

The Devil's Greatest Weapon: Discouragement

2010-06-24T05:53:00.009-05:00

I'm convinced that the devil's greatest weapon is plain ol' discouragement. He whispers things in our ears, helping us along the pathway of discouragement.

We look at others who don't seem to suffer and ask why we have a hard life.
We covet someone else's lot in life.
We allow our minds to go down streets they shouldn't go, living in the treacherous land of What If.
We listen to the tidbits of worthlessness he says, then rehearse them. And then we say them back to ourselves!
We view a problem as gigantic, and our heart and courage weakens

Here's a quote that might help:

"Are you in the midst of a situation where, as you pray, you find yourself putting the problem first? If so, you're starting where you should end. You're rehearsing the problem, making it seem larger than it is, when what you need to do is rehearse God's greatness and bigness. Then the problem shrinks to its right portions." Mark Buchanan, The Rest of God, page 74-75.

Oh to kick discouragement in its teeth by simply believing God is bigger than any obstacle. Oh to have that faith today!

A great book and a getaway contest.

2010-06-23T05:34:00.003-05:00

My friend Ashley Weis wrote a great novel. It garnered lots of interest in the publishing world. After much prayer and seeking, she and her hubby George (who is my amazing graphic designer) decided to publish this book about porn and its effects on both side of the screen. It's a brave book. An important one.

If you decide to pre-order it, there's a really cool contest they're running for a getaway. A really great getaway. It's worth the book to enter because you'll get an important read about restoration and a chance to go somewhere romantic. Read the Exposed contest rules here.

Exposed: A Novel

Allyson Graham, marriage counselor and lover of love, lived a life of romance few could imagine. Until her husband's secret addiction stared at her from the computer screen. Will she be able to forgive the man who lied to her all of those precious years?

Follow her painful story alongside the heartbreaking story of Taylor Adams, a young girl searching for her worth in the world. As Allyson struggles to forgive her husband for lying about his addiction, Taylor naively falls into the same self-destructive industry and discovers that the attention and fun is nothing like she thought it would be.

Discover the hearts of these two women as they search for beauty after the rain.

Here's my endorsement:

Honest, raw, redemptive, surprising, fearless—Exposed is storytelling at its finest. Ashley Weis has woven two compelling stories into one, highlighting the devastation of both sides of the porn screen.
Mary DeMuth, author
Thin Places and Life in Defiance

Pictures from a recent photo shoot with the kids

2010-06-22T05:17:00.002-05:00

I have great kids!

Circling back around

2010-06-21T01:27:00.011-05:00

Have you ever felt like God has taken you back to a path you've been on before? Recently I've felt this way about worry and finances. I've had brilliant times of faith where I truly believed God would provide, and the anxiety level I experienced during deprivation was low.

And then there are times like recently where I can't stop worrying about stupid money. God has reminded me of the leaner, scarier times, when I seemed to have faith. And I've asked Him to please help me remember better. To remember enough to act differently, believe differently.

It probably circles back to security and control, if I let myself think about it enough. Money=Security. Having money=Control. Why is it that I want total, easy provision where I'll never need faith when a life of faith is what pleases God? I fear that money sometimes becomes an idol that way. It replaces God because it makes life less worrisome. But it saps my need to lay it all down, to trust.

I'm circled back on this as a reminder. God is my provider, whether times are lean or plenty. He owns it all. Now all I need to do is learn this lesson right. Why? Because it's hard to keep circling back on the same old problem.

Pictures from my writers retreat in NC!

2010-06-19T05:00:00.008-05:00

What a well needed respite. God must've known I needed the ocean! And I'd not seen the Atlantic from the US side! (I said hello to it in Portugal instead).

Pictured are five of us authors, the neighborhood the beach house lived, the boardwalk to Sunset Beach, my friend MaryBeth writing a note to the Kindred Spirit mailbox (which her excellent beach read, The Mailbox, was based on), the water, and a beautiful shell a little smaller than my foot.

The Missing Ingredient

2010-06-18T10:36:00.000-05:00

Sometimes it happens by neglect. Sometimes, hurry. I'm not sure which it was this time around, but nonetheless I realized it last night. Perhaps my discouragement about my career runs deeper without it. What am I talking about?

The Bible.

My lifeline, my encouragement, my perplexity, my hope. Why do I let it slip from my grasp when I most need it? I'm running back to its pages today, resting in its embrace and tangle of life-giving words. Here's a sample. I pray these holy words touch you today.

2 Corinthians 4:7 NLT: We now have this light shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure. This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves.

Romans 5:5 NLT: And this hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us, because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love.

Hebrews 12:1, 2 NAS: Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.

Psalm 3:3 NAS: But You, O LORD, are a shield about me, My glory, and the One who lifts my head.

Psalm 145:9 NIV: The LORD is good to all; he has compassion on all he has made.

John 3:30 NLT: He must become greater and greater, and I must become less and less.

2 Corinthian 3:17 NIV: Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.

Dear Jesus, I want freedom. I want You to lift my head, to feel Your compassion. I want joy to typify my life, to see beyond circumstances to grasp joy. You are the splendid power inside. Forgive me for squelching it by magnifying my own issues above Your kingdom and glory. Fill my heart afresh. Refresh my intentions. Be so near I can taste Your presence. I love you. I love you. I love you. Amen.

Happy Birthday, dear Julia!

2010-06-16T16:34:00.000-05:00

She turns twelve today, my youngest. What a beautiful girl she is with a sweet, sensitive, caring heart. I'm privileged to be her mommy.

Her birthday is usually right around Father's Day, which brings an ache to me as a fatherless girl. I wrote about her birth, Father's Day, and my heart in a poem for Thin Places when she was turning nine. May it bless you all.

Two come by, year by year
At least for the last nine
When sometimes they collide
Birth shaking hands with Death,
Death not returning the favor

Father’s Day is never easy
for the fatherless
Half-orphaned, starved to the bone
For Daddy love
No man can fill

Thirty years is a terrible lifetime
to weave through days
without his hand
his words
his I love yous

Nine years ago, she yowled hello
to her Daddy
So alive, she bawled and bawled
He held her
I melted
Crumbled

I will not know
what my daughter
wears like a birthright
around her heart
Her daddy’s love

But I can taste it
I can see it
I can marvel
from the sidelines of parenthood

God’s father-heart knew
I needed resurrection
Julia’s life on my day of sorrow
Joy mingled with my gaping heart
united in her

Strange how life
Can’t be helped
Or hindered
Even when Death snatches
fathers away

Resurrection is always
The answer to grief
New life, new yowls, new hopes
Mingled with
the life that was,
old tears,
old cynicisms

Thank You kindly
for the juxtaposition,
Jesus of the resurrection,
the One who weeps on Father’s Day
Alongside me

Who pulled His beard
While the world ripped his flesh
And His father died to Him
in that terrible moment
history hinged upon

You understand resurrection
Invented it
Wove it into my life
on Father’s Day
when my daughter
Cried her way into my arms

What will she be when she grows up?

2010-06-14T05:06:00.006-05:00

Last summer, my eldest daughter Sophie went to Accra, Ghana. She played with children, shared the gospel, and saw God answer prayers. She has a heart for those less fortunate, and she's fluent in French. Perhaps God will use all this someday in a cool, unique way.

It's a privilege to see her walk through these kinds of decisions, particularly as she tries to figure out where she should go to college. We'll be taking a road trip soon to see a few more colleges. I love her faith. I love the way she says, "Mom, I just feel that I'll know, that God will show me when I step on the campus I'm supposed to be at."

So I walk alongside her as she prays, seeks, and loves this big beautiful world. My heart is full because hers is captured by Jesus. She wants to live a big story, and I enjoy turning the page.

One Million Years Ago

2010-06-12T05:52:00.000-05:00

It seems like a lifetime ago that we flew to France as a family to explore our calling and see if that's where God would have us serve. This picture was taken at Schipol Airport in Amsterdam. The kids did really well when we traveled, though they were all very tired. They were 10, 7, and 5.

A year later, we flew again, this time with our cat in tow and ten pieces of luggage. We spent a week at our staff conference (again, with the kitty), then drove to Southern France. We slept on cots and mattresses that people let us borrow. For a time we had no fridge. In a flash, France absorbed us. We had to learn how to shop, how to get things like bus passes and schooling and electric bills and drivers licenses. We had to navigate healthcare, as I spent the first two months with an undiagnosed illness. We had friends in who helped us with the kids during the transition. And we had many, many guests.

We got to know our team, started dreaming about the church we'd plant. Within three weeks, our kids were in school. I will never forget how it felt to drop them off. Excruciating. Alarming. All three were nervous and edgy, and tears came easily.

But we faced our time in France with hope. Little did we know that so much would fall apart in a very short time, and continue to haunt us throughout our 2 1/2 years there. Even so, as I look back on it, I'm so proud of my kids. They were brave. They were (and are) my heroes. They endured so much. If I could give them a standing ovation, I would. They showed me what it meant to suffer gracefully.

Praise Him under Open Skies

2010-06-10T05:37:00.011-05:00

There's something mystical and enormous about a large, open sky. Growing up around mountains, I've come to appreciate open skies, the way they speak of God, his vastness, his otherness. That's probably why I love David Crowder's song of the same. I used to crank "Praise Him Under Open Skies" when I went running in France, even though the skies were obscured by foothills and the Alps.

Now under the wide expanse of sky that defines my little corner of Texas, I'm praising Him still. Thankful. Amazed. The One who fashioned it all, who flung stars hither and yon in a creation dance, loves me. He loves me. I may feel small under the canopy of sky, but I am deeply and wonderfully loved by the Creator.

Alleluia!

Dancing in Africa...a story of worship

2010-06-08T21:35:00.000-05:00

When my son Aidan was twelve years old, he had a dream. He wanted to help provide water for a village on the other side of the world. Through a series of amazing events, he helped raise money for a well project in Northern Ghana. A few months after he told me about his dream, we stood on the dusty ground, making new friends.

If you asked him what he remembered most about the trip, he’d tell you it was the night he let loose and danced with his new friends. I envied him, so free, so alive. He abandoned himself to the dance as worship music wafted through the village. I believe God ignited a deep fire in him that evening to the beat of drums and joyful singing.

Now, back in suburbia, Aidan worships freely. Others have noticed. Some have said, "I really like that he doesn’t care what people think. You can tell he loves Jesus by the way he worships." I love that he learned that abandon through the arts, integrated into a village from years and years ago. He dances because they danced.

One of the best things I’ve heard in recent years that has freed me is that God has created us each uniquely in the way we like to worship. Some worship via music, others through service. Folks like my husband find connection with God through theological study, while others need silence and solitude. Nature is another pathway. Mine is music. Aidan’s is music. And as we worship side by side, we see an aspect of God we don’t see apart from that artistic expression.

Ghana opened my son up. While he traveled there to help provide clean drinking water, he left there in love with the Living Water, and he’s spilling over onto the lives of many.

Speaking Vs. Busy Family

2010-06-07T15:34:00.000-05:00

I love to speak. Love to share what Jesus is doing in my heart and life. There was a time when I aggressively pursued speaking engagements, believing them to be my pathway to more book sales. While speaking is probably the best way to sell books, I soon got overwhelmed with travel and preparations. As a result, I've let go a bit.

Why? First because God has slowed me down, thankfully.

Second, because my kids are important to me. Now that all three are in secondary schools, it seems their need for an available Mommy who listens is escalated. Next year my eldest daughter graduates from high school. I need to be there, savoring every moment.

I've learned to rest in the pace of life God assigns to me. And I get excited to see how He brings in speaking engagements. I am also embracing the whimsical way He provides financially for our family.

Rest is a good thing. There will be time for me to be a speaker, a time to embrace that calling. But right now, it's time to speak into the lives of my kids.

I love this time of year: Garden highlights

2010-06-04T18:46:00.000-05:00

Pictures of the front of our house, the window boxes my husband put up, the flowers, and my veggie garden.

The Dream

2010-06-04T10:05:00.001-05:00

I awoke with that strange feeling that my dream was reality, only to find out it wasn't. My family and I had moved into a huge house on several acres, but the previous owners had left a lot of their stuff everywhere. Apparently they had an open door policy with their friends and neighbors, so as I was sleeping, a woman came into my bedroom and told me it was time to wake up.

I didn't know her. She was surprised to see me and not her friend in bed. I wore a nightgown and wanted to dress, but she wouldn't leave. I couldn't find any of my clothes, so I had to put on the former owner's clothes, feeling strange and self conscious.

Then the former woman's husband came in and told me all about his infidelity, wearing it like a badge of honor. Ew. All I wanted was for these strangers to leave. But more than that, I wanted my old life back, in my own home, with my own clothes. I wanted my smaller house and the comfort it afforded. Then I woke up.

So I'm starting the day with contentment. For a home that's homey, a family that's near, my own clothes, and no strangers coming in. Perhaps there's some strange spiritual lesson in this dream. Perhaps I've worried too much about making money and this is my warning not to want something bigger. (Not that I want a different house.) I don't know. Or maybe it's the chicken I ate last night taking revenge on my dreams.

Or maybe it's nothing at all.

Community: Idolizing, Experiencing Disillusionment, now Embracing?

2010-06-03T10:23:00.000-05:00

We moved to France to plant a church. We knew we'd be having folks in our house all the time. We knew we'd be hosts. And all that turned out to be very true. For a long time, we reveled in community, but then it became messy. So messy that it strangled us. At the end of our first year on the mission field, counselors diagnosed us both with PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). This made sense to me, because every time I flew home to the states for business, all I could say about our experience was, "I feel like I've been in a war zone."

We had many people over. A typical week we'd have 10 or so for lunch, then 20+ for dinner, plus another dinner with a family. This was a light week. When we returned to the US, the last thing I wanted to do was cook and have people over. Complete exhaustion and burnout laid me low for three years. I'm finally in that place where we can invite friends over, where we can welcome community into our lives in a deeper way.

Which is why I clipped out the top picture from Southern Living this month. I remembered our time in France, how we had two large tables outside and constantly fed people under the expanse of sky. In our home here, I've longed for an excessively long outdoor table, chunky and able to sit 15-20. I found this one, but it's waaaaay beyond our budget, so I'm waiting to see how beautifully God will provide one someday. I'm just thankful I'm thinking about embracing community again.

The second picture is the postcard I designed for our very first bi-lingual church service in France. It's a bit bittersweet to see it and remember, but I'm also very grateful that our friends Nicole and Vincent Derieux are doing an amazing, beautiful work in our stead. That makes it all worthwhile.

So, with trepidation, I'm stepping forward into community, even though I first idolized it, and then became disillusioned by it. Just wanting a big long table is a good first step. May the Lord fill the table as He sees fit.

Easily Startled

2010-06-02T09:22:00.001-05:00

I startle easily. Everyone in my family knows this. On some level, I knew this was because of the sexual abuse I experienced as a child, but today I'm connecting the dots further. One of the most sacred parts of me, my sexuality, was stolen. And when it was stolen, it startled me. Took me off guard.

As a child I'd have these terrible chasing dreams where perpetrators would run after me. I'd always end up running on a pier, with nowhere to run but the air and water beyond the pier's end. And when I leaped into the air, a gunshot rang out. I woke with a startle, wondering if I were dying.

And maybe I was. Maybe my soul was dying from the abuse. The dream symbolized how I felt, how helpless I'd become--without rescue. I had nowhere to turn in the dream, and even when I jumped to save myself, someone shot me, and I started the process of death.

Why all this today? I don't know. While I've been deeply healed, I think I'll always startle easily. It's a painful leftover from a traumatic past. How can that be hopeful? Well, maybe you're hollering at yourself for not getting over your own abuse. Maybe you're angry that you still have things you wished you didn't do (that directly relate to the abuse). Maybe you think NO healing has taken place because you still have residual reactions.

Don't believe that lie. You are healing. And someday you'll be fully healed in heaven. The scars and startles are little leftovers to gently remind you that you're human, and that you all-the-more need Jesus.

Undone again by Oswald

2010-06-01T09:16:00.000-05:00

I love how this daisy pokes its way through sticker bushes. Sometimes I feel that way about life, that prickles abound, but God calls me to grow still higher, above the brambles, reaching to Him.

And sometimes I taste life beyond the matrix of everyday life. I read a post by a friend about learning to live with less, and I'm humbled afresh that I worry about my "too much."

Always, He calls me deeper, higher, wider than comfort. Often He speaks to my soul, beckoning me beyond the mundane toward relationship and trust.

Today Oswald Chambers reminded me of the true life God wants. "It is much easier to do something than to trust in God; we mistake panic for inspiration."

I've been living in that place of panic for several months. I've taken panic into myself, digested it, then produced more work and more to-do lists than humanly possible. Has that frenetic activity helped me rise above the thorns? No. Instead, trapped in myself and worry, I've settled into the thorns, let them have their way. And I'm bleeding.

Again Oswald slays me: "We would far rather work for God than believe in Him."I prefer activity over trust. Do you? And yet, belief and trust in Jesus should be the hallmark of my life. Why do I think I can solve all my problems merely by hard work, relegating God to the background? He is that splendid power within, but I forget so easily. I prefer cultivating my own splendid power.

"The degree of panic is the degree of the lack of personal spiritual experience." Oswald, please say no more! How long have I panicked instead of prayed?

And yet, there is hope for little me. My petals still splay in worship to the Son, and He causes growth despite my frail worries. Panic won't grow me; He does. My plans will burn into ash, but His will flourish. Because He is God. And I am not.

Memorial Day

2010-05-31T09:33:00.002-05:00

For those who have sacrificed, thank you.

The Night I Danced in France

2010-05-29T18:06:00.000-05:00

France had a way of beating me down. Not the whole country, but the sum of our experience there. We'd made friends who were leaving the country and decided to throw an enormous, lavish party.

I didn't really want to go. I was in that place where I'd rather stay at home, safe inside the four walls of our tiny place, and be quiet and sad. But this was such a big celebration, I knew I couldn't bow out.

So Patrick and I went. We ate. We talked. We interacted with new people.

And then the dancing began. At first I didn't want to. I wanted to go to the bathroom and cry alone. But the beat of the music wooed me. Patrick and I danced. And danced some more. And the more my feet lifted off the floor, the lighter my mood became.

The wife of the couple came to me that night. She'd known I'd been battling depression there. She said something like, "See Mary, sometimes you just have to have fun, to let go."

That dance came back to me today. How free I felt in the moment, even when the moment was surrounded by heartache, fear, and the deepest fatigue and loneliness I'd ever experienced. The dance was a light in that darkness.

Which leads me to ask: How can you step outside your pain RIGHT NOW and dance? What one thing can you do to break the cycle of sadness? How can you risk, step out of your comfort zone, and fly?

Approval & Money

2010-05-27T09:57:00.000-05:00

"Look at me!
Look at me!
Look at me NOW!
It is fun to have fun
But you have to know how."
— Dr. Seuss (The Cat in the Hat)

How many times am I like the Cat in the Hat? Yesterday I sensed it as the words came out of my mouth. "You should've seen me at boot camp today!" Before I could continue, I stopped. Listened to my own words. All about me. Look at me. I am special. Please notice.

Later, I explained my involvement in the Lausanne Congress to a friend. Although I said I was humbled to be selected to be a part of the event, what I really wanted the person to know was that I had been selected. Ew.

I don't want to be the Cat in the Hat, putting on a show for everyone to watch. I don't want to be narcissistic. I don't like me when I'm that way. Because in losing me, I find me. In letting go of the need to be recognized and heralded, I find peace.

So why do I grab at it? Most likely insecurity. I don't yet feel fully loved by God. I don't yet understand His complete acceptance. I can write words that sound like I do, but in reality, those moments are fleeting.

And in my writing career/ministry, I've been deeply discouraged. From the outside it may seem strange that I struggle in this way, what with nine books released. It boils down to simple economics. I work very hard, then get discouraged when my hard work doesn't seem to merit financial remuneration. That's discouraging.

Yet, in the midst of that, God keeps sending me mountains of encouragement--the very words I long to hear and read. He has truly, deeply confirmed my calling to write and speak, on every possible level (except financially).

Here's where I'm wonky (and there are many places in me that are wonky): I equate my worth with either praise or money for something I've done.

And yet, Jesus loves me. Oh to truly only need His love, to not need to preen for approval or pine for money.

Jesus, set me free. Help me. Forgive me. Set me in a new place where I understand my worth based on You. With tears in my eyes, I plead that You would burn my calling deep inside and speak life into my tired heart. Help me to live for the Audience of One. Amen.

The currency of the Kingdom: People

2010-05-25T15:58:00.000-05:00

I made many friends in Northern Ghana when I visited there in 2008 with my then 12-year-old son Aidan. The trip was for him, to help him realize his dream of bringing water to the village of Sankpem. Unfortunately, we stood on shale, on two spots that the earth wouldn't give up water--the wells he helped fund, unsuccessful. Now, two years later, a pipeline is making its way to the village, a completion of his dream, though in a different way.

Before his trip, Aidan's grandparents sent some money his way to give away as he felt led. So he did, with beautiful abandon. He helped a twenty-something girl realize a dream to become a batik artist. Five months later, she died of malaria.

In God's strange economy, money doesn't always equal redemption. Or rescue. Or help. Sometimes it complicates. Sometimes it confuses. Often it is simply a shady scrap of the genuine reality of God. I fear I've trusted in the Almighty Dollar far more than the True Almighty One.

Aidan and I saw Jesus in Ghana. In so many cashless ways. We spoke with a friend who said, "For ten years I didn't know when my next meal would come," and we marveled, we whose bellies have always been full.

We give when we can. We hope we give when it hurts. We long to sacrifice so our brothers and sisters across the world can eat and live and breathe. But that's not the essence of the gospel, not as Aidan sees it, at least. He's fourteen now, and longs to go back to see his friends. He became a man in that dusty place, found parts of Jesus he'd never experienced in America. He made friends he'll never forget.

That's the currency of this beautiful kingdom. Not money. Not goods. But people.

Thy Kingdom Come

2010-05-23T20:39:00.000-05:00

They haunt me. They beautify me. The faces of those I met in Northern Ghana. They remind me of a kingdom where there will no longer be tears or poverty or war.

I want to live for Your kingdom, Lord.

Forgive me for thinking of building my own. For forgetting the distressing disguise of Jesus on the face of so many. For wanting to store up trinkets here instead of treasures in Your kingdom.

Thy kingdom come. In my life. Right now.

Empathy and Feeling Alone and Jesus

2010-05-20T09:54:00.001-05:00

I had the privilege of taking the Strengths Finder when we were church planters in France. I remember three of my strengths today:

1. Achiever (Oh how this makes sense! Those of you who have read my blog any length of time know I tend to equate my worth with what I produce. I'm learning to let go of that, but the DNA of achievement is still woven through me.)

2. Communicator. (Yep, this makes sense. I'm almost a hyper-communicator, written and spoken.)

3. Empathy. (I actually think this one was #2, something that surprised the person who administered the test. "You don't see a lot of achieving empathizers," he said.)

Empathy is where I get in trouble. While I love that God has made me empathetic, it does have its negatives.

Positive: I can meet someone and almost always assess their emotional state.

Negative: If someone is distraught, it's hard for me to get beyond that. I tend to take in their pain, feel it, and then never let go.

Positive: I listen well and help people feel understood.

Negative: I can't get a person's sad story out of my head. It replays. It affects my mood. (This is why I could not be a counselor.)

Positive: I can see potential problems and discern people's hearts in a few meetings.

Negative: This can make me overly cautious around people, or I can enmesh myself. (This is why I learned I couldn't be on a church board, the kind where you know all the dirt about people. I can't separate that dirt from day to day living. If my hubby became a pastor again, I'd have to ask him not to tell me about all the stuff.)

Here's the odd part of empathy for me. Although it endears me to folks, and folks to me, it can be isolating. And it can break my heart. Proverbs 4:23 says: "Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life."

When I receive people's family secrets for this blog, I cringe. For the moment, I am with the person, feeling the pain, dying inside, wishing and praying for healing. It's hard for me to shrug the pain off. Yesterday when I was a guest on Moody Midday Connection, we received three calls, all very, very hard to hear. Tales of abuse. Unmentionable pain. Broken lives. In the aftermath of the interview, I received several emails of folks sharing their broken hearts, their fractured stories. I couldn't shake the sadness. I kept it to myself. And I felt alone, carrying a burden way too heavy.

I need to guard my empathetic heart. (And please hear me when I say I'm not 100% empathetic. I fail in this area also). I need to throw my burdens at Jesus' feet. And I need to learn how to cast others' burdens there as well. Only then will my load lighten.

But even as I type this, I wonder. How must Jesus feel. He possesses the most empathy on earth and heaven. Hebrews 4:15 says, "This High Priest of ours understands our weaknesses, for he faced all of the same testings we do, yet he did not sin." He understands. He shoulders. He knows. He's been here. What must it be like to be Jesus? He knows EVERY painful story of every single human being. Even the secret stories. And He graciously bears them all.

My own inability to bear the weight just makes me love Him more.

If our God is for us, then what can stand against?

2010-05-17T08:30:00.002-05:00

We've been singing this song "Our God" by Chris Tomlin in worship lately. It's a great reminder of God's otherness and His power to help us even amidst opposition. Flashes of our time in France blew before me in memory. The times we stood up and no one stood with us. The times of loneliness. And yet, God was for us. Even when we stood alone. He was there all along.

Ever ask yourself: What is the Gospel?

2010-05-15T01:06:00.000-05:00

The Gospel: The Most Sacrificial Love Story in History.

The players: A Triune God. A rebellious people. A scrappy enemy.

The plot: The scrappy enemy of God entices a people to rebel and seek life outside their creator. No sacrifice made by the people in penitence satisfies a holy God, nor can they pull themselves up by the bootstraps to walk the way He would have them walk. So He becomes the solution by sending Himself in the flesh, providing an example and empathy. Once on earth, He destroys the paltry, cheap tricks and works and words of the enemy by living a life of irresistibility, sinlessness, and radical love. He washed the rebels’ feet with his sacred hands and told them to do likewise. Then He became the ultimate object lesson by giving those same hands and feet as nail-platforms. The perfect, irresistible, holy, beautiful, loving One chose the devil’s tool (death) for our sake, obliterating our sin, throwing it farther than east from west, inviting us back to Eden, to perfect, open, whole, healed relationship. And after his heart beat no more, he rested in the earth while the devil sang shrill victory songs, only to hear his whiny whimper when the God of Everything rose again, thrust away death’s icy grip, and revealed afresh just who God was and is and is to be.

That is the Gospel.

Faithful in little

2010-05-14T09:24:00.000-05:00

If you are faithful in little things, you will be faithful in large ones. But if you are dishonest in little things, you won't be honest with greater responsibilities. Luke 16:10, NLT

I have to remind myself of this verse when I see others surpass me. I hate to admit this out loud here on the blogosphere, but it's sometimes hard when I see other authors garner huge sales. It's not that I wish them ill. I'm always happy to hear authors succeed. It proves that it can happen. But there is a little part of me that looks back on my journey and wonders how long I'll be asked to be faithful in little things.

Then again, I know I must celebrate the amazing places God has brought me on this writing journey. The talks I've been able to have. The lives impacted (praise be to Jesus, not me). Nine books published.

I recently read a review of one my books that really startled and blessed me. Someone called my writing "great." That's been my desire all these twenty years of writing--to learn the craft, to grow as a writer, to write the next book better than the last. To be faithful in the small things. To be okay without fame or sales. To plow forward, improving, expanding, learning.

And sometimes the satisfaction of writing a well-turned phrase is its own reward. Sometimes an email from a reader is enough. I sense God's smile there. But then when I, like Peter, look at the waves of finances and "why-me" instead of Jesus' steady gaze, I want the "large things." The bigger platform. The greater sales. What I perceive as the reward for years and years of being faithful in little things.

Why?

Stupid ol' money. Not for me. Not for ease. But for my children's college. To free up my hubby to pursue more dreams. To, in a sense, finally earn income greater than what seems to be minimum wage (It's painful to calculate hours to pay...).

Yes, pursuing writing is a dream. A dream come true. But it's also a costly risk with no guarantees. I am walking this path by choice, writing word upon word, trusting God to provide as He is so apt to do. I am learning contentment. I choose to smile, to trust that the little things are things God sees, and that rewards are not merely financial (and if I measure my success there, I'll lose sight of what genuine Kingdom success is.) And when I hear words like, "She just doesn't have the sales," from a publishing entity, I try not to cry, try not to take it personally, try to hope that publishers will continue to take a risk publishing someone without star-power numbers.

God knows. He knows. I thank Him ardently that He didn't entrust greater responsibilities to me when I started writing. I could not have handled that spiritually. He whispered this in my ear right before I met my first agent, "Mary, you have withstood many trials, but will you withstand the trial of notoriety."

I want to withstand it well. Lord willing. But right now, I will keep being faithful, as God gives me strength, in the little things. I will trust that He will grow them as He prefers.

I cried twice already

2010-05-13T08:30:00.000-05:00

Perhaps it's an emotional day, though I didn't anticipate it would be when it started. I do have several friends battling awful, scary diseases, and a distant family member who has died. One friend has surgery today, something I dreamed about last night. My heart is prayerful.

But it still surprised me when I listened to National Public Radio about the devastating aftershocks of Nashville's floods. They praised volunteer organizations, then the host said something like, "But this doesn't begin to measure the aid provided by local churches." A man broke in, a simple man from a nearby church. I don't even remember what he said, exactly, but just hearing his voice made me cry. He spoke of the honor it was to help, how the church should be the first to respond. And here he was giving his life, time, skills, and heart to strangers. Selflessly.

Then I turned on the TV while I ate my 9 grain hot cereal to a show on HGTV called Holmes on Homes. It's where this contractor (Mike Holmes) goes into folks' houses that have significant issues. Almost always the family has been taken advantage of by unscrupulous contractors. This particular episode, the family experienced a fire, then while the "contractors" were doing everything slipshod, a grandmother and a father died. In a month's time. They didn't have it in them to monitor the work. And the work was bad. Raccoons scuttled through the home. And the contractors stole things from the homeowners including banking information, writing checks on their account.

When Mike Holmes put his arm on the woman's shoulder, I lost it again. He told her he would fix what was damaged, would deal with insurance, would restore the home. He rescued her.

I resonated with both because both men represented Jesus to me. The One who didn't have to, but chose to stoop to my life, look at the pain there, and choose to "be the church" to me. To restore what had been devastated by enemies. To create beauty from ashes. To right the wrongs. To come alongside. To weep with me, then selflessly repair my heart.

Thank You, Jesus. And thank you to the people in this world who show me Him. To those who restore and volunteer and sacrifice, know this: Your work is not in vain. It is seen by the One who sees in secret.

Jesus, as my friends suffer, help me to be one who comes alongside, who can be the church. I pray for my family that You would bring comfort. I pray for those in Nashville who are digging out of wet drywall and broken dreams. Bring healing and new life. Make me a believer in You who sacrifices, who puts others' needs before my own. And, Jesus, it's my prayer that those who follow after You would represent You beautifully today.

Life in Defiance releases today!

2010-05-11T05:08:00.000-05:00

For those of you waiting to find out the conclusion of the Defiance, TX trilogy, today's the day to find out. Order the book here. Enjoy!

Recent photo shoot

2010-05-10T10:45:00.000-05:00

I had the privilege of shooting some of my daughter's friends for their choir banquet. Isn't everyone amazing?

By the way, I'm still trying to "earn" money for my trip to Cape Town South Africa. If you'd like your portrait done, let me know. Here's where I explain how it works.

I can do family shots, author photos, senior pictures, promo pics, etc.

Proverb for the day

2010-05-09T07:45:00.000-05:00

Let your eyes look straight ahead,
fix your gaze directly before you.

Make level paths for your feet
and take only ways that are firm.

Do not swerve to the right or the left;
keep your foot from evil.

Proverbs 4:25-27

Perception versus Reality

2010-05-08T11:47:00.000-05:00

I perceive myself to be a wimp. The reality, if I'm honest, is that I'm not. I may not be Susie the Workout Queen by any stretch, but I can run a few miles, do a few girl pushups, and survive an hour-long boot camp (barely). Recently a triathlete wrote that I wasn't a novice at it since I'd done triathlons before. But I still feel like a neophyte.

Why is that?

Because my own personal perception of myself doesn't match the reality. I wonder if it's that way with you. Do you perceive yourself as less than?

I remember hearing once that folks perceived me as shy, yet I don't see myself this way. It plunged me into some introspection. Was I shy? Were others' perceptions of me accurate? In this case, my reality didn't match up with what other people thought. I'm not shy.

Which goes to show we all need some sort of grounding force, Someone who accurately knows us. That Someone is Jesus. He sees me as I am. He perceives the depths of me. He is not fickle. He doesn't overemphasize one part of me and de-emphasize another. And through it all, He loves me anyway.

He encourages, "You're not a wimp, Mary.

He soothes, "They simply don't know the outgoing you, Mary."

And He corrects, "Stop beating yourself up."

And He loves, "I made you to be you, and I love you."

He is my Reality, to be sure. My perceptions may cave with emotions, or be influenced by the opinions of others, but He stays the same. Mind if I rest there today?

The Sun Shines Brighter when the Fog Lifts

2010-05-07T07:20:00.000-05:00

Have you ever been in a fog?

I've been there, slogging my way through, not sure what I'm thinking, not sure what life's all about. I compare it a bit to stupor. There's this vague sense that something's not quite right, or a memory has more meaning but we can't mine it.

I had one of those benign memories--one I'd repeated to others in detail, thinking it a happy memory. But one day the fog lifted. The sun shone. And I realized that the memory was anything but benign. It was something I'd placed parameters on in my mind, making it palatable to me. When I stopped a moment and thought about it in light of the new realization, I grieved. With the parameters removed, the memory's starkness glared at me.

I can't remember ever crying that hard. A weight shifted onto my chest, burying me in grief. I gulped in sobs. And I prayed. And others prayed.

Then I saw Him. The Light shining after the fog. Jesus entered into the memory, scooped me up, held me to Himself. I forgot the fog in the moment, forgot the weight on my chest, forgot the grief. In a very real way, He re-made the memory, reminding me of His sovereignty over all--even difficult, foggy memories.

I pray the same for you today. That in the midst of a painful memory, you'll be able to see Jesus there, grieving alongside, holding you. May His light burn away the pain. Even today.

The Simplicity of Following Jesus

2010-05-05T11:49:00.000-05:00

The Lord brought to mind two things today while I worked out under a relentless Texas sun. The first, a Scripture: "But I am afraid that, as the serpent deceived Eve by his craftiness, your minds will be led astray from the simplicity and purity of devotion to Christ" (2 Corinthians 11:3).

The second, the lyrics of a song I sang at Young Life so many years ago.

He's Everything to Me:

by Ralph Carmichael

In the stars His handiwork I see,
On the wind He speaks with majesty,
Though He ruleth over land and sea,
What is that to me?

I will celebrate Nativity,
For it has a place in history,
Sure, He came to set His people free,
What is that to me?

Till by faith I met Him face to face,
and I felt the wonder of His grace,
Then I knew that He was more than just a
God who didn't care,
That lived a way out there and

Now He walks beside me day by day,
Ever watching o'er me lest I stray,
Helping me to find that narrow way,
He's Everything to me.

(Last time I wrote about the Young Life songbook, I got several requests to purchase it. You can buy used copies on Amazon, but I found this to be more helpful.)

I love the simplicity of this song, how it brings the singer from far to close, from away to near. We look at the stars, knowing there's a creator, but what in the world does that have to do with little ol' us? It's not until we meet Jesus face to face that everything becomes clear.

I thought a lot about this today, how complicated I've made my devotion to Christ. It's actually quite simple.

Follow the narrow way.

Walk beside Jesus day by day.

Live in such a way that Jesus becomes everything.

What is it that pulls me away from following, walking and living this way?

Worry
Complications
Circumstances
Fear
Busyness
Relationships
A crowded head

What about you? What pulls you away from simplicity and purity of devotion to Christ? When has Jesus been your everything?

Who are you?

2010-05-04T16:34:00.002-05:00

You are not the person devalued by others' casual opinions.

You are not the sum of your righteous (or unrighteous) acts.

You are not a thing to be consumed or used.

You are not small and unworthy.

You are not insignificant.

You are not deserving of deceit.

You are not the words spoken over you.

You are not what they say you are.

You are who He says you are.

Beloved.

Welcomed.

Cherished.

Powerfully weak.

Beautifully rejuvenated.

Whole.

That's who you are.

That's who I am.

Though it's a battle to believe the right Voice.

Lord, speak life over me, over my friends reading this post. Help us to hear Your aspirational whispers over us, Your words of courage and power and love and acceptance and grace. We need that Voice. Forgive us for letting the other voices rule our minds. Help us feel Your favor. Help us rest in Your pleasure right now. Amen.

Write a Powerful Novel Proposal: Launching Today!

2010-05-04T10:42:00.001-05:00

Today I’m launching a new product on my website called Write a Powerful Fiction Proposal. (Scroll down; it's below the Nonfiction proposal tutorial.)

For you novelists out there seeking publication, you may ask yourself, why would I need a fiction proposal? Don't I just need a synopsis and three sample chapters?

My answer:

Since today’s fiction acquisition market has become increasingly competitive, publishing houses are not only interested in stunning stories—they’re looking for saleable stories, ones that will garner a greater market share.

How do they know if your novel could be that book? Through a skillfully wrought proposal. The kind of proposal that woos acquisition editors and marketing folks alike. The kind that stuns the publishing committee and lands you an advance. The kind you send to an agent, and the agent picks up the phone, dialing your number...

I will help you write that proposal.

Here are some of the benefits of the product:

Over 75 pages of content, including teaching, real-life samples, and templates
A detailed overview of the 10 parts of a fiction proposal
Actual novel query samples that sold
The nuts and bolts of writing a synopsis plus examples
Special feature: how to write an attention grabbing first page, with checklist and examples
3 actual proposals
Checklist of common grammatical/formatting/usage errors (good to use in any writing project)
Once your manuscript is finished: a fiction pitfalls checklist
A blank template to easily create your own proposal in Word

Please pass this information on to your critique group and novelist friends who are struggling to get published. I would really appreciate it. The launch is today!

And for those of you who write nonfiction, there's a proposal tutorial for you as well. It has many of the same benefits as above, but is exclusively for those who write nonfiction It's the first product here.

Two of my pastors wrote this book about the importance of home.

2010-05-03T15:28:00.000-05:00

I'm thrilled to announce It Starts at Home, a recent book by author Kurt Bruner and my pastor, Steve Stroope. I've asked them some questions that I think will relate well to you and your needs. Enjoy!

What is the best thing a parent can do to help their kids fall in love with Jesus?

Show them a great marriage. According to Ephesians 5 every marriage is intended to be a masterpiece reflecting THE marriage between Christ and His bride. When we nurture a committed, passionate, self-sacrificial relationship with a spouse we turn “the Word” into a flesh-and-blood reality rather than remote concepts.

What specific ways can Jesus-loving families reach out to kids who come from broken homes?

Simple – invite them to stay for family dinner once in a while. Every child needs routine exposure to the nurturing soil of a God-honoring home. If they don’t experience it in their own family they can receive “free samples” from the wider body of Christ.

In what ways does a parent’s past affect they way she/he parents today? How can she/he overcome a difficult upbringing?

Home is the primary context of our spiritual formation, for better or worse. The experiences we had growing up heavily influence the patterns we adopt as parents. As we say in the book: “If you’ve ever been part of a loving, healthy family you have smelled the sweet aroma of heaven. If you’ve ever lived in a troubled, broken home you have breathed the foul stench of hell.”

Those experiences form our identity, expectations and obstacles. So we get honest about past hurts – not to heal ourselves, but to identify areas needing intentionality. Like Soldiers storming Normandy for the sake of others, we heroically give our children something better than we received in order to break the generational cycle. Jesus knew what he was talking about when he said we find our lives by losing it.

That's why it's called stepping out in faith, Mary!

2010-04-29T20:35:00.000-05:00

Those longish feet are mine. But they're fraidy feet. They boast of many things like how fearless they are, how they're up for amazing adventure, but the truth is, they're scared to trust when the shoe rubber hits the grass.

I've been making a shift lately. Some of you have seen it here, discerned it. I'm stepping out into new territory, afraid, yet expectant. I'm embracing the calling God has whispered in my ear, confirmed through many of you.

I am to write for you.

For those who suffer.

For those who differ.

For those who feel alone.

In that, I'm seeing such growth. In me. And in you.

But I'm still a little scared to trust. To step forward. To throw my dreams at Jesus' feet.

Odd how this has been one of the most stressful weeks of my year, full of money stress, angst, and a crazy roller-coaster ride of emotions. Such lows and highs. Criticism measured. Praise given. (I learned yesterday that I was a Christy Award Finalist for Daisy Chain.) Money pestering.

I hear the echoes of Hebrews 11:1: "Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see." I don't know if going this new, streamlined direction will produce income. I can't see the future. I don't know what tomorrow holds. And often, I cower instead of rest in confidence. I'm a learner. A struggler. An honest girl who makes mistakes, afraid of stepping out for fear of failure.

And yet, there's the calling.

Right now, I take one step into that unknown. Will you step with me?

Will I ever take criticism well?

2010-04-28T14:47:00.000-05:00

Today I received constructive feedback from something I participated in. I should've known better than to open the file. But I did. And now I'm lost in unworthiness.

Yes, there were nice things folks wrote. Some positive comments. But my mind doesn't stay on those. It clings to everything awful, to the cutting remarks. I'm not sure why I'm this way, and I do wish I were different. Criticism makes me cringe. It makes me want to cry. This is what I hear: "You're not worth being here."

Of course I know that's not true. Jesus paid so much for me, for you, for the people who penned those critical words. Jesus helps me to remember to be gentle on my critiques, to sand away the snide, to think of constructive words. And when I receive them? I should place them in His hands. After all, He received the harshest rebukes. Some folks even called him the devil.

I'm not saying I'm Jesus and that I am above criticism. Lord knows I have a lot to learn in every single area of my life. But it helps me somehow to know He understands what it feels like to be criticized. And that He gave those over to His Father. It comforts me to know Jesus was fully human as well as fully God, that He suffered the same temptations I've suffered. That He knew how to walk through criticism with grace.

Lord, I'm feeling as small as can be today. Ready to cry, ready to throw in the proverbial towel. But as I pray this, as I hold those words of critique close to my heart, I realize there are others out there reading this going through much deeper trials, much sadder days. Lift their heads as You lift mine. Help us all to see Your beauty in the devastation of the day. Help us see You in the midst. Thank You for Your life, for walking this earth as a man, yet triumphing so beautifully. Touch us, please. Amen.

The Mark Part Five: Choose Your Enemies Wisely

2010-04-27T09:43:00.000-05:00

Yesterday on my run, the song "Cedars of Lebanon" by U2 came up. The last stanza stunned me. It's taken me a day to digest it, but I believe there's deep truth for the victims of sexual abuse hidden there. The lyrics:

Choose your enemies carefully, 'cause they will define you Make them interesting 'cause in some ways they will mind you They're not there in the beginning but when your story ends Gonna last with you longer than your friends

How much of my life has been defined by those two boys who stole me at five? Have I given them far too much power? There was a large chunk of my life where they ruled my mind. Nightmares, daymares, flashbacks all tortured me for a time. And then as I healed, as Jesus took my hand and led me down a healthier path, the boys faded from memory. I can't remember their faces. I hope and pray they don't last longer than my friends.

But they can, if I let them. If I stay back there in those bully memories for too long. I visit them only to proclaim healing, thankfully. But if I stay, they have a way of entangling my mind.

One of my favorite verses emphasizes the great looking forward we must do as those who have been hurt in the past. (And you don't have to have the type of abuse I've experienced to have pain. We all have pain. All foster regret, anguish, awkward moments.)

Isaiah 43:18-19

Do not call to mind the former things,
         Or ponder things of the past.
Behold, I will do something new,
         Now it will spring forth;
         Will you not be aware of it?
         I will even make a roadway in the wilderness,
         Rivers in the desert.

God is in the business of creating new things. 2 Corinthians 5:17 says, "Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creature; the old things passed away; behold, new things have come." I fear that we miss those new things by staying too long with the bullies of our past. The question Isaiah poses, "Will you not be aware of it?" is an important one. It implies that we can be so preoccupied with the past that we'll miss the roadways in the desert. By staying too long in the past, we'll overlook a river through the desert of that memory.

Oswald Chambers says it beautifully. "Let the past sleep. But let it sleep on the bosom of Christ, and go out into the irresistible future with Him."

We have an irresistible future! We don't need to follow U2's words. We don't need to be defined by our enemies. They do not have power over us. They cannot haunt us if we're pressing forward, looking to the future, awaiting the new things God brings.

Jesus asked the paralytic in John 5:6 the question He asks you today: When Jesus saw him lying there and learned that he had been in this condition for a long time, he asked him, "Do you want to get well?"

You have been in your condition many years now. Do you want to get well? Really? Would you rather rehash the past over and over in an endless loop of pain, or do you want healing? I have found that most people don't pursue healing. The difference between the healed people and those still living in the past defined by their enemies is this: tenacious running after healing. You have to want to get well so bad it wakes you up at night.

The truth: THERE IS NO PASSIVE HEALING.

The truth: Your enemies no longer need to define you.

The truth: You can be set free. You can experience rivers in the desert.

The truth: With Jesus, there is an irresistible future.

The choice is before you today. What will you do?

Recent pics! Gussied up, the lake, my garden, a holy meal.

2010-04-25T14:08:00.000-05:00

Getting ready to go to SMU for an author's event.

Julia and Pippin

The most unusual flower. I have no idea what it is! Found near the water.

Lake Ray Hubbard

Probably my best shot. Julia in the field near the lake.

Pippin in the grass & flowers.

Love that you can see through the hole to further green.

Ah, my garden is growing.

Our dear friends when we did a Seder meal before Easter. So much fun!

The Mark Part Four: The Idol of Victimhood

2010-04-22T14:18:00.000-05:00

This is a hard post to write and admit to. But it's true. You'd think that someone who was a victim of abuse would shun that victimhood status the moment she realized it, flinging it as far as the East is from the West. Nope. I coddled it. Nursed it. Loved it to ragged death.

At first I said nothing of the abuse. For ten years, I kept my mouth shut. I had nightmares, waking with sweat and fear and heart pounding, but I still didn't reveal what had happened to me.

Then I met Jesus, and He gave me the courage to share once. By the time I walked with him a few years, I shared the story more times. Then it became a strange, happy drug. When I shared it, folks would empathize, send me kindhearted looks, offer to pray. For several years, I relished the attention the story would bring until being a victim became sort of an idol.

Instead of running to God for healing, I ran to human empathy and approval. I hoped the embrace and pity of others would fill me. And they did for a time.

But then something dynamic came. Healing. Blessed, needed healing. My friends in college probably don't even realize they were part of such a revolution for me. But they were. They prayed me toward health. And suddenly, I no longer felt the need to share my story in order to get attention.

For ten more years, I kept it inside, remembering how I'd made it an idol. My twenties blurred by as I birthed and raised three kids. But the wounds, which I thought were healed, came back. The scars resurfaced. As if God knew that I'd need to revisit them when I was stronger.

So I spent my thirties tentatively sharing my story. With counselors. With a few trusted friends. With my husband. And more healing came, this time slower, more methodical.

Today I am more whole. I know my vulnerability to idolize victimhood. Even typing it here is a risk. I'll risk getting empathy for my story, of trying to fill myself up with praise rather than a settled peace in God. I'm here to tell you that making an idol of my plight got me nowhere, really. But throwing the whole sorry mess at Jesus' feet brought the healing I needed.

If I cling to the past that way, needing it to validate and lift me up, I will miss the now, the future. I truly believe that many of us who had painful stories from our pasts sometimes prefer to continue to live in them. If we know chaos and pain, chances are that our fallback will be to live in that same chaos and pain. If we've been victimized, chances are if we're not victimized again through our choices, we're choosing to victimize ourselves by berating ourselves internally.

Some questions:

Do you want to be set free?
Are you afraid of normal?
Do you cling to your victimhood for attention? To feel alive?
How has God been asking you to grow into health?
What prevents you from pursuing healing?

I'm curious what your answers will be.

The Mark Part Three: Fear

2010-04-21T18:41:00.000-05:00

I mentioned a little bit about my fear in the last post. But my fears are deeper, more insidious than what scratches the surface.

I'm afraid to be alone. Not alone in merely the empty house, dark night type of alone, but in the loneliness sense. I fear my husband will die. I fear my kids will die. I actually think about this a lot, which is distressing for me. Like I'm preparing for the worse. I suppose a lot of that comes from having a parent die when I was only ten. Death so young shakes your world.

But maybe it's because when those boys took me, they took me alone. And alone, I had to figure a way to save myself. Such a huge responsibility, that. Particularly for a five-year-old. So I don't like thinking about life without relationships, without the safety of those who love me gathered around.

I'm afraid of sickness. Maybe I'm this way because the perpetrators who stole me away did so without my consent, without any predictions on my part that what would happen would be so soul-killing. To me, sickness looms that way. It surprises you. It steals from you. It shocks you. It's often out of your sphere of control.

I'm afraid of rejection. This may be more related to other issues in growing up, as those boys didn't reject me. They embraced me (in the worse possible way). But they cemented a belief in my mind that I was completely unworthy of normal affection, of tender care, of kindness. So I nurse those same feelings when others reject me. I fall into the pit where I believe those strange lies as truth. Rejection=my worthlessness.

I'm afraid of creepy men. I guess this goes without saying, right? But the creep-o-meter ding-ding-dings in me when I meet one. And I run away as best I can. I block some of Facebook. I am cautious about being alone when I travel. I worry that rape will happen again, and whether I'll be able to handle it, survive it.

I don't want to end this post mired in my fears. God has truly, truly walked me farther along the fearless journey. These all used to scream at me; now they whisper. I also think if I let my mind linger too long on a particular fear, I'll give the enemy of my soul a welcome mat to my heart. He wreaks havoc in there, through the threshold of my fears.

So I pray. And pray. And ask others to pray. And I rest in eternity, knowing someday all my issues will be wiped away, all my fears relieved. I may be walking fearful at times on this earth, but those are numbered days. Eternity will be fearless for me. In that, I rejoice.

The Mark Part Two: 10 Ways Sexual Abuse has Shaped Me.

2010-04-20T02:45:00.002-05:00

Yesterday I posted about the Mark sexual abuse victims feel the wear. You can read it here if you'd like to catch up.

In no particular order, here are ten things I've dealt with in the aftermath of being raped as a five-year-old:

I have believed I have no worth, other than to be used for someone else's pleasure. I'm thankful this has faded quite a bit, and Jesus has healed me of so much. Still, it lingers. I can easily feel used in so many different areas of my life.
I have been extremely afraid of the dark, of sleep, of storms, of scary situations, of seedy areas of town.
I get sick to my stomach when I'm around someone I perceive to be a perpetrator. This actually served me well when I was younger and ran into folks like this. It made me freak out and run away.
And yet, I seem to be a magnet for people like this. And if I don't initially perceive the danger, I can tend to trust folks who are predatory (not necessarily sexually, but anyone who is bent on relational destruction).
I've turned the abuse I received into an excuse to abuse myself. If you could live inside my head a bit, you'd see how relentlessly I chastise myself. I'm learning, slowly, that this is not normal or good behavior. Once my hubby said, "I would never treat you the way you treat yourself." I sensed God ask me, "Would you treat your best friend the way you treat yourself?" I had to answer NO, which meant I realized I'd been abusing myself.
I have believed the lie that I am how I look. How I appear to others and myself is the most important thing. I only have worth if I appear pretty. As I grow older, thankfully, I'm seeing how destructive this is. And since beauty fades with age (outer beauty, that is), I'm learning to let go if this ridiculous notion. I want to have a heart that's beautiful, anyway.
I pray for my kids that they'l never, ever, ever have to go through what I went through.
As I mentioned in this article about the marriage bed, I've had a hard time connecting myself in the moment with sex.
I don't view the world with rose colored glasses. Very quickly a bad day can plunge me into an Anne of Green Gables-like depths of despair. While God has healed so much, I still tend to fall rapidly when bad things happen.
I've learned to pray for my abusers, which has given me a lot of freedom. Usually those who have been abused abuse others, so I'm guessing those boys were also abused. And if they carry that secret with them, they must be carrying a lot of raging shame. Lord, please heal them.

So now you know what a mess I am. And yet, so much healing has taken place. Astounding healing. I am whole. I am alive. I am free. I still carry scars. The mark is faded, but it's still there. And, hopefully, I see the mark not as a sad story of abuse, but as a testimony of how outrageous God's rescuing love is.

The Mark Part One

2010-04-18T02:59:00.004-05:00

This came from a reader recently:

A thought for your blog sometime... I would be really interested in hearing you talk more about this idea that those who are abused are"marked." I read about this and believe that it's true, but I'd like to hear more of your thoughts on it.

I'll answer this in the next several posts, but I wanted to start with one I wrote about a year ago about the mark and how it's affected me professionally.

***

Lord, as I write this I pray Your words would settle into me and leap onto the page. Heal folks. Expose evil. Help me share Your heart here. Amen.

For those of us who have survived sexual abuse, life twists and turns in alleys of confusion. Thank God He picks us up thousands of times, dusts us off, heals us, and enables us to continue walking.

That's been my story. I was sexually abused by neighborhood boys throughout my kindergarten year. That was nearly forty years ago, but the mark they left on me, though faded, is still there.

Some would argue that once someone comes to Jesus, the mark is beautifully erased. Perhaps for some that is true. But I liken that hellish year to healing and scars. Yes, I've been healed. But the scars remain. I am marked.

I knew this growing up. Other predators had some sort of mark locating devise. They'd find me in horse stalls, in tree houses, on the playground, in homes. They'd try to take away what I already lost. Thank God I had legs that could run. With every advance, I'd take off running.

It baffled me, though, when the mark attracted men when I faced my dating years. And believe me, if anyone tried anything, I broke up or ran. I joked the other day with my kids that when my "boyfriends" tried to kiss me in my early dating years, I did two things: freaked out, then broke up.

Once I was married to the man of my dreams, the antithesis to the predators, I settled into a kind of comfortable safety. No one would see my mark now!

And for many years, that was true. As a stay at home mommy, I didn't see many men, didn't interact much, other than at church.

Enter the Christian writing world. And a little of my own naivety. The mark re-emerged. As if dormant from a long, happy sleep, it awoke with a vengeance. And predators once again saw it, noticed it, and sought to exploit it.

I write this today not to freak you all out, those of you who are entering into the business (or any arena of business or ministry), but to issue a firm caution. Don't assume that since we're writing books for the Christian market that everyone in the market is trustworthy. Or the best thing for you. And particularly if you're a woman wearing this mark, be ultra-cautious of men, particularly those in authority. Don't seek publication so much that you turn off your creep-factor measuring device. Keep it on. If you're married, be sure you meet those industry professionals (if at all possible) with your husband in tow. And don't let the secret part of your heart thrill at an industry professional's praise, particularly if it comes off with a hint of sexual innuendo.

In retrospect, I realize six things:

The mark, faded as it is, can inflame when I'm not building into my own marriage and family or I'm not seeking God. And when I let my neediness for attention trump everything else. Truth? I like attention. I like feeling like I'm pretty. But if I seek after that, rather than seek God's heart, I become vulnerable to predators again.
I wish someone would have told me all this way back when. So I'm telling you. If you have a mark or are prone to be preyed upon, take note. Watch your male/female relationships more closely. Don't let your ambition taint your predator radar. And yet don't merely be cautious about opposite sex relationships. I also found myself vulnerable to other women who were predatory (not sexually, but in other soul-demeaning ways. Predators come in every shape and size and sex.)
Prayer cannot be discounted. Your ability to notice predatory tendencies in someone has everything to do with discernment. And seeking to be very close to God in prayer will keep your discernment on high alert. It's when you allow the fluff of fame to infiltrate your head that you let down boundaries.
It is entirely possible to have great relationships with people in this industry. I cherish my friendships, both male and female. Of course, not everyone is a predator. And many folks are dear, dear Jesus-loving writers, publishers, editors, and agents. Don't let your mark or fear prevent you from these relationships.
Nurture yourself. Realize your weak spots. Build into your soul.
Seek accountability. I have a small group of dear friends who know my journey through predators. And they pray for me, and ask me good questions, and pray some more.

Someday, when the New Earth dawns, I'll be free of this mark forever. And Jesus will use every trauma to beautify me--not with the earthly type of beauty I sometimes long to praised for here on earth, but an ethereal, eternal beauty. I pray the Lord would truly, deeply use my own markedness to change the landscape of the Kingdom of God. In this way, I can revel in the mark, be openly cautious about the vulnerability the mark creates, and thank God for His protection and provision along the journey.

A Girl Never Outgrows the Need for a Daddy

2010-04-16T01:41:00.004-05:00

He walks, gray haired, down my street. Ambling really. A white dog skips at his feet, and when the dog does his business, the old man stoops, then scoops. He wears a white hat, the man, and a kindness I agonize over.

Would my father stoop? Would he wear a white hat? Would he walk, step by step, down a suburban street, cajoling his dog? Would he wear plaid? White tennis shoes? Too large jeans?

He didn't see me graduate from elementary school, junior high, high school, college.

He didn't walk me down the aisle.

He didn't hold his first grandchild, didn't applaud my first book.

Most days I don't think about it much. I've learned to live with the hole a Daddy leaves when he leaves earth for good. But seeing the stoop shouldered man, his gentle, slow ways, makes me long again for that blood-tie, that familiarity.

I shake the thought of the man from my mind as a tear forms. I tell it not to, but it puddles nonetheless. As brave as I can, I slip my hand into the Hand of the One who fathers me still.

I've been looking at everything wrong

2010-04-14T21:27:00.000-05:00

Recently I had the privilege of hearing Charlie Peacock teach at Mount Hermon. I loved what he had to say about art and the movement of our world, so much so that I picked up his book At The Crossroads, his magnum opus about CCM (Contemporary Christian Music). Fascinating, enlightening book. As a closet singer, and a lover of music, I so appreciate his heart and mind.

And then I read this gem:

"In truth, the idea that any element of God's creation--be it music or a tree--has to do something in order to justify its existence has more to do with capitalism, consumerism, and marketing than with the doctrine of creation" (p. 104).

This turned my world upside down. Why? Because my whole life I've (wrongly) felt that in order to justify my existence on earth, I had to do things. To perform. To be perfect. To do everything right. And if I didn't (which happens every. single. day), I felt I had to reason to be here.

But that's looking at creation (me) as a commodity, not as a created being. It's assigning worth based on my intrinsic value to produce, to fill holes, to do things.

It's not true.

It's not true.

It's not true.

As much as I've entrenched this idea way deep into my DNA, it's not true that I must live up to standards or be super cool to earn my keep here. I simply must be. To revel in being a creation, dearly loved by Jesus, sacrificed for, graced unconditionally.

I am not a product.

I do not need to market me to prove my worth to others.

I am too valuable to be consumed.

I wonder how much my mindset about everything is tainted by a consumeristic mindset. I wonder if I view others as things to be had instead of people to be loved. I wonder why I've lacked in grace for myself when I didn't perform up to standards.

What if I'm just loved? Right now. Right here. For no other reason than I am a creation who breathes, laughs, weeps, rejoices, hollers, loves?

It may take me a while, but I'm liking the sound of these words: I don't have to justify the space I take up on earth any more.

Life Altering Books!

2010-04-10T08:26:00.000-05:00

I'd love to hear about the books that are impacting your life today. Here are two of mine:

Left to Tell by Imaculee Ilibagiza.Wow. Read this on my Kindle on the way to Mount Hermon. It’s about a woman who survives (true story) the Rwandan holocaust by hiding with several other women in a pastor’s closet where she has no room to move. She does this for months. While in that darkened closet, she asks for a French English dictionary and the pastor’s only 2 English books and teaches herself English. Her heart, forgiveness, and beauty astounded me. It reminded me of another amazing book, As We Forgive by Catherine Claire Larson which details amazing stories of reconciliation between perpetrators and victims of the same holocaust. At the end of that, I realized this: If these people can forgive the folks who hacheted their entire families, why am I holding onto to my unforgiveness? Absolutely lifechanging book.

The Rest of God by Mark Buchanan. I’ve read this book in the past and it helped revolutionize my view of rhythm and sabbath. In the chaos of living in France and all that went on there, Sabbath became a holy sanctuary for me and my family. But in the midst of my crazy-busy life here in America, I teeter on the brink of burnout. I realized that I’ve relegated Sabbath to the back burner again. So I’m re-reading this book. It’s like dark chocolate during a craving. So beautifully written. So invitational. So counter cultural. I’m going through a shift in my writing career, finding that One Thing, and sensing a change. This book is reorienting me in the best possible way.

Saying no to say yes

2010-04-09T09:26:00.000-05:00

Today I had to write a hard post, detailing why I'm letting go of a great blog. Maybe you've been in that place where you've had to say no to something good in order to pursue something greater. That's where I am. And I'm determined, by God's grace, to walk in obedience. Which means I will disappoint folks. Say no to requests. Walk away from things that seem terrific.

Yet, as I teeter on the brink of burnout, I see some light, thankfully. Life's coming into clearer focus. Family is beckoning. Sabbath is wooing. Life's being lived. And I'm tired of having life just be work-work-work. It must be more.

I pray you're finding places to live in life. To move away from chaos or expectations. To fully live in the moment. To engage with real people who stand in front of you (instead of represent themselves with cursor and font).

This revolution is small, taking in sips, but I feel the rejuvenation like spring sunshine on my face.

Life in Defiance Trailer is Here!

2010-04-08T15:52:00.000-05:00

Only a few more weeks and Life in Defiance will release. May 11th to be exact. My editor says it's the best book I've written. The trailer is below.

Where are you in the song?

2010-04-07T20:29:00.000-05:00

I am a scribbler on random pieces of paper. On the back of my Mount Hermon prayer, a thought came to me, so I jotted a few notes. Here's the fleshing out of that idea.

How is your life like a verse to a song? Often it's the verses that recount theology or a current state. Like:

Blessed be Your name in the land that is plentiful, where Your streams of abundance flow,
Blessed be Your name
And blessed be Your name on the road marked with suffering, oh there's pain in the offering,
Blessed be Your name.

See how the verse states reality?

And then most choruses resound God's truth:

Blessed be the name of the Lord; blessed be the name.
Blessed be the name of the Lord; blessed be Your glorious name.

It's a repetition of praise for what God has done in the in between times, how He's intersected our verses, our day to day lives. Often the chorus is the resounding of God's goodness.

So my question is: Where are you?

Are you living in the refrain of beauty and sorrow? Or are you repeating praises for what God has done in those places?

There's no wrong answer, just a state of being.

Me? I'm looking forward to the chorus, but I'm in the middle of a verse, a life lesson that feels big. I hope to get to the refrain of praise soon.

No idols? Ha!

2010-04-06T22:26:00.000-05:00

I laughed when the man of God proclaimed from the TV: "Well, we all know America doesn't worship idols, so we can skip that verse."

Really?

Isn't an idol something you replace with God? Isn't it something you fill yourself up with, revere, pay homage to? America is full of idols. Maybe we don't offer incense to them, but we do offer our lives, our reputations, our money. Here's a list I've recently developed. I don't list these to impugn, per se, but to illuminate some of my own idols.

First a definition: "Idolatry is always the reason we ever do anything wrong.” Tim Keller, Counterfeit Gods

What is an idol? Romans 1:24-25

Setting your heart on something other than God.
Something other than God that you must have to be happy.
Anything that captures your imagination more than God.
Anything you seek outside of God that only God can give.
If I have _____________, then my life will have meaning; I will have value; I’ll be significant and secure.
Something you can’t live without or imagine your life without.

Determining your idols. Ask yourself:

What is operating in the place of Jesus as your salvation or savior?
What are you most afraid of?
What is the worst thing that could ever happen to you? Be honest.
Where does your mind wander when you’re not thinking of other things? What do you daydream about? What worries keep you up at night?
What do you spend the most on? (In what area is it hard to control your spending?)
How do you react when disappointment comes? Whatever causes despair=idol.
What are your most uncontrollable emotions?
What must you have at any cost?
Fill in the blank: I would be horrified and humiliated if ________________.

Some of our idols:

Love, romance
Pets
Chaos
Invincibility, risk taking, thrill seeking
Something tangible to point to that shows worth: a building, a ministry, a house, a car, a promotion, a successful hobby, an empire, a business, a perfect family
Exploitation of others, or allowing yourself to be exploited (Victim mentality)
Appearing or being better than someone else, needing to be right
Athletics (either playing or following)
Peer approval, people pleasing
Money, prosperity (conversely: austerity, poverty)
Work, workaholism
Looks, body image, beauty, getting or being in shape, being thin
Power, demanding respect
Avoidance (of enemies, criticism, uncomfortable situations)
Control (your children, your world, your life, your job, your relationships)
Reputation, critical acclaim, achievement
Stability, safety, security, lack of change, lack of suffering
Peace, lack of conflict
Relationships, family, friends (harmony)
Favorable political climate (your party in power, the laws you like passed)
Success (work, ministry, parenting, relationships, sports, etc.)
Knowledge, education
Competence, skill
Morality, perfectionism, virtue, personal piety
Sex
Addictions (porn, shopping, alcohol, food, drugs, video games, approval)
Art, creative expression, music
Entertainment, recreation, vacation, sloth, lethargy

What now?

It’s not enough to identify them. It’s not simply repenting. It’s repenting connected to rejoicing, as Timothy Keller expounds in Counterfeit Gods. You must worship Who is greater. You must place God as the central part of your life. Anything short of that is idolatry.

I type this with trepidation, with fear. Because I know myself. I know how much I "need" approval from others. How I long to feel pretty to experience deep satisfaction. How I equate my output with my worth. I have worshiped idols. Given my life for them on many levels. And I've experienced the emptiness that comes from such a thing.

I'm curious what your journey is. What are your idols? And how has God enlivened your heart, quickened you to turn away? Tell your story in the comments.

Sunday poem

2010-04-04T15:49:00.000-05:00

I see it stark
the metal-framed bed pushed violently
against the back wall
not so I wouldn't fall to the floorboards
in a widening crevasse
but so I could embrace plaster
hope in its protection
as ghosts blew through
so near I tasted their breaths

that wall
my protection
my haven
my only friend

until You

Samples of my portrait work

2010-04-01T10:09:00.000-05:00

Jeff Gerke of Marcher Lord Press.

Cheryl Ricker, who won the Poetry Award at Mount Hermon.

Austin Boyd, novelist.

Kathy Ide, a great writer and editor.

Steve Laube, agent.

Rebeca Seitz, Publicist for Glass Road PR.

Marlo Schalesky, novelist (and great roommate!)

Jacque Alberta, editor for Zondervan.

It was a huge privilege to photograph these folks and others at Mount Hermon. It's been my way of raising money to go to the Lausanne Congress. If you live in the Dallas area and need a head shot (or family pics or senior pics or dance pics), find out more about my photography here.

Mount Hermon Prayer 2010

2010-04-01T08:30:00.000-05:00

I had the privilege again this year to pray at the Palm Sunday service at Mount Hermon. Not usually prone to write out my prayers for a situation like this, I felt God nudge me to be sure I prayed particular things. So I wrote it down. Here it is. I pray it blesses you. I pray it becomes your prayer, my prayer, our prayer.

"Ah Lord GOD! Behold, You have made the heavens and the earth by Your great power and by Your outstretched arm! Nothing is too difficult for You" (Jeremiah 32:17).

Lord, we are a fearful people. Forgive us for elevating security and safety above You. Fearful, we do not risk. We prefer the status quo over living the adventure of following in Your steps. Forgive us for finding satisfaction in complacency, in the way things have always been, in the way we think life should be.

Lord, we live in the land of If Only. If only we could point to a published piece, a reader's positive feedback, a stellar bottom line. Lord, ground us in the great right now, away from the tyranny of if only. Please be our sufficiency.

Forgive us for filling the recesses of our hearts with lesser things. Forgive us for elevating our acclaim over your rightful fame. Forgive us for seeing today's struggles as if they were bigger than You.

Thank You that it's not our harried performance You're after--that You don't call us to be big and strong. Forgive us for thinking our strength accomplishes Your purposes. May we shake hands with our weakness today, knowing that our weakness is the dance floor You dance Your strength.

Enlarge our view of You. Grow our hearts to receive more of Your heart. Expand our minds enough to embrace Your mystery, Your intricacy, Your perplexing beauty.

We want to be a people who see You lofty, who have an affectionate view of our readers and a sensible, healthy view of ourselves.

Do what You will, Lord. Take it all--our insecurities, jealousies, trials, hopes, successes, journeys, and temptations. We choose in this holy moment to let go of worry, stress, and striving. Oh Jesus, it's all for You.

Amen.

Fun Times at Mount Hermon

2010-03-31T11:24:00.000-05:00

Head Start Mentoring fiction. Great gals!

John Olson, me, Randy Ingermanson

Oh the flora!

Amazing bridge.

Creekbed

Redwood chapel

Dave, Rachel and Angus chatting

Fiction Mentoring class. Great group of peeps!

Where are they now? Haunted? Fine?

2010-03-29T04:51:00.023-05:00

Those of you familiar with me or my story know this: at five, two neighborhood boys spent their free time abusing me. Under trees. In their room. In ravines. In parks.

I'm grateful, so grateful, that I don't suffer flashbacks anymore. I'm glad their yearlong actions no longer inform how I live my life. They tried to break me, but Jesus healed so many broken, awful, raw places. They meant harm, but now I'm free.

But sometimes, like right now, I think about where they are, how they are, what their lives are like. I've spent fruitless time on the internet trying to track them down, half from curiosity, half from pity. But I can't quite find them. Which is fine by me. It's not like I'd want to email one of them and say, "Hey, do you remember the year 1972? Remember our neighborhood? Remember me?"

Because what good would that do? Would it bring closure for me? Probably not. Because if statistics are correct, they will have never been brought to justice. They could be hiding this secret their entire lives. They could be tortured. Or wildly successful. They could have families. They could be perpetrators. They could be liars, or as honest as honest can be. They can be politicians, school teachers, gardeners.

A part of me does want them to remember what they did, if only for the purpose of realizing their own depravity and seeing their need (as I've seen mine) for a savior. And if statistics play out, the reason they perpetrated is probably because they were perpetrated against, which means those boys (now men) need deep, cleansing healing. In every possible way.

I do pray for them. I do think about them. But not with an ache for myself. I ache for them. For the men they've become. Perhaps they are haunted.

Perhaps they are reading this post right now.

Validation: The Insatiable Need

2010-03-26T02:23:00.000-05:00

I wonder if I'm a validation junkie. An affirmation addict. A praise nerd.

Probably.

Are you?

It's probably why I wanted to be a singer as a kid, longing for that "You did a good job" at the end of a performance. It's probably why I exhausted myself for all those A grades in high school and college. Why I tried to be the "perfect" mommy and wife. Why I write for others to read.

There's a little hole in me that can't seem to be filled.

And yet, I'm growing up. I'm learning to receive praise like it's a truffle--lovely to digest in a moment, but not sustenance for life. I'm learning to let Jesus fill those needy parts of me. Letting the praise from others bounce off my soul a bit so I can absorb Jesus' life-filled words first.

I'm just so thankful He loves me. He validates me. He affirms me. He sends snippets of praise my way. Alleluia!

7 Myths about Publishing

2010-03-24T05:02:00.020-05:00

All authors make a bucket load of money! (Actuality: We make about 78 cents a book. Most of us make less than a teacher's aid).
Rejection ceases to exist once you've signed your first book contract. (Actuality: It gets worse, and the rejections hurt more.)
Publishing is like those models who get discovered in diners. It just happens without much effort. (Actuality: 10,000 hours of writing finally makes you a master at it. That's about ten years. When I signed with an agent and sold two books in that year, folks thought I arrived quickly. Wrong. I arrived after 10,000 hours of my behind on the chair.)
Publishers revel in marketing your books. (Actuality: They do the best they can, but in today's climate, it's truly up to the author to get the word out.)
Authors don't go to the grocery store. (Actuality: Um, yeah, they do. Off to Kroger soon...)
You can usually skip the busywork of writing for smaller publications and go for book writing out of the gate. (Actuality: It's better and more "normal" to have a wide body of periodical work published before you find an agent. Otherwise, how will an agent know if you can write, meet deadlines, and take editorial direction?)
Book signings are the cat's meow for authors. (Actuality: We don't really like them, often because folks don't show up and you feel like a 7th grader again, standing near the wall, waiting to be asked to dance. So not fun. Although I will say it's an author's rite of passage to attend a book signing and sell zero books. Yes, this has happened to me.)

Oh the Colleges We Will See

2010-03-23T10:12:00.000-05:00

This last week my mom flew down from the NW and we embarked on our first explore of college campuses for Sophie. Here are some visual highlights:

Texas A & M:

Our shoes took us many places....

The monolithic stadium

San Antonio's stunning Riverwalk:

Trinity University's tower:

On the Riverwalk with Memaw:

You must remember it:

Patrick, Sophie and Julia at Rice University:

The stunning Rice campus:

Thankful for New Life

2010-03-16T10:21:00.000-05:00

I know well the words of Jesus about seed falling to the ground and dying, about when it does, it bears much fruit. Never is that life lesson more stark than in spring. I'm thankful for the life emerging from winter's grip.

How ironic that I push against dying to self. I forget that leafy life will spring from such a death. I only picture the death of what I want, when I want it, how I want it, forgetting that God often surprises us with life in the most obscure, but perfect ways.

I want to learn what it means to be a living sacrifice. I want to be better at recognizing my own bent toward me-centeredness. I want to put on the sandals of a servant.

Lord, teach me. Mold me. Help me die to that which I value so that You, who I value more, will reign supreme. Birth new, green life in me. A spring-like heart. A mind bent toward you. Feet that do your bidding.

Amen.

Let there be life!

2010-03-09T09:09:00.000-06:00

I've been a bit of a sloth-girl this past week, forsaking exercise. But this morning the sun shone so brightly I couldn't resist its invitation. So I ran. Thank God, I ran.

I circled a familiar path in the park and saw it: a dead autumn leave clinging to an up-and-coming green tree. Though the brown leaf didn't know it, spring would come in a matter of days. And that's when the Lord spoke to me. "The brown leaf will fall. Life always pushes out death."

It reminds me of the cure for idolatry that Timothy Keller writes about in his book Counterfeit Gods. That we can't simply forsake our idols (whether they be materialism, achievement, lust, people-pleasing, food, porn, reputation, etc.). We must worship that which is higher. Repentance must hold hands with rejoicing.

That's how life pushes out the dead leaves in our lives. We rejoice. We embrace the Life Giver and praise His worth. And His life, because of its sheer power and beauty, pushes away death.

That's the kind of life with Jesus I want. I don't want to cling to the dead parts of me that I feel are important and valuable, forsaking the emerging green of spring. I want spring. I want life. I want to run in the freedom of His love.

How about you?

When God Answers Specifically

2010-03-04T10:30:00.001-06:00

Some of you may know that I've been discouraged lately about my writing career. Not big stuff, just little things toppled one upon the other. If you're not careful (particularly in life), you can begin to think those little disappointments suddenly define you.

So I prayed. I said,

"Lord, please encourage me specifically in my writing ministry. Please let me know if I need to keep walking down this path of words.

Show me You see me."

And I asked others to pray the same way. I have a terrific, encouraging prayer team who faithfully lifts me and my family up.

And God answered. Specifically.

How?

My daughter texted, "I love you, Mommy," at precisely the time I felt the lowest. Uncanny, the timing. Made me cry.
My friend called me and told me this wild story. "I got a call from a friend who asked if I knew you. I said, 'Yes, she is my dear friend.' The friend then said she saw the dedication in your book to me. Later, after she finished the book, she told me it had really, really impacted her."
Then, I received a Facebook message from my hairdresser who said that the book I'd given her to give to a friend had impacted her. And guess what? She's the same woman from story #2! We're all connected somehow!
Then, I got a call from my friend Olivia who was speaking with her hubby in a small town in a small Texas church. Before the message, they flashed things on the screen of the church. One screen had a large picture of Daisy Chain, and they'd recommended the congregation to buy the book!
Then, I got an email from someone who just picked up Ordinary Mom, Extraordinary God. It had really blessed her, helped her not feel alone.
Then this morning, I received an email from one of the writers I met in France. She'd downloaded Daisy Chain on her Kindle and then wrote about it. So fun!
Last, a friend of ours in our community group via church offered to send out my press release on PRWeb. Already the book is getting great exposure!
A book club organizer sent me this: "Your book is making a huge impact on the hearts of the readers in our book club, Mary. Some of the ladies have experienced sexual abuse and other have sisters/friends who have. They are well into the book, and already are having emotional reactions. Good ones."
My agent called me today with good news, and a heart to encourage. She speaks life over me.
An excerpt of my latest book will be on a big ministry site next week.

But even more than these very specific things, God spoke directly to me. He helped me see, through another prayer team friend, that I'm a missionary writer. If I remember back to being a missionary in France, and how beautifully God provided for our ministry there, I can see this writing as an adventure. I wrote this:

If I see myself as a missionary writer, every provision seems like a beautiful mystery, not obligatory.

I also processed my frustration, and received great insight from Jesus. I posted about that here. I concluded it this way:

Jesus endured the cross for "the joy set before Him." I fear I've wanted the joy here. Now. Today. But He calls me to think of the joy then, in the Great Future. And that's why He could sit down when He accomplished His work on earth. He had One Master. He kept close to the Father, heard His voice, did His bidding, no matter how counterintuitive or countercultural it may have seemed. And even though His work seemed incomplete (meaning the disciples hadn't come into their own yet), He knew the entire plan and rested in that.

Since I don't know the entire plan, I will rest on the sovereignty of God. Or I'll try. I, by God's grace, will write for the joy set before me, enduring whatever trials come my way. I pray I can rest there. I pray you can, too.

Writing without immediate reward

2010-03-02T09:17:00.001-06:00

I wrote about this today over at The Master's Artist. Catch it here.

The Simple Cure for Pride: See Yourself as a Servant

2010-02-25T08:07:00.000-06:00

picture credit, mine. Mount Hermon 2009

I remember emailing author Randy Alcorn after my first Mount Hermon (a Christian writers conference in California). I asked him about how he handled fame. Prior to the conference, something deeply supernatural happened to me. A flurry of memories came back to me, painful parts throughout my life. I said to the Lord, "I've endured a lot of trials."

He responded, "Yes, you have. But will you withstand the hardest one? Will you withstand the trial of notoriety?"

Those words echoed through me that first Mount Hermon. It's the conference that turned my trajectory from wannabe writer to soon-to-be-published writer. So when I came away from the conference with an agent, I wrote Randy. His assistant was kind to send me back some of the things he wrote about notoriety. This one stuck with me:

“Focus on being a servant. Ask yourself, ‘How can I serve in any situation, whether it be . . . with a taxi driver, flight attendant, waitress, etc. Think of what you can do for that person. It’s not about you; it’s about the Lord. This gets your mind off yourself and onto another person. The greatest danger of notoriety is you start thinking about you. People then exist to serve you. This is exactly the opposite of the servant mentality. Jesus came to serve, not to be served.”

Any sort of "fame" any of us receives is for the sole purpose of building others up, of serving those God places in our lives. And beyond that, if we think of ourselves as simply servants who serve a Master, we won't mire ourselves in pride. Consider these verses:

"Does the servant get special thanks for doing what is expected of him? It's the same with you. When you've done everything expected of you, be matter-of-fact and say, 'The work is done. What we were told to do, we did." Luke 17:10 MSG.

It's that simple. When people thank me for writing a book or an article or a blog, I tell myself to simply say thanks. And then in my mind, I realize I'm just stewarding the gift God's given me. I'm doing what He's told me to do. No fanfare. No parades. Just simple obedience.

All this to say, I still struggle with notoriety. I push down pride. I fret too much about my career. And there are times I like the seats of prominence (I say this to my shame). But I'm learning, just like you are, that there's more to life than being recognized. And if, by chance, I'm recognized, Jesus makes it clear that any position just gives a broader base to serve.

Wielding Words as Weapons on the Web

2010-02-24T18:31:00.000-06:00

This post has been on my mind for a long time. Maybe I was afraid to share myself so starkly, or expose my pettiness. I've worked through all that (at least in this moment) so here goes:

I believe God entrusts us with words. And if we wield them in a public way, we have a greater responsibility to share them wisely. If one has been given a gift, much will be required.

So it's with sadness that I recount a few of my own stories as cautionary tales.

Many, many years ago before I was published, I edited and produced a church newsletter. In addition, during that time, we sent out regular support letters for our upcoming adventure in seminary (not for me, but for my husband). I had a conflict with a dear friend, and I chose to write about it in a masked but pretty obvious way in the support letter. Yikes! Of course my friend kindly asked me about it. Horrified that she figured out my little tirade, I apologized profusely and tucked the lesson away in my mind. Don't publicly share a vendetta! Just say no!

Then, in the blush of publication when I had a book contract or two, I shared some of my pet peeves with Christian books, not thinking a snitch how this might be taken, or how it would hurt others. Lesson number two: be careful and think through your criticism. This is a small business, and your crabby tone will be remembered a long time, even after you apologize and take down posts.

Later, after being hurt in a painful situation, I took to my blog and wrote a story, veiled, about how I felt. I didn't name names. Didn't paint the picture as obvious, but a good friend of mine emailed me privately and said, "Mary, is this about ___________?" It was. And I removed my pain-filled, woe-is-me post, again feeling like I'd really messed up. I learned it's best to go to Jesus first, air your pain there, before considering sharing it out in public with the whole wide world. People are pretty darned smart, and they'll figure out your strange posts!

Here are some things to think about when wielding your words in a public space. Ask yourself:

Will this hurt someone if he/she figures it out?
How would I feel if someone posted this about me?
In what ways am I trying to prove my rightness?
Will I be damaging a person's reputation?
Is it necessary to be targeted in my post?
Why not choose to suffer quietly?
Do you trust your reputation to Jesus, or do you feel you have to manage it?
Will this wound dissipate tomorrow? (Often we feel the wound in the heat of the moment, then slash off an email or blog post, regretting it in a few moments. Better to wait, pray, and seek to let it go.)
Will this post bring reconciliation or further discord?
Am I fueling a raging debate or acting in a conciliatory, teachable way?

So my question is: have you felt this way? Have you wielded your words in a way you regretted? What have you learned? What would you say to others who are tempted to write in a disparaging manner about a person or an injustice?

Why Truth is Beautiful: 20 Reasons

2010-02-21T20:22:00.000-06:00

I've had a flood of reader mail, which has really blessed me. It occurred to me that honest, authentic writing changes folks. Truth, raw and redemptive, sets people free. Culled from my inbox, here are twenty reasons why Truth is beautiful:

When we tell the truth about our stories, others don't feel alone anymore.
When we share our foibles in light of God's truth, we realize we are small but God is big.
The beauty of redemption shines all the brighter on a dark canvas. (So saying it like it is doesn't negate God's intersection, it highlights it.)
Telling or writing the truth frees us and others from the people-pleasing trap.
When we share our stories, we give others the chance to grieve their own in an open way. Truth opens up emotions we once thought buried.
The truth, when written humbly, shines the light on people's sins in an invitational, grace-oriented way.
Truth helps us be accountable to our brothers and sisters in Christ.
Truth obliterates the power of sin in my life when I share it.
Being an authentic communicator invites others into shared community.
Writing or telling the truth makes us real and it strips us of a performance-based Christianity.
Truth rips down masks (in the best possible way).
When we point to truth, we remember that Truth personified is Jesus.
When we speak the truth in love, we show a friend that we genuinely care. We're willing to risk a temporary lapse in relationship for the sake of our friend's better good and holiness.
Telling the truth is spiritual warfare. Since Satan is the father of lies and speaks lies as his native language, truth-telling renders him speechless.
Truth is refreshing.
Truth is contagious. When you share it, you invite others to follow you. You can start a revolution of disclosure.
People trust a truth teller.
If you're passionate about something, being truthful endears you to your audience. They trust what you're saying and are more apt to join you in your passion.
Telling the truth is safe. You don't have to worry about contradicting yourself or trying to remember who you told what to.
Being a truth teller helps you look yourself in the mirror and not be ashamed.

What about you? Why, in your opinion, is truth beautiful? (And why are lies destructive?)

The Beauty of Detractors

2010-02-19T09:36:00.000-06:00

I've been reading through the Gospels in The Message. I love how Peterson's translation reorients me to the surprise of Jesus' words, particularly this passage:

Luke 6: 22-23

"Count yourself blessed every time someone cuts you down or throws you out, every time someone smears or blackens your name to discredit me. What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort and that that person is uncomfortable. You can be glad when that happens—skip like a lamb, if you like!—for even though they don't like it, I do . . . and all heaven applauds. And know that you are in good company; my preachers and witnesses have always been treated like this.

The verses remind me to write/speak/live for an Audience of One, for the applause of heaven. The closer we get to writing the truth, living the truth, and acting as agents of truth in a lie-happy world, the more detractors we'll have.

I remember a particular detractor recently. Words came from nowhere--harsh, slicing, painful. I took them in, swallowed them, digested them. Let them poison me and make me afraid to write. But mostly the words made me afraid to be myself.

As God graciously delivered me from that relationship, He helped me realize that sometimes there are enemies out there looking a lot like companions. That we should be careful. But that we should also rejoice because often times those harsh words mean we're doing something right.

(Aside: Every person who shares something hard with me has dignity, and it's up to me to take in what every person says, weigh it in light of Jesus, and apply it to my life. In a rare instance, a friend's words don't resonate. But mostly they do. Please don't take this as a post about disregarding critics. You grow the most when you listen and heed your critics. I'm talking here about overtly harsh and underhanded critics.)

Here's a verse that keeps me humble and a bit scared: Luke 6:26 “Woe to you, when all people speak well of you, for so their fathers did to the false prophets." I do love for everyone to love me. (And I'm guessing you feel the same at times). But if we're truly living for Jesus, we will have enemies. Remember this equally convicting verse: 2 Timothy 3:12 "Indeed, all who desire to live godly in Christ Jesus will be persecuted."

Notice that? WILL BE. If you're not suffering persecution, at least in some form or another, perhaps you're no threat to the powers of darkness. Perhaps you've (me included) chosen a safe, risk-free, I-want-everyone-to-like-me faith.

Oh to be risky! To risk reputation, standing, stature for the sake of the applause of heaven rather than the arena of man! Oh to trust God enough with my reputation, to let Him manage it. Oh to embrace the words He speaks over me, to sift through the criticism in a godly manner, to rejoice when I suffer persecution for His sake. Oh to be all these things.

The detractor I mentioned above? One of the most beautiful things has happened as a result of that fragmented relationship. It opened the door to new and different friendships I'd never had if I hadn't met that person in the first place. It helps me see that God is sovereign even over the pain, over the caustic words, over the broken relationship. Because from that, He birthed new friendships. What a cool, amazing, surprising God we serve!

The Kindle Contest Winner is . . .

2010-02-19T08:28:00.000-06:00

Laura Boggess!

A huge thank you to all the essayists out there. We had over 100+ entries. A special thank you to the Blog Tour Spot's critique group who read through the entries and selected a winner. Laura wins for her essay entitled, "Jesus Smells Like Murphey's Oil Soap." Here is her beautiful essay:

Why am I here?

Obligation. Guilt. Fear.

Whatever reason, I give up my Saturday for it. Meet this ragtag group to clean the church.

I dip rag into bucket of cleaning solution, ignore irritation. I begin: dip rag, wring out, move across wood…

The vacuum hums. Noise so loud we shout to hear. It doesn’t help me relax into this.

I excuse myself.

I stand alone, breath… wonder--why feel this way? The answer looms. I struggle to love this church. Too many hurtful words, too much hypocrisy. Much of what Jesus hates.

I feel little affection for these walls. I have watched my husband’s fledgling faith wings clipped by those who worship here.

The beginnings of bitterness begin to creep in. Like poison entering my body, it moves slowly through my blood.

Jesus help me.

I wipe more pews.

Dip, wring, wipe. Rub away dirt.

Something happens.

He comes.

This oily lemony aroma comforts me. Gleaming wood sings. I sing too.

This plain piece of wood has more beauty than the most intricate of carvings. It cradles the Body of Christ.

I think of the wood that touched our Lord’s skin, soaked in His blood. Wiping becomes caress. The smell envelopes me and I remember.

Some worship the building instead of our Lord.

I have seen it.

But on this morning, hands dripping with Murphy’s Oil Soap, I realize it is only when I see Jesus here that I can to love these walls.

Jesus edges into my heart and nudges away the bitterness.

He leaves only love.

Mount Hermon Head Start Mentoring Clinic

2010-02-18T09:46:00.000-06:00

It's a great opportunity to better your writing, make new friends, and experience the breathtaking scenery at Mount Hermon. March 24--26th (prior to the writing conference).

For more information, click here.

Post 1567: From Failure to Today

2010-02-17T14:57:00.000-06:00

It's hard to believe I've posted 1566 times since relevantblog launched in October of 2004 from France. Here's my first post. Some of you have asked about France, wondering why I don't write much about our time there. I did chronicle our adventures here in this space, but I didn't share everything. Why? It was just too much at the time. And if you want the truth today: it is still too much. I'll need to walk through some long journeys of healing before I'm ready to spill that story on the page.

But I'm grateful, so grateful for France.

Why?

Because it broke me, or better said, God broke me there. Stripped me of ability, affinity, relationship, communication, community. Every area of my life faced challenge. Every part of me had to either hide under my covers or run to Jesus. Often I preferred a down comforter to The Comforter. But I learned through many failures.

I failed in relationships.

I failed in talking with folks well.

I failed in judgment.

I failed at parenting.

I failed in endurance.

And yet, by God's uncanny grace, I'm here, able to type Post 1567, refueled by Christ's regenerating love. It's a beauty that can only come from the Author of Everything, the One who causes the great reversal.

Beauty from ashes.

Hope from despair.

Life from death.

Gumption from giving up.

A new heart from a broken one.

Humility from the little daily deaths of pride.

Jesus is that to me. The One who can travel to the Land of Misfit Toys, dust me off, and present me for new service. I'm grateful. So grateful.

Happy Birthday Aidan!

2010-02-11T09:44:00.000-06:00

God sent snow today for Aidan's 14th birthday! Hooray! Here's proof:

Onion sets not yet planted.
Pippin before yellow snow.
Snow-ball waiting for a three-pointer.
A smiling fence.
Finally a use for Ugg boots in Texas!
Our home lantern decked in snow.
Tree holding winter's sky gifts.
Even the birds are snowed in.

Here's an interesting question:

2010-02-09T14:42:00.002-06:00

Are you alive?

As I ran today, I spied a bird on a branch, flapping its wings.

Or so I thought.

As I neared it, I realized it was not a bird, but a dried out leaf, barely clinging to the branch, enlivened by the wind, not by a beating heart.

Suddenly, as if to show me the difference, a little bird flew near the leaf, showing off in flight.

The Lord, as He is apt to do, spoke to me in that moment. "So many are dried out leaves, not alive, tossed about by the wind of the moment. I want my children to fly. To live. To let me breath live and vitality into them. Which will you be, Mary?"

Oh, how I want to be that little flying bird, blessedly alive. Free. I don't want to be a dried up leaf, tossed here and there by the cares of this world. I want my heart to beat. To thrum with life. To empower me to fly.

Dear Jesus, help me fly today. Invigorate my heart to beat for You, to love others for the sheer joy of making You smile. Breathe Your life into mine. I promise, by Your grace, to shout Your glory to the heavens. You are the Author of Life, after all. Amen.

Humbling review of Daisy Chain!

2010-02-08T15:38:00.000-06:00

1 of 2 people found the following review helpful:

Stephen King, take note: here's writing to aspire to., February 7, 2010

By	E. Resnick (Simi Valley, CA) - See all my reviews

Amazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)

Stephen King, take note: here's writing to aspire to.

The richest, most effective prose takes you on a journey you'll not soon forget in this wonderful novel. Not a purple word in the bunch, not a meretricious line to be found, nary a letter out of place. Mary E. DeMuth is the Rembrandt of novelists.

Characters and story so profound you'll wonder why the store bookshelves today are so filled with pulp.

(And by the way, I'm not Christian or Catholic. I'm not another prattling zealot. Just an average reader.)

When people are weeds

2010-02-04T08:56:00.012-06:00

While running, the Lord reminded me of the Garden of Eden, how beautiful it must've been. And to think, no weeds!

I thought further about weeds and then reminded myself of the hard things God had been saying to me of late, how He's asking me to edit my life, say no. It's a lot like weeding, this saying no thing. Because when you do, you uproot something that takes over everything (if you're careful to pull out all the root structure.)

As I continued down the path of my local park, another thought came to mind. What if some people were weeds? What if there were folks who took over our lives (not just physically or with time, but emotionally too, where they take up space in our minds?) Eccesiastes tells us there's a time to plant and a time to uproot what is planted.

There are folks who are like weeds in my life. And in this juncture, thankfully, they're not deeply imbedded in my day-to-day activities. In that way, God has uprooted them from me. But I let these weedy folks (who have spoken destructive, painful words over my life) take up residence in my mind, mulling over their mean-spirited words, ruminating on what I could've done to possibly change their minds about me.

In that conundrum, I know there are three primary ways of weed removal:

I can simply pretend the weeds are pretty, tolerate them, even water them. Often, I've done this. I've tried to hope for the best with some painful relationships, doing my best to jump through hoops so all will be well. The result? Those weeds take over my heart, choking me.
I can spray toxic chemicals on them. This happens during direct confrontations with said weeds. If I allow someone to hurt me so much that I retaliate with words, then I've given in to sin. Better to take the pain to Jesus and ask Him to be my defender.
I can ask the Master Gardener to fully uproot the weeds, not only from my day-to-day life, but from my heart and mind. When He does this, healing begins. I simply can't be a beautiful, lush garden with weeds invading. The hard part? Sometimes weeds pose as flowers. And sometimes flowers look like weeds. Only the Master Gardener knows the difference and can order my life and relationships accordingly. The key to weed removal is close proximity to the Master Gardener.

In this endeavor to simplify my life, I've had to entrust every relationship to the Lord, particularly the ones that drain me or tear me down. I remember one time many years ago when my dear friend Stacey sat in her car with me and told me she'd been weeding out her friends. It had been a painful year for her. At its end, God told her to simplify her relationships, choosing the ones that best blessed her and challenged her.

"I choose you," she told me.

I'd invite you to evaluate your life right now. In what ways are you throwing your relational pearls before swine? Who are the weeds in your life? Who are you afraid to let go of? Who has acted like an enemy, speaking words of discouragement over you? Perhaps it's time to press into the Master Gardener, to trust Him to pull the weeds that need to be pulled, and plant the flowers that need to be planted.

Free Books!

2010-02-01T16:04:00.000-06:00

Great news!

Daisy Chain, by yours truly, is being offered free on Barnes & Noble and Amazon for the Nook and Kindle for the next 2 weeks. (And if you have an iphone or an ipod touch or a pc, you can download apps to be able to read books, then get a free download.) Please pass this information on to your friends and family who enjoy great books!

Other free books include:

Peculiar Treasures by Robin Jones Gunn. Amazon. Barnes & Noble.
Velvet Elvis by Rob Bell. Amazon. Barnes & Noble.
Never Say Never by Lisa Wingate. Amazon.

This Little Prayer of Mine

2010-01-29T14:17:00.000-06:00

This is a guest post by author Anthony DeStefano.

This Little Prayer of Mine—my very first children’s book—will be on bookshelves Feb. 16th.

My own little prayer right now is that children and their parents will respond to it the same way adult readers did to my first two books, A Travel Guide to Heaven, and Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To. In those books, I tried to distill complex theological subjects and make them as simple and easy-to-understand as possible, without in any way compromising the theology. That’s basically the same thing I did in This Little Prayer of Mine. Adults who read this book might recognize the foundational tenets of faith, like placing trust in God in all things, being grateful for blessings, being generous to those who are in need. In simple language and rhyme, children can absorb those lessons too, while also learning how easy and natural prayer can be. After all, when you come down to it, prayer is just a simple, heartfelt conversation with God.

I believe the greatest gift you can give a child is the gift of prayer. As children grow up and learn about loss and grief, the ones who know they can turn to God in prayer at any time will always get throughthat suffering with their peace of mind and faith intact. It will not stop them from experiencing suffering of course, but it will give them hope. And that’s exactly what you give children when you teach them to pray early—the gift of hope.

For this book I teamed up with the incredible illustrator Mark Elliott, whose work can be seen in the “Princess Tales” series. I wanted art work that was a little bit reminiscent of Norman Rockwell. I think children will identify with the pictures—especially the funny ones. I’m very fortunate to have received some high-level praise for the book in advance of publication. For instance, the book has already been officially endorsed by the National Day of Prayer; and Bernice King, the daughter of Dr Martin Luther King Jr. and Coretta Scott King, has said that the book is a springboard for helping children establish a relationship with God.

If you want to know more about the book, please check it out at Amazon.com or go to this special page I have set up for blog readers.

Treasure goes both ways

2010-01-27T20:14:00.000-06:00

I spent the past few days at the Dallas gathering of the US delegates for the Cape Town 2010 congress. To say I felt completely humbled is a gross overstatement. I got to meet and talk with so many amazing people, heads of ministries, devoted followers of Jesus, people with amazing stories.

One of the songs we sang was the song God gave Patrick and me when we prepared for heading to France as missionaries, Be Thou My Vision. The verse that grabbed us was this one:

Riches I heed not
Nor man's empty praise
Thou mine inheritance now and always
Thou and Thou only first in my heart
High King of heaven, my treasure Thou art

Such great, deep, important words. I fear we live in a world of Christian celebrities, many of us longing for that kind of shallow recognition: riches, praise from men, security from money (inheritance). We pine after trinkets instead of treasuring the God of Everything.

Even so, singing those words again reminded me to turn my back on the lure of others' praise. It made me want to know Jesus' love for me more deeply, more truly, so that I didn't spend my life running after others' words. All I need, truly, is His words toward me.

So when we took communion, something very surprising happened. I received the bread, then dipped it in the cup. The man with the cup looked into my eyes and said, "You belong to Jesus."

It rocked my world. I belong. I belong to the High King of Heaven. The Treasured one treasures me enough to choose me to belong. I'm chewing on that beauty right now.

On the Outside

2010-01-18T09:46:00.000-06:00

I've wondered for quite some time why I devoured and loved To Kill a Mockingbird. It's only been recently that I realized why Tom Robinson's story touched me so. He was on the outside. Not included. On the fringes. Not believed. Forsaken by many.

There were times in my life I felt that way, and I suspect many of you have had periods where you've felt on the outside. School breeds these kinds of feelings. I remember wearing the wrong clothes to my new school in sixth grade, how out of place I felt, how ashamed, how different. Though I wasn't persecuted, I did feel the alienation of being different.

Growing up as an only child, I had ample opportunity to sit back and observe, to be on the sidelines watching others interact. This observation has helped me immensely as a writer, but it also served to separate me from others.

So I empathize with folks on the outside because I've been there. I certainly don't believe I've walked in Tom Robinson's shoes for any stretch, but I have worn the flips flops of an outsider. And in that, I am deeply thankful for Jesus.

Hebrews 13:12 says, "So also Jesus suffered and died outside the city gates to make his people holy by means of his own blood." Jesus' own death didn't occur near a palace, or even on the streets He used to walk. He suffered outside the gates of the city, outside of community, outside of prominence. Like Tom, He was an innocent man, paying for the sin of another. And He did so alone.

If Jesus, the Holy Outsider, can perform such a wild act of self-sacrificing love, perhaps I can stoop to untie His sandals and walk in His steps. And maybe if we all wear those sandals, there will be less alienation, less prejudice, less outsiders.

One can only hope.

Jesus bore the wrath

2010-01-17T14:44:00.000-06:00

I don't know about you, but I don't much like wrath. Much of my life has been spent avoiding other people's wrath. I'm terrified of it. Anger directed toward me scares me. So today, the simple truth weaseled its way into my heart. Jesus bore God's righteous wrath. He took it. He absorbed it. He wore it. He felt it. He experienced it.

Imagine bearing the righteous anger of God Almighty!

Jesus bore other wrath too--the wrath of fellow human beings, the wrath of the demonic hoardes. But none was so devastating as bearing His Father's wrath.

Why am I so afraid, then? Jesus bore the most intense wrath. He took the wrath I deserved. If His sacred brow could absorb such a thing, surely I can lean on Him when others' wrath bears down on me.

I'm resting there today, in the shelter of the One who bore the wrath.

The motions

2010-01-11T11:44:00.000-06:00

I'm thinking about and singing this song, "The Motions" by Matthew West. You can watch the amazing video here.

It was easy singing a song like that when we lived in France, untethered to security, constantly facing distress and out-of-the-box trials. We left everything comfortable. But now I live in Texas with a church on every corner, attending an amazing, vibrant church. I have good friends, great kids, a terrific husband. And it all seems so easy.

I'm afraid to say the word "easy" out loud, though. It's like I'm inviting trouble, isn't it? Because even if life feels navigatable, God is always at work on the inner landscape of stubborn hearts, isn't He? Though I do feel like I could choose to put myself out there, away from comfort more often--in those places where I can't depend on my wherewithal.

It's like my workout plans in 2009, which consisted of one thing: jogging. I wondered why it didn't help, why I didn't lose the weight I'd gained back in Texas. Well, the sad truth is this: I'm far too easy on myself. When I got winded, I slowed down. When I hurt, I desisted.

Now that I have a trainer for a few more sessions, I see my tendency to embrace comfort over exertion. She pushes me way beyond where I'd push myself, and I'm finally seeing results. It's that way in the spiritual life. The Holy Spirit pushes us out of the nest of our comfortable spot, pushes us to fly on fickle winds. We have a choice. To fly or to cling to the nest.

Going through the motions is clinging to the nest. It's making an idol out of comfort rather than living for the glory of God.

I don't want to go through the motions! But I do want to go through motions!

Lord, help me to heed You when You push me outside that which is comfortable to me. Help me to feel the weight of Your push, the dread of the air beneath me, the power of Your wings to help me soar in unknown places. I don't want to embrace complacency. I want to trust You with risk, with daring to live for You even when it hurts. Rejuvenate my desires. Lift them above comfort to conforming to Your will. I choose You, Lord. Wherever You lead is where I want to go.

Why do poorly written books sell?

2010-01-03T15:54:00.004-06:00

(Picture credit: me, at Chihuly museum in Tacoma, WA). I'm posting this picture for a reason, to show the beauty of art that took invention, labor, and creativity to make.)

Today over at Facebook I asked the question, "Why do poorly written books sell well?" Some spoke of the importance of story (and I agree.) A poorly written book with a knockout story will sell. We are creatures of story. Others mentioned that unschooled folks could write memoirs and they'd read them because they knew them. Also valid. One of my favorite books is a self published book by a now-deceased friend. He lived the message of that book. And he was an excellent storyteller.

Others lamented the loss of our taste for excellent writing. I lament that too. And others spoke of the importance of writing in today's vernacular. (I'd buy that, but then I read a book like The Book Thief, which is brilliant, and see that teens and adults can abide by good writing.)

Some mentioned marketing or an important hook (like a celebrity book). True. Much of what entices consumers ties into marketing. But it's also true that good ol' grass roots word of mouth truly sells books. So why would folks recommend a poorly written book?

Others mentioned that poor writing is in the eye of the beholder. That one person's poor writing is another's accessibility. True. We're all different, and we all have unique reading preferences. And not everyone is nitpicky like me.

A girl named Rachel wrote this: "Book selling is a business, good writing is an art. TWO ENTIRELY DIFFERENT PLANETS. Why do we pay $20 for a copy of picture at our local big box store and there are hand-painted masterpieces in someone's basement?" That's an interesting point. But as a writer who tries to make a living, surely there's some convergence between the two, right?

Beth wrote, "It appears to me it is more about how God would choose to use a book, than how polished their writing is. God still uses broken vessels today just as he did in Biblical times." While, as a cracked pot myself, I agree with this, the logic could be taken to another conclusion. I could say, "Well, God uses broken stuff, so I'm just going to slap something together and pray He'll bless it." Of course I believe in the sovereignty of God, but I also believe in the Puritan work ethic, the laboring over something as an act of worship of a Creative God. As David said, I don't want to offer something to God that costs me nothing.

As a word artist, I take my craft seriously. I know not all writers see themselves that way. That's okay.

But for me, I must write a better book than the book I've written before. As a Christ follower, I choose to grow, to learn excellence, to perfect the craft as a form of worship. Of course that includes storytelling. But it also involves crafting the words, creating the kind of sentences and stories that woo my readers in. I'm passionate about this, as its my livelihood.

Does it bother me that poorly written books sell? On one small level, yes. But it doesn't deter me from pressing into working harder. I owe that to the One who gifted me, and I owe it to my reader.

I know I may not sell a million books. But I do want to be able to look myself in the mirror and know I've grown in my craft. More than that, I want to hear "Well done, good and faithful servant."

Confession of a Forty-Something: Weight Loss is Hard

2010-01-01T19:12:00.002-06:00

Yep, I'm trying to lose some extra weight that accumulated in Texas. In France I walked so much, I maintained a healthy, happy weight (and I was younger there), but now that I've hit the 40s and settled into a sedentary writer's lifestyle, I've been frustrated that my clothes are tight. (Picture, me in France with kids three years ago).

So I've taken charge. I record my food intake every day at Livestrong.com. I try to exercise most days, and I've started working out with a personal trainer. So far so good. Two weeks = 4 pounds lost. And I'm getting stronger, eliminating most processed sugar (thanks to Truvia!), and feeling better.

This is a lifestyle change, not a diet. I'm an awful person when I'm hungry, so I eat when I'm hungry. I am adding more veggies and whole grains to my diet. And I limit my treats to dark, dark chocolate. (I also don't drink my calories.) I'm also endeavoring to drink 8 glasses of water a day. That's NOT easy for nonthirsty me. Seriously, I am NEVER thirsty. Drinking is something I have to force.

So today I feel pretty good about my progress. Tomorrow, maybe not. But if I put it out here, and if I keep writing down what I eat on Livestrong, chances are I'll succeed.

How about you? How are you trying to maintain a healthy diet? What kind of exercise do you love? What healthy habit has helped you lose weight? (Please don't comment like you're an informercial, though!)

25 Neurotic random thoughts on a gray day

2009-12-31T17:00:00.003-06:00

Here are 25 thoughts in no particular order (though realize they all reside in my head at the same time!)

I don't think I could handle living in Seattle. This gray day is making me weepy! I'm thankful for sunny Texas.
I need to make an appetizer, and soon.
My dog smells like overdead fish.
I have one million things to do in the garden, including moving renegade strawberry plants.
My ankle feels weird.
My Dwight Shrute bobble head makes me smile.
The sign on my desk hanging over a cross says "Joy." It's a good reminder.
My stomach is funny.
I can't wait to sit down and write another novel. The characters are talking to me.
I feel guilty for not exercising today.
I shouldn't have snapped at hubby on the phone. (He called just as I was about to eat, after my stomach got really grumbly. All I wanted was food, not conversation!)
I hope I can stay up past ten tonight.
Shallow: I like my new cell phone.
Fuzzy socks pretty much make any day happy.
Daughter Julia is beautiful, inside and out.
Our cat has a microchip in her neck (spy kitty) and an EU passport with her picture.
I'm wearing a fake wedding ring (bought it on Amazon). Mine needs fixin'.
Daughter Sophie makes me laugh.
Things are different when you're in your forties.
I like wood floors.
I love that Aidan earned money this break, and with that money, he's saving it to go to Ghana next summer.
I love gift cards.
Scary movies with demon-y things disturb me.
I remember dialing on the phone. And 8 tracks. And so many other ancient things like that.
Jesus makes me stable.

That's it! Your turn. What random things are on your mind?

The Year in Photos

2009-12-30T09:06:00.028-06:00

Pippin the wonder dog, bearing gifts.

Aidan's 13th birthday.

Sunset near our house last winter.

Daisy Chain book signing at Legacy Books. The cake was amazing!

With Susan Meissner at the Christian Book Expo. She won Book of the Year!

Tosca, me, Jonathan and Meredith out in Santa Cruz during Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference.

Me with kids, hanging.

Early spring, me with hubby.

Sophie's choir banquet friends.

Filming a book trailer in Illinois.

At Write to Publish. I keynoted! This is my friend Rachelle. We roomed together. Great talks.

Sophie went to Ghana!

I added D'Ann Mateer and Leslie Wilson to The Writing Spa! Woot!

Julia and her friend Clara at her 11th birthday party.

In Washington state, on our vacation. The kids are acting like Edward Cullen.

Aidan knee boarding for the first time.

Me at ACFW with Mrs. Montana (and friend!) Angie. Just prior to this I spoke at She Speaks, but I don't have pictures from then!

Sophie's trip to Washington DC. She got to present flowers at Arlington Cemetery. Wow.

Proof that I did something on my bucket list this year. U2 baby!!!!

Book signing at Legacy Books for A Slow Burn.

Sophie's Homecoming 2009.

Novelist retreat with Nicole Baart and Tosca Lee.

Fun discipleship retreat in Oklahoma. Sophie took this picture.

Friend brunch (right around the time of Sophie's birthday party, but I don't have pictures of that.)

New profile pictures taken by Sophie! Yeah!

I ended the year taking pictures of families and authors to raise money to go to Cape Town next year. So far, very fun and successful!

That's it. Our year in pictures. I hope you enjoyed it!

Long ago and far away

2009-12-28T22:06:00.005-06:00

My father took these pictures of me when I was four and five years old, some difficult years. Seeing them again make me sad and happy all at once. Sad because I see how very young I was when I faced adult-sized trials. Happy because I still can't believe Jesus stooped low to lift me up and save me in every possible way.

I am whole.

Alive.

Thankful.

New.

Rejuvenated.

Set free.

Humbled.

Rejoicing.

Full of hope.

All because He saw me then, chose me, and dared to shame the wise through the foolishness of me. Thank You Jesus.

Seventeen Years Ago Today

2009-12-24T10:54:00.006-06:00

Seventeen years ago today, my water broke! And now . . . I have a beautiful daughter, Sophie!
Me pregnant. Boy was I sick . . . all nine months.
On Christmas Eve (late that night). After this, they put a santa hat on Sophie who weighed six pounds eleven ounces. They presented her in a stocking. She still has it.
Here she is at four months old.

The irony of Mary being in labor on Christmas Eve was interesting. Too bad Patrick's name isn't Joseph--it would've made an interesting story! We celebrated Christmas in Harrison Memorial Hospital in Bremerton, Washington, happy to be first time parents. When we brought her home, we worried. We had barely changed a diaper before. I kept thinking she would die.

But she didn't! And now she's beautiful, intelligent, kindhearted and hilarious. Sophie was the best Christmas Eve present I've ever received!

Odds and Ends

2009-12-22T07:36:00.002-06:00

Sorry I've been off the radar lately. No excuses other than the hustle and bustle of this time of year. Here's a mini update.

Yesterday, my dear daughter Sophie took photos of me for a new headshot. You can see one above. She did an amazing job! You can see the rest of them here.

We just learned that the project Aidan, our son, has helped and dreamed of is coming full circle. Lakepointe Church and a host of other amazing donors has helped secure money to create a pipeline for a village called Sankpem in Ghana. I can't think of a better Christmas gift.

My daughter Sophie's 17th birthday is Christmas Eve. She was hoping to sing that song "Sixteen Going on Seventeen" in a gazebo with someone named Rolf, but we don't know anyone named Rolf (and Rolf has fascist tendencies) so I guess that will never happen. Unless of course, you are Rolf.

I'm thinking through that old end of the year reorientation thing. I'm working out again (thankfully) and trying to eat more whole foods. I'm ramping up my gardening efforts, thinking through how to better connect with all my kids, and wondering what God has in store for me in 2010.

One huge praise: I'm headed to Cape Town South Africa in October! And the Lord (through the generosity of others) has already provided the registration fee. Now to raise the airfare and hotel.

I loved Julie & Julia. Why? I adore cooking (and Lord willing, someday I'll write that cookbook!), and so much of it was shot in France, which actually conjured up some good memories for me. I'm so thankful for that. Plus I totally related to the idea of trying so hard to get a book published. I teared up when each person got that contract.

I have a new moleskine for 2010, anticipating what tasks, dreams, relationships will fill its pages. Two books will release. Perhaps I'll be writing another book; I hope so. I'm grateful, humbled, and blessed to have written seven published books! What a privilege!

I pray you all have an amazing Christmas, a new year with surprises from the hand of God, and a heart fully devoted to Him.

Our 13-year-old son's vision: water in Ghana

2009-12-08T08:23:00.003-06:00

(Here we're standing on the site where they tried to get water)

Here is an article Aidan wrote for a major Christian publication last year. The water for Sankpem has yet to be found, so we continue to raise money for it. You may donate here. On the pull down menu, click "fresh water: Ghana" to donate to this specific project.

Wells in Africa: My Dream

It was the happiest night of my life. Here I was at twelve years old, dancing with tribe members on the other side of the world. The drumbeats pounded in my chest. I felt the Lord’s presence like I’ve never felt before while I danced in a circle with my new Ghanaian friends. Together, we were dancing for Jesus while bugs the size of Oreos buzzed all around us. But that didn’t stop us from dancing.

This crazy adventure started a year before when my parents talked about the need for wells and water in Africa around the dinner table. When I started sixth grade, I decided to run for treasurer of my school. I had to write a speech and wanted to have something catchy in my speech. So I decided to use raising money to dig wells in Africa as my main point. But unfortunately, I lost the election.

I came home from school very sad. I told my mom what happened, and she thought I was sad because I lost the election. I stopped her and said, “Mom, it’s not that. Now I can’t raise money for wells in Africa. God has burned in my heart a desire to dig wells in Africa and I can’t get that out of my heart.”

That night, my parents were having dinner with our missions pastor. And he decided to open an account at church so I could raise money for wells on my own. Right after that, I had to decide which country in Africa I would help. Our church had well projects in two places: Nigeria and Ghana. I prayed about the decision and I chose Ghana.

Soon I found out that there was a village in Northern Ghana called Sankpem that desperately needed water. Almost every year, a woman died trying to get water for her family. I found out there was a team of people going to the same area of Ghana in the summer. So my mom and I raised money to go to Ghana with the team. And I also raised money to complete the well project in Sankpem.

While we were waiting to go, I got two discouraging emails about the well project. The well-digging company drilled once, but did not hit water. They tried again, and still didn’t hit water. Despite all that, I still wanted to visit Sankpem for myself.

In June of 2008, we flew to Ghana. We started out in a town in Northern Ghana called Tamale. Every day, I went out with my translator, Emmanuel, into the slums near a seminary and shared about Jesus with the people. I told them the story about God creating the world all the way through to Jesus’ death and resurrection. I got to see a lot of Muslims come to faith in Jesus. Before I went to Ghana, I prayed one person would meet Jesus. And here I was seeing several people come to Him.

Later during the trip, I got to see Sankpem. About 1,000 people live in Sankpem, and about twenty adults attend church there. I saw little children playing in the fields, and I watched as a lady walked past us, a huge jar of water on her head. I stood on the two places where they tried to dig wells. The ground was all dry rock, no water. The village elder told us, “We’re very sorry that you spent all that money and we still didn’t get water. If we had hit water, we’d be having celebrations right now.” We prayed that one day Sankpem would have water in their village.

I hope that a pipeline can be made from Sankpem’s nearest village neighbor about ten kilometers away. I’m raising money for that (cost approximately $10,000) and for a rainwater capturing system for the village. Next year, when I go to Sankpem, I pray the village elder will be holding a huge celebration because water has come to Sankpem.

This trip has changed me in many ways. I don’t take the water that comes out of my faucet at home for granted. I’m not as much of a consumer as I used to be. I now have many friends on the other side of the world that taught me how to truly follow Jesus and trust Him for everything. One of my friends said that for ten years he never knew when his next meal was coming, but he learned to trust God. I want to have that kind of faith in God, not in stuff.

I never knew that at the beginning of my sixth grade year that God would take me from a failed election to where I am now. Losing the election was probably the best thing that happened in my life. I will never be the same.

What I’d love to see is a bunch of young people like myself to begin to dream bigger dreams, dreams that only God can give, dreams that only He can bring about. My dream is to bring water to a village on the other side of the world. What is your dream?