Fun Times at Mount Hermon

Head Start Mentoring fiction. Great gals!




John Olson, me, Randy Ingermanson

Oh the flora!

Amazing bridge.

Creekbed

Redwood chapel

Dave, Rachel and Angus chatting

Fiction Mentoring class. Great group of peeps!

Where are they now? Haunted? Fine?

Those of you familiar with me or my story know this: at five, two neighborhood boys spent their free time abusing me. Under trees. In their room. In ravines. In parks.

I'm grateful, so grateful, that I don't suffer flashbacks anymore. I'm glad their yearlong actions no longer inform how I live my life. They tried to break me, but Jesus healed so many broken, awful, raw places. They meant harm, but now I'm free.

But sometimes, like right now, I think about where they are, how they are, what their lives are like. I've spent fruitless time on the internet trying to track them down, half from curiosity, half from pity. But I can't quite find them. Which is fine by me. It's not like I'd want to email one of them and say, "Hey, do you remember the year 1972? Remember our neighborhood? Remember me?"

Because what good would that do? Would it bring closure for me? Probably not. Because if statistics are correct, they will have never been brought to justice. They could be hiding this secret their entire lives. They could be tortured. Or wildly successful. They could have families. They could be perpetrators. They could be liars, or as honest as honest can be. They can be politicians, school teachers, gardeners.

A part of me does want them to remember what they did, if only for the purpose of realizing their own depravity and seeing their need (as I've seen mine) for a savior. And if statistics play out, the reason they perpetrated is probably because they were perpetrated against, which means those boys (now men) need deep, cleansing healing. In every possible way.

I do pray for them. I do think about them. But not with an ache for myself. I ache for them. For the men they've become. Perhaps they are haunted.

Perhaps they are reading this post right now.

Validation: The Insatiable Need

I wonder if I'm a validation junkie. An affirmation addict. A praise nerd.

Probably.

Are you?

It's probably why I wanted to be a singer as a kid, longing for that "You did a good job" at the end of a performance. It's probably why I exhausted myself for all those A grades in high school and college. Why I tried to be the "perfect" mommy and wife. Why I write for others to read.

There's a little hole in me that can't seem to be filled.

And yet, I'm growing up. I'm learning to receive praise like it's a truffle--lovely to digest in a moment, but not sustenance for life. I'm learning to let Jesus fill those needy parts of me. Letting the praise from others bounce off my soul a bit so I can absorb Jesus' life-filled words first.

I'm just so thankful He loves me. He validates me. He affirms me. He sends snippets of praise my way. Alleluia!

7 Myths about Publishing

1. All authors make a bucket load of money! (Actuality: We make about 78 cents a book. Most of us make less than a teacher's aid).
2. Rejection ceases to exist once you've signed your first book contract. (Actuality: It gets worse, and the rejections hurt more.)
3. Publishing is like those models who get discovered in diners. It just happens without much effort. (Actuality: 10,000 hours of writing finally makes you a master at it. That's about ten years. When I signed with an agent and sold two books in that year, folks thought I arrived quickly. Wrong. I arrived after 10,000 hours of my behind on the chair.)
4. Publishers revel in marketing your books. (Actuality: They do the best they can, but in today's climate, it's truly up to the author to get the word out.)
5. Authors don't go to the grocery store. (Actuality: Um, yeah, they do. Off to Kroger soon...)
6. You can usually skip the busywork of writing for smaller publications and go for book writing out of the gate. (Actuality: It's better and more "normal" to have a wide body of periodical work published before you find an agent. Otherwise, how will an agent know if you can write, meet deadlines, and take editorial direction?)
7. Book signings are the cat's meow for authors. (Actuality: We don't really like them, often because folks don't show up and you feel like a 7th grader again, standing near the wall, waiting to be asked to dance. So not fun. Although I will say it's an author's rite of passage to attend a book signing and sell zero books. Yes, this has happened to me.)

Oh the Colleges We Will See

This last week my mom flew down from the NW and we embarked on our first explore of college campuses for Sophie. Here are some visual highlights:


Texas A & M:

Our shoes took us many places....

The monolithic stadium

San Antonio's stunning Riverwalk:

Trinity University's tower:

On the Riverwalk with Memaw:

You must remember it:

Patrick, Sophie and Julia at Rice University:

The stunning Rice campus:

Thankful for New Life

I know well the words of Jesus about seed falling to the ground and dying, about when it does, it bears much fruit. Never is that life lesson more stark than in spring. I'm thankful for the life emerging from winter's grip.

How ironic that I push against dying to self. I forget that leafy life will spring from such a death. I only picture the death of what I want, when I want it, how I want it, forgetting that God often surprises us with life in the most obscure, but perfect ways.

I want to learn what it means to be a living sacrifice. I want to be better at recognizing my own bent toward me-centeredness. I want to put on the sandals of a servant.

Lord, teach me. Mold me. Help me die to that which I value so that You, who I value more, will reign supreme. Birth new, green life in me. A spring-like heart. A mind bent toward you. Feet that do your bidding.

Amen.

Let there be life!

I've been a bit of a sloth-girl this past week, forsaking exercise. But this morning the sun shone so brightly I couldn't resist its invitation. So I ran. Thank God, I ran.

I circled a familiar path in the park and saw it: a dead autumn leave clinging to an up-and-coming green tree. Though the brown leaf didn't know it, spring would come in a matter of days. And that's when the Lord spoke to me. "The brown leaf will fall. Life always pushes out death."

It reminds me of the cure for idolatry that Timothy Keller writes about in his book Counterfeit Gods. That we can't simply forsake our idols (whether they be materialism, achievement, lust, people-pleasing, food, porn, reputation, etc.). We must worship that which is higher. Repentance must hold hands with rejoicing.

That's how life pushes out the dead leaves in our lives. We rejoice. We embrace the Life Giver and praise His worth. And His life, because of its sheer power and beauty, pushes away death.

That's the kind of life with Jesus I want. I don't want to cling to the dead parts of me that I feel are important and valuable, forsaking the emerging green of spring. I want spring. I want life. I want to run in the freedom of His love.

How about you?

When God Answers Specifically

Some of you may know that I've been discouraged lately about my writing career. Not big stuff, just little things toppled one upon the other. If you're not careful (particularly in life), you can begin to think those little disappointments suddenly define you. 

So I prayed. I said, 

"Lord, please encourage me specifically in my writing ministry. Please let me know if I need to keep walking down this path of words. 

Show me You see me."

And I asked others to pray the same way. I have a terrific, encouraging prayer team who faithfully lifts me and my family up.

And God answered. Specifically.

How?

1. My daughter texted, "I love you, Mommy," at precisely the time I felt the lowest. Uncanny, the timing. Made me cry.
2. My friend called me and told me this wild story. "I got a call from a friend who asked if I knew you. I said, 'Yes, she is my dear friend.' The friend then said she saw the dedication in your book to me. Later, after she finished the book, she told me it had really, really impacted her." 
3. Then, I received a Facebook message from my hairdresser who said that the book I'd given her to give to a friend had impacted her. And guess what? She's the same woman from story #2! We're all connected somehow!
4. Then, I got a call from my friend Olivia who was speaking with her hubby in a small town in a small Texas church. Before the message, they flashed things on the screen of the church. One screen had a large picture of Daisy Chain, and they'd recommended the congregation to buy the book! 
5. Then, I got an email from someone who just picked up Ordinary Mom, Extraordinary God. It had really blessed her, helped her not feel alone. 
6. Then this morning, I received an email from one of the writers I met in France. She'd downloaded Daisy Chain on her Kindle and then wrote about it. So fun!
7. Last, a friend of ours in our community group via church offered to send out my press release on PRWeb. Already the book is getting great exposure! 
8. A book club organizer sent me this: "Your book is making a huge impact on the hearts of the readers in our book club, Mary. Some of the ladies have experienced sexual abuse and other have sisters/friends who have. They are well into the book, and already are having emotional reactions. Good ones."
9. My agent called me today with good news, and a heart to encourage. She speaks life over me. 
10. An excerpt of my latest book will be on a big ministry site next week. 

But even more than these very specific things, God spoke directly to me. He helped me see, through another prayer team friend, that I'm a missionary writer. If I remember back to being a missionary in France, and how beautifully God provided for our ministry there, I can see this writing as an adventure. I wrote this:

If I see myself as a missionary writer, every provision seems like a beautiful mystery, not obligatory. 

I also processed my frustration, and received great insight from Jesus. I posted about that here.  I concluded it this way:

Jesus endured the cross for "the joy set before Him." I fear I've wanted the joy here. Now. Today. But He calls me to think of the joy then, in the Great Future. And that's why He could sit down when He accomplished His work on earth. He had One Master. He kept close to the Father, heard His voice, did His bidding, no matter how counterintuitive or countercultural it may have seemed. And even though His work seemed incomplete (meaning the disciples hadn't come into their own yet), He knew the entire plan and rested in that. 

Since I don't know the entire plan, I will rest on the sovereignty of God. Or I'll try. I, by God's grace, will write for the joy set before me, enduring whatever trials come my way. I pray I can rest there. I pray you can, too.

 

Writing without immediate reward

I wrote about this today over at The Master's Artist. Catch it here.