A Writer's Prayer From "The Valley of Vision"

If you follow me on facebook or twitter, you might know my love and affection for a little paperback, first published in 1975, called The Valley of Vision - A Collection of Puritan Prayers & Devotions. I try to share a few lines every Monday in a #mondaydevotion.

We have so much to learn from the spiritual giants who came before us. It was their wise and timeless words that guided my thoughts in a right and fitting prayer over my writing today.

Thy cause, not my own, engages my heart. 
Not my name, my reputation, my followers, my talent, or my success. Neither is perfection my cause, because I don't have it in me to make the story perfect. It will be full of mistakes, theological and artistic. The world may scorn it, but to the one who's eyes are open, or whose eyes are soon to be opened, it will make the Lord and his dealings with his people something beautiful. That's my hope, my prayer, and the cause which engages my heart.

And I appeal to thee with greatest freedom to set up thy kingdom in every place where Satan reigns.
There is no time and no place like the one I'm living in right now. No freer citizen of an earthly kingdom existed. I have so much time, so much access to information, so many avenues to proclaim his name, and so much freedom to do it without fear of persecution.

Glorify thyself and I shall rejoice, for to bring honour to thy name is my soul desire.
Lord, make this so in my heart, which is so dark, so bent toward my own glory. Destroy my pride so these words are always on my lips, so my joy is in you alone.

I adore thee that thou art God, and long that others should know it, feel it, and rejoice in it.
Lord, make my heart to ache for the lost, for my soul to weep over them, for my grief to be inconsolable. Let that be what drives me finish this work.

...To the eye of reason everything respecting the conversion of others is as dark as midnight, but thou canst accomplish great things.
My words, my story, are as refuse to much of the world. I am incompetent at best to tell the story I long to tell, and have it be used to soften hard hearts. Yet you can accomplish great things through feeble hands if you desire. It is only for me to stay faithful to the task and lay it at your feet to use or discard as you will.

The cause is thine and it is to thy glory that men should be saved.
Not mine. Not mine. Heaven forbid I would try to rob you of your glory.

Lord use me as thou wilt, do with me what thou wilt, but, O, promote thy cause, let thy kingdom come, let thy blessed interest be advanced in this world!
How good of God to put a version of this prayer on my ignorant, faltering lips many years ago when I first began to write. And how sweet of him to set my eyes on these words, written and preserved by men much smarter, holier, and closer to the Lord than me. How I praise him for this, and for his word which never changes.

Give me to grasp for multitudes of souls, and let me be willing to die to that end.
Can I truly make these words my own? Do I even understand them, after a lifetime of worshiping, working, praying, and writing whatever I please, without fear of persecution in America? The people whose story I long to tell were willing to die for this. Am I? If the world grows dark, and some wicked ruler puts my neck in a noose for the words I write, would I say, "Yes, those are my words."? Lord grant me the courage I require should that day come.

And while I live let me labour for thee to the utmost of my strength, spending time profitably in this work, both in health and in weakness.
O, how I need him every hour, every minute, every second, to stop my mind from being distracted, and my hands from being idle. There is so much in this world that seeks to destroy my productivity. Let me labor, Lord, to my dying day, stringing words together, crafting stories which honor you, if it pleases you to have me do it. And if it doesn't, take this longing from me, and set my heart on another.

Amen.

Why I Write: Young Adult

Continuing my summer series on Why I Write.

Last week I explained Why I Write: Fiction.

Today I'll tell you Why I Write: Young Adult (or YA). I didn't intend to write YA when I began. I was reading a lot of Francine Rivers and Deanne Gist back then, and beginners emulate. It's the way of many creative pursuits.

Well into my first draft I began to have some doubts. Was my character too young? Were her problems too juvenile? Were her friends too immature? Near the halfway point, I had a sudden, liberating realization: I was actually writing YA.

This freed me in many ways, and excited me. I have always loved YA. My favorite course in college was Dr. Shively's YA Lit class, where I was reintroduced to brilliant authors like Lois Lowry, Chris Crutcher, S.E. Hinton, Sandra Sisneros, Harper Lee, and L.M Montgomery. I had read their books as a kid, but now, studying them as an adult, their work became something new, fascinating, and wonderful to me.

They speak a different literary language. They're frank, bold, and unapologetically serious about problems that plague young adults.

They don't shy away from topics, or water things down. I love that. They don't talk down to their audience, or assume their young readers need words, sentences, issues, or stories simplified. They respect their audience, and the stage of life their audience is in.

Young readers need that. I needed that.

I was such a confused, love-sick, angst-filled young reader myself. I know this because I left a paper trail of all my confusion and heartache. I desperately needed to know I was not alone. I needed to know God was still real, and he was still near; still active and working in my life and in the world.

It was a time of questioning, and doubting, and seeking answers in the wrong place, and being so darn sure about every single thing I decided was true. It was a time of rebellion, of taking risks, of making mistakes. It was when I realized how important friendship was, and now that I'm an adult, I see how important my choice of friends was.

Most tragically, it was a time when I was obsessed with trying to figure out what would make me happy. The world was constantly shoving down my youthful throat that my happiness was all that mattered. Not my parents, not my future, and certainly not God.

"Do whatever makes you happy," is Satan's battle cry. It's an insidious command that leads to irreparably broken relationships. Young adults are so dangerously susceptible to it. Even faithful young adults.

That's why I write YA.

This question of personal happiness is my character's biggest struggle. It's why she teeters on the edge of a family that expects her to obey, and why she might miss out on sharing in their great destiny on the Mayflower. She believes obedience will lead to a life of misery, and she has an opportunity to leave her family and seek her own happiness. Will she take it? Will her desire for what she thinks will make her happy win in the end? What will become of her if she chooses happiness over duty, sacrifice, and perseverance?

Readers, even young readers, who have much to learn about consequences know the answers. They know her desire for happiness will lead her down a dark path, even though they may despise her father for saying it. They still know.

It's different to see this play out in someone else's life rather than one's own. An observer can see more clearly, with less emotion.

Readers will (I hope) yearn for her to choose obedience, to see her make the treacherous ocean crossing with her family, and watch her persevere with the rest of them in the New World.

And my earnest, constant prayer, is that readers will be encouraged by this story, so that when the time comes for them to choose obedience or happiness, they will be ready, strengthened, and buoyed. Capable of seeing the grand scheme, the next step, the joy to be had in a life of steady perseverance.

Why I Write

It's summer (no stay-at-home-mom of school-aged kids needs this reminder). It has not been a season of prolific creativity and productivity for me. More like road trips, incessant bickering, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. That's okay. I'm forever grateful for these years, and for my presence in them. I'm not complaining. But I do miss writing. It's been weeks since I've had those long, quiet, isolated hours before the screen. All I have time for right now are quick bursts of words, dumped into a blog in the early morning hours before the monsters begin to stir in their lairs.

I needed something easy, something to get the juices flowing, something to get me writing. Writing about writing is about the easiest thing there is for a writer, so here it is: a summer series on Why I Write.

Why I Write Fiction, Why I Write Young Adult, Why I Write Historical, and others are planned and coming shortly.

Today, I'll tell you simply why I write.

1. I enjoy it. 

Every part of it. I love to feel the throb of a story aching to coming out, and the gush of words when I finally put fingers to the keyboard. I love the fine-tuning, the hours spent staring at a paragraph, a line, a word, even when I return to it the next day and decide to delete it.

I also love the hard, intellectual labor, the constant refining, and the continuous learning. I know I'll never know all there is to know about writing, and that knowledge pushes me, awakens me, and drives me.

It gives me something to work at until it's finished. I know what I'm going to do every day, from the moment I wake up.

It gives me purpose. It makes me feel useful to my Lord, who has given me the luxury of time, freedom, and a gift with words.

2. It keeps me close to the Lord. 

Not because I think writing, in and of itself, is so noble and godly a thing to do, but because I'm constantly talking to him about it. Is this a fitting labor? I ask. Does it please You? Take this dream from me if it's not from You, I beg him.

I ask for practical things too: for my time to be well-used, to be kept from distraction, for Him to show me what's missing, and what to cut.

I confess my sin to him: my pride, my shame, my hesitancy, my laziness, my fear of man.

When I get frustrated by what I perceive to be silence, as I often do, I back away from writing. I can't help it. My confidence wains, my work slows, my heart constricts.

And like clockwork, my prayer life dries up.

But I am always (so far) pulled back somehow to the labor of writing, and with it, I return to praying as I should.

I realize anew with every return, that if my writing never amounts to anything in the wide world, if it never yields earthly fruit that I can see, and taste, and spend, it doesn't matter. My writing bears the kind of fruit that matters to God. It keeps my heart tuned to His grace, mercy, and sovereignty.

3. I can't not. 

Writing is quite possibly the most all-consuming activity I could have undertaken. Even when I have to remove myself from the screen and do normal things that normal people do, I'm consumed by writing. I may have a day that's full with bible study, and picking up my husband's uniform at the cleaner's, and shopping for ingredients to make minestrone soup and homemade bread for my friend who just had a baby, but all those things are punctuated by thoughts of my story. Dialogue streams through my mind as I drive. I feel the sun on my character's skin when I feel it on my own. I use my one precious hour alone to unload it all into the Word document, and read it over fourteen times to make sure I like it.


Whether or not God does anything with it, I think, for me, there will always be writing. It's a part of who I am. It's a part of how I function. The tap has been turned on, and it flows constantly for me.



And that's why I write.

20 Things That Matter More Than the Almighty Book Deal

When you have a voice inside your head that whispers, "You should write a book," and won't shut up until you do what it says, it's hard to believe there is anything more revered, more longed for, more dreamed of, than the Almighty Book Deal.

Almost every writer who makes it to this point is still facing years--YEARS--of waiting. The journey looks different for everyone, but the waiting is universal. In time, you grow weary of worshiping at the alter of the Almighty Book Deal, and become discouraged that the sacrifice of your time, imagination, and sanity may not be enough to appease its voracious appetite.

Take heart, Aspiring Author. Here is a list of 20 things that matter more than the Almighty Book Deal (ABD).

1. Obedience. You were called to write this book, as crazy at it sounds to your family and friends. You obeyed the call when you typed, "Chapter One," and when you followed those words with 70,000 more. Stay obedient to it now.

2. Humility. I'm going to be honest with you. If you recently typed, "The End," and have only read it a second or third time all the way through, it still sucks. Even if your mom told you it was great. The sound of crickets coming from the literary agency isn't a sign that you should give up and close the file forever. It's just a timely dose of humility. Swallow it and get busy fixing what you did wrong in the first draft.

3. Relationship with other writers. You probably started writing, in part, because you're an introvert. Worry not. You don't have to go far to leave your cocoon. For writers, email and social media can be as valuable (sometimes more so) as a cup of coffee and a conversation across a real-life table. Seek out writer friends, unpublished ones for the mutual critique and camaraderie, and published ones for the mountains of knowledge, wisdom, and experience they bring. Don't count anyone out and give back as much as you know how to give.

4. Feedback. Yes, feedback matters more than the ABD. By the time you have the book deal, it's too late to fix the problems your readers will notice. Get as much feedback as possible. Accept it with grace. Even if you don't agree. Even if it makes you angry. Fix the problems and then get some more feedback.

5. Rejection. It stings, I know. Think of it as athletic conditioning. The first workout makes your muscles scream and burn, and you would rather die than go back for more. Go back anyway. The next time it hurts a little less. And the next time you notice you're stronger. Keep going back for more. The goal is to be lean and ripped, and you won't get there until you begin to look forward to the pain, because you understand the benefit of going through it. Let the rejections pile up. Take a little pride in each one, knowing how it has served to strengthen your spine and thicken your skin.

6. Perseverance. This one is no joke. My own engine has sputtered and died on occasion, and for a variety of reasons: a rejection, an illness, a negative critique, a season of busyness that kept my mind far from my stories. It leaves me drifting and listless and disinterested. It's a dangerous place to stay because this is when it seems logical to give up. After all, who would know? It's not like you have an editor beating your door down for the next chapter. But it can also be a time of clarity. When your drive to finish has stalled, and your craving for the ABD is diminished, you can see more clearly why you've been working at this for so long, how far you've come, and how messed up it would be to quit now. Don't quit. Call a friend to give you a jump and get that engine to turn over asap.

7. Time to make it better. There's no substitute for time. Use it well. An artist's work is never really finished anyway. These aren't Bob Ross paintings, a stroke here, and a happy little tree there, and in thirty minutes, you've got a complete masterpiece. Up close those things are a hot mess. Writing is 1% creating, and 99% editing. It's cutting away large chunks, tightening up sloppy dialogue, and cleaning the mess you left in the first draft. So, let the time pass, get busy, and trust me: It. Can. Always. Be. Better.

8. Growth. As a writer, yes, but also as a human being. People who achieve success too easily are stunted. It ruins them. Embrace growth.

9. Time away from the screen. After the ABD you will be a slave to deadlines, edits, social media, marketing, book tours, and blog tours. You're not there yet. So, step away from the screen. It's ok. No one has to know. Go for a walk. Mop the kitchen floor (if that's your thing). Journal about something no one will ever see. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts.

10. Maturity. It took a stint in federal prison for Prison Fellowship founder, Chuck Colson, to realize that nothing is more important than the maturing of the soul. Not wealth, not prosperity, not pleasure. Not even the ABD.

11. Prayer. Almost nothing is better for your prayer life than waiting, wondering, and striving toward something you think God has called you to. He will not grow tired of hearing your musings to him on the subject of the ABD. Write these prayers down and watch them change over time as you grow and mature in all ways.

12. Pleading. Like the deer that pants for the stream, plead with God to take from you this dream, and set your heart on another, if he desires that you do something else with your time and talents. When you find, day after day, that your heart is still tuned to it, plead with him to go with your on your journey, wherever it takes you. Plead with him to delay the ABD, slowing you down if your pride is likely to take you farther than he wants you to go. Plead with him to open doors of his choosing and to close others, and to help you in the fight to stay humble and obedient through every small victory.

13. Small victories. Celebrate every positive critique, every tough chapter you labor through to the end, and especially those long awaited words: "The End." Take note of the little gifts of divine inspiration that serve to reveal things in your writing you didn't see before. Let it encourage you to keep going, and fill you with hope that this labor is not all for nothing.

14. Acceptance. Another rejection, another contest lost, another year passed with nothing tangible to show for it. You're no closer than you were this time last year. The answer from God is, "Not yet." Accept it. Move on. There's no point arguing with him about the timing.

15. Contentment. Make your peace with what you've been forced to accept. This is how far as he's brought you, and this is where you'll stay for a little while longer. "Godliness with contentment is great gain." 1 Timothy 6:6

16. Self-sacrifice. It's so hard to pour so much of yourself into something no one else seems to care about. So many hours lost to dreaming, typing, staring out the window, perfecting a character's expression. The creative mind is a burden, churning constantly, leaving you in a fog while you perform daily responsibilities. It isn't normal to space off at Thanksgiving dinner, creating dialogue based on the bickering of your relatives, or to fantasize about visiting historical/exotic locales all by yourself. It's a lonely and secretive life. There's a cost to it. Give of yourself for something that will be much larger than you.

17. Introspection. Sometimes it feels like a punch in the throat to have to ask yourself, "Why am I even doing this?" after years of what feels an awful lot like wasted effort. But sometimes it's good to go back to the beginning, to remember why you started, to follow the thread of this thing you've been pursuing, and to look down and see your fist still firmly clenched around that thread.

18. God's presence. It's worth more than holding your work in your hands, seeing your name on the spine, more than royalties, more than winning a contest, or landing an agent, or the ABD. It just is.

19. God's sovereignty. Despite the Disney Channel's message that "if you work hard, your dreams will come true," it may not be God's will for you, or for me, to get the ABD. That has to be ok. No amount of waiting, or editing, or pleading for it will change God's already made up mind. How can you or I do anything but fall down before this holy, majestic, omnipotent God, who is so gracious to make our little lives matter?

20. God's glory. If I am focused solely on going after my own glory (which, let's face it, is what the ABD really is), I will not have eyes to see God's handiwork. Don't misunderstand. It is possible to balance excellence and ambition with godly humility. You can stay humble without staying hidden. Your talent can be valued and even celebrated without vainglorious self-promotion. You can strive toward excellence without being proud. You can work to hone and improve your skill without being self-obssessed. You do have to step back from yourself, your creation, your desires, your effort, your fear, your insecurity. Let your journey be interrupted. Let it go on longer than you expected. Let it sanctify you and glorify him. Let him worry about the ABD.

Hope to Keep Writing: Editing and Answered Prayers

I am in the editing stages of my second first WIP (that might actually become something worth reading). I've gone chapter by painstaking chapter, submitting them to my critique partners for the last seven months. That's probably twice as long as it took to write the first draft.

But first drafts are like this:

Not that it isn't hard. It is. But editing is sifting through all that sand. It's throwing out pieces of broken sea shell, scooping away big chunks of superfluous sand, and going in with a tiny brush to carve elaborate turrets, windows, brick facade, maybe even a moat to go around it that you didn't think to add before.

It's laborious, sometimes tedious. Some days I sit at the screen and stare at the same paragraph for three hours, and I don't know what to do with it until after I've left the computer in frustration and started doing the dishes, which have sat by the sink since breakfast because I was in a hurry to begin the day's editing.

But sometimes there are magical little moments, when I discover a gem I didn't know was there, and editing becomes exciting and energizing and I think maybe I'm on to something after all.

I was mulling over a chapter the other day, really struggling with it, knowing it wasn't where I wanted it to be. I read a line, maybe for the twentieth time since writing it. It wasn't an important line. It didn't stand out in any way. I stared at it until I saw the word, "her." Just a simple pronoun. It probably occurs 1000 times in the manuscript. But this one was different. It added a layer of meaning to the sentence I didn't fully understand when I wrote it, not even when I read it the first nineteen times. This day I saw it for what it meant. "Her," and no one else. Not the whole family.
Just her.
Plot twist.
New motive.
How exciting!
I added one more pithy line beneath it, a line of dialogue, which reveals a great deal about the character of the father, a characteristic the girl doesn't know yet, but the reader does. Now.

I've made maybe half a dozen little discoveries like this during the editing process. The light bulb goes on over a word or phrase, revealing a plot twist (usually a plot hole), and things come together in a beautiful new way.

I don't usually take any special note of these moments. I just squirm in my seat, rub my hands together, and smile wickedly as I type on.

I took note of this one because it felt distinctly like something outside myself, something smarter than myself, had a hand in that. I know there are lots of writers in the great big world who have these moments, but I am always praying over my writing, so when something like this happens, I wonder if God is answering my prayer to show me things I can't see. And then I wonder if God's hand is actually in my creative work, and if I'm being obedient to His calling, not mine, and if He's blessing me for it. I wonder if He's guiding me to the next step. I begin to think that this is not all for nothing.

It could all be my imagination, but it gives me hope. It makes me crave more time with my computer. It drives me to keep at it, even when I have normal things that normal people do that get in the way. I may have a day that's full with bible study, and picking up the dry cleaning, and stopping by the store to pick up ingredients for a meal for my friend who just had a baby. But all those normal things are punctuated by thoughts of my story. Dialogue streaming through my mind as I drive, feeling the sun on my character's skin when I feel it on mine, and using my one precious hour alone to unload it all in the Word document, and read it over four times to make sure I like it.

Whether or not God does anything with it, I think, for me, there will always be writing. It is a part of who I am. It is a part of how I function. The tap has been turned on and it flows constantly for me.

Lament of the Christian Artist

Overwhelmed today with the question--AGAIN--of what God has promised me. I'm studying the story of Balaam and his donkey, which I did not want to study this week. I put it off again and again. I even wrinkled my nose at it when I saw it sitting by my computer, and checked facebook instead. I finished it without putting forth too much effort and went to bible study not really understanding it, not sure what God was saying to Israel, or to me, with the exception of his steadfast promise: Blessed are you, my people; I am sovereign over every single thing. There was, I admit, a bit of a *yawn* response from me. It's the same word from God week after week, chapter after chapter.

But as I listened to my friends answer the same questions with such profound insight, I sat up a little straighter and reread some of those prophecies from Numbers

"The God who can predict outcomes is the God who is the author of history," my teaching leader said.

I believe this about my God. With all my heart, I believe this. But the old, persistent question came to me, like a dilapidated neon sign that blinks and splutters but never quite goes out.

What did you promise me? Am I to understand your words in light of eternal victory? Or in light of my small life, which only has purpose because you give me a job to fulfill? Do you promise to use me as a writer of stories that are worthy to be read? Do you promise that I will become a published author? Is that your promise to me?

When I got to the car with these questions in my mind, I groaned and asked God if he was tired of hearing me ask because, frankly, I was tired of asking. "If this is not your promise to me," I prayed, tearing up as I drove down Abercorn, "take from me this dream and set my heart on another task, another mission, another way I can be used." I am willing to do that. I trust him for that.

But if it is his promise...if it is his promise, I will strive toward that for a decade more. Two decades. A lifetime. But I cannot spend a lifetime chasing a fool's errand. I must know if my prayers are the prayers of a self-aggrandizing bag of hot air, or a (semi) talented writer who really may one day achieve publication.

It struck me on the drive home: what if I'm not the faithful donkey, with his eyes to see the Lord's angel, but I am really Balaam, who is so single-minded, so determined to go his own way that he will beat the gentle faithful one into submission? How do I know I am not a diviner, trying to create the path I want, and blind to the path God has actually set me on? How do I know the set backs and discouragements aren't the voice of the donkey, who sees more clearly than I, that God himself is blocking the way?

"The story of Balaam abounds in comic irony," my commentary says, and I suppose if I were a Jew, a recipient of the promise, on the other side of victory with Moab, I would see the humor in it. Though the promised Redeemer has come, and God's completed Word sits open in my lap, I don't know who I am in this story.

Have I kicked someone under me? Neglected them? Despised them for interrupting my course, for keeping me from my writing desk, and my pursuit of my own glory?

I want to say that I am not Balaam. Balaam sold his soul for riches from Moab and died by the sword because of it. Balaam was willing to take a bribe. Balaam exacted revenge through wicked means when he didn't get his way.

God knows my heart. He knows it beats for him. He doesn't really need me to tell him how desperate I am for a word from him, a hint of a promise, a glimmer that I have heretofore missed because I blinked.

In asking God for an answer, I am taking a risk. I did my best, most prolific writing when I was not concerned with agents and contests and contracts. For so long I have successfully pushed aside the fear that it would be wasted, that no one would ever read it. I have convinced myself to write something down, anything, even if it's terrible, knowing that I can go back and fix it later. It has been enough to keep my fingers on the keyboard through 4 1/2 manuscripts. All without knowing for certain if this was even God's plan for my life. Without the assurance that this is his promise to me.

I stubbornly hope despite the odds.

I look at books from the library sitting on my bedside table. I see their paper, their ink, their cardboard spine, covered in that awful plastic film. I see the cover art and the dedication and I think, "This is impossible." I'm just a housewife. A nobody. Every author was at one time, I suppose. Every author wrote a terrible first draft and stuck with it until it got better...and then the clouds parted, and the heavenly chorus sounded from above, and God set them on their path to the promised book deal.

I realize now that I am still on the pendulum that swings wildly from total narcissism to crushing self-doubt, only now it has become unhinged and swings in a new direction that is a combination of both. Narcissism and doubt.

I'm sick of thinking about it. I'm sick of thinking about myself.

I won't quit. It's not a question of my quitting. It's a habit now, to turn my brain to story mode in the car, or the shower, or on a walk, or lying in bed. There is a drive to finish that will keep me at the computer every available minute of the day, even if the answer is no.

Until I am sure the answer is no.

The things that have gotten me to this point, the ways God has worked things out for me, kept me encouraged, spared my crooked little flash drive, protected my time and my health, put inspiring things in front of me, kept my computer from crashing, built me up, torn me town, taken my hand as I rebuilt again, shown me things that made my work better, given me a husband who allows me to indulge in what I have always tried to pass off as a glorified hobby, plucked me out of my old life and set me down in one of calm, and peace, and ease, so that I have an over-abundance of time to develop my craft, which I have grown to love so much--I have not imagined these things. They are not the outworking of my over-confidence, or my ambition, or my own feeble attempts.

Can I say that being a writer--an actual, legitimate, recognized, (dare I say it?) published author--is his promise to me? A promise that I should fight and claw and scratch and sweat to obtain?

God has brought me to this point and until he tells me, "No," I am powerless to stop trying.

The Prayer of a Christian Writer

You know how hard I've worked. You've been there, all those dark, lonely hours while I pinged away at a keyboard. You helped me tell the story, sustained me with time, a computer that didn't crash, a crooked little flashdrive that has never been lost. You watched me type the first word and the last word, and You knew when I changed the first word through 16 revisions.

You know how my ego has swelled with every compliment and You know how hard I have fought the battle against pride. You've seen me struggle to make myself less when my heart cries out for recognition, admiration, and fawning praise. You know how I yearn for that "someone" to notice me and make my dreams of success come true.

Don't give it to me. The same way You denied Moses when he asked to see Your face in Exodus 33:18, because You knew it would be too much for him.

If You don't go with me on the difficult road to publication, don't send me. Don't let my ears be tickled with compliments that will skew my view of myself. Don't let me hear encouragement that will push me farther than You want me to go. Don't let others whisper empty promises that deliver false hope.

Just go with me. That's what I ask. You and me. Knowing You are there and You are pleased is worth more to me than a contract, more than the pleasure of seeing my words in print.

To be published, respected, and influential--those are good things and You will guide me toward that in Your time, in Your way. I am not like the others. There are talented aspiring writers in the great big world who don't know You. They clamber for attention and due praise, and buy followers, and fight for room on a tiny stage. But I do not cross my fingers for luck when I query. I do not receive rejection bitterly. I do not blame. I do not pout. I do not lose hope as long as You are with me.

Your ways are different and your presence separates me from the pack.

Your presence is all I truly want. More than success, more than royalties, more even than sincere praise. Because those things don't guide my steps. Those things don't linger. Those things don't care about the souls of my potential audience.

So, with humility, I ask for Your presence so that Your presence will supply the boldness I need to move forward in this pursuit.

Dying Well

Hank DuBose died on a Tuesday.  It was a beautiful day in early March and he commented on it several times to his wife because it followed a string of cold, wet, miserable days.  He may have secretly, briefly thought of the things he'd be doing to his yard if he was in his own home instead of in this place for "Old Fogies" as he called them, but he didn't let on because that's the kind of man Hank was.  He thought you needed a little darkness to see the stars and he always looked forward to things to come.

His wife Alice made him take his jacket before they went to dinner.  He protested but she knew the deceptive nature of these March days.  It would be summer as long as the sun shined but as soon as the shadows of evening came out, it would be winter again.  He had taken the jacket from her, and hooked it over his arm, and talked of the pulled meat sandwiches they would eat in the cafeteria.

There was a lull in the conversation as they walked together on the sidewalk.  Then he collapsed.  She tried to break his fall but she was surprised at the heaviness of his body.  His arms stayed down at his sides and he scraped his elbow and his forehead on the sidewalk when he landed with a sickening thud.  She knew instinctively that he would never wake up.  Fear filled her as she always knew it would but there was a calm in her too.  She rolled him flat on his back, flicked the dirt off his sleeve, and held his hand until the medics arrived.

The next day, when Hank's daughter told her friends the news, they clucked and sighed and apologized and their eyes welled for her.  She held her hands up and said with a sad smile, "It's ok.  Really, it is.  He was a Christian for most of his life and this is the way he always wanted to go: in possession of all his faculties, next to the woman he loved, looking forward to things.  He always wanted it to be sudden."

It was a comforting thought to us, her friends, and the prayer flew into my mind before I could stop it: God, let me go like that too.  Still healthy at the end of a long life, not sick and bedridden, my body wearing out before my heart is ready to stop beating.  In the presence of my family who still loves me, thinking I'm going to dinner in 15 minutes.  Just walking along and BOOM.  Or maybe as I sleep, dreaming of the breakfast I'm going to eat when the sun comes up.  That's how I want to die.  Thank you for taking Hank that way.  Take me like that too.

That's what dying well looks like, I thought.

But even as I said the prayer I knew that God already sees the end of my days.  He knows how it will be, whether or not there will be suffering, and the answer to that plea for things to be comfortable at the end might be "Yes," but it also might be, "No."

And then I thought of the story of Abigail Smith, who suffered so greatly in her young life before cancer took her.

And I realized the pointlessness of such a plaintive request for God to make things easy for me.

It was His goodness that Hank should have had such a comfortable death but it was also His goodness that in Abigail's suffering, 30,000 people would hear through her story that He can take something evil and make it His business to redeem it for something good.

That's what God is about.

Not making life or death easy.

So my prayer is different now.

God, take me in Your time and in Your way.  All I ask is the courage to face it in a way that brings others to a closer understanding of Your goodness.  Amen.

The Big "D": The day after good-bye

26 March

My husband is safely on the ground on the other side of the world so I thought I would share some of the things we did to make our family ready for this part of our Army adventure.

1. I spoiled my husband. Whether it was sex, food, a new play station vita, taking a weekend away...if he wanted it, he pretty much got it. We didn't have this "It's my last meal," doom and gloom mindset. I just wanted him to really enjoy his last few weeks at home. We ate a lot of good old American junk food, watched a lot of movies, took a couple of days to go to the beach and eat ice cream with the kids, simple pleasures. No big vacations or spending sprees. Not enough money for that and not enough time, to be honest. When your turn comes, you'll find that there is so much last minute stuff he has to be around for that really seems to drag on and on and on that taking a week long Disney vacation (or whatever) is just not possible. We will save that for when he gets back.

2. I did NOT spoil my girls (4, 7, and 9). We had to wait until nearly the last minute to drop the bomb on them because we didn't know for sure ourselves and I didn't want to burden them with, "well, Daddy might go in a couple of weeks, or he might go later this summer." We just didn't say anything to them until we were sure. I had been dropping little hints here and there that it would be our turn some day. By the time we told them the news, it wasn't a big shock to them. When the time came, we gave them some time to cry and cuddle with him. And then we told them that this wasn't the end of the world and he would be back soon so don't spend the next 10 days being sad and weepy, please.
One of my daughters was especially broken up about the fact that Daddy will miss her birthday AGAIN. So we splurged on an ice cream cake from DQ and had a very, very un-birthday for her last Sunday.
One huge blessing is having them in on-post schools. Half of their class has a mom or dad deployed so it's sort of normal now and their teachers have been amazing.

3. We got wills done at the JAG office (which was free and totally painless, by the way) and we made sure I would be able to handle financial stuff on my own, which basically means my husband set everything up for automatic bill pay because I hate being responsible for paying bills, and he made sure I had all the passwords.

4. The countdown board.

Some people don't do this because it makes the days drag on, and it does seem in the beginning that there are so many it will never end. But it's worth it to me beause at the end, I feel this huge sense of accomplishment. Seeing that big empty board is so rewarding! We do not have an exact homecoming date but my kids are old enough to understand if we have to add a few back on toward the end. I took a picture of each child with Daddy and stuck it to the board, and hung it low on the wall so they can look at it and participate in taking the ribbons off each day. I also gave my girls a copy of their picture with him and they are free to sleep with it, carry it around, take it to school, whatever. I'll just print off a new one when it gets ruined.

5. We turned my husband's phone off. It broke my heart to get a text message from t-mobile the day after he left that his phone was no longer in service but he had been advised by others in his unit to just go ahead and turn it off because it would be a nightmare to accidentally receive a call or a text message while over there. He still took his phone with him to use as a camera and a wifi connector and he also has his laptop and his psv so he has lots of ways to skype and FB message. Which we did last night. And it was awesome.

6. We prayed. A lot. And had lots and lots of people praying for us. I do devotions with my girls every morning and wouldn't ya know it, but practially every single one on the days leading up to the big "D" could be applied to us and what we were going through. This gave us an immeasurable amount of peace about it. If you are not a praying person but find yourself gearing up for deployment, this would be a great time to start. The bible has so much to say about anxiety, and worry, and going through difficult things, and waiting, and accepting life's twists and turns, and having peace when your world is going crazy, and not complaining about your situation, and protection, and how God fights for you....I just can not imagine navigating this whole thing without it.

7. I kept my mind on things that would happen after my husband left. It was hard. I wanted to devote all of my energy to saying good-bye and preparing him and being there for him and my kids. But I didn't want the big day to arrive, drive back to an empty house, and sit there wondering, "Now what do I do?" This may sound simplistic but physchologically, it was important: I got ingredients for chocolate chip cookies when I went to the commissary last week even though I knew I wouldn't be making them while my husband was still home. There they sit in the pantry, begging to be used. BECAUSE LIFE HAS TO GO ON. I have a friend coming up from FL to visit me today, which I had to clean the house for. My in-laws are flying in next weekend, so I have to plan fun things do to while they are here. I'm planning a trip home this summer, I'm writing a lot, I'm working on a Christmas stocking for my youngest daughter, I'm helping my older girls plan a sleepover. Just living and working and planning and trying to enjoy life.

8. Friends. I just got here two months ago and haven't had much time for making friends but the few I have are worth their weight in gold. I have met women from this site, from FB page, moms of kids at school my girls are friends with, a bible study I go to. There are lots of ways to be out in the world, meeting people, and you can't stay holed up in your house the entire time, as much as you might feel like it some days. Having another human being who knows you and knows what you're going through is invaluable. I always tried to be the mom/woman who had "it" together...you know, I always tried to be on time, have my girls neat and well-behaved, know what was going on in school or church, etc. But apparently, God wanted me to be the mom/woman who is a wreck and needs the help and support of others because I have found myself relying so much on friends and family over the past few years. All I can do is let this time in my life mature me and grow me so that I can be the one to help someone else down the road.

Anyway, that's been my experience so far. I can't really speak to the logistical side of things because my husband's unit was already gone when we got here so I missed all the deployment fairs and FRG meetings. But we survived saying good-bye and seem to be holding it together pretty well.

I know for some of you, deployment is your greatest fear, and I thought it might be helpful to tell you, like I told my kids, it's really not the end of the world. You'll be ok because you HAVE to be ok. If you treat it like it's the worst thing that could possibly happen and you fill your imagination with thoughts of him dying or worse, you're going to have a really tough time. But it doesn't have to be like that. Seriously, it doesn't.           

The Big D: Countdown to the end

12 September
Every day that passes gets me closer to the end of this.  Until then, I just continue to carry on and stay active, putting things on the calendar and taking care of things that need taking care of but I think this last little bit is going to feel like the longest of the whole deployment.

I have a handful of friends whose husbands just returned in the last week or so and I'm not going to lie to you. It is so hard to see them with their husbands. I had to watch a friend and her family sit in front of me at church last Sunday and their little boy (who looks SOOO much like his daddy, who I had never seen before) was crawling all over him, clinging to him and whispering in his ear, and I knew how happy they were because I watched her cry, 10 days before his return, overwhelmed by the absence they had endured and the excitement of him finally coming home. But there I was, still alone and fighting the urge to be insanely envious of her. In those moments, it feels like I still have SO LONG to wait!

There are so many of those hard moments when it feels like this separation will never end, and maybe it even feels like the cost of this life is just too great.  I've heard from several women who are struggling and I'm the kind of person who says we have to be master of our emotions and turn to something that encourages us.

I happen to be reading "Bonhoeffer," right now, a book about a German pastor who stood up to Hitler in the years leading up to WWII and was arrested and executed for his part in an assassination attempt. He spent 18 months in prison before being executed by the Nazis but during those long months he was permitted to write letters and he had a fiancé named Marie who received many of them. Something he said to her in one of his letters has encouraged me and I go to it in my mind every time I want to feel sorry for myself or I wonder if this is all worth it:

"No, you needn't have a moment's worry--I'm not worried either. You do, of course, know from the little we've said to each other that danger exists not only out there [on the battlefronts] but here at home as well, sometimes rather less so, sometimes rather more. What man of today has the right to shun it and shrink from it? And what woman of today should not share it, however gladly the man would relieve her of that burden? And how indescribably happy it makes the man if the woman he loves stands by him with courage, patience , and above all--prayer." Dietrich Bonhoeffer

I want to encourage you who are struggling. The separation will end, the hard moments will pass, and when you are reunited, the painful memories will fade. I don't say this as an expert because I am still living through it. I say it because I believe it will happen. Be courageous, have patience, and pray.  If all else fails...

    

On Getting What You Want In This Life

Take delight in the Lord and he will give you your heart's desires.  Psalm 37:4

Keep on asking, and you will receive what you ask for....  For everyone who asks receives."  Matthew 7:7

And since we know he hears us when we make our requests, we also know that he will give us what we ask for.  1 John 5:15

Put a quarter into the slot and the mighty Zoltar will give you whatever you want. 

Er...oops.  Guess I got carried away.  But I could find more similar bible verses.  They're all over the place.  Old and New Testament.  Lots of little nuggets of gold in there that make even the most humble among us rub our palms together and dream of the possibilities.

Anything, God?  Really?  Ok...I'm going to be really mature here and not ask for money.  Lots of verses about money in there too and I'm past wishing--I mean praying--for more money. 

The desires of my heart, huh?  Then I want to write.  Not just put-put stuff on a free blog.  Real, meaty stuff that people read and are changed by.  And I want the things I do at church to go well instead of flop around like a dead fish until someone finally says, "Enough is enough.  Put it out of its misery."  And if it's not too much to ask, I'd like for something to go right for my husband for once.  I'm not asking for him to have his career back.  I just want a future we can look forward to.  One that doesn't involve other people's funerals, preferably.  Oh yeah.  Amen.

Tapping my foot....waiting....waiting....

It doesn't work that way, my beloved daughter.

What?!  Why not?!  That's what it SAYS!  In the BIBLE!  That's YOUR word, not mine.  I delight in you, I really do.  You can ask anyone I know.  They'll tell you.

I know.  I know all things.  And I love you too.  More than you can comprehend.  And that's why I can't give you all of the things you are asking for.

But these things are good things, Father.  Things that can bring you glory! 

And things that can bring YOU glory.

Aaaannnddd...that's a bad thing, why?

It's not bad, dear one.  But it's shortsighted.  You are only seeing the things of this world and you think you know best how to make things good.  Some of the things you are asking for, well, they're not good.  Not in the long run.  Please trust me.  I know things you don't--can't know.

Great.  Then, why bother asking for ANYTHING?!

Calm down.  Go ahead and ask.  Anything just to hear your voice.  Sometimes my answer will be yes.  Sometimes no.  But I'll tell you the secret to getting what you ask for.  Are you ready?

Yes.  For crying out loud.  Yes!

That book in your lap?  Look at those verses again.  Not the one about Zoltar.  The other ones.

Ok...says here in Psalms 37:5, "Commit everything you do to the Lord.  Trust him and he will help you." 
Matthew 7:9 says, "You parents--if your children ask for a loaf of bread, do you give them a stone instead?" 
And 1 John 5:14 says, "...he hears us whenever we ask for anything that pleases him."

Wait a minute...so, you're saying I have to give you the "whole pie," as Pastor Mike says, trust your judgment, and ask only for things that please you?  And THEN you'll give me what I ask for??

Pretty much.

How do I know what pleases you?

Do the first two things and you'll have it pretty well figured out.

Well, how do I do those first two things?

Ask me.  Those are things that PLEASE me.  I would be happy grant those requests for you.  Are you beginning to see how this works?

I think so.

Taking a Risk

I've never been what one would call a risk taker.  Except for when I was an ignorant kid who couldn't see my future past the end of my nose.

I did a lot of my growing up years in a small town with a very busy highway running alongside it.

One day when I was about 16 years old I found myself in an old beat up S-10 pick-up truck sandwiched between two guy friends, who, one can only assume, had nothing to lose.  On a quiet little road that crossed the highway, the driver got the sudden brilliant idea to floor it and race across the intersection without stopping.  I held on to the rickety dashboard for dear life, envisioning for a split second what it would look like for us to get side-swiped by a car going 65 miles per hour.  Another split second later, we were safely on the other side and the two guys laughed like idiots and high-fived each other.  Pretty much an idiot myself and not wanting them to know I nearly soiled myself, I probably laughed too.




I took other risks too.  Risks with my heart, with my soul, and with my reputation.  It is only by God's grace that none of these risks resulted in consequences that lasted a lifetime (except for one garish and regrettable tattoo that still makes me cringe when I look at it).

I think it's interesting that I was so willing to take a risk when I so proudly (and foolishly) boasted that I was the only one looking out for me.  Now that I know God, and I know that He made me, He has plans for me, and He'll never forsake me, the thought of taking a risk makes me break out into a cold sweat.

When my husband was unemployed for just a few short days, the thought of not making a house payment, losing the house, and (horrors!) having to change school districts struck such fear in my heart that I found myself weeping in the arms of my pastor's wife who I needed at that moment to quiet my fears and reassure me that this would not, in fact, be the end of the world.

When did I turn into such a wimp?  I think it happened when I became a slave to the false hope of worldly security and personal comfort.  God gave me this gift of my life, not so that I could pursue home ownership and full retirement accounts.  He put me here to do big things.  Risky things.

And time is running out:

"Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be.  Remind me that my days are numbered--how fleeting my life is....  My entire lifetime is just a moment to you; at best, each of us is but a breath.  We are all moving shadows, and all our busy rushing ends in nothing.  We heap up wealth, not knowing who will spend it.  And so, Lord, where do I put my hope?  My only hope is in you."  Psalm 39:4-7

It's true, when you believe in God, you know that this life is not all there is.  But you also have a responsibility to make this life count for something.  I can't do that if I'm going to be a wimp and cling so tightly to security and comfort that I miss the opportunity to take a risk.  

Boasting about the "What if's"

A new job begins today for my beloved.  A blessing?  That remains to be seen.  It's hard to say when there are so many what ifs.

We can't help but strategize with our limited human imaginations: "What if this new job keeps you from doing the part-time thing you've got going on the side...what if it isn't enough to pay the bills....what if the people there can get you a job at a department you REALLY want....what if taking this job means a better opportunity is passed up....what if this turns out to be so great we might want to move to be closer....what if this turns out to be a dead end and a total waste of time....what if....what if?"

I have never doubted that God would work all things out for good to us who love Him.  But there are so many twists and turns and decisions to be made along the way.  I have to force myself to resist asking God for answers to the "what if" questions.  It's not for me to know and I probably couldn't handle it anyway.  Life never makes sense when we're looking ahead or when we're in the middle of it.  It's only in hindsight that we can see the purpose in the pain.

I will also resist making up my mind what would be "best" for us.  A job here or a job there?  Or how about a job here for a year or two and then a job there.  And we won't be satisfied until the ultimate dream job becomes a reality.......right?  But this is the biggest "what if" of all: what if the thing we say we want the most is not really in God's plan for us at all? 

Jesus' brother, James, warns us of doing this in his book, James 4:13-15.  "Look here, you who say, 'Today or tomorrow we are going to a certain town and will stay there a year.  We will do business there and make a profit.'  How do you know what your life will be like tomorrow?  Your life is like a morning fog--it's here a little while , then it's gone.  What you ought to say is, 'If the Lord wants us to, we will live and do this or that.'  Otherwise you are boasting about your own plans, and all such boasting is evil."

Lord, help us not to waste this pain by boasting about our plans.  We do not pretend to know what's better for us than You do.  And we look with anticipation to the day when we will look back on this, a changed family, transformed by the pain--made better by it, making sense of the trial, and thanking You for it.