Beautiful Book: The Passion of Mary-Margaret by Lisa Samson

I adored this book.

Why?

• It reminded me of Marilynn Robinson's Gilead.
• The voicing of Mary-Margaret and each character was completely distinct and beautiful.
• Though not necessarily a suspenseful book, I couldn't wait to turn the page.
• The language was stunning. Sometimes I would read a sentence, then put the book down, wondering how Lisa could conjure up such beauty. Her words took my breath away.
• The story was redemptive, surprising, and invitational.
• The way Lisa wove the story stunned me. She made me want to write better books. That doesn't happen to me often.
  

Here are some examples of breathless writing:

• I wrung out the sponge and began circling it atop the tables, the pristine aroma of the lemon detergent released into the air, the sponge leaving a shining wake. (p. 108)
• Lindelle nodded and looked up at me, blue eyes shattered into too many pieces for a human to count. (p. 137).
• Now, I don't mean to be proud, but white Maryland sweet corn on the cob, the kind we call Silver Queen, is quite possibly the best corn on the cob you['ll ever eat. Uniform kernels, so sweet that the sugar juice bursts from the kernel, mixes with the butter and salt, and if you weren't holding the steaming cob, you'd clap. (p. 212).
  

Folks, if you love beautiful writing, a great story, and unforgettable characters, buy this book!

I can't stand not knowing

I've been thinking about my transparency/authenticity trait lately. Like, why am I this way? Some would say I'm wearing my heart way too far out on my sleeve, opening myself up for public scrutiny. It is true. As an artist, I display myself in the way I work my words, and each time someone criticizes, I die a bit.

But I can't help but be this way.

I honestly believe God created me like this to preserve me. My ability to talk out what's going on in my heart has been part of my healing journey. God has used this fearless openness to salve some big wounds.

But here's the other side of my authenticity: my gnawing need to know what others are feeling.

I can't stand not knowing what someone close to me is feeling. It feels like rejection. It feels like withholding. It feels like a terrible mystery I cannot solve. And, oddly, because of my own neurosis, I think someone's silence always has to do with him/her not liking me (when most of the time, silence has nothing to do with me.)

But God showed me something surprising just now. Because I know the pain of silence, He's helped me to not be that way toward others. It's like the very thing that crushes me will not be the way I treat others. It's His golden rule in action. My authenticity is one way (completely through the Holy Spirit and His power) I love others. Folks don't have to wonder what I think or feel. They will know. And, Lord willing, I'll keep short accounts with those I love because of this.

That's the amazing beauty of God's transformation in my life. To take my most vulnerable need, then create in me the antidote so others won't have to feel what I've felt. Wow. What a reversal. What a healing journey!

I believe in living in the light, in bringing secrets to the light, in openness. In the light, the truth sets us free. Little by little, word by word, God continues to heal me, setting me free. And the byproduct is (hopefully) me learning to be open and loving toward others.

The Anatomy of a Perfect Day

Admiring the flowers

A laughing me

A funny husband

A goofy girl

A thinking boy

A happy teen

A smiling dog

A posing cat

A harvesting of potatoes

A reach-for-the-sky hollyhock

The first bloom of lavender

Our vining house

A plot of earth

A pan of garden beets

A dish of new garden potatoes with herbs from the garden

Orange mint ice tea brewing (mint from the garden)

And voila! Dinner: beet/orange/walnut salad with citrus vinaigrette, new potatoes in herbs, chicken spinach sausages, orange mint tea. The end of a perfectly beautiful Texas spring day.

Help me with a book title

I'm just terrible at titling books. Would you be willing to help me out with a little survey for a parenting book title? It'll take just a few (like 2) minutes of your time. When the survey reaches 100 participants, it closes down. Thanks for helping me out. Take the survey here.

Two red birds

These last two years stateside, I've been praying for my husband every time I spied a red bird. The whole red bird thing started in France, where, surprise-surprise, they have red birds too. Something about the startling beauty of a red bird flying through the sky or contrasted in front of a thicket or forest that caught my eye. And in that noticing, God said, "Pray for your husband when you see a red bird."

So I prayed.

I prayed through team dynamics.

I prayed through disappointments, depressions.

I prayed as we helped our children endure French schools.

I prayed through my husband's endless decision making.

I prayed through his sermons (words that changed my life and still stay with me today).

I prayed through our mutual disappointment with how things turned out.

I prayed through the decision to come home.

I prayed as my husband grappled with the loss of a ministry dream.

And I prayed through our slow process of healing.

All while single red birds circled the sky.

Funny thing, those red birds. I've only seen them alone. One by one. Flashy reminders to pray for my husband.

But a few days ago, God gave me a gift. As I ran, I prayed. And as I prayed, two red birds circled the sky. It was as if God was saying He would heal the two of us, not just my husband individually, not just me individually. He would knit the two of us back together after trauma. What a beautiful picture that was for me.

I can attest that severe ministry stress hurts a marriage. We once shared our story of France with a dear friend who'd served in ministry his whole life and encountered loads of hurt. Now nearing 80 years old, we figured he'd nod our way when he heard our story and say something like, "Oh yeah, welcome to ministry." But he didn't. He said something like, "Wow, I've never heard anything like that. That's a really difficult story."

It felt good to hear those words, to have a saint validate the hardness of our journey.

For a time I think we both flew in harried circles, desperately trying to keep airborne. But I've sensed a turning. A holy turning. It's like we flew in a wide sky and suddenly discovered we didn't like flying alone. We found each other, and now we're flying together.

Win a Blog Design, Be Cool.... Real Cool

The Story Behind Yesterday's Breakpoint. Wow.

Many of you rejoiced alongside me when the Breakpoint about Daisy Chain aired yesterday. Thank you for your kind hurrays! But did you know there's a bigger story behind this? One that God orchestrated and bookended perfectly?

At the beginning of 2000 while we laughed in retrospect about Y2K, I wrote a letter to Chuck Colson, thanking him for his and Nancy Pearcey's book How Now Shall We Live. I also shared that I felt God was calling me to write, and I sent him some of my work. (I shudder to think of that now, but this was before I knew better.) He wrote me a wonderful letter dated April 14, 2000. Most of it centered around the book and his gratitude for my comments. He signed it, but then wrote something else in his own hand. I have included it above. It reads: "Keep writing. God will honor your faithfulness."

I kept the letter, sometimes pulling it out to remind me that God would honor my diligent pursuit of Him as I endeavored to write.

A month later, I heard one of Breakpoint's broadcasts. It so moved me, I ordered the transcript. Dated May 23, 2000, the title of Chuck's message was "Uncle Tom's Cabin: The Power of Story." In it he wrote, "I know that when it comes to learning moral lessons, I've often been much more affected by works of fiction than by abstract theological discourses." He continues, "Uncle Tom's Cabin is a reminder that one of the reasons we read fiction is because fiction helps train the moral imagination."

That transcript changed my life. It initiated a seed of desire I'd temporarily planted in the soil of my dreams. I knew I wanted to write stories--but not just stories for the sake of spinning a tale. No, I wanted to write stories that changed hearts, lives, nations. I wanted to expose evil for what it was, yet shine God's white-hot light in the midst of that evil, proving His preeminence and the significant power of His redemption.

So I wrote.

And wrote.

I joined critique groups, attended conferences, met self-imposed deadlines, striving to hone the craft and become a writer who weaves words skillfully.

I finished my first novel, but it didn't find a publishing home. Then an agent signed me for representation. I wrote parenting books while the stories inside wouldn't let go of me--it's as if they'd finally rooted deep in the soil, and their roots tendrilled through me. I wrote Watching the Tree Limbs and Wishing on Dandelions, exposing the evil of sexual abuse and the redemptive hand of God in those impossible situations. Those books found a home at NavPress.

I started teaching writing at conferences around the nation, toting my Breakpoint transcript with me, an evangelist for the power of story.

And now my sixth book Daisy Chain is on the shelves--a Zondervan title that pulls back the curtain of a shattered home (though it looks spot-on perfect from the outside) and exposes the destructiveness of family secrets.

With that in mind, imagine the joy I felt when I heard Daisy Chain's praise on Breakpoint. God had, in a very real way, fulfilled Chuck's words:

Keep writing. God will honor your faithfulness.

And how did He do it? By using the same man's voice who penned those words. Consider this part of the transcript:

I’m not a big fan of “message” books,
where the writer neglects his or her craft
and just concentrates on pushing an agenda.
But Mary DeMuth is not that kind of writer.
Her books are beautifully and sensitively written,
and her characters are realistic and well-developed.
She has a true gift for showing how God’s light
can penetrate even the darkest of situations,
and start to turn lives around.
Even her villains are not beyond the reach of God’s grace.

I cried when I heard the broadcast--one of those holy moments where I glimpsed heaven and reveled in God's sovereign plan. I did keep writing. God did honor my faithfulness.

For those of you who have heard God's call to some great mission (whether it be writing, or ministering to widows, or painting masterpieces, or baking bread for neighbors), don't despair. Hold on to the words spoken over you. Remember this verse: "Do not neglect the spiritual gift within you, which was bestowed on you through prophetic utterance with the laying on of hands by the presbytery. Take pains with these things; be absorbed in them, so that your progress will be evident to all" (1 Timothy 4:14-15).

Simply put: don't give up.

Don't neglect to exercise the gifts God has given you.

Don't despise small beginnings.

Be patient for God's plan to unfold.

Mind if I respond right now? I can't help it.

God, You are the Master Storyteller, penning our stories, weaving them beautifully. Thank You for weaving mine. For encouraging me through a man I've never met, by building my stories through Your healing in my life, for confirming what You've done in and through me through the same man's voice nine years later. Only You could do such a stunning thing. Only You. I love You Jesus. I give You complete and utter glory for what You've done here. May anything good that happens as a result of this broadcast be for Your sake and for the healing of many lives. My heart, my desire, is to see You made famous. Thank You Jesus.

Daisy Chain featured today on Breakpoint!

Today, Daisy Chain is featured on Chuck Colson's Breakpoint. You can listen on the radio on a plethora of stations or you can listen online here. I love what he says about bringing abuse into the light, about weaving story to tell the truth. Before I give it all away, just head over there and listen and let me know what you think.

Raising Her Hands

I'm the weirdo in my little family. I'm the one who insists we venture to the very front of our large suburban church so I can feel more a part of the worship. I'm the one who juts hands into the air, who will stand up when no one stands (in the entire church) because I can't help but stand to worship the Lord. I probably embarrass my family.

But this morning while I was singing, I opened my eyes for a moment to see my daughter Julia's hands jutting toward the heavens, worshiping God in abandon. Throughout her time in worship, she seemed deeply engaged, alive.

And suddenly I didn't feel so alone. And I felt deeply humbled and joyful. My little girl is growing into a worshiper.

(Now this is not to say those who don't raise their hands aren't worshiping. Au contraire! I know everyone's different. But it tickled me to see my daughter catch a whiff of the abandon I'd experienced during the musical portion of worship.)