i need your help

If outward displays of service and compassion are the leafy foliage of a plant, the part you can see, touch, and point to, then our Christ identity is like the hidden roots that go down deep into the dark earth and hold it all up. Without the roots, the leafy plant dies.

I spent a lot of my time trying to make the flowers bloom out of sheer will. I wanted the beauty that came from a healthy, beautiful, blooming plant, but the only fruit I seemed to produce on my own was either dried out, too ripe, or simply not enough. Growing up in the church, I got the message that salvation is by faith alone, but life after that is faith plus my hard work and good disposition. I stayed strong when I felt weak and I faked happy when I wanted to cry because my ideal image had everything to do with put together and nothing to do with falling apart. I didn’t understand the mystery of Christ in you, the hope of glory.

I thought he wanted me to serve for him, to witness for him, to live for him. But that isn’t what he wanted.

I have become aware of the futility of my own efforts to please the God I thought was distant, passive, and expectantly waiting for me to get it right. I worked hard, I did the right things, I never got drunk, I sang in the youth choir, I went to Bible College, I married a youth pastor.

But it’s hard to bloom when you’re either doing so much for God and you don’t know why, or you can’t find the energy to do anything for him because it never seems like enough.

I was determined to get life right while also painfully aware of all the ways I was wrong. And so to cover for myself, I hid. I stayed hidden behind my sweet personality, my strength and responsibility, my fine-how-are-you’s and my servant heart, hoping that my paper face would cover for my inadequacies.

I was trying so hard to live for God that I missed the point. He never asked me to live for him. Through his Son Jesus Christ, he lovingly invites me to live from him. One letter makes all the difference.

Before we can be the hands and feet of Jesus in the world, before we can go out and love without condition, we have to first understand who Jesus is in us. Otherwise, we are living out a self-made gospel, a gospel that boasts all flowers and leaves but no roots, which is really no gospel at all.

The life of Christ in us makes the difference between the church and Hollywood or The Red Cross. And not just historical Jesus or on-the-cross Jesus or when-I-get-to-Heaven Jesus, but Jesus in me. Jesus living his real Jesus life through believers who trust that he died a real death and rose up to real life to make a true difference.

And so I’ve written a book about the roots, about kind of hiding we do when we fear we aren’t good enough, and the kind of finding God does because he knows he is. It’s a book about the hidden inside parts, about the invisible roots, about the impossible expectations I put on myself and about the God who lifts me up.

And this book has no title.

I am so nervous asking for your help. But help? Because I know you can. You are writers and creative thinkers. No idea is a bad idea at this point. I am stuck in my own head and I want to have some good ideas to offer to the marketing team. So if you have any good ideas, or even bad ideas, or medium ideas, this would be the time to put them in the comments. Or even if you just have a word or two words or an image or a fraction of an idea that you think could communicate the message of this book, that would be helpful too. Thank you and thank you. And thank you.

she can laugh at the 31 days to come

The days I have coming are filled with lots of writing. As you know, I turned in the manuscript for my first book back in July. Since then, my editor has finished reading it and I can breathe a heavy sigh of sweet relief at her kind words. As I prepare to receive her edits, I also got word that my second book deadline has been extended from February to September. That means I have a full year to finish the second book.

Still, I have to finish the second book. This time, not for grown ups, but for girls still in the process of becoming who they will be. Perhaps I should just call them ‘teenage girls’ because aren’t we all still in the process of becoming who we will be? And I will soon be asking your help, because as of now, neither one of these books has a title. A title is the most important part, as I nearly always judge books by their covers. Don’t you? But there are other things coming, too.

Because I am no longer under such a tight deadline, I feel free to write here with a bit more frequency and heart. And I am so excited about what’s coming. Thanks to my sister The Nester for the idea gathering and Pro-Blogger Darren Rowse for the inspiration, during October, I will join seven other bloggers in writing a month long series unique to our individual blogs and messages. Each one of us will develop 31 posts based on things we are excited to talk about. Do you want to see who is involved?

The Nester from Nesting Place: 31 Days to a Less Messy Nest

Emily from Remodeling This Life :: 31 Days of Living Simply

Jen from Balancing Beauty and Bedlam :: 31 Days to More . . . with Less

Melissa from The Inspired Room :: 31 Days of Autumn Bliss

Sandy from Reluctant Entertainer :: 31 Days to Stress-Free Entertaining

Kendra from My First Kitchen :: 31 Days to an Inspired Table

Darcy of My 3 Boybarians :: 31 Days to a Better Photo

And here, at Chatting at the Sky :: 31 Days of Grace

I know there are still five weeks until October, but it is certainly fun to anticipate an entire month of focus, whether it be getting tips on keeping my nest less messy, or issuing an invitation for you to breathe deeply of sweet grace. I hope you will enjoy it. In the meantime, I will be writing. And drinking coffee. And fixing a few dinners. And stuff.

the work of writing :: a guest post

When I moved from Massachusetts to Nebraska in 2001, I found gargantuan grasshoppers and looming grain elevators. I also found God. Now I’m raising two rambunctious boys with my husband, Brad, working part-time for Nebraska public television and radio, laundering Sponge Bob briefs, and writing about faith in the everyday at Graceful. And I’m so very grateful to be here at Emily’s place today!

Fifteen years ago my husband Brad and I backpacked through part of Yellowstone National Park. I’d reluctantly agreed to this adventure, knowing that Old Faithful Inn – or any place with plumbing, for that matter – suited me better. A 25-pound pack and a two-man tent pitched on pinecone ground were not my idea of a vacation. But I agreed, largely because I was newly married and very much in the compromise stage.

We hiked through a barren landscape, charred husks of birch and pine standing like totems, the ground prickly with new-growth brush. A rampant forest fire had ravaged Yellowstone a few years prior, and the burned landscape was still stark and desolate like a moonscape.

As morning turned to noon the sun seared sharp. Pack straps burned ruts into shoulders, hair stuck to nape, boots chafed blisters, and I grew crankier with each mile, weary of the sooty landscape. As we rounded each rise I expected to glimpse our final destination, a campsite nestled beside a glinting lake in a valley below.

But it didn’t happen. Instead, at the crest of each hill I saw only another rise ahead, hope of shade and cool water crashing as one false summit gave way to the next.

“I want to be there now,” I complained mercilessly to Brad. “How much further? When are we going to see the campsite? Why are there so many hills? This is horrible!” I continued. “This isn’t what I expected at all! I’m not having fun!”

Brad was remarkably patient, especially given that instead of chortling songbirds and burbling brooks, all he heard was the relentless griping of a grumpy wife.

“We’re going to get there, honey,” he soothed. “Just try to enjoy the hike.”

I thought about that Yellowstone hike recently as I found myself bemoaning the writing process, the uphill climb toward publishing. The similarities between hiking and writing are not lost on me.

There’s the relentless grind, for starters. Writing requires discipline, which means I write when I’d rather be sipping Chardonnay on the back patio or browsing for a new purse at TJ Maxx. The process isn’t graceful as I grunt out choppy phrases that fall flat, or circle an idea round and round, unable to nail it down. Writing is work, putting one foot in front of the other – one word after the other – and staying on the trail for the long haul.

And then there’s the finish line, the final destination. I want to rush the process. I want to be there now – there being a published writer. I don’t want to face yet another mountain, another false summit – the research, the rejection, the writing and more writing, the hope followed by crashing defeat. I don’t want to hope for sparkling lake, only to find desiccated emptiness once again.

“How much further?” I whine to myself. “When am I going to get there? This isn’t what I expected at all!”

The Bible tells me a lot about time and process, planning and controlling – about how God’s timeline may be different from mine: “You don’t get to know the time. Timing is the Father’s business,” Jesus tells the disciples, when they clamor to know when the kingdom will be restored (Acts 1:7).

Honestly, this isn’t what I want to hear. I want to control the process; I want to create the timeline. Often I don’t want to heed God’s plans for me, because I fear they differ from what I might have in mind for myself.

There’s much for me to learn about what God wants with my words. Perhaps it’s not about publishing at all. Perhaps it’s about this present hike – this climbing and seeking. I admit, the pack feels heavy at times; I am weary. But God tells me he wants to lighten my load. I simply need to hand over the burden.

“Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you. Show me the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul. Teach me to do your will, for you are my God; may your good Spirit lead me on level ground.” Psalm 143:8, 10

**I know I say this with every guest post, but seriously. Visit Michelle at Graceful, because every word of hers is just that. I love her vivid descriptions, her regular-girl perspective, and her growing heart for filling the hole.

i turned it in

It was the evening of July 19, exactly one week ago today. The Man was in Peru on a mission trip, the kids were with my parents for the week, and I was sitting sweaty in my workout clothes when I realized, I’m finished. There is not one more thing I can do with this manuscript in my  hands. I emailed my editor and she heartily welcomed me to send it her way.

And so at 6:01pm, I crafted the email, attached the document, and waited to hear the angels sing. They didn’t. I tried to call my girl, Kendra for encouragement to hit send. No answer. Then, I tried to call my parents for the same thing. Voice mail. And so I said out loud to Jesus, Here we go, Lord. As I quickly hit the send button, all those words and heart and tears and joy slipped quietly, invisibly away across the internets into the inbox of my editor.

I finished two weeks early. What an overwhelming relief.

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