Tag Archive | God

Too Much To Ask

Twenty years ago, I spent the summer before my senior year of college working with missionaries in Austria, after which I traveled to Heidelberg, Germany, where I studied for a semester at the university. God asked something of me during that time that has had a long-lasting impact on my life. It’s His question–and the results of my answer–that I wrote about in my entry to the Guideposts contest. I now share it with you. While it’s longer than my usual posts, I hope my story will encourage and maybe even challenge you in your own relationship with God.

***

Too Much To Ask

 

I cross my arms, my fingers digging into my biceps. “You’re joking, right, Lord?”

A valley unfolds down the slope before me, most of it in Austria, but a piece of it belongs to Germany. The grassy carpet rolls over the gentle hills, dotted with a house here, a barn there, a road winding along the edge of the mountains in the distance.

Since childhood, I’ve longed to take my place here in Europe. For the past three years of college, I’ve worked with that goal in mind; anticipated that sense of “home” in stepping upon foreign soil. And now God’s threatening to take it away?

My stomach twists and the ache grows in my heart.

I blame the missionary couple I’m staying with for the summer. Or maybe I blame their son, Josh. Maybe all three. They just had to tell me about Josh’s decision to pursue God instead of girls during his freshman year of college. Noble, right? More noble than I could have been as a frosh. I mean, I’m a good girl, but guys pose a definite distraction. Can you fault me? Trailing behind my dream of living in Europe is that of being a wife and stay-home mom—two roles that require a husband.

I’m hoping to find that husband in Europe. Preferably Germany, where I’ll be headed in a couple weeks’ time to study in Heidelberg.

“Yet You want me to date You instead?” I glare into the bright blue sky overhead. “For how long?”

Six months.

My jaw drops and tears bite my eyes. “That will take me all the way through February! I’ll have returned to the States by then.” I kick a clump of grass at my feet then turn from the view that had given me solace these last few weeks. “No way, God. You’re asking too much of me.”

***

Three days later, I’m still arguing with Him.

I’d like to pretend I hadn’t heard his voice, but you know what happens when you ignore God—you get swallowed by a whale.

What are you afraid of?

His gentle prodding comes as I push the mop across the dining room floorboards of the Schwaigmühle, a retreat house in northern Austria for family and church groups. Late morning sunlight slants through the windows, and I bat at the dust motes in the air with a scowl.

“I’m afraid this is going to kill any chances I have for finding my future husband.”

Don’t you trust Me?

The words ping my heart. Of course, I trust Him. But this is my love life we’re talking about. Sure, His mere breath put the universe in motion…and He orchestrated to perfection the fulfillment of history’s most prophesied events surrounding His Son…and He stands victorious already…and—

Okay, so He wouldn’t find a love life that hard to manage. Worse-case scenario, if I cross paths with my future husband during the months I’m dating God, He’ll arrange a meet-cute when I’m available again. Right?

“Fine, God.” Dirty water swirls in the bucket as I rewet the mop. “I still say You’re asking a lot, but I’m less PO’d now than I was before. Let’s do this.”

The next time I’m in Salzburg for my day off, I head to the little flea market, browse through the jewelry kiosks, and come away with a tiny purchase hugging my ring finger. The wedding band look-alike will remind me I’m “taken” for the next six months—and if it allows me a casual way to share my faith with others, so much the better.

***

Shortly thereafter, I leave Austria for Germany to meet up with the other American students in the Junior Year Abroad program. Some of them are seniors in college, like me. Plenty of cute guys abound, but a new peace resides in my chest rather than anxiety, and I enjoy getting to know them on a level that doesn’t include potential for romance. This is a type of freedom all its own. A God-given contentment.

I’m issued my living quarters and a smile spreads across my face. Rather than moving into a dorm room on the University campus, I’m given my own space in a large house along the Neckar River. My eyes widen when I behold the French doors in my room. Operational? You bet. And it leads to my own private balcony. Not only does it overlook the river right across the street, but I’ve got the perfect view of Schloss Heidelberg (the castle!) atop the hill on the opposite bank.

Best. Room. Ever.

One of the other American students, a lively girl named Vera, stays in a room above me in the renovated attic. We become fast friends and together end up exploring Germany’s culture and many of the surrounding towns.

Days stretch into weeks stretch into months. I hang out with God in the mornings, memorizing scripture and praying with more focus, and on Friday and Saturday nights, I spend time with either Vera and friends, or on a “date” with God. I journal. I listen. I bask in a calm and relief I’d never known in my previous boy-crazy state. My “wedding” ring draws questions, which lead to skeptical looks from some, but interest and further conversations from others. Snow starts falling by mid-October, almost two months earlier than my hometown in New England, and given I love the white stuff, I count it as another blessing.

I head to the local movie theater a few times, once to catch a German-made film and twice to watch movies from the US. In the darkened theater to view The Horse Whisperer, starring Robert Redford, I sit with mouth agape at the large-ness of the Montana landscape. That one state is easily the size of some smaller European countries.

The United States is huge. And beautiful. And I’m a citizen. My chest swells with…American pride? Weird.

At the same time, something else nudges its way beside my dream to live in Europe.

It’s small. Fragile. And stubborn.

A desire to see the American West for myself.

I nearly snort out loud.

Me? Visit Colorado? Wyoming? Utah? Me, the girl who’s spent as much time aching for Europe as she has spurning talk of cowboys and Stetsons and John Deere tractors?

Yeah, that’s asking too much, God.

***

I travel with the local Campus für Christus—Campus Crusades—for a weekend retreat, where we join other groups from nearby towns and universities. I’m the only American, which makes me intriguing for that reason alone, and I catch the eye of an über cute German guy. Boy-crazy me would have responded to his flirtations with some of my own, but I’m already taken…and he seems to be, as well, if the wary vibes I receive from the girl at his side are any indication. Instead of focusing on him, God-dating me focuses on befriending the girl and in an unspoken way, easing any anxieties she might have that I’m after her man. My heart is light. Happy. Complete.

Christmas break comes all too soon—and with it the realization that Germany/Europe might not factor into my future as much as I’d always believed. That silly American pride keeps growing, as well as that idea of maaaaybe taking a trip out West after I graduate. Don’t know what that will look like, but the fact I’m even considering crossing the Mississippi River is cause for celebration…or alarm.

Still wearing my ring and seeing no prospective German husband on the horizon (I never did get that sense of “home”), I return to the States in time for the New Year then head into my last semester of college. Funny—the guys at college don’t hold the same fascination for me as they once did.

February 28th arrives, marking the end to my six months. Such a small span of time, really, yet dating God has strengthened me with new insight and confidence where my future love life is concerned. I decide I’m done chasing boys. It’s beyond time they chased me, instead.

Too much to ask? Nah.

On March 1st, I slip off my ring. Tarnish and corrosion have begun to set in along the cheap metal (hello, penny-pinching college student here), but I tuck the ring among my costlier pieces of jewelry for safe-keeping and sentimental value.

Several days later, I return home to spend spring break with my parents. On Sunday, I greet friends at church I haven’t seen in ten months, lingering in the foyer to catch up on their news and share my own. As the first chords of the worship team signal a start to the service, I step into the sanctuary and glance around for my folks.

Instead, I see him.

Alone in the front row, eyes closed and face lifted as he sings, stands one of the pastor’s sons. A few years older than me, he and I barely ran in the same circles in the high school youth group. I don’t even remember his name. And is that…? My gaze zeroes in on his hands.

He’s holding a black Stetson.

Six months ago, I would have wrinkled my nose in disgust.

But God’s done strange things in me over the last few months, and there’s an even stranger tug on my heart. I wonder—

No! Ugh. I can’t make it one week after I stop dating God before my boy-crazies kick in!

And yet…

My gaze wanders back to the pastor’s son.

It’s Your call, Lord. I slide along the row of chairs to join my parents as my prayer slides upward to Heaven. I’m not doing the chasing. Help me be content and wait for Your timing. I want Your best for me, not what I think is the best. Help me be patient.

The familiar hymn we’re singing drifts about me in a hug, and with renewed determination, I shift my focus from the pastor’s son to the backlit wooden cross at the front of the sanctuary.

***

Alice Walker once wrote, “Time moves slowly but passes quickly.” In a few blinks of an eye, twenty years separate me from those months I dated God. Half my life. Yet, the older I get, the more I appreciate the silver lining in having chosen Him over guys:

Regret-free memories of an amazing time in my life, memories that sweeten with the passing years.

As opposed to the cringe-worthy, boy-focused flashbacks from my high school and college days, remembrances of my time in Germany only ever generate a smile. Never does the face of an ex-boyfriend or an unrequited crush get in the way to smudge the mental images. My recollections remain warm, airy, positive. And as I have yet to return to Germany, the ability to cherish that unique period in my life means more to me now as an adult than it did when I lived it.

That pastor’s son I noticed from a distance? Poor guy had to jump through hurdles when chasing me, but we got married in May of 2000, a year after I graduated college. Two years later, we ended up making that trip to the American West—and by “trip,” I mean “move.” First to Colorado for several months, then Nebraska for several years, then Montana…where, as I drove over the state border in a car laden with moving boxes and two sleeping toddlers, that long-anticipated word pulsed in my heart: Home.

I was coming “home” to a part of the country that used to make me cringe.

Ten years later, we’re still here.

Who would’ve guessed?

Not me. Never me.

But God knew.

He knew, and He beckoned me, and I’m grateful I listened. I still have a soft spot for Austria, Germany, and the German language, but I don’t regret where life—God—has taken me. With the benefit of hindsight, I can reflect on the last two decades and testify that He is faithful “to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us.” (Eph 3:20) All it requires is a little surrender on our part.

That’s not too much to ask, is it?

***

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On a hill overlooking Grossgmain, Austria. That is not a fake view. The grass really looks that amazing.

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In case you can’t read my writing, the pic on the left, taken from the Alte Brücke, is the view of the house in which I stayed. The pic on the right is a closeup of said house.

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Greetings from my balcony!

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Although this is a postcard, it’s pretty much spot-on as to the view I had from my balcony. I walked across that bridge, the Alte Brücke, every day to attend classes.

***

It’s difficult to convey the depth of emotion I had to struggle through during this time in my life, as I’d spent many a childhood and teenage night crying into my pillow, my heart physically aching, despairing I would never make it to Europe. And then to have that dream realized…only to discover the grass wasn’t greener on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean…. Sigh. Lots of feels.

Despite knowing I’m where God wants me, despite the contentment I feel here in Montana, there are still times when I tear up, thinking of what never was, a BA in German that was never used. But then I wonder if God has some plans yet to come in that area. Time will tell.

Has God ever asked you to surrender a dream over to Him? Maybe He then gave it back to You, merely wanting to make sure you were willing to put Him first. Or maybe He took it and gave you something even better in return. Or perhaps you’re going through such a situation now, and you have no clue how it’s going to turn out. If you have a story to share, I’d love to hear it in the comments. 🙂

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Do I Trust God at His Word?

I mentioned in a previous post that I’ve entered my book in several contests over the last few months. Tinsel in a Tangle was the runner-up in the Selah Awards Debut Novel category (yay!), but I’m still waiting for the calendar months to flip a couple more times to find out the results of the others.

One contest, however, has nothing to do with my book. Some of you might be familiar with the magazine, Guideposts. Every two years, they hold a short story contest in which twelve winners are chosen to join their week-long writing boot camp in Rye, New York. I first heard of this contest about four years ago, but never bothered entering because short stories and I gel like oil and water.

But after a gentle-yet-firm nudging this spring from a woman in my Bible study, and feeling like I had a story in me to tell, after all, I decided to go for it. If I’m not one of the twelve winners, I’ll post my entry here sometime next month (I find out mid-August). If I am one of the winners…then I’ll let you know which Guideposts issue to look for. 😉

The point of this post, however, isn’t about contests and winning, but rather about losing…and how that’s not always the negative thing we think it is.

streamer-1194567_1920See, it was just a few days after I entered the contest when I indulged in a small-scale pity party. (I’m happy to say I’d barely gotten the streamers hung before I called it off, though the cake ingredients were out on the counter…) At that time, I had already learned the outcome of the Selah Awards, knew I had very teeny-tiny odds of winning the Guideposts contest (I never got a confirmation email from them, so did they even receive it??), and felt overwhelmed by the minuscule odds of winning one of the other contests…so, yeah, I was lamenting the fact I might never have it all-together to win a writing contest.

Because when we win a contest—whether it be in the creative arts, or music, or sports, or any other skill we’ve taken the time to hone—doesn’t that prove to the watching world that we’re good, maybe even exceptional, in that area? It definitely gives us a boost of validation, right? So, during my “party,” I figured if I never won at writing, then that meant I wasn’t exceptional—maybe not even good—and then I began to wonder (again!) if writing was what God wanted me to be doing—

—when He stopped my thinking in its destructive tracks and whispered to my heart:

“NOT winning a contest doesn’t mean you’re ‘less than’ in some way. It means you’re available to do and concentrate on what I have for you in that moment.”

Oh. Huh. Really?

On the heels of His whisper, I had to ask myself:

Do I truly believe God wants the best for me in all situations? Do I believe what Romans 8:28 says, that “…[He] causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them,” even when it feels painful?

Because if I claim to believe it, then I must conclude that not winning in the Selah Awards was God’s best for me in that particular situation.

This doesn’t mean I’ll necessary understand why that is, but if God is worthy of my trust and fealty, then it behooves me to believe He has the best in store for me, regardless of my emotions.

cropped-trust-in-godIn the case of this Guideposts contest, if I’m one of the winners, I get to go to NY for a week in September. A good boost for my writing. A bold “check” on the validation scale. Yet both my girls start new schools this year—one heads into high school, the other into middle school. This new chapter in their lives could come with a lot of emotions and anxiety and behavioral issues, and understandably so. Thus, if I don’t win, then I’m physically present that particular week to support my girls in ways that might seem mundane and unimportant at times, but which could be the “best” God has for me this September. Because maybe His best in this situation has nothing to do with me as a writer and everything to do with me as a mother. Or as a wife (Sept is the beginning of hunting season; gotta support the hubs). Or maybe even as a friend. Who knows? The possibilities are endless, really, yet I’m so good at limiting God to only what I see and know at any given time.

But when it comes down to my plans, my comfort, what I think is best, God isn’t about pleasing me. He’s about growing me. His best isn’t to make all my wishes and dreams come true, but to mold me into a woman who reflects more and more the fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. (Yeah, my family will be the first ones to tell you I could use growth in all those areas!) God stands outside of time and knows which outcomes will strengthen my character and draw me closer to Him…and which ones would only serve to ratchet up my selfishness, jealousy, pride, etc.

So if I never win a writing or book contest, that doesn’t mean I’m not a good writer. It doesn’t mean I’m not supposed to be writing. It just means God has something better for me, either down the writer’s road or in a different area altogether. And I pray I have the eyes to recognize it and thank Him for it when it comes around.Signature

Joy in Discipline?

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Welcome to 2018! Have you jumped aboard the bandwagon and chosen your word for this year yet? Last year, I chose the word purposeful, because I knew I had to be just that in how I used my time to get things accomplished between all the writing-related deadlines I had on my plate. Well, I met my deadlines, but I had to look back through my posts the other day and remind myself that I’d even chosen a word for 2017! What does that tell you? 😉

As I pondered this past year, full of extreme highs and some of the lowest of lows, two words sprang to mind for 2018. Discipline and Joy.

home-office-336377_1920Discipline in writing. After a year in which my old and new WIPs (works-in-progress) saw very little forward movement, my creative juices have begun to flow again—praise the Lord—and I must shift writing back near the top of my priorities. You see, it became easy this past year, sometimes necessary, to forgo my laptop in lieu of my knitting needles or a book or allow errands to swallow my days. Now I sense some internal resistance when I come to the laptop, even though ideas have begun to blossom in my mind. Traces of fear niggle at the back of it all. (Still? Yes. Ugh.) “What if I can’t get the words out?” “There’s an expectation now. What if my next book isn’t as good as the first?” “Um…will there even be a next book?” I’m trying to quell these little doubts; to keep them, well, little. I want, instead, to cling to what the Lord has shown me over the last six months—His love, His approval, His blessings—and move forward with confidence.

sports-1050966_1280Discipline in maintaining a healthy body. I’ve been fit much of my life and have a high metabolism, but I am in my forties now, and it’s become harder and harder over the last few years to motivate myself to go for a run or workout. And, sigh, I still don’t like my vegetables. 😉 But slacking off now is the last thing I should be doing if I want to see good health into my fifties and sixties. So…discipline. To get up at 5am to squeeze in a workout. Or put on those running shoes after I take my youngest to school in the mornings. To reach for that apple instead of the pretzels (c’mon, let’s be honest: the chips and salsa). Not much fun in the process—when is it ever fun to tell yourself “no” to something?—but I’ll be thanking myself later.

macaroni-2863299_1920Discipline in keeping house…and prepping for dinner. *embarrassed chuckle* Really, who wants to vacuum and mop floors, fold clothes, dust furniture, scrub bathrooms, and all the other nit-picky stuff I can’t remember at the moment, when I’m just getting back into a writing groove and there are new projects to knit and friends to hang out with and books to read and…and…and… And am I forgetting I wanted to be a mother and housewife? Hello! These duties are part of the job I’ve wanted ever since I was a kid. (Why, then, do they become more trying and annoying each year?) And while I might not enjoy cooking day in and day out, there are things I could do to make it easier on myself…and show hubby that I love him and appreciate him going to work day in and day out, providing us with a warm house and money for food and all the extra amenities we take for granted here in America. So, I’m pulling out my dusty copy of Sink Reflections, by the Fly Lady (anybody else remember that gem?), and I plan to implement her suggestions as I had done once before, years ago, to mild success. (Don’t ask me why I stopped, if it was a success. I don’t know!)

By now you’re probably thinking I forgot about my other word for 2018: Joy.

I didn’t.

Not only do I need discipline to accomplish these different things, I want to enjoy them while I do them. I want to write with joy. Clean with joy. Grocery shop with joy. Cook with joy (gasp!). Left on my own, I’m not a joyful person (probably why I gravitate toward people, books, movies, etc., who can make me laugh), but I want to be. I should be. Between the Bible and one of my girlfriends, I’m encouraged it can be done.

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First, James 1:5 tells us “If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you.” Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m thinking it would work that way for joy, as well. 😉 Second, my girlfriend tells the story of how her husband has always loved to hunt elk, but she used to hate eating the game meat he would bring home. In time, she came to see how her rejection of the meals he provided for the family hurt him at his core, and she began to pray that God would help her like the food her hubby provided. Once again, in time, God answered her prayers, and today she can honestly say she enjoys eating elk meat. She’s an inspiration to me in so many ways, so I figure if God can change her tastebuds, surely He can change my attitude when it comes to the mundane tasks of life, especially cooking dinners for my family.

That’s it. Discipline & Joy. Joy in discipline. Simple…but not easy. The two don’t have a natural connection most of the time, but for me in 2018, I pray they become so interwoven that by the end of the year, I can’t see their separation. (I’ll let you know how it goes.) 🙂

Happy New Year, everyone!

Getting Off This Roller Coaster

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I’ve been on an emotional roller coaster these last few weeks and months. I must be rising toward the peak today, because I feel excited and jubilant, though I couldn’t tell you why. Nothing has physically changed in my life. My circumstances haven’t changed. But my view of some things is slowly changing. Maybe that’s the “why.”

If I’m on a roller coaster, then two Saturdays ago, I was at the lowest point of the deepest plunge, a place I hadn’t been in a long while. Although I hadn’t planned to write that day, I ended up with a little bit of time after breakfast and thought I’d quickly write for 30-45 minutes and pound out maybe 500 words or so. They didn’t have to be stellar words. Just something to slide me a little further along on my WIP. Easy, right?

I couldn’t do it.

It took an hour to wring less than 100 c.r.a.p.p.y words from my cottage-cheese of a brain. And then…time was up. Had to move on with my day. Tears pooling in my eyes, I stood, gathered my cleaning supplies, and as I started for the master bathroom, I began to pray for God’s help—

Wait a minute. His help? He’d had the last hour to help me, and He’d remained silent.

Something black and rancid shifted inside me. I dodged it before it became a full-fledged thought. Couldn’t go there. That wasn’t “Christian.”

Then again, God knew all my thoughts, so what was the point in avoiding what He already knew?

“I hate You, God.” The words rasped against my tongue as the nylon scrubber grated against the porcelain sink. “I hate You. I thought I was a writer. Didn’t You and I have some kind of heart-to-heart a few months ago where You pretty much confirmed I was on the path You wanted me to be? Then why has it been almost a year since I’ve written anything of significance?”

Oh, sure, I’d brainstormed, I’d mulled around different ideas, I’d written a couple thousand words over the last ten months…but none of those things were enough to produce the next book.

Why, God?” Scrub, scrub, scrub. “Whywhywhy did You give me a desire to write but not equip me with the ideas needed to fulfill it? You could have taken away this passion—I’ve begged You so many times to do just that—yet still, crafting stories is how I want to spend my days. So what’s the deal? What am I doing wrong?”*

In one breath, I said I hated him, in the next I asked for forgiveness, in the next I begged for help. I tore myself down, compared myself to others, and shook my fist at God.

I had probably cried for at least two hours by the time I sank to the bedroom floor, my chest aching, my body so empty, it should have caved in on itself. “God, help me. Help me.” Over and over, I repeated those words, incapable of much more than that.

Then my phone rang. Swiping at tears, I rose to grab my phone from the bed.

My father-in-law? Calling me? A tiny part of me hoped he hadn’t dialed by accident, intending to talk to his son, instead.

“Hey, there,” I answered, pushing all kinds of “happy” past the tears clogging my throat. “What’s up?”

Now this is a man who I’ve respected all my life, the one who’d been my pastor throughout my childhood and college years, before he moved on into a new ministry. When he talks about God, I listen. And when he shares the things God’s shown him, I lean in closer.

You know what he said to me that day?

“Laurie, I just called because God wanted me to tell you something. He wants you to know how much He loves you.” My father-in-law’s voice broke with emotion. “He loves you. You can’t please Him any more than you already do right now. He. Loves. You.”

It took longer than it probably should have, but eventually, the weight of his words caught up with me.

There I’d been, throwing my little private tantrum, telling the Creator of the Universe that I hated Him, but instead of smiting me (or spanking me and sending me into a time-out), He tapped my father-in-law’s shoulder and said, “Laurie needs to know I love her.”

God loves me. My Abba—Daddy—loved me in that ugly state, and because of my father-in-law’s sensitivity to His spirit and his willingness to obey, Abba was able to wrap me in a hug that day.

There’s nothing like a Dad’s hug to begin melting a stubborn heart.

Jesus has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, so I don’t have “before Christ” and “after Christ” snapshots of how I used to live and how He changed me. But this…this comes close to it for me. To tell the Creator-God I hated Him, and for Him to hug me in return? I don’t ever want to forget that.

I’m done with this emotional roller coaster ride. I’m getting off and driving a stake in the ground. Yes, there will be days I’ll falter and succumb to the fog of depression; there will be times I take three steps forward only to take two steps back; but may I never retreat farther than this stake today.

God loves me.

If He can love a hater,

If He can love a BFF that denied Him three times,

If He can love a zealous Jew bent on destroying followers of the Way,

If He can love a king who committed adultery and murdered an innocent soldier,

If He can love a coward with a speech problem,

If He can love a drunk,

If He can love and welcome into Paradise a thief on a cross,

If He can love and hang out with the fallen, the imperfect, the hopeless, the broken,

Then there is nothing stopping Him from loving you, too.

Now it’s time for us to own it and move forward, ever closer to Him.

And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord. ~Romans 8:38-39, NLT

 

(*Just want to point out my messed-up theology back there. My knee-jerk reaction when I’m stressed or depressed is to think (incorrectly) that God won’t bless me if I’m doing something wrong. Hello! Fallible human being here. I’m always going to do something wrong. God doesn’t withhold or dole out blessings based on our (in)ability to get something “right.”)

I Dedicate This Book To…

book-1760998_1920The other week, I briefly mentioned I plan to give the proceeds of Tinsel in a Tangle to a ministry that helps restore physical and spiritual health to girls rescued from sex trafficking. [Update: The specific ministry I decided to donate to is called Agape International Missions. To learn more, visit them at agapewebsite.org.]

This week, I wanted to go into the details of why I came to that decision…but for some reason, this post has been a difficult one to write. I’ve already spent hours working on it and have restarted it many times. And each time, I’ve condensed it a little more, because really, it comes down to this: Over five years ago, God used a non-fiction book to alert me to a specific hurt in the world, soften my heart, and bring me to a place where, like Hannah dedicated her firstborn son to the Lord in 1 Samuel 1-2, I promised Him my first published book.

Why this particular ministry? If you’re looking for a grand link to my personal life, you won’t find one, save for the fact it hits close to one of my hot buttons: a passion for purity.

Contrary to the message today’s youth receive from Hollywood, books, and even schools, the act of sex has profound impacts on one’s mental, emotional, and physical health, and the careless way it’s handled in society is a grave misinterpretation of the truth. Our children are brainwashed into thinking so little of their bodies and the long-reaching consequences of sex, that younger and younger kids are partaking in what was meant to be a sacred expression of committed love between husband and wife alone.

There’s enough pain suffered among kids who feel pressured into sacrificing their virginity for a few minutes of pleasure, but for the sex traffic industry to forcefully subject a girl—or boy—to this abuse round after round, day after day, is pure evil. The devil laughs in the corner while the child suffers, and that gets my blood boiling.

cross-1517094_1920Yet God is a God of second chances. Of redemption and new life. And oftentimes He takes those issues and events the devil hopes will cripple us and He transforms them into beautiful testimonies that attest to His faithfulness, love, grace. How awesome would it be to give girls rescued from sex trafficking the help and opportunity needed to change their horrors into gleaming weapons forged against the enemy?

And right there, I think, is part of my problem in writing this post. Right there is part of why I’ve been inundated with ramped-up negative self-talk these past few months. The devil doesn’t want me to make my intentions known. He hates the fact I want to use my talents for God’s glory. He hates the fact that, despite the fears, vulnerabilities, and doubts with which he’s tried to shackle me, I’ve continued to press forward in writing. He hates that I’ve dedicated Tinsel to the Lord, and he’s intent on using my weaknesses against me to make me feel small and pathetic and worthless so I’ll hide behind my insecurities and let this book’s potential die unknown.

He’s trying. So. Hard.

And there are times I’m mentally too exhausted to fight back. But as I write this, I’m reminded that 2 Tim 1:7 says, “God hasn’t given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power and love, and self-discipline,” and I’m loathe to let the devil win this round when he’s already lost the war.

book-2363881_1920I would love you to partner with me in this. If you end up reading Tinsel in a Tangle and you enjoy it; if it gives you a chuckle and brightens your day, would you please spread the word among your friends and family? And maybe even consider leaving a review on Amazon? More and more these days, reviews are crucial in giving an author and his/her book exposure. On Amazon, in particular, once a book hits 50+ reviews, Amazon will circulate that title in its newsletters, giving it even further exposure.

My platform is small. I’ll be doing a cover reveal less than a month before my book releases (don’t be surprised if you see me in your inbox again this week). I have yet to send out ARCs or get book swag made (can’t exactly do those without a cover image). Marketing help is going to be on the slim side. In the publishing world, from the different articles I’ve read, this means Tinsel in a Tangle doesn’t stand much of a chance at succeeding; there’s certainly a lot stacked against it. But my Dad is the Creator of the Universe, and Scripture shows over and over again that He delights in revealing His power through impossible situations. I have no promise that He will choose to work that way in my situation, but I pray He will.

Whatever comes of this, I profess the words in Isaiah 25:1.

“O Lord, I will honor and praise your name, for you are my God. You do such wonderful things! You planned them long ago, and now you have accomplished them.”

That’s My Girl

Several years ago, my husband and I had the opportunity to delve into the world of smartphones shortly after the iPhone 5 had been released. Cut to four and a half years and one battery replacement later, the antenna in my iPhone 5 finally went kaput last week. Though I can’t receive or make phone calls, I can still text and use Safari, so we were a bit slow to mosey into a Verizon store.

But it eventually happened, and my new phone arrived this past Friday. While I anticipated the FedEx truck rumbling down my driveway, I scoured Amazon for a new case. It was almost overwhelming, with all the choices available these days. Did I get another Eiffel Tower case…or maybe something with fairies? Those Christmas designs looked like fun, but several inspirational quotes had appeal, too.

This quote, in particular, stood out to me:

“You don’t have to wait to hear ‘Well done.’ If you do it right, you can know every day that God is smiling and saying, ‘That’s my girl.'”

I love that last part. Love the idea that God could be so informal as to say, “That’s my girl.” I know it in my head—that He’s with me every day, that He’s my friend (Romans 5:11)—but when Life takes a curve I wasn’t expecting, it’s hard for my heart to sense the reality of those intimate terms.

However. I do not like the part that says, “If you do it right…”

As a perfectionist and one who is sometimes overly concerned with making sure I’m following God’s will and doing it God’s way and careful not to step a toe out of line, I’m very much aware of my shortcomings and inability to do things right (parenthood, anyone?). How do we know if we’ve done things right, anyway? There’s no sign that flashes above us in reassurance. Sometimes He’ll whisper encouragement, but more often than not, all we can do is try to do things right. (I’m not talking about black and white moral issues. I’m talking about the gray areas. The areas where I can find examples for both sides of my argument/decision/situation, but it’s a matter of what God wants me and my family to do, not what He asked the Joneses to do once upon a time. Make sense?)

On occasion, my father-in-law has said, “The desire to please God pleases God.” And while that is a hard concept to believe when my head is full of murky, depressing thoughts, it gives me a sense of relief when I’m in my right mind. Plus, it correlates to parenting our children, doesn’t it? If my kids desire to please me, to obey me because they love me, that, in turn, pleases me. I’m far more understanding and patient with their blunders when I know their hearts are in the right place.

My heart is in the right place when it comes to following the Lord. I will not always get it right. I will lapse in moments of weakness, say and do things in moments of impatience or anger or when I’m on the defensive. But I’m trying my best.

So, I’m switching this saying around a little. Here’s what I think it should say:

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Image courtesy of Braelyn Germaine.

Now that’s something I wouldn’t mind splashed across my phone case.

But in the end, I went with a different inspirational quote that sums up everything in just a few words:

“If God is all you have, you have all you need.” John 14:8

What about you? Do you have a case that reflects part of your personality? If so, what does it look like? (I admit, I also went with the dancing fairy.) Or are you more sensible (as we all should be when toting around full-blown computer!) and use something like an Otterbox? If that’s the case, what would you rather see covering your phone? 😉 Leave a comment below–and if you have a brand you love, share that, too.

Did You Call Me or Not?

Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to become a published author before the age of forty. Never did I expect that dream to be such a thorn in my side.

Having grown up in a Christian home and coming to faith in Christ at a young age, I’ve long understood that God has a purpose for my life. That He has a calling for each of His children, and while the general calling looks the same—spread the life-giving news of love, forgiveness, and saving grace found in a relationship with Jesus Christ—He asks us to live it out in countless ways according to the unique gifts and talents He’s given us.

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Therein lay my problem. For over three decades, I have heard one story after another of writers feeling called by God to write, whether that was writing in general, or a specific book or series. But for me, I never felt called. I just knew I had a passion for it. On good days, I could write without worry, without second-guessing myself. On bad days, the doubts would creep in and I’d wonder if I was listening to my own selfish desires or if this passion was, in fact, from God. Oh, how I’ve wrestled with it. I’m sure you could find many posts on my blog under the “Writer’s Refuge” tab filled with my questioning, agonizing, pleading with the Lord to just tell me. Just tell me if You want me to write or not. I will give it up if You want me to.

Recently, one of my good friends and local writer buddies, Leah, started a new blog, justwriteinspire.com. Stoked for her, I visited the blog and clicked on the “About” page. The following is a little of what she had to say. (I’ve already shared this with her, so no worries I’m saying something that will hurt or offend her. 🙂 )

“While growing up, I never dreamed I would write. I wanted to be a singer and teacher–not an author.

“However…one day, a plot downloaded into my brain. I thought, someone should write that book. A year later, God planted an idea in my mind, ‘You write it.’ I fought the concept for years. I did not believe I could do it.

“God never gave up on me. He continued to whisper–over and over–‘You are a writer,’ until His words seeped, profoundly, into my heart and soul.”

~Leah, from justwriteinspire.com

At the time I read her words, the irony was not lost on me—how she had felt God’s calling in the area of writing when she hadn’t even been looking for it, while I had prayed for years and continued to question. But still, I smiled, genuinely happy for her.

Come the next day, dark thoughts had descended upon me, and I wasn’t smiling anymore.

I had planned to write that day after cleaning the bathrooms, but as I sprayed and scrubbed sinks and bathtubs, it occurred to me I didn’t have anything to write about. The characters in my two current WIPs weren’t talking, and I was plum out of ideas plot-wise. By the time I finished mopping the floors, I was a mental wreck. If I was supposed to write, why was it harder for me to make up stories than other writers? Maybe I was just fooling myself. Maybe I was a square peg trying to shove myself into a round hole.

So I cried. Hard. And I begged God to speak to me.

I. Needed. To. Know.

Did He want me to write or not?

In late March, I had been sharing my frustrations at Bible study about how my inner critic looks like Jesus, making it difficult for me to always know who’s talking: the critic or Jesus. Sitting beside me, one of my girlfriends promptly texted me this pic from Pinterest:

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I can’t begin to tell you how helpful it has been for me to see these differences written out so I can refer to them whenever I’m questioning the words inside my head. That day cleaning bathrooms, after reading how Leah had felt called to write her story, I remembered this picture and tried to reject the condemning, discouraging words rattling around inside my brain.

But I was weakening.

At last I fell across my bed, my chest aching in that deep way that makes you curl into a fetal position and sob from the core, sob without tears.

How?” I cried to God, glaring at the ceiling. “How can I fight these negative feelings about writing—how can I fight the devil’s lies and deceptions and attempts to bind me—when I don’t know if You want me to do this? How can I combat these attacks with Your promises if I don’t know You’re fighting with me in this area? I’ve wanted to write and be published since I was a kid. Have wanted to write to please You. So many others have felt called by You—why don’t I feel like You ever called me?”

I didn’t expect an answer right away. Hadn’t I pleaded with Him countless other times and received silence in return? Maybe if I kept an open mind and continued to lift up this specific prayer over the next several weeks, I’d recognize His answer…if it ever came.

But that day, God met me in my need, and almost before the question left my lips—“Why don’t I feel like You ever called me?”—a calm, comforting, gentle voice whispered to my spirit.

“Because it was what you already wanted to do. I didn’t have to call you onto a path you were already traveling.”

Oh.

Really?

In my case, yes, really.

And it makes me wonder if other believers can resonate with this.

Often in Christian circles, we get so focused on finding our purpose, finding our calling, our gifts, how we should edify the Church…but for the person who searches for that answer with a pure motive and comes up empty, this quest can be extremely frustrating and lead to feelings of inadequacy.

If that’s you…could it be you might already be on His path for you? Pray about it. Test it. Press into Him with an open heart. And be ready for when He answers.

Yes, I will still have bad days, moments when Negativity wants to tear me down and immobilize me. But now I can resist those thoughts and Satan’s attacks. Now I know writing is something God has called me to do.

And that dream of becoming a published author before the age of 40? Well, I signed a contract with my publisher a month before I turned forty, and my debut novel releases two months before I turn forty-one.

God’s timing is always perfect. And in this case, I’m thankful my timing wasn’t too far off. 😉

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