On Writing (More)
“To enjoy your work and accept your lot in life—this is indeed a gift from God.”
“If God gives you something that you can do, why in God’s name wouldn’t you do it?”
Last week, I started dreaming about a new writing project. This would be THE project. The One that would challenge and push me. The One that would require an honesty and determination that I’m not sure I possess. The One that captures everything I love in life. But when I began to share it with my husband, he raised both hands to stop me.
“I don’t want to hear about it.”
“Wha—“
“You heard me. I don’t want to hear about it. I want you to write it. You write it and then I’ll read it.”
It’s not that my husband is unsupportive of my writing; he’s so supportive, in fact, that he refuses to listen to me talk about writing. With every conversation, he knows that the likelihood I will actually write decreases exponentially . I know this too, and so last week, I also made my 12-year-old daughter swear that she would not let me share ideas with her, either. She has my full permission to instruct me to SHUT YOUR MOUTH, MOTHER when I sidle up to her to tell her about my latest, greatest project.
And so in the spirit of the New Year, I’m publicly resolving to talk less and write more.
It’s not about producing more content so much as taking writing seriously. Over the last five years, I’ve watched (often incredulously) as writing has morphed from hobby to part-time work to vocation. I’ve known for a while that I needed to shift my approach to writing—to act as if it were truly vocation—but I’ve found plenty of excuses not to, counting on the off chance that if I didn’t own it as vocation then I wouldn’t be responsible for it.
But to riff off Miss O'Connor, our callings don't change according to our ability to stomach them. If God has given me something to do, then I'd better get doing it.
No Comment The first step I’m taking toward talking less and writing more is to remove the comment section from the blog. Common wisdom says that a comment section helps build platform because it drives traffic and forms community. Not-so-common wisdom says that the comment section inhibits my writing because I feel responsible to respond to praise, questions, and critique. This is not a statement about the quality or quantity of comments at SAL, but the very likely possibility that I could write a 700 word essay only to expend 1500 words in the comment section.
By removing the comment section, I’m also clarifying what’s happening here. Instead of seeing this blog as a common meeting space, I see it as a workspace --a space where I craft ideas to send out into other spaces. My goal is not for you to discuss ideas here but for you to discuss them with the people you actually live, work, and worship with—your pastor, your wife, your friend.
I don’t want to build a community around my writing; I want my writing to help you build your community.
Having said this, I believe there is value in online community. I have benefited from new ideas and the comfort of knowing that I am not alone in my concerns and joys. But online interaction can very quickly become a closed circuit, especially when the writing begins to support the community that has grown up around… the writing… which now must support the community… which has grown…
I don’t want this for my writing and I don’t want it for my readers. Instead, I want my writing to support the work that’s happening in our real lives, not draw you (or me) further away from it. There may be a day when the comment section won't draw me away, but I'm not there yet.
Social Media Dis-engagement In order to write more, I’m also taking steps to limit my social media engagement. This too flies of the face of current wisdom about How to Become Successful Online (in Ninety Days or Your Money Back).
The problem with social media is that it is primarily about being… social. It rewards extroverts and those who know how to work a room. It rewards public presence and being personally accessible—or worse, for crafting an image of accessibility, for giving readers the impression that you're personally invested in them. In short, social media rewards you for inviting more and more people into your private life.
Which is the exact opposite of what it takes to write well.
Writers serve readers best, not by hanging out in the public square, but by hiding themselves away to actually… write. For some of us, this hiding away is no sacrifice; for others, it is a discipline, an act of self-control rooted in faith and obedience. Writing well requires space for reflection in a “room of one’s own." But in our digital world, that room is often packed with hundreds, if not thousands, of friends and followers.
Beyond simply being a distraction, I’ve also found that social media can actually undermine my motivation to write. For me, writing has always been about working through ideas. Questions pop into my head (yes, they really do *pop* in--most of the time uninvited) and I use the process of writing to resolve them. But as I write, I'm also cutting a path for readers to follow so that they can work through the ideas themselves. Social media allows me to resolve a question without actually having to write about it—or at least write in a way that readers can follow.
Here’s what happens: I’ll read an interesting article or someone will pose a question. My brain immediately starts turning so I respond with a comment or tweet. Someone else engages. We dialogue and 700 words later, the question is resolved; unfortunately, my need to write about it is also resolved. Because the answer is obvious now (to me at least), I don’t feel the need to develop it any further or guide others along the same mental process. And so I don’t write.
Sometimes I wonder if we’ve lost more books to Facebook threads and Twitter rants than the Alexandrians lost to fire.
Five years ago, I started this blog as a way to keep myself accountable to write. Today I’m returning to it for the same reason. I understand that being a writer in the digital age means having a social media presence; I also understand that shaping ideas requires community. But I don’t believe God has called me to be a social media magnate. He has called me to write.
And often the work of writing is simply that: work. Work that happens word by word, line by line in quiet consistency. It’s no more glamorous than laying brick or filing medical charts. Or at least, it shouldn’t be. But like laying brick and filing medical charts, writing is good, steady, faith-filled work. And when God has given you the opportunity and ability to do good work, what possible justification could you have for not doing it?
Humble Roots
Join Launch Team
Hello, my name is Hannah and I need help.
There I said it.
The woman who happily assumes responsibility after responsibility. The woman who loves doing it all. The woman who stays up late and gets up early worrying about how she's going to get it all done. The woman who so prided herself in her usefulness that God decided she needed to write a book about humility.
This woman has finally reached a place where she can ask for help.
On October 4th, my second book Humble Rootswill release to the general public. But between now and then, I need a group of folks who are willing to read it and tell others about it. I need a group of folks who can help amplify the message of finding peace through humility.
If you're anything like me, you're probably up to your neck in good work--family, church, community service. But if you're anything like me, you're also probably exhausted. Worn thin by the sheer weight of trying to do more and be more than God intends for you.
In Matthew 11, Jesus invites people like us to find rest in Him. "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened" He calls, "and I will give you rest."
But this rest doesn't come by throwing off good things, having tighter schedules, or simply learning to say "No." This rest comes through humility. It comes by learning limitation and dependence.
"Take my yoke upon you and learn from me," Jesus continues, "for I am gentle and humblein heart. And you will find rest for your souls."
Too often, the desire to do good work can mask a deeper pride. We busy ourselves with good things, not simply to fill the need, but because we need to be needed. We need to know that we are important, to know that our lives matter. And so to quiet our fears and stroke our egos, we try to save everyone and everybody from everything.
But we are not God. And when we try to be, we end up stretched, worn thin. While we're busy saving the world, we're losing our own souls.
So let me say it once again: I need your help.
In the past, I might have tried to launch a book on my own. To do enough work behind the scenes to make up the difference of having to humble myself and ask for help. But today, I know better.
If you'd be willing to receive an advance copy of Humble Roots, read it, and commit to to sharing it over the next few weeks, please go to this form. There, you will find more details about how you can help. More than anything though, I want you to join me on this journey to rest, to walking the path of humility.
I want you to come with me, through field and forest, to discover how the natural world declares the glory of God and reminds us of our limitations. I want you to learn how honey and blackberries and wild grapes teach us dependence. I want you to believe that the One who cares for the lilies of the field will care for you too. I want you to know the peace of wild things.
So will you come? Will you join me?
Beauty Will Save the World
In hard times, beauty is among the first things we abandon; in hard times, beauty is among the things we need most.
In a recent op-ed in the New York Times, David Brooks recounts how Frederick Douglass, a former slave and abolitionist, used photography to change the nation’s view of slavery. Renowned as a statesman and activist, Douglass was also something of an artist, carefully selecting his posture, dress, and demeanor to communicate his intrinsic humanity. Near the end of the piece, Brooks confesses
I don't understand why artists want to get involved in partisanship and legislation. The real power lies in the ability to recode the mental maps people project into the world.
Brooks may not understand the temptation, but I do.
When the world is falling to pieces around you, beauty can seem trivial. When the world is falling to pieces around you, it’s so much easier to embrace utilitarianism. Why arrange flowers to set on the table underneath the window where the sunbeam falls when all flesh is grass and the grass withers and the flower fades?
In the span of seven months, this year has brought us terror and death and anger and division and violence. These may not be the worst of times, but they are, by no measure, the best. And in times like these, it’s tempting to bypass beauty and settle for whatever gets the job done. Go directly to the punch. Take the shortest route. Cut to the chase. And then, once your work is done, Cinderella, you can think about going to the ball. Once your work is done, Cinderella, you can sit down to read a novel. Once your work is done, Cinderella, you can write a song.
But what if the work is never done? What if the work can never be done without beauty?
A few weeks ago, I listened to a 2015 interview with Sonia Manzano, best known to millions of children and their parents as "Maria" from Sesame Street. Sonia assumed her alter ego in 1971 and spent the next 44 years showing us a community who lived and loved together, who fought and forgave each other. But that world was not the world Sonia knew as a child. Growing up, Sonia’s world was plagued by domestic violence and poverty.
And in those dark times, beauty became a refuge.
“I found a lot of comfort on television when I was a kid,” Manzano writes. “So I think it's interesting that I ended up on a show that offered a bit of comfort to children who lived in the inner city… Here was a moment, an hour, where there's order, where there's humor, where there's love in a place that looks like your home.”
Award-winning children’s illustrator Jerry Pinkney, echoes a similar thought:
Our work is to create books that act as wide-open doors—books that allow all children to walk through and feel safe enough to stay.
But beauty is not simply about creating an escape from present difficulties. The work of beauty is to create a vision of the world as it was meant to be. It is a way to see past the present darkness to a future beyond. To the tired, beauty promises rest. To the oppressed, it offers freedom. To the fearful, it whispers “Hope.”
“Poets, prophets and reformers are all picture makers,” Frederick Douglass writes, “and this ability is the secret of their power and of their achievements.”
What poets and prophets and reformers offer us is a vision of the world set right. This is why beauty is so powerful and why human beings have always made art, in even the most difficult times and most hardscrabble places. The Appalachian mamaw, fingers bent and eyes straining, thrusts her needle through bits of scrap, quilting together utility and beauty. The island child, malnourished and broken by disease, still gathers bits and bobs to fashion a toy.
This is human heart searching for its home. Searching for safety. Searching for the world as it should be. For in the beginning, it was good; and in the end, it will be good again.
I write this as an act of confession. A confession of what I know to be true; a confession what I fail to do. In the turmoil of 2016, I find myself abandoning beauty in favor of the utilitarian. I find myself focusing on the immediate, preferring argumentation to persuasion. They say talk is cheap and I believe them because talk is easy. It’s easy to pontificate. It’s easy to argue. It’s easy to analyze.
It’s so much harder to hope. It’s so much harder to believe. It’s so much harder to keep faith. It’s so much harder to create.
So hard, in fact, that pursuit of beauty requires Divine intervention. To live beautifully, to live full of love and joy and peace and longsuffering and gentleness and meekness, means being filled with God himself.
And so, as with every other Divine filling, beauty begins with humility. Beauty begins when we repent of our failure to see the world beyond this present darkness. Beauty begins when repent of our failure to see the Power who is greater than evil. Beauty begins when we repent of our lack of faith, and yes, even our lack of imagination.
St. Augustine, that confessing saint, once wrote of God: “Late have I loved you, beauty so old and so new.”
One measure of faith, it seems, is whether we can recognize the Beauty around us. One measure of faith, it seems, is whether we work to create beauty around us. One measure of faith, it seems, is whether we offer hope to those who themselves struggle to believe. Because this is what every artist knows: Show. Don’t tell.
Do not simply tell us what is wrong; show us what is right. Do not simply tell us what we must understand; show us how to understand it at a level deeper than words. Do not simply tell us what the world is; show us what it should be.
Show us beauty Show us kindness Show us courage Show us faith Show us conviction Show us love
In these hard times, we must not abandon the work of beauty. We must take up our cross and discipline ourselves to celebrate it—the quiet moments, the simple pleasures, the secret joys--even as the world falls to pieces around us. But we must do more than this. In these hard times, we must take up our cross and discipline ourselves to create beauty. We must discipline ourselves to rebuild the world even as it falls to pieces around us.
So go. Set the table with the good dishes. Pick the wildflowers that will tomorrow die. Compose a song you already know by heart. Write that novel and build that better mousetrap. And in so doing, remind us all of what the world can and must and one day will be.
Summer Daze
Chalk it up to the latent truancy that exists in parent and child alike, but I've been less than motivated these last few weeks. From the middle of May onward, I found myself slogging through the final projects, class picnics, and end-of-school year programs. I bought the ice cream, clapped for the perfect attendance awards, and sniffled through fifth-grade graduation. When the last bell rang, my kids weren't the only ones ready to be done.
No more lunches to pack...
No more homework to muddle through...
No more waking up in the middle of the night to remember what I forgot...
At least for the next 104 days or so.
I grew up in a teacher's home; in fact, it was a two-teacher home. Both my mother and father spent their days schooling future generations in the finer points of history and science. For our family, life existed in discreet increments of 9 weeks that gradually worked their way toward the ultimate goal of summer vacation. Dad often had to take odd jobs during his months off to make ends meet, but occasionally, every so often, there was a glorious summer when we had enough. He could stay with us, tend his garden, putter in his orchard, and simply enjoy working at home.
Of course, we still had responsibilities, even as children; but there was something marked about the sense of freedom we felt when school wrapped up. Instead of lesson planning and testing and grade books, our days were filled with berry picking, camping, ice cream, and lounging on the couch watching cartoons. We might go on vacation or travel to see relatives, but the joy of summer was directly tied to the fact that we didn't HAVE TO. Dewy June mornings evaporated into hot July afternoons which eventually gave way to the muggy nights of August. And all of them blissfully unscheduled.
At least, that's how I remember it.
Later in life, I learned that this wasn't exactly the norm. My sense of extended vacation was, in many ways, the result of both my childhood naivete and my parents unusual work schedules. Most of my friends didn't experience summer the way I did, especially if both their parents worked and they ended up at grandma's or in multiple sessions of day camp topped off with nightly VBS. In many ways, our family lived in a world apart, moving to our own rhythms, resisting outside forces. We did participate in church activities, offering up our service at Bible school or youth group camping trips, but for the most part, my parents felt no need to live their lives the way everyone else did.
For me, this meant that I carried some interesting expectations into adulthood, particularly that the world should slow down during the months of June, July, and August. In these times, you'd need only do the bare minimum outside your home. Certainly you must work. Those afternoons in front of the television often included snapping green beans, but somehow it was different. We were working for ourselves. We were investing in our own home and family. We weren't obligated to anyone else.
Eighteen summers of this will shape a person. So that even today, my heart seems to skip a few beats faster when June rolls around. June means freedom. June means family.
At dinner the other night, after a discussion of loose teeth, why ice doesn't sink, and the obligatory knock-knock joke, I leaned over to my husband.
"You do realize," I said, looking conspiratorially into those brown eyes that got us here in the first place, "you do realize that we are living in a Beverly Clearly novel."
A Beverly Clearly novel set smack-dab in the middle of summer.
I tell you all this to explain where I'll be for the next few months. The last bell has rung, and I'm taking the summer off. I might pop in now and again, but don't expect to see much of me. There may be some previously scheduled posts on FB or Twitter, and I might work up the effort to record a podcast or two, but for the most part, it's going to be quiet.
Somebody's got to teach these kids how summer's done.
Long-Range Writing
"People—particularly women—need to hear that you can start late." --Ursula K. Le Guin
A couple weeks ago, my husband and I had a fight discussion about the role my writing plays in our relationship. Truthfully, our discussion had little to do with my writing and a lot to do with the fact that we had both been neglecting our days off, had not been spending quality time together, and were in the middle of the Christmas season.
Fa-la-la-la-la. La. La. La. La.
Still, our discussion turned out to be a good thing if only because it gave us the chance to clarify what God and we both expected from the other. As we talked, I realized that I don’t consider writing a “job” so much as a low-risk investment in the future. Right now, despite my work, there aren’t a lot of immediate rewards; instead I'm counting on the fact that if I put my time in and slowly grow, they will come.
Like it is for so many folks, writing is a sideline for me. My full-time job (if you want to call it that) is being a SAHM & small church pastor’s wife. My day can include anything from running a pick-up/drop-off shuttle, babysitting, learning a new choir piece, discussing a finer point of theology with my husband, or simply being the only one in our family who can find the 5yo’s missing shoe. In our season of life, one of us needs to be available to handle whatever comes up.
On the flip side, this kind of flexibility also frees me to pursue writing in the in-between moments. But this in itself can also be excessively frustrating; especially when I wake up with ALL THE IDEAS only to remember that I’ve already committed to chaperoning the 2nd grade field trip to the science museum. I’m coming to terms with the fact that my writing probably won’t peak until I'm in a season when I can devote more time and more grey cells to cultivating it.
This could be depressing, especially since we live in a society that idolizes youth and believes that if you haven’t accomplished your dream (cue the rainbows and sparkles) by the time you’re 35, well then, honey, you might as well give up. But here’s the thing: writing is precisely the kind of work that can be cultivated over the long term because it’s the kind of work that requires keen observation of both the human condition and language. The kinds of observations that can be gathered while you’re diapering babies, working in an office, or chaperoning a field trip.
And while I can’t speak for men, I know that this is especially good news for women. A woman’s prime child nurturing years are in her twenties, thirties, and forties; the same decades that society tells her she must accomplish her greatest professional achievements. But this isn’t simply a problem for women who are married or raising children. Single women feel the pressure of finding a spouse in order to have the babies as well as the need to work a full-time job to keep a roof over their heads. Going it alone is not an easy thing.
So whether they’re exhausted at the end of the day because they ran after toddlers or because they've worked long hours to keep the budget balanced, women often end up at the same place: squeezing writing into “the-in-between” moments with no certain hope that it will ever amount to anything. Sometimes it seems easier to give up altogether. In fact, this piece, “10 Worst Dreams to Chase” actually suggests as much (see # 2).
But I’d like to suggest an alternative: Don’t give up; simply modify the dream to meet reality. And often, this means taking a long-range vision. Just like Katherine Paterson, P. D. James, and Laura Ingalls Wilder did; their first novels were published at 43, 42, and 65 respectively.
The tension between your day job and your dream to write is not a new one. The real problem is that too many of us aren’t content to simply write; at the very least, we want to make our living by writing and at the most, we want to be celebrity authors. This may happen for some, but whether or not it happens for you doesn’t mean that you can’t write. And having a non-writing day job doesn’t mean that you can’t spend these years learning the craft, taking opportunities as they come, and squirreling away ideas.
This week, you may make writing goals for 2015. I plan to. But if you’re not careful, these goals will quickly mutate from opportunities to demands: demands that you get a book contract or make it onto a list of top bloggers by a certain date. Can I suggest another approach? Put away the calendar and simply write.
Write in the in-between moments. Write on the backs of school papers and discarded envelopes. Write about the things you know and the words you love. And then give them time to cultivate. Give them time to grow. After all, the acorn hidden in the ground doesn’t become a mighty oak in one night. But it might just become one after twenty-five years.
NaNoWriMo and the Sound of Silence
A friend asked recently whether I ever take breaks from writing, whether I found that my soul needs space just to breathe, to step away from it all. And I told her the truth: I try but it's hard. I find it very difficult to take breaks. When I'm not writing, I'm reading or I'm thinking about writing. What I've learned is that in order to "take a break," I actually have to replace the writing I typically do with a different form altogether.
So this month I've decided to participate in National Novel Writing Month, better known as NaNoWriMo. The goal of NaNoWriMo is to finally get a rough draft of that novel that has been lurking inside you for decades. Over the course of thirty days, participants attempt to write 50,000 words because "The world needs your novel!" (or so the NaNoWriMo site encourages us). I don't know if I believe this, but I do know that I need to write a novel--if only for my own heart's sake. My non-fiction writing tends to be serious, thought-provoking stuff, but honestly that can weigh on a girl. I've been feeling the crush of ideas, marketing schedules, and writing deadlines; and I simply need a chance to step away for a bit. NaNoWriMo is that chance.
I grew up on Jane Austen, James Herriot, and P.G. Wodehouse. As an adult, I've fallen in love with Alexander McCall Smith and Adriana Trigiani. Not exactly literary powerhouses, but writers who love their characters and know how to make you love them too. So now, it's my turn. I can't promise that my fiction will be worth reading; I can't promise that I'll make it to 50,000 words; but if I find a way to learn a little, be humbled a lot, and regain a fresh vision for writing, NaNoWriMo will be a success. All that to say, if it's a little quiet around here during the month of November, don't worry. I'm just listening to the voices in my head.
And to all you who are also NaNoWriMo-ing, happy writing!
4 Reasons to Blog (and 4 Reasons NOT to Blog)
This post is part of a recurring series about blogging and the art of writing. Check out more here. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Back in August, a friend on Twitter posted the following question:
Several folks offered good advice, but the question made me think about why I started blogging and what I've learned in the process. Here's a more extended answer to Abi's question:
I started blogging in July 2011. At the time, my husband and I were in a period of underemployment, using food stamps, and living in a 950 sq. ft. apartment with three young children. Not exactly the most prodigious setting to launch a writing career. Looking back, I realize that God used this time to provide direction for me. Because of financial constraints, I needed a marketable skill; this meant either returning to school for a technical degree or pursing writing. So I made a deal with God: I would commit 2 years to learning the industry and developing my skills if He would confirm that this was His leading in my life. Since then, He has. But it started with small steps of faith like setting up a blog and pushing “publish.” In fact, the process of blogging was invaluable because it gave me:
1.Accountability: Writers are notoriously unstructured and unscheduled. For all the books that people have inside of them, only a fraction of them actually make it out. (What is this “deadline” that you speak of?) I knew that if left to myself I would have a very difficult time actually pursuing writing. I would think a lot about it. I may even write up responses to other pieces. But without structure, I’d never really progress. A blog provided both an audience and accountability.
2. An Opportunity to Create an Online Portfolio: If you have a blog, publishers and editors can easily read through your work to determine if you are a good fit for their publications. It also shows them that you are a self-starter. Writing isn’t simply a pipe-dream for you; you are committed and have already invested time and effort to pursuing it. At the same time, using a blog as an online portfolio means that you’ll need to privilege quality over quantity. Not every post must be stellar, but you must remember that people will actually read your writing.
3. Practice: Blogging allowed me to explore ideas and become a better writer. When I look back at my first posts, I don’t exactly shudder, but I do have a healthy appreciation for what three years of consistent writing has done. Every post forced me to think better and to communicate more clearly. Especially when I wrote on more controversial topics. The bigger the issue, the more carefully I had to choose just the exact word or make sure I truly understood the issues at stake.
4. To Fill a Gap: Another reason I blog is because I want to promote ideas that have been neglected in the broader conversation. You only need to spend a few minutes on Sometimes A Light to know that I’m passionate about women finding their identity in God’s identity. Some of this passion comes from personal experience, but most of it comes from listening to the prevailing conversations and realizing that we’re missing a huge piece of the puzzle. Having a blog allows me to spread a truth that transforms how we speak about womanhood, discipleship, and service in the Kingdom.
At the same time… Blogging has also taught me that there are as many reasons why you SHOULDN’T blog. Among them are:
1. Insecurity: If you blog because you need to be heard, stop. Right. Now. Too many of us—writers, pastors, and counselors included—minister out of our own neediness. We need to be respected. We need to be affirmed. We need to feel like we are good people. And we use other people’s needs to solve our own. It’s true that using your gifting will bring a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction, but our gifts were never intended to fill a void that only Christ can. In fact, if you do this, you won’t be a very good writer. Or a very good person. But when Jesus fills your emptiness, you’ll find that you’re free to serve and to serve well.
2. Escapism: In many ways, blogging is an easy form of “ministry.” As messy as the internet can be, online relationships are a whole lot more manageable than those in real life. If someone annoys me, I can simply unfriend him. If someone sends me a nasty email, I can simply block her. And if someone praises me, I can return to that comment whenever I need to re-affirm my own sense of importance. Relationships in real life are a whole lot messier and a whole lot more demanding. I do not get to choose the issues that I want to address; I do not get to control the problems that come my way. I do not get to rely on praise to maintain my emotional stability. Loving a person I see day in and day out is always harder than loving someone I do not. But these “in real life” relationships are precisely how God intends to make us like Himself.
3. Anger: Do not blog to work through your past. This is what a diary or the counselor’s office is for. Certainly, our past hurts lend us insight and the ability to write more deeply about certain issues. But don’t foist your angst on your readers unless you also give them the solution. Do not infect them with your anger and discouragement unless you also offer them the freedom and joy that is found in Christ.
4. Marketing: In the last several years, the blogosphere has been dominated by “building platform” and ‘gathering your tribe.” Writers use social media and marketing tools to promote their voice and their message. I get this. I really do. If God has given you the gift of writing, you need to make certain that your message is heard. Don’t hide your light under a bushel, etc. But for too many bloggers, building tribe has become an end in itself. We start to prioritize platform or amassing a readership over serving our readers well. And in the end, everyone suffers: readers, writer, and message. Remember: If you are gifted to write, you serve your readers best when you do just that: Write.
In the end, Abi did end up starting a blog with this lovely first post: A Handful of Broken Treasure. Also, if you've been blogging for a bit and feel the weight of staying consistent, you might enjoy this group post about why some blogs tend to "go cold." It's written specifically to women bloggers but the concepts transcend gender.
Think Before You Write
This is a second post in a recurring series that addresses questions of craft for those writing in “the-in-between.” ______________________________________________________________________
Q: My friend Rachael and I were talking a few days ago when she brought up this question: How do you find time to write, especially in the busy seasons of life?
A: Those of us writing in “the-in-between” have a lot of questions, but this is THE question. Whether you work a full-time job, are invested in a busy season of ministry, or are running after toddlers, finding time to write is one of the biggest obstacles to actually... writing. (Case in point: While I was in the middle of writing this post, my husband came down stairs to ask me to cut his hair.) Last week, Taryn Hutchison offered some helpful tips at Redbud Writers Guild; and when I posed Rachael's question to a group of writing friends, several sagely pointed out the need to keep reasonable expectations. Some seasons of life will simply be more productive than others.
Still others swear by early rising, spouses who pitch in, and dedicating space in your weekly calendar. Truthfully, though, I’m not that organized. In our house, no two weeks (let alone days) look the same. And while I do sometimes stay up late to work a piece, it’s usually because I can’t sleep, not because I’ve reached a new level of productivity. But I have found one technique that I swear by. In fact, if I didn't do this one thing, I'm convinced that I'd never have enough time to write.
So what do I do? I write on my feet. More accurately, I think on my feet.
Many people mistakenly believe that writing is the work of arranging words on a page, of finding just the right sequence of letters and punctuation. They believe that "writing" happens with pen and notebook in hand or sitting in front of a computer. But writing is NOT simply about words; it is just as much about the about the ideas behind the words. And until you learn to think through your ideas, all the time in the world won’t be enough to write about them.
The good news is that you can think anywhere. Ideas bombard me in the shower, at the grocery store, listening to the news, and scrolling through Facebook; the place they are least likely to form is sitting in front of a computer screen. If I wait to begin "writing" until I plop myself in a chair, more often than not, the words won’t form because the ideas haven’t formed yet.
So I’ve learned to think on my feet. And as the ideas come, I’ve learned to capture them and squirrel them away. Forget Scrivener; the first draft of Made for More was written on the backs of church bulletins, restaurant napkins, and grocery receipts.
I also make notes on my phone, send myself emails, and record myself talking if my hands aren’t free. (Nor am I above asking my 10yo daughter to act as my secretary—“What’s trans-sub-stan-ti-a-tion mean, Mommy?”) By the time I actually sit down in front of a screen, it’s just a matter of arranging the bits and bobs into a coherent whole.
Don’t misunderstand. When I say “bits and bobs,” I mean a thesis and all the examples that support that thesis. For me, the process of collecting these can take anywhere from a couple days to several weeks, but I don’t sit down in front of the screen it until everything “clicks” –until all the random thoughts actually form into a concept. And then once I know what to “write,” the time I do have to write is much more productive.
That doesn't mean that I don't struggle once I sit down, but when I do, it’s usually because I need to step away and think about the ideas some more. If the words don’t come easily, I don’t waste my time sitting in front of the computer because I probably need to spend more time thinking. So I go clean a toilet, make dinner, or do laundry. But I keep thinking while I do.
I don’t want to make it sound simpler than it is. I don’t want to minimize the time that good writing takes. And I certainly don’t want to suggest that you check out of your real life in order to puzzle out the mysteries of the universe. But you probably have more time to write than you realize because finding time to write well doesn't begin with hours in a coffee shop, long walks along a placid lake, or evenings spent scribbling in your moleskin notebook. Finding time to write well begins with thinking well.
"A Quotation Is a Handy Thing"
Last week, some friends and I ended up in conversation about blogging and writing. Like me, many of them have benefited from the opportunities of the tech age and have dug up long-buried passions in order to blog, write e-books, and contribute to online journals. But with these opportunities have come a whole slew of questions about how to write well.
Unfortunately, much of the broader conversation has trended toward answering questions about platform development and navigating the publishing industry. I say “unfortunately” because most of the Christian bloggers I know are not pursuing an elusive book contract or trying to be the next internet sensation. Most are like the majority of local church pastors I know. They want to serve people through their gifting. They want to communicate the hope of the gospel. They want to do good work.
So in order to help expand the conversation beyond platform building, I want to develop a recurring series that addresses questions that faith-based bloggers/writers often encounter. This series is not aimed at professional writers but to those of us typing away at our kitchen table, on an (unmade) bed, or at our lunchtime breaks. If you find yourself in that group, feel free to leave suggested topics and questions in the comment section below.
To get us started, here’s a question Megan Hill posed to a group of us this week:
Q: What principles/criteria do you use when deciding whether to quote another writer in your articles? Frequently, I find myself wanting to quote a valuable and truthful word from someone whose theology, life, or perspective I couldn't wholeheartedly "amen." Quoting them with a lengthy and often distracting caveat--"while I don't agree with this writer on everything blah blah blah"--doesn't seem completely satisfactory, but maybe it's the way of wisdom. What do you do?
A. The church tradition that I grew up in had a strong commitment to separating from false teaching and worldliness. One way this worked itself out was that pastors, teachers, and writers rarely quoted other pastors, teachers, and writers outside our tradition. If they did, it was with massive caveats. Even the books in our church library (and then later in college) had a sticker pasted on the flyleaf to remind us that the content of said volume may or may not be in keeping with the views and values of our church. This background makes me sensitive to the question of who and what to quote in my own writing. On one hand, a quote is influential because it presents the author as a sort of “expert witness.” But, then again, maybe we were over-thinking it. Here are some things to keep in mind:
- Recognize that no one is perfect. Don’t lull yourself into thinking that some writers are “safe” while others are not. This is a particular challenge for those us operating online—a world that is often driven by tribes and celebrity status. It’s just too easy to give certain authors a pass at the same time that we over-scrutinize those outside our own camp.
- Consider whether the author of the quote is using the ideas and words in the same way that you are. For example, if I quote a Jehovah’s Witness speaking about Jesus as the Messiah, I’m pretty much guaranteed that she and I aren’t talking about the same thing. Closer to home, even orthodox Christians can have different understandings of the nature of faith, grace, and the kingdom. Make sure you mean the same thing.
- Ask yourself why you are using a quote in the first place. There are many reasons writers use quotations, sometimes simply as a way to associate their own writing with the success of the author of the quote. But a common reason we use quotations is because we haven’t actually worked through the ideas ourselves yet. Like A. A. Milne said, “[A] quotation is a handy thing to have about, saving one the trouble of thinking for oneself, always a laborious business." (See what I did there?)
- When in doubt, quote a dead guy. More than likely, the truth that you “discovered” from a modern writer isn’t original with that writer. Those of us who are honest know that writing is primarily an exercise in borrowing ideas and repacking them for a specific audience. By quoting those who are long dead, you can side-step any current controversies that may distract from your core message.
- Give honor to whom honor is due. If a certain author did open up a concept for you, perhaps in a way that no one else did, it would be wrong to not attribute it. Don’t let your fear of how others perceive him or her drive your choice of whether to quote or not. (Rabbit Trail: Don’t EVER write from fear.)
- If you use a caveat, don’t let it undermine the flow of the text or the significance of the truth that you are trying to communicate. When the caveat overshadows your main point, it becomes the main point. And all the benefit gained from the actual quotation is lost. Instead, write with grace; briefly acknowledge the point of disagreement but devote the majority of your time and words to affirming the shared perspective.
- Finally, remember that all truth is God’s truth. If a writer is communicating truth, it doesn’t belong to him; it belongs to God. And nothing he can do can make that truth any less true. In fact, the truth of God is so powerful that not even the father of lies himself can corrupt it.
Writing is often a perplexing activity. The hows and whos and whys are not always easily answered; at the same time, I believe that many of the challenges can be resolved by simply thinking more, working harder, and praying longer. In the end, regardless of who or what you choose to quote, don't take the easy way out.
How to Review a Friend's Book (and Still Be Friends)
French philoso
pher Blaise Pascal once wrote: “Few friendships would survive if each one knew what his friend says of him behind his back.” This is never more true than when you are reviewing a friend's book.
Many of you know that my first book, Made for More, released from Moody Publishers back in April. When it did, I entered a complicated maze of friendship and work. I didn't want to leverage my relationships in order to promote my book, and yet, the people most supportive of my writing were often those closest to me. Add to this the niggling doubt that I'd just made the greatest mistake of my life by actually putting my words out for public review. In the last two months, I've worried that no one was actually telling what they really thought or worse, that my friends felt caught--obligated to encourage me but struggling with their own sense of credibility. Because how honest can we really be about things like books and babies without risking our friendships?
And yet, I need your support. I need your help. Sites like Amazon and Barnes & Noble and goodreads rely on readers' reviews and give books with more and better reviews greater visibility. But since it's frowned upon to pay people to review one's book (kidding, not kidding), I have to ask you--my friends--to do it. Like I've already mentioned, this is not an easy thing for either of us. So I've devised a handy-dandy cheat sheet much like those automatic tip suggestions that mysteriously appear at the end of your bill. The following chart will help you navigate the relational complexities that come from reviewing a friend's book. Just find the number of stars you want to give it and follow the row all the way to the right. (And of course, if all else fails, you can always use a pseudonym like "BookNerd0593" or "UnicornLiterati.")
More than anything, thank you for taking this journey with me. As readers, you have encouraged me that my writing was worth the time. As friends, you have encouraged me to keeping working even when it wasn't.
If You Give a Girl a Blog
If You Give a Girl a Blog(with apologies to Laura Numeroff) If you give a girl a blog…
She’s going to ask you to read it.
When you read it, she’ll probably ask you to share it.
When you do, she’ll get so excited she’ll stay awake all night.
When she stays awake all night, she’ll start getting big ideas.
So she’ll probably write those down too.
When she’s finished, she’ll share them with you.
And she’ll start planning more.
She might get carried away and write a book proposal.
She might even send that proposal to a publisher.
She may end up signing a book contract.
When she does, she’ll feel overwhelmed and want to hide.
She’ll wonder why she ever agreed to it in the first place.
She’ll probably want to quit altogether.
When she remembers, she’ll get so excited that she’ll start writing again.
She’ll spend even more time in front of the computer and miss your favorite shows.
She’ll stay up late at night.
When she stays up late at night, she’ll get sleep-deprived and won’t be able to finish chapter 8.
So she’ll take a nap.
(She’ll take lots of naps.)
When she wakes up, she’ll finish chapter 8.
And 9, 10, 11 and 12.
When she finishes chapter 12, she’ll send it to the publisher.
Then she’ll have to wait.
While she’s waiting, she’ll start to feel hungry.
So she’ll eat a snack.
(She’ll eat lots of snacks.)
Eating lots of snacks will make her feel pudgy.
Feeling pudgy will make her think about going on a diet.
Thinking about going on a diet will make her think about other things too.
So she’ll write them down.
When she writes them down, it will remind her of writing a book.
And chances are, when she writes a book…
She’s going to want to blog about it.
Just Words
Sunday mornings in a pastor’s family are the stuff of legend. Besides having to feed, wash, and dress everyone, we are also expected to actually get to church on time. In our family, this means that my husband and I usually end up driving separately (our apologies to planet earth).
This last Sunday was no different. My husband had already left with our two boys, leaving my daughter behind with me as I finished getting ready. For some reason, I was feeling a bit spiritually disheveled that morning and so I did something I’ve never done before in my life. I asked my daugher to read to me while I was doing my hair and makeup.
It went something like this:
“Phoebe, get your Bible and come here to my bathroom. Now, open it. What day is today?… I know it’s Sunday. What day of the month is it?… The 12th? Okay. Find Psalms and read me chapter 12.”
So much for intentional parenting. Thankfully, God is always intentional, and in the next few moments, my baby-girl-turned-fourth-grader read me words of life and hope.
Psalm 12, like many of the psalms, opens with a lament for the brokenness around us.
“The godly one is gone,” David cries. “The faithful have vanished from among the children of man.”
And how does David know this? Is it the violence he sees in the streets? Is it the sexual promiscuity rampant in the marketplace? Is it that the wrong parties rule in government? No, David knows that the world is broken by the words he hears.
“Everyone utters lies to his neighbor; with flattering lips and a double heart they speak.” They say, “With our tongue we will prevail, out lips are with us; who is master over us?”
According to David, evil men have a weapon and it is their words.
I’ll admit it: I don’t think about words this way. Even as a writer and blogger, I tend to undervalue words. Maybe it’s some sort of linguistic inflation that occurs when I write: the more words I produce, the less valuable they seem. In my world, words are a dime a dozen and what can they really accomplish anyway?
Apparently, a lot.
The truth is that despite being all around us, words are powerful. They are powerful because they are tied directly to our true selves. Jesus taught that “out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks.” So more than simply being a set of sounds or shapes, our words are actually the embodiment—the incarnation—of our hearts. What we say with our mouths or type with our fingers reveals what is going on inside us.
And suddenly we understand why David feared them so much. The evil in men’s hearts takes form in the words they use; worse still, evil men will use their words to act out the evil in their hearts. But this truth—that our words are directly tied to our hearts—cuts both ways. It is also why David can proclaim that we will be saved by the words of the Lord.
“’Because the poor are plundered, because the needy groan, I will arise,’ says the Lord; ‘I will place him in the safety for which he longs.’ The words of the Lord are pure words, like silver refined in a furnace.”
The safety we can find in God’s words isn’t in the words themselves. It’s in what these words reveal about the Father’s heart toward us. It’s what they reveal about His power, what they reveal about His faithfulness. When David says that “the words of the Lord are pure words,” he is reminding us that unlike all the deceitful, untrustworthy people around us, the Lord Himself is pure. He is faithful.
And suddenly we understand why John called Jesus “the Word” of God. Jesus Christ is the embodiment—the incarnation—of the Father’s heart. What we could not see, what previously had had no form, reveals itself to us in Him. To paraphrase His own words, “Out of the abundance of God’s heart, Jesus is.”
And this is why the Lord can guard us from the evil around us. Even as the wicked prowl, deceiving and flattering on every side, we will be saved by the final Word of the Lord because His words represent His nature. His words are trustworthy because He is trustworthy. His words are pure because He is pure. And because He justice, His words will never be “just” words.
Even if they are delivered to us from the lips of a petite 9-year-old girl on a frantic Sunday morning.
Putting the "Christian" in Christian Publishing
Let me say up front that I’m new to publishing, and I come with all the innocence of freshly born babe. I’ve been given a remarkable opportunity (a gift really) to write a book with Moody Publishers which will release in April; and I have to consistently thank my editors and marketing gurus for holding my hand through whole the process. So, please understand that I write out of innocence, as the girl in the crowd who might just be able to see that the emperor’s clothes are not as magnificent as everyone claims.
In fact, they may not even be there at all.
Of course, this innocence could be nothing more than naïveté. Perhaps with time, I will understand what others already know. I’ll understand the pressures of balance sheets and payrolls. I’ll understand that while idealism may write books, pragmatism sells them. I’ll understand that this is simply “the way the world works.” Still I can’t help but wonder whether our concerns about publishing—the questions of plagiarism and ghost writing and the cult of celebrity—stem from precisely this. This is the way the world works.
In his first epistle, John warns us against being conformed to the ethos of the world. When I was growing up, I understood this “worldliness” to be certain style of dress or music; and while these things can certainly reflect the world system, worldliness is much more insidious. Worldliness is a short-sighted vision that is concerned only with this present age. Given this, we shouldn’t be surprised that pragmatism is the world’s modus operandi. If this life is the only thing that matters, then we ‘d better get while the getting is good.
In contrast, a truly Christian perspective understands that reality is not defined only by the “here and now” but also by the “there and then.” On this time table, the goal isn’t only success in this life but success that will last into the next. When we apply that to publishing, being a truly Christian publisher means more than simply producing content that is “Christian” but publishing in such a way where both means and end are guided by the timeless gospel we proclaim. To co-opt James K. A. Smith, we must never forget that the liturgy of our publishing actually shapes the things published.
With this in mind, here are a few thoughts about what should characterize our publishing efforts. Truly Christian publishing…
1. Does not disdain small platforms because it understands that God uses weak things to confound the mighty. Don’t misunderstand; having a small platform doesn’t mean you deserve to be published any more than having a large one does. (A small platform may indicate an inability to write.) But having a small platform doesn’t mean that you DON’T deserve to be published either. In God’s kingdom, size is of little importance because in comparison to Him, we’re all miniscule. 2. Will make space for unique gifting even if it is not trendy. One of the dangers of the celebrity culture is that it inevitably elevates a certain style or approach to the standard, tempting everyone else to copy it. Soon titles sound the same; graphic design becomes interchangeable; buzz words emerge; and everybody ends up quoting everybody else. It reminds me of Marcus Mumford’s frustration that every other band now sounds like Mumford and Sons: "That's kind of what we're reacting against. When we started, it was quite fun doing what we're doing, 'cause no one else was doing it. It was like our little secret." Truly Christian publishing understands that God places the members in the Body as He wills and aims to develop the unique voice of each—even if it is one crying in the wilderness.
3. Must be based in community. There’s a bit of a myth that “creatives” work best in isolation where they are free from the obligations of relationship. Within Christianity, this myth sometimes presents itself as freedom from the obligations of a local church. Now, as a mother of three, I’ll be the first to lobby for enough quiet space to put two thoughts together, but as a Christian, I also believe that my craft cannot be separated from those who live closest to me. Made in God’s image, we are designed to both create AND live in intimacy with other image bearers; these relationships lend accountability and inspiration for the work we do. So that in God’s wisdom, we actually end up doing our best work when we are doing it in context of relationships, when we are doing it in service to God and others.
4. Works collaboratively. Bringing a book to the public involves a whole host of gifted individuals using their talents to achieve a final goal—editors, marketers, publishers, and yes, even bookstores like LifeWay. Quite frankly, an author does not a book make. And as authors, we don’t have the right to say whatever the $#!@% we like because we are not the only ones involved in the process. (If you need more control, there are plenty of self-publishing options available these days.) At the same time, publishers must be willing to catch the author’s vision and let this guide the marketing, design, and distribution. Instead of forcing a book into prefabricated models of marketability, we must allow the content to shape even the delivery.
5. Moves with the Spirit. Here’s something that neither publishers nor authors will like: some of us have only one book in us. I’ve thought about this as I wrapped up final edits on my manuscript—I know God gave me this particular message but I have no guarantee that He will give me another one. Of course, I like to think He will, that this book will be the first of many, but I must be willing to submit to His plan if it is not. I cannot expect to hold Him to a timetable of a book a year or even every two years. When His spirit moves, I move—beyond that I can’t promise anybody anything and I’d be foolish to try.
6. Writes, publishes, and markets with humility. One of the biggest marks of wordliness is trusting the systems and structures of the age instead of trusting the Lord of the universe. Instead of saying “if the Lord wills, tomorrow we will do such and such,” the world whips out charts and stats and logarithms. Certainly, we must work, we must plan, we must analyze data, we must be effective; but even as we do, we must also understand that if God doesn’t build the house… well, all our effort is useless. Truly Christian publishing knows that the One who first gave the message is the same One who will carry it forward.
Publishing is risky business. It takes guts to invest this much time and money into projects that have no guarantee of reimbursement. I’m thankful for publishers like Moody who take those risks in order to honor God and further His gospel. But I’d also like to suggest that because publishing is such a risky business, it will require more faith of us, not less. Faith to follow where God leads; faith to pursue kingdom rewards instead of monetary ones; faith to believe that even the power of celebrity isn’t more powerful than God Himself.
But if we do, if we have this kind of faith, even the world can’t stop us. Because as John reminds us, this is the victory that overcomes the world—even our faith.
The Writer's Life
DeYoung’s advice was aimed at those in ministry, but I think it applies to most writers for this reason: Very, very few of us will actually make our living as a “writer.”
Very, very few of us will spend our working days in front of a computer (or scribbling in our moleskin notebooks) in order to share our deepest thoughts with a waiting world. Even if we get that elusive “book deal.” Case in point: a friend of mine has published four novels with a major Christian house, has a contract for more and still finds that she has to work at something other than writing. So she works another job, is a wife and mother, and only in the in-between moments, a writer.
Like her, the majority of us write for the sheer passion of it. We have been gifted to do this; we have heard God’s call to speak a specific message; and in His providence, He has given us opportunities to proclaim that message. But along the way, we end up doing a lot of other things. And this is fine. In fact, I believe it’s more than fine. It is good.
So much of this goes back to how we understand calling and gifting. (Or should I say, how we misunderstand calling and gifting.) When I was younger, I believed that my calling was some sort of magic—that God would reveal “His will” for my life and I would then commit myself to a specific job. In high school, I thought it might be mission work. When I was in college, I thought it would be teaching. After I married a boy headed to ministry, I thought it would be found in being a pastor’s wife. And once I had children, I thought my “calling” would be motherhood.
But there was something I misunderstood. God does not call His image bearers to categories or abstractions. God calls them to life. He call them to a specific embodiment in a specific place and time for a specific purpose. In my case, it is a life that includes being a pastor’s wife, a mother, a writer and a whole host of other things that work in coordination to reflect Him in a unique way. Truth be told, we really can’t even discuss calling apart from the specific image bearer who is called.
Here’s what I mean: about two weeks ago, I posted a link to a video that celebrated the life of the stay-at-home-mom. Many of the scenes were familiar to me—the small acts of care, the late nights and early mornings, the countless hours in the kitchen. I found it beautiful and affirming of work that often goes unheralded. But shortly after I posted it, a friend tweeted this response: “It was pretty sweet, but a very specific kind of motherhood for a specific cultural context. Not my experience.”
At first, I was surprised, but then I realized, of course, it wasn’t. This film wasn’t depicting an abstract calling—it couldn’t; it was depicting the lives of three specific women who happened to be stay-at-home moms. There is no such thing as a “job” apart from the one who embodies that job. There is no such thing as a role apart from person who gives form to that role. There is no such thing as a position apart from the image bearer who lends life to that position.
What does this mean for writing?
Those of us who write must have faith to believe that the other things we do—whether it is pastoral work or motherhood—make us the people that God calls us to be. We must have enough faith to believe that these things are not in conflict with each other but are all part of His Providence. We—no, I—must have enough faith to believe that being a mother makes me a better writer and being a writer makes me a better mother because He has called me to both.
This is not easy, and often we feel like we will be torn apart by the very things that God has created us to do. We crave the safety that comes from ordering our lives in an efficient hierarchy. We long to know ourselves in terms of job descriptions and boundaries; we want to understand where we belong—to be able to definitively identify ourselves, to say, “I am a ____________.”
But what if God never intended for us to find safety in anything other than Him? What if He is the only One who can make sense of the competing forces in our lives? What if He is the only One who can reconcile all things under His feet—even our unique callings?
What if this is precisely what He intends to do?
The God who Himself exists in wholeness invites us to live in this wholeness. He calls us to peace. But this only happens when everything in life comes under His headship. When every part of us is submitted to Jesus Christ, when He pervades every facet of our being, when nothing else—not our writing, not our motherhood, not our pastoral roles—has preeminence. Because when He is supreme over all, all will be unified. All the different parts of our lives will work together because they have been united by something greater than themselves.
And suddenly there is peace.
I don’t know what this means for your life. For me, it means submitting to the calling to write and mother and love my husband and clean the kitchen floors and hem the curtains. It means submitting to the multi-dimensional, layered, crazy existence God has given me. It means pursuing my work with passion and abandon, at the same time that I hold it loosely, never once believing that these roles give me my core identity. For me, embracing God’s calling for my life starts by embracing Him. By finally understanding that all things—my motherhood, my writing, my personality, my gifting—all these things “flow from Him and through Him and unto Him." To him be glory forever. Amen.
The Art of Graceful Blogging
Thankfully, there are those cutting a different path. Bloggers who defy convention and still have loyal readers. Bloggers who wrestle with the brokenness of this life and still walk away with joy and contentment. Bloggers who may doubt their own ability to love God as deeply as they should, but who are confident in His love for them.
One of these bloggers is Ann Voskamp. In this recent interview, Ann shares how she broke all the blogging rules and still ended up as a NY Times best-selling author. There’s a lesson here for us younger bloggers. A lesson not so much about the mechanics of blogging, but about the art of writing well. Of serving your readers, of bringing light to the darkness. What Ann’s writing embodies that so many young bloggers lack is simply grace. She writes with courage, conviction, authenticity, and most significantly, humility; she writes in such a way that her words embody the very grace she is writing about.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how brash, how self-absorbed, we young bloggers can be and I think we need to take a page from Ann’s book .We need principles for graceful blogging--principles that will let grace form, not only our theological positions, but our very style of communication. So in no particular order, here are mine:
- Don’t use vulgarity in your writing. It will make it… well, vulgar. Meaning common, unexceptional. When you are writing about the exceptional, when you are communicating the miraculous, you must rise above the small, easy choice of a four-letter word. You must be truly counter-cultural by not being vulgar.
- Speaking of being counter-cultural, take the time to think well and think deeply. Blogging by nature is geared toward the quick, one-off response. You must resist this temptation; you must always, always choose quality over quantity.
- As a corollary, don’t simply repackage someone else’s ideas. Do the work of creating your own. If I want to read So-and-so, I’ll go to their blog. You must have enough faith in God to believe that He wants you to think and write like yourself--not like Ann Voskamp.
- Don’t be afraid to tackle difficult subjects. If you are wrestling through something, if it is weighing on your heart, more than likely it is weighing on someone else’s too. Share your brokenness as well as the grace that you are daily receiving.
- And yet, don’t build your blog on negativity. When people are broken and hurting, you don’t help them by simply rehashing all that is wrong with the world or your particular Christian sub-culture. You help them with grace and truth.
- Don’t create blogging wars. Nothing in life is simple. And certainly nothing on the internet is either. Falling into an “Us. vs. Them” paradigm will make your writing one-dimensional and limit your ability to effectively speak to the real problems at hand.
- Instead, read and interact with blogs outside your comfort zone. Listen to people you disagree with. Blogging offers untold opportunity to engage in honest conversation and attempt to understand opposing positions--even if you don’t accept them in the end. Be quick to hear and slow to speak.
- Recognize that your conservative upbringing is not the greatest evil in the world. Sort through your baggage, throw out the trash, but have the maturity to keep what is good and beautiful and valuable.
- Recognize that the conservative church is also not the answer to the problem of evil. Don’t mindlessly parrot specific organizations, leaders, or conferences. Sort through your baggage, throw out the trash, and keep only what is good and beautiful and valuable.
- Use your blog to “learn to do good; seek justice, correct oppression; bring justice to the fatherless, [and] plead the widow’s cause.” Because you have a voice, because you have a public platform, you must use it for the benefit of those who don’t.
- But remember that causes célèbres, by definition, won’t fit everyone. Simply being a woman, doesn’t mean that you must blog about women’s issues. You may not be called to fight human trafficking or support World Vision; you are called to fight the darkness that God commissions you to fight.
- Look past your own context. Do not be so consumed with your own sphere of life that you don’t communicate the universal truths that undergird your daily life. Remember that the universal is manifested in the particular. Your story is only as important as it allows readers to see how God is working in their story.
- At the same time, stick to your strengths. If you don’t have a theological education, don’t pretend to. You may gain readers through sheer controversy, but you’ll end up looking amateurish and muddy the waters. Remember that you share your experience because God is in it--not because your experience credentials you to define who God is.
- Respond to criticism with grace. Answer every angry comment and every angry blogger with softness. When reviled, revile not again. Because in the end, it won’t matter how much you blog about grace, if you don’t actually practice it.
- Realize that blogging in a privilege. No one has to read what you write. In fact, most of us should be very, very thankful that anybody reads what we write. Be humbled by the opportunity that God has provided. Because as controversial as it sounds, you did not build your blog. God did.
- And because He has, accept it with humble responsibility. Your blog is not simply a place to blow of steam, to pout, or to pursue your own name recognition. Your private issues may tap into readers’ angst, but they will not propel them past it. You must use your writing to push readers beyond themselves, to push them to love Christ and their neighbors—even those who have hurt them.
Ultimately we all must rely on God’s grace to blog gracefully—if it is not flowing in us, it will never flow out of us. So that like Moses, we must acknowledge that the One who formed our mouths is the same One who gives us the words we need to speak. And because He does--because of who He is-- we can be confident that when He gives us those words, they will be full of life and they will be full of grace.
That Burning Fire
I also shared with you my firm conviction that the dreams that we hold dearest are often the very ones that God intends to use, that they are in our hearts precisely because He placed them there. I realize that this could have come across as overly simplistic--that it could have sounded a little too “Pollyanna/Mary Poppins/Climb every mountain”-ish—especially to those of you who are struggling through a low point right now. And yet, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the path of dreaming “never did run smooth.”
There are days when things are not working out as you planned, when you feel less than enthusiastic about the dreams stirring inside of you, when you want to pitch the whole thing and walk away. There are days when all you want is to escape your calling, and to do so, you wish that you could become someone else entirely.
There are days when you feel like Jeremiah.
The opening chapter of the book of Jeremiah contains a beautiful text that confirms that God sovereignly plans and ordains our callings. When God comes to Jeremiah, He assures him of that, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the nations.” (ESV) And yet, twenty chapters later, Jeremiah curses the day he was born. The very thing that gave him comfort at the beginning of his ministry was the very thing that he wishes had never happened.
Jeremiah feels like God has tricked him—that by making him the way He did, by appointing him a prophet from birth and placing that “burning fire” deep inside of him, He has doomed him to a life of misery. So that as much as Jeremiah wants to escape his calling, for all the trouble that it has caused him, he simply can’t because God had made him that way. The very thing he is resisting is the very thing that he can’t stop doing. He calls it a “burning fire shut up in [his] bones.”
When I was in college, I attended a church whose pastor routinely gave this piece of advice to anyone considering vocational ministry: “Only do it if you can’t do anything else.” He wasn’t denigrating the value of ministry so much as emphasizing that ministry (like any other calling) is fraught with hardship, discouragement, and heartbreak. And in those moments, the only thing that will keep you going is the sure knowledge that God has made you for this—that there is nothing else you can do because you have that “burning fire shut up in your bones.”
It is so much a part of you that it is knit it into the very fabric of your being.
And if it is, there will be plenty of times that you will find yourself precisely in Jeremiah’s position—both hating the struggle and knowing that you can’t escape it because God Himself formed you this way. There will be plenty of times when it feels like a burden, times when you want to walk away, times when you will shake your fist at Him and say, “I didn’t ask for this. Why have you made me like this?”
For me, the “burning fire” has been a combination of being analytic and outspoken. It is both my greatest strength and my greatest weakness. It is the very thing that drives me to write, but it is also the very thing that leads me to be overly critical, noisy, and self-righteous. And I’ve hated myself for it. I’ve always wanted to be the quiet, demure one—the girl at the party whose very presence lends an air of sophistication and elegance–and yet, I always end up being the girl animatedly arguing some political or theological point. I inevitably wake up the next morning with a mental hangover and mountains of regret. “Why did I have to do that? Why couldn’t I have just kept my mouth shut?”
Ultimately though, it’s not about keeping my mouth shut. And it isn’t about achieving some mystical balance between the extremes of not caring and caring too much. Instead, it’s about finding a way forward, about transcending that type of one-dimensional thinking, so that you can pursue a greater reality--the reality that despite your frustration with yourself and despite your disappointed dreams, you know that God has “made you thus” for a reason. You know that He is shepherding and guiding you, that His Spirit is actively maturing you, and that even in the darkest valley, He is walking beside you and will bring you back into the light.
And this is requires faith. Not faith in your dreams or yourself, but faith in His providence and faith in His goodness. This requires believing that He has made you fearfully and wonderfully, that He did knit you together in your mother’s womb to fulfill a specific purpose, and that everything about you–even your dreams--are ultimately from His hand. So that in your darkest moments, this faith will manifest itself in obedience; an obedience that some days will simply mean putting one foot in front of the other and continuing down the path that He Himself has laid for you.
Dreaming His Dreams
Several weeks ago, I stumbled across a yellow legal pad that has been at the center of those meetings. On it, we’ve chronicled our goals for the past eleven years. On it, we’ve strategized and organized and neatly categorized them into 1-year, 5-year, and 10-year plans. Some have been eerily prophetic; others, hilariously naïve. Our first year's goals included eventually owning “forty acres of land” (because as my father-in-law says, “They’re not making any more of it.”) and having “a couple kids.” Today, we own ½ acre and don’t “have kids” but we are a family that includes three marvelously creative and unique individuals, none of whom I could have imagined ten years ago.
Looking over that legal pad reminded me of two things--- 1) how foolish we are to think we can plan our own paths 2) how kind and wise God is to give us dreams that He wants to fulfill
I grew up in a church tradition that, while perhaps unintentionally, was often suspicious of personal dreams and ambition. We had just two choices on the shelf, after all—pleasing God or pleasing self. And while I don’t really believe it was intended to be that simplistic, to an impressionable teenager, this often presented itself as the need to choose between doing what God wanted and doing what I loved. What no one seemed to clarify was that a life well-lived would undoubtedly involve both.
My parents believed in dreams though. And they believed in Providence--the kind of Providence that made each of their five children unique and would ultimately lead each to very different callings from finance to design to music. They never pressed the false dichotomy that I felt but instead taught us that all of life was to be lived with joy and faith, all of life was to be lived for His glory regardless of what we ended up doing. Still I don’t think it really sunk in for me until adulthood. I remember privately agonizing through high school, desperate to prove to God and myself that I would follow “His will” if only He would reveal it to me.
All the while never realizing that He already had and I already was.
In fact, as I look back, I realize that I was doing His will every time I followed in obedience, every time I loved another person, every time I longed to see His glory. I also realize that I was doing His will every time I sat down to write, every time I read and reread books that stretched my thinking, every time I reveled in and pursued the dreams that He had already placed inside of me.
Eighteen months ago, I began blogging, in part to finally prove or disprove this theory. I wanted to fully commit myself to a dream in order to see what He would do with it. I guess, in a way, I wanted to put my big toe in the Jordan to see if the waters would part. To that point, I had been writing bits and pieces but only as a hobby. I think it was my way of not having to commit, a way of inoculating myself from disappointment. What if my dreams weren’t God’s dreams for me? What if I failed? I would just play it safe; and while that meant that I may never know what God could have done, I would also never have to face the possibility of seeing my dreams crushed.
But I soon found that I couldn’t play it safe. Every article I wrote and every query I sent flamed the passion that was burning inside of me. And slowly I realized that God Himself was the one nurturing and cultivating my dreams. He faithfully sent the right people to encourage me and faithfully sent the right rejections to keep me in my place; until one day, He finally gave me the courage to accept that as much as I loved writing, He loved me writing as well.
Back to the yellow legal pad. One of those silly goals that my husband and I wrote down over ten years ago was that I would write a book. Shortly before Christmas, in large part due to blogging, I signed a contract with Moody Publishers to write that book. I signed a contract that will enable me to do what I love at the same time that it will serve His people on a broader scale. I signed a contract that will enable my thoughts to be embodied in paper and ink and type and give me a chance to truly earn the appellation of “writer.”
I am humbled. I am grateful. I am scared. And I have never before so strongly believed in Providence.
The next several months of writing will probably be similar to the last several years—I expect to wrestle through fears, doubt, and discouragement, to swing from heights of elation to depths of despair. And while I have plenty more that I want to share about this unbelievable opportunity, at this point, I just want to sit in awe. To publicly acknowledge the kindness and wisdom of God and to remind myself that the God who gives dreams doesn’t abandon His children in the middle of them.
Each of us has different dreams; and each of our yellow legal pads should have different goals on them because He was made us distinct. Writing may not be your passion, but it is essential that you pursue whatever is. It is essential that you surrender not only to what you love but to the fact that God wants to use what you love for His kingdom. It may not end up being your profession, but it will be your calling. It will be something that only you can do--something that only you can contribute.
So this year--in this brave new world of 2013--find what you love to do, surrender to His hand, and know that a kind, sovereign God put those dreams inside of you in the first place. And because He has, this same kind, sovereign God will, in His own way and in His own time, bring them to pass. Not simply for your joy, but for the joy of His people, and I’m convinced, for His own joy—for His own secret delight in watching His sons and daughters become all that He has created them to be.
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Good Reads
When we arrive in a new area, one of the first things we do is apply for local library cards. Before finding a family doctor, before changing our voter registration, before transferring our drivers’ licenses, we find a source of cheap, sustainable books (preferably that have a four week lending period). Because as problematic as it may be to be pulled over and have to explain why you’re driving with a Indiana license when you reside in Virginia, nothing compares to the panic that grips my soul at the thought of not having bedtime stories or a pile of books waiting patiently for me on my nightstand.
For me, this love affair with books (which I suppose also meets the clinical definition of certain addictions) began when I was young. My mother was (and is still) an insatiable reader who was rarely seen without a book in hand—everything from Dickens to Horace to Austen–this woman taught me that while it’s fine for a girl to be pretty, it’s essential that she read. And do so often. My husband, on the other hand, didn’t discover reading until his sophomore year of college when his American Lit professor captured his imagination with an excerpt from The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. (Consider this a plug for required college English classes—you never know what they may ignite.)
And yet, I really don’t count myself among the literati. There are lots of books that I haven’t read, lots that I should have, and probably even more that I shouldn’t have. I always feel slightly inferior whenever I see my friends’ Goodreads’ lists or overhear them discussing the latest, most significant, most groundbreaking new release—the one that I didn’t even know existed. And to be perfectly honest, I find myself projecting these insecurities as I smugly pass the Amish fiction section in the local Christian bookstore--all the while secretly wondering what I’m missing.
Still, according to Karen Swallow Prior, Chair of the Department of English and Modern Languages at Liberty University, this isn’t a problem. In this interview spotlighting her recently released memoir, Booked! Literature in the Soul of Me, Prior suggests that it’s not so much what we read—although I’m sure she’d have a some recommendations—as it is that we read, that we allow the process to shape our souls as it has hers. In doing so she echoes the words of G.K. Chesterton who argues in “The Ethics of Elfland” that his faith began in the nursery where he acquired a “certain way of looking at life, which was created in me by the fairy tales, but has since been meekly ratified by mere facts.”
Simply put, what we acquire through literature is what we need to live in reality. When a story stretches our capacity to understand situations and characters, it is in effect teaching us how to “read” life. And through the process, we discover more about ourselves, our God, and others. Through His good gift of the book, our souls expand and we are given the opportunity to live beyond ourselves in order to gain perspective on ourselves. If only in those moments, if only through the slimmest of volumes, we are ushered into a “laboratory of life” in which we can experiment and dream, in which we can see the world as it should be or discover the tragic consequences when it is not.
It is no coincidence that Christians should be, not only people of “The Book,” but people of books. In His wisdom, our God has ordained that His words not simply be spoken by the prophets but that they also be written and preserved by the scribe. And perhaps more significantly, in His wisdom, our God has deigned to call His Son the incarnate Word—a living, breathing, walking… story. A Story within a story. The Story on which all others rest.
We should not be surprised then if our souls, the very souls that were formed after His, resonate and thrill at stories. We should not be surprised if despite ourselves we love what He loves. And we should not be surprised, that as much as we like to think that we own our books, we often find—thirty boxes and eight moving trucks later—that we are owned by them instead.
How to Argue Like a Christian
"...there are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilization—these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit—immortal horrors or everlasting splendours. This does not mean that we are to be perpetually solemn. We must play. But our merriment must be of that kind (and it is, in fact, the merriest kind) which exists between people who have, from the outset, taken each other seriously--no flippancy, no superiority, no presumption. And our charity must be a real and costly love, with deep feeling for the sins in spite of which we love the sinner--no mere tolerance or indulgence which parodies love as flippancy parodies merriment... your neighbour is the holiest object presented to your senses. If he is your Christian neighbour he is holy in almost the same way, for in him also Christ vere latitat—the glorifier and the glorified, Glory Himself, is truly hidden."
C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory
When God Hides From You: W. Cowper and "Sometimes a Light Suprises"
Anyone who is honest knows that life is full of these dark moments. The kinds of moments when God seems absent, when you question everything you’ve ever believed, and wonder whether the universe has gone slightly off kilter. In these times, it really can seem like God is hiding from us.
But in our ever-so-safe subculture, we hesitate to acknowledge these dark times unless we should somehow minimize the truth of what we say we believe. And so instead of honestly confessing the pain, we create happy clichés and mindless condolences to assure ourselves and each other that everything’s right in the world.
But it’s not.
This is a world waiting redemption, a world groaning under the curse, a world with unexplained injustices and epidemic pain. It is a very broken creation, and more often than we’d care to admit, that brokenness invades even our own souls. What we need to understand is that acknowledging the darkness actually makes the Light all that more brilliant.
In all this chaos and destruction, we cling to the light of Christ in faith. Faith that this present darkness while reality is not the ultimate reality; faith that as we struggle forward, He struggles alongside us; faith that one day by His grace, we will reach our better, permanent home.
But even in our faith, we can't always see.
And this is why the light surprises. Because often the shadows of this life can become so dark that we lose faith. So when God, even for a brief moment, chooses to step out of the shadows and pull back heaven’s curtain to let a glimpse of glory shine into our dark existence, we blink our eyes and strain at it. It’s like someone suddenly turning on the light while we're fumbling around in a dark room. It’s completely welcome but completely unexpected and perhaps even for a moment, unsettling.
Since 1779, several different tunes have been paired with Cowper’s text, and there are multiple arrangements of each from the folksy to the stolid. By far my favorite is Craig Courtney’s lyrical choral arrangement. I actually stumbled across it while googling the phrase “sometimes a light.” Interestingly, the first and only video link is to a youth choir led by our former worship pastor and friend, Dan Kirsop. As I sat listening to the young voices, I wondered what dark days each will encounter and whether Cowper’s text will bring comfort that today they can’t even imagine they’ll need. As for me, tears rolled down my face as I hit replay. Again. And again. And again.
And each time, the Light surprised.